#i want to keep growing for as long as i live

[februarysmoonlight]

not today, maybe tomorrow

aka your childhood best friend (and crush) came back… different.

———

you’ve been patching up jason for a long time.

it started when you were both just kids. he’d come to you with the injuries he didn’t want to show his father, and you, who had experience in patching people up, were happy to help. mostly you were eager to spend any time with him he would give, even if that meant brutal gunshots and ugly stab wounds. you refused to admit to yourself that you had a ginormous crush on him— but you did. it was a secret that sat on your chest like an elephant: you are in love with jason todd.

then he died, and that excitement became grief. you became a nurse, fixing people up for a living because it was the only thing you were really good at. you spent years just… stuck. stuck on him, stuck in the past, stuck wishing he didn’t die.

and then jason came back, and it was just different.

the first time, he stumbled in through your apartment window, bleeding buckets from a bullet lodged in his shoulder. he failed to come to you as red hood (because you pointed a tiny little revolver at him and he was in no position to leave), so you were the first one who saw him as jason. still, he refused to say a word. not when you cried so hard your hands shook, not in the hours you spent fixing him up, not when you begged him to stay, to come back.

you didn’t see him after that for nearly six months. you were starting to think it was a dream. you had all but convinced yourself the blood on your windowsill came from your own hands, that this version of jason was a cruel manifestation of just how much you missed him.

but it happened again, and again, his visits growing more frequent as time went on. before, he only came to you when he was circling the drain. now all it takes is a deep cut in the arm for him to request aid from your gentle hands. he spoke almost exclusively in its better than it looks, and thank you’s, but at least he spoke.

you hate this arrangement. you really do. you want jason, all of him, your friend, and the boy you loved back. you want him to actually speak, talk to you like he’s your friend and not your patient. you’re tired of being woken up in the middle of the night to put a bandaid on his injuries. you’re tired of dropping everything to get nothing in return. but what’s the alternative? losing him? not when you just got him back.

not when you love him so much. so much your chest hurts when you think about what would happen if you asked for more.

but it’s draining. being jason’s on call personal doctor— no matter how much you care about him, you’re not sure how much you have left in you.

“my therapist said i need to start saying no to you. put myself first.” you say, pulling the thread through jason’s wound, sewing it closed.

“smart lady. you should listen to her.” he says, flickering his eyes up to yours.

“you wouldn’t come back if i stopped sewing you up.”

“that’s not true.”

you don’t respond to that. it’s too vulnerable, the way his eyes chase yours while you stare down at the gash on his arm, running a sewing needle back and forth through his skin. you don’t know what to think, it’s far too late and you’re far too tired to have any idea what it is you want from him.

you’re scared. scared that if you stop doing this for him you’ll lose him all over again. scared that you’re nothing more than a private medic. scared that the moment you ask for more than 2 am visits and blood stained carpets you’ll get left behind.

he sighs, pulling you out of your head just as you finish the last stitch. you cut the thread with a pair of grooming scissors, tying a small knot to keep everything in place. you look up at him, noting the frown firmly tugging at his features, and the defeated expression in his eye.

“you’re good to go.” you say, leaning back, putting your supplies back into your first aid kit, wiping the blood on your hands against the white box.

“thank you.”

he stands with a small groan, slipping back into his costume. you focus on cleaning up, refusing to look up at him as he walks back towards the window where he came, his combat boots scraping against the floor.

“i’ll come back.” he says, quietly, with his hands hooked under the windowsill.

sure you will you think, but instead you simply nod, keeping your eyes trained on the blood stains in your carpet. you know if you look back up at him the tears stinging your eyes will spill, and you’ll lose the scraps of jason you’re so determined to keep.

he sighs, pushing himself through the window, and just like that, he’s gone. just like the first time, the only confirmation you have that he is real are the droplets of blood running down your fingertips.

you wait for him to come back. one hour, one night, one week. you feel stupid, hoping so desperately he’ll come when you know he won’t. at least, not without a near-fatal wound you have to magically heal. anxiety overwhelms any thoughts of him— did you scare him off? was that moment too much for him?

you feel like such an idiot, that is, until he returns. you don’t expect it to be him when you open the door. because it’s only six p.m and he’s… at the door… and not breaking and entering through your window…

but, to your surprise, it’s him.

jason, who isn’t making eye contact and you can only assume it has something to do with how absolutely rigid his stance is. jason, who is white knuckling a bouquet of lilies with one hand and a bag of takeout from your favorite guilty pleasure restaurant with the other. you didn’t realize he remembered your favorites, not after all this time.

“ah- shit.” he says, looking up at you with those ice blue eyes. this is the first time in… you can’t even remember how long that he’s come to you just as jason, no red hood attached.

“jason?” you ask, your eyebrows knitting unconsciously together. he looks back down, mumbling something along the lines of i look like a jackass.

“i’m late.” he says, looking back up to you. you swallow down a wad of spit that resembles your overwhelming anxiety. you can feel the crush that you can never seem to kick bubbling up again, fighting to spill over the surface, as your eyes go back and forth from the flowers, the food, and him.

you nod, staring at him blankly, unsure of what to expect. he awkwardly shoves the bouquet towards you, taking a breath.

“i told you i’d come back.” he says, while you take the flowers from his hand. it’s not a cheap grocery store bouquet either, the flowers are fresh and perky, arranged professionally with baby’s breath, the stems cut carefully at an angle.

you look up at him, gently bringing the lilies to your nose. “are you hurt?” you ask, because honestly, you’re confused as to why jason would be here without a knife jammed in his back.

he grimaces, shaking his head. “no, i— fuck. i’m fine, i just— i wanted to say… look, i’m sorry.”

your eyes widen. you lower the flowers and press them against your stomach, confused and nervous and excited all at once. “…for?” you prompt, tilting your head.

he sighs, forcing the words out like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “i’ve been a real asshole. i, uh… i should’ve been treating you better, y’know, not waking you up ‘cause i’m bleeding just enough to get to see you. not leaving you behind over and over.” he omits the part that some nights he’s less careful than others because he wants to see you so badly it hurts. “‘cause…” he starts, taking a deep breath. “i really care about you. and it took me way too long to get my head out of my ass and realize you deserve better. and a week ago, that meant getting the hell out of your life before i ruined it. today that means doing everything i can to make it up to you.”

your heart beats faster than you can bare, your eyes wide. you feel like you’re falling, your stomach doing somersaults as he speaks. just about everything you’ve wanted him to say just fell from his lips, and you don’t know what to say in return.

luckily, he’s not done.

“i brought you the food and the flowers, ‘cause i didn’t want to spring too much on you. i figured i’d wait for you to decide whether or not you hate me before i ask you out on a proper date.” he says, looking up at you.

oh.

now it’s your turn to speak. you don’t know what to say— you’re on cloud nine because the boy you’ve had a crush on for nearly a decade is asking you out. all you can do is look up at him like a complete idiot, while his expression grows more and more nervous.

“would you like to come in?” you ask, finally pushing the words out, praying you don’t sound too gleeful.

for the first time in years, you see him smile. part of its relief, that much you know, but there’s this unfamiliar look in his eye that tells you it’s much, much more. he relaxes, letting his shoulders fall back.

“lead the way.”

———

pause i just want to thank y’all SO MUCH for all the love on my previous fics. i’ve had this acc for like a week and i am so grateful for all of the notes and reblogs and people who have been so kind as to follow me !! this account really is just to force me to write and like… have hobbies so y’all interacting means so much <3 i hope you enjoyed this one !! tysm!!

[zae-heeyyy]

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety. 

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown. 

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.” 

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.” 

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.   

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself.  The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava. 

“S’a fancy shirt.” 

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible. 

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.” 

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him. 

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...” 

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully. 

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.” 

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.” 

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted. 

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

[insomniumstella]

coffee, Tuesdays, and f*** you | ceo!bucky x reader

summary: James Buchanan Barnes might just be the worst man on earth—too bad he's the only one who can help you out of a sticky, sticky situation.

warnings: enemies to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity + contact, sarcastic!bucky, explicit language, alcohol consumption

word count: 1,970

author's note: this is a possible teaser for a series i kinda want to write after over a year or so long hiatus😭 anyway, would anybody even read this??

“Huh,” his voice is like nails on a chalkboard on the gloomy Tuesday morning after your non-boyfriend boyfriend dumped you with an ‘I’m bored, sorry’ text the night prior. “It’s actually happening. The world is healing again.”

You shove yet another journal that is as unnecessary as it is cute into the cardboard box perched atop your desk and glare at the looming man. James is wearing his usual middle-of-the-week sallow grey shirt, which somehow manages to dull his sharp features more than Thursday’s yellow, and Prada trousers. Always with the Prada trousers. He loves Prada more than Rebecca Bloomwood and that is saying something. 

He’s a… fashionista like that. 

“I’m not quitting.” Why James has yet to successfully fire you is a miracle. The pair of you are like Tom and Jerry. Dracula and Van Helsing. Pandora and her box. Surely he must have tried to sweet talk his daddy into terminating you for good. “This,“ you motion to the empty (besides the wine opener, stress balls, and an emergency tube of red lipstick—obvious essentials) drawer, "is called organising. Learn it, live it, love it. It’s after organise and before o-fuck you in the dictionary.”

“Real big talk for someone who keeps a diary.” 

“That was…” you take in a deep breath in hopes to maintain at least an ounce of sanity. It doesn’t work. Why would it work? It never works. James and peaceful work hours is only a concept in a hypothetical world full of other ridiculous things such as your neighbour quitting drums and affordable Manolo Blahniks. “That was not… this is not a diary. It’s a journal. A journal I use for very important business meetings. And calls. And conferences.” 

“Right,” he quips with a hint of a smirk and sits down on the edge of your desk, the wood creaking underneath his weight. Journal my ass, he ponders but stays surprisingly quiet about it. 

“Not a diary. A journal is different from a diary. Maybe there’s no shame in keeping a diary, but I do not have a burning desire to write down every reason why the Wicked Witch of the West would make a better boss than you.” The words keep spilling out of your mouth before you can realise his painfully infuriating sneer is only growing. You hate that stupid smile of his. James knows you hate that stupid smile of his. That makes it all the more alluring for him to torture you with it. “I talk about it with my therapist like an adult.” 

“Not a diary. Got it.” James nods as his eyes flicker to the open (and totally unfinished) Word document on your work laptop before slowly raking across the wrinkled cotton of your shirt until they find yours again. “I was wrong to assume this box of trash on your desk,” he vaguely gestures to the cardboard and smirks just a fraction more, “is for diaries. Though you definitely have the look of a girl who keeps one. But anyway. Why are you organising when the entire PR department is having a meeting?” 

A… silence settles between you. It’s neither awkward nor peaceful, like it often is with James—he asks a somewhat reasonable question and you can only stare at him like he’s the biggest idiot on planet earth. Because sure, there is an important meeting happening on the forty fifth floor of Dioro right this moment. After all, you are a goodie two shoes of an employee with a busy Google calendar and a functional corporate email. You would know. But it is so like James to assume you would organise over attending, as the freaking head of public relations nonetheless, that you can only stare at him with those blank, are-you-serious eyes.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Yes?” James cocks his head to the side as if expecting you to say something, anything, else in addition, and when you don’t, his eyebrows furrow, too. 

Yes. Yes. Yes is not remotely an answer to my question, you infuriating woman, he thinks, and though he knows he should not expect anything less than for you to be as annoying as his shoelaces coming undone on a bright and early morning run, “yes” still takes him off guard a little. 

“Yes,” you shrug, promptly closing the laptop because James has no place to see the opened Word document that is half a plan for next year’s PR strategy and half a series of good lunch places around the office, and straighten up. He’s not the only person that’s confident in their words around here. 

“I sincerely hope you know the company does not pay you to look cute and gossip in the break room. If that was the case, you would’ve been let go a long time back.” It’s his turn to flash you the blank, dead, are-you-serious eyes. 

Exasperated stares are one of the many love languages between you. 

“I don’t just look cute and gossip. I also take precious time to share all of those memes in the company’s group chat. Good for morale.” You quip and James pinches the bridge of his nose. 

He should have managed to fire you a long time back. But to his credit—he has tried. Once. Twice. Thrice, if somebody was to count the time he got drunk at the annual Christmas party and pettily tried to end your employment over a disagreement about Creedence Clearwater Revival. Surprisingly, it stuck. For a whopping total of twelve hours. Before you stepped through the elevator doors once more, his father exasperated, and right beside you. To this day, James finds it a mystery you’ve managed to charm the man because you’re as charming as a wet towel. But his father is also a fan of Raisin Bran, so there must be something wrong with his judgment. At least when it comes to choice of breakfast cereal and the annoyingly annoying girl’s personality. You are great at PR, much to James’ frustration, and Dioro is habitual with scandals. The very last name Barnes is habitual with scandals that you make go poof! So don’t get it twisted—James is gra… gra… grateful for your talents in PR. At least until the glorious day when he takes over the company completely and can finally make you go poof! A flute of Dom Pérignon in hand as he stares at your empty desk out of his glass office is a nice dream, one to keep him from full blown insanity. 

James just might need a hobby. 

“Team-building activities are good for morale. Recognition programs are good for morale. Social events are good for—“ he starts listing on his hand, his features dark with disappointment, aggravation, and a hint of resignation. Good. Maybe you could break him before autumn.  

“Stop. Nobody cares about a lecture on morale from Dolores Umbridge.” You wave a dismissive hand and place last year’s Dean Winchester themed calendar atop the abyss of journals and trinkets. He’s fine and all, but Sam’s much more tempting to go back to. There’s just something about a strong man with longer hair and a kind heart. “I know about the meeting, Sophie’s leading it because I’m taking the rest of the week off. Plus maybe Monday. Probably Monday. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, do NOT expect me back on Monday.” 

“I expect you to find another job, but y’know. Tuesday’s fine.” He deadpans, not that you pay much attention to his tone. You’re much more interested in the fact his ass leaves the anguished, abused edge of your desk. “Why are you taking time off? It’s like the middle of July. And who the hell approved it?” 

“So there’s this Linda us lowly employees visit when we need time away from work,” you drawl out and cover Dean’s smouldering face with an old February issue of Vogue. “And it’s July second, which is not even remotely the middle. I hope you know that. It’s important to me that you know that.” 

His eyes drop to the magazine and the calendar that peaks out from beneath it, but he’s suspiciously silent about it. Instead when he speaks, his voice is a deep, almost frustrated rumble on—surprise, surprise—the HR department. “I’m aware of what a Linda is.”

“Good, boss. Glad to know you’re following, boss. And before you say anything, Linda approved my request for time off months ago, so there is nothing you can do about it, boss.” A lazy smile curls your lips as you stack more publications of Vogue until Lady Gaga’s staring back at you from the top of the pile. 

“Linda loves you, employee. She would give you a raise without hesitation if she could, employee. I specifically instructed you to come to me for these things.” James pinches the bridge of his nose before his arms fold over his chest. “Employee.”

Pet names are another one of your love languages. 

“We have been at each other’s necks for the past three miserable years.” You shove the flaps of the box closed and when they pop back up, you wrestle with the cardboard as elegantly as a girl on merely three hours of sleep can manage. “And it’s like you don’t even know me.”

James rolls his eyes, but not because you always find loopholes and roundabouts when it comes to his demands—you just… bring out his unprofessional side. You are a lunatic in business casual clothes.

“My apologies.” He leans forward, abusing your poor desk again as his hands grip the edges. “I should have recognised you would go on a vacation when your department is in the midst of a crisis.”

“Thank you,” you flash him a smile as sweet as sugar, a mighty contender to his infuriating smirk, and lean over the acrylic divider to steal a tape dispenser from some underpaid intern’s desk that’s been abandoned all morning, not that you blame him. You consistently avoid President Business, too. “You had me scared for our marriage there.” 

“It may be for the best you start looking into divorce lawyers,” James comments dryly, watching as you tape the box shut. Mostly. Lady Gaga’s still peaking through the crack a little.

“Whoa. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t fight for us.” The reply is almost absentminded as you cover Gaga with a bright pink Post-it—she’s remarkably eerie in the blue, whatever-it’s-made-of coat on past September’s issue of Vogue. “Besides. It’s possible my heart will yearn for you after the long, long six days Linda oh-so-graciously approved, despite July shaping out to be busy.” 

His baby blues flicker from your face to the bright Post-it, fingers curling around the oak of your desk as he ponders different ways to snap you out of whatever realm of professional defiance you seem to exist in without forcibly shaking you by the shoulders. Though the latter is an appetising thought. 

“Earth to James. Somebody’s spacing out again.” 

James pushes the wooden ruler you use to nudge him out of his face before his stare slowly returns to your features, hard and narrowed, and most likely unimposing given that he’s talking to a whack-a-doodle. “Sorry, honey. Got lost in curating the perfect celebratory afternoon for your inevitable demise.” 

“Oh.” A slight raise of your eyebrows accompanies the soft reply. The perfect celebratory afternoon for my inevitable demise? In his world, it could mean a gazillion possibilities. After a healthy beat, you settle on the most likely based on nothing, but vibes and the fact the man’s an asshole. “Bourbon, cigars, and a flock of hookers?” 

A sardonic smile curls his lips as James straightens up and shoves his hands into the pockets of those damn Prada trousers. “Golf, caviar, and setting your desk on fire.”

[bbina]

wonbin takes a long drag off his cigarette, letting the substance fill his lungs for another temporary escape from reality. he exhales the smoke and lets it curl around him before he fans the smoke away from his face

he takes another drag, his hands already raised to his mouth before he hears a familiar voice behind him. the voice he knows all too well to forget

"you know, a guy like you shouldn't be smoking"

wonbin's eyes widened and turns around at the speed of light to see you in the flesh

it was you

wonbin takes a good look at you. this was the first time he has seen you up close in months. the last time he saw you was when he dropped you off at the train station before midterm break started and that was the very last time he saw you since

sure you two lived across each other but wonbin had deliberately avoided you at all cost and you did the same. you can't even recall the last time you opened your window blinds since you came back from midterm break

"it's nice to see you! how have you been?" you smile, taking a seat next to him on the curb he was sitting on

wonbin couldn't believe his eyes and ears. it really was you and you just sat next to him like nothing happened between the two of you

".. i've been good. you?" wonbin answers quietly, diverting his attention back to the cigarette in his hands. if he stares at you longer, he wouldn't know how to act

"i'm doing really well actually. i feel like i finally found my spark again" you share, smiling at him slightly before looking up at the night sky

there was that weird sense of deja vu. this was exactly how you two met each other a few months ago and it almost feels surreal that it happened again but this time you two were in two completely different situations

you take note of the box of cigarettes next to him. the same brand you used to use when you did smoke. you can't help but think that he'd resort back to smoking because you two did make a pact before that you two would stop smoking if the latter stops

"you're smoking again" you comment

wonbin notices you staring at his cigarette. he quickly puts it out and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket

"sorry. old habit" he murmurs, unsure how to keep the conversation going when all he wanted to say was that he's sorry

you purse your mouth shut as you let the silence do the talking. the same silence that used to comfort you with each other. although you don't harbor any resentment towards wonbin anymore, you just can't help the awkwardness growing in the atmosphere

like there were so many words left unspoken that's waiting to be let out

what seems like a couple of minutes of silence, wonbin decides to break it

"hey" wonbin calls out softly, slowly raising his head to look at you

"hm?"

"i'm sorry" wonbin blurts out, "for everything"

there it was. the words you've been dreading to hear from him. you had already moved on from the situation a long time ago. you had accepted the fact that he wasn't ready yet and that you couldn't wait for someone who was still uncertain with themselves so you let it go

obviously it hurt the first time. it was hard during the first few weeks after midterm break. you were in a routine with wonbin during those months and adapting to a new normal wasn't that easy

but you had better company than you realize. you hung out more with your own friends and sion, who you'd say made your life so much brighter when he came into the picture

sion was so full of life. it honestly weirded you out the first time when he was so considerate of you and your feelings. he knew that you were going through something during midterm break and he didn't try anything but to comfort you as a friend

wonbin picks up on your silence and he drops his head low. he bites his lip as he comes up with more words to say. this is the perfect moment to tell you everything even if it won't change the past. he just needed you to hear him out

"i'm really sorry that i wasn't ready back then. it's just hard for me to accept the fact that you liked me and i was scared that–"

you hold your hand out in front of him, causing him to pause his apology. wonbin clamps his mouth shut, waiting for you to say something in case you wanted to address something but instead, you shake your head

"it's okay, bin" you chuckle, "that was in the past. if anything, i was in the wrong too for expecting"

expecting. ouch, that's gotta hurt. did he really make you feel that way without realizing?

wonbin opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it

"we were naive back then now that i think about it" you start, recalling your shared memories with the man beside you. the same man who had your heart in his hands, "like the odds of two people who were relatively fresh out of a breakup meeting at a place like this. bonding over recent heartbreaks and all that stuff is quite rare and quite comforting in a way" you rambled

wonbin listens intently at your words, processing everything while reminiscing your time together

"if anything we found comfort in each other at the time" you turn to look at him in the eye, "the late night talks, the comfortable silence when we're together.. i wouldn't trade that experience for anything in the world"

"we were alone together, you know?" you smile, looking away from him, "even if we didn't work out in the end, i still felt a genuine connection with you"

wonbin just sits there in silence. the reality of you healed and moved on from whatever you two had was beyond him. there was nothing he can do about it anymore but dwell on the what ifs and what could've been with you

your conversation is cut short when your phone rings. you jolt in surprise before answering your phone

it was sion

"hello? is our ramen done? i'm outside!" wonbin watches you talk to your boyfriend on the phone. he can't help but feel his chest twist in pain that he could've be the one in sion's place if it weren't for his own selfishness

he thought that if he protected his heart, he wouldn't be hurt again but what happened was that he not only hurt himself but the girl who genuinely liked him

now all he can do is watch you from a distance. watch you be treated the way he was supposed to treat you

his train of thought gets cut off when you wave your hands in front of his face

"i gotta go wonbin. sion's inside the convenience store waiting for me. i'll see you around, okay?" you stood up from the curb, wiping your pants with your hands, "bye wonbin, it was nice seeing you again" you smile before walking inside the convenience store

wonbin watches you til the doors closed. he stares at the way sion kisses your cheek when you walked in the store

he forces himself to look away before the pain in his chest worsens. this hurt even more than the time his ex girlfriend ghosted him twice that he had developed a fear of commitment

yeah. this was way worse. to see your dream in a different reality

now all he can do is force himself to walk away from the convenience store. ironically enough the same place you two had met. the same place where everything started, he was now walking away from

maybe in alternate universe, you two had worked it out. maybe he wouldn't be scared of vulnerability. maybe, just maybe, in some alternate universe, you two would still be alone together.

alone together ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . . alone together

── taking comfort in the thought that you are together in aloneness through late night talks, heartfelt confessions, and a genuine connection. with your shared experience of recent heartbreaks, you wonder if getting together would be all worth it. in which you find solace in each other's company, that you are alone together.

⋆｡˚ prev | main masterlist | alone together masterlist ˚｡

꩜ notes .ᐟ holy fucking shit.. its over...... i did it... i finally finished this shit show of a fanfic... SEVENTY FUCKING CHAPTERS, over 43k words overall.. I HAVE CROSSED THE FINISH LINE 😭 imma need a pat on the back for this cus holy SHIIIIIIIITTTTTTT im so proud of myself for finishing this cus it was a rollercoaster of emotions. if u made it this far then thank you sosososoososososoososo much for reading and enjoying my works 😭 it really means a lot to me that you guys genuinely enjoy my shit lawl. i wanted the ending to be real af as this fic is basically true to life except for the ending. i wanted to show a story where not all love stories end in happy endings, some end like this hence the ending i chose. to me, this is the happy ending and the sad ending is that yn ends up in the same cycle but thats another story for another day! again, thank you sosososo much for reading! until my next riize smau :] bbina OUT!

p.s if u guys are gonna reblog the masterlist, pls dont spoil what kind of ending it is 🙏 so people can react the same as you guys HSADHJASHJDASHJ

꩜ taglist .ᐟ @onlywonb @rosesfortaro @starwonb1n @wonychu @totheseok @dolloie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @binluvsu @onlyhyunjin @annswwa @pwbjsc @hakkkuu @ilovejungwonandhaechan @artstaeh @lecheugo @odxrilove @bunni @saranghoeforanton @nujeskz @quicksilverstone @kyusqult @nctsshoes2 @s9nwoo @daegale @palchokitty @dutifullyannoyingraspberry @oshakyao @koryutte @b-riize @wbyeolz @peterm4rker @winuvs @i03jae @rsatoru @enhacolor @dalliesque @sweetiejaeyun @dearestjake @cupidslovearrows @kkumistars @sngj08 @taroddori @ennycutie @sa3ha @koeuh @astro-doll-the-star @amouriu @mujeans @ijustreallylike2read @endtostartbreathin

[gatorbites-imagines]

could you do something were one of the mark variants likes ftm reader who has a 1 sided crush on his mark (if that makes sense lol)

bottom/sub reader pls😔

Shiesty Mark x ftm reader 

Drabble 

I just... really like this Mark. The mask does something to me. I also learned that shiesty Mark was inspired by Cole Cash from DC, which is really cool. 

Bit of a mixed bag when referring to readers bits, and hinting at front hole penetration at the end.  

It's been so long since ive written smth like this, so bear with me. 

You hated this fucking city, and country, and probably world. Just because you had powers, because your mom just happened to be some hero, who fucked some government guy, you were expected to keep her legacy. 

Your dad wasn't much of a dad, even less so when your mom kicked the bucket when you were little. Your powers weren't even that impressive, you could make force fields and different shapes with your will, but it was nothing compared to the powerhouses of this world. (imagine like an off-brand green lantern, but without the ring) 

Dear old dad had you trained from the very moment you could walk, and it was clear from a young age that you were not his son, or rather daughter at the time, but an asset. But what else could be expected from the guy that turned your dad mom's corpse into an reanimen. 

Life was a chore, a drag, you didnt get a social life, it was all about training and becoming a better asset for the GDA, for your so called dad. There were days you wanted to use your powers to just... kill him, to kill everyone.  

Or yourself. Those days were growing more and more common. It made you wonder if your will was so strong you could surpass the human want to survive, and just... take yourself out. 

At least your top surgery and testosterone were given to you for free, like some kind of reward, like the GDA were dangling a carrot, after you had sacrificed so much of yourself with as little as a thank you being given in return. 

It all became a little less shit when Invincible appeared. In the beginning you liked him only because your dad feared him so much, after seeing what omni-man did to the guardians and world.  

Invincible, or Mark, didn't help these blooming feelings. He was just so kind, so willing to help and so determined. He hadn't been crushed under the weight of the universe, of his father's legacy, like many others would have. Like you had. 

You two had worked together on multiple occasions, since you didn't have much of a choice about joining the new guardians.  

Being raised by the government to live as a tool meant your ability to communicate and build relationships was very lacking, so you two never became more than acquaintances, but Invincible still made your heart flutter and your body heat up. 

Maybe that was why it was hard to fight these alternate variants of him. It wasnt like your forcefields and will created tools were much help, as they shattered under the punches and kicks of the Mark variants.  

The Mark variant you had ended up with was an extra rude one, he cursed and spat and growled like some kind of animal. He fought manically, clawing and bloody from all the lives he had taken. Maybe dying wasn't too bad, if you got to die by Invincibles hand. 

That was why you had ripped out the earpiece you always wore, even using your will to shape a little sharp contraption to dig out the one that had been placed under your ear with surgery, a long time ago. 

It could explain why you allowed this veiled Mark passed the multiple layers of glowing green walls, when you let him clasp a bloody hand around your throat, and why you only groaned a little as he slammed you down, the very pavement shattering into rubble. 

“Im getting tired of your fucking lightshow” he snarled, his voice so similar to Marks put different in its roughness. There was a familiar heat pooling in your gut, your thighs clenching together as this Mark variant choked the very life out of you. 

You weren't reaching up to hit him as he choked you, instead gripping onto the veil he wore. Part of you wanted to look him in the eyes as he killed you, so you could at least see the face of the one person who made you feel alive, even if those feelings were never returned. 

Black spots were swimming across your vision, your grip weakening and focus wavering, enough for your green domino mask to disappear in a flicker of green.  

There must have been something in your eyes, as this Mark variant furrowed his brows, his hand loosening just enough for you to gasp in a few breaths of air, ripping the sweet release of death out of your hands once more. 

“Shit, you are into this, aren't you? You disgusting freak” he snarled, a cruel animalistic smirk growing on his lips, Marks eyes widening like a tiger spotting a wounded rabbit. His pupils were blown, but if it was adrenaline or lust, you couldnt be sure.  

One thing was sure, that expression on his face, was never one you would see on your Mark. He would never look so wild, so feral and violent. It made your cock throb and front hole grow wetter than you had ever been before, the inside of your suit growing uncomfortable. 

The Mark variant gave a snarl, grabbing you like a ragdoll and blasting off in some random direction, his veil falling back in place as he did so. 

You weren't sure where you guys ended up, but it was somewhere not destroyed by the invasion. The near-death choking had left you with an aching headache and blurry head, so you ended up just flopping down on the ground Mark threw you on. 

“I love nasty freaks like you. Always aching for dick as much as you ache for pain.” the Mark variant purred, settling between your thighs, his hands strong and tight as they gripped onto them, spreading them apart far enough for it to burn. 

“Fuck, i could break both of these, and i bet you would just beg for more” he groaned out, voice somehow more growly and hotter than before, as he squeezed your thighs, right above your femur. 

“Come on, give me that dick” he chuckled, bending forwards just enough for his veil to move, enough for you to see his hungry shark-like grin, and the way his tongue licked against his teeth. 

There hadn't been much thought in your head about your body this whole time. You had never been very active in that regard, what joy was there in jerking off and exploring when you were always under watch.  

So, you hadn't thought of this Mark variant's reaction when you willed away your suit, just enough for your crotch to be freed, your t-cock hard and filled with blood as your slit oozed. 

Mark stopped for a second, his brow furrowing so visibly you could even see it through his veil, and for a moment you felt something akin to dread. Damn, did you fuck it up? Maybe he was disgusted by it, it was a fear you had of your Mark, that he would think you were a liar, or something. 

That was, until the Mark Variant laughed, his tone like somebody who just won the damn lottery. “Shit, fuck yeah! Spread those fucking legs, open up for me” he cackled, hands pushing at the back of your thighs, almost folding you in half. 

You weren't given much time to reach before he leaned down, his veil almost innocently covering your pubic mound, before his lips closed around your engorged t-cock. 

Your legs kicked at the sudden feeling, a noise leaving you like he had just punched you in the gut. There was no damn finesse in this Marks movements, as his arms kept your folded in half, as he feasted on your slit like a starved animal. 

It was so loud and wet, his tongue and lips pulling you open, sucking, biting and flicking anything he could reach. Mark groaned as if your slit was a five-star meal, his tongue wiggling inside your slit as he released your legs with one of his arms, only so he could pinch and jerk your t-cock in cock cruel movements. 

There was no control over the noises you let out, your hands gripping at his hair, his arms, shoulders, anything, the blank yellow goggles of his veil staring back at you as Mark slurped up all the juices you had gushed out. 

“Ffffuck, I could suck this cunt for days” he gurgled out, even his voice sounded wet from feasting upon you like this. Marks tongue returned to your t-cock, his fingers plunging inside you and fucking back and forth with a speed that had to wailing. 

Not being able to see what was happening only made your legs shake more, your spine arching upwards as he wrenched an orgasm out of you.  

“There we go, god damn, fuck. I wanna see you fucking squirt” Mark panted, his mouth descending back on you as his fingers twisted and worked even faster. He sounded near drunk, almost as much as you as your entire body tensed and jolted from overstimulation. 

But you had nothing against viltrumite strength, and hunger, it seemed. “Come on, come on, on my face, give it” the Mark variant growled, and for a moment, you could imagine it was your Mark, slurping and licking at you like a hound lapping up a puddle.  

The noise you let out must have been loud, as your throat ached from what you could only assume was a scream, or perhaps a screech of some kind. Your entire body felt like jello, as you shivered and shook through what must have been the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced. 

It was difficult to open your eyes, even as Mark dumped your legs back down, letting them splay open to give him a perfect view of your sore reddened cock and slit. 

When you finally succeeded, you almost shut them again. Marks blue veil was soaked, giving it a darker hue. It was so wet that it stuck to his face, draped over the bridge of his nose so you could see his pink wet lips, and his wet tongue as he licked at his chin, trying to lap up the last of your fluids. 

“Shit, might just have to keep you if you keep doing that” the Mark variant chuckled, voice rough as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  

“I'll have to be sure though, might have to make you do it again” Mark borderline giggled, as he ripped the front of his suit, letting his own very large, aching problem, slap against your abdomen.  

“You gonna show me freak? Huh?” the tone was so degrading, but hungry. “Let's see if it's just my mouth you can't resist, or if this works too” Mark groaned, slapping his length against your t-cock, before shuffling down to press it against your hole. 

Maybe it wasn't all bad... and they couldn't say you hadn't distracted one of the invincible variants, so technically you had done more than others at the end of the day. 

[echoes-of-a-dream]

blind instinct 0.1 | matt murdock

blind instinct masterlist | matt murdock masterlist

synopsis: when you find matt unconscious and bleeding out, your instinct is to take him to the e.r.: good instinct. when they won’t release information on his condition to anyone outside of kin, you lie and say you’re his wife: bad instinct. when matt wakes up from surgery with amnesia, believing when the doctors say you’re married, you play along to keep him safe: you don’t even know how to categorize that one.

amnesia | childhood best friends to lovers | marriage of convenience/fake marriage | slow burn | mutual pining | wc 1.6k

<- previous chapter

YOUR POV

You yawn as you check the time, blinking in surprise at the numbers staring back at you. “Oh, crap, I gotta go!”

Matt huffs a laugh, feeling at his tactile watch you got him for his law school graduation. “It’s barely nine.” 

“Exactly.” You stand, giving your best friend a hug, a little awkward considering he’s still sitting down. “Past my bedtime.” You two had finally found time to hang out—between Matt’s busy job as a lawyer, requiring him to work at all times of the day, including when a client is arrested at two a.m., and his busy nightlife as a vigilante, it feels like you never get to see each other. So, it was nice to have your schedules overlap—you caught up on each other’s lives (your failed dates, Matt’s successful cases), watched a movie (with audio descriptions on for Matt), ate dinner while you watched (courtesy of grateful clients from the aforementioned successful cases), and laid on his couch chatting for a little while—you snuggled under a blanket, Matt’s feet stubbornly resting on your lap no matter how many times you try to kick them off. 

“You know, when people call you an old soul they aren’t meaning you have to actually be old,” he teases.

“I have to be up early tomorrow!” You defend.

“No, you don’t,” he refutes easily, lips twitching up in a smug smile. You glare even though you know he can’t see it, although you know he can guess your expression judging by the way his smirk grows.

“Become best friends with a human lie detector, they said,” you mutter as you go to grab your shoes, well aware that he can hear you. “It’ll be fun, they said. You won’t want to murder him every time he calls you out, they said.”

“Murder?” Matt, who followed you to the entryway, raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“You know, you can get arrested for that.”

“Good thing I have an incredible lawyer friend.”

He chuckles. “You just said you would kill me.”

“I meant Foggy.” You sniff primly, allowing Matt to pull you into a real hug and easily returning it. In your normal tone, you admonish, “Eat food, drink water, I hope the case tomorrow goes well, and for the love of everything holy please do not die before I see you again, Murdock.” It’s almost a ritual for you two—slowly getting longer over the years. Back when you were in high-school, still living at St. Agnes, and Matt, two years older, had just started Columbia, it was drink water, Murdock, and for the love of everything holy don’t die of kidney failure. That quickly turned into remember to drink water and eat food, you’re all skin and bones; what are you doing, starving yourself to death for fun? (to which Matt would joke that you were not building a strong case against being a grandma in disguise), and then once he started interning at Landman & Zach it became eat food, drink water, you’re gonna kill it tomorrow in court as long as you don’t let your habits kill you first—please don’t do that, by the way, before you found out about Daredevil and it evolved into its current iteration.

“I’ll try my best,” Matt says, as he always does.

With that, you head out, making your way cheerily towards the subway station to take it back to your apartment. You’re aware of your surroundings, of course: only an idiot wouldn’t be, not when walking through Hell’s Kitchen at night. It’s a little early for Matt to start his patrol, he probably won’t for another hour or so, so you’re on higher alert as you walk.

You make it safely to the station before realizing with a jolt that you left your purse—including your MetroCard, your literal ID, everything you need to function as an adult—at Matt’s. Already tired, you head back, even more tense than you were before. Shadows seem to jump out at you and you more than once hold your breath in fear upon hearing footsteps, only for the person approaching to pass you or turn, either way paying you little to no mind at all. 

It’s a little while after you left and with a large sigh of relief that you return to Matt’s apartment, thankfully catching the door from the pizza guy before it can lock again. He’s on the sixth floor and the elevator is broken, so it takes you another little minute before you make it to his door, now panting and sweaty. You lean against the door for a minute, resting and catching your breath before calling out “Matt?”

No response. He’s definitely not asleep, he’s probably not on patrol, and you know he can hear you. You try knocking, but still nothing

“Matty? Sorry to come back, I walked all the way to the subway station before I realized I left my purse.”

Still no response. Horror stories begin playing through your head, your imagination still fully awake and active from the walk back to Matt’s apartment. Maybe someone figured out he was Daredevil. Maybe he had a heart attack and died. Maybe he hates you.

“Matt, I’m getting a little worried!” 

You force yourself to stop, breathe, rationalize. Maybe he heard something and went out as Daredevil a little early—you can’t hear sirens, but generally sirens come after Matt is done. Maybe he’s in the shower and can’t get out at the moment—you don’t have super hearing, you wouldn’t know. Yet, the fear, the panic clawing at your throat, the gut feeling telling you something is wrong, doesn’t let up, prompting you to pull out your phone and attempt to call his burner phone he takes out as Daredevil. There’s no response. He could be in the middle of a fight, you tell yourself, but can’t shake the feeling of off. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock! Open the door, please!”

There’s a sound of a crash that causes your heart to leap into your throat, hands shaking as you grab the spare key to the apartment—hidden in one of the potted plants outside his door, the ones you gave him because “this hallway is too drab, it makes me depressed every time I see it”—every fear confirmed. Matt Murdock isn’t clumsy. The only way that crash could happen is if he is injured or if someone else is either breaking in or fighting him. It takes a few tries to get the key in the lock and unlocked, panic causing your faculties to fail. Only a few steps in and you’re tripping over an unconscious guy—not Matt—and you flip on your phone flashlight so as not to overstimulate Matt with the sound of buzzing lights. At least, you hope he’s alive to avoid overstimulating. 

A few steps in, and you see him lying on the ground, coffee table split under him. His mouth is open as he mouths at the air, straining for breath and some kind of relief. He’s covered in blood and you can only hope most of it comes from the assailants. There’s a gasp that you belatedly realize comes from yourself as you rush to your best friend, hands hovering over him as you try to figure out what to do. 

911. Right. Call them. Smart.

Your hands are steadier now that you have given yourself direction, all emotion pushed aside as you focus on completing the task.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator asks when they pick up.

“I’m- my- my friend is hurt. Home invasion.”

“How badly?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of blood. At- at least some from his head, but head wounds bleed a lot, right? But- it’s all over. Torso, legs, arms, face. I don’t know what’s his and what isn’t.”

“Alright, ma’am, I have dispatched an ambulance and police to your location. Can I ask what happened?”

“I don’t know. Sorry, I’m saying that a lot. I left my purse in his apartment and didn’t realize until I made it to the subway station, so I came back to get it. When I left, he was fine, and he was alone, and then when I got here there’s two unconscious randos on the ground and Matt’s injured on the ground.”

“Alright, thank you. Do you know if he is conscious?”

You hesitate, unable to tell if his eyes are just closed and he’s out of it or if he’s genuinely unconscious. Tentatively, you reach out to cup his face, and he instinctively leans into it. You exhale in relief as you inform the operator, “He’s conscious.” Matt mumbles something you don’t quite catch. “Matty? Hey, Matt, buddy?” You whisper, soothingly stroking his cheek and trying to wipe away some of the blood. “Can you talk?”

Over the line, you hear the operator telling you to make sure he stays conscious. The ambulance is about seven minutes away still, can you manage for that long? You promise to do so, getting put on hold while the operator tends to another emergency.

“Matt?” You try again, his eyelids fluttering without really opening. Further concerned, you part his eyelids—there’s something about checking eyes in tv shows, right?—just in time to see it roll back into his head, only showing the whites. You grimace, grossed out, and quickly let go, moving to attempt to shake him awake in a move of blatant stupidity you will later look back on with deep regret.

And when nothing happens and Matt doesn’t wake, all you know to do is find his pulse—weak, but present, quick but regular—and sit there with 9-1-1 hold music blaring through your phone sneakers, crying and praying for the ambulance to please hurry up, please G-d please, wishing and hoping with everything in you.

next chapter ->

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[virtualtadpole]

It seems that Baabin's story didn't really come through for quite a few people, though to me it was the one I felt most strongly, even if the climax could have been stronger. In my reading, there's a very clearly implied development in Baabin's final arc where he's falling for Bua but is strongly in denial of it because he internally feels it would be a betrayal of not just his friendship with Fourmod but also his years-long crush. This is shown in how he grows ever more intimate with Bua but then keeps pushing Bua away, repeatedly, since episode 6 when they kissed and then again during the Zoom call.

Baabin has been holding on to his crush on Fourmod for so long, it's become part of his personal identity. So it's super scary for him when he starts to find out that his feelings have changed. If he can't be faithful in this unrequited crush that he's held for more than 3 or 4 years now, what kind of person, let alone friend, is he? Someone said he's holding on to his old crush like a security blanket, and I agree - he's too afraid to let go.

Eventually, at some point in episode 7, he begins to come to terms with the fact that his relationship with Fourmod is going to be nothing but friendship - both because of how Fourmod clearly sees him as nothing more than a friend, and because of his own changed feelings - which is how he's able to open up and come clean about where he lives. With friendship now the only thing remaining between them, Baabin doubles down in his commitment to the relationship, and subconsciously transfers his fear of admitting feelings for Bua to not wanting to hurt or offend Fourmod. That he's completely gotten over his crush on Fourmod is confirmed during the Random Dance event when Fourmod tells him that the attraction was at one point returned, yet it no longer stirred up any deep-seated feelings.

So by the time he's confronted by Chian, Baabin attributes his avoidance of commitment to Bua to fear of hurting Fourmod as a friend, which is what he'd been telling himself at that point. Which I'd say fell a bit short to the viewer, as all the above development was only subtly hinted at and never clearly shown. It would have been far more satisfying if Baabin had articulated all that in his climactic confession, and it would only have made sense that Baabin would want to finally let it all out, to set things straight with Fourmod.

I don't know how much the scene was affected by the difficulties they had on set - you can see that midway through the background changes and it's suddenly dark and raining - and that's after having done a second reshoot, as they showed in the BTS. Ultimately it's not really a disappointment, but it's still a bit of a pity that Baabin's climax didn't reach the peak it could have, which would have contributed to a much stronger close for the entire story.

[vcaart]

Starry Belief, Luminary of the Stars!!! Even crying foals adore this pony!

(More on Starry Belief below! Some of it isn't "scientifically accurate" but I'm using the excuse that it's fiction so shhhh):

Starry Belief, whether or not you want to believe it's true, is the first pony to ever reach space! Well, almost reached it. He was only up there for a moment before he fell back down. Ever since then he's been determined to reach space! He may be stubborn and bull-headed, but he is always willing to lend a helping hoof to creatures in need. His grandparents taught him better than that!

Starry was an only foal, and while he did have two loving parents they unfortunately passed away in an accident when he was a young foal. This left him to be taken in by his caring and kind grandparents who lived on a quiet farm. While Starry loved his grandparents just as much as the next foal, he refused to believe his parents were actually gone and flew away.

While he had always been a strong flier, he had greatly underestimated to how strong he truly was. He flew up, and up, until he was far above the clouds and Equestria below. The young foal was determined to find his parents, and flew higher and faster than any other pony ever had.

He only caught a glimpse of space, a glimpse of what lied beyond their world, before he came crashing back down to earth. He was sure lucky his grandparents caught him before he gained too much momentum while falling! His back now covered in what looked like a galaxy spilled over him and his cutie mark bright on his flank!

Ever since then, he's been determined to reach space again! Safely this time, of course. So he would spend nights studying, and during the days he wasn't completely exhausted from all-nighters he made plenty of friends with the other colts his age! Unfortunately, when his grandparents began to grow more weak with old age, he spent less and less time with his friends to help take care of them.

It didn't take long for his grandparents to step in and sign him up for the newly opened Hope's Peak Academy of Friendship, not willing to let him tie himself down to care for them. While Starry initially protested, his grandparent's equally stubborn nature won him over and he finally left for the academy with the reassurance they'd be okay.

Starry Belief was the first pony to stand up to the bear threatening to take their cutie marks, and he will continue fighting to keep the Elements of Harmony safe while keeping their cutie marks! It didn't matter if it seemed like it was impossible to have both, the impossible is possible! And all they have to do is make it so!

In the final standoff between the class and the power hungry now alicorns, Hazy Light ,with the help of his friends, bring the Elements of Harmony together to end things once and for all.

Starry Belief is given the Element of Honesty!

The lineup so far! If you couldn't tell, Wild Card's colors have been very minorly changed and H0-P3's height has been fixed! Since I've posted Sanguine, there have been no new *finished* additions to cast, but I am working on some new ponies!

[ryololart]

part 2 ig (heavy self projection)

You just get home from your long long shift as a waitress. 12 hours to be exact.

Money has been tight lately, your boyfriend tries to pay your rent but you want to keep some semblance of independence. Not that him paying your rent takes away anything from you, but you want to prove that you can do this yourself. Money had always been a tough topic for you. Growing up and never having enough made you resilient but also very tired. You were always hustling, always doing anything to save a quick buck. It was a tough subject for you, especially when he was so good to you, always doing whatever you asked, taking his money felt like taking advantage of him.

The day had been long, rude older people, needy younger people, kids throwing shit off the tables. By the end of the day every customer's face has morphed into one giant monster of frustration in your head. Then you go to count your tips and realized you are only just gonna get by this month. As well as you got ketchup on your already stained work shirt.

You get in your car and just have a little cry. A few tears cascading down your cheeks as you try to find a radio station that suits the mood. Everything is just romance music, yearning and longing. Of course your sweet sweet boyfriend is over seas working his job. It nearly brings you to painfully sobbing.

When you get home you don't even notice the boots by the door, or the coat hanging up besides yours. You don't notice the pans in the sink or the dinner left for you at the table. You don't notice anything until you hear the TV on in the living room. Even then all you can think is the power bill raising because you must have left it on.

You march in their grab the remote and turn it off, grumbling about money.

"Baby?" A voice from behind says. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest as you shriek and whipped around. You raise the remote up to defend yourself to see Simon with his hands up and wide eyed. It is like someone told him he was a bad dog and sent him outside. If he had floppy ears or a tail they would be pinned back and between his legs.

"Oh my god," You release a tightly held breath. "Simon." Leaving the remote on the coffee table you rush into his arms. His paw-like hands hold onto your waist but you can feel them hesitate and shake. You must have scared him so badly. You slammed the door, marched through the house mumbling curses, and then stormed in turning the TV off complaining about money. He must feel so awful.

"Oh baby," You coo, taking his face into your hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were home." Like a dog scared into submission, he pouts a little pressing a kiss to your lips, then your cheek, and then your neck. Her own dog used to do this when he got yelled at, try to appease but showing his stomach and licking his lips.

You shake your head, tilting back his jaw to face you and kiss him hard. "Stop Simon. I'm just happy you are home. I had a long day at work and I was angry at that, never at you baby. Tell me you understand."

His grey eyes look back into yours, conflicted.

"Tell me Si," You repeat, narrowing your eyebrows.

"I understand," He sighs, learning down to rest his head on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, love. I just missed you."

Like a good dog, he follows you around as you tidy up the house and head to bed. No dog house for him tonight, not ever again.

---------------------------------------------

Guys i wasn't gonna part this BUT I LITERALLY HAD THE WORSRT SHIFT EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

I often think about how Simon loves like a dog.

He has been hurt so many times, learn to gnash his teeth before committing to the final action of biting. He doesnt mean to hurt you but when he has been slapped for wanting to go inside, out of the freezing rain, the warm cozy home you offer is gonna put him off rather than welcoming him in.

Overtime he learns that there are such thing as kind hands, even if his own paws don’t fall into that category. You know how scared he is when he touches you because they shake and clamp down like you are going to leave. He loves you like a dog, willing to sit outside your door.

[cherubcameron]

Igual Que Un Angel

Chapter Twelve

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

Author’s note: once again viewer discretion is advised. This may not be as heavy as I had thought. But just in case.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

“Shit!” Rafe was trying to beat the traffic but it seemed like everyone was out today. It shouldn’t have taken this long for him to get to the hospital. He honked his horn once more. His anger palpable in his bmw.

He swerves out of another car’s way, the other car honking his horn at Rafe. As he honks it back.

“She’s giving birth right now!? She was just about to be eight months pregnant!” Sarah panics, her eyes looking around the cars surrounding them.

“I know! I know!” Sarah held his phone, the phone ringing, Rafe hit the gas, going above the speed limit.

“Hello?” Lupita voices cuts through the screen, her call being put on speaker. “Rafe?” She sounds like a scared little girl. Rafe feels dread filling him like a balloon. He couldn’t think the worst yet though, he had to believe everything was okay.

“Hey! It’s uh it’s not Rafe. I mean it is he’s—”

“Sarah…”

“Right, sorry, it’s his sister Sarah. He’s driving so he can’t be on the phone. Is everything okay?”

Lupita’s sobs fill through the phone and into the car, making his stomach drop. Suddenly, the car felt stiffer, less spacious. No, please no.

He wouldn’t know what he’d do if he lost either Sofia or the baby. His mind going into a dark place, as it imagines him losing them both. He couldn’t live if that came to pass. He wouldn’t know what he’ll do. It’ll be like his dad dying all over again. Like his mom.

“I-I don’t know. They had to kick me out because I fainted.” It would had been something they all would have laughed at, had it not been such a dyer situation.

“You fainted?”

“Blood isn’t easy for me to see and there was so—”

Rafe hand tightens around the steering wheel. He feels like he’s almost floating out of his body. His eyes darting briefly to see Sarah is speaking. But it’s like he’s watching from the back seat. Not the one driving. Not the one experiencing this.

“We’re trying to beat traffic as best as we can. We’ll be there soon, okay. Hold on tight.” Lupita replies but Rafe can’t seem to hear it. It’s almost like he’s floating out of his body, he manages to finally make it to the hospital. And he doesn’t remember how.

“Push Sofia! Push!” The doctor yells, Sofia pushes with all her might. Her forehead sheened with sweat. This wasn’t how this was meant to go. This wasn’t how they’d planned this.

“Ahhh!” She cried out, her legs shook as she continued to push. She gritted her teeth as she continued to scream. Her eyes clenched shut, she just wanted Rafe. Needed him here more than anything in the world.

She feels herself thrashing against the sheets, unable to hold onto anything. Pain surrounds her like overgrowth, something inescapable. It feels like she’s being torn inside out. Being reshaped. No words can escape her lips, almost like she’s trapped.

Was this the universe laughing in their face? Almost taunting them, punishing her. Reminding them, no matter how much they tried, they could never get their relationship right. Sofia felt a white hot pain shoot up her back, she screamed once more. She couldn’t bear it, her vision blurring.

“One more push!” The doctor says, the sound of cries fills the hospital room. Sofia eyes finally unclenching, her breathing a little shaky. She continues to hear the cries of her baby, her eyes filling with tears. Her baby, her and Rafe’s baby. Their baby.

“Congratulations, Sofia. She’s here.” But they don’t place her baby into her arms. Sofia feels her heart sink, something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

“Wait, wait I want to—”

Darkness begins to form at the edges of her vision. The last thing she hears is the nurses and doctors fuzzing over her before everything becomes dark. The last thing she thinks about is her baby, and Rafe.

“Lupita!” Rafe says, once he spots her. Her eyes dart to him, her mouth letting go of her thumb. Her lower lip quivering, her cheeks tear stained. But she looks relieved, almost.

“I’m such a coward. She needed me and I-I’m a coward.”

Sarah shakes her head, her arm linked with Rafe. Almost if she knew he needed someone to anchor him. His heart is racing, he’s not ready for what Lupita has to say. His eyes dart around the room, spotting people who are sick or injured. His stomach turning into knots.

“You’re queasy, it’s okay. It happens, that’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for that.”Sarah says, her hand on Lupita’s arm. Lupita smiles but it’s quick, her forehead crinkled with worry.

“What happened Lupita?” Rafe asks, almost desperately.

“Hi, are you the family member of Sofia Jimenez? Her cousin right?” A nurse says, interrupting Lupita before she can speak. Lupita nods rapidly, her eyes widening. Sarah instinctively holds her hand in hers. He doesn’t miss the way Lupita looks at Sarah

“The baby is in the NICU.” She starts, “we’re just trying to monitor her heart, her oxygen, her temperature. Make sure her vitals are okay. Everything is looking good, there doesn’t seem to be a major issue.” Lupita nods, Rafe brows furrow.

“What about Sofia?” He asks, the nurse turns to him.

“Uh family of hers?”

“Yes. Father of the baby.”

The nurse purses her lips before nodding. “Come with me.”

Rafe heart continues to beat fast, he’s in the scrubs the nurse had given him. He looks over at Sarah who gives him a reassuring smile. It’s the only thing that anchors him before deciding to walk into the room. His eyes see all the other babies in their incubators. He’s the only one allowed in. Sarah and Lupita wait by the window.

Rafe slowly approaches, his steps cautious. He notices her, her wavy hair behind her, her eyes staring at their baby.

“Sofia.” Rafe says hoarsely, as if he’s using his voice for the very first time. She turns, her eyes glassy.

“She’s okay—I thought—she’s okay…” Her lower lip wobbles and Rafe immediately wraps her into a hug, their scrubs rustling against each others. His tears slipping into her hair, as he holds her even closer.

“You’re both okay, you’re—I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sof.” He voice cracks, his hand smoothly down her hair.

“It’s not your fault.” She whispers. “She was ready to see us, I guess.” She chuckles softly. Rafe kisses her head, a few times. Before loosing his hold on her.

“Yeah, but had I just—”

“Look, you’ve made your mistakes in the past. This isn’t one of them. We didn’t know she decided today was the day she wanted to be born. This isn’t your fault, okay.”

They both turn to peer at Aurora.

“She’s so small…”Sofia wipes at her nose, “They’re just going to keep her here for a few days. Just to make sure everything is okay. But uh—” Sofia approaches Aurora’s incubator. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Rafe neared the incubator, his eyes stared at their baby. The way her body was so small, too small. Her feet, her hands. But still, she was the most beautiful little baby he’d ever seen. And he was never one keen to babies. Rafe looked towards Sofia.

“She gets that from you.” Sofia cheeks flush and Rafe can’t help but smile. “She gets that from her mommy.”

Their eyes turn towards Aurora. Tiny little Aurora who was ready to see the world. To see them. His eyes land on the paper tucked near her incubator. Her name, and her weight on the chart. 4 pounds.

“How did the hearing go?” Sofia says, her eyes landing on his once more.

“We uh got joint custody.” Rafe says, his hand reaching in the incubator to touch Aurora. The nurse had provided him with gloves, but he needed to know she was real. Her little hand going into his, the way she curled them up.

“That’s amazing Rafe.” Rafe eyes meet hers again, he can’t help but go from looking at Aurora to looking at Sofia.

“Yeah, I finally got my little sister back.” His eyes bore into hers. “And now I have you too…”

Sofia reaches her hand in as while, her hand covering his. “You’ll always have us too.”

They kiss, a soft peck on the lips. A smile spreads on Rafe’s face.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“We want to monitor you as well for the night.” The nurse says, as Sofia is placed back onto the bed.

“She’ll be discharged in the morning?” Rafe asks, trying to leave his desperation out of his voice. Sofia seemed to pick up on it, as she beamed at him.

“Yes, that’s what we’re aiming for. If any other complications present themselves. It might be later than that. But I don’t think we have to worry about that. Everything seems normal.” The nurse says, helping Sofia adjust herself.

“I’ll give you two some more privacy.” The nurse excuses herself.

“Are Lupita and Sarah coming in?” Sofia asks, staring up at Rafe from the bed.

“Sarah went to help Lupita calm down.” Rafe grabs for her hand, holding it against his heart. “You scared us, you know.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I-”

Rafe shook his head, squeezing her hand.

“It’s not your fault, she was ready to come out.”

“Rafe…” Sofia words become quiet, almost like she’s afraid about what she’s about to say.

“Yeah?”

“What if, something’s wrong with her? And they’re not telling us everything so we don’t freak out.” Sofia forehead crinkles with worry, Rafe rubs his thumb against her forehead, almost trying to smooth down the lines.

“If there was an issue, they would have told us by now.” Rafe pushes her hair out of her face, her brows crinkle.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s his turn for his eyebrows to crinkle.

“For what?”

“I know this isn’t how you wanted this to go.” Sofia eyes him cautiously, almost afraid that he’s mad at her. “I’m sorry I messed it up.”

“So it’s not my fault for not being here. But it’s yours for her coming out to early. Sofia, you don’t need to be so har—”

“I keep messing everything up for you. First the Hollis and Groff situation. Now this—”

“Sofia they’re not even remotely the same.” Rafe brows furrowed, he looks visibly confused.

“I just feel like I’m ruining—”

“Sofia, stop. Okay stop. That’s not what happened.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes. “What if we lose her and it’s—”

“Sofia stop!”

Sofia looks at him in shock, she looks around but knows no one heard him. They were in a private hospital room.

“I didn’t mean to yell.” He whispers, moving away from her. His back towards her. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a moment of silence, Sofia watching as he stands near the window. His body tense, he doesn’t speak.

“No it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine Sofia.” Rafe squeezed his eyes closed, his body positioned towards the window. “Look, our relationship has never been perfect. But you don’t get to start blaming yourself for everything now.”

Sofia eyes stay on his fighter, unsure what to say. She hadn’t meant to upset him. She just meant to share her fears with him. “Rafe—”

“All of that shit, it’s in the past Sofia. We just had a baby. Together. You and me. That’s what’s important. Okay. Our love for each other and our baby.”

“You can’t expect me to think you’ve forgiven me that fast.” Sofia brows knit together, her lips parting almost wanting to say more. Before ultimately deciding against it.

“You don’t get it Sofia, do you?” Rafe finally turns his head towards her. His eyes had softened. “Yeah, at first I was extremely angry. But now—”

“Now?”

“Now… all I want is you and Aurora. That’s all that matters to me. Sarah, little Jay and John B too. But don’t tell him that.” Sofia laughs. Rafe moves towards her once again. His hand gripping hers like a life line.

“You’re all I ever wanted and more.” He kisses her forehead.

“Hey sorry to interrupt. We wanted to check in with you guys. See that everything was okay.” Sarah says, Lupita looks at her cousin. Her face crumpling as she races towards her.

“Perdóname!” She says, her head on Sofias stomach. “I’m such a coward. I didn’t mean to leave you alone in that room.”

Sofia ran her hand in her cousin’s hair. “Lupita, Estoy bien, no te preocupes. Estoy aquí.” She kisses her cousins head.

Rafe and Sarah move to stand next to each other.

“But-but I just had to faint. I failed you.”

“Lupe, you could never fail me.” Lupita finally looks up from her cousins stomach.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Lupe, I practically raised you. I know your heart and soul. I know you would have been there. You didn’t fail me.”

Lupita eyebrows scrunched up. “Te amo.”

“Te amo mas.”

Sofia raises her head to look toward Sarah and Rafe. As they privately have their own conversation. She can’t help the way her heart swells. She was surrounded by her family. New and old. She kisses her cousins head once more. Grateful for her and everyone who was in the room.

[sterekchub]

Stiles whose already incredibly fat really going ALL out over the course of a day and stuff himself more than he ever has before…to the point that Derek can’t quite believe his eyes and Is so impressed. Eating to the point that he can can barely breathe between each bite and just…keeps shoveling even more in mindlessly, helplessly groaning and moaning as he eats and is so so unbelievably turned on and Derek is like rock hard and determined to fuck stiles while he keeps eating. Plug him up from both ends and make him bigger

Stiles does it on purpose. I can see Derek having a physical job- either working at his mechanic's shop, a park ranger, a firefighter...he goes to work at odd hours and weekends and comes back dirt or grease stained and wrung out from a day of labor. While his boyfriend works a well-paid, easy 9-5 that lets him take an hour long lunch breaks and keep a Costco amount of snacks at his desk. (which absolutely has contributed to Stiles' skyrocketing weight gain after college) Which means Derek goes into work Saturday, and Stiles does nothing but sit on the couch and shovel food into his ever ballooning belly, making sure Derek comes home to a pig. Not that it's all for Derek. Stiles loves eating. Didn't get this fat on accident. And now that Stiles has reached the size his dick has vanished under his fatpad and low hanging gut, he ends up horny, unable to do anything about it, but rut against his belly all day and try and eat more. Like maybe if his gut swells big enough. Gets so packed with food it's heavy enough... It's a sight that makes Derek instantly hard when he comes home. To see Stiles on the couch, hasn't bothered to put on anything but loose sweatpants, sitting with his hands clutching either side of his mountainous belly, rubbing and squeezing and putting on a show for Derek. "Fuck Blrrbpfft that last Taco OOOOHHHHRRRRP Bell order was a mistake. Wheeze. Should have stopped PffpffrrptTT after the Burgers. urrRPPphh. A little...unnngh help?" Derek is immediately on the couch next to him, marveling at how Stiles manages to eat so much he looks visibly wider. Heavier. Wide thighs spread out so the mass of his blubbery gut can hang between his legs, covered in stretchmarks which look somehow new because they're so bright over this stretched taut middle. His hands roam over Stiles' stomach as he lists off everything he's eaten (not that Derek needs the list - the entire living room is filled with the evidence that Stiles was too lazy or too full to throw off). Derek doesn't drain any of the aching fullness. Stiles knows the rule - he wants to be such an embarrassingly gluttonous hog, he has to deal with the consequences. The other rule - that Derek doesn't care how full Stiles is. If he wants Derek to fuck him? Or to dive under his sweaty blubber and try to find his buried cock? Then he better be eating. Huge, greedy mouthfuls. (Derek usually keeps desserts in the house just for that reason. Stiles isn't getting a small snack. It's a family size pan of brownies. An entire 3 layer cake. A immense, dense cheesecake). Stiles doesn't take bites- he loads his mouth full until his cheeks are bulging with it, trying to moan with a mouthful of calories as Derek teases him for being an ever growing whale. An obese cow. His prize winning hog. Grunts and groans in agreement with each swallow. Nothing better the the image of Stiles on all fours, belly sagging against the bed and event spreading out under himself. So out of shape he can barely hold himself up for long. Love handles and back rolls so easy for Derek to grab and squeeze.

[the-masked-astro]

Meet Mr. Baker! More info on him below, but like Pyrite his story is also open to oc/self inserts!

Bio:

Age: 31

Hight: 7'1

Gender: male

Species: object head [born with TV head]

Name: Neil baker. Prefers Mr. Baker or just Baker

His father was a Coffee base person while his mother was a cupcake base person, making him a strange combo of both.

Lore

40 years ago, two shops opened right next to eachother. One was a bakery run by Lira Sugarstine and the other was a coffee shop run by Victor Baker. Despite being competitors, both would eventually fall in love, get married, join their businesses into a single Cafe, and have a son, Neil baker. Neil loved everything about the bakery, spending most of his time there. Instead of playing with kids his age, he would be helping his mom make baked goods or be learning how to brew coffee with his father.

His parents showered their son with love and kindness, helping him grow into the proud man he is today. He loves his family and the café so much he insists people refer to him by his family last name, to the point not many people know his first name.

Unfortunately the perfect family wouldn't last long, as when Mr. Baker was 28, his father would pass from a heart attack, leaving only his mother to run the Cafe. He would step up quickly to fill the role of his father to help his mother, he would take over most of the business, not wanting his mother to stress and potentially suffer a heart attack like his father. He dotes on his mother constantly, and is a huge Mama's boy. Both of them live above the Cafe

the cafe was originally built as two separate shops with two separate apartments on top. When his parents merged the bakery and coffee shop to make the cafe, they tore down the wall that divided the two, making it one large space. However, they kept both apartments separate. This means that both Baker and his mother live in separate apartments. However, they are still essentially living together

Unfortunately, during a terrible storm, a rift opened under the Cafe, swallowing the building whole, dragging it into the Astro-vision world, which would end up destroying it. Mr. Baker ans his mother would survive, with cuts and bruises, but they would survive. Devastated by the loss of the Cafe and stuck in a strange new world, they refuse to let it keep them down, working towards opening up a new location.

Personality

Mr. Baker is bright and bubbly. He lives and breathes baking and coffee making, rarely ever seen doing anything else. He's extremely overprotective of his mother. The only time he's known to get angry or even violent is when someone tries to hurt or harm his mother in some way, shape, or form. Despite hard times, he's always positive. While his mother has tried to get him out of his shell and explore the world, he refused, choosing to be sheltered. Because of this, he can be a bit naive and doesn't always understand modern slang, and is overall a bit socially awkward in settings outside of the cafe.

Overall I hope you enjoy this sweet goober, and while he might be edible bls do not eat him.

[sunkeji]

Finding out you're a girl 🫵🏻👯‍♀️😱⁉️

A/N: idk guys I lost my train of thought(s) so you get this. I decided to do this differently than the other ones.

C/W: mentions of bra, hinting at your pp (it's nth bad I promise), yuu is reader

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle

Riddle, Trey, Cater

Sorry guys but the Adeuce duo can't keep a secret for shit 😭. They have good intentions I promise but their approach is questionable. You've sent them out to get more pads during one of your horrible cramps. Sam sells them to you so all they need to do is go there, get the right one and come back.

Nothing is easy with them though 😔. Currently, they're crouched on the floor in the store room having a whisper-shouting argument of what sized pads to buy you.

During their heated debate of what kind of pads to get for you, they don't hear their 3 seniors walking into the shop and have stopped an Isle away from the storage room behind them.

"I think Yuu wants the longer ones."

"nah, I think they'll fit the medium one better"

"what? What do you mean by that??"

"you know the..."

"the what???"

"don't make say it!"

After hearing the familiar voices as well as bits and pieces of their unusual conversation coming from the room, Cater opens the door.

"uh what are you guys doing?"

The Adeuce duo whip their heads back to see Cater with his hand still on the door knob, Trey with an eyebrow raised and Riddle having a suspicious look on his face with his arms crossed.

"Are you stealing?" Riddle asks with growing irritation.

The Adeuce duo freeze like deer caught in headlights, their hands still clutching two different-sized packs of pads like they were some kind of forbidden treasure(?).

Ace, ever the quick thinker (or so he thought), blurted out, "We’re not stealing! We’re just… uhh… conducting a very important research project!"

Deuce, even more panicked than Ace aggressively nods his head. "Yeah! For school!"

Riddle’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Science. For school." His voice was flat, dripping with disbelief.

Trey, ever the peacemaker (but also unable to resist the chaos), leaned in and squinted at the pads in their hands. "Ah, I see. A comparative analysis of absorbency levels?"

Cater, barely holding in his laughter, pulled out his phone. "This is so going on Magicam. ‘Heartslabyul’s Finest: Pad Investigators.’ #NotAllHeroesWearCapes #ButTheyDoBuyPads."

Ace turning bright red. "DON’T YOU DARE—"

Deuce, in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, held up both boxes like a shield and went on a word vomit;

"Lookwe’rejusttryingtohelpYuu!Shesentustogetthesebecauseshe'sonherperiodandwedon’twannamessitup,andwhilewe'reonthetopic,Yuu'sagirlifyouhaven'tfigureditoutyet"

[Look we’re just trying to help Yuu! She sent us to get these because she's on her period and we don't wanna mess it up, and while we're on the topic, Yuu's a girl if you haven't figured it out yet]

A beat of silence.

Then Riddle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'd be more surprised if more people didn't know Yuu was a girl with how loud you two idiots always are. We've known since months ago when we heard you guys talking in the corridor"

Trey chimes in bringing focus back to the matter at hand; "So instead of asking which one she needed, you decided to have a covert operation in the storage room?"

Ace cross' his arms defensively. "Well, it’s embarrassing! We didn’t wanna yell it across the store!"

Trey, now fully grinning, shook his head. "Well, it's much too late for that AND Yet here you two are, whisper-shouting about pad sizes loud enough for all of Sage’s Island to hear."

Cater wipes a tear from his eye while giggling. "ugh, I can’t. I just can’t. Yuu’s gonna die when they hear about this."

Deuce groaned, slamming his head into a shelf. "We’re never gonna live this down, are we?"

Riddle, after a long, suffering pause, finally uncrossed his arms. "Just get the overnight ones. And for goodness sake, next time, write it down."

As the seniors walked away (Cater already typing at lightning speed to fill you in on what's happened), Ace and Deuce stood there, defeated, holding the correct pads at last.

Ace: "…We’re never doing Yuu a favor again."**

Deuce: "Agreed..."

Meanwhile, you're back at Ramshackle, curled up in pain, wondering why it’s taking so long to get pads and if you should’ve just asked Grim to steal some instead.

Ace & Deuce

The story starts when these 2 Knuckleheads are hanging out after class with you at the Ramshackle dorm and become curious of your belongings. While you're away, they're in your room opening drawers and looking at your things.

When they eventually get to your wardrobe, they're opening drawers haphazardly and looking at what minimal belongings you have, expecting to see normal guy clothes and hoping to find something to laugh at you about but the first thing they see is a bra. Both of them stop in their tracks and just stare at it speechless.

Deuce picks it up and stares at it while Ace's eyes grow wide and smacks it out of his hands, sending the bra flying. "Don't touch it dummy! don't you know what that is?!".

Unexpectedly, you enter the room at the exact moment your bra lands on the floor, right in front of you.

Ace immediately points at Deuce and shouts; "IT WAS DEUCE! HE'S THE PERVERT!". Deuce immediately gets red at that while shouting that he's not a pervert and then the 2 of them have started slapping and shoving each other, completely forgetting the precarious situation they were caught in.

Grim grabs your pants leg and stares from behind you. "Welp, looks like the cat's out of the bag."

[capesch-arts]

Does Richard get along with his father? Is Howard Joy dead? What was Richard's childhood like? I'm deeply fascinated by him and want to dissect him <3

Richard's childhood and cult indoctrination was really normal, or rather his father didn't expect to need to indoctrinate him because, "he's born into our circle, I don't really need to indoctrinate him to serve the king, right?" and then proceeds to not pay more attention to him. In Richard's eyes, he saw his father neglect him for a stupid whacko cult, so by the time he was in his teens he fully rejected him and then dipped when he turned 18. Keep in mind, his father is the High Priest at this time.

Unfortunately, the alternative education for him was the ye olde queer phobic ideals of the 1930s, and Richard convinced himself he was not trans and his gender dysphoria was "just a phase" and he'll grow out of it. I would say a key point to why he denied himself trans was that he was also rejecting his father's ideals. His father had said that The King would accept him better than the humans did. But, Richard back then would rather eat a donkey than admit his father was right. (Basically Howard -and The King- knew Richard was "born in the wrong body", so to speak).

Eventually, after The King's display and transition, he mellowed up. He decided because he's a brand new man, he'd start over with his father. He still harbors some dislike of his father due to the neglect but otherwise they're both managing it. Richard is more interested in learning about The King through his father than learning about his father, which was acceptable for Howard because he would want his son more focused on The King than other things. (Yep he's that obsessed as well).

Overall, Richard didn't hate his father anymore, but he doesn't love him either. It's like all his feelings of love have been reserved for The King and The King alone. (Howard kinda feels this too).

As for whether or not Howard's dead? He died while trying to get Jane's book. In an altercation between Arthur and Parker, he was shot dead when things escalated. Interestingly enough, they never meant to shoot him down nor were they originally wanted the book. They were trying to find Roland Cummings and ended up confronting Howard and some members of The King's cult. Afterwards, news hit the other members across the pond, and Richard came to replace his father, though by the time he arrived in America his uncle decided to elect himself as High Priest despite not earning the title. But don't worry, he didn't live long enough for it to matter lol.

[misettemisette]

Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 6K words TW: very suggestive PS: French writer, by far the most changes from the first version here, wrote this last year so context is based on the 23/24 season

Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique Chapter 7 ➺ In the Haze

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Early summer at the Ciudad was lively and colorful, like the wings fluttering in my stomach. The Real Madrid footballers were playing their last games of the season, putting all their remaining strength into them. Everybody was tried. The season had been tough for the women’s team, with great victories but also hard, humiliating defeats. So the girls were not only physically drained but also mentally exhausted. The summer break would be more than necessary before starting over with a new football season in September.

Nevertheless, every day, training sessions had a fresh and invigorating energy. I photographed all the players, trying not to focus on one in particular. But when nobody was watching, my lens always searched for the tall, tanned goalkeeper. I captured her body suspended in the air, her features drawn in concentration, the tension in her legs as she anticipated her next jump.

When photographing Misa, I wasn’t just the Real Madrid photographer, I was Nicky, capturing the girl I loved, drawn by the strength and dedication she exuded. Misa had become my favorite model, and my feelings for her were yet another motivation to keep practicing, even when her practice session was over. Sometimes, I discreetly snapped pictures of her on her way to the cafeteria or the parking lot. Those were my best shots: unexpected and unfiltered. Urban photography felt dull without her somewhere in the background. And I couldn’t wait to ask Misa if I could photograph her in the streets of the Spanish capital.

Yes, I was in love.

Deeply.

In love with my colleague. In love with my muse.

And all I wanted to know was whether Misa felt the same about me.

Back on the field, I noticed I wasn’t the only one losing focus at times. I often caught Misa glancing in my direction, only to pull away a split second later. When she realized I was photographing her, she would smile lightly and focus even harder than usual, her grin turning bashful whenever she failed to stop the ball.

But Misa was Misa, wholehearted in everything she did, yet somehow incredibly nonchalant. Her main focus remained football, and although she was always up for us spending time together during our free hours, she also needed her moments alone. It wasn’t rare for her to put on her earphones in the middle of an evening at home or to disappear into the bedroom for an hour or so. She was glued to her phone and could bury herself in social networks, scrolling and typing endlessly. Her nonchalance was irritating, especially because it made her even more attractive. I felt weak. Misa owned me with a simple look, a hand on my thigh, or a light kiss on my neck…

But at least I was sure of one thing: Misa was as addicted to our hookups as I was.

Several times a week, the brunette and I met at one of our apartments. Tired of having to act like just friends at the Ciudad, we were relieved to escape that environment. I hated having to keep my distance from her during work hours, longing for a glance, a wave, a touch… And then there was my desire for her, growing hotter and more urgent every time she was in sight. Maybe we were making up in bed for the proximity we couldn’t have outside.

Consequently, as soon as we set foot in one of our apartments, we would start making out, our hands roaming, smiles timid between kisses. We would head straight to the bedroom, pulling off our clothes in a hurry, her large hands keeping me close as our kisses grew more heated. We would stay like that for a moment, caressing our bare bodies, kissing more, sometimes chuckling when our intertwined limbs tangled the bedsheets.

Misa was unraveling a world of fantasy I had never even dreamed of. She could be so soft, but also rough, and rather needy as well. We were still in the stage of discovery, understanding, learning each other’s bodies. We would try this, and that, driven by the insatiable need for each other…

On one particularly warm night, Misa and I talked for hours. We were lying naked in my bed, exhausted and relieved after yet another evening of mind-blowing sex. We were sweaty, but Misa held me against her, indifferent to the heat. The window was wide open, hoping to let in some fresh air from outside. Unfortunately, the curtain, drawn to shield us from the neighbors’ view, blocked most of it. As a matter of fact, the curtain was more than necessary to hide some rather explicit details of the scene: a purple toy, an abandoned harness, some ribbons, and our interlaced bare bodies.

"Jajaja! No, Nicky! It doesn’t work like that!" the goalkeeper laughed after I asked another dumb football question.

"Why? I thought you said the ball wasn’t really round!" I replied, laughing as well at my own ignorance.

"Vale, the ball’s not a perfect round, that’s how we can do a curved shot, but it’s still not an egg!" 

A warm gust of wind entered through the window, sending ripples through the curtains and the bedsheets. I shivered but wasn’t cold, the feeling of freshness was welcome. The goalkeeper’s tan hands brushed my arms and pulled me in closer. I shivered again, but not because of the wind this time.

"¿Tienes frío?" she asked, her voice suddenly softer.

I shook my head. I felt warm, inside and out.

Her mouth brushed my jawline, and I turned around, meeting her lips. My palm fell on her cheek, and my fingers gently tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. My desire awoke again as we kissed slowly.

“I better stop, or we’ll go for another round,” I confessed.

The goalkeeper smiled and dragged her lips along my jaw again.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she murmured, but then a big yawn took over. “Oh, perdón.”

I planted a kiss on her cheekbone. “You look so tired. We’ll have plenty of time another day. What’s on your schedule tomorrow?”

“I have to wake up early to do some commercials, and I have medical and physio appointments in the afternoon, then training at six,” Misa yawned again. “You?”

“I’m working on the photo direction for the end of the season, you know, retrospectives, key moments, stuff like that… I think I’ll go for something emotional but fun.”

I paused and sighed. I had been really sad to learn that Sofie Svava was leaving, among others. I knew it was even harder for Misa, who had really connected with the Danish defender. I preferred to change the subject.

“I’ll show up at training as usual. I’m not complaining, I wanted a stimulating job, but I could use a vacation!”

“Ay, sí! ¡Vacaciones!” Misa shifted, unsticking our sweaty skin with a wince.

I pulled away, and Misa flipped onto her side, settling herself comfortably on the pillow.

“By the way, what did you do before joining Real Madrid?” she asked me.

“I worked for a communications agency that handled… banks. I was so bored! You can’t imagine how many smiling men in their thirties with thick glasses I had to photograph. Or boxes, yes, boxes! Banks are obsessed with boxes: closed boxes, open boxes, full boxes, empty boxes… I even did a campaign with people diving into a giant box once.”

Misa chuckled. “Did you ever put a 30-year-old man with glasses inside a fancy box?”

I burst into laughter. “I did not, thank God! What a nightmare it was! Anyway, moving to Madrid is the best thing that could have happened to me!“

We both grinned. Every time she smiled, Misa had the nerve to be both adorable and gorgeous. I couldn’t help but think she was the best thing that had happened to me. She was wonderful, looking at me like that.

But then, her expression shifted to uncertainty. “You said… it wasn’t only because of your job that you wanted to leave, right?” the brunette asked, an implicit question lingering behind.

The soft, curious look in her almond eyes broke down my last barrier. I bit my lip and swallowed, clinging to her brown gaze as I recalled what I had tried to leave behind.

“Er… my ex dumped me. She found somebody else. We had been together for three and a half years…” I rolled onto my back, unable to bear her gaze anymore, and stared at the ceiling instead.

“The worst part was how long it lasted, the breakup. She let our relationship rot but wouldn’t leave me. She probably cheated on me with her new girl during the last few months. In the end, I was so angry and sad that I cheated on her too. And I’m really not proud of that on so many levels… That was when she finally realized she had broken up with me for good. She wasn’t even mad or anything, she just didn’t love me anymore and hadn’t had the guts to leave me. In a way, I think I provoked it myself. I just couldn’t take it anymore. It had to stop.”

My eyes stayed on the ceiling as I remembered the pain I had been in.

Misa rested her head on my shoulder, her eyes avoiding mine. “I’m sorry, cariño…” She draped an arm across my torso and simply stayed there. Despite the heat, her warmth and closeness were comforting. “I was curious, but… I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“No, I’m glad I told you.” I lifted my arm so she could settle in better and wrapped it around her. My lips brushed against her forehead. “It’s over now, and I don’t regret anything.”

“Mucho mejor,” she said, and we stayed silent for a moment. Misa closed her eyes. She seemed to be drifting off.

“What about you? I mean… with girls?” I inquired awkwardly.

She let out a short chuckle but answered anyway, her eyelids still shut.

“I’ve had a few relationships, mostly with footballers. It’s easier to understand each other, but every type of relationship brings its own problems. Football is a very competitive sport. Everything quickly becomes a conflict of interest, and one day it affects you.”

“Oh… I’m sorry too…” I said, waiting a moment for her to continue. But she stayed silent.

Misa was a chatty person when it came to having fun and talking nonsense, but she didn’t seem eager to talk about more personal things yet. On the contrary, the more time I spent with her, the more I felt at ease. Tonight, telling her about my past relationship even made me feel good, like I had unburdened myself of something. I longed for Misa to open up more too, but I respected her pace and didn’t try to push things.

Realizing she didn’t want to say more, I teased, “So now you’re hooking up with a girl from your own club staff, illegally!” I laughed.

But far from being amused, the brunette straightened up with a reprobative look. “Hey! You didn’t warn me from the start!”

“I tried to stop you, but you were stubborn! You don’t like it when a girl resists you!“

Misa’s mouth fell open. “Like you didn’t want it too! You didn’t look at Hayley like that! I could tell there was something!”

I blushed but replied, “I’m not saying I didn’t want you. I’m saying I didn’t make it easy, and you took it as a challenge.”

“Pfff, Nicky…”

Misa lifted herself over me and seized my hands, making me gasp, and pinned them above my head onto the soft pillow. A naughty look spread across her gorgeous face when she heard my breathing deepen.

“You have never resisted me,” she stated.

I snorted, but her dominant behavior was really turning me on. I tried to free myself and searched for a way to turn the tables, failing at both. The goalkeeper’s hold was far too strong for me.

“You’re forgetting something,” I said, my voice soft, contrasting with my body fidgeting under her.

“Am I?” Misa asked, smirking in satisfaction.

“Yes, Honey,” I replied, the little name escaping me.

It was the first time I had called her a pet name, and she froze for half a second before composing herself again.

“And what did I forget?” she asked mischievously. Her gaze was softer, and she bent over to kiss me before letting me answer.

Her kiss started teasing, provocative. I breathed harder, aroused by her luscious lips enclosing mine. Her taste filled my mouth, her breath enveloped me. She smelled so good. So… herself.

Honey.

Calling her that hadn’t really been intentional, but it forced me to admit that my affection for her was becoming hard to control.

Misa exhaled, let go of my hands, and I realized I had closed my eyes, changing our kiss into something softer, more tender. Her palms cupped my face, and I wasn’t long to do the same.

“Misa…,” I whispered, my feelings for her taking over my desire.

I kissed the young woman harder, the contact of her mouth the only possible way to stop myself from telling her how I felt right away.

Misa let me push her back against the mattress, a faint whine escaping her lips. I instinctively rolled over her before pulling back slowly. The brunette’s eyes were closed, her expression so soft when she opened them… Could she feel what I was feeling right now? Was she fighting just as hard not to tell me how much she loved me? I was amazed that I managed to hold the words inside.

Instead, I kissed her forehead and inhaled the sweet scent of her hairline.

“So… what did I forget?” she chuckled, breaking the silence.

“Ah, yes…”

I felt as if I had traveled deep into my own mind and was only now coming back.

“I may have never resisted you…” I said, still hovering over her. I took her hands gently, placing another small kiss on her lips. “But you have never resisted me either.”

***

A month passed. June had come, bringing a lot of work with it.

It was the last week before the official end of the season. Most players had already gone on holiday, either back with their families or traveling somewhere, but I was stuck at Ciudad Real Madrid to finish one last task: photographing the new team members.

The club had announced the departures the week before without much care. Apart from rushed mockups posted on social media, nothing had been planned to properly thank the players leaving, so most of them had organized their own goodbye parties. Sofie’s was tomorrow night at her home. I knew it was going to be a bittersweet moment for her friends, especially for Misa.

On top of that, Angela was arriving the day after and would be staying at my place for the week. I couldn’t wait, and work hours seemed to tick by incredibly slowly.

Thankfully, creating the portraits of the new players’ arrivals was a rather stimulating task. I met the new team members, many of whom came from other Spanish clubs. The presentations were brief, though I got along well with Alba Redondo from Levante and a tall French girl named Léa Koffi, who would be the second goalkeeper.

Accompanied by the design team, I had set up a classy yet fun backdrop: an open archway framing a beautiful view of Madrid in the background. The entire set was pure white with navy blue outlines to match the club’s identity. The players had fun with it, taking various poses in and around the archway, showing their excitement at joining Real Madrid.

When she received the freshly made portraits, my boss, Ana, quietly told me she was very happy with the results and wanted to discuss further opportunities for me at Real Madrid soon.

Proud and thrilled, I parked in front of Misa’s building that evening. I had insisted on picking her and Hayley up at their places. Sofie had asked me to be the official photographer of her party, and I didn’t like to drink when using my precious camera. So, planning to stay sober tonight, I could just as well be the taxi.

When the brunette arrived, I was bubbling with excitement, impatient to tell her about my success at work today. But Misa seemed moody, opening the passenger door and slipping inside the car with a forced smile.

“Hey Honey, what’s up? Are you sad already?” I asked, worried.

“Hola Cari, I’m okay,” she said, greeting me with a swift kiss.

“Are you sure?” I dared to insist.

She looked at her lap, answering with a sigh, “Yes, but I guess I’ll never really get used to seeing a friend go.”

“Oh, Mis’.” I opened my arms, and Misa let me cuddle her for a moment. “I have good news,” I began, hoping to brighten her mood. “Today, Ana said she’s very happy with my work. I think I might get a promotion or something!” I told her eagerly.

Misa leaned back. To my surprise, a look of dismay flickered on her pretty face. She quickly recomposed herself.

“Guao, bravo Nicky!” she congratulated me, taking me back in her arms.

I hugged her back, realizing her broad shoulders were rising up and down with her deep breathing. What was going on with Misa? The good news seemed to have saddened her even more. My fingers gently brushed her hair, and I felt an urge to tell her about my feelings, to tell her that I was here for her.

“I got you, Honey,” I managed to say, my words carrying their meaning and more.

Misa pulled away, avoiding my gaze.

“Lo siento,” she said. “I think tonight’s a bit hard for me. I’m glad this fucking season’s finally over. At the same time, I have the international break in a week, and I know I’ll be benched… Real Madrid’s not doing well enough. I’m not doing well enough… It’s been my best and worst year since I started football, and I… I don’t really know where I’m at right now.”

She stopped, taking a deep breath as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’ve told you how I feel about that," I said, my fingers wiping the tear away delicately. "You have to gain your self-confidence back, Misa. And you won’t if you keep beating yourself up like that.” I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “And I know it doesn’t mean much from a sports perspective, but you impress me every day.” She broke a small, genuine smile at last. “Though, I have never dated a footballer before, so maybe that doesn’t count…” I added, grinning and squeezing her shoulders possessively.

Misa’s gaze lingered on me before going back to her lap. “Nicky…” she mumbled.

She stayed with her mouth open, but no sound came out. My heartbeat quickened. What was she going to say?

“Nicky…" she repeated, her troubled eyes meeting mine, unblinking. I froze, hanging onto her lips, waiting for them to form the words.

“Nicky… I…”

“Hum?” A questioning sound escaped me, encouraging her.

Misa closed her mouth and then opened it again.

“I…” My heart was going to burst. If only she could just say she loved me! 

Oh, Misa, I loved you too!

“…I’m not only a footballer. You’re dating a goalkeeper, we are a special species.” she finally said, her teasing tone back.

“What?” I was so disappointed and taken aback by her sudden change of behavior that I didn’t register what she meant.

Misa started to laugh, honestly. “Tu cara, jajaja! You should see your face! You look like I just confessed my deepest secret!”

I swallowed and pulled away, thinking to myself how I wished she had told me that instead of going back to joking again.

I felt her hands taking my face back to hers, pulling me into a kiss.

“Perdón, Nicky, y gracias por tu apoyo, Cariño. I’m feeling better, and I think we should get going,” she said before adding, “I’m impressed by your ability to find the right words of comfort.”

You’re fucking unbearable! I thought, but I grinned, slightly reassured, and turned on the engine.

Misa, Hayley, and I arrived at Sofie’s home among the last. Her flat was crowded with people chatting in small groups, loud music accompanying the few dancers in the middle of her living room. There were hugs and sweet words, but the atmosphere was relaxed and festive.

Sofie accompanied us to the kitchen and pointed out where the drinks were for the girls. She served me a grapefruit juice while Misa and Hayley improvised as bartenders, eagerly mixing various beverages together. I left the two friends to their business and followed Sofie back to the living room, where I would set up a photo call.

While Sofie and I installed the background, lights, and tripod in a corner of the room, I glanced around at the guests. Most of them were familiar faces from Real Madrid, but I noticed a few people I didn’t know. A blond guy and a Latina woman approached us, raising their glasses in a toast.

“To our favorite Danish tourist!” the woman said.

“Thank you, Carmen!” Sofie responded. “Carmen, this is Nicky, she’s Real Madrid’s photographer and a dear friend. Nicky, this is Carmen, she showed me every corner of Madrid, basically. And this is her boyfriend, Swen. I wouldn’t have settled here so well if it wasn’t for them,” she sighed with emotion, then added, “Actually, Nicky’s only been here for a few months, maybe you could take her around since you won’t have to look after me anymore.”

“Of course we can! So, I see you’ll be our photographer tonight as well! Class!” Swen said.

The three of us started chatting happily. Swen was interested in the arts and planned to show me some trendy new places. Carmen loved food and walks and had far too many recommendations for anything I could possibly want to eat, as well as any type of ride in and around the city. They were the first to strike a pose at the newly installed photo call. Afterward, we exchanged numbers, and the couple went to join other friends.

I photographed a few more people, and time passed quickly. After a while, I went to the terrace to get some fresh air, leaning against the railing and watching the city stretch into the horizon. I had fallen in love with Madrid too, I thought, gazing at the rooftops in the distance. I felt completely at home here, and the idea of having new friends to explore the city with excited me.

Still, I was confused by Misa’s behavior in my car. Why hadn’t she said what she wanted? Why had she changed her mind at last moment? I felt annoyed, Misa really was hard to follow sometimes. 

“Hey…” I jumped at the goalkeeper’s voice. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just taking a break,” I responded, not wanting to make a scene over nothing.

“Venga.” Misa pulled me toward a more secluded part of the terrace, away from the view of the other residents. She took me in her arms and kissed me passionately. Her lips tasted of alcohol with a hint of coconut. I felt stiff, I couldn’t relax with so many Real Madrid members in the room next to us, so Misa pulled back.

“I feel like I’ve been kind of a jerk earlier…” she began nervously. Her movements were goofier than usual, a clear sign she was on her way to being drunk. She scratched her nose before resting her hands on my neck, her eyes darting across my face.

“Nicky…” she muttered, kissing me again.

My hands rested against her torso, my breath caught in my throat, my eyes locked onto hers.

“Nicky… T…”

“Hey, Misa! Have you seen Ni…” Sofie’s voice rang out from behind the goalkeeper.

Misa froze and turned around, revealing Sofie, who was now staring at us, her mouth agape.

“Oh my god, I knew it!” she said, grinning wide.

“Shhh, Sofie! Please keep your voice down,” I panicked.

“Why? I don’t care, this is great! But my gosh! I knew there was something between you two!”

Misa grabbed the Danish girl and pulled her further into our more private corner. “Sofie, this is serious, you have to keep it secret. Nicky could lose her job!”

Sofie’s smile faltered as she processed that. I took her arm gently.

“I’m not allowed to date Real Madrid players, it’s in my contract. You can’t tell anyone, do you understand?”

Sofie blinked, then rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I got it! But what the fuck?! Is that even legal?”

I shrugged, and she suddenly pulled us both into a hug. “Oh my god, girls, I’m so happy for you! I’m gonna miss you even more.”

“We’ll miss you too, Sofie,” I said. “Were you looking for me?”

“Yes, a group of friends wanted a photo, but I totally understand if you want to come later!” She studied us again, chuckling childishly. “I’m glad I’m leaving you in good hands, Misa.”

But Misa, beyond embarrassed, hid her face in her hands.

Already frustrated by Sofie’s interruption, I was done with Misa not being able to speak. “I’ll go photograph your friends. Come on, Misa, let’s go back inside.”

So I resumed my job of photographing the guests, with Misa, soon joined by Hayley, singing and dancing wildly behind me. I captured Sofie in a cowboy hat, the Real Madrid staff with their faces covered in glitter, players dressed in neon colors… Group after group replaced each other for over an hour, until finally, the two loud girls in Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses, large cocktails in hand, were the last to take their turn, perfecting their ridiculous looks.

As they struck poses, I noticed Misa was even messier than before. She was barely standing upright without swaying. Hayley looked drunk too, though not as much. They kept laughing, posing more ridiculously each time.

When they finally ran out of ideas, Hayley turned to me. “Nicky, go with Misa! You have to be in some photos!”

I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of leaving my camera in the hands of a drunk Australian winger, but she left me no choice, dragging me onto the set and placing herself behind the tripod.

Misa handed me her sunglasses, and we mimicked surfing, diving, and other beach activities. I actually had fun, though I kept an eye on Misa as she continued sipping her cocktail. To wrap things up, Hayley asked for a classic shot, so we simply stood side by side, arms around each other.

“All good,” she announced after taking the picture, then started reviewing the photos on the camera screen.

That’s when I felt the goalkeeper losing balance, her weight suddenly pressing against my shoulder.

“Misa?” I tried to steady her, but she immediately pulled away.

“No, Nicky, alguien could vernos!” she stammered in Spanglish, grabbing onto a spotlight and nearly knocking it over.

“Whoa, Misa!” Hayley darted forward to hold her.

“How much have you two been drinking?” I asked, supporting Misa from the other side.

The Aussie looked guilty. “A few glasses… I’m not really sure how much for Misa.”

“No me siento good…” the goalkeeper mumbled, looking paler and more disoriented.

I took the cocktail from her hand and set it aside. “Come lie down in Sofie’s bed. You just drank too much. It’s gonna be okay.”

Hayley and I helped Misa to the bedroom and laid her down. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was sweating.

“Nicky?” the goalie called faintly.

“I’m going to get Sofie,” Hayley announced before stepping out of the room, taking care to close the door behind her.

I crouched beside the bed, resting my hand on hers as she closed her eyes.

“I’m here.”

“Nicky… disculpe, no lo puedo hacer… No me puedo acostumbrar. No lo sabía, ahora se acabó. Disculpe,” the goalkeeper murmured.

“Uh… sorry, Misa, I don’t understand Spanish that well. I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

But Misa reached for me, holding me close.

“No te vayas!… I’m sorry…”

I cupped her damp face, my voice softer. “I’m just bringing you water, sweetie.”

“Lo arruiné todo… Escúchame, no puedo decirte! Lo quiero, pero quiero… no quiero esto. No puedo otra vez. It happens to me every time… ¿Por qué, Dios?”

She sent a weak hand brushing my cheek, and I placed a kiss on her forehead—a now almost habitual caring gesture.

“Misa, I don’t understand you, I’m sorry. There’s something you don’t want, right? And what’s happening to you every time?” I asked, realizing she was trying to tell me something.

“Esto. Not like this, not again. But it’s too late. Ay… estoy mareando…”

She let go of me, grasping her head, and continued mumbling in Spanish, saying words I didn’t understand.

Confused, I stepped out of the room and nearly bumped into Hayley, who suddenly looked completely sober.

“I told Sofie Misa’s not feeling well. Hey, Nicky, um…” she hesitated. “You should know Misa’s blaming herself for getting you two caught by Sofie tonight… among other things.”

“Oh… she does? Among other things?” I asked. “Did she tell you what?”

Hayley shifted uncomfortably but spoke in a reassuring tone. “Just talk to her… but later, when she feels better.”

She left me more confused than ever. I knew Misa often blamed herself when it came to football, but what did that have to do with me? Yes, she could have avoided kissing me next to a room full of people. And drinking like a fish. Maybe I did look really annoyed…

I returned to the bedroom with a glass of water. Sofie was already there, speaking softly to the goalkeeper. I sat on the bed and handed the glass to Misa, who slowly sat up and drank. She still looked awful.

When she was done, I invited her to rest her head on my lap. I wanted her to know I didn’t hold anything against her, not about Sofie knowing, not about anything. The goalkeeper relaxed a little, closing her eyes.

I met Sofie’s gaze, clearly bubbling with excitement and tenderness. My cheeks burned.

“She really drank way too much,” I said, looking back down at the dizzy brunette.

“I’ve never seen her drink like that. Not even after a big win. Misa’s usually pretty serious about it.”

Misa furrowed her brows and slurred, “I… serious…”

I patted her hair, amused. “I’m gonna take us back to my place soon, okay?”

“Hum… Nicky’s flat es muy bonito.”

Sofie laughed. “Vale, Misa. You mean Nicky es bonita?”

“Sofie!” I protested.

“Shhh, cállate, Nicky…” Misa muttered, then paused, like she was gathering her thoughts. “Por cierto, Nicky es bonita.”

Sofie let out a triumphant yell, while I gasped, flattered and embarrassed, feeling my face grow hot again.

Misa rolled onto her side and nuzzled into my stomach. “Nicky es mi secreto,” she murmured.

I bit my tongue, touched. My feelings for her overwhelmed me once again. 

“That is so cute!” Sofie cooed before going serious. “Don’t worry, I’ll take this secret to the grave, girls.”

***

“Please, Nicky, don’t escucha!” Misa pleaded, rushing to the bathroom.

“I’m putting some music on, don’t worry!”

Choosing a particularly groovy song, I turned on the speaker of my phone, but it barely covered the sound of Misa emptying everything she drank at the party into my toilet.

The drive back home had only made her worse. The poor girl had felt nauseous, shivering like crazy despite the heat in my car. We had made it to my flat in extremis.

“Buah…” Misa emerged from the restroom, sweating and looking paler than I had ever seen her.

“Oh, honey… Come here,” I said, patting the empty seat on the sofa beside me.

She sat down slowly, one hand on her stomach.

“Here, more water,” I said, handing her a glass. “You’re dehydrated. Try to drink all of it. Are you feeling a bit better?”

The brunette managed to drink half the glass. Her cheeks were already regaining some color.

“I think so. My head’s still spinning, but at least I don’t feel like I’m going to puke on my own feet…” She gave me a guilty smile.

“That’s an improvement!” I laughed. “Look, I don’t want to be a bad influence or anything, but I think I should give you a cookie.”

Misa’s eyes lit up. “One of your chunky chocolate chip cookies?”

“Los mismos.”

I got up and went to the kitchen, rummaging through a cupboard filled with various cookie boxes. When I returned with two large biscuits in hand, Misa beamed.

She took one between her fingers, staring at it in adoration before taking a bite.

“Humm, madre mía!” she groaned, chewing a mouthful of cookie.

I smiled tenderly. She looked so cute, eating as if it was the best thing in the world. She devoured the biscuits in just a few bites before letting out a yawn. A crumb had stuck to her chin, and I leaned in to wipe it away.

A guilty smile stretched across her lips as she lifted her brown gaze to mine. Even in her current state, she had a way of looking at me that I could never get used to… I bit my lips, tempted to tell her how I felt, but I changed my mind. This wasn’t the right moment. 

“Come on, lie down.”

I placed a pillow on my lap, and Misa settled her head onto it. Her tall body curled up to fit the small couch, and she closed her eyes, drifting off as I gently brushed my fingers through her bleached hair. I was relieved she was feeling better, glad I could be there to take care of her.

A sense of pride filled me when she began snoring softly. She had fallen asleep instantly, soothed by my touch.

This would be our first night together without sex.

And to my surprise, I realized it wasn’t even a disappointment. Taking care of her made me happy. Serene.

My confusion was gone.

Misa and I were no longer just fuck buddies, if we ever were.

We were, at the very least, lovers.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

[holy-obsession-batman]

Hear me out: Itachi Uchiha reincarnated as Bruce Wayne. Brutachi, if you will

Broke: Itachi or any isekai-ed shinobi would clash with Batman and disdain his no kill rule.

Woke: Bruce Wayne is someone reincarnated!Itachi could grow into

---

Okay okay so if I quickly round up what matches:

black-haired boy, broody loner, man of self-imposed rules, lying to keep people at arm's length, traumatized quiet thinker who then dedicates his whole life to his ideology, striving for goodness, sacrificing themselves by taking on an heavy burden, meticulous planner, genius who masters a truck-ton of martial arts and then create his own blend...

(Itachi’s memories carrying over is as good a reason as any for Bruce’s OP martial arts level when he didn’t even start training from a really young age.)

---

Of course, beyond those relatively surface stuff, Batman and Itachi appear to be at opposite ends of the morality spectrum: the idealist with the no-killing rule / the shinobi with enough grim pragmatism to resolve himself to kill his whole family, AND who managed to out-Talk no Jutsu Naruto.

Still, there are nuances in these two positions that make them potentially a bit closer. Bruce is an optimist but in a 'hope for the better, prepare for the worst' kinda way. he's Bat 'contingency plan' man. Also he’s not quite a blind idealist, he considered the other position (killing) when training under Ra's, and then chose to reject it.

On the other hand, no killing is what Itachi yearned for originally, but he was forced to let it go as an unrealistic dream in the shinobi war world. Also, his words to Sasuke as Edo Tensei show him questioning his deeds, whether there was another way --the right way. We can't know if this change of heart is because of what he learns as Edo Tensei (that Sasuke learned the truth and wants to destroy Konoha and Naruto Talk no Jutsu finally taking effect), or something he's been thinking about for a long time, but kept silence because it was too late (once the Massacre was done, best to at least protect the clan reputation).

Now, I can agree that if you have a dimension-traveling Itachi meet Batman as is, he would think that the no-kill rule is foolish and unrealistic (even Naruto wasn't that naive!), because all he knows is the shinobi worldview.

However, I'm proposing you consider a Bruce Wayne who recalls the memories of his past life as Itachi Uchiha when he sees his parents get killed -- who have already lived ten years of happy childhood in this world, with a completely different education than the shinobi child soldiering.

This world isn't peaceful -- his parents are the proof -- but it's certainly not as dire as the shinobi world. I don't think that no killing would be the first conclusion he jumps to; rather, that brings back his dream of being the one to bring peace (after climbing to the top by any mean necessary) on the table.

On the other hands, his education as Bruce Wayne put perspective on his past life's choices, as in: genocide is always wrong (nazi Germany example -- you can even sprinkle that with Wayne family Jew origins hc). Also, he has access to so many philosophy books. Itachi would 100% read everything that could help answer his existential questions and form his nindo ideology.

So I think that it's clear in his head from the start that he will do something. The question he grapples with throughout his self-finding journey across the world training under all kind of masters and the League of Assassins, is whether he will embrace his way as Itachi once again -- the 'end justify the means' shinobi ruthlessness -- or walk a different path.

Ra's extended hand is the incarnation of the first choice, and his final decision is to reject it, instead returning to Gotham to become Batman.

The Bat roots in Bruce Wayne’s childhood fear, and Gotham aesthetic—it has absolutely no connection to ‘Itachi’, and it’s on purpose: this is a new start, a different path he’s following

he’s a protector, as he always meant to be

he’s Vengeance, too, so those he protects don’t have to lose themselves for revenge (like Sasuke did)

he won’t let anybody die, because he can.

The Rogues

softness and compassion is his natural tendency, respecting an enemy/not judging people forced by necessity to break law and bend morality is a shinobi thing.

Still the shinobi background makes Batachi very good at compartmentalizing the respect and empathy he may feel for an opponent and the nose breaking he’s doing.

however this world can afford to keep the law breakers alive, so there goes all his soft heart’s impulse control

the concept of the rehabilitation system is like the incarnation of all his hopes, or something of a dream come true.

also he surprises himself feeling some sort of nostalgia of the Akatsuki when faced with the Rogue colorful craziness.

the Joker however, Batachi despises, because he does evil for kicks and challenge the very purpose of the rehabilitation system

The love interests

Now this is something of a hitch in my characterization, cuz nothing says ooc like womanizer!Itachi.

can’t picture Brutachi fooling around with models à la Brucie, because kunoichi infiltration and assassination techniques are a thing he’d be extremely wary of.

Maybe if you portray him a bit on the Battinson end of the Bruce-spectrum? Wearing closed-off goth weirdo on his sleeve

Talia makes senses, still. They meet when Brutachi is training in the League under Ra’s and pondering one existential crisis or three. The League in a way is an incarnation of the shinobi path to Itachi, and so is Talia: she’s strong, sharp, dangerous, a cunning liar but true to her word with a warrior’s sense of honor, and earnestly fights for a greater cause—even if Brutachi comes to realize that it’s a cause he can’t endorse and tainted with Ra’s megalomania.

Even after he rejects the LoA, there’s a nobleness in the way Talia is torn between love for him and the duty her father dictates—a dilemma that resonates with the one he had, once.

as for Selina, I can see Catwoman playfully flirting at Batachi in an attempt to get his guard down—which backfires into raising his guard instead, because of his trained wariness of seduction specialists.

still the BatCat chase puts Batachi at ease, in that the Cat is a pleasant opponent to fight with—her mastery of stealth and balance is shinobi-like, but she doesn’t try for lethal, so it’s a bit like a spar?

on the other hand, as far as Talia felt like a kindred spirit in shinobi philosophy, Selina is the polar opposite. Discipline, duty, sacrifice—none of that. She’s a Free Spirit, refuses to bow to anyone, and that’s it’s own brand of fascinating—along with the heart of gold she hides under her feisty impulsiveness.

grudging fondness and trust builds up.

so in short, Brutalia is kindred spirit and BatCat opposites attract.

Robin

The reason our favorite broody loner chooses to take in Dick Grayson is not that he sees himself so much as he sees Sasuke in him.

(cute and pure and then losing his family to a murder and burning in revenge)

However because he vowed that Batman would do different, different than Itachi, he lets DG in. No lying, no pushing him away, instead be by his side to help him through things, treat him seriously like an equal and most of all let him take part in the action

it so happens that shinobi conditioning skew a tiny bit his perception of acceptable occupation for a child—no qualms with child solider training (bar the conditioning to kill) because it’s useful skills that will better his survival chances, and Robin is the one asking for it, right? (A biiit too much of respect of the child’s agency.)

cue the unclear relationship between Bruce and Dick, in which Bruce is a mentor and a parent and an older sibling all rolled in one.

and then the Boy Wonder influences Bruce, slowly eroding him further away from ‘Itachi’.

Brutachi adopting Jason, when originally he would never has thought himself worthy/good enough/adapted to the caring of a child, is something only possible because the evolution Dick Grayson caused in him.

(and then Jason’s death is a wake up call, but then Tim barges in his life, and so the circle of Batkids go on, I leave it to your imagination…)

Now picture this: Edotensei!Itachi is Batachi who was sucked back into this world. Picture his words to Sasuke (that he should have involved him from the beginning and stuff) with ‘father of six to ten who has made some emotional progress’ Brutachi subtext.

Feeling the angst? Here comes the crack: the Bats send Jason with a dimension traveling device of some kind to retrieve their Batdad.

Jason ‘Daddy Issue’ Todd meets Sasuke ‘Avenger’ Uchiha.

Jason ‘why didn’t you kill the Joker’ Todd meets Sasuke ‘I will kill all those who forced my brother to kill (our clan)’ Uchiha.

They get along like a house on fire.

I will probably do a dedicate prompt on that last part.

(Masterlist)