#We were talking yesterday and we talked today

[undead-moth]

The male loneliness epidemic isn’t a good example.

People in general are lonely right now, but people are choosing to center men’s loneliness as though it’s exceptional. That is the main reason why complaints about the “male loneliness epidemic” are so frustrating. Not because men “are too privileged to complain” but because the focus on their loneliness specifically over others’ is literally a product of the privilege they do have. Everyone’s loneliness deserves to be taken seriously, but only men’s actually is.

Nevermind that when people talk about the “male loneliness epidemic” they usually don’t mean genuine loneliness, as in isolation, deprived from human connection. If we were going to discuss who is facing the worst genuine loneliness due to isolation it would be disabled people, regardless of gender, hands down.

What they usually mean is romantic loneliness, as in there’s an epidemic of chronically single men. Often it’s not even about romantic loneliness, but literally about involuntary celibacy.

And this gets framed as a tragedy that women are inflicting upon them. It frames men as the victims of women not wanting to fuck them while simultaneously ignoring that given men are becoming increasingly right-wing, fascist, and even more misogynistic, women are becoming increasingly leftist and feminist, which means there’s a very obvious, understandable reason so many men are not getting laid. These men feel robbed - historically, men have been able to have their cake and eat it too. They were able to treat women however horribly they wanted while still being in relationships with women because women literally had no choice. Women today have more choice and men are experiencing that fall out and calling it an “epidemic.”

And there’s a very easy solution to this - men could be less shitty to women. But instead women are being side-eyed for not giving men enough love/sex and causing an “epidemic.”

“The patriarchy hurts men too.” God I wish just once I could see a post acknowledging patriarchy that doesn’t become about how patriarchy hurts men. You would honestly think men are the primary targets of patriarchy by looking at this site. I literally don’t think I’ve ever seen a post about patriarchy that’s not about how it hurts men, or doesn’t become about how it hurts men.

I constantly see people bring up how men are made to feel like they can’t cry, and need to bottle up their emotions, and “treat [women (be serious please)] like property.” Yesterday I even saw someone argue that men are “groomed into” hating women. Literally using the language of sexual assault to describe men allying with the ideology that ensures their privilege, again framing them as the victims.

I literally never see anyone acknowledging that men implemented patriarchy and uphold patriarchy, and virtually all of the harm done to them by patriarchy is, at the root, self-Inflicted. Men can choose not to be toxically-masculine. Women can’t choose not to experience misogyny. Though patriarchy does harm men, it also exclusively benefits them, and it benefits them far more than it hurts them, which is precisely why most of them choose to side with patriarchy their whole lives. Women are exclusively harmed by patriarchy, and they harmed by it far more than men are.

But of course, acknowledging this would require us to for a single moment consider that men are not oppressed under patriarchy and that all harm done to them under patriarchy is the result of friendly fire or unintentionally shooting themselves in the foot.

There is a loneliness epidemic right now and it’s an actual good example of what this post is talking about. Hell, even the fact that so many people are involuntarily celibate is an example of what this post is talking about. For both, you could argue that they’re groups that are “too privileged to complain” but both deserve to be heard. Men who are involuntarily celibate due to their allyship with patriarchy and don’t even know it even deserve some sympathy in my opinion, but only when we call it what it is and don’t end up putting the onus on women to solve it.

Ultimately, I just don’t think it’s fair to suggest people’s frustration with “the male loneliness epidemic” is about thinking men are too privileged to complain. That’s not the source of frustration there. The source of frustration there is that it ignores everyone else who is also lonely (in more ways than romantic or sexual), and faults women for not fulfilling men’s romantic and sexual desires.

Saying that a certain group of people is too privileged to complain about the way that things are is its own sort of defense of the status quo

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 02

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

3.9k words

Ch. 01 <- Ch. 02 -> Ch. 03

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd Period - Biology

4th Period - English

(5:00 -> Basketball game)

The thought of Biology class and working with Tim is already giving you a headache and there’s still 10 minutes till class starts.

You showed up a little early like you always do, and sat in the same seat as yesterday. Tim will probably sit beside you. Today is the only class you’ll get to work on the poster, and Mrs. Young's expectations for it are kinda insane.

She’s not even offering supplies. No poster paper, hardly any markers. Is this not the ‘best’ school in Gotham? you're not spending any of your hard earned money on a bio project.

Tim can get it.

He has like a gazillion dollars so there’s no reason for him to complain.

You scroll through your socials, but there’s still no sign of Tim. Shouldn’t he be here by now? There’s only a few more minutes to tell class.

<Tim>

So sorry y/n. There was an emergency last night, I can’t make it to class today.

You roll your eyes— great. You want to ask him how he got your number, but what were you supposed to say?

‘I know you didn’t get my number from Brandi. How’d you get it?’

It’s not normal, it’s so creepy. You feel the pit in your stomach grow— Jesus, you can’t be dealing with this on game day.

No one's gonna reprimand Tim Drake. Not the principal, not the teachers, In fact you might be the one to get in trouble. Defamation of character or something.

You sigh. You’ll just block him after Monday, get through this project and never talk to him again.

<y/n>

Ok I’ll do what I can. We can meet up on the weekend or smth.

Can u get the supplies?

<Tim>

Yeah we’ll make something work. It’ll be done for Monday

I should have some stuff laying around somewhere.

You scoff. Quickly shutting your phone off as the bell rings.

Mrs. Young starts talking, reminding everyone how this will be the only class period to work on the project that’s due Monday.

You stare at the empty desk. Your leg starts bouncing and your palms get shaky.

Focus. Just focus on something. Anything.

You can’t. Your mind just drifts to the game, how everything could go wrong.

You shift in your seat. Trying to focus on Mrs. Young’s voice.

Just get through class.

Before you know it you’re in the locker room. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you quickly splash cold water on your face. God— you look like a mess.

“Come on y/n, we gotta warm up in like 10 minutes” your teammate Cameron yells.

“Yeah I’ll be ready in a sec” you yell. Drying your face, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. The pit in your stomach grows bigger.

You’ve worked harder than most people to get here, just trust in your training. You’re the best shooting guard there on the team, there’s a reason this school wants you here.

You pep talk does little to ease your nerves, but there’s not much else you can do now.

You catch up with Cameron in the gym, and watch the other team warmup. “They’re not bad… But we’re better”. Their confidence is nice, but Cameron isn’t playing with the stakes you are.

“Yeah, We’ll be fine” you whisper, you don't know if you’re talking to Cameron or yourself.

You and your warm up. Running laps around doing shooting drills. Your muscle memory takes over.

Your breathing steadies, your mind is clear.

You shoot.

The swish of the net is like music to your ears.

slowly start gaining your confidence back. Warming up your 3 pointers and haven’t missed one yet.

Normally you’re a starter but Coach decided to bench you at the start. He wants you to get a feel for the opposing team.

“These games aren’t like the ones you’re used to playing” he says. His eyes never leave the court.

“They take training camps over the summer, their parents invest good money into them” he continues. It’s not hard to believe, their technique is unreal.

“But you have something they don’t” he pauses and you look up at him “you're strong, and you have raw talent… I can probably guess what was going through your head today. I just want you to know no matter what you're going to stay on my team.”

Everything disappeared at that moment. All your stress, nerves, regret, it was flooded out with a wave of relief and adrenaline.

Nothing mattered now all you had to do was play your favourite game.

The whistle blew and you switched places with E.J. “Show ‘em what you got Y/n” they patted you on the back.

you’ve never played harder. scoring shot after shot. You were in the zone.

You were having fun.

Gotham prep wins, 68 to 25.

The Subway home is short, nothing like the one you took this morning. You ride the high of winning, a small smile never leaving your face as you recall your best plays of the game. Your mind is filled with excitement and anticipation for your next game.

By the time you reach your apartment you’re exhausted, but as you go to unlock the door the key stops short. It’s already unlocked. That’s weird, mom was always triple checking the locks?

a shiver runs down your spine as you slowly push open the door.

The living room light is dim, The curtains are stapled closed. The T.V plays some static filled re-run, and you see her.

Your mom sits on the couch, hands clenched in her lap muttering something to herself.

You swallow “Hey mom I���m back from my game.” She doesn’t move.

You shut the door, making sure to lock it. “We won, I even got MVP”

Still nothing.

A pit forms in your stomach. You sigh as you drop your bag and slide off your sneakers. You slowly make your way to sit beside her. Your shoulders are touching. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t even acknowledge you.

you hate it.

“I was pretty nervous about playing” you continue, softer now. You know talking to her is futile, but maybe just maybe you could bring her back even for a second. “But coach said no matter what I’ll always be on his team” you say, your head drops onto her shoulder leaning closer into her.

She goes quiet and stares into the wall. Your eyes follow her gaze, nothing’s there. You look at the outdated wallpaper, peeling at the edges.

A lump forms in your throat, and the pit in your stomach grows bigger.

She loves Basketball. She taught you everything you know.

She’d always tell you stories about her games, how she was the best Center at Gotham public. You remember seeing her at every middle school game you had, and would always cheer the loudest. She’d ruffle your hair after every game and say “good job baby I’m so proud of you” You used to get so embarrassed about it.

Now she’s barely here.

The doctors said she would get better with the proper help and time, how she was ‘Luckier than most’.

But she’s not.

and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You know she needs more help than what the government is offering. Group meetings for fear toxin victims aren’t enough. She needs professional help, but insurance won't cover it and you can’t afford it with only a minimum wage job and her disability checks.

you clench your fists nails digging into your palms. It’s not fair. But nothing is ever fair in Gotham.

“I’m gonna make dinner mom” you get up slowly. Looking back at her, still nothing.

You’ll help her. You go to Gotham prep, almost any college will accept you just for that. You’ll build a good life for you and her.

But for now, all you can do is make sure she eats.

+++++

<Tim>

How’d the game go?

Tim exhaled sharply, glaring at Dick “You just gonna stare at my phone until she responds?”

”why else would I be here?” Dick lounged on the couch, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He tried to play it off but he was excited.

The living room was quiet with everyone doing their ‘own thing’— Bruce reading the paper, Cass pretending to read a book, Steph scrolling on her phone, Jason and Damian cleaning weapons— But no one was focused.

They were waiting.

The family knew how you did. All of them watched the live stream. They saw every shot you scored, every pass you made, everything.

They were proud.

“I still believe it’s insulting that the coach decided to bench them for the 1st period” Damian scoffed. “Their talent is wasted due to incompetence”.

”they won.” Jason said without locking up

”That’s not the point Todd”. Damian rolled his eyes, “they would’ve won either way.” Damian muttered. Truthfully he was disappointed he didn’t get to see you more.

Tims phone buzzed.

The sound made everyone’s attention snap to him.

<Y/N>

It was good we won and I got MVP

Dick read the text out loud. Tim snatched the phone back before anything else could happen.

“They're starting to share more, that’s good.” Bruce stated, Cass nodded her lips twitch into a small smile.

“Invite her over for tomorrow, I wanna be here when she comes” Dick said smugly, a smirk still present on his face.

Tim stayed quiet typing a response.

”I doubt Grayson would go back to Blüdhaven if they chose to come over Sunday” Damian Huffed.

Tim ignored them and hit send.

<Tim>

That’s good!

When are you free on the weekend?

<Y/n>

I work during the day I’m free after 6 tho

the library doesn’t close tell 9

Dick leaned over reading the text aloud. “You're not going to the library,” Jason scoffed. “Yeah, no” Dick said playfully. Tim rolled his eyes “yeah I know” he scoffed, they were too quick to jealousy.

he quickly typed a response.

<Tim>

I’m not really able to go anywhere, that’s why I wasn’t at school today

<Y/n>

wdym

<Tim>

I got my family to keep it out of the news, but I was attacked last night.

They wanted to take me for ransom.

Dick read the messages aloud. There was a moment of silence before he started laughing at Tims lame excuse. Jason and Steph couldn’t help but snicker to themselves, even Damian had a small grin.

Bruce just nodded in approval. You couldn’t know some thug shot him.

<Y/n>

Are you okay?

Tim’s face had a ghost of a smirk. You were worried about him.

<Tim>

yeah I’m fine

I can’t really leave my house until they catch the guys so would you be able to come over tomorrow at 6:30?

Silence filled the room. No one moved.

Everyone was waiting for your response. Growing more and more impatient. But it didn’t come.

Everyone held their breath. It felt like they were staring at the messages for an eternity.

Dick inhaled sharply. “they’re typing”

<Y/N>

yeah sure

<Tim>

great I’ll send you the address

The atmosphere of the room shifted. Everyone had a dark and calculated look as thoughts of tomorrow's plan raced through their mind.

“Everything prepared for tomorrow?” Asked Bruce his expression unreadable.

Damian Nodded “of course”

”Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Dick said playfully, but his eyes gleamed darker.

+++++

Work was more draining than usual.

The Batburger joint you worked at left much to be desired. Two of your coworkers came in high, and some lady yelled at you for forgetting to ‘jokerize’ her fry’s. you want nothing more than to be bedrotting at home.

instead you're here.

You made your way to Wayne Manor. Tim gave you the address, but it was just a formality. Everyone knows where they live.

There was a pit in your stomach as you walked. Your mind couldn’t help but drift— how did he get your number?

you thought of casual ways you might be able to ask him. Maybe bringing up the fact that Brandi didn’t know you were partners might prompt an explanation? Maybe a joke? The thought made you shiver.

As you ponder different ways to approach the situation, and possible escape plans in case things go south. You stopped.

you're here.

the front gate of Wayne Manor loomed over you. The gothic mansion looked even more scary as the sun was setting.

You shouldn’t be here.

But you were.

You pulled out your phone to check Tim’s message.

<Tim>

when you get there just hit the buzzer and someone will open the gate.

You look to the left to see a pin pad, and the buzzer. You reach to press it, but your finger hesitates.

You pause.

A cold sweat envelops you. You feel heavy. The weight of your uniform clings to your skin. The smell of oil and grease fills your nose.

Should you really do this?

You pull your hand back, it’s shaking.

Spinning on your heels to head home. You’ll text Tim, saying you had to go over time or something.

As you're walking back you think.

Bruce Wayne is a ‘billionaire playboy’, he’s kinda a ditzy guy, a philanthropist with too much money. He builds hospitals, funds schools and other good things.

There’s no way anything bad would happen with him there.

you huff turning around.

Back at the gate, your finger hovers over the buzzer again.

”you can do this” you mumble.

Just do it.

You press the button.

“Hello, How may I help you”

a posh voice asks through the speakers.

“Hi, uh. I’m here to see Tim we’re supposed to work on a project together. I don't know if he told you?” You answer meekly. You want to curl into a ball and hide.

“Ah, yes please come in y/n”

the intercom cut off.

your stomach tightened.

The metal clinked and rattled as the gates opened. He knows your name, guess Tim did tell everyone you were coming.

Once the gate is fully open it hits you. You’re at Wayne Manor. There’s a weight in your chest, your legs feel like lead.

Even so you carry on. One foot in front of the other, at least until you reach the front door.

You debate if you should knock again. The posh man did invite you in, but would it be rude if you just walked in?

Raising your fist about to knock. you hear something inside, as if someone is rushing to the door.

The door swings open, startling you just a little. You stare at the man in front of you. It’s Dick Grayson. He’s handsome Mid to late 20’s, messy hair, bright blue eyes and a boyish grin. you’ve seen him everywhere, T.V, magazines, and newspapers.

“You’re Y/n right?” He smiles— practiced, You’ve seen that smile hundreds of times.

“Uh, yeah” you answer. Once again, your voice is quieter than you’d like.

He didn’t seem to mind, he opened the door wider, welcoming you in. The faintest smirk plastered on his face.

”I’m Dick Grayson by the way” his introduction is like Tim’s, only for formality. He knows you know who he is. You slide your shoes off and look up at him.

“Nice to meet you” you smile, your voice more confident this time.

He pauses, then smiles back. It’s a different smile— it reaches his eyes.

“You as well… follow me I’ll show you Tim’s room” he starts walking, you’re quick to follow.

“So Tim said you’re on the basketball team” he asks. He leads you through the manor. It’s warmer than you’d imagine, family portraits and pictures hanging on the wall.

It takes you a second to realize he’s asking you a question. Looks like he wants to make small talk “uh.. yeah it’s pretty nice”

”That's good” he glances over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Tim told you but suppers at 7:15 tonight” Dick said casually.

You stumble.

Tim definitely did not mention that.

“I think he forgot to tell me…” you awkwardly laugh.

“He did!? I’ll yell at him later for it, don't worry” Dick laughs. That’s not what you were worried about.

A shiver ran up your spine. This changed everything, you were going to meet everyone.

You want to leave, to turn around and go home. Pretend everything is fine and this never happened.

He pauses in front of a door. “Anyways this is Tim’s room, I’ll see you for supper” and with that he continues walking down the hall.

It’s quiet. You could leave. Just walk away.

Your hand hovers over the door.

You got this, if anything goes wrong you’ll just run home. But nothings going to go wrong.

You knock. It’s silent for a moment.

“Come in”

The door creaked as you opened it, you cringe at the noise. You quickly scan the room before stepping in.

His room was neat almost too neat. Books stacked on a shelf with surgical precision. His desk was arranged like it was never used. There’s a few movie posters on the wall, generic ones, like they were placed to make the room look lived in.

Tim shutoff his laptop as soon as you stepped in.

the bandages wrapped around his waist are visible under his t-shirt. You try not to stare.

“Make yourself at home y/n, sorry I forgot to tell you about dinner” he chuckles sheepishly, but there’s a dark glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it” you mumbled, you were quick to set up your stuff. You wanted to finish this before dinner.

Tim watched as you fumbled through your bag before handing him a rough draft of the poster. “I got a little bit done in class, we just have to write some of the stages and make the poster”

“Okay, this won't take long, maybe an hour or two” he said, reading through a rough draft of your plan.

“Cool.” you sit at his desk and start writing. “I’ll finish up the stages if you start drawing a diagram”.

Tim smirks, but his eyes don’t leave your notes “sounds good to me”

The next 45 minutes go by fast, it’s silent except the odd sound of papers shuffling. Neither of you make conversation,

you’d catch Tim staring at you every now and then, but you chose not to say anything, it’s easier.

“Dinner will be ready soon” Tim closed his notebook, you froze.

“We should start heading down now” His voice was light, his smile seemed playful— too playful, like he was a kid about to get some candy.

“Okay..” you mumble, getting up from your seat. You follow him downstairs.

you can't turn back now.

The dining room is beautiful. The warm lighting, pretty paintings, decorated table that could fit a dozen people. it looked perfect, but it only made you feel small.

You don't belong here.

You look down at your batburger uniform, suddenly feeling a little self conscious.

Tim guides you to the seat beside him.

It’s just you two at the table right now, you wonder if he can see how nervous you are right now? If he does he doesn’t say anything about it.

“You’re in for a treat, Alfred's cooking is the best” Tim exclaims as he sets his napkin on his lap.

You’re quick to copy him ”I’m sure”.

you’re lost in your thoughts—Did your mom eat? Did she leave the door unlocked again?

A presence snaps you back to reality. A younger boy is sitting across from you.

You didn’t even hear him coming. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you then glares at Tim.

“I’m Damian” his voice is almost professional. “it’s nice to meet you y/n”

“You as well Damian.” You stutter.

Dick walks in, he’s talking with a girl. You’re pretty sure it’s Cassandra Cain, she stays out of the media so you’re not sure.

They keep talking as they find their seats to the left of Damian, but they keep glancing at you.

You swallowed.

“Y/n this is Cass” Dick introduces you.

You look up and force a smile “Hi Cass it’s nice to meet you”

”you too” she responds, before resuming her conversation with Dick, but her eyes never seem to fully leave you.

Great.

Sitting in silence you stare down at the empty plate and polished silverware.

Then Bruce Wayne walks in,

You stiffen, and fix your posture.

He sits at the head of the table. Whispering something to Damian, before looking towards you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Y/n” he says flashing his famous smile.

“It’s nice to meet you as well Mr. Wayne” faux confidence in your voice.

“Please Call me Bruce” he chuckles

”Alright” you answer, voice wavering slightly.

Before either of you can say anything else, an old man dressed in a butler's uniform walks in.

he begins to set plates in front of everyone. Once he sets yours down, it smells heavenly.

“Thank you Mr…”

”Alfred” he answers, the same posh accent you heard at the gate.

You feel eyes on you as you take your first few bites. Some tried hiding it. Others didn’t bother.

“So Y/n, I heard you had a Basketball game yesterday. How did that go?” Bruce asked, his voice was light.

“It went well, we won 68 to 25” you answered, taking another bite.

Dick Smirked. “What about you? Did you get any playtime?” He asked playfully.

“Yeah I got to play for most of it, I got MVP” you answered. Grabbing your glass of water.

there was a beat of silence.

“Impressive” Damian stated, watching closely as you took another bite.

“Your parents must be proud” Bruce stated, there was that same glint in his eyes. The one Dick and Tim had earlier.

“Yeah… My mom’s really happy, since she taught me to play and all that” you lied.

Dick scraped his fork on the plate. It was grating deliberate.

The noise made you cringe.

“Is that so?” Bruce mumbled, taking another bite of his meal.

Dinner went by without any other questions. Dick carried most of the conversation, with Tim and Damian chiming in when necessary and Bruce and Cass nodding along.

You should be thankful.

But you just felt watched.

It’s been about 30 minutes since you finished eating with everyone, you were back in Tim’s room working on writing the information for the poster.

At least you were trying to.

Tim seemed to be taking his sweet time with just a simple diagram.

You were almost finished with the notes. Glancing down at your writing the words seemed to blur together, Before snapping into focus again.

all you had left was to glue it onto the poster.

“How much longer for the diagram?” You asked, your voice sounded more tired than you expected.

He smirked “Not much, you tired?”

You yawn. Why were you tired? You’ve worked long days before, you should be used to this. You just want to go home.

“A little but I’ll be fine”

Tim stops writing, you can feel him look over at you. It’s like he’s analyzing everything you do, every minuscule expression you make.

Like he’s waiting for something.

“If you say so” he says as he gets back to work, smiling softly to himself.

A heaviness took over your body. Your movements slowed, it was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

your vision swayed, eyes getting heavier.

You blinked slowly.

just a little longer than you can leave.

Maybe if you rest your eyes, just for a moment.

Tim wouldn’t mind?

++++++++++

Can you tell I wrote this in 1 sitting? I feel like it downgraded in quality the longer I wrote lol. I’ll edit any mistakes tomorrow but I really wanna post it so Imma just do that. Comment if you wanna be added to the tag-lists. I also said id explain why batfam is obsessed this chapter but I decided to slowly reveal it (I couldn’t figure out how to fit the flashback scene in the chapter) also I lowkey forgot reader was GN and made the basketball team all girls, than had to go back and change it. I googled gender neutral names and chose the ones I liked please dont come at me!! Also its super late so I hope I kept reader Gn if not Ill change it right away!!

Also if you have any request for some random YBatfam oneshot or somth send in an ask I wanna write more oneshots but I have no ideas lol.

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp @lilyalone @shycreatorreview @caged-birdies-blog @shirp-collector-of-fixations @wizzerreblogs @c4xcocoa @cxcilla

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 4

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: kissing!!making out!! idiots falling in love!! team banter!!!

Word count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

| PART 1 | | PART 2 | PART 3 |

..

Kyra thought that last night had been a product of her dreams. She had kissed Y/n, her long-time friend and roommate while watching ‘But I’m a Cheerleader’. And when she woke up, she was cuddling with Y/n, which made everything even better.

Kyra’s arm was spread out on the mattress while Y/n slept on top of it, mouth slightly open as she breathed quietly. Her cast was on top of a pillow and her other–and good – leg was intertwined with Kyra’s. Kyra didn’t want to get out of bed, especially when Y/n’s sleeping face looked so cute, but it was 6:30 in the morning and both girls had a big day ahead of them.

The girl enjoyed a few seconds of Y/n’s warm body against her, but before Kyra could say anything, Y/n began to move slightly, pushing her face closer to Kyra’s body until she was lying on her chest, her left arm hanging on Kyra’s shoulder.

The physical touch was welcomed by Kyra. She gently ran her hands over Y/n’s scalp. “Good morning,” Kyra said in a hoarse morning voice.

“Hmm,” Y/n murmured, not opening her eyes, feeling the softness of Kyra’s shirt against her cheek. “What time is it?”

“Almost 7.”

“Too early, wanna sleep more.”

Kyra stroked her cheek. “I know, but you can take a nap after we get back from Arsenal, yeah? You have physio today.”

“I forgot about that,” Y/n said, finally opening her eyes to look at Kyra. “You’re pretty, did you know that?” she said smiling, still a bit dazed from the deep sleep she had been in.

Kyra blushed slightly, but hid it with a grin “Is that why you kissed me yesterday? Because I'm pretty or something?”

“Yeah… or something.,” Y/n said, kissing Kyra softly on the lips.

Kyra froze for a moment, but quickly melted into Y/n’s kiss.“We're just doing this now, aren’t we?” Kyra asked, smiling. “I mean, I'm not complaining.”

“What? Kissing? I guess so if you still want to.”

“Great, I do, I wanna do it a lot.”

“A lot?” Y/n giggled. “Won't even make me work for it” she said teasingly.

“If your leg wasn’t broken maybe, I might not be so nice,” Kyra said, tapping her chin. “But since I'm still your caretaker, then yes, you get free kisses.”

Y/n smiled, cupped Kyra’s jaw and brought her face closer, their lips touching. and Y/n deepened the kiss, neither caring if the other had morning breath or not.

“You’re the best caretaker, ever” Y/n whispered against Kyra’s mouth.

“Glad you like it, I might put it on my resume for when I retire,” Kyra said. She hesitated at first, but gently placed her hands under Y/n’s shirt, feeling the skin on her waist. “So I can get a job afterwards, or whatever.”

Y/n shook her head and kissed Kyra some more. “No, I don’t wanna share you with other sad and injured footballers, I just want you for myself.”

“So are you admitting you like having me around?” Kyra said.

“I mean, you give great kisses and you always remind me to take my medicine, so yeah, maybe I do.”

Kyra loved hearing that she gave great kisses. The thought of being complimented by Y/n made her brain go fuzzy. It was quite an overwhelming and new feeling. So Kyra turned to what she knew best: jokes.

Kyra pumped her fist dramatically in the air “Yey! Would you mind repeating that again?” She picked up her phone and opened a recording app.

“Oh fuck off,” Y/n pushed the phone away, laughing. “We were having a moment.”

“Sorry, couldn't help myself, let’s just kiss some more,” Kyra said before filling Y/n’s face with kisses.

..

They didn't talk about it.

They didn't talk about any of the kisses they had shared. They hadn't mentioned whatever it was they were doing, not because they didn't want to, or because it was awkward, it was just because it felt normal. As if they'd been in this domestic routine for ages.

Kissing Kyra; telling her she was pretty; cuddling up with her at night…it was all normal, comfortable and serene. Their routine didn’t change, they continued to do the same things every day, except they kissed.

Y/n was always very focused on football. So focused that she simply did not care about other things, like romantic relationships. She put everything she had into football because she knew it was up to her and no one else. She didn’t really open up to people, especially those who weren't her friends, so it was hard to build any type of romantic relationship.

However, after all these weeks of living with Kyra, she’d realised that her friend had meant a lot more to her, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. It felt good to finally let go and relax, to put football and her long-standing fear of vulnerability aside for a moment.

This wasn’t Y/n’s first time being with someone, she had one-night stands before, but they’d been very…awkward. In the mornings, she and random girls Y/n had met in London’s nightlife would dance around ‘good mornings’ and ‘see you’ or even ‘we should do this again’. But it was all very superficial, as it had to be.

Y/n was not sure what Kyra thought of their thing but she seemed to enjoy it. Y/n didn’t want to put a label on it. She just wanted to kiss Kyra some more, cuddle with her through the night and overall just enjoy their little domestic, and pretty much, ordinary life.

They didn’t have to rush into it, or overthink it. Just live in it for a while. There was no big elephant in the room that needed to be discussed. There was just Kyra and Y/n, and she was grateful for that.

After a few minutes of lying in bed and doing nothing, the girls left the bed and went to the kitchen to start their day.

“You can add the mushrooms and onions now, but let it cook before you add the salt and pepper” Y/n said. She sat on the kitchen counter while Kyra stood by the stove, wearing Y/n's apron with the saying ‘I love stirring things up’. It looked cute on her, but the size wasn’t right.

Y/n made a note to buy an apron just for Kyra. She didn’t really enjoy sharing her things. Red flag, yeah.

Kyra had a frown on her face, if Y/n hadn't known they were only making omelettes, she would have thought Kyra was being sent off to war.

“I hate cooking,” Kyra muttered, stirring the mushrooms uninterestedly.

“We can't live off of cereal for the next months to come,” Y/n said, without looking at Kyra, concentrating instead on the recipe book in her hand. “Can you also chop the spinach for me when you're done?”

Kyra grumbled so that was a yes.

Y/n took the eggs and the bowl that were already on the counter and started beating the eggs with a whisk.

Y/n loved to cook. It was one of the most therapeutic things for her. She loved cooking for herself and for others. She took pride in eating something and being able to explain, step by step, what she had done and what ingredients she had used.

When she got injured the doctors had told her that she wouldn't be able to stand for long periods of time, so cooking and baking was promptly removed from the list of things she enjoyed, but couldn't do, along with football and morning runs.

This was the first day she had cooked since the injury. She had tried cooking standing up in her crutches but this had led to her falling over while trying to pick up ingredients from the pantry. She had cried her eyes out of anger before Kyra found her on the floor, a mess of tomatoes and beetroot down with her.

She felt frustrated and pathetic, but there was nothing she could do about it except accept that she was fated to eat Kyra’s bad food for a while.

A few weeks after that incident, she tried another strategy, the one she was doing right now: sitting on the counter while giving instructions to Kyra, but, of course, she got frustrated again because Kyra couldn't follow instructions and Y/n was too much of a control freak, so she gave up cooking one more time

However, something had happened between Kyra and Y/n–they kissed! Y/n hoped that since they shared quite a few kisses, they could successfully share a kitchen as well, so she tried cooking again.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Y/n shouted from the other side of the kitchen.

Kyra stopped putting whatever spice she was adding to the food and looked at Y/n confused, holding the spice jar in the air.“What? You told me to add salt and pepper on it after it was cooked!” Kyra said, defending herself.

“That's not pepper, that's paprika!” Y/n pointed out, hands down her face. “Now our omelette is ruined!”

“No, it's not,” Kyra made a face. “It's just paprika, not cocaine. We can eat it just fine.”

“Here, pass me the eggs,” she demeaned. “Are they frothy already?”

Y/n took the bowl from the counter, and put it behind her, trying to get out of Kyra’s reach. “We're not putting my eggs on that. I hate paprika, it makes everything taste horrible.”

Kyra was silent for a moment, her face stoic. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell do you have paprika if you hate it, then?” Kyra questioned.

“You can't be a real cook and not have paprika in your kitchen.” Y/n shrugged.

Kyra tried to take the bowl from her again, but Y/n was quicker and got it out of the way, holding it to her body for dear life.

“I'm being serious! Maybe we can throw the anions, mushrooms and spinach mix away and you can make it again, using the right and correct seasoning this time.” Y/n suggested.

“You want me to chop the onions again?!” Kyra said with a gasp. “I just cried, chopping them.” She pointed at the onions as if they had hurt her.

“Maybe you can try wearing sunglasses this time?” Y/n pointed.

Kyra didn't respond. The girl just turned away and opened one of the upper cupboards, taking out three boxes of cereal with one hand and two bowls with the other.

She placed the cereal boxes and the bowls next to Y/n and pointed At each box. “Do you want Coco Pops, Raisin Oats or Weetabix?”

Y/n stared at the cereals, disgust on her face. “What?!”

“Cereal. Which one do you want?” Kyra pointed at each of the boxes again, repeating its brand name.

“I don't want cereal,” Y/n said, more sassy than she liked to admit it.

“Well, but I do,” Kyra said, picking up the Coco Pops one, and pouring it into a bowl.

Before taking a spoonful, she took a step closer and kissed Y/n on the nose, then packed her on the mouth. "You're way too bossy in the kitchen–my cortisol levels are through the roof,” she explained, taking a bite of her cereal.

Y/n pouted defeatedly, picked up the Raisin Oats and poured it into her own bowl, without saying a word.

Kyra tapped the spoon against the bowl in her hand. “Wow! That's actually so good,” Kyra said mouth=-full.

“You say that as if you haven't done this every day for the last week,” Y/n said grumpily, taking a spoon of her raising. It tasted so processed.

Kyra shrugged. “Well, at least your Raising tastes better than paprika anyway.”

Y/n and Kyra could share kisses and a house, but they couldn't share the kitchen, or even the same cuisine taste.

..

Kyra and Y/n arrived at Arsenal half an hour before the training. Which was plenty of time for Y/n to say hello to all the staff members and Win on her way in. Y/n didn’t realise how much she had missed the people she used to see every single day. All the staff members made sure to tell her how much they missed her too and wished her a recovery.

Y/n felt strange at first. In the changing room, everyone was wearing their training kit, and boots and had their hair up, ready for training, everyone except for Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, and couldn't help but feel like the odd one out, even though all the girls assured her that she was still very much part of the team.

It was still difficult to be surrounded by such amazing players, and friends, while Y/n had only just learned how to walk on her crutches without stumbling.

“Look who's here!” Leah was the first to see Y/n, greeting her with a hug. “How have you been? Giving that pest over there a hard time?”

“Always,” Y/n said, winking at her captain.

“Y/n! I didn't know you were coming in today.” Alessia said, being the next one in line to give Y/n a warm welcome.

Y/n hugged Alessia as she waved at other teammates, who were just as happy to have her back, even if it wasn't for playing or training.

“Kyra didn't tell you that I've been cleared to start physio with our physiotherapists here at Arsenal?” Y/n asked, turning to look at Kyra, who was sitting on the bench, putting her boots on.

“I did tell them!” Kyra said, defensiveness in her tone “But they didn't believe me.”

“Easy there, little pest,” Steph said behind Kyra, patting her on the back. “This is what happens when you think it's funny to make up stories, and now we don't believe you when you tell the truth.” Steph walked past a stunned Kyra, coming to greet Y/n. “But it doesn't matter anymore because Y/n is actually here!”

“Bloody hell! Is this still about the loose screws?! Have some mercy and let it go!” Kyra said, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

The team laughed at Kyra and for a few seconds Y/n felt what she used to feel before her injury, a sense of belonging to the people around her and to her club… After all the girls chatted with Y/n, they left the changing room and headed onto the pitch, leaving only Y/n, Kyra and Alessia still chatting, just like old times.

“And then Kyra tackled Renéé to the ground, can you believe it?!” Alessia said, having just finished telling her the story of how Kyra was responsible for getting Renée–aka their head coach–in the infirmary a few days ago.

“She told me to treat her like any other player,” Kyra mumbled. “I felt bad though, but she said she wasn’t angry.”

“I would give anything to see Renée get tackled,” Y/n laughed.

“I think Steph actually got it on video,” Kyra said.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Really?!”

Kyra smiled. “Nah, I’m joking.”

“I hate you,” Y/n muttered.

Alessia interrupted the two girls by putting one arm around Y/n, but not quite leaning over her so that Y/n wouldn't lose her balance. “Did you know I’m gonna be your physio-buddy today?”

“I fell hard on my shoulder yesterday, Mary wants to have a look at it.” She added.

Mary was Arsenal's upper body physiotherapist. Y/n wouldn’t be doing any sessions with her, instead, Clare would be the one to keep up with Y/n's injury. But both physiotherapists did the physical therapy in the same room, so Alessia and Y/n would spend the whole morning together.

Alessia led Y/n through the door of the changing room, heading to the opposite direction of the pitch, where the physio room was. They quickly noticed someone walking behind them.

Alessia smiled softly, “Aren’t you doing drills with the team today, Ky? Or do you also have an appointment with Mary too?”

Kyra blushed slightly as she shook her head. “No, I don't have an appointment. It’s just that–” Kyra turned to Y/n. “–don’t you want some help? I always help you walk around and… I can stay with you and Alessia during physio today too, I’m sure Renée won’t mind.’

“Thanks, Ky, but it’s ok.” Y/n looked down at her crutches then at Alessia and smiled softly at Kyra. “Lessie here will help me, you don’t need to worry about me now, just focus on your training.”

Kyra listened to Y/n but didn’t move. Kyra had spent most of her free time with Y/n. The only time they had been apart since her injury was when Kyra was at training, so it felt strange not to be by Y/n’s side when she could.

She knew Y/n would kill her if she ever knew how much Kyra was worried about her and her injury all the time. Y/n absolutely didn’t like people fussing over her, so Kyra was having a particularly hard time today.

She needed to give Y/n some space away from her, maybe it would do her some good, and make her feel more independent too.

“I'll keep an eye on her, Kyra, ” Alessia said, placing a comforting hand on Y/n's back. “Don't worry, go on, if anything happens I'll come get you, yeah?”

Y/n smiled and Kyra a thumbs up, reassuring her that she could leave

Kyra just nodded her head, a small smile on her face as she turned around and walked away.

Y/n would be fine. Why wouldn't she be fine? She was only doing physio, for God’s sake. Kyra thought, a mix of emotions on her mind as she left the two girls alone.

“She seems very concerned about you,” Alessia said. “Did you fall or something? When Leah was injured she fell down the stairs of her house, remember?”

“Yeah I do remember that, I was the one that had to come to her house to help her” Y/n said. “I fell too, twice actually, once in the bathroom and once in the pantry a few days ago,” Y/n pointed to her crutches. “I still haven't got used to using them.”

“Was Kyra the one who helped you?”

“Yes, she was very nervous, but she didn’t wanna show it,” Y/n continued. “So she just kept saying I shouldn't try to kill myself trying to walk on my own because people would think I died because of her.”

“I think she was trying to hide how much she cared for you with her jokes,” Alessia said. “Did you know Clare and Mary had to ban her from getting into the physio room because she kept interrupting the other girls ’sessions to ask about your injury, and if there were any kind of new treatments around.

Y/n stopped and laughed at Alessia. “She did that? That’s so Kyra honestly.”

“Yes, but I think her ban was lifted a few days ago,” Alessia said jokingly as she opened the door to the physio room and helped Y/n to one of the therapy tables.

Thankfully the room was empty, so Alessia and Y/n were able to talk about whatever they wanted freely.

“It’s a little funny watching you and Kyra,” Alessia said, putting up a chair next to Y/n’s table. “I think we’re so used to seeing her acting as a menace and treating her like a little sister that we get a bit shocked when she acts more responsibly.”

“It’s adorable, really,” Alessia added.

Y/n smiled, thinking of Kyra’s soft face. “Yeah, she is.”

Y/n almost blurted out that she had never seen Y/n as a little sister, especially now. Y/n and Kyra weren’t exactly hiding that they were…kissing? snogging around? But Y/n still didn’t want to talk about it too much. It still felt too intimate. It was something that belonged to them.

“Kyra’s been treating me really well,” Y/n continued. “I mean she always jokes and teases me a lot, but she’s also very patient when I’m mad about my injury, and she always drives me around, so that’s a plus.”

Y/n wanted people to see Kyra the way she saw her. Not just someone who plays around, but also someone who’s very caring and generally loving.

“Well, I'm glad to know you have someone like Ky on your side right now.” Alessia smiled. “It makes me worry less about you and her, I feel like you act as her voice of reason sometimes. ”

“Please, I don’t need more people to worry about me, I promise.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “This whole recovery is going slower than I thought it would be but I’m just learning to be patient.”

“You’ll get there,” Alessia said reassuringly.

“Now please let’s talk about something other than my stupid injury, please!” Y/n said dramatically, making Alessia laugh.

“Ok, so let me tell you what happened in the tunnel in our last game–” Alessia started the story, and both girls were busy while waiting for physio to begin.

..

“I'm never coming back here again,” Y/n mumbled as she sat on the bench, wind in her face, watching her teammates do running drills on the pitch. Physio had taken up two hours of her and Alessia’s morning and it was hard; Y/n even considered just cutting off her leg and leaving it there.

“Yes, you're,” Leah murmured from her side, drinking her water and watching her surroundings “Physio honestly sucks but you’ve just gotta do it, mate” The captain shrugged. “It’s good that you’re feeling pain, it means your nerves aren’t screwed up.”

“Yeah, but it fucking hurts!” Y/n complained, crossing her arm “

“Breaking a bone hurts, what made you think growing them back wouldn't,” Leah said condescendingly.

“Have people ever told you how much you suck at supporting others in need?”

“Have people ever told you how annoying you are when you whine?” Leah bit back.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Hey, share your water with me, I left my bottle in Kyra's car.” Y/n made grabby hands, but Leah shook her head rather dramatically.

“Ew, no.” Leah said, “I hate sharing water, grab one from the cooler.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow at Leah, signalling at her cast. “Could you please get me some water, then?”

Leah complained all the way to the cooler and back, but finally handed Y/n her water bottle. “Are you like this with Cooney-Cross at home too?”

“Like this what?” Y/n asked, taking a sip of her cold water. Damn, she was thirsty.

“Demanding,” Leah said teasingly, taking the spot next to Y/n again.

“I wasn’t at first. I didn’t like asking for help,” Y/n answered, her eyes searching the pitch for Kyra in the pitch. “But she cracked me.”

“I think you cracked her too,” Leah said nonchalantly, watching Kyra as well.

“What?” Y/n asked, turning her head to Leah.

“She’s different.” Leah continued. “She’s not acting so much like a pest lately, she’s been more responsible, less reckless on the pitch too.”

Y/n didn’t answer.

“I wonder if it’s because of you,” Leah added.

Wow, Leah, always the straightforward one.

“She’s a young player, we’ve all been like that once,” Y/n said, trying to steer the conversation, sensing something suggestive in Leah’s voice, but not wanting to give in to Leah, not.

“I wasn’t,” Leah said proudly.

Y/n laughed sarcastically. “Oh yeah, because you were always so calm and collected.”

“I beg your pardon? I have the least yellow card ib from this team,” Leah bit back, rolling her eyes “Anyway, I’m just casually, very casually, letting you know that I’m sensing something different in Kyra.”

Y/n didn't answer again.

“So I’m just leaving the door for this conversation open,” Leah continued, trying to sound chill, but Y/n had known her for a few years now. The captain had thought this whole conversation through. “If you ever want to talk about it, I mean, I’m here.”

Leah honestly could give two shits about other people’s lives, so Y/n was rather amused by Leah’s way of showing that she was interested in her life and in whatever she had to do with Kyra’s change in behaviour.

“Is this your way of trying to be casual? Because you failed, bro.”

Leah furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m just trying to be a good friend. Alessia told me I should be more welcoming, and more…emotionally available, so this is me trying. If you prefer my old version I can bring her back”

“Please bring back my old Leah,” Y/n said, playfully putting her palms together as if in a prayer.

“What happened between you and Cooney?” Leash asked bluntly.

This was the Leah she knew.

“Nothing happened between me and Kyra,” Y/n said. “We just got closer, we’ve been sharing a house for the last one to two months, in case you don’t remember. ”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was the best Y/n could tell Leah right now.

Y/n and Kyra weren’t even dating, but Y/n couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if they disclosed whatever they had going on to the team. It wouldn't be anything new, it was very normal to date with your teammates.

Arsenal itself had a lot of couples that were brought together through the club, it wasn’t something unusual. But of course, when new couples formed the dynamics of the team changed a bit.

If they started dating, would people stop seeing Kyra as their little sister? Would the team stop seeing Y/n as this tough player who only had eyes for football and maybe a nightstand here or there?

When she thought about it Y/n realised that she really didn’t care about what her teammate thought about it. When Viv and Beth started dating, everyone just moved on with their lives, it was the same with Katie and Caitlin.

Y/n and Kyra just weren’t the type to make a big deal about it, they would probably just notice the shift between them and accept.

“I’ll pretend to believe you if you tell Alessia I tried doing the whole talk your feelings out with you,” Leah mumbled next to her, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts.

“So Alessia was the one who sent you, then? That little minx was with me the whole morning, she could've asked me.”

Leah shrugged, getting up from the bench and starting to warm up. “She didn't want to intrude.”

“So you intruded on her behalf?” Y/n asked, finding the whole situation funny.

“Yeah, I mean, you get closed off sometimes and it’s hard to reach out to you,” Leah said, more firmly now.

“It takes one to know one,” Y/n said, smiling at Leah.

Both women had been friends for a very long time. But the friendship between Leah and Y/n was different, they didn’t text every day, and they didn't plan to meet every week.

It was the kind of friend shared by two reserved people who enjoyed their privacy but still knew they could always count on each other

Y/n and Leah had the same faults, they were proud, stubborn and overly independent. So they knew each other, they knew how the other reacted to the world. And of course, they knew how hard it was for them to open up.

“Well, you know where I live if you ever feel like talking about why your eyes haven’t left Cooney for a second,” Leah patted Y/n’s back before running back to the pitch.

Maybe people would realise that she and Kyra were together sooner than she thought. Especially since Y/n was bluntly staring at Kyra while she played.

So what if she actually cheered a little when Kyra scored a goal?

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[rosenclaws]

Over and Over Again || DOFP!Logan x Reader

Summary: Logan wakes up in 2023 in a brand new timeline. In this world you're still alive and you're married, but he doesn't remember a thing.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending

wc: 3.5k

a/n: damn bro these song fics keep getting longer and longer lmao. Anyways here is my third instalment of a fic based on “Would You Fall In Love With Me Again” from Epic the Musical. I hope you like this one too! If you wanna read the other two you can find them here and here

Yesterday everything made sense. Yesterday you woke up next to your husband Logan, made coffee, graded a few essays, trained with Logan in the danger room, and then went to dinner. You kissed him good night and turned out the light to go to bed. Today? Your whole fucking life is being flipped upside down.

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw Logan standing barefoot in Charles' office. He had this look on his face. A mix between confusion and grief. A longing in his eyes that just didn't make sense when you had kissed him good morning only a few hours ago.

"You're alive?" Logan says breathlessly, his eyes widening as the words leave his mouth.

Realizing his mistake immediately. But he couldn't help himself. Not when the last memory he had of you was holding you as you died.

"Charles, what's going on?" You asked in a panicked voice. Logan, this Logan, your? Logan, reached out for you but you stepped back. You don't know why but you just did it. Though it's hard to see the hurt in Logan's eyes when you do.

"My dear," Charles says softly, his eyes darting from you to Logan.

"I think you should sit down for this."

You aren't the only one to be called into Charles office. Standing around you was Ororo, Jean, Scott, and Hank. Before you stood Logan with his arms crossed as Charles weaves a wild and frankly impossible story.

This Logan is not the man you knew.

He's from an alternate timeline where the X-Men were being hunted and eradicated, the world being over run by these things called the Sentinels. How everyone in this room was dead in Logan's world. The last chance they had was sending his consciousness back in time to stop the chain of events and according to Charles he had done it. He had saved the world and everyone in this damn mansion. But at the cost of his own memories, his own life in a way.

"Jean, please stay. I want you to help in attempting to get his memories back. The rest of you thank you and please do not tell anyone else about this." Everyone starts to move but you.

You stay seated in your seat, unsure of what to do. Do you go up to him? He's still your husband after all, but is he? You feel his eyes staring into your head as you finally make your move and get up. Walking right up to him.

"Hi, Logan." You say softly.

"Hi." You bite your lip nervously as you try and think of something to say. There's this awkward tension between the two of you. Something you haven't felt since you first met. Though you guess this is technically a first meeting. It's really confusing.

"Logan, shall we begin?" Charles cuts through your thoughts. You don't want to leave, in fact you have a million questions that will pour out once you figure out how to talk to him. But it's going to have to wait.

"I uh...I'll find you after." He mumbles, his hand moves to cup your face but he stops before he can actually touch you.

"Yeah, I'll see you after." You smile awkwardly and gently grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze before leaving. Logan wants so badly to hold on, to tighten his grip and never let you leave his side. But he can't. So he just lets you go.

You waited. Hours passed and you heard nothing from Logan or Jean or Charles. Every hour you'd pass by the office, hearing muffled voices coming from the other side of the door. It was tearing you apart just waiting for them to be done. But that's all you can do.

By the time the sun goes down you give up on waiting for Logan. Slinking to a small corner of the mansion. What if something horrible happened? What if they can't get his memories fixed and he'll never remember what your life was like together. How you met, how you fell in love, how he proposed, your first dance. Did he truly forget it all? You rest your head in your hands as you listen to the grandfather clock tick and tick.

Or...does he remember it all. Does he remember it and regret it? You're dead in his timeline. So what if you two were never meant to be together, what if he remembers both timelines and...he doesn't want you anymore.

You trudge back to your room, wanting to just sleep. Maybe when you wake up tomorrow this will all be some insane dream. Unfortunately you forgot that you share a room with Logan. As you open the door you see him sitting on the bed. A cigar in his hands as he stares out the window. Though he quickly turns around when he hears you.

"Hi, again." He says, snuffing out the cigar.

"Hi." Fuck can you say any other word but hi to his man?

"How did it go with the professor?" You ask, wringing your hands together behind your back. Logan shrugs and the look on his face doesn't give you much hope.

"Not great." You just nod, unsure of what to say next.

"I um, Chuck set up another room for me so...I'm gonna sleep there tonight." Logan winces as he sees your face fall. He doesn't want to be apart from you but it's what's best. He needs to sort out his...well everything. Besides, he's practically a stranger to you now.

"Oh." You squeak out.

"If that's what you want." It's not.

Still Logan just nods his head and stands up, grabbing a few things and silently slipping past you.

"Room 246. I'm in room 246." He tells you, staring at you one last time before leaving you alone in your bedroom.

You sleep like utter shit. You're so used to having Logan by your side that being alone just fucking sucks. You miss him so much. You contemplated going to his room but you didn't think he wanted you there. Logan has another session with Charles in the morning. You only see a glimpse of him before he disappears into the office. You wonder if he feels just as miserable as you do.

The next week is filled with the same tension and unbearable awkwardness. It's like he's a ghost. Only there when you turn around, out of the corner of your eye. You hated it. God it was awful, you longed to be next to him. For him to hold you again, kiss you. You don't even know why he's avoiding you. Logan had always been difficult when it comes to opening up but Logan, your Logan was getting better at it.

It's well into the night and you're still sitting in an empty classroom. You don't really sleep in your bed anymore. It reminds you too much of him. There's a couch near your desk anyways. With Logan in memory recovery you have been covering his classes. You sit in silence as you grade the latest test when you hear heavy boots approaching you.

"It's late," You look up to see Logan leaning against the doorframe.

"I know, but I need to get this done." You gesture to the stack of tests next to you.

"You need to sleep, I've noticed you haven't been doing that much." Your heart skips a beat, has he really been keeping tabs on you like that.

"I'll be okay Logan, really." You say gently. But your answer isn't good enough for him. You watch as he walks over to your desk and grabs half of the tests and a red pen.

"Logan It's fine really," You argue but he doesn't listen.

"What if-" You stop yourself before you finish the question.

"What if my history is different? Don't worry sweetheart I went back to the 70's not the civil war." The nickname rolls of his tongue with ease, he doesn't even realize he said it until he sees you get shy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Logan apologizes, silently kicking himself. He never should have come here. He just. He just really misses you.

"Don't apologize, It's just been a while since you called me that." You try to hide the soft smile by propping a paper up to block your face. Time passes, the only sounds being the scribbling of pens.

"Damn, Was I that bad of a teacher?" He asks as he crosses out a whole paper in red pen. You giggle and Logan looks up, a smile on his face as he hears that sweet sound.

"You're not a bad teacher, you're the favorite actually. Though sometimes you play favorites with your students." You tease, remembering how easy Jubilee could get out of being late just by bringing Logan coffee in the morning.

"Favorite? I doubt that." He snorts, Logan isn't exactly the fresh faced happy go lucky teacher that you bring an apple to. In fact he never considered himself much of a teacher of anything.

"It's true, you're tough on them but they just love you." "That doesn't sound like me." Logan jokes, though he quickly regrets his word choice when he sees your eyes cloud with sadness.

"I..." He sighs, great he fucked this up already.

"It's okay, sorry I just, I'm still getting used to all this." You offer him a small smile but he can see right through it. You're still his wife after all and he knows you.

"How are you? This must be a lot for you." You ask, turning the conversation away from you.

You've been so focused in your own grief that you hadn't given what he must be feeling much thought. You start to feel guilty, I mean this can't be easy for him either. Logan sets the red pen down. Sighing as he runs his hands through his hair.

"I'll be alright sweetheart," He doesn't want you to worry about him.

"Please, talk to me." You reach your hand out.

Your left hand. The one with the wedding band still sitting on your finger. Logan's breath hitches as he recognizes that ring. It's a little worn from the years of wear but he knows it. He bought that ring for you a long time ago.

"I feel like a ghost. I remember my old timeline and Jean and Charles have been able to unlock bits and pieces of this one but it doesn't feel real." He admits.

"Do you regret it? Changing the timeline?" You ask and Logan shakes his head.

"No." Not at all. In fact even with all this confusion he would do it again in a heartbeat. Anything if it means you're alive. You start to ask another question but a yawn cuts through your words.

"Alright, it's bedtime now." Logan says with little room for argument. He gets up and heads to the door but you don't follow. He turns around to see you laying out a blanket on the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You jump at the harshness of his voice.

"I've been sleeping on the couch the last couple nights." You say casually.

Though to Logan it's like a knife to the heart. Not on his watch. You roll your eyes seeing the look on his face, that protective grumpy look.

"It's comfortable and my room is too far, I'm just going to take a short nap. You grumble. You always were stubborn and Logan knows there's no changing your mind.

"Fine." He shuts off the lights and walks over, sitting on the edge of the couch putting a pillow on his lap.

"Logan..."

"Come on, just a nap right?" You're too tired and if you're honest too selfish to pass this up.

To be this close to Logan again is a dream. You settle down with your head in his lap groaning as your head sinks to rest on his big thighs. Logan drapes a blanket over you, his hands coming to rub your back in a gentle soothing motion. It doesn't take long before you're out like a light. Drifting to sleep faster than you have all week.

When you wake up you're not in your classroom anymore. In fact you're in a bed with the covers tucked in and the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Just a nap right?" You mimic in a high pitched voice as you get out of bed. It becomes very clear the moment you spot the clothes in the corner of the room that this isn't your bedroom.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's it is. You take one of the pillows and hug it to your chest. The smell of Logan's cologne wraps around you. Fuck you missed waking up next to him. You gently set the pillow down and swipe one of the shirts sitting on the floor before darting back to your room.

"Good morning sweetheart, sleep well?" Logan asks as you walk into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I haven't slept that well in a couple days." You sigh as he hands you a cup of coffee.

You take a sip and to your surprise it's perfect, just how you like it. Before you can say another word Logan is already gone. The hope in your chest deflating just a little bit. But last night was the closest you've been since he came back. It's a step in the right direction.

It's another week of dancing around each other. You talk more, laugh more. He still sleeps in a separate room but you find yourself spending more time together. It's little things that you notice first. That he still hates pop music and he drinks black coffee. His favorite brand of beer is still Molson. In small ways it's like you have him back. But then you see that he picks the salt and vinegar chips over plain and it all comes crashing down again. How stupid is that? Heartbroken of his favorite chip flavor? But to you it's just a reminder that he is different. But does that even matter?

You find yourself drifting to sleep in your bed this time, holding onto Logan's shirt as a way to soothe you to sleep. But you're quickly pulled from dreamland by a loud knock on your door. It's frantic and quite startling. You throw the covers off and stumble to the door, throwing it open to see who's bothering you so late.

"Logan?" You ask half asleep, rubbing your eyes as you see him standing in front of you. You notice the fearful look in his eyes and it seems to snap you awake. You step aside and let him in.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just needed to see you." He's tense and his eyes keep darting around the room, like he's waiting for an attack. Seeing you is slowly helping his brain but every time he closes his eyes his nightmare replays in his head. He looks down at his hand and swears he sees blood.

"Logan, come here." You take his hands, covering his palms with yours and guiding him to the bed.

"I don't want to bother you sweetheart," He mumbles, his resolve breaking pretty quickly as he lays his head next to yours.

"Tell me about it, your nightmare." He furrows his brows in confusion, how did you know?

"I know that look." You cup his face and smile. It feels so right to be next to him right now. Logan sighs, his hand covering yours as he just soaks in being next to you. That nightmare felt so real, probably because it was.

"It was the day I lost you. In my timeline."

"The sentinels?" You ask but he shakes his head.

"No you...you died before they were even created. Probably for the best. It was a mission. A simple one that went to shit so quickly." It was all Logan's fault. He woke up every day knowing that if he had been faster, been better. You would still be alive.

"They took advantage of my super senses, they overwhelmed me with noise and smells. I tried to fight through it I really did, but I was too weak." Logan feels you wipe his cheek, a tear he didn't even realize was falling.

"By the time it was over, you were fatally wounded. I held you in my arms. I begged you not to go. Not to leave me but it was too late." Your eyes cloud with tears as Logan tells his story.

The absolute grief in his voice, god how horrible. You don't know what you'd do if Logan died, how you'd even continue on. Yet this man kept fighting, kept saving peoples lives. Even when he wanted to give up and walk away.

That's the Logan you know. He'll always be the hero he never thinks he is. So what if there's a few differences. At his core Logan will always be the man you fell in love with.

"I'm so sorry," You whisper, you crawl onto his chest and hug him tightly.

Your face buried in his neck. He holds you tight. Breathing in the smell of your shampoo. He holds you for a long time before loosening his grip on you. The urge to stay like this forever is strong but there's a nagging in the back of his head. He's over stayed his welcome.

"I should get back to my room." He gently lays you back on the bed and moves to get up.

"What?" You ask in disbelief, scrambling to grab onto his arm.

"Please don't go Logan. Please the last two weeks have been horrible without you. I miss you, I miss my husband." You beg, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Sweetheart I'm not the man you married." He wipes away your tears.

"I miss you too. So fucking much. But it's best I keep my distance."

"Logan please! What do you mean you're not the man I married?!" You grab his shirt and pull him close to you. Logan grabs your wrists firmly but gently.

“You were my guiding light, the only thing that kept me going in the right direction. When I lost you, It felt like I lost myself." He tries to pry your hands off of him but you stand firm.

"I stayed with the team, I fought and killed and maybe they called me a hero. But it was never the same. I lost my way."

"But you saved the world, you're still my hero." Logan just chuckles sadly.

"I didn't give a fuck about the world." He confesses. He did care. Sort of. He knew that he was the X-Men's only hope when he got sent back. But his real motivation, his true motivation was you.

"Sweetheart, I may have saved the world but I did it for you. It’s always you.” He did it for the chance that he could save you, that somehow going back to 1973 would undo everything, that you'd be alive. He would sacrifice everything if it meant you got to live another day.

So when he woke up and saw that it had worked, he had never felt such relief. But the way you looked at him, you were scared. So uncertain. He couldn't just pick you up in his arms and kiss you like he had dreamed of. You were married in this world but he understood that he had essentially replaced the Logan that you knew.

So he kept his distance. The more he learned from Charles the more the other Logan sounded better. This Logan never had to stab Jean or watch his friends die one by one. How could he ever compare? He'd rather you be alive, even if it breaks his heart.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." The words flood out of your mouth, unstoppable as you finally get the chance to see the truth about Logan.

"You're mine. Always. We belong together. Our love transcends timelines, universes, and all that bullshit."

"Don't you love me?"

"Of course I fucking love you don't you ever doubt that." He snaps.

He pushes you away because he loves you, he doesn't think he's worthy because he loves you so fucking much. He'd kiss the ground you fucking walk on if you asked.

"Then listen to me Logan." You grab his face and smash your lips on his, kissing him desperately.

Logan groans as he wraps his arms around your waist. You fall onto the bed, Logan propping himself up with his elbows. You tug on his hair, messing it up as you comb your fingers through it. You pull apart breathlessly, almost brought to tears from just getting to kiss your husband again.

"You're it for me Logan, forever." You mumble as he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too sweetheart, I missed you so much." He cradles your face in his hand, legs interlocked as the sheets become a tangled mess.

"How long has it been since you saw me?" You ask, Logans eyes filling with tears as he listens to your heart beat against his chest.

"Over 50 years." As the moon shines through the window the only thing on both of your minds is how lucky you truly are to have found a love like this.

To be destined to be together in every timeline, every world. It's you and Logan.

[sooniebby]

I thought of the stupidest fic idea ever (probably not gonna write it in full but it’s nice to get it out of my head lol)

Anyway, I got this after watching some bl dramas cuz of course. But the little thought I had was what if reader’s friends think he is dating a man old enough to be his dad, roll with me, lemme explain

Reader is a senior in high school so that’s why his friends would be worried, but anyway. One day you and your friends are walking home when you suddenly say you’re stopping at someone else’s home tonight.

Your two friends looking at you confused cuz whatever friend you got besides them? But whatever, they watch you stop by a house. The door opens and they expect a person your age..

Not a whole ass toddler rushing out and screaming “mommy!” They’re flabbergasted as you just pick the kid up, holding him as if that’s your child, kissing his cheeks and everything

But that’s not all… a man comes out,

“—why he dressed like a bum?”

“—shush, they’ll hear you.”

And the man has no problem just touching your face as you smile up at him. It looks too domestic, it might as well be a family commercial to get you to adopt a kid. They just watch in pure shock as this man places his hand on your back and leads you inside the house.

“Oh my gosh… (name) has a secret family. He got pregnant!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We should be more worried that he dating someone the age of his daddy!”

“Was he that old?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see his face clearly.”

Anyway, they immediately confront you the next day and you just stare at them in shock.

“That doesn’t even make sense, you would’ve noticed if I was pregnant, you can’t hide a pregnancy belly.” You said. “Besides he’s four years old, are you saying I got pregnant at fourteen years old??”

“So you do admit to being able to get pregnant?”

“What—? No!”

“Woah male pregnancy is real.”

“Guys! Just, let me explain please.”

Anyway they don’t believe you so you take them to the house. Like clockwork the same kid comes running out but this time he yells, “turtle”

You pick him up and grin, “was that the word of the day today?” Oh, the kid was just yelling the words his teacher picked as “the word of the day”

Okay, so that’s solved, you didn’t get pregnant… yet…

Onto the man, he comes out and oh. He’s not old, he’s literally your age. But he doesn’t have the mustache he had yesterday.

“Oh, he just had an ugly mustache. Aged him a lot.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out in society with a mustache like that. But you should still change your clothes.. you look—“

“—Guys!”

After that whole conversation, and your explanation that he was a childhood friend who came back from university on break, your friends were still curious… because why was this guy so touchy with you? They watched as he continually touched your face or your waist.. or any body part

“They’re totally fucking.”

“For sure.”

[bvidzsoo]

Every time I see you...chapter 3 ↰

...my throbbing heart rate spikes up

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

☆ Warning: none ☆ Word count: 5.3k ☆ Rating: sfw ☆ Genre: slice of life, established relationship, post university setting, fluff ☆ Summary: On your day off, you find yourself bringing coffee for Mingi...it's certainly not because you've missed him, no, that can't be, you've been together almost every day this week. So, if that's the case...why do you find yourself thinking about him so much, falling straight into his arms when he show up at your doorstep?

☆ Visuals ☆

M.list ~ Previous Chapter

A/N: Hello, my loves! The third and new chapter is here, sorry for making you wait longer for it but as you know, I wasn't home last week and I postponed yesterday's update in favour of the drabble I wrote with Yunho. To be honest with you all, my motivation for this mini-series also died down quite a bit, and despite having the fourth chapter already written, I don't know when I'll get to write the rest since I'm also preparing for the March Event with Mina...I do have some good news, though, and it's the following: thanks to Mingi's live from last night (and some extra super fluffy pictures that originate from it) my motivation sparked back, but I cannot promise you anything as of now! I mostly write whatever my mood dictates...This is another domestic chapter and I hope you enjoy it, your thoughts and feedback is greatly appreciated. divider

Taglist: @spicxbnny @hongjoongspoetry

🎧𝐾𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑠ℎ ℎ𝑢𝑠ℎ, ���𝑢𝑡 𝘭 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝘭’𝓂 𝑖𝑛 ℓ𝜎𝘷𝑒 / ℬ𝑢𝑡 𝘭 𝑤𝜎𝑛’𝑡 𝑠𝛼𝑦 𝑖𝑡, 𝘭’𝓂 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝛼𝑡 𝑦𝜎𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝜎𝑤 / 𝘭 𝑤𝑖ℓℓ 𝑛𝑒𝘷𝑒𝑟 ℓ𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝜎𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝜎𝑢𝑔ℎ /… / ℳ𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝜎𝑏ℓ𝑒𝓂, 𝑦𝜎𝑢 ℓ𝜎𝜎𝑘𝑖𝑛’ ℓ𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝘭 𝒹𝜎𝑛’𝑡 𝑤𝛼𝑛𝑛𝛼 𝑠𝜎ℓ𝘷𝑒 ‘𝑒𝓂 / 𝘭’ℓℓ 𝑠𝑡𝛼𝑦 ℓ𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝘭 𝑐𝛼𝑛 𝑠ℓ𝑒𝑒𝑝 ℓ𝛼𝑡𝑒𝑟🎧

            My attention switched from my phone to the barista as it was my turn in line to order. I smiled at her and glanced at the menu behind her to ensure they had what I needed.

“An Iced Americano and a Vanilla Frappuccino, please.” The barista typed in my order and then asked whether I’d like a cookie with my beverages, but I declined her offer as she went to prepare the drinks once I paid for my order. I hummed and unlocked my phone while waiting, opening my chat with Mingi. He had the evening shift today, so he had decided to hit up the library on campus with a few of his friends, saying how studying together lately helped with his progress on his research. I had wished him a good day, and Mingi hadn’t texted me since. It didn’t bother me since we didn’t talk that much throughout the day, but he had a habit of checking in every few hours, sending memes or random facts he’d learned through the wonderful place called the internet. They weren’t always accurate and we’ve had our fair share of fights about whether a fact check was needed, but in the end, it was good entertainment that took our busy brains off our issues.

“Here, enjoy it.” I looked up and took the two cups from the barista, thanking her before I headed for the exit, pocketing my phone. It was rather windy today, so I had opted to wear a flannel jacket, my tote bag threatening to slip off my shoulder anytime now. The traffic light was green, so I quickened my pace to reach it before it turned red, hurrying over the crossing as it had started blinking warningly. I was already on campus, the university Mingi had gone to was massive and thus housed multiple stores and even dorms on the far east of the complex. The coffee shops and cheap restaurants were located somewhere in the middle section of the place, making it more accessible for both students and professors if they were in a hurry. The library Mingi was at was located inside the E building, on the opposite end of the dorms, and on the far west. I knew this place well enough because I had gone to university here as well, except that the buildings I frequented most were A and G. The walk between the two was never brisk, but it was filled with silly conversations and lots of laughter with my friends and other classmates as we walked to our next class.

I recognised a few faces here, despite the flux of students, it wasn’t as packed as it would have been in the early morning or at lunch. I knew to avoid those hours, and since it was my day off today, I had decided to be productive and utilise it well. I had to clear my mind, it’s been filled with Mingi too often lately. I’ve always had periods when I yearned to be in his presence more and more, but it’s never gotten this insistent and pressing. I did enjoy being with Mingi, but we needed to have our personal lives as well, which was a line that’s started blurring lately. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept in my apartment, in my bed, all alone. If it wasn’t Mingi coming over, then I would be going over to his place. It was usually just to watch a movie or cook dinner together, perhaps hang out without doing anything, and somehow, it would always end with the other one staying over. It didn’t bother me, on the contrary, I quite enjoyed the closeness between the two of us, but it’s been getting too much. My heart raced in the mere presence of Mingi and I didn’t like the traitorous thoughts that tried to keep me up at night unless I forcibly silenced them. Mingi was a good man, well-behaved and extremely kind, and my mind was trying to trick me into believing that having him with me had turned into a need and that it wasn’t just a want anymore.

I sighed and shook my head, a bit irritated that I was caught up in thought about Mingi again. It’s what I’ve been trying to avoid doing today, and so far, I was majorly failing at it. Building E was right in front of me, so I hurried over to be out of the windy weather, my feet taking me up the marble stairs two at a time until I reached the front entrance. I had to put all my weight into pushing the heavy double door open, and I slightly shivered when warmth engulfed my body. The door of the security guard’s cubicle was open, the middle-aged man was scrolling through his phone as he swiftly looked up, eyes landing on me. I nodded at him in a wordless greeting and he hummed, going back to his phone. I knew my way around here so I had no difficulties navigating around the vast building. There were multiple classrooms in here, the Biology department being located inside this building. I took the stairs to the third floor and passed by the secretary's offices, almost running into a student as they had their nose buried deep in a book, eyebrows furrowed and a scowl on their lips.

“Sorry.” The guy muttered before walking around me, making me shake my head at him. He had come from the library, the tall doors closed and cocooning the room in silence. Usually, drinks weren’t allowed inside, but if you remained in the study hall and didn’t bring it anywhere near the books, the librarian didn’t kick you out for it. I entered the library and cringed when the door screeched…so they still haven’t fixed it, huh? And I graduated three years ago, thought someone would’ve taken care of it by now. I turned left to head for the study hall, listening to the clicking of keyboards and the flipping of pages as students crowded the place. Mingi wasn’t a necessarily loud person, but he didn’t like being restricted, so I knew he wouldn’t wander too far inside the library and stay instead in the study hall, where conversation kept minimal was also allowed.

Rows of long tables and many chairs occupied by numerous students never failed to amaze me, realising just how many people attended the different departments of this university. I couldn’t find Mingi and his friends in the front, so I wandered further inside, searching the room for a guy with black hair and black-rimmed glasses, a crooked smile, and sharp eyes unless they creased at the corner from Mingi’s bright smile. I found myself smiling at the thought of Mingi and tried to control it before anyone would think I was stupid for smiling at literally nothing. And before I could berate myself more, I finally spotted Mingi towards the last three rows, shaking my head because, of course, they would sit there. It was far from the librarian, so it allowed the friend group to converse with each other freely, sometimes even laugh unless they were hushed by those sitting around them. My smile only widened as my eyes fell on Mingi, taking in his colourful attire. He wore a thin striped sweater, the colours being beige, green and navy blue. His hair was brushed out of his eyes and his glasses perched on the top of his head. The dainty choker with a crystal was a gift from me, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit proud that he was wearing it.

Mingi didn’t notice my approach, too focused on his laptop until I was standing by his side, looming over him. The two friends he was here with sat across from him, and they looked amused when Mingi still didn’t feel my presence next to him. I glanced at his laptop’s screen and wasn’t surprised to see him with two different opened tabs, reading while taking notes in a different app. I cleared my throat and placed a hand on his nape, making Mingi jump. He whipped his head back, eyes wide as he stared up at me, then released a sigh and chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

“Hi,” His tone was low, trying not to bother anyone, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” I hummed, my fingers flexing against his warm skin as I gently massaged his neck. Mingi hummed as he leaned more into the touch, his eyes fluttering slightly closed, “When was the last time you took a break?”

Mingi’s eyes opened as he looked towards his friends, who continued to work on their laptops but offered us friendly smiles to let us know they weren’t ignoring us. The one sitting on the left, Yugyeom, frowned as he seemed to be thinking, “Two hours ago? I think.”

I clicked my tongue and grabbed Mingi’s Iced Americano out of the cup holder, nudging his shoulder. He looked back up at me, eyes falling on the coffee before a wide smile adorned his face. I stared at it, feeling my heart race all of a sudden as Mingi took his coffee from my hand, pressing a swift kiss against my wrist in thanks just as I was pulling my hand back. I gulped hard and averted my eyes, making sure Yugyeom and Jongho hadn’t seen the small action, but they weren’t paying attention to us. Mingi took a sip of his coffee and groaned, slumping back in his chair as my hand was instantly drawn back to his neck, gently massaging his tense muscles. He sighed and let his head fall back, wide eyes staring up at me.

“Thank you, I really needed this.” He wiggled his cup of coffee before taking another sip. I hummed as I trailed my fingers higher, tangling in his black hair as I massaged his scalp, making Mingi’s eyes flutter shut again, “How come you stopped by?”

“I need to do some grocery shopping so I thought I could come by,” I answered, leaning my hip against Mingi and his chair, “Any progress with your research?”

“Yup,” Mingi nodded, sitting up straighter as he scrolled through the document he had been taking notes in, “I have a subject and the first chapter done, I think. I’ll see what my professor says, but it’s looking better than it did two days ago.”

“See?” I smiled, scratching his scalp with my nails like I knew he liked it, “I told you it would be okay, you don’t have to stress so much, Mingi…”

“She’s right,” Yugyeom agreed, flexing his fingers as he scooted his chair back, “You’ll get grey hair strands if you continue like this, man.”

The four of us chuckled as Jongho suddenly groaned, loudly, then shut his laptop, “I’m done for today, my brain is fried. Hi, Y/N, I haven’t even noticed you.”

I chuckled, well accustomed to Jongho since he’d been by Mingi’s side since their first year of university. Yugyeom was a new addition to their friend group, but he seemed like a genuine guy so far. I haven’t had the chance to hang out with him much, but based on Mingi’s stories, he had a good character.

“I think it’s time all three of you take a break,” I noted, their expressions clearly tired as Mingi pouted, shaking his head. Before he could speak up, however, Yugyeom nodded in agreement.

“She’s right, I need to stretch my legs out before I lose them.” He stood, shaking out his limbs, “Anyone wants something from the vending machine?”

“Grab me some sugary stuff, I need some stimulant right now,” Jongho said, rubbing his eyes roughly as Mingi and I chuckled. I hadn’t stopped playing with his hair, and it didn’t seem like he was bothered by it. I found myself smiling once again as I looked down at Mingi, and he must’ve felt my gaze because he tilted his head back, our gazes connecting. He smiled softly, winking before he took a sip of his coffee, and my heart was racing again. It was jarring how quickly my mood changed, I felt lighter in his presence, a little happier and more eager to do things. It was Jongho clearing his throat that snapped me out of my thoughts, eyebrows raised as I turned my head to look at him.

“Seonghwa is planning a get-together for tomorrow evening,” Jongho spoke up, rubbing his bottom lip as he seemed to be thinking, “He’s inviting a bunch of people so it won’t be small, but I know he’s mostly trying to get our friend group together. Wanna come?”

Mingi and I shared a look, understanding passing between us without needing to exchange a word. Mingi nodded as I hummed, offering Jongho a smile, “Are Giselle and Wendy coming?”

“I know he talked to them, so maybe,” Jongho answered and I hummed, feeling excited about the get-together now. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen those two, adult life sometimes gets in the way and restricts you from how often you can see your friends. It wasn’t that the three of us weren’t as close anymore, but we didn’t have to speak daily to remain good friends. Wendy and I still texted every week, she was the closest person I had to a best friend. Giselle, on the other hand, landed a really good job after we graduated and she was travelling often overseas, so I didn’t want to bother her unless she reached out first. She’s always been a dynamic person, I knew she was thriving and would stumble back to Wendy and me when life allowed her to.

“We’ll be coming, I think we both need to unwind a little,” I said and Jongho seemed to agree as he gave Mingi a pointed stare.

“Especially him,” He pointed at Mingi and I had to agree with Jongho, “He told me you two are gonna take off a few days and dip.”

“Really?” The surprise was evident in my tone as I glanced back down at Mingi, adjusting the few strands on top of his head that I had messed up. Mingi nodded, avoiding my eyes for some reason as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Yup, it’s good you two spend some time away from the city. I think I need it too.” Jongho groaned just as Yugyeom returned, a chocolate granola bar in his hand he reached out for Jongho to take. He had grabbed a coke for himself, gulping it down greedily.

“What do you need?” Yugyeom asked as he reclaimed his seat, scooting close to the table.

“A vacation,” Jongho muttered as Mingi chuckled, straw between his teeth as he chewed on it while scrolling through the document he had been reading. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome or keep them from working on their thesis, so I decided it was time for me to go. I only came to give Mingi his coffee, after all.

“I’ll leave you three to continue your studies,” I announced with a friendly smile as I squeezed Mingi’s nape one last time before stepping back, his head turning to look at me, “Have a nice day you three.”

“You too, Y/N!” Jongho and Yugyeom echoed each other cutely and I grinned, waving at Mingi as he nodded, shaking his cup of coffee to make the ice rattle.

“Thanks again, I’ll talk to you later.” I nodded and lingered there for a second, not exactly knowing why, but I wanted one last glance at Mingi. He didn’t look away either, his eyes sparkling in happiness, his shoulders now relaxed compared to how tense they were when I arrived. But I couldn’t stand here all day long and stare at Mingi like a creep, so, I turned on my heels and left, feeling Mingi’s eyes follow me. He always did that, watched me until I was out of his line of sight. It warmed my cheeks and made my heart race once again, feeling secure and safe for some unknown reason. I suppose it was the fact that someone was looking out for me that made me think all that, and yet, I didn’t want to depend on someone else. I wanted to feel secure because of myself and not because I knew someone had my back. Being independent was handy since you didn’t always have someone by your side. I have always hated finding stability in others and asking for validation, and I have always believed that as long as I knew who I was and what I stood for, I didn’t need anyone to encourage me or tell me they were proud of me. I wasn’t doing anything for anyone else in this life, everything that I did was for myself.

After leaving building E and then campus, I was headed towards the shopping centre, rows of different stores lining up and trying to lure you in with sparkly clothes but expensive price tags. I was here for a few groceries and some other things that I needed to pick up, my fridge was close to being empty since I hadn’t bothered to restock it at the beginning of the week. I knew that if Mingi and I were going to the party tomorrow, I wouldn’t have to cook dinner for Friday night, so having ramen tonight was more than satiating. I would figure something out for the weekend, perhaps I would manage to trick Mingi into coming over just to cook something for us. He was a much more talented chef than I was, after all. And just because I felt like treating myself a little today, I would grab some purple lilies on the way home and a slice of red velvet cake from my favourite patisserie.

            The rest of my morning went just like I had planned it last evening. I got up early and made breakfast from whatever I still had in my fridge, I went and grabbed some coffee for Mingi before stopping by the library, and then I went grocery shopping. I even got myself some pretty flowers and the incense my boss had recommended for a lighter space, and then…came the grand deep cleaning of my apartment. It’s not like it needed that much scrubbing, but when I had a spur of energy, I would always channel it into cleaning the apartment until it was spotless again. Besides, when my emotions got too heavy and my thoughts too loud, distracting myself by tidying up my space has always helped greatly. At first, for white noise, I had put on a podcast about whatever life-changing events celebrities were up to today, but soon got bored of that and switched to music. That seemed to help a lot more as I was done with my living room in no time, glancing around and wondering how to make it homier.

I liked it as it was already, coated with beige and maroon ornaments, a dark green sofa, plants that I should definitely take more care of, books stacked upon each other in a corner, and the vinyl player I had gotten from Mingi a few years ago as a present. I had a small coffee table in front of my sofa and then a smaller wooden holder for my laptop or whatever else I wanted to store on it. The entryway was connected to the living room, thus I thought of filling up the dark space of the main corridor, wanting to see the paintings that I had hung up without having to walk close to them, or without having to switch on the big lights. The bathroom was next, which was easy to clean as the space wasn’t too big, then came my bedroom which was the most challenging one. Changing the sheets always took away my willpower to live, and I couldn’t explain why. It just sucked the joy out of my body and I found myself faceplanting on the bare mattress, groaning into it. My phone was by my side somewhere, perhaps tangled up in the sheets or hidden under another bare pillow, but I could still clearly hear my music.

I felt around for it until my fingers finally touched the cold gadget, and then I grabbed it and flipped onto my back, unlocking it. My mother had sent me a picture of a beanie she had crocheted, asking whether I wanted it. I quickly let her know that it was pretty but she’s already given me like five of those, so she should probably just give it to my little cousin. Then, scrolling through the messaging app, I found myself stopping when I came across Mingi’s name. He was right underneath my mother’s chat since he was the person I texted most. The picture he had sent of the kitty from the café was the last message he had sent today, and I sighed, chewing on my bottom lip. I knew he was busy, the café was crowded from around noon until late afternoon, but Mingi always found time to somehow text me. I knew him not talking to me for a few hours meant nothing major, sometimes we wouldn’t speak for half a day, but I felt the sudden urge to speak to him. Dialling him up wasn’t an option since he most likely couldn’t take my call, and I could’ve texted him but I had already reacted to the kitty picture with a small heart. Genie was cute, but Mingi was cuter as he held her to his chest, visibly cooing down at her.

I groaned and locked my phone, letting my head fall back against the mattress, the wheels turning in my head. I was borderline getting desperate and it was worrisome, this hasn’t happened before. I couldn’t even blame it on having sex with Mingi because this wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last time either. This is who we were, friends who shared something deeper and more intimate. Nobody asked weird questions, and neither one of us tried to make it awkward, we just went with the flow. It was easy and very practical, I wouldn’t have stayed with Mingi if he had demanded a relationship, or had tried to make it seem like this thing between us was something more…because it wasn’t. Never had been and never would be, there was no reason for it. Relationships rarely worked out in the long run these days, and I wasn’t up for an unnecessary heartbreak when things were good like this. I knew Mingi felt the same way, our mindset was so similar that I was frightened by it at times, but maybe that’s why we worked so well together in this friendship…or situationship—whatever it was—we have never labelled it. I do view Mingi as my friend, though. I released a long sigh before bouncing off the mattress and springing back into action. I still had a lot to clean and it wouldn’t be done by itself. My bedroom was still a mess, my closet begging me to finally fold my clothes and put them back on their hangers.

So, once I was done with my bedroom too, I forced myself to be done with the kitchen as well, knowing that if I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t do it anytime soon. To my luck, the kitchen didn’t need a lot of work. I rewarded myself with fresh and cold orange juice once I was done with everything, opening my window and leaning against the wall as I gazed out at the sky. The evening had arrived, the sky swirled with orange and pink hues, and birds flew overhead to somewhere warmer now that the summer was over. I loved looking at the sky, its colours were always pretty and gentle. It reminded me to take a deep breath, stilling my nerves and staying level-headed when I felt lost. Like right now with my phone in my hands for the nth time today, checking whether I had any new messages. I didn’t because Mingi still had an hour until his shift was over and he hadn’t used his phone this whole day after our chat in the morning. I sighed and pushed off the wall, placing my cup of orange juice on the counter as I headed for a much-needed shower.

Once done with my shower and skincare routine, I went to my bedroom and picked out clean pyjama pants, the white tee sitting neatly on top of my other tees catching my eyes. I grabbed it and pulled it out, bringing it up to my nose without hesitation to take a deep whiff of it. It smelled like Mingi, his strong and musky cologne, a bit faded since it’s been in my closet since his last visit, but it was still so him. Without giving myself time to reconsider my actions, I quickly pulled it over my head and shivered when the cold material touched my heated skin. It was a bit too loose for me, but it didn’t bother me as I closed my closet, grabbing my hairbrush to brush the knots out of my hair. It’s been in a bun all day long and I groaned as I gave my scalp a massage, the relief instant. I was bound to become hungry anytime now, so, without waiting for my stomach to rumble in hunger, I headed back to the kitchen to grab the Jin Ramen and prepare it for dinner. My phone was in the pocket of my sweatpants, and I found myself looking out for any vibrations as I poured water into the small pot. I took it to the stove and lit it, placing the pot over the stove head. Now I had to wait until the water started boiling, so I pulled a chair out and grabbed my phone again.

My battery would die soon, so I debated whether to put it to charge now or later on when I’d sit down to watch a new episode of the series I started watching this week. Something didn’t let me part from my phone, however, a gnawing feeling overtaking my stomach as I sighed, burying my head in my hands. What was happening to me? Why did I want to talk to Mingi so badly all of a sudden? I usually loved it when he gave me space, it felt refreshing to be with myself for the time being, but it seemed as if today all of those emotions had never existed. To distract myself, I settled on playing a puzzle game which only angered me, but at least it took my mind off Mingi for the time being. Just as I ran out of time and was ready to chuck my phone at the wall, there was a knock at my front door. I froze for a second, wondering whether I had imagined it at first or not, but there came a second knock. My eyebrows furrowed as I got up from the table, phone in my pocket now, headed for the front door. I wondered who it was at this hour. I hadn’t ordered delivery and Mingi hadn’t texted me about coming over, so I was left wondering. My mother certainly wouldn’t take a bus out of the blue to come to the city, it was usually me going home to her.

Looking through the peephole, my stomach lurched at the man standing outside my door, and I was unlocking the door before I could compose myself. I swung it open with big eyes, staring at Mingi a little starstruck as he stood with a smile, his eyebrows raised when he noticed my expression.

“Hi, am I bothering you?” He asked, glancing past me inside the apartment. I shook my head and took a step back, leaving space for him to come inside.

“Not at all,” I answered as I closed the door behind him, locking it again, “What are you doing here?”

Mingi shrugged, stepping out of his shoes as he let his backpack rest against the wall in the entrance hall, “I was thinking that maybe…I can sleep over? I know I didn’t text you beforehand, I’m sorry, but I’m so tired I forgot to do so.”

“Busy day at the café?” I asked as Mingi placed his jacket on the hanger, nodding with a long sigh, “You can stay, I was just making ramen for myself. Want some?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of starving.” Mingi rubbed his belly with a wince, “The last blueberry muffin I ate was at around…five o’clock.”

And now it was close to nine o’clock, I shook my head at Mingi. He looked sheepish as he shuffled on his feet, probably preparing himself for an earful, but suddenly the words were stuck in my throat. Looking at him felt…it made my heart race once again now that he was finally in my apartment, by my side. I had wondered all day long what he was up to, whether he was tired or not, if he’d want to hang out after his shift, and now that he was here, I felt like I could finally settle down, hoping that my thoughts would finally just stop. I don’t know what took over me, but I had the sudden urge to wrap my arms around him and squeeze him to myself, so I stepped forward and hugged him, closing my eyes as I buried my face in Mingi’s neck. He froze, a small gasp leaving his mouth as I gripped his light sweater tightly, just inhaling his familiar cologne. I could feel my tension melt away now that I felt his warm body pressed against mine so securely and firmly, and I gulped when he finally wrapped his arms around me too. Mingi’s hug was just as soulful as mine, and I had to chew my bottom lip as I had the sudden urge to cry…I had no idea why, though.

“What’s the hug for?” Mingi’s voice was quiet and warm as one hand raised to pat my head, I felt his chin pressed against the top of my head.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, a bit embarrassed to admit the real reason, but I also didn’t want to hide it from him, “I’ve missed you, I guess.”

Mingi laughed, quietly but joyfully, and I pouted…at least he hadn’t made fun of me. He then squeezed me into himself more and rubbed his chin against my head playfully, “It’s okay, I’ve missed you too.”

“Really?” My heart skipped a beat as Mingi hummed, low in his chest.

“Really.” He confirmed and I smiled, wondering why my body was suddenly flooded with so much warmth. We stayed in the hug for another second or two, until Mingi’s stomach rumbled loudly and it made both of us laugh before we broke the hug. He rubbed his belly as his cheeks flushed, pouting his lips as I shook my head at him.

“You can’t starve yourself, it’s not healthy.”

“I know, but I lost track of time.” Mingi sighed, then batted his lashes at me almost cutely, “Can I shower while you make us ramen?”

“Of course,” I chuckled, headed for the kitchen as Mingi grabbed his backpack, “But I’m watching my series after dinner, so I’m not going to bed early today.”

“Okay, I want to watch whatever you’re watching, then.” I scoffed and threw Mingi a look, but he was already headed for my bathroom, his favourite blue pyjamas with silver stars on them in his hands. Had he stopped by his apartment before coming over? Peculiar.

 >> next chapter

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[uchihamasacre]

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight

"why don't we make this interesting" Bakugou then says

"How?" You say knowing he’s going to find a way to make this into a competition the way he always finds a way too

"You win I have to get you off, I win you have to get me off"

//////////

you were in Bakugou's dorm room another Saturday of playing video games with him, kirishima, and denki.

The conversation went into tmi territory which was something you were use too. Denki started it of course all his attempts to get a date never working out.

"I just don't get it" Denki complains

"Maybe if you don't ask there friend out one week and then them the next Denk's maybe you'd get somewhere" you tell him

Bakugou wins the round again, huff, puffs, and sighs echo through the room as you stare annoying at the screen looking over at the winner who has a smirk on his face

"Not my fault you idiots suck!" He states

"Hey y/n would you go out with me?" Denki says silence falling over the room "bro" kirishima says

"Denki are you seriously asking me out right now?"

"No no... I'm asking like if we weren't friends and I asked you would you? Like am I attractive?" He says standing up hands waving around defending himself

You open your mouth to reply before you could

Bakugou starts laughing at the other boy. Denki takes a seat back beside kirishima on the ground knee pressed to his chest as the tv counts down for another game about to start

You all pick up your controllers

"Denki your honestly not my type sorry" you tell him not even looking his way but could see him lean past Kiri to look at you

"What is your type y/n?" kirishima asks

"Yeah you never have a date yourself? Why not?" Denki chimes in

"Uhhh i dunno... someone strong of course I can't date someone who I could beat up" you tell them

"well that's going to be hard to find" Kirishima says as you beat him yesterday in class during training

The convo turns sexual fast, due to Kaminari's lack of social skills he never knows what's something you shouldn't say or ask. It started with kissing questions. Which lead to masturbating.

"I wonder wants it's like for girls tho to orgasm" Denki blurts out

"Y/n what's it like" he yaps on like you and Kiri don't have red faces

"Ummmm I -I honestly don't know" you mumble looking over the Bakugou trying to give him a look to stop kaminari's rambling curiosity

But instead you were met with his red eyes looking not mad at the electric boys awkward talk but intrigued, you look away fast focusing on the game

"Have you never came y/n!" He asks in awe

"It's different for girls kami, leave y/n alone" kirishima speaks up

"I haven't" you say softly

Silence falls over the room the only sound was the videos games music playing

"Not like you'll ever find out what's it's like dunce face" Bakugou says you look back over at him his usual express returned as his eyes are fixated on the game again

The conversation goes back to normal, bickering and what not. Talks of movies and training tomorrow. You laugh menacing as Kiri beats bakugou again making it 4/6 wins

Kaminari's phone goes off "oh shit I almost forgot I'm meeting Sero and Mina for lunch! Are you guys sure you don't want to go"

"No"

"No"

"Oh shoot! It's getting late! I forgot I had to be at fat gum's meeting today!" Kirishima also says both boys getting up and saying bye before running out the room. Leaving you and Bakugou left you play another round and you won ?? Bakugou must be getting tired of playing

"why don't we make this interesting" Bakugou then says

"How?" You say knowing his going to find a way to make this into a competition the way he always finds a way too

"You win I have to get you off, I win you have to get me off"

You sat there a minute, not moving a muscle, staring at the bleach blonde in front of you trying to figure out if he means what you think he means

"Katsuki are you saying I have to suck you off?" You look him up and down, scanning his features

"What am I not your type? You don't want someone you can beat in a fight and you can't beat me!"

You think about it, katsuki was your type, muscular, confident, unbeatable, he has stunning looks anyone with eyes could see that.

But you weren't katsuki's type you thought, you didn't have evidence to prove this tho and he didn't seem to ever be interested in sex, or any kind of relationship ever until now. The fact that he even has friends, and that you got to be one of them still seemed strange to you even to this day

"You are" you say truthfully

"Then what's the problem? Scared you'll lose" he says with a bite

"Your on Kats!" You say giving him a grin grabbing the controller, the tension in the air, as the game counts down to start

3.....

2.....

1.....

You won?

He had to of lost on purpose there's no way in hell

"Looks like you win" he says a devilish look on his face. You look at your friend sitting beside you. The reality of what you agreed to hitting you. You can't back down. Katsuki's would give you hell for not keeping your word even if it was this

You didn't expect things to get heated so quickly, but you couldn't complain with to look in katsuki's eyes, his shirt long gone his muscular figure behind you, with your back pressed against his chest. One of his hands kneading your thigh roughly

"Have you ever done this before" you say a blush on your cheeks feelings shyness creeping up on you as his fingers brush against your hip, rubbing across the waist band of your sweat pants

He pulls away from his brutal attack on your neck, seeing him grin at you from the mirror in front of his bed as you make eye contact

"No but ima make you cum" he says pulling your head back into a heated kiss as katsuki pulls down your shorts taking your panties with them

Out of instinct you shut your legs hiding yourself as he pulls your legs apart you hear the sound of him sucking on his fingers your brain didn't get the chance to register the sound before two thick fingers coated in his spit make contact with your folds

You gasp at the sudden action head bending to look at his fingers slowly teasing your lips. Katsuki uses his free hand to push your head back into the crook of his neck forcing you to watch

"You were already getting wet just from thinking about me touching you huh?"

You open your mouth to reply only to be met with katsuki's middle finger slipping into you to the first knuckle causing you to inhale harshly

"Shit" you hear him huff in your ear "too tight"

You shut your eyes too embarrassed by how hot it was to keep watching yourself in the mirror

katsuki's fingers move up brushing your clit causing you to thrust ever so slightly, barely noticeable but he notices

"eyes open" he demands you open your eyes seeing nothing but lust in his eyes as he ghosts over your clit again teasing you knowing he found it

His mouth finding it's way back on your neck sucking and biting at the soft flesh as he draws circles with his middle finger in your clit finally drawing gasps after gasp from your lips

"I want to hear how good I'm making you feel stop holding back"

You feel his other hand that was holding your left thigh open leave the same sound of him sucking on his fingers in your ear again

You watch as he takes the fingers singling one out making eye contact as he fully thrust one into you a loud moan leaves your lips as you throw your head back

"God your making a mess" he tells you feeling how his fingers glide without friction in and out of you. The others not leaving your clit.

He adds another finger you wince as you feel him only go to the first knuckle again. His fingers on your clit stop

"fuck y/n"

"You can take it" he says pushing them all the way in stopping to let you adjust you feel him try to scissor them before pulling halfway out before pushing back in agonizingly slow

A low mhmmm leaves his lips, his hard cock pressed into lower back as he watches you fall apart, legs spread as you take his fingers

"Good girl" his hot breath tinkling your ear as he sets his pace back on your clit sending you into over drive

You hips start to move on there own riding his fingers

"Katsuki" you moan as his fingers curl hitting your g spot

"Katsuki-ii" you continue moaning praises of his name your eyes shutting tightly unable to keep them open as you chase your high the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you hitting your g spot over and over, you turn slightly in him your left hand gripping his bicep, nails digging in hard, as you hide your face in between his collar bone and neck

"Come on you're doing so good cum for me"

a few more pumps and your biting hard into his neck muffling the scream that tried to escape cumming all over his fingers

Katsuki pulls out his fingers slowly you open your eyes to see him sucking on them tasting you as you lay against him panting, sweaty, your legs slowly shutting folding over.

"Let's get you cleaned up" katsuki slowly moves from under you. You could hear the water running in his bathroom "turn over on your back" You do so feeling your legs being pushed open and up a warm cloth cleaning you off

"You really did make a mess" Katsuki grumbles probably a bit upset about his sheets. You watch as he goes through his dresser handing you a pair of  his shorts

You take them pulling them on while still in bed, Katsuki moves in beside you pulling the covers over you both

"I feel like I ran a marathon" you say closing your eyes leaning on his shoulder

"I told you I could make you cum" was the last thing you heard before drifting into sleep

Hours later

"Hey bro sorry for barging in I think I forgot my charger!" Kirishima says entering Bakugou's room

He stood frozen, mouth dropped as he sees you and still shirtless bakugou cuddled up in bed. The noise wakes katsuki

"Shitty hair what are you doing?" He growls "get out!"

"I -I forgot... ya know never mind" he says leaving to room quietly shutting the door. Standing in the hall for a moment to process what he saw.

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

Do you think the Rubiales Verdict will make players more likely to report bad stuff or less likely? I'm not sure what it means. I'm not Spanish.

wow, now that is a loaded question! while i think we can all agree that there was a certain moral victory here, what does this verdict mean in reality with spanish players and rfef? when we talk about what is going to happen "on the ground," then i would say no, players are going to think twice about reporting anything. 🙃

here's why i think that:

first, it's pretty telling that there were no words of support at all for jenni after the verdict from montse, the manager of the national team, who was more than content to never speak of it again during a press conference yesterday. the judge did not think jenni being excluded from the national team was punishment or retaliation as a form of coercion, so rfef can continue its punitive measures. basically if you speak out, you are on your own…

there are serious consequences for players who speak up. we saw what happened with jenni and her football career in spain. we saw what they did to misa rodríguez. they are trying to do the same with irene paredes. irene even said at the press conference yesterday: "the reality is that today i am here, i am still part of the group of captains. tomorrow, if i tell you the truth, i don't even know if i'm going to play, so we'll see." and we will have to keep an eye on the rest.

jenni and her family have received death threats, and the abuse is constant. rubiales' sentence says he needs to stay away from jenni for 1 year. and then after that? what is to prevent that puto calvo or any of his associates from harassing jenni? there isn't any mechanism in place.

rubiales' assault of jenni was televised around the world and we have multiple angles of it and so much evidence against him, and yet the fine imposed is the lowest one contemplated for this type of crime. the statement from futpro is true. this sets a "worrying precedent" that "sexual assault can have negligible economic consequences for the aggressor." so players are debating whether it is "worth it" to speak up.

further, the judge in his statement said that this assault was not one of a supervisor harassing his subordinate. then what was it? if this is not someone in a position of power taking advantage of his subordinate, then i don't know what is. so if this is the kind of impunity given to rfef leaders in the open with millions of viewers, then you can imagine what will happen behind closed doors.

finally, it’s expensive for the player. the judge ruled that rubiales has to pay for 50% of jenni’s legal costs and the rest she has to pay out of pocket herself. lawyers are not cheap.

tl;dr it's pretty clear that if players want a career with the national team, then they need to keep quiet and just play football. rfef wants more olga carmonas (look how she was rewarded for being a loyal soldier that her image is on the new kits!) and fewer jennis, irenes and misas. 🤷‍♀️

[the-cooler-king]

in true earth-sign fashion, I'm going to observe a little longer before I send the most pathetic text I've sent in 15 years

[kyouka-supremacy]

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[crybaby-bkg]

a slight continuation of this

no caller ID pops on your screen, pulling your attention away from your previous task at hand: not fucking up your eyeliner. you typically wouldn’t care if it was a little uneven, but you’re going on a date tonight, for the first time in so long, and you want everything to go as smoothly as possible.

which is why you groan when you end the call, and that same no caller ID pops right back up seconds later. you know who it is—who else would it be? you figured he’s already seen your story of being excited for going on your first date in a while, on the only app you hadn’t blocked him on. petty? perhaps, but it’s on him to be keeping up with you despite you cursing him out for wasting your time and then blocking him right after.

you watch it ring though, contemplating for a while longer than you should. you blocked him for a reason. no need to entertain his same shit that he always spews to you when he realizes that he might be losing you once more?

….but it doesn’t hurt to hear the hero beg for you.

“What do you want, Bakugou?” You sigh irritably as you finally answer his call, putting him on speaker as you go back to even out your eyeliner. You hear him huff on the other side of the phone at the use of his surname, but he doesn’t say anything about it, instead, quickly telling you what he’s been bothering you for.

“Who’s the fuckin’ loser that’s gonna drool over how good your tits look in that stupid green dress you love so much?” Bakugou grunts, and you instantly feel your face heating at his crude words. You glance over with a frown at that same green dress that makes your tits look good, where it hangs on your closet.

“None of your damn business, Bakugou.” You snap at him, wondering if it’s too late to find something else to wear. “Not like you ever took me out in my stupid green dress.” Your voice holds a level of bitterness that only he can bring out of you, and you hear his sigh through the speakers.

“I told you this before, I’m always—”

“Busy.” You cut him off, voice suddenly thick as you think back on the countless rejections he’s splattered at your feet every time you tried to further your relationship with him. “You reminded me of how busy you’ve been since you first started this whole situationship.”

“Situation—? Huh? We were dating!” Bakugou protests with a huff, and you can hear how he paces the floor quickly. You glare at your phone, setting down your liner to instead pick of your (his) favorite lipgloss.

“You’d have to ask me out to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to court me to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to make time for me and take me out on dates and not hide me to fucking date me, Bakugou.” You spit at him, venom dripping off of your lips in waves. You don’t know why you answered, why you even entertained him. You shake your head with a huff when the line goes quiet, eyebrows quirking up when your date sends you a text to make sure you’re still on for tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Bakugou mutters pathetically, his voice suddenly soft. You hesitate, for some reason, when it comes to texting your date back. Why do you always hesitate when Bakugou is around?

“Let me make it up to you, court you, and shit. I can take you to one of my favorite places, you can wear that pretty green dress and that gloss you know I love.” His voice is pleading, thickening and sweet and suffocating. You shouldn’t respond, should reply back a yes to your date.

“Please? You know how much you mean to me.” Bakugou mumbles, and you can hear the earnestness in his voice. Why haven’t you said yes to your date yet?

“I’ll do better this time. Just one more chance, sweetheart.” Bakugou’s voice is so soft, you’ve never heard him this vulnerable before. You sigh with a shake of your head, slumping back into your seat in defeat.

…

Sorry, I can’t make it tonight. Something came up. Maybe we can reschedule for another time?

[itspileofgoodthings]

my seniors have been so quiet all year and it’s been fine cause we’ve had a lot of writing/research to do but I need them to talk to me now so i was hit by a bolt of inspiration two days ago and I made them all tell me their comfort level with sharing aloud, rating themselves on a scale of 1-10. I then averaged the class score and they’re a 4.5. I then told them yesterday we needed to raise the score the tiniest bit. And the 1’s and 2’s didn’t need to be 10’s just maybe 3’s and 4’s. And they tried! They talked more 😭

[sapphicscience]

I was talking with my transfeminine partner yesterday about our conversation on here and she said that this discussion may be skewed, because herself and many transfem people she knows won’t even show up to spaces where there is a possibility that “men” wont be welcomed. Because she’s scared that she will be seen/interpreted as a man, even though she isn’t. I don’t think it’s necessarily that the presence of cis men makes trans women more comfortable, but the exclusion of cis men is likely to deter them from even attempting to join the space.

I kind of think it comes down to what I said in one of my reblogs, that if you’re excluding men you have to confront the way you’re defining “men.” I live in NYC and have seen the exclusion of men used many times to justify transmisogyny so I have been wary of spaces that exclude men in that respect.

this is useful info! I have genuinely never been to or heard of a space near me that Actually excludes men in a meaningful way (the MA lesbian bar advertises itself as "for all LGBTQ people and allies") so I really thought this discussion was more theoretical than anything else. curious how your partner feels about events that aren't specifically exclusionary but are advertised as "dyke events" etc. I have a trans woman friend who attends these events a lot (and others who attend them sporadically) but in boston they're either explicitly inclusive of pretty much anyone (like dyke march) or they're organized specifically by a trans woman, so this may be a skewed perspective that I'm seeing this from.

idk! I can see how a policy like that could be a deterrent to some trans women, but I'm still resistant to the idea that it's not ever possible to create an explicitly trans-inclusive women's space (for example). I know people make a lot of missteps when trying to do that ("women and femmes" my enemy) but does that mean you can't do it at all, or is there a way to sufficiently center trans women in such a space? or are we just not in a place where that's a possibility rn?

[happi-dreams]

My iPad needs to back up againn cause my dad somehow stopped it so I’m using my mums! :D

Back to using sketch book though which is a lil difficult but I’m getting the hang of it againn

Lil doodles :D

[good-beans]

I'll be back for more blogging eventually but real quick, a dream I had about John Milgram I just have to put down somewhere:

His role was quick and simple. He agreed to pose in a picture with me, and smiled for the camera. The emotion of the whole thing is a bit harder to explain. There was the thing with photography -- Mikoto's favored form of art being able to capture John. The art connecting both of them, though they'd always be on opposing sides (Mikoto taking pictures and John being the subject of this one). There was a sense of legacy, or proof. He said he'd "disappear" come trial 3, but now there was at least one physical record he had existed. He was here, he was happy. But at the same time, there was still a deep sadness that he would be lost -- since we've never really seen him smile, anyone who looked at the photo would think it was Mikoto. Idk, it was about being invisible and visible and being connected and being individual and breifly being happy...... it left me feeling a really mixed bittersweetness.......