#in that moment i believed that ANYTHING was was possible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ollyissleepy · 2 days ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, a/n: there isn't really anything triggering in this part yet, but I want to start warning from the beginning since it will turn dark in next parts based on this idea I had

part: one | two | three | and more…

Commissioner Gordon makes another lap around the interrogation room, trying to think of something that would make his detainee finally talk. He looks back at the teenager. Gordon knows he can't keep the boy there for long as he's still underage. The commissioner is used to the teenagers that were caught giving out any needed information easily, most too scared of the possible consequences they might be facing. The teenage boy who was brought in today seemed like a hard one to crack, with a few police officers giving up on trying after the first hour of the boy being there. Usually Gordon would send for yet another officer to try to rip out any information, but after hearing one of them suggest to just let the teenager go with a warning that next time he would be caught, it wouldn't be so nice. The commissioner couldn't just allow them to release the boy, knowing that he matches the description of a thief who was roaming around the area and also finding multiple stolen items in the boy's possession.

It had been an hour since Gordon came in the interrogation room, thinking it would be a quick task. He thought that the years of experience he had would make gathering information about teenagers' parents an easy job. As it turns out, Commissioner Gordon couldn't be more wrong.

"Listen, we not only caught you stealing but also in possession of stolen goods." The commissioner states, pretending to read over the files other officers filled in on the boy. "If you tell us a way to contact your parents, I'm sure we could sort this out without a big punishment." He looks up at the teenager, making sure his voice sounds as sincere as he can muster it to be.

Gordon watches the teenager carefully, waiting for the smallest of changes. Nothing happens. The teenager's expression remains stoic; not a single muscle moved at the mention of his parents. The boy's sight never leaves the one stop he picked at the table, his eyes remaining locked there, even when Gordon first came inside the room.

"Kid, I understand that you might be scared, but I promise you that I'll talk to your parents and explain everything to them." Gordon chooses his words carefully, using every trick he learnt over his years as a commissioner, hoping to gain a grain of trust from the boy.

"I don't have parents," the boy responds after a while, his eyes never meeting the commissioner's.

Gordon is taken aback by the teenager's statement. For a moment he thinks that he might be crossing a line, his mind wondering if the boy might truly not have any alive parents. But then, he takes another look at the teenager, who didn't even move any unnecessary muscles, apart from the ones needed for speaking. Something about his stoic face made Gordon believe that the boy was simply hiding the identities of his guardians. The commissioner sighs, trying to think of a different approach, something to make the boy talk. He decides to sit across from the teenager, grabbing his case file.

"Let's start with something easier then." Gordon reads through the little information previous officers managed to gather on the boy, picking something he believes would be easy to give out. "Why don't you tell me your name, just your first name? That's all I want."

The teenager stays quiet for a while, making Gordon think he chose the wrong way to go about it. Just when the commissioner was about to ask a different question, the boy looked up from the table to stare directly into Gordon's eyes. Both of them hold eye contact for a while before the boy speaks up, catching the commissioner off guard:

"(Name)." The teenager's voice was barely audible in the quiet interrogation room.

"What was that?" Gordon leaned forward, straining to hear.

"I'm (Name)." The boy repeated louder, finally looking up from the steel table to meet Gordon's eyes.

"Alright, (Name)." Gordon wrote the name in his file, the scratch of his pen unnaturally loud. "And how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

The commissioner nodded, filling in another blank. His shoulders relaxed slightly – finally making progress. "And your parents' names?"

"I don't have any." (Name)’s expression didn’t change.

"Don't make me bring out the big guns, kid." Gordon's pen stopped mid-word.

"I'm not lying." The boy's voice stayed flat. "I don't have parents."

"Listen, everybody has parents." Irritation crept into Gordon's tone.

"Well, I don't." The teenager shrugged, his face unreadable. "Not as far as I know, anyway."

The boy's response made Gordon realise he might be talking to a kid that was either thrown out of their house recently or an orphan. He looks over the file, trying to think of how to learn the kid's parent's current status. He knows that without that knowledge, his hands are practically tied.

"I warned you, kid," Gordon's voice deepened, his eyes filled with irritation.

Commissioner Gordon doesn't wait for (name) to reply; he stands up, leaving the room. The man's leave brought confusion to the teenager. Just as the boy started standing up to look for a way to escape the interrogation room, the door opened. Gordon came inside with two more people trailing behind him, one of them carrying a briefcase.

"I'm afraid you left us with no other choice," Gordon states, his tone stripped of any emotion. Every person in the room can tell he's tired of this situation. "We're going to have to run a DNA test to determine your parents whereabouts. You'll also be staying in here until that's figured out."

None of the adults in the room wait for the boy to respond, as they begin to set up everything for his DNA sample. He doesn't protest, already knowing where his parents were. Or at least where his mother was, as he never really met his father. (Name) highly doubted they would be able to contact his father, and he could use not having to worry about food and water for the next few days. He's planning to enjoy the luxury of the amenities a cell in the police station offers. After the test results return, he'll make sure to escape before they manage to do anything about them.

Gordon is amazed about the lack of fight from the boy, watching him politely open his mouth so the officers could take the sample. The commissioner starts to wonder where this energy was when the teenager was asked questions.

When the officers were securing the sample, Gordon brought (name) to one of the cells. He decides to put the boy into the only single cell they have, not wanting him to be stuck in a small space with dangerous adults. The commissioner makes sure to go over the rules and the time dinner is brought as he uncuffs the boy. He lingers around the cell, a part of him hoping that (name) might say something, only to be met with silence. Gordon sighs before returning to his office, leaving the teenager alone.

A few days later (name) finds himself standing on his tippytoes, trying to see if he could remove the bars from the window, when two voices from outside his cell catch his attention. He recognises one of them as Commissioner Gordons. The boy thinks the unknown one must belong to a recently caught criminal or somebody's bail. As he hears them approaching, he quickly moves away, not wanting to be caught planning out his escape. The teenager sits down on his bed, finding an interesting crack in the wall to stare at.

"That's him?" The man dressed in a suit asks, his eyes brushing over the boy in the cell. Gordon confirms, also staring at the boy, trying to think of a way to tell him who the man is.

"(Name), we have found your father." Gordon doesn't want to beat around the bush, knowing the boy long enough to know it wouldn't work on him. "I want you to meet Bruce Wayne."

The teenager looks at the man the commissioner introduced as his father, judging the way he presents himself. Seeing the man dressed in a fancy suit, looking as if he owns the place. It's making (name) regret not begging the police officers to just put him through trial like an adult. Perhaps then he wouldn't have to meet his 'father' that looks like he has a stick so far up his ass it might burst through his mouth at any moment.

Bruce, after noticing the boy staring at him, also takes a moment to take in the way his supposed son looks like. The man sees the way (name)'s eyes move from one part of his body to the other. Bruce studies the teenager's face, the clothes he has on his back, and the way the boy is sitting on the bed. The more Bruce is staring at the teenager, the more similarities he finds in (name).

"It's nice to meet you." Bruce's voice is much lower than the boy thought it would be. He wasn't sure how to feel about the man that's supposed to be his father.

The teenager doesn't reply; if it weren't for the rises and falls of his form as the boy is breathing, Bruce might just mistake him for a statue. The two of them continue staring at each other before Commissioner Gordon grabs Bruce's attention. He explains to the man how (name) seems to only respond when he deems it necessary. Bruce nods, asking about the papers he might need to file to get the boy out of the cell. The commissioner asks the man to follow him, and both of them leave, not looking back at the teenager in the cell.

(Name) isn't left there for too long; he doesn't even have much time to process what just happened. Next thing he knows, some officer is opening his cell, asking him to come out. The teenager follows the officer, making sure to look out for any possible runaway route. The wonder in his eyes around the space the boy is in doesn't go unnoticed by Bruce.

"You're going to behave as we walk into the car; no running away." Bruce makes sure his is only heard by the boy in front of him; he doesn't have time for games. "If you pull something like that, I'll send you straight back into that cell."

When no response falls out of the teenager's mouth, Bruce turns around and starts walking out of the police station with the boy quietly following him behind. The police officers, who had the pleasure of meeting the kid on his first day there, fully expected (name) to put up a fight or maybe even run away. When neither of those things happen, they're shocked but glad they didn't have to run after a runaway kid.

The walk to Bruce's car isn't long, as the man parked right in front of the building. Bruce gestures for the boy to get inside as he walks to the other side of the car. (Name) decides to sit in the backseat, hoping to create as much space between himself and the stranger as it was possible. The soft humming of the car relaxes the boy a bit, but not enough to put his guard down.

As Bruce drives a familiar route through the city, it hits him that he hasn't heard his son's voice even once since he met the boy. He sees the opportunity for a conversation when the car is forced to stop at a red light. Bruce uses the rearview mirror to check on (name) in the backseat. He notices the way the teenager is sitting, staring out the window. Bruce studies the boy's expression, the way his eyes are watching something outside in melancholy. He tries to think of something to say, anything that would make the teenage boy finally answer him.

"I heard about your mother; sorry you had to go through that alone," Bruce says, his voice as soft as he could make it be.

The teenager's only response is a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the window. Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He knows what (name) must be feeling; Gordon told him that the boy probably lost his mother recently. He, however, believes that the loss of a parent doesn't excuse the teenager from acting like a brat.

The rest of the ride is quiet, neither of the people inside the car wanting to speak up. Bruce gave up on further bonding with the child, fully labelling him as entitled and deciding that if (name) wants to act like a brat, then he will be treated like one too.

Bruce pulls up into the driveway; he spares another glance at the boy in the backseat before telling him to get out of the car. He exits as well and starts walking up to the front door with teenagers silent footsteps following behind. Both of them barely making it to the door when a man with grey hair, dressed in a butler's clothes, opens them.

(Name) unsurely steps inside the manor as every fibre of his body is screaming how he doesn't belong in there. As they step in further into the space, the boy takes a moment to look around, making a note to check for every possible escape route, just in case. (Name) is so focused on analysing the room he's in that he doesn't notice that his 'father' began walking up the stairs, clearly no longer interested in the teenager. Only Bruce's voice snaps the boy out of the trance:

"Alfred, please show the boy his room" is the last thing Bruce says before retreating upstairs.

The butler nods at his 'father's' request, asking the boy to follow him. In an instinct, he moves to grab whatever the bag the child may have, only to notice that (nae) doesn't have anything with him other than the clothes on his back. Alfred makes a note to ask other boys in the manor to borrow some of their unused clothes for their new brother to wear.

As the two of them make their way into the boy's new room, (name) once again becomes extremely wary of his surroundings. He makes sure to remember how many doors they have passed. The teenager can't help but wonder at how effective the huge windows in the hall would be as an escape route. (Name) quickly gets rid of this idea, knowing that the windows in his new room would be a thousand times better for that.

"And here's your room…" Alfred begins his sentence as he opens one of the doors far into the hall. "My apologies, young master, I'm afraid I haven't caught your name."

"Alfred, right?" The boy asks, unsure if he remembered correctly what Bruce had referred to the older man as. The butler nods, smiling softly. "I'm (name), just (name). Please, don't refer to me as 'young master'; it would mean a lot."

"Of course, (name). I would keep it in mind," Alfred replied, causing the boy to smile ever so slightly. "I shall leave you to get comfortable and check if anyone is willing to borrow their clothes," he adds as he steps closer to the door, getting ready to leave.

"Please, don't." The boy's voice stops Alfred in his tracks, making him turn around. "I would rather wear my own."

"I must insist." Alfred wants to reason with the boy, noticing the grime on the boy's clothes.

"It's fine, really," (name) reassures, forcing himself to form a small smile, hoping the butler would just give in. "I could go back home to grab them tomorrow or something."

"Then I shall accompany you," Alrder declares, his back straightening slightly, showing the teenager that he won't back down.

"I could go by myself," the boy said, the last thing he wanted was to bring anyone from his family to his home. His real home.

"I'm more than happy to help you with the move, (name)." Alfred smiles, wanting to reassure the boy that he doesn't mean any harm. (Name) sighs in defeat.

"Alright, if you say so," the boy mumbles, his shoulders slouching. He's not sure how much longer he'll be able to put up with all of that, being way too used to being alone.

Alfred leaves, letting the boy know that someone would come and bring him over to the dining room for dinner. Once (name) is sure that nobody will be barging into the room anytime soon, he looks over the entire room. He makes sure to check every piece of furniture, every drawer, for anything that he could use in case he had to protect himself. Upon not finding anything useful, he gave up, hoping that his fists would be enough in case of an emergency.

Since the boy didn't find anything in the room, he moves over to the bathroom, wanting to clean himself up. He couldn't really do that at the police station. In the room he finds small versions of everyday products like some shower gel, some toothpaste and more. The teenager now knows that he must be in one of the guest bedrooms in the manor. That thought made him feel a little better. Being in the guest bedroom means he probably wouldn't be staying there for too long.

Feeling freshened up, as much as he could be due to the clothes he was forced to wear for the past few days, he decided to rest on the bed. (Name) already had a chance at feeling how comfortable it was when he was checking the room. He decided to lie down for just a minute, not wanting to put his guard down too much. The warmth of the bed successfully distracts the boy from all of his fears, pulling him into a slumber.

It wasn't till a few hours later that a knock on the door pulled (name) out of his sleep. The boy shoots up, not wanting to be caught vulnerable. He shifted his position into one he could easily take down the attacker. When the doors finally open, just to reveal that Alfred was behind them, (name) relaxes. He knows the man won't be much of a threat.

"I left Master Damian in charge of calling you over for dinner; it seems as if he forgot," Alfred explains, his face stoic. "I have brought you something." He puts the plate he was holding onto the desk, the aroma of the food slowly filling up the room.

"That's alright, Alfred," the boy said, his eyes not leaving the food the butler just brought. "I wasn't that hungry anyway," he lies; he might be hungry, but he's not hungry enough to risk getting poisoned.

"Please, eat up." Alfred encourages the boy, noticing the hunger in his eyes. "I'll make sure that your absence won't be overlooked by the family anymore."

With his declaration, Alfred leaves. (Name) once again is left alone in the room. He stares at the food the butler has brought, unsure if he should eat it or not, still not trusting anyone in the house. The smell of the food, however, made the boy give in. He grabs the food from the desk, slowly munching on it, still sitting on the bed.

As (name) eats the food prepared by Alfred, he tries to think about his next step. He hoped that the butler would allow him to collect his things by himself, giving him a way of fleeing without much work. But with Alfred's desire to help him out, that plan is now out of the window. The boy knows he has to come up with something fast, not wanting to stay in the manor for longer than necessary. That, however, would have to be done another time. The teenager's only focus for now would be to retreat all of his belongings from his real home to here. His great escape plan has to wait until then.

272 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 days ago

Note

Hello! deeply enjoy your writing and portrayal of characters! We've had sick reader but if you feel up to it may I ask for reader looking after sick shadow milk cookie? I don't know if he could get sick as easily, but there's also a possibility that he's pretending bc he wants to be doted on and doesn't know how to ask for attention directly lol, whichever way you want to take the scenario! Tysm!

Thank you! I'll make this a reverse fic of that one I wrote (where Smilk gets the "spice sickness" instead but Reader's got not clue if he's actually ill or making it up)

.............

"Oooohhhh...the paaaaiiin. This may be my final hour, my dearest. The curtain calls! Tell Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire Cookie they were the best minions anyone..could ask for....."

"...Shadow Milk Cookie, c'mon. You're not dying." You shake your head, amused by the antics your partner currently displayed as he laid in bed, snuggled beneath a handful of blankets. Even without all his ruffles and usual jester outfit on, he felt unusually warm--like he'd melt at any moment.

Somehow he contracted an illness from the storm that was raging over the Land of Spice, having a coughing fit nonstop ever since you two returned to the spire. Rumor Weaver caught wind of his condition and was gossiping about it to the other inhabitants, suspecting that Burning Spice Cookie had given it to him on purpose after they had a disagreement.

Of course, he allowed her to believe what she wanted, as right now he felt too "sick" to do anything else except wallow in bed and have you tend to his every need.

You were almost certain that this was his way of obtaining your affections and attention. He's too prideful to ask you for a simple kiss like a normal cookie would.

It was hard to know which parts of this he was faking, although judging from his watery eyes, specs of spice flakes in his blue dough, and sniffles..there was some truth to his ailment. And the fact that he was willing to trust you enough to be seen like this indicated how serious it was.

"Eat some of this." Picking up a bowl of cool lassi--which a Kulfi child had given you before your departure--you stirred it around a little bit. "It'll soothe your aching throat."

You offered him the spoon, but he just looked at you in disgust. "You don't think I can feed myself?"

"....well, if you insist on-"

"I'm kidding." With a small grunt, he sat up and waited, his cheeks appearing a bit flushed. You couldn't tell if it they were reflections of his sickness or emotions, although he didn't say anything more.

"Very well." You chuckled, spoonfeeding the creamy yogurt to him, tilting his chin up. "You know...I'm starting to think you enjoy this."

"Heh...feel like I'm tormenting you yet? Forcing you to tend to my every need?" He quietly rasped. "You don't seem all that concerned that I might just be faking 99 percent of this."

"Sure, maybe. But I'm just focused on the one percent chance that you possibly aren't."

He remained unusually quiet after that, even as you helped him finish the remaining lassi. His throat did feel a lot less scratchy, but he decided to lay back down, already feeling exhaustion catching up to him.

As his hair spilled all over the pillow, many blue eyes blinked up at you, half-lidded just like his actual eyes were.

You hummed and set the bowl back on the nightstand, taking this as your cue to get up and leave him be-

When suddenly he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down onto the bed beside him. Before you could even ask what on earthbread he was doing, he had his arms wrapped around you tightly, keeping you trapped in his hold as he cuddled into your chest.

"Who said you could leave?"

"I-I..uh..." You were a bit flustered. "I figured you wanted to rest"

"Yeah, but...I just...I don't wanna be alone. Please stay.." He quietly expressed, sounding a little sad and worried that you were going to try to leave him anyways.

Maybe he was actually delirious from the spice sickness, and his true feelings were finally being laid bare in front of you. But you decided not to question it and instead smiled.

"Oh, Shadow Milk Cookie. You could have just asked." You chuckled softly, hugging him closely as you rested your chin on top of his head. "I'll stay as long as you want me to. But if this gets me sick, I'm blaming you, alright?"

"......."

"Dearest?"

His lack of response indicated that he had quickly fallen asleep, which surprised you considering how often he was on-guard, or touted that he never needed sleep.

Then again, you didn't wanna question anything and spoil this rare moment of intimacy. So you just kept watch over him until sleep eventually came for you, too.

Even if you also contracted the spice sickness because of this, it was well worth it.

#ive finally beaten back the writer's block again yippee <3 #clanask #anonymous #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #smc x reader #sickfic #sick fic #fluff

215 notes · View notes

buddierealm · 2 days ago

Text

ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader

Part 1 - Part 2 Wordcount: 2.9k Summary: You never do this. Really, never. But, of course, the one time you decide to have a one night stand with a complete stranger, it blows up right in your face. In more ways than one. Warnings: pseudocheating?? (bc of shannon), mentions of nsfw content, slightly ooc Eddie, PURE SILLINESS baby! A/N: they're such losers ohemgee, hope they stay happy forever... :/ (also this’ll be a LITTLE inspired by early merder but u didn’t hear that here…)

You usually wake up much slower than the regular person. This is mainly because of your job's demands, having to be in full focus the moment you step into the firehouse. Today, however, you quickly realize there won't be any time for that. The sun's already up, and you should've been up by 5:30AM.

It also dawns on you that there's someone in your bed. Wait what? There's someone in your bed, with their arm wrapped around your waist, and their front completely pressed to your back. You internally panic for a moment, before memories from last night begin flooding your mind.

Gorgeous eyes. A lot of flirting. A few drinks. And then, two times on the couch, and three in the bedroom. Oh. Right.

You couldn't wait to tell Hen all about it at work. She was the one who'd told you to get out there, after all. But first, you had to figure out how to get this stranger out of your bed. Or at least slip into the shower and hope he gets the hint and leaves while you're in there.

Your nose scrunches in concentration, as you pull his arm off of your waist slowly. He makes a noise in protest, but you pay it no mind. You quickly slip out of bed and bend down to grab your robe off of the floor. As you pull it closed quickly, you hear a breathy laugh from behind you.

You glance behind you immediately to meet the stranger in your bed's eyes, looking your practically half naked body up and down. He has an arm behind his head, and he seems to be enjoying the show. You frown to hide your immediate attraction to him. Yep, his eyes are still pretty gorgeous.

His smile immediately disappears as he seems to remember he might be late to something, a job, hopefully? He grabs his phone off of your nightstand and checks the time, disappointment marring his features. Maybe he was hoping for another round in the shower. Something you wouldn't have been completely opposed to.

No, you need to get him out of here!

Thankfully, he gets up and begins dressing, grabbing anything he can find off of the floor and throwing it on.

"Um, good morning," he says quickly, "And um, thank you?"

You laugh at his apparent gratitude. If you're remembering correctly, you should be the one thanking him.

"You're welcome?" you reply, your voice laced with hesitancy "uh, if it helps, I don't usually do this either."

He smiles, looking down, as he pulls his pants closed. His shirt's buttons are still open and he looks good enough to eat.

"Not sure that it does," he says, "I'm really sorry. I'd stay, really. But I'm gonna be late. Which isn't what you want to be on your first day."

You nod quickly, trying to seem as understanding as possible. He's unbelievably beautiful, but you really need to start getting ready so there's no room to talk.

"Uh, nope. It's no problem. I'm gonna head into the shower. And you won't be here when I come back," you assert, hoping he gets the hint, "so goodbye...?"

You blank, realizing you don't even remember his name. Did you even catch it with all of the... Wow. You can't believe you slept with someone and can't even remember his name.

His mouth splits into a smile, "Eddie. It's Eddie. Goodbye. And, thanks again..."

He says your name, and you start feeling really bad. You nod anyway, and run into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. You lock it, and wait until you hear the front door shut to turn on the water, dipping underneath it, and washing away whatever happened last night.

You're so glad you won't see him again.

The rest of your morning is going exceptionally normally. You head into the firehouse, walking alongside Hen. You can't keep your mouth closed, so you start gossiping about last night immediately, sparing many graphic details, but telling her the important stuff.

"It was great. And the best part's I don't have to let anyone down easy. What happened happened, and I don't have to deal with the consequences of it, because I have absolutely no idea who he is," you say laughing.

"Yeah, you seem a lot less pent up. I'm glad my advice saved you," she responds, wiggling her eyebrows.

You roll your eyes in her direction, "I wouldn't say saved."

Cap's unusually cheery, loud greetings for everyone spare you from dealing with Hen with a thoroughly stroked ego. His abnormal attitude makes you snicker at him. Did he have a one night stand? Oh, god. Is that what you sound like?

"You are cheery?" Hen questions, stealing the question right off your lips.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Bobby asks.

"It's weird. Please stop," you joke, sounding like a teenager embarrassed by her father.

"Yeah, what's going on with you?"

Buck interrupts what you're sure was going to be a very fascinating lie from Bobby, announcing his body fat's just dropped a half percent.

"Uh, congrats?" you offer, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Buck begins to mansplain what the scan he did's for, and chimney interrupts him.

"They measure the fat in your head?"

You laugh, crossing the circle to offer Chim a high-five, which he takes gladly.

Buck, however, isn't taking it as well, "see, that would be funny, but we're about a week away from submissions being due for the Hot Days, Smouldering Nights: Men of the LAFD Wall Calendar, and I'm already at my goal weight. So it seems like my head is clearly working perfectly."

"Well, that title doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, does it?" you comment.

"Did you really have to use that whole title? You could just say the idiotic, reductive, sexist, calendar that insults the dignity of this organization, and furthers the myth that all firefighters are male," Hen scolds, and you shoot her a wide grin.

Buck pauses, "Yeah, that's not any less words."

Captain Nash seems to agree, "Hen, C'mon. It's for charity."

"Oh no," you lament.

"Bobby, you too?"

"Why not? They say a man is sexiest when he reaches 50."

"Is that what they say? Oh, that's what they say?"

You grimace, "that can't be true."

Chimney interjects with his own idea, "See I think you're all wrong, I think sorority houses all over this great nation are ready for a new Asian sex symbol. It's our time."

"Hell, yeah. I'm betting on Chimney," you say happily, dying to see where this goes.

Buck ignores you, "Well, I think it's great. I like that you're both going up for it." He can't even manage sounding genuine.

"Ooh," Cap begins, "because you don't think we have a chance..."

You hold back a laugh, simply living for this unfolding drama.

You tune them out for a moment and then hear Chimney going on about...

"Okay, that, is a beautiful man."

"Where's the lie? And I like girls," Hen comments, and that piques your interest.

You direct your gaze to where they're all looking and your jaw unhinges at the joint. This is a sight you're familiar with. Unfortunately.

Hen's smirking at you for all the wrong reasons. She thinks you find him attractive. And, God, you do. You proved just as much last night. But this can't be happening. Please, universe, no.

"Who the hell is that?" Buckley asks, jealousy lacing his tone.

Please not him. Please not him. Please not him.

"Eddie Diaz, new recruit," Bobby says, "graduated top of his class just this week."

You try your hardest to control yourself, but you find yourself gulping, and choking. What? You're choking. On your own spit.

You can't stop coughing loudly. Make it stop, please. Every pair of eyes in the station is on you, and you can feel your cheeks growing red, as you cough three more times.

You bend over, and Hen gives you three blows to the back, then you're standing up straight and breathing normally. Once they've checked in, and made sure you're alright Bobby begins talking all about your one-night-stand-turned-coworker’s achievements and assets.

You believe you might keel over and die.

Bobby starts insisting on introducing you all to him. Your fight-or-flight response begins to take over and you quickly excuse yourself to the bathroom, citing your choking earlier. Anything to avoid meeting this guy. Again. Fuck.

You stay in the bathroom for as long as you can, but eventually duty calls and the firehouse alarm blares. You make your way outside quickly, ducking into the firetruck.

You find yourself sitting face to face with the man you're desperately trying to avoid. So much for that.

His eyes come up to meet yours and you register the exact moment he pieces it together. You think you might keel over and die again.

You can see his chest rise and fall a little quicker than before. His eyes are fixed on your face, trailing down to your lips and back up to your eyes, and somewhere in the distance Hen starts introducing you to him, but you can tell he isn't listening either.

What the hell is up with his eyes? Are they sparkling? Is that possible?

Hen clears her throat very loudly and it startles the both of you into attention.

"Damn, did either of you even hear a thing I said?" she asks, with a knowing smile on her face.

You give Hen a look that screams 'Save me.' Thankfully, she understands, and redirects the conversation to ask Eddie if he knows anything about the firefighter calendar.

You mouth a 'thank you' to her, when you realize Eddie's finally taken his eyes off of you.

Your first call with new recruit proves to be easier than expected. He keeps his hands and eyes off of you, even on the ride back, a fact you're incredibly grateful for.

You manage to masterfully avoid him for the rest of your shift. You also manage to avoid telling Hen about the whole him-being-the-one-night-stand-you've-been-so-happy-to-avoid thing, by some miracle.

But, good things never last, and as you're getting ready to leave, he corners you. Literally. Into your own locker, of all things.

"Hey," is all he says.

And you forget how to breathe. That's stupid. You're a grown woman, and a firefighter, who breathes every single day of her life, thank you very much. It's very, very difficult to breathe right now, though. When he has an arm (a very large arm, you note) resting against the open side of your locker, and the locker door's blocking the other, leaving you feeling completely helpless.

As you look up into his eyes, you can practically hear that one part in Angeleyes by ABBA play in your mind, and it's all so stupid.

Look into his angel eyes, one look and you're hypnotized.

You burst out laughing, naturally. And he looks at you like you've gone insane, which is completely valid. He has a small smile on his face, too, though, like your laugh might be easing his soul.

"Um..." you begin, clearing your throat and willing yourself to stop laughing, "Sorry, I just remembered a very funny joke."

He nods at your explanation, his gaze following your smile as you duck your head to let out one last giggle.

You blink quickly and remember to finally ask why he's cornered you like this.

"So, what's up with this?" you question, looking at the arm trapping you with a slightly annoyed look.

He apologizes, and brings his arm close to his person, but doesn't move any farther away.

"You're good," you justify, "So, what do you need?"

"Hey, I'm just going a little insane here," he starts, "You're her. From last night. Right? 'Cause you share the same name, and face, and everything."

You're glad he whispers the last part.

You nod in confirmation. Unfortunately, the next time you speak you both do it at the same time.

"You can just forget about it all," you reassure.

"Will you go out with me?" he asks.

You blink rapidly at him, a frown overtaking your features. No, no, no. Oh, no.

He smiles awkwardly, looking away.

You huff a little, "Listen, Eddie. I'm sure you're great. I'm just not looking for anything serious right now."

He nods in understanding, stepping away.

"Also, we have a pretty carefully curated dynamic here at the 118. Please don't ruin it. Not that you'd do it on purpose. Just don't take this rejection too seriously. We could always be friends," you suggest.

"Well, I'll definitely try my hardest. At not ruining your dynamic," he begins to walk away, "And the other thing."

"What other thing?" you yell after him.

"Asking you out," he smiles over his shoulder, "I'm not giving up that easy, hermosa."

Hell no. Hell yes. You wanted nothing to do with this. You wanted everything to do with him.

You turn around and whisper shout 'what the fuck' at your locker, before slamming it shut. You're pretty sure you'll probably be downing a bottle of red wine as you set about cleaning him and his scent out of your house, and your bed tonight.

And you do.

A day later, Buckley offers you should train with him at the in-house gym to pass the time. It's a pretty slow day and you've come to tolerate him now that he isn't trying to get into your pants. So, you agree.

You're deep in your fourteenth, fifteenth? squat when you see Eddie staring at you through the mirror. Buckley's somewhere in the distance taking selfies. You narrow your eyes at Eddie in the mirror to make it abundantly clear that yes, you can see him, and no, he doesn't have your permission to stare.

He looks away, and at least he has the nerve to look a little abashed. You smile to yourself. He's pretty damn cute, if you say so yourself. But you can't get involved right now. He was just supposed to be meaningless sex. Amazing meaningless sex, but meaningless nonetheless.

You can hear him mention something about the lighting to Buck, and you laugh at how defensive Buckley gets. When Eddie pulls up his own pictures your curiosity is piqued and you take a look from the corner of your eye. You see he's noticed that though, and he's giving you a grin.

You roll your eyes when Eddie accidentally gets a rise out of Buck. It was true, everyone knew Buck was single now, but telling him to his face was uncalled for.

You focus on weights for the rest of your workout and try your best to ignore Eddie passing by the open gym a million times, and his eyes, which are subtly (not) fixed on you every single time.

The earth-quake happens a week later. Eddie's still persistent. He asks you out to dinner every other day, and insists he'll keep doing so until you say yes. You roll your eyes every time and reiterate that you really don't want anything serious right now. But it's more like ever. You're not a commitmentphobe, really. You just don't like being held down.

And dating a single dad isn't exactly your idea of free flying. It makes you like him more, somehow, the fact that he has a kid. He's responsible, and he seems like a pretty great father. But it also makes you 10 times more vigilant for him out in the field.

It's the reason why you're not happy about being assigned different areas of this hotel completely rocked by the 7.1 earthquake. Yep, the only reason. His kid seems to precious to orphan.

You try your best to focus on your work, though. This job's already daunting enough without having to worry about anyone else. That's another reason you can't afford to go out with him. You simply wouldn't be able to do your job. It'd be a mess.

You're glad when you save Jeff from underneath the rubble, and he gets to keep his leg. You're even happier to see Hen come out with Kat. But your heart soars, when you realize Eddie made it out okay.

When you get home, you decide to pull out your phone and text him. This is casual, you tell yourself. So very casual. I'm just checking up on a coworker, who I care about very deeply. Casually, of course.

Hey, your kid okay?

Yeah, he's alright. Thanks for asking. ;)

You laugh at his text. So stupid.

You decide to send another one, not wanting the conversation to end quite yet.

And you?

I'm okay. But I could've died today. How horrible would you feel if I had died and you hadn't gone out with me?

You're so full of yourself.

Go out with me? Next weekend? Please.

You find yourself typing before you can even think. It's getting kind of pathetic, honestly. And you'd feel pretty evil if you said no after the day you've both had.

Fine. You better make it worth my time.

Wouldn't dream of anything less. Goodnight.

Goodnight. To you and the kid.

After that, you can't get much sleep. You toss and turn, contemplating whether or not this is a bad idea. Hopefully not. You'll have to tell Hen eventually too. Ugh. You wonder why the hell you ever listen to her.

It isn't just the bad stuff on your mind, though. You're replaying every single interaction you've ever had with him like a drug who's high you can't get enough of. God help you.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz fanfic #eddie diaz fic #eddie diaz drabble #eddie diaz smut #eddie diaz fluff #eddie diaz angst #911 abc #911 show #911 #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader

96 notes · View notes

purplereina11 · 8 hours ago

Text

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

You and Alexia try to start a family

The honeymoon phase of marriage is supposed to be blissful. And in many ways, it still is. But beneath the laughter, the lazy mornings wrapped in each other, the quiet home you’ve built—there’s a weight neither of you can quite shake.

The kind that lingers in the silence after another negative test. The kind that makes Alexia pull you tighter against her at night, even when neither of you speak about it. The kind that makes every hopeful what if? turn into not yet. It’s been months now—long, hopeful, painful months.

The first round of IVF started on your first wedding anniversary had been a whirlwind of emotions excitement, nerves, the belief that surely, surely, it would happen right away. That you’d see the two lines on the test, that Alexia would pick you up and spin you around, that you’d call Eli and Alba with tears of joy instead of frustration.

But the first round had ended in disappointment.

The second? Worse.

Because this time, you’d convinced yourselves that the first was just bad luck. That this time would be different. That this time would be the one. But it wasn’t. And now—now it’s just hard.

You’re in the bathroom, staring down at the test on the counter. Another single line. Another no. Another month lost. Your throat tightens, your hands gripping the sink as you swallow back the sting of disappointment. You knew it was a possibility. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get your hopes up this time. But hope is a dangerous thing. A small knock on the door makes you tense. You already know who it is.

“Mi amor…” Alexia’s voice is soft, hesitant. She’s been waiting outside since you’d taken the test, giving you space but also aching to know. You can’t bring yourself to answer. The door opens slowly, and then she’s there, your wife, the love of your life, the person who always seems to hold you together. Except—she’s struggling too.

You see it in the way her eyes flicker to the test on the counter, in the way her shoulders drop, in the way she exhales too slowly, like she’s forcing herself to stay strong. She meets your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you say a word. You break. A soft, strangled sob slips out before you can stop it, and in an instant, Alexia is there, wrapping you up in her arms, holding you so tight it’s like she’s trying to physically keep you from shattering.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whisper against her shoulder, voice trembling. “I don’t—”

“Nothing,” she cuts in, her own voice thick. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You clutch onto her, burying yourself in her warmth, her safety. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, pressing a firm kiss to your hair. “Because it hurts, mi amor.”

And that’s the truth.

It hurts.

More than you ever thought it would. You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped in each other, breathing through the ache. Eventually, Alexia leans back, her hands coming up to cradle your face. “We keep trying,” she murmurs. “Because this isn’t the end. This isn’t where our story stops.” You nod, sniffling, pressing into the touch. She tilts her forehead against yours. “One day, we’re going to look back on this and know that every step, every tear, every heartbreak led us to them.” You let out a shaky breath. Because you believe her. Because despite everything, despite the no’s, the failed rounds, the disappointment, one thing remains unshaken. Hope. And as long as you have that, as long as you have her, you know you’re going to get through this. Together.

The third round felt different. You tried not to let yourselves believe it too much tried to temper the hope, to not let it bloom too fully in case it got crushed again. But when you saw that second line on the pregnancy test, everything else disappeared. The breath left your lungs. Your hands trembled as you held the test in front of you, staring at it, disbelieving.

A positive.

You laughed, you sobbed, you dropped to your knees on the bathroom floor, clutching the tiny plastic stick like it was the most precious thing in the world. Alexia wasn’t home she was away with Barcelona, an away game in Madrid. You ached to tell her in person, to see her face when she realised what this meant, so you decided to wait, to surprise her when she got home.

For 48 hours, you carried this secret like a treasure, your hands instinctively resting over your belly, whispering to the tiny life growing inside you, promising them that they were already so loved.

Then came the blood.

At first, it was just a little. Barely anything. You told yourself it was normal, that implantation bleeding happens, that some women experience spotting in early pregnancy. But by the next morning, it was more. Too much. And suddenly, that hope you had tried so hard to hold onto was slipping through your fingers like sand. Alexia wasn’t home yet. You didn’t tell her. Not yet. Instead, you called the clinic, booked a scan for when she’d be back. You spent the hours alone in quiet dread, curled up in bed, one hand pressed over your stomach, whispering desperate prayers to someone, anyone, please let this be okay.

Alexia came home exhausted, jet-lagged from travel, but thrilled to finally see you. The moment she stepped through the door, she grinned, pulling you into her arms. "Mi amor, I missed you so much."

You let yourself melt into her warmth, gripping her tightly, so tightly it made her pause, her hands moving to cup your face.

“What is it?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You inhaled sharply, blinking back the tears. “Alexia, I—” Your voice cracked. And instantly, her entire demeanour shifted. Concern, fear, flickered in her eyes as she guided you to the couch, hands never leaving you.

“What happened?”

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look at her. “I… I took a test whilst you were away”

Her breath hitched. Her lips parted, eyes widening, searching your face for confirmation. “You—” Tears welled up in her eyes before she could even form a full thought, her hands trembling as they moved to your stomach.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” you whispered. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alexia’s throat bobbed, her smile so tender, so full of love, it broke your heart all over again.

“It was positive, but, Lex… I—I think something’s wrong.”

The words shattered the moment. Her face dropped, hands freezing over your belly. You told her about the bleeding, about the appointment. Her hands gripped yours, her jaw tightening, the familiar fire of her determination burning behind her eyes. “Then we go,” she said, already reaching for her keys.

The clinic was cold. You sat in the exam room, Alexia’s hand gripping yours tightly, her thumb stroking over your skin, grounding you.

“I’m so sorry.” The words cut through you like a blade. The doctor’s voice was gentle, but the words were brutal. Final. “There’s no heartbeat.”

Silence. You felt Alexia tense beside you, felt the way her breath hitched, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t look at anything except the blank screen where there should have been life. The tears came fast. Unstoppable. Your whole body trembled as the weight of it crashed down on you, pressing against your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Alexia was instantly pulling you into her, arms tight, like she could physically hold you together as you crumbled. “Mi amor, mi amor,” she whispered against your temple, her voice breaking.

You sobbed into her shoulder, hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie so tightly your knuckles ached. It wasn’t fair. You’d done everything right. And still—still, it wasn’t enough.

That night, you didn’t leave your bed, you got home skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Alexia stayed with you, her body wrapped around yours, arms keeping you pressed against her chest as you cried yourself raw. And the weight of letting her down, it left unsaid.

She inhaled sharply, like the words physically wounded her. “Baby…”

Her hand cradled the back of your head, her lips pressing desperately against your hair. You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest unbearable.

Alexia swallowed thickly, her grip on you tightening. “I know,” she whispered. “I know, mi amor.” You felt her shake against you, felt the silent tears dampen your hair as she held you, as she broke with you. And then, through the thick silence, she whispered, “Whatever you need… however we move forward… I’m with you.”

You buried yourself further into her, needing her warmth, her strength. Because in this moment, you weren’t sure how to move forward. You weren’t sure if you could. All you knew was the pain. The loss. And the arms that held you through it.

Grief changes people. For you, it made everything feel heavy. The world moved on, but you felt like you were stuck, stuck in the loss, in the what could have been, in the endless questions you asked yourself every night when Alexia was fast asleep beside you. And for Alexia? It made her watch you.

She didn’t smother you, didn’t overwhelm you with empty reassurances. But you saw it—the way her eyes lingered on you when she thought you weren’t looking, the way she held you just a little tighter at night, the way she flinched when she woke up to find you staring at the ceiling, lost in your own mind.

She was waiting for you to break. And that’s what hurt the most. Because you knew she was hurting too. You knew she wanted this just as much as you did, but she never let herself be selfish about it. She never asked if you wanted to try again. Never brought up doctors or options or hope. Because she had heard you that night without you evening saying a word.

She had listened and instead of pushing, she had chosen to protect you. Even when it broke her. But you couldn’t live like this. Not with the weight of guilt pressing against your ribs, not with the way Alexia dimmed in a way you had never seen before. And so, you made a choice.

One last time. If it worked—if the universe was finally kind—then you both got everything you wanted. And if it didn’t? Then Alexia never had to know. She never had to relive the pain. The decision settled in your chest like a secret you had to keep.

You were going to try again for your wife, for everything she always wanted, the thing it seemed you couldn’t give her.

You booked the appointments quietly, slipping out on days when Alexia was at training or away for matches. Every injection, every test, every agonising waiting period—you went through it all alone. It was terrifying. Without her. But more than that it was hopeful. For the first time in months, you felt like you were fighting for something instead of drowning in loss.

You imagined what it would be like to tell Alexia. Imagined her face when she found out. Imagined how it would feel to finally say, ‘It worked. We did it.’

Then, one morning, standing in the bathroom, hands trembling as you held a test between your fingers

Two lines.

A positive.

Your breath caught, your vision blurred, your whole body shook. It had worked. It worked. You pressed a hand over your mouth, choking back a sob as the realisation slammed into you.

You were optimistic with a realism that you had been here before.

Alexia comes home later than usual. You hear the sound of the front door unlocking, the familiar shuffle of her boots as she kicks them off in the hallway. The deep sigh she lets out, the kind she always does after an exhausting training session.

But you don’t move. You can’t. You sat on the couch, staring at the TV, trying to look natural while your heart hammered in your chest.

She was still in her training gear, her hair slightly damp from her post-session shower, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder. And as always she came to find you and when she did. A soft smile pulled at her lips, tired but full of love, as she crossed the room toward you.

She had dropped her bag somewhere near the door, leaned down, and kissed you once. Then again. Then once more for good measure. “Hola, mi amor,” she murmured against your lips. “Missed you.”

You smiled, your stomach twisting with nerves. “Missed you too.”

Alexia hummed, straightening up as she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m starving,” she groaned, already heading toward the kitchen.

You still feigning nonchalance. “Food in the fridge for you, I ate earlier i was hungry”

She grinned, disappearing into the kitchen. And then you waited. The familiar sounds started, the fridge opening, the scrape of a cup, the soft clatter of cutlery and then silence. Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, slow, deliberate footsteps. When Alexia stepped back into the living room, she wasn’t holding her food. She was holding the five pregnancy tests you had left for her on the counter, all lined up neatly, undeniable in their results.

Her expression was unreadable—her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked from the tests to you, then back to the tests.

“Mi amor…?” Her voice was so soft, so shaky, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Your stomach twisted, your breath catching. You tried to speak—really, you did—but all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion. Alexia blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, as if she needed to be sure, she slowly lifted one of the tests closer to her face, rereading the little plus sign, as if the result might somehow change.

Her breath shuddered. Her fingers trembled. She looked back at you. And in the softest, most disbelieving whisper “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded, “I took five to be sure” As Alexia sits down, her fingers still curled around the positive test, you see the shift. The happiness spreads to raw emotion as she swatted away at her tears as you moved to put her arms around her, her hand ran up and down your thigh, “I don’t know how to feel either” You whisper

“I’m happy. I’m so happy but.. I don’t want to get ahead of myself”

You nod, “We’ve been here before”

Alexia looked to you her eyes scanning over your face, “If this wasn’t positive, would I of ever known you’d done another round of IVF?” Your silence told her the answer, “Never do that again, please. I want to be involved not for the baby for you, I meant my vows mi amor I want to be there for the good and the bad, and the thought of you going through another loss alone tears me apart”

You peck her lips, “I’m sorry, I can see your hurting, I can see your breaking Lex and you’re trying to be strong for me, and I just.. I want to make you happy. And I feel the only thing I can give you is a baby and I can’t even get that right”

“Hey” Alexia turned her body fully to you, “No. Baby or not. I love you. You are my wife. I didn’t fall in love with you and marry you for you to give me a baby Y/N. Don’t ever think I think or feel less of you because this isn’t working for us.” You nodded and she cupped your face, “We stay cautiously optimistic ok? You’re pregnant” she let herself smile, “And that’s incredible, but we don’t get ahead of ourselves”

You nodded, pecking her lips, “Don’t call me Y/N again” Alexia chuckled you put your finger over her lips, “It’s Mi Amor or silence”

“Yes Mi Amor” You kissed each other lips moving in perfect synchronicity, “It’s positive”

You both giggled, “I know.” You looked to your stomach, “There’s a little baby in there”

“We’re doing what we literally just said we wouldn’t”

—

The drive to the clinic is quiet. Not because you and Alexia don��t have anything to say, but because neither of you can find the words. You sit in the passenger seat, hands clasped tightly over your stomach, trying to steady your breathing. You can feelAlexia glance at you every few seconds, her fingers twitching on the steering wheel like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t want to take her eyes off the road.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. “You okay?” You nod, but your throat is too tight to answer properly. Alexia sighs, her free hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I know,” she murmurs. “Me too.” Because this moment—the space between knowing and really knowing—is the most terrifying part. You want to believe it. You want to let yourself hope. But you’ve been here before.

The clinic is just as you remember it—too bright, too clinical, too full of possibilities. Alexia never lets go of your hand as you check in, as you’re led down the hallway, as you settle onto the exam table.

The nurse smiles warmly at you both. “You’re here for an early scan?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “We just… we just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

She nods in understanding, her smile never wavering. “That’s completely normal. You’ve been through a lot to get here.”

Alexia shifts beside you, her grip tightening on your fingers. “Is it too early to see anything?” she asks, her voice steady but her eyes uncertain.

The nurse shakes her head. “At this stage, we won’t see much, but we will be able to check for a heartbeat.”

A heartbeat. You exhale shakily, your chest tightening.

The nurse prepares the ultrasound, and Alexia presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering, “I’m right here.”

The cool gel on your stomach makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way your whole body tenses as the probe moves across your skin. The room is silent for a moment.

You hold your breath. Alexia holds you.

And then—

A sound.

Faint at first. A soft, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

Your chest cracks open. Alexia sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide.

“There it is,” the nurse says gently. “A very strong heartbeat.”

You don’t realise you’re crying until Alexia lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a firm kiss against your knuckles. She’s crying too. The nurse adjusts the screen slightly, pointing to a tiny, barely visible speck. “There’s your baby.”

Your baby.

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, your free hand instinctively moving toward your stomach. “They’re so small.”

Alexia breathes out a choked laugh. “They’re there.”

The nurse nods, smiling at you both. “Everything looks good. Strong heartbeat, early signs are all positive. I know it’s still early, but this is a great start.”

A great start.

You turn to Alexia, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “We did it.”

She swallows thickly, her forehead pressing against yours. “You did it.”

For the first time in a long, long time you let yourself believe it.

At first, neither of you spoke about the future much just one day at a time, one quiet milestone at a time. But then things kept going well. Your symptoms came on strong, morning sickness, exhaustion, all the usual things, but you welcomed every wave of nausea, every sleepless night, because it meant the pregnancy was progressing.

And then, around 12 weeks, a tiny bump started to show. Only noticeable in the mornings and evenings, but it was there, signs of growth. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Alexia noticed immediately. From that moment on, she was obsessed. Every morning before she left for training, her hand would drift under your shirt, fingers ghosting over your stomach, a tiny, unconscious smile playing at her lips.

Every night before bed, she’d lie beside you, palm resting just below your navel, warmth seeping through your skin. She touched you like she needed to. Like every moment she wasn’t touching you, she might forget this was really happening.

But it wasn’t just your stomach she was obsessed with. Your body was changing in more ways than one. And Alexia noticed. Of course, she knew your body better than you did.

One evening, as you changed into pyjamas, you caught her staring in the mirror. Her arms were crossed, her lips slightly parted, very clearly focused on something other than your stomach.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so obvious.”

She smirked, stepping behind you, her hands immediately cupping your breasts from behind, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m just… appreciating,” she murmured, lips pressing against your neck.

You groaned, swatting her hands away halfheartedly. “They hurt, Lex.”

She hummed, not even remotely deterred. “They’re just bigger” she mused, her hands lingering, her thumbs brushing over you lightly. “And sensitive.”

You shot her a glare through the mirror. “Exactly. So hands off.”

She pouted but finally let go, sighing dramatically. “I don’t know if I should be honoured or offended by how unfair pregnancy is to me.”

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you have it tough?”

She nodded, lips twitching. “Yes. I have to suffer through your boobs getting bigger and not getting to enjoy them.”

You smacked her arm, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

She smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “But you love me.”

You sighed against her, already melting. “Unfortunately.”

She grinned, hands sliding back down to where your bump was showing, but it could have been the biggest bowl of paella Alexia gave you. “And I love you.”

You hummed. “And my boobs.”

“That too.”

Alexia’s hands remained firm on your stomach, fingers tracing gentle patterns over the slight curve of your stomach. Her eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror, full of mischief, adoration, and something else—something unmistakably hungry. You knew this look. You also knew that once Alexia decided she wanted something, she wouldn’t stop until she got it.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You are impossible.”

She hummed against your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. “I just think,” she murmured, her hands moving just slightly under your shirt, her palms flat against your warm skin, “that we should celebrate.”

You arched an eyebrow, though your resolve was already crumbling. “Celebrate what, exactly?”

She smirked, her lips brushing against your jaw. “That you’re growing our baby,” she whispered, her voice low, reverent. “That I get to love you like this. That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

A shiver ran down your spine at her words. Damn her. Damn her and her hands and her mouth and the way she could make you melt with nothing more than a whisper. You exhaled shakily. “Alexia—”

“Mmm?” She feigned innocence, but her fingers were already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. “Too much?”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you leaned into her touch. She grinned, sensing your resolve slipping, her thumbs drawing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

“I just want to touch you,” she murmured against your ear, her voice sending warmth flooding through your body. “Let me?”

And how could you say no when she sounded like that? When she looked at you like you were her entire world? You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before finally turning in her arms, your hands moving up to cup her face. “I hate you,” you muttered, though there was no weight to it.

Alexia grinned. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, she closed the gap between you, her lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different—slower, deeper, filled with something heavier than just desire. Love. Worship. Alexia kissed you like she was memorising you, like she needed to show you everything she felt because words would never be enough. And as her hands moved to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, you let her. You let yourself fall. Because no matter how impossible she was yours.

Alexia’s hands moved deliberately, reverently, over your waist, her touch slow and exploratory. There was no rush—just the warmth of her fingertips, the way she cupped your body like she was memorising every new curve, every change, every part of you that had shifted since the pregnancy began.

Her lips trailed down your neck, lingering, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured against your skin, her voice hushed, full of something almost worshipful.

Your breath hitched as her hands slid higher, her thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts, testing, waiting.

You exhaled shakily, biting your lip. “They’re sensitive,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

Alexia hummed in understanding, her gaze flicking up to yours as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, nodding once. That was all she needed. Her fingers curled gently around your curves, her thumbs pressing feather-light circles into the tender skin. The sensation sent a warmth rippling through you—too much and not enough all at once.

“Dios mío,” Alexia whispered, her voice thick with awe. “So full. So soft.”

A whimper slipped from your lips when her thumbs brushed over your nipples, the sensitivity making your breath stutter. She smirked at your reaction, her touch turning slightly firmer, her lips following, pressing kisses along the swell of your breast before flicking her tongue out, teasing, exploring. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. “Alexia,” you gasped, your body pressing into her, already feeling consumed by her touch, her warmth, the way she devoured you without hurry, without urgency—just pure, unfiltered adoration.

She chuckled against your skin, her breath warm, teasing. “Mmm, I love hearing you say my name like that.”

You tugged her hair harder, making her groan. Her hands slid down to your hips, gripping, holding you steady as she continued her slow, intoxicating assault. Every flick of her tongue, every press of her lips, every gentle squeeze sent a new wave of pleasure washing over you, pulling you under with her. She wasn’t just touching you. She was worshiping you. Loving every new part of you. Every change. Every sign of the life you were growing together. And in this moment—wrapped in her arms, completely undone by her love, her devotion—you had never felt more cherished.

Alexia took her time, her touch slow, deliberate—like she was learning everything about you all over again. Her lips never left your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down the curve of your breasts, her breath warm against your already sensitive skin.

You had always known her to be patient, controlled, but tonight she was reverent.

She whispered against your skin, her voice husky. “I love how your body is changing,” she murmured, her hands sliding along your sides, tracing every new curve, every inch of softness. “I love you.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your already sensitive peaks, her thumbs circling, teasing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight through you. Your body reacted immediately—back arching, breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach. She smirked at the effect she had on you, her hands steady, her eyes dark with something intense, something undeniable.

You whined softly, your grip on her tightening. “Alexia—”

She hummed, dipping her head lower, her lips brushing over the swell of your breast before capturing you fully. The sensation sent a deep shiver through you, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. She knew you were sensitive, knew exactly what it did to you, and yet—she didn’t stop. She worshiped you, her touch, her mouth, her hands moving in perfect rhythm, coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips. Every flick of her tongue, every teasing squeeze, every gentle pull sent you spiralling, climbing. And she knew. She could feel it. The way your breath hitched. The way your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close. The way your body arched into her, desperate for more. She smiled against your skin, her voice full of heat. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding, the pressure coiling impossibly tight inside you. She didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. She just stayed with you, guiding you, coaxing you, until the tension finally broke—pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you shaking in her arms. She held you through it, whispering soft, soothing words against your skin, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her hands never leaving you. “Always.”

And as you slowly came down, body still tingling, heart still racing, you let out a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re so smug right now.”

Alexia grinned, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips. “Of course I am,” she teased. “I made you come by playing with your boobs.”

You sighed, melting into her, completely boneless. And in that moment, wrapped in her arms, her warmth, her love You knew. You were hers. Completely.

You thought morning sickness meant… well, mornings. You were wrong.

It’s relentless—unforgiving in the way it rolls through you in waves, taking with it your appetite, your patience, and any desire to even look at food. It hits you the hardest first thing, the moment you open your eyes. But it doesn’t stop there. By mid-afternoon, it circles back, and by evening, you're utterly drained, your body heavy with fatigue, your stomach rebelling against anything you try to keep down.

Even water feels like a gamble some days. And it’s starting to wear on you. Alexia tries to keep things as normal as possible, but you know she’s worried. She hovers without hovering, always within reach—bringing toast in the mornings, holding your hair when things get bad, Googling every possible morning sickness remedy known to mankind.

You’re curled on the couch today, blanket wrapped around you, a half-finished cup of ginger tea sitting cold on the coffee table.

Alexia pads in from the kitchen, holding a small plate with dry crackers and a hopeful expression.

“They said plain is best,” she offers gently, crouching down beside you. “Want to try?” You stare at the crackers like they’ve personally wronged you. She smirks, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

You let out a soft groan, burying your face in the blanket. “I hate this. I hate this part.”

Alexia’s fingers trail lightly along your forehead. “I know, mi amor. I wish I could take it from you.”

“I wish anyone could take it from me.” She sits on the edge of the couch, gently pulling you into her lap until your head rests against her shoulder, her arms wrapping tightly around you.

You sigh heavily, your voice muffled in her shirt. “I’m so tired of throwing up. I can’t even smell toast without wanting to cry.”

Alexia laughs softly, rubbing your back. “You did cry yesterday. Because of a banana.”

“It was rude,” you mutter.

She kisses the top of your head. “You’re growing a human. I think you’re allowed to be dramatic about fruit.”

You smile faintly, eyes fluttering closed as you rest in the safety of her arms. “I just… I didn’t expect to feel this bad.”

Alexia tightens her hold on you, her cheek resting against your temple. “You don’t have to be strong through all of it, you know? You’re allowed to hate it. You’re allowed to complain. You’re allowed to feel everything.”

You nod slowly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I just feel useless.”

“You’re the opposite of useless,” she says immediately, without hesitation. “You’re doing something I can’t. You’re carrying our baby. That’s everything.”

You let the words sink in, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes—but this time not from nausea. “Okay,” you whisper. “But if I ever eat again, it’s going to be something deeply unhealthy.”

Alexia chuckles, nuzzling her nose into your hair. “Done. Ice cream for dinner. As soon as your stomach stops being an asshole.” You laugh softly—tired, aching, but loved. Because even when your body is rebelling against you, even when all you’ve managed to keep down today is a cracker and three sips of tea, Alexia holds you like you’re doing the most incredible thing in the world. And deep down… you know you are.

Dinner with Alba and Eli had sounded like a great idea when Alexia suggested it. Something warm, something normal—just the four of you, catching up, laughing, letting the world feel simple again, if only for a few hours. But as you stand in the kitchen, clinging to the edge of the counter, willing yourself not to vomit from the smell of the garlic sizzling in the pan, you're starting to deeply question your judgment.

Alexia catches your pale, sweaty reflection in the glass oven door and immediately steps in. She slides a hand across your back, firm and grounding, her other hand moving to take the wooden spoon from your fingers. “Go sit down,” she murmurs gently. “I’ve got this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. You’re already lightheaded by the time you curl up on the couch, clutching a glass of water like it might save your life. Just as you let your head rest back, the doorbell rings.

You and Alexia lock eyes for a moment. She gives you a soft, knowing look—a we’ve got this kind of look—before she wipes her hands and goes to let them in. Alba is the first to storm in, dramatic as ever, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a baguette in the other. “Hola, família! I brought carbs and chaos!”

Eli follows with a softer smile, always warm, always perceptive. But the second they both spot you on the couch—pale, tired, wrapped in a blanket like you’re clinging to the edge of consciousness—their moods shift.

Alba slows to a stop, narrowing her eyes. “Whoa. Are you okay? You look like… shit.”

You muster the weakest smile you can manage. “Thanks, Alba.”

Eli, more gently, sets her bag down and moves closer. “Mi amor, you’re so pale. Are you sick?”

Alexia walks in quickly, too casually, drying her hands on a towel. “She’s okay. She’s just had a stomach bug all week. It’s been rough, but she’s getting through it.”

You nod, adding, “It’s the worst flu I’ve ever had. Won’t go away.”

Alba makes a face. “You’ve had it for a week? That’s not normal. Have you gone to a doctor?”

Alexia sits beside you, sliding a subtle hand over your knee under the blanket. “She’s been seen. They said it just has to run its course.”

“Well,” she finally says, smiling as she moves to the kitchen, “then you sit and rest, and we’ll take care of everything else.”

Alba follows her, still suspicious. “If I catch this mystery flu, I swear…”

As soon as they’re out of the room, you turn to Alexia and whisper, “Do they know?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“She was watching me like I was hiding a second head.”

Alexia leans in, brushing her nose against your temple. “You are hiding something. A very tiny someone.”

You smile faintly. “I hate lying to them.”

“I know. But it’s just for now. Until we’re sure everything’s ok.”

You nod slowly, laying your head on her shoulder. “Okay. Just a little longer.” And as Eli and Alba clatter around in the kitchen, making dinner, laughing like nothing is amiss, you sit quietly on the couch—tired, nauseous, nervous— But wrapped in your wife’s arms. And still full of the quietest kind of joy.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

121 notes · View notes

wickedlyqueer · 1 day ago

Text

In the movie there is a case to be made that the closeness between Elphaba and Glinda is the reason Elphaba didn't fall for Morrible and the Wizard's nefarious plan in the first place.

Like, yes, I think it's pretty much canon across all versions that Elphaba will always revolt in the end. That she can't abide to the cruelty against the Animals and will rage against the machine, so to speak.

But what if she was broken first? How much further would she have fallen for that propaganda, if Glinda had not shown her kindness? In the movie, we see Morrible approach is far subtler than the book or musical. And she even manages to redirection Elphaba's anger for the Animals' mistreatment and harness it into powerful magic.

If Morrible had been able to follow that trajectory, how far would that manipulation have gone? I can easily see an abuser/victim dynamic, where Elphaba only feels competent and important when she's being mentored or in the presence of Morrible. And why would she leave her? Morrible is the only person who ever believed in her.

But in comes Miss Bubble and Glitter. Who tells Elphie she's beautiful, and recognizes her immense talent, and worst of all, she's in the same class Morrible uses to try and train Elphaba into a pawn on her chess board. Suddenly, there is no other way but to back off on the emotional manipulation, bc suddenly she is here too…

Even before they step into the throne room, Glinda takes a moment to pause, look her in the eyes and say: "Elphaba Thropp, listen to me. You can do this. You can do anything." Reaffirming her belief in Elphaba.

And then that intimacy between Elphaba and Glinda is instantly turned against each other the moment Elphaba realizes what's actually up. Elphaba can't be manipulated like the way they planned? Fine. Blondie, you're our barging chip now. First it is done as positive reinforcement: "And hey, if it'll make you happy, possibly, your friend [can stay too]."

And then, as Elphaba actively flees, it is no longer Glinda who tells the Wizard she'll "fetch her back." No. Now Morrible is the one who tries the Glinda-as-a-bargaining-chip-tactic and demands her to get Elphaba back.

Sure, Glinda is the one who eventually gets sucked into the position that was meant for Elphaba. But how easily could the tables have been turned? Where Glinda didn't take that leap towards Elphaba at the Ozdust ballroom? Where they didn't get close and Elphaba remained an outsider, fending for herself.

In that timeline, Morrible would've been able to dig her claws in deeper, and it would not be Glinda, but Elphaba who became the Wizard's puppet instead.

#wicked movie #wicked 2024 #gelphie #glinda upland #elphaba thropp #wicked meta #hello my gelphie goggles are once again tightly put on!#i am editing a particular sequence and i got emotional and this came out...

104 notes · View notes

celuere · 3 days ago

Note

How are you Alba? I hope your routine hasn't been too tiring recently and that you're doing well and having time to rest, you deserve it!!

Taking a break from the freak requests, (which I hope you had received, because if you didn't it's going to make this paragraph start weird👎👎👎) I came here to earnestly ask for a fluff and wholesome fic about Arlecchino and reader putting together a nusery for their child... I know it's a bit '????' but listen:

Creating a newborn's nusery is very complicated, it is the place where parents will spend most of their time in the first few months after the baby is born, not to mention that the decoration will probably remain the same for a good three years, only changing the toys that will be scattered on the floor. Between trying to guess a possible taste that your child might have and combining a normally super childish aesthetic with the rest of the house, as well as predict what would be a good investment in the future or not, from the best cribs to toys, not even mentioning the discussions that arise between expecting parents due to the different views that each one has to the room, It's a challenge.

Although I believe that Arlecchino would have a good knowledge about it, after all she is a director of an orphanage, she certainly knows what is useless to put in and what is indispensable. Even if any doubt arises about what itens to brought, she would research madly for an answer or even ask for help from the children in the House of Hearth for a more concrete opinion. If I were to guess, both Reader and Arlecchino would quickly come to a consensus on the theme and decorations (Peruere is completely in love, she would only let her wife choose everything, including a little stuffed bunny that strangely looks like her...), while the heavier work of assembling furniture and painting walls are left to a more specialized workforce or to the Knave itself when she wants to show herself to her beloved wife.

As I don't want to take away too much of your creative freedom, I'll end the request here. Feel free to modify any of the ideas. The choice is entirely yours, after all, I don't want that this request become boring for you.

(Just gonna add if here: they have a cat, because for sure Arle's a cat person; spiders and cats look alike)

Thank you in advance for reading this message, you are a sweetheart Alba,

With care, 🍰 anon.

i swear ANYTHING related to papacchino gives me heavy babyfever i can't do this anymore💔 i hope i caught the right vibe, i‘m really tired writing this so i‘m sorry for any grammar mistakes or misplaced words😞

divider by @/anitalenia

„wouldn't a purple theme be more prettier?"

„....purple? my love, you insisted on an orange theme two weeks ago."

scratching your cheek with your index finger, you recalled the memory of you a bunch of days ago where you stood before the nursery, color palettes in hand.

„my... i almost forgot about that... can we still change it?”

it was moments like these where arlecchino grew a bit older. but with a short glance down to your hand resting on top of your baby belly, wedding ring glistening in the candlelight, where she quickly shook those thoughts off.

„i'll see what i can do since the painters are already scheduled for tomorrow morning...", but whatever her wife wishes, she shall receive.

choosing a color theme for your babies bedroom turned out to be the easier task.

„where should we put the crib...? or the changing table? we also need a little corner for her to play in- and a nursing chair too and-”

„ma amour, ne nous précipitons pas. nous avons encore beaucoup de temps avant qu'elle soit là."

„my love, let's not rush. we still have plenty of time until she is here.", a gentle hand came up to squeeze your shoulder.

deciding on furniture was torture. everything was too adorable to not buy. the both of you wanted her to not miss out on anything but maybe you don't need a dozen plushies for a newborn. if it were not for that one stuffed rabbit that had an uncanny resemblance to a certain someone...

„you are right, i just... i want this to be perfect for her. even if she probably won't remember her nursery, i want her to feel special... wanted...", your eyes were laced with a love that had yet to bloom. you rubbed almost instinctively the downside of your belly. you still had five more months to go but celestia knows how fast these will fly by too.

you were too focused to notice your husband's breath stilling at your words.

special...

wanted...

„yes... special...", the word rung in her ears for longer than expected before she saw it. a clear vision of what the knave may have in mind for the nursery.

„why don't we grab some paints from a nearby workshop during our daily walk later?", you felt her fingertips brushing over your skin as she shoves some loose hair strands behind your ear. she is keeping her usually sharp nails neatly trimmed ever since the news of your pregnancy first came out.

„father... are you sure...? isn't this supposed to be something... unique?"

„that is exactly why i am bestowing you with this task. now go on, let your creativity roam free.”

the knave watched her children exchange almost ecstatic glances before they rushed to the paintbrushes sitting atop a table laid out with old newspapers. with only the most high-quality paints already getting fought over.

it was a beautiful day. the mild sun spending just enough warmth to not start sweating with a gentle breeze ghosting through the trees of the estate.

and arlecchino watched her kids turning the changing table and the crib into a beautiful, joyous canvas.

fingerprints, messy brush strokes and explosions of all kinds of bright color, yet the fatui harbinger never looked more at ease as the laughter of her children filled the estate of the hearth.

you were neatly tucked away in your bedroom, not feeling well enough to leave the comfort of your sheets.

all the more reason for your husband to be looking forward to the results- and your reaction.

a nursery for your baby without the influence of her siblings... unimaginable. not even worth considering.

but the joy was short-lived until they started painting each other. that's when arle started to regret her choices. their pretty clothes.... and yet kids will be kids. she turned a blind eye to their silliness this one time.

arlecchino just hoped the colors would come off of their faces....

#albarequests #🍰 anon #i really hope this is to your liking wonrlwnrkwow #DADDYCCHINO #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #x reader #arlecchino x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #wlw

84 notes · View notes

blazinghotfoggynights · 2 days ago

Text

There is so much going on this season

A- Eddie did not need to buy that death trap he calls a house and move to El Paso. All he needed was a week and Buck to help drive. Go down there, tell Christopher he can hate you, but he will be doing it in LA, and tell the Devil...er Diaz parents if they don't butt out, you will cut them completely out of your life. Threaten restraining orders if you have to.

We all know Buck is a mess but Eddie is probably worse. The man has blown his life up how many times in the past two seasons? He did so because he lacks impulse control. He acts without thinking. He immediately goes to the most ridiculous course of action possible.

Eddie is just as, and I say MORE, messed up than Buck. He just hides it.

Didn't Eddie go to our favorite golden retriever disaster for advice and a pep talk? Exactly. Advice? From Buck?

B- That is huge. Why? Eddie Diaz, war hero and guy who has his shit together, is his totally messed up, out of order, confused, all over the place self in front of Buck. No one else in the 118 has a clue how mess that man's life is. But he doesn't hide it from Buck. He wouldn't even let Shannon see him break, but he doesn't hide from Buck that he is already broken.

C- Food and couches. Eddie and Buck. Even I can't deny it now.

D- It makes sense that Buck will not consciously admit he feels something for Eddie. Why? Everyone he has loved has left. I know this is crazy, but it's Buck, so his logic is illogical. If he doesn't love Eddie, Eddie will not stay gone. He won't lose him.

E- Buck admitted to having feelings for Eddie without knowing he admitted it. Freudian slips are real, yall. "I don't have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with."

That idiot didn't even realize he was saying he has had feelings for someone but didn't act on them, but will jump into situationships with people without feeling anything for them. That second part is all his damn relationships on the show! Abby was just after he lost Devon. Allie was convenient and met during a tense moment and after just meeting Eddie. Taylor was after Eddie was shot. Tommy was after Eddie began dating Marisol AND Eddie began focusing on Tommy.

F- Buck telling Eddie he has to stay could have two reasons. Buck wants Eddie to be with his son. Buck also needs time to make sure he doesn't have feelings for Eddie.

G- You think this is a coincidence?

Eddie is bookended by his son and Buck who look similar. Buck and Christopher happen to be wearing almost identical colors? Look at the lighting. Eddie is in a darkened environment but Buck is surrounded by light and his background is home. It was like that every time in this episode. Eddie is calling his light and his home. But Eddie is not well.

H- Which leads me to this one. Mentally stable people do not quit their jobs without having another, buy a dump without seeing it in person, sink all their money into that dump, sell their truck to buy a used heap (isn't that the check engine flashing?) and drive for Uber. They also don't buy PS5s when they are broke to try to buy their child's love when they could have simply told Mommy and Daddy to get out of their house and their child to go be mad in his room. Edmundo Diaz is having a mental crisis and has been for a long time. I believe Buck subconsciously knows but he doesn't want to admit it. In his eyes Eddie is perfect and he won't let anything taint that image, BUT he will do everything in his power to keep that man happy and help him get better.

I- You know? Like you do when you love someone. What have the 118 said about love? Now look at these two. Seeing someone at their worst and loving them anyway? It means stepping into their mess?

Hmm. 🤔

J- It's only platonic because Buck did not know he was bi and Eddie thinks he is straight. They just didn't know. That happens. It isn't always repression or lying. Sometimes you don't know what you don't know.

But let's see if Minear is setting the stage for Buddie or, the only other option, the biggest queerbaiting in the history of television.

#911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 buddie #buddie 911 #911 show #911 tv #911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #911 buddie #buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz

40 notes · View notes

sn0w-games · 3 days ago

Text

Thoughts of Tokyo Debunker Ch15

Hello hello~ have finished the recent chapters and wanted to share my thoughts on the chapter.

This does contains spoilers from Chapter 15 these are just my thoughts and rambles for the chapter.

This is my first time writing something like this, so please handle with me with some repeating things or just mindless rambles, I am typing five minutes after I just finished the chapter

SPOILERS BELOW:

First off I want to say, I am so happy they added in some Rui and Haku lore together, even if was for a short while.

Also I am not sure where it was theory at, but I do recall there being theories about Haku being from Frosthiem before going to Hotarubi. I do wish they would have added why Haku transferred out, what is so bad about Frosthiem than it being some winter wonderland where BOTH Haku and Yuri both transferred out, in different years. But Haku being the one confirmed in the canon characters who has transfer dorms the most ( Been in three different dorms) if he is a third year does that make it where he switches every year? I know Clementia might have had a different case due to the clash most likely, but who is to say if there is another year (like a fourth year) in the academy who is to say he won't transfer out of Hotarubi?

I do want to talk more about Subaru Kagami as well. There was another name that he could have mentioned in the chapter called Kagami Fujino. Sure this could have been a false name but could it also be someone in his old troupe group. I know there was a mention of a name, Koki Arisu who is confirmed on a hiatus due to an incident. But there is something in the air that could have someone named Fuijino under a different last name or same. Maybe someone related to Subaru's family? Really could have been a false name since Subaru was a previous actor being undercover, and with rumors like that I would not blame him not wanting it to resurface in front of the director, on a mission for Darkwick! But this is Tokyo Debunker, anything is possible in this game.

There is now something about Subaru before Darkwick in his old troupe group the reason they are on hiatus because of said incident. The stranger lady's voice called Subaru an 'abuser'. Now, looking at Subaru I could not believe it at first.

I hope they press more on both topics for both Subaru and Haru's sake.

But the last panel at the end of Chapter 15:

Yeah Subaru you are not helping your case here sweetie.

He either is possessed or he might be some sadistic person that we haven't seen yet -

I have always been someone who was not a fan of Subaru and had hell beef with him over a fic.

But I can say this, I do have some interest of him. He is one of the most secretive characters in the cast and I do wish the game didn't just drop this in and breeze over.

It has been a bit of a bad habit of the game recently, I don't know if it is intentional or so they can continue it in a different chapter.

It is the same thing when it came to Haru's hand reveal. A casual drop at the end of Chapter I forgot,,, I am typing this and I really don't feel like looking back on the previous chapters at the moment but if you know you know.

Also I won't lie, I have been under the assumption that the Honor Roll was a first year, even though their case is special I really thought they were a first year, but it turns out the Honor Roll is a second year along with Kaito and Lucas so it does make me happy that the Honor Roll is in the same year with their buddies (I know I am a little dumb because we do have some classes with them but shhhhh) I am just happy they did confirm their year.

Last thing,

HOTARUBI CAME IN CLUTCH WITH THE HORROR EFFECTS!!!!

I have not got a scare from the game in such a bit since chapter 2 that made me cover my phone. But when the sprites for Hanae Numata ( Red Woman ) and Hanao Numata ( Little Ghost Boy ) came on screen, I have a little scream - not in like a jump scare way but in a way where I was happy we got that horror effect like the one with Takeru in Chapter 2 and the ghost boy in Chapter 5. I missed the little thing like that. I wish they kept those themes since the game was a horror game.

I downloaded the game due to the ad I saw on Tumblr

of a pixelated man. But again, this game with it's ads... It's always a miss, since they are never about what the game is about - So I was ready for some horror, I got a bit sad with previous chapter since they weren't on a level like Chapter 2. I also do miss the longer chapter, but also I don't.... I think they are trying to find a middle ground since recently we have only got to like Chapter 25-28 but now we are hitting into the 30. Now this doesn't mean Chapter 16 with Sinostra could be shorter or they might make it longer, I only wish they make it longer so they can actually add in the lore they need and not drop a brief on us and move on and not mention it until a later chapter. I cannot take the suspense ;-; but I don't mind short one since it does save me a search for screen shots for the drive.

Last thing ( this time I swear), very small,

I wish they talked more on Zenji's death.

All we know was that he is dead. Both chapters didn't really provide us anything on how he died. Could he have been the victim of the Killer Case that some of the casts are suspects in? If so, that could have mean someone in the cast killed Zenji -

I hope that is not the case, but would it be interesting,,,, Yes -

Now some small mentions that I am not going to provide a lot of talk on:

SUBARU LYCA CONTENT

SUBARU HAKU MOMENTS DKJKLJD

MAMA ZENJI MOOD

Haku's little 'ahhh' in the chapter where they are talking about the ghost stories and it was his turn to tell a tale -

SINOSTRA IS THE NEXT CHAPTER

Thank you for taking your time to read this, I will be updating the drive here shortly with the photos!

#tokyo debunker #haku kusanagi #tokyo debunker haku #tkdb #tokyo debunker subaru #subaru kagami #tokyo debunker zenji #zenji kotodama

38 notes · View notes

tragedy-of-commons · 16 hours ago

Text

ivan x reader. wc: 1.1k. inspired by those fucked up teeth dreams! if you're squeamish, probably avoid reading. don't krill me alnst fandom i just think he's Cool and Interesting. based on vibes, possibly ooc. modern/actor au.

It was unlike Ivan to dream.

Before you came into his life and turned his servitude on its head with no regard for his balance, he was used to sleeping hard. The star would hit the pillow after a grueling but manageable day, only to wake up to his familiar alarm—only to rise and do it all over again.

Such was his life, and he had no reason to believe that’d change. He had no reason to believe he would experience any subconscious projections beyond nebulous memories of the slums, or the occasional object of terror that’d he shortly forget after waking.

But circumstances change. Environments change; Ivan’s home welcomed you, as did the telltale rabbiting of his heart. When you slipped into bed with him that first night, awkward but sweet, he had to bid himself to relax. Actors are supposed to adapt, to transform and flourish under the circumstantial, so that’s what he did. Ivan selfishly held you close to his chest, an indulgence he didn’t want to spoil himself with, but still did so anyway.

In his mind, to enjoy that guilty pleasure—the privilege of you—he had to do something in return. It’s always about doing something in return with him, every interaction mentally catalogued and carefully executed so Ivan never owed anything to anyone. He learned young that equivalent exchanges rule the world, that every selfless gesture was expected to be repaid in kind.

And Ivan wanted to do right by you. More than that, he did not wish to be your debtor; Ivan does not have much to give other than his loyalty, which will still someday lose its value. So he savored the moment.

When you’d fallen asleep, putting all of your stock and trust into him, he’d gingerly maneuvered into another position, one far more favorable. He’d rolled over on his side, facing the door to the bedroom. However in doing so, the dark-haired actor had no choice but to untangle himself from you, unable to hold the person he couldn’t yet comfortably call a partner.

He remembers missing your warmth. But ultimately it was better to face the door, to stand guard… to protect you. From what? It’s hard to say, though the heady satisfaction buzzing under his skin affirmed it was the right thing to do. It felt more sustainable to enact some distance in the interest of looking out for you.

He didn’t want to burn you in the maw of his embrace, even if he sometimes thought about it. To abstain is to be noble. And to torture himself, to deprive himself of love—that is just how things are to go. Ivan is fine with that.

But then he dreamt, really dreamt, for the first time in years.

Your steady hands were planted on his shoulders while you looked him square in the eye, unblinking. The vibrant luster of your irises easily reflected the inky dullness of his own, making you seem more like a mirror instead of a three-dimensional being. Uncanny. You didn’t smile like you normally would, only holding him in place. Pain-that-wasn’t-quite-pain began to needle at his gums, and that’s when you spoke.

“They’re hurting you, Ivan,” you’d whispered, grasping his chin with a pinched brow. He was unable to speak as you tapped against his square jaw, rambling with a gentle type of determination. “Rotting… they’re rotting. We need to get them out.”

His dream self was overcome with understanding. His teeth, the ones then beginning to whistle with agony down the nerve, were rotting. The sensation was forceful, like the most miniscule shift of his tongue or the tiniest provocation of his vocal cords could send his molars tumbling out of his mouth by the root. He itched in a way that he couldn’t scratch by his lonesome, with no words at his aid.

(It is true that Ivan’s mouth has always felt too full, a fang or two roguishly protruding outward, but it goes beyond that. When he would smile for each camera shutter, each sponsorship and each recording, it felt more like he was snarling, doling out a cheap imitation of joy when he had no earthly idea of the concept. Always, when the star grinned, it was a lie. Fortunately for him, beasts with pearly whites and uniform eyes can still be domesticated into well-loved pets.)

The room was stark white, a sterile nightmare. While he struggled to think, you’d materialized a pair of rusty, red and black pliers into thin air. Even at the sight of them, Ivan does not remember recoiling. You were going to remove the rot, the miasmic burden—he knew this for a fact. And if anyone were to attempt to fix him, he’d want it to be you. It needed to be you.

“Do you trust me? You’ll feel better, I promise.”

He could only nod passively as you wrenched open his mouth, probing around and clamping the plier’s metal teeth around any particularly egregious offenders. It hurt, something akin to mercury boiling angrily inside a thermometer, or a kettle reaching its shrill fever pitch. He does not recall screaming or reacting, even as you’d twisted and yanked to your heart’s content. Ivan was allowing you to remove the wretched thorn from his paw, paralyzed from what he could not possibly imagine.

This is how things are to go, he thought. At least you’re the one doing it. If you’re going to hurt someone, let it be me. I’ll take what I can get.

Your actions were severely disjointed. You’d be pulling one moment, then his central and lateral incisors would be in the palm of your hand the next, not a speck of blood staining the specimens. Then you smiled fully while you made sure he could never smile again. You: merciful, complicated, confusing, and too good for Ivan.

When he woke, since dreams often end abruptly, it was in a cold sweat.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” you laughed. Your hair was mussed from the most gratifying of rests, and your voice was warm, addictive.

The bedroom door stood wide open, sunlight streamed through the fluttery curtains, and you meandered over to his side of the mattress to greet him. “I made breakfast. How long was that instant pancake mix sitting in your pantry, anyway? Up, up, I put chocolate chips in your share!”

“Good morning to you too,” the star remarked, scrambling to conceal his lingering discomfort. It took a moment for him to recalibrate, to suppress. “And it couldn’t have been there for long. I went shopping with Sua last…”

“Last…?”

“...month.”

You snorted. “My point exactly. Come on!”

Then grabbing his hand and pulling him up (like he wasn’t the one doing all the heavy-lifting), you saw fit to bless him with a kind reminder. You did so in the same tone you always used—sunny and rich—but the words you bestowed upon him next were deeply knowing:

“Just don’t forget to brush your teeth after. You don’t want to get cavities, do you?”

It was unlike Ivan to dream. But then you came along.

#my writing #alnst x reader #alien stage x reader #alien stage x you #alnst x you #alnst x y/n #alien stage x y/n #ivan x reader #ivan x you #ivan x y/n #ivan alnst x reader #alnst ivan x reader

36 notes · View notes

wavesoutbeingtossed · 3 days ago

Note

Starlight /mine

Ah original yellow dress, harbinger of pain on the b stage! Her happy dancey guitar was always a cover for her ripping out our hearts out on the piano lmao.

I'd completely forgotten about this one until I pressed play and I was like OH YES THE TEN KIDS MASHUP!

youtube

As always, Girl and Her Guitar Doing A Bit At A Coffee House is my favourite 🫶

I love how she weaves the two stories together! The moment, I can see it now. The careless man's careful daughter meets the man who wants dream impossible things and he ends up being the best thing that's ever been hers!

It's so cool how the two songs blend together tell one fleshed out story! In Mine, she tells the narrator's story of meeting this person and why she's so hesitant to dream big even as they're building their life together, and in Starlight, the subject's unrelenting optimism and belief in her and them is in fact the reason the reason she falls in love!

The transition between Mine and "He said, 'Look at you, worrying so much about things you can't change / You'll spend your whole life singing the blues if you keep thinking that way'" is BRILLIANT because she's just spent the first part of the mashup telling us why she's a flight risk with a fear of falling, and then in comes her beloved telling her, "hey, you don't need to worry so much."

ALSO, I just noticed the link between "Do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? You put your arm around me for the first time," and "He was trying to skip rocks on the ocean saying to me, 'Don't you see the starlight?'" Even though they're two completely different songs from different albums and different inspirations, they end up being perfect together!

And I think the sweetest (and most telling 👀) transition is:

Braced myself for the goodbye 'Cause that's all I've ever known Then you took me by surprise You said, "I'll never leave you alone" ... Ooh, ooh he's talking crazy Ooh, ooh dancing with me Ooh, ooh we could get married Have ten kids and teach 'em how to dream

Because again: it's the same story in both songs, but together they paint such a touching picture! Both songs are about finding your person and building your life together despite obstacles, and about the anxious girl with baggage and the hopelessly romantic dreamer boy who makes her believe anything is possible and makes it happen.

And the sweetest part? Ending it with: Yes, I can see it now. 🥰

#Pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn't pour the whiskey #Anonymous #also having thoughts about the Mine music video in relation to all this but ANYWAY lol #she said we will erase the kennedys from this narrative and make it about us lol #mashup madness #singapore n1 #surprise songs #mine #starlight #what she's saying is she wants to [redacted]#also as always: I have a ton of these to catch up on in my inbox so please refrain from sending more for the moment please and thank you!

26 notes · View notes

403tarot · 21 hours ago

Note

hello, i know u said cute questions but i wanted to know how does jungkook really view the pop star lifestyle and how will he fit it around his future spouses lifestyle?

thanks very much in advance!

🎡 JUNGKOOK'S VIEWS ON THE POPSTAR LIFESTYLE & HIS FUTURE SPOUSE IN THIS

starting this reading with the way jungkook sees life as a popstar in general, i'd say he's truly passionate about being an artist. the euphoria of being on stage, taking part in creating new things, setting trends, and having an audience to please is something intoxicating for him. it's what he naturally gravitates toward... it motivates him and is the center of his focus.

i know that many artists with a large fanbase feel a lot of pressure to be perfect in everything they do, and i don’t rule out the possibility that jungkook has moments like that too. but what i get from this is that jungkook actually feels very free within his artist persona, as if he knows he can present the best aspects of his personality and always work on showing his positive growth.

i feel like jungkook is currently happy with the way the general public perceives him as an artist. he deeply feels the support of his fans and genuinely believes he has a commitment to honor with them.

i do think there were moments in the past when he felt trapped or restricted by the idol life, missing out on things he wished he could have done. but today, it feels like he’s broken free from those restraints, and it’s no longer the case. now that he's busy fulfilling his duties as a citizen in korea, i can see that he misses expressing this artistic side of himself and is looking forward to dedicating himself to it again.

regarding how he's going to balance this lifestyle with the lifestyle of his future spouse, well, first of all, i see that jungkook isn't really thinking about being with the person he's going to marry anytime soon, so he doesn't see it as something to worry about right now.

jungkook might believe that he'll only be with someone he wants to marry much later in life because the cards i got give me the impression that, in his mind, by the time he's with that person, he'll be much further along in his career. he sees himself being able to slow down his activities as an artist to focus more on the person he's marrying and on building a family in calmer waters, away from the public waves.

i honestly don’t think it’s going to take as long as he thinks for him to meet this person, so i asked how he’s actually going to handle balancing his pop star life with his relationship and his future spouse’s life. the answer is that he already has a mature understanding of what he wants as an artist and how to separate that from his personal life. he won’t act impulsively (like dropping everything) just because he falls in love. i see that jungkook will be very careful and private about this future romantic relationship, making sure to approach it with as much clarity as possible so that he can maintain both his career and his role as a committed partner, working to make the relationship solid and fulfilling.

he'll likely want to continue his career while developing this relationship, and interestingly, being with someone won't be something that stresses him out (like worrying about fans finding out or anything like that). he’ll probably stay private, but if the time comes when he feels he should make the relationship public, he will and he’ll have the courage to stand by it.

to me, this reading feels like it speaks about a slightly older jungkook, someone who has become more seasoned in the industry compared to the persona he's been presenting more clearly since the start of his solo career.

#— duckie notes ⪩♡⪨#bts tarot #jeon jungkook #kpop reading #celebrity readings #future spouse #ask 🫧

24 notes · View notes

velvrei · 2 days ago

Note

Could you possibly write a axel x reader where the reader starts off training in miagy do and then like the whole team thinks she doesn't deserve to be captian and they all shame her for it kind of, and then she switches to the iron dragons the day of the tournament with her bf axel and miagy do is in compete shock because of her better fighting skills and they all try to convince her to go back but she's shuts them down?

yes i got you #revengeera

…

you’ve given everything to miyagi-do. every bruise, every aching muscle, every hour of your life spent perfecting your form, your balance, your control. you trained harder than anyone, pushed yourself past exhaustion, stayed late when everyone else went home. but it never mattered to them.

when sensei names you captain, the room goes silent. for a moment, you think they’re just processing it, but then come the whispers. the doubtful looks. the side conversations you’re not supposed to hear but do anyway.

“why her?” hawk would whisper.

“she’s not even that good.” sam would say just from pure jealousy.

“this has to be a joke.” demetri would cackle as he spoke.

“someone else should’ve gotten it.”

it’s like a punch to the gut, harder than anything you’ve ever taken in a fight. you thought you were part of a team. you thought they had your back. but now you see it clearly—they never really respected you. they never believed in you.

for weeks, it eats at you. the way they barely listen when you try to lead, the way they hesitate to follow your calls, the way they exclude you from conversations. sensei tells you to ignore it, to prove yourself through action, but why should you have to? why should you have to prove anything to people who’ve already made up their minds?

so you make your choice.

the day of the tournament, you don’t show up with miyagi-do. instead, you walk in wearing the iron dragons gi, standing beside axel.

his hand brushes against yours, grounding you, reminding you why you made this choice. because he’s always believed in you. because the iron dragons see your worth in a way miyagi-do never did.

the moment they see you, the shock on their faces is almost laughable. wide eyes, dropped jaws, whispered exclamations of “no way” and “is this real?” but the real surprise comes when you fight.

they expected you to be rusty, to be worse without them. instead, you’re faster, stronger, sharper. every movement is precise, every strike lands with perfect control. you dominate the mat, taking down your opponent in record time.

miyagi-do watches in disbelief. this isn’t the fighter they doubted. this isn’t the girl they underestimated. this is someone they never truly saw before.

after your match, a few rush to you, desperation in their voices, especially johnny and daniel.

“what are you doing? you don’t belong with them.” daniel spoke, worried.

“your team does not respect me.” you’d say, but he wouldn’t listen.

and they’d just start begging again.

“come back. we can fix this.”

“we didn’t mean it, okay? we were just surprised. you are a good fighter.”

you look at them, the same people who made you feel small, who only care now that you’re proving them wrong. and you shake your head.

“you only want me now because i’m winning.”

they scramble for more words, but you don’t care to hear them. they had their chance, and they blew it. you turn away, walking back to your real team, the one that actually supports you.

axel smirks, nudging you lightly. “they look pissed.”

you smirk back. “not my problem.”

and with that, you leave them behind, stepping into the future you chose for yourself.

…

cobra kai taglist: @karmaswitch @mamasfavourite @justchillin13 @timotheechalametswifeys @jeonkoowife @yoyouourmum @astreiz @adv3rc1ty @yslbaeee @amnesique @yaya-1loveart @izzyelise11 @larussoslostdaughter @elemental-of-magic @robbykeenesposts

if you’d like to be added to this taglist, dm/message me OR comment on any of my posts to be added!

#cobra kai #velvrei #trending #smut imagine #smut #writing #velvrei smut #axel kovacevic fluff #axel cobra kai #cobra kai axel #axel kovacevic x reader #axel cobra kai fluff #axel cobra kai smut #axel kovacevic

24 notes · View notes

spinstertheuncommon · 2 days ago

Text

Gotham's Sewist - A Bachelor's Suit [Part 1/2] | Bruce Wayne x reader

Tiz - a gender neutral version of ma'am/sir

Timeline: Reader and B are 27

Notes: swearing, reader crashes out, bruce might be out of character but hoe hum this is for fun

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"what has gotten you so gloomy?"

"heh?" you half ass a response, too transfixed in mending a 8 inch hole in the cape. a magnifying glass sits attached to a desk arm, with your nose practically pushed against it. you bought it on a whim in college but it's been the best investment you've ever made. behind you, you hear the batman shuffle, always alert, and never one for your short answers. for a world class detective, he needs a lot of answers from me. can't he just sniff them out like a blood hound?

"you're tired. your shoulders are tense, you have been using your cane more often, which would normally lead you into going to the physical therapist but you haven't been there in over a month. Your avoiding it, which you do when you're stressed. you haven't left your studio in a week, as your biking boots are still covered in the same water damage from Mr freezes attack last Thursday, supplementing my concern further as you always pride in taking care of your gear. so i ask again, why?"

shit, maybe he doesn't need the questions. maybe he's board of my silence.

you heave a sigh, flinging back in your chair, needle discarded. rolling your head to face the bat, you've come to expect no concern or emotion in his face; it's only in his actions.

"you really wanna know? yeah? okay, my rent has gone up, and so has the cost of fabric. i can't possibly charge any of my clients more than i am because most of them who come here do it for a luxury and not a necessity, other than you and the alley kids, but you already pay me too much, and i'm never charging those kids anything. the stores front window, while yes it was smashed two weeks ago, still needs to be re-repaired because the guy who did it was cheap as and couldn't tell his head from his ass. can't believe i paid him, honestly. AND more so, my meds have stopped working and of course i can't get anything stronger because healthcare is non-existent for everyone but the wealthy, and that Mr freeze attack has caused every bone in my legs to seize up on top of the stress, so yes. i'm tired. and yes, I'm stressed, and ON TOP OF THAT there's this historical garment collection tour coming to Gotham in a few months that i really want to go to but i will never be able to afford a ticket..." your words slow, eyes full of water. the bat doesn't move for a moment, studying how close you are to crumbling. he then inches forward, and places a gloved hand on your shoulder.

"you're okay. it will be okay."

you crumble into his side, still sitting in the chair. since loosing physical connections with all your college friends after they moved cities, you forget how much you crave touch. never big, something small like a hand on a shoulder, or a light hug could send you careening into an unhealthy attachment with a person.

and what's more unhealthy to attach to than a man you don't even know the name of.

++2 weeks later++

low rent prices or a safer business area.

you picked the former.

look, moving was going to be about prioritizing your safety, but right now your income is only stable enough to support a storefront in a cheaper part of Gotham. so, you packed up and moved from crime alley to...

Bowery.

yeah... not really better, but it's cheap.

but do you know what's not cheap?

super fine pure wool. this wall of bolts was so massive, it needed it's own rolling ladder every six meters across. you felt swamped, both physically and mentally. each bolt of wool pulls you in, the only anchor you have is your cart, already weighted by the silk lining you've chosen, and the check in your pocket, one signed by the richest, most eligible man in Gotham.

bruce wayne.

you still don't think it's real. how would he know who i am? did the batman x Bruce Wayne fanfics actually have merit? my only other customers besides the bat were regular ass people and that one time a guy wanted two suits sewn together. that and the kids in crime alley i dress for free, but they're not really clients. so...who? was Bruce's child, Dick Grayson, one of the kids? i think I'd recognise him...

you still feel numb from the first phone call two weeks ago. answering it with all the professionalism you had in your body at 4:56pm on a Friday, you had a full system reboot when the man on the other line confirmed for the 7th time that he was in fact, the Bruce Wayne, instead of the prank caller you assumed he was.

i mean, why would Bruce fucking Wayne be calling me, a 27 year old, barely surviving sewist with no real display of my work, to make him, and his child, suits for a high priced gala?

so hear you are, having a conniption about what wool and silks to buy that would match the vague descriptions Bruce gave you over the phone.

this will be a long 3 months.

++one month down++

it was strange. you'd think that working for new clientele would alleviate the repetitive funk you've found yourself in. new faces, and new personalities, even if they were rich socialites with no inherit grounds to share with them. but that's fine, you don't need to be friends with your clients.

but no. this felt violently familiar.

despite standing in the most expensive room you've ever stepped foot in, running circles around the brick wall of a man that is Bruce Wayne, as a young boy and kind butler watch on, you couldn't help being swarmed with deja vu. it felt like wading water, pinning the muslin, double checking the flushed fit of the 3 piece suit that was asked of you, and measuring the span of his upper back almost made you panic.

he's got the same shoulders as batman.

gotta love a coincidence... right?

and... fuck me, is this Richard kid the same hight as Robin? oh my god ohmygodohmygod-

"Tiz, are you okay?"

"huh? oh sorry, sorry, yes, just... doing calculations in my head, i'm fine," you shuffle, cheeks dusted red after being called out. "i do think i have everything, though, so i can leave. Sir, please be careful taking off the muslin, i wouldn't want a pin in you."

Bruce chuckles, and you fear your cheeks will never cool down. You distract yourself by folding and refolding the mock up for Richard, or Dick as he insisted you called him. Whatever the kid wants I suppose.

said kid had a vibe you never really expected. it's not like you're in the dark to who Richard Grayson is. the amount of articles about this kid and the death of his parents, and then eventual adoption, could light a fire and fuel it for a month. it made you sick at the time, all the talk about it felt like tragedy porn. you couldn't even imagine what a kid was thinking about it. but from the look of things, nothing can stop this kid.

"how long would it take to make my suit? do you think it'll look good? i want it to be green, or maybe purple!" Dick jumped along the couch he was on, attentively not hopping off the couch, as the first few times he tried to see what you were doing, he got a stern look from Bruce. he was then told that if he wanted to stay, he had to stay on the couch.

"you already picked out your colour, champ. you're going in blue, remember?" Bruce, in just a dress shirt and compression pants, that made his ass look fantastic, went over and scooped up the 13 year old like he was nothing, and bundled him under his arm like a football. god, his smile is blinding, i get what all the gossip's about, he is smoking.

"Let me escort you to your vehicle," Alfred snapped you out of your daze, steering you away from the father and son with a gentle hand towards the door. and what an extravagant door it is. the mahogany wood sits inside the most extravagant stained glass arch, adorned with roses and antique gold solder, that perfectly matches the gold furnishings on the door. the same furnishings that mirror the fountain in the middle of the drive. The marble stairs that link the door to the driveway are so dramatic, you want to flounce around on them like meg from Hercules.

Stepping back from your daydream, you thank Alfred for holding your bag as you shuffle on your safety gear of a jacket and helmet. Before you turned on the bike, Alfred calls your name and pulled a card from his breast pocket.

“I hope you know there is no obligation, but Master Bruce and Master Dick wish for you to attend the gala that you’ve been making their suits for.” you take the invite, a little star struck. the card, the size of a business card, has embossed grooves over it and delicate gold leafing to resemble hemmed stitches, but it's the address that perked your interest.

"i-its at the Gotham historical fashion exhibit?" your eyes shone, practically in tears. oh my god i'm so glad he can't see under my visor, im crying about a invite.

"Master Bruce has an appreciation for all art forms, and takes any and all chances to highlight it. he believes that more eyes should see the pieces, and if he has to host a party, well, lets say he wouldn't mind." Alfred carries a twinkle in his eyes, one of pure childish wonderment, but there's a hint of something you couldn't quite place. was it pride? a secret? you couldn't tell. all you knew is you had an all expenses paid trip to the most decked out fashion collection and come hell or high water you were going.

"tell him thank you, then, i've been dying to see this exhibit."

"no thanks needed, this is payment in kind, along side the money of course. now drive safe, we wouldn't want you unavailable for the gala."

with a nod, you pull out of the Wayne Manor drive, and spend the next 20 minute drive to your studio giddy.

holy shit i need an outfit.

(To be Continued...)

+++++++++++

My next chapter for this should reasonably be split into 2 instead of stay one, but idk if I can be bothered, so the next chapter will be looong tehe!

Helloo!

So the fanfic curse is real lol. The last one I posted was my first ever post and the literal day after was a real shit show that I can't actually talk about lmaoo

See y'all nextime!

Spinster

Do not copy, steal, or repost my work! Thanks!

#batman x reader #batman fanfic #batman #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #dc x reader #dc comics #dc x oc #dc #x reader #disabled reader #dick grayson robin #alfred pennyworth #do not repost #my writing #do not steal #gothams sewist

47 notes · View notes