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jeondesu · 2 days ago
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LITTLE HANDS, BIG HEARTS — ꒰ 스트레이 키즈 ꒱
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⌯ a collection of short stories following along the journeys of you and your marriage + sweet moments with your little family !
── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ dad!skz x f!reader ˒˓ established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. pure fluff, very wholesome and cute domestic vibes, mentions of food and kissing, i think that’s really it.. 𝔀ords. 3.8k
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — ok so this turned out completely different than what i was originally envisioning on doing but i personally liked this idea way more idk >< i’m still battling w my writing abilities so pls go easy on me guys, i actually spent hours working on this so i’d love to know your thoughts if you have any :’) <3
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방찬/BANG CHAN.
Raising four-year-old twin girls was most definitely not for the weak. There was never a dull moment in your household, and today would be no different. You already knew it was going to be a long morning the minute you caught Hyewon attempting to put sunscreen on the dog.
Before she even had the chance to empty the bottle on his tail, you quickly scramble to grab it. “Wonnie, no- no, that’s for you, not Berry,” you say gently, letting out a mini sigh of relief to yourself. Meanwhile, Haerin, was sitting quietly over by the front door, tightly clutching her beloved plush bunny, Tokki, like her life depended on it.
“She’s gonna drop it in the ocean,” you whisper worriedly to Chan as you zipped up the beach bag with last minute necessities. “Or forget it in the sand. You know how she gets—”
Chan looked up from packing the cooler and gave you a soft, slightly teasing smile. “Yeah, but you know how she gets without Tokki.”
Deep down, you knew he was right, and it was only a matter of time until you eventually caved in and agree. Haerin lights up like a thousand fireflies, hugging Tokki to her chest with a tiny, “thank you, Mommy.”
Somehow, miraculously, you managed to herd the two whirlwinds out of their pajamas, into their matching strawberry-print swimsuits and get everyone buckled up in the car. Chan was adjusting his sunglasses, worn with the world’s most offensively bright Hawaiian shirt, gifted by his own dad years ago, and grinned as he pulled out of the driveway.
The drive was filled with nothing but carseat chaos and boisterous laughter, Hyewon was demanding ‘Sunflower’ on repeat, Chan’s belting it at full volume with animated hand gestures, and Haerin’s quietly humming along, stroking Tokki’s ear as the wind from the cracked window tousled her hair. Your heart was overflowing as you leaned your head against the window, trying to cover your smile with your hand.
By the time you’ve arrived, the beach was already packed with loads of other families and umbrellas, but you were able to find a spot close to some shade thanks to a large palm tree. Towels were spread out, snacks scattered around haphazardly, and tiny sandals flung off with excitement. The girls ran around squealing while Chan chased after them, sand sticking to his calves, shirt clashing beautifully with the ocean behind him. You snapped photo after photo— Hyewon with melted ice cream on her nose, Haerin making the tiniest sand castle in intense silence, Chan holding both girls’ hands as they shrieked when waves nipped at their toes.
It was perfect.
Until, on the walk back to the car, Haerin suddenly gasped. “Tokki!” Her eyes wide, brimming with tears, bottom lip already trembling. “She’s gone!”
Without an ounce of hesitation, Chan hands you the car keys and gave a quick peck to your forehead before jogging back towards the beach like a man on a mission. After twenty-ish minutes or so, he comes back with Tokki triumphantly in his hand, sweat on his brow, and sand salting his hair.
“I found her under a bench,” he huffed, nearly out of breath, and grinning like he’d just won an Olympic gold medal. Haerin squealed, her little legs running up to go hug him with all the strength she could muster, happy to be reunited with her favorite stuffie, while Hyewon was clapping like she’d just witnessed a magic trick.
You smiled at the three of them, bathed in sunlight, cheeks rosy and eyes bright— like something out of the sweetest dream, and you couldn’t stop thinking ‘this is everything i could’ve ever wanted.’
Even if you still weren’t sure how he made that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt look good.
리노/LEE KNOW.
You should’ve known something was up the second Minho walked into the bedroom that morning, a big grin plastered on his face like he’d just hit the jackpot.
“Don’t be mad,” he started, crawling into bed beside you, “but I told Junseo that today is Yes Day.”
You blinked, confused. “Yes Day as in..?”
“As in, I say yes to whatever he wants. There’s no rules. No limits. Just for one day.”
You groaned, looking at him as if he’d gone crazy, which in your defense— he quite literally has. “Minho, are you insa—”
“Too late,” he sang. “The king has already declared it.”
In the next room, you could hear your five-year-old son, Junseo, already shouting something about “pajama adventures” and “waffles forever”, that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day.
By 10 am, your husband and son were decked out in matching dinosaur pajamas and sunglasses, strutting into the grocery store like they owned the place. You followed behind in actual clothes, pretending not to know them while Minho loudly asked one of the employees, “excuse me, where’s the section for super awesome dads and coolest kids alive?”
Then came the living room trampoline hour, aka “couch jumping time,” where Minho taught Junseo how to perfect his “butt bounce.” You watched them from the kitchen, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
“Minho, that couch was expensive.”
“Yeah, but did you see his airtime? Couches are replaceable, this moment isn’t!” He shot back proudly.
Lunch was popcorn with chocolate drizzle, gummy bears, and a juice box taste test. Dinner? Dino-shaped waffles eaten in a blanket fort lit up with fairy lights.
“I cannot believe you’re encouraging this,” you shook your head as you wiggled inside the fort with them.
Minho was lying flat on his stomach, sipping fruit juice from a neon green twisty straw. “What? I’m just following orders. I’m an employee of Junseo Industries.”
Junseo nods, a dried patch of syrup present on his chin. “You’re fired if you say no!”
Minho gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare.”
The night ended off with a sing-along dance party in the living room, Minho flailing around with a dish towel as a makeshift cape while Junseo’s half laughing and screaming as he tries to copy his dad’s questionable dance moves. You just stood there watching everything unfold, in utter disbelief that this was the man you married.
Later, after Junseo passed out mid-sentence on the couch, Minho gently scoops him up and and tucked him in for bed, brushing flyaway strands from his forehead with the most endearing look in his eyes.
He returned to your shared bedroom and he whispered, “he said it was the best day of his life.”
You sigh softly, leaning into him. “He’s not the only one.”
When Minho wrapped his arms around you, still in pajamas and smelling faintly of maple syrup, you realized something very true.
Your husband might be a child in disguise… but he was all yours— and the best dad in the entire world.
창빈/CHANGBIN.
“Welcome to the Nari Salon!” Your daughter announced with both hands in the air, a pink plastic makeup case clutched under one arm and a sparkly sticker decorating her forehead. “Today’s special is princess makeover. Only brave daddies allowed.”
Changbin’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a nervous smile, glancing over at you for backup. You were curled up on the couch with your phone, already recording.
“Why only daddies?” He wonders, trying not to laugh.
“Because mommies already have pretty faces,” Nari replied with absolute conviction, opening her case like she was real makeup artist. “You have no sparkle.”
“Ouch,” Changbin pouts, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Roasted by my own child.”
Nari didn’t flinch. “Sit still, Appa. This might tickle.”
The next fifteen minutes was pure chaos.
Glitter eyeshadow ended up on Changbin’s eyebrows. Blush was aggressively swirled onto his forehead. Lip gloss was applied… to his teeth? Then at some point, a butterfly sticker was slapped onto the middle of his nose like a finishing touch.
“You’re doing amazing, baby,” you cooed, trying not to cry from laughter, “he’s never looked better.”
“I know,” Nari boasts with the utmost pride, stepping back to look with her hands on her hips. “He’s a glittery king!”
Changbin struck a pose, face glowing brighter than a disco ball. “How do I look?”
“Fabulous,” you said, barely holding it together. “Like someone who’s never getting that lip gloss off his eyelids.”
She climbed into his lap and cupped his cheeks, smushing his glittery face between her tiny hands. “Appa, you’re sooooooo beautiful.”
Hearing that made Changbin instantly melt into a puddle. His arms wrapped around her smaller form, expression softening beneath the rainbow mess on his face. “You made me beautiful, Nari. Only you could.”
“You’re welcome,” she giggles, humming to herself as she opens the bottle of nail polish.
Before she could start painting his knuckles purple, he looked up at you with sparkling eyes— part glitter, part happy tears. “She really said I had no sparkle.”
“She fixed you, honey,” you teased, grinning.
“Thank God for the Nari Salon,” he praised once again, pulling her in for another bear hug while she squealed with joy.
By this point, you were smiling like an idiot. Watching the two of them— your fierce little girl and your big, soft husband, covered in sparkles and love, it was almost too much for your heart to handle.
This was your life now. Glittery, loud, messy, but you wouldn’t change a single thing.
현진/HYUNJIN.
“Appa,” Seola says loudly between bites of Cheeto puffs, “I wan’ it to sparkle a lot. Like, super sparkle.”
Hyunjin, sleeves rolled up and brows furrowed in pure concentration, didn’t even look up. “I got you, princess. This castle is gonna outshine the sun.”
You peep your head around the corner from the kitchen, suppressing a laugh. The dining table was littered with various sheets of colored paper, glue sticks, markers, pom-poms, and without a doubt, looked like a glitter war zone. Your daughter who’s in first grade now, sat with her little legs swinging aimlessly under the chair, one sock is halfway off, happily munching away as Hyunjin diligently glued yet another swirl of gold glitter onto the cardboard turrets of her art project.
“Babe.. is this her assignment or yours?” You teased.
“She’s the visionary,” he replies without missing a beat, “I’m just the hands.”
“I said the glitter goes on the windows,” Seola chimed in, dramatic as her father, pointing a cheesy finger at the paper castle.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hyunjin responds with a mock salute, tongue slightly poking out as he carefully traced the edges of the cardboard windows with more layers of glue. “I’m just your humble servant.”
You shook your head, smiling so hard you could feel your cheeks starting to hurt. He looked completely ridiculous— dried glue on his hoodie sleeve, glitter dusting his cheekbones like highlight, and yet somehow still managed to look stupidly handsome. Meanwhile, your daughter’s living her best life, alternating between bossing him around like the little diva she is and licking cheese dust off her fingers.
At one point, she dropped her snack, and Hyunjin immediately reached for it. “I’ll get it, baby. Don’t touch your masterpiece with chip hands.”
“I wasn’t gonna!” She huffed, even though she most definitely was.
They bickered sweetly for another twenty minutes while you watched, heart swelling with something too warm to name. Every once in a while, Hyunjin would sneak a glance at you, eyes crinkling like he couldn’t believe this was real life— married to his best friend, helping his daughter craft the shiniest art project in the class.
When the glue was finally drying, Seola yawned and leaned against Hyunjin’s side, a glittered pom-pom still stuck to her hand.
“Appa, I love you.”
Hyunjin almost cried, kissing the crown of her head and holding her close. “I love you more, my little artist.”
You walked over and wrapped your arms around both of them, resting your chin on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “If her teacher gives her anything less than an A, I’m emailing the school.”
Hyunjin chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ll bedazzle the email.”
한/HAN.
“Okay, but hear me out,” Jisung was holding up the Lego Medieval Castle like it was his firstborn. “What if we need this one because it has a working drawbridge?”
You quirked a brow, folding your arms over your chest as you survey the overflowing shopping cart that’s filled to the brim with Lego sets— dinosaurs, spaceships, a sushi restaurant, two different Star Wars builds, and a suspiciously tiny Minecraft keychain your five-year-old son, Taemu, was cluthing onto since you’ve got here.
“Babe, that’s literally the fifth set you’ve added in the last ten minutes.”
“It’s not for me,” he rebuttals, blinking innocently. “It’s for our son. Right, Taemu?”
Taemu nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Mommy! I need the dragon and the pizza truck!”
You squinted. “Since when do dragons eat pizza..?”
“Since now,” Jisung said confidently. “Plus, look! This one comes with a guy who has tiny armor. Tiny. Armor.”
You swap looks between the two of them, your son beaming up at you with big doe eyes and your fully grown husband doing the same, holding up the box of Lego ninjas like his life wouldn’t be complete without it.
“Please, Mommy,” they both say in unison. Jisung even adding a little pout.
You sighed out dramatically. “You two are the worst.”
“But the cutest,” Jisung grinned, kissing your cheek.
“Ugh, fine,” you muttered, tossing it into the cart. “But if I step on even one of these bricks at home, I’m throwing them all into the ocean.”
Taemu gasped. “Not the ocean! That’s where sharkies live!”
Jisung leaned down to whisper, “Don’t worry, bud. We’ll build a submarine next time.”
As you made your way to the checkout, the two of them started excitedly whispering about their build order, as if they’re discussing some kind of war strategy.
“Okay, so we do the dragon first, obviously,” Jisung suggests, nudging Taemu.
“But then the spaceship after. ‘Cause we need to fly away if the dragon gets mad,” Taemu added seriously.
You just went along with it in silence, heart ridiculously full.
Back at the car, Jisung helped load the trunk, humming a made-up Lego anthem while Taemu echoed every lyric in the backseat.
“Y’know,” you said, watching them with quiet affection, “I think you might be more excited than he is.”
Jisung makes his way over to you, caging his arm around your waist. “I just never grew out of the Lego phase, but luckily enough for me, I married someone who still loves me anyway.”
You leaned into his hold, laughing softly. “Yeah, yeah. I married two children.”
As you drove home with a trunk full of bricks and a car full of joy, you kept replaying it all your head— even through all the goofy smiles, an unreasonable amount of money spent, and more Legos than shelf space, this was exactly the kind of life you’d always dreamt of.
필릭스/FELIX.
The kitchen smelled like vanilla, flour dust lingered in the air, and there was already an ungodly amount of sugar coating the floor. Your daughter, Minji, stood on her little step-stool in a pastel pink apron that had “Mommy’s Little Baker” engraved on the front, sleeves bunched up, hair in uneven pigtails that Felix had proudly done himself. A smear of cinnamon clung to her cheek as a badge of honor.
“Okay, now we roll it gently,” you remind, guiding her small hands over the dough.
“I am being gentle,” Minji declared, dramatically squishing her palms into the dough with utmost concentration.
Felix snorted behind you, leaning against the marble countertop with streaks of flour across his black t-shirt. “Gentle like a baby elephant,” he teased.
Minji looks back, affronted. “Appa, ‘m not an elephant! ‘m a chef!”
“Yes, Chef Minji,” he said with a bow, laughing as he kissed the top of her head. “The most powerful cinnamon roll maker in the whole universe.”
“And Mommy is the assistant,” she added seriously, pointing at you with a cinnamon-covered finger.
“Oh, excuse me,” you giggled, saluting her. “I live to serve.”
The three of you moved in messy harmony— Felix sneaking pinches of brown sugar into his mouth, Minji narrating every step like she was filming her own little cooking show, and you trying (and failing) to keep everything somewhat tidy. Somewhere between spreading the butter and sprinkling the cinnamon sugar, Felix laced his arm around your waist, pulling you close and whispering, “still can’t believe I got to marry you.”
Your lips curve upward, feeling your face heat up. “You say that everytime we bake.”
He embeds a kiss to your temple. “Because everytime, it hits me again. Like, boom. You’re really my wife and we created the most beautiful family together.”
“Appaaaaa,” Minji groaned dramatically, scrunching her nose. “No kissy stuff while we’re cooking!”
Felix just grinned. “You’ll understand one day.”
They both looked at you with matching eyes; bright, golden, and full of the same affection that all started when you were sixteen and scribbling hearts on each other’s notebooks. It was the kind of joy that hadn’t dimmed since graduation day, when you two got married at the courthouse with nothing but dreams and cheap rings.
You watched as Minji proudly rolled up the dough, lopsided and chaotic, but beautiful, and placed it on the tray with such care.
“Do you think this one will taste like love?” She asks, peeking up at you with cinnamon-sticky fingers.
Felix ruffled her hair, smiling so wide his dimples made in appearance. “Sweetheart, with you in the kitchen? It already does.”
And just like that, your heart’s already melting faster than the frosting you were about to drizzle.
승민/SEUNGMIN.
The sun had barely risen, but Seungmin’s already pacing the living room in his Team Tigers dad cap, holding your son’s tiny glove as if it was made of gold.
“Do you think I should bring the big camera and my phone?” He debates, squinting at both intensely like he was holding a press conference and not going to a T-ball game full of six-year-olds who still ran to third base by accident.
You sipped your coffee, watching your husband buzz around like a fly, being the world’s most enthusiastic sports dad that he is. “Babe, you’re not shooting a documentary. He’s going to hit a foam ball with a plastic bat.”
Seungmin looked at you offended. “Excuse you. This is Tigers vs. Bulldogs. Game of the century.”
Your son, Sunwoo, walked in with his oversized jersey practically drowning him with mismatched socks peeking out of his cleats. “Appa, can I bring my lucky froggy?” He asked, holding the lime green plush for dear life.
“Absolutely,” Seungmin nodded seriously. “Every MVP needs a mascot.”
By the time you stepped onto the field, Seungmin had already introduced himself to the coach, made friends with two other dads, and claimed a spot along the fence with the best view. He pulled his phone out, ready to record like it’s opening day at a major league stadium.
“There he is! That’s my boy!” He shouts excitedly, zooming in as Sunwoo adjusted his cap and ran to the outfield with a tiny determined pout.
When Sunwoo missed a catch and accidentally bonked another player with his glove, Seungmin winced. “That’s okay, buddy! Nice effort! So proud of you!”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re acting like he just pitched a no-hitter.”
“He will, one day,” Seungmin voiced confidently. “Mark my words.”
When Sunwoo finally made contact with the ball, which was more of a thud than a hit, sending it rolling about five feet— Seungmin leapt to his feet like your son had just hit a grand slam.
“YES, SUNWOO! GO, GO, GO, RUN LIKE THE WIND, BUDDY!”
The other parents chuckled as your son sprinted to first base, grinning so hard his helmet slid halfway down his face. You watched Seungmin film it all, eyes shining, narrating like a proud coach.
After the game, Sunwoo ran into his arms, sweaty and smiling. “Did you see me, Appa?! I hit it!”
“I saw everything,” Seungmin beamed, crouching down to Sunwoo’s level. “I got it all on video. You’re a legend.”
You also snapped a photo of them, Sunwoo in his muddy cleats, Seungmin still in full proud dad mode, holding the phone up high with the evidence to prove it.
Right then and there, just watching them both glow under the sunlight, you knew this, exactly this, is what love is supposed to look like.
아이엔/JEONGIN.
“Appa,” your son whispered, tugging on Jeongin’s sleeve and pointing toward the crowded game booth, “I need that Snorlax.”
Jeongin followed his gaze to the oversized plush, which was nearly the size of your son himself— lounging behind a wall of neon prizes, looking as unbothered as ever. “Snorlax, huh?” He confirms, cracking his knuckles. “Say no more.”
You raised a brow. “You don’t even know how to play that game.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jeongin replied, already marching over with unbridled confidence. “For our son, I’m a man of many talents.”
You stayed back with your giggling boy, watching your husband take aim with a beanbag and dramatically miss by about two feet.
“So close!” You called out, choking on a laugh.
“That was a warm-up throw!” Jeongin shouted, waving his arms.
Four failed attempts and two near misses later, the booth worker took pity and decided to give him an extra turn. Jeongin narrowed his eyes, summoning all his dramatic flair that lead up for this moment and by some miracle, knocked the last can clean over.
He turned to your son with wide eyes. “Did you see that?!”
“I SAW IT!” Hajoon screamed, jumping up and down, flaring with excitement.
Moments later, Jeongin was parading back with a triumphant grin and an enormous Snorlax draped across his shoulders. “Mission complete.”
“You look like Snorlax’s Uber,” you teased.
He puffed out his chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Afterward, you spent hours wandering around the park, riding kiddie coasters, playing games, and sharing snacks. Jeongin disappeared to “go get water” and came back suspiciously sticky-lipped and a little more upbeat than usual.
Unbeknownst to you, he’d eaten three sticks of cotton candy behind the funnel cake stand.
By the time you buckled everyone into the car, Hajoon’s already dozing off with Snorlax in his lap, Jeongin was absentmindedly tapping his fingers to a silent beat and softly humming what sounded like the theme song from Pokémon— for the third time.
You gave him a little side-eye. “You good?”
“I’m great!” He assured, sounding way too enthusiastic. “Did you know cotton candy is just, like, magic? Sugar magic? I feel like I could fly home!”
“…How much did you eat?”
He looked out the window. “That’s not important.”
On the drive home, he pointed out every billboard, sang along to every dumb commercial jingle, and randomly turned around to whisper “Snorlax is watching you” to your sleeping son.
You were somewhere between exhausted and in love.
Later that night, when your sugar-crashed husband snored softly next to you, arm wrapped loosely around both you and Hajoon with Snorlax wedged somewhere at your feet, you smiled to yourself.
Even through all the chaos, sugar highs, and loudness.
It truly was the perfect day.
it’s literally 3 am and i wanna cry rn, i’m actually so sleepy and i feel like i can never finish ANYTHING at a reasonable hour but i’m happy to be finally done w this 😖💗
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byfawn · 2 days ago
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a kitten hybrid is rescued from a lab by a dangerous man who decides he’s gonna adopt her.
the lab was cold. you were curled up in the corner of your cage, knees pressed to your chest, tail wrapped tightly around yourself for whatever warmth it could provide. the others were gone—taken away one by one, never returning. you were the last one. the only one left.
then the door burst open.
gunfire. shouting. the sharp scent of blood filled the air, and you flinched, pressing yourself further into the corner. you didn’t know who these men were, but they weren’t the scientists. they were bigger. louder. more dangerous. your ears flattened against your head, trembling as heavy footsteps approached your cage.
then him.
tall, broad, and a skull mask covering his face, but his eyes were sharp, focused. he stopped in front of your cage, tilting his head slightly as he took you in. you whimpered, shrinking back, tail puffing up in fear.
“fuck,” he muttered, voice rough.
you didn’t understand. were you next? were they going to take you too? your breath hitched, eyes wide and pleading. you didn’t want to disappear like the others.
something in his expression shifted. his gloved hand reached for the lock on your cage, snapping it open with ease. you flinched, pressing yourself as far back as possible, but he didn’t grab you. instead, he shrugged off his jacket, holding it out to you like an offering.
“c’mere, sweetie,” he said, voice lower now, almost gentle.
you hesitated. but the warmth of the jacket was tempting, and the way he looked at you—not like an experiment, not like something to be discarded—made something in your chest ache. slowly, you reached out, letting him bundle you up in the fabric before lifting you effortlessly into his arms.
you expected him to hand you off to someone else. to leave you behind. but he didn’t. he held you close, one large hand cradling the back of your head as he carried you out of that hellhole like you were something precious.
you didn’t know where he was taking you. but for the first time in a long time, you felt safe. you nuzzled into his chest, ears twitching at the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and let out a quiet, trembling purr.
the first few days were strange. you didn’t know how to act, how to be. the world outside the cage was too big, too open, and sometimes you found yourself crawling under the bed or curling up in the closet just to feel the walls around you again. simon never forced you out—just left the door cracked, his voice low and patient when he called for you.
"there you are, kitten. c’mon, got food for you."
you’d peek out, ears twitching at the smell of something warm and rich. he’d set a bowl on the floor at first, understanding that you weren’t used to chairs or tables. you ate like you were scared it’d be taken away, hunched over, tail flicking nervously. simon would sit nearby, pretending not to watch, but you could feel his eyes on you.
it took a week before you let him touch you without flinching.
his hands were always careful, always slow. he’d stroke between your ears, fingers scratching gently at the base where it made your whole body melt. you’d press into his palm, purring so loud it echoed in the quiet of the house.
"good girl," he’d murmur, and your heart would stutter in your chest.
nights were the hardest. the dark brought memories—cold metal, screaming, the sting of needles. you’d wake up gasping, claws digging into the sheets. but simon was always there before the panic could fully take hold.
"i’ve got you," he’d growl, pulling you against his chest. his heartbeat was steady under your ear, his arms a fortress around you. "no one’s ever gonna lock you up again."
you believed him.
slowly, you started to trust the world outside of him. the couch became yours, the blankets he draped over you always smelling like him. you’d knead at them absently, your claws catching in the fabric as you curled up in the patch of sunlight through the window.
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telephoniii · 1 day ago
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Tying a ribbon around Leona's bicep
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He stared at you with sharp, narrowed eyes. If you didn't know him so well, you might've melted under his gaze. This went on for a few more minutes before Leona let out as scoff, sitting up from where he laid. "Where'd that idea come from?"
You shrugged, scissors and a roll of pink ribbon in your hands.
"Watching you at Spelldrive practice?"
Leona let out a small chuckle at your answer, amusement clear in his gaze. He crossed his arms with a lazy grin. "And what do I get out of this?"
You should've expected the question given the fact that you go to NRC. Everyone here is always looking to get something for themselves. Nonetheless, the question still made you groan.
"My love and affection?" "Already got that, herbivore."
There wasn't much that you could offer that Leona didn't already have. With a disappointed sigh, you stand up and get ready to give up. Before you could walk away, Leona swiftly wraps his tail around your ankle.
"Hold it."
You pause at his command, shooting him a confused glance. His grin widens.
"Sit. I'll let you do it."
A small huff of resistance leaves your lips before you sit down. "So demanding..." You mumbled, causing Leona to raise a brow. "You wanna do it or not?" That caused you to rapidly nod your head, scooting closer to the beastman. He let out a laugh.
Leona stuck out his arm in front of your face before flexing. "Then get to tying."
And you did. Sitting up straighter, you grab the scissors and ribbon.
With how lazy he was, it was easy to forget just how strong he was. His bicep felt as hard as a rock, unmoving as he kept it flexed with ease. You ran your hands over the muscle, putting the ribbon over it. The pink color of the ribbon contrasted with the black ink that painted part of Leona's arm.
"You're really taking your time with this, huh?"
The familiar voice snapped you out of your daze. You blink up at him, a smile soon making its way onto your face. "Yep. Gotta milk the moment."
Leona shook his head with a smirk, entertained by your comment. "Go ahead. I'm not stopping you. Touch as much as your needy little heart desires."
A part of you hated how smug he sounded. A louder part of you loved it.
Measuring the ribbon, you soon cut it and began tying the bow. As you worked, you kept sneaking small glances at Leona. Of course, he caught on to you doing this but decided not to comment. Soon enough, you broke the silence yourself. "So... What're you trying to get by letting me do this?"
"Your love and affection." "You've already got that, dork."
He laughed, rolling his eyes. His tail moved to wrap around your thigh. "You'll find out once you're done."
The vague comment was irritating, but you were used to not getting direct answers out of him. That damn tease.
Soon enough, the ribbon was done. The small bow laid pretty against him arm. Leona stuck out his arm, observing your handiwork.
"Cute." He murmured. You nodded in agreement.
Leona flexed again, the ribbon straining on his bicep. Before you could stop yourself, you impulsively leaned forward and kissed the ribbon.
The beastman felt his heart flutter at your action but made an effort not to show it. The only signal was the small flicker of his ear.
"Alright, you've had your fun."
Suddenly, he flexed his arm harder. So hard that the ribbon snapped. Your eyes widened as a small whine escaped your throat. "Leona! All my hard work!"
He grabbed the now broken ribbon with a scoff. "Quit complaining. It's my turn."
Leona dragged you closer with his tail. His hands soon when to your thighs, measuring the size with the ribbon. The action caught you off guard. "Wait, are you gonna—?"
You were cut off by Leona swiftly cutting a new piece of ribbon from the roll, wrapping it around your thigh tightly. It wasn't tight enough to hurt of course, but it was tight.
His hands were gentle as they worked, lingering for a few moments. Although you wouldn't admit it, his bow was definitely more neat than yours.
Leona pulled away once he finished, taking in the sight. His eyes held absolute adoration as he stared at the ribbon he tied around your thigh. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the skin.
"I hate to say it, but you wear it better than me, herbivore."
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messylxve · 20 hours ago
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MEETING SUPERMAN──SUPERMAN!
2025!superman x reader 2.1k fluff
!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!
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Maybe today was just the worst day of your life. It started awfully when you realized you left your balcony door open, letting in so much rain water that your fresh laundry was now soaked. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you slept through every single one of your alarms, making you more than late for your opening shift. 
You might’ve left with two left shoes had they not already been left by the door. 
“You’re late,” your boss grunted when you finally came in, quick to pick up the coffee order he was working on. “I had to open for you.” 
Ring ring ring. You see a lady at the counter, impatiently slamming her finger down over the bell for your attention. “Excuse me, I’m ready to order.” 
“Just a minute ma’am.” You plastered a smile on your face as you walked by her, following your boss as he began to gather his own things to leave. 
“I know I’m late,” you sighed. “I slept through my alarm and I accidentally left my bal–,” 
“I didn’t ask for excuses,” he interrupted. “You’re late, it goes on record. If it happens again I will fire you.” 
With that, he pushed past you, ignoring you as you followed sharply on his tail. 
Ring ring ring. “Excuse me! Ma’am! I said I’m ready to order!” 
“Just a minute ma’am, please!” You look to see your boss, nearing the Employee’s Only door, ready to flee. 
“Respectfully sir, I’ve shown up every single day I’ve been scheduled and more. I’m here, on time, every day and I’ve had no complaints from any customer. Is there any way you can give me a pass, just this one time?” 
When he finally stopped, you were rather met with the man’s stone face and a finger being pointed in your face. “You’re not special. You are not immune to the rules. If I need to replace you today, I will. If I need to replace you right this second, I will. See that I don’t have to and do. Your. Job.” 
With a final scathing glare, he grasped the door and slammed it shut, violently enough that the window of the door seemed to shake under the force; leaving you alone with the same woman ringing the bell incessantly. 
“Hello! It’s like I’m not even here,” she snarked when you finally met her at the counter, acting as if you weren’t on the verge of tears right in front of her. 
“I apologize for the wait ma’am ho–,” 
“I hope you’re not expecting some tip after this horrible service. This generation doesn’t know the first thing about treating a customer right.” 
On any other day, you might’ve found a way to ease the woman, offer a discount or crack a joke at your own expense, but instead, you plastered a thin smile on your lips. 
“Of course not ma’am, how may I help you?” 
At this point, you had decided it couldn’t possibly be any worse of a day, so you pushed on and let it move past you, flashing each customer the same smile and infuriatingly friendly ‘customer service’ voice. Maybe the universe would grant you some semblance of mercy. 
Ring ring ring
On goes the smile. 
“What can I do for you today, sir?” 
“All the money in the bag.” 
You froze, all color in your face draining as you looked up at the man. He couldn’t have been much taller than you, dressed in all black and a ski mask. From his hoodie pocket you could see the imprint of his hand gripping his weapon, finger wrapped around the trigger, prepared. 
“Don’t scream, just empty the register. Now.”
Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to recall anything on what to do if the store was to be robbed. 
You couldn’t remember a single detail. 
All you could remember was the one thing that would likely get you shot on the spot. “I can–I can’t.” 
Your hands trembled and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes as the man grew visibly angrier. 
“The fuck do you mean you can’t,” he hissed, grabbing the unwanted attention of some of the nearby customers. “Take the money out the damn register and give it to me!” 
“I can’t open the register without a key.” 
He grit his teeth angrily. “Where’s the key?” 
“In the–in the back.” 
You watched as the gears in his head churned, rationalizing his next few decisions. 
That is if a rational decision to him meant sending the mass of customers into a frantic chaos. 
With a grand show and display, he whipped out the gun, firing a warning shot into the air. But before anyone was quick enough to move from his path, he grabbed hold of a woman, pressing the gun into her side. 
“Get the key. Unlock the drawer and give me the money. Every minute you’re back there is another bullet.” 
You nodded your head frantically, practically tripping on your feet as you rushed into the back. Every second felt agonizing as your brain screamed at you how short a minute really was. 
On any other day in any other circumstances, you wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the mess you were making, but it didn’t matter. Every inch of the place was flipped over until you finally got your hands on the tiny metal key. 
BANG
You jumped at the sound of the first gunshot, dropping the key on the ground. 
“Five seconds left,” you heard him scream. “The next one’s going through her!” 
In a trembling panic, you fumbled to pick up the key. 
Like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, your heart slammed violently against your chest as you shoved yourself through the doors, hands in the air. 
“I have it! I have it!” 
The man looked deranged as he shakily pointed the gun back at you. 
“Don’t shoot,” you attempted to reason, stepping closer to the register—and by proxy, him. “I’m unlocking the drawer and we can all move on like nothing happened.” 
You opened the register quick, the soft chime of coins being pushed around and the drawer sliding open feeling louder than ever. Your fingers trembled uncontrollably as you went for the big bills first. 
He kept the gun on you, his hold on the woman only tightening as his eyes twitched, flickering between you and the door, the windows, the street. 
Then you heard the wailing sirens. Quiet at first, maybe a couple blocks away, but they grew louder, nearing closer. 
The man stiffened, his eyes narrowing in on you. 
“Did you call them?” His voice, somehow just as threatening, was just a whisper to the thickly tense air. 
You shook your head. “I–I didn’t, someone outsi–,” 
Red and blue flooded into the cafe, painting all the fear on your face as you stared down the barrel of his gun. 
It all moved in slow motion, the noise reaching your ears before everything else caught up to you. BANG!
You saw his finger lay down on the trigger. You saw the anger on his face as his impulses took over. You felt the fear of death drown you in and overwhelm you. But you never felt the bullet. 
One minute your eyes were clamped shut, prepared for the painful impact. The next minute, your eyes peeled open to see a man. Tall, fearless, and dressed in red, blue and yellow. Like something out of a comic book. 
“Don’t worry,” he reassured, his voice deep yet comforting. “You’re safe.” 
In a blink the man was replaced with a large gust of wind, lifting your hair in a wild mess with you. 
When you looked back to the gunman, his hands were behind his back, bound by the man in blue. “No need to fear,” he assured the room, pushing the man towards the exit. “He’ll be in the hands of the police now.” 
Somewhere between then and him turning the man over to the cops, the room burst into applause, praising the mystery man in a cape. But you were completely and utterly stilled, watching as the man spoke with the policemen. 
“No ulterior motives, no prizes,” he explained to the officers. “All I want is truth, justice, and a better tomorrow.” 
You watched as he cut you one last look before disappearing into the sky. 
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“All I’m saying dear is if you had a more stable job, an office job, none of this would’ve happened. You certainly wouldn’t have to worry about looking silly on TV.” 
Night came quick and all you wanted to do was collapse into your bed and forget everything that happened. Instead you were reaching into the second hour of a long extended phone call with your mother as you considered the height below you from your balcony railing
“Mom,” you groaned into the phone. “I’m not having this talk with you again.” 
“We’re not having a talk,” she exclaimed in a tone that suggested the two of you were definitely having the talk. “I just think if you went for something more practical like med school, not study how to write for 4 years.” 
“An English Writing degree is practical mom.” 
“Sure,” she hummed. “For a teacher. I don’t see you applying for any teaching jobs anytime soon. All of your time is spent on that silly blog that no one’s reading anymore. Your brother says you’re running out of material.” 
You sighed, hanging your head over the balcony. “I should turn in for the night. Goodbye mom.” 
You could practically hear her shaking her head at you disappointingly. “Good night dear.” 
With a final click, you shoved your phone in your pocket. Somehow, your headache only worsened since you left work. Because of course it wasn’t the cops interviewing you or being robbed or being held at gunpoint that stressed you out the most, but your mother questioning your life choices. 
You groaned loudly, borderlining a scream if it wasn’t for your neighbors as you ran your hands across your tired face. 
“Long day?” 
You gasped, stumbling back and falling onto the ground below you at the sudden sight of the red caped man hovering in front of you. 
“It’s you,” you squeezed out, crawling backwards in shock as he landed softly on your balcony. 
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” 
You watched as he held out a hand for you, towering above you. 
This couldn’t be real. You had to be hallucinating. 
“It’s…okay,” you mumbled. You hesitated, scanning his hand as if he’d magically reveal something from it. To your surprise, it was soft, gentle, not what you were expecting from such a grandiose man. 
With little to no effort, he pulled you up to your feet, allowing you to catch yourself on his arm when you stumbled forward. 
“I never got to see if you were okay after today. Imagine to my surprise I see you on your balcony when I fly by.” 
“Fate, perhaps,” you breathed, a part of you still stunned and amazed by the marvel of this man in front of you. “I’m sorry for asking but, who are you?” 
He tilted his head off to the side, measuring his words. “A humble protector of my city. Nothing more.” 
You nodded slowly, taking in his words. “No title, or superhero name? You’ve already got the cape.” 
He smiled. And not a half smile or forced, plastered on smile, but a bright shining smile that only made sense for a man like him. “I haven’t given it much thought. I suppose the people will name me on their own.” 
He was genuine. Something in you could just tell. 
“One more question,” you blurted. 
He lifted his eyebrows, curiosity piquing his interest. 
“Why?” 
You watched as his brows furrowed back down, not quite understanding your question. “Why?” 
“I mean, the world has had its fair share of magically powered people. Not many of them have wanted to do what you’re doing…Why are you doing it?” 
You watched him, studied him as he conjured up some semblance of an answer. “Because I want to see a better tomorrow. And unlike most, I actually have the power to change it. So why not use it?” 
Once again you found yourself nodding slowly, entranced in his every single word, striking you right to the heart. “I for one can’t wait to see it then.” 
The man only smiled, taking his few steps back. “You stay safe.” 
In a gust of wind he was gone, his blue and red losing itself into the night sky. And you watched and waited until his presence faded. 
With an excited grin, you practically threw yourself to your computer, opening the 'silly little blog' your mom couldn’t help but shoot jabs at.
 You thought back to the man, everything you remember about him. Something about his presence just screamed super. Super grand, super humble, super charming. Super handsome. But most of all, a superhero. A real one. 
TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND A BETTER TOMORROW
It was a seemingly normal day at work when a man named Superman saved my life. 
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sluttyenthusiast · 3 days ago
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More on my childhood best friends to college with Chance and Parker 😄
You and Parker were upset that Chance was going to a different college, but still happy for him
You joked (totally) that you'd miss seeing the "handsome hunk" everyday and Parker agreed
You and Parker became closer than ever, but what else would you expect when going to the same college as your best friend
You both had a copy of each other's dorm room key but Parker had steered you clear of his because the last time you came over his dorm mates stared at you like a lamb in a pen of wolves
Parker came over to your dorm quite often, and you were lucky enough to have a room to yourself (your roommate had dropped) so Parker often spent the nights there
Parker's favorite activity was when there was a party you were invited too, of course you were invited you're beautiful and kind, and you always extended the invitation to Parker, telling him he was you "bodyguard"
He didn't like the party per say but rather the "pre gaming" which involved you changing outfits at least twice and Parker telling you that you look hot in whatever, you would then play music as you pulled some cheap alcohol from your mini fridge to share with him
Once you were at the party tho, Parker was already pulling a joint from his front pocket (I just know he smokes weed) not caring about lighting up in some shitty frat house
So many people would swarm you, excited to see you there but you never left Parker's side, and the smile never left his face
One night, on the way back to your dorm, Parker was a little high, but still grasping what's going on around him as you began talking
"I don't get how you're still single"
He paused in his tracks, dropping his arms from his shoulder, furrowing a brow
"I mean, you're attractive and smart and so nerdy it's hot, I would fu-" Your hand instantly covers your mouth and he begins to laugh
"No, what was that you were saying" A smile graced his lips as he teased you, you scoffed, grabbing his hand to take him back to the dorm
"I didn't say anything, you're high and imagining this whole thing"
He pulled you into his side as you walked
"So what is it, is your type nerdy hot men" He laughs, watching as you stumble to answer
Oh my god.
"You wanna fuck me." He laughed again as you rolled your eyes
"Don't get so cocky"
"So if i'm your type, then i'm gonna assume our Chancey boy is too" he nudged your shoulder with a wink
"Shut up, Parker"
"You totally wanna fuck us, you want an Parker and Chance sandwich" He made a kissy face at you as you opened the door to the dorm building
"I can't speak for Chance (he can though) but I wanna fuck you"
It took everything in you to not tear his clothes off in the elevator
Your steps becoming rapid as you try to quickly approach your door, Parker hot on your tail
Once you were in the safety of your dorm you were on him in an instant, pushing him back onto your bed, your lips on any exposed skin you could find
He pulled your face into his, teeth clashing as he kissed you, spit rolling down your chin
Clothes were off in an instant as you straddled him, riding him feverishly until you both were blubbering messes
That became your new normal, if you could call it that, and that is what Chance walked in on that day he planned to visit
Neither of you were ashamed, he didn't know where to look
He felt his dick twitch in his pants as you continued riding Parker, both unashamedly naked
Your eyes lit up as you saw him
"Chance!"
Your motions had stopped, but still not departing from Parker
Parker sat up at that, holding you close to him
"Hey bud!"
Fuck, he was gonna cum, how could you act like this was normal
Parker had let go of you as you climbed off your bed, throwing on a shirt and shorts as quickly as you could so you could hug him
Chance was hoping you'd forget and press your naked body to his
"Sorry about that" Parker pulled his boxers up, patting his shoulder as he nudged him
"Things have changed a bit" You had gleamed up at him
You could say that
Parker pulled you both into a hug as he laughed
"Just hot casual sex" Parker had winked at him
Chance was so out of the loop
"I'm so glad you're here we've missed our best friend" He was trying not to cum while looking at your perfect post sex face and hair
You had hugged him again and Parker wiggled his eyebrows at Chance, making eye contact with his boner as it pressed against your thigh
"I-it's good to see yall," his voice was raspier than he meant it to be
"You two catch up, i'm gonna go shower off" You smiled at them both as you grabbed a towel, closing the door behind you
Neither of them moved until the heard the shower turn on
Chance had so many questions
"How did this happen?" "What is this?" "Are you two still friends?"
Parker laughed sitting on your desk
"She said she had a type for hot nerdy guys" He wiggled his eyebrows at Chance again
Oh. Oh.
"Like she said, just hot casual sex, and yes we're still best buds, y'all are my only friends"
Chance got quiet as Parker sat back
"You know she said she'd fuck you"
Chance whipped his head to Parker, a blush covering his cheeks
"What?!" Fuck, he was gonna burst
He ran a hand through his hair as Parker laughed at him
"She told me once she wants both of us at once, but that's up to you"
The pair got quiet as they heard the water turn of, Chance sat in your desk chair, pulling one of your throw pillows on his lap as Parker teased him
You entered the room in just a towel, staring at the pair with a smile
"Miss me?" You blew a kiss as obnoxiously as you could
"When don't we babe,"
You furrowed your brow at Chance, eyes glancing at the pillow in his lap as he forcibly laughed at what Parker said
"Chance, do you want this too?"
You looked at him with sincerity in your eyes
"If we're making you uncomfortable we can stop,"
"No, fuck no, I want this, I want you, both" His words stumbled from his mouth as you and Parker smirked at him
The rest of that night, week even, was a mess of sweaty bodies and tongues
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago
Text
Wanderlust 2
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, kidnap, size difference/kink, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You go travelling to get some world experience but you don’t get the one you’re expecting.
Characters: Nick Fowler, Bucky Barnes (reader in 30s, short!)
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
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You’ve never seen a gun before but you’re pretty sure it’s real. Your eyes round as you stare at Nick’s belt. You gulp and look up meet his gaze. He flicks up the small strap the keeps the firearm secure in its holster. Your legs buckle dangerously. 
“Nick?” You squeak. 
“You heard me,” he rubs the butt of the gun with his thumb, his grip firm. 
He opens the back door and curls his fingers over the top. He leans in and watches you. It’s like you’re moving through sand as you turn and duck your head. You drag yourself across the seat and lean against the opposite door. 
Nick follows you in. He sighs as he snaps shut the door and sniffs. The driver pulls away without a word. 
“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it, sweetie?” Nick tugs on the front of his jacket, the tails covering his gun. “All you gotta do is listen.” 
You clasp your hands together and cower against the interior. You don’t understand. Why is he doing this? 
Your eyes stray through the tinted window and you look out at the clog of traffic. The coming and going of travellers has the pace at stop and go; only inches at a time. It makes you even more anxious. 
“Sweetie...” the touch on your shoulder makes you squeal. Nick latches on and squeezes. “Hey, you gotta listen.” 
You flinch and look at him. You blink and shudder. Your stomach hurts. Really bad. 
You fold over your lap and spasm. His hand slips onto your back and he sidles closer. He rubs between our shoulder blades. 
“You don’t wanna mess up my buddy’s car. He won’t be happy,” he warns as his hand trails up to your neck. He grips it firmly as he bends beside you. “No reason to be dramatic.” 
“What...” you quaver through the salty saliva flooding your mouth. “Why...” 
“Sit up, sweetie, and we’ll talk.” 
You groan and shakily rub your cheek, trying to calm yourself. He hooks his other hand around your upper arm. He pulls you up as his fingers pinch into your neck. You tremour as you force the breath from your aching lungs. 
You lean back against the seat, paralysed with fear. Your lip quivers as your eyes gloss up.  
“What did I do?” You sniffle. 
“To start, you lied, and not very well.” He scoffs. “You shouldn’t travel alone. It's dangerous.” 
He lets you go but just a soon, his hands are crawling over your torso and thighs. You yelp and swat at him. “What are you doing?” 
“Give me your phone.” 
“What?” 
“Now,” he growls. 
You gape at him. The contrast of his cool tone on the plane and his current icy demands is dumbfounding. You are so stupid. Why did you talk so much? You should have put your earbuds in and minded your business. 
“It’s...” you reach into you jacket pocket. Your hand is stuck. You can’t untangle it. Your body won’t listen to your mind. 
He yanks your hand out and your phone falls onto the seat. He swipes it up. He feels beneath his jacket and takes something out. A small square about the exact size of a USB-C input. He jams it into your phone. 
“Wait--” you reach for it. “What--” 
“You keep asking questions, and I’ll let my buddy up front answer,” Nick growls. “And he’s not much of a talker.” 
You wince and recoil, folding your arms around you. You stare at him, helpless. You want to ask where? Why? Who? You teethe your lip and pout. 
“Don’t look at me like that,” he taps at your phone screen. “Too damn tempting.” He doesn’t tear his eyes from the cell. You stare at him. “Get your seatbelt on,” he demands without a glance in your direction. “Sit back and behave.” 
You do as he says. Your muscles hurt with the effort of pushing the belt into the buckle. You once more shrivel against the door. A whimper escapes you. Your stomach is churning painfully. 
You rest your head at the crux of seat and door and shrink into yourself. Weak. That’s what you are. Stupid too. You can only blame yourself. You never thought this could happen to you. It’s too absurd. Kidnap, that’s for movies. 
KIDNAP?! Is that what’s happening? 
Your stomach flips. You spasm as you repress a gag. You shakily push the button of the seat belt as you bring your other hand up. You tug the handle of the door as the car crawls along. 
The belt retracts and you untangle yourself as you lean into the door. It opens two inches as you turn yourself outward. You yipe as you’re wrenched back by your hair and the door snaps shut. 
“Lock the fucking doors,” Nick barks. 
The doors click loudly. You whine and writhe as Nick fists your hair and pulls your back against him. 
“I said behave,” he snarls. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetie, but I will do what needs to be done.” 
“I’m s-sorry,” you rasp. “I... I’m scared.” 
“Why?” He snorts. “If we were going to hurt you, we would.” 
“You... are,” you put your hands on his. 
He shoves you away and you hit the door. He tuts. 
“And who’s fault is that. Listen and everything will be just fine.” He shakes his head and sighs. He picks up your phone from the seat and slides it into his pocket. “Come here.” 
He beckons you across the seat. 
“Why?” 
“Questions,” he grits out. 
You purse your lips and dip your chin down meekly. You drag yourself over the seat. He grabs the top of your jacket and slides his palms down your sleeves. He brings his touch back up and slips his hands under to feel your sides. You wriggle and squeak. 
Nick continues to feel you up. As he gets to your thighs, you twitch. A grunt comes from the front seat. 
“I’m not hurting her,” Nick responds to the noise. “Just drive.” 
A snarl rumbles in return. It’s not words but you sense the tone. He doesn’t like being ordered around. 
Nick undoes the belt bag under your tee shirt, removes the lip chap from your front pocket, and feels a bit too intently along your fly. He sits back and pulls apart the zip-up pouch. Cash and your passport; the rest is in your wallet. 
“You have it. Just let me go,” you plead. 
He shakes his head and crams it all back in the belt. “I got money.” He throws it on the floor. “Christ, this traffic.”��
The man in the front grumbles. He switches lanes. You don’t see much help in that. 
“Let’s be clear, sweetie. Real clear. This isn’t about money, so you can stop bargaining right now. Save yourself the trouble. There’s nothing that’s going to change our minds. You’ve seen our faces, I pulled a gun on you. There’s no going back,” he grins and reaches to brush your cheek with his knuckles.  
A tear burns as it wobbles on the brim of your eye. You blink and it roll out. You sniffle and glance at the front of the car. In the rearview, another gaze meet yours. Deep blue eyes, dark brows... You recognize that man. The one who sat on the other side of you on the plane. Bucky. 
Doom pits in your chest. You shy away from Nick’s touch, your head bobbling, and you grip it as if it might fall off your neck. You turn and curl over your lap. You rock like that as your breath traps in your lungs. 
Once more, Nick spreads his large hand across your back. He drags it up and down. 
“Breathe,” he drawls. “You really don’t want to pass out around this guy. He’s a bit of a... weirdo.” 
You whine and hug your head in your arms. You can’t move. Your ribs and spine ache. Every part of you is locked up in terror. 
Nick chuckles. “Unless you’re into that.” 
🧳
The car stops. Finally. The fear doesn’t. It courses through your veins, thrums behind your ears, and floods your lungs. 
There’s movement around you. You haven’t moved. You can’t. You’re curled up in a ball on the seat. If you stay like that, it’s not real, right? 
The car door opens, then the other. The movement around you, stirs your nerves. Your breath turns shallow again. You hyperventilate into your elbows as you keep them bent in front of your face. 
Hands clamp around your ankles. Your legs are forced straight and you’re dragged across the seat. Your body opens up and you flail, trying to latch onto the seat. Arms scoop under yours and lift you off the leather. 
The two men angle you out of the back of the car, jostling you awkwardly as Bucky climbs out behind you. He kicks the door shut as you swing between them. You try to bend your legs and kick. They're too strong. 
“Doll, relax,” Bucky growls. His voice is a hot surge in your veins. You quiver but go limp. 
Nick snickers. “Good girl.” 
“Don’t get her going,” Bucky warns. 
They carry you toward the brick building. There are more around you, shielding you from civilization. Your head lolls but your eyes are too foggy to take in more than the dingy walls and rusted iron escape. 
They take you through a door and down a long hall to another. Nick folds you up and turns you as Bucky scoops his arm under your knees. He holds you on his own as the other man puts his attention to the lock. 
The door creaks open loudly. You shudder and lean into Bucky without thinking. Nick holds the door as you’re carried forward. You panic and squirm. 
Bucky turns sideways to get you through. He sets his feet straight and descends the stairs. You whine as the panic strangles you. You writhe as he gets to the bottom. You push on his chest and kick your legs, trying to free yourself. 
“No, no, no,” you reach over his shoulder. “No, please.” 
The sight of the cage sticks in your vision. You struggle against Bucky as he continues forward, unbothered by your resistance. He takes you through the open door and puts you on the thin mattress across the metal bed frame. 
You try to jump up and he shoves you back down. He raises a finger and points at you. He wags it. You relent and lay flat. 
He retreats and marches out of the cell. Nick closes it from the other side and they share a look. You deflate stare at the bars above you. You can’t breathe. 
Your chest binds up and you claw at your shirt. You roll onto your side and heave, coughing as you try to force the air free. You suck in air with a shrill wheeze and chuff it out. 
“Count,” Nick appears behind the bars beside the bed. “Sweetie, if you pass out in there, well...” 
You roll back and look at him, tugging at your jacket and shirt as your feet scuff on the mattress. Your eyes round and you grip the bar. You thrash as you fight to get a single breath out. 
“Ten, in.” Nick says as he watches you calmly. “Sweetie, breathe in.” 
You take a breath. 
“Nine, out.” He intones. 
You have to push the breath out. You nearly gag. 
“Eight, in.” 
Another breath out, still burning, still heavy. 
“Seven, out.” 
You blow out and the weight lessens. Just a little. 
“Six, in,” he continues... 
When he reaches one, you are dizzy and still. You lay across the mattress, heart pumping but not deafening. Your breath is even enough not to spiral. Still, your mind is spinning. 
You turn your head away from Nick as he looms.  
Outside the cell, there’s a completely normal looking space. One you can live in. Comfortable. Across from a couch is a television mounted on the wall, there’s a coffee table between those and an armchair to the far side of it. The rug is patterned with spirals and diamonds, the space filled out with decor in stark contrast to the desolation of your cell. 
The cell is small. A bed, a toilet with a curtain hung by it, and that’s it. Only you. Locked up. 
“Things to do...” Bucky growls. 
Nick hums, “Let’s get it done. Flying always takes it outta me.” 
The other man grumbles and you glance over as they head for the door. Neither of them look back. They leave and the door clangs shut behind them. 
You should’ve known better. Nothing bad ever happens when you stay home, so why didn’t you? 
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gothamite-rambler · 2 days ago
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Ficlet: Superman or Batman driving the Batmobile
Superman (in Batman's body) and Batman (in Superman's body) argued back and forth over who should drive the Batmobile while they remained body-swapped, with Robin (Damian) sitting in the car, exhausted.
Batman: You're not getting in my car.
Superman: It’s my car for the time being. You can sit in the front seat.
Batman: I can hit you, and it will hurt! Get in the back with Robin!
Robin (texting on his phone): I'd rather sit back here alone.
Superman (crossing his arms with a smirk): You just admitted I’m stronger than you.
Batman: I— no, I am stronger in your body, obviously. In Superman’s body, I can fight you to my full strength. Because I am Batman! That sounded so weird in this voice!
Superman: You get how stupid it sounds now?
Batman: It’s not stupid, it’s reason, explanation, and cause.
Superman: Let’s see, why is Batman so annoying and confidently incorrect all the time? Because he's Batman. Or should I say, 'Because I’m Batman?'
Batman: No, you can’t! You do not say lies and slander while occupying my body!
Superman (teasing): You’re making my face turn red like a tomato. Calm down, buddy.
Batman stepped away, twitching with anger.
Batman: Why did you have to make the magic man pissed off? Why did I have to be near you when he did the switch?! This the tenth time this has happened to me. I hate being in this body! Why are your hands so clammy?
Superman: That’s not my clammy hands. You just have weirdly dry crocodile hands.
Batman: Lies! That’s it, give me the car keys. You’re walking, and I’m driving back.
Superman took a few steps back, whistling. Robin sighed, peeking his head out the open backseat window.
Robin: Flip a coin, or I’m driving this Batmobile. If you doubt me, I’ll give you an example in the next minute!
Batman and Superman sighed reluctantly, agreeing to flip a coin. Now, they just needed a coin.
Batman: Don’t ask me for a coin, I’m not searching pockets in this stupid costume.
Superman: Do you have any change in your car, Warbucks?
Batman: In the cup holder. I’ll get it, not you.
Superman (rolling his eyes): Oh my goodness, you're such a diva.
Batman cautiously entered the car, pulled out a quarter, and prepared to flip it, until Superman snatched the coin into his now human hands. Batman was taken aback at first, glaring at Superman.
Superman: With newfound strength you're not used to, you’ll probably flip this coin into space and take out a satellite.
Batman: Sure, sure, but you snatching the coin away effortlessly without your supposed super strength proved my body is that awesome and astounding.
Superman (flipping the coin with ease): Whatever you want to tell yourself to feed that ego.
The coin spun in the air for a second before Batman caught it.
Batman: Super strength didn’t crush the coin, and neither did the steroids you probably use. So there.
Superman: Just call it!
Batman flipped the coin onto his hand. While they debated who would be the designated driver, Damian texted Jon about the chaos with their fathers. Jon responded with laughing emojis.
One hour of drive time and silence later, the Batmobile entered the Batcave. Once parked, Batman in Superman’s body, alarming everyone in the cave, exited the passenger side and walked over to the driver’s side.
Batman: I had to call tails! "Oh look at me, I’m Superman and got stupid lucky with a coin flip so I'll drive my friend's car. Don't mind me, I’m just going to mess with Batman’s Spotify for the entire ride, and annoy him with BTS and Twice the whole way!" Get your ass out of my car!
Batman, with some self-control, opened the door without ripping it off the hinges and yanked Superman out of the car. Superman was yeeted a few feet away, crashing into Nightwing with a loud thud. The two fell to the ground, unfazed but a little sore.
Robin went over to Red Robin, playing a game on his phone.
Robin: Hey Drake.
Red Robin: Hey Damian.
Batman (noticing his confused children and cousin, offering a simple explanation): Body swap.
Everyone: Oooh, okay.
Nightwing (on the ground): Again? Hi, Superman.
Superman: Hey, Nightwing. How’ve you been?
Nightwing: Not bad. Kory and I are going to Korea for our anniversary.
Superman: A romantic vacation? Are you seeing any K-pop concerts?
Nightwing: Maybe. You played that in the Batmobile?
Superman (chuckling): Yeah.
Nightwing: I love that pettiness.
Nightwing and Superman stood up laughing while Batman left the car, closing the door, and headed over to the Bat Computer.
Batman: Stop praising his childishness!
Red Hood: That was weird hearing Superman’s voice say that. This is interesting. Batman’s in Superman’s body, which means Superman’s in my dad’s body. He's human and I can definetely fight him in my dad's body.
Orphan: Red Hood, no.
Red Hood: What? I'm going to kill him or seriously hurt him. Yeah, yeah, I’m fighting him. Dad, can I fight him?
Batman (while typing): Go for it.
Red Hood: Yes! SuperBatMan, let’s fight!
Superman: What? Wait, Jason, we don’t have time for this—
Red Hood tackled Superman to the ground and started wrestling him, surprising most of the group. Nightwing and Orphan failed to break the two apart as Superman attempted to sneak away, trying to avoid fighting his friend’s son.
Red Hood (while fighting the man): This is for fighting my dad when he was sad about my death! This is for letting the Joker live and not putting him into a damn coma!
Superman: He would’ve started a war! Been extra depressed! Gosh darn it, that was years ago! Someone get this kid off me—
Batman chuckled dryly, glancing at the wrestling, then laughed more when he realized it didn’t hurt to laugh for the moment.
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branchclangen · 1 day ago
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BRANCHCLAN WRITINGS #5- ASPENFALL
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“C’mon. That’s enough of that.”
Aspenfall’s voice was gentle as he looked down at Burnkit. He had his paw firmly but not painfully pressed on the gray tabby’s back. Burnkit was grumbling and growling in protest, his small tail bristled and lashing back and forth. He tried to lash out an unsheathed paw, but Aspenfall barely flinched.
I’ve felt worse than that. He wanted to say, but he held his tongue.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him!” Scrub meowed, looking at Aspenfall with an exasperated expression. Berrykit was held firmly between the she-cat’s front paws, trying to squirm away from a bath. “This is the…Fifth? Yes, the fifth time he’s gotten in trouble today!”
Aspenfall nodded slowly, looking down as Burnkit tried to lash out again.
“Stop.” He grumbled, and for once Burnkit seemed to listen. The kit pressed his belly low to the ground, his pupils wide and his eyes filled with tears.
Aspenfall slowly lifted his paw, prepared to restrain Burnkit again if he needed to. Burnkit stood, shook out his pelt, and stalked off with the tip of his tail twitching. He went to his nest, nosing Ashkit out of the way roughly enough to make the darker tabby squeak before curling into a tight gray ball.
Scrub watched him pad off, and sighed. “I wish I knew why he acted this way…”
“I think I have an idea.��� Aspenfall said, whiskers twitching. The brown-furred tom stood, starting to make his way out of the nursery. “Need me for anything else?”
“Oh, no, thanks.” Scrub replied, looking down at Berrykit. “I’m about to put this one down for a nap and then get some rest myself. Thank you for everything you do, Aspen.”
“Of course, Fawn-...” Aspenfall stopped himself. “...Scrub. Sorry. I’ll bring you something for dinner a little later, okay?”
Scrub nodded, and Aspenfall padded into the clearing. He looked around, eyes narrowed as he tried to see what was going on. He was looking for a specific cat.
He saw Icewish near the apprentice’s den with his kits. The white tom looked exhausted, and Honeybird seemed to be explaining something to him. He saw Gorgefleck sitting by the fresh-kill pile with Thistle, and Cloudshadow returning from a patrol with Tigerpaw, Hareleap, and Octet Rulekite. 
Finally, he laid eyes on the cat he was targeting.
Atticus.
The dark tabby was sitting in a shady patch with Mushroomsight. They didn’t seem to be talking. Just…Enjoying each other’s company.
Aspenfall padded over to her, clearing his throat to get her attention. “Atticus.”
Atticus looked up with a flick of her tail. “Aspenfall.”
“I was wondering if you wanted to go on patrol with me…” Aspenfall said, forcing a smile. “You know I can’t leave camp alone.”
“Oh! I can go with you!” Mushroomsight offered, starting to get up from his spot. Aspenfall stopped him.
“No, no, Mushroomsight…I needed to talk to Atticus.” He insisted. “Oh- Maplepool wanted to talk to you, by the way. I think she’s in the warrior’s den.”
“Okay!” Mushroomsight cheerfully said, standing and trotting off. 
Aspenfall watched him go, then turned to Atticus. “Come.”
It was no longer a request.
It was a demand.
Atticus sighed heavily, standing. “Fine. But this better be quick, and you better not be wasting my time.”
Aspenfall ignored her whining, turning and making his way out of camp. Atticus trailed behind him, eyes narrowed.
They walked for what felt like hours, before they were finally far from prying eyes. Aspenfall checked behind him every now and then, to make sure Atticus was still following and didn’t sneak away.
Once they were far enough, Aspenfall stopped. Atticus nearly bumped into him, letting out an annoyed hiss. “What’s wrong with you!?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Aspenfall muttered, barely audible.
“Wh-”
Aspenfall whirled to face Atticus, fur bristled and claws unsheathed. “Do you have ANY idea of the damage you’ve done?”
He let out a low growl, shaking his head. He dug his claws into the ground, worried that if he moved, he’d hurt Atticus. Atticus stumbled back a bit, keeping her gaze on him. Her pupils had narrowed to slits, the fur on her own back risen and the tip of her tail lashing.
“Damage? Oh, stars, Aspen, not you too!” Atticus hissed. “You brought me out here to chastise me about those kits? Why can’t you just let it go! I’m grieving, and-”
“I’ve been grieving for THIRTY MOONS, Atticus! And I’ve lost so much more than you!” Aspenfall snarled. He began to shake, the aching feeling that always lingered in his heart intensifying for a moment. “I lost my apprentice. My mate. My kits. My mother figure, my daughter figure…Oh, the list goes on and fucking on!”
He took a step closer, watching the way Atticus seemed to shrink back for just a second before trying again to make herself look tough. 
“I know it hurts. I know Peachshade meant a lot to you, and I’m sorry you lost her. But…” Aspenfall flicked his tail. “How could you treat her children like this? You know better than everyone that if she were alive, she would’ve loved these kits. She would have-”
“She’s not here anymore.” Atticus stated coldly. “She’s gone. Dead. Buried in the ground. Just like your mate that you can’t seem to get over after all these years.”
Aspenfall fixed Atticus with a stare, his expression full of shock, then grief…
Then rage.
With a yowl, he lunged at Atticus, pinning her down to the ground. He glared down at her, his claws digging into the fur on her chest.
“How. Dare. You?” He asked, his voice low. “How dare you say something so…Evil? Especially when you KNOW how it feels!”
He leaned in, so that his nose nearly touched Atticus’. “Your kits…The ones who YOU CHOSE to bring into this star-damned world…Are miserable. And it’s YOUR fault.”
Atticus growled, bristling, but made no attempt to move. “It’s not my fault. They were always brats!”
“No, they weren’t!” Aspenfall’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe what Atticus was saying. “Were you really so neglectful that you can’t see a difference in their behaviors?”
He paused for a moment, sighing, before speaking. “Ashkit was the most creative kit I’ve ever seen. Always drawing. Always coming up with a new story to tell anyone who would listen. You wanna know what she does now? Nothing. She stares at the nursery wall in her nest. And when she does draw, it’s…Different. Disturbing.”
He noticed that Atticus didn’t seem to care, and he continued. “Cinderkit. Always knew what to say to the other kits to make them happy. I’ve heard her call younger cats idiots at least twice, because YOU told her that and now she’s repeating it. Now Flamekit. One of the sweetest kits ever. He used to smile so much…Now he just cries.”
Atticus’ whiskers twitched. Aspenfall looked into her eyes, hoping to see something reflected in them..But he was met with nothing.
Atticus truly didn’t care.
He let out a heavy sigh. “And now…Burnkit. He’s troubled, Atticus. All he wanted was your attention and love, and…I’m worried about him.”
“Why?” Atticus asked. 
Aspenfall wanted to yell at Atticus at that moment. How could she be so clueless?
But instead he glared down at her.
“He’s destructive, and…Violent. Way too violent for a kit his age.” He said, lowly. “He hurts the other kits, Atticus! Especially smaller kits! He tried to kill Dewkit the other day!! Do you think that’s normal behavior, Atticus?”
“No, but-”
“But what!? That’s the way he is? That’s just how he’s always been? No!” Aspenfall took some steps back, finally getting off of Atticus but keeping his eyes on her. “I don’t know why you’re trying to ignore it, Atticus, but you have got to find a way to fix this before these kits grow up and kill someone.”
Atticus rolled onto her side, staying still. When she spoke, her voice was a low hiss. “I never wanted kits. I never wanted to raise them alone.”
“Then you shouldn’t have had them.” Aspenfall said coldly. “I would kill to have had a litter like yours, Atticus. Something to remind me of the cat I loved and still have a part of them here with me…But I don’t. And I probably…Never will.”
Atticus just stared. Aspenfall kept speaking. 
“I just…I hope that one day you wake up, realize how much things are ruined, and at least…Try. To make things better. At the very least...Tell those babies that this isn't their fault.” Aspenfall allowed his voice to soften a little. “...I’m done here. I’m going back home. Stay here if you want…Or don’t.”
With that, he walked away, leaving Atticus alone with nothing but her own thoughts.
He began to trudge back to camp, his tail drooping low to the ground. 
He hadn’t ever gotten that angry in his life. If he hadn’t moved away when he did, he probably would’ve…
Aspenfall shuddered.
No.
He wasn’t a murderer.
The second he pushed through the bushes of the camp entrance, he was almost instantly greeted by Emberwhisper. The elderly tortoiseshell looked exhausted, the tip of her tail giving a few irritated twitches.
“Thank goodness you got back when you did!” She meowed. “I hate to bother you, but Burnkit is…Well, to put it nicely…Being a little terror again. Could you please come get him?”
Aspenfall sighed, turning to look at the nursery. He heard the tantrum that was about to greet him, heard the sound of Pearfur and Scrub trying desperately to calm Burnkit down. 
He had a feeling he wouldn’t be heading to bed anytime soon, like he planned.
He looked back at Emberwhisper, forced a smile, and nodded.
“Yeah, of course,” He mewed, softly. “I’ll have a talk with him. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”
With that, he padded after Emberwhisper, following her into the nursery.
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lumosflairr · 1 day ago
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𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 - 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑
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summary: Ned surprises you and peter by signing you two up for a couples costume competition.
warnings: use of y/n [like 3-4 times]
word count: 3.5k
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“I just thought it would be something cute and romantic for you two to do!”
Peter stared blankly across the cafeteria table, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, juice box clutched in a death grip.
“Couples costumes, Ned? Are you kidding me?”
Ned crossed his arms with a shrug, looking completely unbothered by Peter’s slow descent into panic. “It’s Halloween. You’re dating. There’s a contest. You’re welcome.”
Peter leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face like he was trying to disappear. “You signed us up without asking.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind!” Ned defended, pushing his tray across the cafeteria table. “Y/N won’t. She’ll love it. And you—” he pointed a finger dramatically, “are whipped.”
Peter opened his mouth to argue, closed it, then muttered, “That’s not the point…”
“Oh my God,” MJ deadpanned from across the table, not even looking up from her book. “You’ve been carrying her books to chemistry for two weeks straight, and you flinch when she looks at you like she might ask for a favor. You’re so whipped.”
“I—” Peter blinked. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Exactly,” Ned said proudly. “So just let her pick the costume, show up, and win the contest. Easy.”
Peter groaned and let his head fall to the table with a thud. “She’s gonna pick something ridiculous. I can feel it. I’m gonna end up in glitter tights or a corset or something.”
“Y’know,” MJ added with zero emotion, “the drama club has a full Shakespearean outfit that would fit you. Codpiece and all.”
Peter gave her an amused look and groaned. His hands ran down his face when suddenly his eyes met yours. You weaved through scattered tables as you made your way to his. You were wearing his favorite top of yours- a nice red long sleve and a pair of light washed jeans.
You plopped your tray down beside MJ, sitting directly in-front of peter and sat.
“Hey guys.” You greeted the three of them cheerfully, adjusting yourself in your seat. You looked at peter again, his face resting on his hands with his cheeks a lighter shade than usual.
You furrowed your brows at him. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“He’s being dramatic.” MJ spoke, her tone flat and honest.
“I am not—” Peter started, but Ned cut in with a grin way too smug for comfort.
“I may have… sort of… signed you guys up for the Halloween couples costume contest,” Ned blurted, clearly proud of himself.
Peter let out another loud groan, slumping further in his seat.
Your eyes widened. “Wait, you what?”
Ned raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, but hear me out! There’s a prize, and you two are literally the perfect couple for it. Everyone’s gonna vote for you anyway.”
You blinked, absorbing the news—and then your face lit up. “That’s actually so cute! I love that idea!”
“I knew you would! At least someone appreciates my favor.” Ned targetted his tone towards Peter as he raised his eyebrows at Peter and shot him a glare.
“Favor? Ned, I’m going to become a walking target at school!” Peter chimed in, his face full of embarrassment as he spiraled.
“I’m gonna end up looking like a total idiot. I’m gonna walk in and everyone’s gonna laugh and take pictures and it’s gonna end up on Flash’s story—”
“You’re already on his story like once a week, Penis Parker.” MJ muttered, not helping.
You laughed and grabbed peter’s hand, squeezing it in your own. “Pete, it’s gonna adorable. Come on, we’ve never done anything cheesy together like this and now we get to dress up and totally dominate the competition. Plus, you’ll have me with you. Flash can’t clown you when he doesn’t have a girlfriend of his own to do things like this with anyways.”
Peter sighed and squeezed your hand in return.. “Please please please dont put me in something glittery or anything that involves spandex. Or a tail. Or ears.”
You smirked at him. “No promises.”
“Y/N, I mean it!” Peter begged, eyes wide as he gave you a dramatic pout.
You let out a small chuckle at his reaction. “I’m joking, Pete. I already have a few ideas that dont involve glitter or spandex.”
Peter sighed at your comment, smiling at you. Suddenly, he then shot you another look.
“Or ears? Or tails?”
You smirked at him. “wellll….”
“Y/N!!”
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The house was quieter than usual. Your parents were out for the evening, and your aunt—who had stayed for a while to help with your sewing—had just left after giving you a proud hug and reminding you to “press the seams before he tries it on.”
Your room was warm with golden light, the late afternoon sun spilling in through the window. The final touches of the costumes were hanging behind your closet door in a long black garment bag. You kept glancing at it, nerves and excitement mixing in your chest.
Your phone buzzed with a text from Peter.
“I’m Outside ❤️”
You smiled at the message and ran downstairs, making your way to the front door to open it. When you opened the front door, Peter was standing there in his hoodie and jeans, hands in his pockets, biting back a nervous smile.
“Hey,” he said softly, looking at you like you were the only person on the planet.
“Hi,” you replied, stepping aside. “Come in, skywalker.”
Peter gave a mock salute and walked inside, pulling off his hoodie as he shut the door. You both made your way upstairs as he glanced around. “It’s weird seeing your house this quiet.”
“They cleared out for us,” you joked, nudging him with your shoulder as you both made your way to your room.
The moment your door closed behind him, Peter turned to face you—and you barely had time to say anything before he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a kiss.
It was soft at first, slow and familiar, his lips brushing yours like he wasn’t in any hurry to let go. His hands settled lightly at your sides, and he tilted his head slightly as he deepened it, smiling just a little against your mouth.
When you pulled back, he looked dazed. “Hi again.”
You laughed, brushing your nose against his. “You’re such a sap.”
“Can you blame me?” he murmured, eyes locked on yours like he was already head-over-heels and still falling. “You kiss like you’re trying to kill me.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, and stepped back toward your desk. “Alright, Romeo. Ready to see what we’re wearing?”
Peter blinked and let out and audible gulp, which you laughed at.
“It’s not even bad, Pete. You’ll love it I promise.”
“I hope so..” He mumbled under his breathe as you went to grab the bag.
“Sit down and close your eyes.”
Peter raised both eyebrows. “You’re not even going to warn me first?”
You gave him a look.
With an exaggerated groan, he flopped onto the edge of your bed. “Fine. But if this ends with me in anything with ears, we’re breaking up.”
“You love me to much and you know it. Now hush.”
Peter huffed but obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut.
You grabbed the hangers from the closet, carefully sliding the bag off, your heart fluttering a little as you walked back over.
“Okay,” you said, smile tugging at your lips. “Open.”
Peter cracked one eye open, then both—and his mouth slowly dropped open.
Hanging in front of him were two perfectly handmade Star Wars costumes: one, a detailed Jedi tunic complete with wraps, a faux leather belt, dark robe, and boots. The other, a dreamy and beautifully made version of Padmé Amidala’s outfit—white and silver with flowing fabric and subtle shimmer.
Peter stared in stunned silence. “Is that - Anakin and Padmé?”
You nodded. “Told you no glitter.”
His eyes flicked back and forth between the costumes and you, his heart beating out of his chest. “You made these?”
“Well… not all on my own. My aunt helped sew everything together, but I did the design. I found the belt pieces online, did the stitching for the wraps, and made a lightsaber clip for your belt. I figured you’d like it more than something generic.”
Peter blinked, still looking completely awe-struck. “You made me a Jedi. You made us Anakin and Padmé.”
You smiled. “I know how much you love Star Wars. Thought I’d give you a reason to show it off in public without being embarrassed.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Then finally stepped forward, gently set the costume down on your desk… and kissed you.
It was less soft this time—more full of feeling, like he was trying to say thank you without words. When he pulled back, he just looked at you, eyes full of warmth.
“I love it,” he said softly. “I love you.”
You smiled up at him, heart full. “Even without glitter?”
“Especially without glitter,” he teased, pressing his forehead against yours. “Though… I’d wear anything if you made it for me.”
You smirked. “Even ears and a tail?”
Peter playfully rolled his eyes. “You had to ruin the moment.”
You laughed at his comment as he held his Anakin costume in front of himself and faced towards the mirror. “I’m gonna look so cool,” he muttered, grinning.
You walked behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, standing on your tip toes to press a kiss to his neck as you let out a whisper. “You always do.”
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The gym at Midtown was barely recognizable.
Orange and purple string lights draped the ceiling, fake cobwebs clung to the corners, and jack-o’-lanterns with glowing LED eyes lined the stage. The school had actually tried this year—there was a fog machine going wild in the corner, a photo booth decorated like a graveyard, and the DJ was mixing in spooky sound effects with throwback hits that somehow made it all work.
You and Peter hovered just outside the gym doors, each holding your costume bags, dressed head to toe but waiting for your moment to step in. Your heart thumped with anticipation, but Peter looked like he was about to short-circuit from nerves.
“You ready?” you asked, adjusting your belt and brushing invisible lint from your Padmé costume.
Peter glanced at your outfit—then did a double take. “You look… amazing,” he mumbled, a little breathless.
You smiled. “Thanks, Skywalker.”
Peter peered into the gym, already overwhelmed by the flashing lights and fog machine going full throttle. “Okay, is the fog supposed to smell like feet?”
You snorted. “That’s just the football team.”
Peter grimaced. “Truly terrifying. Happy Halloween to me.”
The second you stepped through the gym doors, it was like the volume doubled. Heads turned immediately—some students actually stopped dancing to watch you walk in. One of the juniors by the snack table straight up pointed and shouted:
“Yo! That’s Anakin and Padmé! That’s so sick!”
A ripple of chatter followed. People pulled out their phones, snapping pics, complimenting your detail work, and asking if you had your costumes commissioned.
You and Peter exchanged a look, eyes wide, but you both smiled—because yeah, this was a moment.
Ned jogged over, practically bouncing in his homemade elf costume (complete with a duct-tape sword), and MJ followed behind in a black hoodie that said “this is my costume” in plain white letters.
“I told you guys,” Ned said, eyes wide as he looked you both over. “You look insane. This is, like, fan film level.”
MJ gave a small nod. ��Okay, I’ll admit it. You don’t look completely ridiculous.”
Peter turned to you, smiling like he was just now letting himself enjoy the attention. “This is actually kinda awesome.”
“Told you,” you said, nudging him.
“Wow. Someone clearly had way too much free time.”
Peter rolled his eyes and turned around to see Flash. He swaggered over in a half-baked pirate costume—plastic sword, fake gold chain, and eyeliner that looked like he gave up halfway through. His shirt was untucked, and his bandana was slipping off his head like even it didn’t want to be part of this look.
You shot him a dirty look. “Good evening to you too, Captain Crunch.”
Flash scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying, everyone’s acting like you two walked off a movie set. It’s not that impressive.”
Peter poked his tongue in the side of his cheek, a smirk growing on his face with his eyebrows raised.
“I don’t know, Flash,” he said coolly, adjusting the belt on his tunic with just enough flair to make it look better than it had any right to. “I don’t see your girlfriend making you a custom costume to match yours…”
He paused, let it hang in the air—just long enough to sting.
“…Oh wait. You don’t have one.”
Ned made a quiet explosion sound with his mouth. “Boom.”
MJ raised her cup and raised her eyebrows while you tried not to burst into laughter at Peter’s comment and sudden boldness.
Flash opened his mouth, clearly scrambling for something to say—then closed it again. His jaw flexed, but he just sniffed and muttered, “Whatever,” before turning on his heel and disappearing into the fog machine haze.
Peter turned back to you like nothing had happened. “That was kind of satisfying.”
You grinned. “Dangerously polite Peter might be my favorite version.”
He smirked. “Use your powers for good, not petty.”
“Can’t relate.”
The rest of the night passed in a flurry of dancing, compliments, and awkward slow songs. You and Peter took a few photos in the graveyard-themed photo booth—one serious, one funny, and one where Peter kissed your cheek and you were definitely blushing.
At one point, Peter leaned in and said softly, “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but this is hands-down my favorite Halloween ever.”
You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment. “That was the plan.”
The DJ paused the music and tapped the microphone, his voice cutting through the chatter and dim lighting. “Alright, everyone! It’s time to find out who’s taking home the prize for Midtown’s 2025 Halloween Costume Contest!”
A drumroll began to play over the speakers, building tension as eyes turned toward the stage and whispers filled the room.
After what felt like forever, the DJ grinned and announced clearly, “And the winners, by unanimous vote… Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala!”
Cheers erupted instantly as you and Peter shared a stunned look.
Peter looked at you, wide-eyed. “Wait—we won?!”
“Obviously,” you laughed, dragging him toward the stage by the hand. You were handed a hilariously cheap trophy, a pair of $25 gift cards, and—maybe best of all—eternal bragging rights.
Off to the side, you caught a glimpse of Flash near the punch table. He watched you both with an unreadable expression, then muttered something to the guy next to him. You couldn’t hear it clearly, but it sounded like:
“…Okay. It was kinda cool.”
The party came to an end after what felt like only seconds. The gym had finally emptied out, the music cut off mid–Monster Mash, and the fog machine was put out of its misery. You and Peter stepped outside into the cool night air, the soft buzz of leftover laughter and costume rustling fading behind you.
Ned and MJ trailed close behind. “Well,” MJ said flatly, arms crossed over her hoodie, “that was loud, overcrowded, and mildly tolerable.”
“I had a great time,” Ned beamed, adjusting his cape. “I mean, we witnessed history. You guys crushed it. Flash is probably still crying into his pirate wig.”
You laughed. Peter grinned.
“You guys heading out?” you asked.
MJ nodded. “Ned’s mom’s picking us up. She made apple cider and, quote, ‘wants the full gossip.’ So that should be a ride.”
“Tell her we say hi,” Peter said.
“And thank her for raising a man brave enough to wear elf ears in public,” you added.
Ned held up two fingers in a peace sign. “Would wear them again.”
After a round of quick hugs, MJ and Ned waved and crossed the lot, disappearing into the glow of approaching headlights. You and Peter were left standing near the curb, bathed in the soft orange halo of a streetlamp, the air quiet and cool now that the crowd had gone.
Peter shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and let out a breath, the kind that meant he didn’t want the night to end yet.
“So…” you said, rocking slightly on your heels. “Did we win Halloween?”
Peter looked at you for a long moment. “Yeah. But not because of the costume.”
You tilted your head. “No?”
He took a small step closer, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “It was you. You made it the best night. I mean, the lightsaber helps—but still.”
You felt your cheeks flush under the glow of the streetlight. “You’re just saying that because I kissed you in front of the entire junior and senior class.”
“I’m saying that because you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said without hesitation, then immediately looked down like the words had slipped out faster than intended. “And also the coolest. And weirdest. In a good way. Obviously.”
Your breath caught in your throat, smile threatening to break out fully.
Before you could say anything, Peter leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed, or showy, or dipped in leftover party adrenaline—it was warm and soft, sweet and sure. The kind of kiss that said thank you for tonight, and I like you more than I know how to say, and maybe even this could be it. This could be everything.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling like he couldn’t help it.
“I love you, like… way more than I should be allowed to.”
You smiled, brushing your thumb along the edge of his jaw. “That’s okay. I think you’ve earned it.”
A car horn gave a soft beep beep nearby, and you both turned to see Aunt May pulling up to the curb, waving from behind the wheel.
Peter groaned under his breath. “Timing, as always.”
You both grabbed your bags and costume pieces, heading toward the car.
As Peter opened the door for you, he leaned in close and whispered, “Next year, I’m picking the costumes. Just so you know.”
“Oh yeah?” you smirked. “That’ll be the day.”
May raised an eyebrow as you both climbed in. “So… who’s ready to tell me why my nephew looks like an Obi-Wan?”
Peter grinned. “Long story. But we won.”
May smiled. “That’s my boy.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, Peter’s hand found yours again, quiet and steady, and you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you still glowing with the kind of magic only a perfect night can leave behind.
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loricciardo · 1 day ago
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CHAPTER SIX | KARMA GOES BOTH WAYS
tags. original female character, heavy misogyny, toxic masculinity, verbal & physical aggression, toxic father-son dynamics, emotional distress, unresolved grief, psychological manipulation (if you squint), max can’t even say natalie’s name, i dont know how to write race scenes without making them boring.
a/n. i rewrote this chapter multiple times and i dont even know if i even like it. but it’s okay </3 poor max, all he wants is his father’s praise without having to doing anything to earn it
taglist. want to join or be removed from my taglist? send me an ask or comment below!
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Karma had a funny sense of humor, Max decided, as the car rolled into his grid slot at the front of the 19 man (+1 woman) pack.
The sun blazed down on the tarmac, heat shimmering off the formula cars as they lined up for the start. Max adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, glancing into the tiny rearview mirror. Not for the Ferraris or the Mercedes this time, but for the glint of scarlet just behind him; Natalie’s helmet.
It was impossible to miss, he decided. That garish, shimmering red with metallic overlays and tiny lightning bolts streaked across the sides as if she was trying to brand herself as electric. But what caught Max’s attention most (and what always did) were the seven small silver stars arched neatly across the crown. One for each of her father’s championships. A legacy engraved into lacquer. He’d heard Natalie say it was a tribute, something personal, but to Max, it looked painfully tacky. Too obnoxious, too showy, clinging to the past. Riding the tail end of someone else’s greatness. Natalie wore that helmet like a crown she hadn’t ever earned, and that infuriated Max.
Max had slowly eased off the gas just enough during the formation lap to let her sit uncomfortably close to his car. A small, petty part of him enjoyed it. Made her work for the gap. Let her stew.
The lights began Formula One’s familiar dance.
First light flicked on. Max exhaled slowly through his nose, letting the adrenaline settle into something cold and precise.
Second. Third. Fourth.
Fifth.
With a flick of his fingers over the button and a reflexive tighten of his grip on the wheel, Max launched.
It was clean. Perfect, even, if the Dutch man had to say so himself. The RB19 responded as if it was hardwired to his nerves, like the grip of the tires had fused into his body itself. There was no oversteer, no stutter, and he was able to accelerate way ahead of everyone else. Red Bull had truly created a monster of a car.
Max had controlled momentum that reminded everyone why he sat on pole. Why Max Verstappen was the reigning World Champion. Everyone else slowly faded in the dust.. until they didn’t.
A sudden whoosh of yellow light flashed in the corner of Max’s vision as he flew out of the second turn. His focus snapped to the trackside panels that were blinking amber. He realized something had gone wrong behind him.
His right foot stayed planted on the accelerator, but instinct sharpened his senses. His eyes darted to his mirrors, though all he could see was the shimmer of distant carbon fiber catching the Bahrain sun. No clear incident in sight.
The radio crackled in his ear a second later, static breaking just long enough for GP’s voice to come through. There was hesitation in the tone. Definitely not panicked, but heavy, like he was holding something back.
“Yellow flags, Max, possible Virtual Safety Car incoming.”
“What happened?” Max didn’t take his eyes off the apex as he slowly rounded the next corner, but his stomach coiled with something that wasn’t quite curiosity, but danced along with amusement.
“It was.. Alonso and Schumacher. Contact at Turn One.”
There was a beat of static. Max didn’t need to hear the rest of what GP was about to say. He already knew. The pit of his stomach dropped, sharp and cold, and a rough, heartfelt laugh scraped its way up his throat before he could stop it. It came out dry, bitter, and breathless as Max caught the lack of air in his lungs. Of course it was her again. Of course it was this. The one thing he didn’t want to deal with, the one distraction he couldn’t outrun. His hands tightened on the wheel, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Of fucking course!
“She’s pitting currently. Looks like Alonso needs a new front wing. I believe.. Schumacher’s got a puncture.”
Max’s eyes narrowed behind the visor. “Again, if I wanted updates on her, I’d ask.”
“Copy.”
He barely had time to ride the wave of vindication before GP’s voice came back, quieter this time.
“This is important, Max. Schumacher’s retiring. Damage to her rear suspension. You’re the only Red Bull on track.”
And there it was. Barely a corner into the race, and Natalie Schumacher was already out. The only trace of satisfaction left was the tiniest pull at the corner of his mouth, hidden beneath the matte shell of his helmet. He kept his hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward, voice silent on the radio. He didn’t need details and he didn’t need to gloat. Because the result spoke loud enough: she couldn’t even make it to the checkered flag. Again. And for Max, that was the difference. The chasm that separated a two time world champion from that F2 rookie with nothing but her name.
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“So Max, your first win of the season. How does it feel?”
The camera was too close for comfort and Max could already feel sweat drying at his temple as he nodded. Unsurprisingly, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” he mused with his voice even, “it feels good. Starting from pole, you expect to finish up front. The car was strong, strategy was clean, and the team did a great job today.”
Cheers rippled through the crowd just behind the press barrier, but Max barely reacted for he had done this what felt like the thousandth time of his career already.
“And speaking of the team…” the reporter continued, almost too casually. “Can you comment on Red Bull’s decision to retire Natalie Schumacher’s car? From the outside it looked like a minor issue. A small tire puncture, rear suspension damage. What do you make of it?”
Max’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t break eye contact with the camera.
“I think my teammate said everything that needed to be said out on track,” Max answered bluntly. “I support the team’s decision, and I trust that they know what’s best.”
Per usual, the reporter wasn’t done. “This morning, Natalie told us she hoped her performance this year might inspire more young girls to get interested in motorsports. Do you think she can still be that role model… after today?”
It was a stupid question. Obvious headline bait, plain and simple. But Max’s patience had already worn thin. He could feel his victory slipping from the narrative. How dare they? Why wouldn’t they ask him about something that actually mattered?
“Well let’s just say,” the brunette man nodded coolly, “she would be more inspiring talking about the makeup she wears over racing.”
The reporter blinked, taken aback, but Max had already turned.
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In the Red Bull garage, just a few moments after stepping down from the podium with champagne still drying on his race suit and the scent of burnt rubber clinging to his skin, Max expected applause. Maybe a few back slaps, a grin from Christian, some acknowledgment of the win. Instead, the moment he stepped beneath the bright fluorescent lights of the pit lane awning, he was hit with a brick of tension that was so heavy it beat through the adrenaline still shaking in his veins. Engineers barely looked up from their monitors while the mechanics exchanged stiff glances. And Christian Horner was already striding toward the driver with that particular frown Max recognized all too well. Sheer disappointment, almost disgust.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Christian all but shouted. He marched towards the driver and crossed his arms.
Max tossed one of his gloves onto the bench and unzipped his suit halfway. “Mm.. what do you mean?”
“Don’t act so bloody stupid,” Christian snapped. “You couldn’t let it go for one day? One race?”
Max shrugged, wadding up his balaclava. “If she can’t take a little media pressure, maybe she’s not cut out for all this.”
Christian stared at him, disgusted, for a beat longer, then shook his head and turned back to the pitwall, muttering under his breath.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, stomping and unhesitating. Max didn’t look up at first but the rhythm was familiar now, embedded in the back of his mind like the hum of the RB engine. Her silhouette stretched along the floor before she even appeared, cast by the overhead lights in jagged, flickering lines. The curve of her ponytail, the purposeful swing of her stride. Max knew it was his teammate before she even crossed the threshold.
“Well done, Verstappen! You really know how to soak up the spotlight.” Natalie’s tone was low as she strolled into the garage with a tennis ball bouncing in one hand.
She didn’t look at him, or rather, she couldn’t. Natalie was way too angry with the man right now to even set her eyes on him. She just plopped into the chair across from the telemetry screens and pulled her knees up, curling into herself in that completely impractical way Max found bizarrely vexing.
There’s no way that’s comfortable, he thought. What’s wrong with sitting with both feet on the floor?
“At least I finished the race,” he scoffed and itched his scalp. “Unlike someone who tapped out before Lap Two. Not very Intimidator of you.”
“Sorry? I didn’t ‘tap out’. I came in because the team called me in.” Natalie looked bewildered at Max.
“Maybe the car just had enough,” he muttered. “Didn’t want to embarrass itself trying to drag the stupid idiot that sat in the cockpit around for fifty eight laps.”
She stood suddenly, faster than Max expected. By the time Max turned, she was right there. Not tall but close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep looking down at her. Her voice dropped to a quiet, dangerous place.
“Fuck. You. And I mean it.”
Max smirked, leaning in ever so slightly. “Very original. Practice that one in the mirror too, Princess?”
Natalie’s palms smacked Max’s chest with a sharp, unexpected force that knocked him back a step. Enough to jolt the breath from his lungs and wipe the shit eating grin clean off his face. He hadn’t seen that coming at all. One second she was glaring, the next she was lunging, frustration spilling from her fingers as if it had been waiting to be unleashed since lights out.
Honestly, the shove wasn’t enough to hurt but it carried the weight of every insult he’d thrown her way, every sneer and sideways comment, and it landed with a startling thunk. Max blinked, stunned for half a heartbeat, before his eyes snapped up to meet hers. Natalie was already standing square again, arms glued at her sides, and a crooked, almost smug grin pulled at the edge of her mouth.
“Did you just.. push me?”
“Sure did.”
Max stepped forward instinctively. In his mind, closing the space between them might somehow give him back control of the altercation spiraling between them. The air crackled, their earlier argument still simmering just beneath the surface. But before he could say a word, a third voice cut through, gentle yet undoubtedly excited.
“Hey Tallie! What’s going—?” It was Mick Schumacher.
Max watched the tension in Natalie’s shoulders drop the second her brother’s hand landed on her arm. Mick didn’t say much. Just smiled, calm and solid, like always.
“You ready to go?” Mick asked his sister, glancing only briefly at Max.
Natalie didn’t answer right away. She stood there a second longer, something unreadable flickering across her face, before she nodded. She moved quickly, packing up her gear without a glance back at Max.
Max stood in place, jaw tight, one hand with a glove still on.
Mick paused just before the blonde siblings turned to leave. “Oh! Also, Mama called,” the blonde man informed, more tender now. “She wanted me to tell you she’s proud of you.”
Natalie’s face didn’t change but she stilled at the words. And then, in a quiet voice she sourly got out: “But.. I didn’t even finish.”
“I just knew you were going to say that! She didn’t care,” Mick chuckled, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “She admires the effort.”
They were proud of her? She hadn’t even made it through a full lap!
Max stood at the back of the garage, arms crossed, watching as Natalie disappeared down the hallway with Mick. She was laughing again. It was half hearted, sure, but nevertheless. And for what? A DNF and sympathy? He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t.
His jaw clenched as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, the screen lighting up with the same message he’d been ignoring since the cooldown room.
Pa: You only won by eleven seconds? Really? Get a bigger gap next time. See you in Jeddah.
Max didn’t even bother replying. He knew better by now to. The man shoved his phone back into his race suit, fingers digging into the fabric just a little more aggressively than necessary.
“Gina wants to call and hear all about it when we’re back at the hotel, okay?” Mick’s voice carried back toward the other garage. “And how about some ice cream to celebrate your first race in the books?”
“You are actually five years old, bru!”
“Uh, whatever do you mean?” Mick cleared his throat. “You hear that, everyone?! My little sister just had her first ever Formula One race! Did she finish? No! But she—OW!”
Max watched through the gap between the garages as Natalie smacked Mick’s arm with a glare. Mick grinned at her anyway, and she cracked a small smile in return. The kind of moment Max would’ve rolled his eyes at if the fire burning in his chest wasn’t so ruthlessly hot. He waited until they rounded the corner and were gone.
Then, without thinking, he grabbed the fuzzy tennis ball Natalie left behind earlier, still sitting on the counter, hurled it at the nearest wall.
The snap echoed through the garage. An engineer glanced up quickly from the monitor across the room but didn’t say anything. Max didn’t care who saw.
He let out a harsh breath that sounded more like a snarl, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the spot where the ball had bounced and rolled off into a corner.
The air in the garage was cooler now that the cars were off and the grandstands had mostly packed up, but it did nothing to settle the heat boiling under his skin. His win today had been clean. Dominant, even. Pole to flag. A fucking hat trick for God’s sake! And yet, all anyone seemed to care about was her.
He’d seen it in the press room. How the questions about his race had immediately pivoted to hers. He’d seen it in the eyes of the younger mechanics. Ones who had spent more time helping her get adjusted than reviewing his telemetry. Even Christian, despite the earlier reprimand, had seemed more concerned about Natalie’s reaction than proud of Max’s result for the team.
And the worst part?
There were cracks in Natalie today. Flaws in that perfectly constructed persona. The quiet, controlled tone she always used with the press? It had slipped. The tight grip on her PR smile? Gone. He’d seen the frustration, the wild flash in her eyes when she shoved him, the sharpness in her voice. For the first time, she looked human.
Natalie Schumacher looked vulnerable.
And Max planned to keep pulling at every thread until the whole thing unraveled. Until everyone saw what he already knew. That Natalie Schumacher didn’t belong in the same car as him. And she never would.
He looked back at the scuffed wall where the tennis ball had smacked and finally let his lips curl upwards. It wasn’t anything close to sweet.
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ellitx · 1 day ago
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Something I think that would be really cute is caressing venti's wings, or if the reader also have wings and then theres venti and his lover caressing eachothers (not necessarily in a lewd way, just a cassual moment for a couple yk)
I love how venti loos like an angel, this crosses my mind very often
What are the odds this ask appeared in my inbox when i was just thinking about venven’s wings :33
1000% sure the feathers are very soft and id like to think one of venti’s favorite leisure time is to cuddle with you using his wings as a warmer.
He’s already hugging you from behind, his arms curled around your waist while his head nestles against your shoulder
But if it’s still too cold, he’ll use his wings to cover you both and use it like a giant blanket.
If you run your fingers along the base of his wings, venti will always get a shiver and his wings will twitch and flutter. He’ll just nuzzle into your neck with a playful pout, pretending to complain even though he melts from your touch.
Even if you give him a sweet little kiss on his lips, it’s not hard to miss how his wings flutter in joy and excitement just like how dogs wag their tail lol
Oftentimes, venti loves to tease you with the tip, letting that single soft feather brush along your face, down your cheek, and to your nose until you sneeze.
He’ll laugh and claim it was just a "blessing from Barbatos”
You’d swat at him but he’ll only dodge with a grin and his wings will flare ready to fly off if you chase him
Sometimes he does. And other times you catch him by the sleeve, pulling him close until his teasing falters and you get your revenge by pressing a long kiss that makes his wings tremble ever so slightly
If he leans in for more, you’ll stick your tongue out and enjoy his cries of pleas until he begs down to his knees.
If you also have wings like venti, oh, it’s over for the rest of teyvat. The two of you are a literal vision like divine lovers out from a story book
Your wings are different from his. Maybe darker, maybe softer, or maybe shimmering like moonlight
But Venti is enamored either way
When he sees them, he gasps every time as if it’s the first time. He’ll walk up slowly and his fingers will ghost over your feathers with childlike wonder.
He’ll always ask before touching, and when you nod, he’ll beam so brightly it rivalled the world’s own sun and his excitement is too contagious you’re smiling as well
Aand here’s the lovely part: mututal wing care becomes a love language of its own <333
Venti preens your wings carefully and he fixes out of place feathers (occasionally sneaking a kiss between each motion)
You do the same for him!
He’ll sit in front of you and open his wings so you can take out the loose feathers
If there are areas that are hard to reach or he gets tired sitting for hours, he will lie on your lap. His wings will splay out across your legs while you groom him like the devoted mate you are <3
Cute thing is he sometimes falls asleep while you’re preening him ;)
On lazy days, both of you will lie together with your legs all tangled and feathers spilling over the edge of the bed. You’ll stroke each other's wings absentmindedly, sometimes whispering sweet nothings, sometimes just breathing each other in.
And whenever you're out together and the wind picks up, you’ll instinctively open your wings around him, and he does the same.
That’s where you’ll notice the difference that his wings are larger compared to yours. Nonetheless, you still want to protect your hubby just how protects you despite the size difference
It becomes a habit between you two to protect and shield your partner from any danger.
Venti loves to collect your loose feathers!
He has a “secret” stash, each labeled with the date and where he found it while preening you
It’s hardly a secret lol you’ve caught him more than once stuffing one into his pocket while scribbling something on a little leaf before quickly hiding them behind his back if you turn around to check up on him
He doesn’t just keep them for keepsake value either. Sometimes he weaves them into little charms, hangs them with the other feathers in his fake vision, use it as an accessory on him like an earring or hair tie, or ties one to a ribbon and places it near your shared bed
He claims it helps him sleep better— though cheesy, it is in fact the truth
You tried to scold him once for hoarding them (and also because it’s dirty), but the way he clutched them to his chest like they were holy relics made your heart melt.
Venven’s too sweet and precious, it’s hard to get mad at him
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colossrat · 6 hours ago
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The good will follow!
superman 2025 spoilers and references
Just imagine. Billy Batson, a seven-year-old boy living on the streets, an angry kid who just ran away from his last foster home after his foster father got drunk, too drunk for his liking…
Sometimes he remembered what his father taught him, "do good and good will follow" or something like that. But after so many events, he started to think that doing good wasn't good for him… He gave those adults a chance and was disappointed again. And with a new bruise on his cheek.
He's starving through the streets of Metropolis, trying to figure out how to get back to Fawcett, to his friends, Freddy, Miss Bambi, Tawny… And then, BOOM, screams of horror and fear. Billy knows he shouldn't, because it's a terrible survival instinctive response, but he runs in the direction of the screams. Only to find Superman and the Justice Gang fighting a massive, fire-breathing big-ass-ugly lizard.
"Holy moly..."
Billy should have been terrified, but he wasn't. He was vibrating with excitement!
You see, it sucked for him to be taken away from Fawcett because this new foster family was from Metropolis, but deep down, he was kinda happy just thinking that it increased his chances of meeting his favorite superhero!
And didn't he actually get to see his hero?! His eyes were shining. He reacted as if he were on a TV show. gasping, letting out "ooohs" and "aaahs" But he realized it wasn't a TV show when that huge lizard tail started moving wildly. He wasn't that close, he wasn't in that tail's danger zone. But it was better to be safe than sorry. So, he was going to move a little further away, and that's when he saw another child, close to his age group.
The child was as excited as he had been moments before, mesmerized by the heroes' awesome fight. Billy should leave. He's spent enough time alone on the streets to understand that when you can, you should run! Don't get left behind by being distracted by saturated colors and cool aliens punches. Something the other child certainly didn't know, since he seemed to be taking small steps to get even closer to the monster and the heroes.
"Run!" Billy yelled, but the boy paid him no attention.
The tail was racing past two buildings, geting closer.
Billy blinked, and he was running. He grabbed the boy's wrist and began pulling him to safety.
The boy wasn't cooperating, yelling, "Superman! Superman!"
Billy had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something like, "Superman's dealing with the big monster! You're just giving him more trouble by getting so close!!"
But his attention was drawn to the tail, tearing up the asphalt toward them as the monster lost its balance. Billy closed his eyes, instinctively hugging the boy, trying futilely to protect him from the impact. But then there was no impact, no pain, no light at the end of the tunnel.
He opened his eyes and saw briefly that he and the other boy had been caught in Superman's arms. They were whisked away in seconds and placed on the ground.
"You did a great job taking care of your brother, champ. But now I need you two to take yourselves to the police station to find your parents, okay? Can you do that?" Superman said, crouching in front of them and offering a gentle, soft smile as he pointed to the police station across the street.
This wasn't Billy's brother, but he couldn't seem to deny it. Superman had praised him for trying to protect the boy… he'd also given him a task!
"Y-yes, Superman, sir. Mr. Superman, sir. I'll find them, thank you!" Billy said with a smile that revealed how much he was living a dream at that moment.
Superman gives one last reassuring smile before flying off again.
Billy is then taken from his fangirling moment to the feeling of his hands being gently squeezed.
"Will you help me find my parents?" The boy, maybe an year or two younger.
Billy knew that if he went into that police station, he'd end up back in the system, but…
"Well… hm…" he thought for a moment and sighed heavily. "Yeah, buddy. Let's go find your mama…" Billy reassured him, mimicking Superman's soft smile;
He smiles genuinely when the boy's sad eyes turn to relief. Maybe it would be okay to go back to the system. It's not like he can't escape one more time.
He tried to help the boy and ended up meeting Superman, being praised and all! He did good, and good followed… His father was right, and Superman just reminded him of that.
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byfawn · 21 hours ago
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after a couple days together, kitten hybrid!reader sees simon without his mask for the first time ever
you were curled up on the couch, tail flicking lazily as you watched simon move around the kitchen. he always kept the mask on around you—even at home, even when it was just the two of you. you never questioned it. you knew better than anyone the weight of things you wanted to hide.
his hands came up, fingers hooking under the edge of the mask as he tugged it off with a frustrated sigh, probably from the heat of the kitchen. he didn’t realize you were watching. not at first.
your breath caught.
his face was beautiful.
a jagged line cut across his nose, another twisting near his brow. his lips were chapped, his stubble uneven in places where scars interrupted the growth. his jaw was sharp, clenched tight like he was bracing for something.
and his eyes. god, his eyes.
so much softer without the mask.
you didn’t realize you’d moved until you were right in front of him, your hands reaching up before you could stop yourself. he froze, his breath hitching as your fingertips brushed his cheek.
you expected him to pull away. to snap. to tell you not to touch.
but he didn’t.
he leaned into it.
your thumb traced the curve of a scar, slow, reverent. a quiet chirp escaped you—something questioning, something awed.
simon let out a shaky breath, his own hand coming up to cover yours, pressing it harder against his skin.
“ugly, ain’t i?” he muttered, voice rough.
you shook your head immediately, ears pinning back in protest. no. no, he was wrong. you nuzzled into his palm, purring so loud it vibrated through your whole body.
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borkunlimited · 13 hours ago
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Wonder Cat Rosmontis - 2
Cat Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Summary: A police lieutenant and a crime boss her CI with unproven crimes looks after a little cat hybrid suffering from amnesia with telekinetic abilities she can't control just yet.
Author's Notes: I am planning to turn this into a mini-series before I publish the main one since I am still figuring out the outline. Also, I figured I really enjoy writing soft! Sylus with a dash of his usual snark. Word Count: 831 Tagging: @dummiebunny
All cats love to curl up against anything warm.
It was a rainy night that Sylus had once again sent away the babysitter living one floor down your apartment to look after kitty cat who he found near the radiator, the warm glow of the lamp casting a light on her soft features under her favorite weighted blanket as she whispered the lines of a book to her stuffed shark.
He is sure she stays up late to wait for you to arrive home from the precinct.
“Late reading lesson again, kitty cat?”, he asked, crouching by her side to brush the strand of her hair.
Silver, just like his. 
She might as well be his and yours.
“My brother said I should read more,” she answered, and he let out a soft chuckle.
Brother.
Pressing her further about the whereabouts of her ‘brother’ often leads to severe headaches and floating furniture crushed into balls of wooden splinters so he simply went along with her.
“He’s right, little kitten.”
“I’ll try but I am not very good at remembering, papa.”
Her ears drooped down slightly but Sylus is always quick to assure his favorite little kitten who gets easily frustrated when she is not doing well, reaching out to ruffle her hair before pulling her on his lap, holding her book for her.
“You’ll get better, kitty cat.”
“You think so?”
“Of course I do. You’re the smartest little kitty in the whole world.”
“Smartest little kitty,” she echoed, the tip of her tail curling slightly at the thought of growing to be the person she looked up to, the person that always make sure she drinks milk before school and packs her lunch-
-You.
Sylus sat with her on the floor that night, the pitter patter of the rain a gentle beat that filled your living room while he occasionally helped her when she struggled on pronouncing a word.
(“My brother said he doesn’t know how to read this one,” she will tell him and he will poke at the little crease between her brows before teaching her.)
Even when it was past bedtime, he did not bother to move even though his kitty cat had already dozed off against him.
Not yet.
He will only move once you arrive home just so he won’t raise her hopes up if she accidentally wakes up and perhaps it is with her soft snores that he found himself following her in her field of dreams.
Sleep always comes so easily in this house that is not even his.
“Should I hire you as a babysitter at this point, Sylus?”
“Is that an offer, sweetie?”
Was it the warm light of the lamp or you are simply tired from braving the heavy rain from the precinct to your home that you caught the corner of his lips turning to a smile after seeing you crouching down in front of him? 
Impossible. Criminals such as him can’t do that.
“I might actually consider it depending on your rates.”
“I am a very expensive man. You should know that by now, hissy kitty.”
“So do I call this a free trial, lie guy?”
There is no hint of the usual judgment on your eyes as you gaze back at him and he is sure he saw a playful smile on your lips but it is hard to tell, maybe because you are too distracting with how your damp clothes cling on your body or all he can think about is he had finally caught a glimpse of subtle adoration in your eyes.
Rain does have a certain effect on everyone.
All cats love to curl up against anything warm.
A well-known fact and when you finally changed to fresh clothes, only the still drowsy kitty cat allowed herself to be moved to her room, mumbling for the two of you to not go just yet.
This time, she decided to snuggle up against him instead of you and he has to thank his attributes as a half-dragon for being naturally warm that she finally chose him.
“Would you look at that? I am her favorite tonight, Lieutenant.”
“Do you want a medal for that?”
“Engrave it with “World’s Best Papa” and I’ll wear it with pride.”
The rain became his excuse to stay longer, poor, but it gave him a chance to finally have a good night’s rest and when morning came, he knew that he would barter all the riches in the world if he could wake up to this sight.
Kitty cat on his chest and you using his bicep as a pillow.
His two favorite girls are just within reach.
Yes, he savored the moment as long as he could and he feigned sleep when he noticed you stir.
If only you knew how much he wanted to pull you close to him as well under the light of the daybreak filtering through the window of the little kitty cat that could.
Author's Notes: To be honest, one of my references when I am working on the outline of the main story of this mini-series is Heavenly Delusion. Pretty good anime! Thank you for reading!
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lorelei-larai · 9 hours ago
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Cat-fé
Sylus x Female!No-Mc
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Prologue: Spinx cat without a front paw
Summary: Miss Hunter brings a new companion to the cafe. And you struggle with not thinking badly of him.
Tags: Non!Mc is the owner of a cat cafe and overprotective cat mom. Non!Mc and Mc are friends. Fluff (I think so?). I took too many liberties with the kitty cards. No beta reader, we die like Grandma. Mc's name is Hunter.
Wc: 3.7k
Author note: I'm not an English speaker, so please point out typos to save me the embarrassment of finding them myself. This is a little test for the fic. Based on this idea.
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Your day begins at 7 a.m., with the irritating beep of the alarm clock mercilessly shattering the remnants of forgotten dreams. You don't hesitate to turn it off, but getting your body out of the warm sheets is another story. The fabric seems to have clung to your skin, as if it doesn't want to part with you as much as you don't want to part with it.
Your routine begins in the bathroom: you brush your teeth, do what you need to do, take a quick shower to wake up properly, and, in front of the fogged-up mirror, you check out the most recent scratches. Fine cuts, still pink, a reminder of that last cat up for adoption who, luckily, has already found a family—one that isn't yours. That little devil was a storm disguised as fluff. And although it was adorable, you silently thank whatever feline deity that it is no longer your responsibility.
The second part of the day takes you downstairs. You turn on the lights in the shop and head to the next room, where your real bosses await: the cats. As soon as you open the door and light floods the room, a symphony of meows erupts. They know that the day doesn't start without the stars of the show. You almost trip over a couple of furry bodies as you approach the bowls. You serve them warm milk and treats, as you do every morning, before letting them out into the café. The door is left open for them to do their thing.
Your small—and, after so many years, no longer so humble—business occupies two floors. The first is dedicated entirely to coffee and your four-legged companions: a cat café that has been around for years. You don't even remember how it all started, perhaps shortly after the catastrophe of '34. You still remember Bromo, that first white cat with black spots that you picked up in your arms. He didn't come alone. More arrived, and with them you rebuilt your home. The day you opened the café, they simply took over the place and, over time, it ended up being theirs.
A tabby, one of those still up for adoption—Tiger, if you remember correctly, named by one of the rescuers' children—rubs against your leg. You move away suspiciously. You still remember the time you petted him and he sank his teeth into you. Cute, yes, but a deadly trap. You have to gently push him out of the kitchen when he insists on following you. That's the only area off-limits to them. Not only because they leave hair everywhere, but because they're accident specialists: burned tails, stolen plates, broken glasses. You still don't understand how one of them managed to knock an entire box of cookies onto the floor.
By 8 a.m., the cats had already settled into their favorite spots in the café: on the velvet cushions protruding from the pillars, or on the wooden structures that cross the ceiling from one end to the other. You leave a deck of Kitty Cards on each table, arrange the nine cups next to the menus, and place the “Reserved” signs on tables 8 and 14, always set aside for your most loyal customers.
Your workday officially begins at 9 a.m. You flip the “Closed” sign to “Open” and, as you expected, there are already a couple of people waiting. You greet them with a smile and invite the first couple in: women adore coffee... or rather, cats, and it's not uncommon for them to drag their dates here.
You're taking your first order—cat paw-shaped cookies and a macchiato—when the bell above the door rings again. You're not surprised to see her come in. She's a regular.
She heads straight for table 5, as always... but this time there's something different.
The first thing you notice is her companion: white hair, light enough to make you think of an old man, but his defined features belie that idea. No wrinkles. Strong jawline. Very tall. His dark suit contrasts sharply with the warm tones of the café. He sits down on the cream-colored sofa without even looking at you. He just smiles. He has red eyes.
Hunter, as if nothing had happened, is already handing out the Kitty Cards. She doesn't waste any time. In a way, you admire her. She can handle four men at once without them getting in each other's way—rest in peace, Caleb—and still save the city from the Wanderers every weekend. She's been coming to the café for years, and she's even challenged you a few times when she's seen you idle.
Silver, your trusty gray Persian, snaps you out of your reverie by jumping on the bar with an insistent meow. You stroke him between the ears, laughing softly. His name tag bumps against your wrist as he rubs his head against your hand.
You approach table 5 with your professional smile, that friendly one that comes naturally. But it falters as soon as that man's eyes fall on you.
He's not smiling anymore. His arms are crossed, his back is straight, and he's not even touching the padded back of the sofa. Every muscle, every vein seems tense, as if he's about to pounce. He's imposing. Intimidating. And the way he lifts his chin, as if floating above the world, doesn't help. His elegant gangster appearance only reinforces the image that Miss Hunter brought this guy straight from some underground fight club.
He holds your gaze without blinking. It makes you uncomfortable. In a strange way, as if he can read you. So you simply decide to ignore him and focus on Hunter, who greets you with a broad smile right after throwing down a card. It was a good move: the evol kitty that emerges meows happily and does a little spin on the cup of the same color and dances.
“What would you like to order?” Your voice is friendly, trained, the one you reserve only for customers. But you're talking to her, not him. You don't even look at him. Still, you can feel his gaze fixed on the back of your neck.
"Uuh, orange juice with cheesecake. What are you going to order?" She replies cheerfully. Her energy is completely at odds with her companion's gloomy demeanor.
“A coffee would be fine.” His voice is hoarse, firm. It doesn't sound threatening, but it has a weight that lingers in the air. Serious. Unexpectedly calm. Perhaps too pleasant. You don't stop to think about it.
You write down the orders in your notebook without looking up. When you write “coffee,” you hesitate for a second. You wonder if that man even took the time to read your menu or if he just ordered the first thing that came to mind.
"Your orders will be ready in a few minutes. Please wait and enjoy your stay," you say, with your usual courtesy, and move on to the next table.
Once all the orders have been taken, you return to the counter. You cut a slice of cheesecake, squeeze the juice, and prepare the coffee. You carefully place everything on the silver tray and carry it back to table 5 with both hands.
Hunter thanks you enthusiastically. He, on the other hand, doesn't even look at you. He's too focused on the cards. His furrowed brow, the intensity with which he stares at the deck... Someone was using their brain overtime to fight their bad luck.
You return to the counter and continue working, focused, almost on autopilot. Until you hear Hunter's voice approaching, in a complaining tone. He's taking out his wallet while his partner follows close behind.
“I'm sure you bent the corners of the cards! Cheating is wrong and—HEY!”
She is interrupted by a slight but determined push. The silver-haired man steps forward and, without warning, practically shoves his card in your face. You blink, squinting at the dark sheen of the plastic. You're not sure, but you'd swear that card costs more than your entire building.
“I'll pay. Don't worry your pretty little head,” he says with such casual arrogance that you frown slightly. “And give me a box of those chocolates,” he adds, pointing to a box near the cash register.
Without saying a word, you take the card and efficiently ring up the purchase. You hand back the shiny black rectangle, along with the box of chocolates.
“Thank you very much for your visit. I hope you enjoyed it. Come back soon!” you say with the automatic smile you reserve for customers. Cordial. Polished.
The couple leaves. Hunter waves goodbye, beaming as always. He says nothing. Not even a glance. Just his back walking away until he disappears through the door.
Rude.
[ . . . ]
Miss Hunter brings Rafayel and Zayne on the same day. The first comes for breakfast, the second for a snack. The next day, it's Xavier's turn, who stays longer than allowed because he simply overslept.
They are all friendly to you. They greet you, talk to you, make you feel part of the atmosphere. They don't have that strange air about them that you don't know whether to call arrogance or threat. They are cordial, even charming, and they leave with the same politeness with which they arrive.
But eventually, she brings him back.
The man with silver hair.
You still don't understand how the dynamic between them all works, but there they are, again, facing each other in Kitty Cards. From the counter, you can clearly see how he hides the deck under the table when his partner isn't looking at him, and folds the corner of a couple of cards. You don't have the humor or the desire to scold him for ruining your deck or for cheating, so you decide to look the other way as you deliver a batch of kitten paw-shaped cookies to the table next to theirs.
Once again, he's the one who pays. Miss Hunter follows him outside, complaining about losing, while carrying a box of chocolates he bought at your counter. It becomes routine. Every week, three rounds of Kitty Cards for each boy.
But there's an unspoken rule that's never broken: you don't talk to the silver-haired man. And he doesn't talk to you. All communication goes through Miss Hunter.
You assume she's some kind of social butterfly. She has that glow that attracts guys who, for some reason, seem calm and scary at the same time (because Zayne also fit that description, and Caleb made you feel this same uneasy feeling for a while). What you feel when you see him is something more raw. An instinctive aversion. A caution you don't know how to name.
Fear? you wonder, as you leave a cup of latte on her table, with the foam drawn in the shape of a cat's face. Her smile when she sees it is soft, brief, and makes you think that no, it's not fear you feel. It's intimidating, yes. But not terrifying.
You then leave Miss Hunter's multifruit juice and a couple of cat-shaped cupcakes. She squeals with delight, even though she's ordered them a thousand times before.
“Thank you!” she exclaims, beaming, before stuffing a whole cupcake into her mouth. She's not exactly graceful, but her genuine joy is overflowing. She loves your cupcakes.
The silver man, on the other hand, says nothing. He just smiles quietly and watches her with a calm expression. He seems serene, perhaps even happy, just looking at her. A cat jumps onto his lap. You recognize the brown fur instantly; it's Oden.
One of your most sociable cats. Brown in color, the kind any family would adopt immediately... if it weren't for the fact that his tail ends in a stump. You picked him up on the street, injured. You became too attached to give him up for adoption.
Oden is charming. And that would be good news, if the man hadn't become as tense as he did. Back straight. Hands raised as if he didn't know where to put them. A grimace appears on his face.
You rest your tray under one arm and, with the other, lift the cat firmly by the middle.
“Sorry, he's a little restless,” you say with a forced smile, looking at the man. But it's Miss Hunter who responds before he can even open his mouth:
“No problem, we're in a cat café for a reason,” she says sweetly.
Still, you take Oden to another area of the café. You put him on an empty sofa, a couple of tables away. You stroke his head. He settles down and purrs even as you walk away.
Why did you send Oden away?
You don't have a specific reason. It's not fear, not really. The man seems capable of enjoying the finer things in life; his smile gives him away. You don't think he would hurt a cat... at least, not with Hunter around.
But there's something about him that unsettles you. Something you can't explain. Enough to keep your cats away.
Maybe it's silly. Maybe you're being overprotective. But there's something about that man that screams danger. You don't know if you have the right to judge him based on a hunch. But your instinct—the one you've honed, the one that has sometimes saved you from things you'd rather not remember—twists every time he's around.
You go back to the counter and don't pay attention to them until closing time. This time it's Miss Hunter who comes up to pay, always smiling, with the same black card. He stays behind, watching them both with those red eyes that you can't hold for more than a couple of seconds. You lower your gaze. You take the card, charge what you owe, and return it along with a new package of chocolates.
“Thank you for visiting. I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Come back soon.”
[ . . . ]
A couple of days later, she returns. This time, alone.
The sun is already beginning to set, tinging the windows orange. She takes a seat at table 5, her favorite. Perhaps you should suggest that she reserve it officially, but her irregular visits would be a headache to coordinate, so you dismiss the idea as you approach to serve her.
“Welcome back. What would you like today?”
“An apple juice and some cookies.” Her voice is soft, laden with an exhaustion she makes no attempt to hide. She smiles faintly.
You write down the order in your little notebook. “Difficult day?” You hum, as if that would lighten the question.
“Difficult Wanderers,” she replies with a sigh. She carries the same weight as all the hunters in the association: training, missions, risks. All on her shoulders.
“Will you be available for a game of cards?”
“Luckily, there aren't many customers today. I'll come as soon as I can.” With that, you retreat to the kitchen, dodging a dark orange cat with one ear missing that has settled down right behind your feet. It's related to Tiger, although you can't remember its name right now. One of your new adoptees.
You serve the last customers, deliver orders, collect the remaining payments. When you're finally free, you take Miss Hunter's order to her table... and take the opportunity to bring yourself an extra. A second plate with your favorite treats. You haven't eaten anything all afternoon, and after all, who's going to complain? The cats? Being your own boss has its advantages, and guilt-free breaks are one of them.
You leave the juice and the plate of cookies in front of her. No one comments on the extra honey candies in the corner of the plate. They're a little something from the house. Something you offer on special days, or to special customers. It's your way of cheering them up a little.
You sit down in front of her, put your snack to one side, and pick up the deck of number cards to shuffle. Miss Hunter takes care of the jokers, imitating your movements with a small smile.
“I saw that there are new cats up for adoption,” she comments, leaving her share of the cards on the table.
You start handing out the right amount for each one. “It's that time of year again... lots of cats, few adopters.” You sigh, feeling the weight of being the temporary mother of a feline gang. “The shelter is planning to launch a free neutering campaign for both pets and strays. I don't know how successful it will be, but they wanted to use the café to promote it.”
You're the first to throw down a card. A blue kitten jumps out of the illustration and lands in a cup of the same color. It gives you a good number of points.
“Sounds good. There's a white cat without a collar that I've been trying to catch these days. If I succeed, I'll bring it” she says, throwing down a wild card to take your card.
But you block it. She frowns silently and throws a pink kitten that lands in a white cup.
“Are you planning to keep it?”
“With all my missions, I don't have time. But I'll find it a good home.”
You almost feel guilty when you block her turn again, preventing her from throwing a wild card. Even so, she hardly seems to notice. She continues without complaint, playing a green kitten with such a low number that you feel sorry for her.
“I can take care of it for a while, if you need to. One more or one less, it doesn't matter” you say, as she picks up a new card and hums as she contemplates her options.
“That won't be necessary. My friend loves cats. I was thinking of asking him.”
“Zayne?” you ask without thinking. It's a shame that man, as much as he loves cats, seems to be a walking cat repellent. Rafayel is an automatic “no” and Xavier didn't seem much of a cat person.
“No. The one with the old man's hair and red eyes,” she replies, as if it were obvious. “I know he's a little intimidating, but believe me, he would never hurt a defenseless animal.”
You hum softly as you score twelve points with a brown cat. There are no more colored cups left.
“Does he even have pets?” you ask, with more bitterness than you intended to let out.
“Does a bad-tempered robot crow count?” He shrugs as if it's no big deal.
“A what?”
You play a card to reduce her brown cat to a single point. She counters, and you deny her again. The poor cat drops to two points. Miss Hunter looks at you as if you had personally insulted her.
“I have no idea if it's a handmade robot or a modified animal. It likes mechanics... it's a little weird.”
“Sounds like a nerd.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Miss Hunter loses. Three times in a row.
You offer her some extra chocolate chip cookies to console her wounded pride. She stays until closing time, helping you herd the cats into the back room while they continue chatting.
“My friend really loves cats, you know?” she says, as Oden rests peacefully in her arms. She carefully places him on a cushion. The cat settles on his back and tries to reach her with his outstretched paws, his claws extended. She strokes his head with a smile. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't shoo them away next time. But I understand if you don't want him around... He makes that kind of impression.”
You don't respond right away. You count the furry heads to make sure everyone is where they should be. Only then do you turn to her. You think for a moment, then sigh.
“I'll consider it. But if he does anything... he's dead.”
Miss Hunter laughs “If he does anything, I'll hold him and you do the rest.”
[ . . . ]
The following week, the first person to accompany Miss Hunter in her games is, once again, the silver-haired man.
You approach the table with your professional smile, notebook in one hand and pen in the other. You watch as Miss Hunter buries her nose in her deck of cards, visibly frustrated. One glance is enough to tell you that she is losing... badly. She was never good at using wild cards.
“What would you like today?” you ask, keeping your tone friendly.
“American coffee and a box of chocolates.”
“So early?” asks Miss Hunter, raising an eyebrow. Her tone is a mixture of mockery and surprise. Just what you wanted to say.
The man's smile oozes arrogance as he replies:
“In case you give up too soon.”
Miss Hunter's mouth opens wide in indignation, but she doesn't say anything. You quickly step forward, wanting to close the order before the third cat war breaks out in your shop.
“And you, miss?”
“Apple juice and strawberry cake.” She snorts, crossing her arms.
Turning away, you can't help but laugh as you walk away from them.
In the kitchen, you check your notebook and prepare everything on a single silver tray. Plate by plate, you leave the breakfasts at their respective tables, until you reach the last one: number five. The usual one. Theirs.
And there you see him.
Ruford, your new adoption: a sphynx cat missing one of his front legs, rubbing against the legs of the man dressed as if he had come straight from a funeral. For a moment, you tense up. You fear he will kick him away or do something worse. Ruford isn't exactly pretty, nor is he popular with customers, and you don't need anyone to reject him again.
But instead, the man leans toward him. He gently strokes him between the ears, helps him climb onto his lap when he notices he can't do it alone, and stays like that, his fingers scratching under his chin. His brow is relaxed. The corners of his mouth are barely turned up. It's almost... a smile.
Sitting there, petting a hairless, one-legged cat, with that serene expression and the forgotten cards between his fingers... he doesn't seem so intimidating.
Your little smile doesn't fade when you approach to leave their orders on the table.
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doflamingo2000 · 2 days ago
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🩸🔥 The Tale of Big Bro Choso
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This is the tale of Choso Kamo —The cursed womb turned guardian.The experiment turned brother.The blood-manipulating king who went from villain to icon in one nosebleed and a breakdown.---
🩸 1. WHO IS CHOSO?
Let’s break it down for the uninitiated:Choso is the eldest of the Cursed Womb: Death Paintings, the 9 half-human, half-curse hybrids created by Kenjaku when he possessed Noritoshi Kamo (yes, that creepy ancestor, not the current pretty boy archer).Only three of them — Choso, Kechizu, and Eso — were actually born into the world.They were lab experiments. Weapons. But Choso? He made a choice.He saw his cursed siblings not as tools, but as family.He became their protector.Their guardian.Their big bro in the most ride-or-die way possible.>
“I will protect my brothers. No matter what.”
And when Kechizu and Eso died?Choso didn’t just grieve.He declared war.---
⚔️ 2. FROM ENEMY TO BROTHER-IN-ARMS
Let’s talk about the single most dramatic anime character flip in recent history.Choso originally tried to kill Yuji.Because Yuji “killed” his brothers.And then — in the middle of a bloody death match —Choso gets hit with a sudden, haunting memory of...🥺 Being Yuji’s older brother. 🥺> 🎻 Cue the violins🩸 Cue the nosebleed😭 Cue the mental breakdownSuddenly, the enemy becomes family.And Choso, this blood-soaked warrior, becomes the most loyal brother in the entire series.Not by blood.Not by reason.But by heart.---
🧬 3. HE’S A CURSED WOMB, BUT HIS HEART’S ALL HUMAN
Choso should’ve been nothing more than a weapon.He was literally designed to be soulless.But this man?He chose to:GrieveProtectCryLoveDefy the system that made himHis character arc isn’t redemption.It’s self-definition.He never did anything wrong — he was just trying to protect the only people who loved him.> “You took my brothers from me.Now I’ll give everything to protect my last one.”And by "last one"? He means Yuji.Who he now calls “Otouto” (little brother) with enough conviction to make the entire fandom sob uncontrollably.---
🩸 4. HIS TECHNIQUE? STRAIGHT-UP VIOLENCE ART
Choso uses Blood Manipulation, like the Kamo clan, but with cursed enhancements.Supernova – turning his blood into floating landminesSlicing Exorcism – ranged blood slashesPiercing Blood – a sniper rifle made of his own freaking bloodstreamHe's got regeneration, durability, and actual battlefield IQ.Dude’s a tank.A ninja.A sniper.And a loving older brother all rolled into one drippy red aesthetic.---
🕊️ 5. WHY HE HITS SO DAMN HARD (EMOTIONALLY)
Choso hits different because he was never meant to feel.He was a mistake.An experiment.A monster, on paper.But he loved anyway.He grieved anyway.He chose family over vengeance.And when the jujutsu world kept trying to strip him of that?He said NO.>
“I am Choso. Eldest son of Kamo Noritoshi.And the big brother of Yuji Itadori.”
That’s not just a statement.That’s a line in the sand.
FINAL WORD: HIS LOVE IS HIS POWER
The Tail of Big Bro Choso isn’t just a redemption arc.It’s a story of what love looks like when it bleeds.Choso doesn’t smile often.He doesn’t speak loudly.But he will stand in front of you, bleeding and shaking, and say:>
“I’ll protect you.Because you’re my brother.And that’s all that matters.”
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