#Whoops fire is everywhere

[tothesolarium]

purposefully making these ending chapters really short to show time moving quickly has been fun and challenging

except for This chapter. Because the MAN I BEG YALL TO NOT SURE INTO A HOT VILLIAN, he is the worst and this not even a page long chapter really gets as overt with it as im gunna get. and the poem a few prior but-

we're building up to something something Big

[lazysoulwriter]

mr. & mrs. pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, implied spice, celebrity couple, romantic chaos, social media explosion, humor, public thirsting, extremely cute married vibes.

---

The romcom was already a cultural reset.

But the photoshoot? That’s what broke the damn internet.

You and Pedro, golden couple of the year, had been everywhere lately — talk shows, red carpets, interviews. The chemistry on screen was enough to melt steel beams, but the real fun? That lived in the moments behind the camera. And the photoshoot to promote the movie? Yeah. That was the cherry on top of the frenzy.

A chaotic, horny, and unhinged cherry.

The second the studio released the official images plus the BTS video plus the outtakes (because your PR team is genius and a little evil), the internet collectively lost its mind. It was like someone pulled the fire alarm in the middle of a Pedro Pascal convention. Twitter crashed. TikTok flooded. Instagram became a shrine.

The photos were... a journey.

Some were so soft they made people cry — you in Pedro’s lap, both in cozy knits, smiling into each other’s mouths like no one else existed. His hand tangled in your hair. Your fingers tracing his jaw like you couldn’t help yourself. The caption read: “love, actually.”

Others were chaotic — both of you in matching suits, dancing like idiots mid-frame, tongues out, eyes crossed. Pedro lifting you bridal style and pretending to run away. You sitting on his shoulders while he did jazz hands.

And then there were those ones. The ones people could not handle. The ones that came with warnings.

Pedro shirtless, your legs over his thighs, your hands in his curls, both of you looking like you just finished something illegal. You biting your lip. Pedro with that look — heavy-lidded, sinful, like he knew exactly what he was doing to people. Spoiler: he did.

The behind-the-scenes video was even worse (better).

— Pedro tripping over a light cable and you yelling “he’s fragile, he’s fifty!!” — Him calling you “mi esposa” every five minutes like it was a game. — You smacking his ass between takes and him giggling like a schoolboy. — Both of you arguing over who kissed who first in the movie. — The makeup artist having to fix Pedro’s lipstick smudges after a steamy take. — “Don’t look at me like that,” you whispering, and Pedro going: “How am I looking at you?” and the photographer going “GOD, CAN YOU TWO STOP BEING PERFECT FOR ONE SECOND.”

And the comments?

Absolutely feral.

“WHY ARE THEY LOOKING AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT. THEY’RE MARRIED BUT I’M STILL JEALOUS.” “the soft smiles, the matching rings, the giggles, THE HANDS. they are what love should be.” “these pics healed my childhood trauma and gave me new kinks.” “petition to let them do every romcom from now on. every. single. one.” “i don’t want a relationship unless it looks like pedro letting her sit on his lap in every frame like she belongs there.” “they look like they fuck and do sudoku together. i want that.”

Pedro reposted one of the more provocative pictures on his Instagram story, adding a casual “whoops 😇” and you replied with “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

And yes — the movie is breaking box office records. But you two? You’re breaking hearts, ovaries, and the space-time continuum.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

---

[ashonheavenscloud]

would you maybe be down to write headcanons abt making out with p1h 🤭

Need nothing more then to be laying in bed, lazily making out with keeho 😞

making out with p1harmony members!

warnings: none, a little suggestive but nothing explicit!

a/n: thank you so much for the request!! it was kinda fun to think about🤭 hope you enjoy <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

☆ keeho:

he is soooooo obsessed with kissing you that make out sessions happen almost anytime, anywhere. he knows when to read the room, but isn’t against pulling you to the side or finding a more secluded room/hallway/etc to spend a bit of time kissing you and feeling you up. what’s he supposed to do when you look so good all the damn time??

i am however a biggggggggg enthusiast of keeho loving to make out with you in the car. will make “detours” or even just ask you to drive out with him somewhere where he can park and make out with you for a while. doesn’t need to go any farther than that (although he’s not against it��) but will not settle for less than like. an hour of kissing you. he will complain otherwise

makeouts start out slow and full of back and forth teasing. he loves holding the back of your neck for a bit of control (again, helpful with the teasing) and sliding his other hand up and down your waist. PLEASE straddle him he will die of happiness and excitement and will need you sooooo bad

lowkey loves it when you try to take the lead but 1) will never admit it and 2) won’t let you take it so easily

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

☆ theo:

makeout sessions will most likely happen at home, just cause theo lovessssss taking him damn time with you and sees any kind of physical affection/touch as deeply intimate and personal. 90% of the time they happen in bed, either in the mornings or evenings.

will cup your face and hold you close, focusing on your lips with slow, languid, deliberate kisses that leave you out of breath and your mind completely empty. is a very very very good kisser and knows it. often smiles and whispers against your lips

favourite thing in the world is hearing you sigh into a kiss. literally lights his body on fire

most of the time these don’t escalate, or if it does, the whole thing is very soft love making. most of the time though, he’s content to bask in the moment and take you in. finds kissing you so relaxing and makes him feel at home

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

☆ jiung:

similar to theo, jiung finds kissing you makes him relax, so he would likely loveeeeeeee making out with you after long stressful days or in the studio between working on projects. pulls you onto his lap or between his legs and holds you close with both his hands either under your jaw or behind your neck.

50/50 chance on it escalating. 100% chance if you tease him in any kind of way, either by saying his name in a certain way or pulling at his hair. he loses the game very very fast and needs your skin on his IMMEDIATELY

doesn’t spend the time only on your lips, often drifting across your whole face and neck while he’s at it. talks a lot during the whole thing, cause he likes to hear your breathy responses and know he’s driving you crazy.

makeout sessions could be a couple minutes or a couple hours and there’s no telling with him until you glance at the clock and both realize he’s missed a meeting and you’re late for an appointment. whoops.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

☆ intak:

like keeho, intak wants to kiss you ALL. THE. TIME. it’s getting him to stop and focus on anything else that’s the problem

is incapable of both keeping the makeout session short and keeping it from escalating. he gets excited easily and the second your hands find his chest and you sigh against his mouth it’s so, so over. hands on your waist, body leaning over yours, caging you in. LOVES holding you against a wall or just about any surface tbh

sloppy kisses. everywhere. focuses mainly on your lips but gets distracted sometimes at your neck when he wants to hear you a little louder for him. but your lips are his kryptonite and he wouldn’t really rather be anywhere else

on the flip side, he also really enjoys when you wake him up with lazy kisses. could die of happiness

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

☆ soul:

makeouts with soul are spontaneous and giddy! usually gets the urge to kiss you the most when he’s excited or you’re being extra cute, and the kisses start all over your face before focusing entirely on your lips

and once he’s there, he’s THERE. lots of fast kisses, pulls at your lips a lot and holds your waist to keep you close to him. prefers to stand between your legs while you’re sitting in front of his, say, on a counter; OR he likes having you beneath him on the couch

teases a little but kinda can’t keep it up cause he just wants to kiss you so bad and it feels just as hard for him to maintain as it is for you to endure. but he sure does love the dazed expression and the faint voice you have when he does

doesn’t often escalate but when it does it does FAST

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

☆ jongseob:

like theo, jongseob also sees kissing you as a personal, intimate show of affection, so makeout sessions almost always happen at home. he loves coming back after a long day, holding you in his arms and kissing you slowly, smiling and relaxing into it, knowing he’s where he belongs.

loves laying between your legs, hands around your waist or under your thighs, and slowly kissing you. nibbles on your bottom lip and often trails kisses down under your jaw before heading back to your lips. often goes back and forth between kissing you and talking about his day and yours, taking all the time in the world with you.

50/50 on whether it escalates, and when it does, his grip on you gradually tightens and his kisses turn from slow to hurried and needy. is a big whiner.

murmuring against your lips with a smile… yeah.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

p1harmony masterlist

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[katyawriteswhump]

the sugarbaby business💝

For @steddiemicrofic prompt, ‘sign’, 507 words. CW: mention of sex-toys; Rating: M; tags: o!Steve, a!Eddie, sugardaddy/sugarbaby language (tho no massive age gap), fluff.

💝💝💝💝💝💝

Steve met Eddie when the Alpha stumbled into the store where he worked. With his waterlogged jean-jacket and rock-god tresses, Eddie wasn’t Steve’s usual Armani-suited Alpha customer.

Eddie rubbed rain from his eyes. “Got any Starbursts? Oh!” He spotted the top-dollar sex-toys. “This isn’t a candystore? I was getting drowned, spotted your sign, and… Whoops?”

“It’s fine,” mumbled Steve, then recited: “Sugarbaby’s sells everything your Omega Babygirl dreams of.”

“Don’t have a Babygirl.” Steve’s pulse skittered. “You for sale, Honey?”

“No.” Steve suppressed a cringe. Eddie didn’t:

“Sorry. Bet you hear that ten times a day?”

“My uniform’s a pastel pink sailor-suit. So, yeah.”

From this Alpha… with his deliciously dimpled smile?

It wasn’t as annoying as usual.

Truth was, Steve wouldn’t mind an Alpha Sugardaddy to bankroll a non-wage-slavey lifestyle. Unfortunately, most customers already had Omega Sugarbabies to indulge.

Or were total douchebags.

This super-hot Alpha who’d wandered in out of the rain hit different. He undressed Steve with his eyes. Without making him feel like a piece of meat.

The mutual ogling got awks.

“We got candy binkies,” said Steve.

“Any good?”

“Criminally overpriced.”

“Should I mop up this puddle I’m creating?”

“I’ll do it.”

“But…”

Steve insisted. Meanwhile, it’d stopped raining. Eddie thanked him and departed.

Steve mopped up, returned to pricing stock. When Eddie returned, Steve nearly melted into a fresh puddle.

“Raining again?”

“Nope.” Eddie stalked across the empty store. Steve’s heartrate skyrocketed. “Maybe I’m in the Sugarbaby business after all. What gifts do Omegas actually dig?”

Steve froze.

Firstly… Waaaaah! Eddie had an Omega after all? Secondly, he couldn’t be more than a few years older than Steve. Baby for a Sugardaddy.  Thirdly, he cared what Omegas actually liked!?! He wanted a meaningful connection? Not only sex?

Steve unleashed, arms emoting everywhere: “We want none of this shit! The chocolates taste like soap. The sex-toys chafe. The bears are too stiff for decent snuggles. I do like some of the clothes—they’re the perfect amount of Babygirl. Apart from…” He fondled some cute suede pants. “Look, no pockets! God forbid Omegas have wallets! And who-the-fuck-ever wanted a NESTING-TIME SNOWGLOBE?” He facepalmed. “I’m gonna get fired for trashing the stock.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Eddie’s sweetness had Steve edging, unthinkingly, toward him. “So, my potential sugarbaby might prefer a cheapo microwave warmie-bear and some chiliconcarne at a jazz bar downtown?”

“Sounds nice,” Steve mumbled. He couldn’t blame the Alpha for not buying anything and wished he’d leave.

Before Steve cried.

He sucked his wobbly lip.

“Is it a date, Sweetheart?”

“Wha—?”

Eddie met Steve later, beneath the store sign. “Is it the right amount of Sugardaddy to wanna hold your hand?”

“Perfect amount.” Steve giggled madly, adoring how the Alpha’s large paw engulfed his, tugging Steve close, while Steve’s sensed reeled crazily. Eddie smelled incredible. He radiated warmth, his doting eyes promised more than meaningless sex, tho’…

…screw it.

Steve itched to climb the Alpha like a tree.

“C’mon, Sugardaddy, show me a good time.”

Eddie grinned wickedly. “Oh, I’m gonna, Babygirl.”

no pressure tag @wheneverfeasible 💕💕💕💕💕

[moonstruckme]

Your celebrations are always sooo stinkin cute :’) could I get a hot cocoa, prompt 31. Countdown to midnight with Steve?

You're so stinking cute! Thanks for the request babe :)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 407 words

“Steve!” You’re half running, giddy, through the living room, the kitchen. It helps that most everyone by now is standing still, watching Dick Clark’s staticy form on the TV. “Steve!”

With the chatter you’re hardly loud enough to be heard. You try to peer over heads, looking for your boyfriend’s hair or the color of his sweatshirt. Everywhere people are coupling up. Crackling gazes exchanged, fingers intertwining. 

Steve’s not in the basement. You call upstairs, but you don’t think he’d have gone there. How on earth have they fit so many people in this house anyway? 

“Steve?” You poke your head out the sliding back door, breath clouding. A group of guys smoking around a fire pit turns to look at you. You duck back inside, embarrassed. 

You start back toward the living room. Dick Clark has started counting down now, joined by the chorus of the whole house. 

Ten…nine…eight…

“Steve!” 

“Here!” Steve comes all but barrelling out of a hallway. He catches you, or you catch him, your hands at each other’s elbows. You let out a dizzy sort of laugh at his flustered state, and he grins at you, boyish. Your gazes crackle, fingers intertwining. 

“Sorry,” he says, breathless. Five, four… “I was looking at Ted’s new car, I didn’t know what time it was until—”

You shake your head, cutting him off before he talks you into the new year. “It’s okay! It’s okay, just—” 

Steve gets the message. He kisses you right as the clock strikes midnight. 

The house erupts like fireworks, in whoops and cheers and noisemakers blown by groups of friends who haven’t paired off. Somewhere outside, you think there are actual fireworks going off, lit by rowdy teenagers in some backyard of this suburban neighborhood. You get caught up in the excitement and push up on your tiptoes to kiss Steve heartily. His smile blooms against your lips, hand gentle but just as eager where it slips to the curve of your back. 

You part once you suppose everyone else has, the cheering getting louder as mouths free up, but Steve chases you, kissing you once, twice more. 

“We need to find some grapes,” you tell him, smiling. 

“Who needs grapes.” He cups the side of your face, kissing you again. It’s an assailment, at this point, really. You submit cheerfully. “Twelve kisses probably works the same way, right?” 

You hum, dubious but unwilling to deter him. “Worth a try.”

[ashthesalamipiece]

Heyy im back. So I just read your last/most recent fic about Izuku actually having a girl and I would love another Dabi x reader fic lol. They already have a boy he’s like. 2 we’ll say and the reader is pregnant again, Dabi really wants a girl and at a gender reaval party everyone is hoping and positive the reader is gonna have a boy again just for them to reveal it and it’s a girl. I just think it’s be so cute to imagine Dabi be so excited about having a girl lol

A/n, I didn't really know what to write in this fanfic because I was unsure if you wanted a gender reveal party with the league or a gender party with his family members or anyone in contact with dabi so i wrote a fic before dabi became a villain, so in this au he's a hero and he never went to the forest or "died" I hope that's fine! If not I will gladly write you another sample♡

Enjoy♡

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Pretty in Pink (And Blue Flames)

In this world, Touya Todoroki—known to the public as “Bluefire”—was a respected Pro Hero.

He had a scar or two, sure. A raspy voice, yeah. But the villain path never happened. Endeavor was never the pressure cooker of trauma he became in another life, and Dabi? He never had to die to be free.

Instead, Touya fell in love. With you.

And now? He was standing in your backyard with blue flames licking harmlessly at his fingertips, trying not to set the gender reveal cake on fire from sheer nervous energy.

Your two-year-old, Shouta, was clinging to his leg, chewing on a plastic spoon and occasionally yelling “BOOM!” because Bakugo babysat him once and that was the mistake of the century.

---

Touya was nervous.

Not because he didn’t love Shouta—he adored that boy. His son was wild and sweet and already trying to copy his flames (which gave every teacher at daycare a panic attack weekly).

But this time… this time…

“I really want a girl,” he muttered under his breath.

You, holding his hand: “You’ve said that seven times since breakfast.”

Touya: “I dreamed about it, you know. Pigtails. Pink sneakers. Her climbing my back like a tree. I just—ugh, I want that.”

You: “I’ll love whoever’s in there. But yeah… I want that for you too.”

---

The Gender Reveal Party

Everyone had gathered—Todoroki siblings, pro hero friends, your mom, a few brave souls from the agency.

Shouta was wearing a little “BIG BRO” shirt, although he kept trying to peel the letters off and stick them to the dog.

Rei brought cupcakes. Natsuo brought betting slips. Fuyumi had made a cake and a board with gender predictions.

Everyone’s guesses were eerily skewed:

Boy: 17 votes

Girl: 2 (Yours and Touya’s)

Finally, Touya stepped up with a deep breath, flames curling at his palm, ready to light the top of the cake to reveal the color inside.

He hesitated.

You: “You okay?”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Just… really hope it’s pink.”

You kissed his cheek. “Light it up, Bluefire.”

---

WHOOSH.

The flames danced, the top of the cake flared…

PINK.

Screams. Gasps. Cheers.

Natsuo dropped his drink. “WHAT?!”

Fuyumi squealed. “IT’S A GIRL?!”

Shouta clapped because everyone else did, then tried to climb the table.

Touya… froze.

“Pink,” he whispered. “It’s… pink. We’re having a girl.”

He didn’t cry. But you swear his flames flickered softer—like he was melting.

Then he grabbed you and kissed you so deeply the crowd started whooping.

Natsuo: “There are children here!”

Touya: “I’M HAVING A DAUGHTER, SHUT UP!”

He picked up Shouta, held him up like Simba. “YOU’RE GONNA HAVE A BABY SISTER, KID!”

Shouta blinked. “No. Boom.”

Touya: “You’ll protect her with your boom.”

Shouta nodded like he accepted this solemn mission.

---

Later That Night

Touya laid with his head on your belly, one hand resting over the curve of it like he could already feel her heartbeat.

“She’s gonna be trouble,” he murmured.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “Like her dad?”

He grinned against your skin. “Exactly. She’ll have me wrapped around her finger. I’ll carry her everywhere. Make her little hero costumes. Do her hair—”

“You don’t even do your own hair.”

“I’ll learn! I’ll braid it. Put little clips. She’ll burn stuff cutely.”

You laughed, your heart so full it felt like it could float.

In a world where Touya never broke, he found his fire wasn’t made to destroy—it was meant to protect, to warm, to hold two babies close and promise them the kind of love he never thought he’d have.

---

Bonus: 3 Months Later

Baby girl Todoroki arrived kicking and squawking and peeing on Touya the second he tried to put on her diaper.

“I LOVE HER,” he sobbed while changing his shirt.

You looked down at her tiny face, and then at your husband, who was already planning matching sneakers and frilly beanies.

And you knew… this family? Chaos or not? Was perfect.

[birinboom]

My Roommate and I

Kirishima Eijiro x Fem!Reader Word count: 6,336 words Summary: You don’t know your roommate all that well. He’s fine as roommates go, cleans up after himself, bills paid on time. But he isn’t around enough for you to actually get to know him. Things begin to change when the pandemic forces both of you to stay at home and your social butterfly of a roommate loses IRL access to his friends. Genre: Quirkless AU, roommates to lovers, pandemic fic, forced proximity, domestic fluff, romance Warning: mention of past Kiri-Mina, food/eating, swearing, alcohol, Eijiro calls Reader ‘babe’ Note: This fic is a part of the @ficsforgaza initiative - thank you so much to those who sponsored it!! 💖💖💖

The first time you meet Eijiro, you could only describe him as big and bright. Big and bright smile, big and bright personality, big stature in a bright outfit, big and bright hair. You wonder briefly if his hair is dyed and whether he dyes it himself. Then you shrug. The two of you have separate bathrooms so if he leaves red dye streaks everywhere, that’s his own problem. He can take it up with the landlord when he eventually moves out.

You’re happy, though, that he agreed to meet up with you before moving in. You'd be a bit freaked out seeing a stranger in your home, even if you knew that he’d be moving in. And this makes it easier to sit down with him early on to go over some general rules and a chore chart for the common areas.

It turns out that Eijiro’s a pretty decent roommate. He keeps his clutter out of the kitchen and living room, he cleans his assigned areas, he leaves your food alone, he pays rent on time. Most of this, you think, is probably attributed to him only really using his room for sleep. You rarely see him outside of early mornings when you're both preparing for work. After work he usually hangs out with his friends, or goes to the gym, or whatever a guy like him does, only coming home long after you've retired to your own room.

You don't really mind; you have the apartment mostly to yourself this way. And it's not like you really know him, anyway. He's just a roommate.

Time passes. You count yourself lucky, hearing some of your friends’ horror stories about their roommates from hell. 

Then the pandemic lockdowns happen.

You’re fortunate that you’re able to do your job remotely. Eijiro, however, is fired; he tells you so in passing. But he quickly adds that he’ll get by on unemployment until he finds another job, so no need to worry!

You're honestly surprised that he doesn't go stay with one of his friends. But he unfortunately doesn't, which means that you’re now stuck with him constantly at home. And you learn yet another aspect of his personality: just how frustratingly loud he can be. He cranks the volume on video calls with his friends -to the point where you can hear their voices clearly through his headphones- and he laughs boisterously at almost anything they say. He shrieks and hollers at the online games they play. And even though he's quick to turn the volume down with a sheepish ‘whoops, my roomie got mad’ when you poke your head out of your room to scowl at him, it still frustrates you to no end. You still have work for goodness’ sake! 

You soon come to realize that Eijiro’s very existence is loud, even when he’s not yapping with his friends. It seems that all he does during his waking hours is never-ending chit-chat and exercising in the middle of the living room, grunting up a storm. These two things sometimes happen at the same time, making you want to scream. 

Adding onto your frustrations are his so-called ‘cooking experiments,’ the stench of burned food often hanging in the air for hours after he finishes cooking, pots and pans left to soak overnight. You do have to admit, though, that they might very well need the soaking, given the amount of charred food on them. And Eijiro usually cleans them up the next morning without prompting. Usually. 

It’s just two more weeks, you tell yourself, then things will open up again and he can go spend time SOMEWHERE ELSE!

Things go on like this for months, your urge to throw him out a window slowly growing with each day.

Then, one Saturday morning, you find him sitting at the dining table, eyes red-rimmed and nose running. Your first thought is that he caught covid. But there’s something off about the scene; Eijiro isn’t behaving like someone who’s sick. He absentmindedly moves his cereal around in the bowl, lifts the spoon, then lowers it again. His breathing stutters, he hiccups, then lets out a shaky sigh. And it hits you; he’s not sick, nor is he potentially hungover. He’s trying his best to not cry. 

You almost wish you could back into your bedroom, pretend like you didn’t notice anything to give him some privacy. But it’s too late.

“Oh!” you hear him croak as he sees you, followed by a very wet sniffle.

Guess I’m dealing with this now, you think. The two of you had a pretty decent -if almost non-existent- relationship before the lockdown, right? You really ought to be a good roommate.

“Are you alright?” you ask. It seems stupid in hindsight, he’s clearly far from alright.

And Eijiro admits as much. 

“I… … no.” 

You watch as he clenches his teeth, lower lip wobbling, trying to breathe through whatever this is. And you sigh. Yeah, it’s time to be a good roommate. 

Moving into the kitchen, you begin fixing your own bowl of cereal. You figure this conversation might be easier for him if you’re not looking straight at him. He’s always seemed like the type of hyper-masculine person who’d hate crying in front of others.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Eijiro sniffles again. He’s silent for a moment, then he draws in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m so fucking lonely,” he admits.

Humming in response, you eye the pot of coffee he made earlier. Surely he won’t mind if you have some, not when you’re listening to him vent. You pull a cup from the cupboard.

“But you talk with your friends all the time, don’t you?” You have to fight not to make a snippy comment about how loud they usually are; now isn’t the time for that.

He shifts in his seat. “’S not the same,” he says, then adds in a smaller voice, “Not at all.”

Placing your filled coffee cup next to you, you finally turn to face him, leaning against the counter, cereal bowl balanced in one hand. Sitting in front of him at the table still feels a bit too intimate with the mood he’s in.

His silhouette is dark against the light from the window at the end of the room, mirroring his emotions. You realize that his hair isn’t styled into the normal spikes; instead it’s drooping around his face, making him seem smaller, almost like he’s folding in on himself. Like he’s trying to hide. You barely recognize him.

“How is it not the same?” you ask, deciding to prod just a little bit. “Is it because you’re not in the same room?”

“It’s not just that!” he responds. “I can kinda get there if I really crank the volume, but…”

Oh, you think, is that why he prefers it so loud? Here you just thought he was obnoxious and had no respect for your working hours. Or your sleep.

“But?” you prod again.

Eijiro sighs deeply. When he speaks again, his voice croaks with held-back tears. “I miss physical touch. We’re pretty tight, me ‘n my friends. We hug each other a lot.” He sighs again; it almost sounds like his heart is breaking. “Not being in the same room as them, not being able to hear their voices except through headphones - it already hurts. But not being able to reach out and touch them is… it’s so much worse.” 

He swallows hard, then continues, “Denki’s roommate moved back home with their parents; to assist them, I think. So he’s alone too. He cried on our call yesterday. And I couldn’t do anything; couldn’t offer him a tissue, or a hug, or anything!”

You have no idea who Denki is. But it strikes you that Eijiro described him as ‘alone too.’ Denki, it seems, really is alone if his roommate has moved out. Did Eijiro truly see himself in the same situation, even with you here? You swallow hard. Maybe you haven’t been as good a roommate as you thought. 

Looking at the cereal bowl in your hand, you absentmindedly stir it, much like Eijiro had done with his own bowl just a moment before. Seems like you might have misjudged him too, if he truly gives physical affection to his friends as freely as he just described. You hadn’t expected that - you’ve always seen him as the classic, super macho gym-nut who might catch the gay if he’s in the vicinity of the color pink. Not that he’s ever given you any reason to believe that, you slowly realize. This was all your own prejudice. You really haven’t been a good roommate. And that realization stings.

Looking at Eijiro again, you feel like you see him in a different light. You read an article just the night before about how the pandemic has left a lot of people touch-starved when they can’t participate in their usual social activities. 

The article suggested moving in with friends, with family, even with friends-with-benefits, just to stave off touch-starvation and loneliness. You have to admit that you feel a bit touch-starved too, now that you can’t spend time with your friends or family. And isn’t there something about humans needing a certain amount of touch a day to thrive?

Eijiro’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

"D’ya think I could have a hug?" he asks, finally facing you, his eyes brimming with tears.

You realize in that moment that a hug sounds really, really great. And maybe this is an opportunity to actually get to know your roommate. Especially when you don’t know how long this pandemic will last. The promise of two weeks to flatten the curve has already been extended several times.

Putting your cereal bowl on the counter, you wordlessly spread your arms. Eijiro is up in an instant, chair clattering against the floor. Then you find yourself swept up in what you can only describe as a bone-crushing embrace. You know he’s buff, but you haven’t realized just how strong he is. Gasping for air, you tap his biceps.

“Not so tight!” you wheeze.

Eijiro lets out what you can only describe as a wet bark of laughter. But he loosens his grip on you instantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, sniffling again. “Got a bit too enthusiastic.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “Guess you really needed it.”

It’s comforting, you realize, as you sink back into the embrace. He’s warm, and his arms around you feel safe for some reason. You can almost imagine falling asleep standing like this, certain that he’ll keep you upright. But you want your coffee while it’s still hot.

Eijiro seems reluctant to let go when you begin pulling away, scrubbing at his face behind your back.

Finally, he looks at you again, tear streaks on his cheeks. “Think we could do this again sometime?” he asks shyly.

You smile at him and nod. “Yeah. I think we’re both gonna need it.”

Eijiro blows his nose again, managing to make a sound reminiscent of a trumpeting elephant. 

“Sorry ‘bout all that,” he says, sniffling once more. “Crying to you wasn’t exactly manly of me.”

Resting your elbows on the dining table, you tilt your head and look at him over the rim of your coffee cup. “Crying is human. It’s not feminine, it’s--”

“That’s not what I mean,” he interrupts. “I agree, nothing shameful about crying; I meant complaining ‘bout all my issues. It’s not manly of me to put that burden on you.”

You decide to ignore the issue of not wanting to ask for help for now. Instead you say, “We’re gonna be stuck together for a while. I want to at least try to help. Besides, this might be better for both of us in the long run. Being at home all the time hasn’t exactly been great for me either…”

Eijiro nods thoughtfully, pulling his bowl of soggy breakfast closer. You look towards the movement, your brows furrowing.

“Is that my cereal?”

He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “You… you said I could have some, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh at his expression. “I did! I’m not going back on that, don’t worry! I’ve just never seen you eat sugary cereal before.”

Eijiro relaxes again, then gives a small shrug. “Felt like I needed a sweet treat today.” 

“Don’t we all these days...”

You take another sip of your coffee, then look back to the man at the opposite side of the table.

“I think we need to put down some new rules while we’re both home all the time. The voice calls with your friends are really starting to bother me, especially when I’m working.”

He nods. “Yeah, kinda figured. I swear I’m trying to be quieter, but I always end up forgetting when I’m in the middle of it. I’ll try talking with everybody, see if we can find a different time or something. Maybe meet up outside once the weather’s better…” Leaning back in his chair, Eijiro scrubs at his face. “If only I could find a new job, then I’d actually have something to occupy me. Haven’t had any luck though.”

You realize with a pang of guilt that you don’t even know what he does for a living. Or… did. But Eijiro just grins when you tell him as much.

“Guess I was never really around so you could ask. I was a fitness instructor at this privately owned gym. They had to close because of the pandemic, but the owners promised me that if they have any hope of keeping the gym going I’ll be back on payroll once they open up again. They only really let me go so I could get unemployment.” He sighs fondly. “I really like them, they’re so… manly!”

You fight not to make a face. There it is again. Manly. Manliness isn’t exactly something you’d be looking for in a gym, but you guess you also aren’t a masculine gym-nut. At least Eijiro isn’t nearly as bad as you had originally thought.

You really do fight not to make a face… But you fail. And Eijiro notices instantly.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… I’m not sure I’d personally want to go to a ‘manly’ gym.”

He just blinks at you for a moment. “Not sure why you think that-- oh.” He laughs to himself. “I need to explain something. ‘Manly’ doesn’t mean masculine to me. ’S not based on gender at all. When I was a kid I used to be a really big fan of this action hero, Crimson Riot - do you know him?”

You shake your head. Never heard of the guy.

“He had this habit of calling things he favored ‘manly,’” Eijiro explains. “It was a way of living, a way of staying true to yourself, or so he’d say. Guess I never grew out of this way of seeing things.

“But the owners,” he continues, “they’re a gay couple, and they’re some of the sweetest and most helpful people I’ve ever met. They face a lot of prejudice but they never let it get to them. They choose to stay kind. It’s awesome. It’s… It’s manly! You see?”

You look at him for a moment. Then you nod. “Yeah, I… I think I do.”

Eijiro beams at you. “I think you’d like the gym. We’re very supportive, and we take harassment complaints very seriously. One of my buds was a regular when it was still open, and she told me she felt very safe there.” He chuckles. “Though anyone who wanted to harass her should fear her, not the management. She’s never been shy about punching someone in the gut. And it hurts!”

You raise your brows. “Wait, she’s punched you??”

Eijiro grins. “Yeah! … Wait no, not because I deserved it; I asked her to! She wanted to know if she could do anything to punch better, so I said ‘well, punch me!’ and she did. It was perfect, 10/10 no notes. Took me close to 15 minutes to be able to breathe regularly again.”

Smiling to himself, he adds, “Mina is one of the manliest girls I know. Been friends since high school and she’s always been unabashedly herself. She really helped me grow into the person I am today.”

Mina. He sounds so fond when he speaks of her. You can’t help but wonder if there’s something more there than he’s admitting. Pushing the thought away, you focus on Eijiro again.

“I guess being a personal trainer explains why you’re constantly exercising. I thought you were just obsessed with it.”

Eijiro shrugs with a smile. “I’m actually working out more than I did before getting fired. I’m used to being on my feet and moving almost constantly while at work, and exercising burns off some of that energy. ‘N I want to be ready to go back instantly.” He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “Oh, let me know if you want me to show you how to work out at home, or some stretches or anything. You sit still a lot, ’s not good for you.”

You try to wave him off with an awkward laugh. “I know. But I’m not interested right now.”

You’re admittedly surprised when Eijiro backs down instantly. 

“Well, let me know if you ever change your mind. I’ll let ya borrow any equipment you need!”

A couple of days later, Eijiro asks to sit down with you again.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts. 

“Did it hurt?” The words are out before you can stop them.

Thankfully, Eijiro just laughs. “Lil’ bit, yeah. I prefer to just cruise through life without having to think too much. But I can’t right now, so I need something to keep myself occupied while I’m looking for a job. And I was thinking: how about I take on more of the chores? Cleaning’s a good workout, right? And it’d give ya more free time.”

You just look at him for a moment. “Is that really fair? We pay the same amount of rent, so shouldn’t chores be split evenly too?”

He shrugs. “You talked about wanting to help me the other day. I like being helpful too, y’know. So I thought about maybe getting a wireless headset so I can talk with my friends while I clean. Might make the noise easier on you too, knowing that I’m not just sitting on my ass while talking.” He stops for a moment, then adds, “Was thinking about doing the grocery runs too. Y’know how they’ve been saying that thing about only having one person per household shopping? Might as well be me.” He scoffs. “Got nothing but free time.”

You’re speechless. What he’s saying makes sense, yes. But it still feels wrong to let him do most of your chores just because he’s bored.

It’s like he can sense your unease. 

“We could also take turns on groceries,” he offers. “Then you can get all the intimate stuff ya need without needing to involve me.”

You can’t help but grin at him. “What, too much of a chicken to buy me tampons?” 

Eijiro grins back. “Nah, ‘s not that, I don’t mind. I’ve done it before. It’s just that there are so many kinds I’d need pictures to make sure I got the right thing. Might be less of a hassle if you got it yourself. But! If you’re ever in a pinch I got your back!”

You look down at your lunch for a moment, thinking over what he just said.

“If we’re combining groceries, it might be easier if we coordinate our meals. I’m already cooking for myself, I don’t mind cooking for…” -you eye him for a moment- “for two more people. It’s not that much of a difference.”

“Two people!” he sputters. “That’s… … actually probably accurate. I do eat a lot. I like the idea, but…” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I was actually thinking we could take turns cooking.”

You can’t stop yourself from making a face this time. Eijiro just laughs.

“Yeah, I know. I’m terrible. But I was thinking that this is the time to get better. I don’t mind eating what I cook, but I wouldn’t serve it to someone else. So cooking for you as well would force me to pay more attention.”

You sit back in your seat, crossing your arms. “You want me to be your guinea pig.”

“No, I want ya to hold me accountable!”

When you just glare at him, Eijiro holds up his hands. “I’ve got a plan. One of my friends, Katsuki, he’s really good at cooking. Like really, really good. He’s been laid off as well, and he just started a Youtube channel where he shares cooking tips. He’s suggested helping me and Denks cook some meals, so he can figure out what some common mistakes might be. And we can get better at cooking at the same time.”

You stay silent, thinking. It makes Eijiro fret.

“So? Whaddaya think?” he eventually asks.

You sigh, feeling your resolve crumble. It’s too difficult to say no to his puppy-eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll at least give your food a try.”

Eijiro rewards you with a beaming smile. It makes your cheeks burn.

It only takes a few days before Eijiro decides to try his cooking experiments on you. He spends the afternoon getting barked at by whom you can only assume is Katsuki - with you listening in on every word. It’s Eijiro’s own fault for having his phone on speaker, you try to reassure yourself. And Katsuki’s tinny voice is piercing.

“Show me what you’re doing, Shitty Hair! … No, you need to cut them smaller, they’ll cook too slow as they are!”

‘Shitty hair’? you think. Do his friends really speak to him like that?

Eijiro just groans, ignoring the insult. “I don’t think I can, Kats, I don’t want the knife to slip.”

“Then sharpen your fucking knife! It’s meant to cut easily, if you’re fighting to cut small pieces then it’s too fucking dull!”

You roll your eyes. As charming as Gordon Ramsey.

“Are you keeping an eye on the meat?” Katsuki asks, his voice smug. “It’s gonna burn if you don’t…”

“SHIT!!”

The food turns out a lot more palatable than you’d imagined. It’s a little bland, a little overcooked, but you really wouldn’t mind eating it again.

And you’re surprised at just how fast Eijiro improves. Over the next few months you grow more and more thankful that he suggested taking turns cooking. It’s a weight off your shoulders, even if you still feel a bit weird that he does most of the cleaning and grocery shopping. But the extra free time and knowing that he’s being productive during his loud voice calls do make things easier on you. In the end you suggest to him that you take on a few more of the financial responsibilities -just a bill or two- to make things a little bit more even. 

You look up from your screen when you hear the front door slam; Eijiro has arrived home with a load of groceries. Stretching, you get up from your chair. Helping him put away the groceries assuages your guilt just a little bit. And -if you’re being very honest with yourself- you’ve recently noticed finding every excuse to spend more time with him. Just five minutes here and there. Helping put away the groceries fits nicely into that too.

Leaving your room, you notice a bag of groceries leaning against the dining table. You turn to Eijiro -who’s already busy putting away groceries- and ask, “What about this one?”

Eijiro smiles at you, which makes your stomach flutter.

“Break time?” he asks. “I got you some ice cream at the store. Didn’t do great in the heat so you might wanna eat it soon.”

You thank him, finally moving from your doorway to actually help. Then you ask again, “What about the bag by the table? We’re not emptying that one?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “That one’s not for us. You know the elderly couple down the hallway?”

You nod silently, unwilling to admit that you don’t.

“I’ve been chatting with them a little bit. Distanced, of course! They’re not doing great so I thought I’d buy them some staples to help out. I’ll take the cost out of my own budget, don’t worry.”

You pause for a moment. It’s such a kind gesture to someone he barely knows. He really is a giant sweetheart. Then you make an instant decision. “I’ll split the cost with you, I wanna help too!” 

You’re graced with a brilliant smile, like the sun rising over the horizon.

“Really?? Thanks! I’ll let them know it’s from both of us!”

You’re numbed, ears ringing as Eijiro talks about taking a quick shower before heading over to your neighbors. Then you’re left alone in the kitchen. 

Sliding onto the floor, you lean your forehead against your drawn-up knees. You’re in deep. Maybe too deep. Ever since his breakdown and the following hug, your feelings have only been growing. And now you don’t know how to make it stop. You aren’t entirely sure you want to, either. But… It’s a bad idea, isn’t it? You’re worried that telling him will only lead to hurt and heartbreak. And yet, you’re not sure how long you can keep your feelings contained.

You decide that you need an in-depth vent session with your own friend group.

The vent session only helps solidify that you definitely have feelings for your roommate. But you still have no idea whether to act on those feelings or not. And Eijiro only makes things harder by being himself - sweet, kind, and maybe a little bit too touchy.

He comes up behind you one night as you’re cooking, loudly sniffing the air.

“Something smells amazing!”

He leans in over you, hands resting on either side of the stove, his chin on your shoulder, just watching as you cook. It’s almost too easy to melt against his chest.

You pull away instead, turning to face him as you try to laugh. It comes out strangled.

“It’s not ready yet, you have to wait!”

Eijiro pouts at you. But he thankfully moves away, instead opting to set the table. You sigh, equal parts in relief and disappointment. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep going without spilling the secret.

You’re doing the dishes together after dinner. It’s become a routine to do them as a team - they get done quicker that way. Eijiro refuses to let you do them alone, even back when your shared cooking routine began. Your idea of ‘you cook, I clean’ fell on deaf ears. And now you appreciate the extra time with him.

And you decide to let him know as much.

“Y’know, I’m actually kind of happy that we got this chance to get to know each other,” you say, nudging him with your hip. “If we hadn’t been stuck at home, I don’t know if we’d ever have taken the time to actually talk.”

You’re rewarded with a brilliant smile.

“Me too!”

You keep chatting while Eijiro washes the dishes, handing you clean ones to dry. The conversation jumps from the two of you, to your apartment and how thankful you are that Eijiro took on more of the chores, to the lives you led before the pandemic. And eventually to your individual friend groups.

“There’s Katsuki - you know him already,” Eijiro says. “And Denki and Hanta and Kyoka. We all met in high school. But Mina and me, we go back to middle school.”

“Mina,” you mumble. There she was again.

He pauses, looking at you questioningly.

“Did…” You hesitate, then you decide to just ask what’s on your mind. “She’s clearly very special to you. Did you ever date?”

Eijiro looks down at the soapy water, a fond smile on his face. “We did, back in high school. Only for a few months, though, then we decided that we were better off as friends. I guess we both felt pressured to give it a try.” Turning back to you, he finds your gaze again. “She’s my oldest friend. She’s my rock, not afraid to tell me if I’m being an idiot. N’ I do the same for her! But that’s as far as it goes. We didn’t work out back then, and we sure as hell wouldn’t work out now.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. It doesn’t sound like he regretted breaking up with Mina at all. And the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flutter. 

Eijiro breaks eye contact for a moment to empty the dish tub and dry his hands. Then he turns to you again, leaning against the counter.

“If you’re not busy tonight, do you maybe want to watch a movie or something?”

It’s your turn to beam. “Yeah, absolutely!!”

Maybe saying yes to a movie was a bad idea. You had trouble sleeping last night, work was particularly draining today, and now you find yourself struggling to keep your eyes open. As much as you want to pay attention to the movie Eijiro picked, your mind is steadily turning into soup. You blink hard, trying to force your eyes to stay open. It doesn’t work. They slowly close, and you sag sideways.

You have no idea how much time has passed. All you know is that you are comfortable and warm. You can still hear the movie playing. Or maybe it’s a new movie. You can’t bring yourself to truly care.

Eijiro shifts in his seat. It makes you realize that you’re leaning against him, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. Your eyes snap open. Then you decide to close them again. If he doesn’t mind -which you assume he doesn’t, since he hasn’t pushed you away- then you won’t mind either. It’s too comfortable, anyway. 

The two of you stay like this for a while. It’s cozy. Then a frown forms on your face. Something is tickling your waist. It’s most likely a hair stuck to the inside of your shirt. You try to ignore it, but it only gets more irritating, brushing over your skin every time you breathe.

You snap, pushing Eijiro’s arm out of the way to get at the itch. 

Eijiro flinches away from you. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to-- You were leaning on me pretty hard and I thought this would be more comfortable! I-I didn’t--”

“It’s fine,” you say, as you sink back against him. “I don’t mind, it’s cozy. Just had an itch right where your arm was.”

“O-oh.” He hesitates for a moment, then he puts his arm back around you, gently hugging you to his side. “It’s… Yeah, it’s pretty cozy.”

You close your eyes again, not fully registering how flustered he sounds. Or how happy…

Eijiro sits as still as he can, despite the credits rolling over the screen. You’re still nestled up against his shoulder, your forehead pressed against his neck, your breathing soft and even. He’s certain you’re asleep again. And he cannot bring himself to move a muscle, worried he’ll break the spell.

Slowly lifting his free hand, he scrubs at his face. “I’m really in it now, aren’t I?” he mumbles to himself. Falling in love with his roommate. Isn’t that one of the things people are always advised against?

“Fuck, Kats’ll never let me hear the end of it!”

You stir in your sleep, sighing softly. It only makes him wrap his arm tighter around you. Katsuki will have to be a problem for another day; right now Eijiro doesn’t want to think about anything but the sensation of you pressed against his side.

“Need your advice on something, Kats.”

The blonde makes a non-commital sound on the other end of the line. Eijiro swallows thickly, suddenly happy that it’s only the two of them on the voice call. And that you aren’t home to accidentally overhear anything.

He hesitates too long.

“What fucking is it?” Katsuki barks.

Eijiro sighs, steeling himself for the barrage he’s sure is about to come. “I think I’m falling in love with my roomie.”

When the barrage doesn’t come, he wonders briefly if the connection has been cut. 

Then Katsuki groans. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. Really, Shitty Hair? Your fuckin’ roommate?”

“Hey, she’s a sweetheart, I--”

“NOT what I meant! I’m sure she’s amazin’ if she can tolerate your ass. But what the fuck are you planning to do? Tell her?”

Eijiro can feel himself blush. “I.. I mean, yeah, I’d like to. That’s what I wanted advice on.”

Katsuki practically growls. “Well, my advice is DON’T! We’re in the middle of a fuckin’ pandemic, if she says no, you won’t be able to easily move out.” He grumbles for a moment. “Of all your shitty, hare-brained ideas… But knowin’ you, you’ll never be able to let it go unless you find out, right?”

Eijiro chuckles, scratching at his cheek. “Ya know me too well, Kats.”

“‘Too well’ is right.” Katsuki is silent for a moment, then he groans again. “Alright, fuckin’ fine. Advice. Try to figure out if she feels the same b’fore you tell her anythin’. If she rebuffs you at all, then fuckin’ leave it alone, ya got that??”

Eijiro’s face splits into a wide smile. “Got it!! And if she says no, I can move in with you, right?”

“Like fuck you can’t!!”

Meat and onions sizzle in the pan. You give it a stir, peeking at Eijiro out of the corner of your eyes. He’s currently chopping vegetables, broad shoulders barely moving as he uses the knife. You have to admit that he’s gotten a lot better in the past few months, to the point where you’re looking forward to every meal he makes.

He’s gotten a lot more forward with you too. He’s become touchy-feely and quick to give compliments. And you don’t mind it one bit. You just hope it will continue once the pandemic ends. 

You really ought to tell him how you feel. But… You can’t help but worry about whether he feels the same. Sighing softly, you push the thought away for now. 

Eijiro turns to you with the cutting board, ready to add the veggies to the pan.

“By the way,” he says, “I got a surprise for dinner.”

You tilt your head, unable to stop your coquettish grin. “Oh? Should I be worried?”

Eijiro’s features soften as he looks at you. “Nah, probably not. Unless you don’t drink wine.”

“I do!”

You slowly swirl the wine in your glass. It’s the last of the two bottles Eijiro bought, so you want to savor it.

Across the table, Eijiro watches your movements with rapt attention. You can almost feel the intensity of his gaze. Or maybe it’s the wine.

He draws in a deep breath, almost like he forgot how to breathe for a moment. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

It takes a little too long for his words to make their way through your drunk brain. 

“What did you just say?” you exhale. Your face feels like it's on fire.

Eijiro blinks. Then he sits up straight, shaking his head. “Fuck, I-- I shouldn’t have-- It’s just… I dunno how much longer I can stand not saying anythin’.”

You swallow hard, trying your best not to melt against the table. “What are you trying to say?”

He looks at you again, features softening. “That I’m in love with you.” Looking away, he scratches at the back of his neck. “I-I don’t even know if… if you return my feelings, but--”

You down the rest of your wine, trying to gain some liquid courage which you honestly don’t need at the moment. Then you get up, moving around the table. 

He peers at you, smile evaporating. “What are you…”

“I do!” you finally answer him, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning in, face level with his.

Eijiro blinks hard. “What…”

“I do return your feelings. You’re pretty fucking cute yourself.” 

He just looks at you for a moment, letting your words sink in. Then his face splits into a brilliant smile. You should’ve worn sunglasses.

Raising a hand, he gently cups your cheek, his smile widening when you lean into his touch. His thumb rubs over your skin, slowly moving downwards until it brushes over your bottom lip.

“Can I?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Instead, you lean in to kiss him first. His lips are warm, tasting like wine. Eijiro interrupts the kiss briefly to push his chair back, getting to his feet.

Pulling you close, his hand finds its place on your cheek once more. “You’ve no idea how fuckin’ long I’ve wanted to do this,” he mumbles against your lips. Then he kisses you again.

You sit sideways on the couch, feet propped up against Eijiro’s thigh. He’s gaming with his friends again; you can feel the muscles in his thigh tense as he leans into the curve of the race track on the screen. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… YES!!!”

He jumps to his feet, whooping as he wins. You eye him over the top of your magazine, pouting at him.

Grinning at you, he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to get that loud!” 

You hear someone loudly exclaiming something through Eijiro’s headset.

He chuckles. “Yeah, my girlfriend got mad.”

The voice call erupts into shouts. You can’t help but giggle when you hear Denki screaming ‘what??’ over and over again, with whom you assume is Mina cheering loudly in the background. 

Eijiro just laughs. “Didn’t I tell you? Me and my roomie started dating!”

He talks for a moment longer, then bows out of the game with his victory, deciding that he’d rather spend the rest of the day with you. 

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain Kills Hero While Comforting Them

Warnings: major character death (Hero dies), impalation injury, description of blood and severe burns/death of others

For once, the heroes had failed. Villains had completely overrun the city, and it was in ruins, fire and death spread everywhere as the criminals roamed free, leaving mass destruction in their wake.

Hero was quite literally running for her life right now through the streets, lungs burning and breathing raggedly as she forced her exhausted legs to keep moving, because death was snapping at her heels like a hungry wolf.

Supervillain had led the lethal attack -- the most powerful, vicious, and dangerous villain of them all. He'd targeted the hero agency directly, catching them off guard. None of them had stood a chance.

Hero's breath caught on a choked sob as she remembered the invasion that took place not even two hours ago.

Superhero was dead. Her sidekick was dead. Everyone was dead. It had been more than an annihilation... it was an extermination. Every Hero would be killed, and the city would fully belong to Supervillain and all the other bad guys he'd promised a share of the city to.

Hero herself had barely made it out alive along with a few others -- but villains were hunting them down to dispatch them one by one, and there was no escape.

But that wouldn't stop Hero from trying. She didn't want to die.

She'd almost managed to make it to a vehicle she could hotwire to flee the city, but then a few prowling villains had spotted her, and she'd been forced to run away instead.

The criminals had been laughing and whooping in excitement behind her as she sprinted off, as if they were the hounds and Hero were the fox in a fox hunt. They were hungry for blood, lazily chasing prey they knew they would catch in the end.

Hero was barely able to keep going -- her legs threatening to buckle with pure exhaustion at any second. She'd been on the run for over an hour, narrowly dodging death several times whenever she caught the eye of any of the criminals storming through the city streets, who always tried to attack her with their powers.

She had to stay vigilant and keep her head on swivel -- and even that wasn't enough. She'd already sustained several serious injuries along the way as she ran circles like a trapped rat searching for a way out, surrounded by enemies at every turn.

Hero let out a hiss of pain as she landed on her left leg again, which had a sharp piece of metal completely impaling her calf that a villain with metal-based powers had hurled her way earlier -- and she hadn't been quick enough to dodge. It slowed her down, but enough adrenaline was flooding her system that she managed to lose her most current pursuers and darted into a dark alley to hide and catch her breath.

Everything hurt. Absolutely everything. Hero was covered in burns, blood and grit, barely recognizable past the soot smearing her face from when she'd run straight through a building fire to escape another villain that had almost managed to catch up to her.

But she was alive, miraculously. After all that, she was still breathing.

She had no idea if any of the other heroes that had escaped Agency were still surviving like she was, or if they'd already been picked off and slaughtered. It sickened her to imagine her friends being hunted like this, like mice in the talons of hawks.

Hero leaned against a brick wall with a muffled scream as a blaze of white-hot agony shot up through her bad leg, and she slid down the wall to sit on the ground for a precious moment's rest, inspecting the damage.

It was terrible. A sharp piece of what looked like a metal car door punching completely through her leg, through skin and muscle tissue alike. If she pulled it out she'd likely bleed to death.

Her whole body was trembling with terror and pain, her hands shaking badly as she leaned her head on the wall she was propped against, gasping for air. Her chest was heaving, her breaths coming short and shallow, panting heavily. This was the furthest and hardest she'd ever run before. And death was so close to catching up to her.

The city wasn't safe. The heroes had fallen. And everyone who was not associated with Supervillain was in danger.

The screams of terrified civilians being attacked rang in the distance, and Hero tried desperately to block it out, the sounds of every person she'd failed.

Then she heard it. The sound that made her whole body freeze up, her heart seizing with unbridled terror. A slow, lazy, unbothered whistling, one she knew far too well.

Villain. It sounded like he was walking the street next to the alley, but he was getting closer.

Hero couldn't help the tears that ran down her filthy face. She was injured, scared, and in pain. So much pain. And now her rival was here. The one she'd fought most during her time as a hero. She'd fought him enough times to have memorized his walking pattern, the way he carried himself when he moved... and his iconic whistling that haunted her nightmares.

He didn't whistle for fun. Nor did he do it absent-mindedly like most people as a way to stay entertained or express being chipper. No, he only whistled when he was actively hunting... and had successfully locked in on his target. Which meant he'd already found Hero's location -- and wanted her to be fully aware of him closing in.

Hero's whole body screamed in agony as she lurched to her feet, stumbling weakly before finding her balance as she twisted to face the alley's entrance, ready for her last fight.

It was a pity she'd entered an alley with a dead end behind her, otherwise she might have run away to survive a few more minutes before someone else found her instead.

She wasn't at all surprised when Villain finally sauntered around the corner and stalked gracefully into the alley, still whistling his dreaded tune. It only broke when he began to speak.

"Ah, Hero," he greeted smugly. "How unfortunate to find you here."

Hero gritted her teeth. She didn't have the energy to waste on snarky retorts.

Villain's sharp eyes flicked down to the piece of metal impaling her leg, and his lip curled in disgust.

"That looks bad," he remarked flatly. "Run into another villain, I presume? There's a lot of those around here."

Hero bared her teeth at him, swaying unsteadily on her feet. Her head was pounding, and she was shaking so hard it was a miracle she stayed standing at all.

"Come to take your shot at killing me too?!" She hissed.

Villain's eyes narrowed. "I have, actually. And you should be grateful it will be me and not some of the other... more violent criminals."

Hero shuddered, withering under Villain's harsh, merciless glare. She'd almost had a slight hope he'd be willing to spare her, out of all the villains. He'd at least been humane in the past -- but maybe this was his way of being humane even now, by putting her out of her misery.

Villain slunk toward her with predatory grace, and Hero flinched but didn't back away when he touched her under the chin, using his fingers to lift it and look into her bloodshot eyes.

Hero didn't fight back, or try to strike him -- she knew full well how useless it would be, and it would only end in more pain for her.

"A pity, really, that you ended up on the losing side. You would have made a great villain." Villain clicked his tongue in disappointment.

Hero grimaced, but didn't speak, averting her eyes away from Villain's face, which was spattered with flecks of blood -- definitely not his own.

Villain growled low in his throat. "Do you really have no more to say to me?" His grip on her chin and jaw tightened, making her wince.

"What more is there to say?" She rasped, coughing wetly. "You're going to kill me either way."

"I will. But at least I'm willing to let you have some final words first, even if they mean nothing in the grand scene of things."

"How magnificently generous of you," Hero spat bitterly, shivering.

She stared at Villain.

Villain stared back.

A sob tore out of her. Then another. And then she was suddenly crying wretchedly, her composed facade falling apart entirely in front of her enemy, who watched on impassively.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Villain chuckled, patting her shoulder in mock sympathy. "At least I'm the one that found you, and not Supervillain. He would want to kill you slowly, painfully, whereas I will make it quick. It must be your lucky day."

Hero cried harder, legs wobbly and one breath away from buckling under her.

Villain seemed to realize that, because his touch on her shoulder grew firmer, steadying her balance.

Hero's gaze dropped to the ground at his feet. "Will... will it hurt?" She whispered, her voice coming out small and broken.

"Dying? No. It's one snapped neck and lights out. You're already in so much pain, Hero -- how much worse could it really get?"

Hero shuddered, knowing he had a point. She was in excruciating agony right now, her injured leg throbbing along with every other raw wound on her battered body.

Villain's eyes softened as she withered, shrinking in on herself and shutting down. He almost looked sympathetic, if she didn't know him better.

"It'll be okay, Hero," he murmured soothingly, stepping close enough to slip an arm around her back and pull her into an awkward sort of embrace, letting her shake and sob against him. "Close your eyes and think about the happiest moment in your life." He ran light fingers through her tangled hair comfortingly.

Hero's eyes fluttered shut, a few last tears leaking out as she pictured herself in a calm meadow, laying on her back amidst tall grass and staring up at the pale blue sky.

She buried her face in Villain's shoulder, focusing on the feeling of his rough leather suit against her bloodied skin and clinging to the sensation, anything to distract herself.

"Relax," Villain said softly, and his fingers curled into a fist that held Hero's hair close to the scalp, his grip tight but not painful.

"That's it, just breathe."

Hero let out a long, shaky breath, and inhaled one more -- the last one she took.

Villain sharply wrenched her head to one side with a sickening crack, and Hero went completely limp in his arms.

And just like that, it was over. The last hero in the city had finally fallen.

Villain was careful and respectful as he lowered her to lay on the ground, her head lolling lifelessly on her shoulders. No more tension and pain tightening her features.

He took the twin fighting blades from the sheaths at Hero's hips, examining the quality and deciding to keep them for himself.

He stared sadly at Hero's crumpled form, a few after-death muscles spasms making her body twitch slightly, but he knew she was fully gone.

He did promise to make it quick. And he'd kept his word.

Villain found a big piece of cardboard in a blue dumpster off to his right, and carried it over to cover Hero's body in a last act of respect. It was the best he could do.

Then, with a final farewell, he walked out of the alley, whistling his iconic tune once more as he slunk off to rejoin the chaos ravaging the poor city.

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson

@writing-with-olive

[sukifinn]

The fire had died down to a soft glow, dwindling to a bed of embers that gently pulsed in the cool night air. Faint laughter drifted through the trees. Remnants of music and merriment rang out from a few tieflings still drunk on joy, but the camp itself had quieted.

Astarion stood at the edge of it all. Arms folded. Eyes sharp. He clenched his glass a little too tight, the edges of the crystal digging into his skin. His gaze fixed where it always seemed to wander– on her.

He had watched her all night. Watched her laugh too loudly, drink too much, and smile at every passing soul like the world had never hurt her. She was radiant in a way that made him yearn for such joy, alive in a way that he didn’t know how to be.

There was absolutely nothing special about her. At least that’s what he was desperate to convince himself of. She was just another body to charm. Another fool to bed, feed on, and forget. He could have anyone tonight, more than that if he wished. There were willing eyes everywhere.

And yet, his jaw clenched every time someone lingered too close to her. His chest tightened and his fangs ached every time he noticed a wandering hand or a suggestive smile, hoping to pull her away into the dark. Something deep inside him tensed– tightened until it nearly snapped. When she declined each offer with her usual grace, something smug and possessive inside of him purred. Still, he selfishly wished that she wouldn’t be so damned polite about it.

But even if she did indulge in a night of passion, it wouldn’t mean a thing. Hells, he should be doing the same. Yes, he told himself, if she did accept, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t touch him. He wouldn’t care.

Yet, if one more fool brushed against her shoulder or lay a hand on her knee as if they were allowed– as if they had the right… he may very well forget how to act civil.

He continued watching her, standing there like a man starving and pretending that he didn’t feel a thing. For his own good, he forced himself to saunter around the party lifting a few goblets of wine along the way, desperate for any distraction.

As the revelry began to fade and guests began to disappear into the woods from which they came, he knew he couldn’t walk away without seeing her one last time.

He found her slouched over a fallen log like an exhausted cat, face flushed, eyes barely open. Her curls had come undone—wild now, tangled with flowers someone had tucked there earlier in the evening. A nearly empty wine cup dangled from her fingers. She hiccupped, then giggled at herself.

“Fawn,” he said stepping closer. His voice was soft but steady. “How many glasses was that? Six? Seven?”

She squinted up at him and grinned—wide, lazy, unguarded. It nearly undid him.

“Probably not enough,” she slurred, lifting her hands into a sloppy cheer. “We’re still celebrating! I’m so awesome!” she whooped, fists flailing the air before her arms dropped entirely and she began to tip sideways.

Astarion caught her before she hit the ground. She landed against him with a quiet oof, her arms loosely wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Astarion froze. He held her there for a breath longer than necessary, his hand pressing gently to her back to steady her.

Then, wordless, he gathered her into his arms.

She didn’t protest. Just murmured something incoherent as she nuzzled into his shoulder.

He carried her back to his tent. Not because anyone expected him to, not because he was putting on a show, but because it’s her. Because it’s Fawn. And she’s drunk, and vulnerable, and he cares too much. Because the thought of someone else finding her like this– alone, soft, helpless– made something violent simmer in his chest.

He knew what people were like . What they could do to a girl who trusted too easily, who teased too freely. And the thought of it happening to Fawn?

He would kill them. Without hesitation. Without mercy.

The cool night air settled heavily in the tent, a quiet hum of distant crickets the only sound as Astarion laid Fawn down on his bedroll. She didn’t stir, her body limp in his arms like she’d been emptied out, leaving only the warmth of her skin and the scent of wine lingering in the air. He hesitated for a moment, fingers brushing over her disheveled hair, pushing a stray curl from her face.

His hand froze over her cheek, his breath stalling in his chest. He wasn’t doing this because he cared. She’s just a tool. It means nothing, at least nothing that he can’t ignore.

He stood, pacing, unwilling to sit down too close to her, unwilling to feel the pull of her presence. Why hadn’t he left her out there with the others? There had been so many other opportunities. So many other faces to charm.

He moved outside to the firepit, kneeling down to add a bit more firewood to stoke the flame. His hands shook ever so lightly as he adjusted the logs. His mind was roaring with a thousand self-inflicted reprimands. He was furious with himself. Why is she something he just can’t let go? He gave himself endless reminders of how easy it would be to just walk away.

But when he returned to his tent, the soft glow of the moonlight falling over her skin... it hit him like a tidal wave. Fawn. So warm, so... innocent. She was untainted by the years of darkness that clung to him like a second skin.

He thought of the way she had smiled at him earlier. That sweet, wide eyed grin. How it had wrecked him. She had no idea what she did to him. And then there was her laugh. Gods, her laugh. It hit him low in the gut, warm and unburdened, completely unaware of how he struggled to hold it together. Every time she laughed, it felt like a dagger to his carefully constructed ancient walls.

No one else could have her like this. No one else could touch her, not in this way.

He growled softly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push away the feeling, trying to shove the weakness back down where it belonged.

But the thought of someone else touching her skin, the thought of someone else’s lips dancing with hers, the thought of someone else pressing their body against her curves, it made something primal and dangerous unfurl inside of him. An animal he hadn’t let loose in centuries.

This sensation was foreign. These desires, things he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The air in the tent grew thick as Astarion stood there watching her. The sound of Fawn’s soft breathing and gentle sounds was the only thing grounding him.

The desire to touch her, the desire to lay his body next to hers was so overwhelming, so raw. It made his chest ache. He could feel the blood burning in his veins, pulling him toward her.

He yearned for her. He yearned for something so soft and pure, something he couldn’t touch. It made him want to scream.

He imagined his lips on her delicate skin, tasting the faint salt of her body, marking her as his. His. The word was a guttural thing. Something dark and wild that had no place in his mind. She was supposed to be a means to an end. Nothing more. But it wasn’t enough anymore.

The growl that rumbled low in his chest was involuntary. It was something instinctive and raw that sent a jolt up his spine. He clenched his fists, battling the tension that beckoned him closer to her. He would not give in.

But as if the universe itself were mocking him, she mumbled in her sleep, shifting again, one hand brushing the edge of his bedroll. His name—his name—tumbled from her lips in a soft, intoxicated whisper.

Astarion’s heart slammed into his ribs, his pulse racing as his breath hitched.

"Fawn," he muttered under his breath, as if trying to anchor himself to sanity. He could hear the trembling edge in his own voice, could feel the animalistic desire bubbling just below the surface, clawing to get out. He began to indulge in temptation, and crept over to the edge of the bedroll to meet her.

Fawn’s fingers twitched again, brushing delicately against Astarion’s skin. She was so close now, so inviting. It was unbearable.

His eyes, usually cold and cruel, were so full of unspoken yearning, so full of need. They betrayed him in a way he could no longer deny. How much longer could he hold onto this facade? He was so damn close to breaking.

Still next to her, he decided to sprawl out on the ground for the night, just to keep an eye. Next to her–he reminded himself–not with her.

The first light of dawn crept its way through the frayed cracks of the tent. The air was crisp, still, and quiet, save for the distant rustle of trees in the morning breeze. Astarion jolted into consciousness, returning from a half-sleep. Fawn was curled at his side, her breaths warm at his throat.

He hadn’t dared handle her more than necessary when he tucked her under the blankets last night. His heart–traitorous organ–pounded in his chest, a frantic beat he couldn’t ignore. Somewhere throughout the night, the gravity of her warmth, her sleepy whispers, the scent of red wine lingering around her…he couldn’t rid himself of it. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from pulling her into his arms. That soft murmur of his name still danced around in his mind like a phantom.

Her legs brushed his as she shifted, still tangled in his bedroll. Fawn’s presence had unsettled him in ways he couldn’t comprehend. When had she wormed her way so deeply under his skin?

Fawn shifted again. Her hand brushing against his arm. Her touch soft, unintentional. But it still made his entire body tense. It was hard to even breathe. Emotions fired inside of him, things he couldn’t name. He thought of pulling away, getting up and leaving her there. But the thought of willingly removing himself from this moment felt more cruel than anything Cazador could have ever done to him.

A starved part of him wanted to bury his face into her neck. Wanted to run his finger through her hair, wanted to melt into the warmth they could create with their bodies pressed up against one another. His fight in the battle to keep his hands to himself was waning.

Ever so delicately he reached out his hand. His fingers landed on her exposed back, with a touch as light as a feather. He let himself have this for now–just this.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently into hers.

“I’m losing myself here, Fawn.” He whispered, mostly to himself.

Before he could stop himself, he was leaning over her, his hand curling around her waist drawing her in until she was flush against him. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding violently as he carefully, cautiously, let his fingers drift down the curve of her spine.

Slowly but surely, his touch gently coaxed her to wake. His hand moved up to her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his. Fawn blinked, confused but not afraid. She gave him a sleepy smile, the warmth in her gazed serving as silent reassurance that he had no need to explain himself to her. She stretched against him, her body pressing into his chest, and it was all he could do not to lose himself entirely.

For the first time in centuries, Astarion released it all. He was no longer the predator, the unfeeling creature he had so long been forced to be. In this moment, he was just a man that needed her.

His hands were everywhere now, soft but aching with restraint. His touch was like a prayer, he held her as if she were holy. He couldn’t stop himself, not now. Not when she let him.

To want her, to choose her–it was terrifying, exhilarating, everything all at once. Their gaze met once more, and he let himself go, releasing himself to her. He allowed himself–she allowed him–to be simply, utterly, unreservedly human. This was the truth he could not yet say out loud, but for now, words weren’t needed. Not when the way he clung to her said everything.

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

thought to myself u know what. i havent watched falsettos enough. so here's a couple things i noticed in my latest impromptu rewatch (rewatch number 52th probably?? 67th?) + just some nice bits n parallel that are always Good (tm):

"he loves another" "i agree" with ("-man") going unsaid

the chess games following trina's song about stupid men and their little games

"that's the king. please protect him" That's marvin saying "please protect me. don't hurt me"

whizzer moves the pieces randomly in the revival but i like to imagine he's actually beating marvin at the game in the end... and the whole thing was him pretending to not know how to play, and that hurt marvin's ego more than anything

"now marvin, bend" as a sexy moment but later gets re-framed as a "unwillingness to change perspective" moment

"nothing is everything to me / except sex / and money" in that money whizzer is playing to marvin's insecurity that he's only sticking with marvin for his money- is so needlessly cruel (and thus such... delicious character writing lol)

"and he loves me so" that "so" at the end is sort of a "loves me so much" but also a dare. he loves me, so what can you even do about that?"

"ask me if i love him, it depends on the day"// "do i love him?… no"

"son with a brain, and nice bright mother" showing mendel is like marvin (+ many, many men) and wants a wife half just to do domestic labor for him (goes well with the "washing your laundry, washing your socks!" line)

"he loves his father" // "i love things i never had"

"im everything he wanted" here trina finally realizes how she was such a insecure woman for such a long time and why she could put up with so much / settle for so little ("love me for what i am, not what i try to be" etc)

i love that "what ive done to you is rotten" is the slap to trina, is not taking to jason about his sexuality, and is Also telling trina and jason he "never ever, wanted to love" them. triple treat of bad parenting lol (but our man gets there in the end #bless him)

"a man kid, you'll be kid, whatever your song" the kind of reversed coming out metaphor of it all. ugh. so good!! (also i always cry at this bit bc... i will never have this with my parents :) rip haha whoops)

"pretty boys are in demand" just a good line for the whole gay men dying everywhere + the 'dating frenzy' energy of the era

"im not a giant man" /"good" // "one day i hope to be / as mature as my son who is 12 and a half / and this tall… that's all i want to be, that's all"

"we'll spent BILLIONS of dollars" and then the actual thing plays the way it does

"making the most pathetical errors" as a metaphor for marvin's arc…. making constant errors in love but making a homerun at the end

"should i take this new promotion OR should i take this IBM job?" is an amazing, anti-corporate lyric that fits greatly w/ the most explicitly political (likely authorial) song in the musical that, imho, shouldn't have been cut in the revival. in hindsight tho i imagine the revival people felt very proud and """progressive""" when they made that cut lol is very much a typical liberal move: "cant have true emancipation or revolutions but u cant have some \~upward mobility in the job market xoxo". also on the same vein, cutting the line "i'll change my life, and hire a maid" from the og "and fire the maid" like it's this huge feminist moment lol ughhhh hh

(other line-cuts that frustrate me… "it's queer, mr. marvin", "i could use a little drink" and "i just bought a family" . i feel w/ all of these they tooks some "edge" of the OG characters and kind of attempted to make them "nicer". but it really just makes them a little flatter, a little less real) ( and also some scenes just plain make less sense (marvin's drink line leading to his outburst)

(but bc it's not All Bad sdklfj in fairness, i belie the whole "why don't we tell him, that we don't have the awnsers? (…) this is the start to his becoming a man" bit - is SUCH a great part for mendel, it goes so hard and from what i remember is not in the original falsettos? correct me if im wrong but if it was a new addition in the revival, imo it's a huge improvement to the scene flow… and dare i say, brings the whole climax together, and spells out The Aesop for people who hadn't gotten it by the end of Act 2) -"let me go, im not ashamed to have loved you" // "what's the matter trina, darling, why cant you let go?" -"feel all right for the rest of your life" The Message of the play implicit in it.. "even if it's cut short"

"you save lives, and i serve chicken fat / i can't fucking deal wit hthat" / "maybe is not dumb the way this whole thing ends / the food tastes really yummy!"

"it's about growing up, getting older, living on a lover's shoulder" /"but i confess, you grow up, you get old, you hate less"

"the ground shifting, the rules keeps changing" and it's when the set changes for the first time!!! (/eats all my walls)

"isn't it enough i love you every night?" "who?" // "we had trouble parking, just like on our second date" "i hyperventilate"

"good men never fail" // "but i can't help but feeling i've failed " proving once again those machista lessons marvin learned when young were wrong.... it's clear that him showing weakness at that moment to whizzer was The Right Thing To Do. and what the moment called for.

"the last little mountain ill climb" sound of music ref? maybe?

i only wanted to love and not be blamed " // "who would i blame my life on?"

[angelosearch]

fanfic writing struggles rant

I'm in this head space where I have written so little lately that I fear I have forgotten how.

Of course summer classes and various non-writing projects/commitments I have been getting in the way... but writing used to be how I decompressed. Writing has seemed harder lately. I dread it some. I have trouble finding words and my rhythms are all gone. The prose is forced. It takes so long to get warmed up for a session that it is basically over by time I get there.

When I have a few minutes and the motivation to put words to a page they... they just don't have the "oomph" they did before. I hate it. I have two fics pretty much done and a bunch of chapter pieces but I can't bring myself to post. They just don't feel "good" enough.

I feel so uninspired too. Even the ideas I was so excited about before seem so dull, hackneyed or convoluted. I'm so down on it all, I'm even looking back at my past work with a terrible attitude.

I am so bummed. This might be the longest I've gone without posting anything since I started writing again in January 2024. It's so irrational but part of me is like "what if this is it?," like I've used up all my fanfiction juice.

I am currently in a rough thyroid flare up which effects... pretty much everything. There's brain fog, pain, inflammation everywhere, a whole host of fun symptoms. The worst of it is how it effects my sleep, which has a cascading impact on my mood and cognitive processing. I have no energy or brain power. And depressive symptoms, yay!! (oh, and it makes my wrist worse 🙃) Hopefully this will be short-lived. I never know how long it's going to be. If I need a med readjustment... It could be quite a while.

I'm going to try to read and comment a little more to try to get the fire burning again. At the very least it will challenge my urge to socially isolate... Which I think I've been doing lately whoops 😬

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dream/nightmare sequences, mentions of spouse death and hypothetical child death (in the dream sequence), angst, references to smut, m/m/m/f dynamics

Summary: Each Marcus deals with conflicting emotions after spending the night together.

A/N: WHOOPS, who let all the angst in here???? Sorry about that!

Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Next chapter>>

(Moreno)

Marcus Moreno is about to die. Alien tentacles ooze toward him out of a strange crack in the world itself, moving with terrifying speed. He can choose to draw his swords and ready himself, or to shove the people beside him away and out of danger, but not both. He’s somehow both controlling his body and observing the scene from the outside as he turns to see a pretty young woman with fierce eyes, a man dressed in Roman armor, and the FBI Agent he admires so much that it hurts. They all look at him with fear in their eyes as he lets out a strangled yell and throws them out of harm’s way with all of his strength. They land on the pavement several feet away, but it’s not far enough. The tentacles engulf them, and Marcus cries out in anguish as he draws his swords, slashing and hacking frantically, spilling thick, black blood everywhere as he tries to reach his loved ones.

He throws off the last of the writhing black mess, but somehow, the three people he had thought had been there before have changed. Now, only two bodies lie broken and bloodied on the pavement–one much smaller than the other. When he sees the eyes of his late wife staring unseeingly up at the sky, he drops to his knees with a guttural scream of grief and pain. He can’t bring himself to look at the second body, knowing exactly what he’ll see when he does. 

No, he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. No, no, no, no–

He shoots up in bed, gasping for air. He’s soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, heart still pounding in his chest from the remnants of the dream. It’s only when something shifts behind him, a broad, bare chest turning and facing the other direction does he remember he’s not alone. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his movements hadn’t woken anyone else. Carefully, he scoots down the bed, avoiding several pairs of legs, and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants before retreating to the living room. 

Hey, he taps out a message. How’s college life?

He stands in the middle of the room, staring down at the bright screen and feeling rather awkward in his nudity, not really expecting a response at this time of night but wishing with every atom in his body for one anyway. 

He’s about to give up and try to force himself back to sleep when three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

M: Who’s asking, leader of the Heroics or my papá?

Marcus snorts softly.

Do I receive a different response depending on my answer?

M: 1. I am studying at the library, or 2. It’s dollar beer night at Lotus.

He smiles. 

I choose option 1, obviously.

M: The real question is what are YOU doing up so late? 

Couldn’t sleep. Just felt the need to check in on you. Everything okay?

M: Everything’s fine. Are YOU okay? You haven’t sent me Worried Dad texts in the middle of the night in a while.

Marcus begins tapping out a response, deletes it, starts again, and deletes that too. He sighs, glancing warily back at the bedroom. I’m afraid to let anyone else into my life, he wants to tell her. You’re my only success story, and I worry every day that I’m going to lose you, too. 

It’s too much to lay on his twenty-one year-old daughter, so he turns it into a joke instead.

I’m short on my Dad quota and wanted to make sure the Dad Boss doesn’t fire me.

M: You’re weird.

Ever heard the saying ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’

The message is left unread for several minutes, and he imagines that her friends are all goading her to get off her phone and rejoin the fun. Good. He does all the worrying for both of them, so that she can remain carefree. He smiles softly and taps out one last text.

Have a good night, bug. Call me sometime. xo 

He locks his phone and holds it at his side, but remains standing in the same place, mulling over his thoughts. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he said it had been a long time since he’d had… well, anyone really. The last time he’d had sex was during a disastrous no-strings-attached hookup after one of his coworkers convinced him to download some app and set up a profile. That was… shit, it had to be almost two years ago now. He hadn’t realized it had been quite that long. 

The last time he had a relationship was more of a trick question. He dated a few people on and off, once Missy had been able to mostly fend for herself at home, but they never lasted long or ever became serious. None of them had even met his daughter. The real answer to ‘when was your last relationship’ was ‘not since his wife died.’

It wasn’t just that no one could compare to her. It was that he couldn’t allow them the opportunity to even try. The closer people are to him, the more danger he puts them in. 

But ever since a certain FBI Agent waltzed into his office and asked so earnestly for his help, he found himself wanting to let someone in for the first time in a very long while. 

And now, to his great surprise and bewilderment, he has not just one more person he cares about, but three. Can he let himself get closer again? Can he afford to?

He looks at the book left open on the coffee table. At first he thinks there must be something wrong with his eyes, because the words all look like gibberish, but then he realizes the book is in Latin. Oh. Somehow he had forgotten that Marcus Acacius did not actually belong here. He can’t tell if the thought troubles him or relieves him–knowing that one less person will be in danger because of him.

The Heroic debates sleeping on the couch for a few moments, but the remnants of the dream still trickle unpleasantly through his bloodstream, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Carefully, he pads back into the bedroom and crawls back into the still-empty space that he had vacated. 

He lies awake for a long time, listening to the sound of breathing.

(Pike)

Marcus stirs, cracking open his eyes to see the first rays of daylight reflecting on the wall opposite your bedroom window. He rolls onto his back, being careful not to wake you as he turns over. Moreno is snoring softly beside him, looking peaceful. This is the only time he hasn’t seen worry lines etched on the man’s forehead, and he wonders about the burden of one man trying to protect the entire world. 

The Roman is already awake, piercing brown eyes meeting his with a mischievous twinkle. Marcus nods to him in greeting and gives him a small, crooked smile. The other man reaches over the Hero to run the tip of his index finger down the length of Marcus’s arm, and he shivers softly. 

“Early riser,” he comments in a whisper. 

“I have always risen with the sun.”

“Makes both of us,” Marcus grins. 

“And decidedly not our hostess.”

They both laugh quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupants of the bed. 

“Coffee?” he asks the Roman. 

“I would love some.”

Marcus helps himself to your kitchen, knowing exactly where you keep your coffee grounds and filters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so at home in someone else’s space; he’s spent more time here over the past several weeks than he’s spent at his own apartment, and from the beginning he had secretly preened over the excuse to get to know you better.

At first, your temporary houseguest had been a slightly befuddling distraction–his distinctive presence ensured that he looked completely out of place in every environment, and his constant refrain of “Quid est, quid est, quid est” was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Marcus didn’t often feel like a small man, but he couldn’t deny that the way the General’s broad shoulders seemed to fill every room had him feeling some kind of way about it. 

It’s a fascination, he had told himself so many times. A temporary infatuation that’s distracting you from the woman of your dreams. 

When the translators were introduced, and the Roman’s sharp wit and mischievous sense of humor could be understood for the first time, the pull became even stronger. It didn’t help that the man seemed to be a shameless flirt with everyone–himself, you, and when Moreno began spending the odd evening here, him too. 

Even so, the events of the previous night had been so far beyond his imagination that he can hardly make sense of it. Marcus has always been a serial monogamist, hopping from one way-too-serious relationship to another and hoping against all odds that the next one wouldn’t end in disaster. He’s never been able to do anything that could remotely be considered casual.

He had no concept of what last night had meant. 

He pours the coffee into two mugs–dumping a fair amount of cream and sugar in one, and far less in his own–and hands one to Acacius. 

“You are pensive this morning,” he remarks, his voice still carrying a light rasp from sleep.

“Just thinking.”

“You and the Hero both strike me as men who are inclined to think themselves into an early grave.”

Marcus snorts. “That might be true.” Might be. Everyone he’s ever known has called him an over-thinker. “You're a great tactician when it comes to war,” he challenges the man. “Surely you appreciate the benefits of analysis.”

“There is analyzing a situation, and then there is helpfully standing in place wondering what action you are going to take while the enemy completely surrounds you.”

Marcus pauses, coffee cup halfway to his lips, and really looks at the man beside him, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. He tries to imagine him in the armor he had been wearing that first night, bruised and bloodied, leading the armies of Rome with a fierce battle cry. “I don't often find myself surrounded by an army.”

“The enemy can be many things. There is a word for this, no?”

“A metaphor?”

“Mmm,” he grunts in assent. “When is an army not really an army?”

Marcus smiles to himself, setting the mug down on the counter and staring into the middle distance. “So, what do you think my enemy is?”

The General looks him up and down. “The things that you carry with you.”

His eyes snap to Acacius in shock and surprise. The man is discerning–alarmingly so, at times. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat when he responds thickly, “What is it that you think I’m carrying?”

“This is not for me to know,” the man remarks casually, raising one eyebrow. “Unless you are wanting to tell me something?”

“What are you two chattering about?” your soft voice cuts through their conversation. Marcus turns to see you padding toward them wearing only a shirt and looking satisfyingly mussed. 

“A soldier that carries the weight of his past failure into the next battle will surely lose,” the General says cryptically. 

You stare at the two of them blankly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some coffee if you’re going to be talking like that.” You look at Marcus shyly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Does he kiss you? Is that rude? He wants to reach for you, to take you into his arms, but the two other men have him at a loss–how does one act after group sex? He has no blueprint for this situation.

“How lucky we are to have such a beautiful woman in front of us, still looking so well-fucked from our attentions last night.” The other man croons, moving closer to Marcus and nosing the shell of his ear. 

Feeling emboldened by the other man’s candor, he extends his arm to you, and you immediately fill the space perfectly, your head resting against his bare chest. Marcus presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With the General at his back, he feels completely surrounded by warmth–and wonders, despite himself, if he might be lucky enough to hold onto this feeling. The only thing better would be…

“Our other Marcus still asleep?” he jokes.

“The Hero was awake for some time in the night,” Acacius comments. 

Ah. That explains it. “We’ll let him sleep, then.”

“Or,” you say with a sultry smile, “or we could all three of us go back and… wake him up.”

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius likes this more than anything else. More than any of the hedonistic acts that had come before, more than the thrill of building sexual tension between partners, is this: 

The utter decadence of sweaty, sated bodies, limbs tangled together… delicious. 

The hero lies boneless, half-sprawled over him. A man who has been pushed into a position of strength all his life, he finally appears free of all those expectations here. The General has always been able to read people, but it hardly took any effort at all to see that Marcus Moreno desperately craved the ability to let go. His breath shudders slightly on the exhale, and the other man curled around him makes a soft noise of inquiry.

“Feel okay?”

“Mmhmm,” the hero mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Acacius smiles.

The Agent, on the other hand, is much like himself, in that he seems to be just as comfortable in a position of power as he is in submission. Marcus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the man as he guided the hero through his first time receiving–gentle, but firm, one hand wrapped around the man’s cock and the other grasping his shoulder for leverage, his fingers always reaching possessively for his neck. Marcus Pike does not simply take a lover, the General concluded, he desires to own them.

It was that obvious possessiveness that had kept Marcus from insisting the Agent share with the others the night previous, allowing him to be the sole proprietor of your pleasure–but the way the man had shuddered at the sight of his beloved with his own thick cock down your throat gave him less qualms about the matter today.

And if that resulted in Marcus delighting in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt for himself, that was simply a fringe benefit, was it not? Oh, you were a sweet one, and it was easy to see why Pike was completely enraptured. You whimpered so beautifully when he broke you open for the first time, squirming around his cock with a little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead. When the Agent reached down to palm your cheek and soothe you through it, you greedily sucked his thumb into your mouth and bit down gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man. 

Marcus eventually flipped you on your stomach to take you fast and hard, mirroring the intensity of the two men beside you. You were delirious, drunk on your own pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to reach out and stroke the cheek of the Hero, who was moaning into the pillow next to you. You smiled softly, seeing the other man’s overwhelmed expression, and moved yourself closer to him. The two of you were still tangled together when you reached the point of ecstasy.

You’re curled into Marcus’s chest now, your soft breaths disturbing the smattering of hair and your warm body leaving his own glistening with sweat. You beside him, the Hero sprawled bonelessly on top of him, and the Agent with his arm draped over top, his fingers brushing against the top of his pubic bone–and Marcus Acacius feels utterly at peace. 

[blradley]

By popular (ish) request: a WIP intro

KING OF THE WORLD (Adult romantasy/comedy, m/m)

Meet MALEVOLOTH (Loth to his friends. If he had any - ), a tyrannical dragon-king who reigns over the realm of Krazuk with a fire-filled fist. Has burned millions. Will do it again. A proud human-hater, for reasons (no, he won’t talk about it), he lives by the doctrine that only the strongest can rule.

...Which means that he spent the entirety of his five kids' lives subjecting them to horrific abuse. He pitted them against each other constantly, almost killing them to ‘make them stronger’, encouraging them to fight for power and privilege and never displaying affection unless it’s part of a ploy.

…....And then he wonders why he gets brutally assassinated and deposed.

Because he spent 0 time on building any sort of political stability and +1000 time on WAR and TORTURE-MURDER and BEING HORRID, his kingdom crumbles the minute he can no longer terrorize everyone into order. The vultures are circling, as his five children splinter the army to form their own factions and fight each other for the crown, and the surrounding kingdoms throw their collective hats in the ring in a bid to piss on Loth’s legacy as much as possible.

In short: womp, womp, no bitches.

Loth tries to project a personality that is cold, calculating, and oozing menace, to the point that he glamours his body to look far more imposing than he actually is – but he’s the sort of loser who starts screaming internally whenever things don’t go his way. When he can no longer control the actions of everyone around him, he becomes a shaking wreck, constantly catastrophising, refusing to believe that anyone could ever be kind to him without ulterior motive.

Loth spent his whole life (except for. Some very bleak formative parts.) as the despotic ruler of this kingdom. He has completely lost touch with anything outside of the prison he built for himself within his own mind, where everyone is an enemy.

MALEVOLOTH SONGS: You’re Nobody Till Somebody Wants You Dead (Saint Motel); To Ashes and Blood (Arcane, Woodkid); King of Disappointment (Echoes)

Enter AZRAEL DE LIONHART, a young human man who’s been on the run from Loth his entire life (he was prophesied as a baby to be the one to eventually slay him. Loth, unable to be Normal about anything, has been hunting him ever since).

He’s thoughtful. He’s kind. He’s warm-hearted, and seems to actually care about the endless human collateral of the wars sparked by Loth’s heirs as they bicker over the crown. Despite the absolute hell Loth’s put him through, he doesn't succumb to trauma and darkness. Instead, he makes friends everywhere he goes, and genuinely does his utmost to help anyone who needs him.

Obviously, this is all a cunning act to gain the support of the people, so he can steal the throne for himself.

Or so Loth tries to convince himself, with increasing desperation. No one can be that kind. That forgiving. That… handsome. It’s not possible.

Right?

In fact, there’s only one person in the entire world that our noble hero seems to hate… and that’s Malevoloth himself.

Whoops.

AZRAEL SONGS: Dear Fellow Traveller (Sea Wolf); New Eyes (Echoes); Me and the Devil (Soap and Skin); Thus Always To Tyrants (The Oh Hellos)

Thankfully (?) following a near-successful assassin attempt from his kids, Loth is stuck in the body of Azrael's beloved tutor: the erudite imp RIVVEN of VARRUN, who has been teaching Azrael how to fight a diverse menagerie of beasts.

Unthankfully, Rivven is very, very dead, and it's 100% Loth's fault. And all of Loth’s once-legendary powers have been lost to him, much like his corpse, which has been locked in his old fortress to prevent resurrection attempts by his dedicated cult.

If Azrael finds out that Rivven… isn’t Rivven anymore, things will get very, very bad for Loth. If Loth can con Azrael into returning him to his cadaver, where Loth can reverse his accidental bodyswap (and, um, rebuild his exploded head), things will get exceedingly bad for Azrael.

All Loth has to do is get this trusting, naive idiot to guard him for the duration of one eensy-weensy cross-continental journey. Then it's all over for humanity's so-called hero.

…Only what’s that voice in the back of his head? The one that sounds like a cross between Jiminy Cricket and a certain tortured-to-death imp?

And why, with each passing day, does the prospect of killing Azrael become less appealing?

RIVVEN SONGS: Liar (The Arcadian Wild); The Devil Within (Digital Daggers); The Whole Being Dead Thing (Alex Brightman & Beetlejuice Cast)

TL;DR: ‘we’ve gotta kill this guy, Steven.’  ‘okay but. hear me out. what if I romanced him instead?’ ‘but you’re prophesied to kill him??’ ‘…your point is?’

(note: I have no idea how long this concept will itch at my brain, and I'm mostly focusing on my vampire imperialism story & my YA at the moment! but it's a fun background project for me to poke at when I get bored of the others~ intro for the Vampire project will be coming soon!)

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal!! Hope you had a lovely lake weekend!

As always your stories are phenomenal and my favorite thing ever! So many amazing ones right now that I can’t wait for more of! And lol as I’m typing this I’m remembering that your prompt game was in my dream last night! The main detail I’m remembering is that you announced a ☣️ sequel and I was so excited :p

I’m starting with the presents this time because why not!

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (the story whose current section you’re most excited to share)

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (the story currently making you giggle the most)

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (the story currently making you cry the most)

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (the story that’s surprised you the most so far - like the plot went a different way than you thought or you’ve been enjoying it more than you expected or its been harder to write than you expected etc)

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (the story that’s calling you to write right now)

- PCA <3

HI PCA I LOVE YOU! And thank you for notifying me about the forgotten emoji. WHOOPS.

Can't believe my emojis made your dream. That's crazy. I'm so sorry, no sequel at the moment.

21 for "the story whose current section you’re most excited to share" that would probably be 🩸 because this chapter ends in a crazy way:

---

Athena feels cold everywhere. She feels frozen. What is Larissa talking about? She’s making it sound like… Like Bobby is somewhere. And isn’t he? They took his body. What did they do with it?

“My husband is dead,” Athena says. 

“Yes,” Larissa nods. “And the sooner you accept that, the sooner all this other death can end.”

And with that, Larissa turns on her heel, and marches away. She leaves an absolute crater in Athena’s mind. 

▪️▪️▪️

Buck visits Bobby alone this time. He wants to talk about something that probably isn’t good conversation in front of Harry and May. 

“Okay, you’re gonna hate this,” Buck sighs, dropping his usual asters in front of Bobby’s headstone and sitting cross legged in the grass. He’s becoming a little too familiar with this routine. 

He pauses for a moment, as though giving Bobby’s spirit or whatever it is a moment to prepare. 

“So I told you Eddie and Chris came home, and that I’ve been living with them,” Buck says. “But I wasn’t totally honest.”

Can you lie to a dead person?

---

21 for "the story currently making you giggle the most" oh for sure 🥩:

---

She says it like she has the wisdom of a long life, not a few years of college romances. Regardless, Eddie appreciates it.

“Thank you, Adri. I’m… I’m really happy. I haven’t felt this happy before.”

She grins. “I can tell. Hold onto him.”

Eddie nods. “I plan on it.”

And sincerely, he does. He doesn’t plan on letting anything screw this up for them. 

ii.

Eddie is relaxed at his first family dinner with the Buckley-Han crew. For the same reason as he’s been relaxed this whole time. It’s Buck. Buck’s family. Buck’s people. They already know and accept Eddie. He and Chim are really good friends. There’s absolutely no reason to stress. 

“Do we have to go every other week?” Chris asks as Eddie drives them there. 

---

21 for "the story currently making you cry the most" ohhh see that's a toss up between two, so I think I'll go with the lesser requested of them and do ☠️:

---

If they’re going to have any sort of discussion, messy or otherwise, it’s best not to do it at the fire station. Really, he’d prefer to just be left alone about the whole thing. But that was never going to happen, was it. 

Buck shows up a handful of hours after the end of the shift. Just enough time that Chim gets a small nap in. Not enough time to want to see Buck again, but whatever. 

It’s strange. Right before Buck comes over, Chim is sitting in the living room, listening to Jee chat animatedly about her day at school. He’s in clear view of the window. And not even a full minute before the Jeep pulls into the driveway, a singular crow flies in and lands on the pavement. It makes Chim stop talking mid sentence. It completely takes him by surprise. It should be a normal thing. A bird, outside of all places. But Chim can’t help but feel strange about it. He thinks of the crow that followed him for days that one Halloween. He hasn’t really experienced that since then. This is absolutely a coincidence. Still, it feels like the thing is looking right through the window at him. 

Chim shudders a little, like something cold had run its fingers down his spine.

“Daddy?”

---

21 for "the story that’s surprised you the most so far" would likely be 💔, it just built into something funnier than I originally planned, even if it's still very sad haha:

---

It’s Hen. She’s got a sympathetic look on her face and a bottle of tequila in her hands. 

How the hell does she know?

“Hen?” Eddie asks. 

“Chim texted and told me to come over with booze,” she said. “Said it’s an emergency. Based on our conversation earlier, I rushed.”

Eddie exhales. His eyes sting. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. You didn’t… I mean… Chim knows?”

Buck went and told Chim? His captain? What the actual fuck?

“Want to fill me in?” Hen asks. 

Eddie nods. He really does. 

---

21 for "the story that’s calling you to write right now" that would still be ☠️:

---

Whoops. Chim has completely tuned out from what she’s been saying. Over a bird. Fantastic parenting moment.

“Sorry, honey,” he says. “Uh…”

At that moment, the crow takes off and Buck’s Jeep turns into the driveway.

“Your uncle is here,” Chim mumbles. 

Jee gasps excitedly.

“Uncle Buck?”

“Yep,” Chim confirms flatly. “What a surprise.”

Though, it’s not. Not really. He knows Buck well enough to predict his behavior. When he feels bad, he doesn’t stop buzzing until he’s absolved. 

“Can we make cookies?” Jee asks brightly. Ever since she spent the evening at Buck’s baking, she’s been obsessed. She asks to go over to his place a lot. Especially when the baby is loud, go figure. 

[angelsnkisses]

thinking about softdom!danny cooper <3

A/N: everyone's so adamant that he's a sub (no judgement here, i love me some sub!dan 😩) but oh my god i can't stop thinking about how he would be the sweetest dom.

💟 nsfw - mdni 💟

warnings: softdom!danny, sub!gn!reader, unprotected sex, overstimulation, biting, creampie

• softdom!danny, who praises and praises you like no other. it's mostly for your pleasure, but that doesn't mean it doesn't turn him on, too.. in fact, he lives for the way you get all flustered at his compliments, the way you tighten around him with every gentle coo of sweet encouragement, the way you whine and moan for him and only him, all of it.

"you feel so good, darling. so, so good,"

• softdom!danny, who loves overstimulating you until you blubber and cry for him to slow down. he's nothing but sweet the whole time, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily fair. no, he's anything but. he knows your body even better than you do, and he knows exactly how to have you practically screaming into the pillows in no time. he thoroughly enjoys fucking you dumb, molding you into a melty, crying mess.

"come on, angel.. one more for me. just one more? there you go.."

• softdom!danny, who has a bit of a biting problem. he can't help it, he loves how you jerk at the sudden pain, how your surprised yelp will warp itself into a blissed moan. he'll sink his teeth into your thighs while he's giving you head, though it's never hard enough to break the skin. more often than not you'll find faint, crescent-shaped bruises on the supple surface the morning after.

"was that me? oh.. whoops. okay, okay, i'm sorry!"

(he's not)

• softdom!danny, who's allll hands when it comes to you. he can't keep them to himself, and believe me, you rarely want him to. he'll always have a firm grip on your hips, your thighs, your ass, your wrists, your chest, your neck, everywhere. best believe he showers you with praise while he's touching you, too. calling you his perfect slut, telling you how soft you are, how warm you feel.. he's very vocal, and he loves when you are, too.

"let me hear you, just like that.. you sound so pretty, baby,"

• softdom!danny, who talks you through it. he'll flip his voice to a low, comforting hum, putting his lips at your ear so he's all you can focus on. well, aside from the mind-blowing pleasure he gives you. i can literally hear his cooing, shaky voice HELP ME.

"it's too much? oh, honey, you can take it. shh, c'mon.."

"doing so good for me, hm?"

• softdom!danny, who whimpers.. a lot. need an audio-visual? watch intruders. he gets especially vocal when he's close to finishing, his voice getting gradually more wobbly until he's almost as much of a mess as you are. he'll hold you tight, his head falling forward and his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to get you to your release before he gets to his.

"gonna cum? yeah, come on, cum for me,"

"so fucking pretty, my pretty slut, f- oh, fuck,"

• softdom!danny, who babbles praises and 'i love you' over and over when he fills you up. either that, or he smashes his lips to yours in a messy, desperate kiss, swallowing up your mirrored moans greedily. he can't help but push himself as deep as he can, his rooted desire to watch his cum leak out of you fueling his fire like no other. he loves it, though he won't actually admit it..

"that's it, you take me so well.. mmhm, you do,"

• softdom!danny, who is the KING of aftercare. anything you need, consider it done. you want some tea, cuddling, and a movie? of course, anything for his sweet angel. you want some space to listen to music or take a shower? absolutely, he'll be waiting for you when you're done. one thing about danny is he loves you, and he'll do anything he can to show you just how much <3.

[sparxwrites]

Joel remembers things after the accident in flashes. 

The accident itself, he remembers fine – don’t mess around with enchanters, kids, stay in school, and especially don’t mess around with an enchanter, a chest full of various potions, a charged creeper, and several untamed wolves – but everything after it? Not just a blur, but gone. Other than the flashes. Funny little snippets of memory, half-order.

-

First: Him, on the ground, in a crater. Enchanter, gone, wolf corpses, still very much present. There’s broken glass everywhere; he’d forgotten he was storing potions in the next room. His body aches like he was hit by a truck, burns like he was hit by a bolt of lightning, and is– whatever the fuck the correct adjective for feels like he’s mainlined a month’s caffeine intake directly into his brainstem is. It’s not a great combination.

There’s also a Gem beside him, crouched carefully down in the grass. She’s saying something. His ears are ringing; he can’t make out the words. She looks worried.

She reaches out to touch him, and Joel’s entire body hurls itself at her without his conscious permission, jaws agape, fury rising like a red and mad tide. Everything goes black before he makes contact, but the terror on Gem’s face burns itself into his retinas before it does.

-

Next: He wakes up, alone, unclear where he is, struggling to move. His mouth tastes of blood. He’s lying on a mattress, wrists and ankles bound down. There’s something over his mouth. And Etho is there, too. Etho with a sword. Which doesn’t make much sense.

“Hi, Joel,” says Etho. “How you doing? You know where you are?”

Joel feels like shit, and has no idea where he is. But when he opens his mouth to say that, the only thing that comes out is a croak. He tries again, nothing, only pain, and then gives up. “Face,” he says, instead, voice raw like he’s been howling. He tries to lick his lips, and they taste of blood too. The sword, slowly, starts making sense.

“Uh. Oh, yeah.” Etho shifts in his chair. “We had to muzzle you. You’ve been, uh– well. The teeth have been a problem. When you… you’ve been like. Blacking out. And biting people. So…” He gestures, vaguely, at Joel’s prone body. “But it’s just a temporary measure. Some of the others are working on it. We’ll get it fixed soon.”

Joel wants to say more, wants to ask more, but things are fading. He can feel them fading. The black wants him again. “Hurts,” he says, raw as gravel, as his vision begins to tunnel.

“Yeah,” says Etho, soft, sympathetic. His hand is very warm, where it touches Joel’s wrist. “I know, buddy. I know.”

-

Last: He’s on fire, he’s burning, he’s fucking burning, they’re burning him alive, holy shit, why is no one trying to help him? 

There’s a dog somewhere nearby howling, or else a child screaming, or a horse being murdered, or maybe just a grown human in spine-melting pain. Hard to concentrate when he’s busy being ripped apart. Difficult to hear. His ears are ringing, vision blurred and half-dark, skin crawling as it tries to get away from the agony. 

Dimly, distantly, through the pain, he sees Jimmy. That’s when he knows he’s dying; no Jimmy on Hermitcraft. And also he called him Jimmy, even if just in the privacy of his own head. Sure sign of imminent death, that. 

The Jimmy who is not real looks at him, eyes calm and kind, and says, “Well, you’ve really fucked it now, Joel, haven’t you?” And then, before Joel can say anything back, he’s gone – and so, blissfully, is the pain. So, blissfully, is everything else

-

He wakes up, and hurts like someone has tried to make taffy of his bones. Everything aches, deep and abiding. But– he wakes up.

“M’alive,” he says, surprised, and his throat is full of knives, but the words still make it out. He could whoop from that alone. If not for the knives.

“You are.” That’s X’s voice, and when Joel flops his head to one side, the admin’s stood there, hands outstretched over Joel’s chest and belly. Even through the helmet, he looks tired. “I don’t know what you did, Joel, but I’m going to have to ask you to never do it again. Please.”

“Yeah, Joel.” Grian. Who else. “Or we’ll kick you off the server.”

“We won’t kick you off the server,” says Xisuma, exhaustedly. “...But I might want to.”

Joel laughs, but the knives, so it comes out more as a dry wheeze. He needs water. He needs a piss. He needs some painkillers, and to sleep for maybe two or three days. What he says instead, though, before he can help himself, is, “Jimmy. W’s Jimmy ‘ere?”

He expects Grian to laugh. It’s a mark of how bad things were that Grian doesn’t. “No, Jimmy wasn’t– Do you want Jimmy? We could maybe whitelist–” He looks at Xisuma.

Xisuma sighs. “Sure. Let’s invite the whole Empires server, while we’re at it.”

“’d be nice,” mumbles Joel, and then, “g’nna. Mmm. Sl’p now.”

“That’s fine.” Grian’s voice, and there’s a hand stroking his hair, which is nice. That might be Grian’s too but, since his eyes are already closed, he can’t tell. “Sleep, Joel. Jimmy’ll be here when you wake up. Which you might regret asking for, actually. Ah well.”