#and assorted supporting cast

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[doumadono]

A toast to the past - Dabi x Reader

Warnings: a lot of sadness, grieving

Synopsis: some bonds and moments never truly die, no matter how much time passes. This is what you've learned not only from the League of Villains, but mostly from Dabi himself

A/N: as we say goodbye to 2024, I want to take a moment to wish you all a very Happy New Year, filled with good health and an abundance of positive energy. A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to visit my blog, read my stories, or offer the support - your kindness means the world to me. I’m looking forward to welcoming the new year and sharing even more with all of you. Here's to more adventures together in 2025!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The icy wind gnawed at the edges of the dilapidated bar, rattling loose boards and curling under the gap at the door. The League of Villains’ ramshackle hideout wasn’t exactly the place one might expect to find themselves celebrating. It wasn’t often the League found a reason to celebrate, but tonight was an exception. New Year’s Eve was as good a reason as any to drag out the stolen liquor, laugh a little too loudly, and forget - if only for a few hours - about the vain world of heroes that loomed outside.

Yet, the hideout was alive with chaos. 

Spinner had begrudgingly joined Twice and Toga in their frantic attempts to decorate, though the results were predictably awful - streamers dangled half-heartedly from the ceiling, and a mismatched assortment of paper lanterns cast flickering light across the room.

Mr. Compress sipped his drink, attempting to draw Giran into the conversation.

Shigaraki, for once, seemed to tolerate the festive atmosphere, though he sat hunched in his chair, lazily swirling a glass of a cheap champagne, scratching idly at his neck and glaring at anyone who came too close, his Switch laying on his lap.

Kurogiri had been busy behind the scenes, thoughtfully preparing colorful drinks for everyone. He made sure to mix several non-alcoholic ones, particularly for Toga, knowing she would enjoy them without the risk of getting drunk.  He'd always kept an eye on her, knowing well that she could easily lose control if left unchecked, just like Tomura. At the same time, he carefully prepared extra shots for Shigaraki, who had openly mentioned earlier that he wanted to get wasted to dull the unbearable itching sensation crawling beneath his skin. Kurogiri had always been attentive, and tonight, he was doing what he could to ease the discomfort of his comrades, in his own quiet, efficient way.

And then there was Dabi.

The black-haired man, as usual, lingered on the outskirts of the noise, a silent observer. He stood by the window, cigarette in hand, eyes half-lidded as the faint orange glow reflected off the sharp planes of his face. The scarred corners of his lips twitched occasionally as he watched the others, though whether in amusement or annoyance, it was hard to tell.

It was a strange thing, this party. A group like yours wasn’t exactly built for celebrations. You were all too fractured, too worn by the world to embrace something as frivolous as joy. And yet, here you all were, crammed into this shabby room with mismatched streamers hanging crookedly from the ceiling.

"Five minutes to midnight!" Toga announced, clapping her hands together with a giddy grin. She darted to Twice, who was balancing a precarious tower of plastic cups, and immediately knocked it over in her excitement.

"You little menace!" Twice cried, his tone swinging wildly between indignant and adoring.

It was impossible not to laugh. Even Shigaraki's lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk before he buried his face back in his hands.

You glanced at Dabi, who hadn't moved from his spot by the window. Smoke curled lazily around his head, his expression unreadable. Something about his stillness drew you in like gravity, and before you realized it, you were walking toward him.

"You're missing the party," you teased, stopping just short of leaning against the same wall.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking to you. "Looks like I'm not the only one."

"Fair," you admitted with a small smile. “But you’re really going to sulk through New Year’s?” You leaned your hip against the wall, tilting your head as you studied him.

“Sulking implies I care,” Dabi shot back, but the retort lacked its usual venom.

The countdown began, Toga’s voice leading the charge. “Ten! Nine!”

As the countdown began, the League’s mismatched voices filled the air, a cacophony of excitement and half-hearted participation.

Dabi didn’t move. He didn’t turn to the others, didn’t even glance at the clock. His gaze remained on you, sharp and heavy.

“Eight! Seven!”

“You’re staring,” you said softly, though your tone lacked any real accusation.

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk. “So are you.”

“Six! Five!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he took a step closer. He stopped just a breath away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him despite the chill that crept through the cracks in the walls. His hand came up to cup your cheek, rough fingers brushing against your skin with a surprising gentleness that made your breath hitch.

“Four! Three!”

The noise around you faded into nothing, the room dissolving into a blur as his thumb traced along your lower lip.

“Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The room erupted into cheers, Toga’s high-pitched squeal cutting through the din as the others toasted and clapped, but none of it reached you. 

Dabi leaned in, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative - he wasn’t the kind of man for that. Dabi’s lips were firm, his touch possessive, the kiss rough and consuming. The heat of him, the faint taste of smoke on his lips, made your knees weak, and you clung to him as though letting go wasn’t an option.

The world seemed to pause, time itself holding its breath as the moment stretched. 

Dabi pulled back, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. His breath ghosted over your lips as he muttered, “Happy New Year, doll.”

Before you could respond, Toga’s delighted giggles shattered the moment. “Dabi kissed Y/N! I knew he would!” she crowed, clapping her hands in glee.

Twice let out a loud, exaggerated whistle. “Didn’t see that coming. Well, maybe I did. No, I definitely didn’t!”

Even Shigaraki seemed momentarily stunned, though he quickly muttered something about idiots and looked away.

Spinner groaned, muttering something about how he couldn’t believe he was spending his New Year with these people.

Compress raised a toast to the unexpected romance, and Twice fumbled with the camera app on his phone to snap a blurry picture. 

But none of it mattered. 

All that existed in that moment was the way Dabi looked at you as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“Alright, show’s over,” the black-haired man groaned, shooting a pointed glare at Toga before grabbing your wrist and tugging you toward the door, leading you straight to his bedroom.

The night passed in a blur of heated whispers and shared warmth, his body a steady presence against yours as you made love for hours. The two of you stayed wrapped around each other long after the world outside went quiet. Dabi’s arm draped over your waist, his breath steady and warm against your shoulder. Neither of you spoke, content to exist in the stillness, in the rare, fragile peace of the moment.

The memory still lived in your heart, as vivid and searing as if it had happened yesterday. The hideout filled with laughter and chaos, Toga’s delighted clapping, Twice’s off-key singing, and the way Dabi’s lips pressed against yours at the stroke of midnight - it was a fleeting moment of happiness in a world that had given you so little.

But that was last year. That New Year’s Eve was the last you all spent together.

Everything changed after that night. The war came, tearing through your lives like a storm, leaving devastation in its wake. Too many lives were claimed, too many futures snuffed out. The League, the world, you - it all fractured, irreparably changed by the battles fought and the losses endured.

Now, you sat cross-legged in the grass, the late afternoon sun warm against your shoulders. A simple summer dress clung to your frame, and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. In your lap was a handmade bowl of soba, steam curling lazily into the air.

“I started a job last week,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “It’s nothing glamorous, just working in the back of a diner. Washing dishes, peeling vegetables, that sort of thing. It’s hard, y’know? People don’t exactly trust someone with a past like mine.” You picked at the soba with your chopsticks, twirling the noodles idly. “People stare. They always do. Even when they don’t recognize me, they can tell there’s something off, like they can smell the smoke that clings to me. I can’t blame them. It’s not like I’ll ever really blend in.” You laughed softly, though the sound was hollow. “It’s funny,” you continued, wiping your cheek where a tear had fallen unnoticed. “The normal life we used to joke about… it’s so much harder than I thought it’d be. People don’t smile much, not really. And some days, it’s like I’m invisible. Maybe it’s better that way.” 

You held the bowl tighter, your knuckles white against the handmade ceramic. “I brought this for you,” you offered, shifting slightly to place the bowl in the grass. “You probably would’ve made some snarky comment about how it’s not your style, but I thought… I thought you might like it anyway.”

The words caught in your throat, and before you could stop them, the tears came - hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as though the dam you’d built over the past year had finally broken. You didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point?

It took everything in you to get here. Reaching out to the Todoroki family - people you’d once thought of as enemies - had been harder than you could have imagined. But you needed to know where he was, where they’d laid him to rest. You couldn’t keep carrying the weight of his absence without a place to grieve.

The breeze shifted, and for a moment, it seemed to carry a faint, fleeting scent of fire - charcoal and smoke. It wrapped around you like an embrace, stirring the strands of your hair. It was fleeting, barely there, but it made you pause. Slowly, your lips curved into a small, trembling smile. “You’re listening, aren’t you?” you whispered, wiping at your face. “You always were good at pretending not to care.”

What you didn’t know - what you couldn’t know - was that he was sitting right there, just as you’d imagined. His spirit leaned against the gravestone, one knee drawn up, his chin resting lazily on it. He was watching you, his pale eyes filled with a mixture of longing and sorrow. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, aching to wipe away your tears. But it was futile, of course. You were here, in the world of the living, and he was there, trapped in the world of the dead. Dabi whispered, “Stop crying, doll. You’ll ruin your pretty face.” But the words faded into the breeze, unheard and unspoken.

He watched you carefully: the way your hands trembled slightly as you set the bowl down, the way your lips quivered as you spoke his name, the way your tears reflected the light of the setting sun.

You couldn’t see the way his jaw clenched, the frustration in his eyes as his hand passed through you like mist. The space between your worlds was too vast, and all he could do was sit and observe.

You didn’t know he was there, couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze or the ghostly touch of his hand. “I miss you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you rested a hand on the cold stone. “Every day, Touya.”

He closed his eyes, his head tilting back against the gravestone as if to steady himself. The scars on his face softened in the glow of the afternoon sun, and for a moment, he looked almost at peace. “I miss you too,” he whispered, though the words were meant only for himself.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cemetery. Your fingers brushed over the gravestone, tracing the letters carved into the cold stone: Touya Todoroki. The breeze swirled again, wrapping around you like an embrace. It felt warm, comforting, almost like him.

“I miss all of you. Toga, Tomura… even Twice and his constant grumbling.” You laughed weakly, but the sound was hollow. “The world’s quieter now, but it doesn’t feel better. It feels empty.” And with that, you sobbed more. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of you. I’m so fucking sorry…”

When you finally stood  and brushed the grass from your dress, you glanced back at the tombstone one last time. “I’ll keep going,” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute. “For you. For all of you. I promise. I promise I won’t let go. I’ll never forget you. And you guys will always live in my heart.”

He watched you turn to leave, his gaze lingering on you as if memorizing every detail - the way the sunlight caught the strands of your hair, the way your shoulders straightened even under the weight of your grief, and a faint smile crossed his lips as his scarred hand rested on the top of the tombstone. “We all know that, doll,” he murmured, his voice soft and low. “Live the life we weren’t destined to have. And don’t forget - I’ll love you forever.”

As the wind swept through the graveyard once more, Dabi’s spirit winnowed like mist under the light of a chilly morning, fading into the air that surrounded you. And a promise, carried on the breeze, was as eternal as the love he left behind.

tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[hambiichu]

Mingled relationship

Sumarry: You and Levi ended your relationship back in high school, and a few years later, on a fateful Christmas, Levi decided to reach out to you

Ao3

Divider by @/notaorbital

Tags: Comfort, Female! Reader, Levi in despair, comeback, exes, past relationship, mingled, regret, modern au, Kuchel

Today is Christmas, and a gentle blanket of snow covers the ground outside, transforming the world into a winter wonderland. The warm glow of decorations spills from every window, casting a cheerful ambiance that fills the air with the holiday spirit. The table is elegantly set, adorned with a feast of delicious foods—roasted meats, savory sides, and an array of desserts waiting to be savored. Spoons and forks gleam under the soft lights, while festive plates hold an assortment of culinary delights.

People have gathered around the table, their laughter mingling with the joyful sounds of Christmas carols wafting in from outside. As children sing and shake their bells, the scene is alive with happiness, reminding everyone of the warmth and love the holiday brings. Families unite, sharing stories and jokes, while the crackle of the fireplace adds to the cozy atmosphere of joy reminiscent of the season.

Yet, not everyone shares in the merriment surrounding them. Levi sits apart from the vibrant gathering, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his phone, absorbed in a digital reverie filled with old messages and photos.

Each scroll reveals memories that tug at his heart, stirring up a bittersweet mixture of nostalgia and yearning. He finds himself contemplating whether to reach out to you, the thought lingering like an uninvited guest. Years have passed since you last saw each other, yet the echoes of your high school romance continue to resonate within him, haunting his thoughts, especially at this time of year.

Kuchel, his mother, has never truly understood the reasons behind your breakup. To her, you were more than just a girlfriend; you were like a daughter-in-law, someone she envisioned as a perfect match for her son. She often reminisces about the days when Levi first introduced you to the family, her eyes sparkling with pride as she recounts how happy he seemed in your presence.

Those cherished moments now feel like fragmented whispers of a long-forgotten dream. Pensive, Levi gazes out of the window, lost in thought, and wonders if reaching out might reignite the flame of what was once a beautiful connection or if the chasm of time and hurt between you has grown too wide to bridge.

Deep down, Levi knows he can’t absolve himself of the blame for the relationship’s collapse. He reflects on how foolish and immature he was, a first-time lover grappling with overwhelming emotions.

In his naivety, he neglected you, failed to support you when you needed it, and, at times, acted with an unkindness that still stings with regret. The shame washes over him as he grimaces at his past self, recognizing how his actions contributed to the heartache that severed your bond.

He hated himself.

He blamed himself everyday and every year.

You have every right to feel a profound anger toward him — to cut ties and seek out someone new, all while he remains here, adrift and still unmarried, without a family to call his own. In the quiet moments of his day, when the world falls silent, he is haunted by memories of you. The weight of his past mistakes presses heavily on his heart, creating an unending cycle of shame that he cannot seem to escape. It’s as if he is a prisoner in his own mind, yearning for a chance to make amends, yet paralyzed by the fear that the opportunity has slipped through his fingers forever.

Kuchel speaks of you often, mentioning your name with a fondness that pulls at Levi’s heart, tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. Each time your name escapes his mother's lips, it strikes a painful chord within him, a constant reminder of his failures and the secret he keeps buried deep. He finds himself weaving a web of excuses, telling his mother that you are simply too busy or that you’ve chosen not to contact him, all the while knowing that she can see through the mask he has crafted. The guilt festers inside him, gnawing at his conscience and causing him to feel like a disappointment in her eyes.

As the seasons change, ushering in a flurry of memories and emotions he has tried to suppress, Levi resolves that this time he will not hide behind excuses or lies. With newfound courage coursing through him, he retrieves your contact information from his phone and hesitates for a moment, unsure why he kept it all this time. A part of him had always held onto the hope that he would reach out eventually, and today, that hope is blossoming into action.

He presses the phone to his ear, his heart pounding as a knot of anxiety forms in his stomach. He glances down at his trembling hands and takes a deep breath to steady himself. In his other hand, he pulls out a small, delicate silver ring he has kept all these years—a promise ring, once a symbol of the vow he made to you that no matter what life threw at him, you would one day become his spouse. Now, that ring feels more like a relic of a shattered past, buried beneath layers of regret and longing.

Levi twirls the ring between his fingers, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his memories. He thinks about how time has changed everything, yet the feelings that stirred within him back then remain as potent as ever.

Suddenly, his heart leaps when he hears your voice on the other end, and time seems to freeze. There’s no hesitation as you answer, "Levi?" The sound of your breath, a bit shaky and uncertain, sends a rush of emotions surging through him. "You called."

Levi swallows hard, his heart racing as he instinctively pockets the ring. He wipes his clammy palms on his shirt, trying to regain his composure. "Yeah, I… I know it’s unexpected, but I've been wanting to reach out." He responds, his voice more confident than he feels.

Levi realizes just how much he has missed this connection. It’s as if he had forgotten the sound of your laughter, the way your voice could light up a room, and now those memories flood back with an overwhelming rush of nostalgia and sadness.

"I.... I’ve been wanting to reach you too," you admit, and he hears a small sneeze break the delicate tension between you. He can almost picture you shivering, layered in winter clothes, trying to ward off the chill.

Levi's heart begins to race at the realization that you, too, have a desire to reconnect. Yet skepticism tugs at him; he hesitates to let his hopes soar too high.

A smile involuntarily lifts Levi’s lips. "Are you okay? You’re sneezing," he asks, genuine concern creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, I’m just stuck on this bus," you explain, your frustration evident. "I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and nothing’s moving. I’ve used almost all my data to call my mom, but when you called, I had to answer."

"Do you want me to come pick you up?" he offers, warmth threading through his tone.

“Levi, that’s sweet, but I’m fine,” you reply, though there’s a hint of reluctance in your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“No, you’re not," Levi insists, a sigh escaping him. He can feel the urgency in his own voice as he speaks. "You’ve been stuck at the bus stop for over an hour, right? Let me come get you. I’ll grab my keys now."

"Le—"

"Please."

It was a surprise to realize that Levi never hesitated to act when it came to you. In your memories, if something had ever happened to you, he would have charged forward without a moment's doubt—without a hint of hesitation. This was the man you had fallen in love with, a man who captivated you not just with his striking features and intense gaze, but with his genuine care and unwavering commitment. He would have done anything for you. Yet, as your relationship progressed, a painful shift occurred. He began to neglect you, fail to support you in your times of need, and, at times, display a rough, unkindness that pierced your heart.

Witnessing this transformation was undeniably cruel. It hurt to see the man you thought would care for you forever drift away into someone unrecognizable. But you couldn’t blame yourself; you were just high school sweethearts, young and inexperienced in the complexities of love. As hard as it was, a part of you understood that sometimes, parting ways was necessary for growth.

Even after all these years, you still carried a deep love for him; he was your first boyfriend after all. You felt like you understood him better than anyone else ever could, and you had always been there for him. Throughout the years, you hadn’t found anyone else who could take his place in your heart, nor had you considered marriage. Your heart remained firmly attached to Levi Ackerman.

Years passed, and this year, out of the blue, Levi reached out to you. You’d thought about contacting him, but fear held you back—fear that he’d once again be the man who hurt you. Yet, something in you sensed he had changed for the better. When he called, your heart raced. You hesitated initially, but in a moment of courage, you answered, listening to his familiar voice after so long. It resonated with a mix of sadness and nostalgia, bringing back memories you had tucked away.

As you began to explain your current situation, Levi insisted on coming to pick you up. You felt a reluctance but Levi, being his determined self, simply grabbed his keys and told you he would be waiting for you at the bus stop.

The ride to his home was enveloped in an uneasy silence, punctuated by the soft crunch of snow beneath the car tires. The headlights illuminated the dark road ahead, casting fleeting shadows outside. You glanced at Levi from the corner of your eye. He seemed like the same man you once knew, but upon closer inspection, you could see the marks of maturity etched into his features. He had clearly learned from his past mistakes, even though both of you felt the tension of two exes meeting again for the first time after so long.

Wanting to break the silence and ease the awkwardness, you opened your mouth to speak, but the words got lodged in your throat. Instead, the silence wrapped around you both, heavy and suffocating. When you finally reached his home, stepping out into the cold air, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Memories flooded back of the first time you had visited Levi’s house and met his mother, who had welcomed you into the family with open arms.

As Levi opened the door, his mother, Kuchel, looked up from the living room, her eyes widening in astonishment. Without any hesitation, she rushed toward you and enveloped you in a warm embrace. The comfort of her presence was something you had missed dearly over the years. She gently released you, her expression brimming with love and concern.

“Oh! It’s been too long since I last saw you. You’ve grown so much! I’ve missed you terribly. Levi says you’ve been busy,” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of joy and warmth.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Levi standing beside you. He looked away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he mumbled, “Mother, please, can she come inside?”

Kuchel’s eyes sparkled with hope. “Will she stay here for a while?” she asked eagerly. You found yourself nodding in agreement. Although you hadn’t envisioned staying, Levi had brought you here, and with Christmas upon you, it felt oddly right to accept this invitation.

"Come, come! We have turkeys and all sorts of delicious foods," Kuchel exclaimed, her warm smile lighting up the room as she gestured towards the table. The table stretched out before you, adorned with an array of plates filled with festive dishes and neatly arranged utensils. It was a bit long, but it felt cozy, especially since it was just you, Levi, and his mother for the moment. Other relatives would be joining soon, but for now, the atmosphere was intimate.

As you settled into your seat, Levi slid into the chair beside you. The two of you began to eat, enjoying the savory flavors of the turkey and all the trimmings, while Kuchel returned to the living room, her focus shifting back to the decorations and gift-wrapping for the upcoming celebrations. It was a relief that she didn’t pry into your life with intrusive questions; after all, she hadn’t seen you for years until this reunion.

“Sorry about that,” Levi suddenly said between bites, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. He was munching on a crispy piece of turkey skin, a hint of guilt in his expression. “I told my mom that you were busy, and... I lied to her. She always mentions you and asks how you’re doing, all that stuff.”

You looked at him, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the slightly awkward situation. It warmed your heart to know that Kuchel still thought of you after all these years. You had assumed she had long forgotten, but hearing it from Levi made you realize he had carried a burden of keeping the truth from her, perhaps feeling guilty himself.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged nonchalantly, trying to ease the tension. “I’ve done the same with my mom whenever she asks about things she shouldn’t.”

A shy smile broke across Levi’s face at your admission, and you both finished your meal with a sense of camaraderie. When you moved to the kitchen to wash the dishes, you removed your gloves and set them on the countertop. Levi stood beside the fridge, leaning against it with wide eyes as he watched you attentively.

“You still wear the ring I gave you?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You paused, your hand hovering over the ring on your finger. A blush crept across your cheeks as you took a deep breath in preparation for his question. “Yeah... I still do. It’s your gift, and I didn't want to just throw it away. I mean, I know we haven’t seen each other in years, and I thought you might have thrown yours away, too.”

He shook his head, pulling his own ring from his pocket to show you. Both rings twinkled in the soft light of the kitchen, a shimmering symbol of the connection you once shared. “I never did. I always kept it,” he replied, his voice trailing off as a shadow of sorrow crossed his face. Regret was etched in his features, a clear indication of the weight he carried from the past.

“I regret what I did to you every single day. I’m so sorry,” Levi continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We were just young and foolish, naive high school sweethearts. I was a complete fool for letting my shit affect you.”

As he clutched the ring in his palm, his hands trembled with anger at himself. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and it was clear that the memories of hurt lingered painfully in his mind. “I never found someone else, nor did I ever get married. I blame myself for what happened between us every day, and I truly hate myself for it.”

His deep sigh seemed to echo through the room as he spoke your name softly, sending warmth through you, breaking down the walls that had built up over the years. “I know we’re just exes, and I have my doubts about whether there's any hope for us, but I can feel that you still resent me.”

Unable to bear the sight of his pained expression, you walked up to him and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks—a surprising gesture that caused his gaze to widen in astonishment. You cupped his face in your hands, and for a fleeting moment, he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as he let out a shaky sigh. To your surprise, he pressed a soft kiss to your palm, the very spot where your ring once rested.

Oh, how he truly missed you.

The warmth spread through you, and you couldn’t help but blush again as you smiled back at him. “I don’t resent you, Levi. I’ve loved you this entire time. I’ve never married or found anyone else. You were my first boyfriend, and no one else holds my heart like you do.”

As Levi opened his eyes, tears began to flow, and you saw a vulnerability in him that was rarely displayed. The stoic man you had known and admired was laid bare before you, Levi is weak and vulnerable only to you.

Only to you.

Just as you both leaned in closer to share a kiss, the door swung open, and Kuchel walked in unexpectedly. You and Levi sprang apart, faking coughs to mask the palpable tension between you.

“Levi! Your relatives are here!” she called out cheerfully. “Come on, both of you! I want you in the living room right away!”

With a light giggle, she exited, clearly oblivious to the moment that had just transpired. You and Levi exchanged a sigh of relief, your eyes locexistsfor a brief moment filled with unspoken promises. Instared shared glance, the love between you felt rekindled, kindledg at the relationship renewed.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Don't Kill My Vibe

Title: Don’t Kill My Vibe

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Warnings: mention of a breakup, recreational drug use (marijuana), friends-to-lovers trope, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids

A/N: This is an AU where Clark Kent is not superpowered and Superman does not exist. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

It wasn’t the first time Clark asked to try some bud, but it was the most pathetic. His gorgeous blue eyes were puffy from crying over that woman. As much as you wanted to say, “I told you so," you didn’t want him to feel any worse about the failed relationship with his reporter beau, Lois Lane.

And yet again, you think to yourself, ‘Fuck Lois Lane’.

When he showed up at your place an hour ago in sweatpants, sneakers, and a button-up pullover, you were surprised to see he opted for something other than his normal flannel and jeans. His hair was mussed, and he avoided eye contact with you. Something was wrong.

You dragged him into your apartment, turning down your Spotify playlist on the Bluetooth speakers so you could talk over the mellow tunes. While you flopped down on your couch, Clark sat down slowly and sighed.

You were already elevated, having taken a couple of puffs from your blue and red glass bowl earlier, so you were struggling to pay attention to everything he was saying. You tried to put on your “I’m not high” face and nod enough, saying “Oh wow” occasionally. But, in actuality, your eyes were as red as the Devil’s dick, and Clark wasn’t stupid.

His eyes looked from yours to the tray on the coffee table that held your various assortments of smoking apparatus, grinder, lighter, and stash box. Leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, he motioned his chin toward everything and said, “I know you’ve said no a million times, but I could use an escape. And before you say no again, know I’ve tried all the tricks in the book to get over somebody, and nothing is working.” 

“I have a feeling there’s another thing you haven’t tried either, but whatever,” you rattled on, waving off his confused expression. “Fine. It should be illegal for you to use those puppy eyes when asking me for something, by the way.”

So here you are, preparing a strawberry cone for you and Clark to share. You were always weird about people using your favorite bowl. You also figure that for a first-timer, it would be the easiest for him to start with. Twisting the end after filling the cone, you reach for the lighter and ashtray.

“First things first,” you purr, using your phone to turn the music up. “Now, watch what I do. I’m going to draw the smoke into my mouth and then hold it for a few seconds, or as long as I can, before blowing it back out. Ready?”

Clark nods as he turns toward you, tucking one leg under the other. Now that you have his full attention, you suddenly feel flustered. Casting your eyes downward, you take the cone into your mouth and light the end. You inhale deeply and take it out of your mouth. Savoring the citrus flavor of the strain, your tongue licks your lips, and you exhale. 

You close your eyes and take a few breaths. After a moment, you hear Clark’s voice breaking through your haze: “Everything good?”

Your eyes pop open, and just like nothing happened, you perk up. Handing him the cone, you blink as he holds it like someone who has never smoked. You’ve known Clark long enough that you have a suspicion that is probably true for him. 

He’s polite, almost to a fault. He screams Boy Scout, altar boy, and ‘promise ring’ all at the same time. What can you say? Clark was a good boy. And you were getting him high. You little devil! 

Clark takes a short pull from the pink-colored joint and manages to hold it for about two seconds, then attempts to exhale. A small plume escapes his mouth, he inhales sharply and has a coughing fit. You take the joint back before he drops it and sit it in the ashtray.

Rubbing his back, you try to talk him through catching his breath. You grab your water bottle and hold the straw to his mouth when he nods his thanks. He sips the water, then clears his throat loudly, burping up a bit of smoke. He laughs quickly as he sees it exit his mouth, reminding you of a little surprised dragon.

“That was fun,” he sputters, his voice deeper than usual.

“It gets easier, Clark. Trust me, coughing is normal. And most of the time, coughing gets you higher,” you laugh, picking up the joint to take another hit.

You inhale, exhaling into the air, and hold it out for Clark to take again. He sips from your water bottle and gives it to you in exchange for the joint.

Holding it between two fingers, he brings it to his lips. You watch his mouth curl around the tip, and your brain conjures up the vision of what else that boy’s mouth can do. He takes the joint out of his mouth, holding his breath for a few seconds, then blows it out slowly. He gives it back to you and leans back against the couch.

“I don’t think I feel any different yet. How long does it take to kick in?” he asks, crossing his arms and pouting.

It being his first time, he is completely unaware that he is already high. His body language is different; Clark Kent doesn’t slouch even a little. He also certainly doesn’t fidget; his hands suddenly become very interested in the material of his pullover.

“You’ll feel it sooner than you think,” you mumble, the joint between your lips as you speak.

Twenty minutes later, Clark tells you exactly what the last straw was that ended his relationship with Lois. He pauses to take a hit, handing it back to you as he exhales. “But it was always whatever she wanted. I treat her like a queen. And she goes and blows Jimmy-fucking-Olsen. Then she lies about it after Jimmy comes clean to me. I…,” he trails off, looking over at you and shaking his head as he laughs.

“What?” you question when you realize he stops talking.

“Nothing. I just… I think I’m high,” he giggles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling when he smiles at you.

“Besides being high, can you describe how you feel?” You press, wanting to know just how high he is.

“I feel lighter. Clear…er? Is it clearer or more clear? Whatever. I think I also just figured out how I want to finish that article on The Wayne Foundation,” he explains, leaning back so he is lying on his back with his head on your lap. “Is this ok? Your lap looked so comfortable,” he wonders aloud, looking up at you.

That’s when you realize three fundamental truths at the same time. 

1. Clark is single. 

2. Clark is literally in your lap.

3. The crush you have on Clark is swiftly turning into lustful infatuation.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you smile at him and say, “Yeah, of course it’s ok.” You focus on the heat radiating from your best friend as he makes himself comfortable so close to your thirsty pussy. 

“You are the best,” he replies, closing his eyes as your hand finds its way into his curls.

“This cool?” you dare, hoping that you can continue to push the boundary between friendship and something more.

As if the groan from the back of his throat wasn’t enough, he voices his satisfaction. “More than cool. I love having my hair played with. Feel free to go to town on me.”

Oh, the importance of phrasing.

This man is not going to make it easy on you.

You’re explaining to Clark about that episode of Bob’s Burgers where Bob and Linda accidentally get high after eating cookies laced with marijuana at their accountant’s office. “So, anyway. Bob, Linda, and the accountant build a pillow fort from the cushions on his couch, and somehow it makes them feel safer which I get because pillow forts were the height of safety when we were kids. And sometimes, people feel safer thinking about the simplicity of their childhood,” you rattle on, leaning forward to grab your water bottle and forgetting about Clark’s head, which is still very much in your lap.

An oomph is spoken into your boobs, and you shoot straight up to a standing position and knock Clark off your lap and onto the floor. 

“Shit!” he cries from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck, Clark! I’m so sorry! Are you ok?” You cringe, your hand touching your forehead as you watch him pull himself up.

“Hey, hey. It’s cool, I’m fine,” he reassures, his hand grabbing yours to take it away from your face. With the other hand, he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Tilting your head up, he smiles and counters, “Are you ok?”

Yeah. Fine. My tits were just thrust into your face for a bit there. Oh, and you have no idea that I like you. And that pesky curl is falling into your pretty eyes again. And your handsome face is close enough to-

One second, you’re staring at his smile; the next second, you’re attacking his mouth with yours. His lips are just as pillowy and soft as they look. At first, the kiss is timid. Surprise gives way to need as he deepens the kiss. His tongue seeks solace as it slides against the seam of your lips. Granting him entry, he licks into your mouth like an explorer discovering new lands. 

His hands find their way to your hips, bringing you impossibly close. He feasts on every whimper that leaves you, peppering in some moans of his own. This is the kiss of a man waiting for a moment like this. At least, that’s how it feels.

Begrudgingly, you slowly break away from Clark. His kiss-swollen pink lips beg to be reunited with yours, but you must prove this is real. You look up into his dilated eyes, noting how blue is almost completely taken over by black. 

You open your mouth to speak, but Clark beats you to it.

“Unless you are about to tell me you don’t want this, please just kiss me again,” he breathes, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what’s more intoxicating. This drug or having you so close to me.”

Instead of worrying about what this means, you throw caution to the wind. Tilting your head, you slot your lips with his, devouring the subtle whimper that escapes him. From nervous to commanding, you feel Clark’s demeanor change as his hands wander over your body.

He picks you up by the waist, your legs instinctually wrapping around him. With you in his arms, he walks blindly to your bedroom. Once he lays you down, he covers your body with his. The hard length against your mound gives you pause, but you quickly recover as you angle your hips to meet his.

Clark breaks the kiss to sit up and remove his pullover and shirt. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he watches you scan his torso while you bite your lip. Leaning down, he tugs at the hem of your shirt, wanting you to get rid of it. 

You oblige, now topless in front of your best friend for the first time. You don’t have time to freak out over that information because Clark hooks his fingers in your leggings, his eyes begging for permission. You raise your hips, and he pulls them down your legs along with your underwear. 

You sit up as he chucks his sweatpants, his heavy erection now visible. Your first thought is, “Now that is a pretty dick.”

“Thank you,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You wonder aloud, already knowing the answer.

Clark smiles, nodding at you before coaxing you to lay back. He sinks between your legs, holding them open to kiss your thighs. He teases you a bit, licking and nipping at your mound and outer labia until you wiggle your hips and whine. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Patience, please,” he cautions, shaking his head at you. He winks at you, diving fully into your snatch and sucking your clit between his lips. 

You throw your head back in ecstasy as his tongue slides over your swollen button. Humming while sucking on your nub is a fucking power move, and your hands tangle in his hair. You dig your heels into his back as he laps up the juices that accumulate at your entrance. Looking down at him as he worships at the altar of your body, you are taken aback as he peeks up at you over your mound.

With your eyes locked on each other, he watches as he tips you right over the edge. He groans into your pussy, his mouth and chin soaked, as your walls contract around nothing. The euphoria of being high mixes with the joy of being with someone new for the first time.

But this isn’t just anybody; this was your best friend. Warmth and comfort exist between you, allowing you to feel safe enough to fall and that Clark will catch you.

You come down as he plants a kiss on your mound, grazing his lips up your tummy. When he is back above your face, he runs the tip of his dick across your wet folds. He maintains eye contact while he slides in for the first time. 

Once he is fully seated inside you, he lets you adjust to his size before he withdraws slightly and thrusts forward. The wet squelch of your pussy and the smack of your bodies against one another are music to your ears. Clark’s grunts as he fucks into you only fuel your impending second climax.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Too good. Not going to last long,” he warns, sitting up on his knees as his hands go to your waist. Throwing his head back, he growls and picks up the pace, using your body like his personal fucktoy.

Your back arches as he repeatedly hits that hidden bundle of nerves. A searing fire erupts in your belly as your cunt clamps down on his dick, spasming and coating it with your cream.

“Good girl! That’s it. Fucking come for me, just like that,” he encourages. “Oh, shit. I’m right fucking behind you. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck.”

You lock your legs around his waist, keeping him right where he is as his dick spasms and fills you to the brim. Your hands smooth down his big chest, feeling the muscles ripple as he comes down from what is probably the most intense orgasm he has ever felt. He stills soon enough, breathing back to normal as his softening length slips from you.

Flopping down next to you, Clark wraps an arm around you. You curl into his side, an arm across his stomach, and a leg thrown over his. Contented silence fills the room as you both take in this unforeseen turn of events.

Clark’s hand makes idle patterns on your back as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You close your eyes for only a moment, missing Clark smiling at you. He gives you a quick peck on the top of your head, causing you to tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“You hungry?” you guess, feeling a bit peckish yourself.

“Yes!” he exclaims.

“Good. I know a great place down the street that makes the best samosas. Does Indian food sound good?” you ask, already tasting the rich spices of the food.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, picking up his arm to let you get up from the bed to grab your phone, watching your hips sway as you walk out to the other room.

Once back in bed, you order various dishes for the both of you. While you wait for the food, you pass a joint back and forth and steal a kiss or two. You decide there is plenty of time for you and Clark to talk. There is no use in killing the vibe for heavy stuff.

With the way Clark is looking at you, there’s not much to talk about anyway. 

🍃The End🍃

A/N: I would love to know what you think!!! Feedback is appreciated!

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[nickeverdeen]

Best Fort | JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Pairings: JJ x reader (romantic)

Type of fic: Fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: With it being cold outside and nothing much to do inside JJ figures a way to make you cheer up again, even if it’s something as silly as a… well, you’ll see

—————

The cold December air seeped into the small cracks of the windows, making the heater in the corner work overtime. You were seated on the couch, bundled in one of JJ’s hoodies, flipping through the channels with little interest. JJ sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, poking at the fire he’d started in the fireplace, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room.

“I’m bored,” you finally declared, letting the remote fall onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

JJ turned his head, the flames reflecting in his mischievous blue eyes. “Bored, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, dragging out the word. “It’s too cold to do anything outside, and there’s nothing good on TV.”

JJ stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Alright, Sunshine, if the great outdoors is out of the question…” He trailed off, looking around the room like he was sizing up the possibilities. Then his eyes lit up, that familiar spark of trouble dancing across his face.

“What?” you asked, sitting up straighter.

“Blanket fort,” he said simply.

Your eyebrows shot up. “A blanket fort?”

“Yeah,” he said, already pulling cushions off the couch and tossing them onto the floor. “You know, like when we were kids. Only better. Because now we’re cooler.”

“And because we’re adults, JJ,” you teased.

“Exactly! Adults who can build a fort and stay up as late as we want.” He gave you a pointed look. “Come on, don’t act like it doesn’t sound fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

The next hour was spent in a chaotic blur of laughter, cushions, and mismatched blankets. JJ had no real plan, which meant the “construction” process was a mess. He insisted on using fishing line at one point—“For stability!”—but quickly abandoned the idea when it tangled in his fingers.

You managed to rig a broomstick between two chairs as a support beam, draping blankets over it to create the roof. JJ stole pillows from every room, piling them into the center of the fort like a nest. By the time you finished, the two of you were out of breath, sitting back to admire your work.

“It’s… lopsided,” you said, tilting your head as you examined the fort.

“It’s perfect,” JJ countered, grinning as he flopped onto the floor and crawled inside.

“Only you would call this perfect.”

“Get in here,” he called, ignoring your teasing. “Trust me, it’s cozy.”

With a laugh, you followed him inside. He’d somehow managed to string up a few lights along the walls of the fort, their soft glow making the space feel warm and magical. You settled into the pile of pillows beside him, tugging one of the larger blankets over your legs.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, though your tone was more amused than critical.

JJ leaned back on his elbows, smirking at you. “Yeah, but you’re smiling. So, mission accomplished.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. There was something about being here with him, wrapped up in a tiny, makeshift world, that felt perfect in its own way.

“So, what now?” you asked.

JJ’s grin widened. “Now, we do fort things.”

“Which are?”

He tapped his chin dramatically, pretending to think. “We could make shadow puppets, tell ghost stories, or—” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “We could raid the snack stash.”

You gasped in mock horror. “The sacred snacks? How dare you suggest such a thing!”

JJ laughed, the sound warm and carefree. “Come on, Sunshine. You know you want some.”

It didn’t take much convincing. The two of you emerged briefly to grab an assortment of snacks—chips, candy, and a questionable pack of cookies JJ swore were still good—and retreated back into the fort.

Time blurred after that. You traded stories, teased each other relentlessly, and competed to see who could make the weirdest shadow puppet on the wall. JJ, of course, claimed victory with an unidentifiable blob he insisted was a dragon.

At one point, you leaned back against him, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. The lights cast a soft glow across his face, highlighting the boyish charm that never seemed to fade, no matter how much life tried to beat it out of him.

“You know,” you said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, “this might actually be one of your better ideas.”

JJ pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice low and teasing. “Told you I’m a genius.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “Might be pushing it, Maybank.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Admit it—you love me.”

“I do,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady.

JJ’s grin softened into something sweeter, his free hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Good,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. It was slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that made you forget the world outside even existed.

When he pulled back, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The fort creaked slightly in the wind, but neither of you cared. For now, this little world you’d built together was enough.

“Best fort ever,” JJ murmured sleepily.

You smiled, your eyes drifting closed. “Best December night ever.”

[anikaluv]

TRY ‘EM ON —

❤︎︎ pairing: Miles (e!42) × sanrio!fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw: too much cuteness, reader is a lil’ whiny (it’s only because Miles spoils her too much), suggestive, reader is also referred / described as a lil’ cutie <3

❤︎︎ summary: You were shopping in the mall and happen to step upon a matching hello kitty underwear set in your favorite lingerie store. You couldn’t resist, so you bought it, now the problem is how to get Miles to wear them.

❤︎︎ w/c: 1.9k

❤︎︎ a/n: Im a sanrio girl myself, and I think it would be cute imagining the reader always trying to pull Miles into her obsession and him just letting it happen cause he loves her <3

The mall bustled with activity around you, various of sights and sounds flooded your senses. The air hummed with excitement as shoppers weaved in and out of the shops. Sunlight streamed through the skylights above, casting a warm glow on the polished floors.

Yet you felt nothing but mournfulness.

Sipping on your boba tea, you felt full of apathy, usually the mall made you feel so happy, yet this time you lazily walked through the mall groggily, dismissing anything that usually allured you.

It felt different without your boyfriend with you, you thought. Usually, he would attentively nod along to your endless rants, entertain you with his charming humor, and willingly accompany you to all your favorite stores without a hint of complaint. His comforting arm wrapped around your waist the whole trip, you missed him.

You asked Miles to join you, but as usual, he claimed to have "important business”— meaning that it was non-negotiable. You were whiny about it at first, but Miles assured that he would make it up to you, just as he always does.

While heading down the escalator, you were contemplating if you should just end this trip early and head home.

Then you saw it.

"LOVER MATCHING SETS: 60% OFF!" Your grin spread across your face as you spotted that your favorite lingerie store was having a sale for lovers, and getting something for you and Miles would surely get you out of your funk.

Mind set on a new mission, you giddily stroud towards the apparel store eager to check out what they had.

As you walked in, a wave of fruity scents lingered through the air, along with mainstream pop music bursting from the speakers.

The friendly clerk behind the counter greeted you with a smile, to which you responded with a nod of acknowledgment.

Assortments of all kinds of bras and lingerie were laid out at all different stands, adorned with detailing of how much off the price was discounted. You slowly walked through the shop, gravitating towards different stands that caught your eye until you made it to the lover set area.

You inspected each of the brands, they were cute, but they just weren’t what you were looking for.

Your shoulders slumped as you let out a deep sigh, you started to believe it was no hope until you reached the end of the stand.

“[BRAND NAME] X HELLO KITTY: MATCHING COUPLE SET.” You instantly smirked, mischievous glowing in your eyes.

It was perfect.

It was a matching panty and boxer set, colored in baby pink and littered with the face of Hello Kitty all over it. You tried to imagine Miles in the boxers and it brought a giggle out of you.

Miles was well aware of your deep fascination with Sanrio, and he wholeheartedly embraced it, going above and beyond to indulge your love with plushies, clothing, and various other items.

However, there was a part of you that desired to test those boundaries, to explore just how far his support for your addiction would stretch.

You eagerly approached the checkout counter, clutching the set in your hands. With a sense of urgency, you swiftly swiped your card. The clerk packaged the item in a small bag, and you walked away from the store, receipt in hand, feeling excitement, clutching your newfound prize.

Your keys jingled as you retrieved them from your purse, the spare key Miles had given you months ago unlocking the Morales home.

Aware of Mrs. Morales' overtime schedule, you guessed that if Miles was finished with his "important business”, he would likely be the only one present.

"Baby, are you here?" Your voice echoed through the apartment, the silence that followed for a mere five seconds evoked a little worry in you that Miles hadn’t return.

Approaching Miles' door, you knocked loudly, causing it to open slowly, revealing Miles on the other side. "Hey, mi sol, sorry if I couldn't hear you; I had my headphones on," he explained, his hand gracefully finding its place around your waist as he tenderly kissed your forehead. In response, you leaned up on your tiptoes, meeting his lips with a loving kiss.

"It's okay, you're not doing anything, right? I have something I want to give you." You lifted the bag from the lingerie store, shaking it while holding it up for him to see, and Miles let out a chuckle. "Oh? Did my chiquita buy something for me?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his room.

Rolling your eyes playfully at his comment, you hurriedly walked into his room and settled onto his bed. Miles followed behind, moving slowly as he took a seat in his desk chair. "So, what did you get me, ma?" he asked, raising an eyebrow while eyeing the bag in your hands.

A genuine smile illuminated your face as you handed him the bag. "While I was at the mall, they had this sale for lover sets," you explained. Miles smirked, “Oh yeah?,” he asked, rubbing his hands together, probably expecting a seductive lingerie peice for you and perhaps some fancy boxers for himself.

His smile quickly faded.

You erupted with laughter as he revealed the pink boxers, the sheer absurdity of it pushing you to the brink of tears. He released a groan in an annoyed manner, tossing the bag onto the floor.

"Do you like it, baby?" you asked, your tone teasing. Unfortunately, he didn't hear your question, too occupied with having a stank face towards the underwear, which only made you laugh harder.

Miles scowled and let out a sigh, realizing that this whole situation was providing you with great amusement. "Baby, I love you, but I ain’t putting that shit on," he declared, his tone laced with distaste.

The laughter you once had stopped. You couldn't help but pout, gazing at him with your most prettiest eyes. "Come on, Miles, you promised to make it up to me for not coming, and this is how you can." You clasped your hands together, attempting to look like you were begging. He sucked in his teeth, watching you intently, well aware that he could never say no to you.

Miles lowered his head, silently cursing to himself, as he reluctantly accepted the situation at hand. "Fine, but only if you try ‘em on first, ma," he agreed, nodding towards the panties that were still nestled in the bag.

Blushing slightly, you slowly rubbed the back of your neck. "Fine," you replied, accepting the offer. With that, you sealed the deal and made your way to the nearby bathroom to change. Gliding into one of Miles' oversized shirts and slipping the panties, you took a moment to gather yourself.

"What's taking so long, hermosa?" he called out to you jokingly. You frowned at his comment, confused at how the tables turned so quickly. You yelled back to him, "Just a moment!" Emerging a few seconds later, you stepped out to reveal your changed appearance.

As soon as you walked out it was like Miles’ eyes were all over you. "Damn, angelita," he whispered, his voice dripping with seduction, causing a playful giggle to escape your lips. "Do a lil’ turn me f’me, baby," he requested. Raising the shirt slightly to reveal the panties you wore, you slowly turned, teasingly showcasing them from the back. As you observed his heavy breathing, a rush of warmth spread through your body, flushing your skin.

Unexpectedly, his hand reached up and firmly grasped your ass, eliciting a gasp of surprise from you. "You should wear stuff like this more often, mami," he chuckled, a glint of desire evident in his eyes. You swore his pupils dilated with intensity. "You look incredibly hot in this," he added, his words dripping with attraction.

You flashed a playful smirk and slyly winked at him. “We’ll see,” taunting evident in your voice. You forced your mind to focus back on the real show, "Alright, now it's your turn to try on yours," you teased, a mischievous grin on your lips. You observed how his jaw clenched; you knew it would all be worth it soon.

Miles took a while to put the underwear on; you were slightly worried he was trying to talk himself out of it. Eventually, you heard grunts and shuffling, so you knew he was changing, and eventually, he came out.

That shit looked hilarious.

You couldn't help but let out a snort the moment Miles walked out. Aware of his discomfort, you tried to stifle your laughter, but it was impossible. The mere sight before you was too much to handle. Your laughter grew uncontrollable, causing you to nearly tumble off the bed in fits of howling amusement. In response, Miles shot you a deadpan expression, retreating to his desk chair while you held on tight to your stomach, struggling to contain the laughter that churned in your stomach.

Wiping away tears of laughter, you composed yourself and sat up straight, posing the question half-seriously, "So, do you approve?" Your smile widened as you observed him arching an eyebrow, silently conveying his disbelief. He let out a deep sigh and responded, "They're aight, mami."

A sense of reassurance washed over you, causing you to clap your hands and let out a gleeful giggle. "Mission accomplished!", you cheered, brimming with happiness. It was in that moment that a grin spread across Miles' face. Despite his usual annoyance to your playful antics, he couldn't deny that witnessing that adorable smile on your face made it all worthwhile.

Miles swiveled in his desk chair, extending his arms invitingly towards you. “C’mere, pretty girl,” he called to you. You eagerly rose from your seat and straddled him, looking as cute as always. “Yes, baby?” you asked, head tilting like a puppy in confusion.

His words exited his mouth with fondness and loving. “Just wanted to get a closer look at my girl”, he confessed, his voice laced with calm, soothing reassurance. Gently, he placed his hands on your waist, and you instinctively leaned into his touch, encircling your arms around his neck.

As you began to excitedly rant about the other lover sets you saw while at the lingerie store, Miles listened intently, his fingertips tracing gentle circles on your hips. At one point, you turned your head and felt his gaze upon you, filling your heart with warmth and causing your cheeks to flush. Your words stumbled and you averted his gaze, unable to meet his affectionate eyes. A soft chuckle escaped Miles as he observed your flustered state.

"Thank you for going out and getting something for me, mi reina," he expressed, his voice filled with gratitude. You placed a light peck on his nose and snuggled into his neck, feeling the comforting embrace of his presence. "I think you look cute in ‘em," you admitted honestly. Miles shook his head playfully at your remark, nuzzling into you and humming a soft melody, creating a intimate atmosphere for the both of you.

.

.

.

“But for real though, these boxers are ass.”

“Miles don’t make me pop you.”

EXTRA: Miles was diligently working on his prowler claws in his base, engrossed in conversation with Uncle Aaron about future targets and jobs. As Miles rose to his feet, his pants slipped slightly, exposing the underwear he had on.

“Yo, Miles, what the hell is that?” Uncle Aaron burst into laughter, his eyes fixated on the sight of Miles wearing baby pink boxers.

Miles eyes widened in confusion, until he looked down and realized what Aaron meant.

"Just a lil’ something my girl got for me," Miles responded, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement and a knowing smile.

By the way, the boxers like looked this, lmaooo. Just wanted ya'll to get a lil' visual.

ENDING A/N: Hope ya’ll enjoyed this one <3 Was gonna add a grinding scene where you and Miles grinded against each other in the underwear while you were straddling him, but someone has already flagged me on here so I’m trynna keep it on the down low rn 😂

TAGLIST: @janaeby @bellstwd @nmgstuff @axeoverblade @zaddyskye69 @agstuffsworld

TAGS:

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Male reader? Please?

You’re the best thing in my life||Charles leclerc x Male!Readrr

Word count- 939

Valentine’s Day in Monaco had always been picturesque, but this year, Charles was determined to make it unforgettable. He had been secretive for weeks, dodging every attempt Y/N made to get details out of him.

“You’re terrible at surprises,” Y/N had teased just the night before, watching Charles smirk as he set his phone down, clearly confirming last-minute details.

“Ah, but this time, mon amour, I think I might actually succeed.”

The next morning, Y/N stirred awake, immediately reaching out for Charles—only to find the bed empty. Blinking against the soft morning light, he sat up, running a hand through his hair. The apartment was silent, too silent.

That’s when he noticed the single red rose resting on Charles’ pillow, along with a handwritten note in his familiar handwritten:

“Wear something warm and meet me downstairs at 8 AM. No questions. Just trust me.”

Y/N chuckled to himself, brushing his fingers over the petals before stretching and getting out of bed. He was curious about what Charles had planned, and the secrecy only made it more intriguing.

After getting dressed, he headed downstairs, where Charles was casually leaning against his Ferrari, sunglasses perched on his nose, a coffee in one hand. The sight alone made Y/N’s heart swell.

“Bon matin, mon cœur,” Charles greeted, his signature grin widening as he saw Y/N approaching.

“You’re up to something,” Y/N accused playfully, crossing his arms.

“Maybe,” Charles said, setting his coffee aside and stepping closer to press a lingering kiss to Y/N’s lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The drive through the winding roads of the French Rivier was breathtaking, the early sun cast a golden glow over the Mediterranean. Charles wouldn’t say much, only squeezing Y/N’s hand every so often and humming along to the music playing softly in the background. The easy silence between them spoke of of a love that needed no words to be felt.

Eventually, they arrived at a secluded cliffside overlooking the sea. A beautifully arranged picnic was set up on the grass—a cozy blanket, candles that flickered despite the soft breeze, and an assortment of pastries, fresh fruit, and coffee.

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You did all this?”

Charles rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, I had some help setting it up, but the idea was mine.”

Y/N grinned, shaking his head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Charles said, tugging Y/N down onto the blanket beside him. “But I also know that you do so much for me. You support me even when I’m exhausted, even when I come home frustrated after a bad race. Today, I wanted to make sure you felt just as cherished.”

Y/N’s teasing smile softened. He reached out, threading his fingers through Charles’ hair. “You do that every day, Charles.”

They spent the morning wrapped up in each other, sharing croissants and laughter, stealing soft kisses between bites. The crisp sea air mixed with the warmth of Charles’ body beside him, making Y/N feel like he could stay in moment forever.

Att one point, Charles pulled out a small velvet box, his green eyes filled with anticipation.

“It’s nothing extravagant,” he said, opening it to reveal a delicate bracelet with a tiny charm in the shape of a race car. “But I saw it and thought of you.”

Y/N took the bracelet, running his fingers over the charm. It was simple, understated, but meaningful—so perfectly Charles.

“It’s perfect,” he murmured, looking up at him.

Charles grinned, pulling Y/N into his arms. “Happy Valentine’s Day, mon amour.”

“But I didn’t get you anything” y/n said looking back at Charles.

Charles slimed and reach out taking y/ns hands in his placing a soft kiss on his hand “it’s okay you’ve already give me the best thing ever. You.”

[ros64]

Ye Dinna get used to it

A beautiful episode that redeems the mediocrity of the previous one. I melted at the looks exchanged between Jamie and John. In their hatred, they love each other. Did you notice Jamie’s expression, the way his body moved, his breathing when he saw he was safe and standing there? Sam is absolutely brilliant in those moments when he speaks through his face and body. David is no less impressive, and his exchange with Percy is worthy of a textbook performance.

I also really enjoyed William with Jane—Silvia is very talented, by the way, another spot-on casting choice. It’s truly a shame what will happen. I’ll always root for Will and Fanny, even if their story hasn’t been written yet. Ian and Rachel were very sweet too, but in my opinion, they’re missing something. I’m not sure what—maybe the actors don’t have the right chemistry, a bit like Roger and Bree, who work much better when they’re not paired as a couple.

The Marquis de Lafayette was very charming, an original, likable, and well-portrayed character—I really appreciated him. As for Richardson, I won’t say much to avoid spoilers, but even by the end of Bees, I couldn’t fully understand him. That he’s a time traveler is now obvious, but what he truly wants has never been clear.

This episode also lets us appreciate Jamie’s introspection—that blend of humanity, warrior strength, and leadership—that extra something that makes him the perfect man, for better or worse. I really like this new Claire more than the one from the earlier seasons, and I will never stop saying that she reflects the Claire from the novels more—the one I love so much, she’s the perfect partner for Jamie and the support his tormented soul needs. The final score was beautiful.

And finally: “Go and save our son.” Because what unites these two men is something that surpasses mere “carnal knowledge.”

Un bellissimo episodio che riscatta la pochezza del precedente. Mi sono sciolta per gli sguardi tra Jamie e John. Odiandosi si amano. Avete notato l’espressione di Jamie e il movimento del suo corpo, il respiro quando ha visto che era salvo ed era lì? Sam è meraviglioso in quei momenti in cui parla col viso e col corpo. David non è da meno e lo scambio con Percy vale un interpretazione da manuale. Mi è piaciuto moltissimo anche William con Jane, Silvia è molto brava tra l’altro, un altro pov azzeccato dal casting. Davvero peccato quello che succederà. Io continuerò sempre a fare il tifo per Will e Fanny, anche se la storia non è ancora stata scritta. Molto dolci Ian e Rachel però, a mio avviso, a loro manca qualcosa, non so, forse gli attori non sono bene assortiti un po’ come Roger e Bree che funzionano molto meglio quando non sono in coppia. Molto carino il Marchese De Lafayette, personaggio originale, simpatico e ben interpretato, l’ho apprezzato tantissimo. Di Richardson non parlo, farei spoiler ma neppure alla fine di Bees mi è riuscito di comprenderlo del tutto, che sia un viaggiatore ormai è palese, ma cosa voglia davvero non è mai stato chiaro. Anche in questo episodio possiamo apprezzare l’ introspezione di Jamie quel suo essere così umano e allo stesso tempo guerriero e condottiero, quel qualcosa in più che lo rende l’uomo perfetto nel bene e nel male. Questa nuova Claire mi piace più di quella delle prime stagioni e non smetterò mai di dire che rispecchia di più la Claire dei romanzi quella che amo tanto, la compagna perfetta per Jamie e il sostegno della sua anima tormentata. Bellissima la sigla finale.

E infine: “Vai e salva nostro figlio” perché ciò che unisce questi due uomini è qualcosa che surclassa la “conoscenza carnale”.

[brokehorrorfan]

The People's Joker will be released on Blu-ray, DVD, and VHS on August 13 via Altered Innocence. Sister Hyde designed the artwork for the 2022 trans superhero parody film.

Vera Drew makes her feature directorial debut from a script she co-wrote with Bri LeRose. Drew also stars with Kane Distler, Nathan Faustyn, Lynn Downey, and David Liebe Hart. Tim Heidecker, Bob Odenkirk, Maria Bamford, and Scott Aukerman make cameos.

A 24-page comic book is included. Special features are listed below.

Audio commentary by writer-director-actress Vera Drew

Audio commentary by writer-director-actress Vera Drew and actor Nathan Faustyn

Audio commentary by assorted cast and crew

Discussion with director Vera Drew and Corpses, Fools, and Monsters authors Willow Catelyn Maclay and Caden Mark Gardner

Queebso TV

Behind-the-scenes

Trailers

A closeted trans girl moves to Gotham City to make it big as a comedian by joining the cast of UCB Live – a government-sanctioned late night sketch show in a world where comedy has been outlawed. As mainstream success eludes our heroine, leading her to unite with a ragtag team of rejects, misfits, and a certain love interest named Mister J, "Joker the Harlequin" is born again as a confident (and psychotic) joker on a collision course with the city’s fascist caped crusader. Vats of feminizing chemicals, sexy cartoon interludes, scarecrow psychiatrists, CGI Lorne Michaels, and psychedelic gender dysphoria all play supporting roles.

Pre-order The People's Joker.

[queenshelby]

OSCAR SPECIAL (PART ONE OF FOUR)

Given Cillian’s recent success, I decided to jump ahead a little in my fics and give you a little Oscar Special. But don’t worry, I will cover off everything in between in due course and, for some fics, this Oscar part will hopefully get you guessing, while for others it will constitute a happy ending!

Our Dirty Little Secret (Special Part)

Nine months later…

"I don't know why I agreed to this," you told Cillian while clutching his hand just as the car pulled up in front of the red carpet. This was your first public outing with Cillian since the scandal about your illicit affair had broken just over nine months ago and whilst you had found your way together, society did not exactly approve of your somewhat controversial relationship with the 47-year-old. 

"It'll be fine. You need to trust me," he whispered in your ear confidently, as if it were just another date night for you and not the greatest gathering of Hollywood's glitterati. Deep down, you wanted to believe him but it was obvious to you that he had put on act, just for you, to calm your nerves.  He hated these events just as much as you did and knew how hard it was for you to adapt to this lifestyle with him.

"I should have stayed with Mara, Cillian. I never left her for so long, you know," you then tried to change the topic, talking about the daughter you had brought into this world together just under nine months ago, but Cillian simply chuckled. 

"Mara will be fine with my mum, at the hotel. I promise," Cillian assured you with a loving smile. "Despite, I really need you with me tonight," he paused, gently squeezing your hand. "I couldn't imagine being here without you, Y/N," he then finally told you as one of the red-carpet attendees opened the door for you both. 

"Don't you dare run off on me," you gasped, seeing all those intimidating photographers taking pictures of you both as he helped you out of the car, your white dress grazing the asphalt.

"I would never," he chuckled, playfully winking at you, as you bit back a smile, realizing that you were too easily flustered.

He then took your hand into his firmly, clearly showing the world that you belonged together and not a single soul would change that.

"Cillian, over here!" a reporter yelled out while, another, shorter woman with fiery hair, aggressively jumped in to get a good shot of you both. The molten sea of cameras around you ignited a varied assortment of insecurities you forgot you ever had. Suddenly, you were a ten-year-old girl again, your heart dancing under its master's feet set ablaze by judgement; but Cillian squeezed your hand gently, reminding you that you were a woman now—his woman.

A familiar warmth spread through your chest as his steely blue eyes fixated on yours. A silently brokered promise passed between you two: Survive this together.

The female reporter from earlier pushed her way to the front, locking her beady gaze onto Cillian with a voracious hunger.

"Cillian, how does it feel to be nominated as Best Actor for your performance in Oppenheimer?" she asked while you tried to back off a little, but Cillian would not leave you alone, holding you closer to him, showing the world that you both were together in this.

"It's a true honor to be nominated. I couldn't be more grateful. The cast, the crew, everyone really poured their hearts into the story, and I wouldn't be here without them. It was something unique and powerful," he responded, barely looking at the woman, but at you instead, trying to keep his focus.

"And I see you are being supported by your wonderful, young girlfriend tonight, making this your first public outing together. Is that right?" the reporter asked, curiosity sparking excitement in her voice as she studied you two intently. 

"Well, we do have a young child together, which makes it difficult for us to attend events like this as a couple," Cillian began to say while smiling at you intently. "But, especially tonight, I couldn't ask for more than her presence," he admitted, his voice dripping with sincerity as he gazed at you openly.

The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flutter: It was a look that held secrets, a silent vow. You squeezed his hand tighter now and were unable to keep the smile from growing on your lips.

Cillian then stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, causing you to disconnect from the chaotic dance unfolding before your eyes and connect to the feeling of being near him, a feeling that cantered and calmed you.

"Thank you Cillian, and good luck tonight," the reporter finally offered a soft smile before signalling to her photographer to take some more pictures. 

As you walked down the red carpet, a familiar pop song began to infiltrate your eardrums as you ignored the snippets of questions being hurled at both of you, creating a barrier between your world and theirs. Even with the nest of hundreds of reporters and photographers, the red carpet no longer scared you as it used to, especially when you had Cillian by your side, shielding you from the worst of it all.

Eventually, you both reached your seats, not too far from the front of the stage and Cillian introduced you to some of the actors and actresses he had worked with. You also met some familiar faces, like Emily Blunt and her husband John who both had a calming presence about themselves. 

The tension seemed to melt away as you chatted with them and, for a moment, you managed to forget all the critical eyes resting on you, fading into the background until it was time to be quiet for the opening speech.

As the ceremony commenced, you merely held hands with Cillian, giving his reassurance every time he gave yours. Despite the constant whispers and sly glances coming your way, you tried to embody Cillian's mantra, staying present in this moment and focusing on his unwavering companionship instead of the judgement weighing you down. For hours on end, you managed to simply enjoy the show and, when finally, it was his turn to shine, you clutched his hand even tighter. 

"And the Oscar goes to," the presenter announced, opening the golden envelope while, secretly you had been crossing your fingers for him all week long. "Cillian Murphy!" he then announced, making a-thousand-cameras flash simultaneously as your heart began to race uncontrollably against your ribcage. It was a strange feeling, this overwhelming sense of pride that flooded you, leaving you bruised and raw from the exposure.

Standing up simultaneously with Cillian, a big smile formed on your face as, quickly you caressed his face. "You did it!" you whispered to Cillian, hugging him almost desperately as he embraced you back, tightly. He then kissed the top of your head, taking a moment to soak in the gravity of his achievement as the crowd around cheered and clapped for him.

"Fuck," he gasped, still in shock, before stagehands began urging him to come forward and take his spot to accept the coveted award.

"Go on and give your speech," you chuckled, gently pushing him towards the stage while blinking away the tears threatening to mess up your makeup and, just before he took to the stage, he turned his head quickly to capture your lips for a fleeting second, leaving an imprint of adoration behind.

With shaking hands, he mounted the steps, greeted by rousing applause, and you leaned against the back of your chair, watching his every move as he accepted his award. 

"Fuck," was the first word that escaped his lips, causing the audience to laugh in response and his actor's instinct kicked in as he used his impromptu curse to deliver an exquisite speech that brought a tear to your eye. 

"I am clearly overwhelmed by all this. Thank you. Truly," he spoke, his voice shaky. "I first and foremost want to thank Chris Nolan and Emma Thomas for having faith in me and creating such a masterpiece. To the incredible cast, Robert, Emily, and the rest, thank you for teaching me so much about the craft. I can't believe I get to share a title with such incredible artists," Cillian said before his eyes drifted in your direction, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And, of course, I want to thank my beautiful partner Y/N for supporting me through this in those last few months. You have pretty much been a single mother in the midst of award season, and I am so grateful that you are here with me tonight. To you, our daughter Mara and my son Max, I love you beyond words," Cillian said, his voice heavy with emotion, and it was then that your vision blurred with unshed tears.

He then proudly lifted his award into the air before humbly walking back to his seat, stealing a glance at you long enough to let you know exactly what he meant. 

"I am so proud of you," you whispered as he squeezed your hand again while, around you, murmurs originated from fellow celebrities congratulating him on his well-deserved win.

"This means a lot to me Y/N. Thank you for having been my rock those past few months," Cillian whispered back, his gratitude evident in the warmth of his touch. The intensity of his words caused your heart to flutter unexpectedly and, suddenly, everything around you became distant and muted.

Not too keen to attend the after party even following his success, when the show drew to an end, Cillian engaged in the necessary press engagements before suggesting that the two of you slipped away before everyone made their way to Vanity Fair. 

Together, you crept out into the night unnoticed, weaving your way through indulging crowds, gazing at each other, lost in all the nuances of the day that had unfolded—all the stolen glances between you both during the award ceremony, to the brush of his fingertips against your hand while trying to lead you through the venous crowds.

Eventually then, you arrived back at the hotel where Cillian's mother was watching Mara. She was already eagerly waiting your arrival and, as soon as Cillian walked through the door with the golden statute in his hand, his mother embraced him tightly. 

"I am so incredibly proud of you," she beamed while gripping his face, hardly believing her eyes. "Now you've got it all, a beautiful family and the biggest achievement of your career," she remarked, wiping a tear from her eye while looking at you and Mara.

"Thank you mum, and thank you for looking after Mara for us tonight," Cillian expressed graciously, managing a weak smile as he hugged her again.

Mara then squealed with delight, screaming, "Dada!" and you both looked at each other with great surprise.

"Did she just say daddy?" you gasped. You couldn't help but be utterly taken aback, finding yourself at a loss for words as you clutched Mara in your arms and buried your face in the nape of her neck.

It was the first time she had spoken and as you held her tightly, you couldn't help but feel a surge of love that coursed through your veins, rendering you dizzy.

You glanced up at Cillian as he stood there, flabbergasted.

"Dada!" she said again, reaching out for the golden statute jutting out from Cillian's grasp. He chuckled and carefully placed it away before picking Mara up and pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek.

"Hello Babygirl," he said, laughter dancing in his eyes, and the love in that moment was palpable between them, radiating with a warmth that touched your heart. "I missed you," he then said and your eyes welled up a little. It was moments like this that made you rethink the decisions you made several months ago and you knew that it was time for you to make another now. 

"I think maybe it is time for us to move in together now," you proposed to Cillian suddenly, as he looked at you with a gentle smile.

"It seems like two wins for me tonight then," he replied, taking your hand in his as Mara gurgled contentedly between you. He had waited for you to make this call for months now, ever since he first proposed it to you and now it was finally here.

To be continued...

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[elxxor]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

✧𝑬𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒂, 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊'𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑯𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒉𝒓𝒍𝒑𝒊𝒎𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆. 𝑰𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚.

Thursday nights had become a predictable battleground. A battlefield where the war was waged not with swords and shields, but with textbooks and deadlines.

The enemy?

The relentless onslaught of schoolwork that seemed to swell each week, threatening to drown Elara in a sea of research papers, problem sets, and readings.

Elara slumped in her desk chair, the worn wood groaning in protest under her weight. Her shoulders ached, her eyes burned from staring at the laptop screen for hours, and the caffeine coursing through her veins felt more like a frantic tremor than an energizing boost.

The small desk lamp cast a harsh circle of light, illuminating the scattered mess of notes and highlighting the dark circles blooming under her eyes.

She blinked, trying to refocus on the complex algorithm sprawled across her screen. Computer science, a field she once approached with wide-eyed enthusiasm, now felt like a cruel and unforgiving mistress.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating, unsure how to proceed. The code swam before her, each line a mocking reminder of her perceived inadequacies.

A sigh escaped her lips, a weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the entire week. She glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen – 9:47 PM. Still so much to do. Still so far to go.

Just as despair threatened to engulf her, a subtle shift in the atmosphere registered at the periphery of her awareness. A warm, comforting presence began to fill the room, chasing away the chill of her anxiety. Without a word, Xavi, her boyfriend, had entered the fray.

Elara felt rather than saw him moving around the room. A soft rustling of sheets, the gentle thud of pillows being plumped – small sounds that resonated with a profound sense of care.

A corner of her mind, still sharp despite the exhaustion, registered the familiar scent of his cologne – a blend of sandalwood and citrus that always managed to calm her frayed nerves.

He didn’t speak, and she was grateful for it. She didn't have the energy for conversation, for explaining the mountain of work looming before her, for articulating the frustrating feeling of being perpetually behind. He seemed to understand that, instinctively, knowing that his presence alone was a balm to her weary soul.

When she finally glanced over, she found that he had transformed their bed into a haven of comfort. He'd arranged a nest of fluffy pillows, draped a soft, worn quilt over the duvet, and placed a small side table within easy reach.

On the table was a carefully curated assortment of snacks: her favorite dark chocolate, a bowl of brightly colored gummy bears, and a bottle of sparkling water with a straw already inserted. He knew her weaknesses, her little indulgences that could coax a smile even on the darkest of days.

He stood back, surveying his handiwork with a quiet sense of satisfaction. Then, he looked at Elara, his eyes filled with an unspoken invitation. He simply gestured towards the bed, a silent promise of respite and affection.

Elara hesitated for a moment, torn between the allure of comfort and the nagging voice of responsibility. But the pull towards Xavi, towards the warmth and security he offered, was too strong to resist.

She crawled into the bed, sinking into the plush pillows with a sigh of contentment. Xavi settled in beside her, not too close, not too far, just the right distance to offer support without feeling intrusive.

He propped himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on her with a gentle concern that melted her heart.

He didn't say a word, just waited for her to readjust and get comfortable. Then, he reached out and gently took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. His touch was warm and reassuring, a silent reminder that she wasn't alone in this struggle.

Elara turned back to her laptop, placing it on the small table Xavi had provided. She tried to refocus on the code, but her mind still felt fuzzy and resistant. Xavi remained unobtrusive, a quiet presence beside her. He didn't offer advice or suggestions, didn't try to solve her problems. He simply stayed there, a solid anchor in the storm of her academic anxieties.

Every so often, he would lean closer and plant a soft kiss on her temple, a fleeting gesture of affection that sent a shiver of warmth down her spine. Or, he would take her hand and gently massage it, working out the knots of tension that had accumulated from hours of typing.

And then there were the doodles.

At first, she barely noticed them. A light tickle on her thigh, a brief sensation that she dismissed as a stray strand of hair. But then she felt it again, a deliberate, playful stroke that made her skin prickle with awareness.

She glanced down to see Xavi, his eyes twinkling with mischief, using his finger to trace patterns on her jeans-clad thigh. A small heart, a wobbly star, a miniature stick figure – simple drawings that were imbued with a playful affection.

Elara couldn't help but smile. It was a small, fleeting smile, but it was genuine. A momentary break in the clouds of stress that had been hanging over her head.

He continued his artistic endeavors, his touch becoming bolder, more suggestive. He traced the curve of her hip, drawing lazy circles that made her breath catch in her throat. He drew a question mark on the inside of her thigh, his finger lingering just a little too long.

Elara found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her work. His playful teasing was a tantalizing distraction, a siren call that threatened to lure her away from the shores of responsibility.

Then, he leaned his head against her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting across her neck. He smelled of soap and comfort, a familiar and intoxicating scent. He closed his eyes, his body heavy against hers, a silent plea for her attention.

He began to caress her, his hand gliding smoothly over her arm, her back, her waist. His touch was gentle but firm, exploring the contours of her body with a reverence that made her feel cherished and desired.

He knew her sensitive spots, the places where a light touch could send shivers of pleasure through her entire being. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip, lingered at the pulse point on her wrist, and gently massaged the nape of her neck.

And then he began to whisper.

Soft, sweet words that were meant to distract, to seduce, to coax her away from the glowing screen.

"Good girl," he murmured against her ear, his voice low and husky. "You're working so hard. You deserve a break."

He kissed the delicate skin behind her ear, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"You're so smart," he whispered, "so incredibly intelligent. I'm so proud of you."

He kissed her temple, a gentle, reverent kiss that spoke of admiration and respect.

"You're so cute," he continued, his voice laced with affection. "I just want to cuddle you all night long."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, a playful nip that made her lips tingle.

"You're so hot," he breathed, his voice deepening with desire. "I can't keep my hands off you."

He kissed her neck again, lingering there, tasting her skin.

"I'm so lucky to have you," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it. He knew her insecurities, her vulnerabilities, and he used his words to soothe and reassure. He reminded her of her strengths, of her beauty, of her worth.

He wanted her to stop working, he knew how stressed she was, how close to the breaking point. And he knew that the best way to distract her was to appeal to her senses, to remind her of the pleasure and intimacy they shared.

He kept teasing, his touch growing bolder, more insistent. He traced the outline of her breasts through her shirt, his fingers lingering on her nipples, making them harden with anticipation. He slipped his hand under her shirt, his skin against hers, sending shivers of delight through her body.

Elara finally paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to regain control. But it was no use. His touch was too intoxicating, his words too seductive.

She knew she should be working, she knew she had deadlines to meet. But she also knew that she needed this, she needed him. She needed the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his touch, the reassurance of his love.

With a sigh of surrender, she closed her laptop and turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of desire and exhaustion.

Xavi smiled, a knowing, tender smile. He had won.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. He kissed her deeply, a long, lingering kiss that spoke of passion and affection.

When they finally broke apart, Elara felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The stress of the day, the pressure of her schoolwork, the constant anxiety – it all seemed to drain away, leaving her feeling weak and vulnerable.

Xavi seemed to sense her weariness. Without a word, he reached for the remote and turned on the TV. He navigated to her favorite streaming service and selected a lighthearted romantic comedy, a movie they had both seen countless times but still enjoyed.

He dimmed the lights, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Then, he reached for the snacks, offering her a piece of chocolate.

"Here," he said softly. "You deserve this."

Elara took the chocolate, savoring the rich, decadent flavor. She leaned against Xavi, resting her head on his bare chest. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, a soothing, comforting sound.

He began to stroke her hair, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. It was a simple gesture, but it was incredibly relaxing. Elara closed her eyes, letting the tension drain away.

She ran her hands over his stomach, tracing the contours of his abs. He was toned and muscular, but not overly so. He was just right.

He chuckled softly, a warm, rumbling sound that vibrated through her body.

"Ticklish?" she murmured, her voice drowsy.

"Maybe a little," he admitted.

She continued to caress him, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. He was warm and solid, a source of comfort and strength.

They watched the movie in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional whispered comment or shared laugh. Elara found herself drifting in and out of sleep, lulled by the warmth of Xavi's body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, and the soothing sounds of the movie.

Eventually, she succumbed to the exhaustion, falling into a deep, restful sleep. Xavi continued to stroke her hair, watching over her with a tender gaze. He knew she needed this rest, she needed to recharge her batteries.

He stayed awake for a little longer, watching the movie, enjoying the feeling of Elara's body pressed against his. He felt a deep sense of contentment, of gratitude for the love they shared.

Finally, his own eyelids began to droop. He turned off the TV, adjusted the blankets, and closed his eyes. He held Elara close, breathing in the scent of her hair, and drifted off to sleep.

The weight of Thursdays, for one night at least, had been lifted. The battle had been won, not with force or aggression, but with love, compassion, and a quiet understanding.

And in the stillness of the night, nestled in each other's arms, Elara and Xavi found solace and peace. The relentless demands of the world outside faded away, replaced by the simple, profound comfort of being together. The world could wait. For now, they had each other, and that was enough.

✧.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.✧

(𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲😭)

[legendary-69420]

Loving Mark 3

Chapter 8 : Part 3

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

19. Mark Knows Sign Language

During a fan meet-and-greet, a young deaf girl approached the table, her eyes wide with excitement. She was shy at first, her mother speaking on her behalf, translating the girl’s signs into words. But Mark, without missing a beat, bent down to her eye level, smiling warmly. To everyone’s surprise, he began using sign language to communicate directly with her.

The young girl’s face lit up as Mark communicated with her effortlessly. The moment was magical—there was no sense of awkwardness or distance. Mark made her feel seen, her joy palpable as she realized she could have a conversation with her idol in a way that made her feel included. It was a rare and beautiful moment that no one in the crowd would soon forget.

One fan shared their thoughts later:

Fan : “Mark knowing sign language is the purest thing I’ve ever seen. He's truly for everyone.”

20. Mark Is Good with Animals

Mark’s love for animals wasn’t a secret to anyone who knew him, but it wasn’t until Charles witnessed it firsthand that he fully grasped just how magical it was. Early one morning, while out for a walk, Charles spotted Mark in the distance, sitting on the grass. As he drew closer, he realized that Mark was surrounded by an assortment of birds, squirrels, and even a few dogs. Mark smiled gently as he fed them, his presence calm and inviting.

It was like something out of a fairy tale. The way the birds perched on his shoulder without fear, how the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow around him—Mark looked almost otherworldly. The animals, completely unafraid, surrounded him in a peaceful harmony that seemed to reflect the quiet kindness he radiated.

Fans online couldn’t stop talking about it:

Fan : “He’s literally a Disney prince, surrounded by animals like they’re drawn to him! How is he real?”

21. Mark Makes Everyone Feel Comfortable

Mark was a social chameleon, able to blend in seamlessly with people from all walks of life, regardless of language or culture. Whether it was a fan from another country, an engineer on the team, or a celebrity he was meeting for the first time, Mark made everyone feel welcome. His fluency in multiple languages helped, but it was more than just words. It was his innate ability to make others feel seen, valued, and respected.

During one of the media events, a reporter from Brazil approached Mark with a mix of broken English and Portuguese. Without skipping a beat, Mark switched to Portuguese, and the conversation flowed easily from there. The reporter, a bit surprised at first, quickly relaxed. By the end of their exchange, she was laughing and joking with him like they were old friends.

Fan : “Mark can talk to anyone, anywhere. He’s honestly one of the most approachable people I’ve ever seen.”

22. Mark’s Willingness to Help Others

Mark never hesitated to lend a hand, whether it was to someone in need or a teammate facing a challenge. He was the first to offer his help with charity events, community projects, or even small favors. His generosity extended far beyond the superficial, and everyone knew they could count on him when things got tough.

One particularly memorable moment happened when a teammate’s car broke down on the way to an event. Without hesitation, Mark pulled over and helped them out, offering both moral and physical support. His willingness to put others before himself was something that endeared him even more to his friends and fans.

Fan : “Mark is always there to help others—whether it’s on the track or in life. That’s what makes him a true champion.”

23. Mark Loves Gifts

It wasn’t just about receiving gifts for Mark—it was about the joy he got from giving them as well. Whether it was a surprise trinket for a friend or a thoughtful gesture for a teammate, Mark had a special way of showing appreciation through gifts.

Once, on a random day chatting with Charles, Mark surprised him with a small, hand-crafted piece of artwork from a local artist. The thoughtfulness behind it made Charles smile, even though he tried to play it cool. Mark’s love for giving gifts wasn’t about grand gestures—it was the personal, meaningful ones that made an impact.

Fans adored Mark’s love for gifting:

Fan : “Mark, I swear, you give the best gifts! I wish I was in your friend circle! 😅”

24. Mark’s Intelligence

Mark was often underestimated because of his charming personality and good looks, but his intelligence was sharp, especially when it came to the technical aspects of racing. On one occasion, during a team meeting, he made an insightful remark about his car’s handling. The engineers, initially skeptical, soon realized that Mark’s observation was spot-on. It helped them adjust the car’s setup, and the results spoke for themselves.

His quick mind and ability to see things others didn’t set him apart. Mark wasn’t just a pretty face; he was a racer who understood the mechanics behind the wheel, and he wasn’t afraid to share his knowledge.

Fan : “Mark’s not just a heartthrob, he’s brilliant too. Who knew? 🙌”

25. Mark’s Way of Treating People

Mark treated everyone around him with respect and kindness, no matter their status. He didn’t put himself on a pedestal, and he always put the needs of others first. Whether it was a team member who needed encouragement or a fan who just wanted to talk, Mark was always ready with a smile, a listening ear, and an open heart.

This trait was one of the reasons why Mark had such a large, loyal fanbase. It wasn’t about the fame or the trophies—it was about the way he made people feel.

Fan : “I swear, if there’s anyone who deserves all the love he gets, it’s Mark. He’s just… perfect.”

26. No Ego

Despite being incredibly wealthy, Mark never let it define him. While many people might flaunt their riches, Mark preferred to live a life free from the trappings of wealth. Although his cockiness, he never showed off his money to feel superior, a trait that set him apart from many in the racing world.

When asked about his looks during a media interview, Mark’s answer caught everyone off guard. The question was simple: “Is Mark Spencer the hottest guy on the grid?”

Most of the drivers, who were asked the same question, enthusiastically selected "strongly agree," laughing off the question. But Mark, true to his nature, was the only one who picked "strongly disagree." His modesty was striking.

Mark: “Nah, I think I’m average at best. But, seriously, have you seen Charles? or Max? He’s got the looks to turn heads. I’m just lucky to have good genes.”

His humble response surprised everyone, and his admiration for Charles didn't go unnoticed. It wasn’t just a comment—it was a genuine appreciation of others, showing that Mark wasn’t just kind, but also self-aware. His humility added to the layers of charm he already carried, reinforcing why so many people loved him.

27. His Tongue Works Faster Than His Brain

Mark was known for his quick wit, but sometimes his temper and mouth got the best of him, especially during races. On the radio, he was notorious for his colorful language and fiery temper.

During one particularly intense race, Mark’s frustration was evident to anyone listening as he vented over the radio:

Mark (on radio): “I hate this stupid f####ng track!”

Mark (on radio): “That son of a b**—why the f##k did the rain have to start now?!”

Mark (on radio): “This M#########ing tires! Ugh!”

His outbursts often resulted in penalties or fines, but they also became somewhat of a trademark for him. While other drivers might have kept their frustrations under wraps, Mark let it all out—no filter, no holding back.

When asked in a more relaxed interview about who the best driver on the grid was, Mark initially gave a cocky answer:

Mark: “I mean, come on… it’s obviously me. I’m the best, right?”

He paused, realizing how arrogant he sounded, then broke character, chuckling awkwardly.

Mark (laughing): “Okay, okay, just kidding. Seriously though, everyone on the grid is super talented. It’s an honor to race with them.”

Despite the initial bravado, Mark always knew how to acknowledge the talent of others, even if his temper occasionally got the better of him. His honesty, both in his outbursts and his genuine respect for his fellow drivers, gave fans a glimpse into his unapologetic, yet humble nature.

28. Mark's Respect for All in F1

Mark respects literally everyone on the grid. He never sees himself as "above" anyone, no matter how talented he is. When asked in interviews, "Who’s your inspiration?" he never gives a singular answer. Instead, he speaks about every driver on the grid, from Charles to Max to rookies like Oscar and veterans like Lewis. He believes that each of them brings something unique to the sport, whether it’s Max’s raw speed, Charles’ precision, or Lewis’ leadership.

But Mark's admiration goes beyond the drivers. He also highlights the hard work of the engineers, data analysts, and pit crew. He knows that racing is a team effort, and he refuses to let their efforts go unnoticed. His words often sound something like this:

"I can’t name just one inspiration. Look around — Charles, Max, Lewis, every driver here is incredible in their own way. But it’s not just us on track. The engineers, the data analysts, the pit crew — they’re all part of it. I wouldn’t be here without them."

This humility and respect are part of why Mark becomes so beloved by fans, drivers, and the F1 community as a whole. It also sets him apart from the "cocky" image some initially believe he has. Even Charles, who initially saw Mark as a self-absorbed rookie, slowly started to recognize this deeper side of him.

Charles’ Final Realization

As the day wore on, Charles couldn’t ignore the growing knot in his stomach. He loved Mark. But it wasn’t just love—it was something more. It was jealousy, too. Mark’s charm wasn’t reserved for Charles alone. He was loved by everyone. He had a special bond with his teammates, his fans, even his rivals. And Charles? He was just one of many.

The way fans gushed over Mark, the way he could connect with anyone and make them feel seen—it was a gift, and one that Charles couldn’t help but envy. He wanted to be the one who mattered most to Mark, but he wasn’t sure he was the only one.

That night, as they sat together in their hotel room, Charles glanced at Mark, who was laughing about something with Lando, his voice light and carefree. For a moment, the realization hit him: Mark wasn’t just loved by everyone, he belonged to everyone. And Charles wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

Charles (thinking to himself): Why do I feel so jealous? Why do I want him all to myself?

But Mark didn’t seem to notice the shift in Charles’s mood. Or, if he did, he wasn’t saying anything. All Charles could do was watch, quietly contemplating his own feelings—feelings that were quickly becoming more complicated than he was ready to admit.

And there it was: Charles realized why he loved Mark. But, equally, he realized why he hated him for it. Mark was a magnet for affection, and Charles didn’t like sharing the spotlight. Because, deep down, Charles knew—he wanted to be the one who mattered the most to Mark. As the day wound down, Charles tried to reconcile his feelings. Mark was infuriatingly perfect, and everyone seemed to adore him. But the thought of Mark being this way with anyone else—of smiling, singing, or leaning his head on someone else’s shoulder—made Charles’s stomach churn.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew deep down: Mark wasn’t just Mark.

He was Mark, the man Charles was falling for. The man he hated but loved at the same time. He loved these qualities in Mark but hated him for the same as others also admire him for the same reason and he wanted Mark all to himself.

And that was both the best and worst realization of the day.

(Dividers by @omi-resources & @adornedwithlight )

[bumblebeeswrite]

KILLER ROMANCE | CHAPTER 6 | ACCIDENT

summary: you protect Jason.

word count: 3,439

CW: MURDER, well thought out, calculated, murder. If this makes you uncomfy, DO NOT READ. manipulation, stalking, possessive reader.

The whispers had solidified into a conviction, a deep-seated certainty that resonated within the very core of your being. Jason was yours. The stolen glances across the mess hall, the comfortable silences that stretched into meaningful moments on the porch, the way his blue eyes had held yours with genuine concern after your staged tumble- each interaction was a confirmation, a silent agreement in the language of your heart. And with that unwavering belief came a fierce, almost primal protectiveness. Anyone who dared to cast too long a shadow in his orbit, anyone seemed to garner even a fraction more of his precious attention than you deemed appropriate, well.. They simply couldn’t be allowed to remain. 

Claire. The very sound of her name felt like a discordant note in the symphony of your growing relationship with Jason. Her relentless cheerfulness, that bouncy brunette ponytail that seemed to mock your more simpler style, the way she effortlessly navigated conversations with him, her laughter a little too bright, her touch a little too familiar- it was an unbearable intrusion, a constant reminder of the competition. However oblivious she might have been to it. 

You had become a meticulous observer of their interactions, cataloging every shared smile, every lingering glance, every instance where her presence seemed to draw a flicker of genuine warmth from Jason. It was a blatant display, a territorial marking that ignited a cold, simmering fury beneath your carefully constructed facade of amiable co-head counselor. 

Claire liked Jason. The realization had settled upon you with the weight of a stone. You had seen the way her eyes would light up when he was near, the subtle shift in her posture as she angled herself towards him during staff meetings, the way she sought his assistance with tasks that seemed well within her abilities. It was a clear and present danger to the future you were so carefully crafting. And you, the silent guardian of your shared destiny, would not allow it. 

The idea of an ‘accident’ had evolved from a fleeting, shadowy thought into a meticulously planned course of action. It wasn’t born of malice, you repeatedly told yourself, but of necessity. You were simply clearing the path, ensuring that nothing and no one stood between you and your rightful place by Jason’s side. It was a twisted form of devotion, perhaps, a love expressed through a lens uniquely your own, but it was love nonetheless. 

The senior camper overnight hike presented itself as an almost god ordained opportunity. The secluded trails winding through the dense wilderness surrounding Camp Pineway, the minimal adult supervision provided just two counselors- Claire and the endearingly clueless Ari- it was a stage set for a tragedy, a chance to rewrite the narrative of your summer and eliminate the unwanted supporting character. 

The morning of the hike dawned bright and deceptively peaceful. You made sure to have a pleasant interaction with Claire with several witnesses present. There she was gathering the necessary provisions for her group. Her usual cheerfulness was in full bloom, her energy a bold contrast to the cool, calculating calm that had settled over you.

“Morning, Arrow!” She chirped, her ponytail bouncing like an offensive gesture. “Ready for a day of peace and quiet while we’re gone?” 

“You know it!” You replied, forcing a smile that felt as brittle as ice. Inside, a tight knot of anticipation was forming, so different from the face you were putting on. “Just making sure you’ve got all the essentials for your young explorers?” You gestured towards the overflowing backpack at her feet. 

“Almost there!” She exclaimed, her attention flitting back to a box of assorted snacks. “Ari is still having a minor crisis with the map, bless his heart. I swear, that boy could get lost in his own Cabin.” She ended her observation with a bright, tinkling laugh that grated your nerves like sandpaper. 

“Well, have fun!” you said, your smile feeling strained and unnatural. “Be safe out there!” The words hung heavy in the air. You knew the truth. 

“We will!” She called back, her ponytail swaying merrily as he headed towards the trailhead, utterly oblivious to the web of fate you were weaving around her. 

As you watched her disappear into the throng of excited campers, a chilling resolve settled within you. The trail to Pineway Falls, you recalled with precise clarity, had that particularly isolated and treacherous section near the old logging bridge. A single misstep on the uneven planks, a momentary  loss of balance on the steep, rocky incline leading to it.. Well, accidents happened all the time in the unpredictable wilderness. 

You spent the remainder of the morning navigating your usual duties. You didn’t want anything to feel out of place. You ‘helped’ a group of junior campers navigate the sticky chaos of a finger-painting session, your hands moving automatically as your thoughts raced, meticulously planning every detail of your afternoon excursion. The length of sturdy rope, pilfered from the arts and crafts cabin, felt reassuringly solid in the pocket of your shorts. The small, sharp gardening trowel, liberated from the garden shed under the guise of needing to tend to the camper’s meager flowerbeds, lay hidden within your backpack, a silent promise of the task to come. 

That afternoon, as the senior hiking group, their backpacks looking comically oversized and their faces flushed with effort, gathered near the trailhead, you made a point of lingering nearby. As Activities director, you came by to give their gear a final and responsible check, wishing them well for the night. You spotted Claire nearby, her usually flowing hair pulled back into a practical braid that emphasized the delicate curve of her neck, chatting animatedly with Jason. Her hand rested briefly on his forearm as she threw her head back in laughter at something he said, and a familiar, white-hot wave of possessive fury surged through you, momentarily threatening to shatter the composure you had carefully put together. You needed to do this. For him. To safeguard the future you envisioned, a future with only you and Jason. 

As the group, led by the hapless Ari and the soon-to-be-departed Claire, disappeared into the dense embrace of the surrounding forest, you waited a carefully calculated amount of time, allowing them to gain a substantial head start. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you slipped away yourself, your movements as fluid and silent as a shadow. You knew the general direction of the Pineway Falls trail intimately, having traversed its winding paths countless times during your years at Camp. You moved quickly and purposefully through the undergrowth, your senses heightened, your focus laser-sharp on the task that lay ahead.

It wasn’t long before the distant sounds of the hiking group began to reach you – the excited, slightly breathless chatter of the campers, Ari's off-key and enthusiastic rendition of a popular campfire song, and, most gratingly, Claire’s bright, cheerful laughter, echoing through the tranquil woods. You quickened your pace, utilizing the thick trees and dense bushes as natural camouflage, your eyes scanning the trail ahead for any sign of their progress.

As you approached the area near the old logging bridge, a knot of nervous anticipation tightened in your stomach. This was it. The trail narrowed precariously here, the ground uneven and treacherous with loose rocks and gnarled roots, with a steep, unforgiving drop-off leading down to the rushing, rocky creek below. It was the perfect, secluded location for a tragic, yet believable, “accident.”

You moved stealthily through the trees, circling ahead of the unsuspecting hiking group, your movements as silent as the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. You located a sturdy tree branch that overhung the trail at just the right height, its position offering the ideal anchor point for your carefully prepared snare. Quickly and efficiently, your fingers working with a practiced dexterity, you tied one end of the rope securely to the branch, letting the other end dangle almost invisibly just above the ground, creating a subtle but undeniably effective tripwire across the well-worn path, positioned just before the most precarious section of the trail leading to the aged and somewhat unstable logging bridge.

You melted back into the dense foliage, your breath held captive in your lungs, your senses on high alert. You could hear the hiking group drawing closer, their voices growing steadily louder. You gripped the small, sharp trowel in your pocket, its cool metal a reassuring weight in your hand, your heart hammering against your ribs like a frantic drum.

Then, you saw her. Claire, her braid swinging rhythmically behind her with each step, walked slightly ahead of the others, her voice animated as she pointed out a particularly vibrant patch of wildflowers to a group of attentive campers. Her laughter, light and carefree, echoed through the tranquil woods, a sound that now felt like an unbearable, mocking taunt.

Her foot caught on the rope. The unexpected resistance caused her to stumble forward, her arms flailing wildly as she instinctively tried to regain her balance. For a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, it looked as if she might recover, her feet scrambling for purchase on the uneven ground. But the momentum, combined with the sudden, jarring loss of balance, carried her forward, towards the edge of the steep, unforgiving drop-off.

You watched, your breath caught in your throat, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration churning within you, as her footing gave way completely. There was a sharp, startled cry that was abruptly cut short, a brief, desperate flash of outstretched hands grasping frantically for empty air, and then she was gone, tumbling silently over the edge, disappearing into the thick, concealing tangle of trees and undergrowth below. The sound of her fall – a sickening thud followed by the violent rustling of leaves and the sharp, unmistakable crack of breaking branches – echoed in the sudden, chilling silence that descended upon the woods.

A wave of nausea, sharp and visceral, washed over you, a primal reaction to the finality of your actions. But beneath the queasiness, a strange, almost serene sense of calm began to settle. It was done. You had protected Jason.

You waited for what felt like an eternity, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, listening intently for any sounds from below. There was only the gentle, rhythmic murmur of the creek, now carrying a darker resonance, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. You quickly untied the rope from the tree branch, carefully coiling it and slipping it into your backpack, the smooth fibers feeling strangely cold against your skin. The small trowel followed, nestled securely in its pouch. You retraced your steps through the woods with practiced efficiency, meticulously erasing any sign of your presence, smoothing over disturbed leaves, avoiding any tell-tale footprints on the soft earth.

When you reached the main trail again, you slowed your pace, forcing your breathing to become even, your heart rate gradually returning to a semblance of normalcy. You even hummed a cheerful, albeit slightly off-key, tune under your breath, hoping to project an air of innocent nonchalance should you encounter anyone.

It wasn’t long before the panicked shouts began, tearing through the afternoon stillness. “Claire! Claire! Where are you?” Ari’s voice, high-pitched and laced with a frantic terror, echoed through the trees, betraying his utter lack of preparedness and his growing desperation.

You quickened your pace, feigning a sudden surge of concern. When you reached the hiking group, Ari was pale and visibly shaken, his eyes wide with a terror that mirrored the campers’ own frightened expressions.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice carefully modulated to convey genuine alarm and concern.

“Claire… she… she fell!” Ari stammered, his hand trembling uncontrollably as he pointed towards the steep, unforgiving embankment. “She just… tripped and went right over the edge!”

You rushed to the edge of the trail, peering down into the dense, concealing undergrowth, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t see Claire, but the disturbed leaves, the broken branches, and the freshly overturned earth painted a grim and undeniable picture of a violent descent.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, clutching your chest, your heart pounding a convincing rhythm of shock and horror. “We need to get help! Now!”

Chaos erupted. Ari, clearly out of his depth and utterly overwhelmed by the unfolding tragedy, tried to take charge, his voice wavering as he issued frantic, contradictory instructions. The campers huddled together, their faces ashen with fear, their earlier excitement and enthusiasm replaced by a palpable sense of dread and uncertainty. You stepped into the void, your voice calm and decisive, your demeanor projecting an air of control that hid the turmoil within. You swiftly dispatched one of the older, more responsible-looking campers to sprint back to camp and alert the directors, while you and Ari cautiously began the treacherous descent down the steep embankment, calling out Claire's name, your voice carefully laced with feigned desperation and rising panic.

The descent was slow and treacherous, the loose rocks and tangled undergrowth making each step a precarious dance on the edge of disaster. It didn’t take long to find her. She was lying still and broken at the bottom of the small, shadowed ravine, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. The air hung heavy with the cloying sweetness of crushed leaves and damp earth, mingling with a faint, metallic scent that made your stomach churn. As you approached, you heard it – a faint, almost imperceptible crackle in the air, the unmistakable sound of fractured bones. Her eyes were closed, her face pale and serene in the dappled sunlight filtering weakly through the dense canopy above. A thin trickle of blood, dark and viscous, seeped from a gash on her temple, staining the fallen leaves a stark and horrifying crimson.

You knelt beside her, your hand reaching out to touch her wrist, a perfunctory gesture even though you already knew, with a chilling certainty, what you would find. Her skin was cold, unnervingly so, and her pulse was absent. Nothing. Claire was gone.

A wave of something akin to relief, sharp and undeniably potent, washed over you, quickly followed by a carefully constructed mask of shock and profound, theatrical grief. “She’s… she’s gone,” you whispered, your voice catching on a sob that felt surprisingly genuine, tears welling up in your eyes, blurring your vision and adding to the convincing performance.

The rest of the day dissolved into a chaotic blur of frantic activity. The camp directors, their faces ashen with shock and disbelief, arrived at the scene, followed by the local police, their official presence adding a stark and grim layer of reality to the unfolding tragedy. The hiking group was escorted back to camp, their overnight adventure irrevocably transformed into a horrifying and unforgettable memory.

You played the role of the distraught co-head counselor with remarkable conviction, offering tearful comfort to the shaken campers, providing unwavering support to the visibly traumatized Ari, and answering the police officers’ questions with a carefully rehearsed narrative of a tragic accident. You even managed a few convincingly heartbroken sobs when speaking about Claire, your performance drawing concerned glances and sympathetic nods from the other counselors, who were all understandably reeling from the sudden loss.

As the police investigation commenced, you offered your full cooperation, recounting your version of events with a convincing air of sorrow and shock – how Claire had simply lost her footing on the slippery trail, a devastating and unforeseen accident in a notoriously dangerous part of the woods. Ari, still pale and clearly traumatized by the events, readily corroborated your story, his memory likely fragmented and clouded by fear and confusion.

By the end of the day, a heavy, oppressive silence had descended over Camp Pineway, replacing the usual sounds of laughter and youthful exuberance. Claire’s sudden and tragic death cast a long, dark shadow over the remaining weeks of summer. Fear and doubt began to ripple through the camp community like a contagious disease. Whispers, hushed and anxious, circulated among the campers and counselors, speculating about the “accident,” the inherent dangers lurking within the seemingly idyllic woods, and the fragile and unpredictable nature of life itself.

You noticed Jason was particularly subdued, his usual quiet demeanor amplified by a palpable sense of sadness and withdrawal. He had always had a soft spot for Claire, appreciating her cheerful optimism and her unwavering willingness to lend a hand. You saw him later that evening, sitting alone on the screen porch of your shared cabin, his silhouette a dark and solitary outline against the fading light, his gaze fixed on the inky blackness of the surrounding woods, a profound look of grief etched onto his usually stoic face.

You approached him cautiously, your heart pounding a nervous rhythm against your ribs. This was it. Your opportunity to offer comfort, to solidify your position as his closest confidante, his unwavering rock in this unexpected and devastating storm.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice gentle as you sat down beside him, carefully extending your “injured” leg onto the spare pillow.

He turned his head slowly, his blue eyes filled with a raw, unfiltered grief that mirrored your own carefully constructed sorrow. “Hey, Arrow,” he said, his voice low and heavy with emotion.

“It’s… it’s just awful, isn’t it?” you said, your voice barely a whisper, tears welling up in your eyes again, a performance honed to devastating perfection. “Claire… she was so young.”

He nodded slowly, his throat tight with unspoken emotion. He couldn’t seem to find the words to express the depth of his sadness and disbelief.

You reached out tentatively, your hand resting gently on his forearm, offering a silent gesture of comfort and understanding. He looked down at your hand, his gaze lingering for a moment before returning to the impenetrable darkness of the woods.

“I… I just can’t believe it,” he said finally, his voice choked with emotion, the words catching in his throat. “It all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you said softly, squeezing his arm gently. “It’s so hard to understand why things like this happen.”

He was silent for a long moment, staring out into the inky blackness of the woods, the only sound the gentle chirping of crickets, now carrying a melancholic tone. Then, he turned to you, his eyes filled with a desperate, almost childlike sadness. “She… she was always so nice to me,” he said, his voice barely audible, a confession whispered into the stillness of the night. “She always seemed to… like me.”

Your heart gave a sharp, painful clench. That was it, wasn’t it? She had liked him. And now she was gone. You had protected him.

“Claire was nice to everyone, Jason,” you said softly, your tone carefully neutral, trying to gently steer the conversation away from the potential romantic implications of Claire’s affection and back towards a more general sense of loss. “She was just a genuinely kind person.”

He nodded slowly, but the profound sadness in his eyes remained, a deep well of grief that threatened to consume him.

You leaned a little closer, your voice barely a whisper, your gaze locked on his. “You know,” you said, your tone laced with a comforting empathy, “sometimes I think… the good ones get taken too soon. Maybe… maybe the world just wasn’t good enough for someone like her.” You wanted to offer him a sense of solace, a way to find some semblance of meaning in this senseless tragedy, subtly positioning yourself as the only one who truly understood his pain.

He looked at you, a thoughtful expression slowly replacing some of the  grief on his face. “Maybe you’re right, Arrow,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of weary acceptance.

You stayed there with him on the porch for a long time, offering silent comfort, letting him grieve in his own way. You knew that Claire’s death would leave a significant void in his life, a deep sense of loss. And you would be there to fill it, to offer him solace, to be the one he could turn to in his pain. You had removed the perceived threat, and in doing so, you had subtly but effectively positioned yourself even closer to him, a beacon of understanding and support in his grief-stricken world. The whispers in the pine needles had turned into a silent scream that only you truly understood, and you were confident that soon, Jason would be hearing only your voice.

taglist: @glassbxttless @yearsbecomingcool

[benisbeaaaaans]

Little Dark Bloom AU

TLDR; an au where Dandy’s got a little brother

vvv (Copy pasted from docs) vvv

This AU was somewhat inspired by the idea of encountering Twisted Toons of characters in your party, as well as having duplicates in your team. There is no known other versions of Dandy, so I figured that early on, Delilah Keen, the scientist behind the creation of Toons from Ichor, tried to create a second Dandy. This, unfortunately, failed. The clone turned out misshapen, miscolored, and without his memories. Rather than simply get rid of this toon, however, she decided to exploit his lack of memory and autonomy and test the limits of the toons without negatively affecting the actual show's cast. He was tortured and conditioned into an extreme pain tolerance, developed an intense fear of humans, and used the "Dandy's World" show as an outlet for his loneliness and fear. Naming himself "Buddy", he assigned himself a role in the show as Dandy's dependable and gleeful little brother, modeling himself after his fellow flower's positive attitude. When Gardenview was shut down, he was kept deep below the studio in a lab floor, locked inside a ichor machine for an indeterminate amount of time, a punishment he was used to by that time. That was until he was found by the other toons, to which he ended up disturbing them with his seemingly innate knowledge of them and their lives as well as his uncanny resemblance to Dandy himself.

Back in the studio, Dandy was not necessarily pleased with Buddy himself as well as the implications of his existence, as he was the one continuing the Ichor operations started by Delilah, knowing nothing about him until she was gone. The others tease him for his "secret little brother" that was never able to get introduced, as they're under the impression he was meant to be in the show.

Assorted Notes:

The name Buddy for a flower character absolutely bowled me over yesterday at work so I’ve been thinking about him for 24 hours.

One detail I did leave out cuz it wouldn’t make sense to include in the ramble was that Buddy HATES that he’s not colorful like Dandy. He sneaks art supplies to paint his petals, and has tried to make his eyes look less disturbing by adding white, to which he has been repeatedly stopped from doing.

Gameplay ideas:

Buddy himself, if he were to be in game, would be a support class, with poor stats on his own, but once he's using his ability, he'll latch onto one character at a time, and will make their abilities and stats better. For example, instead of Spout needing to spend 100 tapes to heal a character, it would only cost 50. Rodger's research would be quadrupled instead of doubled. Toodles' buffs would be applied for double the time. You get the idea, at the cost of a character slot on your team, one person at a time can have halved or doubled abilities.

Also I imagined him riding on Pebble's back like those videos of kids riding the backs of big dogs and it's the best thing ever

[v-writes]

Wait for Me

Danny gets cast as the lead role in Casper High's musical! How does he manage? by @amabsis

Word Count: 1934

read on Ao3

Sam, generally aware of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, even if she hadn't watched Hadestown, had wondered at the decision to not have Orpheus front and center, instead holding him until the finale, for the teaser of the show, organized by Ms. McAllister, the theater teacher, in a desperate bid to get more students interested in the program. Danny had rambled, saying the teaser was only supposed to be Act 1, and showcase as many characters as possible, and an assortment of other reasons. And Sam was sure that was all probably the official reasons on paper. She doubted he had even put together the real reason.

The main members of the show's cast sat on stools in a makeshift clearing, pushing the rest of the cafeteria tables closer together, with an AV club member watching their equipment more closely than the performance.

Running through what Danny had told them of the set list Sam followed along as best she could to 'Hermes' narration between songs.

Their 'Hermes' had obviously enjoyed himself in the opening song, 'Road to Hell', even as he was mostly drowned out by students entering the cafeteria and getting their food. The jazzy backing caught Sam by surprise, but he ran through introductions of the rest of the cast with gusto, though the introductions were a little hard to take seriously while the cast weren't in costume.

He led directly into the next song, 'Hermes' setting up 'Eurydice's' full introduction. She was a quiet girl Sam had never thought twice about before, Danny said she gained confidence on a stage, but in the din of high schoolers resolutely ignoring her Sam didn't see it, but 'Hermes' and the three 'Fates' had carried her with force of will alone through her song 'Any Way the Wind Blows'.

"Next," 'Hermes addresses the uncaring audience, "we're going to jump ahead a bit to our lovely Queen and King of the Underworld as Persephone returns for fall, with an abridged version of the song 'Chant'"

'Hades' and 'Persephone's' duet turned some heads, but Sam attributed that more to the actor's chemistry than anything else. Sure, their singing was good, or it would be if the speakers were louder or the crowd quieter, but the two of them had an energy for each other that caught the attention of any interested in watching a well choreographed lover's quarrel. Sam's attention, was caught more by 'Eurydice's' hand on Danny's arm, cutting him off from joining in. 'Hermes' had called the song abridged, is Danny a part of the lover's spat?

But then the part of the mini performance that Sam and Tucker, supportive friends that they were, were waiting for.

Even outside of their grade Danny was known by virtue of his last name alone, the Fenton's being recognizable even before ghost attacks were the norm in amity, and sitting amidst some of the key actors in Casper High's underfunded theater department, Danny stood out even before he started singing.

The intro to 'Wait for Me', the banter between Danny as 'Orpheus' and 'Hermes' explaining where Eurydice was, started out much the same as the rest of the show, largely ignored but for select friends of the performers, and other cast and crew.

'Hermes' finishes explaining Eurydice is in 'Hadestown' and asks, "so, do you really want to go?"

"With all my heart."

If Danny's answer as 'Orpheus' rings of forced hope, of inexperienced acting, Hermes response is tinted with a note of mockery, "with all your heart? Well, that's a start." Hermes continues, his verse largely spoken, throwing everything into explaining what Orpheus will face on the journey to Hadestown.

But then Danny- Orpheus, begins singing.

Almost in sync with the first note, silence spreads steadily from the students sitting closer to the performers and the AV club's speaker set up, conversation dying and food forgotten.

"Wait for me, I'm comin'

Wait, I'm comin' with you

Wait for me, I'm comin' too

I'm comin' too."

The student playing Hermes picks up steam in the lull of conversation, drawing more attention in his cautionary message for Orpheus.

Orpheus answers, singing his plea to Eurydice, the cast members in the chorus joining in, adding weight behind his melody.

"The River Styx is high and wide

Cinder bricks and razor wire

Walls of iron and concrete

Hound dogs howling 'round the gate

Those dogs'll lay down and play dead

If you got the bones, if you got the bread

But if all you got is your own two legs

Just be glad you got 'em."

The three actresses that were playing the Fates jump from theirs seats, Danny's attention snapping to them bellying the improvised nature of the act as they surround him for their lines, singing the repeating line 'who are you?' in harmony, alternating the lines between those between the three of them.

"Wait for me, I'm comin'

Wait, I'm comin' with you

Wait for me, I'm comin' too

I'm coming too"

Danny smiles at the Fates and their actors, before getting back into character, singing a melodic run of notes to drown them out.

"Who are you?

Where do you think you're going?

Who are you?

Why are you all alone?

Who do you–

–Think you are?

Who are you–

–To think that you can walk a road that no one ever walked before?"

The music rises, chorus joining him, adding an echoing round to his melody.

"La-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la-la-la."

Hermes cuts them off, passionate and full of zeal.

"La-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la-la-la."

Danny picks back up with the chorus echoing him.

"You're on the lam, you’re on the run!

Don't give your name, you don't have one

And don't look no one in the eye

That town'll try to suck you dry

They'll suck your brain, they'll suck your breath

They'll pluck the heart right out your chest

They'll truss you up in your Sunday best

And stuff your mouth with cotton!"

The chorus ends the verse with a ringing, "wait," echoing the word through Orpheus' next verse.

"Wait for me Wait for me (I'm comin'!)

I'm comin' I'm comin' (I'm comin'!)

Wait, I'm comin' with you Wait, I'm comin with you

(I'm comin'!)

Wait for me, I'm comin' too Wait for me, I'm comin' too

(Wait I'm comin')

I'm comin'! I'm comin'!"

Danny- Orpheus sings out, one of the fates reaching around him to move the microphone further away from him, his voice projecting easily throughout the cafeteria without it, sounding more intimate, more personal without the cheap AV club speakers,

Sam can feel Orpheus' determination through his song, inspiration rising in her heart like a physical force. He sang with a voice that had Sam regretting not auditioning for Eurydice, she had never cared for musical theater before, never cared to be a damsel the hero saves, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to be who he was singing for.

"I'm comin', wait for me!

I hear the walls repeating,

The falling of my feet and,

It sounds like drumming!"

The song comes to a rising crescendo, Orpheus standing to belt the last verse.

As the music cuts off the actors swarm each other, a beat after the music ends a startled applause breaks through the cafeteria, Ms. McAllister steps to the front, taking a microphone from 'Hermes', waiting for the applause to die down she thanks everyone for listening and begins going over the various showtimes for the complete show.

"And I am not alone!

I hear the rocks and stones!

Echoing my song!

I'm coming!"

"Holy shit." Sam exhaled.

That was not a performance you used as an opener, but the first step to getting someone to like or attend a live theater performance, was to get them to give it a chance. And there was no on e in the audience today who wouldn't leave gobsmacked.

"Are we going to be able to attend his performance?" Tuckers voice is a breath against Sam's ear striving not to break the awestruck spell of the song in the cafeteria.

Sam leans towards him. "We told him we would."

"Hmm," sitting so close Sam feels more than hears Tucker's answering hum, "can you handle watching him sing like that for someone else?"

Sam elbows him, "I might not have expected him to be cast as the lead, but now that he has been I knew he'd be singing for another girl. Just, didn't expect him to be that good of an actor."

"He's not. If it weren't almost entirely sung he'd be dog shit."

"Right, is that," Sam shakes her head to clear it before continuing, Danny hadn't noticed the change at first, but after developing his 'Ghostly Wail' his singing voice had a greater affect on those who heard it, "is that fair?"

"Fair for what? It's not like it's the UIL performance, it's just for fun not competition, and Ms. McAll is always trying to get more guys in the theater department. Pretty sure Danny, Hermes and Hades are like the only guys in the show who aren't in the tech theater side of things." Tucker maintains unimpressed eye contact with her, "besides, you've helped him test the ability as much as I have, he's not Ember, he can't control anyone, and it's not like it makes him any better, he has to practice for that just like anyone else. It's just…"

"Easier to fall into his voice, I know, I know. I'm still good for the Saturday matinee if you are. I'll buy both of our bouquets for him and everything."

Tucker is silent a beat longer than Sam expects, turning on him she pokes a fork at his chest, "Tucker Foley, are you projecting onto me hoping I'll give you an out? Are you uninterested in watching-" Sam swallows back the instinctual 'your/my/our mutual crush sing for another girl' before she continues, "watching Danny perform?"

"It's not that- it's Orpheus and Eurydice, and when Danny sings you feel it…"

"The tale of Orpheus and Eurydice is a great romance, we knew that when he was cast, it's not fair to him to have second thoughts about supporting him now."

"Sam," Tucker almost whined, hesitating as he continues, "Orpheus and Eurydice, Hadestown, it's not a romance. It's a tragedy."

Oh.

Oh. Right.

"I already know Danny would go to hell and back for us. Watching him try and fail to do so to save someone he loves in fiction? Hits a little close to home. I'd rather we all just stay out of hell."

Sam blinks, "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"No time to now, the cast were just dismissed." Tucker rises from his seat, sober expression evaporating as he throws an arm around Danny, "dude that was sick! You were amazing!"

"Wait till you see it with the full set and crew! We've got this really cool affect where the wall to Hadestown collapses at the end, it's wild! I feel like I'm just along for the ride as the crew work magic around me!" Danny's excitement is contagious, even without the ghostly song.

Sam smiles at her boys, "I'm sure you'll be amazing Danny." Danny and Tucker sit back down at the table, Danny trying to tear into his lunch and talk about the show at the same time.

Sam and Tucker make eye contact around Danny, and silently agree, of course they'll see his show, he's their friend, they love him, and he asked them to come out an watch.

And Sam won't acknowledge Tucker's tears if he doesn't acknowledge hers.

[zahri-melitor]

Okay, not having seen anything for DC Pride yet this year aside from the Alan Scott cover, my predictions for Pride covers (mostly realistic, with some glorious delusions included):

Action Comics: probably another Nat cover, maybe a group shot

Aquaman: Jackson cover

Batman: Bruce will be wearing far too few clothes, Kate will be on the cover even though she hasn't appeared in Batman for years

Catwoman: A Selina AND Eiko cover because I'm being an optimist

Detective Comics: Harper and Cullen queer sibs cover (this will never happen, but I would enjoy it. It'll be the Tim cover we miss out on for Batman)

The Flash: I'm hoping for a Hartley cover

Green Arrow: Connor will be on the cover and not in the pages

Absolute Green Lantern: Jo cover here! My wild call is we'll get a Pride cover for this and not for the mainstream Lantern books

Harley Quinn: this one will feature someone other than....nah of course it will be Harley

JSA: someone is going to finally give me a Todd and Damon cover, and it will be glorious (leave me to my delusions. Maybe they can be holding that kid they want)

Nightwing: this will continue to be the only title that gets a Pride variant that doesn't actually have a queer supporting cast member to showcase. So they'll probably use Tim again, as DC are pretty reliable now about making sure there is at least one queer person on the cover

Poison Ivy: Janet from HR cover! Nah they'll only give us Pam

Superman: I'm pretty sure it'll be Jon, because...

Secret Six: it'll be a Nia cover. Maybe a Jon-Jay-Nia cover. There will also be another variant that isn't the official Pride one for Thomas

Absolute Wonder Woman: I would prefer the Pride cover to be on this featuring Barbara Minerva or Circe with Diana, so obviously it's actually going to be a random assortment of Amazons on Wonder Woman.

Batman: The Long Halloween - The Last Halloween: despite this making absolutely no sense, the book not containing a single out queer character, and a multitude of other reasons, this will somehow end up with a Pride cover because of the traditional seasonal/month theming of Long Halloween books. Everyone will be mad.

I am so-so on whether they put Pride covers on the full Absolute line. Part of me says of course they do, given how hard they're going for the cash grabs on their top selling titles right now, and the rest of me is going...none of these titles other than AGL and AWW can do this legitimately on the casts we've seen so far.