#and maybe she’s right. I have to wait and see if some of the things I have planted will yield results and give them time to do so

[moonstruckme]

hiiiii mae!! hope ur having a good day/night, i was wondering if you would do a emt!marauders (or just remus) fic with a reader who maybe has past medical trauma or something so she really hates going to the doctors and avoids unplanned visits at all costs and one day she gets hurt doing something and she tells herself she’s fine but she’s really not (maybe she has like a concussion or something) and she tries to tell the boys she’s okay and she doesn’t need to go to the hospital but they’re like “yes you do u literally don’t know what day it is” and she kinda starts freaking out and they comfort her????

so sorry if you’ve done something like this you’ve written a LOT of fics (which is amazing i love them all) and i haven’t gotten the chance to read them all yet! anyways hope you have a great day i love ur fics so much!!!!!!

Thank you for your request, love you <3

cw: concussion, hospital mention, implied medical fear/past trauma

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 770 words

“This is supposed to be the sort of thing that only happens to old ladies,” Sirius mutters. “Look at James, dollface.” 

James’ smile is encouraging. “He knows he’s full of shit. We see people fall in showers all the time, it’s not an age thing. You don’t have to be geriatric for soap to be slippery.” 

You know, distantly, that they’re both trying to keep things light for your benefit, but their playacting isn’t helping you. You feel trapped, backed into a corner, and your lovely boyfriends who only want the best for you feel like your captors. 

Sirius clicks off the light he was shining in your eyes just as Remus comes back with your clothes. They exchange a look you don’t like. 

“Here, sweetheart, put this on.” Remus helps you get a sweatshirt over your head, extra careful to hold the collar away from the aching bump on the back of your head. 

You stand from the bed bemusedly as he starts putting your sweatpants on for you, too. You don’t love the vibe of all this coddling, either; the boys are usually only this delicate with you when they’re very concerned, very pitying, or both. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, though you already know. It’s not as if you would usually hang about in your towel all night after a shower, but they’re getting you dressed for a reason. 

James’ brows twitch together sympathetically. Sirius’ voice is gentle. “Baby, we need to go get your head looked at.” 

Your upset blooms fast and hot, tears choking you. “Why?” 

“You have a concussion, sweet girl. It seems fairly bad already, and it could get worse.” 

“But you’re…you always say hospitals can’t even do anything for those.” You know you sound childish, whiny and difficult, but you can’t help yourself. Your boyfriends don’t seem to hold it against you. James rubs your arm while Remus pulls your socks on with sweet, lingering touches. A tear squeezes out of your eye. “Why do I have to go?” 

“You’re right, there’s not much they can do,” says Remus. His voice is calm and even, a balm to your frazzled nerves. “But a concussion can be dangerous, and without tests we won’t know how dangerous it is or if there’s anything they can help with.” 

“That’s all we’re going for, angel,” James says lightly. “Just some tests. It won’t take terribly long, and we can stay with you most of the time.” 

You’re hardly hearing him, shaking your head despite the way it aches. More tears crest your cheeks, your breaths wet and quick. “Can’t we wait and go tomorrow?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” James takes your hand, squeezing your fingers. “We can’t, my love, but it’s going to be okay.” 

“I really can’t.” You pull your hand from his, wiping underneath your eyes. Your hair is still wet from the shower, cold seeping into your fresh sweatshirt. “I can’t do it. Please don’t make me.” Your voice chokes into a quiet squeak on the last few words. 

Remus coos and sits beside you on the bed, wrapping you up in a hug. You cry into his shoulder as he rocks you gently, murmuring against the side of your head. “Please,” you try again. 

He holds you closer. “I know, darling.” His voice is a low whisper. “I know it’s hard for you, and I know it’s scary, but we’ll be there with you. It’s not going to be as bad as you’re thinking. What we’re going for is really very simple, and Sirius can explain it to you on the way, hm? You’ll be alright.” 

When you calm some, he goes to warm the car, passing you off to Sirius and James to get your shoes on. 

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you, baby,” Sirius promises, kissing the shell of your ear as he walks you outside. His arm is heavy around your shoulders and James is quick to take your hand after locking the door behind you, bolstering you for what’s ahead. “You think we’re gonna let you get hurt? This is going to be the easiest hospital visit you ever had. We run this place, they’ll have us in and out.” 

“I wouldn’t say we run it,” Remus says drily as you three pile into the backseat. “More like we engage with it, in twelve hour shifts, four to five times a week.” 

“But we do have lots of friends,” James chips in. 

“Exactly.” Sirius busies himself with wiping the last of your tears while James gets your seatbelt on. “Like the radiographer at Bellevue. You’ll see, baby. We’ve got you covered.”

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[backinmyphase]

Just a heart broke bitch!

Synopsis. Only 24 hours passed since your ex ended it. So why did you find yourself in a club waiting for someone to fuck? Someone like Satoru Gojo?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, college! Gojo, Satoru is down bad and reader doesn't know, overstím, (not mentioned but reader is on the pill), nipple sucking

Word count. 2.2k

A/N. I have never written smut before, so this is more like an experiment hehe

"Shouldn't we at, fuck! hah~ l-least have a first date?"

Gojo had that smug smile on his face as his eyes looked down at your body, inspecting the sweat that was shining from your naked chest. Behind his smugness you could see his back tense up. Just as sweaty as yours. His hair disheveled, standing up in all directions.

"S-shut u-AAAAAAh-" you gasped and couldn't keep the moan in as he made you shudder with his-

"Up."

A little context to this situation you found yourself in. You were in a shit position. A couple of hours before you sat at the table of a cafe trying to grasp what was happening right there.

"What?"

"We should break up." your, well now ex-boyfriend didn't have any readable expression on his face. "I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean with this?" your body stiffened, no seeable reaction shown.

"I heard about how you acted in high school. About your little adventures with your friends." his look was different from before. It was filled with- "I don't want a girlfriend which is a slut. Who sucked off more men than she kissed."

Your hand gripped your glass of coffee harder. "Excuse me?"

He shook his head. "You know what I am talking about. Let's just end and forget about this relationship. It was never that good anyway."

And like that he got up and walked away.

And you really wished you got up and gave him a piece of your mind. Tell him how it really was at these parties which you were back then to young to go to. And how the guys you met there knew that. How they used that.

Tell him what kind of entitled asshole he was, to shame you for your old ways of seeking validation.

Back then you were only seventeen. And they were at least twenty one. But you were the filthy slut, who was to wild and surely not loyal enough to be in a relationship, right?

You hated how even now you just swallowed your emotions, your tears and your feeling of self worth.

Because you shouldn't be crying about such an asshole, right? Your friends, well they called themselves that, said not to sulk just search for a new one in the club. They probably told him all about your old stories. Like always when things were going good for you.

They were the only people you had, who stuck by your side. So was it really your fault that you took out your black dress, with your six inch heels?

Yes.

Because even though you wanted to deny it, you liked this boy you had dated. He was your first real relationship, shouldn't that mean something?

But it was never that good anyway, right?

While sitting and sipping champagne in this nightclub, you could already feel your common sense slipping away.

Stupid like back then, because you should know that your friends wouldn't bring you back to your home. Isn't that how you ended up in all these beds? Them doing drugs outside while you were drinking with a guy who will bring you with him, no matter what you really wanted.

You shouldn't trust those people.

It was always just drunk calls, drunk texts, drunk tears, drunk sex.

And those days were behind you. Right?

You wish you could say that. But then you wouldn't be sitting here, dressed up to forget what was really going through your mind right now. No, they weren't behind you and maybe your ex was right.

You stopped smoking along time ago. You stopped following these things that told you you were only something with them. But today was different.

You took some cigarettes that were given to you from some dude with a devious smile. Not your best move. But right now anything was better than you alone in your head.

"This seat free?"

And then there was this guy like your fate was laughing at you. This guy who had this gorgeous white hair and kind of boyish smile. Like a perfect opportunity to forget tonight.

"Yeah, no worries." you were kind of surprised at the sound of your own voice. It was raspier than usual. Like the smoke already made it's mark.

His tall frame lowered onto the seat next to you, his body facing your direction, instead of the bar. He already had this curious look. "So what brings you here alone?"

You shrugged and gave the bartender a sign as you finished your champagne. "Two more wines, please."

The bartender just nodded and fetched you your first one.

"Woah, slow down." The white haired mans expression changed. "That bad down to get wasted?"

"Yeah, well wouldn't be in a Club if not, or would I?" you looked up at his face, and now was your turn to check him out. Other than the fact that he was tall and he was insanely pretty. That was no problem, in fact it helped. But his almost concerned expression wasn't.

"I guess." He tilted his head a bit. "What's your name?"

Maybe it was the alcohol but for some stupid reason you just told him your name. And he leaned forward and whispered.

"I'm Gojo Satoru."

That wasn't ideal. While you didn't really care about your college people, he had quite a name in your college. But any critical thinking was thrown out of the window since your second shot in the last hour.

Amd as you looked at those eyes that had the for you known look in them you whispered back.

"You want to fuck?"

Yeah, your thinking really did leave an hour ago. Because you swore that you would never be in these surroundings and would never ask such a question a stranger again. But like back then you just wanted to forget.

You didn't remember what came next and how you did end up in this small apartment. All you did know that you were impatient at Gojo because he took too long to get on the bed and fuck you.

Why were there two glasses of wine on this table next to him? Were you talking to him? You couldn't remember.

You just knew that you needed something to keep these thoughts away.

"God, you are driving me crazy." he was on top of you, his hands were everywhere, touching you, heating up your body.

"So beautiful for what?" he mumbled, his naked body (wait when did he get naked? When did you get naked? Oh what does it matter...) was pressed against yours as he kissed your lips.

"I need you now." your arms now around him pressing him closer to your, trying to get your aching pulse down there closer to his.

He laughed and laid his head back. "You are acting like a dick you know that?"

"Well you might as well stick it in."

And that's how you ended up under Satoru Gojo as he bullied his far too big cock inside you.

And you could almost swear he was in love with you, with how he clashed on your teeth so messy, so hot, so starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. 

"Oh. Fuck. You are so unfair you know that?" he was heavily gasping for air, but still made sure to leave a kiss after every deep thrust inside you.

"Is that what you wanted? No more thoughts because I fuck you so good?" and he went all the way back out of you just to slam his hips back down again.

"fuck!" you almost screamed as he hit that spot inside again, holding onto his back, no more like clawing at his back for dear life. "right t-there, please!"

His head went lower with his trail of kisses until he reached your chest. "No need to beg, pretty."

Your body is slick with sweat and only growing hotter by the moment; the sound of his rough panting coupled with the occasional whine he lets out only has you panting more.

And he has the nerve to go faster while thrusting inside you. Making you see stars as he kissed your nipples, sucked on them, made out with your chest.

"Satoru!" you moaned, you couldn't do anything else. "You are killing me!"

And even though you were far gone and overstimulated to the moon you could feel his cocky smile at your chest. And he didn't even consider slowing down at your plead, no he more seemed proud of himself making you so fucked out.

How is he fucking you like his life depended on it, couldn't he get tired? Every lasting slap! at your walls had you gasping for air, while he had to close his eyes at how your walls clamped down around him and sucked him back in.

Was this heaven?

"Are you close?" he was out of breath while he stopped sucking for just a second and you would be lying if you said you didn't want him to just continue.

"Yeah, please keep going."

"What did I say about b-begging?" he moaned again. " I'm getting closer myself. Where do you want it?"

And for some dumb reason you screamed-

"Inside!"

And he did. You felt the hot spurt inside you, filling you up, making you feel so full. And yet he didn't stop, no still helped you to reach your high.

And you couldn't help how his frantic hits against your core caused your toes to curl and your back to arch further than ever before as you’re slowly being brought closer to your tense, and awaited edge. “Cumming, cumming!”

"Yeah, just let go for me..." his voice was low amd his face suddenly no longer on your chest, but so close to your own. "Cum for me, pretty girl."

"Ooh... Ah!" it was almost embarrassing how hard you came. But you needed that at this day. Maybe it was far more embarrassing how you were asleep five seconds later.

"Fuck, baby, you are so beautiful..."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Want a glass of water?"

Your eyes were still sticky, the last night not fully slept away. Where were you? This wasn't your own bed.

You sat up, but realizing that your head would spin and push you down before you could steady yourself. And as you looked up you saw him.

And you remembered what had happened yesterday.

"Wouldn't hurt." he answered himself and sat down next to your, heavy, heavy body and somehow lifted your back so you sat. Bringing the water to your lips.

"Drink so you don't throw up on me now."

You just obeyed him and sipped on the cold water, that went down your aching, dry throat so deliciously. You downed it in one sip.

"That's right." his hand went up and down your back soothing. "You and I had maybe too many drinks yesterday."

And then you realized the situation.

You were sitting here. On the bed of a stranger. With still no clothes on. As you drunkenly followed him into his apartment. What was wrong with your brain?

"Thank you." you took the glass from him. "I'm alright now."

He had that soft smile and something inside it punched you inside your gut.

"Alright I'm doing breakfast now." he stood up and looked amused as you hid yourself under his covers. "You can come when you're ready."

And like that he was out the door. Breathing began to be so much easier. You had to find a way out of here. And quickly, before this was becoming more awkward than it should.

What were you thinking yesterday? Fucking Gojo Satoru of all people? You just proved the point of your ex. You really were a slut.

Your things were all around the room, probably disgarded in the act yesterday. Picking them up and dressing yourself in them again felt nasty, like last night was sticking onto you.

You opened the door and looked around to see the exit. And there it was. The wardrobe with your shoes. You tiptoed there, softly.

"Leaving already?"

You turned around to a Gojo Satoru leaning against the doorframe of the supposed kitchen. He looked amused and had one eyebrow raised.

"Well, yeah... I completely forgot about it, but I have some things to do..." you fiddle with your shoes impatiently.

"Alright, should I bring you home?"

"NO!" You cleared your throat. "I mean- there is really no need."

He shrugged. "If you say so. But be safe and drink at home again."

You nodded and with that you were out.

You didn't remember your old one night stands to be that open and smily. No, they just told you how to leave and slept through the morning, while snoring.

Your phone vibrated inside of your bag. And you could see a message of a new number.

Satoru <333

Hey, get home safe!

Oh and we exchanged numbers yesterday, if you don't remember.

You couldn't help but feel guilty, but you left him on read. Why did he message you? Why was he so nice to you like he wanted to get to know you.

How could you tell him, that you just used him as a good fuck?

[katelynnwrites]

kisses to my exes | laura freigang

warnings: ~

word count: 562

summary: without asking laura, you decide to do what you think is best for her. except that you couldn't have made a more wrong decision.

a/n: first thing i've written in a long time 🫠

really, you don’t know what you had been thinking, opening the door for your ex like that.

after all, you’re the one who broke up with her.

but laura was standing out there, in the pouring rain and her clothes were already getting soaked. that silly yellow umbrella she’d been holding had done little to nothing to help shield her from the storm.

now you stare at her, unable to tear your eyes away.

she’s shaking a little in her cream sweater and jeans, clenching something tightly in her fist.

her voice is hoarse when she speaks, ‘you broke up with me…and i have every right to be upset. really upset. i was so hurt and awfully confused because up until that moment, i thought we were doing good together.’

you swallow with some difficulty, eyes finally darting down to the ground.

‘then syd said something while we were in paris. she said that you didn’t strike her as a bad person and maybe you broke up with me out of some misguided notion that you were helping me somehow.’

the pain in her voice is evident, the raw edge of it only growing as she continues, ‘i thought she was making no sense. until i remembered something you once said in passing. that you felt like you were holding me back.’

‘laura please. let it go.’ you whisper because she’s stepping forward and getting too close now.

the german woman ignores you, coming right into your personal space.

‘so it’s true.’

‘i’m sorry.’ you murmur, already resigning yourself to her hating you.

your ex must read the thought on your face because she shakes her head with a scoff.

‘stupid. you’re still so stupid because how can you not see?’

‘see what?’ you weakly say.

‘that all of this-’ she shoves what she’d been holding into your hands.

‘-means nothing without you!’

in your hands is her bronze medal from the olympics. you stare at it rather dizzily.

‘oh.’

‘oh.’ you repeat, swaying a little on your feet.

vaguely, you register laura’s mouth moving but you can’t hear anything.

not till she grips your arms firmly to steady you. the harsh pressure forces the world to come back into focus, just in time for you to hear her say, ‘idiot. my misguided self sacrificial idiot. the biggest idiot i’ve ever known and yet i love you.’

‘you love me?’ you faintly ask.

‘never stopped.’ she breathes, ocean coloured eyes meeting yours with an unblinking intensity.

with a rush of emotion, you practically fall forward into her arms, ‘forgive me schatz. i’m so sorry. i love you, i promise.’

laura’s arms were practically waiting because she draws you close immediately, ‘already have. swear you’ll never do that again okay? there are other ways to show that you love me.’

right there and then you decide that you never will do such a thing again. the blonde is entrusting her heart to you again and you’ll be damned if you mess this second chance up.

the dampness of her clothes don’t register, all that matters is her familiar, solid and all encompassing warmth. the months apart have not impacted how she feels like home.

as she said, there are other, less foolish ways to show her that you love her and you are intent on showing her each and every one of them.

German Translation:

schatz - sweetheart

[santanasaintmendes]

g’day mate how are ya?

Part7! to The Cosmic Girl Records!

summary: new year, new you, plus your new job! which also comes with a few difficulties when you have a big insta following and no pr training ollie bearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

fc!: just some random photos off pinterest, all credits go to the rightful owners of the images used below

warnings: swearing, insensitive jokes, mention of being held at gunpoint, if any of these are triggering please scroll away!!

a/n: finally got the motivation to make the 7th part to the cosmic girl records also reader is 2 days younger than Ollie! Also if u get tagged by accident IM SO SORRY i swear it’s not on purpose. Also Lewis is driving for mercedes with kimi in this universe, i should probably make a post about the grid for this universe, anyways enjoy!

liked by olliebearman, francocolapinto, landonorris, lilymhe, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc and 3,920,443 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: new year, new me AANNND NEW JOB 

tagged olliebearman 

olliebearman: but NOT a new man, just to be clear 

 unfortunatelyy/n: hey there mr jealous wanna get off my insta page maybe 

 olliebearman: ☹️

landonorris: i feel like you say new year new me too often and nothing changes 

 unfortunatelyy/n: u know just how ruin everything 😔

 landonorris: that is true but you don’t have to point it out‼️

 user1: bro’s just accepting it at this point 😭

user2: SHE’S BACKKKK AND BETTERR THIS TIME 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

mercedesamgf1: can’t wait to see you in the garage this season 💪

 unfortunatelyy/n: 💪💪

georgerussell64: Love? EWWWWWW

 unfortunatelyy/n: such an anti romantic. i’m telling carmen 

 georgerussell64: no wait 

 unfortunatelyy/n: poor mr russell. screenshotted or you may know it - screen grabbing 

 unfortunatelyy/n: or at least that’s what old people call it 

 georgerussell64: you dare? you dare call ME OLD?

 georgerussell64: HAVE U SEEN ALONSO (no offence mate)

 fernandoalo_oficial: um offence taken? 

 unfortunatelyy/n: WOAH u cannot be going around roasting rookies like that george 

 user2: SHE KNOWS 

 user3: of course she knows, she’s probably the only on there that even knows how to properly use instagram 

 user4: the sad truth. sad but true. liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 unfortunatelyy/n: very true indeed 

user5: i fear that y/n is the only one who’s chronically online 😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: i am, it’s such a hard life when the others don’t get it the memes i show them 😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: they’re just too old

 olliebearman: it’s such a struggle fr 

 unfortunatelyy/n: you’re old too so shush 

|

 olliebearman: I’M 19??? 19 AND LITERALLY 2 DAYS OLDER THAN U

 unfortunatelyy/n: poor ollie, when i was learning subtraction and addition you were already doing multiplication and division 

 olliebearman: i am so confused right now 

liked by olliebearman, alex_albon, kimi.antonelli, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and 4,920,228 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: IT’S RACE WEEK + my boyfriend with his boyfriend 

tagged olliebearman and kimi.antonelli 

User1: uh y/n? i don’t think you can be saying stuff like that anymore 

User5: i fear y/n will never be the same anymore, she is employed now 😔

user2: no filter y/n we love to see it 

olliebearman: seriously?

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’m such a comedian (i know ur giggling n shit) 🤭

 olliebearman: I AM NOT 

 unfortunatelyy/n: woah so defensive and for what 

mercedesamgf1: usually we only do pr training for our drivers but . . .  

 unfortunatelyy/n: good thing i’m not a driver then 😮‍💨

 user3: SHE DID NOTTTT 

kimi.antonelli: i’m gonna get you fired (can you send me the photo i want it printed out and on my dashboard for when i drive🙏) 

 unfortunatelyy/n: try me antonelli (yes ofc check ur dms) 

 olliebearman: NOW HANG ON JUST A MINUTE 

 unfortunatelyy/n: yes my love?

 kimi.antonelli: yes my little sugarplum with caramel sauce?

 olliebearman: 🤨

 kimi.antonelli: 🫦

 olliebearman: I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND 

kimi.antonelli: and now a boyfriend 

 user4: i’m on kimi’s side. it’s not gay if it’s with the homies 🤷 

 olliebearman: @unfortunatelyy/n send for help 🙏

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, lilymhe, kimi.antonelli, arthur_leclerc and 4,294,339 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: hanging out with my fav cutie patootie - oh hey ollie’s here too 

tagged olliebearman and kimi.antonelli

 landonorris: OOOOOHHHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥

 unfortunatelyy/n: get out of here 

 landonorris: ok 😔

 user1: wow she really has him at gunpoint

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

kimi.antonelli: you are also my favourite cutie patootie 🤗

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 olliebearman: just break up with me already😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: well who would i annoy then 

 olliebearman: kimi 😒

 unfortunatelyy/n: IT WAS A JOKE PLS COME HOME WITH THE ITALIAN FOOD 

 olliebearman: NO 

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’m calling the police 

 charles_leclerc: i would appreciate it if you would stop bullying my son 

 charles_leclerc: and calling the police on him 

 unfortunatelyy/n: not unless he brings the food back 

 olliebearman: fine. but only because i love you 😒

 kimi.antonelli: and me too 

 olliebearman: STOP TRYING TO RUIN MY RELATIONSHIP 

 kimi.antonelli: no.

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, francocolapinto, lilymhe, kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, pepemartiofficial and 3,849,928 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: just a little reminder that the aussie waves are ALWAYS OUT FOR BLOOD

user1: my anxiety looking at that second pic: 📈📈📈📈

 user2: my girl’s been traumatised by the aussie waves 😭 

 unfortunatelyy/n: she has indeed 😔 

 olliebearman: HAHAHAHAHHAHA 

 unfortunatelyy/n: i hope both sides of your pillow are warm tonight 

 olliebearman: GASP. how terrifyingly hilarious, still won’t beat you nearly drowning though 

 unfortunatelyy/n: I WAS NOT DROWNING 

 olliebearman: so you were just randomly yelling for help in the water while freaking out 

 unfortunatelyy/n: . . . i was testing your boyfriend reflexes 

 olliebearman: mhm sure 

 unfortunatelyy/n: okay the sass was unnecessary 

 olliebearman: 🙄💅

user5: they’re such couple goals i just feel single whenever i see their posts 😔

 user6: kimi’s probably plotting his next sabotage 

 kimi.antonelli: 🤫

 lilymhe: @unfortunatelyy/n ur so hot 😍 

 unfortunatelyy/n: you’re hotter 😍😍😍

 alex_albon: not this again 

 alex_albon: i thought we moved on from this phase 

 unfortunatelyy/n: it’s not a phase honey, it’s a lifestyle 

 alex_albon: your lifestyle is stealing my girlfriend?

 unfortunatelyy/n: yes 😄

 alex_albon: *sigh 

liked by landonorris, kimi.antonelli, lewishamilton, olliebearman, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 5,928,658 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: FIRST DAY ON THE JOB  WE GOT THIS💪💪

tagged lewishamilton and kimi.antonelli 

user1: did lewis dirty 😭

 user2: what is going on with ollie’s hair in the bg of the third pic 😭

 unfortunatelyy/n: unfortunately it’s always like that 

 olliebearman: HEY 

 lewishamilton: DELETE THIS 

 unfortunatelyy/n: erm no 

 lewishamilton: i’m gonna fire you 

 unfortunatelyy/n: actually u can’t do that 

 lewishamilton: erm actually 🤓☝️

 user3: WOAH i did not know lewis was chill like that 😭😭

 unfortunatelyy/n: OKAY I’M TELLING TOTO 

 lewishamilton: DO IT I DARE YOU 

 unfortunatelyy/n: done. in less than 24 hours you will be an unemployed man 

 mercedesamgf1: y/n . . . we can’t fire our 7 world champion 😓

 unfortunatelyy/n: DANG IT 

 mercedesamgf1: so about that pr training. . . 

 unfortunatelyy/n: GOTTA GO 🏃‍♀️💨

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, alex_albon, kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lilymhe and 11,759,390 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: i know we’re enemies now but maybe i can be happy for u just this once 🫶

tagged olliebearman 

olliebearman: ❤️ liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: yuckyyyyyy 

 unfortunatelyy/n: ur yuckier 

 landonorris: no you are 

 unfortunatelyy/n: nuh uh 

 landonorris: yuh huh 

 unfortunatelyy/n: SHUT UP

 landonorris: NO

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’m calling ur mom 

 landonorris: now hang on just a second 

user1: y/n’s living that wattpadd engineer x driver life 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 user2: HELP SHE LIKED THE COMMENT 

 oscarpiastri: congrats mate 

 unfortunatelyy/n: are you happy being back in your natural habitat 

 oscarpiastri: what.

a/n: thanks for reading! stay safe and have a good day!!

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[brahmsthirdracket]

Hello! I recently came across your hughes brothers fics and binge read most of them last night :). Would you be open to writing anything about the time Luke said quinn ripped jack’s braces out of his mouth? (If you’re not taking requests feel free to ignore this!!!)

Luke never feels like eating much before cross-country. He likes it fine - he likes it more than fine actually, at least compared to Jack and Quinn, because it’s one of the few things he’s better at than them - but the thought of slogging it through the mud straight after breakfast makes his stomach roll.

He swirls his spoon around his bowl of cereal instead, trying to corral his Cheerios into a pleasing formation. He’s got a kind of Great Lakes thing going on but he’s eaten Lake Superior and it’s doesn’t really make sense for the milk to be the land and - 

“Time to go, kiddos!”

He swallows Lakes Erie, Michigan, Huron and Ontario, and the surrounding landmass with a grimace, and shuffles into the hall. Jack and Quinn are already sitting on the stairs wearing matching fleecy headbands and looking miserable. 

“It’s cold,” Jack whines. 

“Run faster then,” their mom says, rummaging through her purse. “You’ll soon warm up.” She looks real pretty today, Luke thinks. Like maybe she did her hair extra nice or something. He pulls his headband on and sits on the bottom step, cheek resting on Quinn’s knee, to wait. 

“Jim!” she bellows. “Hurry up! I’m already running late!” 

“For what?” Their dad’s head appears through the basement door, followed by his golf clubs and then the rest of him. “Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?”

“The PTA fall fundraiser,” says his mom, at the same time his dad says, “Golf.” 

“It’s on the calendar,” they both say at the same time. 

“Well, you’ll have to reschedule,” says his mom in that voice that means no arguing. “Boys have a meet in Sunnybrook.” 

“But -” splutters his dad. “I can’t reschedule. I put it on the calendar, like you told me to.” He lowers his voice, pleading. “El, it’s with the guys.”

“It’s okay mom,” says Quinn, standing up to lean over the bannister and pat her shoulder consolingly. “We’ll miss cross-country this one time.” 

“Let me see this,” she growls, and they all trot into the kitchen after her to peer at her Wildflowers of Texas calendar. 

Fall Fundraiser shift 9-12 is written in today’s box in his mom’s neat handwriting, and below that: 

Q, J & L Prep 2 XC 9am (don’t forget headbands!!)

Someone’s drawn a skull next to cross-country, almost- but-not-quite obscuring a tiny and unmistakable golf printed right at the bottom. 

“See?” says his dad, jabbing a finger at it. 

“Well, just go after the race and take the boys with you,” she says, already fishing out her car keys. 

“But - tee time is at nine! Ellen!” 

“It’d better be a quick race then, hadn’t it?”

She kisses each of them, pinching Jack’s scowling face and adjusting Quinn’s headband. Luke turns his face into her fleeting pat on the cheek before she’s out the door in a waft of perfume.

“Run fast and don’t fall in the lake!” she calls ominously over her shoulder, just before the door swings shut behind her. 

Their dad waits for her SUV to pull out of the drive and down the road before he flicks the curtain back into place and motions for them all to huddle in. 

“Come here, rink rats.” He tugs them in close, lowers his voice like he’s about to reveal some top-secret play. “And listen up. This is the plan.”

***

The plan turns out to be the ODR, a bag of pucks and a cheery, “I’ll pick you up in a coupla hours!” before Luke’s even out of the car. 

Jack whoops with happiness the minute he hits the ice, spinning and sending the pucks scattering in every direction. Quinn’s right behind him, thwacking puck after puck into the net. 

“Fuck.” Thwack “Cross.” Thwack “Countryyyyy.” Thwack

“Forever,” Jack sing-songs, sweeping one up onto his stick and slinging it through the air. It bounces off the metal with a twang.

“C’mon Lukey,” he calls, scuffling playfully against Quinn. “Don’t pretend you actually like that shit.”

Luke tries to sulk for a bit, taking his time with his laces. His brothers hadn't even laced them up for him, which, rude. But it’s a perfect November morning, as crisp and perfect as a snowglobe before you turn it upside down. They’ve got the whole rink to themselves. It’s been way too long since they did this: no adults, no cones or drills or gear, just the three of them together, playing hockey. 

“Yeah, well some of us can actually outrun old ladies pushing little dogs in strollers,” he chirps, darting out into the middle. 

Quinn and Jack exchange a look. “Get ‘im,” growls Quinn, with a wolfish grin, lurching towards Luke and trying to hook him in with his stick. Luke squeals, twisting away and rocketing as fast as he can up to the other end of the rink, Jack in hot pursuit. They chase him all over, dodging pucks and their abandoned sticks and gloves, until they’re all wheezing with giggles. Quinn eventually manages to get an arm around his neck from behind and pull them both down and Jack belly-flops on top. 

“One day,” Luke pants from the bottom of the dogpile, trying to knee Quinn in the balls so he’ll let him up and getting a facewash for his troubles, “I’m gonna be bigger and faster than both of you.” 

“But until that day,” Quinn replies, finally rolling off and tugging Luke to his feet, “You can get in goal.” 

They play shinny until they’re hot under their sweatshirts and jerseys, hair sticking to their foreheads and breath coming in short pants, and Luke thinks he’s never had so much fun playing hockey, playing anything. It’s hard though, just as gut-churning as a whole weekend tournament or relentless drills in the basement with his dad. Jack and Quinn never give an inch, never care that he’s smaller and younger when it comes to this, and he loves them for it, because when victory comes, he knows he’s earned it. They push each other just as hard, sometimes too hard Luke thinks, watching Jack cuss and elbow Quinn in the gut as they're scrabbling against the boards. Quinn shoves his face back, and the next minute they’re rolling around on the ice in one of their completely shitty fistfights. 

Luke hovers next to them, glancing around and praying no one he knows from school is about to walk past. 

“Stop. Trying. To. Bite.” pants out Quinn. He’s managed to roll over and pin Jack with his weight, and is trying to push his face away. Jack’s a slippery eel though - especially when he’s an eel on ice - and he seems to be trying to lick Quinn to get him off. Which is not a tactic Luke would use himself, honestly, but whatever works he guesses. It must work, because he manages to sink his teeth into Quinn’s forearm and they’re rolling all over the place, gloves and sticks forgotten - thank God. What happens next is a blur of flying arms and legs (and in Jack’s case teeth, the weirdo), but suddenly Jack lets out a shriek of pain - a real one - and Quinn lets go of him like he’s been burned. 

Jack curls up, one hand over his mouth, and whimpers into his knees. 

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Quinn tries to make him look up, pull his hand down. Jack’s eyes are huge with unshed tears. “Jackie?” Quinn asks again, really worried now.

“Um,” says Luke. He squats down next to Jack and picks up the little piece of metal off the ice. Cradling it in his glove, he holds it out to Jack, who gazes at it for a moment and then promptly socks Quinn square in the jaw. 

***

“Someone’s arm better be hanging off,” growls their father when he pulls up to the curb they’re huddled next to and flings the car door open. Luke wordlessly holds out the braces to him. “The fuck is that?” 

“Jack’s braces,” mumbles Quinn, with a guilty glance at the unhappy figure hunched on the other side of the lot. 

“Jack has braces?” Sometimes Luke thinks he could grow a tail and his dad wouldn’t notice unless it affected his play. Last week he had to check Quinn’s date of birth so he could fill out some paperwork.

“He doesn’t anymore, Dad,” Luke pipes up. 

“Jack! Get over here!” he bellows. He takes the braces from Luke’s hand, holding them up for a better view. “These things just click back into place or what?” Jack stomps over, scowling and sniffing. He won’t even look at Quinn, and when Quinn tries to reach out his hand Jack smacks it away viciously. 

“Fuck off.”

Their dad gets a handful of Jack’s jersey and tries to prise his mouth open like he’s a dog that’s eaten something bad. “Oww", whines Jack, trying to twist out of his grip. “You’re hurting me!”

“Open. Up.” Their dad grunts, trying to push the braces back across Jack’s front teeth with one hand, and hold him still with the other. 

“Dad, no! Stop!” Quinn pushes himself between them, trying to protect Jack from being force-fed a mouthful of metal. “You can’t do that! We have to go to the orthodontist.”

“The what?” he pants, temporarily letting go of Jack to turn the metal round, as if the reason he couldn’t fit them back on like Lego was that they were upside down. Jack immediately darts behind Quinn and Luke reaches up to swipe them out of their Dad’s hand. 

“Dad,” he says, more bravely than he feels. “I think you need to call Mom.”

The three of them huddle together on the backseat, trying to stay as quiet and inconspicuous as possible as their dad calls their mom for instruction. Luke finds a packet of half-eaten Reese’s pumpkins, no worse for being frozen and unfrozen a few times and settles in for the long-haul. Jack slumps sideways with his head in Quinn’s lap, playing with the strings of his sweatshirt and allowing Quinn to scratch behind his ear in apology.

She’s ominously silent all the way through the slightly edited version of what happened, not even interrupting to yell at Quinn. 

“So let me get this straight,” she says, after a pause. “You didn’t take your sons to their scheduled sports-activity but instead took yourself to golf and allowed said sons out unsupervised to publicly brawl, causing hundreds of dollars of dental bills?” 

“It was on the calendar! It was on the calendar Ellen!” 

“Well Jim Hughes, all I will say is thank God for Canadian healthcare.”

“They cover braces?” says his dad, perking up. He twists round to waggle his eyebrows at them, all looks like we got away with it.

“Oh no,” she says airily. “I meant for you four, when I’ve finished with you!”

[twitchmattentusiast]

do you think matt’s a boy or girl dad

hear me out. he’s both.

when you guys were a year into the relationship, matt realised you hadn’t spoken about kids, and well, considering he really wanted them in the future, he brought it up one night. 

you were cuddled to his side, half asleep but refusing to give into the sleep because you were debriefing how your date went with your hometown best friends.

matt watched you nervously. he had been quiet all day. well, quieter than usual, that is. you had asked him all day what was wrong, but he brushed it off, saying it was nothing; he was just tired, but it wasn’t nothing. the question had been playing on his mind all day and it mattered to him, and that? that scared him.

he had been practicing how he was going to ask you all day. had it all planned out, but since it was 3 in the morning and he was fighting back sleep, it kind of just slipped from his mouth. 

“d’ you want kids?”

you froze, and matt's eyes widened, realising he let it slip. he was not supposed to ask like that. “sorry i-“

his heart dropped as you moved off his chest. you were looking straight in his eyes, and he was so sure that in that moment you’d laugh at him. tell him you didn’t even love him and break up with him.

hey, matt had always been an overthinker.

but instead you leaned forward and pressed your hands to his cheeks, cupping his face with the biggest grin he’d ever seen on your face. “are you freaking crazy? obviously, i want kids.”

he let out a sigh of relief, and you guys ended up having sex. what? the topic of kids made you both horny. 

after what might have been three rounds of the hottest sex you two had ever had. you laid back on his chest, and his hands brushed your hair softly.

“i think i want three.” you said, “no four! wait-“

matt chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hair. "think i want three too.” matt smiled. “want some boys and girls, you know a little mixture?”

you nodded your head in agreement. you came from a family of all girls, so you knew how difficult it was to deal with females, but you desperately wanted a daughter. at least one. a little girl you could go on nail trips to the salon with. stay up late at night gossiping, doing her hair. helping her with all of her firsts, she would be too embarrassed to go to her dad, for although matt would try his hardest to help even if his browser history looked a little silly and he wandered through the cosmetics section looking completely lost as he stared at all the pads and tampons trying to find the right ones you had sent him a picture of.

some teenager would probably see him looking all lost and would help him, and he'd thank her endlessly, ranting about how he has no clue what he's doing and he's sure his daughter might be dying. when he comes back home and tells you. you and your daughter make fun of him, though your daughter gives him a hug for being the best dad ever, which he is.

he’d playfully roll his eyes and call her corny, though he's fighting back the biggest smile.

you could picture matt doing all of that. he was so soft, so full of love, he was born to be a girl dad.

but matt came from a family full of boys. With three brothers, males was kind of all he knew. you knew he’d be over the moon having a daughter, but you could also picture him with some sons. probably two, maybe three. enough that matt could pretend to be the goalie while they played football, basketball, or some kind of sport.

when they got older, he’d tell them the only reason he wanted sons in the first place was so he had someone to play video games with, and his sons would get offended, but you’d laugh knowing that was half the truth.

matt would help them with all their firsts because although your sons are major mommy’s boys, he gets so offended at the idea that they’ll come to you for male-related things, so he’ll literally shuffle you out of the room because he can handle it himself. you roll your eyes and tell your sons to just go with it because it means a lot to matt. 

"I want a mix too,” you say, fighting back a smile because you can picture it. matt being the best dad ever to however many sons or daughters you guys have.

matt chuckles and pulls you in for a soft kiss you guys not sleeping because your on such a high talking about it you giggle about what your kids will be like.

two years later, after a year of deciding to wait and then a year of major trial and error. your pregnant with twins. 

you're lying on the bed, matt's hand tightly in yours as you stare at the nurse. excitement in both of your eyes.

“It’s a boy and a girl.” she tells you, and you and your boyfriend turn to look at each other with major excitement.

your not surprised when matt pulls his phone out to call his brothers a second later. “it’s a boy and a fucking girl, guys!” his brows furrowed. “justin, i already told you it was twins. keep up, man, what the fuck?”

he moves his phone away from his ear. rolling his eyes as he tells you. "kid doesn't even remember i told him we're having twins. fake as fuck uncle."

you just laugh, and chris, nick, and justin’s faces light up. "is that y/n?" snd before you know it, the five of you are talking about the fact that there's going to be a mini y/n and matt running around.

[stargirl-russo]

Sailor Song (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Summary: Joining Arsenal WFC was supposed to be the best thing for your footballing career, you were the best female footballer in the world after all. You didn't expect the unexpected longing of a certain blonde that came with it. (Hi! I've never written fan fics before but I was inspired by some I read and thought why not?! i hope you like it, i honestly might delete later or return it to drafts if I can? or even a pt 2??? idk lmk if you want more! enjoy. do I need to add warnings>....suggestive? angst? )

Recalling the exact moment when it happened was difficult to comprehend, maybe because you tried to completely erase the moment from your memory. You felt embarrassed, ashamed, and even a little disgraced with yourself. Why did you have to like another girl, a straight girl, who definitely didn't feel the same?!

Joining Arsenal this season was exactly what both parties wanted - you needed a change in scenery, and they wanted - no needed - a more clinical finisher like yourself. Everyone at the team was especially welcoming, considering your intimidating resume of accolades at such a young age - taking the women's football world by storm. You got on with everyone on the team, especially the Aussies, Kyra, Steph and Caitlin - being Australian yourself. But one particular teammate stood out to you the most, for more reasons than one.

You'd never forget the first day you finally saw and met the Alessia Russo in person, after admiring her from afar for about a year. She was absolutely beautiful, incredibly captivating and alluring. Words couldn't explain how you felt when you saw her at training, or heard her laugh or when she would smile - which was always. The way your heart hammered against your chest, it felt like you couldn't breathe, the butterflies in your stomach erupted like crazy. These feelings, they just felt...right. She made you feel so giddy and happy.

Although the thrill of this girl crush was very exciting, a part of you couldn't help but feel extremely ashamed. You were not supposed to like a teammate, let alone girls. You couldn't help but admire her gorgeous blue eyes, her long lashes, her soft voice, and her long blonde hair as you smiled shyly and shook her perfectly manicured hand, introducing yourself. Her southern british accent made you weak in the knees. "I can't wait to share the pitch with you this season."

You were absolutely certain that no one knew about this infatuation, crush or admiration, or how down bad you were - whatever you wanted to call it - with Alessia Russo. It was just so easy to get along with her, your calm natured and laid-back personalities working well together. Both sharing certain things in common, attending the same college in the US for football at different years, your love for fashion, travelling, and similar music tastes. She was just so sweet, genuine, caring, and just a ray of sunshine - you couldn't get enough. The chemistry you both had was clearly evident on the pitch also, as your styles of play complemented each other perfectly; turning arsenal's season around with each match.

It scared you how you strongly you felt about her, as she probably had no idea about the effect she had on you, and above all, probably didn't feel the same. And now you were going to continue to play alongside her and work with her nearly every day this season. You'd eagerly wait to see your cheerful teammate and greet her happily weekly at training. It was a blessing and a curse, but it was something that kept you going.

Hiding your sexuality was something you had no trouble dealing with initially as you just constantly immersed yourself with the football: whether it was with routine season interviews, the sponsorship photoshoots, the constant training or the glamorous award shows - it kept you busy, a distraction which led to you further cementing your place as the best young women's footballer in the world. It's not anything anyone really expected of you anyway, to like girls. Besides, you never spoke about personal matters to the media, so no one really assumed anything at first. Which was a plus.

You'd constantly make excuses to avoid going out with friends away from football, who wanted to enjoy a night on the town, bragging about the boys they'd make out with at clubs, or the crushes they had on them. Not that you could relate though, but a part of you wished you could feel that sense of normalcy. To fit in, to relate. No one had no idea what you were going through or how you felt. It got harder to find excuses to deny random set ups with guys. Your feelings for Alessia were actually driving you to insanity, you were most likely going through an identity crisis - but you were still in denial.

However, the longer you concealed your true feelings and the harder you tried to deny it, you found it harder each and every day hiding how you felt about the certain blonde. It became more difficult to suppress your feelings, you wanted to talk to someone, - anyone - but you were afraid with how they would react if they found out. Besides you weren't going to embarrass yourself if she didn't even feel the same, what would be the point of coming out anyway right?!

But maybe you should've controlled yourself. You should have ignored her, distanced yourself even. It was fine though, you were just acknowledging that fact she was really gorgeous, and you weren't crushing on her - or so you told yourself. But the not-so-subtle glances at her during the training sessions said otherwise.

The glancing became constant, admiring her whenever she'd move with or without the ball or take a drink of water during break. You just couldn't help but admire her longingly. Thinking of believable excuses when being called out by the outspoken Katie McCabe became more difficult to articulate. You were certain Alessia was oblivious to this, and she was - for the time being.

It was supposed to be a post game interview focusing on the team's accomplishments this current season, given the difficulties the team faced at the beginning of the year. You expected to answer questions about your valuable contributions to the match and the squad, not some irrelevant, personal, stupid, phased, feelings that had nothing to do with football.

The lights were brighter than usual in the media room, you were riding a high after your incredible individual and team's performance. You couldn't stop smiling. Sitting in the media room alongside your captain Kim Little, you felt proud and finally content with yourself. You felt as if you were finally contributing to a team, a team that was winning. A distraction for the time being.

That is, until the question was asked.

You will never forget the way your stomach dropped at the question, the silence in the media room, the smirk on the reporters' face. He knew he struck a nerve as the colour drained from your face, you were no longer smiling. You're not sure why the question was asked or what value it had to the match you had just played, or above all - why this reporter was permitted into the the media room anyway asking such inconceivable questions.

You shook your head awaking from the absolute shock and audacity of the reporter. There is no way this is really happening right now. You were media trained - you got this. Totally.

'Could you please repeat the question?' You asked politely into the mic, besides the fact that your was voice now quiet and shaky as you squirmed in your seat, refusing to look at the reporter. He noticed your uneasy reaction, and pressed on, knowing there is more to what your letting on.

"Can you address the rumours within the women's football community that you currently have romantic feelings for your teammate, Alessia Russo?"

"What?! That's ridiculous. Next question."

Maybe you responded to that too quickly, way too quickly for it not to be suspicious as you dismissed him. To your knowledge, and last time you checked, you hadn't come out, you hadn't revealed how you felt about her to anyone - especially not Alessia, and you were certain someone as beautiful as her was taken - surely.....right?

Your throat was going to constrict, no doubt, your breathing becoming heavier and faster, your ears turning a bright red and your leg begins to bounce. Your eyes dart around the room. "How is this football related?" your captain Kim interjects, sensing your uncomfortable state as you fidget on the spot and find it hard to remain composed. She herself looks confused.

Both your heart and mind race. Who told them? How do they know? Where did they even think of something like that? They can't know. Does Alessia know?

You were widely aware that this post-game press conference was currently live. This didn't make the situation better. "Is there really nothing going on? You seem pretty flustered. Besides, you didn't deny it did you?" He smirked, a chorus of chuckles emerging from around the room.

"Stop instigating." The words pour out of your mouth defensively before you can stop them, let alone even comprehend what is going on. You can hear your heart beat in your ears.

"I'm not instigating anything, just trying to get the truth out of you. Why don't you start being honest? Show the world who you really are."

Your body shakes with frustration and panic, you can't do this anymore. You rush out of the media room, holding back tears of frustration. This is absolutely ridiculous you think to yourself, barging open the door of the locker-room, ignoring the looks from your teammates.

Silence fills the room, you look up at the television, seeing Kim still in the media room - the broadcast was indeed live. Shit. Alessia, along with everyone else definitely saw it. Shit. You freeze up.

Steph, your teammate turns to you "Hey, are you okay?" You refuse to say anything - afraid your voice might crack, further revealing your vulnerability. You refuse to make eye contact with anyone, especially Alessia. Steph senses the inner turmoil your enduring, and gestures everyone out of the locker-room.

You sit there with your head in your hands, as tears threaten to fall. You didn't reveal much in the post-match interview, so everything is fine right? But maybe thats the problem. You didn't deny anything technically - further exposing and embarrassing yourself and probably Alessia. You fail to notice she's still in the locker-room.

You look up slowly, locking eyes. Her ocean blue eyes bore into yours, a glimpse of concern and curiosity. "Can we talk?" She questions softly. Shit

"No thank you, I'd rather not." You say stubbornly, packing your wash bag quickly as she sits down next to you. You had to get out, you had to get away from her.

Alessia is surprised by your nonchalant response. "Lets just talk about this, please?" She says softly in a pleading voice, her eyes looking up, trying to lock with yours.

"I'm sorry." You say quietly, packing your bag and making your way towards the exit of the locker-room as fast as you can. You actually couldn't fathom that this was happening. Is this some sick joke?!

Alessia is concerned and saddened by your dismissive tone, she can tell that this whole situation has negatively affected you and is eating away at you. "Don't be sorry." She says softly, standing up. "It can be hard times, but I just want to understand whats going on. You clearly feel something. Something about me."

You stop in your tracks and turn around to face her, she makes her way towards you her eyes never leaving yours. Your heart aches, and she can see the adoration and the longing that you have for her in your eyes, behind internal conflict and self-hate.

"You're not a bad person. You know that I won't look at you differently." She whispers, pleading with you, trying to lock eyes with yours. "Please don't shut me out. I care about you, so much."

Alessia doesn't wait for a response. She steps closer to you now, closer the distance slowly. Your panting heavily, still refusing to look at her in the eyes, petrified you'd get lost in her ocean eyes. Terrified your eyes will reveal more than your words did in the press conference only moments ago. She can't feel the same. She doesn't.

She gently grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers with her ones. You feel as if you're going to have a heart attack, her touch sending bolts of electricity through your body. She can sense you're avoiding eye contact still.

"Hey, look at me" she whispers, staring at your now very flustered face, looking at you intently. Her eyes filled with concern, worry and something else, something you can't quite make out, something you've never seen from her before.

You still avoid her gaze, until she cups your cheek. You lock eyes with hers and you feel like you could die.

"just, look at me" she whispers once more, gently stroking your cheek bone with the pad of her thumb "thats it, just look at me."

Before you can stop yourself, the words fall out of your mouth in a whisper "i am. how can I not?" You let out a shaky breath at that, noticing her lips curl into a small smile, her eyes following your gaze down to her own lips.

"i know, I know you do, I see you" she whispers in response, moving closer to your face now, both your breaths mingling. Your heart continues to pound, her thumb gently traces your jawline, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

Its as if time has stopped. Your heart is pounding so hard against your ribcage you might have a heart attack. But her presence, the way shes looking at you, her voice, her touch—it makes sense in ways you never expected.

And then, just as you think you can’t handle the intensity any longer, she leans in. Were you about to kiss the girl you've been in love with for so long now.....

[mosneakers]

4 Months After Election

Tycho: What else is there to say? This is pretty much done, right? You got what you needed?

Alex: I did have one more question for you; one that I had saved for both you and Ms. Darling. Is there anything you’re still asking yourself, after this whole ordeal? Tycho: ...How did she answer that? Alex: Haven’t asked her yet, man. You’re up first.

Tycho: [Long pause, glances over and points his head at Cam] Has Coraleye tried anything with Cam, yet? I'd be surprised if she hasn't. He seems like someone she'd go for. She never could control herself.

Cam: Me? Ha. [Jokingly brushes hand over beard] So you admit you think I’m cute? Seriously though, we keep things professional with work clients man, no need to worry about me crossing any lines.

Alex: [Calm but firm] I don’t think you really meant that, Tycho... I think you’re just pissed off. Maybe you should walk that back.

Tycho: [Sigh] Yeah, you’re right. She didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. Honestly, I still have plenty of questions that still keep me up at night, you know? Like, what if I’d followed her to the rooftop when Erwin wanted to talk to her alone? If I’d been with Erwin when that ship came, would they still have taken him? Should I have gone to Sixam with Coni to be by Erwin's side when they executed him? [Winces in pain from the mental image] ...Could I have done more?

Alex: [Nods thoughtfully] Those are some pretty difficult questions. I can see how much they're weighing on you. Any theories?

Tycho: I hate to say it because Erwin would have a solid theory to rationalize every one of my questions by now, but I just… can’t make sense of it. I wish I had better answers—any answers, really. No matter how many times I replay those moments in my head I just... I don't know. Nothing.

Alex: Can I ask you something kind of personal? And if you don't want to answer, by all means— Tycho: Go ahead, Alex.

Alex: Right, okay. Do um, have any regrets—I guess what I’m really asking is, do you regret not being there for the funeral? If I remember correctly, you were invited but ultimately decided against going, right?

Tycho: [Sigh, followed by a lengthy pause] Yeah listen, I'm ready to call it— can we just cut this part? Alex: Wait, Tycho... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push! I thought it might be relevant because there wasn't a funeral for Erwin, so I thought maybe going to another funeral might bring up some of those emotions. I swear it ties in, man, but if you're not comfortable going there, we don't have to— Tycho: I told you I wanted to stay on track. That funeral doesn’t have anything to do with Erwin.

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

ARAMINTA: So here we are!

LILAC: Wait - is that thing getting closer? Will I have to ride it?

ARAMINTA: No, you won’t have to ride her. Duchess is only here because she hasn’t quite maxed out TEMPERAMENT, and Dodo’s getting tense moodlets from his lack of skill building. They’re working together.

LILAC: He’s still a Slob?

ARAMINTA: Anyways. 

LILAC: So he’s still a Slob.

ARAMINTA: Welcome back to the third in our series of gardenside chats, where we will be discussing what’s different about Round One-

LILAC: And whether my sanity will survive the journey.

ARAMINTA: Now this will be the first time when eliminations occur. Once all the households are played, a final points table will be tallied, and we will unfortunately have to bid a sad farewell to three contestants.

LILAC: Oh, I can think of one or two who you wouldn’t be sad about.

ARAMINTA: It’s about who you take to, Lilac, not me. This will also be the first round where a skill building system comes into play. Basically at the end of your household’s rotation, your total sum of skills will be added up, and they will count towards your points along with friendship and romance.

LILAC: And while I obviously can’t be eliminated - although it would make quite a plot twist if I was - my skills have been cheated back down to zero too. Apart from PAINTING and KNITTING since those are tied to already completed aspirations, and WELLNESS since I have a glitch where I won’t run anywhere.

ARAMINTA: Also since this is the first time contestants will be playable for the Watcher, we will learn what they think of you in terms of attraction level.

LILAC: Oh, I have a pretty good indication already. (winks)

ARAMINTA: Attraction level as well as compatibility and sentiments will also remain. As the Watcher is using the time decayed version of First Impressions, those sentiments will eventually fade - with hopefully new ones to replace them.

LILAC: So in sum, a contestant’s score will come from friendship, romance, skill, attraction, compatibility and any positive sentiments?

ARAMINTA: Exactly. Moving on - we have some viewer submitted questions. This one is for Lilac - alright, don’t be concerned with what my feelings may be. 

LILAC: You are a precious blonde pony and we should always be concerned with your feelings.

ARAMINTA: Thank you, but please don’t worry. On Mad About Dodo, did you want me to win?

LILAC: Initially, no. It’s not that I didn’t want you to win, but that I took time to warm to you.

ARAMINTA: (wryly) That I hear a lot.

LILAC: What won me over was the second day, when Dodo made a joke that was uncomfortable for Lyric and you called him out. I thought ‘okay, this girl is genuine. She has principles - she’s not just telling Dodo what he wants to hear. She’s not afraid to risk her place in the competition to do what she thinks is right.’ And maybe he thought as much too.

ARAMINTA: He wouldn’t have meant to make them uncomfortable. But I wanted him to apologise, or at least to not make jokes like that to them ever again.

LILAC: And you weren’t even that close to Lyric, were you?

ARAMINTA: I liked them, and have a lot of admiration and respect for them. However I didn’t bond with them as much as I did some others. Perhaps if we had spent more time together.

LILAC: We’ve seen how saying anything other than someone being your best friend forever can get twisted, but nothing wrong with that. If anything it’s more admirable that you stepped up for someone else when you had a much stronger bond with Dodo at the time.

ARAMINTA: Awww, thank you so much, Lilac! Next question: which contestants are you looking forward to spending more time with the most?

LILAC: Basically anyone who I felt like I still didn’t have a sense of after the introductions, though I get that three hours in front of live cameras isn’t exactly the most natural and authentic setting in the world. Piper - I’ll be looking to see if there’s a spark. We vibed but we had no romance at the end of our time, although it’s very early in the competition still.

ARAMINTA: Exactly. I had no romance with Dodo at the end of his introductory round, as did a lot of other castmates who eventually fared well.

LILAC: Well you had Leo to contend with. If ‘buzzkill’ were a pixel…

ARAMINTA: (laughs) He’s not so bad.

LILAC: Neither is bacteria in small quantities. Another is Sage. I feel like she was a bit… intimidated, maybe? Hopefully she’ll be more at home once we’re together in a household. Okay, question for you now. What advice will you give to the contestants?

ARAMINTA: Make friends. Not out of some kind of strategy - this isn’t Simsvivor - but because this is such an unique experience, and you’ll want to have people through the other side who get it. Also life will just be easier for you and you’ll have less regrets if you do. 

LILAC: Right. Plus I’m only one Sim so you’re gonna need to fill your social meter in other ways. Also being LOYAL traited, I’m looking not just at how someone gets along with me - but how they treat everyone else around them.

ARAMINTA: (silence)

LILAC: I am, Minta - I swear! (laughs) Trust me, I know the difference between what I’m looking for in a partner and someone who may or may not be a good-

ARAMINTA: And sometimes a pixel simply needs a change of scenery to make life changes. One of the most important things I learned from Mad About Dodo is that not everyone comes into their save file with the ideal set of circumstances for them to thrive.

LILAC: Oh, thriving at villainy is still thriving. And another for you: why did you take this gig?

ARAMINTA: While I don’t think it was down to any malice, I felt like the contestants on Mad About Dodo could have - and should have - been better protected.

LILAC: Yeah, you were in the hands of a megalomaniac who viewed you all as dolls from his toy box and had fun with you accordingly.

ARAMINTA: Leo is… impulsive. Not uncaring, but impulsive. And he tends to be more of a ‘big picture’ thinker and not so considerate of the finer details. Anyway, once I learned that a bachelorette would be held in my home world, I wanted to do what I could to ensure that the cast would have a safer experience. With it being in Henford, I felt some kind of… ownership and responsibility, I suppose you could say.

LILAC: Two very foreign concepts to some others.

ARAMINTA: Not being the producer or the director, I won’t have as much pull. As the host, however, I hope that I can be an advocate for the needs of the contestants. Along that note: any concerns so far?

LILAC: The competition has attracted a lot of outdoorsy, country types. Which I get, given- (waves hand at the lot). And they should do well. I’m not concerned about that. But I’m a city girl through and through. There’s something about a place with some… bustle, that makes me come alive in my bones.

ARAMINTA: Normally I’m the anxious one. I think that’s more of a question for the fourth round.

LILAC: I think so too.

ARAMINTA: And if it comes down to that? Well, there’s one residential lot in San Myshuno that isn’t an apartment. Finally: can we deduce anything at all from the introductory round?

LILAC: That you’re a much better host than Leo?

ARAMINTA: (laughs) Oh, too rude!

LILAC: But true! You didn’t completely centre yourself, and you knew when to fade into the background and when to come forward and keep the conversation going. And you didn’t wow-wow with any-

ARAMINTA: And that is all for now! Best of luck to you, Lilac. Just continue to be genuine - and try to have a good time with it. What wasn’t shown so much on screen was that hardships aside, we did also have some fun on the island. This is an adventure and the opportunity of a lifetime, after all.

LILAC: An adventure I can undertake without even leaving my home lot? Perfect for a LAZY sim.

household one: day one should go up at 10 pm* my time

*GMT 10 am |  EST 5 am |  PST 2 am

lyric by @micrathene-w, dodo by @akitasimblr

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: I'm sorry if the pace of this story is slower. Most ABO fics I've read have the person of trauma acting totally normal and comfortable after like a day or two with the new pack. I wanted to have a more realistic approach where she gradually warms up to them. :/

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: angsty, explicit language, mentions of past abuse/neglect, fear, name calling, violence

WC: 4122

Chapter 5

It was the next day when you woke up. Doctor Quinn had brought you some clothes yesterday so you decided to shower and get dressed in one of the outfits. They were a little big, but you didn’t mind. Afterwards, you made your way downstairs and Felix was quick to ask you if you wanted to watch more Harry Potter. You nodded, but Changbin insisted you eat some breakfast first.

There was another spread on the kitchen island and you filled your plate the same as yesterday’s. The food was so good and you wanted to eat more but your stomach was full. Hyunjin had joined you and Changbin for breakfast, clearing your dishes for you when you were done.

“Thank you.” you muttered.

“Anytime.” Hyunjin flashed that cute smile of his and you looked away blushing.

Felix ushered you over eagerly, the movie already queued up. You went to sit but Jisung scooted away from Felix and patted the couch between them.

“Sit here.” He smiled.

You hesitated, not wanting to be trapped between two of them. 

“We don’t bite.” Felix chuckled.

“Don’t lie to her.” Changbin called from the dining table.

Your eyes grew wide and Jisung started laughing.

“You’re scaring her!” Felix glared at Changbin before reassuring you. “We won’t bite you.” 

 Swallowing, you cautiously sit on the couch between Felix and Jisung. Felix hits play on the movie and soon you were too into what was going on to worry about what Changbin had said. 

The three of you decided on a marathon for the day. Hyunjin joined too, his sketchbook in hand. You watched as his hand moved the pencil across the paper in calculated strokes. You couldn’t see what he was drawing, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious what it could be.

“Hyunjin is our artist. Painting, drawing…he does it all. And he’s so talented. That art up there on the wall, he painted that.” Jisung pointed to the right hand wall.

You looked over at the canvas displayed, admiring the art. It was abstract with dark colors, a pop of red mixed in. You didn’t fully understand it but it was still beautiful. 

Meanwhile, Felix was too distracted by his phone as the movie played. He leaned over, showing you his screen and insisting he has to buy you merch for your house so you can represent. You didn’t really understand why you would need it but he was too cute when he was excited so you didn’t object.

A couple hours passed as you binged the movies. Most of the others were all scattered doing their own thing or working. Chan surprisingly wasn’t working. Instead, he was fixing himself a snack in the kitchen. He kept an eye on you, making sure the boys didn’t get too rowdy near you. Last thing he wanted was for them to spook you.

“Y/n, you hungry?” Chan asked.

You shook your head.

“You sure? You had a small breakfast.” Chan frowned.

You nod.

“You need to eat more, y/n” Hyunjin says, mouth full of popcorn.

“Just wait until you start working out with me.” Changbin smirks.

Your eyes widen.

“Yeah, we gotta get you in shape girl. That way you can fight back and hold your own.” Changbin nods, sipping the smoothie he made. He offered you some but you just shook your head.

The idea of not being so weak was appealing. Maybe you could even get strong enough to kick Hayes or Milo’s ass.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your thoughts, and you wondered if it was the Doctor here to check up on you again. Didn’t she say in a few days?

Chan hopped off the arm of the couch and disappeared behind the stairs to answer it. You listened in, hearing him open the door.

“Hello. Can I help you guys?” he asked.

“Hopefully. We are looking for a lost member of our pack. We believe she got injured and wasn’t able to make it home last night.”

You froze.

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was Hayes. Crap. They found you. The blood drained from your face, heart pounding in your ears. You felt like you were gonna be sick. Feeling a hand on your arm, you flinched hard.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.” Felix pulled his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung whispered.

Changbin looked at his phone, only to abruptly stand up. He came over to you and slung you over his shoulder before you could get away. He moved quickly, getting you outside and on the back deck. You squirmed in his hold, praying he wasn’t giving you back to your old pack. You wanted to scream, but then that would alert Hayes. When you got outside, the fresh air hit you and you stopped fighting. He put you down and gestured to everyone to come outside as they sat on the couch staring in bewilderment. 

Minho heard the doorbell and listened out to see who it was. When he heard the man at the door say he was looking for a lost pack member, he knew who. He immediately texted in the group chat to get you away from the front door and out of sight. Then he made his way down the stairs, ready for a fight if it came to that.

Changbin had been the only one who saw the message and moved quickly. He could see you were frozen in fear and had to act fast. When everyone came outside, Changbin explained, the pack growing tense. You had squatted down behind the group, shaking and hugging your knees to your chest.

Minho was next to Chan, listening in on the conversation. Both Hayes and Milo were here, looking angrily at them.

“There’s nowhere else she could have disappeared to.” Hayes argued.

“I don’t know what to tell you man. She’s not here.” Chan insisted.

Hayes, growing tired of dealing with the “drama” you cause, forces himself into the house. Milo pushes against Minho, instantly regretting it as he gets knocked back down to the ground. Minho then saw at least ten others approaching from the driveway. He shut the door and locked it before coming over to pin the intruder down so Chan could deal with him.

The door swung open, nearly falling off the hinges as the wood splintered. One of them had kicked it open. Minho looked up to see Alpha Lewis.

“Find the girl.” he seethed.

His goons spread around the house, Minho fighting a few of them.

“Hayes, this one is mine. Find that little bitch and bring her to me.” Lewis said.

You watched from the window, Changbin standing in front of you. The others moved into the house to fight off the intruders and keep them from you. It wasn’t until Hayes saw you, that you knew you were done for. He would kill anyone that gets in his way.

You were shaking as Changbin took a defensive stance, fists bawled and ready to throw a punch as soon as Hayes gets close enough.

“Finally have someone standing up for you? I’m impressed.” Hayes stepped outside onto the deck. 

You don’t say anything.

“You’re not taking her so fuck off.” Changbin growled.

“That bitch belongs to us. Not you.” Hayes gritted through his teeth.

Changbin lunged at him, catching his jaw with a right hook. Hayes stumbled, wiping his lip and seeing blood on his finger. He chuckled.

“That’s the only one you’ll get.” Hayes taunted.

They began fighting and you scooted back, afraid of all the growling and punching. This was all your fault. You brought them here. And now these innocent people were getting hurt. Maybe you should go back…

You look inside and see Lewis with his foot on Chan’s chest as he smirked down at him. The world was slowing and yet it felt as if everything was happening too fast. It made you feel sick. You had to do something. But what?

Lewis lifted his leg and, with force, slammed it down-

You jolted awake with a scream. Sweat on your forehead, you looked around to see yourself in a bedroom - your bedroom. Light trickled in from the bathroom where you left it on, illuminating your surroundings. You place your hand on your chest as you try to catch your breath. What time is it? You look at the nightstand and the clock’s LED lights tell you it’s 3:25 am. Your door opens slowly and you look up.

“Hey…you okay?” It was Seungmin. “I heard you scream.”

You nodded.

Seungmin slipped in, closing the door behind him. He made his way over to the side of your bed. “Bad dream?”

You nod, running your fingers over the comforter absentmindedly.

“You ever going to talk to us?” he asked with a little chuckle.

“Sorry.” you mumbled.

“You don’t have to apologize. I just like hearing your cute voice. I wanna hear it more.” He sat down on the edge of your bed next to you.

You look up, blushing, and see Seungmin smile. You smirk, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“I get a smile too?” Seungmin feigns shock. “I am so lucky.”

You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes.

“Want me to stay with you till you fall asleep?”

You nod but then quickly add, “Yes, please.”

Seungmin smiles as you remember to speak for him, moving over to the chair in the corner of your room. “Sweet dreams, y/n.”

You snuggle back into the bed and try to not think about the nightmare you just had. You prayed they would never find you here. 

Seungmin watched you, listening to your breathing and still elevated heartbeat. He could only imagine how bad your nightmare was, wanting to comfort you desperately. But he knew the time would eventually come when he could hold you in his arms and sleep. 

For now he just listened. It took a while but your heart rate finally slowed, your breathing steady as you slept. He was so sleepy, he ended up falling asleep to the sound of your heartbeat.

Morning came and Seungmin woke up from the light shining in through your windows. His room had a darker theme, and his curtains were always closed as night so the sun wouldn’t wake him too early. This was too bright for him. He leaned forward and found you sleeping soundly. He couldn’t help but notice the way your lips were slightly parted. They looked so kissable that it took all his resolve to not move closer to you. 

Instead, he stood quietly and snuck out of your room and back across the hall to his own. His room was dark like normal and he happily climbed back in his bed, body stiff from the chair he had slept in. Within minutes he was back asleep.

He only managed to sleep another hour before Minho woke him up and called him downstairs. Groaning, he got up and headed downstairs. Everyone else made their way downstairs as well, some already awake and some still sleeping. Hyunjin nearly ran into the wall twice since he was still half sleep.

They all gathered out on the back deck, the morning air awakening their senses. Chan had made coffee for those who wanted it, and tea for the non coffee drinkers.

“Did anyone else hear a scream last night? Or did I dream that?” Jisung asked, rubbing his eyes.

“It was y/n. She had a nightmare.” Seungmin informed as he sat down.

“What?!” Hyunjin and Changbin were awake now.

“She’s fine. I fell asleep in her room waiting for her to fall back asleep though.” Seungmin yawned.

“Morning everybody,” Chan joined everyone outside. “We need to have a discussion about y/n.”

“Is this about her nightmare?” Changbin asked.

“No.” Chan shook his head. “She’s okay though, Seungmin?”

“Yes. Sleeping peacefully.” Seungmin smiled.

Chan had heard her scream last night, Minho too, but when they went to check on her, they heard Seungmin in there. Chan eavesdropped outside for a bit before heading back to his own room. He worried for her too but eventually fell asleep.

“We are keeping her, right?” Jisung asked.

“She’s not a pet…” Changbin glared.

“I didn’t mean it like that….” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“She is staying with us, yes.” Chan stated. “She is a part of this pack now. We do not abandon our own. And I want to thank each of you for being on your best behavior. You guys have been very welcoming and patient with her. I can see she is slowly getting used to us and opening up.”

“I can’t wait for her to trust us enough for hugs.” Felix sipped his tea.

“She’ll get there.” Hyunjin comforted, rubbing Felix’s lower back.

“Now… Raise your hand if you feel the soulmate pull to her.” Chan looked around.

Felix shot his hand up and slowly everyone else’s hands were raised, Minho slowly raising his last.

“Wait, where’s Innie?” Chan looked around, taking a headcount.

“Must still be asleep.” Minho answered.

“Aish…I’ll get onto him later.” Chan grumbled. “Anyways, I’ve been watching everyone and I had my suspicions. Looks like she’s a rare case of an omega with multiple soulmates. I know we are all mates and we have found a way to balance and care for everyone’s needs so we will do the same with y/n. I don’t want any fighting over her, understand?”

“Yes.” They all agree in unison.

“Great. And if you’re out on the property, keep your ears open. I don’t want any surprises. If you’re outside with y/n, remember to be aware of your surroundings. Last thing we need is for her to be spotted or snatched away. Stay far from the Nyko territory.”

“Does that mean we can take her swimming in the lake?” Felix asked.

“If she wants to, I don’t see why not, Lixie.” Chan shrugged. “But don’t go alone. If you’re outside the house, one or two members with you.”

Felix clapped his hands excitedly, making Hyunjin smile and kiss his temple.

“You wanna come with us?” Felix asked Hyunjin.

“I’ll go if Hyunjin is going.” Changbin was quick to interject.

“Yah! Because of you I couldn’t walk back the last time.” Hyunjin pointed an accusatory finger.

“You found the cave. AND THEN was telling me harder...faster. So who’s fault is it really?” Changbin mocked Hyunjin’s pleas from their previous time together.

“I don’t sound like that.” Hyunjin pouted.

“You do.” Felix, Minho, and Changbin all agreed in unison.

Hyunjin sat back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Let’s get breakfast started.” Chan said before heading towards his office.

Minho and Felix got up to start working on breakfast. Jisung set the table, and got out the juice. Changbin decided to go for a quick run. Hyunjin went back upstairs, wanting to sleep more and Seungmin went to take a shower.

Meanwhile, you had woken up and stretched. You grabbed the bag of clothes from the floor and dumped them on the bed. Doctor Quinn had in fact given you clothes yesterday so you picked out an outfit and went into the bathroom to shower. 

The water was warm and soothed your muscles and joints. You took your time, lathering the soap and standing under the waterfall. Eventually you got out, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You wrapped the towel around you and took your braids down from where you pinned them in the mirror. You then reached for the moisturizer Felix said to use after your shower and applied it to your face. It wouldn’t cover the bags or small scars but you did it anyway.

Afterwards, you slipped on the clothes, tying the drawstrings as tight as you could on the pants to help them fit. The pants were a bit big but you didn’t mind. After getting dressed, you removed your hair from the braids, letting it fall in waves down your back. You adjusted the front and sides before being satisfied with your reflection. You had never seen your hair look this good - or good at all.

You take a breath, bracing yourself, and open your door. The aroma of breakfast foods hits your nose and you smile. It smelled so good it made your mouth water and your stomach grumble. You quickly hope that today isn’t like your dream as you walk down the hallway. 

You notice the young alpha also heading towards the stairs. Jeongin was walking slowly, wiping sleep from his eyes when he spotted you. His eyes went wide and you caught his scent. You froze dead in your tracks, knowing that scent all too well. It wasn’t exactly the same, having Jeongin’s own scent to it, but the base of it was the same for any male hybrid.

He took a few slow steps forward, closer to the stairs than you were. You begin to back up, studying his movements. You swear his eyes flash red and then he charges at you. You yelp, running from him. The chase only entices him more and he loses himself.

You reach your room, but before you can enter, he lunges at you. You both tumble to the ground, Jeongin pinning you down. Wow he’s fast. Terror filled every cell in your body as every previous time with the Nykos flashes in your mind. You cry out and sob, squirming underneath him.

He growls, silencing you as he pins your arms above your head. Jeongin leans forward, sniffing at your neck above your scent gland. He groans, enticed by your smell. He leans down to kiss you-

“Jeongin, NO.” a deep voice roared in the hall. 

Jeongin’s red eyes faded back to his usual dark brown but he didn’t release you. Chan and Minho were quick to grab Jeongin and pull him off of you. He fought their hold, growling. Chan growled back - an alpha growl - and pinned him to the wall. Jeongin blinked rapidly, instantly stopping all protests.

“Wha-” he panted out confused.

Felix had run up the stairs with the others when they heard your scream. Seungmin quickly threw on clothes, stepping in the hallways as they pulled Jeongin off you. Now, Hyunjin and Jisung hurry over to your body, as you’re curled up in fetal position. You shook, your eyes squeezed shut, as you tried to push the awful memories away. They reached out to help you up and you flinched, yelping.

“Seungmin.” Minho said.

He hurried over, switching places with Minho and keeping hold of Jeongin. Jeongin wasn’t fighting them, instead panting as he watched them tend to you. Minho squatted next to you, releasing calming pheromones. The shaking subsided but you didn’t open your eyes.

“We’re gonna lift you now.” Minho said in a calm voice.

Minho nodded at Hyunjin and he reached out to pick you up. He too was releasing calming pheromones and you found yourself relaxing into his touch. They brought you into your room, Hyunjin placing you on your bed while Jisung stepped inside and closed the door.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Jeongin sobbed, sliding down the wall as they let go of him.

“It’s okay, Innie. We know…it’s your rut instincts.” Chan comforted with a clenched jaw.

Felix was fidgeting behind Chan, biting his lip as he breathed heavily. Jeongin’s heightened smell from his rut was getting to him. He smelled so good, Felix couldn’t help but get hard despite the situation. Seungmin too was hard, but he focused with all his resolve.

“I don’t understand. It’s too early. And now she’s going to hate me.” Jeongin hid his face in his hands.

“Innie…it’s okay. Sometimes omegas can induce an earlier rut. It was bound to happen to one of us. And you’re still learning control. She will understand.” Chan moves Jeongin's hands from his face and wipes his tears.

“He’s going to have to go to the rut house while she’s here.” Minho notes.

Chan nods.

“I’ll go.” Jeongin says, standing up with drooping shoulders.

“Who do you want to go with you?” Minho asked.

“No one.” Jeongin says. 

“You’re going to need someone to help.” Seungmin reminds.

“I don’t deserve it.” Jeongin says, walking down the stairs and out the basement doors.

Chan sighs, looking to the others.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll check on him in a bit.” Minho says.

“Y/n….?” Hyunjin whispered. 

You didn’t say anything.

“Can we check you? Make sure you’re not hurt?” Jisung asks.

You don’t move.

“Innie is still learning to control himself as a new alpha. His rut makes this harder. He didn’t mean to….scare you.” Hyunjin explains, choosing his words carefully.

“I know.” you whisper.

“Are you hurt?” Jisung asks.

“No.” 

“Okay.” Jisung pouts and looks at Hyunjin, unsure what to do.

Knock, knock.

You jump, but Hyunjin instinctively rubs your back. You let him as the door opens, Chan coming in.

“Y/n? Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Chan rushes to your side, Hyunjin moving out of the way.

“No.” you sniffle.

“Let me see.” Chan says, lifting your arms.

“I’m fine.” you say, pulling your arms back towards your body.

“Okay. Well he won’t be in the house for a few days. So you don’t have to worry about running into him again.”

“I got him in trouble?” you question.

“No. He’s not in trouble. We have a little house on the property that we sometimes use for our ruts, if we need to be alone, or just want some privacy. He’s gonna be there until his rut is done.”

“Oh…” you sit up.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jisung asks, scanning your body for any injuries.

“Yes. I’m fine.” you say, not used to being doted on so much.

“Hungry?” Hyunjin asks. 

“No.” You say.

“Liar.” Jisung smirks. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

Reluctantly, you follow Jisung downstairs and fix yourself a plate. As you sit at the table you nibble on the food, not really wanting to eat. 

Jisung didn't push you to eat more, knowing your morning was rough. 

Hyunjin informed Chan that he would go be with Jeongin for a while, helping him and making sure he's not punishing himself. Chan nodded, thanking him for his help and telling him to take some food with him. 

Chan had wanted to have a conversation with you and all the members, informing you about the soulmate pull he knew you were feeling too. But with Jeongin and Hyunjin out for a bit, he figured he would wait. If it came up naturally, he would address it. But for now, they would just focus on making sure you’re comfortable.

Felix had come downstairs after you finished breakfast, cheeks flushed a light pink and a smile on his face. He fixed himself a plate as Seungmin came and stole a strip of bacon off it. Felix groaned, grabbing another one before sitting down. 

Changbin returned from his run and looked around.

“Everything okay?” he asked, taking in the tense atmosphere.

Jisung pulled him aside and explained what happened. Changbin was appalled and came back to the kitchen to check on you. But you weren’t there. They panicked, searching the house for you and eventually found you in your room.

“You okay? I heard what happened.” Changbin came into the room.

“I’m fine.” you mumble, wiping a few tears so he wouldn’t see.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

You looked over at him confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“I promised myself to always protect you. I’ll be like your own personal bodyguard. No one will hurt you ever again.” Changbin stated.

You smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to shower. Then we are going to hang out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Changbin nodded, heading off to his room down the hall.

You were quiet the rest of the day despite having left your room to hang out with Changbin. He gave you a tour of his room and then you joined a few of the boys in the living room. You all sat watching tv for a bit, but you were hardly paying attention. 

Felix wanted to make some brownies and asked if you wanted to help. You had never been allowed to cook so you eagerly went into the kitchen with him. He taught you how to bake, Changbin and Jisung sitting at the island and chatting with you two. You didn’t say much, but enjoyed feeling like part of the conversation.

Chan came in from his office, seeing you in the kitchen and it warmed his heart. He had hoped this incident wouldn’t set back your progress of trusting them, but you continue to surprise him. 

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound

Shout out to my beta for inspiring, motivating, and pushing me! @its-the-solar-system

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXVIII. “for love”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce Wayne goes to therapy [NOT CLICKBAIT]

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, panic attack, vomit, blood, grief/trauma, yearning

words: 9.7k

a/n: more miscommunication, more of reader getting themselves into situations 💀 as far as I’m concerned, Bruce Wayne’s love language is ‘worry’. as always, i adore hearing allll of your comments!! please tell me everything lovelies, i adore interacting with you all <3

You’d probably bored him with your photos and reminiscing. Maybe he didn’t even have to go anywhere.

You’d hoped you’d been able to distract Bruce enough, even if he was just humoring you. In addition to the articles about the murderous stalker, you’d noted the bruises on his knuckles. After last Saturday when you’d learned he’d gone back to Batman, you’d been worried sick; worry tinged with anger at his immovable desire to get back into the muck, at his inability to let himself relax. You hoped you’d given him a sliver of that, a moment of reprieve so his system didn’t overload. It wasn’t realistic that his meds had fully set in yet. As Dr. Crane so diligently reminded you over the weekend, this time was fragile.

In a self-serving way that made your stomach hurt, in a way you didn’t want to fully admit to yourself and play off as a joke, the shock of the serial killer had sideswept your anxiety at having to see him again post-dream. The only time it had entered your brain again was when he’d made the comment about housing, blurting out so eloquently I thought I’d dreamt that. You’d wanted to sink into the floor, certain that your dream was plastered across your forehead.

At least he smiled some at the end of the night–he wouldn’t have sought you out at the rally’s end if he hadn’t wanted to talk to you, right? Or was this yet another thing fueled by his guilt? So soon off the heels of the attempt, and everything with Miller… yeah, he didn’t want to talk to you. Only felt like he needed to.

You waited at a separate intersection now, in an area of town you had never been to before. So holed up to downtown while being in classes, you hadn’t ventured much besides the places Mar dragged you every blue moon. Crown Point was separate from downtown, almost intentionally so—in your research for March’s rally, you’d learned that it was a neighborhood infamous for its poverty and crime. Most of the articles online spoke only about the latter, giving no credence to the reality of simply needing to get by. It had also been the neighborhood most impacted by the historic flood of 2022, never quite being resuscitated. You’d wanted to start hearing what the city thought of this campaign, and what better voices to highlight coming off the heels of Bruce’s first interview than the most abandoned?

Marginalized and disenfranchised didn’t even begin to cover it. It was like the city at large had tried to swallow up Crown Point—or better yet, tried to drown it in the depths of the river, desperately stomping out any signs of life. Cars were toppled over from accidents no one had bothered to attend to, or clean up from. Blood tinged all layers of the street, no street cleaners bothering to come by. Every apartment looked decimated; chunks of yellowed, dry grass sprung wild in cracks of concrete, surviving off blood, crude oil, and spite. Trash more than littered the streets, it became them; when you visited again, if you even saw a single soul, you’d need to wear boots. Some of the garbage was up to your knees.

You thought back to a group project in high school with Gabbi. She’d wanted to focus on the benefits of recycling, starting a campaign to expand the trash removal options at the school. She’d pulled up pictures of places like this, turning her nose up to the class as they presented. “We don’t want our city to turn into this, do we?” Even then, having never stepped foot outside your little town, you’d thought she was being callous and cruel.

The first sign of life presented itself as a rustle in some bushes. You cleared your throat of its gumminess on approach, suddenly feeling very much like an intruder. Street interviews were commonplace, it wasn’t supposed to be weird, but this side of town almost felt feral; like it’d been left alone for so long the buildings might bite back. What could I give them in return? Dr. Vry had always made it clear you weren’t supposed to give gifts in journalism; it was biased, and even if well-intentioned, demerited your work. Maybe it would be enough for you to see them, to help give their voice a boost. To know that someone was looking out for them.

Upon closer inspection, these bushes proved the entrance to a houseless camp. The residents had become very savvy, and you kept yourself tight to where you’d come in case they wanted you to leave. You had a penchant for walking unwanted into people’s homes, it seemed; but the tentative response was short-lived. A child emerged from a tent a few feet in front of you, and waved, running toward the back of the haphazardly-kempt wire fence lining the area. It was massive; hundreds of people could live here, easily. You noticed a couple sitting together eating some shelf-stable food on a nearby bench. Another kid playing with a stray cat in the far corner. Tents and tarps were plentiful, with the odd bike and mattress parked around.

“If you’re a cop, we don’t want you.” A tall woman sitting under a tarp gestured to you. “Lot of you have tried, but we won’t go.”

You shook your head. “I’m not, I uh, I’m a journalist with the Gazette. Wanted to know what the people of Crown Point thought about the upcoming election.”

A chorus of laughs erupted, many voices from places you couldn’t place. Some echoey, some dampened, some sounding like they were standing right beside you. The same woman shrugged, tossing her pillow to the side of her to lay back on. “The election doesn’t matter. Still leaving us to die.”

You went with her concern, probing it, validating it. “That’s why I’m here. I want to help your concerns be heard.”

“What’s the point of being heard if we’re gonna freeze anyway?” The man sitting on the bench chimed in, shaking his head with a tight, scrunched face. They were right; why would they want to speak if they were hungry, exhausted, and at risk of freezing to the cold, hard ground this winter? Your heart broke thinking of how many loved ones they’d already had to mourn.

The zing of it propelled the words out before you’d fully thought them through. “I could help all of you get housed, tonight.”

The man on the bench glared at you, the woman next to him looking up from her lap. The woman underneath the tarp that had spoken slowly sat up, eyebrow raising. “Is this a trick? Get us to leave so you can sweep the joint?”

Damn. What is Bruce gonna think about this? “No. I have… connections. At least for the time being. Hotels, motels, but eventually to something long-term.” What, there were a few hundred people here? Maximum? Some of them had to be families, couples. You swallowed a lump in your throat at the prospect of overpromising and underdelivering. You knew there were enough empty apartments, but not about hotels…

Rightfully so, they only became more suspicious, with more people peeking out from their tents to see who the hell was saying such things. “I worked with Bruce Wayne recently.” What to say?! “He talked about the housing crisis, he wants to help.”

“This isn’t more of that Renewal bullshit, right?”

“Wayne kid getting out now?”

“Why would he want to help us? Planning to run?”

They’d been hurt before. Led astray. They were just being protective. “I think he wants to follow his parents. I know they were philanthropic.”

“Can’t be too much, or he wouldn’t have his billions.”

You couldn’t believe you were standing here vouching for Bruce fucking Wayne, the man that just a few months ago scowled at you in his basement while essentially moralizing their existence. It dawned on you that you were promising them his money, and guilt washed through you yet again. “I’ll get in contact with his management. If that’s something you’d all want.”

The few people who were looking at you looked around at each other, and a pause hung longer than you thought it would. You stifled a sigh of relief at giving them a choice–you didn’t want to come in like some savior if it wasn’t what they wanted right now. You stifled another when they all nodded, and you disappeared back into the bushes after saying you’d only be a minute.

Calling him was hard. You stared at his contact in your phone like it was a mirage, and would leap from the screen and disappear any moment. Only once you heard a particularly strained meow from one of the camp’s cats did you press the button, all but slamming the phone to your ear. Ring one, ring two, ring three, ring four… you bit your cheek, already sore from biting it so much the night before. He isn’t gonna answer. He wants nothing to do with me. Rightfully so.

“Y/N?”

You loathed the way your body jumped when he said your name, a phenomenon you were becoming aware of ever since that night at your apartment. The request tumbled out of you, with both too much and not enough context; sudden, intrusive, and trapping. You were beginning to hate yourself, and the lengthy silence between your ask and his response had you jumping in place, holding tight, constricted air heavy in your chest. Fuck. I’ll have to tell everyone I was lying, that I didn’t have anything lined up. That you’d put your foot in your mouth, and felt entitled to his money. Maybe, in your emotional anguish, you’d even confess to them that you’d lied. That you’d lied to a big, important man about a big, important thing. All weekend you’d ruminated on his reputation, fully internalizing it for the first time.

“Be there soon.” His voice was flat, distant, and he abruptly hung up.

Not an okay, sure, or even a that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, stay away from me from him. Just another obligation. Another thing he had to swallow with you; another way you made yourself a menace, another way he couldn’t escape you.

He arrived the same way, eyes cast down as he slammed the door shut. His hair wasn’t done, but the rest of him was—donning a light brown sweater against tapered black pants rather than his baggy black-on-black, tattered tee look. As much as you wanted to mirror his avoidance, you had to bite the bullet, maintaining your eyes to his face and breaking the silence. “Thank you, I’m, I know this is unexpected,”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he flinched, his face scrunching together as he faced the concrete again. You felt queasy. His voice was low and mumbled. You could barely hear him, though the city din was much lower out here. “—fine.” He shrugged, his shoulders tightening. Your gut cinched as you led him to the camp, each step drawing the nausea more to the surface. After the rollercoaster of the past week, it’d been too easy to forget the fragile line you walked with him.

By the time you both stood at the entrance, watching everyone’s eyes widen at Bruce’s presence, you were almost positive you’d crumble to the ground. By some lucky break, he decided to speak first. He sounded nothing like he had when he’d been with you seconds earlier.

“I know the chill is coming in soon, and we want to help you get housed. For the first few nights you’ll be staying in a hotel or motel in the city. Beyond that, my team will get you set up in an apartment long-term. Fully paid.” Some people asked him why he was doing this, but others were already taking down their tents, shoving everything into their arms and into stray plastic bags. He answered with: “Money has no use sitting in a cell while people can use it.”

You tried not to linger on the we of it all, but it was hard. He didn’t look at you as you both helped residents pack up their things, staying to opposite sides of the encampment. After you did a headcount, you realized there were only about a hundred-fifty people living here. A handful of them were children, a few elders, but most middle-aged, and single. When people would turn to finish grabbing their belongings, you’d stare at Bruce’s back, or his side-profile, or his face if he was facing you. He never so much as glanced your direction, even when he was paused, waiting.

Once everyone was packed, you took out your phone to scour hotel sites, presenting the second time he’d acknowledged your existence in the two hours you’d been there. His voice was quiet still, this time with more discernible reasons as to why, though he kept his interactions short, clipped, impersonal. “My butler’s handling it. Marriot’s coming off a conference, everyone can go there.” He mumbled something as he walked past about Alfred sending cars for everyone, directing you to stay back for the time being. He walked to the group toward the front and followed them out, saying something else you could hardly hear, but sounded like leadership.

Nearly in tears by how coolly he was behaving, you’d threatened to crumble until a small boy walked up to you holding a tiny kitten. The kitten shivered, their orange fur standing up in the wind tunnel the fencing and bushes created. They had open scabs around their back, and on the pads of their paws. “Mommy says he needs a doctor.”

Crouching down to meet his eye level, you reached out to gently pet the cat’s head. You could feel how small and weak they were. “Is this your kitty?”

He nodded. “His name is Bouncer.” He said it pointedly, like people had been calling Bouncer ‘cat’ against his wishes. His face was pouty, frustrated. He held the cat close to him, like you were going to take him away. “Can he come?”

“Yes, he can. I can take him to the doctor too if you’d like.” Dr. Vry’s second paycheck had come in over the weekend, so this task wasn’t something you’d have to ask Bruce’s card information for. Thank god.

“Bouncer.”

“I can take Bouncer to the cat doctor, and bring him back to you. How does that sound?” Your heart squeezed as you thought back to what had likely gotten him that name, the bouncing, leaping, energetic presence of a new kitten, seeing how clenched and tired the cat looked now.

The boy looked over your shoulder and pointed, and you followed his finger to Bruce, stepping back into the encampment. “You and him.” He pointed to the cat, brow furrowed, then back to Bruce again. “Get him.”

He was already motioning at Bruce, and you counted the sound of his footsteps until you felt him beside you. He wasn’t wearing the cologne he always wore at city hall meetings, the universe giving you a millisecond of relief. His voice was gentler when he spoke now, crouching to mimic your posture in front of the kid. “Is that your cat?”

The kid stared at you like you were supposed to introduce them. You didn’t look at him, only at the small, shaky head of the kitten in front of you. “That’s Bouncer. He needs to go to the vet.”

“You guys will.” He shoved the kitten in your arms, and you felt how chilly he was. His body trembled and shook, and you cradled his head as you looked into his face. The kid said something to Bruce about ‘the buddy system’ and ‘illegal’ to not go with someone else, but their conversation faded into the green of the kitten’s eyes. Their eyelids were covered in grime, their nose runny. Poor baby. You caressed their head, their eyes fluttering, and they stretched into a yawn, the tiny claws poking at your arms.

“Landon, there you are.” A woman, presumably his mom, walked up to the child and grabbed his elbow. “The cars are coming.”

“Bouncer! He’s going to the doctor.”

The lady met your eyes, and glanced between you and Bruce. She shook her head and hoisted the bag higher on her back. “No baby, we don’t have the money yet.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Bruce intercepted. “I’ll cover it.”

The woman blushed, an exasperated sigh following. She ran her fingers through Landon’s hair. “You’re already doing so much, we can’t possibly,”

He shook his head and stood, but you stayed crouched. You pulled the kitten close to your chest, hoping to warm them off your body heat. “It’s no problem. I’ll have someone bring Bouncer to your room later tonight.”

As they shuffled away, the boy blew a kiss at the cat and waved; you gently grabbed the kitten’s paw and gave the teensiest wave back, careful not to move him much. As they turned out of view, stepping out of the bushes to the cars that supposedly awaited them all, you caught Bruce staring at you, blank-faced. He held the eye contact only a second, but it felt like a lifetime after being wholeheartedly avoided. You wished he would speak, you wanted to know what he was thinking so badly.

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forward, mumbling again. “Get in the backseat with it.”

You didn’t like his tone, but you didn’t feel in any position to complain; you’d probably cost him upwards of fifty thousand dollars today, not counting whatever the vet bill would be, food costs, and the long-term investment of housing everyone. You hadn’t consulted with him, of course he was angry. Of course he was being short with you. You didn’t care much about the money aspect, especially not as you walked past the crowds of people buzzing with anticipation to finally get a warm shower and soft bed, but when you paired it with your previous behavior, it didn’t feel too stellar. Seemed that as quick as the smoke cleared from a past fuckup, you were slamming another between the two of you.

Slipping into the backseat was easier than you thought; the kitten was far from rambunctious, tired and tiny, so you set them in the seat next to you and slid in, scooping them up as quickly as they’d been set down. As you gently pet their head, down their back, and wiggled their toes, you could’ve sworn you felt the beginnings of a purr. You looked out the tinted windows at the people climbing into Ubers and Lyfts, and rolled down the window to wave again at Landon before he climbed in the back of the rideshare.

Bruce slipped into the driver’s side and turned the car on as one pulled up beside you. Alfred was messing with his seatbelt before stepping out, seemingly orchestrating the rides. He said something to the group and those who had just hopped inside the cars, but Bruce sped off before you could hear it. Every movement of his felt impatient, stilted, forced. You remained silent the rest of the drive, the mood soured, millenniums away from the night before. You shifted your focus to the animal in your arms, which was automatic; they’d begun to let out pitiful meows, opening their eyes as much as they could.

You pulled into the parking lot of a clinic you’d never seen before, a 24 hour emergency vet. Bruce turned to take the cat, but Bouncer had clawed his way into your shirt, clinging on for dear life. You cooed at him, rubbing behind his ears, and stepped out without thinking, only realizing once both feet were on the ground to look for paparazzi. The beaming of the sun, a rarity in the inner city, caused a momentary panic, and you scurried into the clinic as fast as you knew you could protect the terrified pet in your arms. After pretending you’d found a stray cat and wanted to rescue them, you handed him to a tech, giving your card information and phone number to the man at the front desk. They told you for security reasons they’d need you to wait in your car, but they estimated it wouldn’t be longer than an hour. Apparently it was usually much busier, and the wait averaged twelve hours. Shit.

Walking out to the car brought an anxiety you hadn’t felt toward him since the first night at Wayne Tower. He didn’t look up when you walked past his window, nor when you slid into the backseat. In fact, he didn’t say a word for multiple minutes after, seemingly staring down at his feet, or the steering wheel. Is he okay?

“How long did they say it would be?” Still mumbling. Still with no further acknowledgment outside the bare minimum.

“About an hour.”

The silence continued for a cluster of minutes before you forced an apology through your mounting nerves. “I’m sorry. I know I should have asked you before. They asked what good was it to have their voice heard if they were gonna freeze to death anyway, and—”

“It’s fine.” But it didn’t sound fine, it sounded like he had an armory of sharp words to stab into you; an unspoken tension so tightly wound you had a feeling you couldn’t even ask about it without things escalating. Whatever it was, you felt it; a thick, dense cord jammed between and through you.

“It’s not right of me—”

“It’s fine.”

This felt eerily similar to how standoffish he’d acted the night after you hugged, but it didn’t make sense. All he’d done was drive you home. His reassurance wasn’t gentle, it was tempered. A kettle barely kept from boiling. Whenever he acted like this, you couldn’t help the storm brewing within you to pull him out of it, make him explain himself.

But you’d done too much. So you sat, twiddling your thumbs, and counted the seconds as they passed until the clinic called back. You put it on speaker so you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself to him.

“Hi Y/N, this is Mountain Valley vet clinic calling. Bouncer has been seen by our staff.” They went on to let you know that he had dermatitis and was extremely dehydrated; they gave him subcutaneous fluid, a wash, and a cone, as well as trimmed his nails. You agreed to purchasing the hypoallergenic kibble they recommended, and walked out a few minutes later with a cardboard carrier holding a tiny, washed kitten in a large cone.

Bruce still didn’t say a word.

Bruce felt like he might die.

You left him in the car with the kitten after insisting on the ride back that you get the creature some supplies. He peeked in once to see if it was breathing, and its bleary eyes stared up at him. He gave the little thing a pet, but that was the most he could do. He felt like he needed a trip to the doctor.

He didn’t want you to come back. He’d been pacing his room before you called, cataloging what he might say to you the next day. He’d been too terrified to sleep, afraid to shut his eyes after the debacle in the shower. He’d tried to come up with an excuse to not see you, but nothing revealed itself, and now he was here. Stuck in this stuffy, cramped car with you. Stuck remembering the tenderness in your body as you held the animal, stuck with the insurmountable, immovable, horrifying thought that there was nothing he could do but grow fonder and fonder of you with each interaction.

He wasn’t mad you’d taken the initiative; he was mad that his body had betrayed him, and annihilated his footing, making the sight of you absolutely unbearable. Seeing you felt like a hot branding iron, like your hand was wrapped around his throat to make him suffer, cutting off oxygen to his limbs until he felt them shrivel and die. He ached to lean toward you, converse, connect; but in equal measure, with equal force, nothing had ever felt more dangerous. Not even cutting the wire and plunging into the blood-filled waters during the flooding, though he knew how illogical it was.

He looked at the cat again. How you held it. How it clung onto you like the world would end if it let go. He couldn’t resist looking at you then. Couldn’t stomp out the part of him that wanted to do the exact same thing. It made him sick.

You slid into the backseat and for a split second he considered folding. Indulging the questions that spun his thoughts all afternoon. Why Crown Point? Why now? What article were you working on? Had anyone heckled you? Had Gavenstein or the other men said anything? Had you recovered yet from your injuries? What questions did you prepare for the rally that weren’t heard? How were you, really? Were you still having nightmares?

“Which room are they in?”

Holy shit, he’d been driving on autopilot, the Marriot sign projecting beams of light through his eyes in the parking lot. This was precisely why he couldn’t ask those questions, why it was imperative he resist the dynamic forming. He was entirely ragged and unnerved.

The click of your seatbelt unbuckling forced him to speak. “I’ll do it.”

“No, I’ll run up there, I was the—”

“You can’t be associated with this.”

“I already am. Look,”

His hand knocked into yours as he grabbed the box’s handle, and he slammed his head back on the headrest with a scowl as he yanked his arm away. His hand was burning where you’d touched, his heart racing…

“Just admit it.”

If he thought his heart was racing then, he had no idea what it was doing now, certain it would tear out of his chest. You couldn’t know about last night, impossible. You couldn’t. “Admit what?” It was easy for his tone to be harsh when he was this thrown. He counted the split of each second between your answer by the pounding of blood in his ears.

“You’re mad at me.”

His brow furrowed, gaze fixed on the top of the steering wheel. You shifted in your seat, the thin plastic handles of the Petco bag deepening the crease under your knuckles. It was oozing off of him. You nearly snapped when he denied it. “I’m not.”

“I know what I did was entitled.”

“Take the cat in.”

“You’re angry. That’s fine,”

He scoffed, something which didn’t help whatever case he was trying to front. “Do you want me to be?” He turned to face you, his face flushed with frustration. His chest was heaving, causing you to press your back flush to the seat in a strange anticipation. Almost like he might grab you if you got too close. Or run away.

You hid your surprise when he spoke again, his voice embittered. “Do you want me to tell you you shouldn’t have done that?” The collar of his sweater snagged your vision, your eyes oscillating there and back again. To his deep blue eyes with their fiery, unblinking focus… “That I don’t want you spending my family’s money? That you should’ve given it more thought?” His lips were fascinating as they wrapped around his words. “What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking.” The words caught in your throat, coming out breathy. His intensity filled you to the brim with overwhelm, knocking the wind clean out of you. It began to feel obscenely difficult to only focus on his eyes. Something flashed across his face, like apprehension, or worry, and quickly settled. “Don't pretend you’re not upset.”

He glared at you another beat, one that you soaked up more than you cared to admit, before grumbling back into his seat. You couldn’t make out what he was looking at, but he was looking down. He suddenly looked a few years older. Is he okay? “Room 731.”

You reached around, taking great care not to brush his arm, and grabbed Bouncer’s box from the passenger seat. The cabin air was stifling, charged with whatever complaints Bruce was set on denying, but you couldn’t resist a last look at the frail little cat in the big, huge box.

You thought about how Bruce hadn’t held him yet, and, even though he was causing a well of something to toil in you, and his tone brooked no further conversation, you shoved through it. Hopeful it could help him off the edge of whatever he was dealing with. Walter always helped you regulate. “Do you want to hold him before I go in?”

“Why?”

“You haven’t held him yet.” And he had a shitty week.

Like nothing more than obligation, he twisted his body toward the box and reached inside, expression cross and unyielding. The kitten meowed, and Bruce’s face scrunched as he saw the bubble on his back. “What happened?” He held the cat up and looked at it from another angle, his concern mounting.

“That’s the fluid.” The kitten let out a sizable scream as he kicked his paws, scrambling. Bruce held him almost at arm’s length, confused. His serious expression and the wiggling kitten caught between his hands was a sight you burned into memory for when you needed to laugh later. “Bring him closer, he’s just cold.”

He folded his arms mechanically, and at such a snail pace you wondered if the cat might outgrow the cone by the time he reached the plane of his chest. The feeling that welled up in you when the cat snuggled into him had you interrogating your subconscious for an ulterior motive. Something about seeing a stony man holding the world’s most fragile kitten had you feeling woozy. You could’ve sworn you saw the sunrise of a smile glint in his eyes.

“Is that Bruce Wayne?!”

“Duck.”

You made yourself one with the floor of the back seat as he threw the car in reverse, one hand on the kitten, one to the wheel. Being this low to the ground in a vehicle made your head spin, all thought leaving you save making sure you didn’t vomit.

He parked sooner than you anticipated, wasting no time. “I’ll walk the cat back. Give me the bag.” He placed the cat delicately in the box, but your head was pounding. You didn’t like having to do this. Having to lay horizontal every time someone might see you with him, stay ducked behind bushes, across the room at city hall. You knew why. You knew it would destroy any chance of you making it on your own, typecasting you as Bruce Wayne’s mistress the rest of your life. You saw it at the rally the night before. The looks the women gave you. The snickers the men did as you walked past. The way none of the other press would interact with you. You hated how you’d done this to yourself, not thinking of the implications of actually getting the interview, getting it published, and sticking around.

He shut the door, walking off. You reminded yourself, not-so-gently, that you’d be leaving soon. If Bruce was so frustrated by your presence, the least you could do–after Dr. Crane gave you the clear–was leave. Swiftly. No more chance encounters, no more meddling… all would be right with the world. Maybe you wouldn’t even miss him.

Bruce had amassed an even larger aura of annoyance by the time he came back. He didn’t cloak his scowl, or pause to chat; he peeled out of the side street and booked it for The Moore. You sat up slowly, hoping he wouldn’t strike you down with another demand, though you felt like you deserved it. You stared at the back of his hair, dark and messy, covering his ears and half his neck. If you wanted, you could reach out and touch him. Run your hands down his shoulders to his wrists, slip through his palm back into his fingers. You drew a sharp breath, covering the sound of it with another apology, the envelope of the luck you’d pushed nearly bursting at the seams. “It won’t happen again.”

Nothing in the car changed. He didn’t care, and you couldn’t blame him.

You hadn’t lingered when he pulled into the same alleyway, trying your best to slip out of his sportscar like an apparition. The stale air threatened to snuff you out, and for once you relished the mildewed public air as you gulped back to your apartment, heart tumbling down your sleeve. Everyone who walked past was blurry. The key shook in the lock as you pushed inside. It felt horrifying having him pull away, and horrifying that it was over something so avoidable. What if he could’ve came back and watched a show? If only you’d called him before? Instead of crossing boundary after boundary, fuck.

You wished he would’ve yelled at you. Torn you up. But you weren’t worth that. You were only worth brooding; tense silence that would inevitably turn into avoidance, which would mean he’d never talk to you again. No matter how often you told yourself it didn’t matter, god… sitting in his car last night had felt fun. The happy, bouncing adrenaline of hoping he’d find you at the end of the night when he’d waited precisely for your spot in line to join. His presence felt so warm.

You prayed he wouldn’t ignore you at City Hall, but it wasn’t heeded. It was as if you’d stopped existing. Alfred had texted you an update earlier that day about the housing situation, letting you know he’d secured apartments for the last of them through this time next year, probably the most obvious confirmation that Bruce was done interacting with you. He’d ended the text with: We’ll take it from here. You’d crossed a line.

The crossbody bag hanging heavy on your shoulder mocked your spine, though you’d packed light. At the meeting’s end, you kept to the foyer wall as you dug through it, pulling out the plane ticket to make sure it didn’t rip on the hard edges of the recorder and notebook shoved between chargers and sweatpants. Pen…

“Thought you were staying through the election.”

The bag slipped off your shoulder and fell to the floor, masking your gasp. Positive he wasn’t looking at you, you chanced a look up after stooping to grab your bag. His eyes were fixed on yours, relentless. You wondered how any criminals resisted him. “Um,” you swallowed, hard, your mind drifting away. After a few embarrassing breaths that felt weird to do while in direct eye contact, words found you. “I’m visiting for the weekend. Mom stuff.”

The bags under his eyes were pronounced. He sprayed that cologne again. His hair was done, but somehow still in his face. His sweater switched for a black turtleneck. You caught it all in piecemeal, never spending too long in one place. He hadn’t blinked, something which made you feel wholeheartedly exposed. You broke the stare, flustered, pretending to fiddle with the zipper on your bag to escape it, his smoldering—but when you looked up he was gone.

Bruce took his time pulling out his wallet, making small talk with the valet about the weather while he thumbed through hundreds. Depending on how soon you got in the Uber, he’d be rich. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine–he needed to stop there. A thousand dollar tip for parking his car? He didn’t want the guy to get suspicious.

The guy’s face was pale, and he stuttered. “Sir, did you–”

“Feeling generous.” Waiting to see if you were about to get abducted. He nodded and took his keys, taking short, slow strides while he pretended to take in the air, maybe give the paparazzi more glamor shots.

The faintest whisper of your name from across the street pulled his attention to a man driving a blue Toyota Corolla. No dents, no scratches. He wished he could make an ID on the driver, a stocky man with a thick beard and dirty blonde hair. He watched you get in in pieces–first your hand on the back passenger door, then your bag, then your hips, then your head. He realized too late he’d been openly gawking, stowing his hands to hide their shaking. When the Corolla drove off, he jumped into the driver’s seat and sped to the nearest place of isolation, swallowing spoons of bile. Were you safe? His rapid breathing was speeding up his body’s rejection of breakfast. Would you come back in pieces?

The very instant he’d thrown off the cameras, he stumbled out and vomited, one hand stabilizing him to the brick, the other holding his hair behind his ear. It splashed over his shoes and freckled his calves. He gasped between spurts, gag reflex mingling salt pooling by his lips. His forehead dragged on the concrete wall, catching some hairs of his eyebrow. Retching turned to dry heaves, which evolved to wheezes. He couldn’t follow you. He couldn’t drive you. Fuck.

He got dizzy again when he thought of the plane ticket. Hysteria had taken over him, freezing his veins with pure panic. You were killing him. How long it had taken you to answer, leaving him standing there, frigid. You were going to kill him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look at it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk to you. He wanted to fall into you. Learn more about you. Be around you. It was actually killing him, he should’ve just let you leave. He shouldn’t have talked to you. He’d seen that you’d bought the ticket a week ago on the receipt dangling out of your bag, it wasn’t an emergency, and that should’ve been enough, but he’d wrestled with asking you about what prompted the visit, if your mom was alright, just to hear you talk. Just to hear you talk!

He’d deluded himself into thinking he could ignore it. But the fear that gripped him now, the damn terror, the grating, emulsifying anxiety that liquified his insides at seeing you get into the car. He hadn’t thought it would be that bad. That it was still this bad. Why was it this bad?! He barely knew you! Why did it feel like you were dying? Why couldn’t he breathe?

Logic hadn’t helped quell the worry. Not yesterday, not last night, not the night before, not this morning, not during the meeting, not now. He was being stupid. Stupid, stupid…

He pulled out his phone and fought the urge to throw it. 8:20, you were probably at the airport by now. It wasn’t far, you’d absolutely be there if you hadn’t been kidnapped. Barrel to your skull. He should’ve driven you. Should’ve. Should’ve. Should’ve.

Get there safe?

But he couldn’t press send. He couldn’t wait on a response. He dropped the phone with the earthquake that were his fingers, scraping indents into his nails as he clawed at the ground for it. His chest was tight, his mind going in and out of a red backdrop, the sounds of the cars on the highway searing through his eardums. His throat was closing up. It was closing up, and he wouldn’t be able to breathe, he’d die right here, he’d die.

His finger hovered on the dial below your name.

The next day Bruce found himself sitting in a small waiting area at three in the afternoon. The walls were the same shade of beige, and the same secretary took his name. The seats were the only thing different, a lot softer than he remembered.

Seeing her face again felt disorienting, nearly catapulting him back to the months after the murder. She was older now, her hair filled with shades of gray. Her smile was the same, and her voice unchanged. It was the only thing tethering him to the same room down the stuffy hallway, into a room far smaller than he thought it had been.

“Bruce, welcome back. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?” Iris was the only name he knew of hers. He hadn’t looked at the directory when he’d called, he’d only left his name, number, and his preference of provider. He struggled not to feel ten years old sitting in front of her after all this time, his body already folding in on itself. His hands warmed themselves squished between his thighs, his shoulders trying their damndest to connect.

He nodded, and glazed over while she went over the consent forms he’d already signed. He had to blink back to the room when she said ‘tell me more about that’.

“I don’t want a lot of sessions. I just need solutions. They need to stop.”

Iris nodded at him, her brows knit just so. Her chair was thick and upholstered, the yellow sitting discordantly with the shade of blue on the walls. “The panic attacks need to stop?”

“Yeah.”

She wrote something on her clipboard, scribbling the only sound in the room. “What usually precipitates the panic, Bruce?”

Per usual, her eyes drilled into him. Like they wouldn’t let him get out of it. “Nothing.”

The silence hung for a few beats, something she did often, but he’d conveniently forgotten. The first few sessions of theirs they’d sat in mutual silence, with the odd prompting question to try to bring him out of it. She threw him a bone this time. “Seems to come out of nowhere?”

He immediately knew why he’d stopped coming. He loathed to sit in his body, to have someone point their finger at all the sticky points. Like she did again, not letting up.

“What’s coming up?”

“People. People cause them.”

“Tell me more.” She crossed her leg and sat back in the seat, anticipating Bruce giving a novel. It made him only want to say less, and he only shrugged in response.

The silence continued for another two minutes, like a game of tug-of-war.

“Is it certain people?”

There was always a sticking point, too. The first question that set him on edge, brought him closer to the jagged edges of his mind he desperately tried to drown. He nodded slowly, not wanting to give anything away, not wanting to sit and stare at each other.

But that was all it was. Silent, apart from the ticking of the clock by the door. He knew why she did this, and why she did it now. She’d explained it one day, letting him know this was his space, and she could only do with it what he gave. She’d been kind enough when she said it, but he’d still felt like he was doing it wrong. Still loathed why he was in there in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to sit in this room while Alfred waited in the lobby, he wanted to eat dinner with his parents.

He forced more words to fill the space, determined to rid his body of the emotional toxin as hurriedly as possible. He tapped his foot impatiently. “So what do I do about it? If I have to keep being around those people?”

“What do you think?”

He grunted, sucking on his teeth to abate a scoff. “Just tell me what to do.”

She nodded, setting aside her clipboard. “Sounds like you really want relief from something excruciating.”

He hated when she used feeling words. Hated when she’d pull out the feelings wheel, try to get descriptive with the toils of his head and stomach. He didn’t realize he was breathing harder, eyes shifting about the room, until she drew attention to it. Of course she did.

“Are you starting to feel it right now?”

His hands gripped the edge of the couch, shoulders tensing. He felt like something was about to spill out of him, bubbling to the surface, but it wasn’t clear, it wasn’t tangible. He focused on the carpet, counting the rings of thread, staving it off. He felt himself begin to sway, and nodded.

Her pointed, slow breathing filled the room, and he begrudgingly matched it until his shoulders dropped. She’d described deep breathing to him twenty years ago as ‘pulling in air’ to your body so it can ‘keep you on the floor’. God, he hadn’t thought about that in over a decade. Once his breathing was under control, she struck again.

“Are you fine with me asking some questions about what it feels like?”

He waited for her to speak, eyeing her cautiously. She caught his imperceptible nod, something that made him more angry than he wanted to divulge. Always under the microscope.

“Let me know if it’s too activating, and we can go right back to breathing.” She pulled up her clipboard again, clicking her pen open. “Does it feel like your throat is closing up, chest tight, like you’re worried you won’t be able to breathe?”

His face grew hot. “Yes.”

“Any images cross your mind, or repeating thoughts?” She wrote something down while he hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut more with each syllable. He felt small. Tiny. Smaller than that kitten.

“That I'm dying.” The color red smeared across his vision, recurrently. When he opened his eyes and refocused, the image unblurred. His face scrunched, nose crinkling. “And… blood.”

Iris nodded, giving him a moment to take another regulating breath. She waited for his shoulders to drop again before pressing on. “I noticed you started trembling. Is there anything else you noticed? Thoughts, feelings, physical sensations?”

He’d been trembling? He looked down at his hands, knuckles white from gripping the couch, buzzing. His stomach flipped, burning, springing saliva to his tongue. He hated this. “Nausea.”

“If you could describe how you’re feeling in one word, what comes to mind?” Her pen hung loosely in her hand, balanced on one knuckle. Her eyes had more wrinkles around them. Her shoulders sagged more. The bookshelf that had been to her right was now a side table with a glass of water and box of tissues.

He deliberately reminded himself that the faster he answered, the faster he could leave. Moreso than that, the faster he could get over the bullshit plaguing him. “Fear.”

“Mmm.” She nodded, clicking her pen into the top of the board. He didn’t like how she was sitting up. What was she about to say? Had she already psychoanalyzed him enough? Could she give him a plan to walk out of here and never break down again? “Thank you for exploring that with me.” Bruce sat further back into the couch when she resituated closer, nervous to bridge any of the distance padding their interactions. “Mind if I make an observation?”

He gestured for her to speak, wishing his body would stop trembling, giving itself away to her. Everything felt too charged, she was choosing her words too carefully… her tone too soothing, too soft. She pulled a paper from her stack, from the bottom of the clipboard. “You gave me the exact same answers after the death of your parents. What comes up when I say that?”

No shit. He didn’t suppress his eye-roll, a decision she’d praised him for years ago. ‘Expressing yourself is good, Bruce. Gets it out of your system. That’s what this place is for.’ She didn’t acknowledge it now. “That’s when they started.”

Her sigh was gentle, accommodating. It made him uncomfortable to sit in a room that felt like someone walking through his brain. “The reason I ask is that we identified some triggers and base fears in our previous work together. I’m curious if they hold up now.”

Bruce vaguely recalled a few, the general concepts of people and grief, but nothing specific. Still, his palms grew sweaty, the shaking increasing–so much so that he had to metabolize it by tapping both feet against the ground. The sticker-worthy cliches were coming back to him in whispers. ‘Go through to get through’ ‘feel to heal’, phrases that Alfred had picked up from their brief group meetings, employing incessantly at home in the year following their deaths. Maybe getting to the root will solve it. Make his brain a crumb more hospitable, no longer running completely loose. Maybe it was something about needing to save you somehow, like he’d felt with his parents. Finally, something he could logic through. You’d be gone from Gotham soon enough, and wouldn’t need any saving. You didn’t even want saving. Yeah. Bring it. Easy.

“Would you like me to read them to you?”

Bruce nodded.

“One of the activating events for you was making friends at school. You described it as being ‘scary’ to spend time with others. When I asked what was ‘scary’ about that, you said: ‘I don't want to be more sad’.”

Ah, shit. He felt like the room was swallowing him up, the walls closing in.

“Another activating event was sleeping. You used to have a lot of nightmares. We deduced the nightmares were flashbacks to–”

He cut her off, hoping it would salvage the last molecules of oxygen left in the room. “I remember them.”

She glanced over her glasses—when had she put those on?—and paused before saying the rest. “When I asked you what helps, you said being alone. You said ‘more people means more funerals’.”

More, more, more. He was shoved under a spotlight, her eyes the lens of a microscope, excavating all of what he’d so diligently buried. Was this therapy or suffering? Therapeutic, or torturous? The room began to spin.

“Do you think that’s still true for you?”

Stars entered his vision, blurring her features into one blob. She started her breathing thing again, which only made him more aware of his body. He felt claws around his neck, nails jamming into his skull, a bear sitting on his chest that he couldn’t roll out from under. “It’s bullshit. I don’t care about her.” He winced, like you might have overheard it. “I don’t have a reason to.”

If she was thinking something, her eyes didn’t give it away. “Do you need a reason to care about someone?”

His eyes could’ve bulged out of his head, a scoff rolling off his tongue, escaping the ropes of doom pulling him under. Obviously!

He wanted her to stay silent. Do the silent thing. Do fucking anything than keep her foot on his neck. “What’s the reason for others in your life?”

Speaking = leaving faster. “Alfred, Dory, they’re family.” He shook his head, the back of his throat lighting up in flames. Shocked the words were still coming out, certain his esophagus wasn’t open anymore, wishing these confessions brought any relief. “It’s stupid. Stupid.” His breaths were shallow, rapid, and he felt his brain shut down in one thunk. “She hasn’t, I don’t,”

“Take a deep breath in through your nose, then a long breath out–”

He started to wheeze, clamoring to his feet. “I can’t do this,”

Iris sat forward. “Bruce,”

He fell to the side of the couch, gasping. “I can’t fucking breathe,” he folded over the edge, clutching his chest. He needed to go to the hospital. She needed to call 911 now, while he was still partially here. He wouldn’t for long, one of these breaths was going to be his last, he knew it…

She crouched next to him, making him think of you. He slapped the thought down as quick as it came, unbearable. Dying. Chest. Air. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The last ten minutes had been hazy, in and out, but he was sitting on the opposite end of the couch now, fiddling with a stress ball she’d handed him during a grounding technique he barely remembered. His throat was thick with snot, his eyes hot and dry. He didn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed, though the feeling kept knocking to be heard.

“How are you feeling now?” Her low, even voice was more soothing now. He was utterly depleted. Worn. Avoiding eye contact. “That grounding exercise seemed to help. Do you think so?”

Now he felt silly. Now he felt stupid, but he nodded. How ridiculous was it that he couldn’t even handle something as silly as a passing emotion? Call 911? She probably thought he was an idiot, but couldn’t say it because of therapeutic rapport or something. Or something. Even his thoughts weren’t forming right. He felt hollow.

“Panic attacks are terrifying, and draining. Do you want to stop for today, and come back next week?”

He had a visceral response, jolting back to life. “No. I want them to stop. Now.”

Her weak smile told him everything he needed to know. “Panic attacks are tricky. Especially when they’re attached to early traumas. Avoiding can sometimes have the opposite effect, increasing the panic response, and that fear you described.”

His body clenched with defeat, the last kicks of anger pouting like a little kid. “So I have to feel like this forever.”

She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her. If he wanted to panic, he could do that in any alley in the city. Could do it in his own bedroom. No witnesses. “Becoming more aware of triggers can help. Help us be kinder, gentler, utilize coping skills early on, before a full panic response. Sounds like one of the triggers is someone new in your life. That’s something we could explore.”

Fifteen minutes left on the clock, he shoved through. Still time for a breakthrough. No need to come back. Rapid fire. “Doesn’t that mean I don’t care? This panic?” It wasn’t a good feeling, and definitely not one anyone with any sense would associate with anything positive.

“Depends on what it stems from. Are you sure you’re wanting to discuss this today?”

“I want it done.”

A resonant pause, absolutely there to help his words echo. “What situations with her cause the attacks?”

“A lot.”

“What’s the most recent?”

“Being worried.” Shit, speaking this fast, maybe they could get somewhere.

“Being worried?”

The thought that swerved into him made him still. Made his chest hurt all over again. Made him afraid it wouldn’t stop. He pulled a sigh from the depth of his chest cavity, swearing he could taste the blood on his tongue. “That she’s gonna die.”

“Is that a common thread with the other times?”

He hardly heard her as he stared off into space, his mind and body numb.

“If this is too distressing,”

Bruce felt the world fall away. “When she tries to help me. It’s too much.” The clock didn’t tick anymore. His lungs didn’t breathe anymore. His stomach shivered, pulling its lining into his throat.

“Overbearing? Overstimulating?”

Every breath was a swallowed knife. Every word spoken under his breath evaporating into mist. “It’s like I'm on fire.”

He was far away, but finally in the feeling. “Stay with that. What is it saying?”

The walls shifted and moved, glimmers of light fusing to the center of his retinas. “…Run. Everywhere.” His face twitched. “Closer. Farther.” A tear slid down his cheek, but he couldn’t move. Blood spurted in his ears. Globbed over his shoes.

“Is any direction louder?”

“No. Yes.”

“Which one?”

It came out in a gasp, thick with saliva. “Closer.”

“But the flames hurt.”

His body shuddered. Exhaustion split his spine, his shoulders calloused from the barbell welded to his skin. His empty voice showed how intensely he yearned for rest. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you were saying it’s stupid? Stupid to walk into a fire?”

His jaw quivered when he nodded.

“Sounds like there’s something that draws you in.” She followed his analogy. “Fires can destroy, but they’re also warm. Full of light.”

His eyes shut and his chin fell to his chest. No words flowed in or out, no feelings but the weight of his bones and a keen awareness of the flesh casing them. He didn’t know how long he sat there. He couldn’t feel time passing at all.

“What’s pulling you closer?”

He winced.

“Is the fire too bright?”

All the saliva left his mouth, and he blinked back into the room, orbs of light swimming in his periphery. “I won’t make it.”

“Sounds like your body trying to protect itself. Survival.”

His face squeezed in unison with his hands, his body coming back into focus. “I don’t want to go through any of that ever again. I can’t.”

“Or you won’t make it?”

“I’m not made for that.”

“For what?”

He thought of the slip of the grapple between his fingers when he wasn’t sure it took. The disorienting overwhelm of an elbow to the mouth while a chorus of shouts and gunshots peppered his chest. The metal-on-metal wrenching of a loose axle joint on a high-speed chase. Nothing frightened him more than the feeling of being around you. And nothing had ever made him feel more ridiculous.

Bruce packed up then, taking his copy of the intake forms from her clipboard on the way out. She thanked him for coming, sharing that her schedule was pretty available for the coming weeks if he wanted to dive deeper. “It was pleasant to see you again, Bruce. I hope you take care.”

He took a moment before going to the basement to haul his weary body to bed. He laid on his back and counted the dusty cobwebs lacing the ceiling; if he suspended disbelief enough, he could place himself there. Counting the boards on his ceiling and the creaks of the walls in the wind. Feel the dying hope in his chest that it was all just a nightmare. See the fading indents of his mother’s slippers until the carpet bounced back.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to dive deeper. Maybe he wasn’t made for it, but god… you made the concept alluring.

[fivewantscoffee]

Yeah, if it was going to be a broken timelines issue, it would make so much more sense for Five to be the reason they are broken in the first place. I wish we'd gone with that instead of... you know.

Then the subway existing has an actual point, because the inciting incident was when our Five (the original Five) time travelled for the first time. And they still have to sacrifice the current versions of themselves to fix that but it isn't all bleak and for nothing.

Reginald and Allison's world still ends because of the Cleanse or whatever, but that isn't where it ends.

Five transports them all to the subway and sits them down to explain what's going on. The constant, non-stop apocalypses aren't random: they're a symptom of the broken timelines. They're trying to repair themselves by ending the world because they were never supposed to exist in the first place.

Five gets to have his total breakdown over being the reason the world keeps ending, then Lila eventually proposes a way to try and fix things.

Cue to the Hargreeves having to try and find their original timeline, getting lost for some time and all that.

Diego and Lila work out their issues. Allison gets to address her entire S3 Thing. She apologises to Luther, and then they can maybe have a heart to heart about how Allison got Claire back, but it cost Luther his wife.

The six-year timeskip is explored in some more detail, revealing what they did after separating at the end of S3, the hardships they faced, how they reconnected and got to where they were when the season began.

So, they find the right timeline eventually. They step out into Five's apocalypse and travel back in time to the day he time-travelled for the first time. The plan is to convince him not to.

They don't know if this is going to work, but it's all that's left to try. If they do nothing, the apocalypses are just going to keep on happening regardless. They can keep running, but there will always be something world-ending right behind them.

So they wait for Five to run out of the academy, all of thirteen and about to ruin his life in a jump our Five has regretted since the day he made it. This time, they confront him before he jumps.

They convince him not to time travel, telling him exactly what it is this jump will lead to. Five doesn't soften the blow or mince words; he needs his past self not to time travel, to never use this facet of his powers again.

Time wasn't made to be messed with.

They succeed, Five's past self doesn't time travel. He blinks back inside, to his room presumably, because he's not about to face Reginald right now.

The Hargreeves all stand around for a moment, looking at the Academy, at each other. Eventually, Klaus nudges Five. They all turn around and leave, too.

They end up at a park, where they sit down, they talk, and as time passes, they start to feel it.

The future - their past - is being changed.

All of the offshoot timelines are being erased, and theirs might have been the first one, but it is still an offshoot. In changing the past, this version of Five is also no longer the original. We get an actual, heartfelt goodbye before they all go.

Next, we see Five and his siblings as young adults in the original, fixed timeline. They're all nineteen, and as we bounce around from one character to another, we see what they're up to:

Luther walks into a coffee shop. He orders something, and as the camera pans to show the person at the till, a French exchange student who looks a lot like Sloane is revealed to be taking his order.

We see a floor being mopped. It's Diego in a slightly bare-looking apartment, large cardboard boxes scattered all around while he listens to music and dances to it. He's clearly in the process of moving house, and Eudora is there to help him. Grace's cross stitch hangs on the wall.

Allison is at an audition. She looks excited and a little bit nervous, but mostly happy to be here. When her turn comes around, she is 100% ready for it.

Klaus, Five, and Ben are all doing their own thing. Five is attending a university lecture. Ben is alive. Viktor is seen playing the violin, using his powers.

Finally, Lila is at the airport, boarding a plane. She puts on a pair of headphones, and music starts blasting. Fade to black.

The narrator says his part about how on the eighth day of August 2024 absolutely nothing happened. It was a normal day. The end, credits roll etc. etc.

[naferty]

It's been a minute, but I'm happy to say I wrote something stony! And avac stony to boot.

This was heavily inspired by an old BL manga I read many years ago.

~~~

Tony wouldn’t say his time in Avengers Academy was bad. He wouldn’t say it was good either. As the son of a SHIELD agent and a HYDRA double agent, it was hard to find people to hang out with, let alone have any friends. What with the whole ‘he could be a double agent waiting to reveal secrets for his own benefit,’ thing looming over him thanks to his father. 

It didn’t matter that his mother had been a dedicated agent who left his father the moment she learned he was double-crossing and raised him herself to be a good person. All her efforts were ignored and Tony was lucky to be called a backstabber at worst and a turncoat at best. 

At least this school accepted him with minimal difficulty. Granted, he was ignored by the two main affiliates he was associated with, but at least he was able to study and hey! He was given permission to use the engineering room. He had that going for him.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom though. Sure, the one individual who managed to overlook his whole conflicted birth was not exactly a person to write home about, but Loki had a sense of fashion compared to most and always made sure Tony looked his best. 

“No Asgardian prince will share common space with a pauper,” were Loki’s everyday words when he found Tony wearing his admittedly cheap outfits. Conveniently forgetting Tony wasn’t exactly carrying a nation’s treasury in his back pocket like the prince. 

All in all, it wasn’t so bad. He had a sort-of friend but really an acquaintance who found his presence less annoying than most. He was given permission to tinker and experiment with tech and invent whatever he wanted. Within reason. He was given his education. He even managed to share space with some of the greatest names known! Both on Earth and from space. 

Captain Marvel, the Hulk, Falcon, heck, he even managed to catch a glimpse of Moon Girl and had Iron Woman look at him once! The last one had made Tony’s entire day. What he would give to share, like, ten minutes with Iron Woman and pick at her brain. See how she worked. A dream come true. 

Often, he would daydream of one day joining any of their groups. Just once. Even if it was only a minute or two. He would daydream of perhaps making a difference somewhere, even if small. Invent life-changing tech. Maybe even become a hero in his own right? Anything to show he wasn’t just a simple agent who was ready to turn their friends over at a moment’s notice.

What he would give for just a glimpse of what that would feel. Not having everyone watch your every move. 

Well, not much to be done there. He just had to buckle down and work harder than most to go against the whole school’s expectations of him. Every day he attended his classes, completed his extracurricular activities, worked on his shabby attempt at an AI and daydreamed about what-ifs.

“Yo, Clint, hurry up. You’re already late!” 

Tony turned to look behind him where the Hawkeye and the Falcon were casually waving at each other. Going about their day like usual and walking around as if they didn’t carry big names on them. 

He sighed and went back to his work. He was finishing up his coding for another attempt at Friday’s calculating. He was alone at Club A. The engineering room having been taken up in its entirety by up-and-coming SHIELD agents wanting to be the next big shot. As Tony was not in the mood to be constantly stared or pointed at, he decided to finish his coding in the one building devoid of bodies this time of day. 

However, even if alone with nothing to distract him, he couldn’t help his mind wandering around the place. In particular, a rumor that had begun circulating around the Academy recently. A rumor involving the golden boy. Captain America himself. 

What was the rumor? Why, apparently Captain America had a crush. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t exactly something worth talking about, but if one was following Captain America’s career closely, it was big news. 

Captain America was a big name, and the person responsible for it wasn’t someone to ignore. Steve Rogers was kind, respectful, brave and a very, very private person. Especially with his romantic aspect of it. It was rare to ever see the guy go on dates or show even a lick of interest to anyone. One could say if he ever found love again the person lucky enough wouldn’t have to ever worry about his eyes straying. 

Peggy Carter was a very lucky woman, or had been lucky, he would say. If the rumor held any truth, the founder of SHIELD was no longer the one holding the Captain’s heart. 

According to hearsay, Steve Rogers had a crush on someone in the engineering club, and while Peggy Carter was a genius in her own right, she wasn’t exactly tech savy for the club. This left a few possible contenders. Excluding the SHIELD agents – because come on, why would Captain America go for a lowly SHIELD agent? – the heroes at the top of the list were Moon Girl, Ironheart, Shuri, Spider-Gwen and, of course, Iron Woman. There were more, sure, but the rumor listed these specifically. 

Tony sighed again, tapping the end of his pen against the wooden surface he was working on top of. He should probably stop thinking about this particular rumor, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since growing up, he looked up to the idea of Captain America. Going against all odds to be the hero he was today. Tony couldn’t help but compare himself and his hardships with the guy, and somewhere along the way he kind of, sort of, maybe had gained a little bit of a crush on the hero, so hearing about the hero liking someone was a little painful. 

If he had to guess, the one the Captain was crushing on was probably Iron Woman. The one and only Natasha Stark. He often saw the two hanging out with each other. Always together with their ‘click.’ It was only natural Steve would catch some feelings if they hung out every day. 

Didn’t hurt any less though. 

“Okay,” he said to no one. “Focus. Focus.” He couldn’t waste his hour of free time away thinking about this. He had coding to finish and nobody was going to help him with it. Loki was useless when it came to tech and didn’t exactly make for encouraging company, so it was now or never. 

He slammed his pen down, harder than necessary, but the paper had no feelings to hurt so he didn’t particularly care, but he did utter a soft ‘sorry’ for disrespecting the code. 

He got to work and made good progress. His calculations might be a little off but he could hammer it down once he had access to the engineering labs again. The important thing was he had the base to work with. 

He decided to stop when he got stuck. He needed to test out his idea, but with no access right now to the computers at the labs, it was pointless to continue. He shuffled the papers together and stuffed them in his backpack. He still had twenty minutes left to kill time before his next class, meaning his next destination was the park. There, he was left alone and he could sit with his thoughts.

Ah, perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. The last thing he needed was time to think about the rumor again. Then again, he was thinking about it now as he attempted not to think about it. A vicious cycle.

As he was busy with his inner turmoil, he failed to notice someone getting closer from behind and by the time they caught his attention, Tony was left staring blankly at a flower in his face. 

It was a rose. Very red and very much smelling of a rose. It was jammed right in front of Tony’s nose and he went a little cockeyed looking at it. The person at the other end of the rose was none other than Steve Rogers. 

Whoa, Tony thought. He had never seen the Captain America standing so close before. Had his eyes always been that blue? 

So enraptured by those eyes, Tony could do nothing as the Captain reached out to cup the side of his face and pulled him forward. Tony went wide-eyed when the hero placed a small kiss on his mouth. A peck, really. Tony barely felt it. 

The hero pulled back and gave a blinding smile. Then, just as quickly as he appeared, he left the rose on his lap and disappeared, leaving Tony alone once more in Club A. 

Tony placed his good hand over his mouth unconsciously, and as his thoughts started catching up he went bright red. 

He just – he just – he – k-kissed -

A squeak he would deny for the rest of his life escaped him and Tony quickly scrambled to run back to his dorm to hide. 

[herefortheships]

We see Betelgeuse staring at Lydia's photo right after he appeared to her at the school. I like to think Betel stole her picture way back after his first defeat because it'd help him astral project to bother her. Like, as a tool for petty revenge, not for any sentimental or creepy reasons (initially). It'd explain why he never got a more recent picture. It hadn't been about her pretty face, or any other attractive attributes she'd develop later. It just meant to help him focus. And boy, did that backfire.

It's an interesting headcanon, him using the photo as a tool to be able to manifest around her. But to be honest, I believe he never had intentions to pester her or bother her in any way. Not even in the first film when he was more volatile and scarier did he ever try to harm her. When he turned into the snake, all he did was stare at her like he was taken by her, so much so that Barbara used that pause to banish him before he could do something.

He's always treated her different from any other woman from the start. So I believe he took the photo at some point during the events of the first film, and kept it close to him all these years because he was fascinated with Lydia.

We don't know how long he waited at that afterlife waiting room (my headcanon is that he said "screw this" at some point, stood up and left), but assuming he did wait in that room for a good amount of time, like days, or moths (or even a year or more, the number was pretty long), then he had time to reflect on what happened at the Maitland's house. Their time spent together was considerably rushed; they didn't get the opportunity to talk much, but he did have several months around Lydia, to watch her and get a sense of her.

I think he took that photo when he started forming the idea that he was going to propose to her as his ticket "out for good". Not even to get that thing which he presumably wants the most did he ever try to hurt Lydia; with the context of BJBJ now we know he could have just swapped souls with her and taken her life, but he didn't. (Or maybe he doesn't want to be alive; he may just want to be a ghost that can hang out with the living and never go back to the netherworld lol. But he did say "this dead thing is just too creepy", so maybe he does want to get another chance at being alive. I really want to know what exactly will happen to him if he does marry her. But I digress. Even if he knew about the soul swap he would have never tried it, because, again, he would never hurt Lydia.)

During whatever time he spent at that waiting room after the failed wedding attempt, he had that photo with him and would stare at it for comfort. Now I'm getting this headcanon that he started to realize around that time how her presence was actually really comforting, and he started missing her, wanting to see her again in person. Then he went "screw it", left that waiting room, and made up his mind that he was going to find his way back to that strange goth girl again.

Editing to add: Lydia was the only person who treated him with kindness and talked to him like a person in probably hundreds of years. Notice how everyone is afraid of even saying his name once, and those who do call him, do so to ask something of him. When Lydia first talked to him, she didn't exactly do it to seek out to use him for anything; he did offer to help her if she helped him out, but Lydia didn't approach him with fear nor to ask anything out of him. It was likely his only genuine interaction in years. Of course he wanted more of her, and so, at least he kept her photo (but never gave up on seeing her in person again either 😉).