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pencil-n-pen · 2 days ago

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OVERWORKED

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

leon kennedy x fem! reader

summary: You’re still struggling with overworking. Leon shows you when it’s time to take a break.

previous (not required but gives some context)

cw: once again, female pronouns used but reader’s features are not described, some suggestive content, dom! leon much more heavily this time, very not subtle praise kink (use of good girl), pet names, tbh rating COULD be pg-13 but i don’t write nsfw so minors ur fine :) uhhhh non-sexual sub-space if you squint?

tags/tropes: once again hurt/comfort, cuddles, leon being touchy again (reader is just as touchy honestly) soft dom behavior (leon)

a/n: a little continued drabble for those of u who asked/liked the last one !! hope u like it @cherryandsugar <3

MY ELDEST DAUGHTERS WITH PRAISE KINKS MAKE SOME NOISE 🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️💯💯💯

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

You’re overworking again.

You don’t mean to, necessarily. It’s just always what you do. Work, work, work. It needs to get done, so you do it. No matter how tired you are, no matter how much you don’t want to do it. No matter how many tears get shed. It needs to get done. You have to do it. So you do it.

Leon’s been taking issue, with it though.

You’re not really sure what you are to each other, yet. He definitely finds you attractive —he tells you pretty much everyday, an almost overuse of words like hot, sexy, cute, amazing, and of course, his favorite; princess.

He occasionally comes over to the place you and a few other girls rent together and does his absolute best to be as distracting as possible. Sometimes he cooks, sometimes he gets touchy, sometimes he just sits on your bed and watches you work which is, in your opinion, by far the worst one.

When he’s not bothering you in the comfort of your own home, he’s sitting next to you in the couple classes you share, a distracting hand on your thigh that he squeezes when you get a question right— something that never fails to make you breathless and dizzy for a few minutes afterwards. Between the sight of his hand engulfing your thigh and the frequency of your correct answers, it’s a miracle you don’t asphyxiate during class.

You did come close, once. It was a week after what you’ve dubbed The Library Incident, and the professor had singled you out as one of his most consistent students when it came to turning in homework. Leon had leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and whispered, all low and rumbly:

“Good girl.”

You didn’t get a single thing out of the lecture for the rest of class.

(You’d then given him the silent treatment, but he made up for it by you sending you his rather extensive and detailed notes from the lesson with a single text: “Better learn to multitask, princess.”)

So yeah. He isn’t a huge fan of your studying habits. Something he’s made abundantly clear.

“When was the last time you got up?” He grumbles, walking into your room with your now full reusable water bottle. You’d abandoned it in the kitchen a few hours ago. He’s such a stickler about your water intake.

“Who are you, my mother?” You pause, looking up at the mischief in his eyes and the way his mouth is open, poised to say something, likely dirty. “Don’t answer that.”

You reach out with grabby hands towards your water bottle, which you know is filled with some delicious water combination, courtesy of Leon. Shit, he’s Pavlov-ing you into drinking water, isn’t he?

He rolls his eyes, handing you the bottle. “You know, you can make this exact same water yourself with the items in your fridge. Which I put there. For you. To use. Yourself.”

“You make it better,” You answer smoothly, ignoring his sarcasm. Ooooh. It’s minty strawberry today.

“Oh?” He says with a raised eyebrow, a signature Leon smirk on his lips. The same one he always gets when you admit to liking him in some way.

“You’re such an attention whore. Isn’t that why you came over here?”

“Ouch. So touchy,” He tuts, draping himself over your back and resting his chin on your head. “But no. I came over here to drag the lovely and beautiful and terribly stubbornly princess away from her desk because she’s overworking again.”

You tense. “I can’t, Leon. Not right now. I have to finish this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“I get behind and then I can’t catch up and then I fail—“

“Woah, now,” He says, standing and spinning your desk chair so it faces him instead of your work. “None of that is going to happen if you take a break. We both know your work ethic is too good for that.”

You start worrying your lip between your teeth. “But—“

“Hey,” He says, a gentle, slow hand reaching out and brushing your lip away from your teeth. “None of that. Leave your lip alone.”

You wince. It’s a mindless action, the same way you pick at your hangnails and other parts of your skin when you’re stressed. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t want my girl hurting herself more than she already is.”

You ignore the latter part of his sentence and focus on the first. “Your girl?”

“Yeah,” He says, tilting his head and looking down at you with a small smile on his face. “My girl.”

You look down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I won’t be able to sleep or relax if I don’t finish this. It— I can’t.”

He takes the side of your face in his hand, thumb sweeping across your cheek and beneath your eyelid. “I know, baby. But you work too much.”

“But I have—“

“You have to, I know. I know you’re hardwired for independence and overworking. So how about this. Take a break, lie down in bed with me, and then finish only what you’ve already started.”

You start chewing on your lip again. “I—“

His fingers deftly move down to your jaw, grabbing it firm, thumb pressing on the edge of your lip and pulling it down, away from the merciless bite of your teeth. His grip leaves no room for argument, but you don’t feel frightened or scared. In fact, your stomach is doing flips at the careful, gentle control in the press of his hands and the fondness in his eyes.

“I know I phrased that very nicely, but this isn’t an argument, sweetheart. You need to rest. Your brain needs time to recharge. What happens if you get sick from all this working, huh?”

You decide now isn’t the time to bring up that you always work through every cold, flu, and fever you’ve ever had.

“Hey,” He leans down, catching your averted gaze. “Look at me.”

He could easily turn your head himself, his fingers still pressed against your jaw, but he doesn’t. He waits for you to muster up the strength to look over at him yourself, eyelashes fluttering.

His gaze is cool and deep when it meets yours. “I am not mad at you. I am not upset with you. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

His voice, gaining that low, rumbly edge when he ushers the words sends tingles up your spine. You sigh, letting the tension ease from your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“You’re doing just fine, okay?” He pulls you up by your hands, hand leaving your face as he tugs you over to your bed. Once you’ve sat down, he reaches back towards your desk, grabbing your water bottle from your desk and putting it on your bedside table. “You just need a little help sometimes. Everybody does.”

He motions for you to scoot over and you oblige, immediately slotting into what’s become one of your usual positions: arms wrapped around his torso, head pillowed on his chest.

“There we go,” He mumbles, hand sliding under your shirt, intermittently squeezing the place his hands always seem to find: the squishy, vulnerable stretch of flesh in between the top of your hip and the bottom of your ribcage. He rolls the skin there in his hands, a pleased hum rumbling from his chest. “Such a good girl for me.”

You shudder, hiding your blush by pressing your face further into his chest. A tingle spreads from your spine to the rest of your body.

He chuckles. “Aw, you like that don’t you? Did the same thing last time. Is that all I have to do? Is that what you need, baby?”

A small whine rip’s itself from your throat before you manage to tamp it down. Embarrassed, you try and hide your face further.

“None of that, now. Come on, let me see that pretty face.”

You shift, rolling to basically lie on top of him, bracing your hands on either side of him to lift your head, a small frown on your face and a not-so-small flush across your face.

He smiles, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “There she is,” He practically coos, “My pretty baby.”

“You’re baby-talking me.”

“Mhm,” He says, squeezing your cheeks. “You got a problem with it?”

“…No.”

“What was that?”

You drop back down, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his chest. “Shhh. I’m supposed to be resting.”

“Convenient that you’re listening to me now.”

“Shush.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t say anything more. He slips his hands under your shirt, palming the expanse of your skin. His fingers are hot where they press and linger, warmth spreading from the points of contact. You go limp in his hold, humming contentedly.

You’re not really sure how much time passes with the both of you like that— bodies pressed close, legs tangled together. It just feels so… nice.

You relax. You actually relax. A small part of you feels annoyed that Leon is your source of comfort and relaxation (muttered whispers in your brain whine about independence, about not relying on anyone else—) the bigger, louder part of you is so overwhelmed with how nice it feels to just… not worry. Even for a little bit. In moments like this your brain goes pleasantly blank: Leon will take care of it. You don’t have to worry, because Leon will take care of it.

The stretches of time you spend in what you’ve mentally dubbed Limbo have started getting longer. At first, you’d last five, maybe ten minutes before your brain would kick into high gear again; worries and concerns flooding your brain so quickly you usually jolt straight up.

But now? It’s easy to slip into it. To let yourself take a mental break. Check out from life for a half hour or so. And when you’re ready to get back to work, you do just that- usually a lot calmer than before Leon came around.

It’s addicting. It’s dangerous.

“How long has it been.”

“Five minutes.”

You blink your eyes open, frowning. “It has not been five minutes,” You reach for your bedside table, snatching your phone off and checking the time. “Liar. It’s been thirty minutes.”

“Is it so wrong to want to lay in bed and hold my princess?”

“It is when the princess has work to do.” You grumble, sitting off and rolling off the bed with a thud.

“It’s so unnerving when you do that. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No,” You say, hauling yourself to your feet. “It’s fun.”

“I don’t see how sustaining bodily injury is fun.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” You say, waving a hand in dismissal.

Loud shuffling and the thump of Leon climbing to his feet has you looking back. “You’re leaving?”

You can’t quite keep the desperation out of your tone.

He looks at you, surprised. “Usually you don’t like it when I stay while you work.”

“Yes,” You say, cheeks burning. “Um. Yeah. Right yeah. I have work to do. So.”

“Princess,” He says, his voice low and teasing, “You want me to stay?”

“No, no I have to work—“

“Uh-uh,” He says, crossing the room to stand in front of you, arms folded. “No lying. Do you want me to stay?”

You look down at your sock-clad feet. “Please?”

“Aw, well how could I say no to that,” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Finish your work. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“…Can we go get slushies when I’m done?”

“Of course, baby.”

You finish your work in record time.

˙⋆✮

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alotofpockets · 1 day ago

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A change of plans | Lotte Wubben-Moy x Reader

5k celebration prompt: "I should've called."

Warnings: foster care, past parental death, mention of drug abuse

Woso masterlist | Words: 3k

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Today was your two month anniversary with Lotte. While it was only two months, you wanted to do something special. Usually when the two of you would get together, it was a restaurant or activity. On the rare occasion that you decided to hang out at someone’s place, it had been at Lotte’s.

That is why you had invited her over for dinner at your place tonight. It was only fair that she got to check out where you lived as well. Your plans were nothing fancy, just cooking a nice meal for her and maybe watching a movie after. Yet, you were buzzing with excitement as you entered the store.

You were walking down the first aisle of the store when your phone rang. “Hi Michelle, it’s been a while.” You say while answering the phone and stepping to the side. “Hey, yeah the only type of call where that is a positive thing.” She jokes.

Michelle was the caseworker at Child Protective Service you had been working with for a few years now. You were a foster parent, and were mainly helping out with emergency placements.

“I’ve got two kids who need a place to stay. A six month old boy and an eight year old girl. They are siblings, and despite the age difference, I don’t want to split them up. Is there any way you can take them in for a few days?”

There wasn’t a moment of doubt in your mind, you would never turn down a child in need. “Yeah, of course.” You knew not to ask too many questions about their past, because Michelle would let you know when she would bring over the kids. “I’m at the grocery store right now, so I will pick up some things. Should be back home in about an hour.”

“Great, thank you. I will grab the kids and pack some of their stuff. We’ll see you in a bit then.” Michelle hung up the phone and you quickly changed your grocery run for dinner into a quick shopping spree for children’s necessities.

You had a few basics at your place like toothbrushes, toiletries, and some toys, but you hadn’t had a baby in a long time. So, you grabbed the necessities for both their ages, knowing that once they were there, you could always get more if needed.

Once you’ve got everything you thought you needed, you rush back home to get your place ready. Making sure the bedroom is fully set up, getting the toiletries out from the cupboards, and getting the boxes with stuff out for their ages.

Over the years you’ve learned what kids of certain ages like, which was always a huge help in preparing when a new child would arrive. Just as you were making your final touches, the doorbell rang.

You quickly made your way over to the door, but completely froze once you saw Lotte stand on the other side of it. Shit, in your haste you had completely forgotten to call her. Her bright smile faded slowly into confusion when she saw your expression. “You look like you weren’t expecting me. Did I get the time wrong?”

“No no, you’re right on time.” You say after looking at your watch. “I- eh, something came up and I should've called, but I completely forgot.”

Lotte put her hand on your arm. “It’s alright, take a breath.” She stepped into your home and closed the door behind her. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?” Lotte asked as she pulled you down onto the couch.

“Yes, everything is alright. Just, well. Okay there is something I haven’t told you before.” You started getting nervous now. “I’m a foster parent. Mostly kids who need an emergency placement, so always very last minute. Like today, I got a call that two kids needed a placement, so I was getting everything ready, but I forgot to call you. And I was going to tell you about me being a foster parent. I just haven’t had a placement for a while, so yeah I hadn’t gotten to it yet. I promise I wasn’t trying to hide this from you.”

Finally you allow yourself to look at Lotte, who just looked at you in awe. “Wow, that is such an amazing thing. I fully understand that the rush of getting everything ready for their arrival came with forgetting to call. When are they getting here?”

Before you answer her question, the doorbell rang again. “That must be them.” You say as you make your way to the door again. This time when you open the door it is Michelle. She was holding a baby carrier in one hand and the girl's hand in the other. She was hiding behind Michelle’s legs, trying to observe her surroundings from a safe distance.

You crouched down to her level. “Hi, my name is y/n and this is Lotte.” You point to where Lotte was sitting on the couch. “I’ve known Michelle for a long time, did she tell you that?” The girl responded with a shake of her head. “When I was about your age, she was my caseworker too. She took really good care of me and helped me find a nice place to live.” The girl slowly stepped away from behind Michelle’s legs.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” You asked when she seemed to get more comfortable. “Lauren.” You smiled, “That’s a beautiful name. I have a bedroom for you and your brother, can I show you?” She nodded. “Alright, let me grab your bag, and then we can go upstairs to check it out.”

You take the bag that Michelle is holding out for you. “Thanks Michelle. Oh and this is my girlfriend.” Lotte reached out her hand, “I’m Lotte, nice to meet you.” Michelle shakes it and sets the baby carrier down on the table. “I’m gonna show Lauren her room, but please make yourselves at home.”

After showing Lauren where everything is and placing her things to the side, so she can decide what she wants to do with it, you ask if she wanted to come back downstairs or if she would like to stay in her room. She picks the latter, which was of course fine by you. “Alright, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, okay?” Lauren nodded, and you took that as your sign to give the girl some space.

When you came back downstairs, Lotte was gently rocking the baby, and Michelle was sitting on the couch sipping on a cup of coffee.

As you walked back into the living room, you found Lotte gently rocking the baby. The sight warmed your heart. A calm moment in the not so calm hour or so you’ve had. Lotte looked up and smiled, her soft expression confirming that she was on board with you being a foster parent.

“His name is Levi,” Michelle said, setting her coffee down on the table to grab the kids their file. “Their mom was admitted to the hospital yesterday after an overdose. She’s had a hard time since Lauren’s dad passed a few years ago. Levi’s dad isn’t in the picture, no one on file either. Luckily the kids weren’t home when it happened, but we did tell Lauren that her mom wasn’t doing well.”

You nodded along, it was alway tough to hear what kids had been through, but knowing their background was necessary to take care of them well. “Do you know much about Lauren? What she likes or what might help her feel comfortable?”

“She didn’t speak much on the way over, but I did notice her face light up when we drove past the football stadium.” Michelle answers. “Emirates Stadium?” Lotte questioned. “Yeah, that’s the one!”

You and Lotte share a look. “She’s a football fan,” you say, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I think we can work with that.”

Content with that knowledge, Michelle stands. “I should get going. I’ll check in tomorrow to see how everything’s going.” She looks at you with a grateful smile. “Thank you again for doing this. And Lotte, it was nice to meet you.”

You get up and walk her to the door. After discussing a couple more small details, you wave her off and close the door behind her. Just as you were about to turn back into the living room, you heard Lauren creep down the stairs.

“Hi sweetheart, do you want to come join us?” The girl timidly nods her head. “Awesome, come on. Levi is right in there with Lotte. I will be right there.” You head into the kitchen to grab something to drink for her and yourself before you join them.

You walk back into the living room, drinks in hand, and find Lauren sitting next to Lotte, who is still gently rocking Levi. The sight makes you smile.

“I heard from Michelle that you got excited when you passed Emirates Stadium,” you say, handing Lauren her drink. Her eyes light up slightly, though she remains quiet. “Do you like football?” She nods her head.

“Do you like Arsenal?” She starts smiling wide. Seemingly happy that someone knew about the team. “Yeah.” You smile back at her, glad that you found something that might help her feel more comfortable. “Did you know that Lotte plays for Arsenal?”

The girl's mouth falls open and she moves her eyes towards Lotte. “Really?” Lotte nods, “Yeah, I’m a defender. You recognized the stadium, does that mean you’ve been there before?”

Lauren nods again, “Yeah, with my daddy. He liked football too. Mommy doesn’t, but sometimes I can watch a game on the tv at my friends house.” It was the most she had spoken so far, but you didn’t want to linger on that too much, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Lotte has a game there tomorrow. Would you like to go and see it at the stadium?” The girl froze with widened eyes, as if she was not expecting to ever go back to the stadium. “Can I?”

You nodded, “Yeah. We can do whatever you want to do while you’re here with me.” The girl started nodding slowly. “Can I see Arsenal then?” This time Lotte chimed in. “I’ll do you one better. We can head in early, you can meet the whole team.”

With that plan set, Lotte asked if Lauren wanted to kick the ball around in the backyard. Hoping that staying on the topic of football would keep her comfortable. Lauren said yes immediately. Playing with a player from your favourite club, who would say no to that?

Lotte handed Levi to you, and went to her car to grab a ball from the trunk. You had learned by now that Lotte didn’t go anywhere without a football, which you thought was really cute. When she returns and Lauren is excitedly waiting by the backdoor, you mouthed a thank you her way.

While they were out in the backyard, you started making a simple meal in the kitchen. According to Michelle, there weren’t any allergies that they were aware of, so you went with an easy pasta recipe, that most kids you’d had so far, had enjoyed.

After dinner, you brought Levi to bed. Lauren didn’t want to leave him alone in the room, so she asked if she could stay there and continue reading the book she had been reading earlier. One of the books you had laid down on her bedside table earlier.

Levi was already nodding off, so you said that she could. With her teeth brushed and pajamas on, she laid down into bed, ready for when she was tired. You clicked on the nightlight. “If you need anything, I am going to be right downstairs, okay?” She nodded. “And if I’m asleep, you can also come knocking on my bedroom door. Second door on the left.” When she nodded again, you smiled. “Alright, goodnight sweetheart.” She smiled back, “Goodnight.”

When you get back downstairs, you plop down on the couch next to Lotte. “I am so sorry about the change of plans today. Please let me make it up to you with a redo-date?” Lotte takes your hand in hers. “We can have a redo-date, but only because I want to go on more dates with you, not because we did something different today. While it wasn’t at all what I was expecting when I rang your doorbell, I had a great time.”

“That means a lot honestly. Also, thank you for sticking around. Not just for me, but I think it did Lauren really good. Plus you were so good with Levi, I can’t believe you got him to stop crying instantly.”

Lotte smiles, “Being a footballer and auntie has its perks. Speaking of Lauren, I texted the girls, some of them are able to come in early and meet with her before the game. I also wanted to ask if it would be okay if I got her a jersey to wear to the match?”

“Yeah, I think she would love that. Just tell me how much it is, and I’ll pay you back for it.” She quickly shook her head, “No need, I want to get it for her.” It took some convincing, but eventually she got you on the same boat.

Then Lotte got a serious look on her face. “I know we haven’t been together for long, so if you don’t want to talk about this, please let me know. But, you told Lauren that Michelle was your caseworker as well, is that the reason you became a foster parent?”

You sat up straighter before you answered. “Yeah, as a kid I was moved around quite a bit. I had a different caseworker before, but after a couple bad houses, they put Michelle on my case. I know what a bad house is like, and I wanted to do my part in bettering the homes available. Got my license as soon as I was allowed and have been fostering kids ever since.”

Back then you hated talking about foster care. There were homes that ruined your childhood, but eventually Michelle had found you a great home, the home that became your forever home. Now the topic came easier for you, and you didn’t mind talking about it. Not even with Lotte, although you had been nervous about when you were going to have to tell her you were a foster parent, but after how today went, you realised that those nerves weren’t necessary.

The two of you continued talking until Lotte had to head home. With her match tomorrow, it meant an early night. So, you said your goodbye’s, and would see each other the following day at the Emirates.

The next day when you’re driving up to the Emirates, you see the exact look on Lauren’s face that Michelle had mentioned. You smiled at the moment too, happy to see that despite going through a hard time, she was happy being here.

When you got inside, Lotte greeted you with a gift bag in hand. “I’ve got something for you.” She said to Lauren once she had walked the three of you inside. Lauren looked into the bag and her face lit up again. An Arsenal jersey and a jacket. She asked if she could wear it right away, and Lotte showed her to the bathroom where she could change, while you laid out a blanket for Levi to lay on in the room.

When Lotte came back with a beaming Lauren, you knew that her day had been made before the match had even begun.

“I was gonna do some doodling before the girls got here, want to join me?” She said, holding out a big piece of paper and some markers. Lauren hesitated at first, but when Lotte sat down on the floor and laid the paper out, she gave in and sat down with her.

Lauren’s shyness faded away, the more that they were chatting and colouring together. Such a simple activity, yet what it did for the girl was major.

You watched as one by one the Arsenal players began arriving. Greeting Lotte and then crouching down to meet Lauren. They all gave her a moment of time before they headed to the locker room. Asking her about her favourite players, and telling her where they played on the field. You could see Lauren’s confidence grow with every interaction, her eyes sparkling as she was talking to them.

When it was time for the match, you sat down in the front row seats that Lotte had gotten you. The excitement that Lauren had while watching the game was contagious and soon you found yourself cheering and yelling along.

After the match, Lauren got to take pictures with all of the players, including Lotte, who had promised her a picture. Before you headed home, Lotte said she had one more surprise.

When she came back from the locker room, she was holding the jersey she was wearing before. It was filled with signatures and messages from the girls on the team. Lauren couldn’t believe her eyes. “Thank you so much.” She said while hugging your girlfriend tight.

That evening, Lauren wouldn’t stop talking about the match, and you knew you had done something right. Well, Lotte had. When you were putting Lauren to bed, she gave you a hug. “Today was the best day ever.” Your heart melted. “I’m glad you had fun.” You said hugging her back.

Back downstairs you wanted to message Lotte about what Lauren had just said, but she had texted you first.

Lotte: Thank you for letting me be a part of today. You’re amazing. Not just for opening your home and your heart for these kids, but for the way you care for those around you. Goodnight ❤️

You: You’re too kind. Thank you for making today so special for Lauren. She just told me that today was the best day ever. You’ve given her an experience she will never forget. And I won’t either, thank you. Goodnight ❤️

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#pockets 5k celebration #lotte wubben moy #lotte wubben moy x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #arsenal women #arsenal women x reader #engwnt #lionesses #lionesses x reader #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader

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uncle-fruity · 2 days ago

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I've been the white person getting called racist and not understanding why, and I know how easy it is to feel defensive or flustered or guilty, but what the folks above are saying is 100% true. I've got an anecdote that I hope might be helpful for some fellow white folks to hear.

I was once at a house show and a black woman complimented my eyes, which are a very bright blue. I get that compliment a lot, and I get tired of hearing it but I also understand that people are just being nice, so I sought to amuse myself by responding with a joke. When this black woman complimented my eyes, I said, "Thank you! I'm borrowing them from a witch!" I'd only just started using this joke response in the last couple months. Just a little attempt at fantasy humor. Well, this woman got angry and called me racist in response. I was baffled, and she didn't really elaborate except to say something about witches and white people. I didn't understand, but I said sorry and let her be, as she did not seem interested in talking about it. I felt bad, and even worse that my gut reaction was, "How was that racist?"

Well, I never found out. I went home, I looked it up, I couldn't find anything. Google gave me nothing of use. I asked some friends I had, but they were just as confused as me. Even though nothing was coming up, I've more or less stopped using that joke just in case I'm missing something -- until I get more insight, at least. If anyone knows what she might have been reacting to, I would seriously appreciate a source for the information.

But I bring this up because this was one of those moments where I had to accept that I might just be the racist jerk at the house show in her mind forever, that she had a right to be mad about any perceived racism, and that I had to be okay with that. It isn't her job to unpack whether I'm actually a good person who's really trying my best. It isn't her job to get me up to speed, especially if she feels like I was trying to make a jab at her when she was just saying something nice. There are already a million and one white jerks who will ask black folks to defend their reasons for calling someone racist and demand an academic level contextualization, as if they're on trial and need proof, and not nearly enough of us who take the initiative to learn it ourselves.

There are academic papers. There are books. There are video essays. There are historical documents directly representing the sentiments & racist narratives of the time they came from. There are non-white people who have been writing and speaking about their experiences with racism for years and years and years and years. And there are people talking about it today, on this very website, and it's okay to just read & listen and to look things up if they confuse you or you need more context. A variety of sources will help you see the issue more fully.

Because the truth is that a lot of things that white people consider just part of "regular society" are baked in racism. The more you learn about racism and the history of racism and the ways racism has manifested over the years, the more you realize how much of that racism is embedded in our culture even in unassuming, casual ways. If you take time to learn about what racism really looks like, you can be more confident in your ability to avoid acts of racism. So if not wanting to be The Racist or not wanting to feel guilty about a Racist Action You Did is a real concern, the best remedy is to learn about it and try to see the ways you might be prone to perpetuating it. And when in doubt? Assume that a person of color knows more about what racism looks and feels like than you do. Reduce harm by resisting making defensive arguments to explain racism away, and just keep pursuing answers for your questions and discomfort by listening.

I highly recommend reading Ibram X. Kendi's work as a starting point, because he lays out the foundational stuff really well. I read How to Raise an Antiracist, but he also wrote a book targeted at adult learning called How to Be an Antiracist. One thing from his work that was helpful for me to internalize was that antiracism is an action, as is racism. No one is born A Racist -- it is not inherent to anyone. It is not an identity. It is learned and it is acted upon. Just so, antiracist is not an identity, but rather an action. If you care about being seen as One Of The Good White People, you will need to do the work to become one, and by the time you've done the work to become one, you will realize that that's not how it works. There is always work to do and how antiracist you are depends on what antiracist actions you take, not how antiracist your intentions were. You cannot simply say that you believe in racial equality without showing up for it. Racism is an action you take. Antiracism is an action you take. Doing nothing is still a choice, and it is a choice that tends to favor racism in practice. Learning more about racism as a topic and especially going out of your way to reflect when you've been called racist -- how you're going to better understand and better your actions -- are two very good antiracist actions that you can do for free.

And while you learn, just, know that it'll be uncomfortable and take some effort to unlearn everything. You might feel some kind of way about stuff -- parts of culture that you connected with and are only just now realize have racist tones. It's bad. It's really bad and a lot of our family members present & past do or did terribly racist things. You have probably done something racist. It's possible that you're going to do something racist in the future. It's uncomfortable to acknowledge, but we will never change if we can't accept that we need to put in the effort and do better. And we can't know how to do better or look out for non-white folks if we don't actively learn.

Sorry this got so long. I hope it is a productive addition to the conversation.

listen. white people. LISTEN to me. if a person of color yells you that you did or said something racist the appropriate response is to go "oh shit, sorry" and maybe MAYBE a follow up of "can you elaborate" if you dont understand why and thats. IT. we do not need elaborate prose about how sorry you are or how grateful you are for us telling you or how youre working on unlearning it or whatever. JUST SAY SORRY AND DONT DO IT AGAIN THATS IT ❤️

#racism #important #psa

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moralesluvr · 2 days ago

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FABLE AND TRUTH 3 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. WOOO CHAP 3 IS HERE wc. 8.1k

✧ 11:33 am, tuesday ✧

when you wake up, you’ve got a headache, and not the kind that derives from alcohol.

you stretch out your limbs, head pounding as you reach over to look at your clock, and you almost scream at how late it is. although you don’t have classes on tuesdays, you had missed your morning Bible study, which made you slip out a groan, grabbing your phone and checking your notifications.

a bunch of pictures were piled into the shared photo album between you and your friends, the group chat was blowing up with texts, and you had three missed calls from one of your friends from Bible study, loretta.

you sighed, placing your phone into the cushions of your bed as the door to your dorm swung open, emma’s sleepy frame coming into view as she rubbed her eyes. she’d swapped her party outfit for oversized sweats and a hoodie, her hair a messy bun of waves and curls as she let out a thick yawn.

“morning. everything alright?” she mumbled, voice laced with fatigue as she slumped into the doorframe of your bedroom. you sat up, the covers above you shuffling as you cuddled into a pillow, sighing.

“good morning. and yeah— i’m fine, i just slept in too late. missed my Bible study.”

emma’s face warmed up, and she padded over to sit at the edge of your bed. although emma could be loud and rowdy sometimes, she was always there for you when you needed it, and she always knew when to soften up. she scoots closer to you, “you feeling okay, love? you seemed… tense as shit last night.”

before you could answer her question, there was a loud knock echoing from the door, followed by naomi’s unmistakable, recognizable voice. you really longed to be alone right now, but you sit up straighter underneath your bedsheets, prepared for whatever shenanigans she has to offer.

“open up!” she sing-songed dramatically, and you honestly wondered how she could be so hyper after the night you shared previously, “we brought coffee!”

that makes you want to be alone a little less.

you start to get up, but emma shuffles to the door, pulling it open to reveal naomi, jules, and oliver standing in the hallway. naomi held a tray of iced coffees while jules had her tote bag slung over one shoulder, her sunglasses perched on her head like she was ready to model at any moment, though you can tell she hasn’t been out by the way she’s clad in slippers and sweats, which she would never step foot outside in. oliver stood between the two girls, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, grinning lazily.

“we figured you wouldn’t come out today, knowing you— so we came right to you instead.” naomi giggled, handing you an iced coffee as she waltzed into the room. she plopped onto your bed, careful not to splash any of her drink, “yeah, i know, we’re great friends like that.”

the four of them made themselves comfortable very quickly, naomi got up and plopped onto your desk chair, jules claimed the cushiony, lilac colored beanbag in the corner, and oliver flopped onto the huge rug by your bed. emma returned to her perch on the mattress.

“so… how are you feeling?” jules starts off, pulling out a makeup mirror from her tote, brushing a freshly manicured nail through her lash extensions. she looks at you when you don’t respond instantly, and you let off a shrug, your voice hallow and quiet.

“i feel alright.” you muttered, sipping at your coffee, though no one believes your lie. you wouldn’t necessitate consider it one— you did feel alright, but you definitely have felt better.

the encounter with billie was still on instant replay in your mind. all the way from the party to your awkward conversation at the diner, it felt like it all happened literally five minutes ago. you couldn’t get her face out of your head, what she said to you before she left, how she somehow knew your name and you hadn’t even told her it. she was attentive, such a great listener— and you were one back. but now things were tense, and they were driving you nuts, and all you wanted to do was to sink further into your mattress until it swallowed you whole.

“oh, come on,” naomi drags out with a smirk, “don’t think we didn’t notice how fast you bolted out of that damn diner last night.”

oliver sits up in confusion, “you went to the diner without me? you assholes.”

“yeah right.” emma offers up a scoff, “why weren’t you there? oh, my bad, you were too busy getting dicked down!”

you wave a hand at the two as they start to banter, “okay, okay, please. not today.”

they all go quiet, murmuring apologies at you as you felt your headache growing stronger. by this time, you would’ve already had breakfast and your morning coffee, probably on a run or shopping with emma. but instead, you were laying in your bed idle, having a needed albeit unpleasant conversation with your best friends.

jules snickered at you, closing her mirror and shoving it into her bag, “so, billie? ring any bells?”

“guys,” you groaned, setting your coffee on the nightstand, ready to defend yourself. “come on, it wasn’t like that.”

“really?” naomi teased, tilting her head. “because it sure looked like it. i mean— you may not swing that way, but you were ready to switch teams for that girl.”

oliver grinned. “never seen you that flustered, y/n. kind of refreshing, honestly.”

“what the heck?” you deadpanned, glaring at him. “you literally weren’t even there.”

“pictures were sent, what can i say?” naomi giggled, but you didn’t laugh with her. you were starting to become a little irritated at the whole thing. it was already bad enough you started your morning off on the wrong foot, and this impromptu interrogation session wasn’t helping you feel even the slightest bit better. “billie was clearly into you. and you didn’t exactly shut her down.”

you sighed, running a hand over your face. you really want to tell them to leave, but you weren’t that type of girl. they were annoying at times, but they were your friends— almost like siblings. and this is what they do, so you couldn’t complain. “for the last time, she was drunk. it didn’t mean anything, so drop it.”

emma, who’d been quietly observing the entire exchange, finally spoke up at the three, “okay y’all, leave her alone. she’s clearly not in the mood for this.”

you shot her a grateful look, and she shrugged as if it were her way of saying ‘you’re welcome.’ the group grumbles but they ultimately understand, so they all collectively promise that they’d drop it once and for all, trying their best not to make you upset even further.

the conversation eventually switched to oliver’s little one night stand that took place last night, and you pretend to listen as best as you can, but your efforts are failed. you can’t think straight— last night’s events are gnawing at you, and it makes your skin crawl when you let yourself think about billie. she’s undeniably gorgeous, and the kind of interesting that makes you want to know her thoughts about everything, how she feels, how she thinks. her demeanor is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and much differentiated from how yours is. she’s bold, and it’s obvious that she isn’t swayed easily.

you try to convince yourself that it’s just a deep interest in her, and nothing more. a longing to be her friend— to understand someone that’s much different than you, to catch a glimpse at a different perspective. but it’s not normal how you stare at her longer than you should, or how your skin tingles every time someone even mentions her name.

but it’s wrong. she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and it’s obvious that those kind of feelings aren’t even to be uttered out loud about. so you shake your shoulders in an attempt to shake your thoughts too, but they linger. they stay.

you pinch at your skin until it aches, saying a quick prayer to steady yourself. you needed to get out of your dorm, otherwise your thoughts would swallow you whole. and everyone seemed to pick up on that when you hear bags shuffling and shoes being put on, and you open your eyes to see everyone packing their things up, ready to leave.

but you needed this. and more than anything, all of this made you question yourself. your faith. your path. you’d always believed in staying true to what you’d been taught, to what you felt in your heart was right. but lately, everything seemed so much more complicated.

“hey, you okay?” emma’s voice broke through your reverie, and you realized the room had gone quiet. everyone was standing up now, and everyone was looking at you.

“yeah,” you said quickly, trying to sound convincing, “i’m honestly just tired.”

emma frowned at you but she didn’t press further, and soon enough, your friends were saying their goodbyes, eventually filing out the door. but emma stayed behind, lingering in the doorway.

“seriously, you good?” she asked you with a pleading tone, “you don’t have to lie to me. it’s okay.”

you want to take refuge in emma. you want to express to her how confused you feel, how badly your mind is swirling, how foreign and unpleasant these feelings were to you. but you just nod anyways, offering up a small smile, “i’m okay, really, em. just need some time to myself.”

emma didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, closing the door softly behind her as she bid you farewell.

once you were alone, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. your phone buzzed beside you, and you picked it up to see another text from loretta, asking if you were okay. guilt twisted in your stomach as you typed out a quick response, apologizing for missing Bible study and promising to see her as soon as you could.

and soon came faster than you expected. less than an hour later, you found yourself walking into the small classroom where your Bible study group met, clutching your journal and Bible like a lifeline. loretta was already there, along with a few others, her warm smile lighting up the room as she waved you over.

“we really missed you this morning.” she said, her tone kind but tinged with curiosity. loretta won’t ever pry, but she always speaks in a way that could make someone spill all their darkest secrets to her. but it’s familiar to you, so you press your belongings further into your chest, shrugging at her lightly.

“i’m so sorry, etta,” you speak, your voice nothing but a whisper, taking a seat beside her at a lone table next to the window that bleeds golden rays of sunlight. you thank the Lord for that, instantly boosting your mood a little. “i just had such rough night. i didn’t wake up in time.”

loretta studied you for a moment, her eyes soft with understanding. she doesn’t push, she just sets a hand above your own, “you want to talk about it?”

“not really,” you admitted, looking down at your hands. you drew them back, and loretta passes you a confused grin as you set them in your lap. you feel bad, but you can’t be bothered with the intimacy right now. “just a lot on my mind.”

she nodded, not pushing any further, and then the study began. there were always multiple a day on tuesdays, but you preferred to catch the morning ones because they always made your day better, and plus— you had the rest of it to spend as you pleased. but today you had strolled in at the one p.m, and something felt…off.

you try to push it away, excusing it for your late awakening. but as the discussion moved through the week’s passage, you found it hard to focus. your mind kept wandering, questions swirling in your head left and right. you scribbled notes in the margins of your journal, but none of it felt real, none of it felt connected. you felt… lost.

“i just can’t focus today,” you mutter to yourself, tapping your pen lightly against your journal, your mind wandering among other things. the passage of the day is from the book of james— chapter one, verses five through eight. it’s a familiar one: if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. but let him ask in faith, with no doubting…

the words drift in and out of your mind, brushing up against the edges of your thoughts but never quite sticking in. the leader of the study, a soft-spoken senior named marcus, begins breaking it down, his voice steady and sure. “james is talking about faith that doesn’t waver, even in uncertainty,” he says. “it’s about trusting that God’s wisdom will come in His timing, even when we don’t have all the answers. does anyone have any thoughts to add to that?”

your pen pauses mid-tap, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. the room is quiet as everyone listens, but you’re anything but. your heart is racing, and your thoughts are louder than ever, and it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. you’re usually so attentive, so focused— but everything felt blurry now, and you honestly just wanted to leave.

you felt almost guilty for even thinking that, but feelings weren’t sinful. it was true and raw, and although it made you feel a little sick, it was honest.

you think about what marcus said, trying to force yourself back on track.

faith without doubting. faith in His timing. it feels personal, like the words are aimed straight at you, piercing through the fog of everything you’ve been trying to suppress. but you don’t speak up, you just keep tapping your pen against the blank pages of your journal, waiting until someone else breaks the silence.

and it finally happens.

“but what does that look like in practice?” someone asks. it’s a girl you’ve seen around but don’t know well—melanie, maybe? you weren’t sure.

“how do we trust when things feel… messy?”

marcus smiles gently at her, flipping back a page to quote scripture. “well, morgan, it’s not easy.”

so, not melanie. you snort quietly.

“…but it starts with honesty—with bringing all of your doubts and messiness to God. He can handle it. the act of faith isn’t about being perfect; it’s about surrendering even when it’s hard.”

you glance down at your journal, your new scribbled notes blurring together. you write the word “surrender” in the margin, circling it harshly, but the idea feels heavy, almost suffocating.

marcus moves on to another topic out of genesis, but you’re stuck on the first lesson, that first word. surrender. what does it even mean, really? how are you supposed to surrender when your thoughts and feelings are so tangled, when you can’t even untangle them long enough to pray properly?

your chest tightens as the conversation continues around you, voices rising and falling like waves, but you’re drowning beneath them. the guilt from the night before, the confusion about billie, the shame of missing this morning’s study —it all feels like too much.

you can’t sit here anymore.

closing your journal quietly, you slide it into your bag and stand, keeping your head low as you make your way to the door. a few people glance up, but no one stops you. no one except loretta.

“y/n?” she calls softly, her voice filled with concern, but your feet betray you. you keep moving towards the door, your bag shuffling against your jeans as you walk faster.

but then you pause, hand on the doorknob, and shake your head. “i’ll be back,” you say, though even you aren’t sure if you really mean it. you haven’t a clue when you’d be back.

you step out into the hallway, the cool air hitting you like a wave of relief. but it doesn’t stop the tightness in your chest, the way your hands tremble as you lean against the wall. you take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help.

the door creaks open behind you, and you know it’s loretta before she even speaks.

“okay honey, what’s going on?” she asks, her tone soft but insistent.

you shake your head again, trying your best to avoid her gaze. “nothing. i just… needed some air.”

“y/n,” she says, stepping closer. “this isn’t nothing. talk to me.”

the sincerity in her voice almost breaks you. you glance at her, and the concern in her eyes feels like a mirror, reflecting all the things you’ve been trying to hide. you feel like she can see right through your excuses— she’s got that kind of anointing on her, and you sigh, almost accepting your defeat.

“i don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just feel… off. like i’m failing. at everything.”

loretta frowns, leaning against the wall beside you. she speaks gently, “now why would you think that?”

you swallow hard, the words clawing their way out of your throat, scratchy and forced, “because i can’t focus. because i missed the morning study. because i keep getting caught up in… things that don’t even matter.”

“things like what?”

you hesitate, the memory of billie’s words flashing through your mind. something good, she’d said. but what if she was wrong? what if there wasn’t anything good about you?

“just… distractions and stuff,” you say finally, wrapping your arms around yourself. you weren’t telling the whole truth, but details didn’t really matter now. loretta can tell that you’re hiding something, but she doesn’t ask. she just wants you to be raw.

“things that make me feel like i’m not good enough. like i’m not who i’m supposed to be.”

loretta is quiet for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle. “y/n, you’re not supposed to have it all figured out. none of us are. that’s why we’re here, why we study and pray and try to grow. it’s not about being perfect; it’s about seeking Him, even in the mess.”

her words hit you like a balm, soothing but not erasing the ache. “but what if i can’t?” you ask, your voice breaking. “what if i keep messing up?”

“then you just keep trying,” she says simply. “God’s grace isn’t a one-time thing. it’s new every morning, remember? His love doesn’t depend on you getting it right. it’s just… there. always.”

you close your eyes, letting her words sink in. it’s not a magic fix, but it’s something to offer.

“thanks,” you say quietly, finally meeting her gaze.

she smiles, her hand brushing your shoulder lightly. “anytime. and, y/n? you’re not failing. you’re just human. whatever it is, it doesn’t change you as a person. you’re still you.”

that soothes you, and you smile at loretta, “thanks. i’m going to study, but…i’ll keep your words in mind.”

she offers you a sweet smile, waving as she watches you walk away, disappearing into the warm sun.

✧ 5:45 pm ✧

by the evening, you found yourself wandering the campus library, hoping the quiet would help clear your mind. the big windows of the building let in wispy, warm air, the sunset painting golden streaks across the few students who sat scattered at tables, their heads bent over books and their headphones above their ears.

the familiar scent of aged paper and polished wood grounded you, offering a comfort nothing else but loretta’s pep talk had managed to provide all day. your steps were slow, almost aimless, as you trailed your fingers along the spines of all kinds of books, the cool texture grounding you further. eventually, you stopped in the music section, though you weren’t sure why.

maybe it was curiosity. or maybe it was that same uneasy pull you’d felt since the party, a pull to the music that blasted through the speakers, but especially to the music sung live— raw and unpolished— literally right in front of you.

her music.

you flipped through a biography of some lesser-known jazz singer, your fingers lingering on the edges of the pages, when a familiar, confident voice broke the stillness.

“huh. figured i’d find you in the nerd section.”

you jumped, nearly dropping the book in your hands as your heart raced. of course, it was billie— her voice too distinct and her teasing known by you all too well. you swallow thickly, spinning around on your heel where you found billie standing a few feet away, her hands shoved in the pockets of her extremely oversized jacket. the same smug smirk you’d come to associate with only her tugged at her lips, her ocean blue eyes sparkling.

“oh,” you spoke out of obvious surprise, “hi, billie. w-what are you doing here?”

“nice to see you too, princess,” she giggled, “i’m here to read. y’know, that’s what people usually do at libraries.”

“w-wait…you go to…yale university?” you questioned, cocking your head to the side. she didn’t seem like the type to even be interested in what your college had to offer, and no major seemed like one that you’d expect her to be endorsed in.

she grinned stupidly at your confusion, her eyes narrowing with mischief, and it was obvious that she took pride in pestering you, “what, you think i just wander onto campuses for fun? as much as i find that dope, no— i do go here.”

“i mean… it seems like it’d be your style,” you admitted, your words hesitant as you tried to say that as less offensively as you could. billie really didn’t seem like the type to be drawn to yale’s particular offerings, and you couldn’t picture her fitting into any of the usual cliques or anything you associated with your school. you set your book down on the table forgetfully, now engrossed in this conversation with billie, “what are you even studying?”

“music theory.” she said simply.

your eyebrows shot up, the revelation catching you completely off guard. you hold a hand up, “wait— hold on, seriously?”

billie rolled her eyes, but her grin stayed in place. “yes, seriously. what, you think just because i can sing, i don’t care about the technical stuff? that’s the best part.” she gestured dramatically toward the shelves around her, stuffed to the brim books on everything from classical composition to modern sound design, none of which you really knew about— it was so much different from your major of law.

“no, it’s not that, i just…” you trailed off, feeling a little sheepish under her knowing gaze. it was embarrassing how quick you judged her, and you felt instant regret wash over you. “i guess i just didn’t expect you to major in something like that, i thought singing was just a hobby of yours. i’m so sorry.”

“don’t worry about it, sunday school.” billie snickers, leaning against a table, “but yeah, honestly, people tend to underestimate me. not that i really give a shit. it makes moments like this way more fun.”

you frowned, clarifying your intentions, “i’m not underestimating you. i just—”

“—just didn’t peg me for a nerd?” billie finished your sentence for you, raising an eyebrow.

“i didn’t say that!”

she laughed, the sound light and unbothered. she slips past you to reach for a book above your head, her shoulder bumping into yours, and the light and quick moment of contact makes you shiver, “you didn’t have to. but don’t worry, princess, i’m not offended—” her sentence stops as billie stood back on her heels, waving a foreign book in front of your face excitedly, “this book’s so fucking good, i’ve read it like a hundred times. it’s fantasy, but it’s still a banger. alright, so basically…”

and then she babbles on. something about how a dude’s got the most insane case of synesthesia, which she also has, and that’s why she likes the book so much. “—he can literally see music notes as they’re being played. and they like, make a path or some shit…that part’s blurry— but anyway, he meets his wife from it and it’s so dope. and they make music together and have little musical intelligent babies and like, oh my god, it’s been my favorite ever since i picked it up.”

you felt your cheeks heat up, the warmth blossoming against your skin, and you turned slightly, pretending to scan the titles on the nearest shelf to avoid eye contact. you hum to let her know that you were listening, but if you looked at her for any longer, you’d throw up.

it was almost inhuman, how effortlessly beautiful she looked—her excitement lighting up her face in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else. you’d never seen her this talkative before, and while it was a stark contrast to the teasing, smug demeanor you were used to, it didn’t bother you. in fact, it was a welcome distraction from the awkwardness of monday night.

“you should read it.” she said suddenly, thrusting the book toward you with a light toss.

you blinked harshly, glancing down at the cover. it was worn from use, the edges frayed and the spine creased, and you could get that all those little flaws were because she’s probably checked out the book a million times. “me? read this?” you asked, a little hesitant, “i honestly don’t know if it’s my thing. i’m not good at the whole….music thing.”

billie rolled her eyes, though her unbreakable smile a dead give away that she was only playing, “ugh, don’t be like that. trust me, it’s good. and if you hate it, you can yell at me later. i won’t be offended.”

you laughed softly, taking the book from her hands. her fingers brushed against yours briefly, and you tried not to think about how warm they felt, how her rings were a cool contrast to her fiery skin, how it made you feel so much calmer, although it was only an accident. you stifle a cough, “fine,” you said, flipping it over to read the back cover. “but if it’s terrible, you owe me coffee for the inconvenience.”

“deal,” she said with a wink, stepping back to lean casually against the nearest shelf. “but, spoiler alert, you’re gonna love it. it has all the nerdy shit you like.”

you shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself, “yeah, alright, we’ll see.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of her presence lingering in the air as you pretended to read the book summary. in truth, you were hyperaware of her gaze, of the way she seemed completely at ease while you felt like a bundle of nerves. she was staring at you, taking in your features, her eyes moving rapidly— she wasn’t wasting anytime. she was fixated on you.

“so,” she said finally, breaking the silence, looking across the various, neat stacks of books, “what’s got you so wound up today? you seem off.”

you hesitated, debating whether to brush her off or actually answer. but something about the way she looked at you—curious but not pushing too hard—made you feel like maybe it was okay to share. you felt comfortable.

“just… a lot on my mind,” you admitted, keeping your eyes on the book in your hands.

“like?”

you sighed, finally looking up to meet eyes with her, “it’s nothing, really. just school, life… trying to figure out what i’m doing with myself. stuff about me.”

billie tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “well, join the club, sunday school. i don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing. we’re all just kinda winging it, to be honest. this life shit isn’t easy.”

you couldn’t help but smile at that, her words oddly comforting, though it isn’t exactly something you’d ever say. “yeah, maybe.”

there’s silence for a second. and then billie speaks up again, tossing a section of hair to the side of her shoulders, toying with the ends. she twirls them around a black-manicured nail, and she seems more serious now.

“do you, um…” she mumbles, and you raise an eyebrow at her, coaxing her to finish her sentence, “—get coffee?” do you wanna go? with me?”

you almost laugh at how choppy her sentence is. you know that you shouldn’t go, it was already bad enough that the two of you were conversing so much— but you obliged anyways. she was just a friend, don’t friends hang out?

“sure.” you give her a warm smile, “why not?”

she nods, “alright. cool.”

as you both stepped out of the library, the cool evening air wrapped around you, the sky fading into deeper shades of orange and purple. the colors bled together beautifully, and it made you smile at what a wonderful creation it was. billie walked beside you, her usual swagger a little muted. the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a noticeable shift in her energy.

“hey,” billie started, her voice softer than usual. you glanced at her, surprised by the change in tone as you both kept walking down campus. her hands were stuffed into her jacket pockets, and her gaze was fixed on the ground ahead, not even bothering to look at you. she seemed shameful. “about the other night at the diner… i just— i need to say that i’m really fucking sorry.”

you stopped in your tracks, turning to face her fully. her expression was uncharacteristically serious, the usual teasing glint in her eyes replaced by something more vulnerable. it was extremely unexpected, and you kind of wish she hadn’t said anything at all— because now you had to discuss it.

“you’re… apologizing?” you asked, not meaning to sound so incredulous, but you couldn’t help it. it was just so out of the blue, and you assumed she was one of those people who’d chat with you after something happens to compensate for what she did wrong.

“yeah,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint, self-deprecating smile, “look, i know i was a jerk. i pushed too hard, and i made you uncomfortable. i was drunk as shit, but that still wasn’t cool of me. not an excuse. so… i’m sorry.”

you blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. it was rare to see this side of her, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “thank you,” you said finally, your voice soft. “i appreciate that.”

you two laughed, the tension between you dissolving as the two of you headed toward a nearby café. it was cute— white with pink accents, and it was definitely right up your alley. you were surprised you had never heard of it, and you made a mental note to come here in the mornings for your alone Bible studies.

billie opened the door for you, ushering her hand in front of you with a grand gesture, “m’lady.”

you feel yourself shrivel at her words. it was a joke— you shouldn’t be so stuck up about it, and you aren’t even sure why her saying that would make you feel…off. it would’ve been totally different if one of your girls said it, and that’s what bothers you. what was so different about you and billie’s friendship? why did it bother you so much?

you stepped inside the restaurant, trying to play off how nervous you are. the café is cozy and warm, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as you slid into a booth across from billie. she handed you a menu, though you both already knew you’d order something simple. it was nearly seven now, and coffee at night usually wasn’t your thing— so you settled on ordering decaf.

“so,” billie spoke, resting her chin on her hand as she watched you skim the menu. “what’s your go-to?”

“just a latte,” you said, setting the menu down. you rest your head on your hands, “well— not today. it’s too late for all that caffeine, so i think i’ll go with decaf. what about you?”

“black coffee,” she said with a shrug. she flips to the back of the menu, her movements smooth, “i like it bitter. keeps me sharp.”

you raised an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing her. you felt slightly more comfortable after her apology, like you really could be friends. you try joking around with her instead of her initiating the teasing while you try not to pass out. “yeah, bitter suits you.”

she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. it makes you feel good that you could make her feel the same way she made you feel. “touché, princess. touché.”

when the drinks finally arrived, billie slid yours across the table to you, her fingers brushing against yours briefly as she passed you a straw. you ignored the spark of warmth that shot through you, focusing instead on the beautiful and intricate foam art in your cup.

“so,” billie started after a few moments of quiet, her tone casual but curious. she takes a sip of her coffee first before speaking again, and it’s astonishing how she doesn’t react at the taste of her bitter coffee. “why yale? what made you pick it?”

you took a sip of your latte, thinking about your answer. “it just felt right,” you said after a moment. “the programs, the campus, the challenge. it just… felt like where i was supposed to be. i wanted to be successful, and this seemed like the place to do it.”

billie nodded, her blue eyes glossed with thoughtfulness, attentiveness, like she didn’t want to miss anything you could have to say. “that’s cool. i get that.”

“what about you?” you asked her, leaning forward slightly, trying to keep the conversation at an easy flow, “you said you like the library. is music the only thing you have interest in?”

she grinned, a hint of her usual playfulness returning. she sets her cup of coffee down, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

you rolled your eyes, but your curiosity was piqued, “well, yeah— that’s why i asked.”

“fine, fine,” she said, holding up her hands in mock defeat. “just joking with you. but i fuck with art a lot. i’m drawing constantly, and it’s a major reason why half the songs i’ve written are even written. music is just what i love the most, and i’d be a much better musician than an artist. i’m no picasso.”

your eyebrows shot up in surprise, your head boding eagerly, “really? i didn’t know you were into art like that.”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” she said with a smirk. but then her expression softened. “music’s… it’s my thing. it’s how i make sense of the world, y’know? it’s kind of like my therapy. but art is like that, too. both go hand in hand.”

you nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. you finish off your coffee, sipping until only ice remains. “that’s… really cool, billie. i think it’s amazing that you’re so passionate about it.”

she looked at you for a moment, her gaze steady and warm. “thanks,” she said softly.

the conversation flowed easily after that, the two of you sharing bits and pieces of your lives over coffee. by the time both of your cups were empty, you felt like you understood her a little better— and maybe, she wasn’t as intimidating as she seemed.

you both finished up, as you stood to leave, billie pulled out her phone, handing it to you with a small grin. “here,” she pressed her phone into your hands, “put your number in. in case you hate the book and need to yell at me about it, of course.”

you really didn’t know if this was the best idea. it was back and forth— somethings felt alright, but this felt like too much.

but you can’t keep withdrawing yourself just because of how you feel. it’d be different if the both of you were feeling off, but you just felt like you were making things weird now. so you laughed, taking the phone and quickly typing in your number. “or, you know, if i actually like it,” you said, handing it back to her.

“yeah,” she said, her grin softening into something more genuine, “that too.”

you nodded at her, the both of you treading out of the coffee shop before splitting off onto your separate ways. you fished out your phone from your bag and put your headphones in, your music loud, but your thoughts seemingly louder.

as you walked back to your dorm, the quiet night air pressed softly against your skin. the faint hum of streetlights buzzed above you, casting pools of golden light along the sidewalk, swallowing the shadow of your footsteps. you held your phone tightly in your hand, replaying the evening’s events over and over in your head.

billie’s apology had surprised you. it wasn’t just the words—though those had been unexpected, too—but the way she’d said them. there was no smugness, no teasing grin. she had been genuine. it wasn’t a side of her you’d ever anticipated seeing, and it left you feeling… conflicted.

you sighed, your thoughts chasing each other in circles, one that clearly had no end. you try to be honest with yourself— there was no denying that billie intrigued you. she was so different from anyone you’d ever known— bold and unpredictable, but also unexpectedly thoughtful in her own way. the way her face lit up when she talked about that book, how her excitement made you feel lighter, even when you were sure you didn’t want to.

even your own friends this morning couldn’t cheer you up. it wasn’t what you needed— their pestering, the plethora of questions that they always had to ask, you didn’t need any of that. but billie made you feel content, airy, like you could let loose a little bit, even when you didn’t feel up to it.

you frowned, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. why does she even care so much about what i think? why does she want to know me? the question sat uncomfortably in your chest, its edges sharp and unclear. part of you wanted to write it off as just another one of her games, but another part —the part that noticed the way her voice softened when she apologized to you—wasn’t so sure.

then there was the way she’d looked at you, her blue eyes steady and piercing. it wasn’t like she was trying to figure you out —no, it was like she already had, and she was waiting for you to catch up. it made you feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and absolutely terrifying.

stop overthinking it, you told yourself firmly, shaking your head. but even as you tried to brush it off, her voice echoed in your mind, teasing and warm.

you couldn’t help but smile at that, though you tried to stifle it. you wiped your face with a cold hand. billie had a way of getting under your skin, and it wasn’t always in a bad way. she just could easily read you, and it scared you a little bit.

you kept walking as the worship music in your ears grew louder, the volume amplifying until you were sure your earbuds would explode if you turned it up anymore. you had to drown these thoughts out.

you mumbled a quick prayer to yourself— for clarification, for help on making the right decision. but it felt empty. as some of these prayers always did.

you always prayed about this. always prayed that these feelings would melt. it wasn’t the first time you felt like your heart was playing tricks on you— you always longed for more than what seemed right and true. but everytime you begged God to remove these feelings, everytime you sat in church and raised your hands when you worshipped, you always felt like in this area of your life, there was no response.

it was unfair. how could you be so loved, but so neglected? so cherished, but your questions remained unanswered?

as your dorm came into view, you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your messages with her. they weren’t much—just casual exchanges, some teasing, some thoughtful. she had already asked you about the book, and you hadn’t even opened it yet, which made you chuckle to yourself. usually you’d always be cheesing at billie’s dry humor and constant pestering, but they made you smile in a way that felt… new.

what is happening to me? you wondered, your steps slowing as you neared the door. you weren’t sure you wanted to answer that question yet.

instead, you typed out a quick reply to her last text, something simple and sarcastic to keep the conversation going.

but as you walked into your room and shut the door behind you, you couldn’t ignore the tiny flicker of excitement in your chest. you were so engrossed in your thoughts until you saw emma, literally sitting on your bed while scrolling through her phone.

you froze in the doorway, your thoughts of billie screeching to a halt. “emma?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion and a hint of exasperation. “why are you on my bed?”

she didn’t even look up, her fingers swiping across the screen with practiced ease. she spoke nonchalantly, “cause your bed’s more comfortable than mine. and my charger’s too short to reach my desk, so…”

you sighed, tossing your bag onto your chair and slipping off your shoes, shoving them into their designated spot in your closet. “em. you could’ve asked.”

“and ruin the element of surprise?” she grinned, finally glancing up at you. “besides, you were out late. so spill. where were you?”

“i wasn’t out late,” you argued, brushing past her to grab a bottle of water from your desk. “it’s barely nine.”

emma raised an eyebrow, setting her phone down. “okay, fine. but where were you? and why do you look… different?”

“i don’t look different,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze as you took a long sip of water from your bottle on your beside table.

but emma wasn’t buying it. she hopped off your bed and crossed her arms, blocking your path back to your chair. you groaned— this wasn’t going to be easy to get out of.

“you’ve got that look. like, the ‘something interesting happened but i don’t want to talk about it’ look. so? out with it. deets please.”

you groaned, flopping onto your bed where she’d just been lounging. “it’s nothing, emma. i just—i ran into someone at the library, and we ended up getting coffee. that’s all.”

“someone?” her eyebrows shot up, and her grin widened. “wait, was it a someone someone? like, a certain diner singer someone?”

you felt your cheeks heat up instantly. “why would you even think that?”

“because you’re blushing,” she said smugly, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside you. she put her phone away, her attention completely focused on you, “so, was it billie?”

“fine, yes,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair. there was no point in lying to the girl, so you kept it honest, “but it wasn’t like that. she apologized for the other night, and we just… talked.”

emma’s grin didn’t falter. if anything, it grew. “talked, huh? and now you’re all smiley and weird. sounds like more than just talking to me.”

“it wasn’t!” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction, “she’s… complicated. but she was nice, and—ugh, i don’t know, emma. can we drop it? you’re always poking me about this.”

“she’s nice, huh?” emma teased, nudging you playfully. “so, are we talking ‘nice’ as in friendly, or ‘nice’ as in ’i’d let her buy me coffee again’?”

you groaned again, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. you voice is muffled as you huff, “i literally hate you.”

“you love me,” she corrected, laughing as she poked your side, trying to grab the pillow from you, but you hold it tight. “but seriously, you don’t just light up like this for anyone. you’re into her, aren’t you?”

your muffled response came through the pillow. “i don’t like girls.”

emma finally pulled the pillow away with undying strength forcing you to look at her. her expression was softer now, more curious than teasing, “right, you don’t like girls— but you like her, and it’s okay if you don’t know. but, like, don’t shut it down just because it’s unexpected. maybe… see where it goes?”

you sighed, sitting up and hugging the pillow to your chest, “emma, i’m not gay. she’s just interesting, and fun to talk to— and the coffee was a bonus to her apology. i wasn’t going to turn that down. she’s cool, but i’m not into her, and i really wish that you and everyone else would stop trying to push this on me.”

emma grows quiet. you’re clearly not in the mood, but she shrugs at you with a long sigh, “no one is pushing anything on you. it’s obvious that something's going on. i love you— but don’t take this out on us. if you’re confused, then fine, but don’t act like we’re forcing you to do something you literally aren’t already doing. be gay, don’t be gay— we don’t give a shit. you’re still my best friend, it was only jokes.”

you didn’t respond. it kind of hurt, what emma said— but she was ultimately right. you couldn’t keep being so sensitive just because you couldn’t figure out your own feelings. it wasn’t fair to them, or anyone else, for that matter— it was between you and God alone.

“i’m sorry.” you apologize, your voice thick with emotion, “i-i didn’t mean to. i’ll stop being so uptight.”

she doesn’t necessarily know what you mean, but emma didn’t push. she just gave you a knowing smile and stood up, grabbing her phone from the desk. “well, whatever happens, i’ll be here to overanalyze it with you. i love you, okay? now, get some sleep, little lovebird.”

“goodnight, emma,” you muttered, sinking into your sheets as you heard the door slammed close, her footsteps eventually fading out.

as the door clicked shut behind her, your heart began to race. there was so much going on, so much that made you feel unbalanced, unsteady.

you reached for your phone, pulling the charger out and opening the Bible app. you clicked on your private notes and started writing, pouring your heart out in a way that felt vulnerable even to you.

you wrote until your fingers ached. you wrote until you couldn’t see past the blanket of tears that covered your eyes. you were a mess— and you felt so…gross. all of this was wrong. you were too far gone now.

you couldn’t be friends with billie. not right now, anyways. you couldn’t be friends with her because it was throwing you off your path. it was too much, and you didn’t necessarily adore the feeling of being confused. no matter what, this had to be the last time that you saw billie, that you—

your phone dings. a happy notification sailed across your screen, and you froze.

billie: hey nerd. wanna hang out tomorrow after class?

you let out a sigh, ignoring the message as you threw your phone onto the chair across from you lazily. you didn’t have the energy to respond, so you got up to flicker your lights off, forcing yourself to succumb to sleep.

whatever you do— you have to get away from this girl, or she was going to ruin you.

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astracora · 3 days ago

Text

Turning Point - Part 2

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability.

Word Count: 4260

Written: 3rd January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. You know I said 'sometime', turns out that was today. I have brainrot. Also, the birth of the group chat!

Now Playing: Hit the Ground, by if found

Masterlist AO3

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You absently stare into the bowl as Zayne sutures your wounds. His hands are steady now, that he has a task. You'd felt him trembling earlier, fingers colder than they normally were, against your skin. At odds with the almost fever you were running.

He's a familiar person to tend to you, you hadn't realised how uncomfortable you'd felt in a hospital without him. Other people putting your broken pieces back together again. Until you'd relaxed at his hands. You're not used to being seen fragile, you don't like it when Zayne sees you like that, but you dislike it even more when someone else sees it.

Though… you can see the others looking at you. Watching as you flinch, at each pass of the needle.

That need to run, to hide, lurks at your back. Trembling. You don't want to be weak for them. Xavier is your partner, he has to rely on you in a fight. You're Rafayel's bodyguard, who can he rely on if he's scared for you. Sylus is far too strong to look at your weakness, and see anything other than a pathetic little cat that's too much work. Zayne will eventually grow tired of helping you, of being there.

Seeing you like this, surely reminds them that you're too much work, that you're a waste of the effort they put into you. Reminds them how fragile the little fluttering organ is in your chest. Pushes you into an unappealing light. Spotlighting every ding and scratch and dent.

Rafayel had eased you through the motions to get clean, gently cleaning around your wounds. Ensuring Zayne could disinfect you, and tend to you. He had kept his face controlled. While you had barely wanted to look at his face, the lack of expression on him had made you peer into his eyes. Seeking out an explanation, information… anything. Desperate to understand what was going through your fish's mind.

Too scared to ask. In case he was disgusted, horrified… hated you. When he'd noticed you trying to catch his eyes, he'd turned towards you. Hand stiling, soap suds on his own skin, soaking through his white shirt. After a moment, his smile, small but familiar, had returned.

"Are you comfortable?"

It was a hard question to answer. You weren't sure you could ever be comfortable, not before, not now. Your body felt off, wrong. Twisted into shapes that didn't fit under your skin.

He ran the sponge gently down your arm, gentle circles against your skin. His other hand on your waist, carefully avoiding any injuries and bruises, thumb rubbing circles, putting pressure in a spot you could fixate on. The heat of his skin a familiar brand. Not unlike the brand that glowed on his neck.

You wanted to reach for his hand, but the limb that wasn't there couldn't move. It couldn't grasp him, and the choke in your throat startled him upright. Hand moving to your face, holding your cheek and grounding you. "It's ok cutie, it's ok." Pressing his forehead to yours and pressing a kiss to the side of your face, "I'm not going anywhere. You have this fishie for life, got it?"

The nod you offer back to him is weak and numb, but you find yourself nuzzling him, seeking him out, eyes closed so you don't have to worry about what you'll see in his eyes. Just what you feel in his hands. Hear in his words.

As Zayne finishes up his work, gently applying bandages to your now clean, freshly tended wounds, he exhales relief. Warm breath against your back, before helping you slip into an overly large button-up of Xavier's to keep warm.

You stare at the sleeve, empty and fallen against your side… you want to tear it off.

It's a violent, angry feeling. Vicious and snarling in your gut. Hissing.

Your hand reaches up, but you wince at the pull on your sutures, and it falls back down. Xavier reaches over, one hand soothing your fingers from where they've tensed into a claw, "Eat, Starlight." before he begins to roll the offending sleeve up. Rafayel hands him some of the bandage pins, and eventually it sits at your shoulder.

It's better. It's not perfect. It's better.

Even if it makes it harder to ignore.

You hesitantly reach for the spoon, lifting it, spilling some of the soup over onto the pillow you'd been clutching on your lap. You ignore it, hunger snapping, and focus on food. The food you haven't eaten since the hospital let you go. It doesn't take long before you're shoveling it into your mouth, hand shaking, and spilling down your chin, but finishing the bowl. Ravenous. You come close to licking the bowl clean, but it's taken away, and refilled before you can. So you resume feeding the beast in your stomach.

Finally, you are sated, and calmer. There is a mess on the pillow you can't even bear to think about cleaning, and you're licking at the mess that spilled down the spoon onto your hand. Before Sylus has a wet wipe in his own, wiping at your cheeks. Cleaning your chin. You blink up at him, his controlled expression. Nothing shining through his eyes, though he laughs a little, "Messy little kitten, aren't you?"

It should be embarrassing, you think it is. You know it should be. You aren't a child, you don't need tending to… but you're so tired, and already so full of emotions you can't name. Twisting around your heart. That this is the lowest concern for you.

If he was going to hate you for being messy, then it's just another thing he can find disappointing about you.

Rafayel laughs, and it sounds more like him, "I told you I make the best fish, cutie." You look over, seeing him watching you.

You feel naked under the adoration in beautiful eyes. Turning away, to look back at the others.

It's… odd seeing them all in your apartment, the little dumb part of your brain provides. It's definitely not big enough for five people. Zayne is next to you on the sofa, packing his tools away. Raffy is sat on the floor, legs crossed, he is playing with party fish in his lap. Squishing its cheeks. Xavier is leaning forwards against the table, arms crossed and chin resting on them, while he has his eyes focused on you. Sylus is leaning against the wall, he has opened the window, so Mephisto has settled on your lamp as a perch, and he flips a coin around his fingers.

You realise absently, that he's ready incase you need something, to move and grab it. Or to refill the bowl again.

When you finally manage to speak, it's a dumbfounded question, asked in a hoarse, sore voice, "When did you all meet?" It's not the most pressing issue, but you cannot seem to move forwards from the image of the four of them here.

Standing in front of you. Not… killing each other? Or at least, not trying to kill Sylus. Maybe they just didn't… know who he was. You'd only ever talked about him as Skye.

Zayne lets out a sigh, pushing his glasses up, and looks over at the others, "Today. Outside your door, except for Xavier, who I ran into when I was chasing up information about you at the Association."

"You have a lot of friends, cutie." Raffy pouts, resting his cheek on the top of party fish's body. "Here I was thinking I was your favourite fish."

It's not really a laugh that you respond with, but it's as close as you can get, "You're the only fish I know, Raffy, of course you're my favourite." His responding smile is soft, eyes wavering like flames, as he looks right at you. Happy to hear even a small bit of joy out of you.

"That needs explaining." Zayne looks over at Rafayel, an eyebrow raised, "Along with the Crown Prince, nonsense from earlier."

Xavier's shoulders jump and he pouts, "It's not important."

"What a terrible lie from a prince." Sylus purrs from where he stands, canines sharp and glinting.

"Says the crime lord."

"Excuse me?" Zayne's hand reaches out to pull you back and a little closer to him, eyes narrowing on both Xavier and Sylus now. "Skye is who?"

"Sylus, actually, dear doctor. Don't worry, I don't bite." His head tilts, looking at you with a smirk, "Unless I like you."

You jump, cheeks heating up a little, turning to look at Zayne who looks ever more like a headache is brewing, and his blood pressure is rising. "The leader of Onychinus… Didn't he try to kill you?"

"How cruel, I wasn't the one shooting the gun."

"What?"

You cover your face with one hand, rubbing at the space below your eyes, where strain is setting in. They notice the reaction, quietening down as you shrink back in on yourself. Tired, worn and aching.

"Take these." Zayne extends the medication you threw, as Sylus hands you a glass of water.

You want to throw them back. If you take them, it means you need them. It makes this reality.

You know that the fact they're seeing you, right now… like this, means its reality. It doesn't make it any easier.

Zayne takes your hand, firm, stable, and cool hand easing yours open, rubbing a circle into your palm with his thumb, before putting the tablets in it. Counted out properly. "Take them." It's as close to an order as you can get, and it's enough to make you ease them into your mouth, taking the glass from Sylus to wash the vile taste away. You almost sputter, but a warm hand gently eases the back of your neck. You see bright red eyes watching you, narrowing, as he helps you swallow.

You feel like you're staring into the abyss for a moment, before they melt into lava, and soften into concern. When he sees you're alright, he releases, but not before tracing your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"You should sleep, starlight." Xavier frowns, he looks like a sad rabbit, ears drooping. You want to reach over to pat his head, but your arm is sore and tight where the stitches pull. For a moment you look at the prosthetic where it sits on the table.

You'd spent this whole time ignoring it, like if you ignore it, it won't turn into a monster and rip you apart. It sits there, silver metal and black leather. The urge to throw it doesn't come back, which surprises you.

It doesn't look like a beast. Like a monster.

It's just a piece of technology, sitting there, staring at you.

"Or can you tell us what happened? If you don't want to sleep." Xavier adds. Watching where your gaze settles. He reaches out, hesitates, then pulls his hand back. Like he's scared to touch something that hurts you this way. Normally so willing to jump into danger for you, but this… it's a different kind of pain, he can't fight for you.

The offer is said softly. Your partner wasn't there when you got hurt, the guilt in his eyes, for not being there when you needed him most. You have to alleviate it.

He isn't to blame.

You are.

So you put the pillow aside, reaching for one that doesn't need cleaning, and pull it to your chest, needing something to hold to process. They watch as you do, and then you slowly speak.

Explain to them it was just another mission.

Metafluctuations, weak but present, in an old apartment building that was due for demolition. It was a quick check, if anything happened, you were to contact Tara. Hunters in the area ready to step in if it was worse than expected.

There were some knaves in the building, weak and easy to deal with, but too close to populated areas to be left alone. Once they had been dealt with, you checked for any other fluctuations. Nothing had stuck out, your resonance hadn't returned anything to be concerned about.

Until the Myst appeared, another of Ever's twisted tools, swinging its horrific battleaxe around the area, destroying everything in its path. You'd been surprised but you were capable, you'd sent the message to Tara. You'd been ready to fight, before the building shook, its foundations cracking, the walls falling in.

The ceiling falling down.

Debris raining down on top of you, and the framework of the building smashing down around you.

The Myst had gone to attack you, but the pain, the bloodloss, the metal pinning your arm had made you useless. Unable to protect yourself or fight back. You'd pulled against the metal, struggling, but too slowly.

You remember gunshots. Other hunters yelling, but that was when you'd blacked out. Relieved someone had reached you, stopped this monster from hurting anyone else.

If you were going to die, at least you knew one of Ever's tools wouldn't be out destroying more lives. Yours was an easy trade to make for that.

You'd woken up in hospital, arm already gone, wounds sutured, body bandaged. Numb to the world thanks to the anesthesia. Drifting in and out of tormented sleep. Remembering flames, and metal pinning you, as you watched it burn. Watching bones turn to ash, and skin ripping against the strain of your struggle.

You'd been sent home to rest when they thought it safe to let you go, giving you instructions for a psych eval, and the information for your physical therapy. Tara had brought you home, you'd felt numb and empty… but aware enough that you didn't want anyone else to know. No one else to see.

She's suggested calling people, you'd begged her not to. Limbs so weak she had to struggle to help you around. She'd brought you to the apartment, helped you get into bed, and asked if she could stay.

You'd promised to be fine, you'd call her. You promised you'd call her.

You were a liar. Just like Caleb. Promising when you'd wake up, you'd see him everyday.

You'd tried to sleep, you had, but it ached, everything ached, and you kept reaching for your phone with an arm that wasn't there. You kept trying to roll over, but pulling stitches.

The fabric on your bed began to itch and hurt, and bother every part of you. So you'd pulled yourself, heaving, nauseous and dizzy out of your bed. Falling to the floor, where you'd stayed, unwilling to struggle anymore. Not wanting to look at the world around you anymore.

Then they'd found you, a few days later. Exhausted, hurting and just existing in a space where you could only crave a release from it.

Dragging you back into the land of the living.

Zayne looked even more exhausted than he normally did, leaning back a little into the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. Sylus was watching you with a look that indicated he had a lot to say, and was unsure where to start, arms folded across his chest. Rafayel had slinked forward, and had placed his cheek against your lap, hand reaching up to hold onto your leg. Keeping you there, with him. Xavier hadn't stopped staring at you, his starry eyes had dimmed, losing the bright light in them, as he watched you.

Disappointed in you.

You'd messed up, and he'd realised.

Pity.

You were pitiful.

"You're alive." Zayne exhales, voice breaking, as he leans back forward. "You're alive, and that's what matters."

It surprises you. You're not sure why. Zayne has told you many times… all he wants is for you to be alive. That no matter what else, that is what matters. For you to be there, no matter what form you hold. To keep moving, to keep breathing, to keep living.

To live.

You'd teased him for having a low bar for happiness, and he'd smiled, that small but warm smile, looked at you and told you that with you, the happiness came from you being there.

It is a low bar, you suppose, but you are hunted, and hated by people whose faces you cannot even know. You have a job where you fight everyday, to protect others. You exist in a world where your heart could fail you, any moment.

To be alive, means you have not been defeated yet.

It is a low bar… but you suppose it is a starting point.

"I'm alive." You affirm, even though you feel fragile and broken and worthless. Even though you feel like you did all the way through your teen years. Waiting for Caleb to turn his back on you, stop caring for you. Think you are too much work.

You are alive, against all odds, and against anyone's attempts to change it.

Despite fate biting at your heels, to hold you back with thorned chains.

It's enough… maybe. For now.

Xavier stands as your head begins to droop, the days of struggle catching up with you. He crouches in front of you, "Can I please, take you to bed? You need to sleep, starlight." Your nod is unbidden, because truly you can't focus on anything now. The medication is working, and it is moments before you pass out.

The blood loss, the pain, the fear. You are a puppet whose strings are cut. Left in the hands of artisans who have mended broken parts.

"We'll be here when you wake up, cutie. Promise."

"Good night, kitten."

Warm arms lift you like you are a feather, pressed against familiar heat and scent, carried gently. Gliding. You barely register the blankets, but your bed is remade. It no longer smells metallic. As you're tucked in carefully, your lone hand grasps at Xavier, keeping him from pulling away. Scared to face the inevitable alone.

Scared to be alone.

No one there to help when you're at your lowest.

No matter how independent, no matter how long you've fought and moved forwards alone, you don't want to be alone now. When everything is crashing down, and you feel worthless.

"I'll stay." He promises, brushing your forehead, pressing a kiss there. Cool and calm, and tranquil. A starry sky you've stared at every day.

It is enough to push you to the edge, and down into the quiet.

—---

When Xavier reenters the room, he's yawning. Made tired by watching you fall into sleep himself.

He closes the door behind him, hearing hushed conversation and approaches the living room. This time everyone is sitting, even Sylus. Who has settled somewhat since you had left the room, no longer on guard. No longer waiting to appease a desire. Any desire.

"Let me get this straight, you're a lemurian… as well as a famous artist-"

"I'm actually more insulted you don't know my art at all, doc." Rafayel pouts, tightening his grip on party fish. There's the small look in his eye like he wants to throw it at the other man's head, but reigns in the urge. Like a cat debating knocking a glass off the table, but getting caught.

Zayne sighs, and continues, "You're the crown prince of Philos, who… traveled back in time?" He turns to look at Xavier, who settles himself into some of the cushions you kept in the living room for gaming with him.

Xavier shrugs, unconcerned with the title, he hasn't held it after all for a very long time, "I'm just Xavier."

The doctor rubs his eyes again, hesitating on the edge of just walking out. If it weren't for the figure in the other room, sleeping through the pain. This time he looks at Sylus, who is leaning back in a chair like a king, arms crossed and head tilted back. "And you?"

"I'm just Sylus." The man teases, flashing canines that shouldn't be as sharp as they are. "I just happen to run the N109 Zone."

"Right. The natural enemy of the Hunter's Association, and the people who wanted the core in their heart."

"You can mistrust me if you like doctor, but kitten is in no danger from me."

"Hard to believe."

"Well, the best things often are." It sounds like a jest, but for a second the man's eyes soften. Looking for a second at the closed door before they sharpen into gems again, "But whether you believe it or not, I'm here for them."

The doctor looks at Xavier, who barely reacts, face downturned, buried in pillows, he can already tell what question is coming.

Don't you have anything to say?

Can he be trusted?

"Does it matter?" Xavier manages, his finger pointing at the little crow charm on the man's phone, "They trust him."

Zayne and Rafayel both look, then at their own phones. A tiny snowman and a little fish.

Xavier knows his own sports a little star.

Mishapen and messy, made with Tara on an outing you and her had gone on, eager to keep the other hunter company for things. Hungry for friendship.

Companionship.

Connection.

Rafayel groans, leaning back on his hands, legs stretching out, "Cutie makes all the worst friends."

Sylus scoffs, "Friends."

Agitation makes the fish glare, eyes narrowing, and this time the plushie flies at Sylus, who catches it in his EVOL with a laugh. Gently placing it down, so he doesn't damage something you value. "Stupid crow."

"Calm down fish, someone will think you're steamed and take a bite."

No one misses the small blush over the man's ears at Sylus' purr, which just makes the man laugh a little more.

"Well, if no one is leaving-" Xavier starts, yawns, and then forces himself to sit up a little to continue, "we should figure out what to do. Otherwise this will happen again."

Rafayel shrinks, "I've never seen cutie like that. They're always so…" his sigh carries the weight of years he can't share, and he shakes purple hair like he's trying to shed the memories, "strong."

"The strong can't always be strong." Sylus offers, turning a coin in his fingers again, staring off out the window.

Zayne hums his assent, "They need to go to physical therapy, pick themselves back up again. Adjust, as hard as it will be. I can attend their therapy sessions when available, moral support can make the difference between failure and success for some."

"I can help around the house, visit them. I'm just upstairs after all."

"They'll need to eat, and get out of the apartment. See people." Sylus adds, he pulls out his phone, typing a message to Luke and Kieran to prepare a replacement for the door. Sooner than possible.

"I suppose between us we can make sure this works."

"You want us to work together?"

Zayne sighs, "As much as the idea of asking a wanted man-"

Xavier laughs under his breath, but doesn't explain. He does think about the three wanted posters, however.

"for assistance, taking care of someone important to me, I would rather have all of our bases covered, and then to have a wider support system in place. Unless anyone has any objections?"

There's nothing, just a quiet accord between four people. Thinking about the room near them, full of something precious. Worth protecting.

"I suppose we've got a deal, doctor." Sylus nods, standing, "I'll be back in a little while to fix the door. Until then I'll move some things around so I'm more available."

Rafayel hops up, "I'll be right back, I'll grab my current project so I can work from here. Maybe some…" he looks about, "extra blankets."

While Xavier wants nothing more than to sleep, to sit at the door to guard it, to keep watch. The fridge is empty, the bandages have run low, and he wants to look around the area. Wary, on edge. Worrying that Ever have lurked too close.

So he pushes himself up, removing himself from pillows that smell of you, and heads to the door too, "Grocery shop." He offers, through another yawn.

As people filter out, Zayne leans back into the sofa, before rising and heading over to the bedroom. Quiet and careful, he checks on his favourite patient. Though he desperately wishes he didn't need to be your doctor. Didn't need to stitch up torn skin, bandage wounds. Watch you suffer. It tugs at his heart, watching you force yourself ahead.

Rafayel was right. You'd never shown anything other than strength to them. Fighting through injuries, being reckless if it meant protecting others. Taking on mission after mission. He thinks the only time you've relied on them, is when there's no fight to be had.

Relaxing in your personal time, as rare as it is. He's seen you injured, of course, and at your checkups for your heart. But you've always met those with jokes that belittle the seriousness of the situation. A readiness to make light of pain. He has never seen you crumble, hurting and wounded. In a way you don't just bounce back from, because you can still fight injured.

As he strokes your head, gentle and careful not to wake you, he is both aching and relieved. That you'd finally lowered part of your mask, but that it took such pain to do so.

They've at least owned a door for you to step through, easier if someone is waiting on the other side…

Even if the most wanted man on earth had broken it open…

That's going to take some getting used to.

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icewindandboringhorror · 2 days ago

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indeed my exact process once every 8 months or so

#I just thought today of a new way to format a 'profile' (like the descriptions of self that people use on friend meeting #apps and stuff) and how to organize the sections so that it seems such and such a way and oh what if there's links which click off #into branching paths so it's very acessible and there are two different forms depending on so on and so forth #and i was like 'um.. wow. amazing idea. this will be soooo aweseome and will definitely work' but then .. you know...self reflection #lol.. is this just like the millions of other iterations of a similar thing? No.. This Is Different ... Surely...#Though if I had a millionaire friend and a few people who do the type of coding you use for web design stuff and etc..#I could create the most elaborate detailed and amazing platonic friend seeking (and I guess you could also have 'dating' as an option #since that would draw in more of a crowd) website on the earth.. the new okcupid (back when okcupid didn't suckishly abandon their #whole format in hopes of trying to become just like tinder or whatever and they actually had like tons of info and percentages and #open answer questions and would list personality traits on a profile (like 'this person is more Open To New Expereinces than 65% of #other users' etc.). etc. etc. Oh what a beautiful thing I could craft for the detail freaks of the world.... Alas...#unfortunately we seem to be in an oversimplification era.. everything in short quick bites. everything on a tiny phone screen. etc.#marketing 'Introducing The Most Complicated Data Heavy Social Connection Site In The World' would not sell well I'd imagine gjhgjh #AANYWAY.. also no idea why the representation of me is in a turtle neck. what a bold fashion choice..#In another moment of self reflection.. the fact that in the first tag on this post I felt the need to define the word 'profile' just to be #specific as if people couldn't tell from context.. so clearly someone who finds filling out forms a 'fun afternoon activity' lol #the type of guy who finds psych evaluations and pop quizzes and making chore lists mostly enjoyable (< true)

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taelophone · 14 hours ago

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✦ Teach Me ݁˖ ⋆˙⟡ — TA!Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Pining . Sexual Tension . No Penetration . Smut . Power Play . Glasses on Luigi lol . Reader is kinda strange . Fingering . Kinda Mean Luigi . Overstimulation . ｡⋆ A/N: Sorry it took me so long I actually wasn't the biggest fan of this work. But I hope you enjoy it!

You could imagine that teaching was a tough job. The grading, the organization, teaching the same material at different levels day after day and hour by hour. Surely, the days would melt together, subjects and responsibilities sticking to each other and creating an unfortunate planning crisis.

That’s where the teaching assistant comes in.

As you made your way into the lecture hall, you pep-talked your mind to brace yourself for a long, boring, and mentally draining speech that would last over an hour. At least you had some questions written down that you planned to ask Professor Harrison regarding the lesson.

But at least it was your final class today before you could crash into your room.

So when you waltzed into the lecture hall, scanning the room for your professor, you were immediately confronted with the realization that he…wasn’t there. Even when you took your seat, the metal feet of your chair dragged against the dull blue carpet, generating the only sound in the room full of silence.

The clock ticked, that nerve-wracking tick-tock for a whole three minutes. Two minutes left until the lesson started, the red seconds hand gliding across the clock as you thought about leaving. But then in came someone you’d never seen before.

He looked about your age, maybe even a smidge older as he waltzed in through the open doorway, his head tilted upward like he was the biggest in the room.

“Hey, guys. Harrison isn’t here, he had some family stuff to do, but I’ll probably be leading today’s discussion” he said, his strong and sculpted arms peering through the soft fabric of his maroon tee.

It was a conscious effort to not let your jaw clatter down onto the floor like a skeleton. Tall, muscular, incredibly well-kept, and graced with the strongest Italian genes to ever kiss the surface of the twenty-first century.

“My name’s Luigi, I’m the new teaching assistant for Harrison, and my office hours are from four to seven-thirty.”

He smiled– the cute and content kind that left your heart squeezing with cuteness aggression and induced heart tremors. You stared directly through his eyes the best you could, following him with rapt attention that you seldom gave your real professor.

His voice; was a melancholic and deep hymn of firm knowledge that could mimic years of experience. He was tragically good and articulate with his words, subjects that you didn’t understand the first time untangling themselves in your mind to build clear pathways to the answer. In fact, you didn’t even need to ask the questions you had written down.

When he finished the lecture, gently closing his laptop and sitting atop the professor’s desk, he tapped his pen on the wooden surface repeatedly before turning to the room.

“Any questions? We have like…5 minutes left of class. Leave early, stay put, goof off, anything. As long as you’re not confused.”

There was no way in hell you were gonna leave without so much as speaking to him. You gathered your things up, leaving your notebook full of questions and doodles down on the table before trotting your way down to where he sat.

“Questions?” He asked, his head tilted to the side slightly as he bit the little push button of his bright blue pen between his plush and pink lips.

“Yeah, sorry, I just need you to explain these to me in a little bit more depth,” you murmured, shooting him a breathy and nervous chuckle before handing him your small notebook.

He hummed, taking the notebook from you graciously before his onyx brown eyes darted across the bulleted questions and the little doodles on the edges of the white-lined paper. He chuckled, eyeing a particular drawing you did of a bunch of hearts and flowers in a vase.

“Pretty drawings, they’re very nice,” he nodded, leaning back to grab his notepad and quickly write down your questions on his own. “Alright, what’d you need help with specifically? What’s confusing you?”

You made up some excuse on just needing it to be explained in more detail, prompting him to pull up a chair next to the cherry-oak desk. You quickly sat down in front of him, listening to him carefully as he essentially re-explained the lesson all over again from start to finish.

“Wow thank you,” you smiled, letting out a particularly girlish laugh as you finished writing down key points you had already written earlier on a clean leaf of paper. “That makes a lot of sense, I was so confused earlier.”

“Glad I could help,” he murmured, returning your giddy and girly grin with a boyish and bright beam of his own. He watched as you swung your backpack strap over your left shoulder and headed out the door, giving you a quaint wave as you did so.

Holy shit. Holy shit. OH MY GOODNESS.

Poor you. Poor, poor you.

He was even cuter up close with his smooth and seemingly flawless skin. A perfectly tanned tone with hints of olive under his complexion. And god, not to mention his nose…it’s faces like that that make you wanna cook and clean all day.

“No, Kat, you’re not listening. He’s perfect, like ten out of ten no flaws,” you said while staring at your vanity, gently applying moisturizer to your face. Kat, on the other end of the FaceTime, only grimaced at you with furrowed brows, the only sliver of her face you could actually see.

“Okay…let’s not sleep with the TA…” she joked, chuckling just out of frame as she propped the camera up and slid on a green spa headband before taking out her contact lenses. “I haven’t met him yet I don’t think. When did he start working for Harrison?”

You paused, ceasing your hand movements across your face as you thought about it for a moment. “I dunno actually. We didn’t make small talk, I just wanted to hear him say anything to me.”

Kathy laughed, glaring at you momentarily with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Oh you’re filthy,” she giggled, repeating her skincare steps as you finished up yours. You sighed, shaking your head in what should have been a shame if a giddy and amused grin didn’t find shelter on your face.

“Hear me out, I just-“

“No.”

You sighed yet again, heavier and less enthusiastic before picking up the phone again. By now the device had grown hot, your 3-hour-long girl talk proving aggravating to your phone's thinning patience and heat capacity. “Phone’s getting hot, girlie. I’m gonna go lay down and rethink life.” You murmured.

“Alright babes goodnight,” Kathy smiled, leaning forward over her own vanity to hang up the phone.

And with a deep exhale through your nose, you stood up from your stool and climbed into your soft bed. With the comforter up to your ribs and your legs crossed at the ankle, you stared up at the ceiling before letting drowsiness lull you to sleep.

As days went by and Luigi slowly became more and more present in Professor Harrison’s class, you felt yourself spending more time during lessons watching his every move. If you were lucky enough, Luigi would teach a class and then chat and socialize with your classmates.

Days had turned into weeks, and weeks rolled over into months. You had been to pretty much every single office hour, pretending to be behind on certain topics and playing a dangerous game of feigned catch-up just to sit at the desk with Luigi and let him reteach what you already know. At some point it was like child’s play, seeing how long you could dance around the bomb until it blew up into lovelorn smithereens.

And today you planned on it being no different. Front of the room, head straight, and leg-crossed at the ankles while you spaced out on your teaching assistant’s tantalizing hands. Oh, how darling they’d look wrapped around my neck instead, hurling me into oxygen-lacking delirium while he made me cry for being such a bad student. To prevent yourself from being any more provocative than you were already being, you lowered your eyes to the table in front of you.

The conversation around you continued on without you, vowels and consonants linking together in a pained effort to create muffled and static gibberish while you daydreamed about the man four feet in front of you.

“Yeah, no I get that…I don’t even know why I signed up to be a TA sometimes I still have my own things to work on,” he said, fidgeting with the end of his light-blue collared shirt. “I actually have a paper I’m supposed to be working on.”

He must’ve noticed how quiet you were. Your arms folded across your chest as you leaned and slouched all the way back in your chair, maybe the way your eyes were trained onto the table in front of you. But either way, he made his way over.

He tapped on your table, once, and then twice to grab your attention before holding up a thumb and tilting his head to the side. The question was silent, but loud and clear as you nodded your head.

“You okay?”

Upon seeing your nonverbal confirmation, he mirrored your action and made his way back over to Harrison’s desk. The sounds of chatter and rushed packing filled the room, watching as people gravitated toward one another and began preparing to file out one by one.

“Alright guys, have a good rest of your day. If anyone asks you were here the whole period. If you need help or anything or just wanna chat, stick back” he said.

If you weren’t staring at him so hard, you would have missed it. His eyes flickered over in your direction for a fraction of a second, knocking the wind right out of your lungs.

An invitation. One that you could easily deny or accept without feeling pressured or guilty later. A clever man, he was, something that you caught onto very early into him easing into your days. You learned that he was a computer science engineer, which immediately made sense with the way he detangled the wires in your brain.

Your legs carried you over to the desk before you could even think of a plan, placing yourself before him like he called you with some imaginary whistle.

“I knew you’d notice. Good catch” he beamed, straightening his back a little bit as he leaned his back hips against the edge of the desk. “You seemed spaced today, are you doing okay? You’re usually more…active.”

“Oh yeah I’m okay, I was just a little tired today,” you replied, giving him a reassuring nod. You were lying through your teeth, and a part of you felt like he could possibly sense it with the way he wordlessly stared down at you for a moment before nodding slowly; hesitantly.

“Get some sleep, okay? You can always come to me if you need help or don’t understand something. I’ll try to explain” He nodded, giving you a boyish smile with a light pink dusted on the apples of his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you said, shifting your weight to one leg. “I’ll probably come by during office hours.

I want help reviewing my notes.”

“Nice. I’m gonna be back in here, but I’ll probably come in a bit earlier than four so I can…grade quizzes,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the realization slowly sunk in.

“Oh, well good luck,” you said, giving him an apologetic smile.

He nodded, a deep and exasperated sigh reverberating from his lungs as a pained smile crept onto his face. He ran his hands through his coco curls, giving you a thumbs up and watching you exit out the door.

You and Luigi’s relationship, or for better words connection, was strictly professional. You barely saw him outside of the days when he wasn’t assisting in Harrison’s class, and if you did happen to catch glimpses of him on campus he was always preoccupied with something else.

Strictly academic and professional.

Right?

What a lack of judgment. The red hot sin and embarrassment that would crowd Luigi’s face whenever you stood too near. He felt almost dirty in a sense; after all, it wasn’t entirely ethical to crush on your “bosses” students.

But when your eyes honed in on him like the only object in the room, picking him apart piece by piece and ripping away each thread of his clothes with your eyes, it was hard not to get a little warm on the nose. Day by day and piece by piece, he could feel himself getting sidetracked with your memory.

So when he leaned back in his chair, staring down at the papers he had only halfway penetrated with red ink and comments, he thought of you bouncing back into the room with your not-so-secret lies of confusion.

The smooth sound of pen ink gliding across paper filled the room, scribbles of minus three and half credit echoing subtly through the empty classroom. He murmured under his breath as he wrote, flipping back and forth

between the rubric and the long pages of text as his eyes slowly began to glaze over.

There was fire burning every inch of his body; lustful and jeering in his ears as he did everything in his power to repent against the thoughts of how gorgeous you would look crying on this desk while you panted from overstimulation. The scandal…the pleasure. The taboo of the situation left him with a bitter and tangy taste on the tip of his tongue as he swallowed.

thump-thump-thump-thump

Your shoes patted the cheap carpet halls as you made your way back into the class, locking your eyes onto a hunched-over Luigi with a pen between his pointer and middle finger. Back and forth, he flicked the pen repeatedly as he took deep breaths in a last-ditch effort to self-soothe.

“Hey,” you murmured, placing your bag down next to the desk and your notebook on the opposite end of his stack of papers. “How’s grading going?”

His eyes jetted upwards, locking onto yours with a small smile. “Horrible!” He started with a contrastingly happy grin. “I’ve hated every second of it. How are you doing this afternoon?”

You stifled a chuckle, pulling your mouth down from the shameless smirk that had snuck onto your expression. Dry, dry-humored man.

“I’m doing okay! Been working on my notes. I suck at taking them, I feel like I never know what’s important to write” you mused, flipping through your notebook until the most recent lecture notes came into view.

You peered over the pages, trying to see if you could see your own answers under his inspection. Your eyes darted over the pages, snooping around names and numbers before he slowly shifted his hand to cover the scores. He let out a small huff of a chuckle, clicking his pen closed before setting the stack of papers to the side.

“Did I do okay? You’re giving me anxiety, Mangione” you joked, pulling up a chair in front of the desk.

He covered his mouth, failing to prevent a smile from creeping on his face as he giggled a little.

Oh fuck.

“You passed, but you’re one of like…five who did by an actual hair. I actually graded yours first cuz I knew you’d be stopping by again. We can go over it now if you want! Unless you wanna do notes first?” He offered, flicking his long and skinny fingers through the many many pieces of paper until he plucked out yours.

You thought about it for a moment, thinking it over in your head. It was kind of hard to focus on anything with him sitting so close…those glossy black-framed glasses sitting just right on his face. And oh my god his slender and large hands—

“Yeah, can we go over the quiz first?” You blurted, leaning to the side of your chair to retrieve your pencil case from the front compartment of your backpack.

“Sure,” he said, placing the quiz in front of you for you to review.

You looked it over, thanking whatever divine force had your back that day for somehow clearing a path for you to even pass this quiz. You were surprised that some of your answers were even correct, shit, you might as well have said you took the quiz with your eyes closed. That’s how gone you were.

“I’m not gonna lie…the quiz was kind of unfair,” he started, his eyebrows shooting up momentarily in amused disbelief. “I wrote maybe 50 percent of this, so I’ll help you with what I wrote, but I cannot help you on Harrison’s part. Sometimes I think we don’t even speak the same language.”

You nodded, letting out a deep sigh before flipping the packet back to the front page and handing it back to him. You knew then and there you were gonna be there for a while, even if your intentions were to just pop by and review fake notes. At least you were spending time together!

He broke everything down piece by piece, watching as you jotted notes down in your spiral notebook and wrote down little tidbits of info along the way. And when he was done, he took a sip of water, leaned forward, and gazed over what you had written in your notebook.

“Huh. Weird, I thought you said you couldn’t take notes?” He chuckled, standing up and walking around the desk to lean over your shoulder. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him; comforting and affectionate like a man raised by gentle hands.

“Two birds with one stone” he chuckled, the sound echoing in the shell of your ear as you fought the urge to squeal and panic like a child denied their lifeline of sugar. “Don’t worry, I’ll still help you go over them.”

“I feel like I did better cuz you watched me take them,” you chuckled, instantly relaxing as he made his way to the long whiteboard, popping open a red marker as he began to jot down the topic, and a few empty bullet points under.

“So this is how I take notes…excuse my handwriting,” he said, jotting down the main point, key details, and miscellaneous info.

He was so shaky. His hands were like a humbug and his mind was taunting his sanity. Your eyes trailed after him, pausing to linger on a specific feature of his before following him again.

It drove him up a wall. He wasn’t even registering the conversation happening between you two as he gave pointers and red-ink examples.

“Oh I have another question,” you blurted, now leaning against the front of the desk to see the board a little closer.

“Yeah? What’s up?” He answered, turning around and leaning against the whiteboard.

“What’s your type? You seem like you like smart girls.”

He paused, putting the cap on the marker before jutting his bottom lip out slightly. He pretended to think about it, processing your bold statement. His heart thumped in his ears, loud and fervent as arteries in his muscles threatened to pop.

He made his way over to the side of the desk, placing his hands down on the oak and leaning forward. He was so close, but oh so far. The once dark and charcoal-brown eyes revealed themselves to be a deep hazel, glimmering with satisfaction and authority.

“Well, I don’t think I have a type per se,” he said, adjusting his readers with the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I just like women with goals and a strong sense of self,” he smiled.

“I have goals,” you murmured, glancing over his features with a newfound feeling of hunger.

“Do you, now?” He mused, tilting his head to the side as he slowly rounded the corner of the desk to stand in front of you.

By now it was beginning to get dark outside. The ember-like orange glow of the various lamps around the room, and the back lights gave their best effort to keep the dimly lit room visible. His heavy hands came to rest next to each of your thighs, the palms of his hands flat on the smooth desk while he stared down at you.

“You’re…adorable” he smiled, propping you up on the desk and watching you closely.

Darkness kissed your features, the soft and lively look of your skin spurred his desire to ravage you whole like an animal. He stood between the gap in your legs, knowing that he wasn’t going to make the first move regardless. He knew he’d lose a lot of respect from Harrison if he kept going, and he knew that you had a lot to lose by sleeping with him.

Fair trade.

He would have expected you to kiss him, make a comment about his glasses, or even squeal and say you can’t do it anymore. But what he didn’t expect —

Was for you to jet your hips forward, rolling them teasingly against his half-hard bulge. His brows pinched together at the fleeting friction, tingles of pleasure shooting through him for a fraction of a second. His eyes were glued onto where you briefly connected before they shot back up to stare into yours, an even mix of disgruntled desperation.

“You…you’re very bold. Very very bold,” he chuckled, gathering your face between his thumb and the remainder of his fingers, squishing the fat of your cheeks until your teeth resisted his strength.

You smiled, a squished and crooked one as he mashed his lips against yours. A brutal, teeth-and-tongue-filled fight for dominance occurred in your mouths as spit and sin were exchanged on this very desk. Horny and rampant like untouched virgins left alone after hours.

You whined in his mouth when he pushed you back, shoving your back flat against the desk and sending papers floating to the floor with the grace of a mother swan. You had no time to adjust to the way he began to consume you, coaxing every meek and subtle sound of pleasure from your mouth as he slid his knee between your legs to nudge up against your achy cunt.

He pulled away, taking a brief intermission for some much-needed air as he slid his readers off the strong bridge of his nose. Red with fury, and pink with lust, his cheeks and nose flared in the faint orange light as he basked in the way your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath.

“Words, c’mon. I know you have them…” he urged, his knee growing more insistent at your crotch, plucking strings of moans and whines from your orchestral lungs.

“Please…need you so bad,” you panted, your hands coming up to your face to conceal the way your eyes threatened to roll to the back of your head.

“I know you need me, that’s why you came to office hours!” He joked with a patronizing grin, his large hand linking around your wrists to pull them away from your face.

“It’s not funny, I want you inside of me!” You whined, fighting the urge to throw a fit when he gave you an imitation of a sympathetic click of his tongue and a condescending little “awww.”

He chuckled, lowering his knee back to stationary before hooking his hand into your jeans, glancing up at you for confirmation. He let out a scowl when you only nodded.

“I didn’t teach you for months for you to not use all the many words I taught you” he warned, slowly withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“No, no it’s ok! Take them off please” you said, immediately grabbing his wrist to prevent him from withdrawing his hand from you.

He nodded, undoing the button on your jeans and sliding them down to your lower thighs. He took his time fidgeting around with your puffy clit through the cotton of your panties, up and down with the pad of his thumb before experimenting with small and tight circles.

He listened to the way your moans grew in volume, ending in shrill whimpers the longer he teased the sensitive pearl. He chuckled, an amused smile spreading up to his face.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m being mean” he giggled, pulling your panties to the side and toying around with the sticky and glossy wetness that glossed your pretty folds.

His middle and ring fingers pushed into you slowly, in and out with languid and almost practiced strokes to that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Cosmos aligned, universes collided, and galaxies crumbled before you as he learned the astronomy of your body.

“So tense…you’re never gonna take me if you keep being this tight” he chuckled, picking up the pace with his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to loosen you up a little. I don’t wanna hurt my favorite student.”

You couldn’t understand why he was apologizing then. With his fingers plunging in and out of you so deliciously, the sloshy and obscene noises mingling with your moans of euphoria ushered any thoughts or coherency in one ear and out the other. There was no way you were hearing him right now, and he knew that.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his free hand seeking refuge over your hipbone. “You’re too pretty to have such an empty mind…but don’t worry I’ll teach you again.”

You tightened around his fingers, his knuckles prodding and pleasuring your gummy walls as you attempted to close your legs around his wrist, much to Luigi’s dismay.

“No, don’t do that. You wanted this. You wanted this for who knows how long, and you’re gonna take everything I give you, okay?” He said, the hand that once rested on your hip coming down to hold your knee, prying your legs open.

You whined, your vision going white with snow as your breath caught in your throat— barely hushed cries of his name rushing from your lips as you soaked his knuckles in milky white ecstasy.

“Just like that…mhm, look at me?” he purred, relishing in the dazed and confused expression that washed over your features. But he wasn’t slowing down.

His fingers were still pistoning in and out of you, and the overstimulation began to bite and nip at your sensitive and puffy cunt. It was deliciously painful, tears pricking and rolling down your cheeks as your lips parted in loud moans. You attempted to scoot back, push his hand away, anything. It just wasn’t working.

“Don’t run from it…I’m not done,” he commanded, holding under your leg to keep you tugged in place. “So pretty…” he purred, his eyes transfixed on the sight of your weeping cunt begging for more while you begged for less.

It was like he was hyperfixated on your moans. His ears pressed to hear more like you weren’t directly in front of him, listening carefully to every single sound you made.

You cried, twitched, came, and writhed as he carried on for what felt like hours. Two turned three, three turned four, and four pulled into five as you felt your eyes completely cross and roll into the back of your mind. So far into the dark depths of pleasure, you could still faintly see the ghost of a smirk on Luigi’s lips in the back of your mind.

Any form of coherency was beginning to leave you as the painful euphoria clouded your mind and squeezed the oxygen out of your body. He was everywhere, cooing and. mocking in your ear as he reduced you to your simplest form. Babbles of "I can't take it" and pained whined as he took what he wanted from you.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he purred, an unapologetic grin on his face as he coaxed you into one final orgasm. “I’m done, I’m done. I promise.”

He laughed, this one lacking his usual boyish charm and innocence. This one was mean but warm and loving, like watching a nostalgic home video. He watched you, twitchy and sensitive as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you.

“Good girl, you did so well for me. C’mon, get up. We’re not finished with your notes. If you can show me you understand the material I’ll let you get all of me.”

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x you #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione x y/n #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione smut #CEO Assassin x Reader #The Adjuster x Reader #FUCK BRIAN THOMSPONN

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yoonjae20 · 1 day ago

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5 Times people outside of the immediate Batfamily find out that B is married and the one time the world meets his husband [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

Surprise, surprise! Due to immense positive reaction to the last Spirit Halloween Oneshot, I wrote another Oneshot interconnecting with the previous one. As you can see per the title it's a 5+1 Oneshot! Inspired by PaperPuffin's "Batman's Husband" over on ao3.

Read on ao3.

Previous.

Barbara stretches her arms above her head and winces at the pop her joints make. It’s well into the early hours of the next day and it has been a long night – there had been an Arkham outbreak which needed all hands on the deck. After 5 stressful hours every Rogue was captured and back behind bars – all that remained were the reports they needed to fill out.

“I’ll head off for the night, I want to get at least a little bit of sleep before I have to go open the library,” Barbara announces over the comm.

“Thank you for your help today, Oracle,” Bruce grunts and Barbara is about to put down her headset when she hears paper getting shuffled around before the distinct sound of ceramic being settled down echoes through the comm.

“Thank you dear,” Bruce’s voice is surprisingly soft and Barbara wonders who brought the man tea – Cass perhaps? There’s some incomprehensible murmurs before Bruce hums thoughtfully. “I’ll probably be done in about 20 minutes or so – just need to finish this report. You can go ahead to bed – I’ll follow you in a bit.” Some more unclear mumbles, but distinctly male before Bruce snorts. Then there is the distinct sound of lips meeting each other. “Good Night, I love you.”

Barbara feels like she intruded on a very intimate moment and she quickly logs out of the comm system before she bursts the bubble Bruce seems to have settled in.

She places her headset next to her keyboard before rolling backwards and only then she lets out the squeal she had been holding in. Since when has B been in a committed relationship? She’s so gonna milk Cass for the details – she needs to know everything.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steph asks as she meets the rest of the Batfamily in the manor for movie night.

Normally the man never skipped out on those unless on an out of world mission.

“On a date,” Tim says absentmindedly as he scrolls through their selection.

Steph’s face scrunches up.

“As in Brucie?”

Jason snorts.

“Actually no,” he says. “Do you remember Bruce’s ring?”

“Yes?” Steph answers, uncertain where Jason is going with this.

“Yeah, apparently he’s married.”

“Wait, what?” Steph doesn’t believe her ears. Bruce Wayne? As in - brooding, stoic Bruce Wayne, who goes out at night in a Furry Costume to fight crime? “For how long?”

Jason turns to Tim who startles with all the attention on him.

“26 years,” Tim states and Steph almost chokes on her spit.

“No way.” Steph shakes her head. “That would mean he’s been married since well before like either of us all knew him!”

“Believe me, we were also quite shocked,” Jason mutters, before adding something under his breath. “Should have known that even his taste in men is quite peculiar.”

Tim starts their movie, but Steph can’t focus for a single second. What the hell is ‘peculiar’ supposed to mean?

Lois opens the door to see Bruce standing before it – along with a gift bag where a bottle of champagne is peeking out of it.

“Bruce!” Lois greets him warmly. “I’m glad you were able to make it!”

The man grunts before handing her the gift bag and following her into the house.

“Clark is doing a little errand, but he’ll be here soon enough.”

Bruce just nods and Lois settles down the gift bag on her kitchen counter, pulling the champagne bottle out. Her and Clark are celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary and the latter had wanted to invite Bruce to a simple, quiet dinner in their house in Smallville.

“Where are the boys?” the man questions when he sees that their table is only set for three people.

“Jon said he had a hang-over with Damian and Kon is on a mission with the Teen Titans.”

Bruce hums and soon Clark arrives back from his errand and they sit down at the dinner table.

In the middle of the meal, Clark opens the Champagne bottle with a loud pop before filling three glasses. Clark raises his own glass as he clears his throat.

“To another 15 years!”

Lois echoes the sentiment while Bruce nods stoically.

Their glasses clink as they toast to each other and then they finish their meal. Bruce still sips on his first glass of champagne when Clark broaches the topic.

“This would have been even better if you also had someone at your side, Bruce,” the man says. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow and Clark coughs at the man’s deadpan expression.

“Just imagine if we could have celebrated your 15th anniversary too!” the man tries to save the conversation and Lois snorts at her husband fumbling.

“What Clark wants to say is that we wish for your happiness and that we sometimes wonder if a partner would achieve that,” Lois helps out and Clark shoots her a relieved smile. “We've never really seen you date anyone – and those headlines about ‘Brucie Wayne’ don’t count, you know?”

“That might be because my 27th wedding anniversary is coming up,” Bruce says as if he is talking about the weather.

Clark sputters while Lois’ eyes widen.

Bruce raises his right hand and Lois’ eyes focus on the ring on his ring finger – it only now really registering for Lois. It had almost become invisible over the years. Bruce’s lips twitch into a faint smirk.

“Or do you guys think of this as decoration?”

Lois' eyes twinkle as she suddenly pulls out her notepad.

“Tell me everything.”

A knock on his window makes Jim pause in his reading. The world outside is dark and Jim groans when he sees the time displayed in the corner of his screen. 03:57 am. He had been supposed to be home more than a few hours ago to eat dinner with his daughter.

His joints creak when he stands up from his seat — walking over to the window. He’s not surprised to find a looming shadow lingering behind it — quickly letting Batman in.

The man enters, landing softly and without a sound before he hands him a file. Jim purses through it — quickly recognizing it to be one of his recent murder cases.

“Red Robin made a breakthrough,” Batman explains gruffly. “He wanted you to receive this as quickly as possible.”

Jim nods before settling the file on his desk, before sinking back into his chair.

“I hope you are not planning on going back on patrol.” Jim rubs his tired eyes as he shuts down his computer. “While you may be a Cryptid, even you need your sleep.”

Batman’s soft snort surprises James.

“Actually I wasn’t,” the man claims. “My partner was very adamant about the fact that I would deliver this file and then go straight back to the Cave no matter what happens.”

Jim pauses. ‘My partner.’ The way the Batman had said it so casually surprises Jim.

He barks out a laugh.

“Good that there’s someone other than Agent A looking out for you then,” he teases as he watches the computer turn black. “You need it.”

Batman huffs out a breath and that’s as good as a laugh for the man than anything.

“Update me on the case,” the man says in lieu of a goodbye before disappearing out of the room with a swish of his cape.

Jim leans back in his seat, snorting. He never expected anyone to tame the Dark Knight — but apparently even the impossible is possible.

5: Wayne Enterprises staff

The Board Meeting dragged on. It was one of those rare times that Bruce actually attended them - normally he left those to Tim, but the boy hadn’t had time this time.

Once again Lucius applauds Bruce’s ability to stay patient even when Tiffany from HR drones on about unnecessary gossip — only smiling politely and nodding once here and then.

They had gone over the new developments and their future goals already and were well into their allotted one hour time slot. Most of them knew by now that these meetings often overrun and could go well up to two hours if no one (most of the time either Tim or his assistant) cut it short.

Normally Bruce is well versed in being the picture perfect CEO - kind and never once complaining. However this time Lucius notices the man glancing at both the clock opposite to him and his watch that he is wearing multiple times as they near the one hour mark. Lucius can even hear the man audibly grit his teeth and his left eye twitching once Tiffany goes on another tirade.

It’s 10 minutes past their allotted time slot that Bruce seems to have enough — he cuts off Tiffany's rant about one of their engineers with a firm, “Well if that’s everything — I have to get going. My partner and I are celebrating our anniversary.”

Then he promptly leaves the room after dropping that bombshell. Not a millisecond later when the door closes the room erupts in hushed whispers. Lucius doesn’t doubt that by the end the entire building will know about the man’s “mysterious” partner. Lucius quietly schedules a press conference for the next day.

The media gets wind of it by the next day — because of course they do. Each headline is more extreme than the next and Danny has fun teasing Bruce by reading each one out.

The interview Lois had forced Bruce and Danny into would probably go up either tomorrow or today now that the cat was out of the bag so to speak, but he probably would still need to address the general public in the press conference. Bruce silently thanks Lucius for his foresightedness in scheduling a press conference for today – Bruce had been tired yesterday, the exhaustion loosening his lips. While he didn’t want to hide away Danny now that he was back, he had wished for more time to announce it on his own terms.

Bruce stands in front of the mirror as he adjusts his tie and Danny stands behind him, chin on his shoulder and arms around his waist.

“You’ll do fine,” Danny cheers up Bruce. “Just deflect to the fact that an exclusive interview is going up soon and keep it short and simple.”

“You are not one who has to address them,” Bruce grumbles.

“Do you want me to?” Danny’s voice is uncharacteristically serious.

Bruce turns to see the man instead of looking at him through the mirror. Danny runs a hand through Bruce’s styled hair before settling it on the man’s cheek. A finger brushes Bruce's lips before Danny pulls him in for a soft kiss.

“You know I would do everything for you, darling.”

Bruce huffs out a fond breath and settles his forehead against Danny’s.

“I know,” he confirms, before linking their hands. “Together?”

“Together,” Danny affirms with a grin.

Danny changes into a nice dark blue suit – complementary to Bruce’s blue tie and together they step on the stage to address the news. Both of them smile as they wave at the flashes of the cameras.

“Hello Gotham,” Bruce greets. “This is my husband – Danny.”

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junixscribble · 2 days ago

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Old Friends (And Better Company)

The old Viktor Machine Herald design spins in my head like a rotisserie chicken so here u go <3

Title: Old Friends (And Better Company)

WC: 1563w

Summary: Some things you can't fix on your own, and there's only one person Viktor trusts enough to go digging around his insides. Unfortunately, Jayce is also a pest.

----------

Jayce didn’t turn when he heard the door of his lab open - he figured it was Mel or Caitlyn trying to pull him away from his work again.

“I’ve told you I’m in crunch mode right now, I can’t go out.” He said with half a smile on his face.

“Were you expecting me, Jayce?” A metallic, accented voice responded and Jayce’s smile froze on his face. He turned slowly to see the Machine Herald standing in front of his door, quietly latching it shut.

“How did you get in here?” Jayce asked, hostile. The Herald shrugged.

“You never changed the code. And your security system is child's play.”

The burning orange eyes of the Herald’s mask left no room for conversation, and Jayce sighed. He wasn’t going to fight today.

“At least take off the mask, V. What do you need?”

If Viktor could emote through a metal visage Jayce would have seen surprise on his face at the ease of his question. He was expecting resistance, especially after recent events. Viktor raised a hand to his mask and hesitated - it had been a while since he’d shown his face to anyone. He pressed the divots on either side of the mask down and it unlatched with a soft hiss.

Viktor set his mask down on a bench and Jayce let out a soft oh at his appearance. His hair was longer, but still endearingly soft and messy pushed back from his face. Metal covered his skin up to his cheekbones, and one of his eyes had been replaced with a mechanical version. The glowing orange ring of the eye nearly matched the honey-hazel of his remaining eye, and Jayce could only remark that after months it was still him. It was still his Viktor under the mask.

“I have a problem I can’t fix on my own.” Viktor started, and his voice was the same as Jayce remembered, if not a little scratchy from disuse. “Some wiring was shaken loose during a fight, and I can patch it but can’t fix it. It controls the use of one of my arms and the Hexclaw, which I have to turn off in order to mend it. So… I’m down a few hands.”

Jayce almost laughed at the comment, but a sharp look from Viktor silenced him. “Why come to me? I’m sure you have plenty of Zaunite mechanics itching to help you.”

Viktor looked uncomfortable for a minute, unwilling to make eye contact. “I trust only you with this.”

Jayce stilled. “After everything we’ve done to each other? What I’ve done to you?”

A single look from Viktor gave Jayce the answer he needed, so he stood and started clearing off one of the benches.

“Alright, old friend. Let’s take a look.”

Viktor took off his cloak and double checked the door was locked before laying down on the table, pulling his right arm over his head to give Jayce access to his side. He concentrated for a minute and Jayce watched the Hexclaw and his arm go completely limp.

“You‘ll need to pop the casing off the side of my torso. I’ve turned off the arms, but left nerve activity so I can tell you if something isn’t right. Don’t worry about anything hurting.”

Jayce caught hesitation in Viktor’s last words so he set his screwdriver down and looked at him.

“Viktor. I have no intention of causing you pain. If something hurts I am going to stop and make sure you’re okay, and then find another way.”

Viktor had no answer for him, just stared at the ceiling. Jayce frowned, but continued,

“I’ll get the casing off now.”

After less than an hour the two of them were back to a semblance of what once was normal. Ideas for improvements were bouncing off each other, solutions to problems were being formed and true to his promise Jayce had never caused so much as a twinge in Viktor’s nerve receptors. Viktor almost found himself smiling, happy and content in the familiar routine but it was tinged with sadness. They caught up as well as they could, Jayce filling Viktor in on Caitlyn’s escapades and Viktor telling him about some advances he’d made in undercity prosthetics.

“You know, I can’t believe no one ever tried- aCK!” Viktor interrupted himself, jerking one of his legs on the table. Jayce immediately stopped what he was doing, pulling the pliers out of Viktor’s side and holding his hands up.

“Whoa, you okay? Did that hurt?”

Viktor stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the traitorous heat in his face. He’d have to try and get rid of that soon.

“Fine. That wasn’t painful.”

Jayce’s initial panic morphed into curiosity and he tilted his head, examining Viktor’s now flushed face.

“… no way.” He said, a grin growing on his face. “You’re still ticklish, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Viktor steadfastly ignored Jayce’s eager expression.

“You sure? Cause that sounded like it tickled.” Jayce picked up his pliers and found the spot again, making Viktor choke down a giggle.

“Oh my gods, after all this time you haven’t found out how to stop being ticklish? It even translated between the old you and the metal - I swear you had a bad spot on your ribs around here…” Jayce joked, prodding around which made Viktor yell and squirm.

“Fucking- stop that! It’s a complex function that is surprisingly difficult to counteract.”

“So you’ve tried to turn it off?”

“… not concentratedly. You can imagine it’s not the highest on my list of priorities.”

Jayce raised his eyebrows at Viktor. “Maybe you didn’t want to turn it off.” He muttered under his breath.

Viktor started yelling at him and Jayce threw his hands up in defence. “What? We used to have fun, that’s all! Regardless, you’ve done a number on yourself and the wires around that point are tangled. I need to remove and resolder a bunch of them, so you’re gonna have to put up with it.”

“You promised not to hurt me!”

“I did. I never promised anything about tickling.”

Viktor grumbled under his breath but seemed to resign himself to his fate. “Well, get going. I don’t have all night.”

Jayce got back to work with a smirk, dutifully started to unhook wires from where they had gotten stuck in gears and each other. Viktor had gone silent, and when Jayce looked up he had his eyes squeezed shut and was biting his lip, trying not to give in to the feeling. Just to be a dick, Jayce stuck his screwdriver in his side and wiggled, single-handedly breaking the dam Viktor had built. He jerked again, cackling and swearing.

Satisfied, Jayce refrained from commenting and got back to work to a soundtrack of laughter. This was fine until Viktor started wriggling around on the table in earnest, making it very hard for Jayce to move things accurately.

“Stop squirming, you ticklish motherfucker.” Jayce couldn’t help teasing. Viktor made an angry face before losing it again.

“Fuhuck off fuck off fuck ohohohff!”

“Seriously, if you don’t stop moving I’m going to have to hold you down. I’m sure I’ve got some strong magnets around here somewhere.”

“Mahagents? You think magnets are ehenough to hoahaAHA!”

Viktor accidentally kicked a dent in the table and nearly shrieked when Jayce hit a particularly sensitive spot, trying desperately to resist the sensations ravaging his body.

“Huhuhrry up! Cahan’t - AH! Cahan’t hohold out under thihis much tihickling!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go as fast as I can.”

Despite Jayce’s best efforts Viktor left a few more dents in his bench, truly unable to hold back under the hands of someone who knew him as well as he knew himself.

“I think that’s the ticklish part done.” Jayce said, pulling out his pliers and cocking his head. “Actually, I think that’s the whole thing done. Try turning your arm on.”

Viktor caught his breath before concentrating again, switching the limbs on. It felt ten million times better, and he caught himself sighing in relief.

“It’s fixed. You have no idea how bad the feeling of your wires getting caught in the surrounding gears is. Thank you. Even if you could have been a little more tactful about it.” Viktor added.

Jayce rolled his eyes as he reattached the casing. “I think it was gonna be that bad no matter what. Still, it was nice to catch up without… well, you know. Trying to kill each other.”

Viktor sat up and pulled his cloak over his shoulders. “It was. I hope our paths may cross again someday.”

Jayce smiled and nodded, but the pulling in his chest told him a different story. He missed him terribly. Viktor picked up his mask and hooked it on his face, pushing it upwards so it wasn’t yet covering him while he walked to the window. Jayce followed him and watched while he pulled himself over the ledge and onto the railing.

“Goodbye, Jayce.”

Jayce met him at the window ledge. “See you later, Viktor.”

Before Jayce could react, soft lips were on his for a heartbeat before they were gone.

“I never stopped loving you.” Viktor whispered shakily, and then he pulled down his mask and disappeared into the night air. Jayce held a hand to his lips, frozen.

“Neither did I.”

#arcane tickling #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayvik #lee!viktor #arcane jayce #arcane tickles #tickling #machine herald viktor #as most things I create are this was written in a sleep deprived frenzy at an unholy hour #happy new year ig

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ddongtsan · 6 hours ago

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What If I Said Yes? - Kim Donghyun

Leehan x fem. reader

Note: I confess that sometimes I also feel tired of being a girl. But then I think that I actually just need someone to make me feel like a real girl.

Warning: Friends to lovers, fluff, drabble.

The rain tapped against the window, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet of your room.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of the day pressed down on you.

Nothing had gone right.

First, you’d forgotten your umbrella and arrived at school drenched.

Then, the test you’d spent countless nights studying for turned out to be full of questions that seemed written in a foreign language.

And to top it all off, the group chat with your friends was silent — everyone seemed too busy to talk.

With a frustrated sigh, you grabbed your phone, scrolling aimlessly through your messages. His name was at the top of your recent chats: Leehan.

Leehan was… complicated.

He was the kind of person who could light up a room with just a smile and always seemed to know the right thing to say.

You couldn’t deny the flutter in your chest every time you thought of him. But you two weren’t anything official. Just friends.

Friends with an unspoken tension that neither of you dared to address.

Without giving yourself time to overthink, you opened the chat and typed:

Being a girl sucks.

The moment you hit send, regret washed over you.

What if he thought you were being overly dramatic? Or worse, what if he didn’t respond at all? But before you could dwell on it, your phone vibrated.

Being my girl wouldn’t.

You blinked at the screen, your heart skipping a beat.

Did he really just say that? Typical Donghyun, always so confident, always knowing how to throw you off balance.

Still, you tried to play it cool.

Oh yeah? And what would make it so different?

This time, he didn’t reply with a text. Your phone buzzed with an incoming call, and his name lit up the screen.

You hesitated for a moment before answering, already feeling the nervous flip in your stomach.

“Do you really want me to explain this over text?” His voice was low, teasing, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest.

“I thought you were busy today” you said, feigning nonchalance.

“I always have time for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto your face. Kim always had this effect on you, and he knew it.

“Alright, convince me then. Why would being your girl be so amazing?”

He laughed softly, the sound so warm and genuine that it made your heart flutter.

“Well, for starters, I’d make you laugh every day. Like right now — I know you’re trying not to smile even though I’m totally getting to you.”

“I’m not smiling!” You protested, though it was a blatant lie.

“Sure you aren’t.” He paused, and you could almost picture the smirk on his face.

“And more than that, I’d remind you every single day how amazing you are. On bad days, like today, I’d take you out for your favorite milkshake or do something dumb to distract you — like singing terrible karaoke songs.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, the warmth in your chest growing stronger. His words were so simple, yet they meant so much more than he probably realized.

“And what if I said I want to test that theory?” You asked, surprised by your own boldness.

There was a brief silence on the other end before leehan spoke, his voice slightly lower, almost serious.

“Then I guess you just became my girl.”

Your heart was racing now, but at the same time, you felt an unexpected calm, like this was where you were meant to be all along.

“Okay” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “But I’m holding you to that milkshake part.”

He laughed again, the sound sending butterflies straight to your stomach.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And for the first time that day, everything felt right.

Maybe, just maybe, being a girl wasn’t so bad — at least, not if you were his girl.

#gih's writes #boynextdoor #leehan #boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader #bnd x reader #leehan fluff #bnd fluff #fluff

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maddie-dog-story-blog · 2 days ago

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New You Gym - 18

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Kylee laid back in her car seat, enjoying the post-orgasm haze as Emily drove her van ever closer to home. Kylee hoped to God that Michael would still be out running errands when they got there.

Kylee quickly realized that her wish wouldn't be granted as she felt the car slow and turn into her familiar driveway. Parked right next to Emily's van was Michael's car. Her husband was home, and she wasn't going to be able to hide her diapered state. Kylee started to panic.

"Emily! You can't bring me home dressed like this! Michael is going to find out about my arrangement with Nanny, and my life will be ruined!" Kylee pleaded. "Can't you take me back to your place to change into some more adult clothes and then drop me off?"

Emily looked at the anxiety filled face of the diapered, grown woman strapped into the car seat in the back of her van and smiled to herself mischievously.

"Now, Kylee, do you think I would let you into my van with big girl panties on? How many times have you wet your pants over the last three days?" Emily turned back in her seat to ask.

Kylee, looked down in shame and said nothing.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question Little Miss Pottypants. How many times have you wet yourself over the last three days?" Emily asked again.

"Um… Like four?" Kylee responded.

"Like four? You don't even know for certain how often you've wet yourself?" Emily responded. "No, don't answer that, of course you don't, that is why Julie is putting you through her special personal training program. But, you haven't just wet yourself, have you? Did you poop your pretty little pampers today?"

"Ye… yes," Kylee responded, defeated.

"So, why would I risk letting you make a mess in my car just so you could hide your shame from your husband for a little longer? I know Julie's rules for you. He is going to know what a little pants wetter you are soon enough. Plus, he already knows you had an accident today. You think that your Nanny didn't tell him about that back at the gym?" Emily continued.

Kylee felt her stomach drop at the realization that not only was Michael going to have to deal with her Nanny-mandated bed wetting soon, but that he also already knew about her prior accident.

"She told him that?" Kylee asked.

"Of course she did sweetie! Why do you think Michael was okay just leaving you at the gym? He wanted to make sure his precious little pants pisser had some time to decompress from her naughty little accident before she came home. Now, enough talking, let's get you out of my van. I need to get back to work."

Emily got out of her seat, walked to the back of her van, slid open the door, and began the process of unbuckling Kylee from the infant car seat she was trapped in.

Kylee did her best to ignore the humiliation she was feeling as Emily grabbed her under the armpits and helped guide her out of the van like a mother would a small child. Emily then reached into the car to grab something else out: The pink diaper bag that Julie had sent home with Kylee.

Emily slung the diaper bag over a shoulder.

"Wouldn't want to forget baby's new gym bag!" Emily declared as she grabbed Kylee's hand and started walking the diapered woman up to the front door of her house.

As they made it to the door, Emily knocked loudly, announcing their presence.

"You don't have to do that, you know?" Kylee said, "This is my house, I can just go in, and you could just take off back to work."

"Could I? I don't think your Nanny would approve of me just leaving you here without supervision…" Emily was interrupted as the door opened revealing Michael, looking more attractive than Kylee could ever remember in a tank top and his athletic shorts.

"Oh, Emily! It's great to see you again!" Michael said, his eyes instantly finding the stunningly beautiful woman rather than his wife.

"Yeah, I'm here to drop of Kylee, just like I said I would be," Emily said cheerily, her manner instantly changing from domineering to flirtatious once Michael opened the door.

"Oh yeah! Kylee!" Michael said, as his gaze drifted over to his wife for the first time. Michael's expression moved from one of slight amusement to worry as he noticed that Kylee was wearing nothing but the shirt she had put on this morning and the largest baby-style diaper he had ever seen.

"Oh, baby! Did you have another rough morning?" Michael said with the condescending tone of a father attempting to soothe his young daughter. "Come here sweetheart!"

Michael pulled Kylee into a warm embrace.

Kylee initially resisted the contact, too humiliated to feel she deserved any sort of physical affection. However, as Michael engulfed her in his arms, she let herself enjoy the bear hug, feeling protected and cared for in a way she couldn't describe. She started to cry into his chest as she felt comfortable enough to let her emotions from the day overtake her.

"Oh yes, Kylee had a very rough morning. She had another little accident, just like last time," Emily said, "Unluckily for her, all that Julie had for replacement bottoms in the daycare were the diapers."

"Oh, my poor baby!" Michael said, pulling Kylee in closer. "Let's get you in the house and changed into something more comfortable," he continued.

Michael started to let Kylee go and direct her into the house, but before he could turn around, Emily stopped him.

"Michael, before you go in, Julie wanted Kylee to have this. It's a new gym bag full of some… um… supplies she'll need when she comes back to the gym," Emily said hesitantly, handing over Kylee's new pink diaper bag. "Because of Kylee's little incidents, Julie and I think it's best that, when she comes to the gym, she wears a little protection in the future."

"Uh, okay," Michael said confused as he took the bag.

Kylee, standing next to him with his arm around her shoulder turned a deep shade of crimson.

"I guess that makes sense," Michael continued.

"Oh! But, don't worry! Julie has also taken a special interest in Kylee! She's going to start giving Kylee some personal training! Kylee is really excited about it, aren't you Kylee?" Emily said.

Kylee responded the only way she knew she could. She plastered a smile on her face and said with the cheeriest tone she could muster, "Yes! I am very excited to get some personal training!"

"Well, um… great," Michael said, confused and worried he only had half of the story, as he adjusted Kylee's bag on his shoulder. "Well, thank you again Emily for your help today, Kylee and I both really appreciate it."

"Anytime Mikey!" Emily said, pushing her way between Kylee and Michael as she gave Michael a warm hug. "I'll see you both at the gym tomorrow?" Emily asked, looking up at Michael.

Michael, who now had arousal joining his jumble of confused emotions, smiled down at Emily, enjoying the touch from the beautiful woman.

"Of course," he said to Emily before detaching from her embrace and turning back to his wife. "Alright, Kylee, let's go get you into some big kid clothes," he teased as he led his waddling, diapered wife, into their house.

Emily went back to her van, crawled in the driver seat, and watched as Michael led Kylee back into their house.

As she watched Kylee's diapered ass waddling away from her, she couldn't help but start to rub her throbbing pussy. Her growing fantasy of infantalizing and cuckolding another woman was starting to look like a reality.

Emily closed her eyes and imagined being fucked by Michael while Kylee watched from a crib in the corner, grinding her poopy diaper into a stuffed animal. The fantasy overtook her as she vigorously fingered herself over her yoga pants. Emily screamed as she came, sitting in the driver's seat of her van in Michael and Kyle's driveway.

Emily then drove off, hopeful of what the future was going to bring.

#ab/dl kink #ab/dl story time #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl caption #diaper stories #humiliation kink #ab/dl couple #diaper regression #ab/dl babygirl #ab/dl mommy #New You Gym

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tklpilled · 3 days ago

Text

cardinal

“can you really not keep any secrets from lesser lord kusanali?”

wanderer isn’t even surprised by the voice below him, not anymore. he opens one eye and glances to the ground, knowing exactly the sight he’ll see. and he’s right: a certain annoying desert-dweller, holding one hand up in a wave.

he closes it again. “she could find out whatever she wants, but she has the decency to give me some privacy.” unlike some people, he internally adds on.

sethos laughs. “so, i could just go to her with all the questions you refuse to answer? will she tell me about your family?”

wanderer stiffens. “i don’t have a family.”

he can sense the moment sethos realises he brought up something he shouldn’t have. awkwardly, sethos speaks again. “h-hey, just kidding! i won’t do that!”

“why are you here?” asks wanderer, lifting his head and looking down at him. a chilly breeze blows through the branches of the tree he’s perched in. sumeru is a warm nation, so even the cold wind only makes the average person shiver a bit and nothing more. it doesn’t affect wanderer, though, his resistance to temperatures higher than his peers. “or have you just come to pester me again?”

sethos grins once wanderer’s gaze is entirely fixed upon him. “actually, i had a question! i’ve known you for a while now, but i still dunno your birthday.”

wanderer scoffs. “pointless. does it matter?”

“yes! it does!” sethos huffs, hands on his hips. “c’mon, when is it?”

wanderer is silent.

sethos doesn’t move.

wanderer sighs loudly. “you’re so damn stubborn.”

sethos laughs at this. “so i’ve been told.”

he has a difficult choice to make here. if he just keeps quiet, then eventually sethos will leave, though wanderer can’t be sure how long that will take. and even if he does leave, he can always just go to buer to ask her, and she’ll undoubtedly tell him because she’s always talking about how he needs to play nice and make friends.

damn it.

“...today.”

sethos sputters. “w-wait, really?! hey, come down here! actually, i haven’t prepared anything…er, i’ll treat you to lunch!” he bounces on the balls of his feet, giving wanderer a pleading look.

wanderer rolls his eyes. sethos is like a little puppy. wanderer is not going to give in to that.

…he gives in to it.

only because buer would scold him otherwise, alright? that would be even more annoying than sethos’s pestering.

“so, how old are you?” asks sethos, swinging his legs. they sit on a bench not far outside the city’s port, watching the scenery while they eat. sethos had bought him some inazuman food, and it leaves a sort of bitter taste in his mouth.

he likes bitter things, at least.

wanderer stares at the fish in the water, two of them circling each other and jumping, like they’re playing. “i don’t know.”

“huh?” sethos turns to him, head tilted, a bewildered expression on him. “what do you mean? how do you not know? doesn’t lesser lord kusanali know, like, everything? she can tell you.”

wanderer kicks a pebble with the toe of his sandal. “i don’t care how old i am. i never bothered counting. most people’d probably lose count by now, anyway.”

if the fall of khaenri’ah was a little over five centuries ago, it would make him around the same age. he’s not sure how long after it that he was created, though, or exactly how many years it’s been. he’s five hundred something, at least. too old to celebrate pointless things like birthdays.

“aw, man!” sethos wails, tossing his head back in despair. “how am i supposed to know how many candles to put on your cake?”

“i don’t like cake,” wanderer reminds him, “and you wouldn’t get halfway before you’d burn down the entire nation.”

sethos sighs, resting his arm on the back of the bench as he looks to wanderer. “ugh, you really don’t ever smile, do you? not even on your birthday.”

“i’d smile more if you were funnier,” wanderer retorts, lowering his head to hide a smirk under his hat.

“h-hey!” sethos protests, leaning towards him. “i’m funnier than cyno, at least, you’ve gotta give me that!”

“the mahamatra? at least someone laughs at his jokes…even if it’s just him.”

“i bet i can make you laugh,” says sethos, and wanderer should have known from the glint in his eyes that this conversation is going somewhere very dangerous.

yet, he continues. he taunts. he can’t help it, teasing sethos is actually kinda fun. but—

“w-what the fuck?!” wanderer yelps, jolting away so forcefully he almost falls right off the bench. sethos stares wide-eyed for a moment before he bursts into laughter, doubling over and holding his stomach.

“i hoped you’d be ticklish, but i didn’t think you’d have that strong of a reaction!”

…tickling. wanderer knows what it is, of course, but in his long life he’s never once experienced it for himself. a part of him is curious, wanting to learn more, but he shuts that little voice down immediately.

unfortunately, sethos doesn’t seem to care about any of that. all he seems to concern himself with is that wanderer is ticklish, and tickling is a surefire way to make him laugh.

and…laugh he does, as much as he tries to hold back. sethos’s hands latch onto wanderer’s knees, squeezing playfully and it really, really tickles.

“s-stohohohop!” wanderer tries to growl, but between his squeaky laughter and steadily reddening cheeks, he doesn’t think it comes across quite how he wants it to. “i’ll—yohou! stop thihihis!”

he looks up to sethos, wanting to glare, but he’s met with a bit of an unexpected sight.

sethos looks absolutely entranced, eyes sparkling with glee. the wide grin upon his lips might just rival wanderer’s own.

“is this why you never laugh?” sethos asks, almost teasingly. “no one will ever be intimidated by you if they knew how cute your laugh is…”

the sentence, or maybe the tone he says it in, or probably both, sends a swarm of butterflies to wanderer’s stomach, though it’s very quickly drowned out by a bunch of pokes and squeezes to the area.

“shuhut uhuhup! i swehear, i’ll…!”

it’s so unnatural for him to laugh so freely, and he wants to hate it. in a way, he kind of does. this entire thing is driving him insane and he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

but when he manages to grab onto sethos’s wrists, he can’t bring himself to push them off.

#happy birthday scara!!!! my favourite <3 #tklfics #genshin #genshin impact #scaramouche #sethos #sethoscara #tickle fic

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fanboyzuko · 3 days ago

Note

Hiiii!!!!

I recently reread the LTF series and there was a bit about Zuko wanting to get the baby backpack/holster/wrap thing that Water Tribe women use for his egg. What if after Yue found out about the long, she got him one as a seeing-off gift or something? It'd be adorable. I'm kinda tempted to make art but I'm not that good with details and anatomy

I'm DELIGHTED! Yue absolutely would get him an amauti as a present :3 So here's that, and then some ;D

Filling LTF prompts for the New Year!

Yue fidgeted nervously with the ends of her sleeves as she waited for Elder Ikiaq to leave her and Zuko alone. She always spent some time with them, answering any questions they came up with from their discussion the day prior, then left them to freely talk without adult supervision. Not that they could freely talk in Elder Ikiaq’s office, that was reserved for Yue’s conservatory with only Kunnik as a potential eavesdropper, but there was still plenty to talk about besides Zuko being, well, Zuko.

Today was his last day in Agna Qel’a, so of course Zuko wanted to get as much as he could from Elder Ikiaq before he left. But Yue had a present to give him and really wanted to see him try it on!

Finally, Zuko’s curiosity was sated and Elder Ikiaq left with her usual teasing words, “Don’t solve your differences with your fists. I’m just down the hall if you need a mediator.”

Nevermind that Yue and Zuko’s disagreements never came close to getting physical. It was just one time Elder Ikiaq walked in on them in the middle of a shouting match and she wouldn’t let it go!

Wearing matching red cheeks, Yue and Zuko politely bid Elder Ikiaq farewell. They sat frozen in place as she left, then several moments longer to make sure she wasn’t about to return. In tandem, they whipped to each other with wide smiles. Whatever Zuko had to say was cut off by Yue shoving her present into his arms.

“What’s this?” Zuko asked, eyes wide.

Yue snorted and resolutely did not roll her eyes. “Well why don’t you open it instead of asking me?”

With a petulant scowl, Zuko pulled away the cloth wrapping. He stared down at the soft, dyed fur of the parka inside and tilted his head inquisitively. Rather than asking questions, he unfolded the parka and quickly discovered the extremely large hood which set it apart from the one he already had. Eyes flickering up to Yue with disbelieving excitement, Zuko turned his attention to the inside of the parka and let out an excited shout.

“It’s an amauti!”

Yue giggled, pleased her surprise was as well received as she hoped. Zuko was already pulling off what he was wearing, careful to keep the lóng egg concealed in the folds as he changed. The servants had looked at Yue oddly when she made the request for an amauti to give as a gift, but this was totally worth the gossip.

“Now you can keep her safer if your journey brings you to cold climates again.”

“It’s brilliant!” Zuko cheered as his head popped out of the mass of fur. “Help me figure out the best way to get her settled!”

Smile so wide her cheeks ached, Yue kept an ear out for anyone entering the room as she helped position their egg of hope in the baby holder. With its blanket wrapped around its top to hide its glow and the hood half pulled up, no one would be the wiser as to what Zuko was keeping warm next to his body.

Now, hopefully the next time he needed his parka, he wouldn’t be in the poles… People of the Earth Kingdom wouldn’t recognize the amauti for what it really was, but people of the Water Tribes definitely would.

- - -

Katara frowned at their strange guest. There were a lot of questions and mysteries surrounding him, but there was one thing that really caught her eye.

“Hey, Sokka, have you noticed-”

“Yes, Katara! Yes, I noticed everything! We need to chase him off; he’s so suspicious. He’s obviously working for the Fire Nation or-”

Katara elbowed her paranoid brother with a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. “His clothes, did you notice his clothes? He said they got their parkas from the Northern Tribe, right? Why’d they give him an amauti?”

Sokka froze and whipped his head around to stare at their guest again. His jaw dropped. Before Katara could stop him, he was stomping over with a manic grin.

“Hey, Hui, are you a teen dad?!”

#thepanopticon-is-just-azkaban #ltf extras #hny ltf prompts

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alewritesfics · 11 hours ago

Text

Bridging Realities

ℑ𝔙. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤..... 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Featherington estate, casting a golden glow over the lively preparations for the day ahead. You were seated at your vanity, Varley fussing over your hair with more vigor than necessary, muttering about how even a race required proper presentation. You nodded absently, your mind far from the conversation—or even the impending event.

You were dressed already, the soft, pastel blue gown fitting you comfortably as you stood and moved toward the window. You still wonder how on earth you got port- mama, to agree to buy new dresses and with different colors this time, although you think it mostly has to do with the arrival of the new featherington lord and how it meant that they no longer needed to worry about money much.

The bustle of the household faded as you leaned against the frame, gazing out at the beautiful house across the street, in which you could swear you see movement in.

It should’ve been a simple day—a moment to enjoy the festivities, the thrill of the race, and the chatter of the crowd. And yet, the weight of your thoughts anchored you in place.

The question swirled relentlessly in your mind. What do you do next?

The story you knew so well—the love story of Kate and Anthony—was already beginning to take shape. You’d seen the tension between them last night, the sharp glances, the lingering stares. You knew the moments that were meant to happen next.

But at what cost? Edwina’s heartbreak? Anthony’s stubbornness that was the whole reason people got hurt in the first place? Was it even your place to intervene? A few days ago you didn’t even exist in this world, so how could you?

Your gaze drifted to the bright sky, searching for clarity. And yet, another thought began to creep in, unbidden but persistent.

What if you didn’t step aside?

What if you let yourself want something—long for someone—for once? Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a name on a page, or a face in a show anymore. He was a man, flesh and blood, with flaws and feelings. And you… you weren’t just a bystander that dreamed to be in a love story like his. Not anymore.

Your fingers tightened on the windowsill as your heart warred with itself. To let the story unfold as it always had or to take a leap into the unknown, to risk selfishness for the chance at something real.

And then again, maybe you were meant to change things? Why on earth would the universe transport you into the world you’ve always dreamed of if you weren’t meant to?

“Miss Y/N?” Varley’s voice broke through your reverie, startling you. “The carriage will be ready soon. We mustn’t keep the others waiting.”

You straightened, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you turned back to the room. “Of course, Varley,” you said, your tone steady even as your thoughts churned.

As you left the room, you resolved one thing: Today, at the races, you would make a choice. Whether to follow the script you knew so well or to write a story of your own.

“Why did I have to accompany you?” you asked as you walked behind Penelope as she entered the drawing room of the Bridgerton house

She ignored your words, approaching Eloise from behind “Is that a copy of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope asked

“It is” Eloise answered, putting down the paper

“I thought we were done with her” Penelope said

“Do not discourage her, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said “If she has taken an interest in Lady Whistledown again, perhaps it means she’s interested in what she has to say about the season’s available gentlemen too” She turned towards her daughter

You chuckled, swallowing down your nerves as you approached her mother “If Eloise has anything to say about it, Lady Bridgerton, then no” You said

“See, even Y/n gets me” Eloise huffed, turning to face Penelope

You smiled, looking at what you hope will be your future mother in law “Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted

She stopped her embroidery, looking up at you with a smile “Y/n, dear, it has been a long time since you’ve visited” Violet said

You blinked before you realized that perhaps you had or well, the past Y/n Featherington had visited the Bridgerton home before with Penelope.

“Yes, it has been” you nodded before sitting on the chair next to her “artist Bridgerton brother,” you greeted Benedict with a smile

He chuckled “still calling me by that, poet Featherington sister?” He teased back

You looked at him lost “Poet?” you said confused

“yeah,” he brought down his sketchbook “Don’t you remember when you recited on and on about the color of Anthony’s hair, his mesmerizing eyes?”

What?

“Oh, yes, I remember that as well” Lady Bridgerton chuckled “It was sweet seeing how enamored you were with Anthony when you were little, of course, it never went far as you were only three and ten years old when you decided you wanted to marry Anthony and he was well off into adulthood”

Your face froze as Lady Beidgerton’s words sank in, your heart skipping a beat. What?! You laughed nervously, trying to mask your shock. “I—well, I suppose teenage girls are prone to fanciful ideas, are they not?”

“Fanciful indeed,” Violet said, smiling warmly. “Though, I must admit, it was endearing. You followed him about during those visits, asking the most peculiar questions about the responsibilities of a viscount. You were so earnest, poor Anthony didn’t know what to do with you!”

Benedict smirked. “Oh, he certainly knew what to do—run off to the study and hide.”

“Benedict!” Violet scolded lightly, though her tone was still amused.

You felt your cheeks heat, and for a moment, you were lost for words. Of course, the past you would have been a lovestruck teenager, completely unaware of what that might mean for your interactions now.

You cleared your throat, your mind racing as you tried to compose yourself. “I assure you, I’ve outgrown such girlish infatuations. Besides, Anthony and I have hardly spoken more than a few words to each other recently.”

“Oh, but that could change,” Violet said, her tone light but laden with meaning. “Anthony needs a steady hand, someone with wit and charm to keep him grounded.”

Benedict leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at you knowingly. “And who better to manage his chaos than someone who once planned her entire future around him?”

You shot him a pointed look, though your lips twitched upward in a small, reluctant smile. “I believe we’re getting far ahead of ourselves.”

“Perhaps,” Violet said with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, “but it’s always nice to see old friends rekindle a connection.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of their playful remarks mingling with your own uncertainty. You had come here prepared to make a choice, but now it seemed as though fate—or the Bridgertons—was nudging you toward one particular path.

“I believe we were never friends, Lady Bridgerton, it was just a childish infatuation on my part,” you say “I believe Anthony has his eyes set elsewhere right now”

Violet raised an eyebrow at your comment, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps, but you’d be surprised how easily one’s eyes can be redirected when the right person is in view.”

Benedict chuckled, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Oh, this is far more entertaining than I anticipated. Please, do carry on.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was beating faster than ever. “I assure you, Benedict, there is nothing to carry on about. Anthony and I barely speak, and whatever childish notions I had are long gone.”

“C-colin!” you heard Penelope exclaim, You stood up as the rest of the bridgertons embraced the newly arrived Colin, watching with a smile as they greeted him

“And where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount?” Colin asked looking around his family

“He is-“ Anthony stepped into view as Lady Bridgerton spoke “back from courting already”

“Colin, you are back, even better” Anthony said as he saw Colin “Family, I would like you all to-“ his eyes met yours, making him go silent

“Y/n…” he spoke “i-I did not know you were here”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes leaving yours “i-I would like you all to ready yourselves for the races today, we will be attending united as one” He finished saying to his family

You stayed next to him as his family went off to get ready “I’ll be there in a bit” you say to Pen as she looked at you expecting to leave, she nodded before she left the room

Your eyes flickered back towards Anthony, finding him looking at you, you smirked “You’ll escort me to the races, won’t you?” you say boldly, having decided to not step aside and instead make your own choices.

Anthony’s eyebrows furrowed at your boldness, his usual composed demeanor slipping ever so slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly weighing his response.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched thin, and you could see the flicker of hesitation in his dark eyes. His gaze shifted briefly toward the door, as though calculating his options.

“I… had intended to accompany my family today as a united front,” he said carefully, his voice measured. “There are certain… expectations that must be upheld.”

You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Expectations?” you repeated. “Anthony, are you saying that escorting me would somehow disrupt your plans?”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his reluctance palpable. “Not disrupt,” he clarified, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “It’s simply that…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Ah. So this was about Edwina. You felt the pieces fall into place with startling clarity. Kate’s refusal to let him court her sister must have spurred Anthony into finding another way to gain the Sharma family’s favor—an approach steeped in duty and strategy, as expected of a viscount.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Especially not after what you had decided and you’d be damned if you were losing without a fight.

“Anthony,” you said, stepping closer so that he couldn’t avoid your gaze. “If your goal is to show yourself as a responsible, family-oriented man, what better way than to escort an old family friend?” You let your tone turn teasing, though your eyes stayed sharp.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned back to you. “You do have a way of making things sound entirely reasonable,” he admitted, though his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You smiled triumphantly, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. “Then it’s settled,” you said brightly. “We’ll make quite the impression, won’t we?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering briefly toward the door again, as though still calculating his options. But then, he nodded, his movements stiff but resigned. “It would seem so,” he said finally.

As you walked together toward the carriages, you could feel the weight of his hesitation lingering between you. Anthony Bridgerton was a man bound by duty and logic, but there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a conflict he hadn’t yet resolved.

But that was fine. You weren’t looking for perfection. You were looking for an opportunity to remind him that life didn’t always need to be dictated by duty and expectations. If you were rewriting this story, you weren’t afraid to challenge the characters along the way.

Even if one of those characters was the man you’d been dreaming of for years.

You smiled, satisfied with his answer—for now. Today was only the beginning, after all. If you were going to rewrite the story, you intended to do so on your own terms. And Anthony Bridgerton? Well, he would simply have to keep up.

You looked around the field filled with people with a smile, the sound of horses galloping resounding nearby. Your eyes searched for any familiar face nearby but hard to see with so many people around.

You turned back to look at the man beside you, his eyes searching as well. You held back a scoff as you knew why, “Whatever plan you had for today, it would have only ended up hurting people” You stated, looking back at the field.

Anthony turned to look at you, your arm intertwined between his “What do you mean?” he feigned innocence

You looked at him once again “You mean to tell me you didn’t plan on elaborating a grand scheme so the eldest Sharma would leave you alone with Miss Edwina?”

Anthony’s gaze narrowed slightly, though there was no malice in it. “And what, pray tell, do you think I’m planning?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” you said, glancing toward the arriving carriages. “You intend to use today to make a grand show of your family’s unity and charm, all to prove to the Sharmas that you’re the perfect match for Edwina. Am I close?” You didn’t want to mention his plan to get Thomas Dorset to woo Kate.

His silence was answer enough.

You sighed, releasing his arm as you turned to face him fully. “Anthony, I know you mean well, but this… performance? It’s not going to end the way you hope it will.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re not being honest with yourself,” you said simply. “About what you want.”

His expression darkened, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I am entirely aware of what I want,” he said stiffly.

“Are you?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it seems to me you’re more concerned with what you think you should want. There’s a difference, Anthony, and if you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to hurt a lot of people—including yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the air between you, his gaze locked on yours as if trying to decipher your meaning. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, dismiss you like he did everyone who dared to question him.

But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly.

“It’s not,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “But it’s worth it.”

Anthony’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. Then, with a subtle nod, he extended his arm to you once more. “Shall we?”

You smiled, slipping your arm back into his. “Lead the way, Lord Bridgerton.”

As you walked toward the crowd, the weight of your words seemed to settle on him, though he said nothing more. But you could feel it in the way he held himself, in the quiet moments of hesitation that punctuated his otherwise confident demeanor.

“You should let things flow the way they’re supposed to,” you pat his arm “If there are things impeding you to court Miss Edwina…..perhaps you should give up” you say selfishly

Anthony glanced at you, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. “Give up?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You would have me surrender so easily?”

You met his gaze steadily, though your heart raced at your boldness. “Not easily, Anthony. But if you’re only pursuing her because you think it’s the right thing to do, rather than what you truly want, then yes. Why waste your time—and hers—on something that isn’t real?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, the tension in his features softening ever so slightly. “You speak as though you know my heart better than I do.”

“Perhaps I do,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Or perhaps I just see things more clearly because I’m not the one caught in the middle of it.”

Anthony didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting to the lively crowd ahead of you. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional cheer for a victorious horse filled the air. You could see his family mingling in the distance, their bright smiles a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation between you.

“And what about you?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now. “You speak of honesty, yet you remain shrouded in mystery. What is it that you truly want?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. How could you explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had brought you to this point? How could you tell him that you weren’t just another Featherington, but someone who had seen his story unfold in ways he couldn’t possibly understand?

“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I want to live a life that feels real. Not one dictated by expectations or duty, but one where I can make my own choices. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Anthony studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint smile, he shook his head. “You’re a peculiar woman, Y/N Featherington.”

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with relief. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You looked at him “Besides…. I’m already fighting for what I want” there was something unreadable in your eyes as you looked at him

Anthony’s smile faltered ever so slightly as your words hung in the air, their weight settling between you like an unspoken challenge. His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something—clarity, perhaps, or reassurance—but all he found was a quiet determination that seemed to unnerve him.

“Fighting for what you want?” he repeated, his voice careful, measured. “And what is it, exactly, that you want, Miss Featherington?”

You tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk gracing your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The teasing lilt in your voice did little to ease the tension that had crept into the conversation. Anthony’s hand shifted subtly where it rested on yours, as though he were considering letting go. His usual air of control seemed to waver, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression—unease, perhaps, or uncertainty.

“Miss Featherington,” he began, his tone carrying the weight of a man accustomed to steering conversations in his favor, “it is not often I find myself at a loss for words, but you seem intent on ensuring I remain so today.”

You chuckled softly, though your gaze remained steady on his. “Perhaps that’s because you’re not used to being challenged, my lord.”

Anthony’s brows furrowed, and he looked away briefly, his gaze scanning the crowd as if seeking an escape. When he looked back at you, his composure was intact once more, though there was a faint crease in his brow that betrayed his lingering nervousness.

“You speak with remarkable confidence,” he said, his voice cooler now, as though attempting to regain the upper hand. “But confidence can be a dangerous thing when wielded carelessly.”

“Only to those unprepared to face it,” you countered smoothly, the edge in your tone softened by a smile. “But don’t worry, Lord Bridgerton. I have no intention of unsettling you—too much, at least.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground before meeting yours again. “You have an uncanny ability to make a man question himself,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wonder if that is your intention.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “And if it were?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions neither of you dared to name. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.

“Then I suppose I must brace myself,” he said, his tone laced with reluctant amusement.

You smiled, your grip on his arm tightening ever so slightly. “Good. You’ll need it.” You say “Just like you’ll need it when I say that High Flyer will be the winner today and the horse you bet on, Nectar, will not” you smirk

Anthony stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look at you with an expression of mild disbelief. His brows arched, and for a moment, his usual composed demeanor gave way to something closer to exasperation.

“You’re challenging my judgment on horses now?” he asked, his tone laced with incredulity.

“Perhaps,” you replied breezily, your smirk widening. “High Flyer has a higher chance to win, the track is soft and hot thus Nectar will have a great disadvantage as he’s not as swifter and lighter as High Flyer. A rather unfortunate trait for a racehorse, wouldn’t you agree?” you use your knowledge of this episode

Anthony blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as he processed your words. “You’ve been studying the horses?”

“Is that so surprising?” you teased, tilting your head. “I’m merely preparing for the inevitable moment when you’ll have to admit I was right.”

His gaze narrowed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “You’re rather confident for someone who has yet to see the race.”

“Confidence, as you’ve pointed out, can be a dangerous thing,” you said, echoing his earlier words with a mischievous glint in your eye. “But I’m willing to take my chances.”

Anthony shook his head, though he couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Miss Featherington. If you’re so certain of your prediction, perhaps we should make this more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you proposing a wager, Lord Bridgerton?”

“I am,” he said, his voice gaining a touch of his usual commanding confidence. “If High Flyer wins, I will publicly admit my error—and you may choose a forfeit for me, within reason.”

“And if Nectar wins?” you asked, folding your arms as you regarded him with playful suspicion.

He looked in thought for a minute “Then you will meet me tomorrow morning when you come to my home with your sister” he said smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “Just the two of us. No Penelope. No excuses.”

The boldness of his proposal took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, feeling your breath catch in your throat. But then you smiled, the thrill of the challenge sparking in your chest.

“Very well, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, extending your hand to him. “You have yourself a wager.”

He clasped your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Then may the best horse—and the best gambler—win.”

As the two of you continued toward the racetrack, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. This wasn’t just a wager; it was a game, a dance, a challenge—and neither of you intended to back down.

“You were saying?” you turned to look at the viscount smug as High Flyer won first place in the race

Anthony’s expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on the racetrack where High Flyer had just thundered across the finish line. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the Viscount’s focus remained solely on you.

“I believe I was saying something about confidence,” he murmured, though there was a faint edge of resignation in his voice. His eyes flicked back to yours, narrowing slightly at the smug smile that curved your lips.

“You were,” you said, tilting your head. “Something about it being dangerous, wasn’t it? It seems my confidence wasn’t misplaced after all.”

Anthony exhaled sharply, though you couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh of defeat. “It seems not,” he conceded, his tone reluctant. “I suppose I owe you my public admission of error.”

“Oh, there’s no need for dramatics, my lord,” you said, feigning modesty. “A simple acknowledgment that I was right will suffice.”

He arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting a smile. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Miss Featherington, you were right. High Flyer was indeed the better horse today.”

Your grin widened, your victory made all the sweeter by his reluctant but good-natured capitulation. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering so that only you could hear. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief. “But don’t forget—this means you’ll have to endure my chosen forfeit.”

Anthony’s smile finally broke free, a rare and genuine thing that made your heart skip a beat. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “And I’ll face it with as much grace as I can muster.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the lively crowd around you fading into the background. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, a sense that this was more than just a game.

“Well then,” you said, breaking the spell. “I look forward to seeing how well you handle it, my lord.”

Anthony chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “And I, Miss Featherington, look forward to our morning meeting—when Nectar’s loss will no longer matter.”

His words left you breathless, your retort caught in your throat as he offered you his arm once more. “Uh, you lost, how is the meeting still in place when I won?” you asked

Anthony smirked, his expression that of a man who had been waiting for this exact question. “Ah,” he said, his tone deceptively casual, “but the terms of our wager never explicitly stated that the meeting would be void if High Flyer won. I simply said I would admit my error. And I did.”

Your eyes narrowed, your hand tightening slightly on his arm. “That’s not how wagers work, Lord Bridgerton,” you countered, though there was a flicker of amusement in your tone. “You can’t twist the terms to suit your convenience.”

“Twisting?” he echoed, his smirk growing. “Not at all. I am merely exercising the same cleverness you demonstrated in predicting the race. Surely, you wouldn’t begrudge me that?”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the urge to smile.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to yours with a glint of challenge.

You let out a soft huff, trying to suppress the fluttering sensation in your chest. “Fine,” you relented. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for losing.”

Anthony chuckled, his voice low and warm. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Featherington. I’ll accept whatever forfeit you impose. But I do hope you’ll keep it… reasonable.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said with mock seriousness, pretending to consider all the humiliating possibilities.

As you walked together, the playful banter between you was laced with an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You might have won the wager, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Anthony had been the winner in the end.

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

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