#it was how it focused on the wrong things

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none except a prickly Simon

“Did he answer you?”

“No.” You glance at the open chat window again, just to be sure. “It’s only been five minutes though?”

“This can’t wait, these little suckers can turn on a dime so fast.” She sighs, and then motions down the hall. “You’ll have to wake him up. He’s in call room two.” It’s eight am, but according to everyone on the floor, he’s been here since twenty hundred yesterday, and had a midnight case that had him in the OR until six.

Meaning he just went to bed.

Fuck.

“Maybe you should go… he doesn’t really like me much.” An understatement.

“Uh uh. This is your patient, you face the wrath.” Another nurse peeks around her monitor at the station.

“You’re cruel Key.” She shrugs.

“She’ll have to do it eventually.” She looks at the chart again, and chews on her lip. “He’ll want to look at her before he puts anything in, and once he realizes what’s going on he won’t be mad. Hurry up.” Your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Fine.”

You’ve been on the unit for two weeks.

In that time, you’ve verbally interacted with Doctor Riley a whole three times.

Once, in the OR.

“Have you ever circulated before?”

“Daisy is shadowing me.” Key assures him, omitting the part where you indeed, have never circulated. There aren’t many things you haven’t done at this point in your career, but circulating is one of them. It’s a mix of counting things a million times and directing all the traffic in the OR. You’re not inept. You don’t doubt your ability to learn new things, but you’d be lying if you said it’s not intimidating.

Especially when he looks at you over his mask, gaze cold and laser focused.

“Have you ever circulated before Daisy?” He repeats himself. Key sighs like she’s ready for the day to be over already, and you shake your head.

“No.” Anger flashes in his eyes, and he glares at her.

“Fucking hell. My OR is not the place to learn how to circulate, Keona.”

“Well, you do the most cases, Doctor Riley. She has to learn sometime.” There’s a razor in her voice, softened by a syrupy lilt, and he gives her another withering look before directing his attention back to you.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Once, in the hallway.

“Daisy!” He barks at your back and you instinctively freeze, shoulders shooting up beneath your ears before you manage to turn and face him.

“Y-yes?”

“You have Maverick? Crib B?” Your palms instinctively start sweating. Nothing is wrong. You were literally just in there and he was stable. Cute. Sleeping. He’s stable. Nothing is wrong. Right?

“Yeah- yes. He’s mine.” He scrutinizes you like he’s searching for something, ever present frown affixed to his lips.

“Why is his bili light still on?” Oh no. Did you leave it on?

“What?” He stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met. And who knows, maybe you are.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Sorry ah, no. It shouldn’t be on. I thought…”

“You thought?” You’re used to getting kicked around. Surgeons have god complexes, residents think they’re so far ahead of where they truly are, attendings love to pick you apart if they’re having a bad day. Not all of them, but enough that there is a reputation, and when you’re new, you get run over. When you’re seasoned, you learn to navigate it.

But Doctor Riley coming down on you is completely different, and shame curdles in your stomach at the idea of making a mistake.

“You’re telling me you don’t know if that light is on or off?”

“I-”

“I know you’re used to a floor where you can do the bare minimum to keep your patients alive until they get transferred, but the NICU requires a bit more attention to detail. Do you think you can do that?” Your throat goes dry, and you stare at him, words evaporating as he repeats himself, slowly. “Do… you… think… you… can…. do... that?” Jesus Christ.

“I thought I turned it off.” He steps closer. Close enough you can smell his dial soap and the barely there whiff of aftershave. Close enough he blots out the light on the ceiling. He tsks.

“Do you think you can do that Daisy?”

“Yes.” You whisper, closing your eyes. He hates you. He hates you and it’s so much worse than just some run of the mill asshole provider who’s got it out for you. So much more. “Yes I can do that. I- I’ll go check on him right now.” He nods, and then doesn’t even spare you a glance as he strides down the hall, swearing under his breath.

And then once in the parking garage.

“Wait!” You sprint to the elevator, breathless as you jump through the quickly closing door-

and right into the chest of Doctor Riley.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch, only grabs you by the upper arms to keep you from toppling over.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” He drops his hands as soon as you’re steady, but doesn’t step away.

“It’s alright.” He’s studying you. Again. Always. You noticed him doing it the other day on the floor, watching you over the head of his resident, a bug under a microscope that he’s going crush. “You have straw on your sweatshirt.”

“What?”

“Straw.” He says it slowly, like you’re hard of hearing. “On your clothes.” His gaze flicks to the collar of your sweater, where indeed, a souvenir from the barn is clinging to the fabric. Jesus.

“Ah, oops. Thanks.” The elevator lurches to a stop on the next floor of the garage, and when it opens, Doctor Price is standing on the other side. He immediately smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Daisy.” He doesn’t even say hi to Doctor Riley, just slips inside and leans against the wall. “How is it in baby-land?” Doctor Riley glares at him, one of his ‘I am thinking about ending your life’ glares that you’ve been on the receiving end too many times, and Price chuckles.

“Uh, it’s good Doctor Price.”

“Daze, please. I’ve asked you a million times to call me John.”

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” You manage a nervous laugh.

“You takin’ care of my girl Simon?” Awkward silence descends over the three of you, and your heart thumps around in your chest like a drum. Doctor Price- John, raises an eyebrow.

“Seems like you’ve coddled her enough already.” Doctor Riley grunts. Your face burns, and you stare straight ahead, begging the doors to open and release you. From your peripheral, you can see John’s facial expression change, but you stay facing forward, drowning in your embarrassment, your shame.

“Arsehole.” John growls. The doors pick a miraculous moment to slide wide and you dart through them, Doctor’s Riley response lost as you disappear around a corner.

“Doctor Riley?” You knock a little louder, mentally crossing your fingers he’ll answer and you won’t actually have to open the door. “Um… Doctor Riley? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

Shit.

Cool metal gives under the pressure of your fingers on the handle, and you call for him through the crack of the door. “Doctor Riley?”

Silence.

Double shit.

You cross the threshold, two steps inside. “Doctor Riley?”

There’s a sharp, startled inhale, and then the grit of his voice is drifting through the darkness. “What?”

“Uh, it’s… I tried messaging you but you didn’t answer. It’s the Anderson baby, she’s bradycardic and I don’t know, her muscle tone is off, I think -”

“What?” He’s alert, immediately. The mattress creaks and then he’s flicking the light on, appearing in front of you like a ghost-

without a shirt on.

You try to look away. You do. But his chest is right in front of you, his chest with golden brown hair, hair that travels down his sternum to his belly and continues to disappear into his pants. There's muscle beneath the weight on him, and it all sits well. Perfectly. And the tattoo, the 360 sleeve stretching from should to wrist is the icing on the cake of this paradox of a giant.

Brilliant man who loves little babies, who’s skill for saving their lives is known far and wide, who looks like he could fell a tree with one swing of an axe, who saved your Riley’s life-

and who without a doubt, hates you.

You can’t look away, so you do the next best thing. You slam your eyes shut. “Um I’ll just… I’ll wait outside.” You turn, eyes still closed, and smack your face into the metal door frame so hard your orbital bone sings. You bite your lip to swallow the cursed yell that tries to burst free.

“You alright?”

“Yep.” Your lie is high pitched, and you duck around the door to wait out of sight.

When it clicks shut behind him, he turns to face you. Studying again. Scrutinizing, this time with a hand clenched at his side. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.” You’re not going to let him catch you being weak. Not for a single second. His lips down into a frown, and he shakes his head.

“Let’s go.”

Baby Anderson is tough. Probably tougher than you’ll ever be. She goes to surgery not ten minutes after Doctor Riley is at her crib, and then comes out like a champ, stable after a valve repair.

The relief makes your knees weak. It’s what carries you to the end of the day, all the way through your shift up until you’re walking across the parking garage, broken backpack hanging off your shoulder, oblivious to everything around you.

Then you hear him.

“Daisy.” You whirl. He’s standing there, a step behind you, arms crossed. “I’ve been calling your name.”

“Oh I… I was distracted.” You look away because it sounds so pathetic and you’re sure he’s sneering at you. “Sorry.” He’s quiet for a beat, and you study your shoes. They’re old and worn down. You really need new ones. Everyone on the unit has those new sneakers, the popular ones they all swear by, the ones that look like a dream. Lots of cushioning. You fantasize for a second about somehow making it work out to where you could afford a pair, but the fantasy fades away in the face of reality. You can’t even afford feed for the horses this week.

“Good catch today.” You blink. Who’s he talking to?

“What?” There’s a very long, very deep inhale, and then the rumble of his voice.

“I said, good catch today, with the Anderson baby. She would have tanked without you.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much.” You laugh it off. Because why is this man who despises you all of the sudden saying you did something right?

“You correlated the bradycardia with the muscle tone. That’s enough.”

“Right.” He’s not wrong, but you’re surprised all the same. “Um, thanks.” You finally glance up at him, and to no one’s surprise, he’s studying you again.

“Have a good night.” You momentarily forget yourself. Who? You have a good night? Your manners come back after a beat, and you manage  a strained, polite smile.

“You too Doctor Riley.”

[confessionsandcreampies]

m. fushiguro relationship headcanons

doesn’t say much, but shows everything in the way he moves—picks you up when you’re tired. puts your favorite snack on the table without a word. carries your bag without asking. you: “megumi…”—him, ears a little pink: “just… let me.”

lowkey feral when it comes to your safety—he’s chill until someone looks at you wrong. then he’s in front of you, jaw tight, voice cold, “back off. now.”

doesn’t initiate pda, but leans into it like he’s starving when you start—you hold his hand? he laces his fingers through yours immediately. you rest your head on his shoulder? he leans his cheek against your hair like it’s instinct.

needs you to pull him out of his own head—he overthinks. blames himself for everything. you hold his face, whisper “you’re allowed to be happy,” and he just nods quietly, eyes full of things he can’t say.

you’re the only one who sees him fully relaxed—laid out on the couch. head in your lap. letting you play with his hair while he pretends he’s not melting.

quiet but devastating in bed—he doesn’t talk much, but his eyes burn. he fucks you deep, steady, eyes locked on yours like he’s trying to memorize every breath. “you feel… so good,” he whispers barely audible. “don’t wanna stop.”

grabs you without meaning to, but holds like he’s scared to let go—one hand gripping your waist. the other fisted in the sheets. every time you moan his name, his body shudders like he can’t take how good you feel.

oral is quiet, focused, worshipful—he doesn’t say a word. just spreads your legs and lowers his head like a prayer. tongue slow. hands gripping your thighs. doesn’t stop until you scream.

afraid of losing control, but when he does, it’s glorious—you ride him once and he snaps. voice rough, eyes wild. “you want me to lose control? you want me to ruin you?”

aftercare is shy and perfect—he holds you like you’ll disappear. traces circles on your skin. kisses your shoulder softly, whispering, “you okay? did i hurt you? did you feel good?” (you tell him yes. he melts.)

megumi doesn’t fall in love easily. but when he does, he’s all in—he’ll protect you, crave you, need you in that quiet way that never stops speaking volumes.

[perkeleen-lavellan]

I keep talking about this like a broken record but it's important. One of the things depression can do to you is it traps you in your own internal world. Your logical mind is aware that something is wrong and it ptobably even recognises what is wrong. It gets overly fixated on this and gets stuck on analysing every dysfunctional thing happening inside your head. What happens is this erodes your ability to focus on the external, to the point that you might miss a great deal of what happens around you, and indeed how others are trying to keep contact with you, leading to further isolation. Like literally, actually eroding pathways in your brain that used to be there precisely for noticing tjose things. Instead slowly over the course of the illness your neural pathways have built the highways in your mind that make the easiest response to everything be internalisising it. Self awareness doesn't make the illness go away, it's a symptom.

And this is why one of the things that might happen in therapy is you practise new positive trains of thought, like those external ones. The thing about the brain is that it very much works via fake it till you make it logic. If you stop yourself during a negative thought pattern and force yourself to say to yourself, "No, this is unhelpful. What if I focused on what is going on around me, not within me?" Even if you don't mean it, and in the beginning you won't, eventually you will find that thought pattern comes to you easier, and you begin to naturally notice the things you missed.

And this isn't just for depression, this will have an effect on any thought pattern. The good news about depression self awareness is at least you are aware, so you are open to solutions, you are just missing the proper tools you need to cope.

(Mandatory nuance this is not how depression shows in everyome and if you struggle with this that doesn't mean you are depressed I am not a medical doctor or a psychologist I just had non clinical depression way back when please use your thinking brain don't at me thanks bye)

They should invent a method of asking for reassurance that nobody secretly hates you that doesn't make people secretly hate you.

[girlgenius1111]

you must've been looking for me

alexia putellas x reader r is struggling in the aftermath of an injury that has sidelined her for a couple months. alexia begins to realize that r is struggling in a different way than she initially thought. yet r is not quite ready or willing to admit or accept that she isn't okay. tw for discussions of an eating disorder.

—

Alexia wasn’t sure when it started. She wasn’t sure how she missed it, either. All she knew was that one day she looked at you, and noticed for the first time that something was wrong. There were all the physical signs, sure. But what got her the most was the look in your eyes, like you were exhausted every second of every day. 

Then, she started noticing more. The clear apprehension on your face at meals. The click of the lock on the bathroom door when you went to shower. The way you shied away from her hands whenever they drifted too close to your stomach or thighs. Eating less. Disappearing to the bathroom after dinner. 

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. She’d written so much off as you just having a hard time adjusting to being out injured. Alexia hated herself, just a little bit, for not catching it sooner. She should have been paying more attention, should have been focused on you and your tendency to overthink rather than your ankle and when you’d be well enough to get back on the pitch. 

Now, your ankle was the least of her worries. Yet she knew she had to approach this carefully. You weren’t one to jump at the chance to talk about your feelings. You never had been. Alexia had always felt that there was a layer to you that you never let anyone see. Not even her. She was okay with that, understood that. Emotions weren’t the easiest thing for her, either. It appeared that the things you kept locked away inside were hurting you a lot more than Alexia had ever considered. And she wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to talk to you about something she was sure you didn’t want to discuss. 

—

You, meanwhile, thought you were being subtle. Perhaps because it had taken Alexia weeks to notice, you felt pretty confident that no one could tell that anything was wrong. As far as you were concerned, nothing was wrong. This was just… something that happened sometimes. A phase. A phase of having a difficult time and hating what you saw looking back at you in the mirror. 

You’d… fix it, and then go back to normal. Your ankle would heal, you’d be able to go back to working out like you usually did, go back to looking how you were used to looking. You refused to think about how cliche you sounded, even in your own head. Everyone said they had control, that they’d stop once they got to where they wanted to be. 

But you were sick, and the sick part of you refused to see what the logical part of your brain clearly recognized. This wasn’t okay. This wasn’t under control. 

Unfortunately, logical you wasn’t winning out at the moment. The other part was in charge, pulling you deeper and deeper into a dark pit that had no mechanism to use to climb out. You fell blindly into that pit, like you were helpless to fight back. All you had to do was open your eyes and realize that what you were doing wasn’t going to make you better. Yet you stubbornly kept your eyes squeezed shut, because if you pretended not to know what you were doing, you could keep doing it. 

Your plan didn’t account for your girlfriend. Your earnest, sweet, protective girlfriend, who was sitting next to you on the sofa, thoughts racing with different things she could say. In the end, she didn’t go with any of the speeches she’d practiced in her head in the shower, or at night while you slept next to her. She didn’t use any of the advice she’d read online. 

Really, Alexia just panicked. Because you were sitting next to her, your hand loosely gripping hers, watching the same film she was watching, but you felt so far away. Your thoughts were elsewhere, she could tell. And all of a sudden, like a high speed crash, Alexia was hit with a wave of anxiety. You were slipping away right in front of her. You were hurting, and you were right there next to her and she didn’t know how to reach you. Didn’t know how to fix it, how to take the pain away. All she knew was that she couldn’t lose you, couldn’t watch you hurt any longer without saying something. 

You’d been lost in your thoughts, considering whether it would be easier to skip breakfast or lunch the next day, when Alexia’s voice broke the calm tranquility of the evening. 

“Can we talk?” Alexia said suddenly. You jolted slightly, turning your head to find her already looking at you. Already gazing at you with something unreadable in her eyes. Your surprise quickly morphed into concern, and you reached for the remote, pausing the TV. 

“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?” You wondered, turning your body to give your girlfriend your full attention. 

Alexia hesitated for a moment. It was clear to her that you were blissfully unaware of what she was about to bring up. You were looking at her with your brows furrowed, like something was wrong with her, like she was the one who needed to be worried about. 

The brunette took a deep breath, before smiling sadly at you and reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I do not think you are going to want to discuss what I want to talk about. But please, amor, just let me say what I need to say. Okay?” 

You blinked, a wave of fear washing over you. Was Alexia about to break up with you? Right then, right there? Was the best thing you’d ever known about to be over?

“Okay.” You said quietly, voice trembling. “Is it about… us?” 

“No, bebé. It’s not about us.” You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and Alexia looked apprehensive,, raking a hand back through her loose hair. “It’s about you, mi amor. I’m worried about you.” 

You felt your stomach drop. Heat rushed to your face. That feeling that the world might be ending settled in your chest. Your mouth went dry, your hands began to shake. “I’m… I’m fine, Ale.” 

Alexia pursed her lips, before slowly shaking her head. “No, bebé. I do not think you are.” 

Your girlfriend didn’t say it like there was any question to the matter; she spoke as though the issue was settled. Like there was no argument to be had about whether or not you were okay. Her firmness made you pause, long enough for Alexia to begin speaking again.

“Something has been off for a few weeks, but I just thought you were having a hard time with being injured. I have been paying more attention, though, and I know what I am seeing, now, bebé. I know what is going on, and I do not want you to pretend that it is nothing.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said stubbornly, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists in your lap. Your whole body was taught with tension, and Alexia’s eyes flitted over you, like she wanted to pull you in but knew you wouldn’t let her right then. 

Something wasn’t making sense to you. Everything your girlfriend was saying, the way she was speaking, it all made it seem like she knew. But if she knew… there was no way she’d be looking at you with the amount of love you saw on her face. There was no way she’d look this worried and not… disgusted. Not upset. 

As if reading your mind, Alexia spoke again. 

“You do, mi amor. And I am telling you that you do not have to be ashamed or embarrassed or feel guilty or anything. I just want you to talk to me, okay?” 

Something about the soft tone of her voice shook you to your core, and suddenly it was a fight to blink away the tears pooling in your eyes. She always did this, always knew exactly what to say to get you to admit that something was wrong. She’d done it when you’d broken your ankle, and she’d somehow known you needed to cry about it. When you’d made that mistake against Seville and she hadn’t let you walk away from her without letting her hug you. 

You shook your head rapidly, digging your nails into your palm. “I can’t.” 

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and they felt like an admission of guilt. Alexia wasn’t phased, though, her hazel eyes gazing at you so warmly you wanted to sob. 

“Okay. Then let me tell you what I have noticed, sí?” You didn’t reply, but Alexia kept going anyway. “You are eating less. And when you do not eat less, you disappear afterwards, and come back looking like you just cried. You flinch away when I touch you sometimes, and you change in the bathroom with the door shut. You’re quieter, and sadder, and I can see that you are hurting.”

Alexia paused, letting the silence fill the room as she studied you. Your eyes were fixed on a spot on the sofa underneath you, but Alexia could see the glimmer of tears waiting to break free. 

“Mi amor, I think you are having a hard time eating.” Your eyes squeezed shut, and Alexia’s heart squeezed in her chest. “I want to help you, bebé, but you have to tell me how. You have to let me.” 

It was quiet for a moment, Alexia watching your facial expression to gain any understanding of where your head was at, what you were about to say. She was fully prepared for more resistance, more pushback. She was half surprised you hadn’t shouted at her yet, actually. 

But just as she was getting ready to say something else, to try to coax you into talking to her with more soft words and gentle reassurances, you opened your mouth. It was barely more than a whisper, but the silence that filled the room meant Alexia heard you easily. 

“I didn’t want you to know.” 

The pain in your voice took Alexia’s breath away, just for a moment. “Why, cariño?” 

You scoffed, finally raising your head to look her in the eye. “Why? Because it’s humiliating, Alexia. It’s disgusting and it’s shameful and it’s stupid and I should know better. I’m an adult, not a teenager, and this is just so ridiculous, and now you’re worrying about it and I’m messing everything up.” 

Your girlfriend shook her head gently, reaching out to cradle your cheek, swiping her thumb under your eye to catch a falling tear. 

“No, it is none of those things. Not disgusting, not shameful, not stupid. Eating disorders are not something only teenagers deal with, amor, you know that.” 

Your breath caught at the mere title of what you already knew was going on with you. It shouldn’t have been so jarring to hear it outloud, but something about hearing it made it more real, more serious. More terrifying. 

Alexia continued, her voice soft and coaxing.“This happens to so many athletes. Did you really think I would judge you or see you differently because of this?” 

You shrugged, sniffling. “Logically, no. But I just… my brain isn’t being very logical right now. And…” 

You let the sentence drift off, thinking twice about what you were going to say. Your girlfriend had caught the way your eyes seemed to fill with tears again, and she leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. 

“And what, bebé? Tell me.” 

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself as if for impact, when really you were saying a simple sentence. Still, the sentence felt like another admission of guilt, another failure you’d be admitting to. It felt like a testament to how sick you knew you were, but you weren’t quite ready to accept that yet. 

“And I knew you’d make me stop.” You whispered. 

Alexia’s expression softened even further, if that was possible, and this time she didn’t hold herself back from tugging you into her arms. With your face pressed into her chest, there was nothing left in you that was willing to pretend that you were okay. Soft sobs filled the quiet of the apartment, but you weren’t too far gone to not feel shame. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess right now, you don’t need to deal with this.” You pulled away, drying the tears off your face with the hem of your shirt. When you looked back at your girlfriend she was frowning, almost sternly, like you were about to get a lecture.

“Do not talk about yourself like that, please. You are not, and never have been, something I deal with. You are someone I love, you could never be a burden to me.” 

Sometimes, more often than you liked to admit, Alexia would say things to you that felt too good to be true. Like you were living someone else’s life, a life you didn’t deserve. This was one of those things that felt like it was too sweet, too good to be said to you. 

All you could do in response was grab Alexia’s hand and squeeze it with a weak smile on your face. Somehow, Alexia didn’t seem to find this very convincing. 

“I mean it, mi amor. I am here for you, however you need me to be. If you need me to talk to Pere and the physios with you, I will. If you want me to come with you to therapy, I will. If you need me to–”

What little peace you’d found in Alexia’s comfort evaporated almost immediately. You leaned away from her, your expression suddenly defensive and unmistakably scared. 

“Talking to the physios? To Pere? Therapy? Alexia, none of that is necessary.” 

Alexia’s mouth opened and shut a few times, as she looked at you, completely stunned. “You- not necessary? Amor, this is serious.” 

But it couldn’t be. You couldn’t let it be serious. Couldn’t be the person everyone worried about, couldn’t be the girl who wasn’t okay. It was one thing to admit you had a bit of a problem. It was entirely another to admit that it was a problem you’d completely lost control of. 

You didn’t think about how you couldn’t make it through any meal without thinking of all the calories within. 

You didn’t think about hearing that voice, the one that lived inside your head that told you that you were horrible and bad and ugly and unlovable. 

You didn’t think about how even on days where you did eat, and didn’t make yourself sick afterwards, the thoughts that ran through your head were enough to make you question if you really even wanted to be here at all anymore. 

You didn’t think about how you couldn’t understand why anyone stayed, why anyone spent any time with you. Because it was more than just an eating problem; there was something wrong inside your head that made you hate yourself, and this was just another manifestation of that broken part of you. 

“It’s not serious. It’s completely under control.” 

Alexia blinked at you, completely disbelieving. It didn’t make any sense to her; you’d admitted something was going on, but taking it a step further and admitting you needed help wasn’t something you’d allow. How could you see there was a problem and not see that it couldn’t be fixed by you all on your own? It didn’t make any sense to her. 

“It’s not, bebé. It is not under control. You need help.” Alexia worked to keep her voice soft, gentle. You still reacted like she’d shouted at you.

Rising from the sofa, you put as much distance between you and your girlfriend as you could. All you felt was fear, and sadness. Neither of those emotions were safe emotions, though. Neither of those were emotions you could hide behind, so you did the only thing you could think of. You got angry. 

“Alexia, I don’t need help. Not your help, not anyone else’s help. You don’t get to tell me what I need.” It wasn’t so much your words but the vitriol you spoke with that had your girlfriend realizing this conversation was over for the evening. 

“You are upset. We can talk more tomorrow when we are more calm.” Alexia said slowly, looking like she wanted to reach out and grab your hand, but resisted. You were rendered speechless that she hadn’t shouted back at you. It was shocking that she hadn’t tried harder. 

Shocking, and something else. Disappointing, just slightly. Like maybe she was giving up on you. 

Alexia walked away into the bedroom, and you didn’t know whether to follow or not. You didn’t know how to face her after all of this, you didn’t know how to ask for what you needed. 

All you could do was stare at the space she’d been standing, and wonder when everything had gotten so messy.

—

You slept on the couch that night, though you didn’t really want to. It felt like you were being torn in two, with part of you craving the comfort Alexia had provided, the relief of knowing that she finally knew and you didn’t have to keep so much hidden from her. The other part of you couldn’t admit she was right, that you did need help. You weren’t sure if it was pride that stopped you, or fear of what anyone finding out would mean. More than anything, you didn’t want anyone to see you differently. Not the team, not the staff. Not anyone. You didn’t want to be unwell, you didn’t want to be worried about. The latter part of you must have been stronger, because instead of crawling into bed next to Alexia and letting her wrap you up in her arms, you were on the couch under a soft throw blanket that didn’t feel anywhere close to as soft as Alexia. 

The next morning came without either of you getting much sleep, yet you woke up with an alarming amount of clarity. Maybe Alexia had been whispering in your ear while you slept, or maybe your brain just needed to relax before it really thought critically about what was going on. Either way, you felt a little embarrassed for how you reacted the night before. You didn’t want to need help, but you also weren’t completely blind to the fact that you needed it. The suggestion, though, of telling people, of asking for help, was so terrifying it had you spiralling and downright refusing before you’d even really thought much about it. 

But in the light of day, you realized maybe Alexia had a point. There was a before all this, a time when you didn’t think about the way you looked or obsessed over the things you ate. There was a time before everything felt this heavy, even if you hadn’t realized how heavy things had gotten until just now. And you’d thought, for a while, that a time after would come when you’d been successful, when you’d gotten to where you wanted to be. You also knew how wrong that thinking was, knew enough about eating disorders to know there was no point you’d be satisfied if you kept going like this. 

There could still be an after, just maybe a more healthy one. 

How to explain this mess of thoughts to your girlfriend, you weren’t sure. 

You were hesitantly standing in the doorway of the bedroom, needing to get dressed to go to training, though training was still just rehab for you, but unsure if Alexia wanted you in the room. 

She’d been upset last night, that was for sure. And, to an extent, you understood why. You just weren’t sure how long this… whatever she was feeling, anger or not, would last. You didn’t know if she was going to look at you with that fearful and disappointed look in her eyes again, the look you saw last night and would be perfectly content never seeing again as long as you lived. 

Yet Alexia came out of the bathroom, pulling a t-shirt over her head, and her lips tilted into a small smile at the sight of you. Without any hesitation on her part, your girlfriend crossed the room in a few steps and pulled you into a hug. You hugged her back, though you were confused. 

Alexia murmured a quiet good morning into your hair, seemingly content to just… stand there and hold you for a minute. 

“Hi.” You whispered back. “Are you not… not mad at me?” 

Alexia pulled away finally, her forehead creased in confusion. “Mad? Why would I be mad?” 

“I… last night you were mad because I said I didn’t need any help. You were upset with me, that’s why I slept on the sofa.” 

“No, mi amor, no.” Alexia said rather frantically, gently grabbing your face in her hands. “I was not mad. I was upset, yes, but not mad at you. You were so worked up and upset, I thought you wanted space, that is why I did not say anything when you didn’t come to bed.” 

“Oh.” You mumbled, eyes casted downwards in an effort to avoid eye contact with your girlfriend. “I misunderstood.” 

You felt Alexia’s lips press against your temple before you were back in her arms, squeezed tight to her chest. 

“I am sorry, bebé. I was not angry with you. This is not… this is not something I get to be angry with you about, understand? This is so difficult, and you need to do this on your own time and your own terms. I cannot, and will not, force you to do something you are not ready to do. Recovery… it has to be a choice, mi amor. It has to be your choice.” 

Somehow, all of that made you feel worse. You’d half been hoping she’d still be mad, you realized, just so you could be mad back at her. Just so you could go back to ignoring the fact that she was right last night. You did need help. But she was being soft and understanding and patient, and that didn’t leave you much room to deny what you knew to be true. 

Alexia was right. Getting better had to be something you wanted. And while you were sure you were at wanting yet, you knew that you needed to get better. 

You must have been quiet for longer than you thought, because Alexia was tilting your chin up and saying your name for what sounded like not the first time. 

“Tell me what is going on in your head. Please.” 

You inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling like you didn’t have the words to explain anything that was going on in your head. “I just… I don’t know. I think you were right last night, but I don’t want to think that. I don’t want to need help, Ale, I really don’t. I don’t know what to do. I’m- I’m scared.” 

Those words may have never left your mouth before, save for when you were forced into watching horror movies. Yet they spilled right out of your mouth so easily, Alexia’s magic power of somehow making you be vulnerable working too well. 

The relief that flashed across your girlfriend’s face was not something you could possibly miss. You hadn’t even fully agreed with her yet, but clearly the fact that you weren’t still stuck in denial was enough for Alexia, and that made it feel like enough for you, too. 

“You do not have to know what to do. You do not have to fix this yourself. We can figure it out together, amor. Take today to think about what you want to do. Nothing has to be decided right now. Think about therapy, consider it. But try to breathe for now, hm? Everything is going to be okay. I promise.” 

Alexia leaned in, then, gently pressing her lips to yours. She kissed you with emotion and love and so much softness, you felt tears sting your eyes. You weren’t sure why, exactly, but you believed her that everything would be okay. It was the way she said it, confident and sure, that settled something within you. That took some of the unease and just made it go away. 

—

Of course, today of all days was when the medical staff decided you were ready to run again. You’d thought it was still a few days off, maybe a week, but they were happy with the progress you were making. Esther, the lead physio in charge of your recovery, told you the news excitedly, and initially, you felt the same way.

Though it was just meant to be a light jog on the treadmill, you thought it might make you feel better, might calm the racing thoughts that had been plaguing you since the night before, but which had grown even worse since Alexia had left you to train with the team. You could tell she was nervous by the way she bit at her bottom lip and squeezed your hand almost too tight in the hall outside the gym. 

“Have someone come get me if you need me, okay? Promise?” She’d said. 

You’d promised, though you hadn’t thought you’d need her. You’d have been wrong though. 

Because here you were, barely a half hour later, and it felt like everything was crashing down around you for the second time in less than 24 hours. 

You hadn’t done any intense exercise since your injury. Hadn’t run since then. Incidentally, that meant you hadn’t done any intense exercise or running since… it had started. And within just a few minutes of your run, your head began to spin. Black spots dotted your eyes, and your breath came short. 

You’d have liked to think that it was just a lack of water, or maybe the stress of the night before combined with such an overwhelming step forward in your recovery. Instead, as you pulled the emergency stop pin and stumbled off the treadmill, all you could think was that you’d really messed up. 

You could feel the weakness in your body, the lack of strength that had nothing to do with your time off recovering from your injury. 

What you’d probably known already became suddenly very apparent and undeniable. You were weak because you hadn’t been eating. Hadn’t been fueling yourself correctly. Not enough to get through the day, certainly not enough to get through a workout. The consequences of your actions were staring you right in the face, and even though you should have seen them coming, they were a complete shock. 

What you’d tried to tell yourself was a quest to be better, be healthier, was something else entirely. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t about that. It was about what you looked like and how you felt in your body. 

If you kept going like this, your career would be in trouble. The realization felt like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach. 

You sat down heavily on a weight bench, dropping your head into your hands. You were lost in your head, entirely and completely enveloped in the enormity of what you’d been doing to yourself, and what it meant for you. 

A hand rested on your back, and a voice met your ears. 

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on? Is it your ankle?” Esther asked, scanning your body for any sign of what was wrong. You’d been fine one minute, jogging happily on the treadmill, a small smile on your face. The next, you’d gone pale, all the color draining from your face before you practically fell off the treadmill. 

“N-no.” You managed. “Dizzy.” 

You didn’t have to look at Esther’s face to know she was confused. Before she could speak, though, a second voice piped up. 

“Esther, can you go get Alexia?” Kika said quietly, crouching down on your other side. Her face was scrunched with concern, and she grabbed your hand, squeezing gently. 

Esther was off without another word, and your stomach twisted at the thought of Alexia seeing you like this, of Alexia knowing that things were this bad. It seemed, too, that Alexia wasn’t the only one that knew something was going on. 

Even though your head was still spinning, you forced your eyes back open and looked down at Kika.

“What did she tell you?” 

Kika gave you a sad smile. “Nothing, really. Just asked me to get her if you didn’t seem okay.” 

Your heart simultaneously clenched and melted. Of course Alexia would ask the only other player in the gym for recovery with you to keep an eye on you. And of course, she didn’t tell anyone anything specific, just as she promised she wouldn’t. 

“Just breathe slow, okay? I’ll get you some water once Ale gets here.” 

You nodded, just barely, and focused on your breathing. Eyes fixed on your navy training shorts, you inhaled and exhaled, trying to match the rhythm that Kika was rubbing her thumb back and forth over your knuckles. 

You didn’t even have time to glance up when the door opened again before Alexia was darting across the gym and falling to her knees in front of you. She was breathless, frantic, and you felt a pang of guilt for worrying her like this. 

Alexia’s hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your face in her direction. She was sweaty, eyes wide with alarm and frantically scanning your whole body for a sign of what might be hurting you. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

Your eyes flickered to Kika, though the movement made you dizzier. You gripped Alexia’s forearms, trying to hold yourself steady, unsure how to answer Alexia’s question without lying and without letting Kika know what was going on. You didn’t think you could take the shame of another person knowing just yet. 

Luckily, Kika got the hint, mumbling something about water and an energy gel and heading out the door. 

Alexia didn’t look away from you the whole time, her eyes fixated on you, burning with worry. She looked to be seconds away from taking you by the shoulders and shaking you, begging for you to tell her what is wrong. 

“I-I’m not okay.” You whispered, hoping that Alexia knew you well enough to understand what you somehow couldn’t force yourself to say out loud. 

Her expression softened, one hand moving to cradle your cheek. 

“I know, amor. Tell me what does not feel right.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady the wobble of your bottom lip. It was no use, and soon tears were sliding down your cheeks, warm and silent. 

“Dizzy. Really dizzy. I almost passed out.” 

You couldn’t look your girlfriend in the eye, but you could feel the realization hit her, the way her breath caught and her hand tightened its hold on yours. 

“Because of…?”

You nodded, eyes still shut. “I’m not okay.” Repeating this sentence felt like the only thing you could do to ask for help. Because actually asking would have made you the weakest person on earth. 

“Okay. Okay, bebé.” Alexia murmured, tapping your cheek lightly until you opened your eyes again. “You need help, mi amor. We need to get you help.” 

This time, you didn’t jump away from her or act like she was crazy. You didn’t shout. You just exhaled a short breath, and nodded slightly. 

It made you feel sick, agreeing with her. Because asking for help, trying to help yourself was somehow harder than hurting yourself. That was easy, you realized. Hating yourself and believing you didn’t deserve anything good came so naturally to you.

The mere acknowledgement that you needed help was the hardest thing you think you’d ever done. Yet you knew that whatever came next would be even harder. 

—

i metaphorically just gave you a piece of my soul. please enjoy.

[rileygorski]

becca king is an observant queen especially to those she loves and while she loves her sister, she’s never been a fan of her taste in men.

there was david, her first boyfriend in college. and while mel was madly in love, becca could see right through the cracks—the man was always late (something she knew mel hated but for some reason always gave an excuse for), he was messy when he stayed over (which, for some reason, included moving her belongings, too). he also treated her like a child most of the time, never letting her cook even though she’s damn good at it. but becca bit her tongue and her cheek because so long as her sister was happy, so was she. after all, their parents passed six months ago and the light was slowly returning to mel’s face.

but her happiness doesn’t last long, two years to the date, and she finds mel in her bedroom wearing the black dress she was supposed to wear for the anniversary dinner, crying in the dark.

becca doesn’t ask, doesn’t say a word and climbs into bed with her. she lets mel cry in her arms and watches as she falls asleep, mascara running down her face. it’s only then does she check mel’s phone to find a chain of messages saying the relationship had ‘run it’s course.’

becca king writes a very strongly worded text and sends it to the man, who only responds with a ‘k’. that asshole.

when her second boyfriend comes around during her 2nd year of med school, gerald, she eyes him like a hawk. he treats becca 10x better than david ever did which she’s grateful for but there’s something off in the three months they’ve been dating. they’re watching the disney movie ‘up’ when she notices it. mel’s a sobbing wreck five minutes in and he’s staring at the screen as if there’s nothing wrong. no comforting touch, no sweet whispers. she’s sure he’s checked his phone twice. the man is completely devoid of human emotion. sweet mel who feels things too intensely sometimes and a man who feels nothing would never work, she thinks. and of course, she’s right. mel breaks up with him after he tells her he loves her and she’s kinda proud about it.

there were a couple other dates, a couple other one month flings but nothing stuck. so her sister devotes her time to prepping for her new job and spending time with becca because—“your happiness is all i need. i’m happy if you are.”

and then frank langdon enters into her life. mel has talked about how everyone was so kind on her first day but she talks about dr. langdon the most. how he’s a great teacher who really pays attention even to the emotional needs of his trainees. mel’s never rambled this much about another person in a long time and becca thinks it could be something good. but the next day mel comes home upset cause “langdon never said goodbye.’ and the urge to start a strongly worded letter intensifies.

she never sends it, instead he enters mel’s life again ten months later, and mel is so damn happy. she’s never seen her this happy since—she can’t even remember. so she lets mel tell her stories about the cases they worked on together all with a massive smile on her face. mel tells her langdon is going through some stuff but as his friend, she wants to help. it’s been a while since her sister has focused her attention on anyone other than her, so becca is more than supportive.

he, quite literally, enters their lives two months later, luggage in tow and dog in a carrier. frank langdon stays the night on their pull out—and for three months after that.

frank makes them breakfast, but sometimes he also lets becca make breakfast—swears her eggs are some of the best he’s ever had. he organizes his shoes at the front door next to theirs and leaves his keys on the hook next to mel’s. they take his dog out for walks every morning at 8AM when he doesn’t work. sometimes his kids will join so they all have a picnic when the whether is nice. she likes frank’s kids—nice, polite and very respectful of her things. they make friendship bracelets and do crosswords together. sometimes they even help her bake cookies and hand them out to her friends at the center.

sometime later, he starts calling mel ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ and anything other than her name. mel, whose never been one for pet names even in her longterm relationship—never corrects him. instead she blushes a little hard. smiles a little too wide and answers him every fucking time.

mel insists their still friends when becca teases her about it, nothing more. becca knows just friends don’t look at each other the way they do.

mel and frank work the morning shift, but on one of her days off, mel confides in her about something. tells her that frank will have to leave at some point and they shouldn’t get too attatched. becca wonders if maybe mel was warning herself more than anything else.

still, becca plans for that day. one night, after mel’s come home from a day shift and langdon has the day off, they’re on the couch watching little women (becca’s favorite and one frank’s never seen) when mel falls asleep, head on a pillow in frank’s lap.

“hey, langdon.” she says softly, turning to him. “thanks for making my sister happy.”

he looks up at her with an ‘o’ shaped mouth. blue eyes intensified by the tv lighting. his voice soft, and fingers combing through blonde locks. there’s a dopey grin forming at his face that she’s sure he doesn’t know about. “she makes me happy, too, probably more than she knows.”

becca, unlike her sister, has always been blunt and straightforward. “so why haven’t you kissed her yet?”

and langdon laughs like he’s finally glad someone else notices the question he asks himself at least twice a day. “i don’t..know.” he tells her earnestly

“that’s a dumb reason.” becca replies back almost instantly. laurie is confessing to jo on screen when she says, “don’t keep her waiting—you know she worries.”

mel fusses, and frank leans down to kiss her forehead. it’s close enough, she supposes.

the next morning frank isn’t on the couch but she hears him leave mel’s room at half past 10AM while she’s in the middle of breakfast. his shirt is off, left with just his sweats from the night before. she finds it later on mel, when she walks into the kitchen a couple minutes after him, hair disheveled. becca shoots him a thumbs up when mel has her back turned.

she hears them discuss rent and bills. the calendar mel has at the front door now includes his schedule as well. he’s added as one of people approved to pick becca up at the center. and when mel cries over rewatching ‘up’, he holds her hand, sheds a few tears with her and wipes her tears when it’s all over.

they kiss—a lot. forehead kisses or kisses when one of them leaves for more than five minutes and mel smiles after every single one of them. she’ll look into it later, but she’s convinced kisses have healing properties because mel has never looked so happy, so healthy, so free. it’s all she’s ever wanted.

“i’m glad frank’s the one you found to kiss.” she tells her one night when frank is on the night shift. they’re giggling in her bed like they’re seven again and the world treated them with with a little more kindness. maybe it’s making it’s amends now.

“me too, becca.” and she smirks at her, “thank you. it never would’ve happened without you. you’re the best sister.”

“tell me something i don’t know.” becca quips.

mel’s phone lights up in the dark room, and she doesn’t have to know who it is, her smile gives it away.

she’s glad she doesn’t have to send anymore long text messages.

when he does finally move, they go with him to a brand new condo with three rooms. the couch remains only to be used for movie nights or family time or when another guest decides they want to crash for the night (most of the time it’s trinity needing a break from whitaker and sometimes, it’s whitaker, thanking them for their hospitality while trinity has a friend over for the night)

or, one night, two years into this whole thing.

frank sits becca down on the same couch. he doesn’t even finish a sentence and doesn’t even get to ask her what she thinks of his plan, before becca is jumping on him to pull him into a hug.

“woah, becs, the ring!” he cautions, closing the velvet box shut. when he feels it’s safe, his arms hug her just a little tighter. he can feel the tears on his neck, so he doesn’t pull away until she does.

[levigarden999]

okay okay how about fluff of katsuki bakugo with a sweetheart princess of a reader.. Think of like.. fluttershy from my little pony. readers just like her in a way. Shes endlessly caring in a sickening way and puts up with Bakugos shit with nothing but a sweet smile and adoring gaze. bonus points if reader collects things like pretty dolls and novelty mugs

a perfect match ୨ৎ soft!reader x bakugo

⋆˚࿔ notes : love this dynamic thank u anon ⋆˚࿔

the fact you and bakugo started dating was definitely a surprise to everyone. you two were like the complete opposites of each other – while bakugo was impatient and temperamental, you were incredibly patient and kind to everyone. bakugo for sure couldn’t understand how you seemed to have endless gentleness and care towards everyone around you, while he mostly just pushed people away without even really intending to.

however, you never pushed him away, which shocked bakugo. it almost scared him and he often thought he didn’t even deserve your affection or love. but you told him otherwise – you loved him for who he was, you loved his temper and strong willed nature, his determination and sense of justice and rightfulness. while you sometimes gave him a parental scolding for being straight up rude to people, you never got angry. never yelled. you always approached him with kindness and love – which was exactly what bakugo had craved for his whole goddamn life.

that was probably why you were so perfect for each other in the end.

to be honest, you were at first insecure too. you liked to dress up in soft dresses, wear feminine makeup and you even collected those old-fashioned pretty dolls. you actually had a room in your house just for those dolls and their own clothes. often people thought you were weird for it and somewhat different, or that your soft and gentle attitude was fake, pretentious and annoying. it hurt you, because it wasn’t. you were just that type of a person, and you couldn’t understand what was so wrong with it.

when bakugo saw your doll-collection for the first time, he reacted in a way you didn’t expect. you two were already dating, but you still were prepared for him to laugh or make fun of you for it. but he didn’t.

he only stood there, arms crossed and a firm, observing look on his face.

”i bet it took a while for you to collect these” he remarked casually, voice staying even but not judging. you blinked with your long lashes, completely surprised.

”uh, yeah. i started when i was little so… took me a while, yeah” you said, a hint of insecurity creeping in your tone.

however, bakugo chuckled as his eyes focused on a certain doll. he walked over to it and pointed at it.

”this one looks just like you” he said, grinning as he looked back at you.

you blushed, because you hadn’t even realized that. it was the prettiest doll you owned, in your opinion.

while bakugo made you feel better in his own way, you also made him feel better.

when bakugo had his tough moments, when he cried and yelled from anger and frustration, panic causing his body to shake and writhe on your bed – only you managed to calm him down.

he grasped on your shirt, sobbed against your chest, while you rubbed his back and hummed him a tune to ease his outburst. you literally had endless patience and care for him. you grounded bakugo back to the present moment without even trying to act like a savior or anything. you just simply understood that bakugo had his moments when he desperately needed a safe person’s support. he even told you that you were the first person in his life ever who hadn’t judged or scolded him for his outbursts, even though he had had them since he was a young child.

you also understood that bakugo just wasn’t the best at socializing. he didn’t know how to read social cues, he was clumsy with his words and often showed his emotions way too harshly than he actually intended to. this was why people often simply didn’t like or accept him- but you did. you knew that bakugo had his troubles, and with careful, gentle chiding, you educated him that it wasn’t exactly respectful to call every single person ’an extra’, ’an asshole’ or ’a bastard’. he slowly – slowly – learnt.

you and bakugo loved each other endlessly, even though you both had very different ways of showing it. you were the one who openly clung to him, cooed him and told him you loved him. your favorite thing to do was to lay on top of him, squeeze his cute chubby cheeks while he blushed furiously and grumbled for you to stop, even though he secretly loved how giggly and soft you acted around him. bakugo mainly just did possessive gestures, such as defending you and discreetly resting his hand on your lower back in public.

bakugo's heart absolutely melted when you looked at him with those adorable puppy eyes. every time you did that, eyes full of adoration and love and clinginess, he never, ever, said no to you. he was ready to literally bring you the damn moon if you'd ask him. those eyes were the reason why there had been a few... additions to your already huge doll collection. and the money did not leave your purse.

[selenitespeculations]

Jason was enjoying a rare calm day in the heart of Crime Alley. No fires to put out, literal or figurative, and the pervasive smog that lingered over Gotham had thinned enough to let through a bit of sunlight. He was relaxing on the rooftop of his apartment building, lazily considering dinner options. He had woken up later than he would’ve liked to, and by the time he got to the street market, pickings were slim. He’d watched in despair as Manuel from the mechanic shop on 4th grabbed the last of the good tomatoes, leaving behind wrinkly sun dried disappointment. Jason really should just get a tomato plant for his balcony or something, but Mrs. Patel did some sorcery bullshit to her tomatoes that made them better than Jason could ever hope to manage. He HAD set an alarm, to make sure he got out before the bulk of the crowd, but with how late he was out last night chasing down a new player that had tried to make a home in HIS Alley, Jason had slept right through it. And the multiple back up alarms. If he ever saw more of those assholes in his territory, they would pay for making him miss the good tomatoes. And also the unapproved drug trafficking, but mostly the tomatoes.

Buzzing in his pocket had Jason pulling out his phone to an alert, he’d set up something to notify him when That phone got a call or text. He didn’t want to be carrying it around, with his luck it’d get broken on patrol, or worse, one of his family members might see it.

Making his way back down into his apartment, Jason went straight to the bottom drawer of the bedside table where he kept the burner phone. Thing was ancient at this point, but still functioned, and honestly? Old tech was harder to hack with modern remote methods. Still buzzing with a call Jason brought it to his ear.

“Hey Danny, what’s up?”

Jason turned stark white and ran from the apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“How could everything have gone so wrong so fast.” Jazz thought frantically as she hid around a corner.

The day had been going perfectly to plan. Mom and Dad were sat on the blanket she and Danny laid out, Dad digging into his fudge and mom focused on fixing the lipstick laser in her hand.

“Mom, Dad,” Danny started, “I have something to tell you.” He sounded nervous, nervous enough that they both focused on Danny immediately.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Maddie asked, still turning the broken laser in her hand.

“Yeah, Danno, what’s on your mind?” Jack said.

“Remember how when you guys had just finished the portal, you tried to turn it on, but nothing happened?” Danny’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes? We assumed it was a timing issue-” Maddy began.

“Yeah! Just needed to sit for a bit!" Jack exclaimed.

“Well it wasn’t so much a timing issue as it was a… wiring issue.” Danny said hesitantly.

“A wiring issue?” Maddie said. “No, if it was-“

“Time doesn’t fix wiring Danno!”

“- a wiring issue then we would’ve had to-”

“GUYS!” Jazz didn’t quite yell, but her voice did get louder. “Listen to Danny’s explanation, please!”

“Sorry Danno!”

“Sorry sweetie, go ahead.”

“Yeah, so,” Danny continued, “there was a, well, there’s no easy way to say this really,” he fidgeted with his hands, before continuing, “you guys put an on button inside the portal.”

“But Danny, if there was an on button inside, how did it get turned on?” Maddie asked, clearly not believing her son. “That much electric output, plus the-”

“The ecto-overload alone would’ve melted anyone inside when it opened!” Jack interrupted.

“Yeah…” Danny was stalling at this point. He just needed to get it out and over with.

“The combination of the two, ectoplasm and electricity, in such high concentrations…” Maddie trailed off, gaining a strange look in her eyes.

The floodgates finally broke. The whole story spills right out of Danny’s mouth, from the stupid dare that got him to go in the portal in the first place, tripping on the wires and hitting the on button on the wall. Waking up with Sam and Tucker over him, powers developing, ghost fights, just one last detail to show them.

“How have we never seen you using these powers?” Maddie asked.

“Yeah, we’re out every day fighting those spooks! We would’ve noticed!” Jack agreed.

This was it. The moment that would determine everything. Danny took a deep breath.

“Because I’m Phantom.” He transformed as he said it, letting the bright rings separate around him, floating off the ground as he watched nervously for whatever reaction was coming.

He never got to see it.

The second Phantom was hovering in the air above their blanket, the park exploded with noise and light. GIW agents came pouring out of the trees and screeching into the parking lot with their white vans. A group of them shot what looked like a modified Fenton Ghost Net right at Phantom, dragging him down as it wrapped around him and stuck.

“DANNY!” Jazz screamed, scrambling to her feet to try and chase after her little brother.

Jack and Maddie were still sitting, looking shell shocked. They watched as Danny was dragged into a van, Jazz chasing behind them, until one of the men pulled out a device, aiming it at Jazz.

“Ecto-contamination level 3, detain immediately for examination and purification.” The robotic voice sounded out. The agents that weren’t busy driving away with Danny in tow turned on her, dark intent in their eyes.

Finally Jack and Maddie snapped out of their haze. “You step away from my baby!” Maddie yelled, pulling a collapsible bo staff out of some invisible pocket.

Jack jumped up to rush at the crowd of white suits, yelling, “Get out of here Jazzyrinces!”

Jazz watched in horror at she lost sight of the van that had taken Danny. Dodging Guys in White, she booked it toward where she last saw it turn, hoping for some sort of clue. It was hopeless. There was no way she could catch up to a van on foot. Her phone buzzed as she pulled it out, Tuckers name filling the screen.

“Jazz! Please tell me Danny’s still there! He’s not answering my calls and when I saw what’s on the rest of the GIW server-“

“They took him.” Jazz’s voice shook. “They were waiting the whole time and they TOOK HIM.” She was crying now

“No. NO! I was so close! If I had just cracked the sigil a bit earlier-” Sam’s voice was tight with anger and frustration.

“Can you find him?” Jazz cut in. There was no time for self deprecation right now.

“We will. I promise.” Tucker swore as he hung up.

Jazz what at a loss. What were the next steps. No way she was waiting around for Tucker to find something.

“The BOOmerang!” She said out loud to herself. It could work, it tracked Danny before, should track him now.

Jazz ran back to the house, pulling apart the lab in search of anything that could track Danny. The BOOmerang was nowhere to be found. Jazz ran back upstairs to look in Danny’s room, but no luck. She did , however, find an old outdated flip phone. She knew that there was only one person that Danny used this phone to call.

They needed help, and Jazz knew of only one person that was outside Amity, and also gave enough of a shit to try and get them that help. Danny didn’t want to tell him, but if he was able to help Danny escape from his life before in Gotham than maybe Jason will have the skills to help find Danny and get him out of wherever the GIW put him.

She pressed on the saved number, and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hey Danny, what’s up?” So this is Jason.

“This is Jazz. Jasmine, Danny’s older sister.” Jazz had no idea where to even start. But they needed help and fast, so she pushed on before he could question her. “Danny has been abducted by a government agency known as the Ghost Investigation Ward. I have people working on finding him, but Danny was our heavy hitter and without him our chances of breaking into wherever they’re keeping him and getting out alive are slim. Can you help us?” There. Short and to the point, getting across the urgency without giving everything away.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what? Ima need some more information.”

Jazz sighed. “Time really is of the essence here.”

“We can talk while I drive.” Jazz heard the roar of an engine, presumably from Jason motorcycle if Danny was to be believed. “Now what’s this Ghost Investigation Ward, and why is Danny involved.”

Jazz sighed. Danny would be pissed at her, but she couldn’t outright lie here, not without potentially messing with Jason ability to help them get to Danny.

“Danny was exposed to an incredible amount of ectoplasm when our parents portal to the infinite realms opened.” Jazz started, “His ectoplasm contamination levels are high enough to subject him to the Ectoplasmic Containment and Termination Operative Acts, or the ECTO Acts.”

“The fucking what Acts? What are the “infinite realms”? Also ectoplasm as in Ghosts?” Jason broke in, clearly confused.

“Yes, ghosts are real, the Infinite Realms is sort of a dimensional in between, where most ghosts reside.” Jazz stated in a no nonsense tone.

“Yeah, okay, sure, but these ECTO Acts are in direct violation of the Meta Rights Protection Acts. There’s no way-“

“Lex Luthor’s presidency got a lot passed a lot of people.”

“That goddamn scumbag,” Jason mumbled.

“So, can you help us?” Jazz asked again. She needed to be sure.

“I’m on my way.” Jason said, voice steady and sure. “I’ll get Danny back.”

Protective Instincts

Hmmmmmmmmm

Idea.

So we all mostly headcanon that Jason was around tiny Damian when in the League right? And if we do demon!twins or siblings Danny they meet too?

Well what if, now hear me out, what if while taking care of them Jason notices early on how Danyal, or as he likes to be called Danny, doesn't seem to have the heart to be an assassin compared to Damian. And even under the pits influence and the LOA teachings, Jason's protective instincts of protecting kids is still strong. And notices how... lack the protection around Danny is compared to Damian, the true heir.

What if, when Jason leaves the League to start his revenge against Bruce, he fakes Danny's death by killing off the little 'guards' he did have and takes the kid with him.

But as he goes to Gotham Jason has to decide.

Drop the kid off in a good family, give him a new identity and keep him hidden or keep the kid and raise them?

[r3starttt]

MEET ME HALFWAY

SUMMARY: Abby falling for her baby's cute teacher ♡

CW: Abby’s child is referred as child and kid and they most time cs I couldn't decide if we want girl mom or boy mom. Pure fluff ♡

TAGLIST: @twopeopleequalsfour-blog @greysontheidiot @sapphic-ovaries @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @1-800-fantasy @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @abbys-muscles @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight

Abigail Anderson is the kind of mom who shows up to every school event in running shoes and a flannel she barely remembered buttoning.

Coffee in hand. Hair in a ponytail.

And the most terrifying glare when someone tried to parent her baby wrong.

Her kid — 4 years old, wild curls, way too clever — was her entire world.

And then there’s you.

Her kid’s teacher who leaves sticky notes in the homework folder and always writes the cutest words of encouragement for the little goblin.

Who then turns into the friend she didn’t know she needed — who asks her if she's eaten, for once.

At first, Abby’s all boundaries.

No flirting. No mess. She’s a mom first.

But youre just too thoughtful.

You tell Abby she’s doing a good job — and she tries not to cry because no one says that.

And then one night after a school thing and a few words to convince you, her baby's asleep, and you’re helping wash dishes, laughing about something dumb.

And Abby just stops. Looks at you.

“Maybe we met a little too late… but exactly when we needed to.” Abby stops, fully blushed as she realized her words. "We— you know what I mean."

Your heart? Gone.

“You’re... too good at this. It's unfair.” Abby talks as you say nothing. Her hands holding the wet sponge as she washes the dishes next to you.

“At what?” Your tone is genuine, quiet. Being her kid's teacher? Being her kid's friend? Being Abby’s friend?

She hesitates.

“The whole… showing up. Making things feel easy. You make us feel… steady.”

She looks at you like she’s trying to say something else without saying it.

Her hands slow. The warm light above the sink flickers once, like even the kitchen’s holding its breath too.

You don’t look away.

Neither does she.

You murmur, “Steady’s a two-person job, you know.” Then a pause, one that comes along a nervous laugh on your behalf. "Well... in this case, a three person job."

Her breath comes out in a laugh, and she stares back at the sink. Her fingers turn the faucet off and she just holds the sponge. The soap running down her wrist.

“Yeah, but I haven’t had a two-person anything in a long time.”

You take the dish towel to dry your hands.

This is gonna take a while.

Abby looks at your mouth. Then your eyes. Then back again.

You don't notice, being too stupidity focused on drying your hands and not saying anything dumb.

“Would it be too much to ask you to stay a little longer?”

It's like her voice — usually warm — is suddenly too much, too cold and too loud.

-

The kid had finally fallen asleep — curled up under a blanket on the other side of the couch, their curls a mess, lightened by the soft TV glow.

Now it’s just the two of you.

The end of a movie neither of you were really watching plays out in blue light.

Abby sits beside you, one knee drawn up, her arm resting on the back cushion behind your shoulders.

You pass her a mug. Tea.

She takes it with both hands, nods a thank-you, but she doesn’t drink.

Her legs are pulled up beside her. There’s a baby blanket folded over the armrest, and a sippy cup abandoned under the coffee table.

Her eyes are somewhere else, and so, youre left alone with a worried mom in her own little world.

“They were showing off today,” you say gently, a smile curling on your lips. “Told the whole class they know cursive now. Said mom taught her.”

Abby exhales — a small breath, but proud.

“Yeah. I showed them how to write ‘fierce.’ It felt right.”

You nod, watching her from the corner of your eye. “Agreed.”

Abby bites back a smile, eyes fixed on her phone. “Sometimes too much like me. Scares the hell out of me.”

Not that you're counting but it's the third time in five minutes that she looks at the monitor on her kid's room.

You nudge her with your socked foot. “They’re okay.”

“I know.”

You tilt your head. “Probably dreaming about how much mom loves them." You pause, simply staring at her still worried and pouty face. "You’re allowed to relax.”

Abby sighs. “Yeah, but what if—”

“They’re with me,” you say gently. “If anything happens, they're at school. With me.”

That’s what gets her to go still. Her eyes flick toward you, tired.

"And if not, they're here with their mom."

You lean your head back on the couch cushion. “Now that we’ve established your child is safe, and probably dreaming of something cute… tell me about you.”

She blinks. “Me?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a pause. She shifts, arms wrapped loosely around herself.

“I just want my kid to be okay. To feel safe. Like I did one thing right.”

You sit with that for a second. Let it bloom between you.

“You’re doing more than one thing right.”

She doesn’t answer. Just breathes. Stares at your hands folded in your lap like she’s thinking something but doesn’t know how to say it.

You lean in a little. Not enough to crowd her — just enough for her to know it’s okay.

Abby turns her head to look at you.

“I like plants now,” she says with a little smile. “I didn’t use to. And I still want a dog.”

You nod.

“We’re getting somewhere.”

Her laugh is quieter this time. Nervous.

“What else?” you ask, softer now. “What do you want, Abby?”

She goes quiet.

For a second, you think she won’t answer.

But then she glances down at her mug and says, half-smiling, “I used to watch nature documentaries when I couldn’t sleep. Like… obsessively.”

You don’t say anything.

You just… listen.

She shrugs, still looking down.

“I haven’t watched one in years. Didn’t feel like there was time.”

You reach over — not even thinking — and your fingers are already looking for something like that on her TV.

“There’s time now.”

Abby looks up.

You’re both quiet again.

But this time it’s not awkward. It’s charged.

Her eyes flick to your mouth. You do notice this time, but say nothing.

Because she's a single mom who's tired and you're her kid’s teacher.

And this can't be.

But it is.

Slow — like she’s giving you every chance to pull away.

But you don’t. You couldn’t.

You meet her halfway.

It’s not fireworks.

It’s not some earth-shaking thing.

It’s better.

Like something that was meant to happen and just needed the right night.

“Was that okay?” She whispers, like it's innocent and pure and not scarying every bone in her.

And you nod. Breathless.

“Yeah.”

[riddlemelater]

Last Call - M.R (Part 4)

masterlist | nav | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

warnings: alcohol use/"dependency", mentions of war, death, depiction of injury/blood, darker themes, post-war vibes, implied trauma, Mattheo is being a little shit part 2, reader is rightfully losing her mind...

w.c: 5k

summary: Mattheo Riddle was sharp, charming, and haunted. Now he’s just a shadow at the bar—drunk, quiet, unraveling. You don’t know why you care. Maybe it’s who he used to be. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he doesn’t expect kindness anymore. But one things certain: you won't turn your back on him, not like the rest of the world already has.

a/n: finally part four is here! special thanks to the lovely @i-await for proof-reading, and dealing with my crash-out whilst I tried to write this <3 love u angel

You groaned as you shifted onto your side, the blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Early morning sunlight was already bleeding through the curtains, cascading across the floor with a warmth that gently kissed your skin.

It was too bright and too early to be awake, you quickly reasoned, squinting so as not to be disturbed further.

That, and you could've sworn when you'd crept up the stairs last night— wand drawn and ready to pounce on the unknown intruder— that the curtains had already been drawn. But you could barely recall arriving home at all, let alone falling asleep.

You rolled over, turning away from the window with a heavy sigh. It was your day off. The day you could very well shut yourself up in your flat and ignore the rest of the world. You had plans to sleep in, to do absolutely nothing, and maybe even feel like a normal witch for a few hours.

But your body had other ideas. No matter how much you tried, you couldn't get comfy. The bed felt wrong. Like the cushions were too firm in the wrong places, and your spine ached like you’d slept funny. You shifted again, reaching to adjust the pillow, still in that sleepy bubble on the cusp of being awake.

You froze rather suddenly as it dawned on you. You blinked blearily. The couch. The thin, decorative pillow beneath your head. The scratchy throw blanket tangled around your legs. This was not your bed. Not even close.

You sat up slowly, dread crawling its way into your stomach, and your head turned cautiously toward the bedroom door.

No, no, no.

You’d dreamt it. That’s all it was. You’d been exhausted, tipsy—your mind had stitched together some elaborate fantasy, fabricated from memory and guilt. You had to have imagined it.

Rooted to the spot, your eyes fixed on the closed door, barely breathing, waiting for your heartbeat to slow. Your ears focused on each and every little sound that echoed through your flat, listening intently for any sign of life.

Then, very quietly, tentatively, you stood.

Your feet padded across the floor as you assured yourself that Mattheo Riddle wasn’t really in your bed. That he couldn’t be. That the whiskey Albion gave you must’ve knocked you sideways, and you'd hallucinated the whole thing. That was the only explanation.

But when you pushed the door open, sure enough, there he was. Sprawled out under the covers. Fast asleep. Soft snores rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest.

You stared, then took a step back like you'd touched something hot.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, a hand clapping over your eyes in disbelief.

Quickly, you eased the door shut again, cheeks burning with some odd sense of embarrassment at seeing him so unguarded. The latch clicked softly into place, and you turned your back on your bedroom door. As if ignoring its presence would magically fix the fact that he really was asleep in your bed.

Your hand rubbed at your face, trying to clear the fog in your head long enough to rationalise what in Merlin's name you were supposed to do. In a flurry of agitation, you walked back to the couch—limbs heavy, mind reeling— and sank into it like the wind had been knocked out of you.

Memories of the night flashed before your eyes, Mattheo drunk, bleeding. Fresh off the wrong end of some curse, no doubt. And then he'd just passed out. Like it meant nothing that in his most vulnerable state, he'd come crawling to you.

Like this was normal.

You exhaled. Slower this time. Let your head fall into your hands and tried once more to stop your racing heart. You stayed that way for a while. Not thinking. Not feeling. Just waiting.

You weren’t sure what to do. What to say. Whether you were more angry at his blatant intrusion or at yourself, for not being surprised, for not kicking him out.

For letting him crawl into your bed like it was his, for being relieved that he wasn't lying half-dead in some dungeon like your dreams had suggested.

You rubbed your jaw, then pressed your fingers to your temples. It didn’t help the headache blooming behind your eyes.

A part of you— a small, stupid part—had hoped that by morning he’d be gone. That you’d open the door to cold sheets and silence, and you could write the whole thing off as exhaustion, whiskey, and a bleeding conscience.

But he was still here. In your room. In your bed.

With a low groan, you stood and wandered into the kitchen, moving on instinct alone. You filled the kettle, set it to boil, and waited. Picking at your nails intently, like the answers to all your troubles were buried in your nail beds.

You’d been sitting there for nearly an hour, doing nothing but trying to pretend that Mattheo Riddle wasn’t asleep in the next room. That it wasn’t all you could think about. That you weren't so conflicted by the entire thing that you couldn't decide which way you were leaning on the matter.

When he stirred, made a noise— groaned, shifted—you didn’t go to him. Didn’t knock. Didn’t dare speak.

You held your breath.

Just in case he came staggering out and you could no longer get away with pretending it wasn't happening. What would you say? Would he remember? Would he even know or care that he'd landed at your front door?

You didn’t know. And that terrified you more than anything. So you sat, swaddled in the thin couch blanket, legs curled under you, and a half-cold cup of coffee resting in your lap.

Your fingers twisted, picking and pulling at a loose thread on one of the couch cushions. Much like the threads that held the cushion together, your brain was unravelling with each tug, and each new worry had your teeth sinking further and further into your bottom lip.

Time felt slowed, stretched even. And with every creak of the bedsprings, every breath from behind the door. You weren’t sure if he was still dreaming or waking—and honestly, you didn’t know which one would be worse.

Your first coffee had gone cold, and you’d moved on to Earl Grey by the time he stirred. A tired yawn sounded through your small flat, and everything fell silent once more as you glanced toward the door.

“Argh…fuck,” came a voice. Rough. Groggy. Confused. “Salazar, save my serpent soul,”

You didn’t move at the whispered curse, not even a wince. Just tightened your grip on the throw you'd wrapped yourself in, hugging it tighter like it could protect you from the pending conversation.

There was a rustle of movement. A soft thud echoed, one that sounded like a wand hitting the floor, followed by a string of muttered curses and the familiar creak of your bed shifting. Then back to silence again. Long enough to make you wonder if he’d passed out again.

You sighed, unable to prevent the inevitable, and finally rose to your feet. It couldn't be ignored for another second; you'd burst if you had to sit any longer, waiting for him to wake.

You knocked and pushed the door open gently, feeling uneasy at just walking in without warning. Strange, considering it was your bedroom, in your own house. He was sitting up, just barely, propped on one elbow, the other hand pressed to his temple like he was trying to keep his skull from splitting in two.

“You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that Riddle.” you said flatly, leaning against the doorframe. Your arms folded across your chest, your hair thick with knots from carding a hand through it repeatedly all morning.

You hadn't exactly intended to go in, all wands blazing. You'd actually spent most of the morning trying to work out what in Godric's name you were going to say to him. But the second your gaze fell on him, the second you noticed the bloodshot eyes, and the faint yellowish bruise that littered his cheek, you'd gone to pieces.

Mattheo blinked blearily at you, like he didn't really even hear what you were saying. He was groaning irritably under his breath, and the moment your voice reached his ears to ask if he was even listening to you, he shushed you with a wince and an outstretched palm.

“Not so loud… firewhisky headache,” he muttered loosely, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Your jaw gritted. Silent, not because he asked, but because you were still half in shock. Peering over at his crumpled frame that lay tangled in your sheets like they were his own.

His eyes scanned the room, then landed back on your face, slowly connecting the dots. Like he’d only now realised he wasn’t somewhere familiar. His face paled slightly, just enough that you noticed.

“Fuck," his eyes shut for a moment, exhaling shakily like he was trying to compose himself. "Can you block the sun out? Or at least lend me a pair of sunglasses?" He groaned, eyes squeezing shut as the heel of his palm rubbed at them.

"Oh, conscious and making demands. That’s progress from last night, I suppose." Your brows raised, glowering. Stern. You’d still lowered your voice, though.

"That’s the greeting I get after a near-death experience?” His voice rasped, but his expression was cool. Chuckling away to himself as his head shook, “Charming.”

"Mattheo," you hissed, fingers twitching, controlling the urge to snap at him. This wasn't funny; the state he was in wasn't something to be laughed at. You’d spent half the night convinced he was bleeding out somewhere. The other half wondering what he’d done to need a hiding place.

“You broke into my flat. Why?” You pinned him with an accusatory stare.

He glanced around, head sinking back against the pillow and groaning once more. “It's nothing personal, love, the wards were sloppy." He shrugged, then glanced up with a lopsided smirk, "Mm, lovely room— by the way, bed's dead comfy.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, floored by the arrogance.

The night before, he’d barely been able to lift his head from the pillow, yet now he sat like he owned the place, and if he did have a shred of self-awareness hidden beneath his untidy curls, he certainly wasn’t showing it now.

He waved a hand limply, shrugging off any real responsibility with feigned indifference. “Doesn’t matter. Next time I’ll collapse somewhere more hospitable, I assure you."

You stared at him, incredulous, biting down on your cheek to stop yourself from hexing him. He wasn’t even looking at you. In fact, he seemed to be actively avoiding your eyes.

Your eyes narrowed. You caught the flicker—his gaze lifting just slightly from the sheets, skimming over you like a reflex. Slow. Not as subtle as he probably thought it was.

“You broke into my flat. Passed out in my bed—fully clothed, by the way—and I’m supposed to what?” You tilted your head, voice low and laced with frustration. “Break out the chocolate frogs and butterbeer?”

Your tone was sharp, measured. Pissed.

He stared idly, eyes hooded and puffy like he’d not had a decent nights sleep in months. And from what you knew, he probably hadn’t, especially if Tolliver had been telling the truth.

"Come off it, Mattheo. What the hell is going on?" You demanded, arms crossed and jaw set, like a parent scolding a child.

He groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. He looked bored, like facing the owner of the bed he was currently half asleep in was the least of his priorities.

“Look, as far as bad days go, I promise you mine wins. Alright?"

You rolled your eyes, his apathy grating like sandpaper across already frayed nerves. And still, he wouldn’t meet your gaze. You exhaled harshly, and he flinched, almost imperceptibly, fingers twisting at the bedsheet like he was trying to anchor himself to something.

“Merlin's sake." You hissed, walking towards the window with an irritated sigh. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, still groaning faintly, an arm thrown over his eyes haphazardly.

With more force than necessary, your fingers grasped the curtains, yanking them open so the sunlight could spill through. Mattheo made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a whine, body twisting away with his eyes still covered.

"Are you always this dramatic in the morning?" he grumbled in a dry voice.

If he hadn't been in such a state, you'd have thrown him out already— Or, at least, the thought crossed your mind.

You sucked in a breath, trying not to rise to his provocation. "Oh, forgive me if I'm not thrilled that you broke into my flat," you snapped. “I was terrified. Still am, if you even care!”

That made him flinch — barely, but enough.

He hesitated, jaw ticking. His eyes stayed on the sheets. “I didn’t exactly plan it,” he murmured, finally.

A beat passed. You shifted onto the other foot, eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t have many options left, alright?” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Didn’t want to go to Theo. Or Draco. Or anyone, really.” His voice dropped to something rougher, like it scraped the back of his throat on the way out. “Besides, didn’t want them to see me like this.”

Your gaze softened, just slightly. "You scared the shit out of me, Mattheo." you swallowed, head tipping back as you exhaled a deep breath. He didn’t reply. Just half nodded and stared down at the sheets twisted in his lap.

“I thought you were dead,” you said quietly, and he finally glanced up, watching you, the smallest flicker of guilt in his eyes. "You disappeared, Mattheo. Without so much as a goodbye. And then I hear you're dead, from some drunk wizard in the pub nonetheless!"

Mattheo swallowed dryly, jaw tense as he rubbed at bloodshot eyes. So silent, so unwilling to give you a straight answer, never mind an apology, that you felt the anger swelling in your chest.

“And then you just show up, looking like death personified in my flat!” Your voice cracked slightly at the end. Your arm gestured uselessly through the air, like there weren’t words strong enough for the rest.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing open and shut a few times, like he was trying to find the right words to explain.

"Well, for starters," he cleared his throat, "I'm not dead, evidently." The hand that wasn't holding him up gestured towards himself.

"Can't say I don't look it, though." He added, half-smirking at his own joke, like he was waiting for you to drop the act and laugh.

You only blinked at him, mouth tightening into a thin line. He chuckled sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. You wanted to hex him. Badly.

"Right. Too early for jokes. Loud and clear." He held a hand up in surrender. "How about a glass of water, though?"

You were going to hex him, you thought decidedly. Your fingers twitched to reach for your wand. You'd blast him through the bloody wall if it meant he'd stop skirting around the truth.

Instead, you inhaled sharply. Muttered some half-arsed curse to yourself and turned to leave, ignoring the fact that he was still sprawled in your sheets with great difficulty.

"I'll be in the living room, when you've decided to stop being an arse." You called over your shoulder, striding out of the room and letting the door click shut behind you, with a louder bang than you'd quite intended.

The moment you were out of sight, you exhaled, exasperated, and pinched the bridge of your nose. You lingered in the hallway, the faint creak of your bed sounding like he'd just collapsed back into it with another sigh. A headache throbbed dully at the base of your skull. But the urge to scream into a pillow was only just outweighed by the fact that the bastard in your bed might hear it.

Head spinning, you ventured back into the kitchen, brewing another cup of coffee that definitely wouldn't help your headache. But, it was that or pass out on the couch again, and your spine certainly wasn't thanking you for last night's sleeping arrangements.

Your hand hovered over the cupboard where you kept your potions, nothing extravagant, mostly draughts of dreamless sleep and day-to-day healing brews. You sighed again, cursing your inner Gryffindor as you grasped a Pepper-up potion and a small tub of murtlap essence.

You weren't happy with him. But, at the very least, you'd help him ease the hangover, if only to get some answers.

Returning to your spot on the couch, you sank into the pillows. Your gaze focused on one spot, too caught up in your own thoughts to focus on anything else.

You were unaware of how long had passed—ten minutes, maybe twenty— until finally you heard the soft click of the bedroom door. Bare footsteps on wood. A quiet groan. Then a sigh.

You didn’t look up right away. Not until the couch dipped beside you and you caught a whiff of the cologne that still vaguely lingered on his clothes, dulled now by blood and smoke and whatever godforsaken alleyway he’d dragged himself through.

He didn’t say anything either. Just sat there, loose but not relaxed, elbows on his knees, palms pressed together like he was steeling himself for something.

You watched him through your peripherals. Watched the tension pull at the corners of his mouth, the thin scab that was incorrectly healing at his cheekbone, the shadow in his eyes that hadn’t always been that dark.

Wordlessly, he reached forward and drank the pepper-up you'd purposefully left in plain sight. He stayed far away from the murtlap, you noticed, following his movements as he placed the empty glass down with a soft clink.

"Thanks," he said in a raspy voice, clearing his throat sheepishly.

"Yeah." You nodded, took another sip of your coffee. Grateful that this time you'd remembered to cast a warming charm on the cup. "Slept in my bed, raided my potions—might as well start forwarding your post here too." You shrugged sardonically.

Mattheo huffed a laugh. "Alright. Point well made," he conceded, still rigid and perched on the edge of the couch.

You nodded, finally turning to take him in properly. He was still wearing his dirty clothes, but his hair looked slightly less messy. Like he'd at least tried to tame it before he faced you.

The silence hung between the two of you, thick and tense. You refused to break it first, staring over at him with a surprisingly level expression. It had taken most of your willpower not to take a calming draught, but ultimately you'd decided against it.

The responsibility to ease your frayed nerves lay with Mattheo.

"I'm sorry for calling your wards sloppy," he said eventually, looking down at his hands as he picked at some dry blood underneath his fingernails. "Nearly had me sleeping against your front door, if it means that much to you."

You didn't reply to his apology. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it did. And if you opened your mouth, something sharp and bitter might come out. So you let the silence stretch.

Mattheo shifted beside you, resting his forearms on his knees again, staring at the floor like it might offer him a script. His voice, when it came, was quieter.

“I shouldn’t have come here. I know.” His fingers were clasped together tightly, like he was trying to keep himself together.

You frowned, confusion twisting in your stomach. His words weren't aligning with his actions, and you didn't know what to think anymore.

“Then why did you?”

His jaw tightened. “I meant it when I said I didn’t have anywhere else,” he muttered, bitter honesty leaking through his words. “Not many people want Voldemort’s son bleeding on their sofa, shockingly."

His face soured for a moment, as if realising what he'd just said, then fell back to a blank stare. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume that he'd occluded.

It was quiet for a moment, and you stared at him, unimpressed, and scoffed. “That’s bollocks and you know it. Nott looked terrible when he came in looking for you, y'know?"

The anger had ebbed. What was left felt messier, less simple than just pouring him another whiskey and putting it on his tab.

Mattheo’s eyes dropped to his lap guiltily, his eyes bore into the floor like he was trying to find the right words. “That’s different. Theo, he’s…” he started, but his voice cracked on his name, and he trailed off.

"Even Malfoy—for all his faults—would’ve had half of Wizard London on high alert if you asked him to." You murmured, letting out a humourless chuckle. “They’re your mates, Mattheo. They’d be there for you, if you'd asked.” You spoke, voice softer now, tentative.

"I know," he said eventually, head bowed like there was more to it than he was letting on. "I should go. I should never have dragged you into this."

Blinking, you watched him rise to his feet, shaky and like his knees were about to buckle underneath him. You were frozen still, watching as he made a move to leave. You almost let him, but it seemed the inner lion still remained.

"Sit down, Riddle." You sighed, the words taking you quite by surprise, even as they tumbled from your mouth. "You're in no fit state to be wandering around London yourself, never mind the fact that you owe me a proper explanation."

Mattheo glanced at you, an argument already on the tip of his tongue. But clearly he needed your help more than he was willing to admit, because he hovered for a moment and then lowered himself back down. Eyes focused on anything that wasn't you.

You swallowed hard, composing yourself before asking the question. "What're you going to do?"

Mattheo didn't respond, just let his head fall back against the back of the couch and took a deep breath. He didn't try to offer a plan, just sat there, deep in thought. You knew then that he needed all the help he could get, whether he admitted it or not.

"It's blood magic, isn't it?" You pressed, leaning forward, elbows on your knees, gaze fixed firmly on his face.

That got a reaction. His head snapped up, and he looked towards you like you'd slapped him across the face. His jaw clenched, and his shoulders tensed.

"How..." he asked, cutting himself off with a shake of the head. "Who told you that? Has someone been asking around in the pub? Anyone you've never seen before?"

He didn't admit it, but you knew by the tone of his voice that you were right. That gut feeling you’d felt just a few weeks ago was real. Knockturn Alley and Mick Tolliver weren’t for nothing. Your dream... You shivered and tried not to spiral.

“You came in nearly every day, Mattheo. Did you really expect me not to notice that you’d vanished without a trace? Just go about my day like nothing had happened?”

That seemed to throw him, brows knitting together. Like he wasn’t used to being noticed anymore. Like it'd been a long time since someone had shown up for him, beyond just saying that they cared. The notion made your heart shatter.

“That doesn’t explain how you know that.” He said, firmer this time, his jaw set tight as his eyes met yours. He looked different, less dead behind the eyes than you were used to. Like something was pooling in them, something he didn’t quite understand.

Your teeth toyed with your bottom lip, eyes trailing over his thin frame with trepidation. He was skinnier than you’d ever seen him, a shadow of his former Quidditch days. He’d been one of Slytherin’s beaters, strong, muscly arms that half the girls in your year swooned over in hushed gossip circles.

The Mattheo Riddle who sat before you now was nothing like his teenage self, save for the arrogant edge that he seemed to wield defensively, like he'd spent his entire life running.

He murmured your name in a harsh whisper when you didn't reply, sliding closer to you and meeting your gaze with wide eyes. His head tilted slightly, waiting.

"I... I went looking one night. In Knockturn." You swallowed, feeling a wave of sudden embarrassment wash over you, "I overheard that someone there knew what happened. And, well, I had to find out for myself."

Your cheeks burned as concern flashed across Mattheo's face, and he leaned in closer and turned towards you attentively. Fingers grasping at the edge of the couch, knuckles white.

"Who?" He asked slowly, dragging the question out enough that you knew this was serious. You could hear it in his voice, the slight growl to it as he stiffened.

"He has a stall, stolen goods by the looks of things. His name was Mick, Mick Tolliver." You stammered, aware of how his gaze burned sharper at the mention of the dodgy wizard.

"Tolliver?" Mattheo's reaction was instant, his head turning away from you in outrage, hands thrown up in the air carelessly. He fell back onto the couch and ran a hand across his face, which only further unnerved you.

"Bloody useless tosser..." Mattheo muttered to himself, snorting bitterly. Head shaking as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, "He had one job— one!"

Mattheo rose quickly from the couch, pacing across the room with a newfound nervousness that made you queasy. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers flexing like they wanted to grasp something. He muttered faintly, mostly curses, as he paced back and forth across your living room.

You felt yourself pale at his reaction, your knee bouncing anxiously as you perched on the edge of the couch cushion. "Mattheo?" you worried, staring up at him with wide eyes, "You're scaring me, what's wrong?"

Mattheo scoffed, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he did tight circles around your coffee table. His jaw twitched, the muscles tightening so much you could almost hear the strain. It was like a switch had flipped; he was no longer the bruised Mattheo you'd found half asleep in your sheets. No, this was something else entirely.

Something that felt a lot like life or death, literally.

"That sleazy git was meant to tell everyone I was dead!" He grunted, lifting a foot to kick at the side of your couch in frustration. "Fifty galleons and he can't keep his trap shut!"

You stared, brows furrowed as you tried desperately to understand what exactly he was saying. Fixed on each deep, slow breath he took whilst a shaking hand carded through his hair. He was still treading back and forth along the carpet. Peering out the window like he was waiting for something to happen.

“You faked your death?” You blinked, incredulous. “And what, decided my flat was the perfect place to rise from the grave?”

Mattheo huffed. A half-breath of a laugh that didn’t quite make it. He opened his mouth, probably to snark back something equally as sardonic— but nothing came out.

Instead, he looked at you. His usual mask of indifference slipped for a moment, and you saw a flicker of raw exhaustion in his eyes, a shadow deeper than mere tiredness. He swallowed hard, and his throat worked once, twice, like he was trying to steady himself but wasn’t sure he could.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, chest tight with a frustration you couldn’t quite swallow. You bit it back, the urge to snap dying in your throat. Instead, you cleared your throat, fingers worrying the rim of your mug.

“Look, Mattheo…” It felt like speaking across thin ice—every word a risk, too heavy and you'd fall through, too soft and they'd never reach him. "I don't know what's going on, or what I can do to help. But I want to, I know that."

Mattheo's head shook, ready to interject but you only spoke louder, voice less shaky as the words flowed.

"So next time you find yourself breaking and entering into my flat, maybe just... use the Floo like a normal wizard, yeah?" It came out softer than you expected—half-laugh, half-plea—wobbling on the edge of a smile that said I’m furious, but I’m not turning you away.

For a beat, he only blinked at you, surprise breaking through the anger. Then the corner of his mouth twitched—an almost-laugh he tried to swallow but couldn’t. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.

You pushed the spare pillow toward the far end of the couch. “Crash here until you can stand without wobbling, at least?"

You could see him deliberating, eyes torn from yours and staring at the pillow like you'd just undone something in him he’d spent years trying to keep sealed shut. Finally, he nodded, slower this time. But his gaze drifted toward the window like he wanted to say something else. Something heavier.

You waited. He didn’t speak. And that silence, though softer, held teeth.

It was like the fight had drained right out of him. Sinking down into the cushions next to you, his hand grasping at his side. You noticed the wince, the subtle sign that underneath his filthy clothes lay much worse than a poorly healed bruise.

For a moment, you debated asking. Eyes flitting down to the space between you, but you knew he'd only avoid answering, probably try and leave once more. And right now, the last thing he needed was to be alone.

So you stayed. You didn't say another word, didn't ask him for a plan. You just nodded and sank back into the couch, exhaling shakily and sipping your coffee like this was normal.

Whether you'd done the right thing or not, you weren't sure yet. But you were certain that from now on, Mattheo had to learn to trust you.

©️riddlemelater. 2025.

[jakeandalexia]

DP CROSSOVER IDEAS

You know, something I have seen constantly and that I thoroughly enjoy consistently. Is that Danny is the Ghost King, an Eldritch Being and the Ancient of Space, as well as the Student of Time.

Alongside Danielle Phantom being his Daughter, the Ancient of Freedom and having an amazing Wonderlust and exploring.

And my favorite prompt has to be when Ellie is in danger, and she calls for her Dad. Be it show up as Fenton, ready to kick ass. Or Eldritch Horror Phantom as the sky opens it's eyes.

And we've seen that concept plenty of times in DPXDC, but then I realized, why haven't we done this concept in like ... other fandoms?

Like, don't get me wrong, plenty of good Fanfics all around with DP in other fandoms. But with how fleshed out Phandom Lore is lately, alongside with how extensive DPXDC is that lore. (i.e The Infinite Realms being the glue of all dimensions, Ancients are the manifestations of concepts, only people that died with many regrets and ectoplasm becomes Ghosts, etc.) Why haven't we used that lore for other fandoms?

Like, imagine that now.

Imagine Ellie finding the MHA Universe, exploring - and getting in trouble with the Government, as she always does. She's able to escape, and they're unable to catch her cause she doesn't have a Quirk. Imagine if she shows up during the incident in Kamino, and then - when in danger, she takes a deep breath and --

"DADDY!"

Que Eldritch Danny coming in, and obliterating All-For-One, and everyone is watching in horror - only for Ellie to just giggle and thank her Dad as the giant monstrosity smiles and then disappears.

The Heroes would be so horrified - and so confused, because, what.

Hell, there are other universes where this could work too!

What about Highschool DXD? Granted, I don't watch that Anime. But all I know is that thing focuses on like, Heaven and Hell?? You know, the two afterlives - with the Infinite Realms being the in-between? Can you see the potential there??

Hell, you can even have some insane crack-fics if you SQUINT at an idea hard enough.

How about Reincarnation AUs? People like to have Danny reincarnate as a vacation, so imagine Ellie reincarnating. She becomes a Thief, gets caught, waiting for Transfer - only to meet, wait for it,

Henry Stickmin.

HELLO - The REDHEAD IS LITERALLY NAMED ELLIE. And in there, she apparently has consistent FORCE POWERS - BUT LIKE, GHOSTS HAVE TELEKENSIS. SO WHAT IF THAT'S LIKE - YOU KNOW????

Or how about where Ellie is like, Queen of Clones or something?? She protects cloned children, and then showing up in Star Wars to save Clones - cause like, damn.

Basically all I'm saying is,

If we fleshed out the Phandom Lore of Danny Phantom so much because of DPXDC, why the heck haven't we applied that Lore into other media to make Crossovers easier, and more varied than just DPXDC?

We have the Tools, we have the Foundation! All that's left is someone insane enough to build a Second Ghost Portal into different Fandoms.

What do you think?

[aroaessidhe]

2025 reads / storygraph

The Incandescent

academic fantasy

a powerful magician who’s the director of magic at a magic boarding school, whose job involves keeping up the school’s boundaries against demonic incursions and teaching the four students taking A-level invocation

when something goes wrong and the powerful demon living around the school is is unleashed, her life is thrown out of balance, even after she deals with it

bi MC

[kawasiki-jo]

What Would Kim Do?

Okay okay—so I want Kim’s POV of Kenta being taken captive. Yes, he knows the kind of person Kenta is. He knows Kenta was raised alone, taught to deal with his problems alone. He knows Kenta’s default setting is self-sacrifice, that he was never taught how to lean on people. And the few times he has tried? They’ve thoroughly, absolutely ruined him. Kim knows this is all new territory for Kenta. He knows Pete has been the only constant in Kenta’s life—romantic feelings or not, Pete is still the only common denominator he has. He trusts him.

He also knows Kenta is dead-set on destroying Tony, on helping them rid the world of that monster. Kenta’s priorities are locked in—laser-focused on the bigger picture, the greater good. But no matter how much Kim rationalizes Kenta’s silence, it doesn’t make the ache in his heart hurt any less.

The thing is, it’s not about trust. Kim trusts Kenta. He trusts him to do what needs to be done and to do it with every ounce of ability he has. The pain comes from when it’s happening—after the kiss. After the conversation where Kim told him to stop running. To stop running to Pete. To think about his feelings, their feelings. Kim told him—in every way he knew how—that Kenta would always have him. No matter what. No matter when. Kenta would always have Kim to lean on.

If this had all happened before Kim had said anything—before he’d laid his heart out like a damn offering—maybe he could dull the sting. Maybe he could tell himself it didn’t mean anything. But now? Now Kenta knows. And he still chooses to communicate with Pete, and Pete alone.

Kim isn’t blaming anyone. He’s not pointing fingers, not trying to be angry at the choices people make to survive. It’s just—by now, he had hoped Kenta would’ve seen his affections for what they were.

And then there’s the whole thing with Kenta specifically telling Pete not to send backup. Not to involve anyone else. Kim gets it, he really does. He understands the sentiment. He knows Kenta has never been the kind to ask for help—not openly. Not ever. So Kim isn’t angry. But every single time he asks Pete, “Are you sure?”

“Are you sure Kenta’s okay?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t need help?”

Every time Pete says something like, “Kenta said he didn’t need it,” or, “Kenta told us not to”—it’s like a knife. A knife being driven into the same spot, over and over again.

And don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to minimize Kim’s feelings, reduce him to bare strings waiting to snap the moment there’s distance or rejection. I’m just saying—I’m hurt for him. Because he’s so eager to love Kenta. And it’s understandable that Kenta moves slow. That he’s hesitant, cautious, bruised by history. But a text? An “I’m okay”? A fucking emoji? A missed call? A goddamn typing bubble—anything. You just know Kim has his phone open on Kenta’s chat 24/7, just in case something—anything—comes through for him.

And I know for a fact Kim stays up every night, waiting. Because even if Kenta tells him to trust him, there’s no way he’s not falling apart with worry. But he lets Kenta make the choices he needs to make.

Sorry, I got a bit carried away—but my point is: I want a reality where Kim starts second-guessing whether Kenta actually cares for him. Because when Kenta asked, “Are you coming with me or not?” Kim thought that was a step forward. He believed it meant something. And now? Now he’s faced with this wall of silence. Of absence. Of cold distance.

There’s no way my baby wouldn’t be disheartened. Maybe Kim starts settling into the idea that Kenta’s just not interested. That this—whatever it was—was never going to be anything more. Maybe it is rejection. Subtle, quiet, unbearable.

And again—he’s not mad. He’s not mad at Kenta. He’s not mad at Pete. He’s not even mad at the rejection. He’s just furious at the hope. The kindling in his heart that keeps sparking—only to get snuffed out by reality.

Maybe Kim finally realizes the truth: that Kenta doesn’t want him. That—just like Pete—Kenta never felt anything real for him.

I’m not saying that’s going to change how Kim feels. But maybe it changes how much he shows. Maybe he starts to close off, just a little. Maybe, piece by piece, he retreats into himself. Because the longer Kenta is away, the more he questions if Kenta will ever come back.

He doesn’t have the answer.

Or maybe he does.

But either way, it’s all coming crashing down.

Am I selfish for also wanting Pete to be the one who tells Kim to go rescue Kenta—after realizing the new truth that’s settled over Kim’s heart? Like, “He trusts you the most,” and Kim just thinks, No, he doesn’t. But he says okay anyway, because he hasn’t quite reached the point where he’s hardened his heart completely. Not yet. Even if every passing day feels like Kenta choosing to speak only to Pete and no one else. And Kim still just wants to see him safe. To see Kenta. Out of there. Alive. So he agrees.

And when he does find Kenta—roped up, or chained, or something brutal like that—Kim drops to his knees and undoes the knot without thinking. Just asks, quietly, “Are you okay?” And Kenta says, “I’m fine,” but Kim can see the gashes, the bruises, torn clean through the rips in his shirt. And he adds it—silently, tiredly—to the growing list of reasons why he needs to start locking his feelings up tighter: Kenta still doesn’t trust him enough to tell the truth.

And then, just as Kim is reeling from that, Kenta says, “Where’s Kim? The others? Are they still here?” And there it goes—Kim’s last stupid sliver of hope that maybe Kenta would say he missed him. Or that he’s glad Kim came. Or even apologize for the silence. But no. Kenta just wants intel. Wants reassurance that everyone else is safe.

Kim takes a breath. He knows Kenta doesn’t mean it like that. It’s not personal. He tells himself that. He tells Kenta what he wants to know—“Pete and Chris are in the lab. The others are on the fourth floor.” Something like that. And Kenta’s only response is, “We should go help them. They probably need it.”

And Kim’s hands would probably shake. Because Kenta will give help to everyone, but never let himself receive it. Never let himself need.

So Kim nods. Even though it’s against Pete’s plan of “get Kenta out of there.” Because logically, Kenta’s right—they probably do need help. So Kim hands over his extra gun. Hands Kenta his blade. Doesn’t look at his face—can’t look. Can’t risk seeing worry etched there for everyone else but him.

They run. Up the stairs, around the corner. Kim keeps his ears sharp, tracking Kenta’s footsteps behind him, listening for anything off in his breathing, anything that might mean pain. Because Kenta would never admit it, not even now. Kim leads the way, relying on the map etched into his memory.

He’s so focused on Kenta—on his pace, his breath, his silence—that he misses the sound of gunfire. Until Kenta yanks him back just seconds before a bullet could’ve taken him out. And Kenta’s hand is wrapped around his wrist. Tight. And Kim’s heart has the audacity to flinch, to leap, to hope.

But he shuts it down. Because he’s seen this film before, and he didn’t like the ending. Back then, hope was fair game. Now? Now it’s just reckless.

So he steadies himself. Slowly, gently, he pulls away. Takes Kenta’s hand off him without a word.

Don’t get me wrong—I want them to kiss. I want them to kiss and end this whole emotionally devastating circus just as much as—if not more than—anyone else. I want them to have their soft moment, to finally collapse into each other’s arms, safe and warm and wanted. I want the warmth, the resolution, the overdue comfort. I wouldn’t change a single thing about the series—not one damn moment—but my brain has been fermenting, and you know it’s never once let a heartbroken character just... breathe. Not once. So here I am, spiralling. That said, I really want to know what you all think—honestly. Do you think Kim would pull away, even just a little? Quietly protect himself before he breaks? Or do you think he’d double down, push harder, desperate to prove that love means staying, even now?

[ilianasbruce]

heyyy I truly love how you write for Bruce and had a curious ask that maybe could also be a x reader kinda request - what would it take for him to cry or show really heavy emotion (either in front of the reader or in private)? I feel like he’s good at masking emotions but feels so much without knowing how to express them but idk I’m so interested to hear your thoughts :)

“Somewhere in the Gotham, there’s a wounded bat.”

word count: 4,090

summary: your Bruce and his vulnerability.

warnings: mentions of sexual intercourse. minors do not interact, please.

notes: hi, hi!! ♡ i want to thank you for your amazing vision, dear and i wanted to speak my mind on this!! and my other dears who requested the other pieces, i promise i’ll be delivering them in following weeks!! love you, mwah!!! ♡

My dearest stranger, I’ll answer this question of yours in a few different directions. I usually tend to answer the questions through his psychological breakdown, so for this one, I want to start with it until we reach the answer to your inquiry.

Bruce, specifically the young and ‘early Batman years’, was something else — a different breed. He was not a child anymore but at the same time, was the same angry and devastated boy inside. Young Bruce, twenty-five when he came back to Gotham, was headstrong and arrogant in his vision. So, we must look into these factors before we dissect his psychology and reach the answer to your intriguing question.

Bruce was fresh out of his training for twelve years with an incredible amount of things he had seen and learnt. He, somehow knew what he was but it was still impossible to know what your true desires were without a few years of practice on the field.

Young, Bat Bruce in his few years was focusing on one thing: Gotham. He tried not to heed anything other than his mission. But, of course, it was unimaginable that Gotham and her people did not affect him in some ways.

I’ll give a few timelines for you — it’s up to you which timeline you want to meet Bruce and each timeline will give us a different perspective I hope. Before we dive into the timeline, we must know that in all of them in my opinion, Bruce struggles with trust and vulnerability. That is the main factor, because he is not to blame in the situation since his care and love were used against him, his morals and perspective about love. It is deeply rooted in him and we’ll see it in every, early periods of his relationship with the reader.

The first timeline is if you met Bruce one year of becoming Bat, with no one else before you. I personally love this timeline, because in my many works and mind, I usually imagine Bruce in those moments when he had found the sole person in his life who never put him in dreadful situations about love. Bruce, as I mentioned in my other pieces, is a lover. He even admitted the power of his love in his comics (Batman: The Knight). I heavily support this version of him, because it is, — supposed to be the main fuel why Bruce chose the path to become who he is today. He has enough love for his city and humanity.

And if we say that Bruce loves deeply, we are never wrong. I’m so fucking tired of people and modern comic writers painting him as a terrible individual and lover when in fact, he is the most intense lover we could see. He is the hope of Gotham, a disciplined soul who tries to protect the people’s lives from the same kind of traumas that stained and shattered his whole life forevermore. How can we overlook this, when Bruce literally loves and cares for people? And they dare to write him an abusive, morally terrible man when in reality Bruce is the whole opposite of it? I think it is the worst case to put him down, to represent and paint him as the man he would never be in any universe.

I can give a basic example, draw a line to show how the mere simple things are accepted about him proves the point of Bruce being a lover.

His playboy persona. It is the most basic instance, too easy to prove his love life.

Do we really think and accept that Bruce was a natural seducer? That he was blessed with that personality? That he never needed a teacher to guide him how to manipulate and get into people’s minds? That he was a siren to pull them and use them for a mere release? Do we?

Bruce, in fact, was the boy (if we are talking about his teenage years) who was already darkened with his tragedy but still had the capability of pure love. He was the complete opposite of being a player, never bearing an inch of temptation in his body to lure them. He had true intentions as a decent person since the murder of his parents, and as he believed in justice, he believed in the truthfulness, pureness of love, too. If he loved, he’d mean it. He ached for both emotional and physical connection. He’d never chase the feeling of altering his partners over and over again, seducing them as much as he wanted.

This notion comes from his moral and ethical traits, his own pure and virtuous intentions. He was never a deceiver in love and he ached for a true understanding, even though he was unaware of it. Bruce had his time to learn about the master of seduction and manipulation from his mentors, then he sharpened them in his ongoing Batman years because he understood that the world revolved around something else that was against his morals. And he was okay with that since it was the only thing that let him achieve his lifetime mission.

We saw his despise, his difference from the playboy Bruce Wayne, clashing with each other overly because that’s not who he is. It is the a mere example of his psychological inclination.

So, here comes the interesting part about Bruce’s preferences in love as we saw in the comics. The real justification why Bruce was caught up in a romantic tension with chaotic ‘love interests’ is because of the unconscious roots of his morals and trauma. (Bear with me, please.) I had seen on internet once, an user saying that Bruce was specifically into the morally wrong women, (which I’m heavily agreeing with it) — I mean Selina or Talia, it was because he was senselessly into the idea of helping them in the back of his mind; (the one he did not even dive into) and bringing ‘justice’ into their worlds. That’s why I never accept a ‘criminal x hero’ love story which for years Bruce had been written in this trope, because when we dissect the psychology part, it’s just Bruce being unconsciously tied to ‘prove, settle’ something in them. It could never be romantic love, because love stands for different things. The same goes for the ‘enemies-to-lovers’ situation, too. I never understand why a person would love their actual enemy, realistically it is very unlikely for me to grasp the idea and that’s why I loathe the trope indeed; because under everything, we have buried factors that we’re able to look into with them to the main justifications of our preferences. Then, we can decide whether it is real or a trauma response to our tragedies.

Same goes for Bruce, too. It is the main reason why he has complexity and we need to value him through the fundamental, realistic factors. (but that’s just me. I’ve no judgment of people, though. I love to hear about people’s experiences and likes. ♡)

Thus, if we can dive deeper, we can understand Bruce’s ‘comic’ preferences for chaotic, criminal people and his inner struggles with vulnerability through them. (’Catwoman & Batman’ is the result of pure male fantasy, no one can change my mind on this. I never have respect or support for characters written like Selina, which is one of the reasons why I am against the relationship between ’Bat and Cat’.)

The real reason I wanted to include this section of my thoughts because I wanted to show the real contrast of Bruce’s character, because I do really believe that Bruce needs a decent partner who isn't clawing or clashing him, but supporting and loving him with decent, normal, and realistic morals. We need to focus on these since I’ll explain Bruce’s struggles and vulnerability.

If Bruce met the reader before everything, in the first year of his Bat-years, he’d learn to be open with the reader as much as he could. I imagine him, as a young lover and husband, he’d be too inclined to his lover. You could — did basically teach him the meaning of marriage and love, and he’d gladly accept it. Bruce loves to orbit around his lover, relishing in your love. Your love was pure, there was no intention behind your motives — just true love, unconditional and endless for him. You weren't there to ‘claw’ your way out or fight him for your goals, you were simply there to love him — the idea of love that he’d carved into his brain from his deceased parents.

Speaking of his parents, I truly believe why Bruce would be into the marriage as soon as he’d found you, specifically in his younger years, not only because he loved you and did not bear to think about losing you, but it was also engraved in his mind from his parents.

His beloved parents’ love was the only role model of romantic love in his life and he’d embrace it contentedly. He’d seen how his father loved his mother, his dear mother that Bruce only flourished in her love heavily, even though we know Martha had struggled with serious issues. His father’s devotion and support of his mother no matter what were pure love in Bruce’s mentality. And just imagine, if Bruce found his partner, he’d definitely cherish them from this perspective.

The idea of marriage became something sacred for him like the old texts preached. It was intimate and enigmatic for him, the idea and reality. He loved the thrill of it, loved the idea of finally having someone to himself without sacrificing or fighting through the years. You were the main reason everything around and in him altered. From this view, marriage with you was something that Bruce ached for.

There are many things we can say about Bruce’s idea of marriage (let this be another day’s theme) from the things we had talked about above, but one thing that Bruce wanted marriage because he wanted to be intertwined with you and your soul forevermore. As soulmates. As the never-ending bond, even in another life.

If you were his young partner, like he was as young as you, you were the one who taught him vulnerability. This is my view surely. Because just imagine, how he was elated when you became his and as your Moon orbiting around you, do we really think he’d not accept your motives? His precious lover, who’d kiss his scars and sleep right next to him every night in the sheets of your wedlock bed, became the first thing he saw in the early morning glow though the heavy curtains?

You’ve mentioned that he was good at masking his emotions, but if your Bruce was the one in this timeline that I explained, I do slightly believe that he’d let his thoughts out in the next period of time. But, again, as you have a point, not that smoothly. But through patience and some time. I can see that in your early years of marriage, as you’d trust him lovingly and let him see you, he’d be starting to do the same. Yet, Bruce still would be struggling to be open at first.

There is one thing in my head that Bruce loves to pillow talk, like literally! I think it is the sweetness and the peace after you two had sex and he was delighting in you every single time. I had once mentioned in my pieces that Bruce being into skin to skin with you, it did not matter if it was sexual or not. And after sex, the minutes were one of the moments he’d look forward to. It was the exact moment when he started to be vulnerable with you at first in my beliefs.

Foremost, it was his showing of love, speaking to you about whatever you wanted to converse about or simply listening to you as you were cuddling him. But afterwards, it started to turn to his every emotion. Anger or breakdown, depression or exhaustion, elation or thrill — anything. He was feeling so good in your arms, even in his weariness. Nonetheless, if he was broken, you’d immediately know from his posture and he wouldn’t even bother to hide. You may think why he was effortlessly speaking about his worries? It leads us to the words I’ve preached above: Bruce was both trying to let you see him as you did for him and he believed in the holiness of marriage, that he shouldn't be holding back when you were there, right next to him forevermore.

He’d not repress himself, he’d let his words out as you were urging him every single time. Marriage was supposed to be carried out by two souls and when you were too trusting and in love with him, who was he to defy his own feelings for you? Who was he to hold back himself when he ached for understanding and love through his years, specifically when he had found his soulmate? He’d be bursting out his words, sometimes overly rigid to speak or utter and you’d listen, supporting and understanding him over and over again.

Sometimes, he could speak in a complicated manner since he’d have a hard time explaining his thoughts — yet, you were there, as if he were the Sun and that’d be enough for him to continue. And through the years, as you two started to live a life together, it became too easy to let his thoughts out to you. You’d look at him and know he was planning to mutter a word.

This is one haul: your husband could be struggling at first slightly and naturally, since he never felt this powerful about someone to have their hand in marriage. And, let me add this, he’d be excessively excited to have a spouse, (my shayla, my shayla ♡) and he’d be beaming to the Moon and back to speak to you about his thoughts since you’d nurture him heavily to be more vulnerable with you, which would last forevermore.

The other take, however, is if you did meet Bruce after two to three years of being Batman and he, well, he was after a toxic situationship. God, here it comes.

I wanted to show this timeline, since I do believe we can explore that. Your Bruce would be restraining himself about both vulnerability and emotions until it started to be an issue between you two during the early years. His love had been used against him again and again, yet here he was in love with you. But you were there evermore, never intending to leave him after seducing him for your liking, slightly having him let his guard down, and then telling him how it was not good for both of you, your entire relationship solely based on a time-wasting hour sex and tension in the name of you feeling a connection after the tough times in your life.

No.

No one could be equal to you and that was the thing.

You were so lovely, loving him truly for who he was and solely for him. But he was forced to fight his efforts to prevent your love due to trauma of his shitty situationship that male authors’ fantasy was filled through it, a “femme fatale” and her own criminal goals that left your Bruce too fucked up. Once the essence of sex, the intimacy between the real lovers was now ruined for the lover Bruce.

It’d taken him long, to confess his feelings to himself to let you in. It was still the love at first sight, but your Bruce was unconsciously afraid of his heart being broken again, thus he was halting himself over and over again, until he couldn't bear to stay away from you. We can never blame him; he let and trusted a few people and they left him on the road for their selfish motives — none of them acknowledging and caring, never altering themselves as Bruce would for them. He was still there, with his caring heart and he was left alone because love was nothing more than a sexual tension. The love they don't even know the meaning of that led Bruce to be the Protector of Gotham, a symbol of hope.

What a shame for them.

When he became yours — still stumbling on love and trust issues, yet chose to marry you — it took long enough to heal from the trauma. Don’t be thinking otherwise, he was still sweet and gentle with you, but it was verily different from the first timeline Bruce. This Bruce of yours wasn’t speaking his mind out during sex, pillow talks, or when you two were merely tangled with each other for sleep in the warmth of your bed, denying himself until you asked him about his notions. He’d still be afraid of being used, to be left in that loneliness once again — even though you were his partner, you were carrying his last name happily. It was a basic trauma response, just as he was being his alter ego every night.

He loved you truthfully, more than he did for the others but he wasn't speaking or letting real set of emotions to you unless you ushered him. It’d tire you both for a good extended period, both hurting him and you heavily. You would be burdened by proving to him that he had nothing to be scared of anymore, but it���d leave you insecure in your own thoughts that maybe he didn’t want you and that was the last thing for Bruce to make you feel unworthy of his messy love.

He loved you so dearly, became overly protective of you and clingy, but still denied his emotions to you. He could never want to hurt you in any sense and when he struggled with words, he just shut himself out but saw it in your eyes how it was tolling on you. Your first years of marriage consisted of this issue. Even when Dick came into your lives— you two were stumbling but at least it was not severe like the previous years. Bruce knew you loved him, but the years of not getting any response from the few people he cared for and wanted romantically left him disheartened and demoralized, even though you were whispering to his lips that you were his until the end.

Bruce started to fix himself when he saw how it was draining you. You were so precious to him, his Sun and heart, the one who he did comprehend the meaning of true love because of. He’d be trying to be a better husband for you, not in a materialistic way but emotionally, too. He’d let his guard down ultimately — finally pushing the nightmarish thoughts of you leaving him or using him like the others.

Bruce could never think of terribly of you, never let any single suspicion creep over him but it was too hard to flee from the thoughts of making a single mistake and watching you leave him. Speaking of self-blaming about ‘making a mistake’, I think Bruce some days would think and accuse himself for the position he was in before you, because maybe he had made a mistake and he deserved to be left alone (his ethical traits already accepting the blame as an clean game), but it was never correct — he was just an unreliable narrator in his mind, constantly doubting his capability of romantic love. It was one of the justifications why he was still struggling with vulnerability.

When he started to push his dreadful visions, he started to heal. Your love was already a cure for him and when he stopped resisting himself? That was the reward for his efforts for Gotham. He’d be at peace to evolve into the man who wasn't broken anymore but daily loved and cherished by the love of his life. He’d then become vulnerable with you, yet still with hesitation until he’d learn to push it aside and speak to you.

I am thinking that the physical affection of yours was one of the main motives he’d be distracted him from his uncertainty and let you pull and love him how you wanted as he was nestling into you. It’d force him to see that it is you and only you, his partner, as your lips would be kissing his temple, whispering how much you loved him to his skin as he was breathing steadily in the darkness of your room. No lie, it would take him a sufficient amount of years to be fully vulnerable with you, but it was worth it. He’d be at ease and speak to you about what was bothering him, what was itching his brain when you’d hum ‘Mhm.’ to his exhausted tone of voice.

What would it take him to show a heavy emotion? You.

Just you.

It is the main characteristic of every timeline. You were the reason why Bruce was letting his yearnings blossom. You were the one who took him to the end line where he wasn’t doubtful anymore. He’d be stressing his head out over the atrocities of Joker or gritting his teeth when Alfred was stitching his wounds, yet he was alright. Alright to show you how much pain he was in, for the actions to protect Gotham. He knew you so well, so well than you knew yourself and he knew how you were just there to support him, his alter ego, and his tragedy until the end.

His theme was too sophisticated to be uttered by a single sentence, but you listened to him dearly. He became the one thing you ever loved to listen, never getting enough of his catastrophes and his visions. He was sometimes afraid of how much you wanted him, loved him but it was enough. Your Bruce in every timeline was obsessively spiraling in your love and relishing every second of it.

You were the one who eased him into the edges, let him be who he was inside. Bruce, your Bruce.

He learned to permit himself and enjoy you as much as he could, as he did enhance it until you two were gone. Any crashing out or any elation was uttered to you eventually, it doesn't matter which timeline you two were in. You taught him to exist in peace in your arms and he caught it in the air effortlessly, like how he learned every inch of knowledge from his mentors during his youth.

It got him in a situation where he needed to come into your arms to talk to you, because you were the one who knew what to say to him.

There was a difference between you and his other trustee, Alfred.

Alfred was his father and he knew his son’s struggles. He fought the way you fought for Bruce’s inner demons to unleash him but Alfred knew you were utterly different from what he was to Bruce.

You were his son’s lover. You were someone who could only be the one for Bruce. Alfred saw how you altered him without any ill intention for the better. Once the Bruce who never cared about how he looked like a dead and raged man after his patrols, was now shaving his face as soon as his stubble dared to grow by an inch because you once told him how his stubble was tickling you (or otherwise as you preferred).

You were too kind and sweet for his son, truthfully loving him as your soulmate, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, until death tore you apart. How can Bruce defy you, deny your motives to make him a better man, in vulnerability, too?

my dearest stranger, it is up to you to decide, but one thing that was real it was your Bruce’s endless love for you that took him to the places he never imagined or dreamed of having in his life.

I hope I answered your request ♡ and if you do have any word, don't be shy and talk to me. I hope you’re having an amazing week, kiss kiss!!! ♡ ♡ ♡

[babydoll372]

Sorry for this im not really good at requesting stuff 😭But for part 2 of angel could it be something like wanda and r are hanging out with R’s friends and maybe they get too close and wanda gets jealous…

After they get home Wanda is still totally oblivious to how much stronger she is than reader and yk takes her anger out on r in bed (rough) but could there be a line that goes like “why are you running im giving you what you want”

Sorry for not really giving you a good request this is my first time asking 💔

Angel Pt. 2

Pairings: Angel!Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 928

Warnings: not spell-checked, smut, strap on sex, service top!wanda, jealousy, overstimulation, innocent!wanda, spanking (very light amount)

A/N: Ik I said I’d do longer fics from now on but I don’t think I have the motivation currently 😭 sorry if that upsets you but I’ll be doing smaller, blurb sizes from now on with all fics

Wanda huffs with each thrust, ignoring the sounds of the headboard slamming against the wall vigorously or the squeaking of the frame, all she cares about is watching your face contort with pleasure. She occasionally glanced down to where the strap hooked to her hips met your hole, chewing on her lip as she got lost in the sight of your juices spraying your own thighs. Her wings weren’t contained inside her dress any more, and now they hang freely behind her.

“Wanda- fuck! Can’t…I c-can’t t-take any more…” You weakly spoke, and she barely heard the words, too focused on the rest of your body. You knew it was your fault you ended up in this position, but really you had no idea in the world you were doing anything wrong when your friend was touching your arm, whispering in your ear, laughing at all of your jokes. She had always been a touchy person, you thought she did the same with everyone, but maybe Wanda was right to pull you away, telling you in a whispered, angry ramble that she clearly was trying to make a move on you. You denied it at first, but as you drove the two of you home, since she is yet to get her license, you could only think about how stupid you sounded looking back on every moment you shared with the girl. And it was clear Wanda wasn’t happy, which is why she politely asked you, with a frown residing on her face, if she could take this feeling out on you in the bedroom.

You could feel your second orgasm approaching and choked out a sob, repeating her name like a delicate whisper as your hips jutted upward. You could see by the etching in her eyebrows that she is focused, like she is planning every step.

“May I slap you?” Came her sweet voice, and it almost felt wrong to hear those words come from such vocals. You nod, too weak to say or do much else in order to grant permission, but she doesn’t need anything more. Your thighs that were separated in the air suddenly fell target to her hand, and she apologized after each one. She only slapped you twice. You would’ve chuckled if you could, but somehow, she was still able to remain the same pace of her hips without a bead of sweat on her forehead, without a cramp in her muscles. It must be an Angels gift, her stamina, but to you it’s both a blessing and a curse.

“Wanda, t-this is the last one- fuck! Oh shit, oh shit!” Your voice grew lower until your lips move but no sound comes out, and she watches your thighs shake again just like before. She still has no idea what that means but she likes to assume it’s a good thing.

“Baby, I’m so fucking close- don’t fucking stop!” You moan, loudly at that, and she nods as if she was following her bosses requests. The soft, squishy ridges of the toy rub right against your g-spot, and with her momentum, it doesn’t take long before your release squirts along her soft skin, and you’re too blown out to realize what you just did. But the moment you’re able to bring yourself back to awareness, a whine escapes you. You’re sore, aching, and now slowly trying to inch away from her. Wanda doesn’t realize why, so she quickly pulls you in closer to her, leaning down in a new position with her arms around you and your faces less than inches apart. You shake your head repeatedly, whimpering against her and using your legs to try and push her off. You watch the frown return to her face and almost feel guilty, but then you instantly remember the soreness as she thrusts again.

“Wanda, please…please, get off.” You sigh in relief as the toy inside of you halts, but it’s not quite enough. She’s still hugging you, frowning at your resistance. You can’t entirely blame her, she doesn’t understand what’s wrong, but you wish she just had a little bit more common knowledge.

“Why are you running from me? I thought you’d want this too.” Your fingers lift her chin to make her look you in the eyes so she knew she was not doing anything wrong. Her wings even sulked with her.

“I’m not running from you, I did want this too. But now I’m sore and I need to stop, do you understand? So please, I need you to remove the strap gently and then we can cuddle again.” Her eyes widen, the only thing that seems to register in her brain was that you are in pain. She jolts up, careful to not cause the strap to bring more hurt as she slowly removes it from your tight entrance. She hears you quietly whimper and apologizes, sitting there nervously at the end of the bed.

“Uhm, now I get the cloth, right? Yeah, that’s right! Right?” Your nod brought a smile to her face as she rushes to the bathroom. She gives herself a mental checklist: clean off the toy, grab a hand towel, wet it with warm water, grab lotion, go back. And each item is used generously, mainly because she doesn’t have a sense of time and can accidentally spend an hour cleaning you off alone. She treats it with careful precision and stands with a giddy smile once she’s done, stretching her arms out for you to allow her into your arms to cuddle with.

[eden-axe]

Midnight Critters

Summary: While Sylus is asleep you’re working on a project, when your greatest enemy crawls into the room. Now you must choose the lesser fear, stay with the bug, or wake Sylus.

Note: hihihihi the Caleb fic is coming, but this is a panic post because THERE WAS A HUGE BUG IN MY ROOM AND THAT IS ONE OF MY FEW PHOBIAS AND AHHHHHHHH! This fic is literally based off true events so please enjoy my panicked writing! It will not be proofread that much unless I check tmmr.

It was nearly 1 in the morning, you were working on a report for the Hunter’s Association, and even getting a spreadsheet of your expenses on Sylus’ card done for him. Sylus had gone to take a nap as you had taken him out for a day of fun in Linkon, and he had a few meetings later and he wanted to be as awake as he could for them.

You had been at it for over an hour since, after laying with Sylus until he fell asleep. You put the laptop down onto the couch and relaxed your shoulders, letting out a heavy silent sigh.

‘I can see why Sylus has someone to do his number’s for him.’ You thought, glancing back at the bright screen waiting for you to return. You stretch your arms over your head, and your legs as far as they would reach; accidentally kicking the coffee table as you reposition yourself.

You pick up the computer and laze about the couch, taking up as much space as you could. You reach over to the coffee table to grab your glass of water, and that’s when you see it. A brown, multi-legged beast. You can’t identify it as you toss the laptop across the couch and leap up to a higher place on the couch away from the creepy crawly.

Your hands start to shake as the bug crawls under the table, you can feel your breath become labored and you aren’t even sure you are breathing at certain points. You can feel bile rise up in your throat as you leap away from the couch and into the closest room, your bedroom. Where Sylus was resting.

You had not even noticed you entered that room as you made your way across the room, until you were next to the bed. You watched Sylus sleep peacefully, chest rising and falling at a steady pace, this was one of the few times he was able to relax. Even so, you knew that there were 3 guns, that you know of, that were near or on the bed in case of intruders.

Watching Sylus sleep calms you down a bit, until you realize you were the only one home to take care of the bug, and you know you wouldn’t be able to exist peacefully in the house until you knew it was gone. At the thought your hands started to tremble. You glanced between the door and Sylus, debating if you should wake him up or silently sit on the bed and try not to think of how many bugs were actually in the house that you were not aware of.

You kept reaching your hand to touch Sylus’ shoulder, but pulled back every time, ‘This isn’t his problem. He has more important things to do later, I can just wait until he’s up. But what if it brings friends?’ As you continue this back and forth in your mind and hand, you are suddenly pulled into the bed and brought into a warm embrace.

“You’re shaking, what’s wrong?” Sylus’ husky voice helps to ground you, the way it wraps you in a sense of protection courses you out of your panicked state for a moment.

Your face heats up at remembering how you got here, you try and dismiss it but Sylus tilts your face up. His eyes were focused, you wouldn’t have assumed that he was asleep moments ago, but the way he looks, the concern pouring out of him, you relents.

“You remember my um,” you fiddle with his collar, not knowing how to phrase your predicament, “…phobia?”

At how meek your words were Sylus sat up slowly, he left the bed and rounded it to hold his hand out for you to take. Your shaky hand grabs his firm steady one. You follow him to the door, but as he reaches for the knob, your legs start to feel weak.

Sylus turns around and holds your cheek with his free hand, “Just stay in the doorway and point me in the direction. I know you won’t be able to keep a peaceful mind unless you see it gone yourself.”

You lean into his hand and nod, he waits a moment, smiling at your trust in him before returning back to the true matter at hand: eliminating everything that harms your way of life.

You stop as he crosses the threshold of the bedroom and looks back at you. You point to the coffee table, telling him where you last saw it. He makes quick strides in getting there, kneeling down to glance under. When he rises you feel your heart rate pick up, but when you see Sylus smile your worry lessens, but confusion takes hold. He’s not looking at you.

You follow his gaze to the kitchen island and see Mephisto sitting on one of the chairs, bug in beak. When he knows you have seen the bug laying helplessly in his beak he flies away, to either eat or release somewhere outside, and you’d rather not know.

“I’m not the only one who wants to look out for you kitten.” You jump at how close the voice is, Sylus had walked over to the bedroom while you watched Mephisto leave. “I’ll call someone, maybe the twins, to do a whole search of the house for any more bugs. For now I’ll take you to a safe house near where I’ll be having my meetings, and Mephisto will watch over you until I’m back. Get some rest, wouldn’t want your heart to go into cardiac arrest, I quite enjoy having you around.”

You nod and rush to grab the computer, but before you could even leave the bedroom Sylus picked you up bridal style, “I’ll take care of it, just rest.” You listen and rest your head on his shoulder as you hear his evol move things around and closer to you both. By the time you make it to the car the adrenaline from your near panic attack had drained your energy and you had slept peacefully until dawn, where Sylus rested beside you. Mephisto watched the room diligently, and not a single bug in sight.

[luvs4haechan]

mutual pining with jisung where everyone sees that youre inlove EXCEPT yourselves🙏🙏

blindly in love

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: shy!jisung x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: college au, use of y/n, no warnings i think ?? hinted alcohol consumption

𝘸𝘤: 4.1k WOW

masterlist

the day started off like usual: coffee in the morning with your friends, a few classes, studying inbetween. you had been assigned a new project in your programming class, which would've been fine had it not been for your professor declaring it be done in pairs. as your luck would have it, all of your friends got paired together and you got...park jisung? the quiet boy that sits at the back of the classroom, never asks questions, and never really engages in conversation. despite all this, you have heard that he gets exceptionally good grades in most of his classes, so you couldn't complain as much as you would like. the two of you briefly exchanged numbers before he hurried off, seeming intimidated by you. leaving the classroom, you breathed a sigh, preparing for what was to come.

later in the evening, you messaged jisung about meeting to work on the assigned project. it shocked you that he replied just seconds after you sent your message. the two of you agreed to meet after your last class, and work on the project in the library. locking your phone, you actually found yourself feeling a little excited to get to know the quiet and shy boy from your class.

the next day rolled around, keeping you a little nervous but more curious to see how your pair project would come about. before you knew it, you were almost sprinting to the library, your last class keeping you behind a little. as you opened the door, you found jisung sitting at one of the far away tables, almost secluded from the rest. you calmed your ragged breathing and walked over to him. "hi, i'm so sorry i'm late. my professor kept us behind and..." you looked at him to see an expressionless face staring back at you, "you don't care. anyway, the project," you got your laptop out and sat opposite jisung at the table he chose. "did you have any ideas? i know the prompt is kind of wide, so we have a few directions we could go in," you realised you'd started rambling, startling the quiet boy in front of you.

"yeah, whatever you want to do is fine," jisung replied without looking up from his open laptop. the pair of you worked in mostly silence, you often stealing glances as he was focused on perfecting the code. you tried to make some conversation, mostly about the project and the class, however he seemed to only want to get the work done and leave as soon as he could. after about an hour and a half both of you decided you'd had enough and packed up your things.

"okay, so maybe we should get together on saturda-" you said as you zipped your backpack shut.

"works for me," jisung interrupted you and quickly walked out the library. you stood in shock, trying to blame his standoffish nature on him just being shy, yet you couldn't help but feel like he simply didn't like you. it bothered you, because you had been nothing but nice to him, and you had to admit - he was really nice on the eyes.

a couple of weeks passed, and your sessions working on the project hadn't changed much. jisung was still quiet, shy, and only spoke when he absolutely had to; you still kept stealing glances when he wasn't looking, and were secretly hoping he'd catch you. you had to admit, over the course of this project, despite his unapproachable nature, you have grown fonder of the tall boy that typed quietly on his laptop. maybe it was his eyes, or the way he would muster a tiny smile when his code worked just the way he intended. despite all this, you couldn't shake the inevitable feeling that he simply didn't like you. not even in the way you wanted him to, you were sure he wouldn't even consider you a mere acquaintance. oh how wrong you were...

jisung was sitting in the college cafeteria with the few friends he managed to accumulate over the last year. his group was small, albeit close. he met chenle at basketball club, mark in his maths class when the older boy couldn't figure out a simple equation, and donghyuck came as a package deal with mark - the two were inseparable.

"there goes your pretty coding girlfriend," donghyuck quipped in a sing song voice. all four of the guys turned around to see you walk in, alongside your best friend renjun.

"don't call her that," jisung muttered, bowing his head down as his ears suddenly turned beet red.

"why not? you see each other all the time. why haven't you asked her out?" chenle said, unfazed by his shyness as he continued eating his lunch.

"because," the youngest of the group heaved a sigh "she doesn't like me like that. i'm not sure if she even likes me as a friend," he paused to look at you and renjun in the line for the lunches "plus, i'm pretty sure that's her boyfriend," this promped surprised looks from all of jisung's friends.

"renjun?" mark questioned, eyebrows almost touching his hairline "he's in my music club, and he's about as straight as a circle," the oldest at the table said.

"dude, you have a clear shot, just take it. you've had a crush on y/n for long enough," donghyuck said, glancing between you and his quiet friend. jisung simply shook his head, not wanting to carry the conversation on.

across the cafeteria, you and renjun stood in line for your lunches. "no junnie, i'm like 100% sure he wants nothing to do with me. in the last three weeks, he's barely said two words to me," you said, moving up the line.

"he's just shy, y/n. i'm sure he doesn't mean anything bad by it, not everyone is as outspoken as you are," your best friend rolled his eyes grabbing a lunch tray, as the line moved up again.

"i know that, but this is borderline rude. i know not everyone has to like me, but he's just so..." you trailed off, as you caught view of him sitting at a table surrounded by three of - what you persumed were - his friends.

"hot? i know, if he swung the other way i'd go for him myself," renjun said, urging you to grab your lunch as you were holding the line up.

"how do you know he doesn't," you chuckled.

"because the whole time we've stood here, he's looked at you at least 8 times," the blonde said, sitting down at one of the empty tables. his words caused you to furrow your eyebrows.

"what are you even talking about? why would he be looking at me, if he doesn't even want to talk to me?" you said, looking down and moving the food about on your plate.

renjun shrugged at your words, "because he's nervous y/n, when you like someone you get nervous around them," your friend kept looking at you, hoping you'd admit that he was right.

you sighed, finally looking up at the blonde boy in front of you. "i just don't know what to do to get him to talk to me," you shook your head slightly, and renjun could practically see the wheels turning in your head.

"start off small, don't bombard him with questions and don't start yapping uncontrollably like i know you do," it was your turn to roll your eyes, "ask him about his interests, but don't overwhelm him. i'm sure when he's ready, he'll open up," renjun advised you, finishing his lunch. you nodded, taking a last glance at the far off table that sat four boys - one of which, you were almost sure you were catching feelings for.

the next time you and jisung met to work on the project, you decided to at least get him to open up slightly. having been persuaded by his own friends, jisung decided to also try his best and finally talk to you. although they encouraged him to ask you out, he was certain you would never feel that way about him. but a little conversation couldn't hurt anyone...right?

"hi," you said, setting your things down at the usual table the two of you work at. as always, jisung didn't reply, just gave you a tight lipped smile. the boy mentally scolded himself for not even being able to muster a small greeting - he blamed his nerves, you made him incredibly nervous. you sighed as you sat down, however you didn't let his silence deter you. "have you finished the code we talked about last time?" you asked, almost offhandedly, not really bothered if he had or hadn't knowing you were ahead of schedule anyway.

"uhh," jisung managed to start, "i had basketball practice," he looked at you, but moved his eyes back to his laptop just as quickly "sorry," jisung breathed. you blinked at the boy in front of you, not having expected a response from him.

"it's no problem, let's do it today," you said, finally coming to and moving your eyes to your own laptop. the whole moment reeked of awkwardness, you felt your cheeks turn red in slight embarrassment, not having expected the situation. jisung took one last glance your way, quietly admiring the way your hair fell slightly into your eyes and how small dimples seemed to appear when you concentrated, and began working on the project.

a short while passed without much necessary conversation, quick questions here and there but never straying from the topic of your project. you decided to change that. "so you play basketball?" you asked, looking up at him from your computer. it actually made sense, he was pretty tall, however you didn't expect it from a shy guy like jisung.

taken aback, jisung made fleeting eye contact with you for a few seconds before quickly looking away. "yeah," he cleared his throat "i joined the team last semester," jisung felt as if the room was getting smaller and he was shrinking into his seat. any conversation was nerve-wracking for him, but with a girl this pretty and one that he seemed to like a little more than a typical friend, sent him into a frenzy.

"that's so cool," you replied, a small smile on your face. "i'm on the volleyball team," you quickly added, hoping to carry on the conversation. jisung looked up at you again, seeing your smile he relaxed slightly. however, he wasn't sure how to reply to your words, just giving you a tight lipped smile again. "i'll have to come see one of your games," you added, hoping to prompt a response from the boy sitting across from you.

"oh," he looked nervous once again "i'm not that good, honestly," jisung spoke quietly, but loud enough for you to hear the slight tremble in his voice.

you shook your head at his words, "i'm sure that's not true," you gave him an encouraging smile, to which he returned a more natural looking one (compared to his earlier attempts...).

the rest of your time was spent in mostly silence, however you felt a lot better about a hopeful friendship blooming between the two of you. staying true to your word, the following week you were sat amongst most of your college classmates in the packed sports hall, waiting for the game to start.

"i can't believe you dragged me to this," renjun rolled his eyes as he took the empty seat next to you.

"come on, it won't be that bad. plus i finally got jisung to talk about himself a little. this is me showing support for my..." you paused "my friend," you weren't sure jisung was your friend, although you certainly were hopeful.

"yes, but why am i here?" your best friend asked almost sarcastically, in a begrudging tone.

"to support me supporting my friend," you gave him a smile, to which he raised an eyebrow. "okay, i just didn't want to come alone," you sighed, earning a triumphant grin from renjun.

on the court, jisung was surrounded by his friends as they chatted before the game began. "guess who i saw sitting in the fourth row," donghyuck said, scanning his eyes over the now full bleachers. all three of the boys turned to see where he was looking, although they already knew the answer. jisung finally spotted you, sitting with renjun engrossed in conversation. you caught his eye, and just as he was about to look away you sent him a smile and waved. the boy blushed and returned your wave, his friends sporting wide grins.

"oh she's totally into you," mark said, eyeing the brief interaction. the blushing boy looked down and shook his head.

"i didn't think she would actually come," he muttered quietly, galncing your way again.

"i've never had a girl come to one of my games," chenle said, making jisung's ears turn an even deeper shade of red.

"we're just..." the youngest paused, thinking for a second "friends, although she probably doesn't even consider me that," this caused all three of his friends to profusely roll their eyes.

"you are hopeless, jisung," donghyuck said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

the game seemed to finish as quickly as it started and before you knew it, your college team were winning 94 to 62. jisung had scored at least 20 points, and you cheered for each one. out of the corner of his eye, each time he took a shot he saw you wait with baited breath, hoping the ball would make it through the net. although he didn't realise it, your presence made him want to do better - maybe to impress you even.

you and renjun began to gather your things and stand up, when suddenly a brunette boy approached you. "hey i'm donghyuck," he said, standing in front of the two of you with a smile. seeing your confused expressions he added, "jisung's friend."

"oh, nice to meet you," you said, sending him a polite smile. renjun narrowed his eyes sceptically, wondering where this conversation was going.

"jisung and some of our friends were planning on going out to celebrate the win," donghyuck mentioned, looking between the two of you. "he was wondering if you wanted to join?"

"really?" you questioned, your eyebrows raised and expression full of shock. "i'd love to, actually. can renjun come too?" you replied, looking hopefully at your best friend who looked rather unamused.

"yeah, of course," donghyuck smiled "the bar just off campus at 8, see you there," the charming brunette smiled and bid the two of you goodbye. you turned to renjun who looked less than happy to be dragged along to this outing.

"oh come on junnie, it will be fun," you pleaded with him "this means jisung might actually think of me as a friend," you couldn't help the wide grin that began spreading on your face.

renjun couldn't help but return your smile, "alright, we'll go," he said, keeping in mind the way he saw jisung glance your way whenever he could during the game. his words caused you to smile even wider, and loop your arm through his as you walked out of the sports hall.

8 o'clock rolled around sooner than you expected. "just five more minutes, jun," you shouted from your bathroom to renjun, who was sat on your bed for the last 15 minutes.

"you said that 10 minutes ago, y/n," he shouted back, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. he could hear a few things clatter to the floor as you finally opened the door. "jisung might actually die when he sees you," your best friend commented as you walked out the bathroom. you decided to blow out your hair and do a touch more make up than you usually do.

"it's not too much?" you asked rhetorically, looking yourself over in the mirror. "also why would jisung die?" you asked, to which renjun simply shook his head in defeat.

"let's go, before fashionably late becomes plain rude," he said as he urged you towards the door of your apartment.

the bar was quite busy, you blamed it on the victory of the basketball team and simply the fact that it was a friday night. walking in, you scanned the place, hoping to see a familiar face.

at a table near the back, four boys sat celebrating the win of jisung and chelne's basketball team. donghyuck kept looking around the bar, hoping to spot you before the rest of the group. he hadn't told anyone that he invited you in jisung's name, not even mark. donghyuck just hoped that his plan wouldn't backfire.

you finally caught sight of jisung's tall figure. smiling, you grabbed renjun's arm and began approaching their table. jisung saw you first, to donghyuck's dismay, his eyes widened and ears turned suddenly red. the rest of his friends saw his reaction and quickly turned to the cause. donghyuck winced when he saw you, already seeing his brilliant plan fall through.

"hey guys," you said, having to shout over all the chatter at the bar. "we've not met, i'm y/n," you introduced yourself to the two boys you had yet to meet, and they told you their names in exchange. you then moved your eyes to jisung, giving him a softer more comfortable smile, "hi,".

"hi," he replied, unable to move his eyes from you. you held eye contact for a little too long, however someone clearing their throat broke you out of the trance.

"oh, i'm so sorry," you mentally slapped yourself on the wrist, "this is renjun, my best friend," you quickly introduced the blonde standing slightly behind you. after all the introductions were had, mark offered to get everyone drinks and you sat down between donghyuck and jisung, renjun sitting opposite you after giving you a subtle wink. in a group setting, around people he was mostly comfortable with, jisung seemed to be more outgoing - joining into the conversation and even bringing up topics on his own. you managed to see a different side to him, one that you grew to like more and more.

the six of you talked, laughed, and told stories until it was almost 1am and the bar was soon to close. all through the night, all four boys gave each other knowing looks and sent each other smiles, while you and jisung were engrossed in conversation. finally mark, renjun, and donghyuck decided to share a cab home since they all live close to each other. while saying your goodbyes, renjun admitted to having a good time and you gave him a winning smile. chenle headed off on his own, leaving you and jisung standing in front of the bar.

"i live quite close, so i'm going to walk," you said, shuffling on your feet and pointing in the general direction of your apartment. jisung's heartbeat picked up at the realisation of the imminent goodbye.

"i'll walk you," he said quietly, although you heard him perfectly despite the rowdy crowd inside. you gave the taller boy a small, appreciative smile and nodded. the two of you headed towards your apartment, and although summer was just around the corner you couldn't help the shiver that ran up your spine, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket. jisung started light conversation, talking about his basketball game.

"i'm glad you came," he said, glancing at you in passing, trying not to linger too long. the pace you set was comfortable, almost a stroll towards your home.

"i'm glad too," you smiled at him "you played really well, you know. 20 points in one game isn't easy," you looked up at him to see a blush spread across his cheeks, causing your smile to widen.

"thank you," jisung muttered, not used to such compliments. "i'll have to come to one of your volleyball games," he said, offering you a small smile in return.

"you're always invited," you didn't think it was possible to smile wider than in that moment. before you knew it, the pair of you were stood in front of your apartment building. coming to a stop, you turned to face jisung, having to look up since he was quite taller than you.

"thank you for walking me home," you said, "and for inviting me tonight, i had a really great time," you saw a confused look pass over his features, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"no problem, i'm glad you decided to come. i know my friends can be a bit much," he scratched the back of his neck, looking down.

you chuckled at his words, "they're great, i'm just glad they got along with renjun. he can be quite..."

"intimidating?" jisung finished your sentence, causing a laugh to bubble from you.

"yes, intimidating," you confirmed, smiling at the boy who returned your grin. "will you be okay getting home? i don't want to put you out," you said.

"don't worry, i'll be okay," jisung reassured you, not wanting you to worry about him. you nodded at his words, smiling ernestly.

"well," you started "i better head up, it's getting late. but i'll see you to work on the project?" you asked, hoping to see him sooner rather than later.

"yeah, i'll text you," he said, nodding along with his words.

"great, i'll be waiting," you said, looking into his eyes with a smile. neither of you were sure how to say goodbye, and the tension was palpable. finally, you leaned up, bracing yourself on his arm and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. "i'll see you soon," you said, with a smile and headed for the door to your apartment building. jisung stood almost frozen to the ground, his brain not quite registering what had happened. only when he heard the door shut, he winced and started cursing himself for not even saying goodbye. the whole way home his heartbeat didn't slow down once, the moment replaying in his head on a loop. could this mean something more?

the following week you arranged to meet with jisung for the last time, having almost finished the project. as always, he was sat at the usual table in the back of the library when you walked through the doors. having spotted him, a wide smile immediately spread on your face. "hi," you simply greeted the boy, approaching the table.

"hi y/n," jisung replied, giving you a warm smile of his own. as you unzipped your bag and sat down you thought back to the first time you sat in this exact same seat with the exact same boy in front of you. actually, the boy had changed - quite significantly at that. at first he would barely look at you, now you considered him a great friend, not counting the feelings you had secretly developed for him. his barely there awkward smile transformed into a wide grin, and his shyness seemed to fade away - not entirely, he was still incredibly nervous just by looking at you.

this time, while working on the last part of your assignment, you engaged in comfortable conversation, often looking away from your computers entirely just to carry on talking. you spent a few hours in the library, your work pace hindered by the smiles and laughs you had. finally, the two of you managed to write the final parts and send off the project, more than satisfied with your results. you and jisung packed your things and walked out of the library together. you stopped in front of the doors, having to go separate ways. you took your time to look over his features, hoping to see more of them but also knowing you may not.

"i'm really happy we got paired together, jisung," you admitted honestly, your heartbeat increasing at the imminent goodbye. giving him an ernest smile, you were ready to go when he suddenly called your name.

"y/n wait," jisung said urgently "would you," he took a deep breath, scratching the back of his neck. "would you like to maybe go out some time?" the shy boy finally managed to get out, but seeing your shocked expression he panicked. "not that you have to. you can totally say no and i'll-"

"jisung, i'd love to," you cut off this rambling, smiling wider than you thought was possible. it was his turn to have a shocked expression but he composed himself as quickly as he could.

jisung nodded, a wide grin spreading on his own face. "great, i'll call you," he said.

"i'll be waiting."

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

what the helly... how can i not write for MONTHSSS then suddenly produce 4k words in three days 😭 anon you absolutely COOKED with this i had a great time writing it. i also didn't want to do friends to lovers again bc i feel like all my fics are like that and jisung is so awkward so i thought this was fitting lmk what you think plspls 🙏🏻🙏🏻 holy yap just wanted to say THIS IS THE BIG COMEBACK I SPOKE OF luvs4haechan out 🤗🤗