#don’t let anyone tell you anything else

[yamumsyadadd]

the shadow of alexia

At 4 years old my entire life changed. One day my dad was at home and the next he wasn’t. Things changed after that. Everyone was sad, lots of people visited too. Sometimes I got new toys when they came over. 

Alba was a scary teenager but Alexia. Alexia was my best friend and I was hers. She would take me to kindergarten and pick me up, she never missed a soccer game or ballet recital, she was always there. So was her special friend Jenni. Jenni was great, when I was little she used to let me colour in her tattoos, Everytime she got a new one, she’s get me new pens to colour on her. 

As time went on, Alba and Alexia started moving out. Alexia moved in with Jenni and started getting busy with football, Alba still lived with Mami but was busy with her friends and modelling. Mami did the best she could. She was getting older and more tired, she didn’t miss a game or my last ballet recital, she didn’t miss the disappointment in my eyes when Alexia or Alba didn’t turn up. They were busy, I understand. 

It went from seeing them a couple times a week, to once a week, to once a month. I learnt pretty quickly the only way to get Alexia’s attention was to either play football or to fuck up. Lucky for me I was good at both. School was boring, it was too easy, I understood it all faster than anyone else. The first time I skipped school, I was 14. No one noticed and no one cared. From there on out it became a routine. At least once a week I’d skip school and hang out with the others. 

I personally never did anything too rowdy, just tagged along to enjoy the vibes. The first time I got caught skipping school was by Virginia. She promised me she wouldn’t tell Alexia or Mami and she kept that promise. The next time was by Alba, she lost her shit. Yelling at me about how irresponsible I was being and how much trouble I would get in. The second last time I got caught was by Jenni, I hadn’t seen her in a while, I was mad at her because of that so when she tried to give me a lecture I yelled at her.

“Y/n, you can’t be doing this shit. If Alexia found out she would lose it at you! What would happen if the police got you? What would you do then?”

“Why do you care Jenni? Huh? You left, you haven’t been around. You fucked off to Paris and didn’t even say goodbye. Tell Alexia, I don’t care, at least then she would talk to me.”

“Y/n, did Ale not talk to you about this?” Her voice was incredibly soft. That was something I missed about her, the way she spoke, the softness that was hidden from most people. 

“She doesn’t talk to me at all. She doesn’t give a fuck about me.”

“Bebeita, we broke up. Thats why I left. we ended things and to be able to heal I had to leave. I am so sorry, she promised she would talk to you about it. I wanted to say goodbye to you myself but Alexia said it would be a bad idea.”

From there things spiralled. I didn’t want to talk to Alexia, I didn’t want to see her. I stopped going to her games with Mami, I would sneak out when I knew she was coming over. No longer did I look up to her, I hated her. I wanted nothing to do with her. 

The day I quit football, I felt free. No longer having to play to get my oldest sisters attention, I didn’t care for that anymore. I had more time to hang out with my friends, to be a normal fucking teenager. 

It took a week, it was quicker then I thought to be honest, but once Alexia found out, all hell broke loose. 

“Where the hell is she!” Alexia stormed through the house. Surprising Eli. 

“Who Alexia?” 

“The Idiota. Your mija?” Alexia huffed. Eli was surprised by the way Alexia was acting. 

“In her room with her friend.”  Before Eli could say anything else, Alexia was off. Swinging open the door and disturbing the peace between you and your girlfriend.

“You, get out.” 

“No Alexia. You don’t get to tell her to get out.” I got defensive fast. There’s no way she gets to come here and tell her she needs to leave. 

“GET OUT NOW!” Alexia’s ‘captain’ voice was something that always got people moving. 

“You don’t get to come here and act like you run the place. News flash alexia, you don’t fucking live here!” 

“¡Dios mío! What is happening! Why did Isabella leave crying?” Mami looked pissed. More so at alexia than me. 

“Alexia kicked her out. For no reason other than the fact that no one else is allowed to be happy but her.” 

“Tell her what you did!” When I was younger, the look she was giving me would’ve scared me, but now it did nothing. 

“I didn’t do anything alexia. Whatever your minions are telling you isn’t true. But hey, you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.” I tried to push past her, but she grabbed my wrist stopping me from moving. 

“Mami she quit football. She fucking quit. After everything I’ve done for her she throws it back in my face!” Rolling her eyes and scoffing at me. 

“Let her go now. I am aware she quit Alexia. She was only doing it for you.” Mami was mad, very mad. Alexia had come and disturbed the peace, making Isabella cry and screaming the house down. 

“Grab me like that again I’ll drop you on your ass. I don’t give a fuck that you are la Reina.” The words came out like venom. 

Everything is always about Alexia. I joined football to get close to her, I didn’t mean to get as far as I did, I honestly didn’t think I’d get past the academy. Being called up into the Barca B squad was cool. I enjoy the fitness side of it but genuinely couldn’t care less about actually playing. 

The same day I quit, was the same day I got called up for the senior team. It sent me into a bit of a spiral. Mapi found me in the corner of the physios room with my sketchbook, crying. 

“Oh nena! What’s wrong? Do you want me to get Ale?” 

“No! Not ale! Don’t tell her please!”

“Okay no Ale but can you tell me what’s got you so worked up?” 

“I got asked to join the senior team and I don’t want to. I only started playing so Alexia would be nice to me and talk to me. I don’t even like this stupid game! I just want to draw but that’ll never be good enough for her.”  

After that, Mapi and I would get coffee in the mornings, I would show her my new drawings and tell her my ideas. She paid me to draw a photo of her and Ingrid. I knew she could draw herself but it was nice to have her in my corner.  Mapi was talking more about to me Alexia, saying how good my drawings were and how much happier I seemed not having to play, she seemed to miss the confusion written all over Alexia’s face. 

 •———————————————————————•

Mami had a trip coming up, I knew about this, but what I didn’t know what she was going to make me stay with alexia. Isabella and I came home after the movies to find Mami, Alexia, Alba and some other chick sitting at the table. I mumbled a quick hello before trying to drag Isabella upstairs. 

“Don’t be so rude. Actually say hello.” Alexia spoke angrily. 

Scoffing I turned around “bite me Alexia.” 

“¡Dios mío! Isabella Mi vida, it’s time for you to go home. You can wait upstairs for your Mami.” 

“Mami no. That’s not fair. She doesn’t get to come in here and start bossing everyone around!” 

“It’s okay amor, I should go home anyway. We have that biology exam anyway.” 

“Now that your little friend is gone, sit down.” 

“No.” 

“SIT DOWN.” 

“Ale, Cálmate.” The mysterious brunette says as she places her arm on alexia’s. 

Fuck all this shit honestly. Turning as fast as I could I ran upstairs, knowing Alexia would follow quickly. I was right. I was barely able to push my dresser against the door before she tried to open it. I was not going to sit at that table and play happy families. 

After an hour of listening to Alexia curse, she finally gave up. It was peaceful until Alba climbed through my bedroom window. 

“Still got it.” 

“Alba what the hell!” 

“Hermana, I don’t know what happened between you and Ale, but if it’s the same thing that happened between me and you then you need to talk to her. She’s worried about you and scared. She doesn’t want to lose you.” 

“She only cares now that she thinks her precious imagine is going to get hurt.” 

“If you talk to her now, while Olga is here, it’ll be easier. She calms Alexia down and makes her think more rationally.” 

“Who the fuck is Olga?” Was that the mysterious brunette in the dining room?

“What do you mean? She’s alexia’s girlfriend? You’ve met her before?” 

“No I haven’t. I didn’t know she had a girlfriend.” 

“Yes you met her a dinner a few months ago? She comes to Ales games and on Fridays when we have dinner!”

“I wasn’t invited to that dinner, I don’t go to Alexia’s games and I certainly don’t go to Friday dinners!” The angry tears started. Alexia was my hero, my bestfriend, the person I wanted to be and now I’ve been pushed aside. I know nothing about her and she equally knows nothing about me. 

Alba pulled me in tight, letting me cry on her. It was weird doing it with her, she used to be the reason I cried and not the one to comfort me. But here we are, things change I guess. 

“Mami really needs to talk with you so we need to go downstairs.” Begrudgingly I let alba pull me down the stairs. It was obvious to everyone that I had been crying, mami’s face softening when she saw me, Alexia’s face frowning in confusion. 

“You wanted to talk so please do it quickly. I want to go to bed.” I tried to speak as respectfully as I could to Mami, it wasn’t her fault. 

“Mija, I’ll be away for a month, you know this si?” I nodded my head before she continued, “you’re too young to stay here for a month alone so you’re going to stay with Alexia and Olga. You can still see your friends and will go to school, but they will look after you.” 

“Mami no! I can look after myself!” 

“You’re 16 chica. You’re not an adult like you think you are.” Alexia scoffed from the other side of the table. 

“So what? You’re shipping me off to stay with Alexia, who won’t even been there half the time and a stranger? That’s safer? Some person that I’ve never met and sure as shit don’t trust!” 

“Stop being such a Perra! You have met Olga, plenty of times! She comes to all the games she can, and to dinners all the time.” 

“Ale stop” Alba knew what was coming and tried to stop it but it was too late. 

“Dios mío, your head is so far up your own arse isn’t it? I haven’t been to a single game in over 8 months, I don’t get invited to you stupid little Friday night dinners and I have never met your girlfriend! Up until an hour ago I didn’t even know you had a fucking girlfriend Alexia. Everything is always about you. You and your stupid football or your stupid knee. I bet you right now you couldn’t tell me anything about what I’ve done in the last year, can you?” 

“I know you quit football because you’re being a brat.” 

Her answer honestly made me chuckle “Okay Alexia, anything else?” 

Silence. She couldn’t tell you a single thing. 

“Yeah that’s what I thought. You know nothing about me and that’s how it’s going to stay. I dont trust you, I don’t like you and I sure as shit don’t love you. You’re not my Hermana.” With hot tears falling down my face, I stormed back upstairs. I text Isabella asking if I could stay over and once she replied with a yes, I was gone. Out the window like Alba had come in an hour earlier. I texted Mami to let her know, I wasn’t that horrible to make her worry. 

“Mami, you can’t let her talk to people like that! She’s incredibly disrespectful!” 

Alba rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Are you serious? That girl used to hang off you. She looked up to you. It was always you alexia and now she wants nothing to do with you. You don’t invite her places, you don’t care about her. I noticed ages ago she was pulling away and I fixed it. Did you know she has a girlfriend? Or that she’s taking senior classes because she’s the smartest there? Or the fact that people are paying her to make them art or buying the pieces she already has. She quit football because she hates it. She hates it because of you. You ruined it for her. Mami, I will stay here with her while you’re gone. It’ll be better that way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drop her off at Isabella’s.” 

“No! It’s a school night! She cannot be going out!” It seems everything that was just said to Alexia, went in one ear and out the other. 

“Alexia stop it now. She is allowed to stay at her girlfriend’s house, she has an exam at 1pm. Maybe you need to listen to what people are saying to you. I am going to bed, I suggest you all do the same, at your own houses.” 

“Why does no one listen to me!” Alexia was annoyed, overwhelmed and tired. It had drained a lot of her energy being here tonight. 

“Ale, I’m going to say this one time, you need to listen to what everyone has told you tonight, really listen, because you aren’t. You need to fix things with her but you need to sort your shit out first.” Olga had stayed silent most of the night, listening to everything that was said knowing her girlfriend wouldn’t. You were right, you had never met each other. What Olga didn’t realise was that it was Alexia’s fault, not yours. She put it down to being a moody teenager who was too cool to hang out with her sisters, oh how wrong she was. 

•———————————————————————•

Two days before Mami was meant to go away, Alba rang saying she couldn’t stay over. She had gotten a modelling gig in Madrid and needed to go, that left Alexia and Olga. It would be the longest month of my life. Mami promised nothing would change just because I was staying here, she was wrong. Alexia was a bitch. 

The first few days were fine, alexia would drop me off at school and I’d make my way home after, I generally spend it was Isabella because Alexia wouldn’t let her come over. We go into the city centre, get coffee and do our homework then catch the bus home. We did this even when Mami was here so it wasn’t anything new but when Alexia found out she hit the roof. 

“You cannot be going into the city by yourself! Are you thick in the head?” 

“Jesus Christ alexia! I’m not alone. Isabella is with me. Mami lets me do it so I’m going to keep doing it.” 

“Is Isabella the reason you’re skipping school too?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I scoffed, storming off the guest bedroom and slamming the door so hard it made Olga jump. 

By the third day of me being there, Alexia had turned up to pick me up herself. I tried to completely ignore her but Isabella had other ideas. 

“Your sister is death staring me right now.” 

“No amor, not you but me. Oh fuck here we go, she’s coming over here.” 

“Get in the car y/n.”

“No. I told you yesterday that I’m allowed to do this. You’re not the boss of me.” 

“Bebeita, it’s fine. I’ve got chores to do for papa anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kissed my cheek and then walked away, leaving me no choice but to get in Alexia’s car. 

The car ride was hell. Alexia was pissed, her hands constantly gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckle turned white. Neither of us spoke. To be honest, I didn’t know where we were going until we turned up at the training ground. 

“Why are we here?” 

“We have training. Get out.” 

“No alexia. I quit. What part of that don’t you understand.” 

“Get out now, or I will drag you out.” 

Knowing she would literally drag me out, I had to wait it out. She’d turn her back eventually and I could leg it. I’m faster than her and more willing to jump fences. 

The time came sooner than I thought, after entering the change rooms, she threw a set of clothes into my chest and walked off to the bathrooms. This was my chance and I wasn’t going to waste it. 

Throwing the clothes into her cubby, I legged it out the door. Running past Mapi, Ingrid and Ona who all had confused looked on their faces. As soon as I got out, I kept running, knowing i had to get a head start. I wasn’t really sure where I was going, I knew I couldn’t go back to Alexia’s, Olga would be there. I couldn’t go home because that’s the first place she’d go, I couldn’t go to Albas because she drag me back by my ear. There was only one place to go. 

Can Cuyás Golf Culb was the best place to hide. Sure someone might see me, but it’s easy enough to pretend to be lost. 

The first thing Alexia noticed when she came out was the lack of you. Then the clothes she had given you, thrown back into her cubby. 

“Have you seen y/n?” She asked as she turned to the girls in the locker room. 

“She ran past us like 5 minutes ago?” Ona spoke up. 

“Did she say anything?” 

“No she was in a bit of a hurry Ale.” Mapi rolled her eyes at her best friend. 

“Fuck sake.” Alexia exited the locker room, walking through the facility to try and find you. Slight panic kicked in when she wasn’t able too. Deciding to call Alba first, knowing you’d been closer to her the past few months. 

“Hola Ale, to what do I owe this pleasure?” The sarcasm dripping from her voice. 

“Have you seen y/n?” 

“No why? What happened?” Panic arising in Alba. 

“I picked her up from school and bought her to training. Gave her clothes to change into and I went to the toilet and came back and she was gone. She fucking ran off.” 

“Why the hell would you try and make her train Alexia! She quit. She doesn’t want to play anymore!” Alba quickly became anger with the oldest Putellas. 

“She is too good to throw it all away! She’s being a stupid child about all of this!” Quickly becoming defensive, not enjoying the way Alba is talking to her. 

“You’re unbelievable. I haven’t seen her, I will try and find her. Don’t you worry, put your football above her like you always do.” 

“Alba-“ she hung up before alexia could get another word in. There was one person left that Alexia had to call. 

“Hola amor, why aren’t you training?” Olga’s sweet voice sounded through the phone. 

“I’ve lost y/n. Can you please let me know if she comes home and if she does then don’t let her out of your sight.” 

“What do you mean you’ve lost her Ale?” 

“I bought her to training and she ran away while I was in the bathroom.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, Alexia already knew by the silence on the other end that Olga was trying to not yell at her. 

“Alexia-“

“No I know okay. I already got an ear full from Alba. I have to go but I’ll call you later okay. I love you.” Slowly it started to creep in the fact that she had fucked up and caused you to run away. Training dragged on for Alexia, hoping that you had been found or made contact with Alba or even Olga. 

Meanwhile, after hiding at the golf course for an hour, i decided to head to Isabella’s house. Knocking on the door, Isabella answered, still buttoning up her shirt. Eyes wide when she realised I was at her door. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” She closed the door slightly, so I could no longer see into the loungeroom. 

“I ran away from Alexia. I was hoping we could hang out like normal?” 

“Now’s not really a good time. I have someone here.” Isabella spoke quietly, not wanting to allude to the fact that the person inside wasn’t just a friend. 

“Baby come back, we weren’t finished.” A guys voice yelled out. 

“It’s not what you think y/n!” 

“I think that guy wants your attention. I’m guessing that’s the reason you’re half dressed. Enjoy your time with him, we are done.” Tears welling in my eyes. 

“I’m sorry y/n!” 

“Go fuck your self Isabella.” sadness turned into anger real quick. 

Isabella was my first girlfriend, my first kiss, the first person I had sex with and she goes and fucks a guy? While we are together? This is literally the last thing I wanted to deal with. 

Unsure on what to do, or who to call I found my way to the beach. My throat and eyes hurt from crying so much. The pain in my chest was getting worse. Pulling out my phone, ignoring all the messages and calls, I rang the one person who would calm me. 

“Hey Calabaza? What’s up?” Jenni’s voice rang through my ears. Unable to form a coherent sentence, only sobs coming out of my mouth. 

“Hold on Bebé” I could hear her moving around, the voices of her teammates getting quieter, “talk to me. What happened?”

“I ran away. I ran away from Alexia and I went to Isabella’s house and she-she was cheating on me. With a guy. A fucking dude. She broke my heart Jenni. It hurts so much.” 

“Oh babé. Where is Ale now? Where are you?” 

“I don’t know. She’s probably at training. I’m at the beach where Papa used to take us. She’s going to be so mad at me.”

“Can you tell me why you ran away from her?” The way Jenni spoke so sweetly was something I missed dearly. 

“She got me from school and took me to the training grounds. She was trying to make me train but when she went to the bathroom I ran away. I don’t want to train, I don’t want to play. I hate the game and I hate her. She doesn’t listen or care about me!” I could feel myself getting upset again. 

“Okay okay, just breathe. You’re okay. I’m not going to tell her where you are but I need to tell someone. Albs has messaged me and so has Olga. You can pick who I tell.” 

Pondering the options, Alba would tell Alexia but she’d also be just as angry and upset. Olga would tell Alexia but she’d be calmer and softer, that was what I needed at this moment. 

“Olga. But tell her not to bring Alexia.” 

“Okay bebé.” After a few moments she spoke up again, “she’s on the way. She promised no Alexia. Do you want to stay on the line with me until she comes?” 

“Yes please. Can you tell me about Mexico?” Sniffling and wiping my face, I got up, walking towards the road to wait for Olga. After 25 minutes, Olga pulled up. A sad smile and worry on her face, she put an arm around me. 

“Is Olga there now?” Jenni asked. 

“Yeah she is. Uh thanks Jenni. Sorry for disturbing you.” Embarrassed about haven taken her time. 

“No bebé, you don’t need to thank me or apologise. We are hermanas no matter what okay. You call me tomorrow when you’re feeling better. I love you.” with that she hung up. Reality slowing sinking it. 

“Let’s get you home yeah? Are you hungry?” Olga smiled sadly at me. 

“No thanks. Just tired.” I mumbled out. 

The drive back to Alexia’s was quiet. When we pulled up, Alexia’s car wasn’t there, meaning she wasn’t home. That was good. Very good. 

“She’s at Albas house. I told her you had messaged me but that I didn’t know where you were yet. It’s a small lie, but I’m sure it’s worth it.” 

“Alexia hates lying.” I said lowly. Thinking back to all those times as a small girl that she yelled at me for lying. 

“I know Pequeño. Do you want to tell me what happened today?” 

“Everyday Isabella and I go into the city and have coffee and do our homework, but today Alexia came to school and got me. She drove us to the training grounds and said I had to train. But I-i quit. I don’t want to play anymore, I don’t enjoy it and only did it for Alexia but it was never enough. Nothing I do is ever enough for her.” Olga grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze for me to continue. 

“I went to Isabella’s house and she had someone there. A guy, a guy that she was fucking. She was cheating on me for god knows how long. I thought everything was good with us. She was my first girlfriend and my first kiss. I lost my fucking virginity to her and she goes and fucks someone else? It just hurts. So much. Everything is hurting so much.” 

“Oh pequeño. Come here.” Olga held me tight, my tears slowly soaking her shirt. 

“Why doesn’t she love me like she loves Alba? I don’t understand.” 

“Alexia?”

“Mhm. Nothing I do is good enough. I just want her to care about me more. Why can’t she?” It broke Olga’s heart hearing me say that. She didn’t know what was happening but she knew Alexia needed to fix it and fast. 

After slowly showering, I thanked Olga and excused myself to bed. I didn’t think I had any tears left to cry but after crying for a while, I managed to pass out. 

 •———————————————————————•

After you went to your room, Olga texted Alexia, telling her she was here and safe. Alba and Alexia both rushed back to her home. Angry and worried at you, ready to both give you an ear full. 

“Where is she Olga?” Alexia came in loudly. 

“Keep your voice down. Both of you.” Olga was very firm. 

“No she’s in trouble. She doesn’t get off lightly, we have been so worried about her.” Alexia sooke back angrily, usually she’d listen to her girlfriend but this had sent her into a rage. 

“Really Ale? You’ve been worried? So worried you couldn’t train right? That you spent all night calling her friends or going to her favourite spots to try and find her?” Olga had had enough. 

“Amor that’s not fair.” 

“No you know what’s not fair? The fact that neither of you have been listening to her. She doesn’t want to play, she did it for you Ale. She wanted to make you proud of her. She hated playing but you wouldn’t know that. She loves to draw, and she’s really really good at it. She showed me all her work.” 

Olga walked to the couch, extremely disappointed with the two women standing in front of her. 

“Her girlfriend cheated on her. She found out this afternoon. She rang Jenni and Jenni messaged me. That’s how I found her. She was at the beach, heartbroken. Then when we got home, she asked why you didn’t love her Ale. She thinks you don’t care about her. That girl may have broke her heart tonight, but you broke her heart first Alexia. You’ll need to live with the fact that you were her first heartbreak.” Olga was exhausted. Neither Alexia Or Alba said anything. Both sitting in opposite ends of the lounge room, tears silently falling. 

Olga excused herself to bed, leaving the older two in the lounge room to mull on their thoughts. She promised herself after your heartbreaking confession that she would have your back through this. Whatever tomorrow held, you would face it together. 

[notlongtolove]

the fox and her hound

“a fox?” he repeated, and you nodded. “a vixen.” spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. so you show him. not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

content: a love story told through the allegory of a fox and a hound, mentions of metaphorical wounds

word count: 2k

note: no linked poem bc idk just thought of this and wanted to write it. mayhaps im taking this nature trope a tad too far lol but anyways i will probably come back to edit this.

a line: They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes.

On your first date with Spencer, you’d asked him what animal he’d be. He had paused, tilting his head just slightly. He’s never understood why people ask questions like these. What animal? What color? What season? Animals are animals, colors are colors. It would be impossible to pick one to embody his entire being. Such separate realms of nature, totally different worlds, he thinks.

But you’re sitting across from him, head tilted, eyes glinting under dim light. Pretty. So pretty. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, doesn’t want you to think he’s boring or stiff or unfun. He wants to answer correctly, even though he knows there’s no “correct” answer to this.

“Maybe a golden retriever,” he said, trying to keep casual, “or a beagle. Something friendly.”

Something safe, he thinks. Something pretty girls statistically like.

You had smiled then, slow and soft, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips, you said with all the certainty in the world:

“I’m a fox.”

“A fox?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“A vixen.” 

You didn’t explain it, just swirled your glass like you were swirling the word on your tongue. You loved the taste of it, loved the way it warmed your chest on the way down. Foxes are well-adapted to stay warm. Their thick winter coats, their long, bushy tails. They don’t need anyone to hold them when the frost bites or when the wind howls through the trees.

Spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. The dog stays close to the house. He doesn’t stray far, never been anywhere else. He doesn’t know. So you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up. The forest is dense, you see, the paths are winding and uneven. The shrubbery is thick, sharp branches clawing at the skin. There are logs in the way and the dog stumbles over them sometimes. You wonder if he’s getting tired, if your hidden path is too hard for him to navigate. If the spiders that weave their webs in his face and the fire ants that bite at his ankles are too painful to endure.

So, sometimes, you stop. You sit together on the forest floor, catching your breath. You wag your tails lazily and just talk.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he asks one evening.

The fox doesn’t answer right away. Her ears twitch, and her eyes flicker toward the trees.

“I don’t like the word never,” she says finally, “It feels like an impossible standard.”

The dog thinks about this, his brow furrowing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies, her voice soft.

But the fox knows her way through the forest. She knows every twist and turn, every trap hidden beneath the leaves. You tell the dog he’d never catch up, sometimes hiding, sometimes running faster—just to see if he’ll try. Spencer doesn’t tell you how he sees that every time you disappear into the trees, you always turn back. Always looking over your shoulder, always checking to see if he’s still behind you. 

Eventually, you reach your den. Your fur coat is scratched and bruised from the branches and the logs, the forest leaving its marks on you like it always does. But you’re here. He’s here.

Silently, you wonder how many more times you’ll have to make this journey. You don’t think you can endure another. But you don’t say it.

Instead, you take him inside.

Your den is small, cobbled together from dirt and leaves, from twigs and scraps you’ve gathered over the years. You show him your dirt mantle, how you’d packed it tight with earth and how you’d lined with relics of your life. You show him the first flower you ever found, or what’s left of it—a brittle stem, its petals long gone. You tell him the story of the hound who crushed it. 

There’s a feather on the wall, light and fragile, from the first bird you ever caught. You smile as you tell him the story of the chase, how fun it had been to run and run with your foxes until the world blurred around you. Until you were the only one left. In the corner, something glints: A metal buckle, tarnished but unmistakable. From the shoe of the first hunter who’d ever caught you.

You trace your fur with your fingers, telling Spencer your adventures and stories of the traps and the teeth, of the hunters who came with rifles and ropes. The dog sits, listening, understanding. You show him how the edges of your den are marked, too. The walls are carved with notches—five, ten, fifteen. Each one a hunter or hound you’d escaped from. You’re proud, you say, even as you run your hand over the rough lines. They’re proof you survived, that you’ve outwitted them time and time again. Not unwounded, not unbroken, but alive. 

You tell him you’re very proud of yourself.

The dog tilts his head, watching you carefully. He sees the way your voice falters when you recount the stories of cages and leashes, how your tail twitches when you mention the hunters. Spencer thinks the fox is lying.

So, the dog tries to teach the fox his ways.

He clears out your mantle first. He takes down the brittle flower stem, the feather, the tarnished buckle. Then, he takes your paw and shows you how to sniff out the bright pretty toadstools, the ones that make the forest less dark. He shows you the rain puddles, not just for drinking, but for jumping in, for splashing until your laughter scares off the birds.

Together, you fill your den with new relics. Ticket stubs from the village fair, postcards you write but never send, laughter tucked away in secret corners. Kisses, soft and warm, planted like seeds that grow slowly into something that feels like home.

Spencer rubs off the old notches on your walls with the pads of his paws, the dust of their memory falling to the floor. In their place, you make new marks. Not notches, but drawings. A fox curled in the safety of her den. A dog lying beside her, his muzzle resting on his paws.

Night after night, you curl up beneath your mantle, snouts touching, tails tucked beneath you. 

And then winter comes. Now, your walls feel too big for just a lone fox.

You see, the dog always listens to his master. He sits, he fetches, he stays. But always under command, always under the whistle’s call. And when his master calls, he has to go. Tail wagging or tucked low, he goes. 

“You’re hardly ever here anymore,” your voice cuts sharper than you meant it to. 

“Can we please not do this now,” he says almost pleadingly, his jaw tight.

For the first time, in the quiet of your den, the fox feels the cold.

The dog goes. The fox doesn’t follow. She can’t. She doesn’t belong where the dog goes—to places of shiny badges and polished shoes, of clean, carpeted floors and voices that echo off tall, glass walls. So she waits in her den, her fur bristling against the chill, her paws worn from pacing the same patch of dirt.

You try to remind yourself of who you are. A fox, sly, swift, clever. A fox, who doesn’t need to wait for anyone. 

But still, when the forest quiets, you glance toward the trees. You press your ear to the ground, hoping to catch the faintest echo of his steps, the rustle of leaves under his paws. The fox runs her fingers over the edges of the drawings, tracing the uneven lines, patching the spaces in her den where the light and the wind get in with twigs and leaves. She roams the fields, trying to race the clouds again. But she doesn’t think she runs quite as fast without Spencer beside her. She chases her tail like he taught her, spinning in quick circles, but it’s not as fun when she’s alone. She doesn’t try to catch the birds anymore. It doesn’t feel the same.

When Spencer comes back, his coat bruised and worn from his time away, the fox licks his wounds. The scrapes and the scratches, soft and slow, patching his paws with the leaves she’s saved. ​​He carries something in his teeth—a token, a peace offering, a sign that he thought of you while he was away. 

A flower. 

He’d found it near the river, petals still dewy, fragile and bright. He hopes you like it. You do.

You take it from him with careful paws, eyes tracing its delicate form before placing it on your mantle, next to the postcards and ticket stubs, next to the daffodils, peonies, dahlias, irises and all the other flowers he’s found for you over time. You think back to the brittle and dead stem you once kept and wonder if there’s any way to hold onto something that beautiful forever.

Because sometimes even beautiful flowers die.

And when it comes to fight or flight, the fox always runs. They say it’s in her blood, in her very nature to flee. So she bolts. She runs away from the den, away from the mantle and the flowers he’d collected. The fox doesn’t know if she can find flowers quite as beautiful as the ones Spencer has given her.

You don’t need the flowers, you tell yourself. You’ll find a new den, find new birds to catch, rebuild your mantle from scratch, carve new notches in your walls once more. You always do.

But the hound finds you. Bred for hunting. Tracking. Scenting. For knowing where to look and how to catch. Bred for the hunt, he always finds you. Your crouched back, tail down, ready to pounce or bolt if you have to. Every instinct telling you to run, to vanish into the underbrush before he can catch you. 

“Open the door,” a voice calls, low and insistent.

The fox is curled in the corner of this den. It doesn’t hold the warmth of the last.

“I know you’re home.”

She shuts her eyes and digs deeper into the wall.

“Open the door,” he says, voice softening, pleading. "Please."

The fox exhales, and with a shudder that shakes through her, she reaches out and opens the door. She misses her flowers.

It’s not the chase you expect. No barking, no growling. You bare your teeth. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. 

“What do you want?” she asks, claws sharp.

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you do.”

And so the fox and the dog sit. They wait and wait then talk and talk. By the time the first rays of the sun creep above the treetops, the fox is laughing again. It’s a sound that is warm and bright, something that makes Spencer’s heart feel a little fuller, a little lighter. He thinks he understands now. 

They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes. The way she finds the sunniest patch to lay in and closes her eyes, tail swishing in contentment. They only see the scars and the snarls. They don’t ever see the joy.

“Why don’t you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady, the kind of tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

“I do,” you say quickly, instinctively.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

“I know you don’t,” he says finally, not accusing, just truthful.

You look away, fidgeting with your tail between your legs. “I’m trying,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says again, softer this time, his tail brushing lightly against your side.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee tsunami by niki

[bandsofmarv]

Claimed by the devil

Rafe Cameron has always been possessive, but his obsession with you has spiraled into something far darker. When he sees you laughing with JJ Maybank at a party, the thin thread of control he clings to snaps.

TW - obsessive behaviour, jealousy.

The party was loud and chaotic, the bass from the music vibrating through the Cameron estate. You were at the bar with JJ, your drink in hand, laughing at one of his stories. It had been so long since you felt at ease—since you felt like yourself. JJ’s carefree energy had a way of pulling you out of the shadows, if only for a moment.

But Rafe Cameron didn’t miss anything. Especially when it came to you.

From across the room, Rafe’s sharp blue eyes tracked your every move, the faintest smile on your lips sending a wave of fury through him. That smile was his. Not JJ’s. Not anyone else’s.

He stood in the corner, drink in hand, his knuckles white as he gripped the glass. He didn’t blink as he watched JJ lean closer to you, his hand brushing yours when you handed him your drink.

Rafe’s vision blurred with anger. No one touched what was his.

Before you even realized he was there, Rafe was standing beside you, his hand gripping your waist with bruising force.

“Hey, babe,” he said, his tone deceptively calm but his eyes burning with rage. “You looked a little too comfortable over here.”

You stiffened under his touch, instinctively pulling away. “Rafe, I was just—”

“You were just what?” Rafe interrupted, his gaze flicking to JJ with a deadly glare. “Entertaining him?”

JJ raised his hands, stepping back slightly. “Relax, Rafe. We were just talking.”

“Talking,” Rafe sneered, his hand tightening around your waist. “That what you’re calling it now? You’re lucky I didn’t put you through that wall for standing this close to her.”

“Rafe, stop it,” you said, your voice shaking. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t get to tell me to stop,” Rafe snapped, his voice rising. “Do you even hear yourself? Defending him in front of me?”

JJ’s jaw clenched, his usual laid-back demeanor gone. “She doesn’t need to defend me, Cameron,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re out of line.”

Rafe let out a cold laugh, his eyes narrowing. “Out of line? You’re standing here, trying to take what’s mine, and I’m out of line?”

“Rafe, you’re making a scene,” you said, tugging at his arm.

“I don’t give a damn about the scene,” he snapped, his attention laser-focused on JJ. “I care about the fact that this piece of trash thinks he can even breathe the same air as you.”

“Maybe because I’m not treating her like a possession,” JJ shot back, his voice cutting. “Ever think about that, Cameron?”

Rafe’s face twisted with fury, and he lunged forward, shoving JJ hard. “You don’t talk about her like you know her, Pogue. You don’t know a damn thing about what we have.”

“Rafe, stop it!” you cried, stepping between them and pressing your hands against his chest.

But Rafe wasn’t listening. His eyes flicked to you, wild and unhinged. “Why are you protecting him?” he demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. “You should be here with me, not laughing with him like he means something to you.”

You took a step back, your heart pounding. “Rafe, this is insane. You can’t keep acting like this.”

“I’m acting like this because I care,” he said, his voice softening for just a moment before the anger bled back in. “No one else will protect you the way I do. No one else will love you like I do.”

“You’re not protecting me,” you said, tears filling your eyes. “You’re suffocating me.”

Rafe froze, his face contorting in pain. “Suffocating you? I’ve done everything for you. I’ve fought for you, protected you, and this is what I get? You don’t understand what it’s like to love someone so much that it hurts.”

“I don’t want it to hurt,” you said, your voice breaking.

JJ reached out, grabbing your hand gently and pulling you back. “You don’t have to deal with this, Y/N,” he said softly. “Come with me. You’re not safe with him.”

The moment Rafe saw JJ’s hand on yours, something in him snapped. He grabbed your wrist, yanking you back to his side with a bruising grip.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Rafe said, his voice cold and lethal. “Do you hear me? She’s mine.”

“Let her go,” JJ said, his voice steady but full of warning.

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” Rafe hissed, his grip tightening. “Do you, baby? Tell him. Tell him you’re staying with me.”

You looked at Rafe, his face a mix of fury and desperation, and then at JJ, his steady gaze full of concern and care.

“Rafe…” you started, your voice trembling but Rafe cut you off. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it. Don’t think for one second that you can walk away from me. You belong to me. You always have.”

The weight of his words crushed you, the possessiveness in his voice sending a chill down your spine. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

JJ stepped forward, pulling you firmly out of Rafe’s grip. “She doesn’t belong to you, Cameron,” he said, his voice steady. “You need to let her go.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his chest heaving as he glared at JJ. “She’s not leaving me,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “Not now. Not ever.”

But for the first time, you stepped back, your hand in JJ’s. “I can’t do this anymore, Rafe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s face twisted with fury and heartbreak, and he took a step toward you. “You’re making a mistake,” he said, his voice trembling. “You think he can love you like I do? No one can. No one will.”

As JJ led you away, Rafe’s voice echoed behind you, a dangerous promise in every word.

“You’ll regret this, Y/N,” he called out. “You’ll come back. You always do.”

But for the first time, you weren’t so sure.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Jason: Caught Between Healing and Fear

note: completely inspired by this amazing post! tysm to @timdrakewhump for letting me use it as inspo!! <33

Tim doesn’t flinch around Jason. Not exactly. It’s more of a stiffening, a tightening of his shoulders, a flicker in his eyes that he knows Jason catches. He hates it. Everyone else has moved on. Dick forgave. Bruce rebuilt. Even Damian, with all his sharp edges, has softened into something survivable. But Tim? He still expects a hit that doesn’t come, still hears the echo of fists in the dark.

And that? That’s on him, right? It has to be. Because if everyone else can move on, why can’t he?

They don’t talk about it. Not directly. The bats have always been good at side-stepping, at smoothing over the cracks with enough shared history to pretend the damage never happened. They act like everything’s fixed, like Jason is something fragile they have to keep close, hold together. They ignore the way Tim’s shoulders tense when Jason’s voice gets too loud, the way his hands shake when shadows fall just right. They brush off his excuses to leave the room or, worse, look at him like he’s the problem.

“Jason’s trying, Tim.” “He’s better now.” “Don’t hold onto the past.”

But Tim isn’t holding on. He’s bracing.

Every patrol with Jason is a test. Every sparring match, a gamble. Jason keeps it light—punches pulled, jabs softened with crooked smiles—but Tim knows what Jason’s hands are capable of. He remembers the brutality, the raw fury that doesn’t vanish just because it’s been filed down to something more manageable. He knows Jason’s trying. He knows Jason’s better. But there’s a thin line between better and safe, and Tim’s still learning how to balance on it.

When Jason starts spending more time at the manor, no one questions it. They welcome him with open arms, eager to fill the empty spaces his absence left. He’s part of the family, they say. He needs support, they insist. So Jason sits at the dinner table, helps out on patrol, lounges on the couch like he’s always belonged there. And Tim... Tim watches from the corner of the room, a shadow on the periphery, pretending he doesn’t notice the way everyone else orbits around Jason like he’s the sun.

They send Tim on solo missions now—so Jason can have space. They say it like it’s a good thing, like they’re doing Tim a favor. More responsibility, more autonomy. He should be grateful. And he is. Or he would be, if it didn’t feel like being exiled. The irony isn’t lost on him. They don’t want Jason to be alone, so Tim has to be.

The apartment is quieter than the manor, the kind of quiet that presses in too close. No hum of the Cave, no distant footsteps of someone always nearby. It’s fine. He’s used to it. He tells himself that every night, like a mantra. He likes the solitude. It’s familiar, comforting in a way that makes his chest ache. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too thin, he thinks about calling. Jason always picks up now. He’d probably offer to come over, bridge the gap that Tim never asked to be there.

But what would Tim say? Sorry I still see the blood on your knuckles? Sorry I can’t forget how it felt to be the replacement? Sorry you came back, and I thought it would fix things, but it didn’t?

He doesn’t call.

They’re terrified of losing Jason again. They hold him close, desperate, like he might slip through their fingers if they let go for even a second. Tim understands that. He really does. He remembers the hollow ache that filled the manor after Jason died, the way grief settled into the walls like a permanent stain. No one wants to go through that again. They’d do anything to keep Jason safe, to keep him here.

But no one asks what Tim gave up. What he’s still giving up.

Jason is here, but Tim feels like he’s the ghost.

Sometimes, when they’re all gathered together—Bruce at the head of the table, Dick and Steph cracking jokes, Duke helping himself to another slice of pie—Tim looks around and wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away. Just stood up, walked out, and didn’t come back. Would they miss him? Or would they be too busy watching Jason, making sure he doesn’t disappear again?

He catches Jason watching him sometimes, eyes sharp and knowing. Jason’s not stupid. He sees the cracks. Tim wonders if he feels guilty, or if he’s just waiting for Tim to say something, to break the silence that’s grown too thick between them. But Tim won’t. He can’t. The words stick in his throat, heavy and bitter.

So he stays quiet. He goes on solo missions, patrols alone, comes back to an empty apartment that feels less like home every day. And he tells himself it’s enough.

Because it has to be.

[sammyluvr]

✶ . ၄၃ . noticed — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied depression, feelings of guilt and inadequacy, overall just poor mental health, swearing, 1.1K words. requested !

summary : your depression isn't making things easy for you these days. sam notices and gives you what small comforts he can.

sam can see you slipping. he can see how hard you’re trying not to, how you’re trying to hide it. he lets you, for a bit, because he knows that sometimes you don’t like for anyone else to give it any attention.

but you’re falling behind on research and dean doesn’t know why, so he’s cutting no slack. sam is soft and understanding with you, but he knows he can’t control dean and that you wouldn’t like him to intervene either. all this, and you hate to ask for help, too.

you’re in the library, stuck by your computer and overwhelmed by the amount of books on the topic for this long and tiring case. so you rest your head on the hard wood for a moment, trying to gather energy that you don’t have. then you hear the loud front door swing open, signaling dean’s return from the grocery store. you have to at least look busy, so you drag yourself back up into a sitting position and scan over the pages of a book that you’re not actually reading. 

dean passes you with arms full of plastic bags and a half assed greeting. he’s tired from last night, and anything’s fine by you as long as he doesn’t say anything passive aggressive like he does sometimes. you know he’s frustrated with you, wishing you’d find something actually helpful. you just can’t bring yourself to do much of anything at all.

when you’ve finally heard the door to dean’s room shut, after staring at the page and listening to the sounds of him putting away groceries in the kitchen, you drop your head back down, feeling useless and restless but unable to act on it. the next time you hear footsteps, they’re sam’s. you can tell just by listening for a moment or two. he’s taller, but he walks quieter than dean. though his footfalls are a little heavy now, in the comfort and privacy of the bunker.

he approaches faster than you expect and most definitely catches you with your head on the table before you sit up to look in his direction.

the smile you give him when you lift your head is unconvincing and the one he returns to you is soft and understanding. it’s clear to you that he can see you’re unwell. you sigh and your smile fades.

“hey,” he murmurs, all gentle and kind, never pitying but certainly careful. he closes the gap between your seat and the doorway, quietly shutting both your laptop and the book before placing a hand on the side of your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “let’s take a break, yeah? grab lunch in town, or maybe some ice cream. or both. how’s that sound, honey?”

you purse your lips, feeling loved by the gesture but wanting to do anything except go out right now. you lean into his touch anyway, then after a moment of hesitation, mumble back, “i’d rather stay inside.”

“okay,” he agrees immediately, “we can do that, too. why don’t you sit in the kitchen with me? i’ll make you something simple. dean should’ve gotten the stuff for those sandwiches you like, yeah?” he holds his hand out for you to guide you away from the library.

“alright,” you accept quietly after a moment of just looking at his hand, waiting for you, reaching out to you to pull you up. when your hand lands in his, it’s a little easier to breathe, somehow. he closes his fingers around yours and gives the gentlest of tugs to urge you up. you start to stand and the hand on your head reaches down to pull your chair out for you. his hand stays in yours as he leads you to the kitchen.

he has you sit as he makes a sandwich for the both of you, talking aimlessly about a documentary he watched last weekend but didn’t have the chance to tell you about until now. his voice stays muted and constant, knowing you don’t want anything loud but shouldn’t stay stuck in silence.

he’s right, of course. the lull of his voice keeps your mind off of all else, and you find yourself actually able to pay attention to the words that fall from his lips. it’s nice to watch him, too.

sitting across from you, watching you take the last bite of the simple food he made you, spreads the warmth of satisfaction through his chest. frankly, he’s worried about you, but it’s nice to know that you’ll let him take care of you like this. subtle and easy, but essential. not too loud and not too outwardly worried, but showing he’s noticed and is going to actually do something about it. there’s no judgment in his eyes or his actions, only care and softness and love.

sam’s serious about taking a break. he doesn’t let you go back to that library table to wallow in your self-criticism of being unable to get anything done. he brings you back to his bed and holds you in his arms and kisses the top of your head, maybe more times than he needs to.

“you can tell me when you need me,” he murmurs into your hair, his arms wrapped around your middle. “doesn’t have to be out loud. but if you can, and there’s something i’m not doing that i could be, you tell me, yeah? ‘cause i’ll do it. i want to, for you, honey.”

you take a deep breath in, let it out slow. “thank you,” you whisper, “this helps, really.” and you mean that, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. sometimes, walking away from the things you should be doing just makes you feel worse, like you don’t really deserve to do anything nice. if you can’t do what you should, it feels like the least you could do is sit there and beat yourself up about it. 

sam pulls you away from that mindset. his love isn’t burdensome, he lets you believe you deserve it. his arms are a shield and his chest is a place for your head to really rest. he brings you both sleep and consciousness without guilt or anxious embarrassment. 

and when you inevitably get antsy again, he notices that, too. he tells you sternly, sweetly, to stay comfortable on the bed as he fetches your laptop and book. once back, he still insists on keeping you settled right against him, your head slotted perfectly into the crook of his neck as he reads the book aloud to you, either until you find something useful or the pages run out.

no matter what, he’ll keep you held, keep you steady in his arms.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I know you? Part 2

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: Jason, not Red Hood, “checks” on you. Cue the shortest/ longest conversation you have had with the man.

Or in other words, is this flirting?

Notes: There is no planned plot for this if anyone can tell. Just running on vibes.

Your presumption of a long night was regrettably accurate. The annoyance of it all makes you want to chuck your alarm against the wall. But alas, being an adult mattered more and you need money, so work it is. You pray for it to be a busy day so you can forget your embarrassment from the night before.

Clocking into work makes you confident in the fact that it will be busy. You slide into your routine as a waitress at Jackie’s Books and Coffee, greeting customers and delivering drinks and pastries to them. You chat with a few of the regulars as they come in, and you listen as they yap about their lives. As you make another round, you greet another regular.

His name was Jason and that’s all you really knew. He wasn’t like many of the other customers who liked to talk about anything and everything to you. He usually only got coffee and read a book. The one time he did actually talk to you was when you mentioned you had never read a Jane Austen book. It was like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. He ranted at you for 15 minutes about it and you didn’t have the heart to step away. He was cute when he was passionate.

He sat down at his usual table and pulled out a book. You went to work with his order, he always got the same thing. You sat the cup in front of him and asked, “What’s the book for the day?”

You try to glance at the cover but find the front cover blank, a fancy hardcover. Not finding the answer there you meet his gaze to wait for his response. You're startled for a moment by the familiarity of his features. Of course, his features were familiar to you, he was a regular but there was something different this time around. A scar on his lip and his cheek-

“Dracula” your thoughts are cut off by his voice, suddenly strangely familiar too, and you focus in on the conversation.

You smile, “I actually have read that one.”

You are half tempted to add, might be better than Jane Austen, but you decided you still want to work for the next half hour. You settle on, “Hollywood definitely got that one wrong, so much for the undead being sexy.” You joke.

His laugh comes out a little startled and you’re proud of the accomplishment. He usually looks so sullen in his corner booth, although that might just be because he’s so focused on his book.

“I don’t know, Hollywood might be onto something.” He says it like it’s an inside joke, but you feel like you missed the punchline.

“Maybe,” you say with a polite laugh, “Did you want anything else?” you ask.

He shakes his head. Not a huge shocker, he never wants anything but his drink and his book.

“Just let me know if you do.” You walk away slowly as you try to push down the weird familiar feeling you’re having all of a sudden. You check in with a few customers and, with a lull in commotion you settle into a chair next to the register. Bless Jackie for having one, your feet slowly starting to ache as the end of your shift draws near. Darla, one of the other waitresses comes to stand close to you. She leans in with a conspiratory look.

“So, you get his number?” she questions, her Gothamite accent heavy. Your head whips to look at her and you almost knock noses.

“What?” you try to keep your tone neutral, but your tone pitches up. Her lips twist into a grin and you’d think it evil if you didn’t already know her. Darla was nearly 50 years old, and she reminded you of a self-proclaimed “Fun Aunt” who liked to be in on all the gossip and had no sense of personal space. She had been goading you to date someone, anyone, just so she could be all up in your business. Because according to her, you were the most boring person she’d ever met.

“The hottie, did you get his number?” she asks again as she pulls out a compact mirror to brush some fly-aways from her face.

“First of all, I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” You do but that’s neither here nor there. “Second, you can’t just call customer’s Hotties, Darla, that weird.”

She scoffs and snaps her compact closed. “All right, Scarface over there. Did you get his number?”

You practically jump at her to cover her mouth. “Darla!”

She pushes your hand away with a grin. “Don’t worry Baby doll. It makes him look hot in a rugged way.”

“Darla, I swear-“you're cut off by a throat clearing. You turn to see a college student awkwardly waiting at the register. Your face flushes and you drop your hands from Darla and through on a customer service smile.

“Hi, sorry about that. How can I help you?” You manage to stay away from Darla for the rest of your shift, checking on customers probably more than necessary.  It's 5 o’clock when your shift finally ends. You brush by Darla to clock out and she follows you.

“You gonna answer my question or not?” Ever persistent for an older woman.

“No, Darla, I did not get Jason’s number” You pointedly use his name, so she won’t use Scarface or Hottie again.

“Oh, First name basis.” She teases.

You roll your eyes and pull off your apron to hang it up. You turn and look at her.

“Goodbye Darla,” you say sweetly with a too cheesy smile. It's her turn to roll her eyes as she goes back to work. You collect your purse and jacket and head for the front door of the shop. The early fall weather not having kicked in yet, you carry your jacket on your arm. Focused on pulling your purse over your head, you nearly run into a mass.

“Oh Sorry,” you say as you take a step back.

“No, you’re okay. I shouldn’t have bullied my way in front of you.” A deep voice speaks. You look up and meet blue-green eyes. Jason.

“I hardly think someone so passionate about Jane Austen could do any Bullying” You see Jason flush a little at the comment but don’t say anything. He holds the front door open for you. You thank him as you hurriedly shuffle through the open door. He follows you out onto the warm sidewalk. Assuming your conversation is done you head down the sidewalk with your arms crossed in front of you holding your jacket. As you walk you become very conscious of the man next to you. You glance at him curiously but don’t comment.

You take your time walking with him silently. You're not in a rush to get home, darkness still a few hours away. You should be worried. You’re not though. Jason has never struck you as a bad guy. Call it energy or vibe or what have you (ranting about Jane Austen). He just wasn’t bad. Intimidating? Yes, but not bad. As you walk you give some subtle side glances. He was very… Large. You didn’t know how else to describe him. Nearly a whole head taller than you and muscular. Yeah, he could definitely pick you up and carry you. You flush, not that that mattered. Your eyes get drawn back to his face. You know those scars; you swear up and down that it's not just because he’s a regular. They’ve never stuck out to you like this, and you can’t figure out why. In your (not so) subtle side-eye, you meet his gaze. He’s already smiling at you, but you don’t linger on it dropping your gaze to the concrete.

“Heading home?” He asks, tilting his head toward you.

You look up to meet his gaze, intense in the stare and unsure if he's just like that or dissecting you. This is the longest amount of time you’ve spent actually near him without tending to customers.

“Uh, yeah?” you ask yourself. Of course, you're going home; where else would you go? But why would you tell him that? You don’t think Jason would do anything bad to you; he is still, at most, an acquaintance, and you don’t really know him. (Not that it matters considering you let a literal stranger into your home the night before.) If he senses your hesitation and worry, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I wish I was.” He admits but quickly adds on, “Going to my home, not yours. That would be weird, I don’t really know you.” His voice drops quieter as he trails off. He rubs at the back of his neck, a light flush on his cheeks. The man in a flustered state must give you some courage.

“Yeah, that would be weird,” you tease, “Although maybe not a bad thing.” You quiet for a moment and think is this good flirting?

“If you're not going home, then where are you going?” You ask both curious about the answer and if it’ll explain why he's still walking with you.

His flush darkens and he mumbles for a moment and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Leather Jacket…

“Family required dinner,” he says it like it’s the worst thing in the entire world, sitting next to nuclear weapons and climate change.

“That sounds fun” You try to keep a neutral tone because a family dinner does sound fun, to you, but he, apparently, thinks otherwise.

“Oh, loads of it,” he says with a scowl.

You decide a variety of things at that moment. First, he was unfairly attractive. Scowling should not look that good. Second, you want to stop him from scowling, a sadness sitting just behind his eyes. Thirdly, Darla was, unfortunately, correct. You should get this guy's number.

“at least tell me there's dessert.” You ask teasingly. Your inquiry is enough to chase away the scowl and you smile at the fact.

“Only the best homemade cookies in existence” he responds with a smile.

“At least there's something good.” You slow your walk as you come to the corner where your apartment building sits. You don’t want to give away that you live here, but you don’t want to start wandering around the streets of Gotham with him either. As it turns out, your overthinking is unnecessary.

“This is me.” He states as he walks to a parked motorcycle right in front of the building. You can't help but stare.

“Will you make it home safe all alone?” he asks like he already knows the answer. It takes you a moment to answer, distracted as he pulls a helmet out of the back seat of the bike, preparing to put it on. The leather made more sense now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, it'll be no problem. I don’t live far.” You gesture further down the street, where you definitely did not live. He nods and smiles knowingly as he slips the helmet on.

“Okay see you later, sweetheart.” He says as he slings a leg over the bike, starting. You stare, again, at the denim of his jeans stretching over his legs nicely. He gives you a wave before taking off down the street, turning a corner. You stand and stare at the spot he had just been for much longer than you should have. You let a quiet “Bye” leave your lips despite him being long gone.

You finally turn around to your apartment building. How convenient that was. You pet one of the stray cats that sit on the steps as you climb them and enter the building, thinking Am I missing something?

Other Note: Thank you for all the love for the first part. It inspired me to keep going. I hope this makes some kind of sense.

[emmylksblog]

GAVI BF HEADCANONS!

based on this request

a/n: i think it's accurate to his personality, tried to fit everything i could think of. hope yall like it! 🫶🏻

⚽︎ bf! Gavi is terrible at hiding his emotions. If he’s mad about something, he’ll sulk for exactly five minutes before bursting out with whatever’s on his mind. But if it’s about you, his frustration softens immediately: “I’m not mad at you, okay? I just… I care too much, that’s all.”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi gets super competitive with you, even over silly things. Whether it’s who can fold the laundry faster or who wins at Mario Kart, he’ll take it way too seriously. But if you win, he’ll let out a dramatic groan and accuse you of cheating—before pulling you into a playful hug. “Fine, you’re better. But only this time.”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi loves spontaneous adventures. If you’re lying around on a lazy Sunday, he’ll suddenly grab your hand and say, “Get dressed—we’re going out.” He doesn’t always have a plan, but somehow, his impulsive nature makes every outing feel exciting, whether it’s a drive to nowhere or ice cream at midnight.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi hates being apart from you. If he has to leave for a game, he’ll call or text you nonstop: “What are you doing? Are you eating? Are you thinking about me?” His teammates tease him, but he doesn’t care. “Shut up, this is important,” he’ll say, grinning at his phone.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi is easily flustered by compliments. If you tell him he looks good before a game, he’ll try to act cool, but his cheeks will flush immediately. He’ll mumble a quick “Gracias, guapa,” then pretend to focus on his laces just to hide how much he’s blushing.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi has no chill when it comes to showing affection. If he’s proud of you, he’ll shout it from the rooftops. If he misses you, he’ll tell you ten times in one call. “I don’t care if I’m being annoying—I just love you, okay?”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi’s protective instincts kick in everywhere. If you’re out walking and it starts to rain, he’ll instantly take off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders, muttering something about “not letting you get sick.” He acts like it’s no big deal, but he’ll grumble if you try to give it back.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi is obsessed with your laugh. He’ll do anything to hear it—bad impressions, dumb jokes, or even tickling you mercilessly. When you tell him to stop, he’ll grin mischievously: “Not until you admit my jokes are funny!”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi has a short temper, but you’re his exception. If anyone else frustrates him, he’s quick to snap, but with you, he’ll pause, take a breath, and say, “I don’t want to argue with you. Let’s figure this out, yeah?” He’s not perfect, but he’s trying for you.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi always forgets his own stuff but never yours. He’ll leave his keys or wallet behind constantly, but if you’ve mentioned needing something, he’ll somehow remember and surprise you with it. “You said you ran out of this, right?” he’ll ask casually, secretly proud of himself.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi insists on being your biggest fan. Whether it’s something big like a work presentation or something small like making the perfect coffee, he’ll hype you up as if you just won an award: “That’s my girl! I told you you’re amazing.”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi loves subtle physical touch. He’ll rest his hand on your knee during long car rides, tug gently at your sleeve if he wants your attention, or intertwine his pinky with yours when no one’s looking. It’s his way of saying, “I’m here. Always.”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi is a mess when it comes to surprises. He’ll try to plan something cute, like decorating your room or buying you flowers, but he’s so bad at keeping secrets that he’ll end up blurting it out before the surprise happens: “Okay, don’t be mad, but I have something planned… just act surprised, okay?”

⚽︎ bf! Gavi pretends he doesn’t like cheesy romantic movies. But when you make him watch one, he gets way too into it, yelling at the characters or tearing up at emotional scenes. “I’m not crying—it’s just allergies,” he’ll say, avoiding your teasing smirk.

⚽︎ bf! Gavi talks about the future without realizing it. Whether it’s casually mentioning how your kids would “definitely love football” or joking about what kind of house you’d live in, his words always carry that unspoken promise: “I’m not going anywhere.”

[elvensorceress]

sunday sentences

@spotsandsocks @chaosandwolves @livinginsunnyhell @rainbow-nerdss @eddiebabygirldiaz @tizniz @bekkachaos @thelikesofus @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @sofa-king-lame @ronordmann @sazanahashi @kejfeblintz @evaneds 💕 tagging anyone who wants to share something no pressure 💕

The last stop before Eddie goes to wait out his remaining hours in LA in his dark, empty house, is his tía’s. 

She meets him in the driveway and hugs him tightly. Too tightly. The way she used to when he was much younger. When everything was overwhelming, lonely, horrible, but he was devoutly holding it in, and Pepa would know he was breaking. She somehow always knew. She’d hug him like she wanted to lift the weight he was carrying and keep it from killing him.

She would cradle Eddie in her arms and tell him it was okay and that he wasn’t bad, he hadn’t failed, he has a good heart and he should have patience, kindness, forgiveness given to him. 

As long as he was in her arms, he wasn’t being crushed and wasn’t alone. And then he’d cry because she told him he could, that it was okay. Then it would feel a little better. 

Who would be able to listen to her reassurance and validation and not cry? Even now, it makes him want to crumble and burst into tears when they hug like this. The feeling is still there, the urge to just let go and break and sob until he’s empty and can’t any more. But he doesn’t.

He got too numb, too old, too jaded for even her words and affection to reach him. It was too hard to believe. They were just faded platitudes. His sins grew to be too great.

This isn’t the same. He’s not punishing himself. He needs to earn happiness. He needs to earn his son back in his life. This is Eddie’s choice. He doesn’t have to do this but he wants to do this so he is doing it. It won’t make everything better, but he’ll have Chris. 

He’s too hollow and numb right now to feel anything else. 

Pepa takes his chin in her hand. “Don’t let them tell you you are anything less than a good father. A wonderful, most selfless father. Don’t you tell yourself that either.” 

Eddie tries to smile genuinely for her. It’s sweet that she believes that and tells him as much. But he’s not sure can ever believe it. He changes the subject instead. “Can you do something for me?” 

“Anything, mijo. What is it?”

The word, the endearment makes his chest tight. He wishes, wishes his aunt could have been his mother. He wishes he could have had a mother who actually felt like a mother to him. Someone who at least attempts to not think the worst of him. “Will you—” He can’t say it. He can’t think it. But he has to. This is his choice. He’ll be happy. Eventually. He needs to be with Chris. He can’t miss out on Chris’ life. “Will you,” Eddie tries again. He just has to get the words out. They’re just words. 

But they make it real. Is that the problem? Is that why they’re so difficult?

He doesn’t even know why he’s asking. Why it feels like he needs to. Other than he knows Pepa and knows she’ll be able to look and reach and connect where other people can’t. Maybe because he knows she’ll be missing Eddie more than most people. Hopefully anyway? And she’ll know what it’s like. She’ll know what to say and how to comfort. She always does. 

Eddie hopes. That’s all he can really do. Hope. 

“Will you look out for Buck?” He finally says. Finally asks. “For me? He’s been. Baking. He likes baking and I’ve been assisting. And I don’t know— I don’t know what he’ll do. How he’ll do. Without. Assistance. He needs someone. He needs—”

He needs someone who loves him unconditionally. Everyone leaves him and Eddie has to leave him and he wasn’t supposed to leave him. They were supposed to be— God, he doesn’t know what they were supposed to be but it’s something. In each other’s lives forever? That at least? 

“I don’t know what he’ll do without me. Not— not me specifically. But without someone like me? Who looks out for him. And you always did that for me. Made me feel better. Loved me no matter what. And he— he needs that, too. I don’t know what he’ll do without that. I don’t know what I’ll…” 

I don’t know what I’ll do without him.

[vanillarosekiss]

To the beautiful person who left me this anon ask:

hi ria! I know you normally write femreader as girly or with a more feminine energy. But wdyt of John Price whose s/o is self conscious because she’s not as girly as the ladies who undoubtedly always surround him and maybe have made her he can do better than her ((totally not projecting lolz))

i’m so sorry i accidentally deleted your ask, but luckily I managed to copy it before! I really hope this finds you angel..♡

warnings: self depreciation, afab!reader x John Price, this one’s actually kinda sad guys sorry (happy ending though, i promise!!).

John Price had always been the kind of man who carried himself with a quiet confidence, commanding respect in every room he walked into. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried the weight of his responsibilities with ease — it was his unwavering calm, the type of presence that made you feel like the world could crumble, but he’d hold it together for you. He’d do anything for you.

You didn’t feel like you belonged in his orbit. You didn’t even feel like you belonged in the same room.

Not when he could have his pick of anyone. And not when the effortlessly gorgeous women you saw at his work functions or in photographs seemed to orbit him naturally.

They didn’t mean to make you feel small of course, but sometimes, they didn’t need to. Backhanded comments like, “Oh, she’s not quite what I expected for John,” or those lingering glances they shared when they thought you weren’t looking, planted seeds of doubt that grew roots in your chest. It hurt you more than you liked to admit.

You weren’t as polished, as composed, as these women. It wasn’t that you didn’t try… no, you just didn’t feel like you when you did. Dresses made you feel exposed. Heels left your feet aching. Even makeup was a practice you rarely indulged in because it didn’t feel worth the time or effort considering the little time you actually spent out.

And yet, John had still chosen you.

You were sitting on the couch with your knees pulled up, thumbing through your phone absentmindedly when John walked in. His heavy boots on the hardwood floor were a sound you’d grown to love, a comfort of such.

“Alright, love?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded quickly, plastering on a smile. “Yeah, fine.”

But John was too observant for his own good. He was extremely perceptive, his time in the force had made him a great reader of expressions. He tilted his head, scanning your face as he set his keys on the counter.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his tone laced with doubt.

You looked away, shrugging. “Just tired, s’all.”

“Not buying it.” He waited intently on your reply.

You hesitated. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Darlin’.” That single word was a command. You knew he was being serious.

You sighed, your voice wavering, threatening to crack despite your attempt to sound indifferent. “Do you ever… I dunno. Do you ever wish I were more like the women you’re surrounded by?”

His brow furrowed. “What women?”

“The ones at those events,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely. “They’re all so put together, and I’m-” You laughed bitterly. “Not.”

John leaned back slightly, his hand finding your thigh and gently resting there. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes steady. “Who’s been telling you all this?”

“No one,” you said quickly. “I just… I feel like they’re right sometimes. You could do better than me.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. John’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly before he pulled you into his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Do you know why I chose you?” he asked quietly.

Your throat tightened painfully. “Because I was there?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Because you’re real. Because you’re you. Because I don’t need anything like those women you were talking about, don’t want them, either.”

“But- ”

“No ‘buts’.” His tone was firm now, the kind that silenced any argument before it began. “I don’t care about anyone else. Those women you’re talkin’ about? All worthless, the lot of ‘em.”

You felt the unavoidable prick of tears in your eyes. “You really mean that?”

John turned slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You think I’d lie to you about something like that?” He kissed your lips gently, lingering there for a while.

“You’re enough for me, angel. More than enough.”

For the first time in what felt like months, you finally believed him.

I really hope this finds the right person. What a gorgeous request! Give me sweet John Price immediately. ˖⋆࿐໋

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut with a capital S. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.8k

A/N : If you don't like cliffhangers, all I can say is I'm sorry...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE

Master List

Chapter Thirteen

Then it’ll just be me and you.

Those words played over and over as you fell asleep that night. Some part of you knew you were setting yourself up for heartbreak if you dared to believe him, but a much louder part didn’t care. It had been so long since you’d had anyone in your life, so long since you’d trusted anyone. 

You’d never told anyone about your past before him, never told anyone what you’d done or what was done to you. No one else knew you like he did, and you were starting to think that you were the only one who really knew him. 

At least, no one else seemed to know this version of him.

This version of Billy was, for all intents and purposes, yours.

He was yours.

It was a terrifying thought and you still weren’t entirely sure how it had come to that. You hadn’t looked for it, hadn’t wanted it but, there you were, wrapped up in Billy’s arms, not wanting him to ever let go.

He fell asleep first which, given his injuries, wasn’t surprising. It was strange but, once you started thinking about it, you weren’t sure if Billy had actually slept in your bed since that first night he’d stayed. Usually you fell asleep first and always found him already awake when you woke.

Now, sleeping in your arms, he looked almost peaceful, the most at rest you’d ever really seen him. And it was nice (at least, when you willfully ignored the fact that he had stitches in his side, that you’d put there not thirty minutes before). Seeing him that way made things finally feel real between you, like a line had been irrevocably crossed, like you were in too deep to even think about backing out again.

You held him tight, wondering what the future might hold as you slowly drifted off.

It wasn’t until light was starting to peek through the window that you felt him stir and heard a broken mutter tear from his lips.

Your eyes opened and you lifted your head, looking at him and seeing that same pained expression on his face you’d seen the first time you caught him in the clutches of a nightmare. But this time you knew you couldn’t slip away and pretend you hadn’t seen anything - if only because you didn’t want to risk him thrashing about and tearing open his stitches.

“No -” he gasped, his whole body twitching. “No!”

“Billy,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and softly shaking him. “Hey, Billy, it’s just a dream. It’s okay.”

His eyes opened and he drew a sharp breath. For a moment he seemed lost, like he didn’t know where he was or maybe he thought he was still trapped in the dream, but then he saw you and his expression softened.

“Kitten?” His voice was scratchy, dry, and for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, hearing his morning voice made you feel warm inside.

“You were having a nightmare.”

Billy looked up at you, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his features, but he decided against denying what you’d seen.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, and you shrugged. “I’m sorry, kitten.”

You wanted to say something, to tell him it was okay or, at least, tell him you were glad you woke up before he could hurt himself, but Billy’s hand found your cheek and before you could even think, he was closing the distance to kiss you. And you sank into his lips, losing yourself in a sleepy but tender kiss, taking care not to agitate the already scabbed split lip.

When he finally pulled back, your fingers slipped through his hair, brushing it back away from his face.

“Thank you. For looking after me last night,” he said as his head dropped back onto the pillow.

“You don’t have to thank me, just promise me it’ll never happen again.”

“I promise. I - I’m gonna take care of things,” Billy said.

“What you said last night; that you were going to fix then and then it’d just be me and you...”

There was a question in there somewhere, you just weren’t sure how to ask it. Or, maybe you were too scared to ask it, too scared to think about a future that neither of you had really planned for.

“I think I might have to leave New York - at least for a little while - but I want you to come with me,” Billy answered.

Of course, you knew the rational response was to tell him no, to tell him he was being insane. You couldn’t just pack up your life and leave town with a guy you hardly knew, a criminal, a wanted murderer. But the words wouldn’t come and, instead, you fell into an uneasy silence.

“Is that a no?” He asked after a few awkward seconds.

“It’s... I don’t know...”

You braced yourself, expecting - you weren’t even sure what. Anger? Disappointment? But when had Billy ever really shown you anything like that? When had he ever tried to force you to do anything? Never. Even through his stalking of you and all his talk of changing your mind, it was his actions, not his words that helped you change your mind about him.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to decide right away,” he answered.

The next half an hour was spent in his arms dozing and trading more lazy kisses until, finally, your empty stomach started to grumble and you decided that you really should make sure Billy ate something.

Setting foot in the kitchen reminded you of the events of the night before and the mess you hadn’t cleaned up; the first aid kit and bloody towels still on the floor. 

Without a word, Billy started to tidy up as you headed for the coffee. It struck you that you hadn’t asked how he was, if his injuries were hurting. And, even after having that realisation, you didn’t ask. It wasn’t that you didn’t care or didn’t want to know, you just... didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to remember having to sew up what you were pretty certain was a knife wound.

You filled the coffee pot and set about making pancakes. While you were no Martha Stewart, you knew your way around a frying pan well enough to make enough pancakes for you and Billy to share.

“This is nice,” he said, smiling softly across the table as you ate.

“Yeah,” you agreed. Because it was, even if it was also a strange thing to be experiencing with him for the first time.

“Only thing that would make it better is a view,” he said, continuing when you shot him a questioning look, “mountains or maybe a lake. Or a place on the coast. A little cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a porch where we could sit and have breakfast.”

You couldn't stop the smirk that spread across your lips.

“What?” He asked, fighting off a smirk of his own.

“I don’t know, it just seems very... domestic for both of us.”

Billy let out a laugh and you barely stifled yours by lifting your coffee mug to your lips. You didn’t want to admit it but it sounded nice, like something you could want.

“I think...” he started before, uncharacteristically trailing off, almost seeming uncertain of himself for a second, “... I think I’d like something domestic. I mean... if it was with you...”

Again, you found your lips covered by your mug, not sure if the smile on your lips was genuine or nervous. His words had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. With anyone else, you’d assume it was just a line, but Billy seemed so uncertain that he was even capable of that and you knew he wasn’t just saying it.

After breakfast, you found him an old sweatshirt, a big thing you’d bought for yourself from the menswear department to wear during last winter. The dark red suited him, and you had half a mind to tell him to keep it.

Then, your sweet and domestic morning was over. Billy was heading towards the door, still looking somewhat worse for where but, instead of walking out the door, he stopped and turned to you.

“Thank you,” he said, “for everything. I know you never asked for any of this...”

You took a step forward, confused by the sudden change in him.

“Being with you, being able to be like... like this, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before,” he continued. “I don’t remember ever feeling like I belonged before you, not even with Frank and his family. So, thank you.”

For a few seconds you stood in a stunned sort of silence, and Billy seemed to take that silence to mean that you had nothing to say. Panic rattled in your chest as he started to turn towards the door.

“Wait,” you said, already starting to clear the distance between you as Billy stopped and turned back towards you. “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

Before you could think to stop yourself or bring yourself to care, your fingers were around his wrist, holding him, stopping him from just walking out and leaving things like that.

“Careful, kitten. I might start thinking you’re falling for me,” he responded with a gentle smile, completely dodging the question.

The panic continued to grow as he gave a little tug against your grip, like he was trying to slip away from you, and you just couldn’t fight the feeling that it might be the last time that you ever saw him. Your mind raced over everything he’d said, about how you could be together... after he fixed things. After he took care of things.

You’d been so stuck on the you and me part of things that you hadn’t even considered what needed to be fixed and how he was going to go about it, but now there was no stopping the sinking sensation in your gut.

Unconsciously, your fingers tightened around his wrist.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to -”

He cut you off with a kiss, his body desperately crashing into yours. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of the red sweater and, before you knew what you were doing, you had started pulling him back into the apartment and towards your bedroom.

“I’ve been waiting months for you to ask me to stay. For you to want me to stay,” he muttered against your lips, not giving you a chance to respond to his confession before pulling you into another devouring kiss.

His hands pulled at your clothes, as yours did his, both finally giving in to the need that had been building since the first night you’d shared together. Your fingers ran down his bare chest, over the bandages, to his jeans, tugging open the fastenings, eliciting an eager sound from Billy, while he was busy trying to pull your slip over your head.

An awkward shuffle ensued as he kicked out of his boots, and he let out a low groan against your lips as your hand gripped his cock, starting to stroke and letting out an eager sound of your own as you felt him grow hard.

All you knew in that moment was that you wanted him. You craved him, hungered for him, feeling as you felt yesterday morning. You wanted to hold him tight, claw at his skin and make a place for yourself beneath his ribs.

It felt like the floodgates had opened, that all the thoughts and feelings you’d spent years denying yourself, years telling yourself that you could have, were all rushing to the surface.

You pushed Billy backwards onto the bed and followed him down, swallowing down any complaints he might have with another kiss. Suddenly you were put in mind of that moment weeks ago, when you'd accused him fucking you like you only existed for his pleasure. In retrospect you hated that you'd said it, that you'd dare to even think it because, even now, as he kissed you and held you, you knew that he had your pleasure in mind just as much as his own.

Right then, you were the one who wanted to fuck Billy and have him that way, you need for him overwhelming any other more rational thought.

Your lips pulled from his, trailing a searing path from his lips, along his jaw and down his neck. He groaned as you sank lower, as you dragged lips and tongue over his chest and stomach, doing your best to avoid his bandages, moving to settle yourself between his legs.

“Did I die last night?” He muttered. “Because I think I've gone to heaven.”

You might have laughed if you weren't at eye level with his cock. Your hand slipped around him again and gave a squeeze, pulling another groan from him. Billy bit his lip as he looked at you and you could tell he was craving the exact same thing as you. 

Slowly, you started to move your hand, stroking his shaft, feeling him grow harder still. Your eyes dropped, taking in the sight of him and the way his cock was already leaking for you.

Leaning you ran your tongue up him from root to tip. The sound that spilled from him had your thighs clenching. Never in your life had a man made such a desperate sound for you, and you found yourself wanting more. You wanted everything. Every desperate look, every weak and eager moan. The way his breath caught and the way he said your name like you were all he was capable of thinking about.

It made you feel powerful and in control, it made you feel strong in a way you’d never experience before. And if you could turn a man like Billy to putty with just a swipe of your tongue, well, you quickly came to wonder just what else you could do.

Parting your lips, you kept your eyes on him as you took him into your mouth. Billy inhaled sharply, swearing as your lips slowly slipped down the length of his cock to where your hand still rested.

You’d always enjoyed doing this, always enjoyed knowing that you could control a man’s pleasure and decide just how much you wanted to please him and how; hard and fast to blow his mind, or slow and sensual to make sure he came back for more. But, with Billy, you found that you wanted both. You wanted everything.

You wanted to drive him crazy, for him to have an experience like no other, but you also wanted him to come back. No. Not come back. You wanted him to stay.

A soft moan was muffled by his cock as you started to move, not too fast but fast enough to really get him going, fast enough to make him think you were pushing him towards sweet oblivion.

Your hand gripped his thigh and you were almost surprised when one of his own hands covered yours, like he just needed to touch you. Turning your hand, you took hold of his hand, and let slip another moan when you felt his other hand lightly gripping your hair.

He wasn’t used to this, you decided. Billy obviously wasn’t used to giving up control, and that he was giving it up to you had to mean something. For a second you faltered, remembering that he was just like you, that he had been hurt too, and you wondered if the loss of power in the situation was making him uncomfortable. But one look at Billy told you that he was anything but uncomfortable.

After a few minutes your mouth pulled away from him, though your hand continued to stroke his spit-slicked cock.

“Are you enjoying this?” You asked in the most sultry voice you could manage, smirking up at him.

Billy seemed to struggle for an answer for a moment, left so scattered and unfocused by your actions.

“Yeah, kitten. I’m really fucking enjoying it,” he said breathlessly.

“Good.”

You let him slip between your lips again, this time using your tongue, tracing the vein on the underside of his cock as you sank lower and lower. Your hand moved out of the way and you tried to relax your throat, taking him as deep as you could, blinking back tears when he nudged the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

His hips moved seemingly of their own accord, bucking upwards,forcing more of his length into your mouth, pushing his tip down the back of your throat. You whined at the sensation but didn’t pull back.

“Fuck... I’m close,” he groaned.

Those words from any other man would have marked the end, you’d have pulled away and made sure to finish him with your hand, but this was Billy. Whatever there was between you, you didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to leave things feeling only half finished. So, you doubled down, starting to bob your head faster while you continued to tease him with your tongue.

Billy gave a grunt and one final warning, that you chose to ignore, before you felt him pulse and spill in your mouth. You stayed where you were, watching him as his eyes closed and his chest shuddered. It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

You didn’t pull back until he was done, swallowing down every last drop before letting his cock fall from your lips.

The look on his face quickly became one of sheer astonishment.

“You are so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his hand giving yours a squeeze.

“I know.” A smirk spread across your lips.

You waited a moment before slowly crawling back up the bed, over his body, keeping his hand in your as you did. Lingering over him, you lips inches from his you found yourself getting lost in his dark eyes wondering what a future with him would hold and if everyone morning could be like this one.

“You’re thinking too much,” Billy said, lifting his head, closing the distance so he could kiss you.

“How do you know?” You muttered into the kiss.

“I can hear the cogs turning,” he answered, his lips pulling into a smile against yours.

A laugh escaped you, and you felt a warmth spread through your whole body, a feeling of happiness, of belonging that you weren’t sure you’d ever really felt before.

“Maybe you should do something about it,” you told him before gently nipping his bottom lip, still trying to be mindful of his freshly scabbed-over split lip.

You expected a joke, or some sort of response, instead Billy flipped you onto your back, kissing you deeply, roughly, giving you a glimpse of the dominance you knew was lurking beneath the surface just waiting to be released.

He pressed himself between your thighs as he kissed you, his cock still hard. A whine spilled from you and your back arched, betraying your desperation as Billy’s lips began to move down your neck. He mirrored your previous actions, though he took far more time descending your body, letting his lips and tongue explore your breasts, teasing each nipple into an aching, hardened peak before continuing downwards.

Billy shot you a playful look before running his tongue around your navel, giving you a hint of what was to come.

Yes, you thought to yourself, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips and tongue against your core again. You were already wet for him, already feeling needy and so ready for anything that would follow.

His teeth nipped at your hips before he started to suck a love bite into your skin.

“Mine,” he said.

And you didn’t dare correct him.

By the time he was between your lips, close enough that you could feel his hot breath on your sensitive flesh, you were already trembling.

You held your breath and stared down at him, and an eager plea managed to escape you; “please, Billy.”

Billy obliged.

You moaned as fingers parted your folds and he lowered his head.

There was no slow and gentle teasing, there was no gradual build up - it would have been pointless anyway, you already felt halfway to orgasm before he’d even touched you

He started with long strokes along your slit and up to your clit, letting out hungry, filthy groans at the taste of your arousal.

The rhythm of his tongue was relentless, pulling breathy moans from you with every swipe. He ate  pussy like a starving man, a man possessed of a hunger he just couldn’t sate. The thought might have made you laugh at any other time, but the only sounds you were capable of making were those mewling moans that made you sound just as hungry as him.

Fingers dipped inside you, eagerly curling, already knowing exactly how to touch you. In the few times that you’d allowed him to do this, Billy had already learned you inside and out, and there was no doubt in your mind that, this time, this was just foreplay.

Billy was going to fuck you again.

“Billy,” you gasped and writhed under his attention, your fingers tangling in his hair as you ground your hips against his face. “Fuck, that feels so good...”

You couldn’t see it but you were sure you felt his lips pull into a smirk against you.

Whether he’d intended to or not, there was no doubt in your mind that Billy had ruined you for anyone but him. Your toes curled and your grip on his hair tightened. You barely even realised it but you were letting out desperate whines and moans, crying his name and begging him not to stop.

Soon enough pressure was coiling inside you, and you were pushed closer and closer to the edge by his fingers and tongue. The moment he nipped at your throbbing clitwith his teeth, you were a goner, panting and gasping between your cries as you came undone. Your whole body shook from it, violent tremors sparking from your core and racing you and down your spine. 

You continued to shudder and shiver beneath him as he moved back up the bed, his fingers gripping your chin lightly, forcing you to look at him. His lips and chin were wet, covered in your arousal, and there was no sexier sight in your mind.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. 

But Billy didn’t move, instead he seemed to be caught in some thought that he couldn’t quite escape from.

“I don’t want it to be just about my pleasure,” he told you.

Something inside you ached, hurt that he remembered those words you’d spoken to him in anger. You shook your head.

“It’s not - it won’t be,” you said. “I want this, Billy. I want you. The real you.”

You wanted the dominant Billy, the one that made you question your boundaries, the one that made you feel alive and possessed, the Billy who made you feel like no one else ever could.

He still didn’t move, so you reached between your bodies and took his cock in your hands, teasing the tip between your folds.

“Please, Billy - fuck, I need you...”

It sounded desperate, pathetic even, but there was no lie in the words. You did need him. You needed this - whatever the fuck this even was.

His free hand gripping your hip and, before you could even think, his hips were moving. You cried out as his cock filled you in one hard thrust, your back arching up to meet him.

“Fuck,” you moaned, pressing your head back against the pillow, as far as his grip on your chin would allow.

“I knew you liked it rough,” he said, smirking down at you.

It took you a couple of seconds to get over the fact that he was buried to the hilt inside you, and to get used to the feeling, but not as long as you might have thought.

“Are you gonna tease me or fuck me?” You answered back, your playful challenge letting him know that you wanted him to fuck you. You wanted him to do what he wanted.

The fingers on your hip tightened, holding you in place as he moved a little, giving a couple of slow, shallow thrusts, before almost pulling out of you completely. You breath caught in your chest but was quickly expelled as he slammed into you again.

Your arms wrapped around him and held on for dear life as Billy started to fuck you, the hard and fast motion of his cock inside you, more than enough to have you letting out whines and moans of pleasure, your eyes quickly threatening to roll back in your head.

Months of frustration came to the fore and, despite how overwhelmed you felt, your hips started to move, bucking up to meet his every thrust. You felt indestructible in that moment, completely unbreakable.

He kissed you, dominating your mouth while he fucked you senseless. And you let him. No, you encouraged him. You wanted it, needed it, craved it. There was no going back, not after this.

“Oh fuck - fuck!”

It crept up on you from nowhere, driven to another orgasm by him and everything he was doing to you. Your thighs trembled violently against his and your back bowed off the bed, but Billy didn’t slow even for a moment. He fucked you through the heights of your pleasure before hish hands started to pull at your legs, pulling them upwards, bending you beneath him so your ass and lower back were no longer on the bed.

As he continued to move inside you, you felt him sinking deeper, an awkward mixture of pleasure and almost-discomfort filling you as the tip of his cock nudged your cervix. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, “your mine, kitten.”

You didn’t have the chance to answer. Any thought you might have had was cut short the moment you felt his cock hit that special, sensitive spot inside you. His name spilled from your lips as a plea and a prayer, begging him for more of the same. And Billy didn’t disappoint.

He easily forced you to come again, leaving you sopping wet around him, enough that every movement filled the room with a slick sound that might have embarrassed you with any other man. But, with the look on Billy’s face, you were anything but embarrassed. In fact, you were almost proud of the effect you were having on him.

His thrusts became rougher and more stilted and you could tell her was chasing his end as your walls continued to flutter and pulse around him. But that wasn’t enough for Billy.

“Billy!” You cried out as you felt his thumb against your clit, rubbing the swollen bundle of nerves as he continued to fuck you.

“One more, kitten,” he groaned through gritted teeth. “Need you to come one more time.”

Not that you had much say in the matter. If you’d been able to speak, you would have sworn until you were blue in the face that you couldn’t come again, but less than a minute later, you felt that coiling tension again.

Your whole body tensed, every muscle seeming ready to snap as you came for him again, your pussy clenching around his cock so tight that Billy swore. And, a moment later, he was following you over the edge and into oblivion.

It wasn’t until he came that you realised he wasn’t wearing a condom but by then it was too late and you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. You were too fucked-out to even thinking about it beyond knowing you’d need to get the morning after pill. He continued to move, hips jerking roughly against yours, forcing himself into the deepest part of you as he emptied himself. You barely realised that you were moaning his name, over and over, clinging to him and holding him tight, losing yourself in the feelings that you’d spent months denying.

“You’re mine,” he grunted as he finally stilled inside you, his cock buried deep.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t deny it.

In some ways you knew it was true.

He lowered your legs and practically collapsed on top of you, trailing lazy and wet kisses over every inch of skin his mouth came across, while you wrapped your arms tightly around him. You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow, enjoying the sudden stillness, and the feeling of your bodies still intimately joined.

“You okay?” He asked softly, nuzzling his face against your neck, not seeming to care that you felt like a sweaty and gross mess after all of that.

You gave a gentle hum in response, which clearly wasn’t enough for Billy. His head lifted and he looked at you before he repeated the question.

“Yeah, Billy, I’m good,” you told him.

“It wasn’t... too much?”

Again, something ached inside you. You hated that you were the cause of his doubts and insecurities.

“Billy, I - “ you shook your head, “- no, it wasn’t too much. It was just enough. It was... amazing.”

He smiled as you reached for him, cupping his cheek and tenderly running your thumb over his scarred skin. You leaned up to press a chaste and tender kiss to his lips, smiling softly as the gentle sound that escaped him.

“Good. I only ever want to make you happy.”

“Then stay with me,” you said, remembering exactly what had brought you to this moment in the first place.

“I - I will, but there’s something I have to do first.”

You couldn’t believe that that was the conversation you were having, especially while he was still buried inside you.

“Can - can you just hold me for a little while?” You asked.

There was obviously no point in trying to stop him from leaving, but you knew that you could slow his departure, even if it was just for a little while. Billy didn’t give an answer, instead he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you to feel that slow trickle of his cum between your legs while he settled beside you and gathered you up in his arms.

Somehow, despite everything, you managed to drift off for a little while, held safely in his arms.

But the perfect moment couldn’t last forever.

Billy roused you after forty or so minutes, telling you that he needed to go. You both moved slowly as you got out of bed, dressing as if it was the last thing you wanted to do. Then, you found yourself at the door again, this time in Billy’s arms, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ll be back. Then we can decide what comes next,” he said.

You nodded but found yourself lost for words until the door was open and he was stepping though. “Be careful, Billy. Please.”

For a second, he paused, no doubt because of the tremor in your voice, but instead of stepping back into the apartment and restarting the whole process all over again, Billy nodded.

Then he was gone.

Fighting, inexplicable tears, you closed the door and headed to the bathroom to shower before ending up back in bed, laying and staring up at the ceiling for a couple of hours until your phone started to vibrate.

“Jenna, what’s -” you started, but Jenna didn’t give you a chance to speak.

“Don’t come into work tonight.”

“What? Why?” Your heart started to pound nervously beneath your ribs.

“The Homeland Agent has been back, asking about Billy... and asking about you,” Jenna said, a seldom heard worry in her voice.

“What about me?”

“I don’t know, Sam said someone - some agent - was asking questions, wanting to know your full name, where you lived, stuff like that.”

Fuck. You felt your chest tighten, your lungs already feeling like they were on fire.

“What did he tell her?” You dared to ask, though you dreaded the answer.

“That he didn’t know - ‘cause he doesn’t, right? He only knows what you’ve told him.”

Thank fuck for that. One of the many reasons you’d taken the job at Sam’s was that he didn’t ask questions; he didn’t care who you were or where you were from as long as you could pull a pint and wouldn’t dip your fingers into the register.

“Fuck, Jenna, what am I gonna do?” You asked, voice trembling, betraying your fear.

“I don’t know, just - just hang tight for a few days, I’ll tell Sam you had a family emergency out of state or something,” Jenna  offered.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just - just be safe, okay?”

“I will.”

The call ended, leaving you filled with dread and panic. Immediately, you tried to call Billy, but there was no response.

You thought about grabbing your bag from the wardrobe and leaving everything behind but, for the first time in your life, you felt like you had real reasons to stay; Billy and Jenna. 

There was no resting, no sitting still as the afternoon gave way to evening. Jenna texted you to let you know that Sam thought you were in Oregon with family, helping arrange a funeral but, other than that, you heard nothing. You tried Billy a few more times but got no answer.

Every noise outside had you on your feet, expecting a knock at the door - or for someone to knock down the door - but it never came.

By the time your phone did ring, you were so fraught that you almost jumped out of your skin.

Billy. It was Billy.

“Billy, I tried to call, Agent Madani is -”

Something stopped you, some horrible noise; a sharp but struggled intake of breath.

“Billy?”

“Kitten, I -” he started, his voice sounding weak, like he was in pain, “- I... I’m sorry.”

Already there were tears in the corners of your eyes and your mind started to race over every worst case scenario you could think of.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on, Billy?”

“It’s all fucked up, I - I thought I could reason with him...”

“Frank? You went to see Frank?”

There was no point trying to hide the panic you were feeling. Every time you’d seen Billy after run-ins with Frank, he’d been left a mess.

“I wanted an end to it but -” he let out a hiss of pain.

“Billy, what’s wrong?” you asked again, desperate for an answer that would assuage all your fears.

“Kitten, I - I think I’m dying...”

End Note : Okay, so, this chapter got longer than intended (lbr it's because of all the smut) so next week will be the last full chapter, but there is also an epilogue planned. I'd say I'm sorry about the cliffhanger ending, but we all know by now that I enjoy leaving you hanging for a week.

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

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[padfootverse]

NEW DIARY ENTRY - SIRIUS

Date: 9th September 1976, Night in the Gryffindor Boys’ Dormitory

I think I often surround myself with people who are calmer, more thoughtful, because I’ve always been lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you look at it—to be a bit… “explosive”. Most of the time, that works in my favour. I’m the sort of bloke who isn’t afraid to speak up, crack a joke when the moment calls for it, or say exactly what’s on my mind—even when no one’s asked.

But there’s something about all of this that’s driving me mad. Something lurking beneath the surface, and no matter how much I try to shove it down, I can’t stop it from showing.

Sometimes, in the common room, I catch myself watching Moony more than I should. It’s odd, really, because I’ve never been one to stop and analyse other people. But with him… it’s different.

Everything about it is different.

Today, while we were playing chess (or rather, while James was cheating his way to another victory, as usual), I couldn’t help but notice how Remus didn’t join us. He’s always so quiet, so… introspective, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

And the worst part is, we all know why. We know what it is, what happens when that time of the month comes around. And we don’t talk about it. We don’t need to. We just accept it. Because, at the end of the day, Moony is still Moony. And we love him for it, every part of him.

There’s no need to say anything aloud about what we share. We all get it. But even so, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. Like we’re all tiptoeing across thin ice, hoping it won’t crack beneath us.

I’m so scared. Fuuuck. That’s why I haven’t said anything. Because even though I know what’s going on, even though I know I see it, I don’t want things to change. I don’t want anyone to start asking questions, the right questions. And more than anything, I don’t want Remus to notice.

Because if he does, there’s no going back.

And that brings me to something else—the fact that I even care this much. I never thought I’d find myself worrying about someone like this.

Honestly, I’m not the sort to sit around analysing my own feelings, let alone someone else’s. But there’s something about Moony—something buried deep in the way he looks at the world—that makes me question everything.

I’ve mastered the art of keeping things on the surface, where everyone can see them. But with Remus, the surface isn’t enough. And when I look at him—like tonight, when he was sitting across the room—there’s something you don’t say but you feel. And it’s throwing me off completely.

It’s strange. Very strange. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and for once, I realise I can’t keep ignoring what I’m feeling. I don’t like it, but it’s the truth. And the truth… the truth always scares me.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and feel just the same as I always do. But something tells me I won’t. Something tells me that if I’m not careful, I’m going to lose myself in this.

And I’m not sure I want to be lost…

Sirius O. Black

[ofthemorningstars]

Cruel-Hearted Beasts

TerzOmega ~ Family Fic ~ Hurt/Comfort ~ Resurrection AU

3.8k words AO3 Version

" 'Now listen here, donna malvagia, I will not stand for my girls being treated like criminals, like second-class citizens! They have just as much of a right to stand up for themselves as anyone else!' Terzo roared.

'If you didn’t want your children to be treated like second-class citizens, perhaps you shouldn’t have laid down with a ghoul,' Ms. Voss sneered. "

Terzo and Omega's daughters (8 and 5) learn an unfortunate lesson about discrimination against ghouls within the ministry. CW: discrimination, vague depiction of light violence ---

Starlight stood over the rat-faced boy in the dirt, fist clenched and chest heaving. Her eyes were wide, full of anger and adrenaline and disbelief. 

She didn't know what happened. When she had heard her baby sister scream, had felt her calling out for help with her quintessence, she began blindly sprinting for the source of her plea. As she approached the scene and saw Astrid on the ground shielding her face against the older boy’s foot, ready to kick the helpless five year old, she lost it. She tackled him, sitting on his stomach and punching him repeatedly in the face, seeing red. 

The assault only ended when a Sister pulled her off of him, setting her down on her feet in front of Astrid. A young teenager stepped in to play referee, keeping the two offending parties apart until the Sister returned from wherever she had run off to. Starlight took Astrid by the hand and pulled her to her feet, dusting her off and examining her. Luckily she didn’t appear to be hurt physically, but her face was stained with tears and snot. Starlight wiped her little sister’s nose with her sleeve. “What did that boy do to you?” Starlight growled through gritted teeth, baring her fangs. Astrid only looked away, eyes fixed on her shoes as they filled with fresh tears. Starlight hugged her tightly, letting her sister cry into her shirt. When the Sister returned, it was with the director of their little makeshift school in tow, who glowered at them as she approached. As she helped the boy to his feet with what Starlight considered to be a little too much kindness, the girl growled again, a low rumble in her chest. The director shot her a look out of the corner of her eye, scrunching her nose up in what she could’ve sworn was disgust. “In my office, now! Both of you!” Her voice was just barely below a shout. Astrid whimpered, clinging to her sister. Starlight puffed out her chest in defiant outrage. 

“What?! But Astrid didn’t do anything, Ms. Voss! Avery was the one who–” “Enough! Save it, I don’t want to hear another word.” Ms. Voss marched them inside from the courtyard, down the ministry’s long hallways and into a cramped, dimly lit office. She motioned for them to sit down when Starlight stood there rubbing her arm uncomfortably. 

“Hitting another of the ministry’s children is absolutely unacceptable! We’ll call your parents and see what they have to say about all of this.” She spat the word “parents” in a way that made Starlight’s anger bubble up again, wondering why she said it like that. “I’m sure they won’t be pleased to hear about their daughter bloodying another child.” Starlight stiffened; she didn’t remember seeing any blood. She couldn’t tell if the woman was bluffing. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence, the girls holding hands, Starlight occasionally giving her sister a reassuring squeeze. She tried silently reaching out to Astrid with her quintessence, but to her dismay found herself being blocked out. The older girl’s heart began pounding in her chest as she heard footsteps racing down the hallway and the murmuring of voices, voices that she’d recognize anywhere. Their Papa burst through the door first, eyes wild and searching. When they landed on his daughters, he swiftly crossed the room to them, kneeling on the cold marble floor and placing a hand on each of their faces. “Oh, le mie dolci ragazze, are you alright? What happened, tell me what–” Terzo started before being rudely cut off by the sound of Ms. Voss aggressively clearing her throat. Starlight’s gaze flicked up to her as she rose to her feet, leaning forward on her desk with a grave look on her face. “Your daughters–,” there was that tone again, “--have disrupted class yet again, this time beating up a fellow child! Their behavior is disgraceful, especially in a place of unholy worship! We have rules, standards that must be followed!” She was beginning to look maroon, strands of her normally neat hair falling in her face. It was Omega’s turn to clear his throat. Starlight hadn’t even seen him come in. He looked uncharacteristically angry, his normally placid features masking barely concealed fury. “ Our daughters would never strike someone unless they were defending themselves,” Omega hissed through clenched teeth. His jaw was tight, his fists balled at his sides. Foolishly, Ms. Voss didn’t back down at this; if she was intimidated at all, she didn’t show it. “I’m afraid if they cannot behave in a civilized manner, they will no longer be allowed to mingle with the other children. We cannot have their influence rubbing off on the rest of them. We have allowed them to poison the flock long enough!” The vein in her forehead was popping out. Terzo shot to his feet, outraged. 

“Now listen here, donna malvagia, I will not stand for my girls being treated like criminals, like second-class citizens! They have just as much of a right to stand up for themselves as anyone else!” Terzo roared. 

“If you didn’t want your children to be treated like second-class citizens, perhaps you shouldn’t have laid down with a ghoul,” Ms. Voss sneered. 

Starlight’s dusky grey skin flushed dark purple, and Astrid began to sob, cowering against her sister. Omega had to drag all of them out of the room before things could escalate further, Terzo screaming and spitting all the way down the hall.

When they got back to their quarters, Terzo slammed the door behind him, leaning on it heavily and looking like he was trying not to let angry tears escape. Omega scooped up a still-crying Astrid, rubbing her back and shushing her as she buried her face in his shirt. Starlight took one of Terzo’s shaking hands in hers, looking up at him with eyes full of shame and sadness. Terzo did shed a tear then, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “La mia coraggiosa bambina. Please. What happened today? Do not listen to a word that vile woman said.” When Starlight hesitated, Terzo led them all to the kitchen table. Astrid sat in Omega’s lap, holding onto him for dear life and hiding her face. Terzo gave his oldest daughter a patient touch on the arm, and she swallowed hard. “I don't… know, Papa. Astrid called out for me, and then I was hitting him, I–” Starlight choked up, losing her battle against her tears. “She was on the ground, I saw Avery ab-about to kick her in the face and I just went crazy…” She bit her lip against a sob. “I didn’t know what to do. She’s my baby sister…” she trailed off in a whisper. Omega growled low beside her, losing the battle against his rage. Terzo stared at her slack-jawed. “Kick her… in the face…” Terzo repeated, as though unable to believe what he was hearing. His eyes shot to his youngest daughter, his features etched with sorrow. He got up to kneel beside Omega, brushing the hair out of Astrid’s face when she turned to look at him. She leaned into his touch, her mismatched eyes red and puffy. “What did he do to you, il mio piccolo amore?” “He pushed me d-down, Papa. He called me a-a ‘filthy ghoul’. He s-said that you were a disgrace to the name Emeritus for… for…” Astrid broke down into a fresh round of tears. Omega shushed her, running a hand through her hair. Starlight was stunned, unable to comprehend why someone would say something like that, especially to such a young child. As Terzo returned to his seat, Starlight could tell that their Papa had more questions, but was unwilling to push the already distraught girl any further. 

“Papa. Daddy. Why would someone say that to her? What’s wrong with being a ghoul?” Starlight asked, pain evident in her voice. She saw her parents exchange a long, agonized look as they sat in uncomfortable silence. Omega was the first to speak up, pulling Astrid closer to his chest. 

“My sweet girls… We were hoping that this conversation could wait until you were a little older.” Omega pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t really know how to say this...” 

“Within the ministry, ghouls have been looked down on and treated as servants for centuries. For as long as the ministry has been around, really. Things didn’t change until a few years before you were born, after your Papa d–” Omega cut himself off, quickly looking for a way to rephrase whatever it was that he had been about to say. “After your Papa was taken out of power. But then Uncle Copia became the one in charge and brought him back. When Papa agreed to work for the ministry again, his only condition was that the ghouls were freed from their servitude and were to be treated as equals.” She saw her Papa nod out of the corner of her eye

“But a lot of the people who have been in the clergy for a long time got used to them being regarded poorly.” Terzo took over. “They don’t respect ghouls, they still expect them to be subservient.” He was beginning to get worked up. “They are ignorant, they have hatred in their hearts. It is why Daddy and I waited so long to have you. We had to keep our relationship a secret.” 

“I don’t understand why they don’t like us, Papa!” Starlight’s voice broke, her vision becoming blurry with tears. “We’re people too!” She heard her Daddy sniffle, turning around to see him wiping at his eyes. She had rarely seen him cry before, and it left her shaken. “I don’t understand it either, la mia bellissima principessa,” Terzo said softly as he smoothed Starlight’s hair. “There are many wicked, cruel-hearted beasts that live within the ministry’s halls, and none of them are ghouls.” 

“You are not, and will never be, lesser than any human. You are incredibly special, and so very loved. We will never stop fighting for you. For all of us.” There was an air of finality in Omega’s voice that stressed the sincerity of his words. He meant it. “I do not think that we should send you back there. Clearly, it is not a safe or nurturing environment. Daddy is home nearly every day, he will do an excellent job of educating you.” Terzo didn’t sound like he was giving them a choice. “But Papa, we have friends there! Not everyone is like that, some of the kids are really nice!” Starlight pleaded, but Terzo’s face was set. “Papa…” Astrid’s voice was timid at first as she looked up from Omega’s chest. “I don’t want to leave my friends,” she sniffled. “It’s not fair, I d-don’t understand what I did wrong!” She began to hyperventilate, little claws digging into the fabric of Omega’s shirt, threatening to tear it. “I'm s-sorry, Papa! Please don’t make me leave!” she gasped between breaths. Terzo’s expression softened. Omega looked broken, rocking Astrid cradled in his arms as though she were a baby again. 

“I–” Terzo hesitated, interrupted by Astrid’s heart-wrenching cries. He appeared to think for a long minute, clumsily running his hands through his own hair. “Look. I will call Uncle Copia in the morning and tell him about everything that has happened. I do not want to take you away from your friends,” he assured them both gently. “You cannot go back with things being the way that they are now. But maybe he can pull some strings and… help fix this. Tomorrow you will stay home so that we can get things sorted out. Ok?” Starlight nodded. It took Astrid a little while to calm down again, but once her breathing returned to normal, she nodded as well. They sat with their parents at the table for a while, being comforted until they were settled enough to go on with their night as a family. When they were able to handle parting, Omega cooked everyone dinner while the girls sat curled up with their Papa on the sofa, going through family photo albums and baby books. Their parents had worked hard to meticulously document their lives together since being able to live in the open as a couple. They wanted to hold onto all of their cherished memories, preserving them for both themselves and their children. Maybe for their grandchildren as well, someday, if they were lucky. “Papa,” Astrid asked, sounding more like herself than she had all day. “Are there any pictures of when you and Daddy got married?” Terzo made a face like he’d just sucked on a lemon. “Ah… Unfortunately not. We got married a very long time ago, alone and in secret.” He didn’t need to say why their wedding happened under such circumstances. It lingered heavily in the air, darkening the atmosphere again. “When did you get married?” Starlight asked, trying to lift the mood. Terzo chuckled brightly. “Over thirty years ago now.” His expression was wistful. “Wow, that’s a long time!” Astrid said in awe. “You’re old, Papa.” Terzo winced. “I know, my darling. I know.” 

When Omega called them for dinner, Starlight and Astrid raced each other to the kitchen, quickly cleaning their plates and asking for seconds. Starlight hadn’t realized how hungry she had been; they had been pulled out of class before their afternoon snack, but the horrors of the day had numbed them both to the passage of time. 

Omega decided that they would be turning in early that night when an exhausted Astrid nearly fell asleep in her ice cream. They quickly took baths and got ready for bed. Astrid was out the second her head hit the pillow. Starlight was wide awake, but skipped her nightly bedtime story. She wasn’t feeling up to it. She was still deeply affected by the things she had heard. By the agony she had felt radiating off of her baby sister, and later, her Daddy. Omega didn’t need his quintessence to pick up on her distress, but he could use it to ease it away. He sat down on the edge of her bed and took her hand in his, squeezing. Leaning down, he pressed their foreheads together, an unnecessary but comforting step for them when they connected. Her mind was flooded with tranquil waves of warmth and peace, their bond overflowing with unconditional love. Soon her eyelids began to feel heavy. The last thing she remembered before the world went dark was the feeling of her Daddy kissing her cheek.

—

Terzo was perched on the edge of their bed, anxiously biting his nails nearly down to the beds while he waited for Omega to return from getting Starlight to sleep. He hadn’t intended to leave before both of his girls were asleep, but he knew the energy he was giving off wasn’t conducive to helping sensitive little quintessence ghouls rest. He felt sick to his stomach with worry. He hurt for his children, for his husband. None of them deserved any of this. Guilt consumed him, his inability to protect his family making him feel like a failure. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Omega approaching. He peered up at his husband, trying to give him his most convincing smile. Omega wasn’t buying it. “Tesoro mio, I can feel you down the hallway. I don’t know why you bother trying to hide from me, after all these years.” Omega pressed a kiss to the top of Terzo’s head before sitting down beside him. Terzo leaned on him heavily, trying not to break under the weight of everything that had transpired within the last few hours. “What are we going to do?” Terzo whispered, closing his eyes against tears. Omega thought for a moment. “It’s only eight-thirty, we can still call Copia. I’m not sure what he can do about it this late, but I know you well enough to know that this will eat at you until you do something about it.” It only took Terzo a few moments to agree, quickly pulling out his phone and dialing his brother. 

To say that Copia was outraged would, blessedly, be an understatement. When he’d gotten the whole retelling out, Terzo had to hold the phone away from his ear to preserve his hearing against the volume of his brother’s tirade. It felt validating to have someone else feel a fraction of the anger that he felt over the situation, even if it didn’t make it better. 

They were stuck on where to go from here, the situation complicated by alliances and bullshit ministry politics. When Terzo bitterly suggested sending her to the pit, Copia calmed, beginning to back-peddle the conversation. Killing her was not an option, Copia insisted, making Terzo roll his eyes. In his anger for his daughters, he was tempted to call Copia a coward, but he knew that was unfair. He knew from firsthand experience how hard it was to balance the demands of so many forces pulling you in warring directions. “What if I fire her, so to speak? Have her moved somewhere like kitchen duty, eh?” Copia sounded pleased with himself. Terzo clenched his jaw. 

“That could be even worse, you idiot! What if she started messing with the food?! She could poison the girls!” Terzo was getting worked up again. He was fighting hard to keep his voice down.

“Ok ok, maybe not the kitchens, but you get my point!” Copia conceded. “No.” He wasn’t budging on this. “No, fratello, after all the shit that we have been through, that you have put us through, you owe me. Excommunicate her at the very least.” “Terzo, you know that wasn’t my fault! Do you know how much shit I’ll get for–” “ I don’t care,” Terzo hissed. “The girls will be going back to class next week, and there will be a different administration in place, or so help me I will make you regret the day you were born.” His tone was final. There was a long pause, followed by a weary sigh. “Ok. Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” With that, Terzo hung up the phone, too frazzled and pissed off to bother with a goodbye. He flopped back on the bed and was quickly joined by Omega, who was equally as done with this wretched day. They lay there for what felt like an hour, but in reality was probably closer to ten minutes. Terzo was beginning to drift off when he felt a tendril of his husband’s quintessence reach out to softly brush against his mind, asking to be let in. Terzo could feel the lingering hurt and insecurity in the request and eagerly accepted, flinging the doors to his emotional world wide open. Before either of them knew what was happening, they were both overcome with the torment that Omega had been barely suppressing all day. Terzo felt Omega’s overwhelming, aching guilt at having passed the curse of his ghoulish nature on to his daughters. His sense of failure for not having been able to protect them, to not have gotten them out of such a hostile environment, to not have set them up for a brighter future somehow. He shared that he sometimes wondered if Terzo would have been better off if they had never met. A ragged gasp tore through Terzo, feeling like a hole was being ripped in his heart by the depths of Omega’s suffering.

Terzo drew Omega’s trembling form into his arms, doing his best to console the ghoul who made up the other half of his soul. He told him how much he loved him, how much their girls loved him, how proud he was of him. He reminded him of how highly he regarded ghouls, of how much respect and dignity he knew them to be owed. Terzo assured him that he wouldn’t change a single thing about him or their beautiful children, that he wouldn’t even think about it for a second. Their circumstances had always been so unfair… He tried to stay strong for Omega, but soon they were crying in each other’s arms, clinging tightly. Unsure of what else to do to ease his partner’s suffering, Terzo concentrated on focusing and amplifying the love he had for his husband and for their family, making sure it infiltrated every cell of Omega’s body. Gradually Omega’s breath steadied, evened out, and soon they were still. Terzo looked at him, relieved to see something resembling peace on his face. 

“Omega?” Terzo called feebly, worn out from the effort. Omega opened his eyes and hummed in response. Terzo cupped Omega’s face in his hands, stealing a tender kiss. “Nothing that happened today is your fault, mio caro. Please. I need you to know this. You are the most wonderful father and husband we could have ever asked for. We love you. We need you...” Omega closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath before hesitantly nodding. Terzo kissed him again, and when they broke apart they kept their lips pressed together, basking in the presence and warmth of the other. They both needed to be close, were craving skin to skin contact. “C’mon, mio amato, let’s go take a shower. Let the heat melt some of the stress away,” Omega proposed. Terzo thought that sounded like a great idea, if only he could find the strength to stand. Omega got up first, carefully pulling Terzo to his feet and steadying him as he wobbled. Omega began to lead him towards the ensuite, but Terzo resisted. “Wait. Let me go check on the girls first, amore,” Terzo requested. Omega nodded, giving his hand a firm squeeze before he let go. Omega started the water while Terzo crept down the hall, careful not to wake their children. The creak of the door rang out in the quiet darkness, amplified by his own lingering anxiety. He cursed the squeaky hinges, wondering why they never got around to fixing them. 

When Terzo peeked his head around the corner, he found Astrid’s bed empty. Looking around the room with momentary concern, he spied his youngest child in her older sister’s bed, their hands clasped on top of the covers. Astrid’s other hand clutched her baby blanket tightly to her chest, the one her Daddy knitted for her before she was born. Terzo’s heart warmed at the sight. He couldn’t help the smile that followed him all the way back to the shower. That night, as they did every other night, Terzo and Omega fell asleep safe and warm in each other's arms.

[stir-knee-oh-low]

cold yet? || matt sturniolo

matt and izaria weren't exactly friends, but they'd had their fair share of moments. it was never about love— something they convinced themselves of.

to them, it was all a game of back and forth sarcastic comments with teasing smirks and empty flirting. they lived for the chase. to anyone else, it was easy to assume they loved each other’s company, but to them it was just “fun.”

they went to a party together, but as the night went on, the temperature dropped. it was matt who subtly showed he'd been paying attention. he didn't ask if she was cold; instead, he broke her to finally admit it and then just so "happened" to have one in the back seat, pretending like he hadn't thought ahead. it was a small gesture, but the meaning behind it was clear: he cared more than he'd ever let her know.

content: fluff, banter, and flirting, flirty!matt x stubborn!reader

“so… you comin with?” his blue eyes, lazy yet expectant, staring back through the screen. there was no urgency, no rush— the dim glow of his tv casting different shadows on his face highlighting his cocky tilted smile, like he already knew the answer.

lounging on her bed, with her own tv on playing different voice in the back she replied “please... you'd be bored without me” matching his tone, knowing full well he liked having her around, more than he'd like to admit.

“yeah ok” he rolled his eyes, already hearing the sarcastic remark in her voice before she even said anything. almost as to say don’t get too confident now. “just don’t forget your jacket. might get cold later” but she might’ve scoffed a bit too loud because who was he to tell her what to do, she thought. except beneath her actions, a small part of her wondered did he actually notice more about her than she realized? "i'm sure i'll be fine" iz responded, regardless of those small feelings, still being a little too confident. "whatever... i'll text you when I'm coming to pick you up later" "alright" the call ended, leaving her alone to figure out what outfit would get under matt’s skin the most

matt was in iz's driveway waiting and as izaria walked closer to the door and opening it he couldn't help but glance briefly at her outfit as she climbed in on the passenger's side. a mini skirt and small top that basically covered nothing. "c'mon iz... you really didn't bring a jacket?" he genuinely wanted her to bring a jacket but he knew her all too well. her stubbornness was granted and he knew she’d pull something like this. holding back from smirking, he knew it’d only make the night more amusing " 'm not taking advice from the guy that wears the same outfit every time we go out" she bites back with a smirk. all matt does was shrug, keeping his eyes on the road and grinning before slyly replying "not my fault I look good in it, right?" shooting her a sideways smile, she rolled her eyes in pure disbelief "whatever" iz was annoyed at how it seemed like he always got the last word. and she hated how effortlessly he could flash his smug grin, knowing she'd never call him out on how much it got to her. but even then, he never heard her deny it.

as the night went on, the air got colder and began biting at iz’s skin, sending sharp chills down her spine. and as much as she hated to admit it her thin strapy top and a skirt that hung only a few inches beneath her waist was a cute outfit but a bold, yet stupid move nonetheless.

now that she was actually outside with the cold air mockingly brushing her skin, it was beginning to seem like an obviously bad choice as it wasn't exactly helping her prove her point. stubborn as ever, she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to act like the cold didn’t bother her.

however matt noticed. of course he did. she could feel his eyes on her from across the yard, even while he laughed at something one of his friends said. he didn’t approach her immediately, though—he waited, letting her sit with her pride for a little too long before noticing her give in, sliding the back door open and sneaking inside the house.

“cold yet?” matt’s teasing voice caught her off guard as she didn’t realize he had followed behind her. leaning against the counter, water bottle in hand, smirking like he’d been waiting for this moment.

iz turned to face him, “i’m fine,” she said oddly calm, though her shivering betrayed her.

“sure you are” he knowingly responded, taking a sip of water “the whole freezing-to-death thing kinda suits you though.” she glared at him, hugging her arms tighter. “i’m not freezing. I’m just—”

“cold?” he interrupted, his smug grin widening.

iz sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “your impossible to be around , you know that?”

“and yet, here you are.” iz narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to let the smirk on his face get under her skin. before she could come up with a sharp comeback, matt pushed off the counter, his tone shifting slightly.

“come on,” he said, nodding toward the door. “let’s get out of here before it gets even colder. i’m tired anyway.”

her first instinct was to refuse, to stay and prove that she didn’t need him to rescue her. she opened her mouth to argue, but somehow could think of anything to say. almost like she was somewhat out of comebacks

“fine,” she muttered, trying to make it sound like she was doing him a favor. “fine,” matt copied her with a grin, already heading toward the backyard.

they said quick goodbyes to their friends, gathering their stuff before stepping into the chilly night. as they walked through the different cars in the driveway to matt’s car.

“oh,” matt said casually as he unlocked the doors, “i think i might’ve left a jacket in the backseat the other day. you can grab it while the car heats up.”

iz paused, one hand hovering near the door handle. something about the way he said it felt off—not in a bad way, just... calculated. she opened the door and spotted the jacket right away, neatly folded like it had been waiting for her.

matt watched her pull it out. he had planned this. of course he had. he’d thrown the jacket into the car earlier, convincing himself it was no big deal. just in case. no harm in being prepared, right? but now, seeing her hold it, slip it on, he wondered if it was too obvious.

“really?” she asked, turning toward him, her voice skeptical as she slid her arms through the sleeves. “so this just happens to be here?”

it was easier to fall into old habits, to tease and deflect, than admit he’d thought about her—about her being cold, about her maybe needing him. “what, you think i brought it here just for you?”

her brow arched, the fabric of the jacket soft and oversized on her. “i don’t know, matt. you don’t exactly strike me as the ‘just in case’ type.” matt’s chest tightened for a second. he could tell she was trying to figure him out, and the thought made him nervous in a way he didn’t like to admit.

“just feels convenient,” she muttered, though the bite in her tone had softened.

“or,” matt said, stepping closer and lowering his voice just enough to make her heart skip a beat, “maybe you’re just reading too much into it.” matt had no idea why he was nervous—this was iz. teasing her was second nature, messing with her was even easier. but this wasn’t that. not anymore. being so close to her it made the atmosphere feel off balance.

the way he looked at her then—like he was daring her to call him out, like he knew she wouldn’t—made her stomach flip. she wanted to laugh it off, to roll her eyes and call him insufferable again, but the words wouldn’t come. instead, she held his gaze a second too long, long enough for the air between them to shift.

she simply looked up at him, innocent and confused, and for a second, matt forgot how to breathe.

iz felt it too. the weight of the silence between them, the way her heart pounded in her chest, the way the cold no longer mattered. she hated this—realizing he could easily make her feel things she didn’t want to feel.

matt pulled back, his smirk returning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “come on. get in the car,” he said, his voice quieter now. “before you overthink it.” yeah— would want that now would we? she thought. she climbed into his car unable to shake off the tension that she just experienced.

val’s notes 💌

pt 2?? guys plss😭 i literally said i was gonna post this weeks ago and then i got caught up with school. good thing is that i have exams next week and then im free to hopefully post more!! but pls lmk if this was good. ill post pt 2 soon (actually this time. at most in 2 weeks😭) sorry!! but anyways hope yall liked this one!!

OMGG ALSOO the first person on my taglist!! ⬇️

TAGLIST: @bibbleisking

def let me know ig you want to be apart of the taglist by commenting or sending me an inbox!! and if you want to be taken off also let me know through inbox or comments!!🩷🫶

[maul-of-shame]

[Following that ask received this morning:]

TW: mentions of violence, dark themes, r*pe threat, d*ath threat and more.

Anon, I won't give you the grace of showing your pitiful ask.

First off, let me make something abundantly clear: I do not owe you or anyone else an explanation for the disgusting accusations you’ve hurled at me, but since you’ve decided to stoop so low as to accuse me of sending anon asks to myself to “attract pity”, I’m going to address this ONCE, and only once. After that, you’ll get nothing from me, because frankly, you don’t deserve my time or energy.

Of course, you came as an anon.

Of-fucking-course.

Because that’s how it always is with people like you, isn’t it? You lack the guts to attach your name or account to your words because deep down, you know how pathetic they are. You know that if you showed your face—or username, in this case—you’d be put on blast for how ridiculous, hateful, and downright childish you’re being. And honestly? That’s the funniest part of all of this. You’re so convinced of your moral high ground, so sure of your ability to judge and ridicule others, yet you can’t even stand behind your own words.

What does that say about you? It says you know this behavior is embarrassing. It says you know people would see your messages for what they are: a desperate attempt to project your own bitterness and insecurity onto someone else. You’re hiding because even you can’t defend the nonsense you’re spewing. You’re hiding because you know if anyone saw this coming from your actual account, you’d lose whatever credibility or standing you think you have.

You accuse me of creating fake messages for attention, yet here you are, skulking in the shadows, hoping to stir the pot without getting burned. That’s rich. That’s laughable. If you were so certain of your stance, you’d have the backbone to come forward and say it openly. But you don’t. Because you’re not confident. You’re a coward. You’re someone who throws stones from behind a curtain and runs away before anyone can see their face.

And let’s be real: this isn’t about me or anything I’ve done. This is about you.

Your insecurities, your inability to handle the fact that people enjoy my space, my writing, my theories. It eats at you, doesn’t it?

I fucking bet it does.

That I have a community of people who actually appreciate what I do, while you’re stuck anonymously spitting venom into an inbox, hoping it lands somewhere, anywhere. But it doesn’t. It just makes you look smaller and more pitiful.

Let’s start with the facts.

Over the past few days/weeks, I’ve received countless anon messages filled with hate, harassment, and vile threats. Yes, threats.

Including one particularly disgusting message where someone decided a rape threat was an appropriate way to communicate their displeasure with me. I’ve reported and blocked more people than I can count, and still, this kind of behavior keeps crawling out of the woodwork. So let me ask you this: does that sound like the kind of thing someone would do to themselves for “pity”?

Really? Do you hear yourself?

Do you know what it’s like to wake up, open your inbox, and see someone wishing you dead, telling you to bury yourself six feet under, or worse? Do you know what it’s like to open your inbox and see someone saying they hope you’ll die with a sword shoved up your body and drown in your own blood or listing out all the ways they hope you’ll be hurt, humiliated, and brutalized? Do you know what it’s like to open your inbox and see someone saying you should kill yourself for the theories you have?

Do you have any fucking idea what it feels like to see someone detail the ways they’d enjoy seeing you in pain—whether it’s physical, emotional, or otherwise—all because of fictional characters and shipping preferences?

Because I do. And let me tell you, it’s one of the most exhausting, soul-crushing, and frankly disgusting experiences I’ve had to endure while just trying to enjoy and share my creativity. I thought the Star Wars fandom was bad, but it turns out the LOTR fandom has some groups that are straight up sent from Hell.

Despite all of that, I’m still here. I still write, create, make puns, keep a cheerful face for my friends and share—not for people like you, but for the wonderful, kind souls in this fandom who bring joy, support, and light into what should be a fun and welcoming space. But to accuse me of sending this kind of bile to myself for “pity”? That’s not just absurd—it’s pathetic.

Truly. It says far more about your warped sense of logic and moral compass than it ever could about me.

The fact that you can even entertain such a thought, let alone say it out loud, reveals just how twisted you are.

To you, apparently, it’s easier to believe I’d inflict this level of vitriol on myself than to admit that people in fandom can be so hateful, so unhinged, that they’ll send another human being rape threats, death threats, and graphic depictions of violence over fiction.

FUCKING. FICTION.!!!!!!

Let me ask you this: what kind of person looks at someone who’s being harassed—being told they should be raped, tortured, or otherwise harmed—and thinks, “Oh, they must be doing this to themselves”?

What kind of mindset do you have to have to jump to that conclusion instead of, I don’t know, maybe looking at the toxicity in fandom and addressing that as the real issue?

Do you know what it takes to keep going in the face of constant hate, to open your inbox day after day not knowing what vile message might be waiting for you, and still find the strength to create and share your work? I do.

And while I’ll never stop fighting for my right to enjoy what I love, I shouldn’t have to fight for that in the first place.

And certainly not against people like you, who think it’s acceptable to make baseless accusations to justify their own bitter, hateful existence.

Let me make another thing crystal clear: I am not doing you the mercy of responding to your anon ask directly. You’ve been reported to Tumblr, and I hope they deal with you accordingly. If you think you can just toss out baseless accusations and vile comments without consequences, you’re mistaken. This is the only time I will speak on this, because frankly, you’re not worth any more of my time.

People confide in me. They share their thoughts, their theories, and even their insecurities about fandom, life, or writing because they trust me to listen, to offer support, or simply to be a safe space. I’ve had people thank me for the fics I write, the theories I post, and the space I try to maintain here—a space for joy, creativity, and thoughtful discussion. I've received lots of sweet dms, requests and people just coming up to be nice and genuine.

And now you’re standing here, twisting that genuine kindness and connection into something vile and accusing me of fabricating it all for attention? You are so far gone in your own bitterness and hatred that you can’t even comprehend the idea that people can be kind, vulnerable, and open to others without some ulterior motive. It’s mind-boggling.

And honestly, I would almost feel sorry for you if it weren’t so disgustingly vile. The sheer audacity of crawling out of whatever troll cave you call home to spew this kind of venom is both pathetic and revolting.

The messages I’ve received—be they from someone crying over a fic, thanking me for a theory that made them think differently, or simply reaching out to tell me that something I shared helped them feel less alone—those are real.

Those are people. Real people.

People who see value in what I do, who connect with me because of shared interests or mutual appreciation, and who know I’ll meet them with warmth and understanding. To suggest otherwise—to claim I’m sending these messages to myself—is not just laughable; it’s deeply twisted. It just shows your inability to see goodness in others.

Maybe you’ve surrounded yourself with so much toxicity that you can no longer fathom a world where people can just… be nice. Or maybe it’s just easier for you to believe I’d fabricate everything rather than admit to yourself that people actually like what I create. Either way, that’s a you problem, not mine.

Do you know what’s really embarrassing? Not me, sitting here, being an ear for people who trust me enough to confide in me, or taking the time to write, share, and theorize because I enjoy it. No, what’s truly embarrassing is you, sitting in your little echo chamber of hatred, so consumed by your own pettiness that you can’t even comprehend people reaching out with genuine kindness. That’s sad. That’s pathetic. And that’s on you.

I am not the one who is broken here. I’m not the one projecting my insecurities and bitterness onto someone else’s joy.

You can accuse me of whatever wild nonsense you like, but at the end of the day, it won’t change the fact that people trust me, people value me, and people care.

And no matter how many times you try to convince yourself otherwise, the fact remains: this space isn’t about you, your hate, or your inability to see past your own resentment.

It’s about community, about connection, and about creating something positive in a world that’s already far too full of negativity.

To everyone else reading this, I want to be transparent because this is a space I’ve worked hard to make welcoming and creative. If you’ve ever sent me a kind message, engaged with my work, or supported me in any way, thank you. You are the reason I keep doing what I do.

And to those who think it’s acceptable to harass or threaten someone over fandom content? Get a grip, get a life and touch some fucking grass.

This is fandom. It’s supposed to be fun. If you can’t handle someone enjoying something you don’t, then maybe the internet isn’t the place for you.

So, to this anonymous coward: crawl back to whatever pit of bitterness and insecurity you came from. This is the last breath I’ll waste on you and it's already more than you deserve.

[9trixieturner6]

Oh yeah no I get that enjis wasn’t a persona he was just a standoffish dick. I was saying if he had more knowledge in how to handle people or work a crowd he could have done that encounter wrong. And yeah in the future there may very well be a mistrust against rough and tumble heroes we don’t know, given how the biggest focus wasn’t even on what endeavor did to his family but more that he was related to a villain I can’t really say what the general audience reaction is gonna be in the future. Maybe they’ll just think bakugos rude.

Once again could be we don’t see what dropping is, does dropping mean wow he went from fourth to fifth or seventh to fifteenth or seventeen to twenty eight or to a hundred and ninth.

That one is a rough one since it is subjective, unless specifically told something like horikoshi saying yes X and Y were intentionally done and mean this you can take anything done in the story a lot of ways. And even if he does come out and says something like that nothing is stopping people from viewing it another way if they want to it’s one of the best things about art, it’s subjective so anyone can take it how they want.

As for not being brought up again that’s all how you wanna take it, author bias and just not showing what’s going on in the background or is the author showing it isn’t happening anymore. It’s in the tone of how it’s presented too, a lot of people call bakugo an angry Pomeranian lightheartedly cause horikoshi has been showing his personality more for comedic effect since the school festival arc. You can take that as just ignoring the problem or showing it’s not a problem anymore and just a gag. Nothing wrong with either view it’s just a matter of perspective.

Do you mean how he fails for his bad bedside manner? Cause yeah by that point that’s where his biggest weakness was, that’s why he failed it while kaminari and kirishima passed just by helping those two people.

Yeah that one is a mixed bag that falls into the shonen logic cycle. Since this is the main characters test it doesn’t fit the same mold as everyone else’s test. More than being a test against all might it was pretty much just an excuse to start building the bridge between them and honestly it could have been done at any time it didn’t need to be here.

Yeah all might even has that line of working together was a prerequisite not something special, but again that’s on the author giving the test special treatment cause it’s major characters. Just like with shotos and momos, it was more for their growth than to be a true test.

Oh for sure I one hundred percent get that, horikoshis writing falls into that weird space between show don’t tell and keeping the status quo. He likes to have these big moments that show growth or change and has characters point it out to say see this is a bullet point in their growth, instead of more slowly integrating it and letting it slow burn in the background. It’s like he does with deku and aoyama, we really don’t get any build up just all of a sudden they’re friends having this big bonding moment, then it’s completely gone and ignored till it needs to come up for some reason like the traitor plot.

What bothers me the most about Izuku's character is that it seems like he can't feel anything, like because he can't be angry with what happens to him, you know why he can't have negative feelings towards Bakugou? This admiration he has for the bomb boy is not normal and healthy, it reminds me of Stockholm Syndrome. Bakugou stans say that Izuku is boring, but when talking about this thing about him not being angry with Bakugou, they keep saying that we don't understand Izuku's character. What's your opinion? Am I exaggerating?

I don't think you're exaggerating. In fact, I think it's deliberate on Horikoshi's part.

I began to realize Izuku's character was regressing the minute I first came across this scene:

This is the only scene I can justify hating Izuku's character because it was such an out of pocket line coming from him. And it kind of stuck in my head for weeks because it felt so OOC. Like, Izuku of all characters pushing for Todoroki to forgive Endeavor? It made no sense to me.

But do you see how it pans to Bakugou?

To me, this is Horikoshi indirectly attempting to absolve Bakugou. Izuku's line here is trying to communicate that that's how he feels about Bakugou.

Similarly to All Might saying Izuku doesn't hold what Bakugou did against him, this is another piece of plot manipulation from Horikoshi. Bakugou's redemption is pushed through the words of others, not through his actions. Especially when it comes to how he treated Izuku.

If Izuku, at any point, was still upset or noticeably traumatized by Bakugou's actions, Bakugou couldn't have been reasonably redeemed. Because there would be no feasible reason to even have him around Izuku and the only reason Bakugou's even relevant is due to Horikoshi sticking him onto Izuku in every arc

[duncescholar]

🦁 big boy