#Key Fasts And Festivals

[wigglebox]

Suptober [Extended] - Day 21 || Love 💚💙

[mercvry-glow]

Stop making this hurt

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

summary. jack knew he didn’t want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.

warnings. pitt fest incident, guns/shootings, hospital setting, blood and gore, reader gets hurt, death (not reader), medical inaccuracies and not show accurate but i tried my best, jack and robby are stressed af, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. finally my first pitt fest fic, hopefully this is angsty enough for ya'll and pleases all of my anons who asked for this! I love all of you, thank you for almost 300 followers and as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3600+

You knew it was a long shot trying to convince Jack to come with you to Pitt-Fest.

Crowds were never his thing, not even before his time as an Army medic. Too loud, too many moving parts, too unpredictable. Add a decade of trauma medicine on top of that, and the thought of shoulder-to-shoulder festival traffic was enough to make him visibly tense. You didn’t blame him — not even a little.

And as much as you loved your husband, you weren’t going to fight him on this one.

“Go have fun,” he’d told you that morning, standing in the doorway in his usual worn t-shirt and sweats, a coffee mug in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist. “Text me when you get there. And text me again when you leave. And maybe don’t lose your phone this time?”

You’d rolled your eyes, kissed him once, then twice — and promised to behave.

Truly, it was better for him to spend his one of his days off actually resting, not galavanting around the venue with you and your friends, half-drunk on overpriced cider and yelling about pierogi trucks.

So you let yourself enjoy it. The chaos, the music, the warm breeze coming off the river. You danced with your friends in the middle of the concert to some college band playing covers too fast. You tasted six different kinds of barbecue and took a picture with a guy dressed like a giant bottle of Heinz ketchup. And every couple hours, your phone buzzed with a little check-in from Jack — usually short, always a little dry since he wasn’t a big texter.

JACKY [1:14 PM] You hydrated today or just vibes?

JACKY [3:06 PM] Hope the pierogi truck is worth the foot traffic.

JACKY [4:11 PM] Home if you need me. 

You were smiling at that last one about to respond around 5pm, standing in line for boozy lemon slushies with Emma and a few others, when it happened.

At first, it was just a sound — one that didn’t register immediately. A sharp crack in the distance. Then another. Then screaming.

The crowd surged before your brain caught up. Someone dropped their drink. Someone else shoved you sideways. Your phone slipped out of your hand and hit the pavement.

“Is that—” Emma started to say, eyes wide.

You grabbed her wrist and pulled. “Run.”

You didn’t know where the shots had come from. You didn’t stop to look. You just moved — through the panicked chaos, toward the edge of the crowd, ducking behind a food truck with a group of strangers just as another round cracked the air like lightning.

Your chest was tight. Ears ringing. People were yelling. Crying. Calling for help. And your phone—your phone was still on the street.

Jack.

You couldn’t call him.

But he’d know. You didn’t know how, you just knew.

And however a mile away, as police scanners lit up and trauma alerts pinged on hospital radios, Jack was already on his feet — keys in hand, work boots half tied—and heart racing faster than he’d felt since he returned to US soil.

He didn’t wait for a callback. Didn’t care that he wasn’t on the schedule. He grabbed his badge and his trauma bag and was in the truck before the next dispatcher finished her second sentence.

Because something had happened at Pitt-Fest.

And you were there.

It really sounded like a firecracker at first — maybe someone messing around near the alley that ran behind the Pitt-Fest booths. But then came the second, then the third. Screaming followed.

You turned your head just in time to see another wave of people running. And then—

“EMMA!!”

She was beside you one second, and the next, she was down.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. You just dropped to your knees, catching her head before it hit the pavement, your mind going a mile a minute.

“Hey, hey—Em—look at me,” you said, your voice louder than you realized. “Where were you hit?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her hands were pressed to her stomach, blood already soaking through her shirt and fingers.

“Fuck,” you hissed. “Okay. Okay, pressure. Emmy, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

You barely noticed the searing pain until your legs buckled and you were on your side. A sharp, ripping sensation tore through your ribs like glass.

Shot. 

You had been shot too.

Someone was shouting. A vendor nearby had flipped a table and was screaming for people to duck. A stranger—a kid, maybe barely twenty not much younger than you—ran toward you both through the chaos, eyes wide.

“Are you hurt? I have a truck—”

“Help us—please!” you said, trying to sit up, trying not to black out. “I’m a doctor—ER. Trauma. She needs a hospital now.”

He nodded, panicked, glancing at the blood now pooling on the concrete. “We’re like five blocks from PTMC—I’ll drive!”

You helped haul Emma up with shaking arms, biting back a cry when your chest screamed in protest. She groaned as you dragged her toward the curb, her weight nearly toppling you.

The kid had his pickup pulled up half on the sidewalk within seconds.

“Put her in the bed!” you ordered. “It’ll be faster to lift her in!”

Someone else joined—another panicked bystande —helping you hoist Emma into the truck bed as gently and as quickly as possible. You climbed in after her, teeth gritted, your once cute outfit sticky with blood.

“Go!” you screamed as the tailgate slammed shut behind you.

The engine roared and the truck peeled off, tires screeching. You barely held on, your legs braced against the wheel well, one arm clamped across Emma’s wound, the other pressing against your own side to slow the bleeding.

“You’re okay,” you told her, voice tight, even though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. “Emma, you’re gonna make it. You’re not fucking dying at Pitt-Fest! I won’t let you.”

Her eyes fluttered, and you cursed under your breath, checking her pulse. 

Thready. Too fast.

You knew you had minutes. Maybe less.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Jack was at the Pitt. On shift or not, he was always there when it mattered.

He had no idea you were on your way. Or that you were bleeding out in the back of a stranger’s truck, racing through downtown Pittsburgh.

But if you made it… if you could just hold on a little longer…

You’d see him again.

The truck rattled like it was going to fall apart with every pothole it hit on Carson Street. The shocks weren’t built for this kind of weight or speed, and the stranger behind the wheel didn’t care. He’d barely said a word since he’d skidded to a stop at the edge of the chaos. Now, you could barely hold your head up.

Emma was curled in on herself across from you, clutching the side of the truck bed like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. Her glitter jacket was soaked through—Msot of it hers, some of it not—and her ponytail had come loose, curls hanging limp against her face.

You turned your head toward her, everything in you aching.

“Em,” you rasped.

She didn’t answer.

“Emma, look at me.”

She did, finally. Her lip was split, her eyes glassy. She was holding her side with one hand, the other shaking where it pressed against her stomach. Blood oozed through her fingers.

“Hurts,” she whispered.

“I know.” You reached out, hand slick and trembling. You were starting to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side sharp and spreading, warm and wet and endless. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re almost there.”

She nodded—but then her gaze dropped to your side, and her eyes widened. “Babe… you're—”

“Don’t look at me.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Just breathe, Em. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure if that was true. The blood loss was getting worse. Your top was drenched. The bullet had torn low, near your hip, and every bump in the road sent fresh agony lancing through your whole body. You tried to apply pressure but your arm wouldn’t stop shaking.

The guy driving honked again, swerving around a city bus. Ahead, PTMC’s trauma bay came into view, the red trauma flags flapping against the gray building. Almost there. Almost safe.

Then Emma made a sound that shattered you.

It was small. Wet. A choking breath followed by nothing.

You lurched forward, dragging yourself toward her with everything you had left. 

“Emma—Emmy. Stay awake. Look at me.”

Her head lolled. Her eyes were still open, just barely. “I’m really cold,” she whispered.

“No, baby. No, you’re not.” You gathered her into your lap, tried to shield her with what strength you had left. “We’re here. You’re okay.”

The truck hit the curb at full speed, rocking the bed. The brakes screamed as it slid sideways, stopping half a second before it would’ve crashed into the wall of the trauma bay. And then hands—at least half a dozen of them—were yanking open the tailgate.

Chaos.

“Two critical GSWs in the back—Jesus, they’re both going out!”

“She’s losing consciousness!”

“Someone help me get her—”

“She’s coding!”

You heard all of it like you were underwater. You were vaguely aware of someone pulling Emma from your limp arms. Someone else catching you as your head dropped back, limp, blood seeping down your spine.

A nurse’s voice rang out as she tried to open your airway.

“Who is she—anyone got a name?!”

No one answered.

Inside the trauma bay, Jack was elbow-deep in yet another chest wound, barking orders, adrenaline humming through his veins. He didn’t hear the commotion at the ambulance bay over the noise of suction and a flatline monitor. Didn’t look up when the bay doors slammed open again.

Didn’t know.

Didn’t know that somewhere down the hall, two trauma rooms were opening side by side—one for your best friend who wouldn’t make it, and one for you, his wife, who just might.

Not yet.

But he would.

He always did.

Now rushing inside to the hub, “Her BP’s eighty systolic and dropping—she’s hemorrhaging fast.”

“Pulse is thready. Pupils sluggish.”

“Get Dr. Robby in here, now!”

The trauma bay was already spinning into motion when Michael stepped through the sliding doors, hand dragging down over his messy brown hair. He was halfway into his  new trauma gown as he crossed the room.

“What’ve we got?”

“GSW to the lower abdomen. Entry left, possible exit—can’t tell through the bleeding. She was brought in non-EMS, unknown downtime.”

Robinavitch’s eyes tracked the chaos instantly, sharp and assessing. He reached the foot of the bed and froze just long enough to squint at your face beneath the mask of blood, dirt, and bruises. Something flickered across his expression.

“…Is that—?”

“Yeah,” one of the nurses whispered. “That’s our second Abbot.”

He didn’t react. Not outwardly. Just snapped his gloves tighter and stepped in, voice calm but commanding.

“Alright. Let’s move. I need two large-bore IVs, type and cross, four units O-neg hanging yesterday, and someone page trauma surgery—now.”

A nurse slid a face shield over his head as he pulled the curtain closed behind him.

“Pressure dressing’s soaked through.”

“She’s crashing, Dr. Robby.”

Michael leaned in over your body, catching the faintest movement of your chest. He knew your voice, your laugh, the way you snapped off one-liners at Jack and him in the hall. And right now, none of that mattered. You were just another patient bleeding out on his table. And he was going to keep you alive.

“Hang another liter. Let’s get a FAST scan going—we need to find that bleed.”

A tech slid gel across your abdomen. The screen flared to life, the grainy black-and-white image revealing what they were dreading.

“She’s bleeding into her abdomen,” someone said.

“No kidding,” Robby muttered. Then louder: “Alright. We don’t have time. Prep her straight for the OR. I want her there five minutes ago.”

He pressed down on the wound with both hands, hard. Princess to his left winced.

“She should seee Jack,” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. “Jack needs her to still be breathing when he finds out.”

He looked down at you, your face pale and growing colder beneath his fingers.

“You hang on,” he said under his breath. “You do not die on me. He will never recover.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes fluttered once, lips barely parted. A sound escaped, too soft to decipher as Mikey leaned closer. 

Not as a doctor now, but as a close friend. 

“What was that?”

Your mouth twitched. “Tell… Jack…”

But then your body jolted under his hands—heart monitor screaming into v-fib.

“Code!” someone shouted.

“Start compressions!” Robinavitch was already moving, calling for paddles. “One of you get Abbot!”

“But he’s still in Pink—”

“I don’t care if he’s in surgery or nott,” he snapped. “Tell him it’s his wife. Tell him she’s coding.”

Across the hospital floor, Jack looked up—something in his chest going cold before he even knew why.

The Pink Zone was chaos, and Red was a shit show. 

Jack had blood smeared to his elbows and the kind of tension in his jaw that only came from running full tilt on no sleep. His short, curls—streaked at the temples with silver—were plastered to his forehead with sweat. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and quick, were laser-focused on the wound in front of him.

“Clamp—now,” he barked, voice low and lethal.

The security guard on the table had been fine for the minute, eventually turning critical. Shrapnel to the chest. He’d already coded once in triage. Jack had cracked him open right there on the gurney, and there was no room in his world for anything else.

Until—

“Dr. Abbot!”

He didn’t look up. “Hold pressure!.”

“Jack!”

That voice. Too familiar.

He finally looked.

One of the new night shift  interns stood just inside the trauma bay doors, Jacob’s own scrubs stained and his expression wrecked. And he never looked wrecked.

Jack straightened, adrenaline still coursing, brow furrowed. “What?”

Jacob’s mouth opened—but nothing came out at first. He took a breath. Another. Then:

“She’s here. Your wife.”

The words didn’t land right at first. Jack blinked, frowning, like he hadn’t heard correctly.

“She what?”

“Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Came in the fourth or fifth wave from Pitt-Fest,” the young man said, voice tight. “They stabilized her. She was hypotensive on arrival. Tachy. Someone named Emma was with her—they were in the back of a civilian truck.”

The name Emma barely registered.

Jack’s pulse went sideways.

“She coded once—Robby sent her to the OR.”

“No,” Jack said, too fast, shaking his head. “No, she wasn’t even—she said she’d text me when—she wasn’t—”

The air felt thick. Too heavy. Too loud. His fingers curled into fists, shaking beneath his gloves.

“Dr. Abbot,” Someone said, stepping closer. “She’s still alive. They got her back. But you can’t leave right now. We need you here.”

Jack didn’t move.

“She asked for you,” Jacobs added quietly.

That broke something open.

Jack’s hazel eyes—usually unreadable—flashed wide. For half a second, pure panic. He turned, looking toward the hall that led to the elevators, toward OR.

But he couldn’t go. He knew it. The man on the table in front of him was dying.

And his wife… his wife was being cut open upstairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut once, breathing like it physically hurt. When he opened them, they were steely again. Grounded by sheer force of will.

“Tell Robinavitch to get me when she’s out,” Jack said. His voice was barely steady. “And tell him if she crashes again—he calls me. Immediately.”

“I will,” Jacob promised.

Jack didn’t answer. He just turned back to his patient like his spine was made of iron. Like his heart wasn’t bleeding under his ribs.

But his hands trembled—just once—before they found the scalpel again.

And he didn’t say another word about it, because what was there to say you could be gone before he even got to see you. 

Eventually the world returned in fragments.

A slow, stuttering beep. The soft rustle of hospital sheets. The sterile hum of fluorescent lighting. Everything hurt—but not sharply. Not like it had. Now it was dull and heavy, like your body was made of stone, barely yours.

You blinked against the overhead light. It took effort. Your limbs felt like they were filled with sand.

A shape moved beside you.

Jack.

He was hunched forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight. His short, silvery curls were flattened on one side, sticking up in the back like he hadn’t moved in hours. His hazel eyes were fixed on the floor, red-rimmed, dark and distant.

Your heart monitor ticked just a little faster. He looked up immediately.

“Hey,” he breathed, already at your side.

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Hi.”

Jack let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and reached for your hand. His touch was careful, reverent. “You scared the absolute hell out of me.”

“Me too,” you rasped.

He gave you a sip of water, helping steady the cup as you drank. When you pulled back, your throat still felt raw—but the words came anyway.

“Emma?”

Jack’s face changed.

The crack in his expression wasn’t obvious, but you’d seen it before—on the battlefiel, in different red zone code blues, in the quiet moments after a loss. He didn’t answer right away.

You already knew.

“…She didn’t make it,” he said softly. “They couldn’t even try. She was gone in the truck.”

Your breath hitched.

“She was getting married,” you whispered, tears already brimming. “She was twenty-eight, Jack...”

“I know.”

“She was going to try out for th-that promotion. She just bought her wedding dress last week—she wanted to show you, and—and she was finally gonna ask David to move in with—”

Jack didn’t try to stop your rambling grief. He just leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he said again, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “She died in my arms...”

His hand tightened around yours.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he murmured, guilt and grief bleeding into his voice. “I was a couple zones over. We were shoulder to shoulder with victims. I didn’t know until after they took you up to surge.”

You blinked fast. “Were you there when I came in?”

“Robby got you stable. Barely. Everyone just said it was bad. Said  one of ours went down.” His voice caught. 

“Jack.”

“I couldn’t go up,” he whispered. “They were still bringing bodies in. And you were already in surgery. I had to keep working.”

Your vision blurred again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’re the one that got shot.” His hazel eyes were fierce now, even through the exhaustion. “You did everything you could. You kept Emma safe as long as you could. And you lived. That’s all that matters right now.”

You didn’t feel like it should be enough. Not with her gone, and the fate of the rest of your friends unknown. But the way Jack looked at you—like the entire world had stopped spinning until your heart started beating again—it made the pain settle differently.

He reached up and brushed your hair back, his touch gentle. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

Since the first shots rang out at Pitt-Fest, you let yourself feel the weight of everything that had happened. 

Your fingers twitched under his, slow and aching, but deliberate. Jack noticed immediately, shifting to cradle your hand in both of his, as if he could anchor you there by touch alone.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “Thank you for staying with me…”

Jack’s eyes closed, lashes trembling. His head bowed as his grip on your hand tightened, pulling it gently to his chest.

“I’d stay a thousand times,” he murmured. “I’d go through hell a thousand times if it meant getting you back.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest—because you believed him. There was no part of Jack Abbot that ever did anything halfway, least of all when it came to you.

“I thought I was going to die,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “In that truck. I-I knew Emma  was gone and—I couldn’t feel my legs. Everything hurt. I didn’t know if you’d even know…”

Jack leaned forward again, resting his forehead against your hands, breathing you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real. “I know now,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ve got you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, the way his body trembled just slightly with the force of holding himself together.

“I kept thinking—‘he’s gonna be mad,’” you whispered. “Because I went without you. Because I didn’t duck fast enough. Because I let one of the girls get hit.”

“Stop,” he said, voice firm but thick with emotion. “You don’t need to carry that. Not even for a second.”

You nodded faintly, tears sliding into your hair. “She died, Jack. Emma died. And I couldn’t save her.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, then moved to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, like he could pour every unspoken word straight into your skin.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll carry that with you. Every single day.” The monitors continued their slow, steady rhythm. Jack stayed at your bedside like he’d never leave it again.

Outside, the world kept spinning—grief, news headlines, recovery, chaos—but inside that quiet room, wrapped in his presence, you finally let yourself rest. Because you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

And you knew, in the deepest part of yourself, that Jack would keep holding on enough for the both of you—because that’s the type of man he was. 

mercury-glow 2025

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request

Another chapter of Alley Boyfriends, if you don't mind, I love it so much. If not, no worries. I love your work and love to reread your stuff. May your food be filling and your bills be paid!

Danny carefully adds the finishing touches to the seahorse he’s carefully designing on the surface of Tim’s mug of coffee. He’s been practicing his latte art because business has been slow at Heart Attack in secret. The previous week, he had seen Tim watching videos of strangers creating works of art using the foams of their coffee with blatant awe.

The Halfa will admit to the sight of wonder on Tim’s face when the flashier artist created swans with colored foam, and his heart gave the oddest flutters. It had been so brief but intense that Danny had feared a new power was unlocking in their living room.

Thankfully, the moment passed quickly, but Tim’s expression lingered in his mind. Danny had abandoned the piano to search somehow for videos of latte art within the next minute of that strange heart flutter.  

Danny had learned how to play from Wes in an ill-fated attempt to get the ginger to date him. Danny hadn’t been able to get the ginger to be his boyfriend, but he learned a skill he enjoyed. His parents bought him a second-hand stage piano that he had used for the few years he lived with them.

It broke sometime in senior year- he thinks Young Blood had blasted him through it- and he hadn’t bothered getting a replacement. Mainly because he couldn’t be concerned, as it was a hobby he hadn’t time to participate in once he got close to graduation. It would have remained a forgotten past time had the apartment not come with the grand piano.

The sound was so much richer, with a resonating tone that bypassed his skin and sunk into his soul. Danny could not let the thing of beauty go to waste. He often found himself sitting on the bench, letting his fingers dance off the keys, finding melodies and rhythms that welcomed him home like a returning hero of a fairy tale.

He didn’t think he was skilled at it, but sometimes, when he played, Tim would move closer. His eyelids would flutter close, lying on the nearby couch and listening to Danny play with a half-smile on his face. Sometimes, Tim would fall asleep, seemingly at peace, as Danny strung through Dance of the Blessed Spirits only a few feet away.

Despite all the coffee Danny had provided him with, Tim was starting to develop a better sleeping schedule. The bags under his eyes slowly faded, and he was physically fit. Tim used their apartment building gym all the time, but his skin was gaining a glow previously not there.

He also seems much happier. Danny checked off another box of Tim being a ghost in development, with his Heart Attack Coffee being a big part of his obsession.  Maybe it would not be his sole purpose when he passed, but Danny suspected that the coffee was associated with a good memory that fundamentally shaped Tim’s sense of self.

Danny didn’t like to think too hard about it. He’s gotten comfortable with death, seeing it as a natural part of life now that he spent so much time around the Death-Brought Ghosts, but the idea of Tim passing always twisted his heart into knots.

Sharp, painful knots that leave him fleeing from the dark thoughts as fast as possible. It would be years before Tim would no longer be part of this world. He had better things to do, like adding bubbles and seaweed around the seahorse and taking time to add as many little details as he could to create the scene of a lovely underwater image.

Danny finishes just as the kitchen clock- an expensive cuckoo clock that had golden trimmings, blending so well with the dark wood and gorgeous forest theme carvings that Danny had fallen in love with the second he spotted it at a street art festival that the pair had stumbled upon during a drive they took. Tim bought it when he realized Danny liked it, and it hung up that night. - goes off with a loud chime.

Another day has officially ended. 

His roommate would be up soon for whatever he does at nighttime, where he vanished for hours, coming home nearly always after witching hours, exhausted and bruised. Danny would linger in the living room for a bit if he was awake before heading to his room with a half-made excuse.

Tim would then sleep for a few hours before he was up again, rushing around the apartment to gather his things and be out for his daytime work. A lot of his job he can do at home, but Tim was important enough that he sometimes had to go to work in person.

In the three weeks that the two have moved in together, Danny hasn’t been braved enough to ask what his roommate did for a living. He knows Tim held some big corporate job- where and what he did there was a mystery- but his second job was vague and downright denied at worst.

Whenever Danny hinted so much about what he was doing at night, Tim moved the subject away. He didn’t flat out deny answering Danny’s probing, as more as he danced around the question so well, Danny found himself waltzing in a different direction before he realized what had happened. Tim had a silver tongue that was wielded like a sword, sharp, cutting, and deadly.

 It was mildly alarming, mainly because Danny had no idea what Tim was involved in. Something big, something likely bad. It could be the only explanation for the large amount of seemingly never-ending funds and the odd hours that Tim kept.

A boring office worker by day and who knows what by night.

He also always came back home half stumbling over his feet. There was even that one time when Tim had been half-dressed, his knuckles split, and hard anger set at his jaw. Danny had been caught up with a new show, only realizing the late hour once his roommate had practically shut the door.

The pair stared at each other. Danny bathed in the glow of the TV while Tim was shirtless and standing in the shadows of the front door. He wanted to ask thousands of questions, but Danny had only lifted the heated blanket- a gift from Tim- when he learned how affected Danny was by the cold. 

Tim’s face softened as he barreled into the warmth and snuggled into the couch cushions, joining Danny in watching a Korean rom-con that the Halfa had been in the middle of. He had no idea what the plot was or who the characters were, but by the end of the third episode, Tim’s head had fallen on Danny’s shoulder so deeply asleep that he didn’t feel Danny wrapped up his knuckles or carried him to his room.

Despite this, Danny didn’t move out. He didn’t stop providing Tim with his much-loved coffee. If anything, he took his worries, boxed them up, and stubbornly turned a blind eye to the worrying signs that Tim was showing.

A door opens behind him. Tim walks out, an overnight bag thrown over his shoulder as he speed walks through the living room. His roommate is scrolling on his phone, tapping a rapid-fire response to whoever he is chatting with. Danny could see the bubble messages screen even if he couldn’t make out the words before sighing. “I’ll be out all night. I’ll probably be back tomorrow around noon.”

A pool of dread piles in his stomach, but Danny pushes it away. “Alright.”

He holds out the mug, drinking in every facial feature shift as surprise blooms over Tim’s face before it melts into tenderness when he sees the shape of the latte art. It was painstaking to learn how to make a realistic-looking one on such a problematic canvas, but Danny is happy he spent time on it. After all, Tim’s favorite animal was the seashore, so he needed to make sure it looked good.

Only a few people knew that from what Danny gathered from Tim's few mentions while working on their three notebooks. He also thinks Tim doesn’t often tell people his favorites, but Danny has been paying close attention whenever Tim reacts positively to the world around him. The way Tim’s eyes sparkled when Danny clicked on a sea documentary where the small, shaped fish had been a main feature. Danny had found it adorable how Tim seemed unaware that he would randomly blurt out a new fun fact about the seahorses in the following few days.

“When you learn to make this?” Tim asks, curling his fingers around the mug. Danny’s heart leaps in his chest at the tender warmth glowing in Tim’s eyes as he gazed at him. Coughing into his hand, he waves his hand.

“I had some time since there hadn’t been a lot of customers lately. Ever since that Dr. Freeze threat, people have been avoiding the café.” Danny ignores the guilt he feels about that.

The other day, his powers had gone out of control after he made the mistake of going too long without using his ice, and when he developed that stupid head cold, he accidentally froze the street.

One coughing session later, the entire neighborhood ran to take shelter, panicking that the rouge had chosen their homes for his newest mayhem. Thank goodness the villain had actually broken out of Arkham the previous day, so no one batted an eye at the fact the ice surrounding a single barista was in the middle of closing up for the night.

“It’s amazing, Danny,” Tim tells him, quickly snapping a picture with his phone before he takes a sip. His eyelashes flutter as he savors the flavor, this one is the original Batman theme coffee that Heart Attack discontinued.

Danny found the receipt in an older binder while doing inventory. Tim had tackled him in an enthusiastic hug the second he tried it and recognized the familiar taste.

“Thanks.” He blushes, trying not to notice that the bubbles have shifted slightly, resembling hearts instead of circles. Moving his eyes away from where the foam disappears into Tim’s lips, Danny mentally kicks himself for being weird about his fake boyfriend’s drinking.

He picks up the mug lid on the counter, turning it around in his hands while Tim takes another quick sip. There is some leftover steam milk on his lips when he pulls away, and the colorful seahorse is gone now. His core pulses, making a shiver run down his spine as Tim’s pink tongue darts out to lick away the teal green.

Danny coughs again as frost gathers on his back. Thank goodness he can feel it on his skin, which means it likely hasn’t passed through his comfortable sweater. He hasn’t told Tim about his powers, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

Gotham is an anti-meta city. Tim was as Gotham as they came. He can’t stand the thought of his roommate growing to hate him, especially for something that wasn’t precisely meta, but was the closest thing he was.

He leans forward, carefully sealing the mug. This was one of Tim’s favorites among his collectible mugs, primarily because it could shift into a traveling beverage holder.

Tim smiles at him. “I’m heading out then. See you tomorrow.” 

“Bye, stay safe,” Danny tells him to walk him to the front door. He stands there, feeling like he’s waiting for something to happen. But he isn’t entirely sure what that is, so all he does is lean against the wall as Tim slips on his running shoes, juggling his drink, phone, and bag. Danny smiles warmly when Tim raises his mug at him in a fast toast before he slips through the door, leaving their apartment with a soft “Sleep well, Danny.”

The wood of their door seals shut without a sound- apparently, the rich didn’t believe in noise because everything in the apartment was somehow soundproof. Tim moved like a shadow, rarely making a sound. Danny, by comparison, sounded like a bull in a china shop.

Once, when Danny apologized, Tim laughed.

“I like it, " he said while lounging in the hot tub on the balcony. Danny was on the other side, the warm water doing wonders for the frost forming at the bottom of his feet.  Thankfully, the water hid it from Tim’s sight. “It’s like you breathe life into the apartment with your noise.”

“Stay safe,” Danny says to the empty apartment. “Come home tomorrow.”

He rubs his face and figures he should head to be. It was ten at night, but Tim clarified that he wouldn’t return anytime soon. He’s tired from the previous three nights when he waited for Tim to come home. Thankfully, his shifts had been moved to the afternoon, so it didn’t mean much if Danny stayed up until three am for his roommate.

He strides by his piano, running his hand along the closed case of the keys without seeing it, for his gaze is locked on the city that glows under his window. It’s been nearly a month, and he’s still not used to the view of Gotham from this height. The penthouse towers over most of Gotham, and the city seems beautiful from up here. A Decorative lie of the danger that waited in the wake of anyone down on their luck.

This place was like a Siren. Beautiful and alluring until its claws and teeth dug into someone’s skin, dragging them to the darkest depths where no one could hear their screams. He prays that whatever Tim is involved doesn’t let Gotham swallow him whole.

 Danny’s fingers accidentally come upon cloth, making him snap his chin down to see what had been placed on the wood and blink at the side of Tim’s discarded sleeping long-sleeve shirt. His roommate peeled it off earlier tonight when he wanted to walk around in his shirt sleeve and flung it somewhere to take a quick nap before he left.

His fingers close around the fabric, slowly bringing it up to his face, breathing in Tim’s distinctive scent mixed with the soft lavender of his fabric softener. Danny hesitates for only a few seconds before taking off his sweater and slips on Tim’s long sleeve, allowing himself to find comfort in the familiar scent surrounding him.

He lets his sweater pool on the floor in the living room as he wanders to his room, crashing under his blankets and pressing the fabric of Tim’s clothes to his face. Eventually, he is lured to sleep, dreaming of playing in Gotham’s largest theater, hands flying over the keys at a skill level he does not possess. He moves with the music, uncaring that the seats are empty except for one.

That one belongs to Tim, who watches him perform with the same tenderness as his latte art inspired, but instead of a drink, Danny’s music causes that expression.

It’s the best dream he had in a long while.

As he dreams, he is unaware of the figure checking in on him, hanging from a grabbing hook near his window. The figure smiles when its white lens notices how Danny is curled up in a ball before it zips to the roof, their cap flaring behind them.

When they land, they reach up to link on their com "Red Robin reporting for duty. Where is Dr. Freeze's last known location? I want him caught tonight."

"Good night to you, too," Oracle responds. "Any particular reason we're in such a hurry for the capture of Dr. Freeze."

"He's making it hard for the hard-working people of Gotham to work," He huffs, knowing the rest of the bats will correctly link his complaint to his roommate.

There is a loaded pause before Red Hood grunts. "I got good news for you then. Dr. Freeze has spotted this very afternoon. Meet up at Heart Attack by Crime Alley to compare notes in an hour."

"I'm on my way."

[gghostwriter]

Pressure Points

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a traumatic event, Spencer coaxes you back to the land of the living, right by his side. Trope: Comfort w.c: 1.6k a/n: TRIGGER WARNING FOR TALKS OF MASS CASUALITY DESCRIPTIONS. Not proofread. No use of Y/N, instead Spencer calls reader as ‘angel’. Recently been watching ‘The Pitt’ so you can definitely see where this was inspired from. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer knew right away that something was terribly wrong.

Keys rattling as they settle on the hook by the apartment entrance, the only sound that greeted him was running water from the ajar bathroom door. Its’ fluorescent light streamed across the living room, leaving a streak of path for him to follow.

“Angel, I’m home,” he called out worriedly, aligning his outside shoes by your scuffed and bloodied sneakers. 

Silence.

Garcia was the first to share the devastating news as the team was backing up to go back home from a case well done. Truthfully, he was done with his and was busy theorizing the launch of his film canister all the while Morgan was busy teasing Emily with the sleazy police officer from the most recent case that tried to flirt with her.

“Someone opened fired at the Fairfax Music Festival,” Garcia informed to the few agents available on the floor.

Spencer felt his breath lodge in his throat, he knew geography like the back of his hand. The park where the festival had been situated was included in the zone of your chosen hospital residency. 

Hands blindly reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone to send a message before quickly shutting it close. No, you’d be busy by then, he rationalized. You’d be safe as its protocol that the local police and SWAT establish safety and protection to hospitals receiving casualties.

As the hours ticked by on the clock, the more Spencer could feel his worry and unease rising. The lack of updates regarding the situation, specifically yours, heightened his consciousness to all the possibilities of the shooter heading your way. Einstein’s theory of relativity had made him acutely aware of how right the physicist was in his belief that times moves relative to its’ observer. An object moving fast experiences time slower than the rest and that was exactly what he felt as his foot tapped from agitation, waiting for the train ride back home.

He breathed a small sigh of relief, spotting your sneakers propped haphazardly on the shoe cabinet. You were home, physically safe yes, but mentally was another delicate subject.

The faint metallic scent of coppery blood wafted through as he pushed the bathroom door open and there you were, standing under the scalding shower head still in your intimates, staring at the green tiled walls as if they weren’t completely there at all. 

Dissociation.

Shock.

“Angel,” he softly muttered, not wanting to scare you back to reality.

There was no flash of recognition in your eyes.

Spencer reached across to shut off the pulsing water, your skin already turning pink from the temperature. Quickly chucking off his satchel and clothing, leaving him in a set of checkered boxers, he maneuvered your unresponsive body to sit up on the bench, against the wall in the shower, set the water temperature into a warm and aimed the nozzle over your titled head, making sure the rivulets don’t run on your blank face.

“It’s alright, Angel. I’ve got you,” he repeated over and over again. Grabbing hold of your wash cloth and body wash, he cleansed away the dried splatters of blood your scrubs didn’t catch and massaged the scalps of your hair, hoping to revive you back to reality.

“Spencer?” You hoarsely muttered in confusion, vacant eyes meeting his.

“I’m here,” he replied. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You slowly nodded, eyes closing. The film clouding your brain dissipated further as his gentle presence warmed the cold remnants of death you’ve seen in the emergency room. 

The never ending gurneys being wield in, the multitude of wrist bands all meaning injured—some knocking on death’s door while a few were already in death’s presence. Red blood splattered on the white tiled floor and hospital workers sprinting from one patient to the next. 

You shuddered, it was a view you wouldn’t wish for anyone to see.

Thinking your reaction was from the shower, Spencer shut off the water and guided you to your feet. He made sure you were stable before wrapping you in a clean fluffy towel and drying you off.

Gingerly, he assisted you to sit on the foot of the bed, uncaring of the droplets of water along the wooden floor, all he cared about was making you feel better.

Spencer padded back to your side, a cup of warm tea and a bar of chocolate on hand. 

“Drink it slowly, angel,” he coaxed you, nodding his head in approval as you silently followed his instructions.

You assessed your boyfriend as he enclosed your other hand in his and started massaging.

“Did you know that there’s 8 pressure points on our hands?” He asked. “Although acupressure lacks the backing of scientific studies, people still rely on these due to limited side effects and ability to promote relaxation. Perhaps it’s actually a psychological aspect—they believing it would work and in return, it does. A placebo but I believe it still has its uses—” his thumb and pointed finger pressing in the valley point between yours. “—like grounding you to the present.” 

The corners of your lips quirked into a small smile. “Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“Is it working?”

“Yeah. A little bit, Spence,” you breathed out, feeling completely grateful for the kind of man Spencer Reid had become. Perhaps you should send Diana a bouquet of flowers and a rare book as a thank you for her son or perhaps to the rest of his team that guided him, and is still guiding him, to the right path? 

A different kind of pressure halted your train of thought.

“Oh,” you groaned out, eyes opening to the sight of Spencer pressing kisses to your palm and then to each of your knuckles.

“I love you, Angel.”

You hummed in reply. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“I’ll always be here to catch you when you falter, I promise.” 

Placing the empty cup back on the tray beside the slowly melting chocolate, you cupped is his cheeks into your warm hands, the subtle nudges from his nose melting you into a puddle of vulnerability and intimacy.

“There was so much blood, Spence. So many patients who could have made it should they have come in any other day. We even had to ration our supply of blood and I—I joined medicine to save as many lives as I could and there is a lot of that in day to day, but I can’t help but wish these casualty days come few and far between, better yet if none at all. I want to work in the ER, I really do, but sometimes I end up thinking if I’m not cut out for it, if I’m better off somewhere else.”

His thumb drawing abstract patterns on your smooth cheek, Spencer understood where you were coming from. During the beginning of his journey as an FBI agent, he was plagued with those thoughts of never feeling like he belonged, like he was a puzzle piece from a different set trying to fit in. Always trying, always an outsider, he once believed. 

“Angel, it’s alright to have those thoughts. We’re only human, after all. If I could give you the same advice as many of my mentors have said to young me, I’d tell you that those voices in your head, questioning your worth and direction just mean you’re in the right path. No correct way comes easy, just know I’d be behind you every step of the way—run back to me for strength if you have to, it doesn’t make you weak. In truth, it makes you smart and strong in my eyes.” 

You nodded, his words easing this pressure from today’s events inside of you. It was as if the knots in yourself, the disappointment and regret of not having saved one more patient started to fade away.

“Now, I know I can’t always be here during your bad days at work but if I am, just let me know. Text me or call me and I’ll try my very best to come running.”

“But Spence, your job is as demanding as mine is—”

He shushed you gently.

“I know that but you come first in my list, okay?”

You sat there dumbfounded with his offering running again and again in your mind. It was something no one had given to you before. Being born as the eldest, you had to be the pillar—the strong one your siblings and sometimes even your parents could lean on. Never had another being offered their back to shelter you from the bouts of weakness and yet, here was one in Spencer Reid. There was no need to always be tough, he was telling you that. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I understand.”

He pressed kisses to your forehead and cheeks. “Good, that’s good. I love you, there’s no need to be embarrassed about needing me by your side. I’m your partner, through thick and thin, okay?”

You nodded, the lump on your throat lodging itself further in. You briefly wondered why this perfect specimen of a man had decided to fall in love with you, how had no one come before you to see all the good he had to offer. 

“Do you need to cry, Angel?”

Your tears had started to escape, creating a clear path down your pink stained cheeks.

“Then go ahead and cry. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

And you wept. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~part 3

Part 2 ~ Master Post

Tim was beyond irritated. He could have been on a date. Okay, he wasn’t sure if they were dates but they could have been. Damn it. He’d continued to summon Phantom weekly and they’d gone to lunch every time. Pizza. Barbecue. An amazing ramen place. They went to a music festival and visited all the food vendors. 

Things had been going smoothly. He’d been learning more about the Infinite Realm and about Danny himself and was having a great time despite his meddling siblings trying to butt in at every turn. Dick was a repeat offender but Duke, Cass and even Damien had all attempted to ambush him. It was lucky Danny thought it was hilarious and helped Tim avoid them. 

The last two weeks had been a disaster though. He’d had a four day mission with his own team, and had to deal with his friends poking fun at him while trying not to get shot at. Superboy had vastly exaggerated his interaction with Danny to the others! 

By the time he’d gotten back to Gotham, he’d had a small backlog of cases to get through. It was really cutting into both his CEO work and his freaking lunches with a really cute guy who just so happened to be an immortal king of a realm. 

Just when he thought he’d have a little time in the next day or two, Scarecrow was back on his bullshit with his fear toxins. Hadn’t they just done this recently? How had he gotten out of Arkham so fast? 

Tim was woozy, having taken a breath of the toxins and gotten a swift injury to his leg in the process. He’d say it was luck that he already had an antidote on him to fear toxins, but they all carried one with them at all times. He wasn’t freaking out but he could have done without the lightheadedness. It always briefly had him wondering if he’d gotten a concussion, but it was just a side effect. Usually. 

“You good, babybird?” He heard Nightwings voice through comms. He probably thought he was whispering and had no idea how loud he actually was because of the chaos of the night. 

“Never better.” He grumbled, trying to shake off a chill while limping. There was no one around to see at the moment so it was fine. “I’m headed your way.” 

“Good, Scarecrows around here somewhere. Slippery nut job.” Nightwing said. 

“Pay attention.” Batman’s voice ran through their comms. “He divided us on purpose. This isn’t his usual pattern.” 

There was grumbling across the line, everyone having figured that out already but B wouldn’t be B if he didn’t state the obvious for them some nights. 

Tim grappled from one street to the next, hearing sirens far enough in the distance that they couldn’t have been for this. When he landed safely, he pressed his palms to his masked eyes. The throbbing in his head was so annoying, but the jack hammering of his heart was…something he probably shouldn’t ignore but he was. 

“Not a concussion, Red.” He muttered to himself. “Just a stupid sore leg and Scarecrow’s stupid toxins filtering out.” There was always the option that it was a new strain and his antidote didn’t work as well but he wasn’t hallucinating his worst fears so maybe not. 

Trying to shake off his limp, Tim wandered across a nearly empty parking lot. There were a few abandoned cars, most of them missing their tires and on blocks. He kept an ear out, listening for anything that didn’t belong but it was Gotham, and even in the dead of night there were noises. Traffic, generators, air conditioners, nocturnal animals. There was always ambient noise, the key was ignoring the background hums and focusing on the shuffling goons. The problem he was having now however, was the faint ringing in his ears. 

“Red?” Nightwing's voice drifted across comms again. “I don’t see you yet. Something happen?” 

“No i’m…” Tim swallowed, suddenly parched and feeling overall…bad. He tilted his head back to check his surroundings and realized he’d gone the wrong way. How disoriented was he? “Okay, i might not be okay.” 

“Red Robin?” Batman’s voice was calm but urgent. “Do you need backup.” 

Tim almost stumbled but caught himself. “I feel like shit. I think there was something new in the toxins my antidote didn’t take care of.” 

“Oh, how wonderful. You figured it out so quickly.” 

Tim tensed, whirling around to face Scarecrow. Tim hated to think he’d been snuck up on but the rogue was sitting on one of the ripped apart cars in the lot. 

“I’m coming to you!” Nightwing said firmly. “On my way!” 

Tim waved Scarecrow’s words away cockily and only just noticed the way he trembled. “You’re losing your touch. Not a single, horrifying hallucination.” 

The rogue just chuckled. “Oh no, tonight’s a bit of a tester. Something a little different.” 

“That right?” Fuck. 

“Oh indeed, you don't mind being a guinea pig, do you? This particular batch didn’t have the hallucinogens, no. What it is doing is creeping through your system, forcing your body to activate all too real symptoms of fear.” 

“Seems a little corny for you.” Tim said, knowing the others were listening carefully. 

“And you're shaking.” Scarecrow’s huge grin grew broader. “What else, little bird? Over heating? Or are you freezing? Heart pounding? Knees weak? Feeling a fresh wave of tears building? Do let me know. It’s for science.” 

Tim tsked. He wasn’t about to cry but his throat was tight. It was almost like he was having trouble taking in a breath. 

“Somehow, a gas that makes people sick is so much less impressive than your normal routine.” Tim said, his trembling getting worse, but he was positive he was being tracked by at least some of the others. He just had to stall until Nightwing got there. “A couple of phantom pains the best you could come up with?” 

That wasn’t his best quip but Scarecrow took the bait anyway. “Oh no, it’s very real. Your body might not know why it’s so panicked, but it’s pulling out all the stops. Who knows, maybe your heart could just stop.” 

The problem with a lot of Gotham rogues, was the fact that they were actually intelligent people. The man likely could have gone on and on, but he jumped up and moved onto the offensive. He had a pitchfork tonight, and no one could say the man was original. 

“Now just stay still!” 

Tim dodged, the pitchfork surprisingly leaving quite the hole in the concrete. It should have been a simple dance and disarm kind of fight, but Tim’s shaking just got worse, and his stomach started to hurt, and his heart really was trying to beat out of his chest. It really was like he was terrified, the chills of his body making him sweat. 

“No ever actually stays still when someone’s running at them like a lunatic.” Tim said, but the words were almost hard to get out. He wasn’t choking but his throat was so clogged. 

The sass cost him though, and he was hit in his already wounded leg. It sent him rolling across the parking lot and Scarecrow just laughed. 

“Oh, what fun. It’s a shame though, i really miss the screaming of my patients visually seeing their worst nightmare, i’ll have to combine them.” 

Tim legs nearly gave out from under him when he tried to get up. Injury and the damn shaking leaving him unstable. He’d had to stay crouching, pulling out his staff to dig into the ground in front of him to hold himself up. 

“Regardless of my fears, you’re not one of them.” Tim wheezed, wondering if the hallucinogens were actually kicking in when a mist appeared. It was a frigid kind of cold that left ice crystals on all nearby metals. 

“Oh, we’ll see, little bird. I have plenty for your entire family. In fact, i’d love to see what a second dose would do to you.”

“Nearly there.” Batman said, but there was a hiss to his tone that said he knew it wasn’t going to be a timely arrival. 

“This isn’t good…” Tim whispered, watching Scarecrow pull out a small canister, and he was too wobbling to put more distance between them.

With a laugh, Scarecrow hurled it towards him. “Don’t be afraid to inhale!” 

Tim jerked back using his bo-staff as a crutch to give him some kind of momentum but he watched as the canister exploded midair and…something was strange. The cloud of chemicals had been clear for one second before disappearing. There was no time to worry about how quickly it could have been caught on a breeze when even Scarecrow himself looked confused. 

“So fear is your niche.” 

Tim shuddered, eyes going wide as his head jerked towards the sound of the voice. The gentle reverb of the words slicing through him. His solace was that the ire he heard wasn’t directed at him.

Danny was there. Well, King Phantom was there, having appeared out of thin air. It was the first time Tim had seen that form in a while but his friend was just as hauntingly ethereal as Tim remembered. 

He dropped the canister, and Tim had at least a partial answer. Whatever had gone wrong with the toxins had been Phantom’s doing. 

The king stared down at Scarecrow, but Tim couldn’t see his face from where he now sat. “I know a thing or two about fear.” Danny whispered. 

“Impossible.” Scarecrow spat, puffing up like a cat. None of the Gotham rogues liked their plans being disturbed and by a newcomer no less. “What did you do?! Did you inhale my toxins!? Absorb them!? Fool! You’ll be their next victim! You won’t be so relaxed for long! Even Red Robin’s a terrified mess!” 

“Red Robin! Report!” Batman’s voice was firm in his ear. 

“Relaxed?” Phantom mused, deceivingly calm. He’d stiffened, head turning just a little as if checking on Tim, but he never truly took his attention off the rogue. “No, not relaxed. Angry. As delicious as your parlor tricks were, i take offense to finding you hovering like a predator over my friend.” 

He rose into the air a few feet, and only then did Tim realize that he had been standing instead of floating, well, he was floating now. 

Scarecrow just tsked, unaware of the power in front of him. “Meta? Alien? It doesn’t matter. That combination of chemicals-”

“Was delicious.” Danny repeated. 

Tim scooted away, his leg throbbing. “Phantom.” He muttered, finally answering Batman through strangled breaths. “Phantom’s here.”

“Regardless, the offering was not enough to pacify me.” Danny muttered, the black crown over his head spinning. 

Scarecrow actually began laughing, it started with a chuckle but then it grew into something loud and boisterous. “You’re barely more than a child, are you sure you’re ready for this? The hero game is crowded here in Gotham, and you don’t look like any bird or bat i’ve ever seen.” 

Tim watched the way Danny’s hood swayed to the side as he tilted his head. “I am no bird, nor am i a bat.” 

“I’m sure you’ve impressed your little friends with your meta abilities, but it means nothing in a city like this. Though i see you have your talents. How are you unaffected by my toxins?” 

Ice erupted from the ground, enguling Scarecrow’s legs an inch at a time, creeping up his body without a hint of warning. “You misunderstand.” Danny whispered. “I am not here for a conversation. I’m here for my friend, and to teach you that dabbling in fear is childsplay to a being like myself.” 

Tim couldn’t see… Danny was facing away from him but his galaxy cloak billowed out around him without even the slightest breeze. There were shadows…? Something? Tim couldn’t see though he tried. What he could see was Scarecrow, and even with his face covered, his body language betrayed his growing horror. 

“You can not frighten the dead.” Danny said, but in a voice that was decidedly not his own. 

Scarecrow started screaming, a desperate sound that had him thrashing in place, the ice now well around his chest. Tim didn’t know what the rogue was seeing but if scaring someone to death was really a thing… 

“Phantom.” Tim tried to raise his voice and had to close his eyes to shove away the sudden lightheadedness. He was shivering. “W..we good…?” 

Whatever was going on paused, and Danny seemed to reign himself in. The strange movement of his cloak stopped and Tim briefly made a mental note to ask Danny what kind of other forms he might have. 

Danny turned to him, looking normal, though he hadn’t seen his white hair in a while. “I forget sometimes…” He commented, voice even softer than usual. “The living are so fragile.” 

Scarecrow was still screaming, but his head was lulling back and he looked seconds away from passing out. He was held in place by the ice, and obviously wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Yeah, we’re like that.” Tim muttered, shoulders slumping now that the danger was taken care of, it didn’t stop the way his body twitched. His stomach hurt so bad. 

Danny landed by his side silently, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. Leg’s a little messed up but it’ll heal. The… the toxins in my system are going to have to run their course, unless i can work out how to s..somehow come up with a new antidote before then. St..stupid…” 

Danny cocked his head to the side, wispy white hairs floating around his face. It was unfair how attractive he was. “Want me to eat it?” 

Tim heard a confused “Wut?” from his comm. Spoiler summing up that comment nicely. 

“I can absorb emotion. Because it can sustain us. I just think of it as a different way to eat.” Danny said. Tim breathed a sigh of relief that that half ghost had been around him long enough to know that he liked explanations when he didn’t understand something. 

“That’s w..why the fear toxins didn’t affect you.” 

“Mhmm.” Danny hummed. “Gotta get that recipe though. That was tasty. Frighty would love it. 

Tim sighed, feeling another wave of nausea and he…was pretty sure he was seeing colors he shouldn’t be. “You always leave m…me with more questions than answers. My s..symptoms aren’t emotional. Chem..chemically induced.” And fuck this was so embarrassing in front of the King of the Infinite Realm. 

Danny hummed, and if Tim wasn’t mistaken, he sounded amused. He leaned closer, fingers touching Tim’s face and all at once, he started to feel better. His shaking stopped almost immediately and he was left to assume that despite the chemicals he’d inhaled, Danny was still able to take them from him. Honestly, scientifically it made no sense whatsoever. 

At least his stomach didn’t hurt anymore. 

“What do i owe you for this one?” Tim asked with a weary smile. Other than a sore leg, the other symptoms seemed to disappear. 

“I got two separate fear meals. I’m good.” Danny chuckled, helping Tim to his feet only seconds before Batman and Nightwing arrived. 

Nightwing made a beeline for Tim, grabbing him in the tightest hug while Batman was instead looking Scarecrow over who had, in fact, passed out at some point. 

“Wing, watch it! Watch it! The leg!” 

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Nightwing clung anyway. He then held a hand out to Danny. “Thank you so so much, your Majesty! Your timing is to die for!” 

Tim knew he was in trouble when Danny took Nightwings hand to shake, and his eyes lit up. “Wing…” Tim said in a warning tone that went unheard. 

“No big deal. Visiting Red Robin really lifts my spirits.” Danny said with a small grin, fangs a little larger than in his living form. 

Nightwing tipped his head back and laughed. “Yes!” 

“No…” Tim groaned, shoving away from his brother. 

“In all seriousness, i’m glad i came.” Danny said. “I wasn’t sure if you were trying to summon me or not so i thought i’d poke my head in and see.” 

“I…didn’t realize i did?” Tim muttered, checking his utility belt. “I do have the spell circle but…” 

Danny shrugged “Well you said ‘Phantom’ at some point. I thought it sounded a little different but well…i didn’t think it would hurt to double check. I’m glad i was able to help.” 

“We appreciate it, your Majesty.” Batman commented in a gruff tone. He very much did not appreciate it but couldn’t be mad about someone saving Tim when he wouldn’t have gotten there in time.“What exactly did you do? This ice is-” 

“Oh, right.” Phantom waved his hand flippantly and the ice disappeared. Scarecrow dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. “He’ll probably suffer nightmares for the next week but he’ll shake it off.” 

“I have… so many questions…” Tim repeated. 

Danny just looked at him fondly. “You always do.” 

“I’ll take him in.” Batman said. “Red Robin, return for medical treatment.” 

“I’m fine, B.” Tim said, but he was getting a look. “Grab whatever he has on him so we can make new antidotes.” 

Batman grunted, and it was possibly lucky that the rogue was already knocked out. 

“Hey, hey, King Phantom-” Nightwing began. 

“Just Phantom is fine.” 

Nightwing was positively giddy. “What do you say to four a.m. waffles? I know you ate the fear or whatever but you deserve a proper thank you meal.” 

There was something so boyishly charming about the way Danny smiled. His constellation freckles even seemed to twinkle. “As long as they don’t bite back. I’d like that.” 

“Concerning.” Tim hummed, testing his weight on his leg. It wasn’t broken but he wouldn’t be grappling anywhere else tonight.

“Great!” Nightwing said, tapping his own comm. “Spoiler will meet us there!” 

Danny glanced at Tim. “Do uh.. You go…” He gestured to them. “Dressed like this?” 

“All the time.” 

“Okay then.” Danny said, and the only adjustment he made was to reach up above him and grab his crown. It disappeared from view. 

“So many questions.” Tim heaved a sigh. “I guess breakfast would be nice. We haven’t done breakfast yet.” 

Danny nodded once. “At least i feel like i earned it this time. You’ve just been treating me so much lately.” He sounded as close to shy as Tim had ever heard and it was killing him. 

Ugh, now he was doing the death puns… 

“You don’t have to earn your food with us.” Tim said softly. 

“RR is right, you know?” Nightwing beamed. “You should totally get him to bring you home one night, Phantom. Best home cooking you’ve ever had.” 

Danny hummed, “It’s a low bar, but that could be…nice.” 

“We’ll discuss it over waffles!” Nightwing just…decided. 

Tim shook his head, not sure how he felt about these two getting along but Danny was smiling and Tim was a sucker for those smiles. 

“Alright.” Tim said, stifling a yawn. “My leg is stiff so one of you is gonna have to help me get there, but let’s go eat.” 

Danny’s green eyes just glowed with mirth. “No problem.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Outburst V

Leah Williamson x Child!Reader

Summary: Leah gets in trouble

"He-Hello? Hello? Jord...Jord, I can't hear you. Give me a moment."

The sound of the music and the crowd surrounds Leah as she steps a bit further away, shoving her phone as close to her ear as she can manage.

"Jordan! Jordan?! Can you hear me?!" She's practically screaming down her phone, straining her ears for even an inkling of Jordan's voice.

"Leah Cathrine Williamson!" Is what she gets in return. "Why is that music so loud?!"

"It's a festival, Jordan," Leah says back with an eye roll," I'm near the stage and-"

"And if you're near the stage, who exactly is with our child?! Seeing as it's nearly midnight so she should be in bed!"

Leah freezes, a bolt of lightning running down her spine as she glances towards her friends.

You're bouncing along to the music as her cousin pours some of your fruitshoot into a little plastic cup so you feel like you're being included in all the drinking the adults around you are doing.

A worried chuckle comes out of Leah's mouth that she hopes Jordan doesn't hear.

"Our kid? Our little Lovebug?"

"Yes!" Jordan snaps down the phone. "Bug! Our child, Leah. Our child who should definitely be in bed right now!"

"Well, she is in bed!" Leah lies," Fast asleep. I gave her a kiss good night and everything. My cousin's called it a night so she's babysitting."

"Really?" Jordan sounds like she doesn't believe her even down the phone. "So if I go on Instagram right now, I won't see any pictures or videos of our daughter partying in the dark?"

"No," Leah says, calling Jordan's bluff," No pictures or videos of our Bug."

The music is so loud that Leah can't hear Jordan's answering hum. To be honest, she's not really focussing on the call anyway.

Her friends have formed a little half circle around you as you bounce along to the Coldplay song playing, cheering you on as you get more and more into it.

A soft smile plays on Leah's lips as she watches and she's so engrossed that she almost misses Jordan's next words.

"So if Bug's in bed then you wouldn't mind switching to a videocall and show me what's going on?"

"Jord-"

"You know I'm not actually asking, Leah."

Guiltily, Leah switches to a videocall.

Unlike her, who is in a muddy field with pounding music, Jordan's curled up on her sofa back home in Birmingham. She's got Blu on her lap fast asleep and a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

She looks cosy and snug back at home and Leah flashes her a nervous smile.

"And now you can flip the camera."

"Oh? Are you sure? Why don't we-"

"Leah. The camera. I'd like to see our child."

Begrudgingly, and because she knows that there is no way out of it, Leah flips the camera around.

"Mum!" You call out, bouncing enthusiastically from within the half circle around you," Mum, are you flimin' me? We're goin' to show Bear and auntie Kei?"

"Er...I've got Mummy on the phone actually!" Leah calls back to you and you stop bouncing immediately.

You shove your see through cup of fruitshoot off to Leah's cousin and hurry over, practically trying to climb Leah to get even a glimpse of Jordan.

"Mummy? Mummy! Mummy! Mum, help! Want to see Mummy!"

Leah hefts you up onto her hip, flipping the camera again so Jordan can see you both together.

"Mummy!" You exclaim, happily wiggling in Leah's arms," Mummy, did you see me dancin'? I can dance!"

Both Jordan and Leah aren't quite sure whether they classify what you do as dancing. Bouncing is probably a more apt decision.

You've been a bouncer since your birth practically. Your old baby bouncer was probably your favourite toy of them all and from the moment you first heard music, you've bounced along to it.

"And what a good dancer you are!" Jordan says, beaming at you," Are you having fun with Mum?"

"I am!" You say, bobbing your head up and down happily," Mum says at a festival there is no bedtime! And-"

Leah's mouth comes up to cover your mouth as she quickly tries to do damage control.

"What Bug means is there's no bedtimes for adults-"

"No, you said that there was no Bug Bedtime," You interrupt, prying her hand away from your mouth," You said there were no rules. Just not to tell Mummy..." You eyes widen as you look at Leah's phone. "Oh, sorry, Mum."

Leah sighs. "It's fine, Bug. Mummy would have found out either way."

"Mummy's very smart."

"Yes she is."

"And very, very angry at you, Leah," Jordan says," It's bedtime for Bug now."

"What? But Mummy-"

"Bedtime for sleepy little Lovebugs," Jordan says, her voice back to the soft one she always uses when addressing you," Because it's way past little bugs and their bedtimes."

"Mummy-"

"I love you, my Lovebug."

You huff. "Love you too, Mummy."

"Take. Her. To. Bed. Leah."

"Will do, Jords. Night."

"Goodnight."

The calls is dropped in the next second and you look up at Leah, tilting your head to the side.

"Is it really bedtime for little Lovebugs?" You ask and Leah grins.

"I don't think your Mummy can be mad if you get an extra five minutes...maybe another hour."

[esouliie]

COME FIND ME, MY LIGHT.

(natasha romanoff x reader)

summary | What began as an attempt to bring Christmas back to Natasha turned into something deeper as both of you realised that love is what truly warms the heart this season. By Christmas Eve, Natasha wasn’t just in love with the holiday again: she was in love with you, and maybe- just maybe- you had been in love with her all along too.

tags | christmas fic! hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, dead family trope, alternative universe so no avengers, you’re both a bit sad! :/

notes | i want a christmas love like this so what better way to manifest than by writing a fic abt it hehe. this was also inspired by my fav person’s return to tumblr and her love for the holiday - @please-destroy, thank you for inspiring this by just being you! this is also a part of your gift, surprise!! everybody, go read her stuff now. it’s truly amazing!

word count | 5K

Merry Christmas!! ⊹♡

Since the moment you met, you knew Natasha carried a storm inside her. It was always tamed, hiding just beneath the surface of her eyes. But, from a year of friendship, you’ve noticed that storm that seemed to erupt around this time of the year. Being your only friend, she was always the one to accompany you on your trips out around the city. It’s there where you noticed the way she flinched at carols and avoided the cheerful chaos of Christmas markets you brought her too, by moving through it as fast as she can. The world’s merriment seemed to mock her darker memories. She confessed one night, in a rare moment of vulnerability and a very expensive bottle of wine, that Christmas had always been a painful time for her. Her voice, usually steady and unwavering, softened as she looked at you across the table. She told you about her sister, Yelena—the only person in her family who had ever truly cared about Christmas. Yelena had been the kind of person who could find joy even in the bleakest of places, someone who refused to let the world’s coldness harden her heart.

“She loved it,” Natasha said, her lips curling into a wistful smile as if she could still see Yelena bustling around their childhood home. “The lights, the snow, the decorations. She’d drag me into whatever shop she could find, looking for things to make the house even more festive. Ornaments, candles, the cheesiest, most stupid Santa hats—whatever she could get her hands on.” She paused, her gaze unfocused as though she were looking back through the years.

Yelena had been the one to make Christmas feel like magic. She knew all of the Christmas carols, singing along even if the notes were slightly off-key. This joy followed her into her adulthood, and even when she became sick. Every year, she insisted on stringing up lights around their shared apartment —“even if we don’t have a tree, Natasha, we’ll have lights. You know it’s all about the glow.” She was fearless, mischievous, and relentlessly stubborn in her belief that joy was worth chasing, even if it didn’t come easy. “She’d bake,” Natasha continued, her voice thick with emotion. “Not well obviously— she couldn’t stand for long at the point. Plus, her cookies had always been terrible—but she didn’t care. She’d make a mess everywhere and laugh at herself, daring me to do better. I never tried, though. I always just watched her and took her to bed whenever she was done.” Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass, her knuckles whitening slightly. “She believed in traditions, even when there was no reason to. Especially when there was no reason to,” she added, “she said traditions gave people hope, something to hold on to in the dark. I didn’t get it then—I still don’t fully— but with time, I understood she was trying to help me be okay with the world when she was no longer around.”

Yelena had been more than just a younger sister to Natasha —she had been her tether, her mirror, her light. She was the last person left of her family, and the only one who ever made Natasha feel things she often tried to ignore: a steady warmth, a strong connection, the possibility of life being worth more. She was everything Natasha wish she could be.

And when Yelena died, Christmas died with her.

“There was no one to care about it anymore,” Natasha said, her voice breaking for the briefest of moments before she pushed the emotion back behind her walls, blinking her tears away. “No one to make it mean anything.” You reached across the table, placing your hand over hers. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t meet your eyes either. For a long moment, the two of you sat in silence, the air between you thick. “She would’ve liked you,” she murmured after a while, her voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “Yelena… she always liked people who made things feel… safe.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of her words settling deep in your heart. You realised, in that moment, just how much Natasha trusted you—how much she had given you by sharing this piece of herself. From that moment, you made a promise to yourself: a promise to return Yelena’s light back into her life.

⊹♡

One morning, you found yourself lost on a tree farm. Rows upon rows of evergreens stretched out like soldiers in formation, their frosted branches from the night before glistening in the morning sun. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, the crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound for a moment. Natasha walked beside you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat, her eyes on swivel but not necessarily looking at the trees. She hadn’t said much since you picked her up that morning, you weren’t entirely sure if it was the early start or the occasion that silenced her.

“This one’s nice.” You said, gesturing to a stately Fraser fir with almost symmetrical branches. She stopped, gave the tree a quick once-over, and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, moving along until you could find the next one. You had planned on finding a tree that you both could put up at her place, but with each step, it seemed like this tree would be better suited living at yours. You tried again. “What about this one?” You pointed to a taller tree, its branches also slightly uneven but full of character. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I guess. If you like it.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t inviting either. You let out a small breath, watching it cloud in front of you before dissipating into the icy air.

“No, we can keep looking.”

Laughter and the occasional clatter of a fallen tree echoed through the air. You couldn’t see them mostly but could imagine families adorned in colourful hats and scarves scattered across the farm. Natasha, however, didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes back to skimming over the trees with a detached disinterest and her surroundings, her mouth set in a way that told you she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Do you want to go home? You asked gently.

She paused, her head tilting slightly as if weighing whether to respond. “You wanted a tree,” she said finally, her voice even. “So we’re getting a tree.”

“It’s not that important.” You said. “If you’re not into it, we can go.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m fine.” She said, her voice clipped. Then, softer: “Let’s just look over there.”

You didn’t press her further.

The two of you wandered deeper into the farm, the trees becoming denser, their branches heavy with snow. You found yourself wondering if Natasha even saw them, her eyes not even bothering with her environment anymore as she kept her head down towards the snow, her mind clearly somewhere far away. “How about this one?” You tried again, stopping in front of a modest blue spruce. Its branches were sturdy, the kind that could hold up heavy ornaments, and its shape was pleasingly perfect. She stopped beside you, her eyes lingering on the tree. She didn’t say anything right away, and for a moment, you thought she might dismiss it like the others. But then she tilted her head, considering.

“It’s okay.” She said, and while it wasn’t glowing praise, it was a step up from fine.

“You sure?” You asked, not wanting to push.

She nodded, her gaze lingering on the tree a second longer. “Yeah. It’s fine.” She finished, before turning abruptly back in the other direction. Later, the workers secured the tree to the roof of your car, their cheerful banter filling the space as you and Natasha stood off to the side. She didn’t say much, but when you glanced over at her, you thought you saw her mouth twitch—just the faintest hint of a smile. “Thanks for letting me tag along.” She said quietly.

You offered her a small smile. “I’m glad you came.”

⊹♡

Snow finally began to settle permanently in the middle of December. It clung to the rooftops and frosted the tree branches outside your apartment. Winter had truly arrived. You hadn’t seen Natasha since that morning; her work had whisked her off to the West Coast for an urgent business trip, leaving you to decorate the tree in your tiny apartment alone. Your living room was silent except for the soft hum of a holiday playlist you’d set to shuffle, but you were used to the lingering echo since moving in.

You missed her terribly.

Without Natasha here, you were unable to focus on anything but yourself: your terrible breakup last Christmas that had you packing your bags and running away to a different state, your argument with your family that had been the last time you’d spoken to them and the reason why you weren’t invited home this year, your sadness that crept up whenever you were forced to sit in silence with yourself. Deep down, you know she could see through you, could see how you suffered much like she did. It’s why you both clicked together instantly. But the difference with Natasha is that she never pried, never pushed you to talk about what you weren’t ready to say. And it wasn’t like you wanted to dwell on these things, but they lived inside you now, demanding attention in the silence.

Your ignorance was bliss, until it wasn’t.

And days when Natasha went away were the worst.

The doorbell rang at a late hour. Behind it stood Natasha, her coat dusted with fresh snow, her cheeks flushed pink from the nipping cold. She looked exhausted, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her laptop bag in the other.

“You’re back?” You blurted out, wondering why she was here and not at her own place. It was Wednesday after all.

“I wanted to see you.” She admitted, shuffling awkwardly at her confession.

You pulled her through the door, allowing her a second to set her bags down with a tired sigh, her shoulders finally dropping as the door clicked shut behind her. “How was the trip?” You asked as you moved toward the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle and her mug.

“Exhausting.” She replied, shedding her snow-damp coat and draping it over the back of the chair. “And frustrating. Clients were indecisive, as usual, and the meetings went in circles half the time.”

You gave her a sympathetic look as you handed her a steaming mug of tea. “At least now you’re done for the holidays, right?”

She hummed in agreement, her fingers wrapping gratefully around the warmth of the cup. Despite the drink, you noticed her shiver and disappeared into your bedroom. You rummaged through your drawers, pulling out an oversized purple sweatshirt and some grey sweatpants.

When you handed them to her, she raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to—”

“You’re not sitting around in wet clothes, Natasha.” You cut her off, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Go change.”

By the time she emerged, looking infinitely more comfortable in your clothes, you had noticed the snow starting to pick up outside. Large flakes swirled under the glow of the streetlamps, a storm intensifying.

Perfect weather for what you had planned.

You grabbed a spare hat and scarf from the coat rack, along with a pair of gloves, and tossed them at her.

“What’s this?” Natasha asked, catching the items with a puzzled expression.

“We’re going out.”

“Out? In this weather?”

You were already pulling on your own coat and boots, ignoring her protests. “Yes, out. You’ve been cooped up in airports and meeting rooms for weeks. You need this.”

“I need sleep.” She muttered, but she already had her coat, reaching for the hat, her lips twitching as if she was trying not to smile.

“Come on. You urged, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door.

The streetlights cast a warm golden glow on the fresh blanket of snow, and for a moment, she hesitated. Her reluctant smile cracked through the guarded exterior she so often wore when you were outside. It was like sunlight breaking through clouds. Looking down at her watch, she noticed the time read 1am. “Oh my God, it’s the middle of the night,” she moaned, shaking her head, “and it’s freezing!”

“You’re Russian.” You deadpanned. “Aren’t you genetically programmed to thrive in this?”

She shot you a withering look, but the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her. “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

She turned back around towards your building but before she could move any further, the first snowball struck her shoulder with a soft thwump. She froze, blinking in disbelief. You stood a few feet away, grinning triumphantly, the remnants of the snowball crumbling in your hand. She swung back around, her eyes narrowed, lips parted in exaggerated shock. “Oh, so that’s how it is? These are your clothes you know!” Before you could reply, she bent down, scooped up snow, and hurled it at you. It hit squarely on your chest, the icy cold seeping through your coat.

“Hey!” You yelped, laughing.

“You started this!” She shot back, her voice light—playful in a way you rarely heard.

And then it was war. Snowballs flew in all directions, and the street filled with your laughter, echoing off the quiet houses. Natasha’s aim was deadly accurate, and you were sure she was holding back for your sake. It was quite pathetic. At one point, she feigned defeat only to pounce on you with a pile of snow that left you sputtering.

“You’re a cheat!” You gasped, brushing snow off your face.

“And you’re slow!” She quipped, already forming another snowball to smush in your face.

The cold stung your nose and turned your cheeks raw, but none of it mattered. What mattered was the way Natasha laughed—real and unrestrained, her head thrown back, the sound almost musical in the still night. It was the kind of laugh that felt like a gift, something rare and precious, and you never wanted it to end. Finally, both of you collapsed onto the snow, breathless and flushed. The stars peeked through the gaps in the clouds, and the world seemed impossibly quiet, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Natasha’s head rested on your shoulder, her knitted beanie (that actually belonged to you) slightly askew. “Okay,” she said between gasps, “I admit—that was fun.”

“You’re so welcome.” You teased, shifting to look at her.

“But that’s only because I beat your ass.”

She looked so beautiful in this moment. Her cheeks were rosy, the same shade as her damp hair where stray snowflakes had melted. She was at peace—something you wish you saw more of. You brushed a gloved hand against her cheek, then leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her icy forehead, unable to stop yourself.

“You were right. You’re freezing.” You murmured.

“Maybe.” She replied, her smile small. She shifted closer, laying her head on top of yours. “But I don’t mind.”

⊹♡

With both you and Natasha no longer at work, meant she could hang out with you more often. It was late one evening —you both had spent the day inside your apartment doing absolutely —when she insisted on a walk, claiming the air was getting "stuffy," though you suspected she just needed an excuse to stretch her legs.

Somehow, you had ended up in the suburbs in New Jersey.

“You know, this is kind of perfect.” She said, glancing over at you with a small smile. “No one’s out right now.” You laughed softly, the warmth of her gaze doing more to fight the chill than the layers you’d bundled yourself into. “Yes, well, the suburbs In Jersey are surprisingly magical when nobody’s around.” You joked, sarcasm evident, as you nodded toward the rows of houses strung with twinkling lights. It felt like something out of a postcard, the kind of scene you’d only read about.

The two of you turned a corner and were met with the soft harmony of voices carried on the wind. A group of carolers stood in front of a house, lanterns glowing in their hands as they sang “Silent Night.” Natasha paused, her steps slowing as she tilted her head to listen. Her expression softened, a rare kind of calm washing over her features.

“You don’t strike me as the caroling type.” You teased, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“I’m not.” She admitted, though her lips curved into a grin. “But... it’s nice, isn’t it? Peaceful.”

It was odd. This was the first time you’d seen Natasha act normal with the idea of Christmas.

“They make it look so easy.” She said after a while, her voice quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“They make it look easy believing in... I don’t know. The magic of it all.” She added, as her brow furrowed.

You turned to look at her, the soft glow of the carolers’ lanterns catching in her green eyes. “Maybe it’s not about believing.” You said after a moment. “Maybe it’s just about... letting yourself feel it. Even if it hurts, let yourself feel all of it.”

She stood quietly for a beat before adding, “Yelena loved this song.”

You stayed silent, letting the moment slip away as she became lost in the tune. Natasha's expression contorted with pain as the song finished and the group moved on, but made no move to leave. Without hesitation, you clasped her hand tightly, guiding her away and back in the direction of the city.

You both walked in silence the entire way home.

⊹♡

The next time you saw Natasha was the following weekend when she came over for a sleepover. You could tell the temperature had dropped even more just by the state you found her in at your door. You could only see her eyes. She was wearing your beanie again, with a scarf wound tightly around her neck and the exposed parts of her face. She carried a mismatched tote bag that practically bursted at the seams, the telltale sign of someone who couldn’t quite decide what to pack.

She’d never slept over before.

Well, purposely.

Later that night, in the cozy warmth of your kitchen, you began pulling out ingredients for gingerbread cookies, demanding the taller woman come stand beside you once her ‘bones were warm enough.’ Natasha remained perched on a stool, her favourite mug clasped in her hands, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a half-smirk.

"Our first sleepover. And you’re putting me to work? At this hour? I almost died coming over to see you.” She teased, glancing at the clock.

It’s nearly midnight.

"It’s time for midnight gingerbread.” You replied, beaming as you tied an apron around your waist. "It’s a tradition now."

Now?" She echoed, laughing. "This is literally the first time we’re doing this."

"Exactly, that’s how traditions start."

Natasha rolled her eyes but hopped off the stool to join you, muttering under her breath about wishing she had froze to death on the way over before tugging at your apron strings like a mischievous child, pushing you slightly away from your spot so she could fill it.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The process was chaotic from the start. Natasha’s never baked before, and it showed. The first mishap happened when she cracked an egg with a little too much enthusiasm, sending yolk sliding across the counter. And from then, she managed to do nothing correct without your assistance. You were halfway through laughing when she retaliated by flicking a bit of flour at your cheek.

"Did you just—"

Before you could finish, she grinned devilish and dropped more flour over your head, “oh no, looks like you’ve got a little something there.”

Again, the process was chaotic.

Precision measuring gave way to messy improvisation as flour flew through the air in clouds of white. Natasha was unrelenting, chasing you around the island with a bag of powdered sugar like it’s a weapon. By the time you called a truce, the counters, the floor, and both of you were completely dusted with flour. "You look ridiculous.” You said, laughing so hard your sides ached. She wiped a streak of flour off her nose and smeared it onto your shirt. “Speak for yourself. You look like you’ve never seen the sun before.”

When you finally managed to clean up enough to resume baking, Natasha was benched to mixing the dough— far far away from the flour— but it took her all of ten seconds to abandon the spatula and dig in with her hands. “Are you sure this is hygienic?” She asked, grinning as she squished the dough between her fingers like it’s Play-Doh.

You’re pretty sure she doesn’t know what Play-Doh is.

"Absolutely not.” You replied, shaking your head. But neither of you cared. Somehow, The batter never even made it to the oven. After a mutual taste test—"for quality control," Natasha insisted upon —you realised you (she) had eaten most of it. "So, we’re out of ingredients." You admitted, licking a stray smear of molasses from your thumb. Natasha plopped down on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets with a satisfied sigh. “Good.” She said, licking a bit of dough off her finger. “The batter’s better anyway.” You sat beside her, the warmth of the oven lingering even though you never used it. The kitchen was a mess, the cookies a total failure, but none of it mattered.

You both fell asleep that night with the biggest smiles on your face.

⊹♡

Natasha ended up staying the next weekend too. Christmas fell on a Sunday, the big day seemed to sneak up on both of you, but for now, it was Christmas Eve, and the night stretched on, timeless and unhurried. After watching a few Christmas movies, the two of you found yourselves curled up in front of your fireplace — the fireplace being a YouTube video on loop coming from your television. The crackling flames painted your surroundings in shifting shadows, the room bathed in a burnt orange haze that made everything feel a little softer, a little more intimate. Natasha’s arms were wrapped securely around you, her presence grounding and warm. You hummed an old carol you heard once before under your breath, a lullaby that filled the quiet. Her hand traced lazy circles on your back, her fingers light but steady, as though she was trying to etch the moment into her memory. You watched her, unable to help yourself. The way the firelight kissed her skin, the soft rise and fall of her breathing, the peace in her expression— how rare it was to see her like this. Truly at ease. Vulnerable, but not guarded. You wanted to hold this moment forever, to preserve it for her in the way she deserved, and selfishly for yourself.

Falling for Natasha wasn’t difficult. From the beginning of the friendship, there was a constant undercurrent, a slow burn that never fully ignited, yet refused to fade. You fell in love with her so suddenly—in the quiet moments—that you couldn’t figure out when she became more to you than just a friend. Or if she was ever just that. And over the past year, you’d learned there was so much more to her than the cold, unyielding exterior she presented to the world. No one loved as much as she did. And now, as you sat basically on her lap, the space between both impossibly vast and unbearably close, you realised that falling for Natasha wasn’t just easy—it was inevitable.

“This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, like a thought she hadn’t meant to say aloud. As if she didn’t want to disturb the silence. Her gaze was distant, yet there was a softness in her tone that made your chest burn. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before they could fully form. “You miss her.” You finally said. It wasn’t quite a question, but Natasha understood. Her eyes flickered to yours, that same vulnerability reflecting through. “I always miss her.” She admitted, her voice even quieter now, almost fragile. She didn’t need to say Yelena’s name; you knew. “It’s strange… even after all these years, I still expect her to be here sometimes. Like she’ll just walk in, scolding me for not keeping the lights on all day or dragging me out of the house to help on her latest conquest.”

Your heart cried out with something deep and tender, the kind of feeling no words could ever quite capture. “I’ve got something for you.” She looked at you, her brow furrowed slightly in curiosity as you stood and walked to the Christmas tree. From beneath its branches, you retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box and brought it back to her—one of many gifts you’ve bought for her. “This was supposed to be for tomorrow,” you said, sitting down beside her again, “but I think it’ll mean more tonight.” She took the gift, her fingers brushing against yours briefly before she began unwrapping it. Beneath the paper was a small music box, its pearl-coloured sides adorned with golden, intricate carvings. She opened the lid, revealing a tiny engraving inside: the words “My Light” in Russian reside underneath a picture of Yelena in her youth, dressed as an angel for a school nativity play, her beaming smile radiant and full of life.

Natasha’s breath caught, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the edges of the engraving. “How did you—” she began, her voice breaking.

“You have to twist the key, Nat.” You said softly, closing the lid of the box.

She turned the key, the lid opening to reveal her younger sister all over again; as the music box began to play a gentle melody. But it wasn’t just music—it was a recording, faint but unmistakable hidden under the notes. The sound of Yelena’s voice filled the room, singing “Silent Night” with all the enthusiasm a child could muster for the slow song. Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth, and tears streamed freely down her face as the recording picked up another voice. It was quieter, steadier, but unmistakably hers. A younger version of her sang along with Yelena, their voices blending, only broken by their shared giggles as they sang together, sometimes stumbling over the lyrics. Her shoulders shook as she listened, and you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. She clung to you, her face buried against your neck, her tears damp against your skin, as sobs rocked her slender frame. You held her tightly, wishing you could somehow ease the weight of her grief and the bittersweet joy of this moment.

Her lips trembled as she tried to form words in the broke of your neck. “This…this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I don’t even know how you did this—” She pulled away from you to glance back at the music box, her fingers delicately tracing the engraved picture of Yelena. “She was my everything. The only good thing I had for so long – moya sestra (my sister), moy malen'kiy svet (my little light.)”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “I know. And now you have her again, even if it’s just a little piece.” Natasha set the music box down carefully, as though it were made of glass. She leaned forward, confident in her actions, in her love for you—a soft kiss pressed to your lips.

She had never kissed you before.

She wanted to again.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in, kissing her once again, the taste of salt comforting. “You deserve everything good in this world,” you said softly, stroking the remnants of her tears, “and you deserve love, Nat. I’ll promise I’ll remind you of that every day.”

You placed a delicate hand over her heart and spoke, “I see you. And in this light of yours, I see her.”

She kissed you again, softer and longer than the last, her lips brushing yours; fuelled behind every emotion, every feeling, every part of her heart that now belonged to you, “Thank you for giving her back to me.”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray red curl away from her face. "I promise to make every Christmas something worth remembering, for as long as I can. To remind you there’s always light to find, even in the darkest nights."

She leaned in, resting her forehead gently against yours. "You already have."

You smiled, brushing a stray red curl from her face. “I promise to make every Christmas something worth remembering for as long as I can. And to remind you of her light. With you. With Yelena.”

She leaned in, her forehead pressing gently against yours. “You already have.”

[tsukisangel]

your laugh

characters ꕤ tsukishima kei, gn!reader

cw/tags ꕤ fluff, established relationship

wc ꕤ 937

you grinned up at your boyfriend. “oh, kei, i’m so excited!” you exclaimed, stepping into the music festival after you were given your wristbands. “thanks for getting us the tickets.” you smiled up at him.

he nodded, squeezing your hand once. “your favorite artist is finally here.” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. your favorite artist was there, so obviously he had to, right? that was probably what was going through his mind. 

you shook your head, nudging him with your elbow. “it’s really sweet.” you smiled softly at him. he looked at you, then rolled his eyes and looked away. you grinned at the pink beginning to tint his cheeks.

“yeah, yeah. you’re welcome.” he said, looking at the map and schedule he was given when you checked in. “they go on in twenty minutes, and it’s pretty far. we should go there now so we don’t miss anything. then we can walk around and look for food or something.”

“sounds like a plan.” you nodded, following him to the stage. neither of you really cared about the other artists. you were just excited to be out with tsukishima, and you could tell he was feeling the same. it’d been a while since you’d gone on a date. all you had lately were late night calls and weekend sleepovers once a month. you had finals, and he was super busy with practice. finally, though, you were on this date. you’d always wanted to go to this music festival, but had no reason to. this was a perfect opportunity. 

-

you shook tsukishima's arm once the show was over. “that was so perfect!” you exclaimed, trying to be loud enough over the crowd. “and i can’t believe we got so close!” you were buzzing with excitement. he could feel the energy radiating off of you. “let’s eat!” you grinned at him. he admired your wide smile for a moment, then nodded.

“it was good.” he said. “i honestly didn’t think it’d be that cool.”

“really?” you asked. “i’ve already shown you how their concerts look.” you said as you both started walking.

he let go of your hand to pull out the map. “yeah, but music festivals are different. artists don’t normally go all out for them.” he shrugged, looking through the map. he heard you hum. then he heard you gasp softly but ignored it. you were probably looking at something on your phone that you’d tell him about later. you always did. “do you just want some fast food, or do you want to wait to eat?” he asked, looking through the map. “there are snacks we can get while we’re here if you want to have dinner at a real restaurant.” he kept looking, but when he didn’t hear your response, he furrowed his brows. he turned to his right to look for you, only to find that you weren’t there? “y/n?” he called out, looking around the crowd for you. he sighed. of course you’d gotten lost. i’m such an idiot.

you were definitely gasping at a stall you found with something cute or something that looked good and rushed over to it without him noticing. you couldn’t have been far. all these stalls had long lines. he looked around, not finding you. when he didn’t see you in the general area, he started to worry. how could you have gone so far? where could you have gone? you were surely smart enough to know not to go off with strangers. you were adults! he put the map away, trying to remember where you both were when he’d heard you gasp. he walked back, looking around that area, even though it wasn’t that far. he pulled out his phone, then groaned softly. there wasn’t even service. how was there not service? he was outside! it was probably his shitty phone plan.

“y/n!” he called out again, a bit louder this time. it earned him some looks from the crowd which would’ve bothered him if he weren’t so concerned about you.

finally, he heard you.

he heard your laugh. smooth and sweet. your laugh sounded how it felt to eat ice cream on a hot summer day. the hottest summer day in history, actually. he turned to where he heard you, watching you in conversation with a group of people you’d found. he sighed, watching you laugh again, face brightening as your smile grew. his worries melted away, and he walked over. “y/n.” he said, in that soft voice of his that you rarely got to hear.

he noticed you brighten more upon seeing him, and his heart almost shattered. “kei!” you said happily. “i was looking for you! where’d you go?” you asked.

“me?” he asked. he looked at the people you were talking to. “i’m sorry. thank you.” he smiled politely, and then walked off with you. you waved at them, then looked at him. “you disappeared.” 

“oh, right, look!” you held up a bag. then you took two items out of it. two keychains. matching dinosaur keychains. “i saw these and i had to get them for us!”

he looked at  them and smiled, taking the one you held out to him. “thank you, love.” he said, kissing your head. “don’t do that again. i got worried.” he mumbled against your hair. 

you laughed softly. “i won’t.” you looked up at him and pressed a peck to his lips. when you pulled away, he kept eye contact, just to hear that perfect, perfect laugh again. he wanted to hear you laugh for the rest of his life, without a doubt.

a/n ⋆ ok... i know i should be working on my requests but i was scrolling tiktok again SKUEG this tiktok [in case it's deleted, the text in the tiktok says "when i lose my gf in a crowd but i hear the sweetest laugh" and the video is a drawing of a guy finding his girlfriend because she laughs, the art is so pretty] was so cute literally immediately thought of a fic LIKEEE WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DOOOOO I COULDNT HELP MYSELFF !

m.list

previous work (ennoshita x reader request) | next work (evil scientist)

[latenightdaydreams]

I have an idea that Konig is Ghostface and he's been stalking reader for a while. He found out reader is a bookworm outside but literally a cunt inside. Like she never comes to parties, spend hours with her vibration instead. One night, Konig sneaks in her house and rape her fat unused pussy 😩😩😩

🤭🤭🤭YES😮‍💨

Ghostface!König x Nerd!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫TRIGGERS🚫

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, bondage, voyeurism, stalking

3.1k word count

👻

.

.

The first time König saw you was at the campus Valentine's Day party. You showed up dressed in a festive pink sweater, but then sat in the corner with a stank look on your face. His eyes followed you as you seemingly complained to the girl you came with, a friend? Either way, your breasts and sensual body shape caught his attention.

König walks up to a guy that’s talking to your friend, “Wer ist das?” He asks, pointing to you.

“She’s a bitch,” the girl's friend hits his chest as if to tell him to shut up.

“She’s just shy. She hates parties.” Christa, your friend, defends you.

They all stand there and watch you gather your things and walk out the door without saying bye to anyone, not even your friend. Interesting. What type of woman are you? He was intrigued and wanted to see more of you. See what those bouncy breasts look like outside of that pink sweater.

After this first encounter, he dedicated his time to following you around campus. First, only to figure out what your schedule was. What classes do you take, what teacher do you have, what building the classes are in, etc. Just the basics.

He stalks behind you, far enough behind that you’d never notice; but close enough to listen in on any conversations you had. Which was basically zero. You kept to yourself no matter what you were doing. If someone interacted with you, you’d have such a poor attitude about it. Snappy, short, lots of eye rolling. This went on for two months.

One day, König set up a forced interaction. Dressed casually and slicked his blonde hair back. He looks handsome, standing at 6 '10 and being pure muscle. He knows he is attractive; his personality just sucks, much like yours seems to.

He lingers outside your second class of the day and looks around as if he were a lost student. Once he sees you, he walks over.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Your eyes dart to him as you take out an air pod. “What?” Your tone is unkind.

“I’m lost and I don’t know which room-”

“I’m late for class.” You cut him off and walk past him.

König just watches as you walk away with a smirk on his face. He knows once he has you in his hands, he’d have fun breaking you. After that, he waits for you to leave class and follow you home. Since you would not get to know him the typical way, he would continue getting to know you in the shadows.

You walk fast, but he has no issues keeping up. Your hips sway hypnotically, keeping his attention. Finally, you stop at a cute one-story home. He watches as you take your keys out and enter your home. Waiting a few minutes before he walks up to peek into your windows. He looks around to make sure no neighbors are watching as he walks up to your house, crouching.

Eyes peering through the first window, he sees your living room. Your shoes kicked off by the door, TV turned on already, and backpack thrown on the couch. His eyes scan the room, trying to take in every detail.

Continuing on he comes to the next window. He sees you and ducks back, worried you might have seen him. After a few seconds of no screams, he creeps back to the window. There you are. Taking off your shirt and jeans, just standing there in your beige bra and blue cotton panties. Totally unaware you’re being watched as you check yourself out in your dresser's mirror.

Watching like a hawk as you open the top draw and pull out a pink little vibrator. König could already feel his pants begin to tighten. You walk to your bed, grabbing a towel that’s folded underneath the bed. Laying the towel out, getting your pillows situated, and moving the blanket. It’s almost like a ritual and König’s interest is definitely piqued. 

He watches as you lie down on the bed. Your pretty pussy covered with a little bit of hair, as you spread your legs he can see the pink within your folds. Fuck this is gold…

König quickly undoes his pants as he watches you pick a setting before moving it to your little clit. Through the window he can hear how loud you’re being, your legs twitch from the stimulation. All the while König stands there feverishly stroking his leaky cock. Imagining him running up to you and shoving his cock in that tight little pussy…

Your hips begin to grind into the vibrator as your head drops back on to your pillows. Your left leg is starting to tremble… König watches without blinking as your innocent pussy begins to squirt. Fingers replacing the vibrator, you start rubbing your clit quickly. Your sweet juices are spraying everywhere. He bites his lip as he begins to cum, accidently cumming on the siding of your house. It felt as if he were a wild animal and just marked you, leaving his scent behind to deter other predators.

This became a ritual for König as the school year went on. He would follow you around campus, watch who you talk to, see how you interact with the world. Occasionally he would try to go up to you and just talk nicely, but every time you shot him down. As if you’re better than him. Then he would follow you home and masturbate outside your window as you play with your tiny cunt.

That was until summer break happened. You went away to work as a camp counselor for the summer, leaving König behind. With you gone, König felt lost. He spent most of the summer inside watching porn. Looking for actresses that resemble you, but none could match your perfect breasts or pretty pink cunt.

August rolls around and classes start back up. König walks into his social science class and sees you… perfect. You sit in the front, middle. Teacher’s pet know-it-all, of course you’d pick there to sit.

König sits in the very back, where he has a clear line of view in your direction. He watches as you rest your head in the palm of your hand. How you cross your legs and squeeze, as if you’re trying to stimulate some sort of pleasure. Little slut, you can’t even control yourself in class. All the obsession comes rushing back to him. He needs you.

Halloween rolls around. König is handed a flier for a costume party that will be happening at one of the sororities here on campus.  His new friend Carl, your friend’s boyfriend, goes out with him to buy costumes.

 They both walk through the Halloween store and talk casually. He tries to think of ways to ask about you without being so direct.

“Is Christas bitch friend coming?” König chuckles to make it seem less important to him.

“Y/n? Probably not. She never shows to support anything Christa does. When she does, she’s in a foul mood and just leaves. It breaks Christas heart.” He sounded genuinely upset with you and your behavior.

“What’s her deal anyway?”

“I don’t know. Little stuck up virgin bitch thinks she’s better than Christa because she’s waiting until marriage.”

Virgin. That’s why you only touch your clit; you don’t want to “pop” your cherry.

“Is she religious?”

“Probably. I never cared to ask. Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up and ruin it.”

“Yeah.” König didn’t want you to show up, but for a very different reason. He had something special in the works.

Reaching up, König grabs a Ghostface mask and holds it up to his face. “Hey, what about this?”

.

.

Halloween night, König puts on the black robe over a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a small satchel bag that has duct tape and rope. A real knife in his hand. He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, looking at himself. Blonde hair longer and pushed back, dark circles under her icy blue eyes, and a twisted look on his face.

“You got this. You can do it.” He whispers as he slips the mask over his face.

König leaves his shared apartment on campus and walks down the street while the sun is just beginning to set. Other students rush past him, all heading to their own Halloween parties. Towering over everyone dressed as Ghostface, he had a few people jump out of fear. From behind the mask, he apologizes while laughing. As if he is a normal guy.

Finally, he approaches the steps on the sorority. Walking inside he sees that there are a few other Ghostface at the party already. König rolls his eyes under the masks. His attention turns to the staircase as he hears Christa and Carl arguing. Without being seen, he walks closer to listen in. It’s clear that she’s talking about y/n.

You bailed. Probably home studying or making yourself squirt. The thought gives König a chub. You’re exactly where he hoped you would be. At first, he was nervous this wouldn’t work out for him. No, you never change. Easy to track. Before he is seen, he slips out of the doors.

He blends in easily for once in his life. Everyone dressed up like freaks or sluts. The giant isn’t the main focal point today. Once he enters your neighborhood, he notices the empty streets, but very loud house music. All of your neighbors seem to gather, yet your home's lights are on.

Cautiously, he approaches your living room window. Boom, there you are, asleep on the couch. The TV on TLC, some random trash television show. He attempts to lift the window in front of him, but it’s locked. Moving down a window to your bedroom, also locked. König walks around the back and tries the back door, locked. The kitchen window is a little smaller, but he still tries it. Open.

Carefully, König climbs through the window. His massive body just barely begins to fit, but he manages. Slowly he climbs off of the counter that was right under the window, being sure to not kick anything off the counter and possibly wake you up.

Once stable on the floor he stood there for a while and looked around your kitchen. Your style was quirky, which was odd because you act as if you have no personality. Before waking you up, he goes into the bedroom and gets that towel you keep under your bed. He lays it out on the bed the same way you do. Even arranging the pillows and blanket for you.

Reaching into his bag under his black robes, he takes out the rope and tape. The rope he leaves on the bed as he walks out of the bedroom with the tape. He pulls some and he can be quick to shut you up.

With soft steps he makes his way to the living room. He can see your hands are in your hands as if you fell asleep masturbating. A virgin whore. He’s ready to just make you into his whore. Standing over you as you sleep; eyes drifting over your breast and the tiny bit of midriff that is showing.

Slowly lowering his face closer to you until he sees your eyes open. At first it’s as if you didn’t register what you saw. König tilts his head. Then you open your eyes again and begin to scream. Quickly he covers your mouth with the tape.

“Shhh,” his eyes go wild behind the mask.

You try to stand and get away but his massive body easily overpowers yours and slams you back down into the couch.

“Don’t fucking move.” He hisses as he cuts the tape with the knife. Pulling more, he adds an extra layer.

With ease he lifts your body from the couch, pinning your arms to your side so you can’t hit him. Your legs kicking as he brings you into your room; eyes going wide as you see that he set the bed up the same way you set up when you masturbate.

König giggles looking at your face, “I did good, ja?”

He grabs the rope and tosses you on the bed. As you try to stand up, he pushes you back hard, “Give up Maus, you’re mine tonight.”

Using his massive body to pin you down, he climbs on top of you. Your face down into the mattress as he grabs one of your arms and pins it behind your back before grabbing the other. He uses the rope to tie your hands together, tight enough to dig into your flesh.

“I’ll show you how to have a really good time.”

König stands and grabs your body, turning you to rest on your back, nuzzled in the pillows like when you masturbate. He walks to your dresser and takes out the small pink vibrator. You look up at him with wide eyes, it’s clear that he’s been watching you.

“Now, don’t move, or I might cut you.” He says leaning back over your body as he begins to cut your shirt from your body. Your full breasts come into view and he can’t help the temptation of reaching up and pinching your nipple. You try to scream through the tape, but the sound is muffled.

His attention drops down to the waistband of your pajama pants. Slowly he pulls them down. Seeing your cunt face to face instead of at a distance was breathtaking. Speechless, he moves his fingers through the soft hair that covers your pussy. Finally, he can feel you, smell you, taste you.

“If you move, I’ll gut you.” He threatens as he begins to settle himself between your legs.

He lifts his mask slightly and takes in a deep breath of what your pussy smells like. It’s almost sinful. He has to taste it. Slowly he slips his tongue out and swipes it through your folds. You squirm slightly but stop, remembering the knife. He swipes his tongue up again. If he knew you were this sweet, he would have broken in sooner.

Shoving his face into your pussy he takes a deep breath before sucking on your clit. He bites it lightly, causing you pain as your body jerks away. Not letting you move; he wraps his arms around your legs tightly to hold you still. Spit running down his chin as he aggressively laps at your cunt. He slurps your pussy juice before biting your labia. Again, you jerk in pain and König just laughs as he pulls his mask back down.

Once he stands from the bed he just looks down at your naked body. He begins to pull off the black robe, tossing aside the satchel. Stripping down to his birthday suit, but the mask stays on. His body is massive with a cock so heavy it hangs.

He grabs your pink vibrator and turns it on, gently holding it to your clit. His eyes light up as your legs begin to tremble. Muffled little moans escaping your lips. You can’t help but to feel pleasure, even though you’re in this situation.

“Good…kleine Hure.” He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside. Inching closer to you, he slaps his cock on your pussy a few times.

“Ready?”

You shake your head no and try to scoot away from him, but he grabs your legs and drags you back to him. “No, no, no, you’re not getting away that easy.”

Looking down at your cunt he rubs the head of his cock back and forth over your clit. Slowly he slips down. With one hard thrust of his hips, he bullies his monster cock deep inside of your unused pussy. The tightness of your cunt was something only his hand had ever given him.

“Mien Gott, you really were a virgin.” He chuckled.

König grabs your legs and lets them fall over his arms as he holds your ass up off the bed slightly. His hips rolling rapidly into you, looking down he can see blood on his cock. A soft growl leaves his lips.

He lets your legs drop as he leans over you, one of his hands wrapping around your throat lightly. “My fat unprotected cock just ruined your pretty virgin cunt.”

You try to turn your head away from him as tears begin to roll down your eyes, but he doesn’t let you. He turns your head back to face him.

“Eyes open. I want to see the shame when I make you cum.”

You open your eyes as you have no choice but to listen. His free hand reaches down between your legs and begins to rub your clit. Trying to resist the pleasure was impossible, your legs tremble as your pussy feels as if it were torn in two.

He watches as you shake your head no. Your pussy getting tighter on his cock, he knew. He pulls out quickly, shoving his middle and ring finger into you. He presses down on the lower part of your stomach as his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

You drop your head back and he slaps your pussy, “Eyes on me!” His voice a low growl.

Lifting you head back up to look at him, your eyes cross from the explosion of pleasure you’re feeling. You squirt, hitting the Ghostface mask slightly, getting it all over König’s hands and arms.

“That’s what I want to see!” He excitedly slips his cock back into your pussy. His eyes watch as you wince in pain.

His hips move mercilessly into you. “I’m going to cum deep inside of this pussy. You’re going to get pregnant with my babies. You like staying home anyway, right?”

The look on your face as he talks down to you is full of fear and it’s just enough to get him off. He presses his cock fully into you, your cries of pain muffled buts still so beautiful. König cums deep inside of you. His seamen painting every inch of your velvety walls. A loud groan leaves his mouth as he tries to press in even further.

The look on your face is almost relieved as he cums, that means this is over with. So, you thought. He pulls his cock out, covered in blood and cum. In one quick motion he flips you on to your stomach, pulling you down the bed a little. He sits on the bed now, one leg on either side of you. König leans forward to pull the tape off of your mouth and drags you closer to him by your shoulders.

“You’re going to clean this.” He says slapping his cock on your face a few times. “Open.”

You don’t struggle, opening your mouth wide. The taste of salty cum and blood assaults your taste buds. His hand grasping a fist full of hair and shoving his cock down your throat. Your body thrashes, legs kicking as you gag.

“Get used to it, Maus. My cock isn’t leaving your throat any time soon.”

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wonderstruck

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which peter wants to take liz to homecoming and not you … or so you assume

warnings: single use of y/n (shout out to the old me), villainized liz, dramatic teenager moments, descriptions of physical injuries, very happy ending!

word count: 4.9k

masterlist

I'm back! Starting off 2025 by clearing out my drafts including this beauty that is heavily inspired by Enchanted by Taylor Swift. Thanks for being so patient. It’s kind of bad because I’m so rusty, but practice makes perfect! To everyone who had sent me a request, I promise I am getting to them/ already started! Right now I'm adjusting to a lot of changes in my personal life, but everything is starting to get easier so I hope I can post more often. Love you guys 💜

The air was cold as you stepped out from your rented limo and onto the yellow stripped concrete of Midtown’s parking lot. It was quiet where you stood as the limo pulled away. If you hadn’t been able to see the flashing multicolored disco lights from inside the school building, you never would’ve known there was a dance at all. Maybe it wasn’t too late. You could have a terrible cold as far as your friends knew, all it would take is a quick apology text. If you ran fast enough, you could be out of sight and back home within the hour. You sighed as your spool heels carried you towards the door, arches aching. Stupid high heels. You wish your dad had let you wear your Converse or at least stopped hovering over you for even a second. You could’ve snuck them if he hadn’t been so smothering.

You picked up the sides of your pastry shaped purple dress as you walked to the back door of your school. Low vibrations tingled your hand as you reached for the handle, courtesy of the blaring 80s ballad inside. The melody greeted you as you stepped inside.

People were dancing and laughing all around the gym which was adorned by bright party streamers. It was quite the festive prom, one that you would’ve enjoyed under different circumstances. But as you neared the middle of the gym, the sight you feared most was suddenly dancing right in front of you, a painful reminder of why you didn’t want to be there in the first place. Your best friend, Peter Parker, and his smug chosen date: Liz Allen.

The news broke only days before the date of the dance. You had been hoping Peter would ask you to the dance, seeing as you two were close as close as could be and your mutual friend, Ned, had constantly assured you each moment you were alone that Peter had to feel the same. And you trusted him for there was no one in the whole of Midtown Tech who knew Peter better than Ned. They were the best of friends, how could he be wrong.

“You know how he is,” he would say. “He’s probably just waiting for the right moment. There’s no way he isn’t totally in love with you.”

Three days ago you might have agreed that waiting was indeed worth it. In your daydreams he would ask you during your weekly study dates, some of the only moments where it was just the two of you at his place. Your delusion had grown so strong that when Ned informed you that he had asked someone else last minute, you almost didn’t believe it at first.

“Good one,” you had laughed, only for your amusement to turn sour as you realized that Ned was in fact not joking. As if it couldn't get any worse, you felt sick when he revealed the name of the girl who stole away the only boy you would ever want for the rest of time. Of course it had to be Liz.

It wasn’t her attraction to Peter that made you dislike Liz Allen, or her intelligence, or even how flawless she managed to look when all you could muster up was piled leggings and crewnecks. You couldn’t stand how she treated you, lording her popularity over you like it was a key to the city. She got everything she wanted, popular friends that would help her throw parties at her huge house whenever her perfect, loving parents weren’t around and rumor had it, she was most well known for the things that she does on the mattress. And now she had Peter, even after countless years of teasing and enabling his bullies, she still managed to keep him wrapped around her finger and bind him under her curse. After all she had done to him, how could she steal your happy ending? The wicked witch had stolen your prince. 

The sight of them together, standing huddled as one, stung worse than the loss of a good friend, sure to be burned in the back of your mind for all eternity. You knew you would be forever haunted by it. You blinked through glassy eyes as you fought the tears that started to well, stiffening as they turned to look at you and Peter’s brown eyed gaze met yours in a solemn greeting.

“Y/n.” he said, taking in the sight of you in your dress. The very same dress you had chosen hoping to wear it on his arm. He didn’t light up like he usually did when you two were together, as the match that ignited the spark between you had been rained out by Liz’s presence. His lips parted slowly as he tried to speak once more. “You look-”

“Y/n!” Liz interrupted, breaking her hold of Peter’s hand to open her arms wide for you. “You made it!” she leaned in for a hug and without anywhere to run, you let her, your hands loosely holding the emerald, jeweled fabric of her  perfect homecoming dress.

“Yep,” you affirmed with a strained breath so as to not inhale any of her sickeningly sweet perfume. It lingered even after she stepped back, like a never fading gut feeling that hung around even after the danger had passed. “I thought I’d drop by to say hi.”

“You’re not leaving early are you?” she raised a brow. You could feel the judgment radiating off of her from the way she looked down upon you as her stilettos made her slightly taller. “What about your date? You should at least stay for them.”

You looked over at Peter who remained silent, unwilling to break up whatever Liz had begun between the two of you. It seemed as if he understood for a moment just by the way you looked at him, that he was supposed to be your date. But then he turned his head.

“I don’t have a date.” you admitted, gazing up at Liz with a lifeless stare.

“Oh,” she reared back in smugly, rejoining arms with her precious Peter. “No one asked you? Really?”

“A few people did,” you corrected, trying your best to ignore the pang of jealousy in your gut as you stared down at the homemade corsage on her wrist, undoubtedly constructed by Aunt May. Lilac roses and Baby’s-breath, two of your favorite flowers. “But I turned them all down. I was kind of waiting for someone special to ask me.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Peter tilt his head toward you for a second, but Liz blocked your view of him as she stepped over.

“I’m sure you can find someone here,” she smiled, her perfectly whitened teeth glimmering as she pointed to a boy standing by himself in a corner, but he was exactly the wrong person to match you up with. “Flash is just over there. I think he came with a date, but honestly he’s desperate for an upgrade. He had to beg her to go with him. I’m sure he’d leave her in a heartbeat if you asked.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” you glowered at her, ready to counter anymore of her quick remarks until you felt two pairs of hands pulling you away as each restrained one of your arms. Ned and MJ appeared at your side, bystanders to the whole conversation.

“We’re gonna get some punch.” MJ stated.

“You’re pretty thirsty after your ride right?” Ned asked in your direction, though you could tell his question was more than an explanation of anything as he helped MJ drag you away. “She needs to, uhh, hydrate.” 

“No kidding.” MJ remarked humorously, though she never broke from her usual monotone.

“Yeah so we're just going to go over the punch bowl. We’ll be right back.” Ned grimaced, trying his best to gain control of the situation as he and MJ lead you away to a more remote corner of the gym, far away from Peter and Liz and all of the loud hustle and bustle of the dance. 

“I can-” Peter tried, reaching out to follow you, but his offer went unheard as Liz quickly shot him down.

“C’mon Peter. Dance with me!”

From across the gym, you sighed as they released you, falling back into the filled up bleachers behind you. You blinked a few times as you still refused to let the tears fall. You really didn’t want to give Liz anymore fuel.

“Are you okay?” Ned asked, noticing the way your face scrunched up as you tried your best not to cry.

“Not really,” your voice broke as you held in a sob. “Of all the girls he could’ve asked. Why did it have to be her?”

“You want me to knock some sense into him?” MJ offered, entirely serious as she clenched a fist.

“No, don’t hurt him.”

MJ settled for a subtle flip of the bird as she raised her clenched fist and pointed her finger in the air in Peter’s direction, though it went unnoticed as he spun around with Liz.

“I just don’t get it,” you exasperated. “She’s always subtly degrading him. What exactly does he think she has that I don’t?”

“Money?” Ned suggested before MJ whacked in square in the chest, forcing a pained whine out of him.

“That was rhetorical.”

“Sorry.” Ned wheezed.

You sighed, looking past your friends to stare at unconventional couple again.

“She is much prettier than me. And she’s good on Decathlon, as much as I hate to admit it. Maybe this is for the best.”

“Stop it.” MJ shook her head.

“Yeah, don’t talk like that,” Ned agreed. “She’s nothing compared to you. Peter’s been wanting you for way longer, I’m sure of it.”

“Then why is he dancing with her?”

“I-” Ned cut himself short, looking down towards the ground. “I don’t know. I was so sure, I swear he was going to ask you.”

“Maybe I should just go, the only reason I came was to see him, but Liz won’t even let me do that. Now that she's got him, she’ll never let him go.”

“No, you deserve to be here just as much as she does. Don’t let her win…”

“Ned,” MJ warned, sending him a warning look. “She’s miserable here. If she wants to go, let her go.”

As much as she herself wanted you to stay, she understood what it was like to be in your position and she couldn’t want you to be tortured anymore.

“Come check on you later?” MJ offered.

“No that’s okay,” you declined. “I just want to be alone. I’ll see you guys at school on Monday.”

When you arrived home, you weren't sure how to break it to your father that you had retired from the dance so early so you snuck up to your room using the service elevator.

Tony Stark hadn’t put virtually any effort into getting ready for his own dances. His routine was always the same as a teen. He’d put on a nice outfit and maybe a tie if he was feeling really fancy and go dance with his buddies for about five minutes before moving to the parking lot to break open a new bottle of whatever he could steal from his parent’s liquor cabinet.

But when it was time for you, his only daughter, to attend your first Homecoming? He didn’t spare any expense (as long as you didn’t protest).

You had your dress picked out weeks before, custom-made from some international designer brand that owed your father a favor, flown in from Milan along with your matching shoes. He’d spent hours researching the right products and equipment needed to fix up the perfect hairstyle (which was executed flawlessly). And even when he failed to figure out how to do your makeup, he enlisted Pepper who made you look more exquisite than a Vogue model.

You didn’t want him to think all his hard work had been for nothing and Stark Tower was so big that if you memorized the layout and avoided the outdated surveillance systems (Tony didn’t see a point in updating them with the recent construction of the compound), you could move anywhere undetected.

You knew he had scheduled the moving team for tonight specifically because you would be gone so it wouldn’t be suspicious if the service elevator was in use and your room was an easy distance away, just down the hall and around a corner.

When you arrived, the weight of your decision started to feel heavier by the second.

Even though none of your classmates would ever know that Tony Stark was your father (besides Peter of course since he was your best friend), now no one would get to see all the work out into your night.

You slid off your heels, but you couldn’t bring yourself to change out of your deep purple dress or wipe off your face. All you could do was flip on your bed and turn on a mindless movie channel to quiet the screaming voices in your head. All your thoughts echoed his name. You would never understand why he chose her. The lingering question kept you up.

Hours later, you were wiping the snot and tears off your face with the back of your hand and turning off your television. You wouldn’t have watched the ‘mindless’ channel if you had known they were showing Dead Poets Society and you definitely wouldn’t have watched Dead Poets Society if you had known how tragic it was. Now you were a miserable mess of ruined mascara.

At least it had distracted you from your own problems, enough that you had stopped checking Liz’s Instagram story for snippets of Peter. Even when you did check, her page hadn’t been updated since you left the dance, which was more confusing than the EPR Paradox. Liz loved nothing more than rubbing her success in the face of all of her followers and dangling Peter in front of you like a carrot to a donkey.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your window, slow and uniform and so concise that you wouldn’t have heard it had you been asleep. 

You shrieked from the sudden noise that contrasted the melancholy quiet of your room. Carefully, you rose from your bed and peered out your window, surveying the thick glass pane with the utmost caution.

You pulled back your curtains, expecting to find some sort of bird or other city creature that you would have to scare off, only to reveal the face of the boy who broke your heart only a few hours prior. Peter Parker crouched on the rackety stairwell outside your window and beamed like a drunk man when he saw your face. Though hesitant, you reached for the latch locking your window and pushed it open wide enough to stick your head through, cold wind kissing your damp face.

“Peter? What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Peter smiled, his voice shaky and out of breath as if he had just ran an entire marathon to get to your floor. “I had to see you.”

“How did you even get out there? We don’t have a fire escape!”

“Yeah I know. And your building is like 3,000 floors up.” he chuckled lightly, though you were having a hard time finding the humor of the situation.

“What are you talking about? How did you-”

You stopped when you noticed the circle of purple surrounding his left eye. And then his split lips that were still dripping blood. Then several dirty, shallow cuts all over his face and neck. So clear and prevalent, you were shocked you hadn’t noticed them when you first saw him. Perhaps it was the shock that he was there at all.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened to you?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I want to talk to you about…”

That’s when you noticed the biggest change of them all. Peter’s classy suit you had last seen him in was a long time, now replaced by a red sweat shirt and blue sweat pants that were all too familiar. Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Why he was all beaten up, exhausted, and easily hoisting himself up thousands of feet above busy New York streets.

“Holy shit, Peter!” you exclaimed as you came to your senses. He had to get out of the cold. “You-you’re Spider-Man?”

Peter nodded, his smile fading as his injuries caught up to him.

“Yeah and it’d be really nice to get out of the cold now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh shit, yeah. Here-”

You reached to pull him in by his biceps, helping him through the opening of your window and into your room. He leaned against the wall once he was finally safe inside, sliding down to the floor. The metal squealed as you shut your window to cut off the cold and hurried over to turn the lights on as before you had been lonely in the dark. Peter’s dirt ridden face went wry as they flickered on.

“Oh, are you okay?!” you cried as you hurried back over to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter assured you. “Just bruised is all. And … I might’ve broken, uh, a couple ribs….”

“Oh Peter,” you frowned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Throwing one of his sturdy arms over your shoulder, you helped him cross your room to the connecting bathroom. You set him down to sit on the rim of the tub while you pulled out anything you had from the sink vanity that could help him.

“I don’t have much, most of the first aid is in my dad’s bathroom.” you explained, running warm water over a washcloth.

You kneeled before him, your dress bulging around you like the underside of a blooming purple rose.

Peter’s coffee eyes bore into yours and you reached out a hand to his cheek. He winced when you brushed a thumb over his black eye and once more when you held the wet cloth up to his temple with your other hand.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “It’s gonna sting a little.”

You started off slow, gently wiping up all of the dirt and debris from his cuts in soothing strokes. Peter seemed to adjust as his breathing slowed and the pained expression on his face faded into tranquility. He looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be. But you knew better. He was no longer yours to hold.

“How did this even happen?” you asked out of curiosity and a need to be distracted from your thoughts.

“I fought the Vulture. Took him down, finally.”

“The Vulture…” you repeated, having heard the name before from eavesdropping on your father. It all made sense now why Spider-Man was the only hero he refused to talk to you about. He was always up for answering all your queries on the other Avengers, be it the Black Widow’s childhood or Captain America’s most recent cultural slip up (common for the man from another time). But whenever you wanted to know anything about Spider-Man, even if you were sure it wouldn't compromise his anonymity, Tony Stark was radio silent. The habit annoyed you as Spider-Man was the only hero you ever wanted to know something about.

“I’ve been fighting him for weeks -” Peter paused as you cleaned up one of his ugliest cuts, grimacing before diving back into his explanation. “- he runs this crazy illegal weapons business.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’ve heard my dad talk about him. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Yeah, sorry I sprung it on you like this. I really meant to tell you.”

“It’s okay. It makes sense.” you assured him, though the energy between you was off.

Normally when you two were together, it was as if everything about you both moved in sync. You were so similar with nearly the same interests and motivations, revolving around each other like stars before a solar nebula. But now you felt like the two of you had finally crashed together, wrecking havoc upon each other and it hurt to see him knowing he was in love with someone else.

“Have you been crying?” Peter asked, noticing the streaks of dark mascara that stretched across your plump cheeks.

You rose from your position on the tiled floor and returned to the sink to rinse all of the collected dirt from your washcloth and wash away some of the product from your face.

“It’s just been a rough night,” you tried, hoping he would drop the subject. “I’m glad you got to have fun at the dance though. Before your big fight.”

You awaited his confirmation, but instead of affirming your worst nightmare, Peter’s reply sparked a glimmer of hope.

“Actually, I didn’t really get to enjoy it much either. I left right after you did,” he admitted.

Your fingers worked carefully as you thought of a reply, delicately unscrewing the cap to the only ointment you kept in your bathroom and squeezing a pinkie sized dollop onto the back of your hand.

“I thought you asked Liz.” you kneeled before Peter once again and smoothed the ointment onto the worst of his cuts.

“I did,” Peter asserted, his face softening under your touch. “But only because I was too scared to ask my first choice.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks under the makeup that caked them as you felt the first semblance of a smile you’d had in days.

“Your first choice?”

Though you had been avoiding his pitiful gaze, you felt a sudden braveness to meet it now.

He nodded.

“I’ve wanted to ask you since they announced the theme.”

“Student council decided on making it the 80s months ago.” you unpuzzled aloud.

“I know.”

Shocked, you rose suddenly as your heart beat wildly as if to escape from its cavity. How was it that all your wildest dreams were coming true on the worst night of your life. You were having a hard time believing him, but Peter had never lied to you before. Why would he now?

Peter wanted to meet you where you were, but as he tried to stand, something twisted in his broken chest and he sank back down in anguish, clutching his abdomen.

“Oh Peter,” you fussed, quick to return to his side. “I should really take you to a hospital.”

“No, no hospitals,” he refused. Bringing his injuries to the attention of professionals was too dangerous. Too many people would ask questions he couldn’t answer. “I’ll be okay with some ice. I heal fast.”

“At least let me take a look then, so we know what we’re dealing with.” you urged.

Peter unzipped his hoodie at your request and you aided him as he struggled to get the thick fabric off his arms. Mud stained and discarded to the side of the tub, you suddenly became very aware of the fact that you had never seen Peter in any kind of naked capacity once he was before you with a bare chest. It would’ve made it easier if he wasn’t a superhero and hiding the immaculate tapestry of musculature beneath his flannels and plain t-shirts. But he was, and now you were fighting to narrow your gaze on the dark bruises on the left side of his lower rib cage instead of taking in the whole view. You failed.

“It hurts the most here,” Peter pointed to the purple swirls of skin that were far too large for him to be so calm about it. He made no mention of your ogling, if he had even noticed at all.

You snapped back into caretaker mode, searching every drawer and cabinet for something that could work.

“I don’t have any actual ice, but I think I have - oh where is it?” you searched frantically. “Aha! Found it.”

You pulled a plastic circle of brightly colored water from the depths of one of your drawers, an adequate size to cover up the worst portion of Peter’s bruise. You knocked it against the nearest counter too, watching as the liquid inside froze instantaneously.

“Here, this should help with the swelling.” you stated, gently covering Peter’s bruise with the ice pack. He shivered when the cold made contact with his bare skin, but after some time to adjust, the pain was clearly relieved.

“Thanks,” he smiled, reaching a hand up to take over your job of holding the pack. “I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

“Anytime,” you promised, and if what he said was true, perhaps Peter Parker would be around a lot more often. “But maybe you shouldn’t make a habit of fighting off giant metal birds.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. He’s the Fed’s problem now.”

There was a beat of silence as you took a seat beside Peter and the sight of your dress reminded you of the impending question that stuck in your throat. Only this time, there was no interruption to stop it from coming out.

“Why didn’t you ask me to the dance?”

“God, it sounds so stupid now,” Peter cringed. “I want to say it was mostly because I wasn’t sure how you would respond, but in all honesty, I was scared of your dad.”

“I thought you liked him.” you questioned, recalling the bewildered look on Peter’s face when he found out your father was Tony Stark. Back then you assumed he had been a fan, but now you surmised it was much deeper.

“I do, so much. But after the ferry incident, I couldn’t risk screwing up again.”

From the bits and pieces you had overheard about Spider-Man from your dad, you already knew much about the split ferry. Though no one got hurt, you knew your father still fumed when thinking about it.

“Oh,” you realized, connecting all the pieces like shards of a broken vase fusing back into one. For the first time since you found out about Liz, you started to feel whole again. Whole and so stupid for ever doubting Peter. And it was all thanks to the dramatic antics of your father. “Oh, I’m gonna kill him.”

Peter shared your amusement, giggling quieter than normal so as to not upset his broken ribs. A comforting silence followed and you were no longer hesitant as you returned his lingering gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter confessed. “I thought I was protecting our friendship, but when I saw you at the dance, looking so gorgeous in your dress, I knew I was wrong. It’s so stupid now, but I didn’t want to risk losing what we already have. I see now how wrong I was and how I almost lost the very person I need the most.”

“You really mean that?” you questioned, touched by his honesty.

“I do.”

Peter always stared at you as if you were the most beautiful person to ever walk the face of the Earth and the occasion was no different. Even with tear stained cheeks and a wrinkled purple dress, you could still see the same affection in his expression. You were exactly who he wanted.

He muttered your name, reaching a hand over to grasp one of yours. “I like you so much. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am that I made you think any differently.”

Squeezing his hand, you shifted closer to him.

“I like you too.”

Peter leaned into you, his hand fluttering to cup your cheek as his thumb traced the line curve of your bottom lip.

“Can I-” he whispered, sweet enough to ask for your permission. However, you had been waiting on this day for years and you couldn’t waste another minute. So you brought your lips to his.

Slow and soft, the kiss didn’t last too long. You were forced to stop before it grew too intense on a count of Peter’s poor ribs.

“Wanna sleep over?” you offered, unwilling to let Peter go in such condition and for your own reasons.

“Will your dad even let me?”

“He doesn’t have to know…” you grinned. “- besides, I’ve been so depressed the past few days that he’ll pretty much let me do whatever I want. I could kill someone and he wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“I hope I can fix it all.” Peter’s regret shone through his voice. His apologies weren’t sufficient and you could tell he would carry this guilt for another decade or so. But he didn’t need to. You two had figured it out after all.

“I already feel a million times better because of you.”

You helped Peter into a set of clean clothes, a shirt he’d left behind once when the two of you went swimming and some shorts you stole from your dad’s closet (though you didn’t let Peter know that to ease his conscience).

Once you were in your own pajamas, the two of you huddled together under the warmth of your duvet, wrapped up in each other.

“This is so nice,” Peter mumbled groggily into your skin, his face close to yours and his eyes nearly shut. You gave a hum of agreement, too comfortable to let any real reply out. Peter’s arms around you seemed to have that effect. “I was so wrong before. I’d much prefer to deal with your dad’s temper over Liz’s any day if it meant getting to hold you again. Tony’s temper is much more manageable than the Vulture.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, jumping up from his comfort.

Peter groaned, reaching a hand for his bruised ribs as he started to retreat mentioning it at all. He forgot you weren’t used to his Spidery habits yet.

“Peter, you can’t just say things like that and not explain.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” he moaned.

“Nope.”

[hansrkive]

STILL THE SAME (K.MG)

Everything changed yet everything was still the same between You and Mingyu.

౨ৎ PAIRING: kim mingyu x afab!reader

౨ৎ GENRE: angst angst angst

౨ৎ TAGS: one-shot and literally just sad stuff.

౨ৎ NOTES: wanted something sad to write lmao ++ i figured i’d write my one-shots in second person pov with x reader and my full blown aus in third person pov with x ocs!

౨ৎ HYPERLINKS: pinned post, ko-fi, seventeen’s master-list, and mingyu's master-list.

౨ৎ WORDCOUNT: 1.15K words.

365 DAYS AFTER.

It was as if no one had lived in the house up on the hill. Dust had accumulated by the old fireplace where you once shared your dreams. The old coffee table where you planned your lives were now home to chipmunks who chewed what was left. As the walls that gave you comfort chipped away into dirt gathered slowly on the floor you once danced on, you gave the house one last look as you locked the main door — locking every bit of memory you made into the decrepit, old house. “This house is such a waste,” the buyer sighed as you gave her the keys. “Have you told the other owner you sold it?” she asked.

“He agreed to it, don’t worry,” you smiled bitterly. “So, everything’s done, right?”

“Yeah, we’re all good,” the buyer said. “Do you want a picture with the house? For old times' sake?” the buyer offered.

You hesitantly agreed. Nothing’s bad with one last memory, right? You gave your phone to the buyer and posed in front of the main door. Tears were trying to escape from your eyes, but you pushed through.

You weren’t the type to dwell on the past. You knew that it would just do more harm than good. In your mind, Mingyu has probably moved on with someone new, with someone ready to marry him. Since you broke up, you and Mingyu haven’t seen each other for precisely 365 days. But since you both owned the house you sold earlier this morning, you had to give his share of the money. Did you dread seeing him? Yes. Did you want the Earth to swallow you up instead? Yes.

But you were also curious — curious to see what had changed.

Was he still wearing the necklace you gave him?

Probably not anymore.

Has he changed his hair color to brown? He always wanted to do that.

His hair is different.

Does he still love you?

Maybe, or not.

“Y/N,” a voice called you by a nickname only one knew. As you lifted your head, you saw Mingyu on the other side of the pedestrian lane. Still wearing the necklace, still the same hair color, still the same Mingyu you loved, yet still the same Mingyu you broke.

Without any hesitation, as soon as the walking green man appeared, Mingyu ran towards you as if you were still together — all smiles with a glint of hope shimmering in his eyes. “It’s starting to rain. Let’s go to my car.” Mingyu offered. Drops of rain started to come fast. You didn’t have much choice but to agree. His car was probably the last place you wanted to be in.

“I’ll just give you the cheque and call a cab,” you mumbled as you both got in the car. It was still the same — as if nothing had changed over the past year. The fuzzy dice you won at a festival were still dangling at the rear-view mirror, and the makeup holder you bought was still there, full of unused makeup you had left before you broke up. “You still kept this?” you chuckled, holding the makeup holder to check it. “Your girlfriend might not like this. You still have your exes’ stuff.”

“What girlfriend?” Mingyu asked. “I’m single.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t had any since, you know,” Mingyu whispered. “I tried, but I also couldn’t.”

You were shocked, to say the least. You imagined him being with someone. It was easier that way. Mingyu having someone new would’ve been better for you. At least you knew you didn’t have a chance. “How about you?” Mingyu asked, his gaze softened as you played with the hem of your shirt.

“Same,” you whispered. “My sister gave me a reality check. She told me I might break the next person like I broke you if I don’t fix myself,” you laughed.

“You didn’t break me, Y/N,” Mingyu promised, his hand itching to hold yours. “You never did.”

365 DAYS BEFORE.

The lights leading up to yours and Mingyu’s home illuminated the street perfectly. As you walked on the steep hill, coming back home from work was tiring, yet relaxing at the same time. Since the house was the farthest on the street, you and Mingyu had a fantastic view of the city — twinkling city lights, honking cars, and skyscrapers kissing the clouds. “You didn’t have to fetch me from the bus stop, babe,” you laughed as Mingyu carried your bags.

“It’s a different day.” Mingyu smiled. “I wanted to be different.”

As you reached your home, you did notice something different. The lawn was freshly cut, the poinsettias had tiny ribbons on them, and there was a faint smell of coconut and vanilla inside the house. “Did you do something?” you asked as you opened the door. You were right, there was something different.

Rose petals were scattered on the floor, candles illuminated the living room, red and pink balloons were floating on the ceiling, and the four words you avoided were plastered on the wall — waiting for an answer. “Mingyu,” you whispered, shocked at the scene before you. You turned around to see Mingyu on his knee, a diamond ring on his hand.

“I always knew that I wanted to marry you, that I wanted to be your husband. Right from the start, as you walked right in front of me during first day of college, right there and then, I knew you were the one.” Mingyu spoke with clarity, his gaze never leaving yours. “Y/N, will you allow me to spend eternity with you?”

“Mingyu,” you stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

365 DAYS AFTER.

“Still, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, tears finally escaping your eyes as you released all the emotions you’ve bottled up over the past year. “I just left. Without listening to you. Without saying anything. I was just scared, Mingyu,” you said. “I was scared that we would be like my parents. I know, it’s not an excuse, but still. I’m so sorry.”

“If you told me about this, I would’ve understood, Y/N.” Mingyu fretted, finally letting his hand touch yours without any hesitation or doubts. “I love you, that’s all that matters. If you were scared about us becoming your parents, so be it. I’ll do what they didn’t do, fight for us.”

“I’m sorry,” you finally sobbed loudly, your shoulders relaxed as you tightened your grip on Mingyu’s hand. “Please forgive me.”

“You never had to say sorry, Y/N,” Mingyu said as he wiped the tears on your cheeks. “Can we start again?” Mingyu asked.

“One year was too long, Gyu,” you laughed. “We could just hit play again. I mean, it feels like nothing has changed. We’re still the same.”

As you both let your bottled-up emotions out, Mingyu grabbed your face and kissed your lips softly, a part of your face he knew all too well.

“Still the same.” Mingyu smiled.

[lvnleah]

heyyyy, could i request an alessia x r maybe christmas fic? something to do with an arsenal christmas team bonding, where alessia picks r's name and the gift she gets outs their relationship to the team 🧡

secret santa | Alessia Russo

thank you for this request!

The idea of a Secret Santa had come up during a particularly gloomy December training session. The rain had been pelting down, and Beth had piped up mid-lap, “Why don’t we do something festive? Secret Santa! Everyone loves a good Secret Santa.”

By the time training ended and everyone was huddled in the locker room drying off and warming up, Kim had already taken charge, organizing names on slips of paper and stuffing them into a beanie that belonged to Lotte. 

“Alright,” she said, getting everyone’s attention. “Everyone gets one pick, no swapping.”

You sat on the bench, hair still damp from the shower, watching as your teammates took turns pulling names. You were relatively new to the team, having transferred in July, but they’d welcomed you with open arms. Still, there was a lingering feeling of being the “newbie,” even after months of training and matches.

“Your turn!” Caitlin nudged you with a grin, handing you the beanie. You reached in, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it.

Kyra.

You suppressed a smirk. Of course. Having played alongside Kyra for years with the Matildas, you knew her well enough to craft the perfect gift—well, more like the perfect joke gift. You tucked the paper into your pocket as Beth clapped her hands together.

“Now remember,” Beth said, grinning mischievously, “the point of this is fun. Get creative, but don’t spend too much, yeah?”

Alessia, sitting on the bench across from you, was fiddling with her shin pads, looking far too nonchalant. You caught her eye, and she gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile that made your stomach flip. 

Since you’d started dating in September, it had been a constant challenge to keep things low-key around the team. You weren’t hiding your relationship, exactly—it just hadn’t come up yet. However, Alessia’s stolen glances and subtle touches were starting to get noticed, and you knew it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out.

Fast forward to the night of the Christmas party at Kim’s house. The team had gone all out with festive jumpers, Santa hats, and enough food and drink to feed a small army. You arrived with Kyra and Alessia, laughing as Kyra complained about how you’d forced her to wear a ridiculous Christmas sweater with a kangaroo wearing a Santa hat on it.

“C’mon, it’s on-brand,” you teased, nudging her as you stepped inside.

Kim’s house was warm and inviting, the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, and the sound of Christmas songs playing softly in the background. The team was already scattered around, laughing and chatting. Alessia was by the fireplace, holding a glass of wine, and your heart did its usual flip when she smiled at you. She looked good—too good, really, in her navy jumper with little snowflakes embroidered on it.

“Here we go!” Beth clapped her hands, gathering everyone into the living room. “Secret Santa time!”

You felt your nerves spike. You weren’t worried about your gift for Kyra—it was meant to be a joke, after all. What worried you was Alessia. She’d been suspiciously tight-lipped about who she’d gotten, and that smug grin she’d given you earlier in the week didn’t inspire confidence.

Kyra went first. She unwrapped the small box you’d handed her and burst out laughing when she pulled out the custom t-shirt with a photo of her on it that read: “Kyra Cooney-Cross: Professional Pest” in bold letters.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” she said, holding it up for everyone to see as the room erupted into laughter.

“You’re welcome,” you said with a mock bow, earning an elbow to the ribs from Kyra.

Steph chuckled, “The perfect shirt for the pest!”

One by one, the gifts were opened. Some were thoughtful, others outright ridiculous. Beth had gotten Katie a bottle of Guinness with a bow on it. Lotte had gifted Beth a cardboard cutout of Viv. 

Finally, it was your turn. Kim handed you a neatly wrapped box, and you immediately knew it was from Alessia. You glanced at her across the room, and she was biting her lip, clearly trying not to smile.

With everyone’s eyes on you, you carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside was a small, framed photo. At first, you didn’t understand what you were looking at. It was a picture of your dog, Frankie, wearing a tiny Arsenal kit. But beneath the photo was a handwritten note, framed beautifully:

“For our little family. Love, Alessia.”

Your heart stopped. You stared at the frame, your face heating up as the room went silent for a beat. Then, of course, the questions started.

“Wait, what?” Katie blurted out, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Our little family?” Beth repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Leah raised an eyebrow, “Wait are you— Are you two? No…are you a thing—”

Kyra gasped dramatically, interrupting Leah. “Are you two…together?!”

Alessia, who had been grinning like a Cheshire cat, finally spoke up. “Yeah,” she said simply, her voice light but confident. “We are.”

The room erupted into chaos. Beth cheered. Katie demanded to know how long this had been going on. Lotte just laughed, shaking her head like she’d suspected it all along.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This was not how I wanted to tell you all.”

“Oh, come on,” Kim said, smirking. “It was obvious. You two are terrible at being subtle.”

Alessia crossed the room to stand beside you, slipping her arm around your waist. “Well, now you know,” she said, her smile softening as she looked at you. “Merry Christmas?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into her. “Merry Christmas, Less.”

And despite the teasing and questions that followed, you couldn’t deny that it felt good—like a weight had been lifted. The team knew, and they were happy for you. It wasn’t how you’d planned it, but it was perfect all the same.

[sillymusings]

summary: Spencer and you haven't been dating for long, but you decide you're ready to take the next step together.

word count: 2241 words

a/n: My first fic on here so I hope you like it!!

Spencer had always known that the world could be a dark place. He had never quite been naive, but years as a profiler in the FBI had shown him just how evil mankind could be. It was something of a domino effect. Cause and effect, or often cause and consequence, suggested that everything connected. As a profiler and a "perceived" genius —he still had his doubts about whether intelligence could be accurately quantified—it was in his nature and training to notice these connections. 

Years in the field had shown him how easy one could be consumed by the weight of it all. It was a constant exercise, he had realized, to not become jaded and hold onto hope. He'd had introspective conversations with his teammates before about the hollowness he felt after cases sometimes and all their advice had circled back to one key idea: find things you love and hold onto them like crazy. And Spencer realized that for all the pain, and the evil, and the hate, there were just as many things that he loved. He loved learning and teaching. He loved magic and ghost stories. He loved making a difference. He loved the team and he loved his mom. And he loved you.

You had only joined the team a year prior, but the closeness that had developed between you and them felt like you had known each other for decades. Spencer was the person you had grown close to the quickest. One month into working at the BAU, you were already trading book recommendations and tagging along with him to foreign film festivals where he would give an added bonus of simultaneous whisper translations for the movies without subtitles. You'd had a crush on him immediately, of course. How could you not? Spencer was kind and tender. He was so incredibly knowledgeable, but he wasn't a know-it-all. He didn't display his knowledge as an act of superiority but rather as a form of sharing. His rants made you inexplicably happy because it was like he was giving you leeway into seeing what fascinated him and why. The more he said, the more you understood him, and the more you liked him.

Almost like winning the lottery, he liked you back. You started dating two months into your time at the BAU. He asked you out with a magic trick because he knew how much you loved it when he performed them. He eventually revealed that he had spent weeks stressing about how to do it and it wasn't until Derek suggested using something that made him "feel like an expert" that he had gotten the idea. Eight months later, you were going strong, seeking any opportunity to escape into romantic bliss. There was never a boring day spent between the two of you. You went to movies and conventions. You read books together. Between cases, you played Chess and Go on the jet (he usually won, but you were getting better) and you took lots and lots of naps. Your lockscreen was a photo that Derek had taken of the two of you napping. Spencer had his arm around you as your head rested on his shoulder, the two of you fast asleep. 

Then there were the days like this. Another case had wrapped up in Vegas and you'd been on a journey to cheer Spencer up because you knew that cases in his home state were always a little bit tougher on him. You'd insisted that the two of you request an extra day and Spencer had shown you all the nooks and crannies he hung out in throughout adolescence. You noticed that those spots were a bit more isolated, away from the places that he pointed out his classmates had frequented. Spencer had told you the awful stories of what it was like to be in high school as a 12-year-old genius and let's just say that you hoped—for their sake—that you would never run into any of those people. You hadn't exactly been "miss popular" in high school either, so you knew that it wasn't super accommodating to those that deviated from the status quo. 

Afterward, you went to see his mom for the first time. You talked for a couple of hours and to Spencer's chagrin, she told you the things that he had said about you in his letters to her. She's intelligent, and witty, and beautiful, mom. And when I'm with her I don't get nervous that she'll think I'm too much or too little, but I get the sense that she thinks I'm exactly enough. She's exactly enough for me, anyway. Spencer's cheeks had turned bright red and the look of appreciation on your face and your adoring teasing had done nothing to hide the overwhelming love that you had for this man, not that you wanted it to. When Spencer stepped out to use the restroom, Diana took your hands.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For loving him. For reminding him that it's okay to want and need love. For reminding him that he deserves to be happy. This life is short, this world is so dark, and love is the only thing that makes any of it worth it."

It was early in the evening when the two of you finally left, wandering into a nearby park. You sat on the worn wooden bench with your sides pressed together and your hands intertwined. Your mind was racing. Maybe it was because his mother's words kept playing in your head even after you said your goodbyes. Maybe it was the remnants of the last case you’d been on, which, outside of the sour taste it had left in your mouths, had carried along the promise that tomorrow wasn’t given. Or maybe it was a combination of all of it. 

Your hands cradled his face, hearts full and lips flushed from the kiss you’d just shared. 

“What is it?” Spencer asked, softly. He knew that inquisitive look of yours, the furrow of your eyebrows that was the physical manifestion of the gears shifting in your brain.

It was normal for what was on the other side of that to take him by surprise. Sometimes it was fun facts you had learned and wanted to share with him because you were on a mission to find something that he didn’t already know, a silly challenge between the two of you. Other times, it was something more outrageous. Would he love you if you were a worm, or a spider, or a bird? 

At first, he struggled not to focus on the unrealistic nature of the questions, but over time he mastered the art of conversations with you. If you were a worm, he would make you a beautiful garden that you could live in. If you were a spider, he would never get rid of your web (to which you had scrunched up your nose in disgust). If you were a bird, he would build you a bird house. You giggled each time, flattered by the answers he gave and grateful that he loved you enough to be silly with you. 

And your laugh, gosh it made him feel like he was ten feet tall. How lucky he was to be loved by a woman like you. One that was so kind, so intelligent, so captivating. The questions were ridiculous but he loved them because he loved you. Yet, nothing had ever surprised him as much as the words that came out of your mouth next.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” His eyes, big and brown, searched yours for some sort of sign that you were pulling a prank on him. You had been known to pull a practical joke or twenty. You were a fun girl, really. But this wasn't one of your pranks. In fact, you had quite possibly never been this serious or sure of anything in your life. 

“I know that it seems sudden, and maybe it is in a way, but who’s to say that’s not the point? To act on your love when you have it? I don’t want another gruesome case or a tragedy or even aliens to descend on earth when I am not your wife.” You knew that Spencer could probably give you some statistic about how marriages that happened too soon were more likely to end in divorce, but statistics couldn't account for the way your heart raced when he looked at you like you were everything that was good and beautiful in this world. And you knew that when looked at you like that, with the same eyes that had seen horror after horror and the ways that this world could be twisty, he meant it. 

You could be very forward. You knew that. It had gotten you into trouble a time or two, branding you as being “difficult” or “intimidating”, but you had always believed it to be one of the things that Spencer loved most about you. You had a fiery spirit that insisted you always spoke your mind. But seeing the look on his face at that moment made it hard not to think that you took it too far sometimes. 

You let out an awkward laugh, wondering how you could take words back that you had meant so deeply. “I’m sorry. That was silly. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.” 

You started to retract your hands, hoping that that your eyes weren’t bright with embarrassment and that the rejection that you feared would swallow you whole wasn’t emanating off of you in waves. Spencer wouldn’t say it if he could feel it. He was a good guy, empathetic, and kind. He didn't derive pleasure in hurting others. 

Before your hands were fully out of sight, he gently pulled them back to him.

“Honey,” the word laced with tender intonation, the same one he always used when he spoke to you. “I’m not saying no, I-I just. . .” 

Sometimes words weren’t enough. He let go of one of your hands and reached into the brown leather jacket you had gotten him, pulling out a black velvet box. You felt your breath hitch. “I just couldn’t believe that you beat me to the punch,” he smiled nervously. He stood from the bench and got on one knee in front of you.

“Oh, Spence, you don’t have to do–"

“Baby, this is one tradition I’ve always wanted to keep.” And so you let him.

“Y/N L/N, I used to worry that I wouldn't know enough about romantic love to notice it if it ever came. I always wanted to fall in love and start a family, but I worried that my childhood or my job or the terrible things that had happened in my life would stand in the way. But when you came into my life, it all became clear. You always describe yourself as a tornado, but honey, that’s nowhere close to accurate. What you are is a paradigm shift, a critical shift in approach.” You laughed because only Spencer Reid would use science to propose to someone. It was so niche and unusual and exactly what you had never known you wanted. “You shifted how I saw the world, how I saw myself, and how I saw my life. Now, I can never go back and I never want to. I love you. I love you so much that I've searched in science and literature and art, but nothing comes close to describing it. And just like right now, you remind me that there is never a right enough time to wait to show someone that you love them. There is only the present. I might not know whether there will be a tomorrow, but if there is one, there is no doubt in my mind that I want to spend it with you.”

"Wow," You breathed. "I love you so much it hurts. And this is crazy. We haven't even been dating that long." You didn't know why you said it. Maybe for the need to point out some time down the line that you'd had some semblance of rationality in the moment. That some part of you had considered the weirdness of it all. But let's face it, you had already made your decision. You threw rationality out the window the moment you met this man. 

"Hey, you just asked me!" Spencer laughed.

You nodded. "I've always been crazy though. But you. . .I've made you crazy!"

"Yeah, you have. I like to believe that it was always inside of me and I just needed someone to bring it out. Will you keep being that person for me? For the rest of our lives?" 

Gosh, your voice had never trembled the way it did as you muttered yes after yes after yes. 

There were tears in his eyes and tears in your eyes. His hands shook as he pulled the ring out (a center-piece diamond like you’d always dreamed) and your hands shook as he slipped the ring onto your finger and he kissed you like something out of a film. It was perfect. He was perfect.

You strolled out of the park that night with the love of your life, your heart bursting with love, and a beautiful rock. 

“Technically, I proposed to you first and we have to tell everyone that now, okay?” You instructed. 

He smiled. “Anything you want, baby.”

[leonsliga]

I love that thomas and manu ship themselves. with a lot of other duos, it's just wishful thinking (totally fine) but their friendship? god <3 so real. the pictures, the "we've been married for 15 years", the interviews... why so romantic if not romantic lol in another universe, they are 100% together

Right? Everything’s so easy and natural with them. And while I don’t mind a bit of wishful thinking myself, the bond Manu and Thomas have is so authentic and genuine that it’s hard not to get a least a little sappy about them. And there’s just. so. much. lore. Even setting aside the iconic decade partners Instagram post and Thomas saying they’ve been married for 15 years, we’ve had so many moments that just really only make sense with them. Like when Thomas named one of his colts Manuel because he was born on Manu’s birthday, or how, during Bayern’s dominant 2012/13 season, Thomas would train with Manu during matches to keep his reflexes sharp. Or, well, just about any of what they said about each other here:

And, along those lines, sometimes they say things that just have such old married couple undertones that it’s genuinely hard to interpret them any other way, like the time reporters asked Manu if he would go golfing with Thomas at the DFB training camp and he replied with “I can’t golf. I could carry his luggage or whatever.” Or the time Thomas was asked about Manu’s perfect match against Porto back in his Schalke days and he immediately remembered his platinum blonde hair from back then. And then of course there’s the time Manu said Thomas was more than a teammate for him (aka Neuller heritage).

We also can’t forget when the two were decorating Bayern’s Christmas tree in 2015 and Thomas asked Manu if he holds onto the ornament baubles as tightly as he would a match ball (translation: Thomas wanted Manu to hold onto his baubles tightly 😏). Or how, when asked about whether or not Thomas would like to be Bayern’s official captain one day, Thomas was quick to reply, “I hope not. I’ve always tried to take responsibility in the team, but Manu is very welcome to remain my captain until the end of my career.” (in case you needed more proof that these two were robbed).

But that married couple-ness isn’t just in their words; it’s in their actions too. Take any of the times they’ve held hands during matches, or all the loving face cradling, head rubs, and head pats. And of course, the hugs. The many, many hugs. Especially from the side, so Thomas can grab onto Manu’s waist.

Also, I refuse to let any of you overlook that time Thomas gave Manu a full-on neck message in the tunnel (which, I might add, Manu was so unfazed by that it’s hard not to wonder if this had happened before).

And while we’re at it, talking about niche Neuller moments and all, there was that time they might very well have kissed behind a poorly-timed German flag back in 2010. And all their other Euro 2012 qualifier shenanigans that same year.

Fast-forwarding a bit to the 2012/13 season, and we were in for a treat; we had Thomas pulling a Luis Suárez and going in for a little nibble on Manu’s arm. Because not even the great Thomas Müller is immune to the cute aggression Manuel Neuer inspires.

Also, what about the time Manu got absolutely piss-drunk during the treble celebrations that same season and decided he needed to hug Thomas IMMEDIATELY? Or how we got the closest thing to an actual kiss we might ever get when Thomas kissed him on the cheek here?

Honestly, 2013 was Bayern’s year in more ways than one, because not only did it bring us the treble, it also brought us this iconic verse in the Neuller gospel:

But let’s get back to the way they talk about one another, because it doesn’t matter what the situation is—they always back each other. Before the 2014 World Cup even started (and Manu all but fingered him during the post-win festivities), he was already convinced Thomas would be the key to their success—a sentiment that carried over to club level, where he insisted Thomas was the linchpin in Bayern’s attack.

With Manu, it’s often the little things that speak volumes, like trusting in Thomas’ fitness, his ability to influence a match, and his importance for Bayern. He’s quick to remind everyone that Thomas always stands up for the team, that he’s dangerous regardless of position, and that his constant communication is a game-changer. As Manu would put it, “we (Bayern) need Thomas”.

Even when Thomas fell out of favor at Bayern for a time, Manu rushed to his defense, reminding everyone that “he’s a mature player who doesn’t buckle so easily”, and, despite dealing with a lot of criticism, Thomas remained important for the squad and was always in demand (in one way or another). Put another way, he had faith that Thomas could handle it.

For Thomas’ part, he has no problem casually reminding everyone that he thinks Manu is the number 1 goalkeeper in the world, that he makes a good striker, and, even though there are many good goalkeepers, Manu is special—just a step above the others and superb on the ball.

When his mans was shafted for FIFA World Player of the Year in 2015, Thomas knew just what to say: even if Manu didn’t win, he was the FIFA World Player in his heart. In fact, his decade partner was pretty much the reason Thomas felt so confident going into Bayern’s 2020 Champions League tie versus PSG; after all, in his words, “we’ll still have Manuel Neuer between the sticks”, a sentiment he echoed after they won.

And let’s not forget about that time a reporter asked Thomas to weigh in on the debate of who should be Germany’s number 1: Neuer or Ter Stegen. Thomas’ answer was immediate: “It’s a difficult decision, of course, but Manu has always been my goalkeeper. That’s why I’m standing by him.” Long story short, they’re always in each other’s corners, and they make no secret of it.

The point is, even when they make mistakes, they’re each other’s most fervent protectors. If the world is against them, then at least they still have each other and always will. Take Manu conceding against Gladbach, a team many would consider to be our goatkeeper’s kryptonite; Thomas was quick to remind the media that he’d saved Bayern’s points plenty of times in the past, and that this time, he just didn’t have as much to do before the goal and was probably a bit cold at the time.

Then you’ve got Manu on the other side of the things, supporting his husband’s rights and his husband’s wrongs, speculating that his red card (yes that one) was because he didn’t see Tagliafico and pretty much already had his foot up, aiming for the ball.

Hell, even when Manu was out of commission for a majority of the 2022/23 season (due to his nearly career-ending injury), Thomas visited him in rehab every day, no doubt for emotional support (and so he could tell his husband his best dad jokes). Although Manu was away from the squad physically, he was there in spirit; Thomas made sure of that, posting Manu’s autograph card from that season above his locker:

But it’s more than sticking around in each other’s darkest moments; they celebrate each other’s achievements too. Whenever Manu wins anything (and I mean anything), guess who’s first in line to congratulate him. It doesn’t matter if it’s World’s Best Goalkeeper, best goalkeeper of the 2019/20 Champions League season, FIFPro World 11, or even his DFB Pokal performance, Thomas will be posting about it (and probably already has). It doesn’t even have to be football-related, like when Manu was awarded the Bavarian State Medal for Social Merit for his charity work. Hell, even when Manu was one of the 3 FIFA World Footballer of the Year finalists, he was overwhelmed with pride (chill babe, the results weren’t even in yet). But by far my favorite instance of these two celebrating each other’s victories actually came from Manu: when he made sure the squad celebrated Thomas’ milestone 500th win with Bayern and refused to let him even try to be modest about it.

Honestly, let’s face it: we could make an entire separate post about all of the Neuller content that came out of Thomas’ 500th win. We had Manu running the length of the pitch to celebrate Thomas’ goal in that milestone match, Manu’s comments in his post-match presser, Thomas’ special thank you to Manu after the fact, the “married for 15 years” comment, and a new Neuller ad where Manu gave Thomas a special anniversary gift…there was so much content that it was almost overwhelming. We were so well fed that week 🥹

Also, speaking of Manu’s comments in his post-match pressers, I’m pretty sure at least a good 1/4 of Manu’s love language is praising Thomas in them, as you can see here, here, here, and here. The rest is him basically reciting his glorified wedding vows to anyone who will listen (and physical touch, duh).

Then you’ve got Thomas turning every Instagram story he can into him gushing over his Schnapper’s skills:

And he has no problem following Manu’s lead either, waxing poetic about his man in post-match interviews.

For as much praise as they heap on one another to the press though, they’re also no strangers to openly flirting with each other as well, if you couldn’t tell from that video from the Audi FCB Tour at the beginning. So, in that spirit, lovely people of the jury, I present to you exhibit A, where Manu told Thomas he’d “given himself a present 😉” after his 400th Bundesliga appearance (whatever tf that means).

Alright, now onto exhibit B: Thomas posting a picture with his two dogs and Manu asking “who’s more handsome”, only for Thomas to answer, “you, dog 😀”. Get a room you two!

Oh, you need more evidence, you say? Well, I’ve got you covered. Have a pic of Thomas brazenly checking out Manu’s ass, because not even he can resist the biggest bakery in Germany.

What’s that? You still need more? Well, aren’t you demanding! But don’t worry, there’s more blatant homoeroticism to come, because here we have exhibit D, where Thomas called doubles tennis with Manu “a dream come true”:

Actually, speaking of doubles tennis with Manu, I’m pretty sure this clip was the inspiration for the movie Challengers. The DFB has yet to confirm this of course, but I have no doubt that that confirmation is coming any day now 😉

Anyways, Neuller is so real and so powerful that at one point Bayern just caved and started funding some club-sanctioned dates. Usually they’re chaperoned (because Bayern might be a little homophobic with it—either that or they don’t trust Thomas not to try and conquer Manu any time they’re left to their own devices—it’s a toss-up really) by the likes of Basti, Mats, or even half the squad (see: 2022 Audi Summer Games). But not always. Sometimes we get Schafkopf dates (because they’re literal senior citizens and their date nights are just them playing cutesy little card games like the old bitties they are).

But anyways, back to our regularly scheduled shipping nonsense, because we still have exhibit E to go through: one day Thomas decided to make Manu’s goalkeeper training a little extra special by showing up shirtless (pretty sure the point of goalkeeper training is to keep him focused, not distract him with your lean, muscular body, Thomas, but I digress):

And lastly, I believe this gem deserves at least an honorable mention:

Let’s take a minute for Manu’s “Schnapper” nickname as well, which, although it may not be one that originated with Thomas, I think we can all agree he’s made it his own. After all, he uses it pretty much every time he talks about him.

As a brief little side note though (I feel like a lawyer giving my closing statements atp 😅), I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that Thomas literally follows a Neuller fan account. Whether it’s intentional on his part or not, it’s still a fun addition to the lore.

So, in conclusion, if not romantic ship, why romantic ship-shaped? 🥺 I’m with you; in another universe, perhaps one not so distant from ours, they got married and grew old together, settling into a house in the mountains, surrounded by horses and doggos. I’m just glad they found each other in this universe at least, because, as it turns out, a Schalker and a Bayern Ultra make one hell of a dream team ❤️

They didn’t know it yet, but they’d go on to coparent the most dominant and successful club in Germany

[arietem]

dear 3 am, we have got to stop meeting this way

part 2 of oh, it's you (jj maybank x shoupe!reader)

summary: bumping into jj two times in as many days? you can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse

cw: none

masterlist

part 1

Slamming your locker shut, you sigh and rub your tired eyes. Another night with barely any sleep was catching up with you now. There was no particular reason why you couldn’t fall asleep for hours, other than the general sense of dread that was sitting on your chest. With summer break around the corner, you had only a little time left to submit your short film for the chance to be featured at the open-air festival in November.

You have too many ideas, so little time, and your thoughts are scrambled all over the place. So, you figured you could skip gym class today and go to the library to try and make an outline of your project. You pull your hat over your eyes more, wishing the lights weren’t so damn bright. Not only feeling like shit, but probably looking like it too, you just keep your head down, focused on getting to your destination.

The universe must hate you, there is no other explanation to why the hell is JJ Maybank at the damn library right now. You just know the boy has never been seen there in all the four years of high school, so why the hell is he here now? Have you accidentally cursed yourself? Who is messing with your damn voodoo doll right now? Thankfully, he has headphones over his ears, and his eyes are closed. Trying to bring as little attention to you as possible, you pick the furthest desk from his and take out your notebook.

Well, too bad you have absolutely no inspiration at the moment and nothing seems to sound good enough for the festival. Your phone is full of clips and half-assed scripts that lead to nowhere and that you can’t freaking finish.

Urgh! Exasperated, you turn your hat around and rest your forehead on the desk, the familiar dread filling your chest again. How are you ever gonna leave this place if you can’t even do this thing you love right?

“Must be my lucky day, running into ya again.” There is that southern drawl, bringing you out of your anxiety-induced haze. The lights are still too bright, and your eyes feel like you have sand behind your lids. Blinking harshly a few times, you turn to JJ.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you say and immediately cringe. It seems you can’t talk to him without somehow offending him.

JJ, who doesn’t seem bothered by your statement, continues talking, “just waiting for Pope and John B.” He grins at you, his pupils just a little bit too big. “Don’t tell the library lady, but I may be a liiittle high right now.” JJ gestures with his fingers to indicate how little high he is.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you motion, locking your lips and throwing away the key. His grin is so infectious you can’t help but smile too, even though your head is pounding and begging you to lock yourself in your room and turn off all the lights.

“I better go now - “ you say. “Whatcha working on?” says JJ at the same time.

“Uhh, a project for this film festival in the fall, but I am sucking so bad and have no idea what to even do and fuck, it’s a long story and you probably don’t even care.” You say all of that too fast, and JJ does that confused puppy head tilt, and all it does in turn is confuse you because now you have a different emotion in your chest that is not anxiety at all.

“I’m sorry, I have a killer headache, and I am saying nonsense apparently. I’m gonna go.” You gather your stuff as quickly as you can and start walking away from him for the second time in as many days when he grabs your wrist.

“Wait. Y/n, right?” You nod. “I have just the remedy for your headache,” he taps his front pocket, “just don’t tell your dad.” He winks at you, and fuck, you promised yourself you would stay away. But, at the end of the day you are just a girl and he is JJ fucking Maybank.

“Yes, please,” you sigh and realize he is still holding your wrist. JJ salutes you and tugs you out of the library. Once in the hallway, he lets go of your hand. You lightly rub the place his fingers were just a second ago, feeling their absence.

"Um, are your friends gonna mind that I usurped your hang out?"

"Nah, the more the merrier," JJ says with an easy smile. He starts walking toward the parking lot, where you can see John B and Pope in the distance.

"Yo, meet my new friend, Y/n." JJ does the handshake with the boys and you just stand there, unsure what you're supposed to do. You decide to just wave, even though it comes out awkwardly as hell. Your head still hurts so you can't even bring yourself to be bothered by it.

Pope speaks up first, "oh yeah, you're Shoupe's daughter, right? I'm Pope."

"Yep, that's me, nice to meet you," you say prepared for the usual spiel regarding your dad, but none of that comes. John B is quiet, but then snaps his fingers, "you're in my math class. I'm John B."

Honestly surprised he knows, you widen your eyes, "yeah, I'm usually in the back cause I have no idea what's going on." You try to shake your head to indicate you are making fun of yourself, but wince halfway.

You notice JJ looking at you with a somber expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" Pope takes a step toward you, kinda acting like he's approaching a wounded animal.

JJ jumps in before you can answer, "she's okay, we have a project to work on, see ya later guys!" He all but drags you away, and you can't do anything but let yourself go, waving to the boys.

After you two take a corner and are now at the back of the building, shaded by two huge trees, you ask him, "what was that?" You take off your hat and shake out your hair, trying to relieve some of the tension.

"I dunno, you seemed pretty on the spot there."

"Well, yeah, you put me there," you huff.

JJ bows his head slighty and glances up at you through his lashes. "Take this as a token of apology m'lady," he takes out the joint and presents it to you on the palm of his hand.

You look around the place before asking, "we're gonna do it here? What if somebody sees us?"

"Ah, what's life without a little danger?" JJ raises an eyebrow at you and puts the joint in his mouth. "It's fine, no teacher comes here and they can't smell it either."

His long ringed fingers expertly hold the joint and you are mesmerized by the sight of him inhaling. After a few seconds, he exhales through his nose, passing the joint to you.

You've never done this with someone, usually smoking alone somewhere. The nervousness gets the better of you and, of course, the smoke stings your lungs uncomfortably and you start coughing.

"Woah, you okay?" That question, again. You nod rapidly, the coughs gradually subsiding. You feel a hand on your back and register it as JJ rubbing gentle circles.

You wave a hand at him, "I'm fine. I swear this is not my first time."

"No biggie," he smiles wide at you. His pupils grow even more and you feel your body relaxing, feeling more at ease.

You spend some more time passing the joint back and forth and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "has anybody ever tell you you have the most magnificent eyes?"

"You think my eyes are magnificent?" JJ's look is inquisite and you feel naked in front of him again.

An idea forms in your head and you just may have found the concept for your short film. Without answering his question, you throw out one of your own, "do you want to be in my movie?"

part 3 (coming soon)

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

(Pre bottom surgery) hyun-ju finds out reader was selling bad things so she could get bottom surgery (you choose what reader was selling)

(Juicy, i like it)

Sold!

Character: Cho Hyun-Ju X fem!reader

Summary: Above :))

Warnings: Talk of bottom surgery, reader selling stuff, and a sad Hyun-Ju

Hyun-Ju knew something was off when she noticed your closet looking... sparse.

Not just tidy. Emptying.

It started small. A few high heels gone. A designer purse you swore you’d never part with. She chalked it up to spring cleaning.

But then your favorite laptop was missing from the desk. The one covered in stickers from all the cafes and festivals you’d taken it to. Your vanity was bare — no necklaces, no rings, not even the gold bracelet she gave you last year.

And she found the receipts.

Tucked under the microwave, behind the ramen packets — a pile of folded receipts from resale shops. Designer consignment. A pawn shop, even. Listed were things she recognized too well.

Hyun-Ju stood in the kitchen holding the paper, her hands trembling. It wasn't the receipts that made her chest ache.

It was the note scribbled on one of them:

“Not worth more than your happiness. I love you.”

She didn’t know how long she stood there, frozen, until the sound of keys at the door jolted her. You came in humming softly, bags of groceries in hand, cheeks pink from the wind.

“Hey, Jagiya,” you said cheerfully, kicking off your shoes. “They had strawberries on sale—”

“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

You blinked, smile fading. “What… what do you mean?”

Hyun-Ju held up the receipts.

“You’re selling your things.”

A beat. Then another.

You sighed, gently setting the grocery bags down. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

She shook her head, trying to piece together her emotions — frustration, guilt, heartbreak, love — all tangled and raw in her chest.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do that? That was your stuff. Your laptop. Your jewelry. You loved that coat.”

“I love you more,” you said plainly.

That stopped her. Your voice wasn’t dramatic or flowery. Just honest. Like the sky telling you it would rain soon.

“I know how long you’ve waited. How many times you’ve had to pause, or settle for consultations you didn’t feel safe with. How you say it doesn’t define you, but how your voice breaks when you're quiet for too long.” You stepped closer, gently taking the receipts from her hand. “I have stuff. You have dysphoria. I don’t need stuff.”

“But it’s not your job to—”

“It’s our life, Hyun-Ju.”

Your voice was soft, but sure.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing for existing. I want to help you feel at home in your body. I want you to wake up and not flinch at the mirror. I want you to have everything you’ve been scared to want too much.”

Her eyes filled fast, tears trembling on her lashes.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Of the surgery. Of something going wrong. Of not being enough afterward. Of… of not deserving it.”

“You’re already enough.”

You wrapped your arms around her and pulled her to your chest.

“You don’t have to earn your own body.”

She buried her face in your shoulder. The receipts crinkled between you both, but neither of you let go.

“Let me do this for you,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you the way you always try to take care of me.”

Hyun-Ju clutched your shirt in both hands.

And for once, she let herself be held without guilt.