#I try to meet people and I have nothing to talk about

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 10

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael finally discuss where you stand with each other…and the feelings rooting around in your heart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I’m a people pleaser at heart, so here’s the next one a bit early! (you guys are great omg thank you so much!)🥹

My current outline has sixteen parts + an epilogue, so seven parts to go! Still undecided if I want to wait around for season two to see if I should pick it back up, or just end it (but I’m so attached to them lol)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: age gap, mild angst, feelings, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, finally some comfort

not beta read

You felt like you had stared at the large red ENTRANCE sign for an hour, but it was likely only a minute. Your heart was in your throat. You still had no clue what you really wanted to say to Michael; nothing felt adequate enough. How could you translate the anger, or the steadfast longing in your chest without crossing them? Without forgoing one and letting it fester?

Did you risk it all on the truth? Did you attempt to find a middle ground in just a friendship? Or would it be better to decide to cut it all off before it got worse? Your stomach rolled uneasily, your anxiety working its way through your chest.

Stepping into the emergency department waiting room, you noted how much busier it was. Frowning, you thought to just turn around and see her PCP, call Michael and apologize. Surely, he should understand.

Your eyes met the registration clerk—Lupe—and she waved you forward, stopping all the thoughts in their tracks. She smiled as you approached.

You pulled the corners of your lips up in greeting.

“I’ll let Dr. Robby know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

You found a seat far off to the side, eyeing several of the other people warily. A good few of them looked far worse than you did, and all you needed were your stitches removed. Guilt worked its way through your system — you really should have kept your PCP appointment and just met Michael somewhere to talk.

It only took a few minutes before Michael was walking out into the waiting room, his face neutral. There was something flickering in his eyes, however, as they searched for you.

When your eyes met, they held steady — an entire ocean of things unsaid sitting between you, the last month of all the anxiety, the longing, the anger, the uncertainty, crashed into that waiting room. The room halted, and grew impossibly silent, your entire world centered on his brown eyes. It felt like meeting his gaze at the cafe all over again but with a knowing this time — just a shred of it, but it made your heart race.

Then he smiled and you finally relaxed.

You stood and walked towards him, ignoring the way several other people complained that you had only just arrived. His eyes centered you and you fought the heat crawling to your cheeks coming from his attention, overthinking each of your movements and trying to school them. You needed to hold onto some of your anger so you didn’t jump into the deep end too early.

There were still so many things you needed to talk about. So many things to figure out.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Robby.” You teased, though it came out clunkier than you had hoped and you internally cursed at yourself.

The corner of his mouth rose higher and he gestured for you to follow after him. You stepped into pace with him, side-eyeing him and trying to calm your racing heart. It was stupid that he could still have this effect on you, even when you were still a bit mad at him.

“Short notice is the name of the game in the Pitt.” He teased back.

Your nose scrunched, “The Pitt?”

He waved his hand to motion to the ER, “I call this place the Pitt. Affectionately, of course.”

You chuckled lightly, “Affectionately? Right, of course.”

He smirked, moving past the main desk and toward a room. The nurse who had helped you last time—Dana—watched curiously as you passed by. You tried to ignore the attention as several eyes glued to the side of your face.

You could see why the waiting room was so packed, there were no beds available in the back. Michael eventually gestured to an open “room”. The only privacy you would be afforded was a curtain. Heat crawled up your back, the kind of feeling where it was obvious you were being watched. You glanced back to the main desk, where several nurses had gathered, and Michael followed your gaze. When his eyes settled on everyone, they dispersed almost immediately.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a room—”

“It’s fine. It’s not like I need to strip.” You said offhandedly, “It’s only my palm.”

His face was red by the time you looked back at him, but he adjusted it quickly and smiled softly. You sat up on the gurney. Michael tapped on the tablet for a few moments, before setting it aside.

“Alright, let me see.” He reached into the inside of his hoodie to grab glasses out of his scrubs pocket.

The black frames sat elegantly on his nose and your brain short circuited. You stared at him dumbly, barely registering his eyebrow raising.

You swallowed thickly, “You wear glasses?”

He blinked, glancing away from your face, “I know, I know. I look like such an old man—”

“No.” You said quickly. “Distinguished. Intellectual. Handsome. Poetic.” Fucking devastating in the best way, in a way that could ruin any restraint I thought I had, you thought before awkwardly clearing your throat, “Definitely not old.”

His ears got red, and his lips gave way for a gentle smile to break through. His eyes avoided you, looking down at the tray table and fussing with a few of the instruments. He moved to get latex gloves on, and you had the fleeting thought that you preferred his skin on yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered huskily as he moved closer to you. He grabbed your palm and assessed it. “It’s healing really well.”

The latex felt like the heavy conversation that needed to happen, keeping you from being skin-to-skin.

“It’s still fuckin’ itchy.” You said, a corner of your mouth quirking up.

Michael laughed, “You’ll still need to keep it covered.”

You scrunched your nose at him, “I was hoping this would be it.”

He shook his head at you, “Not quite. I’ll remove the stitches and then apply some adhesive strips, which you should keep on for another five days. Then bandages will be fine after that.”

You let out a long breath, “Trying not to stretch out my palm has been hard enough for just two weeks. It’s my dominant hand.”

“This shouldn’t hurt at all, but let me know if it does.” He said, bringing surgical scissors to your wound. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be trying to grab knives as they fall.”

You frowned, but an eyebrow raised in amusement, “I’m trying out for a juggling competition. Riskier the item, the bigger the reward.”

He smirked, “Yeah?”

“Totally, but this one guy lit his knives on fire, so I think he wins.”

Michael chuckled lightly, beginning to cut away your stitches, pulling away the pieces. He was right in the fact that it didn’t hurt, but you felt the tugging at your skin that felt odd coupled with the wound itching.

“I definitely don’t think you should be signing up for any competitions for at least a month.”

You faked a scowl, “I suppose I could, on doctor’s orders.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. Neither of you moved for several beats of your heart.

“I don’t know if you’re busy later—”

“Do you want to—”

You stared at each other and each of your lips broke out into a grin.

Michael cleared his throat, looking back down to remove your stitches. “I don’t know if you’re busy later, but perhaps we could get together to talk? We could meet at a more neutral location this time, so you’re not uncomfortable.”

“Talking really wasn’t that great last time.” You said quietly, your stomach knotting together.

Michael frowned, a long breath of air escaping his nose, his eyebrows pulling together while he focused on the task. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

An awkward air swarmed into their space. You became painfully aware of the eyes again, and you not so subtly looked up to find Langdon hovering by a patient in the “room” to your right. A nurse was standing beside him and she avoided your eyes when you looked over at them. Averting your eyes, you tried to focus on Michael’s hands so the embarrassment wouldn’t creep in.

“I think we’re being watched.” You leaned just a bit closer to him, whispering as low as you could.

Michael looked up and then over his shoulder. He spotted the onlookers easily.

“Gossip hounds, the lot of them.” He told you, though not unkindly.

“We should probably talk elsewhere, then.” You said, “To clear the air, of course.”

“Of course.” He echoed, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Your place?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel—”

“No, I think it might be better than trying to have this conversation somewhere in public.” You told him with a small shrug.

He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay. I’ll text you when I leave tonight and you can meet me there.”

“Just promise me something?” You ventured, trying to look into his eyes.

He looked back at you, “Anything.”

“No more hiding. Just honesty.”

“No more hiding.”

—

Michael’s apartment seemed much more daunting than it ever had, even the first time you had been there. The last time you had been in it, you had kissed and then you had fled. What might have changed if you had stayed?

You shook off the what ifs and got into the elevator. Tapping your foot to try to get rid of your anxious energy before you walked in, fiddling with your fingernails. You knew bringing in the nerves with you would suit you ill.

There was still a lingering ache in your heart and your stomach rolled. Realistically, you should have prepped more for the worst, for the “I’m too old for you” and “you don’t want me” or even “this can’t happen”, “I don’t want you like that”. It seized the ache and made it burn — shame, embarrassment bleeding and drowning the shred of hope that was trying to grow.

Knocking on his door, you held your breath. You felt your heart pound against your ribs and you rubbed anxious circles onto your thigh.

His face did little to quell your concerns when he opened the door. He invited you in with a sheepish smile, still in his scrub bottoms but with a new shirt.

You sat awkwardly on his couch while he went to get you a glass of water, desperately trying not to bounce your leg.

Michael walked back into the living room, setting down your water onto a coaster before finally sitting beside you. The silence was crushing, the only sounds coming from your breathing and the hum of the radiators.

“Look, I really just want to apologize for what I said to you. I hurt you and I’m really sorry.” Michael told you softly, and you met his gaze, but struggled to hold it. “It was—it was unfair. More than unfair to throw that in your face. I think very highly of you, actually, and the agreement just kept getting in the way.”

“Getting in the way?” You questioned, “Of what? What you thought about me? That I was just—”

“No, no,” he sighed, “It was making me second guess my own feelings. If they were real. If it was okay. I was getting painfully insecure about it.”

You gave a nod and a pause stretched between you.

“I can’t say what I would or wouldn’t have done without the agreement, or if I ever would have approached you otherwise. We likely still would have never crossed paths, so I have to at least be thankful that we did, despite the circumstances.” You said.

“I just thought—I thought it was one sided, until you kissed me back and—” His voice grew tight, “You ran. It only made me run further from my own feelings. I felt so guilty. I felt like a creep. It wasn’t what we had agreed to and I eventually thought that you were just entertaining me. That it really didn’t mean anything. I wanted to end it to spare myself the humiliation.”

Blinking slowly at him, you digested his words. Feelings. He had feelings. For me.

“I wasn’t entertaining you. I forgot about the agreement sometimes, too. I didn’t really know how to bring it up without sounding like an idiot. Or for you to think I was just being naive. I was trying to save myself the embarrassment when I ran, of it just being a spur of the moment thing or something that didn’t actually mean anything to you. Because it meant something to me. I really wish I did stay, but I can be a coward sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t. I mean…spur of the moment, maybe, but I had thought about it before. I got scared because it meant something to me, too.” He said, voice quiet. “But the agreement made me feel weird about it—”

“Yeah.” You agreed. “It felt like that for me too. But I kept thinking about it every day after that.”

“You’re young—”

“That doesn’t negate my feelings.”

He stared at your face, absorbing your words. “You don’t need to be tied down to an old man like me.”

You shook your head at him, “With or without the agreement, I’m free to make my own choices. About what I want. About…this. About you.”

He watched you closely, eyes flickering across your face. His expression shifted, just slightly, like hope seeped in, his eyebrows raising just slightly. “My life can be a mess. And I’ll be honest in the fact that you can do so much better.”

You frowned, “I won’t beg, Michael, you don’t have to—I—my feelings for you are all out in the open now and I won’t take them back.”

“Okay,” he nodded, rubbing his hands along his pants while he looked away. “I promised I wouldn’t run anymore, so…I’m here. I want to stay. I want to figure out what this is, or could be.”

A breath of relief exited your nose, before you took another breath to steady yourself. “I want to forgive you, and I think I’ll still need some time—”

“—and that’s okay—”

“—but I like this. I want to see where it could go.”

“...you do?” He asked tentatively, eyebrows raising slightly.

You swallowed, your throat growing tight. No more running. “No more agreement. Just two adults…trying to figure it all out.”

“Frankly, I don’t know where we stand without it…the agreement, I mean.”

“We could start fresh,” you offered, sticking out her hand and introducing yourself. Like it was the first time you were meeting.

He glanced at you hand and smiled, taking hold of it with his own, “Nice to meet you. My name is Michael and I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

An easy smile formed, “I’d like that.”

[ Next ]

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

Me being Peter 3: I love you guys😭

[chrissssssmut]

can I request a continuation of yujin classroom 3-B?

CLASSROOM 3-B PART 2

Ahn Yujin x Male OC

AN: Here's Part 2 of the Vampire Ahn Yujin story! Hope yall like this one as much as the first!♥️

PART 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The town forgot Y/N quickly.

At first, there was a flurry of police reports, late-night news segments, and concerned PTA meetings. The school held a memorial in his honor—framed photo on a desk, candles flickering in the gymnasium. Some students cried. Most didn’t. They were too used to it by then.

Another disappearance. Another name whispered, then erased.

But not for me.

I was Kang Doyun. And Y/N was my best friend.

He was the one who laughed at my awful jokes, stayed up late grinding ranked matches with me, and shared every stupid conspiracy theory he uncovered like it was gospel. He was also the one who called me three hours before he vanished.

“Doyun… if I disappear—no. When I disappear—it’s because of her.”

“Who? What are you talking about—”

“Ahn Yujin.”

His voice had trembled. Not with fear—but conviction.

“She’s not human.”

And then the line went dead.

I tried calling back. Dozens of times. Nothing. I messaged him all night. No response.

Two days later, his parents filed a report. His seat was empty. And just like that, Y/N became another one of those names no one dared speak too loudly.

But I wasn’t about to let that be the end of it.

So I did what he would’ve done.

I transferred.

The school hadn’t changed much.

The gates still creaked. The hallways still echoed. The walls still smelled faintly of bleach and dust, like someone always cleaning up a mess they couldn’t quite erase.

I walked into Class 3-B, bag slung over my shoulder, heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

I spotted the empty desk first.

Second row, by the window. Still untouched. Still his.

The teacher barely looked up as she introduced me.

“This is Kang Doyun. He’ll be joining us for the rest of the term. Please be kind.”

Polite clapping. A few glances. Then silence.

I took the seat behind his.

And that’s when I felt it—eyes on me.

I looked up.

There she was.

Ahn Yujin.

Beautiful. Polished. Poised. Like a perfectly carved doll with just a hint of movement.

Her gaze met mine, unblinking.

She smiled.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and sweet. “Welcome to the class.”

I smiled back. “Thanks.”

I held her gaze a little longer than I should have, just to see what would happen.

She didn’t look away.

The first few days, I played dumb.

I took notes. Asked boring questions. Ate lunch alone on the rooftop like some anime protagonist. But underneath it all, I was watching.

Yujin was... magnetic. The way students made space for her in the halls. The way teachers praised her like she was a gift. The way she always knew the answer, but never raised her hand unless called on. Perfect attendance. Perfect scores. But no one ever saw her eat. No one ever saw her leave the building, either.

And every time I asked about Y/N, people froze.

Even the ones who used to be his friends.

It was like a spell—his name didn’t just make people uncomfortable.

It made them afraid.

And Yujin… she started getting closer.

Little things. Passing by my desk, fingers brushing my shoulder like it was an accident. Offering to help with notes I didn’t need. Complimenting my handwriting.

It was subtle. Almost sweet.

Almost.

One evening, I lingered behind after school.

Pretended I forgot a book. Waited until the halls were empty, then followed her.

She didn’t take the main gate.

She slipped through a side exit, across the track field, and into the woods behind the school.

I stayed low, boots crunching softly through fallen leaves.

She didn’t look back once.

Eventually, she stopped in front of a house.

Normal. Modest. Two stories, pale walls, and a flickering porch light.

She opened the door.

Didn’t knock.

Didn’t use a key.

Just walked in like she was the only one who mattered.

I waited ten minutes.

Then I followed.

Her house was wrong.

Not messy. Not haunted. Just... wrong.

Too clean. Too quiet. Like no one had ever lived there.

I crept through the front hallway, stepping over the shoes that weren’t hers, past a photo of a family that looked too faded to be real. I moved toward the back, toward the door that stood slightly ajar.

I pushed it open—

And my breath caught.

Lockers. Just like Y/N described. Real, metal lockers. Labeled with initials.

I saw his jacket first.

Hanging neatly on a hook, like he might return to claim it.

His name tag. His scent. His broken phone.

And something else.

A notebook.

His notebook.

I picked it up, hands trembling. Pages filled with scribbles, notes, theories. Everything he’d learned before he vanished. Diagrams. Maps. Drawings of red eyes.

My name was on the last page.

“If anyone finds this… Doyun, run. Or burn this place to the ground.”

Too late.

Behind me, the door creaked.

I turned slowly.

Yujin stood in the doorway.

Her eyes were glowing.

“Curious,” she whispered, stepping forward. “Just like him.”

My pulse spiked.

“I knew it was you,” I said, backing away. “I know what you did to him.”

“Do you?” she asked, tilting her head. “Because I don’t think you really understand what he was to me.”

Her expression darkened. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“He was special.”

“He was dead,” I growled.

She blinked. Slowly. “Not at first.”

I bolted.

Past her. Down the hall. Toward the door—

She was there.

I didn’t even see her move.

One second she was behind me, the next, in front.

“You can’t outrun me,” she said calmly. “But you can survive. If you stop digging.”

I raised the knife I’d hidden in my sleeve.

“Then kill me,” I spat. “Like you killed him.”

Something flickered in her expression.

Sadness?

No. Hunger.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she whispered. “I want you to chase me.”

And that’s how the game began.

She let me leave that night.

Let me run.

But every time I turned a corner, she was there. Smiling. Watching. Waiting.

In the shadows.

In my dreams.

In the reflection of a train window.

At first, I thought I was imagining it.

Until I found her handwriting on my desk.

“Getting warmer.”

Until I found red petals in my locker.

Until I woke up one night to find her sitting on my windowsill, legs crossed, eyes glowing softly in the dark.

She didn’t move.

Just smiled.

Then she was gone.

It’s been three weeks.

I haven’t stopped running.

I haven’t stopped planning.

She thinks I’m breaking.

She’s wrong.

Because this time, I’m not just some curious kid looking for answers.

I’m the storm she invited.

And I don’t care what she is.

Monster. Demon. Vampire.

I’m going to find her.

And I’m going to make her bleed.

Doyun called it unfinished business.

The forest was silent.

Only the wind stirred the leaves, brushing them against each other like the whispers of ghosts. The moon hovered low, pale and heavy in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing.

Doyun crouched low behind a fallen tree, hands trembling as he tightened the final wire.

Every inch of this place had been prepared. Every snare, every line of salt, every sigil carved with obsessive precision. He’d read every book he could find, hunted through cursed forums, contacted whispering voices online that asked for payment in things he could never repay.

And all of it led to this.

“She’s not invincible,” he muttered under his breath, sweat beading on his temple. “She can bleed.”

At the center of the clearing stood an old wooden chair, its legs soaked in consecrated oil, bolted to a rusted iron plate. Chains hung loose beside it, blessed and etched with runes that bit into the metal like teeth. The ground beneath was a trap circle—a fusion of shamanic binding, Catholic warding, and arcane magic no priest would approve of.

And bait.

A worn photo of Y/N, folded and pinned to the seat.

He waited.

And waited.

The air turned cold.

Leaves rustled—but not from wind.

Then she appeared.

Effortless. Silent.

Ahn Yujin stepped out from the trees, barefoot, her school uniform perfectly neat, like she'd stepped out of class five minutes ago. Her eyes scanned the clearing, pausing when they landed on the photo.

“…Y/N,” she said softly, walking toward the chair.

Doyun didn’t breathe.

Her hand reached out—fingers brushing the picture.

That was the trigger.

The trap exploded around her.

A burst of white fire surged up the circle, and the blessed chains lashed around her limbs like snakes, pinning her to the chair. A high-pitched shriek erupted from her throat, raw and animalistic, as smoke curled off her skin where the runes burned.

Doyun rose from the shadows, stepping into the light with a knife in his hand—curved, silver, glowing faintly with holy symbols carved into its hilt.

Yujin thrashed, veins bulging, red eyes burning bright with fury and pain.

“You,” she hissed. “You planned this.”

“I told you,” Doyun said coldly, walking toward her, “I’m not like him. I came to end this.”

She bared her fangs, snarling—but she couldn’t move. The chains held. The runes flared brighter the closer he got.

Doyun raised the knife, aiming for her heart.

“Goodbye, Yujin.”

And then—

“Wait…”

Her voice cracked.

Different.

Soft.

Like a frightened girl’s.

Doyun froze.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I—I loved him. I didn’t mean to… it was a mistake. Please.”

His grip on the knife wavered.

It wasn’t the monster speaking now.

It was her.

The girl everyone thought they knew. The girl who sat in class with a gentle smile. The girl Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I don’t want to die,” she whimpered. “I’m scared…”

The blade trembled in his hand.

“What… what are you doing?” he muttered, throat tight.

“Please…” she begged, tears sliding down her cheeks, mixing with the blood from her burning skin. “Don’t hurt me…”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

Just one second too long.

Her eyes snapped open—cold and gleaming.

And then she moved.

With a screech of metal and an unnatural jerk, she lunged forward—chains still burning her skin—but her claws reached him first.

They tore through his side, white-hot pain flooding his nerves.

“Gah—!”

Doyun stumbled back, blood gushing from the gash across his ribs. He dropped to the ground, crawling away, vision blurring. The forest spun around him as his body screamed for rest, for escape.

Behind him, Yujin dragged herself free.

The runes weakened. The chains cracked.

She was burned. Bleeding. Limbs twitching. But she didn’t stop.

She crawled after him—gritting her teeth, eyes blazing with hunger and rage.

“You… almost fooled me,” Doyun gasped, inching backward, one arm pressed to his wound.

Yujin was right behind him now. Her breath hit his skin. Her body pressed against his back, teeth grazing his neck.

“I should’ve killed you sooner,” she hissed.

And then—

He twisted.

In his shaking hand, the silver knife flared one last time, the holy blessing activated by her proximity.

He plunged it backward into her chest.

Straight through her heart.

Her scream tore through the forest like a shockwave.

Not just pain.

But betrayal.

Yujin clawed at his shoulder, fangs gnashing—but her strength was already failing. Her body convulsed, dark veins spreading from the wound. Smoke hissed from her mouth. Her eyes—those hypnotic red eyes—flickered.

“…Doyun,” she breathed, brokenly. “I… I could’ve loved you.”

“I’m not here for love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m here for justice.”

She collapsed.

Her body twitched once.

Then fell still.

The light in her eyes faded.

Her skin cracked like porcelain, crumbling at the edges.

And then, Ahn Yujin was no more.

Only ashes remained—scattered by the wind.

Doyun lay there for a long time, blood pooling beneath him, stars spinning overhead.

He closed his eyes.

And for a moment, he swore he could still hear her voice in the breeze.

“You’re mine now.”

But it was only the wind.

Only the silence left behind after a monster dies.

Only the price of vengeance.

[literaryavenger]

DOPPELGÄNGER

Summary: In a universe where Sebastian Stan not only exists but he's also your favorite actor, you swoon for him when you happen to meet him up and about New York one day, having no idea he's not who you think he is.

Pairing: sort of Sebastian Stan x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Misunderstandings. Kind of manipulative Bucky but he's still a sweetheart. Kind of naive and clueless Reader. No mentions of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 3.8K

Requested by: @myfavbuckyfics

A/N: I'd like to thank @myfavbuckyfics for this ask which I had so much fun writing and I'm sorry it came like almost a full year late 😭 Her beautiful idea was basically 100% done, I just wrote it out and the result is just amazing! Also, I promise I'm still working on requests and they're slowly coming. Also, my messages/ask box are always open and I'm always delighted to receive requests to challenge myself with. I'm gonna try harder to find time for writing because it really brings me so much joy, especially when I find people that read and appreciate my work. Thank you to all of you who do!

Masterlist

The first time it happened, Bucky didn’t think much of it.

He’d accepted to go out for a breath of fresh air with Steve for the first time since he joined the Avengers and moved into the Compound and he was a little overwhelmed when a group of girls came up to them, fangirling and asking for photos. 

But Bucky understood, it’s Captain America, he assumed they were just excited to see Steve and asked Bucky to join the photos because he was Captain America’s friend, just to include him. After all, it hadn’t been announced yet that he had joined the team and nobody had any idea that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was back.

Then it started happening when he was alone too. Girls coming up to him and asking for photos with him. But he figured, from what he understood of the internet, that it got around that he was Steve’s friend so people asked for photos with him because it was better than nothing.

But what really puzzled Bucky was when they would call him a name he didn’t recognize: Sebastian. 

That’s how Bucky found out that there was an actor that coincidentally lived in New York too, called Sebastian Stan. Sam and Scott made Bucky watch basically all the man’s movies and, as much as Bucky could agree he was a talented and versatile actor, he didn’t love the fact that they looked so similar. But what could he really do about that? 

So whenever Bucky got asked for photos he would try to politely say they had the wrong person or, if he was in a good mood, he’d just pose for the photos and move on.

You’re out and about in the streets of New York when you spot him: Sebastian Stan. Just standing outside of a coffee shop, like he’s waiting for someone. You didn’t expect him to have hair that long or a stubble like that, but you did read he’d been letting it all grow for the shooting of an upcoming role.

He’s your all time favorite actor since all the way back to 2010 when he starred in Hot Tub Time Machine, but you never thought you’d ever meet him, despite living in the same city. New York is pretty big after all and full of people you’ll never meet.

You debate whether to approach him or not, worried you’re gonna bother him, but then tell yourself you’ll just say hi and, if he feels like it, ask for a photo. 

“Excuse me…” Your soft voice instantly grabs Bucky’s attention, but he keeps looking at his phone just in case it’s not directed at him. “… Sebastian?”

The tentative question annoys Bucky a little, today he’s definitely not in the mood to deal with fangirls, not after he’s been waiting close to two hours for Sam because he’s late. He turns around fully intending to shut this down right now, but the moment his eyes land on you, he feels like his heart stops entirely.

She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you talk again. “Hi, I… I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, and I’m sure you get this all the time, but I’m a big fan and just wanted to say hi.”

God, he thinks it’s so cute how nervous you seem to be as you try to be polite. Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself and he’s talking faster than his brain can comprehend.

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you, it’s always nice to meet a fan.” He gives you a charming smile that makes you giggle and Bucky’s heart flutters at the sound, making him feel like the care-free young man he used to be back in the 40s.

“Could I give you a hug?” You ask shyly, dying to know how it feels to hug him.

“Sure.” Bucky answers a little too eagerly.

What the hell am I doing? I don’t like people touching me.

But Bucky’s thoughts are quickly squashed when you hug him. For a moment he doesn’t know what to do, awkwardly hugging you back, but then it hits him all at once. It’s warm and comforting and it makes him feel something he hasn’t in decades… Peace.

Right there as you pull away he decides, I can’t let her get away.

“Anyway, if it’s not too much to ask, could we take a pi-”

“Do you wanna get some coffee?” Bucky interrupts you, surprising not only you but himself too.

Did Sebastian Stan just ask me to get a coffee with him?

Did I really just ask this girl that thinks I’m somebody else to get coffee with me?

Both of your minds are racing and for different reasons, just staring at each other until you say the one word that makes Bucky both incredibly happy but also incredibly nervous: “Yes.”

Bucky tells himself that it’s okay, it’s just coffee, he’ll tell you the truth after, but the more you talk the more his resolve weakens. 

Talking to you is easy, it makes him feel carefree like when he was a wide-eyed young adult, not fully tainted by the world’s cruelty yet. And it brought out a part of him he didn’t think existed anymore, the part that flirted shamelessly with you the entire time, the part that got a rush of satisfaction at every giggle he got out of you and a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach with every shade of red he managed to make your cheeks turn to. 

It also didn’t help that you gushed over him, recounting every movie and tv show you’ve seen him in and how important each and everyone was to you. Bucky’s knees almost buckled [Bucky buckled lol] at the look of pure adoration in your face, that sparkle in your eye as you looked at him as if he was a real life shooting star in human form.

So he, when the date ends, as the words ‘I’m not Sebastian Stan’ dance on his tongue, what comes out instead is “Can I have your number?”

“Really?” You ask a little incredulous but he’s already taking out his flip phone, weird choice for an actor but okay, and you put in your phone number.

“Uhm, do you… Do you live close?” Bucky asks as he puts his phone back in his pocket. 

“Fairly.” You say vaguely. It’s not like you think he’s a serial killer, but he’s also a man you just met. “I could… Walk you, if you’d like?” Bucky offers, feeling protective over you and wanting to ensure your safety, but also desperately trying to prolong your time together. He just doesn’t want to let go of you.

You hesitate before agreeing, thinking he is a high profiled celebrity after all so there’s no reason to doubt him, right?

You feel like you’ve fallen into a fanfiction [ironic, I know] as you not only met your celebrity crush but he’s flirting with you and asking you out.

And so starts what, for you, is a fairytale romance, while for Bucky is more like a mission, his objective clear: Not let you find out who he really is. At least not yet.

As you keep going on dates and getting to know each other, or more like he gets to know you, Bucky does his best to become the man you seem so enamoured with.

In good trained spy fashion, he does all the research necessary about this Sebastian guy, the first and only time he abused his power at SHIELD to get into someone's personal files, determined to do everything he needs to keep you.

Bucky does the most, going as far as cutting his hair when he sees the actor’s haircut is slightly shorter and carefully planning his missions for times when he knows Sebastian will be away on press tours or shooting or crap like that and, when he doesn’t have missions, he just pretends to be out of town while barricading himself in the Compound, not willing to chance you finding him up and about.

He even gets himself an iPhone, going through the painful process of letting Peter teach him how to use it because the kid is the only one Bucky knew would do so without asking too many questions.

Sometimes he feels bad about lying to you and he considers coming clean, but every time he sees his face he falls more in love with you and he keeps convincing he’ll tell you the truth soon. But that time never comes.

He knows you’re falling too and he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble, not when you look at him with those bright, beautiful eyes full of love that sparkle adorably every time he’s around. He'll be Sebastian Stan forever if it means he gets to see you and be in your life everyday.

Still, he feels too guilty being intimate with you while you’re not aware of who he really is, so he makes a point to never go too far past pecks on the lips, which you accept and reassure him profusely that you’ll go at his pace, waiting patiently like the angel he believes you are.

He’s also aware that if you saw his Vibranium arm you’d immediately know he’s not actually Sebastian Stan, and not only that but he’s scared you’ll be horrified and run for the hills when you see just how broken he is, so he always keeps it hidden. 

You take notice of him always wearing long sleeves and leather gloves, but you don’t say anything about it as you don’t want to embarrass him if it’s about something he feels self conscious about, telling yourself he’ll eventually address the fact himself.

For six months everything goes smoothly, Bucky even manages to impress you with his Romanian skills, which he is more than happy to know get you fairly hot and bothered, but he keeps his promise to himself not to go too far with you until he tells you the full truth, always finding a way to come to you so he can make excuses about work stuff to not stay overnight.

But, as all good things do in his life, it comes the day where it all blows up in his face.

You’re waiting for Sebastian in front of his favorite sushi restaurant where you’re having your date but when he gets there, he almost walks past you without a glance and, thinking he just didn’t notice as he was looking at his phone, you grab his attention.

“Seb.” You walk up to him before he reaches the restaurant’s door and hug him hello, kissing his cheek like always.

Except this time, instead of returning your affections, he almost leaps back away from you. “Excuse me??”

He looks almost panicked as he looks at you like you’re crazy. “Who are you??”

You frown before you realize he’s messing with you. “Oh, nice one, Seba.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Acting like you don’t know me.”

“I’m sorry, are you a… A fan or something?” Sebastian asks confused.

“Are you gonna play the celebrity card on me after six months? Really?” You chuckle.

“Six months? What are you talking about?”

“Come, Sebastian, it’s me.” You sigh and cross your arms, starting to get over his little joke. But you have to hand it to him, he’s a really good actor. “We’re supposed to be on a date here.”

“Look, I don’t know you.” He says in a firm voice that makes you freeze, never having heard it before, you watch him take a step back like he’s afraid of you.

“Seb…” You say weakly, your arms dropping as you’re not sure what’s happening.

“Stop calling me that.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen you before in my life and I certainly don’t have a date with you.” 

I can’t help but feel hurt by his borderline cold tone, feeling tears starting to burn behind your eyes. “I-”

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble,” He cuts you off. “but please stop this distasteful joke or whatever this is before I call the police.”

Just as you’re about to cry out of both hurt and embarrassment all the same, Sebastian turns around to see a man standing behind him with a sheepish look as he avoids your eyes. Bucky.

“Uh, I’m sorry man, that’s my girlfriend. She was waiting for me.” Bucky apologizes to a gaping Sebastan, the actor can’t help but be amazed as he looks up and down at a man that looks so much like him, down to his own haircut. It’s like looking in an all-black dressed mirror.

Bucky keeps his eyes on his more famous version, but it’s not because he’s impressed by the similarities. He’s determined to keep his eyes away from you, his stomach churning so much he’s convinced he might throw up any second.

He saw everything, rounding the corner just as you approached Sebastian Stan. He remained well-hidden, his feet feeling stuck to the concrete as he witnessed the encounter in borderline horror and seriously debated just turning around and running away, but when he saw you were about to cry his protective side got the better of him and he felt the need to step in and save you.

He still can’t look at you though, fearing he might have just lost you for good.

“Wow…” Sebastian pulls Bucky out of his thoughts. “This is… Bizarre.” “It is.” Bucky forces a chuckle. “You can see how she’d be confused. Have a good night.”

Bucky’s quick to dismiss Sebastian as he feels like the more he stands there the more time you have to stew in your confusion and probable anger, and Sebastian doesn’t seem to think much of a man that looks like him with the same name too. Weirder things have happened in New York.

“Yeah, sorry I yelled.” Sebastian apologizes as he opens the door to the restaurant. “Have a good date, guys.”

Once Sebastian is gone, Bucky gathers all his courage just to look at you, the shock on your face clear before you snap yourself out of it and your expression goes blank.

“Who are you?” Is all you say and Bucky almost winces at your low, cold tone.

“I–” He gapes at you, not sure where to even start as the two of you just stand on the sidewalk. He sighs and runs a gloved hand down his face. “Look, I-I know you’re angry, just… Please come inside? Give me a chance to explain?”

You scoff but he starts pleading before you even get a chance to go off on me. “Please, I just want you to hear me out. Just give me a chance to tell you the full truth. You don’t have to say anything and you can leave after, just let me get the words out. Please.”

You hesitate, wanting nothing more than to turn around and run away from what you know is a potentially dangerous situation, but you know deep down that you can never say no to Sebastian, or whoever this is that you’ve spent the last six months falling for.

As you sit down in the furthest, most secluded corner of the restaurant you cross your arms and Bucky, as he told you his name is, tells you everything. And I mean everything.

He decides to tell you his entire history from the start just to paint a full picture, displaying an honesty that he’s never had with anyone, not even his therapist or Steve. But after the way he deceived you for six months and how horrible you must’ve felt during the encounter with the real Sebastian, the least he can give you right now is full honesty.

“... And I know there’s no excuse for what I’ve done, but I was just so terrified, doll.” He sighs, his eyes lowered in shame. “Terrified you’d run, terrified you’d think I’m a monster… I know I went about it in the worst ways, but I started falling for you the moment I saw you and I was so scared of losing you that I tried to do everything I could to keep you around.” You remain stoic the entire time, listening to everything that happened to him hurts deep in your soul but you can’t bring yourself to be sympathetic right now.

The last six months, everything you went through, it was all a lie. You thought you knew who you were falling for, but you were sorely mistaken. Even the cute nickname he calls you that you teased him so much for but secretly loved how adorably old fashioned it is, now feels hollow and just wrong.

When he finishes talking, you let a moment of silence pass between the two of you before you grab your purse, jacket and leave the restaurant without a single word.

Bucky doesn’t even attempt to stop you, after all you held the end of your agreement and listened to everything he had to say. Now all he can do is watch you walk away, knowing he’s lost you for good, the one good thing he ever had, just because he’s an idiot that made all the wrong choices.

A month.

That’s how long you mull things over before you’re ready to talk to Sebas–Bucky again. You went to the Compound with surprising ease but you were met in the lobby by Captain America instead of Bucky, who informed you his best friend had spent the last month wallowing in his apartment in Brooklyn, which you wish you’d known before you drove to the once again surprisingly easy to locate home of superheroes in Upstate New York.

So here you are, knocking at the apartment Steve told you Bucky sometimes resides in when he needs to get away from superheroing.

You almost gasp when he opens the door, your eyes widening at his disheveled state. You thought Steve was exaggerating when he underlined the severity of Bucky’s current mental state, but he was absolutely not.

He has dark circles under his eyes, his beard is unkept, his hair sticking out in odd places and it looks dirty. He’s obviously spent the last month in bed, not bothering to shower or even eat by the looks of it, his eyes red and puffy giving away that he’s done nothing but cry.

“Oh my god, Bucky…” You frown, the entire speech you made in your head on the way flying out of your mind as your concern overrides your anger or logic.

“Doll…” Bucky says quietly, his voice raspy and hesitant as if he’s not even entirely sure you’re actually standing there in front of him.

You stand there for a moment before you sigh. As much as you want to discuss things rationally and maybe even yell at him, I know I can’t when he’s in this state. For better or worse, you did fall for him and you can’t bear to see him like this, so you take it upon yourself to take care of him.

You make your way into his apartment and his eyes follow your movements as you silently take his hand and close the door behind you. Without saying a word, you help him shower, change into clean clothes, order food because he doesn’t have much to cook with and help him organize his apartment as you wait for it to arrive, although he doesn’t actually have many possessions to make an actual mess so it’s mostly just sweeping, dusting and gathering his dirty clothes in the hamper.

You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, he doesn’t look away for more than five seconds at a time, and you can tell he wants to say something but you’re not sure if he even knows what.

The only moment he looks away is when you help him take his shirt off, not wanting to see the horror and disgust he’s certain will be in your face, but to your credit you don’t comment or even react to his metal arm at all or any of the scars on his body, not even the massive one on his shoulder, but what you felt was something more akin to pity.

After you’ve eaten, you take a deep breath and finally turn to him.

“Listen… I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and… What you did was… Beyond wrong.” You say bluntly. “But I also can’t deny that, despite all the lies, I didn’t fall for you because I thought you were Sebastian Stan. I fell for you for all the talks we had, the way you look at me like I’m everything to you, the way you’re so sweet and flirty and cute… And that’s still you.”

For the first time in a month, maybe in seven months, Bucky feels like he can actually breathe. Your words are like a balm to his soul, hearing you say that not only you indeed fell in love with him but you fell because of him, because of the glimpses of who he actually is and not who he was pretending to be, that’s all he needs to hope again, hope that you’re coming around.

“I… I really am so sorry for lying to you.” Bucky says quietly, his eyes wide and hopeful. “And… I know I have no right to ask this, but I need to know… Is there any chance you’d consider giving me a second chance?”

“It’ll take some time for me to forgive you.” You say after a pause. “And even longer because I trust you again… But I think I want to give you a second chance.” Bucky can’t help but beam at that, but you’re quick to give him a pointed look.

“Solely on the condition that from here on out you be honest with me. No more lies, no more secrets. Just complete honesty.” You say firmly and, to your surprise, Bucky agrees with no objections. “I promise, I will never lie or keep anything from you ever again.” He says honestly as he takes your hands in his, touching you with his Vibranium hand for the first time without gloves. “Complete honesty… I’ll always tell you everything. I never want to risk losing you ever again.”

You can’t help but melt at that and sit a little closer to him, leaning in and pecking his lips. “For the record… I don’t think you’re a monster or anything. I think you were a victim of very bad things and you’re incredibly strong for having survived that.”

Your soft words make Bucky’s eyes teary again, although this time it’s for a different reason. He can’t hold back anymore and hugs you tightly, relief flooding through him as you don’t push him away but instead hug him back.

There’s still a long way to go before your relationship is fixed, but, right now in his arms, you can feel it– Forgiving him is the right thing to do.

And what are the chances that, if you work out, you invite Sebastian Stan to the wedding, explaining he’s the reason it all happened and thanking him. And he shows up too.

[stefanmikaleson1864]

Just a little Touch

A/N: Please Bear with me y'all this is my first one in a while so im getting my feet wet again i really hope you all like it and enjoy it ! :)

Tag: @lostinfandoms-butitsokay

Frank Langdon X Reader

Y/N’s POV

Working as a paramedic was something that was kind of sprung on you. You weren’t really sure what you wanted to do with your life.

Then one day while you were stuck at community college you stumbled in a job fair. 

Your now cap was there and he called you over.

He didn’t have a lot of people at his table and he told you he wanted to look like he was being cool and had a following which made you laugh.

He had a table full of medical supplies and fire equipment. It drew you in right away. 

You guys talked for what seemed like hours and it really intrigued you. The thought of being to help someone else in their worst moments. Trying everything you can to make it a little more better. 

You loved your work family they had quickly become more than just a work family and more like a regular family.

They were there for you in every important moment and even every hard moment. 

They always gave you the best advice to and some of it you took and some of it you ignored.

Like one of the pieces you ignored was to not get involved with the Dr’s and the workers in the Emergency rooms. The people you worked with everyday. 

The day you walked into the ER and saw a bright eye brown haired intern on his very first day you knew it was going to be all over for you then. He looked like someone who belonged on TV and not the ER. 

He was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. He looked sheet white and he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. You couldn;t help but just sit there and watch him your eyes were just glued. 

He looked over at you and saw you watching him and smirked over at you

. Damn you got caught is what you immediately thought. When he walked over to you, your stomach felt like a damn zoo it was rumbling all around. 

He walked over and walked right over to your face and just stood right there and followed your eyes with his. 

He just smiled up at you and your cheeks were bloodshot red. You wanted to just run away but your feet were glued to the ground. 

“Hi I’m Frank and who are you” He asked in a cocky voice. 

“I’m Y/N nice to meet you mmm let me guess your the new nurse” You said trying to get under skin. 

Which it clearly worked because he looked slightly annoyed at you. 

“And you, your cleary the new house maid” He said looking up and down at your obvious Paramedic Uniform. 

“I clean up nice but no sadly not the house maid nothing against one of the backbones of the hospital” You said smiling. 

“How nice do you clean up” Frank said in a amusing tone. 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out pretty boy” You said snapping back. 

 “Maybe I would” he said giving you a sly smile. 

**

That conversation was 4 years ago time really does have a crazy way of flying by so fast. By the end of both your crazy long shift that day he asked you out to celebrate his first day which you gladly accepted. 

It was a instant connection between the two of you. Everything just made sense and the world had a way of just standing still when you were with him.

He asked you to marry him a year to the date of you two meeting. 

The bar he rented out and he decorated it and played nothing but your favorite songs he really had a romantic side one that he kept hidden from others.

Working together most people would have found it hard and stressful considering the high stakes jobs the two of you had.

But you guys were like a machine what happened at work stayed there and you guys could always check in on each other throughout the day. 

Which helped more than you both knew. It would always give you that check back in that moment of i can breathe again. 

That’s not to say it could just as much take you away from your work to.

The way you both worried about each other when it was extra hard. A day like today which at first seemed like a normal day. 

But you knew you should never think like that before. It was ending your shift and you were ready to go home.

You were tired and you wanted nothing but take out and to take a long bath maybe alone maybe with your husband if you were nice. 

But life had other plans when you got a mass alert there was a shooter at the pitt fest. Everyone knew then it was all hand on deck and one hell of a night. 

You went straight into work mode not thinking about anything else just clearing your head and putting your entire energy into that call. 

You and your partner had worked together for years so you knew you knew you had a good support to help. 

Once you reached there it was a disaster. Fans screaming and running and workers everywhere.

The other first responders took off full steam ahead. You just dove in feet first.

Hours had passed and you didn’t realize it. You were up to your knees in traumas and just soaked in blood.

Other ambulances had gone to transport but you all stayed on the scene. Knowing you were needed there. 

You didn’t even get a moment to step away and breathe; it was just like an assembly line. One after another, an end not in sight you thought. 

****

Frank’s day was hectic from the start. With a new batch of interns and a med students

. He was busy with the non stop hectic life of the ER. He did get to see you twice today which made it easier. 

He always loved the sight of you the slight touch of his arm or even being able to lay eyes on you was plenty good enough for him. 

His day was also winding down to a close and he was grateful. His headspace was pretty much the same as yours a nice easy relaxing night. 

But then just like that fate stepped in and crushed it.

When he heard about the incoming Mass casualty event his first thought was why, and how where they going to keep up.

But once those thoughts went away he thought about you. 

He knew you were going to be there of course you were. It was your job but still the pit of his stomach couldn’t settle and his nerves felt like it was going to burst out of every part of his body. 

He took a moment while everyone was getting ready to step into the quiet of the breakroom.

He got some coffee and sat down. He pulled out his phone buzzing already with the news of what happened. 

Nothing from you which made him even more worried. He pulled up your name and sent a “ I love you” simple but with all the heart and love behind it. 

Before he put his phone away he just looked at a picture of the two of you. It was his lock screen and it was taken at the beach.

The two of you that you made him take glowing in the sun and not a care in the world. He would give anything to be there with you in that moment. 

Just as he put his phone away the first trauma rolled through and he quickly got up like a solider heading into battle. 

Just like your night hours had gone by but unlike you he noticed. He kept looking over at the door and just hoped and prayed he would get a quick look at you.

But nothing and every hour that had gone by he felt more and more anxious and sick. 

His co workers noticed and they wanted nothing more than to comfort him but they couldn’t right now and they all wanted to , they all wanted to check in with their families but they also knew his situation was different. 

They knew you were in an active dangerous situation right where the shooter was.

They couldn’t even begin to imagine the extra burden to carry along with everything else they were already dealing with. 

Frank was in between at the patients at the moment. Just got done with one and was headed over to the next one. 

He took the moment to step around with the hopes he would catch you or at least anyone who worked with you. 

He walked all around the ER and couldn't even make it outside without being called back by someone. He was hopeful everytime he did his laps.

But nothing and the pitt in his stomach just kept growing and the tiny little fire in his brain and he couldn’t put it out. 

He just wanted to run to the locker room and grab his stuff and go to you. Every muscle in his body was pushing and pulling him that way.

DR Robby just happened to look up at the young resident. He wanted nothing to go over there and comfort him. He was running all around sweat dripping.

He was also shaking a little dog who got caught in the rain

Franks face was also showing everything he was feeling. Fear, Sadness, Loss and worried shitless.

He knew nothing he would say would make this better though and that’s what killed him. He was supposed to the person everyone could rely on.

He also even debated on sending him home but he could't it was rude it was wrong but he needed the help he could't afford to loose him.

The best thing he thought was the power of distraction it was the only weapon he had.

“Frank we got a incoming over here he’s got a GSW to the chest, bleeding and he’s gonna need a crank you got it” Robby yelled out. 

Frank shook his head a moment and then looked over at robby and just shook his head yes and dove right into the patient. 

Frank knew though that no news was also the best news. That if you weren’t being rolled in here on a stretcher or he wasn’t being pulled aside by a man in a white collar shirt you were okay. 

That’s what he told himself that’s the only thing that was given him a tiny piece of comfort.

He desperately right now just craved your touch. He would give anything to hear your voice in the hall with a upcoming trauma.

A touch of the arm to let him you were there. 

He pushed all that down that for the moment. His patients needed him, his team needed him and he needed the best possible DR for them. 

Frank tried he really did, he though the was doing an okay job at hiding everything.

He was knee deep into patients and he just went one after another. But now it was gearing towards the end. 

The fire in his brain though it just kept growing along with the pitt in his stomach. It felt like it was over taking him. Like he couldn’t breathe. 

The weight was just to much for the young resident to bare and he didn’t know how he was going to keep from breaking. 

They finally said no more traumas and everyone felt like they could finally breathe for the first time since the shift began.

Frank was sitting at the Nurses station his head in his arms just needing to close his eyes for a moment. 

He didn’t even notice Dana had walked over and placed a hand on his back and started rubbing small circles on his back. 

“Hey you okay need to sit down a sandwich maybe” Dana asked in her usual mothering tone. 

“No No im good” Frank said. Not even being able to lift his head up the thought seemed like it might kill him at the moment. 

Dana walked in front of him and she knew what was really going on but she didn’t wanna bring it up and upset him.

She knew he just needed a moment and he would be okay. Of course he would and you would be to. 

“Hey why don’t you get some fresh air Nurses orders” She said smiling at him and gently pushing him off the nurses station. 

He took the hint and got up taking him arms and stretching them behind his head.  He just sighed and walked away she was right he always was. 

He walked out and didn’t say anything to anyone. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders

. At one point he didn’t even know if he was going to make it outside. 

Once he did the fresh air felt amazing. Just being able to feel the fresh air in his lungs and his skin was free was from the hospitals cold demeanor. 

He sat down on the bench his feet were crying out in pain. He didn’t even care though, he just kept scanning the parking lot.

Every time a ambulance pulled up and it wasn’t you it was like someone was taking his heart and stomping all over it. 

He kept checking his phone to. Nothing which now was getting him worried.

No more traumas no more cases why couldn’t you have taken a moment to text or call. So he took the initiative and called and of course nothing. 

He didn’t even notice his hands were shaking until he brought down the phone from his face.

He felt a overwhelming simulation in his body and he just had to get up and walk around. His whole body was just shaking and he couldn’t stop it. 

Everyone around him was just passing him by all running on nothing if it was any other day the strangers outside would have stopped him but today it looked normal. 

He couldn’t even take it anymore it was just thoughts and thoughts passing through his brain. Certainly the worst had happened and they were backed up in letting him know. 

He thought about what he wanted to say to you one more time. He loved you,

he was grateful for you. He wanted to smell your signature scent, he wanted to kiss you softly and even hard. 

Running all around he thought he was going to pass out he could feel it.

His knees were shaky and he couldn’t breathe and he was still shaking all over

. He had no choice but to just sit on the ground and try and center himself. 

His head was in his lap and he was just self soothing at this point. The noises around him had gone silent. 

When suddenly a warm familiar hand touched him. It instantly pulled him back to earth and he didn’t even need to look up and see who it was. 

He lifted his head up so fast he stood immediately on his feet. His blue eyes matching yours and he couldn’t even control the weight of his body. 

He just grabbed on to you and pulled you in tight. He didn’t say a word he barely looked at you. He crushed you but you either could care less. 

For the first time in 4 hours he took his first breath all nigh and god it felt good. 

“I love you , I love you”. Was all Frank kept saying it was all he could get out. 

God he needed this , God he needed you

**

Y/N POV

God the night was a absolute mess.

No matter what you did you couldn’t even take a moment to process everything that was happening.

It was like you were in override mode. You thanked god for adrenaline because otherwise you would be dead right now. 

You were assigned to stay on the ground it was all hands there. There was some ambulances 

That was taking patients but there was an overflow of people who could be treated and the scene was too unstable to move right away. 

The hours were long but fast it felt like they were also just flying by to. You thought about Frank nonstop.

You were wondering how he was handling the Pitt.  You knew the trauma he was dealing with and you needed him so damn bad. 

Just to be able to hear his voice and to touch him. Your body longed for him and it was like you were missing a big part of yourself. 

Finally after 4 hours of being there you all were released to go. You asked for your partner to drop you off at the hospital.

Your anxiety through the roof the whole time. Not knowing how frank would be. 

When the ambo pulled up you saw him sitting on the ground shaking and your entire heart broke.

You barely came to a complete stop when you opened up the door and ran out. 

You ran over to him placing a hand on his arm. He didn’t even look up he just jumped so fast which scared you a bit but then he pulled you in tight.

He was holding you so close that if he let go you were going to be gone. 

You didn’t say anything though you both needed it so you nestled right back into him.

The strong scent of the hospital just laid all over him like a coat and it usually bothered you but today it didn’t. 

You both stayed like that for a while.

When you pulled apart he didn’t waste any time before he leaned in and kissed you hard.

You felt the butterflies entering your stomach for the first time all day you felt at peace. 

After the kiss broke you placed your hand on his face. And he leaned into it 

“Hey come on let’s go home im starved and i need a long bath” You said. 

“How about Chinese and we soak and eat at the same damn time” He said 

“There is no where else I would rather be” You said. 

You walked into the parking lot over to his car and waited for him to gather his stuff and come out. 

When he did he ran over to the car like he was afraid he was going to be dragged back in. 

You both got in and he instantly grabbed your hand and squeezed it. He speed off fast and you melted into the seat closing your eyes. 

His touch soothed you so much the one you craved all day was finally here. God you loved him and you were so grateful on nights like these you had him. 

He thought was thinking the same damn thoughts about you. How lucky was he to have you by his side days like this he needed his best friend. 

You both knew how lucky you were to be going home together to be able to say those words to feel this moment. 

[bearstamp]

short carcar drabble inspired by Carlos wanting to be invited to the padel game that Alex had with Oscar

It’s embarrassing, Oscar thinks, the way he chases after Carlos. The way he always finds a way to bring him up in the media. It’s embarrassing, the way people have noticed. He knows about Carlos’s cycling, knows about his Loreal partnership before others, the way he picks Carlos for his fake F1 fantasy team.

It’s embarrassing because Carlos does not do the same. He talks and never asks, and then later pretends to be upset for not knowing. 

Carlos tells him about Loreal but Oscar does not tell him about his burger deal. Oscar picks Carlos for his fake fantasy team and Carlos doesn’t pick him. Carlos calls him “The McLaren”, Oscar calls him Carlos or Sainz. 

They are friends now, Oscar thinks. Shared plane rides and conversations in the paddock. They even text sometimes, about tennis, about Lando, about anything really. As long as Carlos texts Oscar responds. 

Oscar tries really hard to keep all this normal. He thinks he's doing a great job, with the way people believe him expressionless and all. Oscar would disagree, say he has plenty of expressions, plenty of reactions. Maybe he tampers it down around Carlos, but so often that embarrassing fascination peaks through. 

The biting words when they collide on track. The “heart-eyes” Piastri face he made when Carlos photobombed the McLaren picture. The small smile he gave Carlos when they were both lying on that press-couch in Monaco before tapping Carlos’s feet with his own. 

The point is it's embarrassing how much Oscar cares. How he can’t seem to keep Carlos’s name out of his mouth, almost begging for attention. 

So it surprises him after. After the Bahrain GP, Oscar finished first, a whole 15 seconds ahead of George, even more ahead of Lando. He’s ecstatic, now second in the WDC standings. He knows this wasn’t a good race for Carlos, a DNF, the ending to a trying race. 

So, it surprises Oscar, when Carlos shows up in front of Oscar’s hotel door, the number he had given him sometime earlier in the weekend. He opens the door to an annoyed Carlos, eyes creased and lips pouting. Oscar tenses, on guard. Usually when Carlos looks at him like that Carlos believes Oscar fucked up his race, but that was impossible, how far there cars were, never a change to meet. Not a magnetic pull but instead a negative charge repelling them. 

Oscar opens his mouth, about to ask Carlos why he’s here, but before he can Carlos charges ahead. 

“Why did you not invite me to padel?” Carlos says, accusatory, frustration in his tone. 

It throws Oscar off, both physically and mentally. He flinches, surprised. Nothing to do with his race, but instead the padel game he played with Lando, Alex, and Mark.

“What…?” 

Carlos flushes, a blush over his cheeks. He ducks his head down as if embarrassed. As if realizing that maybe this could’ve been a text, or something Oscar saw clipped on twitter two days later, instead of an impromptu appearance at Oscar’s hotel room, demanding to know why he was not invited. 

He looks up, eyes level equal to Oscar’s but not making eye-contact. Darting around the edges of Oscar’s face as if Oscar will be tricked into thinking Carlos is looking at him. 

“You went to padel with Lando and Alex. I like padel. You could have invited me. We could have been a team.” Carlos explains, voice tripping over his words, trying to explain himself. “I thought we were friends now, you know. And I’m good at padel really, and Alex says your bad so–”

Oscar cuts Carlos off with a hand landing on Carlos’s arm, a soft grab, pulling Carlos out of his ramble. “Carlos, we are friends. I was invited by Alex, and I thought he invited you, until he asked me to invite someone the day before. I didn’t know if you would want to go, and I knew Mark was free, that’s all.” 

It’s earnest, Oscar’s response. He would’ve invited Carlos. Almost did in fact, stared at Carlos’s contact for a good fifteen minutes before asking Mark instead. Asking Carlos felt too much like begging for Oscar. To much like revealing his hand, that somehow a padel invitation from Oscar would reveal Oscar’s feelings for Carlos to the man. 

“I should’ve asked you.” Oscar says, forcing Carlos to make eye contact with him. “I wanted to ask you..really..I just didn’t want to bother you.” Now Oscar joined Carlos in the blushing, his ears red with this minuscule confession. Oscar now is the one drawing his eyes away from Carlos, looking past Carlos’s right ear, at the cream wall of the hallway of the Hilton. “...I didn’t know if you would want to go if I was the one asking.” 

That's the crux of it really. Oscar can be as confident and self-assured as any other driver within his car, in the engineering room. But here, navigating feelings, Oscar falls short. An ever-existing inability to make himself known or even to understand others. 

“No, no, no” It’s now Carlos who grabs Oscar’s arms, his head shaking, Oscar’s grip having fallen sometime during the conversation. “I want you to ask. I want to hang out with you…I…I want to know you Oscar.” 

Oscar suddenly, is eternally grateful there are no cameras around to film there conversation, because he is definitely giving Carlos heart-eyes at full force right now. 

“I want to know you too Carlos.” 

[bvrnesher]

Hey!! I just stalked all of your jason grace fics and omg they’re all so wonderful!! I was wondering if i cohld request some headcanons for jason grace and a daughter of hades/pluto? sfw and nfsw if you’re comfortable? if not don’t even worry i will take whatever you feel comfortable with writing cause i love how you characterize him in your fics/headcannons! thank you so so much and no rush 🫶

❝ Jason x Hades child ! ❞ ― jason grace !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

summary: jason grace x child of hades/pluto (both sfw and nsfw) ! dating/sex

— ✦ pairing: jason grace ! hades/pluto reader.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ SFW ㅤ

Jason is intrigued before he’s even in love. You’re not loud or flashy, but something about you lingers—like the moment after a thunderstorm, like silence that means something. He notices the way people pause around you. The way you hold space. The way your gaze is quiet, not cold. And he wants to know more.

You make him feel safe without even trying. It’s not that you’re overly nurturing or soft—it’s that your presence is anchoring. When Jason’s mind spirals—when he’s overwhelmed by expectations or the weight of his title—you’re the one who grounds him. One sentence from you, one glance, and it’s like the storm settles.

He’s the sunshine. You’re the shelter. He’s warm and golden and kind, always smiling for everyone else. But you? You don’t need him to perform. You’re the one person he doesn’t have to be "okay" around. You don’t demand vulnerability—you just make space for it. And that changes everything.

You’re both more alike than people assume. People expect you to be cold, just like they expect him to be perfect. But Jason has his quiet edges, his pressure points, his cracks—and you have your dry humor, your loyalty, your love for the little things (grave flowers, quiet walks, warm drinks). You get each other.

Jason notices every soft thing about you. The way you hum when you're distracted. How your lips curve in this barely-there smile when you’re amused. The careful way you close doors. You’re the daughter of death—but to Jason, you’re life in every small, specific way.

He’s a little in awe of your power—but not afraid of it. You could summon ghosts, split the earth, send nightmares running—but Jason sees the way you carry that strength like it’s a responsibility, not a weapon. He respects it. He respects you. That quiet reverence runs deep.

You have a secret soft spot for his dorky charm. When he smiles too wide, when he gets flustered and rambles, when he brings you flowers he clearly picked in a panic before meeting you—it melts you. You act unbothered, but your heart’s doing somersaults.

You’re very still. He’s always in motion. So sometimes, he lays his head in your lap just to be near your calm. You run your fingers through his hair while he talks through battle plans or childhood memories or nothing at all. And when he falls asleep there? You let him. Every time.

You balance his guilt. Jason carries so much of it—failed missions, fallen friends, mistakes he blames himself for. You don’t try to “fix” it—you just sit with it. A quiet, comforting presence beside him. And slowly, with you, the weight gets a little lighter.

Dates with you are simple—but unforgettable. Stargazing on rooftops. Reading together in the library. Sharing silent walks through the forest or the Underworld garden you tend. No noise, no pressure—just two souls finding comfort in each other’s company.

When he’s with you, Jason feels known. Not as a hero, not as a son of Jupiter, not as a leader—but as himself. You see through all the layers. And the fact that you stay, that you choose him—not for who he’s supposed to be, but who he really is—that means more than he could ever say.

Your first kiss doesn’t come after a battle—it comes after a quiet moment. Maybe you’re sitting by the fire after curfew, sharing warm drinks, just existing in that soft silence the two of you fall into so easily. Jason’s telling you something real—not dramatic, just personal—and he turns to look at you like he always does: steady, gentle. And something in you just clicks. You lean in. He meets you halfway. The kiss is slow, careful, like neither of you want to startle the moment. When you pull back, he smiles—really smiles. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The first time he sees you laugh—really laugh—he falls a little harder. You rarely show that full, open emotion. So when something catches you off guard and you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth, Jason just stares, stunned and totally in love. You tease him for it. He denies it. But later, when you're alone, he admits, “That sound could raise the dead.”

He’s fiercely protective—but never possessive. Jason is used to being the shield, the sword, the protector. But you? You’re capable. Powerful. So his protectiveness shows up in other ways: bringing you tea when you forget to eat, brushing snow from your shoulders after a quest, standing quietly beside you when someone’s trying to intimidate you—just being there without taking your agency away.

You wear his hoodie. He wears your ring. You love the way his oversized Camp Half-Blood sweatshirt smells like cedar and ozone. He never takes off the obsidian ring you gave him—even if it’s lowkey enchanted to keep spirits away. “You just want me safe,” he says, rolling it on his finger. “That’s enough for me.”

You two are the definition of the 'silent understanding' couple. You’ll catch each other’s eyes across a crowded camp event and know exactly what the other is thinking. Jason’s the only one who can read your “I’m overstimulated and need to leave” look; you’re the only one who can spot his “I need help but won’t ask” face. One raised brow from you, one tiny nod from him—that’s all it takes.

He gets along surprisingly well with your Underworld aesthetic. Jason didn’t think he’d be into bone rings and black lace until he saw them on you. Now? He’s helping you shop. “This one’s cute,” he says, holding up something dark and dramatic with zero shame. You arch an eyebrow. “Cute, huh?” “Terrifying. But cute.”

You kiss like it’s sacred. Not in a performative way—in an intentional way. Your hands on his face, his arms around your waist, his body leaning into yours like this is the only thing that matters right now. And when he murmurs your name between kisses? You melt. Every. Time.

He introduces you as “his favorite person.” It makes you blink. No dramatic “girlfriend,” no title-dropping “daughter of Pluto,” no possessive “mine.” Just: “This is my favorite person.” You tease him about it for weeks. You love him for it forever.

He has dreams about you before he admits he loves you. They’re always small: you sitting beside him, reaching for his hand, pulling him into warmth. When he wakes up, heart pounding, he knows. The next day, you’re sitting beside him like nothing’s changed. He says, quiet and breathless, “I think I’m in love with you.” And you just smile, like you’ve been waiting for him to catch up.

You show affection through actions—he shows it through words. You fix his armor. You brush hair from his face when he’s resting. You carry an extra water bottle just in case he forgets. Meanwhile, Jason is out here calling you “gorgeous” and “love” like it’s your name. He’ll hold your hand in public without thinking. Whisper soft affirmations when you’re lying together, half-asleep. “You make me feel like I can finally breathe.”

Your relationship is built on earnest trust. You let him see the parts of you that feel too heavy for anyone else. The darkness. The fear. The grief. And Jason? He listens. He stays. He doesn’t try to fix it—just holds your hand and says, “I’m right here."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ NSFW

He shouldn’t want you this much—and that makes it worse. You’re power wrapped in darkness. Ancient blood in your veins. The very opposite of everything he was trained to worship. And yet? Every time you touch him, every time you look at him like you could drag his soul to the Underworld… he gets harder than he’s ever been.

Jason is such a service sub and he doesn’t even realize it. He’ll start with his usual confidence—pressing you to the wall, whispering that he wants to take care of you—but the second you grab his jaw, tilt his chin up, and say “On your knees, storm boy,” he obeys like it’s instinct. Lightning cracks in the distance. His pupils blow wide. His knees hit the ground. How could he ever deny you something like that?

Your aura turns him on. The cold that follows you. The faint scent of cypress and pomegranate. The way your eyes glow like the River Styx when you get possessive. He acts unaffected—straight back, tight jaw, ever the soldier—but when you touch him? His breath hitches, and his cock twitches like it knows what's about to happen.

He lives to worship you. Slow kisses on your thighs. Hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to keep from floating away. He’ll eat you out like it’s sacred—eyes closed, lips soft, moaning into you like your pleasure is prayer.

He gets rough when you let him lose control. You tug his hair, whisper “Show me what that Roman training taught you,” and suddenly he snaps. He pins your wrists above your head, growling “I’ll give you everything.” And he does—thrusts punishing, kisses bruising, your name a mantra on his tongue.

He’s got a hand kink. Your rings. Your long, cold fingers wrapping around his throat. The way your thumb brushes his bottom lip before you push it into his mouth and say “Suck.” Jason whines. You find his hand in yours after the fight, during missions, before bed—and you know: this boy is yours.

Aftercare is holy. Jason craves your softness after the chaos. Your lips at his temple. Your hand on his chest, grounding him. He needs to feel your power in quiet ways—your arms around him while his body still trembles, your voice calling him baby like it’s the only thing that matters. His world narrows to you, every time.

He has recurring dreams about you in full god-mode. Crown of bone. Voice like velvet death. A trail of spirits at your heels as you beckon him to kneel. He wakes up panting, cock straining against his shorts, and the next time he sees you, he can’t meet your eyes—because, aww, he's too flustered for that.

He lets you mark him. Teeth at his neck. Fingernails down his back. A faint bite over his heart.

Jason adores the power struggle. One second he’s slamming you onto the bed with lightning crackling in his fingers—and the next, he’s begging beneath you, your hand in his hair, your voice a promise: “You’ll never leave me, will you?” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Never. I’m yours.”

You don’t overpower—you unnerve. There’s something about the way you watch him when he’s talking, or the way your hand drifts low on his back when you’re alone. It’s not forceful—it’s the slow, creeping certainty that you want him, that you’ll take your time getting there, and that when you do? He’ll be wrecked.

You make Jason work for it—but not in a teasing way. You’ll kiss him until he’s breathless, pull away, and just look at him like you’re not done yet—but he has to ask. And gods, he does. A soft “please” against your throat, his fingers tightening on your hips, his forehead pressed to yours while he breathes out, “I need you.”

You don’t need to be loud to be in control—you guide. Tilt his chin up with two fingers. Slide onto his lap with slow, deliberate confidence. Say “Stay still.” Not because you’re demanding it—because he wants to. And when he whimpers, when he bucks his hips despite himself? You just smirk and whisper, “I said still, baby.”

You like making him flustered. Not humiliated—just undone. You pull him close, mouth at his ear, and say the filthiest things in your softest voice. Tell him how good he makes you feel. How hard he is for you. How pretty he looks when he’s this desperate. He hides his face in your neck and moans like he’s praying.

You match his intensity—not with force, but focus. Eye contact that doesn’t break. Movements that are deliberate and intimate. Sex that feels like a shared language—one where you both speak in touch and tension and want. He’s used to being in control. With you? He surrenders because he chooses to.

You don’t shy away from mess, from need. You kiss him through the whines. Grip his hands when he grabs at you. You ride the moments when he’s too overwhelmed to think. And when he looks up at you with dazed, wide eyes like you’ve ruined him? You just say, “You can give me one more.” And he does.

[jeanscowgirl]

don't try this at home.

toji fushiguro x reader, modern au, toji has the same job, reader should NOT be doing this, toji fushiguro x widow!reader

warnings: smut, mentions of death, mentions of exes, mentions of murder, modern au, fingering, oral b!receiving, penetration, hair pulling, brat reader for a second, dom! toji, idk what else, this is kind of crazy

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You didn’t wanna get back into the dating scene after your husband was brutally murdered. The case was never solved. you never found out who took away the love of your life.

Your friends badgered you about going out and meeting guys, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of it. Which led one of your friends to create a dating profile FOR you.

They set up the entire Tinder profile for you adding whatever pictures they thought looked the best. According to them you got a few matches but you didn’t care. You wanted nothing to do with it.

Until…

One night, you had just gotten home from being out with your friends. You were drunk. So, you logged into the Tinder account using the email and password your friends had given you.

There were a few messages, all weird pick up lines that you didn’t care to answer. You scrolled through your matches, wondering why your friends would even swipe right on some of these guys. Then, a new message appeared.

Toji Wow, you’re gorgeous sweetheart

You cringed at the nickname. You don’t even know this guy. But, you were drunk so you decided to entertain him.

Y/n Thank you, you’re not too bad yourself.

You clicked on his profile.

He was not bad at all. He was gorgeous. Black hair, great body, tall. The list could go on.

Another message.

Toji What’re you up to?

You responded to the message, and kept responding. You didn’t want to admit it but you really were enjoying talking to him.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

After about a week of talking to Toji, he had asked you on a date. You thought about it, you really did. But, you still couldn’t bring yourself to say yes.

That didn’t stop him though. He continued to talk to you every day. He seemed to genuinely care, he seemed really interested.

Another week or two later, Toji asked again.

You agreed.

You both decided on a casual restaurant, nothing too fancy. You wore jeans and a nice shirt, cute but comfy.

You were terribly nervous, you hadn’t done anything like this since the death of your husband. But, it had been three years and maybe it was time to explore just a little bit.

When you arrived, you saw him sitting at a table already. He was even more attractive in person.

You sat down, introduced yourself and then you both immediately hit it off.

He was funny, kind of blunt, and super flirty.

You both asked questions about each other and the date was going well. Then you decided to be a mood killer, “I should probably tell you just before you get too comfortable, I’m a widow. My husband was killed three years ago,”

Toji kind of stared blankly, “Oh. I- Uh,”

“Wow, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought that up. I just wanted to warn you,” Punching yourself internally for bringing that up on the first date.

“No, no. I’m sorry for your loss, what was his name?” Toji asked.

“Alec Kylan”

Toji dropped his fork and just stared at you.

You stared back, confused at his reaction, “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard to deal with.” Toji manages to get out.

Unbeknownst to you, you had just named one of the many people Toji had been sent to kill.

He didn’t tell you that though. He just continued on with your date as usual.

The date went well before you decided to go your separate ways for the night, both agreeing to go on a second date soon.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･

A few weeks and a few dates later, you’re sitting on Toji’s couch in his apartment.

You’re cuddled up next to him in shorts and a t-shirt. Some show is on the TV, you’re barely paying attention.

Tojis hand is on your thigh, just caressing you. You’re getting turned on by this simple touch and Toji takes notice of your slight squirming.

He moves his hand closer up your thigh, to the hem of your shorts. He tugs at them and looks at you, asking for permission to take them off.

You look up at him and give him a nod. Instead of proceeding though, he chuckles and stands up.

He reaches a hand out to you, and as you go to grab it, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder.

With one arm wrapped around your torso, he carries you to his bedroom and throws you onto his bed. Yes, throws you.

“Take em’ off”

You don’t listen.

He scoffs, “Alright have it your way.”

He takes off the shirt that was hugging his muscles perfectly to reveal the most built body you have ever seen. He climbs on top of you, hovering.

He leans down to start kissing down your neck while messing with the t-shirt you refused to take off. With no warning, he bites down on your neck softly, definitely leaving a mark. The sudden feeling causes you to let out a small whimper which makes him smile against your skin.

He lifts up your shirt, “No bra? Knew you were gonna want this,” pulling it off of you completely.

Staring at your bare chest for maybe a second, he leans down to start kissing you all over again.

Starting at your boobs going all the way down your stomach. He finally reaches the waistband of your shorts. And with no warning, he takes them off in one motion.

Toji’s mouth immediately on your pussy, wasting no time. Eating you out like he has never eaten a meal in his life.

“F-fuck Toji calm down!”

This makes Toji do the exact opposite. He plays with your tits with one hand and with the other, he inserts two fingers into you.

“Oh my god, please”

He doesn’t slow down. He is pumping his fingers into you at an insane pace. You’re almost crying from the pleasure.

He pinches your nipples earning another moan out of you.

Sucking your clit and still fingering you, you were on the verge of cumming, and it's almost like Toji knew.

“Toji, please I-”

He pulls his fingers out, “Not yet, doll” He puts the same fingers into his mouth, licking off your juices.

You can see his bulge through the grey sweatpants he’s still wearing. He takes notice of this and slightly laughs, taking them off. His cock is huge, bigger than you were expecting.

He’s standing up but points to the ground, “Come here,”

You don’t listen. Again. Strike 2.

He grabs you by the hair and forces you to look him in the eyes, “Come on, don’t be a brat sweetheart,”

He lets go, and tries again.

You kneel in front of him, “Suck,”

You spit on his cock before putting it into your mouth.

“Fuck baby, you’re good at this,” he moans.

He grabs the back of your head, but doesn’t push.

You take more of him, moaning around his dick.

“Good girl, fuck you’re so good,”

His hands in your hair, this time he does push, making you gag, but that just turns him on even more.

Controlling your movements from the back of your head, moaning more profanities at you.

“Nnngh- I’m gonna fuck- Im gonna cum baby,”

And he does, in your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You do.

“Good girl, get back on the bed.”

You listen again.

He flips you over, your back facing him.

He’s holding your hips, rubbing up and down the sides of your body. You’re getting antsy though. You try to scoot back into him, hoping to get what you want.

SMACK

“Wow, needy slut huh? Can’t go a few minutes without something inside ya?”

Another, SMACK

“Was just tryna appreciate your body Ma. So fucking impatient,” And with no warning at all, he slams his cock into you.

“FUCK!”

“Yeah? You asked for that doll, sorry”

He is fucking you so good, you have never been fucked so good.

Nope, not even by your late husband.

“Damn sweetheart, pussy was made for me and me alone,”

His cock is stretching you out. He’s hitting your cervix. He is doing everything right.

“Toji, you feel so good, please,”

“Please what baby?”

You’re a whimpering, moaning mess.

“H-harder,” You say in between broken sobs

He listens.

He starts pounding into you at an inhumane pace. You can’t take it.

He pulls your hair back, forcing you to look at him.

“Who’s fucking you so good, huh?”

“Y-you T-toji!”

“That's right Ma, not that silly ex husband of yours right?”

“N-no!”

That was odd to say…

He lets go of your hair, your face no longer looking at his.

“That's why I killed that son of a bitch.” He mutters under his breath.

You weren’t sure if you heard him correctly. He was fucking you too good for you to notice. Besides, he couldn’t have been the killer…right?

It doesn’t matter, you can’t think. Toji is pounding into you so hard, you can’t think straight.

“T-toji, I ah think I’m getting close,”

“Cum for me sweetheart,”

And you do, you cum so hard, the best orgasm you maybe ever have had.

Coming down from your high, Toji pulls out of you gently.

He grabs a towel to clean the both of you off.

“Toji, what was that you said uh a few minutes ago?”

He continues wiping the both of you, “What do you mean?”

“Uh, did you say something about my ex husband?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about doll,”

He lies down next to you, kisses your forehead, opens his arms for you to lie in them, and then quickly falls asleep.

You had no idea you had just been fucked by and now lying in the arms of the same man who killed your husband.

[object-show-opinions]

how do you feel about pin in bfdia? :3

*neck snaps* is that an excuse to talk about my favorite character of all time I hear!?

Pin, Pin, Pin, Pin, Pin, Pin. How the mighty have fallen.

This gets to be a little complex, so I’m going to start at BFDI, where everything began.

A thing I noticed from even the first episode is that Pin isn’t very observant, like, at all. She doesn’t seem to be purposefully mean, she just does what she wants even if people get mad.

She seems especially oblivious to the other objects’ opinions of her. Despite being the leader, and very confident in her abilities, the others are happy when she gets out, and Pin is hurt. This, I feel, leads into her realizing that no one really likes her. She’s been pushing people away, and hasn’t been a true leader, and she wants to be a good leader, even if she doesn’t seem to look like it.

So BFDIA happens, and Team No-Name immediately kick her out. While this does lead to her meeting Coiny and becoming best friends, this still does affect her.

We see again how she doesn’t really think of the consequences of her actions with how she accidentally stabs Puffball Speaker Box. While she was trying to kill Leafy, she doesn’t really understand why Puffball took her limbs, and she begins to feel betrayed.

Like she’s doing something wrong.

It must have gotten even worse when she lost her face. I think she was still conscious, so she was just feeling alone. Her team ignored her and mocked her, and her best friend called her useless. Despite the care Coiny gave to her later when she shrunk, there’s another important piece of her personality.

Pin’s a fighter, and someone who isn’t very optimistic. She doesn’t see what she’s doing wrong, how her actions lead to people disliking her. She wants to do something about it, so when she gets her mech suit, she wants revenge.

But it’s not enough.

Everything still does affect her. She isn’t happy with just BFDIA 14, she needs to win. She needs to show them that she hasn’t forgotten what she did.

But she keeps losing people. And the team that was built from the ground up, from just Coiny, Pin, and Donut, was now nothing, which coalesced into the disbandment of Woah Bunch.

There was one last thing Pin did that I haven’t seen most people notice. She’s sad, she wants to find a way to keep working with Coiny, but he leaves her immediately. This is the true last straw. In Pin’s mind, this proves everything right. No one truly cares for her, so she has to fight on her own, because she can trust nobody.

She has to win to prove everyone wrong.

And so she pushes away those who cared about her, because she doesn't think they’re worthy, and on a deeper level, doesn’t think she’s worthy. She wasn’t able to lead, not even be a true friend. So she just fights for herself and no one else, since there’s no other option.

Can you tell a really like Pin-

Sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoyed my analysis!

Also, requests are still open! I analyze characters, ships, and lots of different object shows. I also just do art of the characters if you’d prefer that!

[magicalbuttertarts]

WWE Masterlist

Part 1 - WW2 AU.

Damian meets the love of his life just days before being shipped out. This is their love story.

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: none. Mentions whites only places, as that is how it was then. Hints to sex but nothing descriptive.

WC: 2037

Requested by no one, but it was stuck in my head, & i need to get this out.

©️magicalbuttertarts 2025: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

AN: yes I know I have other stuff to work on, but this I had to get out of my head.

I watched from the side as Rhea and Buddy danced the night away, as this one of the last few nights that they have together before Buddy and I were shipped out to lord knows where.

The two of them insisted on taking me out, even though I told them that I didn't want to go out.

I wanted to spend time at home, and just enjoy the final moments of peace before I am being shot at.

But the two of them showed up at my door, all dressed up in their finest threads and practically dragged me out of my apartment.

I figured they had this all planned when we walked past the Whites-Only dance halls, and found ourselves in line at the Palladium.

The line was filled with men and women, all dressed to the nines in either their regular clothes, or their dress uniforms.

It took a bit to get in, but when we were, the live band's music hit my ears, and I screamed at Rhea that I would be getting a drink.

As I walked by, I did have plenty of women look me up and down, but none of them caught my attention

Knowing that I will be leaving in a few days did not help this situation, so I stood off to the side, watching my friends dance as I drank, and talking to a few other people I knew.

I was just about to leave when I felt someone bump into me.

I heard a soft "hmph" before I wrapped my arm around her waist and held her against me so she didn't fall on the ground.

"Are you okay?" I asked her as I looked down, and the moment my eyes connected with hers, it was like time stopped.

The music seemed to fade into the background as her and I just stared into each other's eyes.

"Yes, thank you. I am sorry for bumping into you. I don't know how I missed you. You are so tall, and muscular, I mean," She started to stutter and I found it absolutely adorable that she was trying to cover up the compliment.

"No worries Doll. Let me get you another drink, as you dropped yours." I said to her as I finally dropped my arm to the side, so I was no longer holding her.

"No, no, I dropped my drink all over your shoes. Let me buy you a drink." I looked down at my shoes, and there was but one little drop of liquid on my shoes.

"How about you get this one, and I get the next one?" I compromised, as I held my arm out for her to take.

She softly smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear as she looped her arm through mine.

"I am sorry, I never caught your name. My name is Damian."

"Hello Damian." She told me her name, and at that moment, I knew I found my soulmate.

◇

Her and I talked all night, until the band members were actually cleaning up and heading out.

Rhea and Buddy have long since gone home, giving me a knowing look after introducing themselves to her.

"I guess we should be going now." She said to me as she yawned.

I looked at my watch and noticed that it read 4:16, and I can't believe I stayed out all night with a woman I just met.

"How about an early breakfast? I know this spot that makes the best revoltillo de huevo." I said, standing up and finally stretching my legs.

"Okay, that sounds delicious, but where would this place be?" She curiously asked me, as there are not many places open this time of day.

"You will just have to wait and see." I held out my hand out for her to take, hoping she would trust me.

She placed her hand in mine, and I closed my hand arounds hers, helping her to stand, and we left the Palladium, and walked to my apartment.

◇

Ever since that night, she and I have spent all our free time together, just trying to get to know one another, and before I knew it, it was the last night before I had to ship out.

Her and I found ourselves at the same place that started this all, the Palladium.

The band played a slow song, her and I swaying to the music, along with every other couple in the crowd.

As the song came to an end, she placed her head against my chest, and I could feel her body shaking slightly.

I pulled back and asked her to look up at me, and she shook her head no.

I placed my hand under her chin, urging her to look up at me, and when she did, she just broke my heart.

She had tears in her eyes, and I gently wiped them away.

"What's wrong, Doll?" I asked her, but I already knew the answer.

"I don't want you to go. I just found you, and now you are being ripped away from me."

I didn't say anything, as I felt the exact same way.

I leaned in and placed my lips against hers and kissed her for the first time.

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest as the two of us stood there, kissing in a room full of people, but no one paid us any mind, as they were all in the same boat as the two of us.

We pulled apart as we needed air.

"Take me home Damian." My eyes widened, and I asked her if she was sure.

"I want to spend one last night with you before you leave tomorrow."

Her and I spent our first night together, falling asleep in each other's arms.

◇

I held her in my arms as we kissed goodbye, not wanting this moment to end, because the moment it does, I will be on the ship and off to Europe to fight.

I placed my forehead against hers, wanting to tell her that I love her, and that I will do everything I can to get back home to her.

"Please be safe Damian." She whispered.

"I will try."

And the final call was that it was time to get on the ship.

She and I kissed one last time, and I left her standing there, with Rhea coming up next to her, and Buddy joining my side as we walked onto the ship, to leave the harbour and to make our way to the ocean.

I made a silent promise to myself that I will come back to her.

◇

When her first letter came, I read it over and over again, responding back when I could.

Her third letter, she included a photo of herself and I placed it in my pocket, always keeping it close to my heart.

I would stare at her photo in times of need, when I was losing all hope.

But then our unit was allowed to have a break and go back home.

Buddy and I were on the first boat back to New York, as Rhea refused to leave New York and go back to Australia.

Rhea and my Doll, as I have come to call her, were waiting for us when we docked.

I dropped my stuff the moment I saw her running at me, and jumped into my arms, people staring at us, but we did not care.

Not when we have been apart for so long.

I put her down, and she started to look over me, asking me if I was hurt or not.

"I would have told you love."

"I know Damian, I just still worry."

I kissed her temple, and the two of us walked back to her car, Buddy and Rhea joining us as Rhea and her came together.

◇

We dropped Rhea and Buddy off at their place, promising to meet up for dinner tonight, as we knew that they wanted some alone time, just like her and I did.

But I had one thing to ask her before we got out of the car.

"Damian, I have made your favourite, and I have kept your place clean." My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest as I listened to her talk about what she has been up to all these months.

"I have to ask you something?" I finally got out.

"Yes Damian?"

The air became thick between us as I reached into my bag and pulled out the velvet box.

I watched her eyes get real wide as she covered her mouth with her hands.

"I knew the moment we met that you were the one for me, and even though we didn't get much time together before I was shipped out, but love for you never twindled, if anything it grew. I keep your letters on my person at all times. Your photo is my shirt pocket, over my heart, and when I stare at you, I can just think of nothing but our future together. I love you, and I want to spend whatever moments we have on this planet together. Will you marry me, my love, my soulmate, my Doll?"

"Yes Damian, I will marry you."

I placed the ring on her hand, and kissed her, not believing she said yes.

"Let's go inside and celebrate." She said to me, and ohh did we celebrate.

So much so that we forgot about Rhea and Buddy, until I heard knocking on the door.

I carefully moved her off my chest, as she was fast asleep. I put on pajama bottoms and walked through my apartment as quietly as I could.

I opened the door, to one mad woman, and one man who was trying to calm down his wife.

"Will you two keep it down? We are trying to celebrate." I loudly whispered, looking over my shoulder at the bedroom to see if she was coming out or not.

"Celebrating what?" Rhea asked, trying to walk in, but I didn't budge.

"We can reschedule dinner. How about lunch tomorrow? My treat."

"Damian." Rhea scolded me, crossing her arms over her chest, as Buddy just had a knowing look on his face.

"I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. Now see you two tomorrow. Good night." I closed the door in their faces, Rhea sputtering and Buddy laughing at the two of us.

I crawled back into bed, and pulled her back into my arms.

"Mmmm, who was that?" She mumbled.

I ran my fingers through her hair, as I told her it was just Rhea and Buddy, and that I rescheduled for lunch tomorrow.

◇

Rhea made sure that the two of us were there, congratulating the two of us.

"When will you two be getting married?" Buddy asked, as he was able to finally get a word in.

"We are just thinking of going down to city hall, and getting married before I ship out next." Just the thought of me leaving her once made me feel sad, but knowing she will be my wife lifted my spirits.

"Well, we are all here, let's go now. I know that there is a lineup as so many people have had the same thought like us." She said as she sipped her drink.

"Yes, let's go right now." Rhea stood up, excited for this wedding.

◇

We got married, with Rhea and Buddy as our Maid of Honour and Best Man.

The two of them treated us to a nice dinner, and we went dancing.

We went back to what is now our apartment to celebrate our wedding night.

The next morning, I informed her landlord that she was moving out, and we moved her into our place.

This almost felt normal until it was time for me to leave once again. Our time was cut short.

As I stood on the ship, my eyes never left her form as we pulled away.

My heart is aching for the woman who I love, who I hope I come back home to safely.

◇

Part 2 - coming soon.

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @madhatterbri @terrortwinunicorn @blackwingedmisanthrope @sunshinevirus

[ghostlynightpanda]

I don’t know your rules and boundaries but please don’t write what I’m about to suggest if it makes you uncomfortable!! Could you write Aib characters with a reader who is a masochist? Totally up to you, please tell me if you have specific things you won’t write about🫡

AIB Characters react to Reader being a masochist  

A/N: I'm not sure I fully understand all the aspects of what it feels like or what people look for when they identify as a masochist. Because of that, I was a little worried that my writing might not capture it the way you're hoping , or worse, that it might come across as insensitive or off the mark. (Definitely not my intention. I fully support people liking whatever they like as long as it's consensual and legal!) At first, I had a hard time coming up with something fitting for characters like Ann or Last Boss, because I couldn't really picture them with a masochistic partner in the usual way. But I did some research and learned that there are different types of masochism, not just the physical/pain-based kind, but also emotional or psychological forms. So I wrote their scenes from that angle, and I really hope it is what you were hoping for.

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, fem!reader, smut, canon typical blood and violence, MDNI, 3.002 words

Ann

You feel it before the game even begins.

That old familiar hum — just under the skin. The nervous energy that settles in your chest, right next to your heartbeat. Not fear, not exactly. It's the thrill of knowing you could lose everything. The ache of something real.

You're alive here.

Not just breathing. Not just surviving.

Alive.

The others gather at the edge of the arena, the rules flashing across the screen in sharp white letters, and you take a step forward without thinking. It's muscle memory by now — your body moving toward the fire, your mind already pulling apart the mechanics of the game, calculating odds you know are stacked against you.

And Ann is there.

Silent as always. Watching you like she's trying to read between the lines of who you are.

"You're volunteering?" she asks, voice even, almost too calm.

You nod.

There's a pause. Her expression doesn't change — still that same analytical calm — but you know her well enough by now. There's a flicker of something behind her eyes. Not fear. Not confusion. Just... curiosity edged with concern.

"You don't need to," she says. "We have a plan. You don't have to take this risk."

You shrug, smiling faintly. "I want to."

Her brow tightens just a little. Barely noticeable — but you see it.

"You want to," she repeats. Not a question. A quiet, measured echo.

You meet her gaze, not flinching. "It's the only time I feel like I'm not sleepwalking. Out here, when it hurts, when it's real... I feel awake. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

She studies you in silence. Not judging. Not trying to talk you down. Just... seeing you. The version of you most people don't notice. The one that isn't just reckless — the one that needs this. That seeks out the sharp edges on purpose, not by accident.

"You chase pain," she finally says. "But not because you enjoy suffering. You want to be changed by it."

That makes your breath hitch a little. Because it's true — and she's the first person who's ever said it out loud.

"You think that makes me broken?" you ask softly.

"No," Ann says, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. "I think it makes you dangerous. And brave. And very, very human."

You don't know what to say to that. So you say nothing.

She walks closer, until the space between you could be shattered with a breath. Her eyes never leave yours.

"When this is over," she says, "if you're still standing... we're going to have a talk. About what kind of pain you're really looking for."

Then she steps back — letting you go. Not stopping you. Not saving you.

But seeing you.

And somehow, that's more terrifying than anything waiting for you inside the game.

Kuina

"You keep throwing yourself at the edge of everything," Kuina muttered, brushing the hair from your face. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

The dim light of the safehouse flickered over your face as you lay on the floor, catching your breath. Another fight. Another close call. Your lip was split, your knuckles bloodied, and your eyes glittered like something in you thrived on it.

And Kuina — standing over you — had that expression again. That mix of frustration and fascination.

You smiled up at her, teasing. "What, worried about me?"

Her foot pressed against your stomach — not cruelly, just firm. Keeping you down.

"I'm more interested in figuring out what the fuck your deal is," she said coolly, staring down at you. "You take hits like they're gifts."

You moaned softly — not in pain. In something far more dangerous.

Her eyes narrowed. "Wait a second…"

You bit your lip, still breathless. "You figured it out, huh?"

She crouched down, her fingers tracing along the bruise blooming across your collarbone. "You like this."

"I like you," you murmured, voice low. "And I like when you're mean."

Her breath hitched. Something raw flickered across her face — curiosity, desire, disbelief.

"You want me to hurt you?" she asked, her voice a little lower now. "That what gets you off?"

You nodded slowly, gaze locked with hers.

"Not just anyone," you added. "You. I want you to hurt me."

She let out a soft, wicked laugh and pushed you flat with one hand, straddling your hips. Her fingers curled around your throat, not squeezing — just holding. Measuring. Testing.

"Oh baby," she whispered. "You really want to be put in your place, don't you?"

Your lips parted, breath shallow. "Yes."

She leaned in, her mouth brushing against your ear. "You like being bruised. You like the sting. You like knowing I'm the one doing it."

You whimpered.

"Then lie still," she whispered. "And take everything I give you."

Her mouth was everywhere. Her hands were rough. Her voice — low and cruel and perfect — filled every crack in your ribs like she was made to tear you apart slowly, just to see if you'd thank her for it.

And you would. Every time.

Because with Kuina — the pain wasn't chaos. It wasn't empty.

It meant something.

Mira

"You're trembling," Mira said, her voice light as silk, delicate as frost. "But I haven't even touched you."

Your breath hitched.

She sat across from you — legs elegantly crossed, wine glass dangling from perfectly manicured fingers. She hadn't moved an inch, and yet you felt like she was already inside your mind, hands trailing down your spine like whispered threats.

You didn't speak.

She tilted her head, eyes sharpening just slightly. "Oh? Cat got your tongue? That's surprising, considering how eager you were earlier… all that bravado. That needy little ache in your voice when you begged to see me alone."

Your throat tightened. You were on your knees now — not because she'd told you to, but because the silence between her words demanded it. Like your body already knew the rules, even if your mouth hadn't admitted it yet.

Mira smiled.

"You want to be degraded," she said softly, almost like she was amused. "You want to be seen for what you really are. Isn't that right?"

You swallowed. "Yes…"

"Mm." She sipped her wine, slow and elegant, like your humiliation was nothing more than background music to her evening. "You crave the sound of my disappointment. You ache for the shame. You need me to tell you that you're weak."

You whimpered — an involuntary sound, half mortified, half aroused.

"I don't have to raise my hand to hurt you," she continued. "Words are enough. Aren't they?"

Your head dipped forward, the burn of embarrassment washing over you like a fever. "Yes, Mira…"

"Look at you. Blushing. Breathing so fast. You came here thinking I'd give you what you want. But I'm not here to indulge you."

She stood slowly — each movement calculated, deliberate — and walked toward you. She circled behind, the warmth of her presence grazing the back of your neck. Not touching. Just hovering. Watching you squirm.

"You want to be used," she whispered into your ear. "To be undone by someone smarter. Stronger. Someone who sees every cracked little corner of your mind… and smiles."

You moaned, barely able to stay upright.

She crouched behind you, one hand ghosting just above your shoulder — still never making contact.

"If I told you to beg like a dog," she murmured, "you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"

Your voice broke as you whispered: "Yes, Mira."

"Say please."

"…Please."

A beat of silence passed. Then another.

She chuckled, the sound sending a shiver through your bones.

"You really are mine, aren't you?"

You didn't say yes.You didn't have to.

She already knew.

Aguni

"You're afraid of yourself," you whispered.

Aguni stood with his back to you, arms crossed, muscles tense beneath the flickering lamplight. The night was quiet — that Borderland kind of quiet. Thick. Watchful. Waiting for something to snap.

"I've seen what I become when I let go," he said. "And I'm not doing that with you."

You stepped closer, fingers brushing his back. He didn't flinch. But he didn't turn, either.

"I'm not scared of you," you said.

His breath hitched — the faintest, broken sound.

"I want to feel you," you continued, voice trembling, not from fear — but from need. "All of you. The part that holds back. The part that hurts. The part you think I couldn't handle."

He turned then. Slow. Heavy. His eyes dark, full of storms he never let loose.

"You want me to hurt you?“ 

You didn't flinch. You looked up into that worn, battle-hardened face — the one that had seen too much death, too much fire — and you nodded.

"I want to feel what it means to be yours."

He stared at you for a long moment. Like he was searching for a way to say no without shattering. Like he wanted to protect you from yourself.

Then he stepped forward.

His hand cupped your jaw — gentle at first, then firmer, holding you in place as he studied you.

"I don't do it like Niragi," he said, voice rough. "If you're mine… you don't get bruises. You get devoured."

You gasped — not from fear, but from the heat flooding your chest.

He pulled you in, lips grazing your ear.

"I'll hold you down," he growled. "I'll pin you. I'll take you hard. But I won't hurt you."

You whimpered. He smirked — just a flicker of it.

"But if you want to scream," he murmured, "I'll make sure it's from pleasure."

And then his hands were on your hips, dragging you closer, lifting you like you were nothing but breath and want. He pressed you against the wall — not violently. Purposefully.

Not to break you.

To claim.

And god, you'd never felt safer than when he wrapped those arms around you and held you like he was keeping himself from unraveling.

Aguni would never strike. But he'd hold you in place. He'd conquer, not punish.

He wouldn't hurt you. But he'd give you everything else. 

And somehow… that would hurt even better.

Niragi 

The game was over, and you were still breathing. Bruised, sure — scraped up and shaking, yeah. But alive. Barely.

Niragi's laugh echoed down the ruined hallway behind you, low and wicked. That kind of laugh that knew everything and cared about nothing. You didn't bother to look back as he followed — you could feel him at your heels like heat, like danger, like something primal.

"You almost got yourself blown up back there," he said casually. "Didn't even flinch. Either you're an idiot or you've got a death wish."

You smirked, brushing dirt from your blood-crusted arm. "Maybe both."

His footsteps stopped. You could hear it — the tension behind him tightening like a wire.

"What was that?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.

You didn't answer. Just gave a soft little laugh — that kind of quiet, disdainful sound, meant to sting.

And then — hands in your hair.

You yelped, but not out of pain — out of need. Niragi had fisted a handful of your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to look up at him. His face was close — too close — eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"You think this is a joke?" he hissed.

You let out a breath that shivered through your lips, your eyes wide but not afraid. And then... you smiled. Slow. Deliberate.

He saw it.

The way your breath hitched. The way your body didn't fight the grip — you leaned into it.

And Niragi's expression shifted. From aggression to something more curious. Intrigued. Turned on.

"You like that," he muttered, almost to himself. A laugh pulled from his throat — something low and disbelieving. "You like getting thrown around?"

You swallowed, but didn't look away. "What gave it away?"

The grip in your hair tightened.

You moaned, eyes fluttering — and he watched, entranced, as you arched just slightly under the pressure, mouth parted like you were begging for more.

"Well, shit," Niragi murmured. "And here I thought you were just another mouthy bitch."

He shoved you roughly back against the wall — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch. Enough to make you feel it. He pressed in, his body boxing you in completely, one hand still in your hair, the other dragging slowly down your side like he was deciding what to ruin first.

"Say it," he whispered against your ear. "Say you want it rough."

You gasped, voice shaking from heat and something more wicked. "I want it rough."

"Darker," he demanded, his teeth grazing your throat. "Tell me you want me to hurt you."

Your body shivered, already melting under his hold.

"I want you to hurt me, Niragi. Use me. Break me."

His groan was guttural, the last thread of restraint snapping in half. He grabbed your thigh and hiked it up against his hip, grinding against you like he could already feel how wet you were through your clothes.

"You better mean that," he growled. "Because once I start, I'm not going to stop until you're crying — and begging for more."

You looked up at him, breathless. Hungry.

"Good."

Last Boss

The bodies hadn't even gone cold.

The last game had ended barely minutes ago, smoke still curling from the wreckage, blood steaming on the pavement. You stood there — splattered, shaking, alive in the way that only near-death could gift you — as he watched you from the shadows.

He didn't say anything at first.

Last Boss just stared, blades still sheathed at his hips, eyes unreadable behind that thick stripe of makeup. You were the only one left who didn't fear the sight of him. Maybe the only one who'd ever understood it.

"You didn't flinch," he said, finally.

You turned your head toward him, slow, deliberate. "Neither did you."

He stepped closer, boots crunching through broken glass and ash. "They were screaming."

"I liked it better when they were quiet," you murmured. "Right before the end. That moment when they realize nothing matters… and it's too late to fight it."

He tilted his head. Intrigued. "You enjoy this."

You met his eyes. "Don't you?"

He let out a soft sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. Something in between.

"I was nothing before," he said. "No one looked at me. No one feared me. But here…" He spread his arms, like he was showing off a twisted kingdom. "Here, I'm seen."

You nodded. "And me? I've never felt more alive than when I'm about to die."

That caught him. He blinked once, then smiled — a small, crooked thing, more knife than warmth.

"You like pain?"

You shrugged. "I like meaning. The kind you only feel when your body's breaking and your mind's begging to hold on. That split second where the world gets loud, and nothing matters but staying conscious."

He stared at you like you were a mirror.

Not the same, but recognizable. Kin, in a cruel way.

"You're not afraid of me," he said.

"I think you're beautiful," you answered, honest and calm. "In that fucked up kind of way."

That made him pause.

No one had ever called him that. Not before. Not here, not there.

"Most people run," he said softly.

You stepped closer, eyes on his, voice steady. "I don't run from what I want."

He looked at you, long and quiet. Then his hand came up — not violently, just fingers brushing along your neck, where a bruise had bloomed from earlier. His thumb pressed lightly against it.

"You like that?"

Your breath hitched. "I like surviving it."

That smile again. Wider now. Pleased. Dangerous.

"You're sicker than I am."

You smiled back, a little blood still on your lip. "Not possible."

He laughed, then. For real this time — low and broken, but genuine.

And just like that, something wordless passed between you.

Two monsters. Two survivors. One chasing fear, the other chasing feeling.

Both finally seen.

Chishiya

"You're not subtle," Chishiya said flatly, eyes flicking up from the playing cards.

You raised an eyebrow, lounging on the sofa beside him. "What?"

"That thing you do," he replied, voice calm, almost bored. "Throwing yourself into situations where you're guaranteed to lose. Picking fights. Taking the fall. Like you're hoping someone will punish you for it."

You blinked.

He didn't smirk. Didn't laugh. He just… watched.

"You think you're mysterious," he went on, tilting his head, "but you're just loud about your damage."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks — not from shame. From the way he saw through you. Not emotionally. Analytically. Like a hypothesis confirmed.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

He hummed, tapping his fingers along the edge of the table. "You get off on being stripped down. On being made small. On being the broken one in the hands of someone smarter."

You swallowed. Hard.

"And it's pathetic," he added.

You inhaled sharply — and something in you lit up.

Chishiya caught it.

He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, until he was close enough for you to feel the chill of his words against your skin.

"You want me to tear you apart. Not with fists. With facts. With silence. With truth you can't handle."

You didn't move. You couldn't.

His voice dropped a shade lower. "You want me to ruin you."

You shivered.

He leaned back again, gaze detached, clinical — like he'd just dissected you and was already filing away the results. "I won't hit you," he said, matter-of-fact. "I won't touch you. But I'll make sure you never forget how small you are when I'm in the room."

Your throat was dry.

"And that's what you really want, isn't it?" he asked. "Not pain. Not sex. Just to be under someone who doesn't even need to raise their voice to break you."

You nodded. Slowly. Powerlessly.

Chishiya looked away like the conversation bored him. But he was smiling now — faint, unreadable.

"You're useful," he said. "I might keep you."

And the thing was?

That wasn't a threat.

It was the closest thing he'd ever say to love.

Masterlist

[dekariosclan]

What do you think are some things that would give Gale “the ick” ? I think we all know he values people’s character over all but everyone has some things that just make them go “egh”

Ah, an excellent question! 🧙‍♂️☝️💜

You are so correct that our wizard values people’s character above all; Gale is not put off by appearances, because he’s solely interested in the values and kindness of each individual he meets. In addition, he is extremely open-minded and forgiving, so I think his list of ‘ick’ traits is relatively small. I myself have narrowed it down to three things that I think give him ‘the ick’, two of which are linked to his in-game dialogue, and a third one that I personally think is just….very fitting of Gale. So let’s get into it!

1.Disgusting eating habits. Ah, the infamous ‘STOP LICKING THE DAMN THING!’ Which of course comes after Gale is so appalled at seeing Tav sampling rotting spider meat (and their…enthusiastic reaction…) that he floats the idea that ‘the time might just have come when you and I should split ways.’

I think his disgust here is more than just the unsavory food factor, because per Shadowheart, there have been times when the team has had to consume fish heads and stale bread just to survive. But this isn’t a matter of survival, it’s a choice to stick rotting spider meat in your mouth! The same mouth that issues orders to the team, talks to Gale in friendship, OR shares a kiss with him if romanced…just the thought of what Tav’s breath would smell like gives ME the ick!

2.Disgusting hygiene habits. Look, we all know Gale loves (and I mean LOVES) a musky Tav 😍. And oh, what’s this, a sweaty Tav in battle?! Muscles all shiny and sleek?? Why yes, Gale appreciates that too! Very, very much! What I’m talking about is the truly gross stench of the Goblin camp (‘this place is rotten!’ as Gale says), the foul sewers in Baldur’s Gate (‘nothing like the stench of human effluence to make you regret any and all prior life decisions’) and Act 2’s bloody disgusting illithid colony (‘Gods, that smell! Abattoir crossed with privy.’) Gale makes it quite clear he is not a fan of any of it.

The thing is, Gale isn’t a super fastidious guy—his home in Waterdeep has books scattered all over the place, and Tara even says he keeps in potions in disarray. All he’s asking is that Tav not kiss any diseased Goblin toes or take a dip in any sewer runoff. But Tav working up a bit of a sweat? That’s fine! Totally fine!

And finally, the last thing that I think would give Gale the ick (albeit a modern-day AU Gale) is:

3.The use of AI for artistic creation. I’m pretty sure Gale, the man who crafted a beautiful night sky with his own two hands and told Tav, “I know this is all unreal, but I created it for you,” would despise AI. Gale values creativity and imagination, and to have them thrown away for the sake of outputting an image or piece of writing faster would be appalling to him. Seeing the Ghibli AI art trend would make him shut down his computer, rub at his temples to try to calm down, fail miserably, and then burst out at the dinner table: “DO THEY NOT REALIZE THAT BY CREATING GHIBLI ART VIA AI THEY HAVE STRIPPED IT OF EVERYTHING THAT MAKES GHIBLI ART SO BELOVED IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” while Tara and Tav try to calm him down so he doesn’t spill his wine.

[ghosty-zero]

Sonadow one shot number #13: Hot Pockets

{I kinda wanted to try a clueless Shadow this time, oblivious to the dating world}

Shadow was a confusing hedgehog to read. Like a stone wall he stood unmoving and unwavering. His eyes were always in a stern glare, like he was just naturally angry all the time. If you were an outsider looking in, you'd probably believe him to be just that, but Sonic had been through enough with Shadow to know he wasn't just a stone wall. He was actually very expressive. He had emotions and thoughts. Sonic could tell there was an entire life story behind those eyes.

What Sonic wanted to know, was what that life story was.

Getting Shadow to talk was a chore enough on its own. The only times he seemed to actually speak up were when Sonic did something stupid, or when he felt the need to correct someone on something. Even then it was pretty hard to get him to continue talking. He didn't like being pushed to talk, and he wasn't one for small talk either. Which meant that Sonic didn't have much material to work with, but he had nothing better to do this evening and he had been thinking about it all day.

So, determined as ever, Sonic cornered Rouge one Tuesday afternoon at a local diner. He had asked her to meet him there after his racing session. She came in a bit late, but she came.

"Hello dear, I hope I didn't keep you waiting." She said with a smile as she took a seat across from him.

Sonic sighed dramatically. "You took forever, what happened?"

She shrugged. "I was busy. Work stuff."

Sonic rolled his eyes. "Well, now that you're here, I wanna ask you something."

"Oh?" She asked. "What is it?"

Sonic shifted in his seat. "How long have you known Shadow?"

"A few years. We've worked together for a while, why? What's up?" She tilted her head curiously.

"I've just been wondering about him a lot lately." Sonic said with a sigh. "He's just so confusing and I wanna know more about him, but he's not exactly one for opening up to people."

"Hm," Rouge leaned back in her chair. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Anything really. Like where he comes from, what he likes to do for fun, what his favorite color is..."

Rouge laughed softly. "His favorite color is red."

"Really?" Sonic raised an eyebrow. "I thought it would be black."

Rouge shrugged. "Everyone thinks that. His favorite color is actually red."

Sonic sighed again. "I wish he'd tell me things like that."

"To be honest, he's not a big fan of yours either." Rouge said with a small smirk.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Sonic pouted. "He's told me he hates me, and he's not one for lying. He doesn't have to tell me twice."

Rouge nodded. "Well, why do you want to know these things?"

"I told you, I wanna know more about him."

"Could this be stemming from a, oh, I don't know, a crush maybe?" She gave him a knowing look.

Sonic blushed. "No!" He exclaimed quickly, then lowered his voice. "It's nothing like that..."

"Mhm," Rouge hummed. "You seem very concerned with his tastes in colors and hobbies."

"I'm just curious, okay?" Sonic folded his arms.

"I don't believe you."

"When have I ever lied to you?" Sonic asked.

"I'll admit, you're not really one to lie. But I also know you're not one to admit your feelings either." Rouge smirked.

Sonic blushed harder. "W-what feelings? I don't have feelings."

Rouge laughed. "You tell me the truth, and I'll tell you what I know."

"Well..." Sonic started, but stopped himself.

Rouge smiled at him, waiting patiently for his answer.

"Fine... maybe I do have a tiny crush on him." He finally admitted. "But that's all it is. A tiny crush. Like, super itty bitty. Barely even noticeable."

Rouge chuckled. "Right. And my favorite color is orange."

"What? No way! I thought your favorite color was purple."

"Sonic, you're missing the point here."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Anyway, you like Shadow, and you want to know more about him because you want to get closer to him."

"Well, yeah." Sonic nodded. "I mean, we are kinda friends and all, but we don't really talk much. It's kinda hard to get close to someone when they don't give you anything to work with."

Rouge sighed. "I know what you mean. Shadow has always been difficult to understand." She paused for a moment, then grinned. "I could try talking to him for you."

"Really?" Sonic asked hopefully. "Would you do that for me?"

"Of course." She replied with a smile. "Anything to help out a friend in need."

"Thanks, Rouge!" Sonic said happily. "You're the...wait...what do you want in return?"

She shrugged innocently. "Oh, nothing much."

"Nothing much?" Sonic raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Just your eternal gratitude and perhaps a little favor down the line." She said casually.

"Deal." Sonic replied without hesitation.

"Great!" She said cheerily. "I'll see what I can do. No promises though."

"Alright, thanks again Rouge."

When Rouge was assigned with a task, she was known to see it through till the very end. She set out right away to get more information on Shadow, but the first step was to actually find him. Which proved to be quite difficult, as he was a master at hiding when he didn't want to be found. They lived together in the same apartment, however he was like a rare creature. If you didn't see him at least once every few days, then you would probably never find him.

Rouge approached him casually one afternoon as he was making a bowl of black coffee beans.

"Hey, Shads." She said nonchalantly.

He grunted in acknowledgement, but did not respond.

"You know, there's this new movie that I've been wanting to see. It's supposed to be really good. You should go with me."

Shadow took a sip from his cup. "No."

"Aww, come on. We never hang out, hun."

"Your nicknames are unwanted and annoying." He responded coldly. "Do not use them."

"Okay, okay." She sighed. "But really, let's hang out sometime."

Shadow took another sip from his cup, then set it down on the counter. "I do not have time for such frivolous activities." He turned around and started heading towards his room.

"Ah, ah, remember that time I saved you from that angry mob?"

Shadow paused, then sighed. "Fine."

"Great!" Rouge clapped her hands together excitedly. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven. Be ready by then." She turned and walked off before he could argue.

Shadow just shook his head and continued on to his room.

The next day, Rouge was knocking on Shadows door, all dressed up and ready to go. When she received no answer, she knocked again. Still no response. She knocked harder, but there was still no sign of life behind the door. Finally, she gave up and opened it herself.

"Hey, Shads." She said loudly as she entered. "You ready to go yet?"

"I didn't say you could come in."

"I make the food in this house, I can do whatever I want." She said smugly. "Now hurry up and get ready. We're gonna be late."

Shadow stood up from his desk chair and turned around to face her. "I am ready."

"Well then, let's go!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room.

On their way to the theater, Rouge made sure to ask as many subtle questions as she could. However, she quickly realized that Shadow was not one for subtlety. He was very straightforward and blunt, which meant he answered her questions directly.

"So, Shadow." She started, trying to think of something to ask. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"I train." He said simply.

"Right, right. But I mean, like, when you're not training."

Shadow frowned slightly. "Why do you ask? Do you wish to spend time with me?"

Rouge chuckled. "Maybe."

"I suppose I enjoy reading." He replied after a moment of thought.

"Oh? What kinds of books?"

He shrugged. "Anything that catches my attention."

Rouge nodded. "Okay, I have another question. What kind of music do you listen to?"

"I do not listen to music."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow.

"It distracts me."

"Fair enough. What about...food? What's your favorite food?"

Shadow sighed. "Why are you asking me these questions? I do not see the purpose."

"I'm just curious." She answered honestly. "We're friends, aren't we? We should get to know each other better."

Shadow glanced at her sideways. "Are we? Friends, I mean."

"Don't hurt my feelings." Rouge smiled playfully.

He rolled his eyes. "If you must know, I enjoy hot pockets."

Rouge blinked. "Really? I thought you would be more of a sushi guy."

"I like sushi too." He admitted. "But I also enjoy hot pockets."

Rouge nodded again. "Okay, one last question. What do you think of Sonic?"

"Sonic?" Shadow repeated, frowning slightly. "Why are you bringing him up?"

"No reason, really. Just curious."

"Hmph." Shadow grunted, but didn't press any further. "He is an annoyance."

Rouge chuckled. "I guess so. But like, is there anything you like specifically about him? Anything at all?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

"I think he's pretty charming, don't you?"

Shadow glared at her. "Do you have a crush on him or something?"

Rouge laughed. "No, no, no. I just think he's a fun guy. And he's really good looking too."

Shadow scowled. "I don't understand how you can find such a thing attractive."

Rouge smirked, playfully nudging his arm with her elbow. "Aw, don't worry hun, I think you're plenty attractive."

Shadow huffed. "Wonderful."

Rouge reported her findings to Sonic the next day, who was extremely excited to learn what she had found out.

"So, let me get this straight." He said as she finished explaining everything. "You learned that he likes to read, he enjoys hot pockets and he thinks I'm an annoyance."

"Basically." She replied with a nod. "But it's a start."

"Not a great one, but it's something." He sighed. "Thanks for trying, Rouge."

"It wasn't a problem dear." She said with a smile. "I hope it helps."

"Is there anything I can do to get him to open up? Like, you know how sometimes people get drunk and tell you their life story? Is there anything like that I can do?"

Rouge chuckled. "Is that really the best idea?"

"I dunno." Sonic shrugged. "I just feel like I need to do something to make him like me more, and I'm not very good at the whole talking thing."

"Maybe you should try getting him drunk then." She suggested with a smirk. "That way, he'll tell you everything and you'll get closer to him."

Sonic laughed. "He'd kill me if he ever found out."

"Well, you could always just wait for him to open up on his own, but that could take a while."

Sonic sighed again. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He looked down at the floor for a moment, thinking. "Do you think he'll ever open up to me? Like, ever?"

Rouge gave him a sympathetic smile. "At the moment, he doesn't like you very much. But that doesn't mean you can give up. Give it time, he might warm up to you eventually. You never know."

Sonic smiled back. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks, Rouge. You've been a big help."

"Anytime, hun. Now go get 'em."

With that, she left and Sonic was alone again. He sat down on his couch and thought about what she had told him. If Shadow didn't like him now, then it would take a lot of effort to change his mind. But Sonic was determined, and when he wanted something, he went all out.

It took some time to come up with a plan, but when it finally came together, Sonic was confident that it would work. Sure, his plans usually didn't work out as expected, but this time was different. He had been thinking about this for a while, and he knew exactly what to do.

The plan was simple, but effective. He would corner Shadow and refuse to leave him alone until he agreed to spend some time with him. It sounded silly, but it worked on Tails all the time, so Sonic figured it would work on Shadow as well.

Unfortunately, finding Shadow turned out to be harder than he expected. The guy was incredibly good at hiding, and Sonic was beginning to think he had gone into hibernation or something. After a few hours of searching, Sonic finally found him in his usual spot in front of his apartment working on his motorcycle.

"Hey, Shadow." Sonic greeted casually.

Shadow grunted in response.

Sonic took a deep breath and prepared himself. "We need to talk."

Shadow stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. "About?"

Sonic crossed his arms and stared straight at him. "You. And me. Together."

"What?"

"Look, I know you don't like me, but we're friends, aren't we?"

"No." Shadow answered bluntly.

"Well, then maybe we can be more than just friends." Sonic suggested hopefully.

Shadow raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying, I want us to be closer." Sonic explained. "I want to get to know you better."

"I do not understand."

Sonic sighed. "Look, I like you, okay?"

"In what context?"

"I dunno." Sonic shrugged. "Just, romantically, I guess?"

"You guess you like me romantically?"

"Yes! No! Maybe?" Sonic ran his hands through his quills frustratedly. "I don't know. But I do know that I want to spend more time with you."

Shadow stared at him. "Why?"

"Because!" Sonic exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. "I like you, and I want to get closer to you."

"But why?" Shadow repeated.

"Because I think you're cool."

Shadow quirked a brow. "Cool?"

"Yeah! I mean, you're strong and tough and mysterious. And I like that about you."

Shadow shook his head. "I do not understand."

Sonic groaned, grabbing Shadow's shoulders. "Listen to my words. I want to date you."

Shadow blinked, processing what he had said. After a moment, his expression softened slightly. "You wish to court me?" He asked quietly.

"Yes! Please!" Sonic nodded vigorously. "Let's go on a date."

"A date? Right now? Why?"

"Because I like you! That's why!"

Shadow sighed heavily, turning back to his work. "You are confusing."

"So, will you go on a date with me?" Sonic asked hopefully.

"No." Shadow replied simply.

Sonic frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I am busy." He gestured to his motorcycle.

"C'mon, you can finish that later. It won't take long." Sonic insisted. "I'll take you out to eat or something."

Shadow shook his head. "No."

"Please? Pretty please? With sugar on top?" Sonic begged, getting down on his knees.

"What does sugar have to do with anything?" Shadow questioned.

"Just say yes and I'll tell you." Sonic replied.

Shadow rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Really? Are you serious? Yes! Thank you!" Sonic cheered happily, jumping up to hug Shadow.

Shadow pushed him away. "Do not touch me."

"Sorry, sorry." Sonic apologized, stepping back. "Anyway, let's go then. There's a great diner just a few blocks away that has amazing food, according to myself, it's super awesome, you'll love it, maybe, hopefully."

Shadow sighed. "Alright. Let us go then."

"Great! Let's go!"

The walk there wasn't long, but it was awkward. Neither of them said anything, and Shadow seemed to be lost in thought. Sonic wanted to ask what he was thinking about, but he figured it would be better to wait until after they ate.

When they arrived at the diner, Sonic lead the way inside and sat down at a booth. Shadow didn't try to sit next to him and instead chose to sit across from him. They both picked up their menus and began looking over them.

"So, um," Sonic started nervously. "Have you ever been here before?"

Shadow shook his head. "No."

"Well then, I'll recommend you something good." Sonic said with a smile. "Their burgers are great, according to Amy. I personally wish they had chili dogs on the menu, but whatever."

Shadow glanced over at him. "You like chili dogs?"

"Love 'em." Sonic replied excitedly. "They're my favorite food in the whole world. Well, second to pizza. And third to hot dogs, and fourth to hamburgers, and fifth to-"

"I get it." Shadow cut him off.

"It's better than hot pockets." Sonic joked.

Shadow blinked. "Who told you that?"

Sonic panicked, realizing he had accidentally revealed that he had talked to Rouge about Shadow.

"Oh, uh, no one." He lied. "I just heard you liked them."

"Hm." Shadow hummed, unconvinced. "Who else have you talked to about me?"

"No one, I swear! I don't...uh...talk to people. Ever. Except for you, obviously, but that's only because we're friends now!"

Shadow narrowed his eyes. "We are not friends."

"Well, I consider you to be." Sonic said 

defensively. "And I want us to get closer."

"Why?"

"Because I like you!" Sonic exclaimed. "I've already told you that! Don't make me repeat myself!"

"You speak so informally."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, how do you feel about chili dogs?"

Shadow shrugged. "I have never had one before."

Sonic gasped dramatically. "What?! You've never had a chili dog? What kind of life have you been living? Okay, we are getting you a chili dog right now."

Shadow didn't protest as Sonic went ahead and ordered them both a chili dog. When their food came, to say that Shadow was unimpressed was an understatement. He stared at the food in front of him like it had personally offended him.

Sonic tried his best not to laugh. "So, what do you think?"

"This is...different." Shadow answered after a moment.

Sonic grinned. "Go on, try it."

Shadow hesitantly took a bite, chewing slowly. After two seconds, he spit it out onto his plate.

"Wow." Sonic said, surprised. "It's that bad, huh?"

"That is the most disgusting and vile thing I have ever eaten."

Sonic laughed. "Guess chili dogs aren't your thing."

"No. They are not."

Sonic took a bite of his own chili dog. "Don't worry, this place has some pretty great burgers."

Shadow nodded. "Perhaps."

They sat there for a while, Sonic doing most of the talking while Shadow listened silently. When they were finished, Sonic paid for the meal and they left the diner.

"Thanks for coming with me, Shadow." Sonic said as they walked down the street together. "It means a lot to me."

Shadow didn't respond. He just kept walking.

"So," Sonic continued, not wanting to let the silence hang. "Got anything to talk about? Maybe some deep dark secrets?"

"No."

"Nothing? Nothing at all? Not even one tiny thing?"

"No."

"C'mon, you gotta have something."

Shadow sighed. "You have an apparent crush on me, hence the asking out on a date. I can only assume you spoke to Rouge in order to learn more about me."

Sonic cringed. "Is that bad?"

"Yes. And also no. It was actually quite flattering. I haven't been courted since-" He cut himself off abruptly, glancing away from Sonic. "It does not matter. My point is, I do not understand why you would like me."

Sonic tilted his head curiously. "I could list the reasons, but it's not exactly the best way to get closer to someone, right?"

"I suppose not." Shadow agreed. "I suppose I should try to open up more."

"It's a start." Sonic said with a smile.

Shadow paused for a moment. "I enjoy reading."

Sonic raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"You wanted to know more about me, did you not?"

Sonic stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Shadow answered simply. "I also like sushi."

Sonic laughed. "Okay, that's-"

"I cannot sleep on wrinkled sheets and I greatly enjoy hot pockets."

"Oh, wow, I-"

"My favorite scent is lavender and I hate being touched unless I have given explicit permission."

"Shadow-"

"My meals must be prepared as they were on the Ark, otherwise I will become agitated and leave the room."

"Shadow, please!" Sonic laughed, putting his hands on Shadows shoulders.

Shadow blinked, startled. "What?"

"Just...stop for a second, I can barely keep up." Sonic chuckled. "

"Is this not what you wanted?"

"Well, yeah, but not all at once." Sonic smiled. "Take your time, we'll get there eventually."

Shadow nodded. "Alright."

"Great!" Sonic placed his hands on his hips, his iconic smile on his face. "Now, how about we go for a run? You're pretty fast, right?"

"I am faster than you." Shadow stated confidently.

Sonic grinned. "We'll see about that. Last one to the beach is-"

Shadow teleported out of sight before Sonic could finish speaking.

"A cheater!" Sonic called out, already running after him.

Sonic lost the race, but he didn't mind. He got to see Shadow smile, which made up for it.

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 21: What is it about men?

Sara had no interest in playing the uptight friend, nor had she ever found any satisfaction in being the mom of her friend group.  

She just wanted some kind of order in the universe—for things to go the way they were supposed to, for karma to catch up with bad people, and for good people to actually succeed. That was all she hoped for herself, after all.  

She had always told herself it was because she was a Virgo. That was also the reason, she figured, why directors and casting agents seemed to instinctively know she wasn’t the easiest to tame (Leo rising, after all).  

Her Pisces moon, on the other hand, made her particularly susceptible to a third category of people she had only encountered in adulthood: the broken ones.  

She had wondered why she could only truly understand—and be understood by—people who were broken. But then, thinking about the father she had never known, she started noticing the cracks in herself, too. In the way every story she made up had a happy ending. In the way she always felt a quiet, gnawing concern whenever she came across someone broken—someone like her.  

It was the third week in a row that she had found Vic practically passed out on the sofa. The first time it happened, she had assumed it was just exhaustion. Sure, it was a little sad not seeing her at the pub as often, but it was also a relief. Vic was finally doing the thing she had fought so hard for, even if it meant dragging herself to the end of the day too tired to talk—or be talked to.  

But then Sara had noticed the empty wine bottle on the floor next to the sofa.  

And it wasn’t that she wanted to mother Vic or scold her like some nagging friend. But her Pisces moon was screaming at her—loud, insistent, impossible to ignore—that something wasn’t right.  

"You should know that after twenty, sleeping in weird positions destroys your back," Sara announced, slapping Vic’s foot to wake her up as she crossed the room to open the window.

The smell of wine was so strong it almost made her nauseous. Or maybe that was just the growing worry gnawing at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vic rub her face and turn over on the sofa. "Tell me about it," she muttered, voice still thick with sleep. "My back is wrecked."

Sara barely avoided kicking the empty wine bottle on the floor. She didn’t have the heart to pointedly pick it up in front of Vic. "Rough night?" she asked as casually as possible, lighting a cigarette by the window.

Vic, now somewhat conscious, sat up with a groan. "I recorded All You Wanted for seven hours yesterday," she said flatly. "I hate it now."

"Shame. I like that one," Sara replied with a shrug.

"I liked it better when Aegon sang it," Vic admitted, scanning the room for something. There was a tinge of something in her voice—something sad—that Sara immediately picked up on.

Once Vic found her bag (and a cigarette), she joined Sara by the window.

"I haven’t seen him around the house," Sara noted. And honestly, that was weird. Those two had been practically fused for weeks, impossible to be around without feeling like an intruder—or worrying she’d walk in on them naked, unapologetically all over each other.

Then the contract came, and Aegon vanished.

"Haven’t seen him since Tuesday," Vic murmured, lighting her cigarette. That was odd.

It was Friday.

"Allen barely lets me breathe, which is fine—I mean, the first show’s in two months—but every time Aegon stops by the label, Aemond suddenly has some urgent, top-secret meeting to drag me to, or he locks me up in the booth for hours," Vic huffed, “It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose." she said, not really thinking about it, though frustration crept into her voice.

At the end of the day, she was only human. And maybe a good fuck with her boyfriend would’ve been a better stress reliever than downing a bottle of wine every night. Sara couldn’t exactly blame her.

Also Sara was starting to think maybe she was right and Aemond was doing it on purpose.

Maybe Aegon hadn’t been wrong that night at the pub when he clocked his brother’s behavior. And that pompous, arrogant sore loser definitely deserved to be called out on it.

"Well, thank God it’s Friday, babe," Sara said, trying to lift the mood—though her eyes flicked to the empty wine bottle by the couch.

"Yeah, no," Vic snorted. "I have to go to the label even tomorrow." She exhaled a humorless laugh, staring blankly out the window, ash collecting at the end of her cigarette. "And on Sunday, Jen booked a full day with some Hackney photographer so I can film twenty TikToks hyping up the single."

"Sounds awful."

"You don’t get it. She rented an Airbnb—wants to pretend it’s my actual bedroom and have me film videos in pajamas, like I just spontaneously wrote All You Wanted there on the spot."

Sara let out an exaggerated groan of disgust. Normally, that kind of reaction would’ve made Vic laugh—but not today. She kept staring out the window, and Sara was pretty sure that what came out of her mouth a second later was a genuinely miserable sigh.

Fucking Pisces moon. It was always the damn Pisces moon. Now that she saw the full picture, it was all painfully clear:  

She was happy for Vic, of course she was. But none of this was happening on her terms. It should’ve worked out the way Vic wanted—not according to the plans of whichever puppet master was pulling her strings this week.

Sara’s thoughts were cut off by the sound of Vic’s phone ringing, followed by the way she lunged to grab it from her bag, carefully sidestepping the empty wine bottle by the couch—just as she carefully avoided Sara’s gaze.

She answered while stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the armrest, mumbling a series of “yeah”s and “mmhmm”s that, for the first time that morning, carried the faintest trace of excitement. And that terrified Sara. That faint spark—how fragile it felt. Like it could be smothered at any second by this goddamn grind turning Vic into a one-woman content factory.

“I gotta go. Aemond’s picking me up in fifteen,” Vic said, scooping her bag off the couch. “At least we’ll swing by the studio before the torture begins.”

“That already sounds like a way better plan,” Sara said gently. Maybe telling him to fuck off could wait, but it still didn’t explain why that other idiot—his brother—hadn’t tried a little harder.

“Right? And he finally admitted my version of the bassline in Cut Song is better than his,” Vic replied, something lighting up in her again. The sweetness of Aemond’s praise worked on her like a balm—calming, soothing, grounding. It was written all over her face.

Then she was gone, vanishing in a flash. The moment Sara heard the shower start upstairs, she finally picked up the empty bottle from the floor and, as her fucking Pisces moon took over, started dialing Aegon’s number on her phone.

Sara had heard about those red bricks a billion times. She’d heard Vic talk about the mortifying public incident a few months back—how the shame had eventually morphed into pure joy every time she mentioned the life she now shared with the love of her life.

The same love of her life who was now very clearly neglecting her, and with whom Sara absolutely needed to have a word—just to make sure he was putting in the effort Vic deserved. Or else she’d personally rip his balls off. She quickly started scanning through her mental toolbox to figure out what would be the best method for this lovely little task.

“Hey!”  

The voice that greeted her when the door opened was soft and friendly—but it wasn’t Aegon. Instead, it was a blonde girl with big eyes, looking at her with a mix of polite curiosity and the kind of familiarity that said she definitely knew who Sara was.

Well, Sara knew who she was too. Aegon’s sister. She’d seen her a few times at the pub for open mics, though they’d never spoken.

“Hi! I’m looking for your brother,” Sara jumped right in, trying to keep her mission vibes in check.

“The wild card or the psychopath?” the girl asked with deadpan seriousness.

Sara burst out laughing. “Exactly…?” she shrugged, and even though the girl didn’t immediately get what was funny, after a beat she lit up and laughed too.

“It’s for me! Be right down!” Aegon’s voice boomed from upstairs.

His sister motioned for Sara to come inside. The Targaryen place looked more like a five-star restaurant than a home. Of course it did. Aegon was the type of guy made for Louboutins and Christmas in Cuba. Nice catch, Vic.

She led Sara into a huge living room, asking if she wanted some tea while collecting a few crystals from the coffee table and turning them over in her hands. Sara shook her head—tea wasn’t the priority right now—but curiosity got the better of her.

“Black obsidian?” she asked, tilting her chin toward the girl's closed fist.

The girl nodded, still fully committed to making oat milk coffee without letting go of her stones. “For grounding. There’s something in the air I really don’t like lately. Must be my Pisces moon...” she murmured, pouring the milk with care.

Sara barely had time to nod in total agreement—finally someone else who sensed the vibe was off—before Aegon walked into the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sara snapped the moment she saw him—maybe a bit too aggressively.

“Hey, you’re the one who showed up at my place—so you don’t get to ask why I’m always soaking wet every time we run into each other,” he said, raking a hand through his dripping hair.

His sister, coffee in one hand and her crystals still clutched in the other, mumbled a quick apology and left them alone in the living room.

“No, genius, I mean what the hell are you doing and why the fuck is my best friend miserable, hasn’t seen you since Tuesday, and you’re just… doing nothing?” Sara shot back, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Aegon rolled his eyes as he dropped onto the sofa. It was painfully obvious that if something was going on, he wasn’t about to just admit it.  

“Look, it’s not like I want to leave her alone and miserable. It’s the label’s schedule and they clearly don’t want me there.”

“Why the hell do you say it like you couldn’t care less?” Sara pressed, arms crossed now, suspicious as hell.

He shot her a look that could’ve fried her on the spot. “You think I don’t care? First they scrap my album again and now it’s like they don’t want me to even see her,” he said, throwing his arms wide in frustration, the anger in his voice more real than she expected. 

Maybe she’d misjudged him. “Every time I try to see her, she’s exhausted. And whenever I swing by the label…”

“She’s in some ‘super secret, totally off-limits’ meeting with Aemond or locked in the booth in the recording room,” Sara finished for him, deflated.

Aegon gestured at her like, exactly, then dropped his head into his hands.

Sara debated for a long moment whether to tell him what she really came to say. She wasn’t sure if he’d understand, or worse, if it would trigger him. She knew his history. Maybe he wasn’t the right person to bring into this mess. But still…

“She’s been drinking a lot lately,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she watched his reaction closely.

Miraculously, Aegon’s head shot up. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, urging her to keep going.

“I mean… a lot,” Sara added, needing to make it clear this wasn’t some ‘Friday night wind-down’ thing. This was a bottle of wine by herself—sometimes more—and her passed out on the sofa until morning.

And Aegon understood.

“What shift do you have tonight?” he asked suddenly, like the pieces had just clicked together in his head.

“I’m closing,” she replied.

“Good. Leave me your house keys.”

******

The lights in the studio were low and amber-honeyed, soft enough to blur the edges of things. One of the smaller rooms, the kind wrapped so tightly in soundproofing you could hear your own heartbeat if you sat still long enough. Vic perched on a stool near the mixing desk, sleeves shoved to her elbows, one boot hooked around the footrest, the other planted firm on the ground like she needed at least one part of her to feel steady.

Aemond sat beside her, nursing a mug of black coffee like it held all the answers, nodding along as the rough mix played through the monitors.

Her voice came through raw, frayed in all the right places. Unpolished, but intentional. She liked that. Honesty had a kind of texture you couldn’t fake.

When the track ended, silence stretched, thick and slightly charged. Vic glanced sideways at Allen.

“Well?”

He sipped his coffee first—always had to do that, like opinions required marinating in caffeine—then leaned back, long legs outstretched, casual. Too casual. “It’s good.”

“Good,” she echoed, dry. Her eyes shifted to Aemond, looking for the flicker of something—approval, maybe, or recognition. That steady kind he gave her sometimes when no one else was paying attention.

“Mhm.” His gaze slid to hers. That little glance he did, the one that always felt like it came with subtext in italics. “There’s something in the second verse. Not a flaw, exactly. Just... a moment. It dips.”

“Emotionally?” she asked. “Or melodically?”

“Bit of both,” he said, leaning forward, elbows to knees. “That line about ‘waiting in doorways with empty hands’—that’s the gut punch. But then you back off. The tension’s all built up and instead of snapping the thread, you let it go slack. I’d lean in.”

She hated that it made sense. Hated more that she couldn’t argue.

“I like it understated.”

“Understated’s great,” Allen said, stepping in now, voice softer. “But you’re not meant to sit in the background, Vic. You’re not wallpaper. People should hear you and forget to breathe.”

Something flickered in her. Small. Defiant. Unwilling.

Allen had this talent that Vic found dangerously compelling—he always managed to make her feel like the most precious person in the world. And yet, Vic couldn’t help noticing how things always seemed to turn out the way he wanted.  

Probably part of being a manager, she thought.

She shrugged.

Allen tilted his head. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you don’t. Not all the way.”

She looked down at the scuffed toes of her boots. She didn’t have an answer for that.

Allen let it breathe for a moment before going on. “You’re right on the edge of something,” he said. Then turned to Aemond, like calling in a second opinion. “You feel it too, right?”

Aemond didn’t answer at first. Just looked at her—really looked—like he was reading some private translation only he could understand.

Vic shifted under it, not sure if it made her feel grounded or exposed.

“That shoot Jen set up,” Allen said, steering the moment back. “It’s this weekend, yeah?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why?”

His tone didn’t change. Cool, practiced nonchalance. “Just wondering if you’ve thought about how you want to show up.”

“This the part where you tell me to wear fishnets and glitter?”

He grinned. “Nah. You’ve already got the aesthetic. It’s about owning it. Making it unmistakable. People remember Stevie’s shawls. Debbie’s bleach. Sometimes the right look cements a moment into myth.”

She didn’t reply, but didn’t roll her eyes either. Just held his gaze a second too long, until she could feel herself starting to believe he meant she could actually become a myth.

Allen leaned against the console, arms crossed, smile like he was in on something. “You know hair theory?”

Vic looked at him sideways. “Hair theory?”

“Yeah. All the greats have a signature look. Some little detail that makes them unmissable.”

“So I need to shave my head and become someone’s Pinterest board?”

He laughed. Low, warm. “Oh Jesus, not shave! That fringe? The way it moves when you sing—it’s stupid photogenic.”

She almost smiled. Almost. He didn’t even notice how crooked it was from years of DIY trims—or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“You’ve already got the voice,” Allen said, starting to circle her now, slow like an orbit. “The edge. The truth. But a recognisable look might even give you a little more—” he searched for the word “—swagger.”

That made her laugh, short and involuntary. The way he’d said it was warm, but not suffocating, and Vic thought that if Allen had been her manager back when she was a scared little girl with three thousand hang-ups about her place in the world… maybe things would’ve been a little easier.

“That’s not even a real word.”

“Sure it is. Bite. A little ‘don’t fuck with me’ in your walk.”

She looked at Aemond again, like do you believe this?, but he just gave the smallest nod—the kind you could pretend not to notice if you weren’t ready to take it seriously.

“People should see you,” Allen said, sitting on the edge of the table across from her, “and know exactly who the fuck you are.”

Vic let her head fall back. “Feels a little... calculated.”

“It is,” he said. “But so is walking on stage with a setlist. Doesn’t make it fake. You’re not selling out, Vic. You’re carving space for the real stuff to live.”

Vic stared at him for a second, grateful—really grateful—that he’d hit the exact nerve of her fears, ones that now felt a little childish and a little too idealistic.  

She weighed it for a moment, wondering if there was anything wrong with trusting him completely. Maybe even handing over the reins—at least for the cluttered, tangled parts of her brain she couldn’t seem to sort out in this new life that was moving faster than she could keep up with.

She felt like she was learning how to walk for the first time—that was the right metaphor. And right now, with her legs still shaky and her balance uncertain, the temptation to reach up toward Allen’s outstretched hand was suddenly strong.

“Maybe a bob,” Allen said under his breath, stepping in front of her, reaching out with slow confidence and gently tilting her chin like he was testing the silhouette.

Vic instinctively gathered her hair in one hand. She remembered that night with Sara—drunk, dramatic, declaring with absolute certainty that bad bitches wore their hair long. That Vic didn’t have the bone structure for risks like bobs.  

She thought of Aegon’s fingers tangled in her hair at Ruskin Park, the way he looked at her with that kind of distracted love neither of them was ready to name.

“It’d suit you,” Allen said.

Her head snapped up, surprised by how gentle his voice had gone.

Vic bit her tongue to keep from asking if he really meant it.

After all, he was supposed to believe in her. He had fought to have her on his roster. He’d loved All You Wanted, loved her demo, had thrown himself into her project (God knows what Stevie Nicks would think of that). He’d treated her album like it was a child.

She didn’t answer. Just picked up her guitar and started strumming the same three chords again, a little slower this time. Thoughtful.

Across from her, Aemond stayed quiet, but she could feel his eyes on her—curious, watchful, present. He studied her like a song half-finished, waiting to see where the chorus landed. Then he gave the smallest shrug, as if to say, It’s not a bad idea.

And Allen, well. He saw things. Named them.

If he said it would help, maybe it would.

She told herself it was just a haircut.

But even as she played, her mouth started shaping that half-finished chorus again—the one Allen swore might be the second single.  

And she wasn’t sure anymore if she actually wanted to cut her hair or if she just wanted to hear him say she was doing okay.

“Anyway,” Allen said, stretching like the conversation hadn’t just curled something deep inside her, “that second verse. Think about it. Or don’t. You’re the one in the booth.”

******

Vic didn’t need big speeches or candlelit five-course dinners—if anything, she’d mock the hell out of him for trying. But he could do quiet. Thoughtful. Her kind of romantic.

So Aegon let himself into Sara’s apartment with the keys she'd dropped into his palm that afternoon and got to work.

First: clean up. Not a deep clean—she'd smell that shit immediately and get suspicious—but just enough to make space feel a little softer and relieve her from doing it herself. The coffee table was wiped down. The blanket she always curled up with folded over the sofa, then unfolded and draped again because it looked too staged. The lamp near the sofa clicked on, casting a warm, low glow that made everything feel calmer, even to him.

He set up their old DVD player next.  

Moulin Rouge! still in its scratched plastic case, cover slightly torn at the edge. They’d watched it once weeks ago—she’d cried and tried to pretend she hadn’t, he’d pretended not to notice and then teased her about it anyway. She’d rolled her eyes, called him a little shit, but smiled the whole time.

The menu screen flickered on, Ewan McGregor’s voice caught mid-note, looping endlessly. He turned the volume low and left it waiting.

Dinner was next.  

Takeout—of course. Anything else would’ve felt wrong. She didn’t trust people who liked cooking too much. Thai was safer. Pad See Ew, crispy tofu, green curry—the comfort food she never ordered herself but always stole from his plate.

Now all that was left to do was wait.  

And try not to look like he was waiting.

He paced a little. Changed the position of the chopsticks. Adjusted the blanket again.  

Sat down. Got up. Checked his phone. Zero texts. Nothing from her.  

Not that he expected one.

She was exhausted lately. He could see it in the gaps between their moments—the way she slouched in doorframes, how her sentences trailed off when she thought no one was listening. And if Sara was telling the truth—and she usually was—Vic wasn’t just exhausted. She was slipping. Going quiet in a way that didn’t look like peace.

Aegon hated that. 

Hated feeling like the world was making her smaller when all he wanted was to see her whole.

He needed to grow a pair, set aside his stupid jealousy that she definitely didn’t deserve, stop selfishly obsessing over his damn album, and get back to focusing on what was now his priority: Vic.

So he waited. Quiet, in her space, in the soft light, with a movie and dinner and the tiny hope that maybe this would be enough to make her exhale.

And then—

Keys jingled outside the door.

His chest pulled tight.

The door swung open.  

And she froze. Like her brain short-circuited at the sight of him in her apartment.

She was mid-shrug out of her jacket, bag still half-slipped off one shoulder, hair damp at the ends from a light rain outside. Her eyes darted from him to the couch to the takeout and then back to him, wide with suspicion.

“What the fuck,” she said softly, blinking.

Aegon raised both hands like don’t shoot. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a soft smile blossoming on her face.

“I broke in,” he said. “Left a trail of destruction. Probably microwaved your fish sauce.”

Vic narrowed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Is that green curry?”

“Yes.”

“Did you—” She stepped inside slowly, eyes sweeping over the room like she was trying to spot the trap. “Did you set up Moulin Rouge?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well… Sara’s out. And you haven’t exactly been returning texts, so…”

Her brows lifted, finally catching up to what was happening.

It hit her all at once, visible in the way her posture shifted. The bag thudded to the floor. Her jacket joined it. She clearly wasn’t used to this. Not from anyone. Not something sweet, and quiet, and no-pressure. 

She nudged him with her hip as she passed, heading for the sofa. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Aegon followed, slower. “You think I’ve been what?” he asked, the laugh in his voice edged with disbelief. “I’ve been trying to see you for days.”

He sat down beside her, close but not touching. “I missed you,” she said finally, voice almost too soft. “A stupid amount.”

Aegon looked at her, studied the edges of her face like he’d been trying to memorize them in her absence. “It felt like the fucking universe was in on it.”

She nodded, something small and sad in it. “It really did.”

They sat there for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy, just honest.

Then she glanced sideways, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “So this is how you say “I missed you too”.”

“I was romantically pursuing you against odds worthy of a tragic Victorian novel, thank you very much.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “A real martyr.”

“So brave.”

They both smiled at the same time, soft and slightly shaky, like exhaling tension neither of them knew they were still holding.

And then he saw it.

The hair.

Shorter. A sharp bob now, grazing her jaw, with a fringe that looked like it hadn’t fully decided what it wanted to be yet. It framed her face in a way that made her look… sharper. Like she was cosplaying confidence and hadn’t fully committed to the role.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared a second longer than was socially acceptable.

She noticed.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Her hand lifted to her bangs, nervous, defensive. “I cut it. It’s fine. Allen wanted ‘a  look’. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Aegon tilted his head. “Do you like it?”

Vic didn’t answer right away. That was the answer.

“I don’t hate it,” she said after a beat.

He leaned closer. Gently reached out, ran two fingers along the edge of her bangs, soft and damp.

“You’re allowed to say you don’t like it,” she muttered, eyes flitting away again. “I won’t cry about it.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” he said, voice softening.

She raised her eyebrows, skeptical.

“I was thinking,” he said, trailing her cheeks with his thumb, “You look like a dangerous French film student,” he said.

She laughed once, sharp. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“I mean that in the best way. You’re like, mysterious now. Might seduce me and then ghost me for three years.”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, but she was smiling now.

“I’m serious.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “You look hot.”

Her cheeks flushed. She tried to roll her eyes again, but it didn’t land. Her hands moved to his shirt, tugging him a little closer.

He didn’t resist.

Her lips were right there, and when he kissed her it felt like opening a window. Warm, easy, a little clumsy at first—like they were both trying to remember how this worked after too many days apart. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugged just enough to make him exhale against her mouth.

The second kiss was messier. Hungrier. Less I missed you and more I need you right now. His hands found her hips, slid beneath the hem of her shirt, skin warm and familiar under his palms. 

She broke the kiss long enough to murmur, “Wait, the movie—”

“Fuck the movie,” he said, already steering them toward the hallway.

“But it’s Moulin Rouge.”

“It’ll still be Moulin Rouge tomorrow.”

“You lit a candle, didn’t you?”

“I was trying to be romantic, Jesus—”

She laughed against his neck, breath catching as he pressed her against the hallway wall.

Their mouths found each other again, and again, and it felt like breathing for the first time in days. Like shaking off someone else’s version of who she was supposed to be.

By the time they reached her bedroom, Moulin Rouge was still looping in the background, the menu music tinny and distant. Aegon barely noticed.

He realised he didn’t care how long it took for her to feel like herself again. He’d be here. Quietly. On her red sofa. In her bed. Wherever she needed.

[sorenwolfgang]

Soren sat there, his focus completely on Vivian as she spoke. There was something about the way she spoke, the casual ease in her tone, that made him feel oddly at peace. He didn’t often get this kind of attention, the kind that made him feel like nothing else mattered in the world but this moment. It was strange but comforting. It felt like the whole world slowed down when he was listening to her, and he couldn’t help but savor it, even if it made him a little anxious, too. He smiled when she mentioned Shauni, the soft warmth in her voice making him feel like he was getting a glimpse into something deeply meaningful for her. He couldn’t relate to the sibling bond, never having grown up with someone in that way, but he could see how important it was to Vivian. He knew other foster kids but most of them walked into his life and back out of it once they got adopted. "That’s great," Soren said softly, a quiet smile on his lips. "It’s special to have someone like that in your life, even if they’re not blood. Shauni's observant. I keep noticing how she looks at everyone." His thoughts drifted briefly, wondering if he had ever experienced anything quite like that connection. He didn’t think he had. Sure, he’d lived with many kids in foster care, but those bonds were fleeting, often temporary. He didn’t keep in touch with any of them now. So hearing about Vivian’s closeness with Shauni made him feel something unexpected—maybe a little envious. He chuckled softly at her story about her parents and the coffee ban. It was so... human, the kind of funny thing that made people relatable. "Sounds like they were really trying to help, even if it didn’t quite make sense," he remarked with a soft laugh. He liked how she could find humor in even the strangest situations, how she made things feel light even when the world around them wasn’t. Then, there was the poem. When she asked about it, Soren felt that familiar flutter of nervousness, but he quickly masked it. He’d never been one to talk about his poetry, especially when it was so personal. The fact that she’d asked, though, caught him off guard. It felt like a moment of vulnerability, and Soren wasn’t exactly used to being open. Still, he didn’t want to seem distant, so he gave her an honest, if somewhat guarded, response. "Yeah, it’s about an ex," Soren said quietly, running a hand through his hair, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "It wasn’t the healthiest relationship, but... I guess it’s a part of my past now." He noticed how Vivian shifted a bit, as if she realised she might’ve asked too much, and for a moment, Soren felt guilty for making her feel uncomfortable. He was just getting to know her, and he didn’t want to make things awkward between them. "You’re right," he said softly. "If they left, then it was for the best. It just... takes time to realise that, I guess." Her attempt at humor made him laugh, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to melt away. He liked how she could turn serious moments into something lighter, how she could make everything feel less heavy. At her question about why he didn’t write for a living, Soren paused, thinking for a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that, but it still made him feel uncertain. "I don’t know," he said with a slight shrug. "I guess... I write for myself, mostly. It’s hard to think about sharing it with the world, you know? There’s a lot of me in those poems, and it’s not always easy to open up like that." He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of genuine interest and quiet admiration. "You know," he began, his voice soft but steady, "I bet you could make better money with your photography skills. You’ve got a real eye for it." He paused, trying to find the right words. "So... what’s stopping you from sharing that with the world on a bigger scale too?"

there was something about having all his attention that made vivian feel a little strange about the whole thing, it wasn’t bad, just unfamiliar. he sat there, listening to her like there was nothing else in the world worth doing, and that had never happened to her before. but, it was the same she did while he spoke, she wanted to remember those details, he wasn’t going to ask him about it, she was going to remember those moments for future moments. "siblings can be annoying but, shauni is the best" she nodded. he had probably lived with many other kids while he was in foster care, maybe he was still friends with them, but that wasn't probably as special as the relationship she shared with shauni, they weren't blood related but she didn't care, shauni was one of the people she loved the most in this world. "i'm really lucky, that for sure" she nodded, a soft smile on her lips. at jo’s words, the girl chuckled, "i don't know if they liked the excuse though" she chuckled, "it was crazy, i think they didn't let me drink coffee for a week, in their mind i needed to get all the caffeine out of my system before getting more" she mused, she didn't know if that worked, she simply did because she wanted to rest again. vivian for a second felt like that day all over again, that question had left her mouth before she could think about overstepping. she was actually embarrassed. she noticed how soren got nervous, how he ran a hand through his hair and he blushed. not only had she overstepped when she asked him to read her one of his poems, now she found herself asking about who that poem was as if it was something he needed to share. at his mention of that beautiful poem being about an ex, the girl chewed the inner part of her cheek. "yeah, you're right" she nodded, "if they left meant that you're better off without them" she said softly, "i mean, i know what i'm talking about, i was cheated on with someone, trust me, i'm really wise in that topic" she tried to joke so the mood went back to a more light topic. "why don't you write for a living though?" she asked, "you could share your art with the world."

[munsonshire]

Train trips with Bucky

Pairing: Reader and Bucky Barnes

Warnings: talk about the war (WWII) because of what happened to Bucky and all that, no gore though, or talk about torture, so you're safe

Notes: Yes, I know I left for a long time. Let's pretend that never happened in the first place. Is that good? Yes? Good, let's go

Bucky Barnes Masterlist / Main Masterlist

---

Okay, so this headcanon has two versions: first, if you met him before the war; second, if you meet him after (during Avengers Civil War or after); a third would be you're immortal and loved all that time, though that's unlikely

Before the war

He always picks the window seat. He absolutely loves to look out the window and get lost in the sights. He finds it calming and is often lost in thought when he does it. Also, if you're very close, aka dating or really good friends, he might (MIGHT) let you sit there for a little bit.

He's overly protective of the luggage; he doesn't like the idea of anyone else touching it or getting too close to it. He insists on carrying everything and keeping it right on top of your seats, not further, ever. That's mostly why he prefers to travel light, just a little bag with a few things, and that's it.

During train travels, it's either him looking out the window or sleeping, sometimes both at the same time. But if it's you who falls asleep first, he stays awake....someone has to take care of the luggage.

Other times, he will get somehow nostalgic and tell you stories about when he was a child and how he went on little trips with his parents.

He's totally relaxed during these trips, and even more so if it's with you.

After the war

He has trouble with trains, I mean, who wouldn't after falling off one and getting tortured for the next 50-something years. Convincing him to go on a train trip with you takes effort, and even more effort does it take to make him get on the train.

Once he is inside, and after a lot of reassurance, he might get a bit comfortable. But all that goes down the train when the train starts moving, the sounds, the movement are all too familiar. He's tense, his fingers crunching the armrest, his look distant, like he's remembering all at once, and he's desperately trying to ground himself and not freak out.

You've obviously talked about this before; there's no way in hell you're getting him on a train without having talked about it before. You know all his fears, what happened at the war, Steve, Hydra...that's why you try to talk to him softly. Reassuring him that nothing is going to happen, and even more importantly, that he's safe. You might even offer the possibility to get off the train at the first stop if he really can't handle being on it for the duration of the trip. He really appreciates it. And maybe the first time he does accept the idea of getting off the train. But the second time you go with him, he is a little bit more confident.

But even after the first tries, he's still super aware of his surroundings, like danger is everywhere waiting for him to lower his guard. He checks the exits, speed of the train, and even the people around him. But as you work with him to get past his fears, he slowly but surely starts changing those habits.

He sometimes opens up about what happened with the trains during the war. How they were often packed with soldiers, how they’d move in the dead of night, and how the sound of the tracks beneath them felt like a countdown to something he couldn’t control. His voice falters a bit as he talks about the things he saw during the war, and you can hear the weight of it all.

Bucky will stay awake a bit longer than he needs to, avoiding falling into a deep sleep, because he’s afraid of nightmares — ones where he’s in the middle of a mission, the sound of the train tracks rattling, or worse, when he’s back in Hydra’s grasp. But eventually, if you’re there, he’ll fall asleep with his head on your shoulder, clinging to you like a lifeline, finding comfort in your presence.

Even though he doesn’t want to admit it, part of the reason he’s so insistent on carrying your bags, picking the safest seat, and staying alert is because he’s not just watching for danger — he’s keeping both of you safe from his triggers, too. He’s trying to make sure that you’re both okay, even when he’s not fully okay himself.

As the train moves into more peaceful countryside or quiet towns, you notice Bucky’s shoulders start to ease, his jaw unclenching a little. He might even smile at you, a small, almost imperceptible thing, but it’s real.

Once you’re past the worst of it — the initial nerves, the tension — he’ll get absorbed in the ride. Maybe he’ll even chuckle at the quirky things you see out the window. For a moment, the pain of the past feels more distant, the train just a train again.

[thediktatortot]

.