It starts with silence. The announcement drops quietly, no buildup, no warning beyond what could be mistaken for routine corporate scheduling. But in reality, nothing about it was routine at all. It was almost too detached, too clinical. The announcement that hit harder than it should:
miles morales x blackfem reader | summer cruise AU
wc: 2.4k
a/n: sorry 4 late post guys i got distracted watching tonight's love island ep while writing...
resource tags // @cafekitsune // @honeyluvsw
somewhere between uno and lunch, your exit strategy disappears completely. one game became three and three soon became six. and somehow the one hour you'd promised to your mom had quietly turned into an entire afternoon.
"absolutely not." Miles slid a card onto the table dramatically. "nope. not happening."
"What are you talking about??" Naomi asked, poking her head out slightly.
"teams."
"there are no teams in uno." Amir chimed.
"okay well it is now, as group leader." Miles bickered, both of his hands flattening out his shorts.
you watched the argument unfold from beside him, trying not to laugh because you don't feel that in-place yet.
trying, and failing.
"Me and her."
"What?" you perked up.
"We're a team, partners." he said, scooting even closer to you. "you don't want to be partners with anyone else, they suck." his hands hovered over yours to see the deck of cards that you were holding. "may I?"
"okay so this is cheating—" Amir interrupted.
"we're strategizing." He reasoned, not even bothering to meet his eyes but intensely focusing on your cards like they were the holder to your secrets. his hand brushed briefly over yours as his scent got more familiar. "no no no no no—" he whispered beside you, "don't play that one." he suggested, gently tucking the card to the bottom of your deck. "okay so—we should save those, just in case—always save the skips." He whispered delicately, only for you.
"whatever you say.." you whisper back, staring at the cards like you understood what was going on, knew how to strategize an uno game...like match the colors/numbers and call it a day.
three turns later..
"BOOM." Miles slapped his hand on the table triumphantly as you placed the draw four exactly when he told you to.
the table erupted into groans and gasps.
"THAT'S NOT FAIR—"
"WTF???????!!!"
you just sat there with a shy smile on your face but you were definitely fighting back the biggest grin of your life, because you like to win just as much as he does, you're just more humble.
Miles slid his hand towards yours for a high five? dap? you couldn't tell, you just gulped and lightly pressed your hand onto his. immediately his hand slapped yours followed with a join of fingers.
"too easy."
and by the end of the third game you knew everyone's names.
Naomi, Kiara, Samira, Elias, Mateo, Amir, Jules, Elena and Miles of course.
Naomi was loud in a comforting way, the type of person who made friends with cashiers and would give you a pep talk in the club bathroom when you're seconds away from drunk calling your ex boyfriend. you liked her a lot.
The boys somehow managed to argue over absolutely everything and used one of the girls to break ties to justify their pointless arguments.
after that very intense uno tournament everyone just lingered around the table scrolling on their phones, occasionally looking over each others shoulders and sending each other videos even though they were an arm's length away from each other until Miles announced—
"im starving." he groaned, his arms extending along the headrests of the couch, his head lolling back in dramatic exhaustion.
"you always are, fatass." Mateo quipped, slapping his exposed Adam's apple playfully from behind.
Miles yelped and clutched his throat protectively, "its literally noon—how am i a fatass?!?"
"you're always the first one to get hungry, all you talk about is your next meal."
"psh—whatever. IM hungry so IM gonna eat." he murmured before his eyes softened meeting yours. "you hungry?"
to be honest you've been starving for the past hour, clutching your stomach every time it threatened to growl but didn't want to say anything out of anxiety.
you shrugged. "i could eat."
everyone ended up at one of the casual restaurants overlooking the water, floor to ceiling windows framed the endless blue ocean.
you couldn't help but notice the ridiculous size of Miles' burger, literally the size of your head.
"wow." you could've sworn you said that in your head.
"what??" He said, his hand palming the burger on both sides adjusting his grip as he decided what position should be the best bite.
"thats huge"
"protein." he quipped before taking a generous bite.
before you could even answer Naomi came back from the bathroom. "oh my god wait." she pointed at your shorts, "those are so cute."
you looked down instinctively. "these?"
"yes those."
"thanksss" you said shyly.
"where are they from??! i need them."
that somehow became a 20 minute conversation over pasta and apple juice. shorts became tops, jewelry, and then hairstyles. interactions like these always reminded you of how much of a social butterfly you could be once brought out of your shell.
you guys ended up exchanging socials and now just complimenting each other back and forth.
"oh my gosh this picture of you looks so good wtffffff, sickening." she gasped softly.
"yeahh i love my digital camera, i use it for pictures more than my phone."
"what camera?? Don't gatekeep, the quality is amazingggggg i love the orange flash thingy." she begged, looking over your pictures for the millionth time.
"the g7x, i got it as a gift."
"i want the g7x so baddddddd" she whined animatedly before lighting up with a thought, "do you have it on you!??"
"uhhh not right now but it's charging in my room." you said with a soft sigh feeling her disappointment. "but i can get it later—"
"REALLY??" she squealed happily.
Miles raised his eyebrow mid bite and tipped towards you both. "what are you guys screaming about??"
"camera." you both said in unison.
"you have a camera?" his finger pointed to you.
"not right nowww." you explained.
"HER PICTURES ARE SO CUTE" Naomi interrupted, shoving your instagram page in his face. his eyebrows softly raised as his hand slowly gravitated towards Naomi's phone.
he stared and snooped for a good minute.
longest minute of your life.
his lips slowly formed a big smile, still not looking up yet.
"these are niceeeee" he said softly. "really nice." he repeated, softly, almost to himself.
eventually someone suggested the pool, the answer was immediate.
"YES."
the group started moving almost instantly, but you hung back, not because you wanted to.
your phone buzzed.
Mom: alive?
You smiled.
You: yes :)
Mom: did you survive
You: shockingly yes
Mom: friends???
You: i think so actually
Three dots appeared immediately.
Mom: OH MY GOD
You laughed.
You: don't make it weird
Mom: too late
You: mom.
Mom: IM PROUD OF YOU
You were so distracted typing that you didn't realize the group had disappeared around the corner.
"Everything okay?"
You looked up.
Miles.
"Oh."
"okay—that's twice now."
"what?"
"you saying 'oh' when you see me. im starting to think you don't want me around you." he teased with a playful pout.
"no its not—"
"it definitely is."
He slowed his pace until he was walking beside you in unison. "you good?"
"yeah."
"sure?"
you nodded reassuringly. "just texting my mom."
"cute."
you laughed softly. "she wanted updates."
for a moment none of you said anything.
then,
"you know how to swim?"
you looked over. "enough to survive."
He blinked.
"what does that— either yes or no."
"It means if i get thrown into the pool i probably wont die."
"probably?"
"no promises."
He looked horrified.
"That's concerning." he said looking genuinely baffled. "that's a vital survival skill, you cant just halfass it! you never know!" He walked with his hands on his hips now, lecture ready. "but no worries, i was a lifeguard."
you looked over. "really?"
"mhm." he said proudly. "even saved a kid once. im a hero." he beamed.
you giggled lightly. "did you have to give cpr?"
"i mean—yeah, you HAVE to be cpr certified for any lifeguard job."
"hm. what else do you do?" you asked, your phone forgotten in your hand.
"i can do flips." he said, as if he was waiting for the opportunity to bring it up.
"oh brother."
"im serious. i can do a handstand underwater and everything!"
He pointed at you. "i could teach you."
you blinked.
"i'm a great teacher. you'll be in good hands."
you rolled your eyes. "the ego is insane."
"not ego, its confidence, and the confidence is very much earned, thank you." he sassed.
"sure."
"it is."
"sure."
"it is."
you laughed.
again.
The pool deck was chaos, music blasted from overhead speakers, kids ran through puddles, people claimed lounge chairs even though nobody owned them.
The boys immediately launched themselves into the water. no discussion.
splash.
chicken fights, someone nearly went blind from chlorine, the boys choking on water one too many times.
meanwhile— you and Naomi occupied two lounge chairs near the edge of the pool.
"your tan lines are insane."
she looked down proudly. "i work very hard for these." her torso bent to the side getting something out of her tote bag, a bottle of tanning oil. "THEEEE holy grail."
"those really work?"
"you see the credentials!" she said displaying her tan lines again. "you can use some girl, no problem."
"really?—you sure."
"yes of course! turn around ill get your back" she said carelessly positioning herself, beginning to lather the warm oil on her hands.
"this friendship is moving so fast." you chuckled.
"yes. i love it." Naomi said, her chin briefly resting on your shoulder affectionately before rubbing the oil on every crevice of your back for the most crisp tan lines and the afternoon settled around you two easily.
music, sunshine, and conversations.
you talked about college, music, clothes. just life.
Naomi told stories about cruise culture like an anthropologist documenting rare species.
"the cruise flirting is insane."
you laughed. "really?"
every once in a while you caught Miles looking over. not staring, just looking, sometimes he'd smile or do an over excited wave before getting slammed into the pool by one of his friends or yell something across the water.
the strange thing was it didn't feel awkward, nothing today had.
Earlier this morning these people had been strangers, now Naomi was your soul sister.
"a guy did like 20 pull ups on a random bar for my number yesterday." she chuckled out.
"did you give it to him??" you asked as you rubbed the remaining oil on your chest and legs.
"nah."
you both erupted in laughter.
Mrs. Harold told herself she was only trying on the dress.
Mrs. Sullivan told herself she was only helping.
Neither of them believed it.
There was something in the way Mrs. Sullivan touched the strap, careful but not casual. Something in the way Mrs. Harold looked back at her, smiling like she had been caught thinking something she was not ready to say out loud.
The dress was pretty.
That was not the problem.
Location: Clark’s apartment, Metropolis. No more places to run. Time: 2:13 a.m. State: Desperate after a week.
Clark hears the window before he hears the boots. Not because Batman is careless—Batman never is—but because Clark has spent an entire week listening for him and his heart has been racing ever since he heard him cross the bay.
The cape moves first in the darkness. Then Bruce enters the apartment, clad in black armor, shoulders rigid. A statue barely daring to set foot on the generic living room-kitchen floor.
Clark slowly puts down the book in his hands.
Neither speaks immediately. The rain taps softly against the windows.
Bruce looks exhausted.
Clark stands.
Clark: Hi.
Bruce clenches his jaw.
Bruce: I need to say something before I lose my nerve.
Clark feels his chest tighten instantly. Because Bruce never says things like this, and he wonders if it’s because normally he doesn’t feel them and is now in a crisis—or if he always does feel them but hides it, unnoticed by anyone.
Clark nods once.
Bruce doesn’t move further into the apartment.
Bruce: I owe you an apology.
Clark blinks.
Clark: An apol…?
Bruce: Let me finish.
The words come out rough, unmodulated.
Bruce: I’ve spent weeks trying to avoid this because I thought… because I believed it would taint something important.
A sudden chill runs through Clark.
Bruce: You’re my friend. My partner. The person I trust the most. And I…
His voice almost breaks.
Bruce: …I’ve tainted it.
Clark’s heart cracks a little. He steps forward immediately.
Clark: Bruce, no…
Bruce finally looks at him. The white eyes of the cowl, but even covered and in darkness, seem terrified.
Bruce: I constantly desire you.
The room falls silent. Bruce breathes once, and a human could have heard it. Bruce, who is shadows.
Then it all begins to spill out of him, as if truth has finally broken a dam.
Bruce: I think of you when you’re not here. I wait for you. I feel calmer when you’re near. I trust you with things I trust no one else with. Sometimes I hear or think something and wish you were there to share it with me. You make rooms feel safe. You make me feel safe. Me.
Clark checks that his mouth is closed. Bruce clenches his fists at his sides.
Bruce: I love your kindness. Your ridiculous hope. Your self-control. I love the way you look at people, as if they deserve to be saved. I love your voice. Your laugh. I…
He swallows hard.
Bruce: I think I’ve loved you longer than I know now, because I appreciated many of these things before the Rann mission, but I couldn’t admit it to myself because I wanted to feel there was something I hadn’t poisoned or ruined.
Silence.
Then Bruce looks away abruptly, embarrassed that these words exist outside of him.
Bruce: I’m sorry. The outburst and… I’m so sorry for loving you, Clark. You deserve better.
Clark crosses the room before he can think. He gently takes Bruce by the arms.
Clark: Better?
Bruce freezes.
Clark smiles, helpless, warm, face unmasked by relief.
Clark: Bruce… I love you too.
For a moment, Batman seems completely vulnerable.
Carefully, Clark releases one of his arms and reaches up to pull back the cowl. He’s never as handsome as with his hair mussed and stuck, his huge gray eyes.
Bruce blinks once.
Clark stares at him. A moment passes.
Clark: I’m going to kiss you.
Bruce breathes in, unable to speak, only nods like a starstruck teenager.
It’s a soft kiss at first and at the end.
Bruce’s gloved finger brushes Clark’s cheek as they part, staring without blinking.
Clark: Tell me the sky is red. Or that you voted for Mayor Hill. Or that… or that you don’t love me.
Clark’s voice is fragile. Bruce opens his mouth, ready to say any lie except the last one.
Bruce: It’s… it’s…
And he can’t.
Clark’s face falls, but Bruce just presses a little closer.
Bruce: Don’t be sad. It’s okay. At least you’ll never doubt what I’ve said.
A scant consolation, in Clark’s opinion.
Bruce exhales, exhausted, over Clark, as if he’s finally laid down the pillars of the Garden of the Hesperides.
Bruce: Diana was right. It’s a relief.
That’s a better consolation, if you ask Clark. So he laughs softly against Bruce’s hair, hugging him tighter.
The end.
The Girl Across My Balcony [Chapter 1 · 4 Pages]
A slightly hikikomori illustrator who only goes outside at night, and a girl who works at a convenience store until late.
From the balcony across, she always ends up watching her. She wishes she could talk to her someday...
Well well you’ve scrolled to the right post!
May I introduce to you *ba ba ba baaaaaa*
A Gunshow fanfic that takes place pre WOTFI 2025 and just a week after Gunz and puzzles! The upcoming CAV (calling all villains) show will NOT affect “promise” at all!
Wpnz and Puzzles have parted rather roughly and are on a journey of revenge and redemption! While Wpnz seeks to kill, puzzles seeks a new life while trying to leave his old one behind! With the help of friends the two embark on said adventure!
⚠️WARNING!!!⚠️
Promise does contain heavier topics in some chapters such as mentions of helf sarm, sui-cide (dodging the censors) sex and drugs! If you are uncomfortable reading this stuff I suggest you find another cute Gunshow fic
Or use this one as exposer therapy 
OKAY BYE MY MINIGUNS!
Sylus x Fem Chubby Reader
You hadn’t worn heels in years, not really.
They never quite fit your feet right. Chubby toes, a bit too wide, always slipping or squeezing or blistering.
But tonight wasn’t about comfort. It was about him.
You remembered, faintly, from a conversation long ago, that Sylus once said he found heels elegant. That little comment had clung to your mind, quietly, like lace on skin.
So tonight, for once, you wanted to be that elegant person. For him.
The party went well, glamorous, glittering. Sylus looked devastatingly beautiful under the chandelier light, fingers brushing the curve of your back, whispering compliments in your ear that made your heart stutter.
But by the time you stepped out into the cool night air, your smile was fading, replaced by the sting of shoebites and the dull ache of regret.
You barely made it three steps before wincing.
Sylus caught your arm instantly, voice low and sharp.
“Are you hurt?”
You tried to wave it off. “It’s just the heels. I’ll be fine.”
He crouched, crouched, right there on the pavement, his gloved hands ghosting over your ankle. When he gently slipped the heel off your foot and saw the angry red welt, his jaw clenched.
“Why would you wear these?” His voice wasn’t angry, yet it trembled, with something that felt like hurt. “They’re clearly painful.”
You hesitated. “I… I thought you liked them.”
His eyes lifted to yours, slow and stunned.
“You wore them for me?”
Silence.
Then, his brows furrowed deeper, lips parting as if your words knocked the wind out of him.
“Baby…” he whispered, standing up and cupping your face with hands that were both fire and silk. “I care when you’re comfortable. Not when you’re trying to fit into something just to impress me.”
Your chest tightened.
“You’re beautiful in anything. But when you’re hurting, I feel it. Don’t ever put pain on your feet to walk beside me.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Next time, wear what feels like you. I’ll fall in love with it, because it’s yours.”
You felt the sting of tears before you could stop them.
And when he lifted you up in his arms, barefoot, bruised, but adored, you realized love wasn’t in the heels.
It was in his arms. In the way he held you like you were never too much, never not enough, just you.
Sylus didn’t let you walk another step.
Not even to the car.
You tried to protest, cheeks warm as he carried you through the lobby, heels dangling from one of his hands now, your arms curled around his neck, but he shut you up with one look. That look that said: Don’t argue when I’m caring for you.
By the time you reached your room, he didn’t even flick the light on.
The soft glow from the hallway was enough. It spilled over his sharp features as he knelt in front of you once again, guiding you gently to sit on the edge of the bed.
“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.
You nodded.
He disappeared for a moment into your bathroom, rummaging around. You heard the soft rustle of packaging, the gentle clink of your skincare bottles being moved aside. Then he returned, sleeves rolled up, a bandaid between his fingers and a small cotton pad.
Your heart swelled at the sight.
He sat on the floor in front of you and took your foot into his hand with the kind of care that made your chest ache.
“It’s a little red,” he murmured, voice low and intimate. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
“It’s not your fault,” you said quietly, biting your lip. “I just wanted to be beautiful for you tonight.”
His hands paused. His gaze lifted.
“You already were,” he said simply.
He dabbed the sting with the cotton, his thumb lightly brushing your ankle like a silent apology. Then, with a tenderness that felt sacred, he peeled the bandaid and placed it over the sore spot, pressing the edges down with warm fingers.
“You don’t have to change yourself for me,” he said, voice almost a whisper now. “Not your shoes, not your body, not your comfort. You’re already everything I want.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
Then he leaned in, resting his forehead against your knee, his hand still gently holding your foot.
“Next time,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips, “wear your softest sneakers. I’ll still be looking at you like you hung the damn stars.”
You laughed softly, blinking away tears.
He looked up at you again, those red crimson eyes impossibly gentle now.
And when he finally climbed onto the bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms and pulling the blanket over both of you, the world outside faded into silence.
Shoebites forgotten.
Hearts held carefully.
And in that stillness, you knew, this was love.
