#none of my usual playlists are hitting PLEASE

[blighted-lights]

in desperate need of more wlw/sapphic music recs. if anyone has any recs i am BEGGING for them 🤲

[taintandviolent]

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).

a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Ah, Tuesday night. 

In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals. 

There’s also the… criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one. 

Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance. 

There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else. 

You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way. 

“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.” 

A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten. 

“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?” 

“Better now.” 

You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.

“The usual?” 

He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?” 

You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”

“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?” 

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”

The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.

“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words. 

You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.” 

With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?

As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile. 

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table. 

He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.” 

“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.

You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew. 

“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.” 

Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready.  He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else. 

“Only you, doll.” 

You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.  

He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?” 

“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.

“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”

“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.” 

There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.

“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket. 

The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again. 

He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It’s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides. 

Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to. 

“Doll!” 

You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain. 

“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat. “Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair. 

“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked. 

“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location. 

“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”

 “Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?” 

It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well. 

Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park. 

You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching. 

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?” 

You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again –  like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question. 

“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?” 

Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...” 

“Do you come for me?” 

Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy. 

“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”

You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.

“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”

He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell. 

“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”

You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours. 

He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good. 

As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.   

This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat. 

A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you. 

“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”

You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.” 

But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind. 

Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.” 

With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.  

Thank god it still fits. 

You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours. 

Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.

“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job. 

“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.” 

One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate. 

It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.

After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on. 

“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice. 

“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?” 

When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though. 

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”  

You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner. 

“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side. 

You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of. 

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin. 

“How long have you felt this way, huh?” 

You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…” 

“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously. 

“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.

“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”

You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” 

He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?” 

“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”

Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?” 

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you. 

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?” 

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.” 

His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other. 

Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.  

Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance. 

“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips. 

At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you. 

“Hoo, baby...” 

The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you. 

He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core. 

Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving. 

“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat. 

“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.

Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.  

“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.” 

You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing. 

“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.” 

In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.

“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”

His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips. 

“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?” 

He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his. 

“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.” 

You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back. 

Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.  

“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck. 

His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months. 

Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…” 

Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.

“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging. 

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together. 

While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window. 

“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back. 

“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother. 

“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”

[reiderwriter]

🍷 Alcohol Free 🍷

Week 1 of my Playlist series! Inspired by Alcohol Free by TWICE.

Summary: You're the designated driver for half of your friends, and Spencer is the designated driver for the other half, so why do you feel so buzzed when you're around him? OR; taking every opportunity when you finally meet Spencer Reid for the first time ♡

Warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption, but reader and Spencer are both sober. A/N: Welcome to week 1 of the Playlist! I think we started with an absolute banger, and for such a fun, upbeat song with this, I had to make this a fluff (sorry to all my smut and angst enjoyed, please be patient 🫡). I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to send me more song recs, as I'll be writing one follower chosen song fic per month 🥳

Check out my masterlist here~

“How much have you had to drink exactly, Pen?” You laugh as you watch her wobble back and forth, at her table.

“We started with champagne and wine. And then there was the cocktail round, so, a few margaritas here and there. And a mojito. Maybe a mimosa. I think a guy bought me a pint colada at the bar earlier,” her words were so sharp you almost couldn't believe she'd drank anything at all, but the fact that she said all this while swaying gently from side to side had you giggling at her antics.

“Don't forget the tequila!” Penelope's friend Emily groaned from the other side of the table then were gathered at, face already flat on the surface as if her hangover had already hit.

You'd been friends with Penelope for over a year now, so you were acquainted with all of the girls there, and had agreed to come and meet them on one of their girls nights out. You were never a big drinker though, so you offered to be the designated driver for the half of the gang that were committed to Uber-ing home.

They'd been drinking since the mid afternoon, and by the time you'd gotten off work and cleaned up for the bar, it was obvious that they were going to be a handful.

“Y/N, YOU'RE REALLY PRETTY, YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT?” JJ shouted from her seat beside you.

“Thank you, JJ, you already said that three times tonight. Maybe we should get you some water?”

“And so kind too, my princess in shining armour,” Penelope giggled.

For most people, being the only sober person on a night out was hell, but you found yourself enjoying it more and more as the years went by. Drunk women were so much like kindergarteners when they reaches a certain blood alcohol level, and you loved seeing what your usually serious and cool girlfriends would come up with.

You also wanted to make sure they stayed safe, and with the impressive list of multiple alcohols they'd just ingested, you wondered if you should be carting them off to the emergency room then and there.

“I THINK YOU'D LIKE MY FRIEND SPENCER. HE'S NERDY. YOU'D MAKE CUTE BABIES.” JJ was still shouting all of her words, despite the bar being relatively quiet and you almost did a spit take with your water as she kept on.

“Stop trying to marry Spence off, Jennifer.” Penelope giggled, over pronouncing JJ's name as if it were her first time ever using the word.

You'd heard a lot about this Spencer Reid since you'd become close with the girls at the table, and honestly, you were happy that JJ deemed you good enough for their Spencer.

From the sounds of it, all three of them nagged at him like elder sisters who found him endearingly annoying, and were fiercely protective of him. It made you curious.

“Are you seeing anyone, Y/N?” Emily asked, finally lifting her head up slightly, but in a way that made it look like it weighed 500 lbs more than usual.

“I'm not.”

“Why? You're smoking. Half the men in here have been circling your like sharks for the hour you've been here.” You laughed at that and pushed a bottle of water in Emily's direction again, encouraging her to take small sips of water.

“I'm being serious! I may be drunk beyond belief but this is a sober thought.”

“Emily, I love you, but none of these men are interested in me. I'm practically a spinster. I'm 27, I have no money and no prospects, yada yada, already a burden to my parents.”

“That was something nerdy, I know that was something nerdy, my Spencie Senses are tingling,” she quipped.

And as if right on cue, a quiet voice popped up from behind you and all the hairs on your neck stood on edge as it happened.

“It's a quote from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie, so it's not really all that nerdy, Emily.” You turned, slightly startled in your seat as you finally met the elusive Doctor Spencer Reid.

“SPENCE!” JJ cheered, and the other girls similarly whooped at his entrance. They were overjoyed, but you were slightly overwhelmed, because not once in their descriptions of Spencer Reid had they ever told you that he was quite possibly one of the hottest men to ever grace this good Earth.

His hair was slightly curly, a mess of waves flopping into his eyes, but shorter on the sides, highlighting his sculpted jaw. He was tall, on the lean side and craning your neck to look up at him was a happy experience to say the least.

He greeted his friends and looked down to you, and you felt all the blood suddenly rush to your brain when your eyes locked. Dear God.

“Spencer, this is Y/N, my wonderful, gorgeous, single and attractive friend. Say hello, Spencer.”

“Hello,” he gladly followed the instructions Penelope gave him, and you practically giggled at the sound of his voice. Giggled.

“Hello. I'm the wonderful, gorgeous, attractive Y/N,” you waved at him slightly, but your brain wouldn't stop thumping around as you enjoyed the sight of the man.

“Penelope actually told me about you before. You're working at the indie bookstore near Café Density, right? Castle Books? I got a first edition of T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats there a few months ago.”

“You!” You gasped the word, as a garage of words fell from your mouth in a stream. “You bastard, I was saving for months to buy that thing, and three days before my paycheck I turn up and it was gone! Oh my god, how does it smell? Are the pages mustard yellow or still A little white? They never let me touch it because I almost burst into tears every time I got close.”

To your astonishment, he didn't recoil from your spitfire speech, but laughed happily.

“It's great, the illustrations are amazing. I didn't know someone else had their eye on it when I went in, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologise for finding treasure. You'd be a horrible pirate if you did that.” You brain really wasn't connected with your mouth anymore and you resisted the urge to turn and bolt away from the discussion.

“Thank you? I'm not a pirate, but I think that was a compliment.”

“See, nerds made in heaven, JJ was right.” The panic built up again slightly and you were sure your brain was going to explode with all the heat that was flooding to your face.

“What's JJ right about?” Reid inquired, and you almost grasped your chest to stop your heart from beating out of it when he cocked his head to the side.

You hadn't had a lick of alcohol the entire night, and yet you're entire body was reacting like it was drunk on Spencer Reid.

“Oh just that you and Y/N here would make beautiful-”

“BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATIONS HAPPEN.” You quickly cut Penelope off, sending her a warning look that was less subtle than just straight up telling her to shut her mouth.

“Can we go now?” Emily dropped her head to the table again as she threw out the words, looking suddenly three shades greener than she was a moment before. “I think that last shot was the drink that broke the camel's liver, and I'm the camel.”

You passed her the water again and slowly started to help your friends gently gather their things, noticing that Spencer was doing the same.

No wonder these girls were so protective of him if this is how well he treats them. He was their coworker, but he would have absolutely been confused for a filial son for any of the three women as he helped them each.

“Where do you live, Y/N?” He asked casually as you both helped the women out of the bar and into the fresh air. “My car is a bit small, but we can throw these three in the back together and they'll mostly sleep until they get back to their homes.”

“Oh no, you don't have to do that, I can go by myself-”

“I can't let a drunk woman go home by herself, Penelope would give me hell in the morning.” This earned a few giggles from the women beside you. You thought you heard Emily mumbling “some profiler he is,” under her breath as well.

You hesitated. You should've been explaining that you hadn't had anything to drink yet, that you actually drove here yourself and that your car was likely parked right by his. You should've offered to take at least one woman off his hands for the night to share the burden of making sure your friends didn't die.

But it was true that each of the women was likely to completely pass out when they got into the car, like newborns being rocked to sleep by their mothers. And that left Spencer Reid free for conversation.

“Thank you, that would be really nice, actually,” you smiled and followed the man to his car, lugging your wonderfully buzzed friends behind you.

[mykmi]

gym himbo

summary: some guy at the gym keeps fooling around and showing off every time he sees you around, so you two make a bet. genre: crack, fluff pairing: gym himbo!beomgyu x gn!reader warnings: none? tell me if there's anything!! a/n: this is just a small very light fluff, just for fun ;))) AND i am so grateful for all the responses to my latest post (headcanons) so i want to thank everyone for the support! i'm trying to catch up and post as much as i can, i hope i don't make you wait :((

the gym was unusually full - it's the first time you've gone to the gym this lately, almost 10 p.m. too many things were going on, so today you couldn't go any earlier. the squeaks of trainers, the sound of bars falling to the floor, and the frequent screams of some bodybuilders lifting extreme weights were filling the gym, but it was all muffled through your earphones.

you were on a break, scrolling through your phone and listening to a playlist nonstop. and suddenly, you hear a muffled voice near you and notice someone in the corner of your eye. you look up and see beomgyu, with his sleeveless t-shirt and long dark hair. he's grinning at you, waiting for your reaction probably, but you haven't heard any word.

“what?” you take out your earphone, breathing heavily. he leans in a bit closer and repeats:

“i've won the bet today, so i've won your number as a prize”, he smiles once again.

beomgyu's been hitting on you for two weeks now, and it's not like you turned him down. you were sometimes flirting and staring back at him, just for fun. he's been trying to show off and make some stupid jokes to get your attention every time he's seen you around. but you weren't sure about how serious he was, so you didn't want to actually give him the green light to ask you out on a date.

but now as there was a pretty obvious chemistry between you two, you couldn't deny that you also felt attracted to him. he was tall, broad, and handsome. moreover, he made you laugh so often like he knew exactly what to say. so you decided to spice things up and after the latest try of him getting your number you offered to make a bet - if beomgyu does the bench press with 30 lbs more than usual, you would give him your number.

beomgyu was standing still, waiting patiently.

“i didn't see it though”

he chucked at your response, and after a short pause, continued:

“then let's go and i'll show you”, he insisted and went to another section with many barbells. you followed him, greeting his gym buddies - taehyun and yeonjun, with whom you exchanged some jokes and news occasionally.

beomgyu used some sports chalk and started to get ready to lift the bar. and after a while, he laid down on a bench, breathing with his chest, and placed his hands on a barbell. taehyun went to insure him and positioned himself next to beomgyu's head.

and he did the bench press. three times, actually, just to shock you even more. you were in awe, to say the least. so little time has passed, how could he catch up so fast? beomgyu stood up, energized as hell, sweat dripping from his forehead, and came right to you.

“are you convinced now?”, he laughed at your surprised expression. you gulped and said:

“yes”, and he smiled, panting heavily. “so, can i get your number, please?” he babbled, almost not getting the words right.

“yes, you can”, you chuckled at his misty-eyed gaze. “give me your phone”

he rushed to the side, took his phone, unlocked it, opened the contacts, and handed the device to you. he watched you with the biggest grin on his face as you saved your own number in his phone and turned to his friends, silently throwing his fists to the air as a way of celebration. they quietly hyped him up.

“here, take it”, you give his phone back and smile at him.

as you were ready to leave, beomgyu blurted out:

“can we go on a date tomorrow?”

and that's where the fun started.

✉ thank you for reading ✉

[sleepymothafterhours]

Rough day made rougher

Inspired by @indiewritesxoxo! (hi this is my side blog!) I love her cyberbully!sukuna series so much and i think everyone should go read all her works right now(that is your homework)

Divider Credits: @cafekitsune

Synopsis: After a rough day at work you just wanna wind down by playing your favorite game with your favorite guy, but hwat happens when he gets a little too mean and drives you over the edge :(

Warnings: mean Kuna, Bully!Sukuna, lmk if theres anything else

Word Count: 1080 Full fic under the cut, check sleepy moths after thoughts at the end for more <3

Thirty more minutes. That's what you kept telling yourself at least. Thirty more minutes and you could get in your car and speed home, get in your pajamas(and away from this cold, wet, and stupid drive thru window). you could make hot chocolate and sit at your desk and play your game to get your mind off it.

Though playing alone is never that much fun, you wonder if Sukuna will log on tonight when he always does. After months of him helping you learn the mechanics, you could finally get through a match without him raging(very much) at you.

Your thirty years minutes of torture ended with a screaming customer, you biting back a few tears and your boss telling you could leave. You grabbed your bag leaving with a quick "Bye!" not saying much else as you walked out to your car. On your phone were a few messages, none really that important until you got to a text from Sukuna asking if you were gonna be on tonight.

The drive home was loud, your playlist from work screaming in your ears but it was nice. And as you finally pulled into your driveway you sat for a moment to collect yourself before going inside and getting ready for sleep. Your cat was in your business like she always was whenever you got home from work, but in the end after a few pats and holding her for a few minutes she let you go free. Comfy in your pajamas you could finally sit down to play, in your haze getting home you had neglected to text him back and when you got on found an invite sitting in your games almost immediately. "Eager much?" You teased when you joined, it was just you, you adjusted his volume so that you could hear him just fine when he spoke, but so he wouldn't blow your eardrums out whenever he inevitably raged at the game. You'd come to enjoy the little ritual you had, so it did sting a little whenever Sukuna responded with a sharp, "Please. Figured you'd need my help again. As usual."

You gave him a witty, "What was that about needing your help?" When you got the first few kills in your first match.

"Yeah yeah your okay. You're welcome." He grumbled into his headset. It was almost enough to get your mind off of what a shit day you had at work, at least now you could do something right. Round after round you seemed to just get worse. Just an off day you could've guessed but Sukuna's constant teasing and yelling was starting to get you. "DUDE. Fucking seriously what is this guy doing." His yelling made you flinch and you realized he was talking about you but hadn't realized it was you. "Jesus fuck dude needs to uninstall." He grumbled. "Sukuna." you snipped as your character got hit. "That was me." You said a little hurt edging into your tone. He gave you a shit excuse and moved on. Once the match ended you couldn't help how you were feeling.

"Sorry you're bad tonight." He said before the next match started.

"Jesus asshole. I know I'm the fuckin' worst. " Thoughts of work flooded your mind, and you just wanted to curl up in bed and forget it. Alt-f4. Without thinking you left the game, you'd get penalized for going afk mid round but you just couldn't handle him tonight. your phone buzzed almost immediately, bombarded by texts from him.

Kuna 💖👹: Dude? Where tf r u?

You: WiFi shut out. Prob wont get back on 2nite, its been shit lately.

Kuna💖👹: Great maybe you'll quit fuckin up my rr.

You put your phone on do not disturb right after that, your computer was on, the mouse hovering right over the delete button. You thought it was stupid to delete a game over some guy. You went to sleep shortly after logging off. You ignored Sukuna for days after that, he hardly reached out really unless it was to see if you'd be on tonight, you gave him a shit excuse every time, "working", "busy", "Don't feel good." the last one wasn't necessarily a lie, you had caught the stomach flu in your two months of silence, and you had been working a lot but not enough for this much silence. After awhile he'd started checking up on you a lot more, asking if you felt better before asking if you were down to game. You kept telling him no until he called you on the way home from work one day.

"Why haven't you been playing?" He growled into the phone. "I've been busy. Don't you have someone better to be playing with?" You said, "Dude I'm driving call me back."

"Promise you're getting on tonight." He said

"Unlike you I have a life outside this game which means homework. I can't play."

"Come on! I'm sorry okay! Whatever you're mad about 'm sorry." He said, his tone changing from that harsh one he normally used to something softer, maybe he had missed you.

"You get 30 minutes." You said before hanging up.

You gave him his 30 and he was almost pleasant, he was definitely containing himself but he was pleasant. You stayed in the call when the thirty was up, your body on autopilot after another long day.

"I am sorry ya know." He said, cutting you off after a moment.

"What?" You asked,

"What I said was mean. I might have missed playing with you. You're the only one who actually matches me." You chuckled.

"Well I had a good teacher." You said softly as you adjusted your headphones. "I should go do homework. I'll be on tomorrow 'kay?"

"Does that mean I'm forgiven." He said

You were quiet for moment, so quiet he almost thought you had left already.

"Buy the new skin bundle for me and I'll consider forgiving you." You said, it was a long shot and you fully expected him to say not before the exact amount of credits you needed was being gifted to you by one "Kingofcurses". "Holy shit. Can I have this new vandal skin to-"

"Okay brat don't fucking push it." He said hanging up on you before you could ask for anything else.

Your phone dinged as you started working.

Kuna💖👹: for the record I had that leftover and didn't want the bundle.

You: Yeah yeah love you too Kuna

Sleepy Moths After thoughts: GAWD I LOVE CYBER BULLY SUKUNA ‼️‼️‼️

ALL MY HOMIES LOVE THE CYBER BULLY SUKUNA SERIES

Go give @indiewritesxoxo some love her series is to die for 💋🫶🏻

uhhhhh Idk what else I just had a lot of fun writing this out

also in my head they played Valorant (cus im a loser) together but I tried to keep it obscure enough so you can all imagine what game they're planning yourselves

night!

-Sleepy Moth

Pretty Please don't repost anywhere else <3

[wandafiction]

Accent - Just Us Chapter 5

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1805

Series List | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

================================

I'm woken from my slumber by a small slither of sun pushing through the small gap in the blinds. I go to get up, but feel an extra weight on top of me. Oh right Wanda. Looking down I see the beautiful redhead laying practically on top of me, her head resting on my chest hair spread out in many directions. Her mouth partially open, with small and very cute snores being released with her calm breathing. Her arms wrapped around my chest securely, with her legs tangled with mine. She looks so peaceful. This is different, I don't normally wake up with my one night stand still here. Usually they get what they want and either leave during the night or at some point in the morning.

I feel her shuffle on top of me, so I hold my breath hoping the early morning sunrise hasn't woken her up. It takes a few seconds but she seems to settle back down and a small huff of air escapes her lips...good she is still sleeping. Gently, I remove her arms from my chest so I can lean over to the bedside table; grabbing the remote for the blinds, making sure to shut them and turn off the timer for when they open. I know high tech. I then use another remote to set the lights around the room to a soft ember colour to set a calm atmosphere. They are on a low as to not wake the sleeping beauty on top of me, but bright enough so when she does wake up she can see what she is doing and not in total darkness. 

Slowly, I crawl out of bed but stop and turn to look back at my bedside table where the picture sits. It's a beautiful picture. An brunette haired woman standing under a beautiful white archway covered in pink roses. Her white dress glistened in the sunlight as the picture captured it moving about in the wind. The woman is smiling the biggest toothy grin in the world while holding hands with another woman under the same archway. They both have so much love in their eyes. Picture perfect. I move back to the table and move the picture into one of the draws placing some paperwork on top of it. Must remember it's there though.

Heading straight out my door, closing it gently behind me. Heading to the bathroom further down the hallway so I can shower and brush my teeth, I do have an ensuite but I feel like being woken up by someone's morning routine in practically the same room as you can be deemed a rude awakening. I hop in the shower once I deem the water a hot enough temperature, wincing slightly when it hits my back. I turn to see why and my eyes bulge a little bit when I see the scratch marks on my back, I'm going to wear them with pride...anyway. I wash everything including my hair. Both of us were too tired last night to do proper after care in the shower or bath so a wet towel was the solution. 

Smoothing out my long hair took a while, nothing a bit of conditioner can't help with, and am now making my way to one of the guest bedrooms to get some clothes. Walking into the walk-in closet, I tie my wet hair up into a messy bun not caring what it would look like. I don't have to go to work so it doesn't matter. Deciding on a pair of loose jogging bottoms and sports bra, I make my way down to the kitchen to start some coffee and get a head start on some work that needs doing. 

"S.U.S.I.E let me know when my bedroom door opens please. Don't scare the guest by introducing yourself, just inform me." I say into the quiet kitchen.

"Of course Boss." S.U.S.I.E is my interface in this place, much like Tony Stark's F.R.I.D.A.Y system I have S.U.S.I.E.

"Play Morning Vibes Playlist from Spotify, low volume. Limited to the kitchen only." With that the sound of music gently starts playing as I shuffle over to the coffee machine I have.

Electing not to wake Wanda by the sound of grinding beans, I use my kettle (very handy thank you Europe) and place a scoop or two of the coffee grounds I have into a cafetiere. I'm a fancy coffee drinker, sue me. I dance around the kitchen a little, losing myself to the soft music as I open up my laptop, letting it wake itself up. I spin back to the kettle, pouring the water to the top of the cafetiere just in case Wanda wakes up and it's still hot. I grab a large cup from the cupboard and put some caramel syrup around the inside of it and bring it and the cafetiere over to the counter next to my laptop. I settle down on the stool and load up my emails to get to work. 

It's been about 20 minutes since I sat down when I hear the robotic voice above me. "Boss, your bedroom door has been opened, the guest is on their way down."

"Thank you S.U.S.I.E. Start up the hob for me." I hear the flick of the switch informing me she has in fact done as asked. God I love technology sometimes. 

I save my work, hopping off the stool to grab the pancake mix, a pan and two plates. Putting the pan on the heat I slowly pour in some of the pancake mix swaying my hips to the songs that still echo through the kitchen. Humming to myself I completely go into my own world forgetting that I have a guest, until I feel her wrap her arms around my waist and place her head between my shoulder blades. 

"Good Morning." Holy shit! She has a fucking accent. That's so Fucking hot. She didn't have an accent last night, maybe it's because she is tired. 

"Good morning Wanda. How are you feeling? Also I like the accent." I feel her stuff her face more into my back, it is slightly hotter than a minute ago. Aww she is blushing.

"The accent only comes out early in the morning or when I'm very emotional. And I'm feeling amazing, last night was amazing. Thank you, though I am a little sore not going to lie." I hear her giggle behind me. 

"Well I'm glad you enjoyed last night, sorry about making you sore. Maybe after food you should have a bath, relax, unless you have anywhere to be? The accent I know is...Sokovian right? Also glad I'm hearing this because you're tired and not emotional. Angry Sokovians are scary as fuck." Her laughs are muffled by my shirt but I can feel her nod.

"Mhmm, I am from Sokovia, how did you know? What day is it?" I now turn around to meet her eyes after plating up the pancakes and handing her her plate.

Wanda is wearing my dress shirt from last night that comes right down almost covering all her thighs. She looks so cute and hot all at the same time in my shirt. She thanks me before moving to the stool to sit and eat while I lean against the counter to eat.

"I have been to Sokovia a few times. Helped out with some relief foundations down there, but put some of my own money into helping the people down there. And for the day it's Saturday. Did we really go that many rounds that you forgot the day? She hums in thought. 

"I lost count at like round 6." I let out a laugh, Stamina seems to be our strong suit. "Well I don't have work today so a bath sounds like a good way to relax. What did you think of Sokovia?" Wanda likes asking questions.

"Ever the curious one, aren't you Wanda?" I move to sit next to her offering her some coffee which seems to excite her a lot. "I think Sokovia is a very beautiful country, yes it has issues and to anyone on the outside just sees the civil war going on there. But for someone who has been there multiple times and for months on end, it is a hidden gem of the world." 

"You are not just saying that to impress the sokovian woman sitting in front of you?" I turn to look at her, she has decided to hide the accent going back into her American one. Odd. 

"Not at all. There is just something about Sokovia...it's almost magical. Sure the newly instated leader Ultron is, how do I say…"

"A fucking dick!?" Wanda interrupts with a small laugh.

"Glad to see we think the same of the man. But other than Ultron and his few followers it is truly a beautiful country." 

"It is indeed. I don't meet many people from Sokovia out here in the States, all too afraid to leave you know?" She finishes off her coffee and pancakes standing up from her stool. "Uh, which way is the bathroom?" 

"I will show you. S.U.S.I.E set up the guest bath please." 

"Of course Boss." Wanda jumps a little at the unknown voice.

"Sorry Wanda I forgot to say. S.U.S.I.E is a very helpful interface around the house, if you need anything just say S.U.S.I.E and then what you need her to do for you."

"Wow okay, thanks." She gives me a shy smile.

"S.U.S.I.E this is Miss Maximoff please save her voice in your system as such. If she requires anything today she may call upon you." 

"Understood Boss. Welcome Miss Maximoff." 

I lead Wanda back upstairs to the guest room, which has a big ensuite bathroom too with a bath big enough to comfortably fit two people in and still have room to move about. I lay a towel and some spare clothes down on the sink counter and make my way towards the door.

"Thank you y/n. Truly, the small gesture of breakfast and a bath are really appreciated. I mean it's been a while, and it feels nice to be treated like this." Wasn't expecting that.

"It's not a problem at all Wanda. It's just basic human respect and decency to ensure that someone is cared for afterwards." She gives me a shy smile and nod, I turn to leave the bathroom before turning to look at her once again. "Oh and Wanda."

"Yeah?" She turns to look at me, our eyes meeting easily.

"Don't hide the accent, it's cute. You don't need to pretend to be someone your not around me." She blushes slightly but has the biggest smile on her face. I leave, gently closing the door behind me.

================================

[nerdfarm]

Futile Devices | Chapter One

CW: Terrorism, fairly graphic depictions of violence, blood, grief, lowkey boring but oh well. Gotta start somewhere (15+)

AN: This is my first fic ever, so be willing to give me some grace lol. For this fic, the years established are based on the timeline that Arkham Asylum took place in July 2017, Arkham City in January 2018, and Arkham Knight in October 2018. I’d also like to establish that Edward in this universe escaped Arkham before the Asylum incident, rather than during it. Lastly, I don’t include KTJL in this storyline. 

Word count: 3,535

Chapter 1

The rain falls heavily outside her apartment as she types everything out. The screen lights up her face, her hazel eyes scanning over every meticulously worded sentence. It’s imperative that this all makes sense, that there is something within these words that could intrigue him. Perhaps a puzzle of some kind. Morgan groans as she ponders on the idea, frustrated by the effort it took to find the right email address in the first place. Edward Nigma is not a man you can contact on a whim, she quickly discovered. Fuck it, maybe just an oddly vague email will be good enough. Feed his ego, he’ll likely be intrigued.

Mr. Riddler,

I have a proposition for you, as I require your genius and expertise. I cannot divulge the information in detail here, but I believe you may find my plan to be intriguing. I will offer more than just money: I intend to give you something you’ve always wanted. Please meet me at Aparo Park tonight, July 10th, at 10 pm. I’ll be waiting by the pond.

~Ruby

It doesn’t feel good enough. Hell, she’d been sitting staring at this email for the last 20 minutes and none of it ever felt good enough. She had to answer a riddle to even be able to email him in the first place, which she still isn’t sure how he managed to do. Regardless of the effort put in, being short, concise, and intriguing is all the message needs. After tossing it back and forth in her mind for a while, she hits “send”. Now, to wait. 

Morgan has never been a particularly patient person. She has always needed something to occupy herself, particularly her mind, and this was arguably the most important email she has ever sent. It’s not every day you email a man like The Riddler to ask him to take part in a large and dangerous scheme. She takes her right hand to her mouth, biting the skin around her thumb as she scrolls mindlessly on her computer. She takes random BuzzFeed quizzes, to keep her mind busy. And BuzzFeed says she is meeting her soulmate this year, she IS that poor-taste It movie (an evil clown… really?), and it can still never manage to get her zodiac sign right. Still, the quizzes have done nothing to keep her from checking her email every few seconds. She supposes it is nearly 1:30 in the morning, but Eddie seems like the kind of guy to stay up all hours. After questioning herself for calling him a nickname in her head, she jumps up and goes to take a shower.

Morgan enters her bedroom, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and an old Gotham Jets T-shirt, the band she used to play in. She steps into her bathroom, turning on the shower to warm it up as she selects some songs to play. Once she queues up a decent shower playlist, she sheds her clothes and steps in. The water’s hot, almost too hot, just how she likes it. She sings along to Everlong as she massages her scalp, bending her knees to get under the shower head properly. Being 5’11” (and ½, but who’s counting?) has its pros and cons, and a significant con is struggling to fit under her shitty apartment’s shower head. She supposes she is tall, but not enough to inhibit her usually. She feels like Buddy the Elf, just to a lesser extent. 

After a quick rinse and shave, Morgan steps out, wrapping a towel around herself. She flings her chocolate-brown hair upside down towards the ground before twirling it up into a towel. She debates cutting her hair again since it could make wearing her helmet and beating up assholes easier, but she decides to ignore the impulse for now. It’s towards her mid-back, but she simply hasn’t had the energy or care to do anything about it as of late. Perhaps some framing pieces could be nice, or maybe even dye them a cool color for a change. Red, to watch the whole “Ruby” thing? Mark would’ve thought it was cool. 

She throws on her PJs quickly, slapping on some lotion before running back into her office. 1:54 am. She expects no response, so her jaw falls open as she reads it:

>Neither friend nor foe, I am simply just so. Potential danger or potential friend, when you find the answer, I come to an end. What am I?

Hm. A simple riddle. How kind of him. She replies quickly.

>A stranger.

She is started by an urgent response.

>Well done. That riddle could have been solved by an infant, but I will congratulate you nonetheless. Why would I, The Riddler, meet with a stranger in the park?

>You and I share similar goals. We could help one another. 

>Help? I’ve never needed help with anything.

Nervously, Morgan adjusts.

>Of course not. What I truly mean is that I need your help. That being said, I have much to offer in exchange.

>I’m in a good mood tonight, so I will choose to placate your request and consider it. If you don’t see me at 10 pm, then it’s a no. I will take no further questions. 

>Understood. Thank you for your time, Mr. Riddler.

He doesn’t respond, though she assumes he read the message. Sighing nervously, she leans back in her chair, slightly slumped over. Shit. Well, she’ll have to resort to accepting the possibility that she might be sitting on a park bench like an idiot while no one shows up. She turns off her computer and gets ready for bed as usual. After tossing and turning for an hour or so, she finally manages to drift off to sleep.

—

Walking down the streets of Gotham at a reasonable hour of the morning is not normal for Morgan. Well, it used to be, back when she worked at the GCPD. Her older brother, Mark, is speaking at a huge neuroscience conference and has invited his loved ones to attend. It’s a big deal, and he’s worked hard for a long time to get to this point. It will be a chance for Morgan and her dad to get close to Mark’s new boyfriend, Noah, which is a plus. She supposes “new” is not the best word, they’ve been together almost a year now. They just haven’t had the chance to get to know him. Especially her dad, who took some time to wrap his head around Mark’s sexuality in the first place. If he only knew.

It is such a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, but there’s a nice breeze that keeps it from being too hot. Morgan arrives at the Gotham Metro, looking around for the others. She spots her dad and Noah across the platform and makes her way over smiling. 

“Hey Dad, hi Noah, nice to see you.”

“Hey, hon. Just waiting on Mark now,” her dad says. Noah stands there smiling nervously. He’s a bit shorter than Morgan and is generally a nervous type. He’s a handsome guy, though, with crystal-blue eyes contrasted by raven-black hair. Morgan assumes it’s dyed.

“I like your outfit, Morgan, it’s very nice” Noah remarks.

Morgan looks down, forgetting what she’s wearing:  A nice olive green jumpsuit with a matching jacket. It is meant to be a nice event, after all.

“Ah, thank you, you both look very lovely yourselves,” Morgan compliments. They all nod and smile awkwardly before Mark arrives.

“Wow, late for your own event,” Morgan remarks, pantomiming looking at a watch on her wrist.

Mark rolls his eyes.

“I am not even close to being late. I’m right on time. Hi, darling,” Mark greets Noah with a swift kiss on the cheek.

The train arrives, and they all step in and stand towards the center. The group chats a bit before the train starts. Noah appears nervous, though that isn’t much different from his usual state. Mark is his usual confident, charismatic self, cracking jokes and bantering with Morgan. In the midst of a conversation about how Morgan accidentally broke Mark’s toe when they were kids, a large explosion is heard, followed by terrified screams. Everyone is pushed back by the blast, and the sounds of alarms begin to ring out over the speaker. Stephen, Morgan’s father, grabs a hold of Mark and Morgan, and Noah hangs onto Mark. After a few moments, the sirens are interrupted by the sound of hysterical laughter. Joker. 

Joker’s gut-wrenching rendition of “London Bridge” begins to play as everyone yells and shoves their way towards the back of the train car. Clearly, there was an explosion, but starting where? The train is slowing down, but not nearly enough to bring about any sort of comfort. Of course, they began to try to travel to train cars behind, but they will have to step across the small space outside the train car, so there is a large group of people all urging each other forward. Some have already fallen off the train in an attempt to cross as people shove them. 

“Okay, relax, I’m sure we’ll be alright,” Stephen says. Though, he certainly doesn’t seem sure. 

“Dad, what the fuck are we supposed to do?” Mark cries.

“I don’t know. I love you guys, I love you so much. More than anything,” Stephen confesses. It’s known he loves his children, though he doesn’t verbally express it too often. “We’ll find a way out of this, somehow.”

“I can change this, Dad. Don’t worry, I’m gonna save us,” Morgan cries out.

Mark turns and looks into her eyes, into her very soul as he speaks.

“Okay Morgan, I trust you.”

The train car splits in half. The other passengers begin to fall into a long, flaming pit, and Noah loses his grip on Mark and falls with them. They all watch in horror as The Joker’s laugh rings in Morgan’s ears. She looks back up towards her family, holding onto them with each hand, her feet firmly placed on the ground.

“I’m sorry Mark, I’m so sorry. But I’m gonna save you. Dad, I’m gonna save you,” Morgan pleads through tears. 

Joker’s laugh only increases in volume as Mark and Stephen scream her name. Their eye sockets and mouths widen to a horrific size and contort themselves as they begin to bleed profusely out of every orifice. 

“You killed us. You did this, this is your fault!” Mark and Stephen scream out synchronized, and their nails begin to dig into Morgan’s arms as she sobs and winces, but she holds on tight.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Please, stop, I can’t let you go!” 

Joker’s laugh echoes as Mark and Stephen scream. Their limbs begin to melt off of their bodies, and they screech in pain as they yell obscenities at Morgan.

“You’re a slut, and a disappointment. No family, no job, nothing to fucking show for yourself. You’re useless!” Stephen yells. With every consonant, his blood flies from his mouth and onto Morgan’s face.

“All my life you held me back with your whining and crying, and for what? Look what you’ve done. You ruined everything!” Mark hissed.

Morgan sobs, and she watches as their fingernails dig into her flesh. They puncture the skin, and crimson explodes from her wrists. It’s as though she can feel which veins are popping. She cries out in pain, but she holds on. She can’t sustain this for long, though, as they continue to melt, screaming and begging for help and mercy. She screeches their names once more as the cuts from the fingernails grow, showing more and more bone with every second as she yells out in agony.

Morgan shoots up in bed, drenched in sweat and tears. She screams and reaches for her forearms. She hyperventilates and cries, for a long time. She never knows how long this stage lasts. 

“It’s not real. You weren’t there. It’s not real. It’s always the same, no matter what you ‘do’. Stop being a fucking baby. It’s not real. They loved you. They loved you, right? It isn’t real. It wasn’t your fault. But you should’ve been there. You could’ve helped them. But it’s not real. You couldn’t have saved them. They probably didn’t suffer. But you’ll never know. The nightmare isn’t real. They’re at rest now. It’s not real.

After enough repetition, she manages to slow her breathing and mind just enough to look at the clock. Fuck. 6:07 am. Better than usual, but not by much. Plus, her throat makes it clear she was screaming again. How exciting it will be when the landlord comes with complaints from the neighbors. People can only be so understanding. Once something affects their sleep, the horrific loss of one’s family doesn’t even matter. Morgan sighs, though, as she understands.

Morgan stands and stretches, not even going to attempt falling back asleep despite exhaustion. She makes her bed as usual before jumping into her morning stretches and light workout. She eats some overnight oats while she works on some “morning journaling”. Mark said that sort of thing is supposed to be beneficial, maybe his stupid ideas can help her handle the immense grief she’s been left with in his absence. 

Monday, July 10, 2017

It’s been 2 months. Almost 4 hours of sleep. I keep having the same dream that I was there, that they hate me, that it’s my fault. Noah always dies in the dream, too. I hope he’s doing okay. 

I know I should get a prescription to sleep better, but insurance has been weird since I left the GCPD. Might have to pay out of pocket. I’ll have to get more work to afford it. Maybe this next thing could help? Maybe I could handle helping out The Riddler for a little extra money, if he’d have me. Surely I’m smarter than those thugs he usually hires. Tonight, I will ask him to help me with my plan. I hope he says yes. Perhaps if I write it down, it will happen? I don’t think that’s how this works, but I’ll say so for some temporary peace of mind. Riddler will say yes. 

Mark, Dad, I love you. I miss you every day. Mark, I didn’t realize you were my best friend before you were gone, and it’s so hard to live without your advice. Nearly impossible. Dad, we’d just started getting closer again like we were when I was little. We could’ve already been close. I’m sorry, it was my fault. I love you.

-Morgan

She throws on black workout leggings, a bra, and a loose black shirt. Brushing her hair and putting it up into a bun, she grabs her gym bag, helmet, and bike jacket before heading to her Muay Thai class.

Morgan is very proud of her motorcycle. A 2015 Honda CB 500X she calls Veronica. When she bought it, her dad was both excited and terrified. Mark was sure she was going to crash it. But she’s a better driver on it than she ever was a car, which instills much confidence within her. 

On the ride, she thinks about the night ahead. Will The Riddler show up? Stand her up? Send in a goon? Hell, a fucking robot even? Who knows with this guy? She’s researched him extensively, of course, digging into GCPD and Arkham records. Daddy issues, extreme OCD, narcissism, megalomania. She could make that work. As she arrives at her class, Morgan rehearses what she’ll say in her head, over and over again.

—

9:00 pm. Of course, she’s been ready since 8:00 pm and has since been anxiously watching a prank show on TV. While she’s had experience with some minor engineering in her past, never with making clothes, and certainly not a suit. But with a lot of effort these past couple of months, she managed to piece one together. She hasn’t worn it since the last time she got one of those bastards, but now was the time to use it. Maybe if she’s in a suit, it will make Riddler feel more at ease somehow. Morgan has forgotten the discomfort of the domino mask, but it’s needed. She’ll throw the white contacts on when it’s closer to time to leave.

How should she word this? “Hey, I have a diabolical plan that is likely to fail but could positively impact you! Please?” God, she’s going to look like such an idiot. But it’s worth a shot. Besides, chances are, he won’t even show. 

As the clock strikes 9:25 pm, Morgan puts on her white contacts and makes her way out the door, locking it securely behind her.

—

Gotham City isn’t cold for once, it’s oddly nice out. It’s late, so there’s a slight chill that feels refreshing with the suit on. 

Morgan arrives at 9:47 pm precisely, parking her motorcycle behind a building, and arming the security she coded for it before placing a tarp over it. Can’t be too careful in Gotham. She throws on a coat and hat to avoid any eyes on her as she quickly makes her way over to the pond. There are a few people about, some teens laughing and messing around on the playground, a middle-aged man walking his dog that looks to be some sort of German Shepherd mix. She keeps her head down, but eyes open. She does have a domino mask on, best not to upset or confuse anyone. 

On the other side of the pond, it’s much quieter, and no one is around. Morgan takes a seat on a bench and begins to wait. It’s now 9:50 pm. What sort of person is the Riddler? Early? On time? He seemed to make it clear he wouldn’t be late, so if he doesn’t show by 10:01, Morgan will take her leave and come up with something else. Perhaps she’ll simply have to do it on her own. She cringes at the idea but keeps an eye out. She cannot let her thoughts distract her. 

What would Mark and her dad think about what she’s doing? Would they be proud? Ashamed? Confused? Mark would be shocked to be dead so early in his life anyway. They always agreed that Mark would simply live forever, while Morgan would be the one to die by 18. Yet here they are: Mark dead at 31, and Morgan alive and… perhaps “well” would be an overstatement, at 27. Officially unemployed, single, depressed, and seeking out the help of a fucking supervillain. Just as she begins to doubt her decisions, footsteps can be heard. 

Morgan’s head snaps up to see a figure walking, dressed in all black, about 50 feet away. Could it be him? He’s usually a “pomp and circumstance” sort of guy, from what she can tell. The figure has a rather spirited gait, so this is either Edward himself or a henchman who hasn’t been through enough yet. Morgan stands.

“Ms. Kelly, yes?” the man questions, though it sounds more like a statement of fact.

Morgan freezes. 

“Excuse me?”

The man approaches and pulls down his balaclava to reveal the face of Edward Nigma, in person. He smirks as he extends a hand for her to shake.

“And of course, I’m right as always. Now, what could I possibly do for a fellow ex-GCPD cybersecurity officer?” He sneers.

Morgan shakes his hand absentmindedly, yet firmly due to practice. 

“What the hell are you-”

“Do not try to play me for a fool, Ms. Kelly,” Edward groans. “While your security has been up to par in recent times, the beginning of this whole ‘Ruby’ character lacked significant security. Morgan Elise Kelly, though you just changed it back from Lomeli, as you divorced your husband Leonardo Lomeli on the basis of adultery in 2015. You-”

“Okay! Jesus! Wow!” Morgan exclaims. “I do not know how you discovered any of that, but-”

“A child could have uncovered that information. Though I must admit, I was… intrigued to see you had managed to restrict the full court documents online. I could do the same, but I find it interesting you went through all the trouble to cover it all up. Were you the adulterer, my dear?”

Morgan simply stares for a moment, her mouth dry. She manages to swallow down the bile in her throat before answering. 

“No, though I don’t see how that’s relevant. Look, okay, fair game, I’ll tell you pretty much everything about me, I’m an open book, except for that. In due time, maybe. Now… about what we came here for.”

“Ah, yes, finally. What could a dimwit like you possibly offer me, Edward Nigma, the Riddler, Gotham’s most genius, fearsome future leader and Batman’s greatest rival?” Edward boats. “Color me intrigued.”

“Uh-huh, well, that’s just it. I could offer you Batman’s full, undivided attention,” Morgan starts. “Foolish foes will fall behind, and you will have him all to yourself. I just need you, Mr. Riddler, to help me make it happen.”

Edward scoffs.

“I am already his arch-nemesis, I do not need a thing from an imbi-”

“I need you to help me kill The Joker.”

[shokomilks]

Shigeo Kageyama (Mob) You are the best thing that happened in my peaceful life - Neutral Reader - Chapter 1: Who is Aoi?

(Y/N) dies brutally before graduating from high school, full of regrets and a bitter taste of not having enjoyed enough, your receives a second chance, and this time, with Shigeo by your side (Sorry If the gender is not neutral, let me know anything)

-

Harassment trigger alert, I almost rape, but I didn't have the courage to write it. I promise not to write about this anymore, but I would like to write about a fear I have in some of my writing lol

-

There was (Y/N), sitting at they desk, scrolling through the Instagram page with so much disinterest, Isabel LaRosa was playing in his ears (I really like writing that mentions songs that sort of “immerse” the story, I'll try to leave some while writing :), LISTEN TO I DON'T FORGIVE YOU, I discovered her today but she's so good HOLY SHIT), in the background of the headphones at a really loud volume, murmurs from you classmates excited for the upcoming graduation they were quite clear

“Paraninfo wasn’t what I wanted”

“Can I stop by your house after graduation?”

“Are you going with a partner?”

You just wanted it all to happen, it wasn't horrible, but there wasn't any considerable good experience, you knew the truth, you knew that everything you experienced would be a “good memory”, as the older people said, you knew that your friends would disappear over time, only work and solitude would be left for you, so you didn't try to make many connections or anything remarkable. They could get along very well with your colleagues, but you would easily be mistaken for a plant cause could be so quiet.

The bell rings, signaling that another day has passed, (Y/N) picked up they things, throwing them awkwardly into you backpack, the end of the year was leaving quite exhausted, so many worries and few solutions coming at once, the only desire that felt like throwing yourself on the bed and sleeping listening to your playlist. As he threw his backpack on his shoulders, feeling the weight of his notebooks, he quickly headed towards the exit.

The day wasn't bad, a pleasant weather, teenagers leaving school en masse, (Y/N) followed her usual path, several thoughts surrounded her mind “Which college to go to?” “Will I have money to shell out or did I get my scholarship?” “And employment?” “Did I choose something that makes me money?” “Was this really what I wanted?” But his thoughts stopped when “Sex, Drugs, Etc” reached you ears, you increased the volume even though you knew it was wrong to use headphones at high altitudes, and you just enjoyed the ride home, feeling the breeze hit your face, almost taking you along, as if taking all the worries away

But nothing good lasts long, an older man bumped into you, almost knocking you down

- Be careful where you walk - he said, quite irritated.

- Sorry - You mutter, trying to get out of there, but your wrist is caught in a big grip, which makes you look at the figure, it was a man with little hair on his head, very gray you would say, with fair skin and full of hair

- Someone as beautiful as you shouldn't go unaccompanied

- Leave me, please

- I'll guide you to where you need to go - he starts dragging you in some direction, you can't identify it, the grip only increased and all you wanted was to get out of that situation

- Seriously, there's no need for so much kindness, just let me go - you tried to let go again, but there was no use, your heart was already almost leaving you, your breathing was unregulated, countless scenarios flashed through your mind, none of them good.

This man takes you to a car parked not far away, throws you inside, not wasting much time to touch you under your clothes, your voice was no longer there, you were no longer there, your brain tried to calm you down about all of this, trying to think about other things, but the touch of that disgusting thing took away any attempt to forget that all of this was happening, until he pulled down his pants, revealing... you know. You screamed, your brain forced you to scream the loudest he could, throwing himself at the door to try to open it. He tried to make some scandal that would save you, but all that happened was that he forcefully gave you a pill, little by little you senses disappeared and your vision became increasingly dark.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in the car, you were lying on a soft bed, you could still feel his touch on your body, which made you feel sick, you sat up, trying to process where you were, you were in a room, but it wasn't yours, the person who lived there had good taste, this person liked the same series and anime as you, don't get distracted, you thought. Your vision falls to your feet, not that you paid attention to them, you were trying to understand the situation, where you were, why you were here, did that idiot take you to his own house? Your breathing was already becoming unregulated again, your heart wanting to stop, but your thoughts were cut off by a feminine scream.

- Aoi, go down to eat your coffee, today is your first day of school, you can't be late!! - a voice echoes from outside the door, you are perplexed, “who is this woman?” “Who is Aoi?” Finally, your vision focused on your feet, the shoes at the foot of the bed perfectly aligned, the floor with a velvety brown carpet, a loud knock on the door takes you out of your thoughts, or rather precise analysis about the floor

- Am I going to have to pull you out of bed Aoi? - You blink slightly, your index finger unconsciously points at you, hissing a “Me?” between the lips

- And who else would it be? Let's go quickly, if you're not going to be late - the woman says, closing the door, making it possible to hear her short steps hurriedly descending the stairs.

When looking to the side, the Japanese uniform was visible hanging on the hanger, without much questioning you change, looking around the room trying to find a phone and a backpack, you see a cell phone and a blue backpack plugged into the charger like students usually do. use in anime. You take them, rummaging through your backpack for headphones, a smile appears on your face when you see that you have headphones available, as you leave the room changed, with a backpack, a cell phone and headphones that don't belong to you, (Y/N) carefully goes down the stairs, trying to see the house, it was a simple house, without many decorations, it was visible sitting at the table eating quickly that woman, with brown hair tied in a loose bun, dressed in office clothes, upon noticing the look on the back of her head, she looks up at your direction, waving happily to come down soon

You quickly sit down at the table, trying to eat the omelet that was on the table, despite feeling sick.

- So… i have school today?

- Yes honey

- How do I get there? - She looks at you seriously, sighing loudly

- Did you forget again? Just put the name of the school on Google maps and walk there

- I... forgot the name of the school... and also my password

- In the second drawer of the desk in the living room, your password is written down, I don't know how you always forget it - she said, getting up with the now empty plate, heading towards the kitchen, most likely to leave your plate - and Aoi - you murmur in answer - Paprika High School, you only chose it because it seemed like the coolest spice to talk about, since all the schools here have some spice in their name

- Oh, Yeah, I forget that haha ​​- (Y/N) said, as you got up trying to find the second drawer in that desk, when you saw the desk in the corner of the room next to the TV, you bend down and find a notebook scribbled on it. cover “Aoi”, it must be this one after all, when leafing through the pages you find a page “Cell phone passwords”, several scribbled passwords, you find one circled in red with a small note next to it “This is the new one!!”, that’s it. it would be enough, when you take the notebook with you to the table, you pick up your cell phone and enter the newly discovered password, it was really her.

A wallpaper of Gojo and Geto was visible, several applications were cluttered on the screen, but then you would explore calmly, you had to find Google Maps, when you found it you quickly typed the name of the school, entering a quick walking route

- Thanks - you sigh, you were afraid of not going to school for Aoi, when everything was sorted out you wouldn't have to deal with scolding from your mother

- You're welcome honey - she approaches, placing a kiss on your cheek - Have a great day at school - she leaves the house, leaving you alone in that new environment, without wasting time you also leave, grabbing a pair of keys with a caterpie keychain on the keychain, it would definitely be Aoi's, so you locks the door when you leaves and heads to school

————

When you arrived at school, you didn't really know where to look for Aoi's class, so you went to the list of class, but there was a problem, what was Aoi's last name? So you searched your bag for some document, when you found your wallet, you abruptly opened it, finding your document “Aoi Suzuki”.. okay, now find it in the list, after searching a lot you find Aoi in class 1-B. Once the room that belonged to it was found, it was time to find where it would be. You enter the school, looking for the “1-B” signs, when you find them you go in looking for seats, but most of them were occupied, so you sit somewhere empty, some people were already making friends and fitting in, you preferred not to interfere, taking Aoi's cell phone to explore this person's life better. Your tastes were actually similar, after looking at some apps you found Notepad as one of the apps you used recently, they had countless notes from Aoi, so to kill time you decided to open some.

“I always thought that nothing new happened, I always told my colleagues that “Nothing's New” was my song, after my father abandoned my family and my mother got busy with her job, the routine that continued more and more never broke , but by some miracle, my mother decided that living in Seasoning City, maybe a change of scenery wouldn't be so bad after all. I luckily managed to get into Paprika school, this reminds me of the movie besides the spice, I thought it was a very interesting name, well, they released my new room, I'll be able to write in my notebook again, see ya ;)”

Journal? What notebook was she talking about? Could it be in backpack? Without wasting time with many questions, you quickly look through backpack, taking all notebooks and placing them on the table to search, and nothing, with each notebook opened more and more blank pages appeared before your eyes “It should only be in the room” you sigh tiredly, throw the notebooks back into your backpack, seeing the teacher in charge arrive with a folder in his arms.

- Ok ok, new school, new colleagues, I want everyone to introduce themselves when I call them - everyone agrees in unison.

You don't even care much about the students, after all you would try to get out of this situation quickly, Aoi is called after about 6 students introduce themselves, you quickly get up and say shallow things like your name, that you are excited about the new year to come and you wants support from everyone, things that protagonists would say. More people introduce themselves, some saying great monologues, others saying the same as you, until the teacher says a name you would never expect to hear “Shigeo Kageyama”, the sound of a chair dragging was heard behind you, a sudden turn was made to see his colleague from behind, it was him, it was really him.

When you were about twelve or thirteen years old you discovered the anime “Mob Psycho 100”, and it touched you in a different way, the animation, the story were simply incredible, but something that marked you beyond these factors was the protagonist, a big Your crush on him was formed during your years as a fan, such a kind and cute boy was something you would like to have in your life, but impossible, until now, the most boyish haircut, the nervous way of speaking, the fair skin and dark eyes, it was him, without a doubt.

Before he could see you, you abruptly turn forward with extremely flushed cheeks, a confused face and an unprepared heart, “I'm sorry Aoi but now you've lost the chance of your life, WAIT DON'T THINK LIKE THAT” as you manage to normalize your breathing , your thoughts became clearer, and your goals defined. You would become friends with Shigeo Kageyama, try to understand why you was Aoi, and try to make the most of it.

————

Thanks for reading, mob not have a much fanfics, so this motivated me a writing. Anyway, see you later 🐳

[hamiltonaf]

Fender Bender | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Hakimi Sister!Reader

Requested: Anonymous

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Angst turns into fluff / Mention of an accident / Enemies to Lovers

A/N: Thank you anon for requesting. Got a bit carried away because I’m really sick. Working on other requests so bare with me, hopefully will be posting again soon. Anywho hope you guys enjoy. Ciao .xoxo

(Y/N/N) - Your Nick Name

Another day, another reason to hate Kylian. I swear the days that Achraf has training or a match, it’s actually a nightmare for me to pick him up and drop him off.

I know it sounds ridiculous that I may be over dramatic but gosh I have a lot of patience and tolerance when it comes to me having to hear Kylian pass unnecessary remarks.

I could easily tell Achraf to get himself a driver but at the same time I don’t want to accept ‘defeat’ to Kylian’s 2 cent comments.

A few times he did say things that hurt me but I didn’t let it get to me, instead I said something twice as worse. It works every time.

I can distinctly remember the day he came over to our house and just so happens that evening I was going out for a girls night. I felt confident and content after quite a while since I don’t go out much. I wore a beautiful red dress that was fitting for our night out. All the happiness in me was drained when I saw Kylian’s face as I was leaving.

“Have you seen Achraf ?” I asked him as I went to grab my car keys. “He’s upstairs” he said as he leaned back on the counter. “Okay well I’m in a hurry, please tell him that I’m gone out and I’ll be back later. Just tell him to text me” I said hurriedly. “Okay I will…but are you trying to hide that you’re going on a date ? I’m surprised someone can actually tolerate you” he said with arrogance. “First of all, it’s none of your business and second of all, that’s pretty rich coming from you” I said lastly as I was just about to head out. “You know you don’t have to be a complete ass to be funny” I lastly said with my back still facing towards him before I slammed the door and left.

It’s been about 2 weeks since that happened and we haven’t spoken since then. A bit dramatic…I know. It’s quite obvious to me that he wants to say something stupid every time he sees me but something is holding him back. His need to be stubborn.

I was on my way to pick up Achraf from training, usually I leave early so I have time to park off and watch them train, especially Kylian. Is it bad timing that I think I caught feelings for him… but we’ll just pretend for now that those feelings don’t exist.

Unfortunately I was stuck in the midst of traffic as peak-hour was nearing. It didn’t bother me because I was used to it by now, as long as I have my playlist blasting, then I’m good to go.

Traffic seemed to have subsided when the cars ahead started speeding up, until the car in front of me hit dead brakes. I slammed on the brakes saving myself from causing an accident, but it went downhill when I heard tyres screeching and was hit so hard that I had whiplash. My head hit the dashboard with a hard thud as my car had unfortunately knocked into the one in front of me.

The pain immediately hit my head and I could feel a migraine incoming. Squeezing my eyes shut in hopes that it will miraculously help with the pain, it didn’t. I sat up and rubbed at my forehead before jumping out of the car. The middle aged man came rushing over to me, “Oh my god I’m so so sorry, are you okay ?” He asked worried. “No I’m not okay ! What were you thinking ?” I yelled. “Ma’am you were the one at fault, you suddenly slammed your breaks” he argued. “Excuse me ? What speed were you doing when we’re currently in peak our traffic ?” I yelled again. A middle aged woman joined our conversation, she was the one who got him by me. Thankfully she was siding with me and in a way she helped me cool down since I got hotheaded. I mean can you even blame me if this man ruined my afternoon and now I’m the one who has to endure the pain.

Luckily nothing happened to either of them, since I was sandwiched between both cars then I had to suffer. I ended up getting lost in the time phoning my mum and insurance that it didn’t occur to me that Achraf is done with training. It wasn’t until his name flashed on my screen and I felt like slapping my forehead, but I was already in enough pain.

“Heyy (Y/N/N) ! Where are you ? Normally you’re here quite early” he said. “Hey ! Uhh yeah about that… I met in an accident so I can’t make it” I said as I shut my eyes to erase the image of how upset Achraf is gonna be.

“Say what now ? You met in an accident !” He yelled on the other side. “Don’t stress, I’m okay. I thought mum would’ve called” I held back a laugh. “She did, I have like 5 missed calls from her and like 10 messages but I was more concerned why you weren’t here. Are you sure you’re okay ? I don’t think you are” he said worried. “I’m fine, really” I tried to ease his mind from stressing. “Please send me your location and send me pictures of the accident. I’m coming to you right now with Kylian” he ordered. Damn it. “I’m telling you to chill out because it’s-“ I argued. “Shut up please, gosh why are you so stubborn. Send me your location. Bye” he said lastly as he ended the call. I shook my head as I texted him my location.

I exchanged details with both drivers and we patiently waited till someone came over to fetch us. Of course my brother comes first and he’s here within 5 minutes. “Oh my god” Achraf said in shock as he took a quick glance at the car. “Are you okay ? Look at your forehead ! It’s red and looks like it’s swelling up !” He argued. “And you said you were okay” he mocked. Kylian came up from behind him and looked at me in shock. Do I look that bad ?

“Yes” “No” both of them said at the same time. Damn did I speak out loud ? “Why are we still standing here, we need to go to the hospital !” Achraf said. “But what about the car ?” I pouted. As if on queue, someone arrived to tow my car. Both Kylian and Achraf pulled me by my arms into the car, seating me in between them. “You guys are being so dramatic gosh” I rolled my eyes. “Have you taken a look in the mirror ?” Achraf raised a brow. “Uhm no. Should I ?” I asked concerned. “No no, you rather not” Kylian said from beside me. “It can’t be that bad” I scoffed as I opened my front camera.

My smile dropped and so did my heart when I saw the redness on my forehead as well as the slight swelling. My emotions took over as the tears welled up in my eyes and I burst out crying. “Oh my god I look terrible !” I sobbed. “(Y/N/N) stop crying. You’ll be fine and the swelling will be gone by tomorrow” Achraf said as he rubbed my back. “Don’t cry please” Kylian said as he pulled me in for a hug and rubbed my arm to try to calm me down. It actually helped.

As we reached the hospital, I was taken straight to the ER. I thought I was going alone to see the doctor but no. Kylian decided to join me since Achraf was sorting out the paper work and was keeping our mum updated. After the doctor consulted me, he prescribed me some medication and gave me an ice pack for now to quickly ease the swelling. Once he left the room, it was just Kylian and I. Pure silence - comforting but not awkward.

He walked from across the room to stand in front of me, I had no choice but to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry” he sighed. “For ?” I furrowed my brows. “For saying something so stupid the other day. It was meant to be a joke and I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings” he pouted. “It’s okay. I’m also sorry for snapping at you” I pursed my lips. “Don’t apologise, I deserved it” he half laughed. “Yeah you kinda did” I smiled. “I have to admit…these past 2 weeks have been terrible” he said as he took a seat next to me. “And why’s that ?” I asked. “Because I haven’t been talking to you… I know we play fight a lot but please don’t deny that deep down you feel something too. I missed your voice, I missed your smile, your laugh and especially seeing you angry”

“I hate to admit, but I feel the same way” I smiled. “Wait really ?” He said in shock. I nodded my head in reassurance. “That made my day…I’m sorry for the bad timing to drop this news to you. I swear I’ll make it up to you mon amour” he smiled as he then kissed my forehead. “Ky, my head is already buzzing from this accident. I can’t get butterflies too” I tried to not grin. “It’s okay, I’ll make the butterflies overpower the headache” he said as then peppered kisses all over my face.

[ygodmyy20]

Odds + 20 for the ao3 wrapped ask, please?

How many words have you written this year?

I have no idea haha looking at what I posted at least 30K. Throw WIPs in there and probably around 50,000 I would guess.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Blackhole always. https://archiveofourown.org/works/50159251. But I also wrote another fic this year that I am so so proud of. I felt like I delved into something that I was afraid to touch and I am so glad I did. I have grown a lot into my authentic self this year and that fic helped me so much.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

The same fic as above. I got some amazing and beautiful comments and that made me feel so happy I wrote it.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

I mostly listen to non vocal music to write to. Any song lyric stuff I have done was drawing.

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Terumob always

What work took you the longest to write?

Black Sweatshirt is still in progress and taking longer than I expected. I have around 10K written of the next two chapters but it is taking awhile. I sometimes get a weird surge of creative energy on Christmas so I hope i get that this year.

What’s your longest work of the year?

Black Sweatshirt. Still in progress

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I got my next Black Sweatshirt chapters and a few one off WIPs I want to polish and share!

Your favorite character to write this year?

Teru usually is the answer but honestly Touichiro and Shou were big surprises (and Mezato!). But especially Touichiro. I found my rhythm with him and Reigen and I love where he is going.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

None right now, I am hyperfixated on Terumob and I am not going to be changing anytime soon.

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Probably Chapter 8 of Black sweatshirt 100% Guilt or the fic I mentioned above.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

392! Wow that is a lot, that's cool

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Yes!

Did you receive any gifts this year?

Nope

What do you listen to while writing?

I have a bunch of writing playlists. But i have listened to this one the most when writing this year https://open.spotify.com/track/1CNvWuZSW8wiTmz6H011xU?si=72dce3f9f7534ac8

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Ohhh hmmm.....gotta think about that.... I actually haven't posted this yet, but i wrote it when I was having a panic attack and realized it fit in perfectly with my next chapter.

He wants to tear out his spine, peel away the outer layers like they are candy wrappers and kick his vertebra through the glass windows and watch as shards of crystals shower down on rusty floors. Scrape and scrape and scrape nails on wooden walls till walnut turns into chestnut. Grab fistfuls of hair and iron and pull till bones snap in two.

Scream until the walls close in to silence him.

There is so much inside him, with nowhere to go.

[ashipiko]

“Seems like a pretty packed place again. As to be expected of someone as cheery as Ashi.”

Taruchi smiled as she looked around the dorm decorated in shades of pink and splashes of a light green. Very Ashi vibes, she thought. Mission accomplished. It had taken a while to figure out where to get decorations until Riddle had seen the first years brainstorming and told them to just use magic.

They were first years, okay? They're a lot newer to magic. It makes sense that this didn't immediately click.

Taruchi continued to navigate through the crowd of people talking over the music, yet somehow she still couldn't spot the birthday girl. Weird. She would've thought she'd be able to see her laughing with Ace by now. Then again, maybe it was her height making her unable to see through the crowd of much taller students.

That was when an arm suddenly shot out of nowhere, hitting her stomach.

“Ow! What the hell…” she murmured under her breath. She turned to see beside her none other than the loudest student in Night Raven College.

“HALT, HUMAN! ONLY THOSE EXPLICITLY PERMITTED BY ASHI MAY SEE HER!” Sebek yelled, making Taruchi grimace from the assault on her ears.

Who the @%#& gave this @*&£# permission to be so #@%£*&% annoying? she said in her head as her eyes narrowed.

Then she heard, “What do you think you're doing?! I'M Ashi's one and only bodyguard! Go back to your precious ‘waka-sama’!” from her other side.

Of course, when she looked, it was Ashi's ginger-haired boyfriend looking ready to pounce at Sebek. Now they were both blocking her way.

Seriously, she's been trying to do was to give Ashi her gift. Why did someone have to stop her every time? Is this some new tradition?

She had decided to just stand there while they bickered, waiting until they somehow forgot about her standing there, before she heard someone call her name.

“Taruru? Is that you?”

Across the two boys blocking her, Taruchi's eyes met with Ashi's and she grinned. “Ashi! Please help me,” she begged.

“Jeez, those two just won't stop arguing, huh? Acey, you're ruining my birthday!” Ashi complained as she approached the three, a pout on her face.

“It's not my fault this guy is the most annoying guy in the entire world!” Ace retorted, looking frantic as he gestured at Sebek. He turned to him, “Why are you here, anyway?!”

“To protect Ashi from the likes of you! What else?!��� Sebek shot back. It seemed like he could squash Ace from how he towered over him, but Ace wouldn't back down.

Again, they continued to shoot insults back and forth between each other. Ashi forced a smile and dragged Taruchi away by her arm.

“So anyways, so glad you could make it, Taruru! Ya got somethin’ for little old Ashi?” she said in her playful voice, with her signature beam and wink.

“Of course.” Taruchi smiled back. “I wouldn't want to show up empty-handed. Well, it's not much of your usual gift since it's not like, something really physical, but I thought you might like it anyway.”

She opened her phone and in a few seconds showed it for Ashi to see.

“It's a playlist I made for you, composed of songs I think give off your energy or remind me of you.” Taruchi's smile brightened as she waited for her friend's response. “So… what do you think?”

——————————

HEY HEY HEY ASHI!!! I hope I'm not too late to send this, I know it's literally June 4 😭😭 STILL WANTED TO SEND A LITTLE SOMETHING!!

You're a super fun moot and tbh sometimes I'm still surprised we're mutuals! I remember the day you followed me I wiped my eyes like in a cartoon and did a double take like "wait is this fr???? NO WAYYYY" AND I'M PRETTY SURE THAT WAS A PERIOD WHEN I WASN'T REALLY DOING ANYTHING W MY OCS AND STUFF. SO EVEN MORE OF A SHOCK SJDKGDSL I initially followed you for your a3 art bc it was SOOOO scrumptious (and still is obv) and I'm very happy to see ashace too plus stuff from other fandoms :DD AND IT'S WILD SEEING HOW MUCH YOU IMPROVE, IT'S AMAZING!!! keep having fun and creating what you want, i'll always cheer ya on <33

OH I JUST REMEMBERED i also have this extra lil drawing too! it's not ashace, i'm sorry (it was 2 am and i didn't want to go through figuring out his hair again) but i hope you like it nonetheless!

ANYWAYS HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY nd remember ace loves you tons, trust me i've seen his diary

(p.s. i hope the link for the playlist works 😭 just tell me if it doesn't then i can send it maybe on discord??)

ASHI’S BIRTHDAY CAMPAIGN! 🌺

“I’m sure they’ll figure somethin’ out eventually… Otherwise, they’ll both miss the cake. Jokes on them!” Ashi laughs, gleefully giving Taruchi a small hug.

“But anyway! We should totally focus on the main thing?! Like how stinkin’ cute this gift is! Waaaaugh, I’m so honored…! You’ll fosho catch me listening to this when I’m doodling at Ramshackle.” Taruchi could swear she saw tears start to form, but she wasn’t sure if it’s because the gift TRULY touched Ashi this much or if she was being dramatic. Either way, it was appreciated.

“Y’know what? I’ll listen to it RN! Let’s see what this playlist is made of~”

(ASHI REACTIONS UNDER CUT)

TARURUUUUU WAAUWGSH THE ART IS ALL SO CUTE. YOU DRAW ASHI SO GOOD AND TARURU’S NEW LOOK IS SO SLAY!!!! THE FLUFFY GANG RISE UP 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 totally not too late btw dw. got a whole line of people behind you 😭😭

EHHWHAAW YOURE SO SWEET LIKE ACTUALLY FR. I GEN DONT RMB WHEN WE OFFICIALLY BECAME MOOTS CUZ LIKS?? YOU WERE FR FROM THE VERY BEGINNING UNTIL NOW. IT WAS STILL THE A3! ERA……. man that was so long ago. WWW I FEEL OLD. but ANYWAY!!! THIS MESSAGE IS SO CUTE. YOURE GEN SO SWEET TARURU IM HUGGING YOU THRU THE SCREEN <33333 THANK YOU SMSMSM!!!!!!! ace does FR love me. there have been too many signs to prove otherwise smh 😔

I GOT THE PLAYLIST TO WORK BTW!!! ITS SUPER CUTE….. FUNNILY ENOUGH I HAVE ALMOST ALL THE SONGS DOWNLOADED ALREADY???? 😭😭 the only new stuff to me (basically) is all the swiftie stuff……. once I find a good time I’ll DEFO listen!!! THANM YKU SO MUCH AGAJN TARU. THIS IS SUCH A FUN GIFT!!!!!

[i-love-you-all]

For the valorant hc game could you do sova please?

Of course! Sova, my love <333

Also realizing how long these posts get so I've put the keep reading line in.

5 things they usually see:

A practice target (often those poor bots). His greatest fear is failure - a missed shot. It could determine the fate of his teammates or the world, so it cannot happen (again). As a result, he spends ungodly amounts of time training and working out. No mistake will be repeated on his watch.

Wildlife! It's already established that he enjoys photographing nature, so I imagine that he see trees, flowers and animals quite often.

Chess boards and pieces. He's a pretty avid chess players (same with Cypher so I imagine those two compete as often as Sova can stand the information broker).

Guns and other weapons. I HC him as being military/special ops then onto whatever the Brotherhood is. And before then I HC his family to be a military family so he's grown up seeing guns, learning how to use them... and using them himself.

Various shades of blue. I think it's a top 3 favourite colour of his (looking at the clothes he wears outside his armour). But I like to think that he got his walls painted blue at the protocol. And that he got some say in what he would wear out on his missions and whatnot. (because if we're being honest, if he does work up north in snow and stuff as shown in his card, he should be wearing arctic camo).

4 things they usually feel:

The cold. He grew up in a cold place and like his voiceline on icebox, he enjoys the cold as well. For the most part, he doesn't mind it, but when he's out for a long time, he does enjoy the warmth of a fire, or just a heated room.

The calluses on his hands and the weight of his bow. He's been trained since young with the bow and arrow, so his skin is not soft, and it's not perfect. However, it is who he is, so when he makes a fist or absentmindedly rubs his hands together, he feels them quite often. It's a permanent reminder of who he is.

His wet hair as he leaves the shower + all the cleaning and brushing he does for it. I think that he takes special care of his hair because it's like the one part of him that "stayed the same" throughout his life, or that it's the only thing that can't be scarred. He must have so many scars around his body (though I sometimes write him to have none bc he's that OP :p) and then he lost his eye, so the fact that his hair can still stay nice and soft must be something to treasure :))

The sore feeling you get after a workout. Whether he was injured on a mission or just after a hard day, he can feel that stiffness. Maybe there are days he wishes he was a radiant. Maybe then, all the physical strains he takes on wouldn't hurt as much. He knows the soreness will only get worse, no matter how great he is at keeping in shape. And that's when his admiration for Brimstone gets stronger because that man has been working through this for decades longer than he has.

3 things they usually hear:

His electro music. I'd like to think that maybe, the reason why he likes that genre more (from what you can hear on the playlist for him) is because the drums are softer/rounder. A loud hit on a snare might make him tense up a little too much because it can sound like a gunshot.

His breathing, and his efforts to control it. Snipers have to work to control how they breathe, so as he settles down into a sniper's position, he needs to be extra aware of his breath. Also, in worse times, he needs to calm himself down when he has a nightmare intense enough to make him jolt upright in the middle of the night. Thoughts of losing his eye again, or a mission that was failed because of his action - or lack of action, sometimes plague him, and he hates how he loses control for those few moments.

A cold wind/nature. I've already talked about him being out in the world and enjoying cold weather, but he likes to be closely attuned with all the possible and plausible sounds of nature. Not only is it a good way to calm himself down, but it's also great training. When he's alone out on a mission, he needs to know what are normal sounds and what could be an enemy trying to sneak up on him.

2 things they usually smell:

Nice, warm, tea in the morning. He would never admit it, and Cypher has no proof, but it is him that sometimes takes Cypher's teas. Especially when he doesn't have any of his own available at that moment.

Metal/nothing. Not metallic as in blood, but as in the general iron smell of a gun or his bow. It's clean and isn't really reflective of the scents in his everyday surroundings, which is what I mean by nothing. He can smell food, gas, or whiffs of perfume as he travels around cities. He can smell flowers, trees, and nature when he's outdoors. He can't smell anything in that armoury as he prepares to leave on a mission.

1 thing they usually taste:

Blood. I know it's kind of a cop out for any agent, but I think Sova more than most (maybe not deadlock or brimstone) just due to his history in this line of work. He has lived through war, assassinations, and straight fist and knife fights. He has hit others, and inadvertently tasted a bit of blood splatter, or he has been hard enough to taste some of his own blood in his mouth. I think he might be a medium steak kinda guy if he does go out because he doesn't want to be reminded of anything while enjoying a meal. Though, there are times where he's in that sort of mood and will order something medium rare and let himself taste just that little bit of blood.

[omegaremix]

April 5, 2018.

A venture into New York City is always a good thing. Give me any reason - a doctor’s appointment, family, or a show in Greenpoint - and I’m there. This time it was a check-up on the pricier Lower East Side. I asked the team to give me an early time because I knew something else was going on behind the clinic. I know because my old man drove me home all the time and took a specific rote to do so.

The chilly 35* temperatures bit like any early April would. The sharp white sun constantly cut across the passing white clouds drifting through the dry blue sky. I stand at the Deer Park platform for a few minutes and anticipate its’ arrival. The iPod Classic (160GB) is still holding up. It’s been my only companion that comes with me for Christ knows how long, ever since it’s not-as-capable brother (30GB) took it’s first ride with me supplying Whitehouse’s Racket, Vincent Gallo’s When, and various Boards Of Canada and Roy Ayers cuts. That was another springtime trip where Cath- and I joined forces at Penn Station to go to the Brooklyn Museum and back home on the Ronkonkoma line for what was one of the most significant days ever lived. I loaded up the 400 or so finds to it of songs I never heard of before, songs then in the auditioning phase for Omega WUSB’s airplay. Train rides on the Deer Park line are usually prime-time to cycle through it all with no distractors around. My other companions? A Sony kit and a tripod.

I board and sit on the outer left aisle facing forward. No window seat this time. Public Image Ltd.’s “Poptones” couldn’t have come at a better time as the Deer Park line slowly rolled down through Farmingdale. None more fitting when those loopy dangling notes of Keith Levene’s Veleno moved perfectly with the slow floating crawl of the car. I’m not even paying attention to the motion blur of the graffiti or the industrial buildings usually experienced when looking out of the window. Another song plays, it’s The Plugz’ “Satisifed And Die”. It was a gift from Holly, a Brooklyn goth girl who followed me here. She’s made me roused and stimulated like no other. We been trading recommendations for a couple months based on our equivalencies of industrial, noise, punk, and other artists. I never heard of Plugz until she told me that “Hammy” from The Pee-Wee Herman Show was in the band.

The music still spun in my ears. Each song that played was saved to the day’s on-the-go playlist. No skips or fast-forwards. Eventually there’ll be seven or ten songs out of thirty that will follow me around forever out from the 400 chosen for April 5th. They kept going, and so was I on the way to Penn Station. Final track to end the ride? “Hold On To Your Genre” from Les Savy Fav, a band I’ve heard about over the years, and maybe a mention from former selector Xtina who used to run The All Ages Show before I took over her timeslot. Holly’s hits kept on parading through.

Penn Station here. I save my energy taking the A/C/E connecting me to the N/Q/R/W line to Lexington Av. and walk up 3rd St. to the clinic. Here I am! I’m directed to go upstairs and angle myself for some x-rays before heading downstairs to see the silver surgeon who saved my life eighteen months ago.

“Wow! What’s that?” excitingly ask Renee, the surgeon’s assistant. She saw my kit and tripod and told her I was going to shoot after our appointment. She was happy to see me. They’ve seen them all come and go during all their years in practice. It was a treat for them to see me have this new energy from when I was either blacked out on the hospital bed or frustrated and itching ready to go. But here I was. That’s the most important thing for all of us, right? Silver took his hand and pressed his tips on my shoulder to feel any changes. Looked over the film and saw no changes. Asked me how I was doing with this British / Irish roll and was pleased to hear that I was doing great. An hour later, I was good to go. Show’s over for now. See you in six months.

I haul my inventory out of the clinic and head towards where my old man would start our path home. It’s the Grand Army Plaza at the southeastern corner of Central Park. Look up and you’ll see the golden monument of William Tecumseh Sherman riding high on a stone pedestal with Victory guiding the way. I take several photos of all their heroic glory. A few horse-and-carriage jockeys were all around me with their furnishings dressed in white, red, and purple with gold trim. I see many overseas families make the best of their time taking photos for mementos forever to be remembered by, not knowing if and when they’ll have another opportunity to return again. But I don’t stop there.

Forward I go into Central Park, because I had all the time in the world to tread into uncharted territory. I walk past the disused zoo and end up at the Balto statue. How cute. I stop and snap away for more test shots before some former aspiring Aron Kay wanna-be rode his bike past me and said something about Balto being a liberal conspiracy, and self-declared it a debacle that was worse that seeing Oprah’s goatse. I walk away from his trailed stench of shit and dried blood and now here I am walking right down the middle of The Mall and Literary Walk. It literally welcomes you in with its pathway, where its generousity is measured by its wideness.

It was at that exact point where I started feeling euphoric again. I’ve beaten cancer to see my final benefits loaded into savings. Three paychecks in March, the tax refund hit, and our company gave us full-timers a surprise $1,000 bonus. Minimal and synthwave finds connected me with some of my best followers here, good times with me and twenty of my other co-workers at my neighborhood arcade, and the record-store victory tour just started. All of my on-going projects at Ω+, VMFX, and WUSB kept me going and proud. My nerves straightened themselves out and for once in my life I was on top of everything. There were no worries, no stress, no pressure. There was only hope. I hit the sweet spot that I been trying to acquire for so long and this was it. I felt like I was the person I always wanted to be. Keep going.

To my right is the Naumburg Bandshell where I did my best to preserve whatever dynamics it presented me with a press of a button. Further I go and I encounter the Besthesda Terrace, a dazzling array that’s been around for almost 175 years. Greeting me is its accompanying fountain where The Angel Of The Waters looks over all of us. A Danish family of four wanted their picture taken together so they asked me kindly to snap them with their camera, which I happily obliged.

It’s 5PM. Joggers and bikers are imminent. Young couples are sitting on the hills admiring the skyscrapers to the south and west side. I let myself get lost as I head north. I reach the Bow Bridge to see a young Filipine couple in their wedding threads have their photos taken. I continue to wander through all the winding pathways and steep hills to find myself at Belvedere Castle which was gated off and closed indefinitely. A few thousand feet later, I stop short at the 86th Street Transverse to catch my breath and pause to experience the current moment of clarity. Robert Viger’s “Limpidite” started to play. The sun’s about to set and it’s getting dimmer. Now was the time to head back.

I didn’t remember the path I took to get here, so what fun I had when I got lost and realized I had to walk the equivalent of thirty city blocks to even reach East 59th Street again which I returned to. I was exhausted and was tempted to take the N/Q/R/W line back to Penn Station, but no. It’s rare for me to be in the city, so why not make the best of it and walk it all back to Grand Central? My time was limitless because I didn’t have to be at work until 1PM the next day. Let’s reverse the process.

I take part in the crowded hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I walk 30 blocks south back to Penn Station for the ride home eastward, still bathing in the new euphoria and pending Spring renewal I just felt. I arrive five minutes to my train, but no big deal. I’m more than happy to re-hydrate with a $2.50 bottle of water and wait around until the Ronkonkoma line arrives. I have another relaxing 65-minute train ride back to Deer Park to cycle through more auditions and selections for the day’s forever soundtrack before it’s gone forever. I arrive on the Deer Park platform and step off the train. I step off the platform and walk through the aluminum overpass and steps onto the parking lot. I get in my car and drive away to sweep up the rest of the way home through the Brentwood streets. 10:30PM and I’m home for the night.

**********

There’s a message waiting for me after I walked in. It’s Holly. She asked how my day was and what I was up to. It was real nice for one of my all-time favorite followers to even ask. I had to reply to her before heading to bed. I also sent her the day’s photos and then asked to see if we could finally meet up. The momentum was stronger and now more essential than ever. I’m thriving for more.

Ghost Spell: “People On The Street”

This Is Hell: “Anarchy On The Atlantic”

Stars Are Insane, The: Versus

Ramleh: “Soundcheck Changeling 2”

Alan Shearer: “Dark Is The Color”

Public Image Ltd.: “Poptones”

Ghost Spell: “Tzz”

Plugz, The: “Red Eye #9″

Jan Jelinek: “They Their”

Pan Daijing: “Female”

Candy: “Rain In Spetember”

Pierre-Alain Dahan & Slim Pezin: “Slim Bertha”

Pisschrist: “Fatal Control”

Alan Shearer: “Only For One Girl”

James Clarke: “Silent Summer”

Thomas Leer: “Saving Grace”

Paul Dupont & His Orchestra: “Lovelorn”

Boy Harsher: “Modulations”

Zola Jesus: “Bound”

Errorsmith: “Superlative Fatigue”

Pisschrist: “Fuck The World”

Alan Shearer: “Generation V”

Joanna Brouk: “The Space Between”

Grey Hairs: “Emergency Banger”

Hogan’s Heroes: “Drugs”

Plugz, The: “Touch For Cash”

Kap Bambino: “More Machine“

Leon Gardner: “Farm Song”

Les Savy Fav: “Hold On To Your Genre”

Marijuana Deathsquads “All Deep”

Red Apollo: “Knife Party”

Stars Are Insane: “I Stayed Up All Night Thinking Of You” (ver.)

Wolf Alice: “Sad Boy”

76% Uncertain: “Coffee Achievers"

Kedr Livanskiy: “Sunrise Stop”

Haircut: “Shutting Down”

Keiji Haino: “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean”

Cabaret Voltaire: Extended Play EP

Candy: “Bears”

Frumpies, The: “I Just Wanna Puke On The Stereo”

Pan Daijing: “Overdose”

Ajax: “Paper And Steel”

Les Savy Fav: Inches

Robert Viger: “Limpidite”

[hskin-spriting]

Hiya! Could I get a shufflemancy in regards of which of the dancestors I may kin? I just can’t seem to figure it out

Alright!

Not how I usually try to find out what someone might be kinning but let’s see.

I hit shuffle on my playlist 12 times, once for each dancestor and landed on:

Killer Queen - Queen

I am getting vibes from Damara, Porrim, and Meenah here.

Please remember: You know yourself best! If none of those feel right to you, or if that song gives you other vibes, then I can always try a different method of divining, as shufflemancy is easily up to the individual’s interpretation of the song.

[reviiely]

FIC WRITING REVIEW 2023

Thanks for the shoutout and tag @gammacousin

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either. (Copied and pasted)

Words and Fics

Word Count:

115,039

Fic Count:

7 started and published, 1 continued from 2022, 1 written but not published.

The MCU Rewrite Series

The Philindaisy Playlist Series

Most productive month:

November based on fics published and word count

Top Five by Hits

The Ultimate Fix-It Fic - 2,033

You're On Your Own, Kid - 859

Here Comes The Sun - 623

The Second In-Between - 587

Somewhere Only We Know - 272

Top Five by Kudos

The Ultimate Fix-It Fic - 42

Here Comes The Sun - 31

You're On Your Own, Kid - 20

Somewhere Only We Know - 17

The Second In-Between - 15

Fandom events:

None?

Upcoming Plans:

To Publish:

How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You (AOS// Philindaisy) and conceptual series with that

Other Ideas:

None, brain empty

Reflection

This year, I worked on a lot of stuff by maintaining a regular habit of spewing garbage out by quantity and not quality, and went over to the AOS boat since I missed feeling sad over fictional characters who die many, many times.

I want to say that I'm proudest of the weekend I wrote all of Somewhere Only We Know because I wrote the entire fic of 15k+ words in less than four days, but I like the fluffiness of I Will because usually I end the story with people dying and instead they got engaged and I'm happy about that.

I'm glad I got the chance to work on a project per month because my writing has improved drastically from when I first started out writing (at 11, Drarry 💀 with zero paragraph breaks) and actually publishing things (at 12, OC/Draco [kill me now] and sprinkles of Brutasha) to now, where my English teachers actually compliment my writing style and how I format and proofread even though I don't ever proofread. I hope I can actually channel all of this fic writing to write a novel this year.

Thanks for the reads and the tag, and sorry I'm late to the party; happy belated New Year, y'all!

@bubbletealife if you feel like it go ahead but I know you don’t write too much

[artificialgrinder]

THE DARK SEEPING IN (BRATZ FASHION PIXIEZ REIMAGINING) CH. 3

After Cymbeline and Melvino's argument, Breeana approaches her sister and tries to calm the situation.

AN: Should I make a Spotify playlist for this?

Each knock on Cymbeline's bedroom door was a trial on Breeana's sanity. Even though she wasn't screamed at to go away, she was ignored. And that made her heart pound.

Why was she so afraid anyway? Yes, they had had their fair share of arguments. But with no real explanation as to why Cymbeline was so heated, Breeana was scared.

So when she knocked again, she debated on turning around and calling it a day. Maybe the bitch just needed her space.

But…

"What?"

Breeana stood there, her breath caught in her throat. Instead of asking permission, she turned the doorknob and entered the dim room. The main light was turned off as usual, lava lamps and fairy lights being the only things providing Breeana the ability to see.

Cymbeline was sitting at her desk, her wrist flicking back and forth as she worked the charcoal on her next art piece. Robyn sang at a low volume, the sound coming from the Mac computer, something that would usually soothe her in times of stress. 

But Cymbeline was anything but soothed.

"What do you want?" The older girl asked, not even lifting her head.

Breeana played with her hands, daring herself to step further into the room. "Uh, hey," she uttered, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "I just…I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Uh, yeah," Cymbeline still didn't look at her sister. Yet there was a shift in tone there, almost like growing annoyance.

“It’s…I…” Breeana sighed. She couldn't do this. "Wh-What's the best way…to ask a guy to the Magnolia Ball?"

And only now did Cymbeline lift her head. "Are you for real?"

Fuck. "Uh, yeah. There's this guy, and…you know…I kind of want to - -"

"Breeana." Cymbeline held up the charcoal, bringing her sister to stop talking. "Why are you bothering me with this? Wh-What would I know," she laughed sarcastically, holding her hands by her sides, "about asking a fucking guy to a stupid ball?"

A red glow tainted Breeana's cheeks, unable to look at her sister for a moment. "Sorry, I just didn't know who else to talk to. I mean," she giggled sheepishly, "I'm not really gonna ask Daddy, am I?"

"Ask your friends."

What friends? Breeana didn't say it. Anything to save herself from the humiliation further. 

Cymbeline wasn't entertained by her anymore, instead focused on her charcoal drawing again. Hitting the keyboard, Robyn sang slightly louder.

Breeana pursed her lips, teeth slightly clenched. This wasn't fair. Whatever she had done to deserve such an attitude was uncalled for. She breathed in deeply before saying, "Okay, what was that about?"

"That?"

"Downstairs. With Dad," Breeana pointed at the door as if their Father was standing right there, listening to every word. "Why did you snap at him like that?"

"It's really none of your business, Breeana," Cymbeline answered nonchalantly.

"Well, you're my big sister. We vent to each other all the time. So why not now?"

But Cymbeline didn't answer.

The fairy lights flickered slightly.

But Breeana didn't let it hinder her. "Come on, what's going on?" 

"Nothing."

"Let's just talk about it," Breeana stepped closer yet again, getting a better glimpse of the art – a woman glancing over her shoulder, looking right at Breeana. No…through Breeana. And from her back, the part Cymbeline was working on in the current moment, a pair of brilliant wings rested. "I'm sure I'll understand. I'll always have your back, Cymb'. I mean, us sisters have got to stick together. You know? Just like Mo- -"

"Breeana!" Cymbeline stood up abruptly, slamming the charcoal stick down on her sketch pad, the piece shattering. "I don't want to talk about it!" She clapped in between words. "It doesn't fucking concern you. Fuck, it doesn't concern fucking children, as a matter of fact! I am a fucking adult, and I can deal with it myself. Now can you, please," she paused, holding up her now shaking hands, eyes wide with fury, "can you please stop bothering me?!"

That feeling, that fear that burrowed itself deep inside Breeana's belly before even entering the room…It now made sense. She should have trusted her instincts and left her sister alone.

“I-I’m sorry,” Breeana stammered, her heart hammering.

Cymbeline just stood there, eyes still wide, body shaking. And she lifted her arm, pointing at her door. "Get out," she said gravely.

Breeana didn't need to be told twice.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And what gives my skin that extra healthy glow is this night balm by Beauty Bay. This is it right here."

Despite what Breeana had previously heard about the "Tweevils", Breeana had gotten into watching their YouTube channel, particularly the skincare routines. It was never really something she gave a shit about. But she needed a change.

No, this wasn't for Dylan. This wasn't to catch his attention. This was for herself.

Fuck, she needed a distraction from what happened earlier in the evening.

No, Bree'. Don't think about it.

She forced her gaze away from her phone. Her reflection showed she was still there standing in her bathroom, smearing moisturiser into her face – nothing out of the ordinary. 

Everything was fine. Everything was going to be okay.

Ping.

Instagram: DylanFreeStylesSometimes has made a new post.

Yes. She had his notifications on. And, yes. She clicked that notif so fast she  wanted to be the first to like it. Breeana wasn't afraid to look desperate as she was pretty sure she made it obvious she liked him.

Of course, the first thing that caught her attention was his eyes. God, the butterflies inside her stomach were going wild already. 

He was in a car, another guy in the driver's seat bopping his head to the radio. It was nighttime, and Dylan was wearing what he wore the night he and Breeana spoke.

This was most likely before Nevra's party.

"So, some guy - I don't fucking know his name - has made the bold decision to talk some shit about me. Thinks it's weird that my friend group is a bunch of girls. Bro, I may not know your name, but I see your picture. Go touch some grass."

The driver chuckled.

So did Breeana. Her knuckle found its way into her mouth. God, he was so bizarre. Yet so - so cute.

And now she was getting carried away. She clicked into his profile, watching his entire story. 

Things she learned about Dylan:

He watched Love Island (and shamelessly enjoyed it).

His favourite song currently was Earfquake by Tyler, the Creator (well, Breeana guessed, judging how many times he used it in the background of each post)

He believed, "there ain't nothing wrong with kissing your homies," and provided evidence – a quick clip of him and Cameron exchanging a small kiss.

His Mom made the best cornbread.

He was already pumped for another party.

And most importantly, he was single.

Well, Breeana guessed as much. That one magazine did say that if a man posted a pic of a tea cup in a dimly lit room, making something very mundane into something grim, it was a cry for help, a wish to not be single.

"... Don't be so ridiculous," Breeana sighed.

Her mind was getting carried away, so she clicked out of Instagram and...sitting her phone down on the counter; the light caught her charm bracelet, then catching her attention.

Her brows connected. Three charms…

That wasn't right. 

"What?" She whispered, placing her hands on the sink and inspecting the counter. Maybe it had just disconnected from the chain while she was scrubbing her skin with the exfoliator.

Breeana tried to ignore the small amount of panic within, searching for just a glimmer of the missing charm, looking under the spare towels, behind the bottled products she had just smeared on her face, on the floor.

Nothing.

The sinkhole.

No. It wouldn't have. Surely, she would have heard it teetering around in the sink before falling down the hole.

So, where the fuck was it?

Breeana examined her bracelet – one bronze charm for herself, gold for her Father, Silver for her Mother…

But no champagne for Cymbeline.

Breeana's heart stopped, fingers clenched around the edge of the sink.

She wasn't the type to look this deep into things, but…

No. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be. This wasn't some sort of…some sort of warning. Just a weirdly timed coincidence, that was all.

She took a deep breath in. Her missing charm was probably in the garden or Cymbeline's room. 

Lifting her lavender eyes up from the plug hole, Breeana inspected her reflection. Her skin had paled drastically. For a moment, she told herself to relax. Everything was fine still. Nothing freaky was going on.

But then…she just stared…and stared…

She was looking right at the image of herself in the mirror. But she wasn't seeing herself.

Behind her eyes, a thousand images flashed all at once.

Trees. Darkness. The moon. Butterfly wings. Bright colours. Flashing lights. Talons. 

A wicked smile.

Cymbeline.

Gasping, Breeana snapped out of it. She could see her reflection again. 

Once again, everything was fine. She was safe, just standing there in her bathroom.

So, why was she shaking?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Staring up at her ceiling, Breeana knew she wouldn't get much sleep. 

She couldn't stop thinking about it – the vision.

That's what it was, right? The young girl couldn't be too sure. Never had she experienced anything like this.

A quick Google search earlier in the night stated she either had bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. Although she couldn't really dismiss these possibilities, they were very hard to believe.

Now, her mind was restless. She tossed and turned, trying to think of anything but the things she saw. But no matter how many sheep she counted, how much she reminisced about school the last few weeks, her brain always managed to lead her right back to the visions.

They had to be related to Cymbeline or the missing charm. Fuck, maybe it was  mental illness, Breeana's fear and anxiety messing with her.

Then again, she saw shit that had nothing to do with either her sister or the bracelet.

Amongst the images of blackened tree branches and multicoloured lights flashing too brightly, Breeana was sure she saw them…

A pair of green eyes…circled by the darkest eyeshadow…contrasting greatly…striking almost.

Just as she was getting carried away in her thoughts, her gaze drew to her bedroom door, which was wide open.

Cymbeline scampered by, not even looking into her baby sister's room. 

Her footsteps were soft, creating no sound on the carpeted hallway ground. For how fast she moved past, Breeana still noted her sister's appearance.

The older Devlin sister wore her favourite gym shorts and baseball top, a look that could pass off as pyjamas. But draped over her arm was a leather jacket and, in her hand, her sneakers.

It was 11PM.

Breeana couldn't help it. She flung her covers back and raced to her door. "Cymbeline!" She whispered.

The girl didn't stop. It was almost as if she hadn't heard Breeana at all. She quickly made her way down the stairs.

But Breeana followed out of her room, goosebumps rising on her skin. She followed her sister downstairs into the darkness. Their Father had retreated to his own room hours before, exhausted from travelling. So it was just the two of them, alone together.

"Cymbeline!" Breeana whispered harsher.

Finally, stopping before the front door, Cymbeline turned to look at her sister. Her face was a mix of two emotions – frustration and guilt. "What?" She spat.

"Where are you going?" Breeana held her hands out by her sides in questioning. "It's late."

"Relax. I'm going for a cigarette." Cymbeline rolled her eyes, turning back to the front door and unlocking it. 

Breeana's brows connected. Strange. Cymbeline had never smoked in her life, as far as her sister was concerned. 

As if reading her mind, "Don't even think about telling Dad either. Or I'll tell Dylan about your little crush on him." Turning the doorknob, Cymbeline looked over her shoulder once more, this time smiling wickedly.

"Wha…How did you know - -"

"Come on, Bree. It's obvious." Cymbeline teased. "Now, hurry on back to bed. And, again, no word of this to Dad. Or by tomorrow, Dylan will know you as a stalker."

There was only one reason Breeana could think of as to why Dylan would never believe her – Cymbeline was her sister and would never make such an accusation. Even if she did, Dylan would only take it as a joke.

However, reasons why he would believe it – Breeana liked his Instagram post too quick, she watched his entire story, she had done both of these things having only spoken to him once, and, just as Cymbeline said, it was obvious.

All she could do was be obedient. She remained silent, watching her sister smirk and turn to walk out the front door.

And Breeana turned and made for the stairs…

But as soon as the front door clicked shut, she stopped, not by choice. 

The temperature in the room had dropped drastically, or maybe…

Maybe it hadn't. For it almost felt as if something stood in her way. Someone.

They stopped her from moving further.

Go, a voice said internally.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Breeana's heart was hammering in her chest. The cold was beginning to tear her up, just navigating the forest. She wasn't totally blind in the dark of the woods, but it was a miracle she could even see anything at all. 

Her sister was right up ahead, not too far, not too close.

Why would Cymbeline choose to come all the way out here just to smoke a stupid cigarette? Surely she wasn't that worried about Melvino catching her.

The younger Devlin girl knew she needed to remain undetected if she was going to figure out where the fuck Cymbeline was sneaking off to. And yet, she wanted to call out to her, ask if she could come along under the false pretence that she was interested in this secret.

That's even if there is a secret. Breeana let out a breath of cold air as she stepped over a fallen tree log.

Cymbeline was still up ahead. Good.

Taking another step - -

Snap.

Her heart sank.

Cymbeline stopped. And she turned.

Breeana ducked for the nearest tree. No. She couldn't get caught now. Not when they were this far out.

With her back pressed firmly against the wood of the tree trunk, she covered her mouth with her palm. God, why was she scared? This was Cymbeline. Her sister.

Yet, she could already hear the roars of protest…of broken trust…of betrayal. She didn't want that, not after the exchange in Cymbeline's bedroom. Who knew what the girl would do when she was already so fired up.

A moment passed, and nothing happened. Breeana removed her hand from her mouth, curving her body around the tree. Cymbeline would be standing there, arms crossed and fire in her eyes. 

She'd pounce. 

She'd attack.

…But looking around the tree, Cymbeline was nowhere to be seen.

"What…?" Breeana's eyes widened. She moved out from behind the tree to where she had last seen her sister. Her lavender eyes darted all around, now desperate to find Cymbeline.

And when she couldn't see her, she began to run. 

"Cymbeline?" She called out into the dark quietly.

No response. She honestly expected it at this stage.

"Cymb'?" Breeana was becoming more desperate.

When it was clear she had lost her sister, she stopped. There was no way she could search this entire forest and find Cymbeline anytime soon.

Well, part of her brain told her she could if she really tried, while the other half told her that…

This was Cymbeline. The girl was strong, once taking down the star football player for being a "homophobic little bitch”. Breeana watched her throw him into a locker, slamming the door on his head.

It was crazy, but in Cymbeline's words; gay rights.

So if she could do that to a tank of a boy, she could fight off any possible danger in this forest.

She felt bad, her stomach twisting, but Breeana turned, giving up her search. If anything, Cymbeline had finished her cigarette and was already on her way back to the Devlin house.

Yes. That was it.

She was probably already home.