#Sure I’ve got a convincing act

[bloodied-dagger]

I hate when people tell me I’m a good person. That just makes me feels worse

[edenarchives]

♯┆𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 .ᐟ — 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’ve faked it with every guy you’ve ever worked with. Every scene, every moan, convincing, but never real. Then Bakugo happens. One scene turns into something else entirely and now you can’t stop thinking about him, and you’re starting to wonder if it was ever just a scene.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content. smut, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, fingering, rough sex, praise, light degradation, dirty talk, light choking, possessiveness, semi-public sex (on set), creampie, light aftercare, porn industry setting, blurred emotional lines, language.

PART TWO

You weren’t nervous. Not really.

You’d done this a hundred times. With all the big names—Keigo, who liked to make everything a performance; Touya, who had a thing for whispering filth like he was telling you a secret; even that wild three-way with Shindo and Hitoshi that still topped your subscriber requests.

So no, this wasn’t nerves.

This was something else.

Maybe it was the name on the call sheet. Bakugo Katsuki.

He was the guy. The one who didn’t just act like a powerhouse on camera—he was one. Every scene he was in got clipped, shared, memed, thirsted after. The kind of raw intensity people couldn’t stop watching. Or jerking off to.

You included. Not that you’d admit it out loud.

Okay. Maybe once. When you were wine drunk and swiping through his catalog. Maybe twice. Maybe more.

You’d watched him wreck other girls. Watched the way his hands gripped hips like he owned them. The way his mouth dragged moans out like he knew exactly what buttons to push. You always told yourself it was research. Prep for the inevitable scene.

Now here you were, in the makeup chair, legs crossed, phone in hand, trying not to stare at the clock. You didn’t even get this antsy for award shows.

You shifted your hips a little. God, you needed to get a grip.

“Five minutes, Y/N,” someone called from set.

You gave a casual wave, sliding your phone into your bag. Cool. Easy. You’d done this before. You were the girl. The one who always looked good, always knew her angles, always gave the most convincing moans. No one ever knew they were fake.

No one needed to.

You only did this for the money. Never caught feelings, never chased orgasms. You could finish on your own time. You always did.

But when you walked onto set and saw him—arms crossed, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low, like the cameras were already rolling—your breath hitched.

And then his eyes locked on you.

Bakugo didn’t smile. He smirked. All sharp teeth and slow drags of his gaze. Like he was already undressing you in his head.

“‘Bout time,” he said, voice low and cocky.

You raised a brow. “Don’t get cocky, Dynamight.”

He stepped forward, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up. He smelled like something spicy—cologne, sweat, and danger. His smirk widened.

“Too late, princess. I’ve seen your work. Bet I could make you actually cum.”

You laughed. It came out a little shaky. “You think you’re the first guy to say that?”

“Nah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek like he had every right to touch you already. “But I’ll be the first one to prove it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped anyway. Cocky bastard. You weren’t new to bold claims—hell, you’d heard that same line from half the industry. But something about the way he said it, all low and sure like it was a promise, made your pulse skip.

You turned away before he could see the heat rising to your cheeks.

The scene started like any other.

Lights. Camera. Action.

You were on your back, legs spread, eyes half-lidded. Your moans were perfectly timed, your hands moving just how they were supposed to.

Bakugo was above you, teasing at first, fingers trailing up your thigh, smirking like he had all the time in the world. You tried to stay in character. Tried to focus.

But then his fingers actually slipped inside, and holy shit—

You bit your lip.

That felt… different.

His fingers weren’t just thrusting. They curled. Pressed. Rubbed against the spot you usually had to hunt for on your own. And when he looked down at you, his eyes weren’t blank or performative. They were locked in. Watching every twitch of your mouth. Every hitch in your breath.

“You always fake it this early?” he muttered under his breath, so low only you could hear.

Your stomach flipped. Your thighs tensed.

“What?” you managed, voice barely a whisper.

Bakugo chuckled. It rumbled low in his chest.

“You’re tight,” he said, dragging his thumb over your clit just right. “But you ain’t clenching like you mean it. Not yet.”

And then he sucked on your inner thigh.

Not for the camera. Not for show.

For you.

Your back arched on instinct.

“Relax,” he murmured, lips brushing against your skin. “I got you.”

And you hated—hated—how badly you wanted to believe him.

He didn’t start slow.

He licked into you like he was starving, like he’d been starving, and this was his first meal in weeks. His tongue was hot, wet, relentless—flicking against your clit in firm, practiced strokes that had your legs trembling before you could even bite back the first moan.

You weren’t acting.

Not anymore.

Your hands gripped the sheets beneath you, white-knuckled, and your lips parted like you wanted to say something, but all that came out was a broken little gasp.

“Oh fuck—”

He hummed against you. Smug bastard.

“Don’t hold back now, princess,” he murmured, dragging his tongue up your slit slow, then latching back onto your clit like he owned it. “Let’s show ‘em what it looks like when it’s real.”

You whimpered. Whimpered. You didn’t do that.

Not even when Keigo pulled out the toys. Not even when Touya did that breathy thing in your ear.

This was different.

You tried—tried—to keep it together, but his mouth moved like he already knew every inch of you. Tongue swirling, lips sucking, fingers still working inside you like he wasn’t giving you a fucking choice. He knew exactly where to press, where to flick, when to slow down and when to pick it back up again.

And it wasn’t even for the camera.

It was for you.

Your stomach coiled, tight. Too tight.

Your breathing hitched. Your thighs started to shake. You were going to—

“No,” you gasped, voice panicked, eyes fluttering. “Don’t—fuck—I’m—”

“Yeah you are,” Bakugo growled, pulling back just long enough to look at you. His mouth was wet with you, lips swollen, eyes wild. “C’mon. Don’t fake it. Just fuckin’ let go.”

And then he sucked—hard—right over your clit.

Your body snapped.

The orgasm hit like a wave crashing through you, ripping the air from your lungs. You didn’t fake it. You couldn’t. Your moans were raw, broken, punched out of you like the wind got knocked from your chest. You shook, hands flying to his hair, thighs locking around his head as your back arched off the bed.

And he didn’t stop.

Kept going. Licking, pressing, dragging your orgasm out like he wanted to ruin you.

You came again, again, before you’d even come down from the first.

Your voice cracked. “Bakugo, I—I can’t—”

“Yeah you can,” he muttered, not letting up for a second. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good. Look at you.”

You couldn’t. Your vision blurred. Your whole body was buzzing, on fire, shaking like you’d lost control of every single nerve ending. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You didn’t lose it like this.

But god, he was still licking you through it, fingers still curling right there, his voice low and wrecked as he talked you through it like he wanted to brand the sound of your orgasm into your memory forever.

“You gonna cum for me again?” he asked, voice gravel and heat, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You nodded, desperate, lost.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say it’s real.”

Your lips trembled.

“It’s real,” you gasped, breathless, broken. “It’s real, fuck I’m gonna—”

And just like that, you came undone again. Loud. Messy. Helpless.

Bakugo didn’t stop until your hips were twitching, your thighs were soaked, and your moans turned into soft little sobs of overstimulation.

The lights above you still burned hot. The cameras were still rolling. But everything else felt far away—muted, blurry, unreal. Your legs were jelly. Your chest rose and fell like you’d just run a marathon. And Bakugo was still between them, licking his lips like he’d just tasted something forbidden and planned to do it again.

Your brain was still fogged when he stood, stretching to his full height.

Then his hands were back on you, big and warm and so sure, gripping your waist like he owned it. He flipped you over effortlessly, face down, ass up, skin still hot and damp with sweat. Your thighs trembled when they spread open again, already overstimulated and soaked.

Bakugo slid his hands up your back. Slow. Possessive.

“You feel that?” he murmured, leaning over you, his cock grinding against your ass with lazy pressure. “That twitch in your legs? That little shake?”

You nodded weakly, eyes fluttering.

“That’s mine now.”

Your breath caught as he pulled his hips back. You barely had time to process before the thick head of his cock was pressing against your entrance—hot, heavy, and already wet from you.

“You ready?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

Then he pushed in.

Slow. All the way to the hilt. Letting you feel every inch. Stretching you open, filling you to the fucking brim. You choked on a moan, fingers gripping the sheets like your life depended on it.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, buried deep inside you, letting your pussy throb around him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, hips flexing. “So fuckin’ tight. Can feel you squeezing me already.”

You were. He hadn’t even started moving yet and you were clenching around him like you didn’t want him to leave.

Then—he moved.

A slow drag out. A sharp thrust back in. Deep. Deeper. Your mouth dropped open. No sound came out.

“That the spot?” he murmured, hips rolling again, hitting the same angle, slow and deliberate.

You nodded, gasping.

“You better fuckin’ tell me when you’re close,” he growled, pace still maddeningly slow. “I wanna feel it. I wanna hear it.”

He reached around and pressed two fingers against your clit, rubbing soft, teasing circles that made your arms give out. You dropped to your elbows, back arching like he’d wired you for pleasure.

Then he started really fucking you.

Not fast. Not rough. Just deep. Every. Single. Stroke. Reaching places that made your eyes roll back. His hips snapped forward with just enough force to jolt you up the bed, his fingers never leaving your clit.

You moaned into the mattress, voice high and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “That’s the fuckin’ sound I wanted.”

You were spiraling. Every thrust, every rub, every low growl in your ear sent you closer to the edge.

“Bakugo, I—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” he grunted, hips picking up speed, still hitting that spot that made your toes curl. “Then fuckin’ cum for me.”

You shattered.

You clenched around him so tight he groaned, biting down on a curse as your body trembled under him. Your moan punched out of your throat, high and wrecked and real.

But he didn’t stop.

“Oh fuck—fuck, wait—” you gasped, hips twitching as he kept thrusting, dragging you straight into another orgasm with no break.

He leaned over you, voice low in your ear. “Not fakin’ now, huh?”

You shook your head wildly, whining into the sheets.

“Bet you never came like this on set before,” he said, voice rough. “Bet no one’s ever made you cum like this off it either.”

He wrapped a hand in your hair and pulled gently, just enough to lift your head.

“Say it.”

You could barely speak. “No one. No one but you.”

“Damn right.”

His thrusts sped up, rougher now, deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, joined by your wrecked little gasps, your whines, the slick mess between your thighs.

“You hear that?” he said, low and smug. “That fuckin’ sound your pussy’s makin’? That’s all me.”

You whimpered, and he slapped your ass—not hard, just enough to make you clench again.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “You’re gonna make me cum just like that.”

And then he slammed into you. Hard. Once. Twice. Over and over. You screamed—literally—as another orgasm crashed through you, your body locking up, eyes rolling back.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, and then pulled out just in time to stroke himself twice, thick ropes of cum painting your back, his voice ragged as he came with a low, wrecked growl.

You collapsed.

No faking. No poses. Just you, ruined on the sheets, shaking and soaked and completely fucking gone.

Bakugo dropped to his knees behind you, panting. He grabbed a towel off the edge of the bed, wiped you down gently—so gently it made your chest ache.

“You good?” he asked, voice quiet now. Careful.

You nodded, still dizzy. Still pulsing. Still floating.

“I came so many times I lost count,” you whispered, dazed.

He chuckled, cocky and low. “Good.”

You rolled onto your side, trying to catch your breath.

“That was supposed to be a scene,” you mumbled. “That felt like a fucking movie.”

Bakugo leaned in, kissed your bare shoulder, then smirked against your skin.

“Baby,” he murmured, “that was just the warm-up.”

You snorted softly, still breathless. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

Your legs were still trembling, body wrecked and used and buzzing. But something else was humming under your skin now. That ache in your core—not from need, but from power.

You rolled over, slow and deliberate, dragging your fingers down his chest. His eyes tracked every movement.

“Get on your back,” you whispered.

Bakugo raised a brow but didn’t argue. He leaned back against the pillows, smirking like he thought he still had the upper hand.

His hair was damp with sweat. His lips were swollen. His chest rose and fell in hard, uneven breaths. You’d never seen him like this.

Your grin widened.

You leaned down and kissed him—soft, slow, way too good to be acting. Then you sat back, hips lifting off him, and slid down his body.

“Where you goin’?” he rasped, half-laughing, half-breathless.

You looked up at him from between his thighs, eyes dark, lips parted. “Didn’t say I was done with you yet.”

His breath caught.

You licked up the underside of his cock—slow, teasing, wet. He twitched in your hand, muscles tensing as you took your time, letting your mouth work him like you had something to prove. And maybe you did. Maybe you just wanted to see him fall apart the way he’d done to you.

You looked up, mouth wrapped around the tip, and saw it—the crack in his composure. The soft clench of his jaw. The desperate twitch in his thigh. The helpless sound he made when you sucked just right.

“You’re so sensitive, you’re not gonna last,” you said around him, lips brushing the head.

His fingers gripped the sheets. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

You didn’t.

You kept going, messy and perfect, tongue flicking and mouth sinking deeper, until he was panting, until he was cursing under his breath, until his hips jerked off the bed.

And then you pulled off, slow, dragging your tongue over the tip one last time.

He made a noise—wrecked.

You climbed back up his body, straddling his hips again. His hands found your thighs like muscle memory, gripping tight.

You leaned down, lips brushing his jaw.

“Beg.”

He froze. “What?”

You rolled your hips once, just enough to feel the slide of his cock against your slick entrance.

“Say it,” you whispered. “Tell me you want it.”

Bakugo swallowed hard. His voice was low, rough. “I want it.”

You licked the shell of his ear, teasing. “Not good enough.”

His hands trembled where they held you. Then he growled, breath hot.

“Please.”

You stilled.

“What was that?”

He gritted his teeth. Looked up at you like he hated how much he meant it.

“Please,” he repeated. “I want you. Need you. Fuck, I’ll say whatever you want—just ride me.”

You smiled. Real. Slow. Lazy and smug.

Then you sank down on him—deep, wet, tight—and his whole body arched beneath you, a broken moan punching out of his throat like you’d ripped it from his chest.

His hands flew to your hips.

You rode him slow. Sweet. All control. And when he finally came again—loud, raw, completely undone—you kissed him through it. Held him through it.

And when he whispered your name afterward, soft and stunned, like he didn’t know what just hit him

You smiled. Because for once, it wasn’t just acting.

Neither of you moved right away. His arms were still around you, chest rising and falling under your cheek, skin damp with sweat, muscles twitching beneath your fingers. Your heart was still beating too fast, and so was his.

Eventually, though, you had to get up. Had to move. The spell didn’t break, exactly—it just faded enough to remember where you were, who you were, what this was supposed to be.

You pulled on your robe in silence, legs still shaking slightly, and glanced at him across the bed. He sat up slow, pushing his hair back, watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Like maybe he had more to say, but didn’t know how. Or didn’t think he should.

You hesitated.

So did he.

“Um…I’ll see you around,” you said, trying to make it sound casual, even though your voice came out a little too soft.

“Yeah,” he said, standing and reaching for his clothes. “Guess you will.”

Your stomach twisted, weirdly tight, but you smiled anyway. You nodded once, turned, and walked off set without looking back.

You didn’t see the way he watched you go.

Didn’t see the way his fingers flexed like he wanted to reach for you.

Didn’t hear the low, quiet fuck that slipped from under his breath when the door finally shut behind you.

You got home and didn’t even shower right away.

You peeled off your clothes slow, every muscle sore in the best possible way, and collapsed into bed wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie and your post-fuck glow. Your thighs ached. Your voice was half-gone. Your lips were still swollen.

You looked wrecked.

You felt worse.

And yet somehow, the only thing you could think about was him. The way he’d looked at you. The way he sounded saying your name. The way his hands had held you after like he wasn’t ready to let go.

You tried to distract yourself. Pulled up the scene, freshly posted not even an hour ago.

It already had thousands of likes. Hundreds of comments. More than anything you’d dropped in months.

You scrolled.

StepOnMeY/N: Holy shit, that was unreal.

BbyBakuGo: not y/n faking with everyone but bakugo

ToyasToy: Was that real? Tell me that was real.

It was.

You scrolled further.

KeigoOfficial: I feel personally offended. Gonna have to step my game up. Rematch y/n?

TouyaTodo: faked it? With me? damn. i must be losing my edge. hit me up when you wanna make it real doll.

You smirked.

Your DM notifications were blowing up. People you’d worked with. People you hadn’t. Everyone suddenly curious. Hungry. Competitive.

Your stomach flipped. It was fun. It was flattering. But none of it hit quite the same.

Then you saw it.

BakugoK: Already need more from my favorite girl.

You stared at it.

Read it once.

Twice.

A third time, just to make sure it was real.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your fingers went numb. You sat up in bed, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. Because what the fuck did that mean?

You clicked on his profile. Double checked that it was him.

It was.

No emoji. No game. Just a single comment that said everything and nothing all at once.

Already need more.

Favorite girl.

You slammed your laptop shut and screamed into your pillow. You kicked your feet like a schoolgirl. You laughed—hysterical, breathless, completely losing your mind.

Then you opened your laptop, stared at the comment again, and whispered out loud to no one

“Oh my god.”

Because yeah—you’d done this a hundred times. But this one was different.

[enigmaris]

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[sunrizef1]

The Truth in Pretending

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader

Warnings: umeployed!logan, Williams racing

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Logan is on the brink of losing his seat. Maybe a relationship with a famous singer would help him keep it.

ynln

📍New York City, New York

liked by oliviarodrigo sabrinacarpenter and 6,088,987 others

ynln life lately 💕

load comments…

user1 my baby

user2 diva core

user3 I am feral for this woman

user4 new music when??????

user5 real 😭

oliviarodrigo beautiful girl 😘

liked by ynln

ynln no, you 🫶

user6 I love her

user7 MY BAEEEEE

user8 I need new music

user9 how can I relate this post to rep tv

user10 that cat is so real cuz I would act the same way if I met y/n

sabrinacarpenter 💕

ynln 💕

user11 looked in the mirror and sighed

user12 need her

user13 Taylor liked

user14 god PLEASE

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ynln added to their story

sabrinacarpenter

u could say that again 😮‍💨

never taking another tequila shot again 🤮

ynln

It wasn’t *that* bad

I’ve only thrown up twice this morning 🤷‍♀️

sabrinacarpenter

well, don’t look at me for blame

we needed to celebrate your last day of independence

ynln

That’s not what that was

I’m sure he’s wonderful

sabrinacarpenter

hmm

he’ll have to win me over

I’m not convinced

Especially since it’s his team making you do this

ynln

I could’ve said no

sabrinacarpenter

but u didn’t

Cuz u were pressured into it

it’s not hard to tell

I litteraly have a whole song about not being a mind-reader and even I could tell

ynln

wtvr

it’s fine, really

sabrinacarpenter

have u even met him

ynln

We meet today

sabrinacarpenter

Good luck, soldier 🫡

you’ll need it 💋

ynln liked a message ♥️

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ynln added to their story

sabrinacarpenter liked your story ♥️

taylorswift liked your story ♥️

oliviarodrigo liked your story ♥️

logansargeant liked your story ♥️

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ynln added to their story

logansargeant

who took this?

ynln

lily!

she was walking with Alex behind us on the way out

logansargeant

oh, I didn’t know they were there

it’s a cute picture

ynln

you rly think so?

logansargeant

I like it, at least

ynln

don’t worry

I do too

logansargeant

thanks for coming btw

you didn’t have to

ynln

I mean, technically I was contractually obligated to

but I had fun

I’m glad I came

logansargeant

but I finished p20

sorry I couldn’t make your first race more exciting

I fear it will be a lot of p20 this season

ynln

Logan, it’s fine

I know nothing about f1

I was just having fun watching you race

logansargeant

so I take it you liked your first race?

ynln

I did!

lily might just be my new favorite person

Don’t tell Sabrina I said that

logansargeant

I don’t have any way to do that so I think you’re safe

I’m getting nervous you might like lily more than you like me

I mean, ur not contractually obligated to hang out with her

ynln

lol

we might be a contract but I do like you lo

dw

logansargeant

good to know

ynln liked a message ♥️

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sabrinacarpenter

ew, nerds

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ynln

hi :)

logansargeant liked a message ♥️

logansargeant

do u maybe have extra shampoo in your hotel room…?

I don’t have any

ynln

oh my sweet angel logan

I don’t use hotel shampoo

You can have all of mine

logansargeant

oh yay

can u bring it over

ynln

yeah I got you

what room are you

logansargeant

4567

ynln

Oh you’re just down the hall

I’ll be over in a min

logansargeant

thank you :)

ynln liked a message ♥️

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sabrinacarpenter

oh my poor baby

stuck in England for American independence day

ynln

I think I’ll survive 🤷‍♀️

sabrinacarpenter

oh?

ynln

yeah

I mean I have this lovely little puppy for company

sabrinacarpenter

who’s dog is that?

ynln

Logan’s

sabrinacarpenter

ugh

not him

ynln

He’s wonderful

sabrinacarpenter

hmmmm

I’m not convinced

ynln

well I am

sabrinacarpenter

oh!

you’re not into him, r u?

ynln

Nope

he’s just rly nice sab

sabrinacarpenter

mmmm

ynln

well I have a 4th of July party to get ready for

bye sab

sabrinacarpenter

don’t think I didn’t notice that ur having a party with Logan when there’s not even anyone around to see it and help your pr

ynln

ur getting blocked

——

logansargeant

where’d u goooo ☹️

ynln

lol I’m in the backyard

u good?

logansargeant

yeah, I’m just feeling too patriotic

need to talk to another American

ynln

you’ve been talking to me all day?

logansargeant

well yeah but I can’t go too long without an American or I start to turn British

ynln

lol, come outside

logansargeant

already omw ☺️

——

TWITTER

——

INSTAGRAM

ynln added to their story

sabrinacarpenter liked your story ♥️

taylorswift liked your story ♥️

logansargeant liked your story ♥️

logansargeant

❤️❤️❤️❤️

ynln

❤️❤️❤️❤️

logansargeant

I’m so glad u came :)

ynln

I am too

I meant it when I said I was proud of you

logansargeant

thanks y/n :)

for once, I am too

ynln liked a message ♥️

——

ynln

liked by taylorswift logansargeant and 12,998,907 others

ynln happy summer ☀️

packing it up out now 🎧

load comments…

user15 AHHHHH

user16 y/n l/n returns to Instagram posts

user17 WAIT THIS SONG IS SO CUTE

user18 I spot Logan!

user19 “I came so close to packing it up but then you happened” 😭

user20 waitttt this is lovely

user21 this is her so high school

taylorswift so good!!! 🙌

liked by ynln ♥️

user22 Logan sargeant you have rocked my world

lilymhe I would like photo creds

ynln so sorry guys, lily took the middle photo!!!!

user23 wait the Williams boys vacationed together? 🥺

user24 this is so

logansargeant ☀️

liked by ynln ♥️

user25 BOAF OF EM

——

MESSAGES

——

TWITTER

——

MESSAGES

——

INSTAGRAM

ynln added to their story

logansargeant

idk can you make the plane move faster or something

ynln

Ur so impatient

logansargeant

sry I wanna see my gf who I love or wtvr

ynln

oh?

There’s a couple big steps in that statement

logansargeant

Delete delete delete

how do u delete messages on Instagram

I didn’t say a word

ynln

oh no, dw, I enjoyed it

logansargeant

r u sure?

cus I just figured out how to delete messages

thanks google

ynln

nope

don’t delete it

as ur gf, I think I should get used to that

(+ I love u 2, so the feelings mutual)

logansargeant

oh thank god

I was worried I’d have to disappear off the face of the planet

ynln

oh don’t do that

I haven’t even seen you as your official gf yet

logansargeant

giggling and kicking my feet

ynln

lmfao, shut up 😭

logansargeant liked a message ♥️ ——

ynln

📍London, England

liked by logansargeant sabrinacarpenter and 21,676,088 others

ynln back where he belongs

tagged: logansargeant

load comments…

user26 I am deeply in love with them

user27 as a Logan fan, I am thankful for this sign of life

user28 love that, instead of using a candid, she used a pic of him at Williams just to put an x over the logo lmfao

user29 she’s so diva, I love it

user30 MY SHAYLAAAA

sabrinacarpenter ig he’s alright

liked by ynln ♥️

logansargeant I’m honored

sabrinacarpenter don’t get too cocky, ur still unemployed 🚩

user31 They’re MY Taylor and Travis

user32 I WAS SO CLOSE TO PACKING IT UPPP BUT THATS RIGHT WHEN YOU HAPPENEDDDDDD

taylorswift happy for you!

ynln thanks tay!

user33 HES FREE! WORST EXPERIENCE OF HIS LIFE!

user34 why does my goat look so happy to be fired

user35 if I got to get out of that hellhole and go home to my beautiful girlfriend who writes sweet songs about me, I would also be very happy

logansargeant I love you 😍

ynln lol, I love you too nerd

user36 oh my god they’re so perfect I love them so much

user37 actually let’s talk more about the x over the Williams logo

user38 killatrav liked

user39 ofc he did, this is tayvis 2.0

user40 tayvis this, tayvis that. No, this is my Louis and Olivia.

user41 new albums gonna bang

——

tag list: @evie-119 @casperlikej

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

back pain. l Joel Miller

Summary: Joel had back problems, someone had to help him

Warnings: smut (+18), unprotected sex (don't do that), breeding kink, oral sex (f!receiving), Joel has back problems, Ann shows up, Hazel is mentioned, a bit of jealousy

A/N: like many of us i also saw ep 2 tlou2. i had this chapter already written, i thought it might cheer you up. joel deserves everything and i'm trying my best.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

It had been going on for a while. It started with discomfort after returning from patrols, but Joel put it down to the time spent in the saddle. Then the pain came after a nap on the couch or a long day at the stables.

You couldn’t ignore it when Joel groaned loudly one morning as he got out of bed. You tried to help him. You massaged the aching muscles on his back and shoulders, applied warm compresses to ease the tension. It all helped, but only for a moment.

“Ann told me there was a woman next door who did professional massages,” you said one night. You were straddling Joel, naked from the waist up, lying on his stomach, accepting the touch of your hands. “She’s helped a lot of people in Jackson.”

"I don't need help." he groaned when you pressed a particularly painful spot. "You're doing great."

"I have no idea what I'm doing." You mumbled. "What if I only hurt you more?"

"Don't care. I'm not going there." He replied, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're so..."

"Old?"

“Stubborn!” He patted him on the shoulder. “Your back has been bothering you for a long time. You should do something about it. You want a baby, so how are you going to get up for it at night?”

You shouldn't have used that argument, but it was the only thing that came to mind. You had been trying to conceive for months, but you weren't panicking. Whatever was coming, you were just willing to accept it. Joel's aching back was worrying you, so you tried to do everything you could to help him. Even Tommy and Ellie had pitched in to convince him to rest, but Joel was... Yes, stubborn.

You hadn't brought it up since that night. Joel had been busy renovating more buildings in Jackson, and you had your hands full as well. It wasn't until you met Ann, who was with Elijah at the store, that you found out something was wrong.

“I’ve been seeing Joel lately,” she said, stroking the boy’s head as he slept snuggled up to her chest, a scarf wrapped securely around him. “I asked him what he was doing, but he was acting strange.”

"Strange? What does that mean?" you wondered.

"I don't know." Ann shrugged. "Do you think Hazel asked him for help again? She lives a few houses down from us."

You saw Hazel occasionally, sometimes at the Tipsy Bison or on the street in Jackson, but you didn’t talk. You knew she always felt more comfortable around Joel, but he hadn’t mentioned her in a while. A hint of jealousy rose in your heart, though you knew that if Joel hadn’t told you about Hazel, it was just so you wouldn’t feel bad. “I don’t know. He’s been pretty busy lately.” You replied. “Maybe he has a job in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She smiled softly and picked up the basket. “Are you coming over later? Shane’s going on patrol with two new guys, I don’t want to be alone. You know how it is.”

"Sure. I'll come."

You couldn't pretend that what Ann had told you didn't interest you, and where Joel was headed was starting to worry you a little. Every morning he'd say he was going to the construction site or on patrol, but you didn't really know if he was actually there. You didn't feel the need to check on him, because why would you?

Hazel entered your thoughts again. Maybe she'd asked him for help, and Joel just didn't want to worry you? No, you weren't angry. Just worried.

You were halfway through washing the dishes when you heard the door slam and the familiar heavy footsteps.

"Baby?" Joel's voice echoed through the house.

“Here.” You replied, dipping your hands into the suds and washing another plate. “Are you hungry? I have some more stew, Ellie and Dina didn’t eat all of it. We’ll have to start hiding food from them.”

You heard footsteps but no voice. When suddenly a solid body pressed against your back, almost pushing you into the sink.

“Jesus! Joel!” you squealed in surprise, pulling your hands out of the water and grabbing his arms that were wrapped tightly around you. “What happened?”

His low, deep voice resonated against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I want you. Now."

He wasn't lying. The hard bulge pressed against your ass, you swallowed hard.

"Now?" you repeated, bewildered.

There was no response. A low groan tore from Joel’s chest as he released you, crouching down and throwing you over his shoulder in an instant. You were so surprised that you fisted your hands in his shirt dramatically.

"Joel! Your back!" you chuckled as he headed towards the stairs. "Joel! That's not safe!"

“Then stop squirming, for God’s sake!” he muttered as he climbed the stairs. Luckily, you listened, because the idea of ​​falling on your face wasn’t interesting. He kicked open the bedroom door, and a moment later it slammed shut behind you, and you landed with a thud on the bed.

“Joel!” you were too confused. It all happened so fast, and Joel looked like he was going crazy. His fingers deftly unbuttoned your pants and in a quick movement slid them down your back along with your underwear. “What the fuck?!”

"I already told you, I want you. Now." he replied, as if it was obvious. He came for what was his, for you.

You didn’t say anything else as he spread your thighs, his head disappearing between them. You took a breath, gripping the sheets in your hands as you felt him start to eat you out like this was his last meal, like he’d been starving for years. Your brain couldn’t process anything but the violent pleasure that was taking over your body. But it didn’t last.

Joel rose, his beard glistening with your juices, looking at you with nearly black eyes. The belt made a familiar sound and he pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Maybe he had lost his mind, maybe something had possessed him, but you couldn’t lie—you wanted him more than ever.

Without taking his eyes off you, he took off his shirt, revealing his broad chest and strong arms. Despite his age, he still had it. And you still only wanted him.

When his hands grabbed your hips and turned you on the bed almost like a rag doll, you just squealed softly. He lifted your hips, his hand sliding down your back, pressing you to the bed. You knew what was coming, but when with a quiet, “So fucking sexy…” he slid inside you in one hard movement, you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to stop yourself from moaning. His cock was deep, all the way to the base. At that moment, Joel could do anything to you, because your brain and body had stopped working properly.

Every thrust, every movement, every sigh drove you crazy. The orgasm built in your body at a dizzying speed. You had made love many times before, in different ways and at different speeds, but this was different. Almost primal, animalistic, passionate. But at the same time, with Joel, you knew you were safe, even as his fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you with all his might.

Suddenly he leaned down, his arm sliding under your body and lifting you up so he was pressing you against his chest. Joel’s hand slid under your shirt and bra, squeezing your breast tightly.

“Take it all... I can feel you close...” His voice was heavy as he whispered in your ear, “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. Fuck, take it.”

You reached back, gripping his hair as he nearly bit your neck. A hard shudder wracked your body as you came, your throat aching. Joel was right behind you. His movements became frantic as he pounded into you. “I’m gonna fill you up… Until it fucking takes hold.”

He squeezed you so hard he could break you, and then he came deep, with a deep groan. You stayed like that, until the last twitch, breathing deeply, slowly regaining your senses. Finally, you managed to find your voice, despite your sore throat.

"What was that?"

He turned his head, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent. “That’s how babies are made, darling.”

You giggled, and after a moment, Joel did the same. His arms slowly released you, and you fell back onto the bed, feeling your limbs go limp. Joel collapsed next to you, breathing deeply and feeling completely at peace and comfort. Silence filled the room, and you steadied your breathing, trying to get back to reality.

“I’ve been going to that woman you were talking about for a week now.” You turned your head and looked at Joel’s profile. His eyes were closed, a few curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. “The massage lady.”

"That's good. Did she help with your back?"

He turned around and looked at you with a sly smile. "Didn't you notice?"

“Jesus!” you covered your face with your hand. “And I thought you…”

"What?" Joel rolled over and rested his head on his hand. "What did you think I was doing?"

With a heavy heart, you told him what Ann had told you, that she had done it in good faith, about your concerns about Hazel. Joel listened patiently, never once suggesting that what you were saying was stupid or irrational. Finally, he smiled and leaned down, lightly kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said and seeing your surprised look he added "The fact that you're a little jealous of me is really flattering. But you also know that I'm completely devoted to you. I'm yours, baby, no one will ever change that."

She stroked his cheek, smiling. “And you really think that kind of sex can produce children?”

"We could always do it again." He shrugged, "Just to be sure."

You pulled him closer and kissed him tenderly. He was yours, body and soul. And you were his.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 2)

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner with fiyero on a history project. things don't go as you imagine.

a/n: sprinkling anthony bridgerton references in this because wreck my plans that's my man!! anyways this is actually going to be 3 parts because i have zero self control and ended up writing 15k words in total and im trying to see whether i like posting parts or doing one whole one shot more so there's going to be a third part. but for once in my writer life i have the whole thing written so it will be out in a couple days! have no idea how this fic became this long out of nowhere but i hope you all enjoy lol. stressed reader x calm bf will always be famous on this blog

wc: 4.9k

warning(s): almost cheating? fiyero is still w/ galinda for most of this so the line is very blurred but they dont cross it lmao. the slightest bit of angst but basically all fluff

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero spread his arms out as you took a seat in the grass. Idly, you wondered about getting grass stains out before he started talking again. “Fresh air, actual sunlight, and things to look at other than words on a page.”

“I do go outside,” you said wryly. “You act like I’m some hermit.”

He shrugged. “I only ever see you in class or at the library.”

“I’m just there most of the time,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m not this smart by slacking off.”

Fiyero said your name with surprise. “Was that a joke?”

You laughed again. “Hardly.”

“I think it was,” he nodded. “You really are learning how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun!” you exclaimed. “We just have different ideas of fun!”

“And what is your idea of fun?” Fiyero asked pointedly. “Studying? Attending class? Going through the intricacies of various languages?”

“That last one is very fun,” you defended. 

“How did you decide on linguistics anyways?” he asked. “You’re incredibly passionate about something I didn’t even know was a major here.”

“It’s not, technically.” You shrugged. “I’m a history major. I just convinced Doctor Dillamond to let me be his teacher’s assistant so I could include more linguistics lessons in the syllabus.”

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Oz— why do you do it? You’re stressed all the time. Surely taking one less class or not being a TA wouldn’t kill you. All of this seems like it is.” 

“I’m not like you, Fiyero,” you said. “I can’t get kicked out of a hundred schools and still be fine. I’ve got one chance, and if I squander it, then I’ve also squandered my dream. And that’s unacceptable to me.”

“There’s always second chances,” he said. “And third ones, too. Sometimes even fourth.” 

“Maybe for a prince,” you laughed. “But not for somebody like me.” 

“And just who are you?” Fiyero asked as he sat down next to you. “I know you’re Gillikinese and I know you’re probably going to succeed in whatever you attempt. But I still feel like I don’t know anything about who you are without the school uniform.” 

“Why does that matter?” you asked defensively. “We’re project partners, not friends.” 

“Because I’d very much like us to be friends,” he answered simply. 

That might have been the most shocking thing he’d said all day. Fiyero Tigelaar, Winkie prince and self-declared slacker and desired paramour of nearly every Shiz student, said he wanted to be your friend. 

Again, that warmth bloomed inside you. You tried to ignore it—tried to fully banish it. 

“Don’t do this,” you said, looking away from him. 

“Do what?”

“Act like you like me,” you said, stronger this time. “You— you do it with everyone, and that’s fine, but don’t do it with me.” 

“I’m not following,” Fiyero said. 

You glared at him. “I know you aren’t this daft.”

“Apologies,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you figured I don’t genuinely like you.”

You blinked. “Because you’re you. You flirt with everybody so you can dance through life.”

“Of course,” Fiyero agreed. “It just so happens that I genuinely like you in addition.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His laugh was nothing but shocked. “Are you asking me why I like you?”

“Well,” you glanced away with a huff, “when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.” 

“I’ll bite anyways,” Fiyero said. “I like you because you know what you want. You never really stop talking about it, honestly.”

“Are you trying to compliment me?”

“You’re intelligent and driven and you don’t shy away from anything you want,” he continued. “And you thoroughly vex me in near every encounter we have, most joyously.”

“…So you like me because I’m stubborn and confusing,” you said. 

Fiyero sighed. “You‘ve got some serious self esteem issues.”

“I do not!” you exclaimed.

“You’ve tied your worth to your academic achievement,” he said. “You can’t see all the good you’ve already done, how smart you truly are, because you only stress about the next thing you need to do. You’d rather lose your mind over what’s to come than realize all you’ve got in the moment.”

Your mouth opened and closed for a good five seconds, like a fish out of water, before it snapped shut. 

“I thought you were supposed to be brainless,” you settled on. 

“I am,” Fiyero agreed with a chuckle. “But I also know people better than most, and our study sessions have given me ample time to study you.”

Great Oz, why was your face so hot? You felt like you were burning up from the inside out. Fiyero Tigelaar was killing you, and slowly at that. 

“Why are you studying me?” you asked pointedly. 

“Because you’re interesting,” he said. “And very beautiful.”

“Well, I’m— I’m glad we’ve finally reached a truce.” You tried to sound as casual as possible—you couldn’t let Fiyero know the full effect he was beginning to have on you. You didn’t think he would ever shut up about that, and Galinda certainly wouldn’t either. You didn’t want to make an enemy of her. “It’ll make this project much easier.”

“Yes,” Fiyero mused. “I believe it will.”

Amusement, and maybe something warmer, danced in his irises. A very small part of you wanted to let yourself fall, freely and uncaring, just as every other student did. 

You had to lock that part of you away, never to be seen again. You didn’t like Fiyero. He was still a nuisance in every single sense of the word. 

You swallowed, trying to cure your cottonmouth. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. 

You needed to finish this essay immediately. 

-

You sighed when you heard a knock on your door. Coralie, for how smart she was, had a habit of forgetting her room key—so much so that you’d stopped bothering to lock the door on the days she went to class before you. 

“It’s unlocked, Cora!” you called out. You didn’t want to get up from your desk, not when you were in the middle of writing. You were worried that you would lose the thread of inspiration you’d finally caught the moment you got out of your chair. 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” a familiar voice said. “All sorts of miscreants could get in.” 

Your hand slipped in your shock, but you couldn’t even be annoyed about smearing the fresh ink on the page or getting it on your shirt cuffs because you had more important things to worry about. Namely, your surprise visitor. 

“Fiyero?” 

“Present,” he affirmed as he leaned against your doorframe. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

“Thank you,” you said. “What are you doing here?” 

“Much less pink than Galinda’s,” he continued. “I think it’s the only color she owns, honestly. A bit absurd but—” 

“What are you doing here?” you repeated. 

“I should be asking you that question,” Fiyero said, eyes narrowing in on you. “I went to the library and you weren’t there.” 

You cleared your throat. “I was giving you the day off.” 

He frowned and stood up from the doorframe. “Who said I wanted the day off?” 

“You,” you said. “When you didn’t show up to Doctor Dillamond’s class today.” 

Fiyero brushed his hand through the air. “That’s different.” 

You looked at him expectantly. “So you skipped the class this project is for, but you don’t want to skip the actual project.” 

“That sounds about right, yes.” 

“You don’t even do anything whenever we’re together,” you said. “You just stare at me and complain about doing work and ask me about my life and take an hour to write one page of notes.” 

“That also sounds about right,” Fiyero said. “I enjoy your presence. Do you not enjoy mine?” 

If only he knew the way he’d been making you feel for the past week. He could never know that he appeared in your dream last night. 

“...Your presence is fine,” you said. “I just figured I would give you the day off, seeing as we only have one week left until it’s due.” 

“How much have you written already without me?” he asked. 

“Five pages, but that—” 

“You’ve nearly done half of the project without me?” Fiyero interrupted. 

“...Yes?” Why did you actually feel bad about this? 

Fiyero got closer so he could look over your shoulder at your work, and you found yourself holding your breath at his proximity. 

“Do you think you’re doing me a favor?” 

“Clearly,” you said. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner it’s over, and the sooner you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” You shrugged. “You said you wanted to ride my coattails anyways, so I figured I would make it easier for you.” 

“Just a few days ago you were chastising me for not doing my part,” Fiyero said. “Now you’re not even letting me try?” 

“I—” the words stuck in your throat, and again you felt your face heat. 

I don’t want to have to think about any of this more than I have to because I’m worried what I’ll realize. 

I don’t want to give you any more chances to take me off course because I know I’ll say yes. 

I don’t want to be around you longer than I have to because I think I’m starting to like you. 

“Yes?” 

“I am doing you a favor,” you finally decided. “You don’t have to worry about it. Go ride that horse of yours, or bother other students, or spend time with Galinda. You’ve earned it.” 

“Hardly,” Fiyero said. “I’m doing my part, whether you like it or not. We’ll meet at the library tomorrow morning before class like we’ve been doing.” 

“I have class at 8 in the morning tomorrow.” 

“...Then we’ll do it after class,” he reneged. “I do need my beauty sleep.” 

That got a smile out of you, which spurned one from Fiyero in turn. “I think that is one of the only genuine smiles you’ve given me since we started working together.” 

“I smile plenty,” you insisted. 

“At your books,” Fiyero said. “Not at me.” 

“That’s because my books are oh-so-beautiful,” you said. “And they don’t even need beauty sleep.”

He placed his hand on his heart. “You wound me.” 

Your smile grew and you set your pen down. “The library after class?” 

Fiyero nodded and tapped on your desk as he stood up. “Library after class.” 

He was about to go to the door when Coralie poked her head in. “Why is the door— oh! Fiyero!” She straightened up, plastering on a pretty smile as she stepped inside. “What brings you to our corner of Shiz?” 

“Doctor Dillamond’s midterm,” he said. “Your roommate here is trying to save all of the fun for herself.” 

“That sounds like her,” Cora nodded sagely. “You’re very good to try and keep her from that fate.”

Fiyero pressed his hand to his chest. “I consider it my duty. But I apologize for the intrusion—I’ll leave the two of you be.”

“Oh, stay as long as you want,” she spoke up. “I’m sure your partner wouldn’t mind.”

“He’s got things to do,” you interceded. “You’ve got things to do, Fiyero.”

He smiled knowingly. “I certainly do. You lovely ladies have a fine rest of your day.” He looked at you and said your name. “Don’t forget tomorrow.”

“How could I?” you said weakly. 

Fiyero chuckled and bowed his head in lieu of more parting words. The second he left, Cora turned to you with wide eyes. 

“Don’t,” you warned. 

“He came here to talk to you!” she exclaimed. “He found out your room number because he wanted to talk to you!” 

“Be quiet!” you exclaimed. “The door is still open—he can probably hear your screeching!”

Coralie shut the door and squealed. “He likes you!”

“We are project partners,” you enunciated. “Nothing more.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you think,” she said. “Just like I’m sure that he wants to be more.” 

“You’re acting like he isn’t with Galinda,” you said. “She controls this whole school—do you remember what happened to Elphaba when she didn’t like her?” 

Cora shrugged. “Sure. But I’ve been hearing there’s trouble in paradise.” 

That got you paying attention. “What?” 

“I knew it!” Coralie exclaimed—nearly yelled, honestly. “I knew you liked him!” 

“Be quiet!” you whisper-yelled. “Oz, what is wrong with you?” 

“I knew you liked him!” she repeated. “And he likes you— oh, it is too perfect!” 

“He does not like me,” you insisted, “and you are crazy.” 

“You didn’t say that you didn’t like him,” Coralie sung, and you screwed your eyes shut. 

“Fine!” you finally said. “Fine— I like him. Will you stop now?”

“Of course not,” she said, and you sighed. “How bad do you have it?”

“I don’t have it bad,” you scoffed. “I just— I enjoy spending time with him. And I think he’s kind of cute.” 

“Oh, you are full on head over heels,” she mused. “You just don’t know it. It’s okay.” 

You groaned as you buried your head in your hands. “I hate you.” 

She laughed. “And you like Fiyero.” 

“Shut up.” Your words were muffled, but you meant them all the same. 

You were comically doomed. 

-

The next day went… shockingly smooth. 

Fiyero was in the library when he said he’d be—he was even there before you, much to your surprise and he still had the notebook and pen you’d given him, much to his surprise. He made sure to bring an extra canteen of water for you, because he noticed you never had any with you. You were probably concerningly dehydrated. 

He tried to be a more attentive student to you than he’d ever been at any of his classes—not that that was difficult. You explained your outline and all the work you’d already done, what he could do on the last five pages and how to make his writing voice match yours to make a consistent paper. 

He wrote notes both on what you knew about Ilara Mayfair (a ridiculous amount, in his opinion) and anything else you thought he needed to know (also a ridiculous amount).

He was impressed most of all, though. No wonder you’d isolated yourself from near the entire student body and stressed over every letter in every sentence in every assignment. You were incredibly intelligent, but you were also able to explain everything in a way that even he understood. Fiyero had never really cared about… well, anything relating to school before he ended up partners with you. 

But now, Fiyero found himself surprisingly entranced by it all. He’d always liked your voice, and he had a permanent smile on his lips watching you talk so easily about your passions. It put a spark in your eye and a brightness about you that was usually bogged down by everything else that you stressed about. 

You were beautiful, especially when you were happy. And Fiyero had discovered over the past week that you were happiest when you got to talk about what you cared about to an interested audience. He only regretted acting like he wasn’t interested for so long. 

Finally, when Fiyero called a break on account of his hands aching (he’d never written this much in his life, and it still was only half of what you did basically every day), and you were eating an apple (that he also brought, because you really didn’t take care of yourself when you were doing work, which was always), he smiled at you. 

“You know, we really do make a good team,” Fiyero said. 

You swallowed the bite of apple you had in your mouth and cocked your head as you looked at him. “You think?” 

“I know,” he nodded. “You’ve done the impossible, darling. You’ve actually made me care about school.” 

“Well, I think you’ve done the impossible too.” You lifted the apple up. “You made me care about my health during midterms season.” 

“It certainly wasn’t easy,” he said wryly. “You kind of took it all kicking and screaming.”

You shrugged. “I’m not top of our class for nothing.” 

“Do you have to stress yourself into misery to be top of the class?” he asked. 

“I’m not miserable,” you retorted. 

It was when you said things like that that Fiyero really began to worry about you. It was part of the reason he was so intent on staying by your side through this whole project—no matter how dull he found the material—after the first session. He sometimes saw you around campus, usually carrying a stack of books or talking with your roommate.

After Fiyero was paired with you, he wondered why he didn’t see you more before it all, considering how active you were with literally everything school-wise. Then he realized you were likely always in the library, and the only time he’d visited the library was on Galinda’s tour. You were there, well enough, but you took your leave as soon as things started getting rowdy. 

A shame, he realized. He wondered what your relationship could have been had Galinda not staked her claim on him so soon. 

You weren’t going to take care of yourself, clearly enough, so Fiyero decided—at least for the duration of this project—that he would. It didn’t really matter if you were top of the class if you passed out from stress, exhaustion, annoyance, or a mix of all three. Likely a mix of all three. 

He didn’t really anticipate those feelings morphing into genuine affection. 

“I seem to recall you saying you dream of your future assignments,” Fiyero said, coming out of his thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like the habit of a happy person.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Everybody has stress dreams.” 

“You know, I really don’t think they do,” Fiyero said. 

You rolled your eyes as you picked your pen up with your free hand and jotted down a few more sentences. “Sure.”

“On that note,” he said, “why don’t we call it a day?”

“We can’t call it a day,” you said. You took another bite from your apple and swallowed, continuing to write all the while without looking at him. “We’re not finished yet.”

“That is the most casually you’ve said that so far,” Fiyero mused. “I really am making progress.”

You laughed, finally paying him mind. “Progress with what?”

“I’ve been tracking your smiles and laughs this whole time,” he said. “See, this essay was your project, but that was mine—trying to make you enjoy your life.”

“This essay is both of our projects, Fiyero,” you said. “Besides, I don’t think Doctor Dillamond will accept your bar graph of all the times I laughed at you making a fool of yourself.” You frowned. “Or would it be a line graph because it’s over time? Or maybe it could be—”

“Alright,” he interrupted. “You’re going into hypotheticals on my joke. That’s clearly the sign that we need to call it a day.”

“…Fine,” you reneged. “But it’s just a break, not calling it a day. And I get to finish proofreading the rest of the essay when we get back.”

“A compromise,” Fiyero said. “Love it.”

You rolled your eyes as you started gathering your things. “You love everything.” 

“Eh,” he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes on you. “Most things.” 

You couldn’t help your smile, much as you tried to bite it back. “Whatever.” 

Soon enough, you and Fiyero were sitting together by the dock. You let your legs dangle over as you watched the scenery around campus—the ripple of the water, the gentle brush of the wind, the chirping birds that flew around without a care.

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero asked. He also had his legs over the edge, but he’d laid down against the stone. 

“You don’t have to push your relaxation propaganda so hard anymore,” you said wryly. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“And I’m grateful for it,” he said. “Someone that works as hard as you do deserves to relax the same amount.” 

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times—”

“I know,” he interrupted. He turned his head to smile at you. “I just have to hope that some of it sticks.” 

You rolled your eyes, once again unable to hide your smile. “And I have to hope for the same with this paper. Do you think you’ll remember any of this once we turn it in?”

“Oh, but of course. You were the one to teach it to me, after all. I could hardly forget it all.” 

“Good,” you said. “Everyone should know about Ilara Mayfair.” 

Fiyero chuckled, and you once again fell into comfortable silence. 

That was the thing that shocked you the most, you think. Not that you were beginning to like Fiyero, or that you actually liked Fiyero, or that you actually looked forward to spending time with him. It was that you were so comfortable just sitting with him in silence. 

It was very difficult to get to the silence, though. Fiyero couldn’t really stay quiet, and you didn’t know if he liked talking or the sound of his own voice. But you found it didn’t really annoy you like it used to. 

Great Oz. You really were into him. How embarrassing. 

Eventually, when the strain in your wrists and fingers from writing had finally faded, you turned your head to look at Fiyero. “I think it’s time we go back.”

He sighed. “Already?” 

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” you said. “Far longer than the breaks I usually take.” 

He opened his mouth, likely to say something of the same ‘you need to relax’ ilk, but you held up your hand. “Don’t. Just be thankful you got me away for this long.” 

Fiyero smiled, and he pulled himself up off the ground. “I always am.” 

He held his hand out, and you stared at him for a moment. “Why do you always do that?” 

“Help you up?” 

You nodded. “I can do it myself.” 

He shrugged. “I told you it was my project to make your life easier.” 

“You said it was your project to track my happiness,” you said. 

“And they go hand in hand,” he said. “I’m surprised you remember.” 

“It happened thirty minutes ago, Fiyero,” you said wryly. “Besides, I remember everything. It’s a gift.” 

Fiyero laughed, and you finally took his hand. He pulled you up and once again, you tumbled a bit too close—and again, his hand fell to your waist. He had to be doing this on purpose by now. 

“We keep finding ourselves in this position,” Fiyero mused. 

Heat flooded your cheeks like usual. “And whose fault is that?” 

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re not exactly pulling away.” 

Your mouth opened, trying to think of what words to say when your head was reeling from his mere presence. But then you saw a flash of pink in the background, and your eyes darted away from Fiyero. 

Galinda. She was distracted, talking with Pfannee and Shenshen as she went down the stairs. Oz, how did she slip your mind so easily whenever Fiyero was in your proximity? Why did you let him get this close when he was spoken for? 

You panicked—nothing less. You tore out of Fiyero’s grasp with a bit too much gumption, and then you stumbled, then you slipped, and then you fell. Fiyero called your name in shock, reaching his hand out, but it was too late. You’d plunged into the water before you could save yourself. 

The cold water instantly shocked all your senses, your eyes widening as you gasped out on instinct. Your mouth filled with water and your muscles seized up from the change in temperature—it was so much deeper than you’d imagined, and all your layers of clothing weighing you down were of no use. 

You tried your damnedest to ignore the alarm bells going off in your head as you fought against yourself, finally gathering the sense to swim. You kicked your way up to the top, gasping for air once when you breached the surface. 

You heard Fiyero yell your name again and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from your eyes. When everything finally came into focus, you saw him on his knees, his coat shed and his sleeves rolled up. 

His eyes were wide as he reached his hand out, once again saying your name—this time with a certain desperation. “Are you alright?”

You tried to respond but all you could do was cough, trying to expel the water from your lungs. You took his hand and he helped pull you up onto the dock, where an exhale shuddered out of you.

“I— I am so sorry,” he stammered. It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered, and you were too busy hacking up a lung to point it out. “Obviously I didn’t think—”

You held up your hand in lieu of saying something, as you didn’t think you could say something. 

This was so stupid, and it was something that never would have happened before you and Fiyero started working together. Your paper was due in two days, you’d only just finished the draft, you still had so much proofreading and rewriting to do, and instead, you were here on the docks soaked to the bone. 

And you found yourself laughing. 

“Oh, Oz,” Fiyero said. “You’ve lost it.” 

You couldn’t refute it, because you kept laughing. You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, could hear them whispering to each other—likely making fun of you—and it only made you laugh harder. 

“Are—” Fiyero chuckled nervously as he said your name, “are you okay?” 

“I’m soaked,” you got out through your laughs. “And everyone saw me fall into the water. I’m a fool, Fiyero!” 

He was still staring at you in that careful way, as if you were made of glass. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.” 

“Oh, Fiyero.” You wiped the trailing water off of your face and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him freeze beneath you for the slightest moment—it had to have been the last thing he expected you to do. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero returned the hug, his movements still unsure. He didn’t seem to care that you were getting him wet, just about your wellbeing. “What— what for, exactly?” 

For a moment, you couldn’t look away. His blue eyes were meant to enrapture, his soft lips typically an invitation sealed with a smirk. But for once, Fiyero looked genuine—he wasn’t putting on a performance, or trying to seduce anyone who looked at him. He was genuinely sorry, genuinely confused. It only made you laugh again.

“What for, indeed.” A higher voice pierced through the air, and you separated from Fiyero immediately. Galinda, to no surprise, had found her way over to the chaos you’d created, her compatriots flanking her on either side. She smiled at you brightly, but her whole demeanor was like a violin string pulled taut. 

“Galinda,” Fiyero said. “Lovely to see you.” He didn’t seem half as shocked as you at her appearance, but his words fell flat. 

“And you as well, dearest.” Her smile turned sickly sweet as she shifted her attention to Fiyero momentarily, taking the opportunity to lace her fingers with his and pull him into a kiss. He pulled away first, but if it affected Galinda, she didn’t let it show when she looked back at you. She batted her eyelashes as she said your name incorrectly. “What was it you were saying?” 

The sudden combination of cottonmouth and sour guilt creeping up your throat didn’t really help your already flustered state. She knew what she was doing—but you did too, didn’t you? 

She was with Fiyero. You knew that. And though Fiyero danced across the line, you took his hand every time he offered. 

“I—” you cleared your throat, attempting a casual smile of your own. “Just that I know why Doctor Dillamond put us together.”

“Excellent,” Fiyero said. “Off-topic, but excellent— are you sure you didn’t hit your head down there?” 

“Perhaps you should go to the nurse,” Galinda said. “I’m sure Shenshen could—” 

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted, your smile tightening ever so slightly. You looked at Fiyero. “Meet me at the library tonight, and bring coffee. We’re finishing this project tonight. 

“Of course,” he nodded.  

You nodded as well, and you started to go. Galinda’s gaze was sugary sweet poison, and you couldn’t take the weight of it anymore. 

“Wait,” Fiyero spoke up. 

You stopped against your better judgment, and he let go of Galinda’s hand to take his jacket off. He moved closer to you and wrapped it around you. His touch, light but certain, lingered on your shoulders once he’d finished adjusting it, and his gaze stayed on yours 

“Until you can change,” he said. 

“...Thank you,” you said. 

Galinda cleared her throat extremely loudly, her taut smile back. You remembered yourself and stepped away from Fiyero. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” you said, already starting on your way. You wouldn’t let him stop you again. 

“Tonight,” he agreed, bowing his head in parting. 

You only glanced back once you were by the stairs. When you did, you saw Galinda speaking rapidly to Fiyero—you were too far away to hear anything, but she didn’t look happy. When your gaze drifted to him, you found he was already looking at you. Almost subconsciously, you tugged his jacket tighter around you. When you realized what you were doing, you stopped. You averted your eyes immediately and hurried up the stairs. 

You weren’t out of breath from exertion. 

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

making it right - rafe cameron

content: 18+, angst, comfort from rafe

au: i’m trying to expand my horizons with writing smut !!

word count: 661

You hadn’t expected much from Rafe when it came to feelings, but you hadn’t expected that either.

The first time you and Rafe had sex, it had been… quick. Not in the passionate, desperate way that made your toes curl—but in the selfish way that left you feeling empty. He’d been rough, greedy, focused solely on his own pleasure, barely paying attention to whether you were enjoying it at all.

And when it was over? He left.

No soft words. No aftercare. Not even a fucking kiss.

You had laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself that it didn’t matter. That you knew who Rafe was—he wasn’t the kind of guy who whispered sweet things or held you afterward. But it still hurt.

And Rafe noticed.

For the past few days, you’d been distant. Less responsive, less engaged, pulling away every time he got too close. At first, he thought you were just being you—a little moody, a little dramatic. But then it clicked.

He fucked up.

And Rafe never let himself care about shit like this before, but with you? It was different. You were different. And he knew he had to make it right.

So when he showed up at your place that night, there was something in his eyes you weren’t used to seeing. Remorse.

You barely had time to process it before he was crowding into your space, backing you up against your bed. His hands were gentle when they cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“I fucked up,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. “I know I did.”

You swallowed, looking away. “Rafe—”

“No, let me say this,” he interrupted, tilting your chin so you were looking at him again. His brows furrowed, his jaw clenched like he was frustrated—but not at you. “I wasn’t… I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t take care of you.” His voice wavered slightly, like he hated admitting it, but he meant it. “And I want to.”

You hesitated, your throat tight, your heart beating a little faster at his words. “Okay.”

His blue eyes darkened. “Let me make it up to you, baby.”

Rafe wasn’t the same that night.

He was soft. Worshipping. Taking his time.

His hands moved over your body like he was memorizing every inch of you, his lips pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “I didn’t tell you that last time, did I?”

You shook your head, and his jaw clenched.

“Should’ve.” He kissed down your stomach, his fingers ghosting over your thighs. “Gonna tell you every time now.”

And he did.

As he touched you. As he kissed you. As he took you apart properly this time, making sure you came twice before he even thought about taking his own pleasure.

His hands never stopped moving, never stopped making sure you felt everything.

When he finally pushed inside you, it was slow. Deep. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice unsteady. “You feel so good, baby. So perfect.”

You whimpered, and he hushed you, brushing a kiss against your temple.

“I’ve got you this time,” he promised, and for the first time, you really believed him.

After, Rafe didn’t leave.

He didn’t roll away or pull on his clothes or act like it hadn’t meant anything.

Instead, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Was that better?” he murmured, almost shy in the way he asked it.

You smiled sleepily against his chest. “Yeah.”

Rafe let out a quiet exhale, like he’d been holding his breath.

“Good.” His fingers traced slow circles on your back. “’Cause I don’t ever wanna make you feel like that again.”

And this time, you knew he meant it.

taglist: @littlelamy

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Four

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warning: Obessive behavior, Yandere tendencies, su*c*de/death.

A/N: Finally adding warning labels. We’re getting somewhere. I’ve had some of this written out, but had to add some stuff in to drive it home. Reader’s coping skills are failing, but everyone’s starting to get obsessive. Also, I’ve been fighting myself on drawing art for this. (I’m a bit out of practice.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Reader has basically called befriending Damian and Jason a lost cause.

Bruce still avoids reader. And, everyone else is still busy with what Reader assumes is Batwork. (Which is fine, Reader is fine. It’s not like they’re stuck in the manor pacing the halls every damn day.)

Cass and Duke’s get back from their respective missions. They weren’t gone too long, but they’re come back a bit roughed up. They debrief with Bruce and then have to go back to being civilians.

Reader is waiting to comfort them. Not to confront them. Reader’s more concerned with how Duke has a mild limp and how Cass’s knuckles have some bruising than them ditching. Plus, reader is still not completely sure that her family is Gotham’s vigilantes. They need to confirm.

But, Duke and Cass both appreciate Reader checking on them and not asking questions. Cass suspects Reader suspects something, judging by Reader’s body language. But, it’s nice for someone who’s naturally soft to be soft with you.

Duke appreciates how Reader treats him so, normally. In a way it reminds him of his childhood, when things were easier. He has a normal friend now, completely mostly free of Gotham’s crazy.

Reader is happy their back, but disappointed that they won’t be going to the school gala. In fact, a few family members make comments about how it sounds like a waste of time.

Bruce, however, is actually happy Reader is excited. And, Reader gets even more excited when one of their new friends ask to be their date. Reader’s date is so genuinely excited about going to this Gala with Reader. (Uh-oh, that’s not good.)

Some of Reader’s other friends, the more haughty and wealthy ones, tell Reader that they should’ve picked someone more… refined. Which Reader defends that their Date is perfectly sweet and good looking to boot.

But, this leads Reader to decide not to tell anyone in the family about their date. They don’t want to hear the same thing from their Gotham family. Reader does inform BFF, younger brother, and Nana of their date. For some reason, BFF was a bit disgruntled, and even Nana tried to convince them it was probably best not to go. Younger Brother was encouraging reader to have fun. (But he was whispering into the phone, and asking Reader if he could come visit them soon. Please. People are acting weird here. Is everything okay, do you need me to come home. No. No. Don’t— It’s fine. I just wanna come visit you.)

But, reader was committed to going and enjoying their date and wearing their custom made outfit.

That night, Reader was given Bruce’s permission to get ready at one of their friends’ houses. Reader was practically spoiled by their friends, it was almost a bit overwhelming. Their date meet them at the Gala escorting them inside and having a wonderful time. (I hope it last. It’s not going to though. How sad.)

At the end of the night, their Date escorted them home. To end a near perfect night Reader got a kiss. A long and pretty heated kiss. Right in front of the Entrance camera.

Tim had pulled up the camera feed when Reader got home, at Bruce’s request, just to check on Reader. (He was going to do it anyway.) The entire family was winding down from Patrol in the Batcave when the feed came on. Leaving them all to get a front row seat to Reader’s little act of rebellion.

(That’s all this was, right. Just a little act of rebellion. This won’t happen again, obviously. They won’t fucking let it.)

Bruce is livid. It doesn’t help that Jason wolf-whistles to further enrage him. (Jason is making plans to break someone’s leg though. Possibly the Dates. How fucking dare they corrupt you, that’s his job.)

Stephane is honestly impressed, didn’t think Reader had it in them. (How cute! I wonder what we could get up to together.)

Duke, sweet Duke, didn’t want to see that. His (best) friend getting tongued down on camera. He’s going to need bleach and therapy. (Why would you do that? When you can just game with him. You’re his bro. Gross.)

Cassandra is… understanding. Reader has needs. Reader wants affection. That’s fine. But, not that one. Pick someone else. (Llet her pick, actually. You can’t read people like her, you need someone better. Someone you she can trust. She needs to approve of them first.)

Dick is more disapproving, but he understands. Still, this changes how he sees Reader. Sweet innocent helpless Reader has a wild side. (But still reader is clearly helpless, obviously they don’t know what they’re doing.)

It also changes how Barbara sees Reader. Or confirms. Barbara runs under the assumption that Reader is more like Bruce than anyone realizes. (She’s not wrong, but it’s not in the way she thinks.) Bruce is a bit of natural flirt, he just hides it in his ‘Brucie’ persona. Reader apparently takes after that. (Damian sure didn’t.)

Damian, is disgusted, disappointed, and disapproving. He doesn’t doubt Father will scold you, but your date needs to be dealt with and all other suitors as well. (He’ll take care of it. He’s your brother, that’s his job.)

Tim, however, is legitimately jealous. He wanted to see this side of reader first. He got a glimpse of it before, but he wants it for himself now that he sees the full thing. (Also, right in front of the camera? Did Reader know it was there? If they did, would they be okay with Tim filming them more? Just to observe, please.)

Tim immediately starts pulling up all the information he can about Reader’s date. Without Bruce’s prompting this time. Bruce does nod in approval before marching to the entrance. Intent on putting an end to this and giving Reader a firm talking to.

It goes, horribly. Date is forced to leave and Bruce tears into Reader. (What happened to the outfit I bought you? Why didn’t you tell me you had a date? I didn’t approve of this. I don’t care that you’re back on time or that you’re old enough, you’re my child! Mine! You get my approval first.)

Reader stays composed, barely. The good news is that the brutal scolding is the only consequence Reader faces. (Bruce is more upset about Reader not seeking his approval than doing something he disapproves of. He’s your father. He should have a damn say. Would you have done this to D̴̖̞͑̊̓a̷͎͗̇d̸̜͍̩̓̎d̸̪̩̟̆̎y̶̛̼̌? Why are you doing this to him?)

The bad news, Reader’s date’s life is over. With just a few clicks from Tim and approval from Bruce, Date’s family company falling apart. Reported to the government, lawsuits filed by third-parties. Hidden debts needing to be collected NOW. Any misfiled taxes? Found and reported. And, most importantly, all calls and ways for Date to contact reader again, blocked.

Socially and financially, Date’s life is ruined in less than twenty-four hours. Worst of all, Reader doesn’t know. They’re still on cloud nine about the night, despite Bruce’s lecture. But, come Sunday morning, two days later, things fall apart.

Date is reported dead. Apparent suic1de just the night before. The financial implosion of the family was named the apparent reason.

Reader is distraught, confused, and hurt. What happened? What’s going on? This can’t be happening. I don’t want to lose anymore people I care about. I don’t want to lose someone like Momma and Daddy again.

Reader’s Gotham friends console Reader, saying it’s not their fault. That Date struggled with thought before. Don’t blame yourself. (They weren’t worth your time.)

Surprisingly enough, it’s Dick that finds reader having a borderline breakdown.

Dick clings and coddles and coos, but this time. Reader clings back. Reader clings back tight. Desperate for comfort. Which is surprising for Dick.

Most of the family tends to brush off his attempts at comfort until they hit rock bottom. For once, this isn’t someone hitting rock bottom before they need him. This is someone that’s just genuinely sad and overwhelmed and needs wants him.

Dick also ran under the assumption that Reader was allergic to affection, like Damian and Bruce. But, apparently, that wasn’t the case. It’s a nice feeling. To have someone not fight him when he tries to be comforting. Someone who is happy to take it. Of course, he doesn’t stay long. Once Reader pulls themselves together he’s got to get back to Buldhaven, but this time he leaves a bit slower. (But, him leaving somehow makes Reader feel worse.)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: More Than I’ve ever imagined

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Rating: General Audience

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: From morning sickness to belly lifts, Paige is by your side through it all.

Credits to @yailtsv and her mood board for the help of writing this

🏷️: @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @paigeluvvr

I knew Paige would be excited when we got the call confirming the IVF had worked, but nothing could’ve prepared me for how she reacted. She was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone, when I walked in holding the test results. The second I said, “It worked,” she jumped up so fast she nearly tripped over the coffee table.

“No way. No way. You’re serious?” Her eyes were wide, already glistening.

I nodded, and that was all it took. She lifted me off the ground, spinning us both around until I was laughing and begging her to put me down before I threw up for a different reason.

Morning sickness was hell.

But Paige? She was heaven-sent. No matter the time of day or night, if I was hunched over the toilet, she was right there with me—holding back my hair, rubbing slow circles into my back, and whispering soft encouragements.

“You got this, baby. I promise it won’t last forever,” she’d say, voice laced with concern. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here.”

She was always right there.

By the time we reached the second trimester, Paige and I were dying to know the gender, but I agreed to let her and Azzi handle the reveal. I should’ve known Paige would go over the top. The day of the baby shower/gender reveal, I walked into the venue thinking we were about to pop a balloon or cut a cake. What I did not expect was a giant box sitting in the center of the room.

“Paige,” I called out, suspicious. “Where are you?”

Azzi smirked but said nothing as she handed me a ribbon attached to the box.

“Go ahead,” she urged.

I pulled. The box flaps opened, and Paige—my ridiculous, over-the-top fiancée—popped out, beaming, with a sign that read “It’s a girl!” in sparkly pink letters. Her blonde hair? Completely dyed Sparkling Rosé pink.

“PAIGE!” I gasped, laughing in disbelief.

“Surprise!” she grinned. “I wanted to match our daughter.”

I couldn’t even be mad.

By the time my belly was really showing, I was struggling with the weight of it. My lower back constantly ached, and walking around all day was exhausting. Paige, with KK’s help, convinced me to let her do daily belly tapes and belly lifts. She took it so seriously—watching tutorials, making sure she didn’t pull too hard, and being extra careful when lifting my belly.

“You trust me, right?” she asked one evening, gently pressing the tape into place.

“Always,” I murmured, feeling the relief almost instantly.

The only thing we ever argued about during the pregnancy was my body pillow.

Paige hated it with a passion.

“That thing is evil,” she grumbled one night, glaring at it from her side of the bed.

“Paige, it helps me sleep,” I reasoned.

She rolled her eyes. “I can help you sleep. Just use me instead.”

I laughed it off—until one night when I felt absolutely miserable and couldn’t sleep no matter how much I tossed and turned. Paige, sensing my discomfort, took the body pillow away, tossing it to the floor.

“C’mere, baby,” she whispered, pulling me against her.

She guided one of my legs over her waist, acting as my human body pillow, and started rubbing soft, soothing patterns into my back.

“Relax,” she murmured. “I got you.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly. From then on, I didn’t even reach for the body pillow—I had Paige, and she was so much better.

The day of the birth was intense. Paige never left my side, holding my hand through every contraction, whispering sweet reassurances even when I wanted to scream. When our daughter, Zara Rosé, was finally in my arms, Paige let out a soft, choked laugh, brushing a tear from her eye.

“She’s perfect,” she whispered.

Neither of us could settle on a name at first, so we let the team decide. It only took an hour of chaotic group chat discussions before Zara Rosé Bueckers was officially chosen.

⸻

Two Years Later

Paige and I had kept Zara out of the public eye, choosing to enjoy our little family privately. It wasn’t until one of Ice’s Instagram Lives that everything changed.

I was braiding Ice’s hair while she answered fan questions, Paige lounging off-camera with Zara sitting on her lap, watching a show on Paige’s iPad.

One moment, everything was normal. The next, Zara turned to Paige and asked, clear as day, “Mommy, juice please?”

Silence.

Ice looked at me, eyes wide. Paige looked at me. I looked at the camera.

The chat exploded.

“Mommy???”

“Paige got a BABY?!”

“Y’ALL HID A WHOLE CHILD??”

I sighed, setting Ice’s hair down. “Welp.”

Paige groaned. “So much for keeping it quiet.”

At that point, there was no denying it. We confirmed it live, explaining why we kept Zara private and how we wanted to enjoy our time as parents before sharing her with the world.

To our relief, most fans were understanding.

That night, after Ice’s hair was done, Paige and I made it official with a simple Instagram post—a picture of Zara asleep between us with the caption:

“Worth every secret. 💞✨ #ZaraRosé”

⸻

As I lay in bed that night, Paige wrapped an arm around me, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder.

“You happy?” she murmured.

I turned to face her, brushing a strand of newly dyed pink hair from her face. Only cause Zara begged for her to have pink hair.

“More than I’ve ever imagined.”

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[bunni-v1]

Lighter Relationship Headcannons

🍓Hi. I'm a liar. I sat down to write more of the alphabet requests and got possessed. This was the result. Anyway, he's so fucking everything to me. I hope the two zzz fans that follow me enjoy this because I'm going insane keeping all these thoughts in. Not putting this under the cut because I can't be bothered sorry gang. Gn.

Tw: NONE LIGHTER IS PERFECT!!!!

Info: Lighter x Reader; Headcannons; Fluff

-Lighter is, and I mean this with my entire being, the biggest walking green flag in the history of ever. Ironically, considering he’s the red scarf, but it’s the truth.

-He’s such a well-meaning guy, always considerate of others and incredibly caring to those he considers close. It’s hard not to imagine that he’d be a fantastic romantic partner, but like, how is he really in a relationship? (Lucky you, I’ve been obsessively fantasizing about it, so now you get to find out!)

-Lighter has most likely had a few partners, though none of them he would categorize as “serious”. Most of them were when he was significantly younger and way more stupid, and he cringes looking back at how he acted.

-He was a good-hearted and sweet kid, just… really fucking stupid about love. Most of his relationships either didn’t end well or were just nothingburgers that left him and his partner unsatisfied.

-As he got older, specifically after everything he went through, he didn’t want a relationship. Especially when he was still, you know, fighting because he quite literally wouldn’t have been able to maintain anything meaningful. (He’s well and convinced he would’ve been a miserable partner to have during that time, and he’s definitely right.)

-Even after joining the Sons of Calydon he’s not really looking for a relationship. The idea is nice, sure, someone to call your own. 

-Someone you can love and care for and who will do the same for you, it’s all lovely on paper, and Lighter would never say he wasn’t a romantic… but he’s gotta be realistic about it. When the hell is he gonna have time to maintain a relationship?

-He loves the girls, but they keep his ass busy – and that’s not mentioning everything else in his life that either gets in the way or would put a potential partner at risk.

-So, Lighter is okay just enjoying the thought of a relationship, not pursuing it.

-And… then he meets you.

-Meeting you felt like taking a punch to the gut, hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

-It’s not like it was love at first sight or anything, but it was definitely a whirlwind of something that Lighter had never experienced before, and it scared the shit out of him. He’s patient and reasonable, and he does his best not to let too many people in too quickly, but damn you were something weren’t you?

-It takes him a loooong time to feel comfortable feeling the way he does about you, and he’s really awkward around you – not that you can tell, because Lighter's “awkward” just makes him seem aloof, like the strong silent type. 

-You think that’s just how he is, but the girls know better, which only makes it worse for him. Expect lots and lots of forced alone time with Lighter because everyone ‘suddenly remembered’ they had something to do.

-You’re none the wiser about their scheming, but Lighter’s actually losing his mind because you are… really fucking cute to him.

-Now, regardless of how long it takes him (or you) to talk about how he feels about you, the relationship is going to be slow and steady. 

-He hasn’t been with anyone in a long time, he wants to do it right this time because he cannot – and I must emphasize this – he cannot lose another person. 

-This relationship is going at Lighter's pace, not yours, and if you don’t like that you’re probably not gonna last long with him. (So genuinely do not bother, for his sake.)

-It isn’t like he doesn’t value your thoughts and feelings, though. If you feel like you’re ready to move onto something else with him, he’s gonna sit and talk it out with you because he’s not a fucking prick. He just needs a partner who is willing to be patient, because he has been through a lot, and a long-term dedicated relationship is very new and very intimidating to him.

-It’s a series of slowly warming up to each other, getting comfortable with all kinds of affection, and learning what each other is and is not comfortable with.

-Once you learn about each other, everything is so incredibly smooth, and I promise on my life Lighter is the best partner you could ever ask for.

-His only issue and I say this very lightly (heh), is that he’s kinda bad at confronting issues he has head-on. 

-Normally he lets his fists do the talking but… he’s not really the biggest fan of socking you in the jaw sorry.

-He’s bad with words, and he’s only eloquent when he’s not trying to be, but he also knows that leaving an issue unresolved can be a death sentence so he will talk to you about things that bother him. Just give him a little time, even if you notice something is off. Patience is a virtue with him.

-Now, if you come to him with a problem he’s all for it. He’s clumsy about it, and he doesn’t know what to say depending on what it is, but he’s more than willing to change some things or work together to find solutions with you.

-Now, with that background established, let's talk about the fun stuff before I explode.

-Lighter is the best. Maybe I’m biased, but he’s so fantastic because he’s done a lot of work on himself as a person, and he values the relationships he has so much.

-To him, as your partner, you are his number one priority all the time no matter what. If you need him (and it’s an emergency (to him everything you need him for is an emergency)) he will be there, or he will ensure that someone will be there until he can be.

-No, this doesn’t mean his setting aside his responsibilities as Champion, and he isn’t going to set down every task he’s doing to answer your beck and call. He has a life outside you that’s important to him, but if something is wrong and you need him he’s going to be there. Always. Unless he physically cannot stop what he’s doing.

-Needless to say, Lighter is protective of you. Incredibly so. 

-He’s aware you can handle yourself and you’re not some feeble damsel in distress, but he worries a lot. He’s got a lot of targets on his back, and if a single one of those ever shifts to you he’d tear apart the entirety of the outback to ensure you were safe and sound.

-He can control his anger pretty well, but if anyone laid a hand on you I’m pretty sure it would take all of the Sons of Calydon and then some to pull him off whoever did that shit to you.

-He’s also the jealous type, believe it or not.

-He doesn’t care that much when mutual friends of yours are cuddly and cutesy with you. He knows those people, he knows you, there’s nothing to worry about. Someone he doesn’t know, though? Good luck.

-It doesn’t matter if they’re your friend, he doesn’t like it at all. He abandons his usual post of watching from the distance to be right up in your space. Constantly. 

-It’s so easy to tell when he’s jealous because suddenly there’s a gloved hand on you all the time and you can’t quite seem to get it off. How odd. Oh, there’s a pouty (intimidating) man attached to it, who would’ve thought.

-He doesn’t want to lose you, and he won’t apologize for that.

-He’s so cute, trying to keep the intimidating persona while clinging to his partner. (It’s really scary for anyone not in your close circle of friends).

-Speaking of, Lighter really struggles to keep up the cool guy look around you. He’s so incredibly weak to your whims and wants, he can’t help but let you cuddle up to him.

-All you have to do is bat your eyes at him a few times and usually, he crumbles like chalk. If this were a sport he’d be the champion of giving you whatever you wanted all the time.

-When he goes to the city to run errands for the girls or any other reason, he picks you up cute little trinkets or things that remind him of you. He does it without even thinking too. One second he’s on task, the next he’s buying you flowers and he doesn’t even realize it.

-You occupy a very big chunk of his everyday thoughts, he can’t help that you bleed into things.

-Speaking of, he sends you a ton of messages when you’re out. He likes keeping up with what you’re doing, where you’re at, who you’re with, etc.. He does the same for you, constantly telling you about what he’s up to and sending you little pictures of things he sees.

-He’s a helpless sap, okay.

-Unfortunately, though, he is at war about PDA. He likes it, obviously, but not too much, please?

-He has a reputation that he needs to upkeep, which means you can’t always hang off him, as cute as he finds it. Time and place.

-He’ll hold you at your waist if you’re just standing or walking around, sometimes an arm around the shoulder depending on what’s comfortable. If he’s just with the girls he’ll let you cuddle up to him as much as you please, but if there are a lot of people around he can’t do a ton of cutesy shit.

-Not that he dislikes doing it, but the embarrassment would actually kill him if anyone pointed out how weak the great “Red Scarf” was for his partner. (Everyone already knows this anyway, but it’s the principle).

-Genuinely the only exception is when he’s jealous because the only thing that crushes his pride more is having his relationship disrespected right in front of him.

-Behind closed doors though, Lighter is such a fucking idiot for you. He love love loves sappy romance films and he wants to recreate all those cringy moments that make you sick to your stomach with how sweet they are.

-Chasing you around his or your place, play fighting, twirling you around, or slow dancing in the kitchen to some oldies. He loves all of it, and he wants to do all of it with you, please indulge him. It’s not often he gets to be so free.

-He does the cutest thing when he tells you to get all dressed up packs up a picnic basket and takes you out on his bike to watch the sunset together. You lay there for hours after the sun has set just talking because his favorite thing is talking to you.

-He isn’t much of a talker himself, but he can listen and listen and never get bored of your voice. Just spew random bullshit at him, he’s fine with that, he just likes watching your lips move.

-If he gets tired of listening (which he never will) he’ll just kiss you until you shut up, so don’t worry too much about him.

-Also, I feel like this goes unsaid, but he takes you on plenty of rides on his bike. If you compliment it he’ll get all puffed up like a proud cat, it’s really cute.

-He stares a lot, by the way. Does this come as a surprise?

-He does a lot of standing around and watching, if you happen to be in the vicinity, he’s watching you most of the time. You’re just nice to look at. Lord help him if you turn and smile at him, or give him a wave.

-He allows you to play with his hair in private. He’ll lay his head down in your lap and let you rake your fingers through it, massaging his scalp and ruining his perfectly fluffy hair.

-He will also let you play with his sunglasses, so long as you’re careful with them. If you put them on your face and pretend to be him you’re in for some tickling though.

-Oh, please wear his clothes, pleaseeeeeeee wear them. If you walk out in his shirt he has to do a factory reset. You look so good in his clothes he can’t handle it.

The only thing that might be a little off-limits is the scarf, but even then he might wrap you up in it just to see you wearing the symbol of his strength. His two biggest prides in one? He likes the sight more than he’ll admit.

-Genuinely, he is such a good partner and I could go on and on and on about him, but this shit is like so long already so I have to put the breaks on.

-He’s just such a caring, loving, fun guy to be in love with and he will treat you like a goddamn king/queen all the time because he believes that's exactly what you deserve.

[steveseddie]

helping hand

written for round one of @steddiebingo and the 12 days of Christmas mini-event | prompts: help & thigh fucking | rating: e | wc: 2,1k | no cw | tags: eddie lives, sharing a bed, hand jobs, thigh fucking, cuddling

read on ao3

According to Wayne, Eddie can sleep through anything.

It’s why he was late to school pretty much every day. That and the fact that he didn’t give a shit about it– but mostly because he always slept through his alarm clock.

But the thing is that to sleep through anything he needs to be asleep to begin with. And right now he can’t fall asleep because Steve hasn’t stopped tossing and turning in the past hour.

When Eddie comes close to falling asleep for what feels like the hundredth time only for Steve to twist around again, he can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh.

Steve freezes as he’s fixing the blanket around him. “Um, did I wake you?” he asks in a tiny voice.

“I’d have to be asleep for you to wake me up, big boy.”

Running his hands down his face, Steve groans. “Shit, sorry, man.”

“‘S fine, Stevie.” He gives Steve a sidelong glance. Thanks to the moonlight filtering through the window he can see that he’s frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just– Can’t sleep.”

“I got that much, dude,” Eddie says with a snort. He hesitates, biting his lip nervously. “Um, is it because of me?”

It might’ve been Steve who suggested they shared his bed tonight, but maybe he changed his mind or maybe he only did it because he was trying to be polite and he expected Eddie to turn down the offer–

Steve frantically shakes his head. “No! No–”

Eddie isn’t convinced. “Are you sure? Because I can go–”

“No,” Steve says, more firmly this time. “Eddie, I promise, I’m just restless, s’all.”

Eddie relaxes. “Okay, yeah, I get that. It happens to me a lot, especially after– you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs in sympathy. “So what do you do? When it happens?”

“Uh–” Eddie hesitates, a little worried that answering truthfully might make sharing a bed a bit awkward. Oh fuck it, he thinks. It was Steve who asked. “I usually just– you know, jerk off.”

Steve inhales sharply. He lets out a tiny, “Oh.”

And there’s the awkwardness.

Before Eddie can offer to take the couch again, Steve asks, “Does that, um– does that work for you?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Oh, like a charm. Makes me sleep like a baby.”

“I could use some of that,” Steve sighs longingly.

Eddie agrees– he’s noticed the black smudges under Steve’s eyes. “Well, I could, uh– go to the bathroom for a while if you want to–”

Steve sputters. “I’m not gonna ask you to go to the bathroom so I can jerk off!”

“Fine, then you can go to the bathroom. I’ll cover my ears, I promise,” Eddie says, trying to act casual but the truth is that if Steve actually took him up on the offer, Eddie’s brain would melt out of his ears just from knowing Steve is jerking off in the next room.

“Jesus, how loud do you think I am, man?” Steve asks with an incredulous laugh.

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve given it much thought.” He has given it plenty of thought actually but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “Just trying to be helpful here, Stevie.”

“There’s something else you could do if you want to help,” Steve whispers after a short silence. He sounds strangely shy, nervous. He can’t possibly mean–

“Steve,” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice leveled. “Are you asking me to get you off?”

There’s a short moment where Steve doesn’t say anything and Eddie worries that he just made things even more awkward by assuming that’s what he meant, but before he can spiral he hears Steve’s soft reply. “Maybe.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters out loud though mostly to himself but Steve hears it anyway and lets out a panicked yelp.

“Christ, you know what? That was stupid.”

“Steve–”

But Steve ignores him, rolling on his side, away from Eddie, and as far as he can without falling off the bed. “Forget I said anything, you don’t have to–”

“I want to!” Eddie blurts out, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Uh, if– if it will help you.”

“Eddie, I can’t ask you to do that,” Steve says, still facing away from Eddie.

“I’m offering,” he says. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to him and it definitely won’t be happening twice but he wants it– God, does he want it– so he moves closer, putting his hand on Steve’s waist, hearing his sharp intake of breath. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s entire body shudders. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Please, Eddie.”

Oh, shit.

Just the thought of doing this is enough to make Eddie’s blood rush downward, making his dick half hard so he’s careful to keep his hips angled away from Steve’s back as he scoots closer to him, moving his hand from Steve’s waist to his lower stomach, feeling his skin erupt in goosebumps beneath his touch.

“I got you, Stevie,” he whispers, fingers moving down, playing with Steve’s happy trail. He’s already panting and Eddie still hasn’t even touched him.

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to touch him.

He slides his hand lower until his knuckles bump against Steve’s cock over his boxers. “You’re already half hard, sweetheart? Is this what was actually keeping you up?”

Steve lets out a low moan. He didn’t ask Eddie for a running commentary, just a helping hand, but Eddie can’t stop himself. He’s a loud guy through and through, so unless Steve tells him to shut up, he’ll keep running his mouth. Steve seems to be into it anyway.

He lazily strokes Steve’s cock over his boxers to get him to full hardness. Fuck, he’s big, Eddie thinks. He can’t wait to feel Steve’s hot skin–

“Can I touch you?” Eddie whispers into his ear.

“Yes, yeah,” Steve agrees quickly.

So Eddie slips his hand inside Steve’s boxers, sighing happily when he wraps his fingers around his hard length.

The touch makes Steve throw his head back with a groan, almost smashing it against Eddie’s nose. Thankfully he doesn’t, even though not even a bloody nose would make Eddie give up the chance to get Steve off.

However he does prop himself up with the arm he isn’t using to touch Steve so his head rests against Eddie’s shoulder so as to not risk an injury– and because it allows him to peer over Steve’s shoulder and watch how his hand looks wrapped around his cock.

And God the sight gets Eddie to full hardness, making his mouth water.

He starts stroking him slowly, gathering the precum from the tip and smearing it down and around Steve’s cock but it’s not enough.

When he lets go entirely, Steve whines, hips thrusting forward, chasing after Eddie’s touch.

Eddie shushes him gently. “‘M not going anywhere, sweetheart. Here, spit,” he says, holding his hand close to Steve’s mouth. He does as he’s told without hesitation. Eddie can’t stop himself from kissing Steve’s nape. “Good boy.”

“Oh, G-god,” Steve moans brokenly. It trails off into a high-pitched whine when Eddie wraps his hand around him again, the slide of his hand smoother now from Steve’s spit.

He pumps him loosely. “Better?”

“Y–yeah,” Steve manages, panting now.

The elastic of his boxers makes Eddie’s movements a little clumsy but Steve fixes it by jerkily shoving them down. While doing that, his ass presses back against Eddie’s front and there’s no way for him to hide that he’s fully hard in his own boxers.

But instead of shoving Eddie away or calling him out on it, Steve groans and shuffles back until Eddie’s chest presses against his back and Eddie’s cock is nestled against Steve’s now naked ass.

“Fucking– fuck,” Eddie chokes out, momentarily stopping his hand so he can get his breathing over control.

“Eddie–” Steve whines, his hips twitching and fucking his cock into Eddie’s fist. It pushes his ass back against Eddie’s crotch, which does little to help Eddie focus.

“‘M here, baby,” Eddie whispers, his teeth clamped over his lip. Steve’s hips are still moving–

But he starts stroking him again, reminding himself that this is about Steve.

“Oh God, yes,” he moans loudly.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be loud,” Eddie mutters in awe.

Steve lets out a choked laugh. “I thought– I thought you didn’t give it much– oh fuck, much thought.”

“I fucking lied,” Eddie admits with a scoff.

“I– I lied too,” Steve says, his breath coming faster when Eddie tightens his grip. “You were the reason, fuck– the reason why I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking, oh God– thinking about how I wanted to be doing this instead.”

Something hot burns in Eddie’s stomach. “Well, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask.”

“Can– can I ask for something else?” Steve says shyly despite him currently grinding his ass against Eddie in an obscene way.

“Anything.”

“Fuck my thighs?” He asks, twisting his neck so he can look at Eddie, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils blown wide.

Eddie is pretty sure his brain momentarily short circuits.

When he doesn’t reply right away, Steve blindly reaches behind him, his hand connecting with Eddie’s hip. He clumsily tugs on his boxers, trying to get them off.

It snaps Eddie out of it. “Yes, yeah, fucking– yeah,” he mutters, momentarily letting go of Steve so he can shove his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach.

He gives himself a few strokes– to take the edge off and to spread the precum along his length until his cock is wet and shiny.

“Come here,” Steve says and Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. He shuffles closer, angling the head of his dick forward, lining it up so it slides between Steve’s thighs.

And when it does, they both moan loudly at the same time.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths then reaches for Steve’s cock. The inside of Steve’s thighs is so warm and soft and he knows he’s not gonna last long, but he’ll make sure to make Steve come.

He makes sure his grip is tighter this time, his movements faster. He times them with his own thrusts, his cock sliding wetly in and out Steve’s meaty thighs.

“You feel fucking perfect, Steve,” Eddie groans, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder blade. The praise makes Steve whimper, his cock pulsing in Eddie’s hand. “You gonna come, sweetheart?”

Breathing coming faster, Steve manages, “Yeah– yeah. So fuckin’ close.”

“Me too, baby,” he admits. It doesn’t surprise him, he’s currently experiencing the hottest moment of his entire existence.

The closer he gets, the more his movements turn clumsier, more desperate– desperate to come, to make Steve come.

It’s when Eddie gives Steve’s shoulder a playful little bite at the same time that he twists his hand on the upstroke that Steve’s back arches and he moans loud and shaky as his cock pulses hotly into his hand.

Steve’s noises as he comes and the way his thighs tighten around Eddie’s cock are enough to bring him over the edge after only a few more thrusts and he paints Steve’s legs with cum.

They lay like that for a few seconds, catching their breath. Eddie starts to drift off, feeling tired and floaty.

“So you think you can fall asleep now?” He asks, breaking the silence.

Steve lets out a soft little giggle. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Eddie grins triumphantly. “Happy to be of service, Your Majesty,” he says with a twist of his cum-covered hand.

Steve’s nose wrinkles as his eyes land on it, but there’s a trace of fond amusement in the look he throws at Eddie over his shoulder. He grabs a handful of tissues from his nightstand and uses them to clean Eddie’s hand and himself before they both shove their boxers back on and get back under the covers.

Eddie rolls to his side. “Before you fall asleep and because I know it’ll keep me up if I don’t ask– was that like, just a hookup or do you like, like me?” He grimaces, burying his face into a pillow. “God, I sound like a twelve year old.”

Steve laughs, but not unkindly. “I like you, Eddie,” he says, and when Eddie lifts his head to look at him, Steve leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s sleep and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Smiling, Eddie nods. That’s fine by him.

Steve turns around, facing away again and Eddie wraps his arm around him, burrowing his face into the back of his neck.

They’re both asleep in a matter of seconds.

[lady-lostmind]

TROUBLE

Written for @steddiebingo Kissing Booth Prompt: Jealousy

Rating: T | WC: 1195 

Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

Eddie is ripping his way through a solo at practice, trying to nail the transition between the solo and chorus. He groans in frustration when he misses the same note he has the last three run throughs. “Fuck.”

Gareth tosses his drumstick at him and thumps his bass pedal. “Eddie, come on, man. We’ve been at this for like an hour already.”

Eddie scoffs. “It’s been like twenty minutes, Gare.” He snatches Gareth’s stick up off the ground and throws it back. “Go from the top of the verse again.”

Gareth and the rest of the guys groan and roll their eyes as Gareth counts them in. Eddie focuses hard on making his fingers move the way they need to, nailing the parts of the song he already has down, gets mostly through the solo and– misses the same note. 

“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!” 

Jeff sighs. “Maybe we should table this one for–”

Eddie shakes his head. “No! I’ve almost got it. Just– From the verse again.” 

The guys eye him wearily but start again. Eddie’s sure he’s going to nail it this time. He just has to figure out what he keeps snagging on and he’ll be good. He can do this, he– misses the same damn note again! “FUCKING HELL!” 

Gareth groans behind his drums. “EDDIE! What the hell, man?” 

Doug takes his bass off and goes to head inside. “I need a fucking break, dude.” 

Eddie throws his hands up in defeat. “Great. We just got started!” 

Jeff sets his guitar to the side and shrugs. “Run through it a few times while we grab some snacks.” 

Eddie watches as they all head inside and turns to Steve where he’s been sitting in the corner watching this absolute trainwreck unfold. “I can’t believe them!” 

Steve just shrugs and takes a drag from the joint Eddie rolled for him as payment for agreeing to be his ride today. “Just keep going. You’ll get it.” 

Eddie sighs and cracks his fingers. Okay. He’s got this. He runs through the parts separately a few times, making sure he has the solo figured out. Then he does the whole first part of the song, letting the muscle memory take over on all the parts he already has down. He keeps going, flowing through the solo again, convinced he’s got it this time and– he misses the whole transition. He groans, tugging on his hair in frustration. “Fuck me. This is impossible!” 

Steve sighs and gets up and starts walking over to him, joint still dangling from his lips. 

Eddie stares at him in confusion as he comes up behind him and goes to wrap his arms around Eddie and his guitar. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Steve leans forward and looks at him over his shoulder and talks around the joint in his mouth. “You’re skipping a beat. That’s why you keep getting off.” 

Eddie’s brow scrunches. “What the fuck are you talking ab–”

Steve swats Eddie’s hands out of the way and starts playing through the solo, Eddie’s fucking solo, flawlessly. And Eddie is just standing there like an idiot with his arms held up awkwardly out of the way so Steve can play. Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock and he stares down at Steve’s hands moving effortlessly along the frets. “What the fuck?” 

Steve huffs a laugh in Eddie’s ear, a puff of smoke filling the air around them. Steve gets to the part Eddie keeps fucking up on and slows down, leaning in close. “Right here.” He plays over the spot a few times, showing Eddie the beat he’s absolutely been skipping. “You miss that rest and it throws you off. See?” He plays through it again and goes right into the chorus, no problem. 

Eddie nods dumbly, still just staring at the way Steve’s hands look on his guitar. His brain feels scrambled with this new knowledge. Steve just waltzed over here and dropped the bomb that he can play guitar as good as, if not better than Eddie, by ear, and is acting like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just completely rock Eddie’s entire world. Because holy shit this is hot.

Steve is hot. 

Which like, okay. Duh. Obviously he has eyes and knows the guy is objectively attractive. But he has always just been…Steve. His friend. But now…Eddie is blushing. And if he’s being honest, he’s a little hard. Which is mortifying considering Steve’s hand is basically right over his dick. Eddie has never been jealous of an inanimate object before. But fuck if he doesn’t wish he was his guitar right now with Steve’s hands working over it like this. Eddie shakes his head with a laugh and leans back a little, lifting his hands to run his finger through his hair before lacing them behind his head to give Steve easier access. 

Steve runs through the rest of the song before letting go and stepping back. He gives Eddie’s shoulder a little squeeze and plucks the joint out of his mouth so he can flash him a smile. “Try it again–” He flicks the ashes off the joint. “I bet you’ll get it now.” 

Eddie just stares at him with wide eyes as Steve goes and flops back down on the shitty couch in the corner with a cocky grin. “What the fuck, Harrington?” 

Steve takes a drag from his joint and shrugs. “What?”

Eddie scoffs. “What do you mean ‘what?’” 

Steve’s smile stretches wider on his face and he sinks into the couch more. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Since when do you play the fucking guitar?”

Steve shrugs. “Since forever. My mom made me pick an instrument to take lessons on when I was little.”

Eddie scoffs. “And you never thought to mention this before?” 

Steve takes another drag, the smoke billowing out of his mouth as he shakes his head. “No. Why would I?”

Eddie chuckles, his mind still spinning. “Why’d you let me fumble through this shit when you knew what I was doing then?”

Steve shrugs and nods to the guitar. “Play through it again before they get back.” He looks up and locks eyes with him. “Tell them you figured it out.”

And– oh. He waited to show Eddie until they were alone so he could take credit for figuring it out. God damnit. He’s being sweet on top of everything and– 

This is no good. Eddie can feel the sparks of a crush catching fire in his chest, threatening to burn him alive. He clears his throat and nods. “Thanks, man.” 

Eddie shakes his head, trying to focus again. He starts at the beginning of the solo, making sure he pays better attention to counting out the beats and– nails it. He flies right through and into the chorus. 

He lets out a satisfied sigh, a smile pulling at his cheeks as he looks back up at Steve who is beaming with pride as he starts clapping. “Knew you could do it, Eds.” 

A blush rises on Eddie’s cheeks and he nods, trying to shove the swell in his heart down before it gets him into trouble. “Thanks.” 

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

Nerd gojo x nerd reader headcanons pt 3

_Part 2_

Nerdjo! X nerdreader! Lmao guys I don't know it takes time to think for a scenario for nerd gojo!

♡ Gojo, the hopeless overthinker-After catching you reading a book on quantum mechanics, he stares at you for an entire class.

His mind is in overdrive.

“What does she know that I don’t?”

You glance up from your book and notice him staring.

Your expression doesn’t change, just a slight raise of the brow.

He starts questioning reality. He wonders if maybe you’re an alien who landed to study humans.

He’s not sure if he’s scared or in awe.

♡ Gojo, the performance artist-He’s in class, casually tossing out random knowledge to impress everyone.

You’re sitting right next to him, completely unfazed.

He throws out an elaborate theory about space-time continuums.

You glance at him, and in that cool, calculated tone of yours, you say, “Actually, there’s a counter-theory that suggests…”

He’s frozen stunned.

You just corrected him.

He’s in shock. He didn’t even realize there was a counter-theory.

♡ Gojo, the never-satisfied challenger-It’s become a ritual now. He challenges you to random things just to get a reaction.

One day, he walks into the library where you’re reading again and says, “I bet you can’t solve this one faster than me.”

You just stare at him like he's a child.

He watches you effortlessly solve the puzzle in seconds.

His brain breaks.

“Okay… you win. Again.”

He mumbles it like he’s been defeated, even though you both know he never stood a chance.

You just blink, your face a mask of indifference.

♡ Gojo, the insufferable over-achiever-He throws a math challenge your way in class, but it’s no longer about the challenge.

It’s about getting you to look up at him.

When you solve it in seconds, he pretends to be devastated.

“How… How do you do it?!”

You don’t even flinch. You just mutter, “It’s all about applying basic principles, Gojo.”

He finds it so frustrating but can’t help but admire you for it.

This feeling of being outmatched starts to gnaw at him, but it excites him too.

♡ Gojo, the dumbstruck fool-One day, he just can’t take it anymore. He watches you at lunch, reading your book with so much focus.

He interrupts your concentration with a dramatic gesture, throwing his arms out.

“You can’t possibly be that focused!”

You look up, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Well, Gojo, focusing is a part of my natural process of learning. You should try it sometime.”

His jaw drops.

The fact that you just casually insulted him makes him both irritated and in love at the same time.

♡ Gojo, the unintentional simp-He’s in class, trying to act all cool and aloof, but his eyes are constantly shifting to where you’re sitting.

You never seem to notice.

He can’t stop thinking about how you’re always so calm, always so collected.

One day, he catches himself staring at you for way too long.

His heart skips a beat when you finally look up and catch his gaze.

You don’t say anything. You don’t even smile.

But the look in your eyes… it makes his heart race.

He looks away like a fool, muttering under his breath. “What the hell is happening to me?”

♡ Gojo, the clingy puppy-He shows up to the library one day to find you reading, of course.

He’s spent the last few hours thinking of ways to get your attention.

He plops down next to you.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you reading?”

You glance at him for a second and say, “A book on theoretical physics.”

He stares at you, unblinking. “Sounds boring.”

You stare back, saying nothing, then go back to reading.

He can’t help himself anymore he leans over and practically whispers in your ear,

“I think you’re kinda cool, you know?”

Your response is the most distracting part of his life.

You don’t even look up. “And I think you should stop distracting me.”

♡ Gojo, the underestimator-He once convinced himself that he could outwit you in everything.

So when the next mission is announced, he’s all cocky about it.

“I’ve got this in the bag. No one’s a better strategist than me.”

But when the team assembles to discuss the mission, you outshine him with every point you bring up.

“You didn’t consider the potential outcomes of that tactic, Gojo.”

His face turns bright red. He tries to play it cool, but you’ve already won this round.

He’s still muttering about it later, trying to convince himself that it was just a fluke.

But deep down, he’s starting to see you as more than just his rival.

♡ Gojo, the frustrated genius-He’s notorious for his smug attitude, his self-proclaimed genius status.

But you, Y/N, have officially cracked the code.

He’s secretly obsessed with trying to figure you out.

There’s no logic in his mind to explain why he can’t stop thinking about you.

He finds himself watching you from afar, wondering if he could ever measure up to your calm intellect.

“Why does she have to be so perfect?” he thinks, but only when he’s alone.

The thought torments him and keeps him up at night.

♡ Gojo, the declaration of affection-One evening, after yet another failed attempt at getting your attention, he stands in front of you.

The usual smirk is gone.

“I think… I think I like you.”

You blink.

He’s waiting for you to say something clever, to shut him down.

But you don’t.

You just stare at him with that unreadable expression.

“Yeah, I know,” you finally say, casually flipping through your book.

He’s left speechless, heart racing in a way he’s never felt before.

The realization hits him hard. You’re so far above him, and yet, he’s already in too deep.

♡ Gojo, the love-struck fool-He can’t help it. No matter how much he tries to deny it, he’s falling for you.

Every interaction, every glance, every indifferent comment you make only makes him more obsessed with you.

But he’s Gojo Satoru, and he’s never been the type to give up so easily.

He’s decided.

He’s going to make you notice him.

No matter how hard it gets, no matter how impossible it feels,

He’s going to win this challenge.

And it’s going to be the best battle of his life.

@syrooo @11v1ngzomble @dekusdante @inoluvrr @hel1nn

[curtis-brothers-hug]

I’ve seen posts about Darry longing for the days when Ponyboy used to adore him, but what about the other way around?

Ponyboy, convinced that his eldest-brother-turned-guardian hates him now, longs to go back to a time when Darry actually seemed to like having him around. The days when Darry made Pony feel like his special little buddy.

Darry who used to give Pony piggyback rides, even after Pony was probably too big. “Nah, you’re light as a feather. That’s the advantage of bein a little shrimp.” “Am not!”

Darry who would do donuts in the car because it made Soda and Pony feel just like a roller coaster. It was so much more fun than driving with mom or dad. They never did donuts.

Darry who always made Pony feel so smart and talented and confident; who would help him with his homework and high five him for the right answer, who would play football with him and who was grinning ear to ear the first time Pony beat Darry when they raced each other. “We got us a new star athlete in the family!”

Darry who marveled at Pony’s drawings and asked him for a special sketch every year for his birthday, telling Pony it was his favorite birthday present when Pony felt bad about not having money to buy him anything.

Darry who protected Pony from bullies, who told him that the kids who made fun of him for using big words he learned from books were just jealous cuz he’s smart and they’re dumb.

Darry who comforted Pony after he got scolded by their parents. “Mama don’t mean nothin by it, she’s just worried about you is all.”

Darry who always made Pony feel so safe. He’d crawl into Darry’s lap or his bed when he was little and then not so little and Darry would hold him in those strong arms that felt like an impenetrable fortress where nothing could touch him.

Darry who would always come back from grocery shopping for mom with Pony’s favorite candy, who would ruffle his hair and tickle him and play pranks with him and laugh with him………

And now, Darry acts like he can’t stand the sight of him. Darry used to be so proud of him, and now Pony can’t seem to do anything right. Pony used to see Darry as his protector, and now Darry is the one he’s afraid of, who yells at him with that booming voice like the thunder he used to hide from by burying his head in Darry’s chest.

And the worst part is, Pony doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t know why Darry’s love for him, Darry’s enjoyment of being his big brother, seemingly died with their parents. He doesn’t know at what point Darry will decide he’s enough of a burden and send him away. Everyone says that’s never gonna happen, but Darry sure acts like he wants to.

Pony doesn’t know why he can’t just hate Darry back, why he can’t seem to make himself stop seeing Darry as his hero when it would be so much easier to cast him as the villain; why he can’t get rid of the feeling that all he wants is for his big brother to love him again.

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

���You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James�� face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn���t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[natalievoncatte]

“Okay,” Alex said, “listen, prepare yourself. She’s acting… strange.”

Lena strode next to her, clenching her fists as if she could grip her own cold fury with them. The audacity of Danvers

(Alex)

to call her in like she was some employee after what Kara had done to her, was shocking. She would have told her to fuck right off if not for the desperation in her voice. She almost hung up on her when Alex said it was about Kryptonite, and they needed an expert.

Outside the exam room, Alex directed Lena’s attention to a screen. Some two-bit “villain” (how she hated that word) was on the screen. She wasn’t sure what he was going for with his outfit but he looked like a cross between a cable repairman and a wannabe Ghostbusters with a helmet that reminded her of the cap on a salt shaker. He was thrusting a wand device at Kara, spraying her with a fine pink mist.

Some of the substance had been gathered into a small vial, currently residing in a lead canister. Lena turned the vial in her hands, watching the tiny, powdery crystals flow over each other like sand.

Lena swallowed, hard.

“She’s not on a rampage, so it’s not red kryptonite.”

“It appears to be pink kryptonite,” said Lena.

“Your scientific skills of observation astound me,” said Alex. “Marie Curie would be so proud.”

Lena gave her a flat look.

“Fuck you, Danvers. I haven’t had a chance to say this to your face yet, but fuck you. Fuck all of you, playing your little games mocking me to my face when we were supposed to be friends.”

“We were friends,” said Alex.

“Not friends enough for Kara to tell me the truth.”

“I told her not to,” Alex said, coldly, “and I was right. Maybe I kept at her too long about it, but she ended up keeping the secret because she was afraid you’d flip out and blow up your whole friendship over it, you fucking drama queen.”

Lena screwed the lead canister shut. It looks like it was meant to hold radioactive flour.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Please save her. I’m prepared to deal with your sanctimonious bullshit if you save my sister.”

“I’ll need to work on the sample, but I should examine her first. Is it safe?”

“She would never hurt you.”

Lena rolled her eyes. Alex stared at her flatly.

“You two, Jesus Christ. If you were anyone else I’d just call it out, but fuck it, let’s keep this professional.”

Lena crossed her arms. “Call what out?”

Alex arched a brow. “Should I start with the office full of flowers or the literal billion dollars you spent on her?”

Lena’s nostrils flared and she felt red creeping up her cheeks. “That wasn’t about her, that was about keeping Edge from owning his own media empire. Murdoch is bad enough.”

“It’s a fashion industry magazine,” said Alex, “and Edge could just start his own. The difference is Kara worked at CatCo, where you started working instead of…”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Lena huffed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Alex opened the door. Kara was seated sideways on the exam table, swinging her feet like a bored child. There was a faint pinkish tinge to sparking points on her pale skin and she looked up with a slight pink gloss to the whites of her eyes, visible at a distance.

“Heyyyyyyyyy~”, said Kara.

Lena blinked.

“Kara? How are you feeling?”

Kara stared at her hands. “Why are you here? I thought you hated me now.”

Lena felt a sharp sting of regret deep in her chest, but brushed it off, like crumbs from her sleeve. It was as meaningless as crumbs. Kara’s honeyed words were always to sweeten her lies.

Kara resumed staring at her hands. “Humans call them fingers, but I’ve never seen them fing. Oh,” she giggled, wriggling her fingers, “there they go.”

“Kara?” said Lena.

“Oh, hi, I didn’t see you come in,” said Kara. “Some dude sprayed me with glitter and now I’m all funny.”

Alex leaned over. “We only got her in her by convincing her the Backstreet Boys were waiting inside and she spent three hours singing those stupid songs with Nia before I called you.”

Lena licked her lips. “Ah, I see. Kara?”

“Yeah, babe?”

Lena flinched. Babe? What?

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel great,” said Kara. “Kinda… kinda relaxed but excited. I’m excitalaxed! I made up a new word!”

“Would you excuse us a minute?” said Lena.

“Sure,” said Kara.

Lena stepped out and closed the door after Alex joined her.

“Alex,” said Lena.

“Lena,” said Alex.

“She’s high,” said Lena.

“I know,” Alex sighed.

“That’s incredibly dangerous. If she was just a dumb blonde we could let her sleep it off, but she can bench press an aircraft carrier. What if she gets some inane idea in her head and levels half the city?”

“She isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“Didn’t she throw Cat Grant off a building the last time she was under the influence of something? It was on TV, Alex.”

Alex scowled. “That was different. Also she had it coming.”

Lena’s brows shot up.

“What? She was a bitch to my sister. She made her cry like three times a week. I don’t buy into that hardass girlboss mentor routine, I never liked Kara working for her. It was a relief when you bought the company, I had hopes someone would finally be looking out for her. She’s fragile, Lena.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, turns out that having your planet explode and losing your entire culture, family, and way of life, then losing your foster father, and then having to kill your aunt who is your mother’s twin sister can do a number on you. Might make you a little bit clingy and weird and paranoid about losing everyone you love. Shit, Lena, out of that whole list I just lost my dad and it was not make me a drunk for six years and captain of the varsity slut team. And I’m gay.”

Lena stared at her.

“Why does everyone I know need therapy?”

Kara chose that moment to throw the door open, making them both jump. She was grinning ear to ear.

“I don’t need therapy, I need rum,” said Kara. She turned to Lena and stage whispered, “alien rum that I can get drunk on.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kiddo. Why won’t we go sit down and try to rest.”

Kara snapped her fingers. “I know what we can do! We can go clubbing! Come on, Lena, let’s go clubbing. If I go clubbing with you it’ll make Lena jealous.”

“We are so fucked,” Alex muttered.

Kara started forward, but Lena stepped in her path and pressed a hand to her chest.

She froze, staring open-mouthed at Lena. Lena could feel the muscles flexing under her palm and fingers, the nearly infinite strength pressed against her simple touch and yet yielding to it.

“Kara,” she said, softly, but firmly. “Let’s just go back in the room, okay? You’re intoxicated by the altered Kryptonite you’ve been exposed to and you’re not thinking straight.”

Kara looked her up and down, slowly. Lena felt a hot tingle pass through her and her legs quivered in her slacks. Kara’s eyes had gone dark and her chin dipped slightly and holy shit she was staring directly at Lena’s mouth.

Alex looked at her nervously.

“Lena,” Alex said, in warning.

“She won’t hurt me,” said Lena.

Brainy walked into the lab. “I have good news,” he said. “The half-life of this particular type of Kryptonite is very short, by my calculations it should only last a few… hours…” he trailed off, then added quickly. “I have business elsewhere, excuse me,” and fled the room.

Lena gave Kara a tentative push and the invincible Kryptonian stumbled back. Lena ended up guiding her into the room again and sat her down.

Alex began to follow.

“It’s fine,” said Lena.

“Are you sure?”

“She won’t hurt me. Close the door.”

Kara sat down and stared between her feet, fiddling with her hands.

Lena waited for the door to close and sat down next to her.

“Are you mad at me?” Kara whispered.

“Yes,” Lena murmured. “I’m so angry at you that it makes me want to scream.”

“Oh,” Kara said, her voice small.

Lena sighed. “I’ll never be mad enough to let anything happen to you, Kara.”

“But you’re mad.”

“I’m mad. I let you in, you didn’t do the same for me. I let you see who I am, good and bad, and you held back from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still mad.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighed.

Kara rubbed at her arms, sniffling.

Great, Lena thought, she’s coming down.

“Everybody changes,” said Kara. “Everybody goes away and leaves me. I’m so scared, Lena. I’m so scared of being alone. I was alone forever and ever in my pod and it hurt so much,” she choked out a little sob. “Everyone goes away and I can’t take it. I can’t stand it. I didn’t want you to go away so I lied to make you stay. I’m sorry.”

Lena, haltingly, put an arm around her. Kara leaned her head on Lena’s shoulder.

“Can I make it so you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Curious, Lena thought.

She wasn’t mad at all right now.

Kara began to sob softly, and suddenly, all at once, being mad didn’t make so much sense after all. She still felt it burning in her chest but it had gone from hot coals to dying embers, from raging magma to something bitter and sticky coating her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“I think you can do anything if you try hard enough.”

Lean smoothed back her hair and curled the sleeve of her designer jacket around her hand and used it to dry the tears, and Kara hugged her, tightly but gently in her insistent way.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, darling. Just relax and breathe, I promise it’ll be better soon.”

It was a funny thing, when Kara kissed her. It happened so naturally, so easily, that once it began, Lena was hardly aware how it started. It was not a lustful kiss, though she could feel that was there in the hungry way that Kara’s lips tugged at her own, almost pleading. Nor was it sad. It was hopeful, and it made something flare in her chest.

No, more than that. A crushing blast of warm air snuffed the dying embers of fury in her chest and in their place a new bonfire blazed into being, a sudden explosive joyful warmth that would blaze in her forever until the sun went out and the sky went cold. It was as if Kara had given her some red sun fire.

On instinct she lunged into the embrace and suddenly they were on the table, Kara swinging one leg lazily off the side as Lena straddled and locked lips with her.

"Oh God," Lena blurted, yanking back.

"What's wrong, baby?"

Lena almost fell off onto the floor when Kara called her that. She was sitting on Kara, panting.

"We can't," said Lena. "Kara, please, you're high as a kite."

Kara let out a soft, sad sound. Lena brushed her cheek softly. "It's okay. Just let me lay with you."

Kara shifted so Lena could join her, and they lay facing each other.

"I love you," Kara whispered. "You are my red sun, my scarlet sky, my beacon calling me back from the void."

Lena's breath caught. She tucked in close and kissed Kara on her nose.

"I'm tired," said Kara.

"Go to sleep," Lena whispered. “It'll be okay. I'll still love you tomorrow."

With a contented smile, Kara closed her eyes, looking so peaceful that Lena wanted nothing more than to watch over her.

When Alex came in and laid a blanket over them, she had the most frustrating grin on her face.

Lena decided she'd allow it.