#and at the end of the convo they were like ''youre so pleasant. youre really smart young lady'' and i was like ''ty? i just. read a lot'

[andromedasummer]

i ended up having a like. 30 minute conversation with some of those "freedom convoy" people. was at the bus stop. they were wearing trump hats. i ended up roped into the conversation because i was so taken aback at seeing one in public i was just. staring at it. ive never felt more depressed about someone elses life and beliefs than when i talked to them.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

IX. “goodbye, Gotham”

parts: previous / next

plot: when the flooding recedes, Mr. Wayne helps you leave the city—but not before a sufficient olive branch.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, mention of chemo, playful banter/teasing

words: 2.9k

Bruce looked over with a heavy scoff, and you bristled. Before he could react you continued. "Alfred is kind, and thoughtful, and obviously helps you because you were calling out to him again and again." This elicited an immediate response.

"Don't tell me about Alfred." He spoke through gritted teeth, the color coming back to his face with red heat. You wanted to step away but swallowed the lump in your throat. Alfred says he's so compassionate, huh? Doesn't seem like it. "You don't have to keep up this tough guy facade, you know."

His sarcastic laugh boomed in the hallways and you could've sworn you heard Alfred wake up. "Facade. Big words."

"Dick!" You turned on your heel and stomped up the stairs, then heard a low sigh. "I'm sorry." He spoke. You didn't turn to look at him; it was triggering hearing a man mock you so openly, especially in his own home. Being a vigilante billionaire didn't absolve him from being a human being. "That's not fair fighting, and I didn't mean to imply—"

"That I'm some mousey, stupid woman?" You whipped back around, all but hissing at him. He met your eyes carefully from the bottom of the stairwell. He gave a small nod, looking smaller now. "Nothing like that. I apologize." His swift recognition of wrongdoing did make it sting a bit less, and you had to remind yourself you were essentially camping out at his place. You leaned against the top railing, staring down at the masses of brown marble flooring. The moment felt just tender enough for honesty. "You can be scary, Bruce.... Wayne." You hovered on his last name, hoping it might act as an olive branch.

Bruce didn't want to be scary. Sure, to criminals he wanted to be, but hearing you say he brought it home hurt. It sank into his chest a bit like a branding iron. He didn't like hearing you say his last name; it already felt foreign in your voice. He looked over at the puddles of water he dragged in and shifted the convo. "The flooding seems to be letting up. You'll be able to get back to your apartment soon."

You took that more personally than was necessary. A thought glued to you. "Wait, will I be able to see Alfred again?" You felt ridiculous as soon as you said it, knowing you were about to graduate and move across the country permanently. You wanted out of this city more than anything in the entire world. Now you were concerned about missing a random old guy? You walked over to the top of the stairwell and sat crosslegged, putting your head in your hands. Bruce shifted uncomfortably, not knowing quite what to say to you, and wondering why the hell you'd decided to sit with him on the stairs. You assumed he wasn't going to respond to the Alfred comment, and you didn't really want him to. You thought about how Alfred had said Bruce was worried during your reaction and decided to pay it forward. It took a lot more effort to verbalize than you thought. "Do you want any pain meds or anything?"

It felt like a breeze shot through Bruce's stomach. A weird rippling sensation. His leg was burning in pain and he wanted to say no, he needed to say no, he wouldn't accept help from you... except seeing you with your guard down was... pleasant? If he forgot you were about to expose him, which he immediately remembered. His momentary lapse in annoyance ended with his next comment. "Are you still going to expose me?" You didn't say anything, and after about thirty seconds of silence he looked up at you. You slowly and discreetly shook your head. "No."

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to hide his relief. "I'm good on meds, yeah." He slowly rose from the stair and limped his way up. It was more bearable now that his body was lit up and electric—you weren't going to tell anyone? He wanted to trust you, it sounded genuine, this felt genuine, and usually he could trust his read of a situation... but it was you. You were different than everyone else. You'd noticed him immediately. It didn't even take a full second for years of practiced concealment and tracking two separate identities to fall apart. You scared him, too.

You stepped aside as he rose to the top of the stairwell. He looked at you from his periphery and gave a small nod. "Night." His voice was raspy and quiet, and then the only other sounds were of boots against ground and your own heels as you padded back to Alfred's office. The next half hour you whizzed through the formatting, scheduling an email for a few hours later to Dr. Vry. You got ahead of her disappointment by writing:

Good morning Dr. Vry, I hope this email finds you well. Unfortunately Mr. Wayne rescinded his offer mid-interview, so I interviewed someone else. The paper is attached below. My sincerest apologies, and thank you again for getting me the journalism materials. They will be returned swiftly in the AM. If you would like confirmation that I did meet with Mr. Wayne I can put you in contact with his manager. Best, Y/N Y/L/N.

Sleep was hardly restful. You tossed and turned the next few hours, wired from finally turning in the last paper for your degree. You'd received an email back at 8:49am, where Dr. Vry expressed deep regret at your lack of follow-through on what would have been Bruce Wayne's first ever interview:

Ms. Y/L/N, thank you for turning in your paper. However, it would be remiss to not acknowledge my disappointment at what would have been such a spectacular frontier in journalism. I look forward to hearing from Wayne management to confirm your meeting. Regards, Dr. Janay Vry.

Fuck. Now you had to elicit Alfred to send a 'sorry' email. You sat up in bed, promptly hearing a strong knock. "Can I come in?" It was Bruce. You hurried your greasy hair back into a ponytail with a rubber band you'd found and sat expectantly on the edge of the bed. "Yes?" In walked Bruce, presumably fresh from a shower. He had your phone in-hand. Your brow furrowed. He nodded in anticipation. "You left it in Alfred's study. He's making breakfast now. No peaches." Bruce paused, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, and he wanted to tell you the flooding has died down enough to drive you back to your apartment." He tossed your phone to you and nodded before shutting the door. You sat, feeling the rage of hunger in your stomach. The first thing you did was look for flights back home: there was one from Gotham to Seattle at 11:45am, a five hour direct. With the time difference you might be able to make your mother's chemo appointment. Tentatively, you booked one of the last seats and bolted out to breakfast. It was 9:03. You needed to get home and shove all your belongings back into your luggage.

"Someone had a restful night!" Alfred was cheery, and placed an omelet in front of where you sat yesterday at the table. Bruce was already dished up and sidling into his chair across from you. "The ingredients are only egg, green and red bell pepper, spinach, olive oil, salt, and pepper. All good?" You gave him two thumbs up and thanked him, walking over to your side. You felt bad hurrying them. You waited for Alfred to dish himself up and sit down, tucking into a few bites before you broached the question. "I actually booked a flight today, back home. My mom has a uh, thing happening and I needed to be back. Bruce—Mr. Wayne said the flooding had gone down, and I was wondering if I could get a ride back to my apartment."

Bruce side-eyed you when you corrected his name. It still felt weird hearing you say his last name. It was weird hearing you say his first. It was weird that you knew he was Batman. It was just... weird. He finished chewing and gestured to you. "What time's your flight?"

It was unnerving to have such normal conversations with Bruce Wayne. After both your walls had begun to settle the night before, you felt the weight of his reputation. You blushed, and could tell he noticed. "Um, around eleven. Like two hours." Bruce's eyes nearly bulged out of his head "Couldn't have told us sooner?"

Alfred spoke, his face fallen, ignoring the man's antics. "I actually can't this morning, some men from accounting at Wayne Enterprises scheduled an emergency meeting. I'm so sorry. I'm sure Master Wayne can manage, however." He shot a glare at Bruce and Bruce rolled his eyes, starting to tear into his omelet with urgency. "Yeah fine, whatever."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight at feeling like such a burden. The next fifteen minutes you scarfed down as much food as you could, then went back upstairs to gather your shoes and phone. You noticed Bruce standing expectantly at the front door, wearing sunglasses as he peered at what you assumed to be a newly-delivered paper. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, making you hustle down the stairs.

Without a word he slid through the open door, but you reached your head around to see Alfred cleaning up the kitchen. You ran over to him and gave him a hug, quickly telling him about the email thing. He agreed to send the email shortly, and even offered to return your journalism supplies. Looking at the time—9:45—you had no choice but to take him up on it. He told you not to be a stranger and sent you off on your way. Your heels ached the arches of your feet, but you weren't taking a chance with the sewage water still taking up an inch of real estate on the concrete. Bruce was already pulling out of a matte black Lamborghini, the passenger door opening automatically as you walked to it. You slid into the leather seat and tucked your feet in as he sped off.

You watched out the window as trees and grass turned to buildings whizzing by. The car was quick and steady; the tinting on the windows seemed a bit excessive, but you understood the need. After a few minutes of silence he startled you with a question. "Why didn't you write the exposé?" He tried to make his voice strong, his tone nonconfrontational. You shrugged. You were still a bit bitter about the night before and his comments about your smarts, but if this was going to be your last time seeing him you figured there was no shame in being honest. "I didn't want to jeopardize the city. As much as I hate to admit it, you make it better." You let out a heavy sigh trying to rid of the tension. His hands stiffened on the wheel. It was the first kind thing you'd ever said to him; it was the first time someone other than Alfred had mentioned Batman to him... because you were the only one outside of him who knew. A small smile curled up his lips. Music to his insecure ears. Did he really make it better? Really? He wanted to. He really, really wanted to. Did you really mean it? Actually?

"STOP!" Your shout caused an immediate braking, and a worried mother clutched her kids as they rushed across the crosswalk. Bruce tensed, eyes wide. He'd never come close to hitting a pedestrian. His heart pounded as he glanced at you beside him. You stared with a tight-set jaw, your hands clenched together in your lap and eyes as wide as his own. He moved his attention back to the road and kept on, refusing to entertain any more potentially lethal thoughts.

It was 10am on the dot when you pulled up in front of your apartment complex. It had been such an awkward ride you hadn't questioned how he knew your address, but you didn't have time to pester him. Bruce got out just as you were jogging to the lobby doors, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head as you hissed at him. "What are you doing?! Someone could see you!"

"Traffic is always bad around this time at the airport. We need all the time we can get, I'm helping." His tone was flat and he adjusted his sunglasses... as if they could distract from the Lambo in front of the complex screaming BRUCE WAYNE IS HERE! You pushed through the lobby and rushed to the elevator, Bruce calmly in tow. The doors opened and you both stepped inside. He sidled in next to you now, and you looked over at his outfit. Unlike the last elevator ride together, he was just wearing a black tee and trousers. He glanced at you from his periphery and you quickly moved your line of sight to the floor with a subtle blink. A subtle aroma of pink pepper and musk lingered in the air, mixed with a little bit of sweat. Your sweat. You hadn't showered in days, and did a little shift of your weight away from him. Embarrassment washed over you.

"What?" He turned his head, noticing your movement away. "Looking for more lint?"

No, I just smell bad. You thought. I probably smell like ass and I don't want that to be your last memory of me. It became apparent to you how terrible of an impression you would leave on the man—forcing your way into his home with blackmail, being forced to more than overstay your welcome, now he was helping you pack while you smelled like sweat and spit. It was embarrassing. Very embarrassing.

The DING of the elevator doors opening to your floor was like a call from heaven, and you rushed past him so he couldn't get a good sniff.  You fumbled with the lock and thanked god how poor you'd been as a student; your apartment was small and minimalist, making it easy to throw everything into one or two luggage bags and move yourself back home in a jiffy. Trying your best to forget that a billionaire was standing in the middle of your studio, you went to your small closet and pulled out the large checked-luggage bag your dad had bought you two years prior. You hadn't been able to fill it then, but were grateful now for the extra real estate.

"What do you want me to do?"

You looked around the room, running through a short list of everything you'd have to do in the next half hour. The bedding needed to be removed, bathroom ransacked, kitchen food trashed, and clothes packed. Oh. And you needed to go down to the lobby and break the lease.

"Uh, can you clean out the fridge? I need to get to the lobby." You bit your lip hard, anxious as you grabbed your keys and rushed downstairs, ignoring the elevator in order to try and metabolize some of the stress. You only had about ten dollars left in your checking, and you'd forgotten that breaking a lease would mean an extra fee. When you made it to the receptionist, it was a new person you'd never seen before. She looked sour, and rolled her eyes when you walked up. "Hey uh, I need to break the lease."

"Name and unit number?" She smacked on gum as she sat up and started typing. You obliged, and after agonizing silence she shook her head. "Your lease ends this month anyway and you already paid the rent. We'll be sending a check to your permanent address after you have returned the keys with your deposit if everything is good."

Oh thank GOD. You thanked her profusely, somehow still out of breath, and went back up the stairs. Jesus. Thank god. If you had to ask Bruce Wayne for MONEY? You would've rather jumped off the Gotham bridge to your untimely demise. You put the key in your lock and opened the door to him standing with the bedding removed, fridge open and cleaned out, and half your clothes packed into the bag. Half of you wanted to be angry at him touching things without your consent, while the other was begrudgingly impressed. Almost like he read your mind, he spoke. "I didn't look at individual items, I just picked up armfuls and shoved them in."

Looking at your apartment now, the only thing left was the few toiletries in the closet (which could be recycled) and whatever was in your bathroom. You checked your watch: 10:20. "Thanks uh, can you wait in the car? I think I want to shower real quick."

He chuckled, plopping the last of your clothes into the bag. "I'm sure your seatmate will appreciate it.”

You gasped under your breath. "Really?" It hurt. You didn't want it to, but it did. You wanted to shoot something back at him, like you were only trying to smell like him or some shit. But it stung. For some reason. He chuckled again, shaking his head with a sly grin turning up his cheeks. "Nah. But you believed it."

[ruimuse]

PJSEKAI CHARACTERS STARTING TO BECOME MORE AWARE.

( FANTASISTA SQUAD, PART 1: AOYAGI TOYA )

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Aoyagi Toya ,,,

Toya swore he’d feel someone eyes on him. whenever he was at home. At school, or whenever he breathe, it’s like someone eyes were staring daggers into his back — and that gave him shivers.

It wasn’t exactly pleasant to be exact. no, not at all. it felt so creepy to him. Toya just wanted this to end, for all of it to go back like the times were before.

unfortunately, luck wasn’t on Toya’s side. because, whenever he’d normally attend classes and talk to any of his classmates, which he usually didn’t really do — he’d hear a voice coming from afar.

from where he wondered. is it the sky? That’s absurd though? what is happening to him. the more frustrating thing is no one else experienced it. Toya asked Akito, Tsukasa, Rui, Saki, Kohane, An, none of them seemed to have this problem…

“I must be going crazy…” Toya muttered to himself, standing by himself outside Kamiyama.

thats when you �� [name] pressed on the area convo. you were wondering. why’s he stressed?

“Toyaaa, why are you stressed???” you tapped on his face aggressively, which caused Toya to tense up.

Did someone really just touch his cheek? was it air? he heard that voice again.

again, being the idiot you are, you press the convo again. only this time — Toya had a different expression from the first time you tapped him.

“Who’s there?” — was what was in the speech bubble. Toya’s eyes had narrowed.

what the fuck. your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “WHAT THE HELL???”

Toya winced, the voice was now raising their voice and it was frustrating to listen to.

“please, don’t yell.”

your jaw nearly dislocated, “can…can you hear me?” your voice drops to a whisper. almost pin drop quiet.

“I assure you that I can hear you quite well.” Toya speaks with a calm tone, in contrast to your loud one.

“what the fu—….how the hell? this isn’t supposed to be happening.” you tap on his face again, and look at what he’s saying.

Toya’s staring exactly at you, as if he figured where the voice is coming from. “I’ll appreciate it if you stop touching my face.”

your heart was nearly gonna jump out of your chest.

“who are you?”

oh.

“A person…a human?” you shrug, How the hell were you gonna explain to your favorite project Sekai character.

“I’d happily listen to a more than elaborate answer than ‘A person.’ if you’d please.” you swear his eyes sharpened.

“uhm…so, here goes nothing…”

…

that’s all for toya !

[libra-stellium]

Venus Transits I tracked!

Descriptions from Planets in Transit - Robert Hand

Venus opposite Moon (Apr 17 - Apr 21)

Any problems under this transit are likely to come from doing something to excess

Did I drink a whole bottle of wine on 4/20? yes. Was I feeling it the next day? yes lol Do I regret it? nope! I was trying to have a great night in and that's exactly what I had!

This transit arouses your affections and makes you willing to give and receive love, relationships with women are meaningful

I made this really good pasta with mussels and I invite my aunt to have dinner with me which is simple but I don't usually do that lol

The rest of this transit description was talking about problems in romantic relationships but I'm single soooo N/A

Venus opposite Mercury (Apr 18 - Apr 22)

Favorable time for communication about love and relationships

If you watch 911 you know how it's been this month lol but I've been enjoying watching people watch the show for the first time! Idk which day exactly but it had me thinking about how I used to write fics when I was younger and make fan videos of shows lol such a fun time! Then I had a convo with my bestie about her love live bc she's a late bloomer and naturally is scared of everything lmao

The mercurial side of your personality does not take emotional matters seriously

I forgot to pay attention to this lmfao but I know I was a joker this entire time! lmao I tried to cut back but everything was just toooo funny!!

Be careful what you say about friends and loved ones under this transit , someone may take it seriously

I made a separate entry about the last time this transit happened for me in 2021 so this time around I was very intentional to not talk about anybody lmao about to make myself a shirt like "My friends and I survived my Venus Opposite Mercury transit <3"

One of the most unemotional of all Venus transits

I don't know lol is laughter not an emotion? I was intrigued by this when I wrote it but maybe I would have experienced this if I didn't know it was happening? Or maybe it was something small like me laughing during the serious situation in a show bc the drama was just toooo much I had to laugh lmao

Venus trine MC (Apr 18 - Apr 22)

Good time for any kind of creative activity/getting involved in the arts

I randomly started cooking this pasta with mussels and I've never made it before and it came out so good!!

Excellent time to redecorate your home and make your personal surroundings more attractive, you are much more sensitive to the aesthetic nature of your surroundings

I did do my dishes and clean my kitchen!

Time when you feel very affectionate and have a great need to express your affection, you are pleasant to be around, others can sense how you feel about them which makes them feel good

I didn't really feel thisss? I'm usually pleasant to be around anyway lol but I did text a couple more friends during this time and we were laughing a lot

Transit makes you feel peaceful and anxious to avoid conflict

Bro this bc after my job messed up my pay last week they asked me to update my timesheet again and I was on that email and had it fixed in 2 minutes lmao just for my supervisor to be like oh she doesn't see it on her end like girl....i texted her pictures of my screen like it's there! Don't stress me out!

Venus square Neptune (Apr 21 - Apr 25)

Transit stimulates your romantic imagination making you somewhat unrealistic

As a libra with a pisces rising this was just another regular day lmao but I was more in my synchronicity bag because on 4/25 I started reading this book that I stopped reading last year on May 19 bc I left it in my friend's car for months and I was reading something else by the time I got it back buttttt the back of the page I stopped on the main character was talking about how the only place she had visited in Europe was Amsterdam and i was like ohmygod??? What are the odds that i was so close to reading that last year and it's now almost a year later and I travel to Amsterdam ON MAY 19???

Daydreaming and creativity are high

Idk if that counts but I stitched a tiktok on 4/23 and it's still getting engagement and it's at 50k+ views rn on 4/28 and like 7k+ likes lolll

Venus square Uranus (Apr 24 - Apr 28)

You seek excitement and stimulation through love relationships

single as a pringle lol

Tendency to flirt under this influence, don't make anything more out of an encounter than what it really is

I didn't go anywhere bc work had me working for real during this time and now it's the weekend and I have my period but one of my friends posted a story about how her outfit made her look like a teacher and I commented "What's 5x5? Twenty Fine!!" lmfaoo the corniest pick up line and I still think I was so funny for saying that lol

You are likely to be impulsive with money

yeah Sweetgreen has had me in a chokehold ngl lol every year I go through a phase where I get obsessed with a salad from there! $18 is absolutely wild but so so good! Just writing this makes me want to order again omg

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Love Sea - Episode 1

Like I said before I'm feeling chatty today so I'm just gonna write while I watch and then decide if I'm gonna post. I'll probably post. If you're reading this I obviously did. Anyway I've had dinner and now I have my coffee. How are we feeling about another Mame show? I haven't read anything about this one. I went into Wedding Plan sceptic, to say the least, and it was a wonderful surprise. Although Love in the air part 2 was not a pleasant experience, I will do my best to have an open mind. OK. Let's do this.

-The sea is always a plus. I miss it so much. -LOL the slow-mo. We get it, we're suppose to be drooling. -This is an important pen. ok maybe not. is it just for the title shot? -This place is gorgeous. Heaven indeed. -No one will get this, but I just rewatched Barakamon and this is exactly what happens when Handa gets to the island as well. Heaven for some. Hell for others. -Are they gonna write 'southern dialect' on top of the subs every time he speaks??? -See I don't know thai, so how different is the southern dialect really? If anyone knows please tell me. I'm really curious now. -I don't think it's because he has a pretty face though. I'm sure he suffered some trauma and that's why he's an asshole. -Oh her. I missed her. Is she gonna be a couple too? Does this have a gl side couple? -oh hello Ja. you're here too? I'm pretty sure I watched the trailer for this but apparently I don't remember anything. -This hostility feels so forced. Like they are creating the enemies in 'the enemies to lovers' as we speak. -I'd like a Martini. But I don't have vermouth. Life is so unfair. -I like that he keeps speaking in dialect. It's so petty I love it. - That backfired now but I'm sure this is all atitude and Mut will actually be thinking about this moment later. -Declarations like this in a bl are guaranteed to mean exactly the opposite. -It's because of people like this guy that hotels have so much food waste. That's probably the most depressing think about working in a hotel. Also costumers like him. -'Money can't buy me.' That's just something people say. How much? 5000 bhts? let me just quickly google how much that is. 125,65 euros as of right now. Just to not speak the dialect? I think you can get more. 7000... 10 000… 15000… so that's around 376 euros. Not bad for basically doing nothing. -This whole convo is reminding of Auto in DR. 'Yeah, throw money at me. Screw dignity' -I'm really enjoying Fort. The sarcasm is delicious. -I really miss the beach. -This proposal sounds..indecent. -The last man on earth thing again. You're just asking for it now. -Yiwa is back. I know that's not her name here but it's too soon. Rehearsing in front of the mirror. I should do this. I'm sure it would save me some headaches. -Second person in a ql that can't change a lightbulb. Oh wait she's lying. Is this like Dee? She pretends she can't change the lightbulb just so the girl does it for her? Very mysterious. What is she planning... - I also don't get it. What does having sex have to do with anything? -That was fast. Already thinking of him? I guess if rude is your thing who am I to judge? or have they met before? have they met as kids??? The plot thickens. just in my head tho. -Never trust auto-save. Just when you need it, it will let you down. -That was so dramatic. Like I get that this is probably a trauma response but that was a lot. He's been an asshole this whole time, how am I suppose to empathise? Mut is a better person than me. -I choose clams. I love clams. But on land. I'm getting seasick just from watching. The End oh wait. there's more. wait what did he say? There were no subs for that bit. Oh well he's already smitten.

That's a nice background for the credits. I wonder if it will change with the episodes. Like Gaya Sa Pelikula. Probably, right?

Well that was...okay. Too early to say much but I'm enjoying Mut. And Yiwa is back on my screen! And I'm really happy to have a show set on the beach. I shall continue watching this for now.

I won't do this every time though. Today is an aberration. It was a weird day but I have too much energy.

I should check on the elections, I'm sure that will bring my mood right back down. Oh but tomorrow is a holiday so I can do nothing all day. I'm happy again. Ok. bye.

[toomuchracket]

mads does birthday party girlie speak french ? i've seen in a lot of them that she'll say like a sentence ! do u speak french ?

i think birthday party girly speaks a little bit of french, but not fluently! the little french hangovers in the middle of conversations (there's an "et toi" randomly in part 2 of tbp, for example) are a result of a fairly intense dark academia/classic lit phase you had as a teenager where you tried to incorporate french and latin phrases into conversations to seem wordly and wise lol. in hindsight, it was deeply, deeply pretentious of you, but some of the french responses stuck; matty found this story ridiculously funny and endearing when you first told him it not long after you two became friends, and you inevitably had the bret easton ellis/donna tartt besties convo right after it. matty also found it extremely endearing that you decided to relearn french before you went on the first paris trip with all your friends. he did take the piss out of you a little bit along with the rest of them - "darlin' we're going for a week there's no way you need to relearn the whole language" - but they were all forced to eat their words when a) they had to rely on you to do a solid 85% of the talking while you were away and b) you managed to get special treatment/people to be nicer to you all just because of your linguistic semi-proficiency and pleasant attitude. the day you and matty ended up hanging out together when everyone else went cycling, you remember turning back to him after ordering more wine and cracking jokes with the waitress en français to find him smiling at you in a way you hadn't seen before but immediately knew you wanted to see again (awed. moonstruck. lovingly); you were like "what?", and matty just shook his head slightly and went "you're incredible. that was so sophisticated. kinda hot, actually". and you both just giggled (to be fair, you were tipsy), but your relationship felt slightly different after that - closer, deeper, with a potential to be something more. and i'm also thinking that you speaking french ended up having some pavlovian effect on matty, where every time you'd pepper in a phrase he'd go all heart eyes - well, more so than normal - thinking about the two of you and your little wine drinking friend-date and how he so badly wanted to take you on a romantic one. and also thinking about how hot and smart you are lol. but yeah, you're not fluent-fluent, but you know enough french to both get by in france and make matty go all flustered, which is really all you need to know lmao!! also you're the inspo for the bfiafl album title. it's literally you lol <3

(and according to the scottish qualifications authority, i can speak french lol - i haven't spoken it for about six years, though, so i'm not as good as i was, but i can still read it quite well!)

[rescuefield-a]

TRUE ENDING, DARK ENDING, NEW BEGINNINGS - A STUDY IN CLAIRE AND LEON.

( because if there's one thing capflop can't do is treat women right. disclaimer: this might not be pleasant, please keep in my mind it's in relation to my portrayal and not THE truth )

let's skip all the obvious parts, we already know those. let's dive into claire's mind since by the time death island happens she considers leon her comrade in arms, even though perhaps with the way things go in canon she should be the one throwing the chair. only half joking here.

i'm gonna start by saying that i find ridiculous that claire would fuck off a few days after the outbreak - sure she's impulsive but not at these levels to go in with no plan and no actual idea of where to fly in the first place. so here's the thing, she's stayed with sherry and leon for a while before leaving, planned her search carefully with them watching her too. bonding more with sherry was a given, but she obviously shared enough pieces of information with leon as well since she knows his email.

i don't think claire ever fell head over heels for him as some in this fandom love to imply - she has eyes, and leon is easy on them. that's really all there is to see ( tho i do think her feelings might have changed slightly during their motel hopping situation, but that's more of me world building around the little that we know ) at the same time however, leaving and returning has been a disastrous experience for claire. she was definitely the first to reach out to him post rockfort - mostly to find out what happened to sherry.

on that note, i think that was what held them together at first. it is known that they had visit rights, probably showed up together sometimes, might have decided to join forces against simmons ( although it was useless ) when claire was trying to get sherry's custody. they both love sherry, they both went through hell, they both want to end it - their whole friendship is based on a promise they made to each other when they were a little more thank kids themselves. and that's probably why claire has ended up having a closer bond with leon post raccoon city; they share similarities in that way, and that's what gets them through things since apparently they keep in touch off screen ( would be fun to read more of their email exchanges )

it's obvious claire holds leon on a pedestal in a way - whereas chris was her go to person, leon sort of takes that place post rockfort. he gets contacted in harvardville, she asks his opinion about the drawing made by that kid in penamstan. she cares about him and his opinion, which is somewhat reciprocated through the little hints in canon, but at the same time we see a shift that changes things. if during the airport outbreak leon was speaking highly of claire and how she fought her way out of raccoon city, a couple years later in DC he tells her to "not do anything stupid" more than once, to which claire eventually even tells him "when are you going to stop treating me like a kid?" because claire knows very well she's capable and experienced, so her inner question when it comes to leon is why cant you see me as your equal?

i know some might have expected me to turn this into a ship moment, but it really all boils down to this. claire gets the damsel treatment over and over, to the point that even something that supposedly was fanservice becomes a moment where we can see her annoyance. she seems almost mad when leon asks her if she's fine after being picked up from the acid pool - and while she is okay, there's no doubt that leon and jason's antics have created problems during her convo with wilson, claire still gets up and goes to the control room to once again to the behind the scene work that will grant leon another tyrant kill and a pat on his shoulder by the government.

to put it simply, claire never gets praised, never gets credit, and yet she's the one doing half the work, she's the one staying behind during the aftermath, she's the one who made it possible for the government and bsaa to meet in the first place. claire might as well get into politics some day and i wouldn't be surprised, she's a leader who always gets pushed aside because she's unfortunately surrounded by a lot of toxic masculinity and very fragile egos.

so to circle back, i find it interesting that claire says "i do things my way and you do things yours" because it implies that until then they were always meeting in the middle, but it was really following leon's lead because he's supposed to know better than her. it could be implied that claire has compromised for the past decade, having a different approach to fighting the good fight than him ( leading me to think she had been influenced by neil's charm for a whole lot longer than revelations 2, he just wasn't the leader of terrasave yet so his role wasn't important for the plot but possibly formative to how claire operates ) so this is her stepping away from leon's shadow - it's her way to say ok, i've been following your lead until now, but just because you're the fighter and i'm the rescuer it doesn't mean we're not on the same level.

i also find very interesting that claire and leon seem to not have a "shared campaign" and that she has been given a weapon of her own in death island. it might not mean much in terms of plot meaning, but to me it means a lot because it's already a HUGE step forward ( until now movie wise she would always have a weapon that was either leon's or would be discarded after shooting one zombie which is ridiculous when there's a hoard of them ) toward claire having an identity of her own that is not tied to her brother, best friend, boyfriend of the day found dead at the end. this might be her biggest occasion to shine and perhaps to prove once again that she's on the same level as everybody else - her job doesn't define, her experience does... and of that let me tell you at this point she's got plenty.

to recap: claire did carry the torch for leon throughout the years and as long as the universe keeps destroying every attempt of her moving on, in a way she will always have a soft spot for him. but also if it's true that the distance makes the heart grow fonder, then the farther they stay when it comes to missios the more they'll remain in best terms ( he's still her best friend regardless, is a deal package along with sherry, she will totally host interventions but will never let people use her name to express their disappointment )

[writeaboutit]

Something that probably should be written in my journal and not here but if you want the juicy details of my trauma then here you go🤲 (warning homoerotic friendship? I know this sucks):

Okay listen to my TED talk real quick I promise it's juicy... So basically a few days ago I'm scrolling on Bubble, as one does, and I stumbled across the one, the only— My best friend from years ago who, upon further pondering, I was in love with. The first girl I ever loved.

I know what you're thinking: there is no way this could ever turn out good anddd... you would be 100 % correct. So, me and this girl meet in high school. I thought I really wanted to be friends with her (ahem GAY👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩). So we became friends and are so close it's stupid, like at one point she's living with me for two weeks (and we definitely did not sleep on a twin-sized mattress together even though there was a perfectly good air mattress right there, nooooo couldn't be us🚫). Then after years of weekends spent at each other's houses and family trips taken together, she begins talking to this guy.

I'm happy for her, it's great, neither of us have ever dated anyone(again GAY) so it'll be fun. Wrong. This is the exact moment I can see the first fissure in our...friendship. Then suddenly things break down RAPIDLY. I mean, I'm completely blindsided it was so fast.

Within the first month, I'm being phased out of the friend group and within two months we've gone no contact. I've destroyed friendship bracelets and old photos. I was, to put it lightly, gutted. I spent my senior year almost completely alone, it was probably the worst time of my life.

In those first few months, I thought the devastation I was feeling was due to the fact that I had just lost my best friend in a pretty vile way (because that last convo we had was not pleasant) but now that I've had a few years to recollect myself (and do some self-discovery: GAY🧡🤍🩷) I realize that those feelings I was experiencing were literal heartbreak.

I thought up until last week that I had made my peace with it, that I was gay and in love with her and the way it ended broke my heart and not hers and that's it, but now that I've come out and can discuss this whole situation with another friend (who witnessed all those years and says there was something more going on there) it's come to my attention that she is gay and maybe I did not read into it.

It's literally sending me into a spiral because I know I will probably never talk to her again which means I will never know for sure but like... come on. IDK, I know I rambled as fuck but this was basically a therapy session with myself.

If your read all this I'm assuming you probably experienced something similar so sorry if that's the case, it fucking sucks👎🏼, but it's okay it will pass (I hope, fuck this is just dredging it all up lmao).

Moral of the story: avoid homoerotic friendships with a ten-foot pole 🙅‍♀️and don't get on Bumble because you might see the first girl you ever loved on there💔. Okay bye, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[minnarr]

replying here bc convos in replies are hard

in retrospect–ans while watching it because i had spoilers but it's worse now–the power of three really just feels like a cheap trick to up your emotions before the big plot twist. and it would have worked on me if the end hadn't been just. stupid.

god. i don't even know if my emotions were up going into the end of s7 pt 1—i saw s6-9 live and if i had a nickel for "times the companion(s) decided to leave and changed their mind and afterward you went Why You Were So Much Better Off" i would have at least two nickels. it became such a miserable prospect to be a companion; not that those seeds weren't there before but there was a higher proportion, i think, of fun and also it was joining in a cause bigger than you and the doctor. or maybe that's rose-colored glasses! i never know. but yeah them changing their minds at the end of power of three after the most pleasant time i think either of them had had in at least a season....ugh

you know what i give up. the power of three got an essay out of me but the angels take manhattan is so fucking disrespectful to the characters and the plot and the story and there's not even any attempt at substance and even the actors–even karen gillian, who's brilliant and intense in every scene, even matt smith, who we know can sell the anger and the devastation–don't care. they're over it.

this is so fucking. disrespectful. for no reason. you had a brilliant story foundation and incredible actors and characters and not only do you use it to be horrible and sexist and bigoted but you set the story on fire and use it to burn up the hopes and dreams of anyone who loved this show.

i thought 'the baby is your wife' was a stupid fucking plotline but 'and she wrote a detective novel about breasting boobily through your friends being estranged from you forever, which you need to follow until you don't and then they die anyway because plot twist' is. god.

it's not even a tragedy because no one cares enough to try and sell it. it's not a tragedy because it's so fucking contrived. it's just stupid.

[mentionally]

Jimmy and Gary have a crush on you + their confession

Seperate - SFW - Fluff - Drabble - Choose Your Ending

Jimmy:

Does not plan to confess, just confesses on impulse

He already has some girls after him so he’d distance himself from them to make him seem more appealing

Looks at you until you notice him, then quickly looks away

Does he want you to know he likes you? Yes.

Does he want you to know he likes you? Also no.

Would let his feelings marinate for a while just to be sure

CONFESSION:

The night before he makes sure he’s smelling decent, looking okay and whatnot

Cannot sleep

He hasn’t told anyone

Really afraid you’ll reject him too

C.an barely sleep and if he does he dreams about confessing to you

*so like 7 hour timeskip*

He’s getting ready, making sure he looks his best and whatnot

Def avoids you the first time he sees you bc he freaked out

Also he has a poker face this whole time, like no blush, no embarassed look, nothing

Procrastinating the whole day until it’s the end of the day

Just says fuck it and talks to you in private

“Hey, I like- like you. A lot. So do you want to go somewhere some time???”

If you accept

Honestly surprised

Y’all plan to go to some shitty fast food place after talking

Pretty happy tbh, but still a poker face

If you reject

Oh?

Not surprised but also dissapointed

He tries not to think about it too much but he still has a bug crush for a while

Gary:

He messes with you way more than he used to

Yknow how adults used to say that he’s bullying you because he likes you? Yeah that’s him

If you were already friends he’s more annoying, always trying to hang out or do something together

But if he just like has a brief convo with you and sees you in the halls and stuff he’ll try and talk to you

Like actually respond to him he’s being a pleasant as he can and its really tough on him

CONFESSION

Also cannot sleep but honestly in this situation who could

The day of he tracks you down in the halls and tries to keep up some small talk (it fails)

Just says he likes you in the end lmaoo

“Yknow, you’re really different. I think I’ve taken a liking to you.”

Jk he doesn’t directly say it

But he still talks in his weird dialect

Srsly why does he talk like that 💀💀

if you accept

Happiest he’s been in a while really

Y’all don’t go on a date until like a few months later probs

If you decline

Bro is madddd

Just storms off but now teases you in a mean way instead of a playful one

Looses feelings so fast man it’s not funny

[kuroosweakness]

post-argument cuddles | kuroo, suna, atsumu

kuroo tetsuro 

╰ after arguments, he’s always the one who brings up cuddling as a way to “cool our heads and get oxytocin.” it’s always a pleasant surprise to him when you agree :) 

╰ it takes a while for the awkwardness to fade away, but thankfully, his attempts at small talk and corny jokes always get you two back on track

“...are you still mad at me?” you quietly asks, taking a close look at his facial expression. his gaze shifts from the ceiling to your face. immediately, his face softens. 

“i already told you,” kuroo sighs, fingers lightly pushing back your hair. the rise and fall of his chest is a feeling you didn’t know you craved until know. “i’m wasn’t mad, just annoyed.” 

“oh” 

“...are you mad?” 

“no” 

“...it seems like it” 

“i’m not mad” 

“your words aren’t the most convincing, babe” 

your heart tugs at the term of endearment at the end of his sentence. “i know you added babe to make me not mad” you frown at him. 

“i thought you said you were already not mad” a small smirk stretches across his face as he continues to comb through your hair. “and so what if i did?” 

unsure of what to say, you give him quick glare before settling your face back on his chest. your last argument was 20 minutes ago, yet he’s lowkey getting on your nerves again :’) “...maybe i should be mad at you” 

“don’t say that,” he quietly mutters under his breath. making note of the cold room, he tugs the blanket higher up on your body. “neither of us would like that.” 

“...would you still love me if i was a worm?” 

“you’re asking me that now???”

suna rintaro

╰ a part of him really wants to be petty, but being petty is too much work so he usually cuddles like nothing happened 

╰ very quiet. he’s a man of few words in the first place, and after arguments, he’d hate to say the wrong thing. it takes a while for the awkwardness to fade

╰ his to-go cuddling position would probably be spooning so you won’t be able to his somewhat flushed facial expression. besides, it feels nice to hold you in his arms

╰ may be a little more affectionate than usual~

“maybe we can order food,” he mumbles against your shoulder blades. before you can tell him that his breath tickles, he adds, “i’ll pay as a way to apologize”

how can you say no to food? :)  

the rest of the evening if just you two munching on food. him offering you bites of his food for you “to try” even though both of you know very well that you already know the taste. lots of convos about how the food tastes, how your day went, and funny stories he has. it doesn’t take much for the argument to be forgotten! 

miya atsumu 

╰ big, clingy baby afterwards 

╰ acts like the last time you two cuddled was 6 months ago :’) 

╰ he’s just glad there’s no more tension between the two of you! he finds a sense of security and invincibility when he has you on his side <3 

“i hated 10 minutes ago,” atsumu says, breaking the comfortable silence. his body feels way too hot to be pressed against, but you’re too comfy to move :’D 

instead of replying, you glance curiously at him. who likes getting into serious arguments?? of course you didn’t enjoy 10 minutes earlier either. “i like now,” you tell him. 

he eyes widen, face flushes, mouth forms a small ‘o.’ as your words sink in, he quickly melts into a small grin. “i do too” he faintly says as he pulls you even closer to him. “are we on kissing terms yet? or are you still annoyed at me?” 

[gentil-minou]

So far my greatest fear is that I hope that Kuro Neko wasn't the end of the ladynoir conflict because well...for one thing it just doesn't fit with the entire season hdgdgd and for another thing I just can't see that being the case lol

However risk the strike back trailer did give me a lot of hope, ESPECIALLY since the holder like any other part was something Adrien did not seem to like and he! Expressed! That! too! (I am phrasing it VERY clumsily sorry!)

And with the whole team being broken (poor kids someone save them:(( ) and THAT scene in the trailer, I do think that there will be an us against the world moment (like there always has been in every finale😌) but I do think it will be Chat hyping up LB as usual this time. But it also seems different because this time doesn't just seem like he is hyping HER up, but also HE HIMSELF looks confident, ready to take on anything (cliffhanger??👀)

Also sorry I am just incoherent to some extent at this point but I wonder if there is something about most of their heart to heart convos in finales happening in the sewers UNDERGROUND while here it is seems to be from a high building (not really sure about that but I am clowning) out in the open without an umbrella in the rain djgsusgsusgshaaaa

Coming back to Kuro neko I do think that Ladybug thinking Chat's problem is about her loving him romantically was very much intentional to play into the miscommunication and not necessarily the narrative telling us so.

Anyway, thank you if you patiently read through all of my jumping from one topic to another djhxhxh

P.S. I know a lot of...not so pleasant discourse has been going on lately and just wanted to tell you that you and your metas are amazing whether people agree with them or not<3

Thanks for sharing your thoughts! I do think there's more to the story we're missing. A lot of people hold the ambassadors more accountable to things than what they actually are knowledgeable of (not to mention language barriers sdfjdks) but I do think there's more, and I agree I have to think that the ladynoir scene in the beginning of Risk is setting up something.

I'm hesitant about interpreting much from the trailer, which is why I'm impressed with how much you were able to theorize! I was stuck on the reason why Marinette was crying at the end, and I've started to wonder is if when she was using the bunny she discovered or learned something she wasn't supposed to...but that leads to soooo much speculation and I literally have so many theories at this point I cannot even be coherent with them beyond "AHHHHHHDFJDSKFDS"

And yeah, like always communication and secrets are the enemies all along, and they still continue to be I think

[windandwater]

new york is at it again!

delivery guy yesterday who I have NO memory of: “I haven’t seen you in a while!” me: “well I just got home so you got lucky!” idk it was just really sweet

bodega guy: how are you doing? me: okay...almost done mailing everything bg: oh for christmas? I haven’t done anything, you wanna know why? me: ...why... bg: because I’m Muslim! me: HA! I was gonna ask if you celebrate! bg: NOPE

bit later in the conversation: “this lady was saying she doesn’t know how she’s going to explain that she can’t afford to buy anything this year, I told her, just become Muslim!”

he’s right

have never had such a pleasant time running errands as this week, guy in the grocery store whole ass read my mind as to what I was looking for (clementines), convo in the new pharmacy ended with the guy ordering the meds I need next month in advance and them giving me their freaking “we’re a new business here’s a planner” gift.

another bodega guy conversation, once again griping about how expensive everything is, I was buying eggs? I didn’t say anything about the price but he mentioned they’re expensive and I had just come from the grocery store where the cheapest ones were eight dollars (!!!!). he was like yeah we used to pay 20 dollars for a case and now they’re 116 dollars a case. a hundred and sixteen dollars. for medium eggs, not even large eggs. they’re not that expensive in Jersey but they come across the bridge and the price shoots up. we just stood there shaking our heads at each other like what the fuck can you do.

a friend of mine started work at a new and extremely nice restaurant and her gift to me this year was a meal there and they kept just. bringing me out comped food and drinks. I am extremely full. but also part of the way through these two children ran right past the host (it was her first day) and straight to where we were sitting talking and tried to ask us for donations for something. ???? my friend was like excuse me where are your parents while they babbled about not wanting to get in trouble and were ushered out and I died laughing.

also they brought out my smoked fish in a wooden chest. why isn’t all food brought to the table in a wooden chest. every restaurant ever: take. notes.

got to the train and there’s just. a guy on the tracks. am I getting home tonight??? who knows!! Eric Adams likes to think an occupying army of cops will fix all this city’s problems, but they were apparently staring into the void doing nothing while an MTA employee tried to get LITERALLY ANYONE’S attention to get the dude some help! hahahaha! I hate it here!

they got the guy off the tracks and everything’s fine

on the way home my next door neighbor texted (the one who I met because they kept getting my mail, not the one who I met because she needed to break into her apartment--look this city is wild) asking if I had a covid test because they might be exposed so before I could sit down and deal with the massive amount of food I just ate I had to go ahead and run that over.

I fucking love it here.

[whoacanada]

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

____________

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

___________

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game —  he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

________

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively —  defensively —  as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily —  burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.  

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

__________

[nctsworld]

let me know

✩ mark x reader (ft. johnny) | pining | fluff | 1.5k 

→ summary: on the living room couch, mark thinks you’re asleep with your head on his lap and has a conversation with johnny. as you secretly listen, mark reveals he has been meaning to tell you something for a while now.  → warnings: dash of angst, reader jumps to conclusions → prompt: Person B falls asleep in Person A's lap and Person A has a conversation with someone else while stroking Person B's hair as if they were a sleeping cat.

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

It’s a chill day. Just you, Mark, and Johnny hanging around the apartment, playing games, watching Netflix on the couch, and the like. During a rewatch marathon of one of your favourite tv shows, you start to feel your eyes and head get heavy. 

“Mark?” 

“Yeah?” 

Right now, it’s only you and him on the couch with both of you on either end. He glances over and notices how you’re beginning to doze off.

“Can I rest on you?” you ask, despite how you are already making your way over to his side. Your best friend nods and holds an arm out, open and ready for you to fill in the space near him. His arm wraps around your body as you lay your head on his shoulder. Mark’s natural, sweet aroma fills your nose and reacts with your other senses, making you melt into his body more. However, the position isn’t the best for how sleepy you are.

You break away for a second, and, to Mark’s surprise, you relax your head upon his lap. 

“Are you comfortable like this?” Your question is soft, barely a whisper. He hasn’t answered yet, but you’re already closing your eyes and begin to draw invisible shapes on his thigh. 

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, watching the events unfolding with wide eyes. “Is this comfortable for you?”

Although you don’t manage to answer him, he knows the answer after a few moments as he feels your body become languid under his touch. A smile emerges across his face and he carefully places his hand on your head, rubbing his thumb gently and sending heartwarming vibes in hopes that you would sleep with pleasant dreams.    

And your sleep really is peaceful and sweet, perhaps due to Mark’s small touches and caresses throughout it all. The sleeping beauty awakens some time later, but you don’t move in Mark’s lap, continuing to rest with your eyes closed.   

From what you hear, the show isn’t playing anymore and is replaced by what you assume is one of Mark’s playlists playing faintly in the background. Your eyelids flicker, not wanting to open them fully, and see Mark scrolling on his phone. 

Suddenly, Johnny’s footsteps are present, causing you to immediately shut your eyes and continue your act. There’s a clinking of a glass on the table nearby. Mark says a quick thank you, followed by a small thud in the armchair adjacent to the couch. 

Johnny speaks up in a lower tone than usual, likely for your benefit, “You know, you could’ve gotten up and get the drink yourself.”

“You know I don’t want to disturb her.” 

You imagine Johnny rolling his eyes. Sips could be heard in the room above you and from the armchair, before the older of the two men chimes in again.     

“So,” his voice is gentle, more careful this time. “When are you going to tell her?” 

It takes so much from you to not react to the conversation. Nevertheless, you contain yourself, but with perked ears. What were they referring to? What could Mark possibly have to tell you? Both of you were thick as thieves and secrets weren’t an issue in your friendship. 

No words are exchanged for some time. Other than the music, the only thing you’re aware of is Mark petting your head and casually running a few fingers through your hair. 

“Soon,” you feel his body rock a little, and assume he’s nodding in response. “I’ve been figuring out the right time to say something.” 

“Dude, you just gotta go for it.” 

“I know. I just—what if it…” 

Another pause lingers in the air. Mark inhales sharply; his breathing becomes a little shaky. Beyond the mystery of what Mark wants to tell you, you also wonder why Mark’s hesitating so much. He’s not normally this unsure of himself, or anything really. 

“What if it ruins things for us?” he asks softly, with tinges of anxiety hanging from his words.

Mark can’t detect it, but your chest tightens in both sympathy over his concern for your relationship and fear of what Mark has to declare to you. The possibilities of what he has to confess run through your mind in a flash. You’re almost certain about what Mark is referring to, and it kills you to think he hasn’t told you since both of you are so close. 

Johnny counters Mark nonchalantly, “You won’t know until you do it. I’m surprised she hasn’t caught on yet.” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

Risking a chance, you peek at the lanky man in the armchair, who is raising an eyebrow in doubt. Mark sighs and his body rocks slightly once again.  

Your eyes are closed again and you exhale a small huff, processing what just occurred. You don’t know how to feel with this new information. Every touch from Mark ignites you in joy and bliss, like all the times he’s done so previously. 

Regardless, if your assumption is real and true, why is he so casual and open with you physically? All the touches, the hugs, the forehead touches... 

Your thoughts are spiraling the more you think, so you try your best to ignore them and indulge in the moment longer by attempting to sleep more. 

Undoubtedly, the sleep doesn’t last as long as before. Feeling distant and unsure of everything, you pull away from Mark hastily when you wake before he can say anything to you and you abruptly announce that you should get going.  

“You don’t want to stay for dinner?” Mark’s behind you when he inquires, yet you can see the confusion on his face from the inflection of his voice. You shake your head fervently and mumble barren excuses. 

He’s standing, silently watching you put your shoes on, until he decides to add, “Wait, actually, before you go, I need to tell you something—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, still not wanting to face him. “I know, I know. I heard you and Johnny talking.” Mark tenses and watches you continue to put on your other shoe in shock. 

“You have a girlfriend,” you state on his behalf prior to standing up to finally match his gaze. 

“I get it and I’m fine with it.” The lies roll off your tongue and don’t sit well with you, but you truly don’t want to ruin what you and Mark have. “It won’t ruin—” 

“Whoa, hold up,” now Mark’s the one who interjects, holding his hands out to stop you. His eyebrows furrow at your statement. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

You do the same, except with an addition of a tilt of your head. “Are you sure?” 

Mark chuckles, causing your guard to let down a little. “I think I’d know if I have a girlfriend or not.” 

Trying to study him, you’re looking for any signs of lying or joking on his face. Mark often joshes around with you, but he can only hold his wall of lies for so long. 

However, like he always did when you pressured him for dishonesty and Mark was expressing the truth, he pushed back with a flash of his genuine, saccharine smile. 

You cross your arms, then lean against the hallway wall. “Then, what is it?” 

In an instant, Mark’s composure is severed into broken pieces. He laughs awkwardly, prior to rubbing a hand against the back of his head and he ruffles his hair in the process. 

“Uh…” his filler drones on endlessly and you keep your gaze steady on him, waiting for him to say what he’s been meaning to inform you. 

“I, uh, like you. I guess.” 

That is not what you’re expecting. 

But it’s definitely better than hearing Mark has a girlfriend. 

“You guess?” you echo him with a small smile on your face.  

He clears his throat, deepens his voice, and holds his tone steady as he says it once more and deliberately makes an effort to stare back at you. 

“I like you.”  

The hallway lighting isn’t the best, yet how did his eyes seem to sparkle under it? 

You groan and place your face into the palm of your hands.  

“Are… Are you okay?” Mark comes a little closer to you and reaches out to comfort you. 

“I legit thought you were talking about having a girlfriend during that entire convo,” your voice is muffled as you embarrassingly say within your palms. You drag your hands down your face. 

Mark’s shaking his head and takes hold of the tips of your fingers in his after you drop your hands. 

“Why would I want anyone other than you?” 

You dart your face up to glance up at him. 

“Really?”

He nods earnestly.

“Really.” 

Both of you at this moment are staring, smiling, and giggling all at once. You bite your lip when you begin to take off your shoes.   

“I guess I could stay for dinner.” 

“You guess?” Mark mocks your tone from moments ago. Playfully, you punch him in the arm with tingling cheeks. 

And with that response, Mark didn’t need to ask if you felt the same way about him. 

[gnocchighoul]

peach bubbles & cherry wine

Summary:

“Just once more, my love.” Lucifer says. You can feel the words as they move through his chest and past his lips—like the soft rumbles of a cat purring.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs.” 

A/N: inspired by a convo about Lucifer’s bathroom with @thedemonstherapist​​ , and a drunk anon :D (definitely go check out her blog, she wrote something for this concept as well and it’s *chefs kiss*)

AO3 Portal

“Don’t move.”

“If I don’t I’ll drown!” 

“Just—fuck, here.” Lucifer hooks his hands under your arms and lifts you up, just slightly out of the water. He straightens out his legs, still holding you up with the ease of a bodybuilder lifting an orange, and yeah, you’re a little bit jealous at how strong he is.

Warm water closes around your hips as he gently lowers you back into his lap, and you can’t help but think about all of the things you could accomplish if you had that supernatural strength. For instance: you could probably lift a car, all by yourself. Or a really heavy bookcase. A sturdy one, made from really expensive wood. Pink ivorywood. Dalbergia. Or—

Oh, what is wrong with you? Who even cares about all of the theoretical things you could do with unimaginable strength when you are literally butt ass naked in a tub with Lucifer! And you accomplished this all on your own, with only the vastly underrated power of puppy eyes. 

Also, wine. So much wine. 

You swirl what’s left in your glass—the red liquid twisting in a dark vortex. It swallows up the dim light of the bathroom—looks more black than red. You know that color intimately. It’s nearly the same shade as Lucifer’s eyes—gleaming bright in the dark room as he dripped cherry wine into the hollow of your belly button—lapped at the red juice with his fleshy tongue and got you all sticky.

Which is how you ended up here, lounging together in warm, bubbly water. Not that you’re complaining.

Honestly, if you had known how nice Lucifer's personal bathroom is, you would have set out on your quest to date bone him so much sooner. 

It’s a lot like his room—far too much black. All doom and gloom and gold metal. Black floors. Black walls, carved of marble with gold veining, and a few floor to ceiling mirrors. The ceiling is a dizzying mural, saturated with (you guessed it) more black, but white and gray too. Sometimes, if you stare long enough—you think you can see shapes dancing in the fog of it. 

(Though that may just be a hallucination conjured up by your alcohol addled brain.)

The best thing about Lucifer’s bathroom though, by a landslide, is the massive tub situated right in the center of the room. Carved entirely of smoky quartz and the size of a small pool, you could quite literally spend hours lazing around in bubble bath bliss. Which you do, quite often. It’s borderline an obsession at this point.

(The first time you commandeered the bathtub, you had read an entire book in one sitting—as you were finishing up the last chapter, Lucifer had burst into the room all feathery and freaked out and totally convinced that you had managed to somehow drown yourself. A fair assumption—in his defense, you had been awfully quiet.)

With a tub like this, you would never use the shower again. And yet, for some horrible and awful reason, Lucifer insists that the shower is better. (Which is actually quite nice as well, but that’s neither here nor there.) When you had interrogated him about it, he just casually confessed that he hardly ever used the beautiful tub. Said something about 'showers are just more practical’. Pah. What does he know? Nothing, apparently.

But now? Well, it isn’t a challenge to coax him in with you.

Lucifer tips his head back against the cool ledge of the tub, eyes sliding shut. “Who’s idea was this anyways?” 

You down the rest of your wine, scrunching your face like an accordion when the bitter flavor bursts on your tongue. “Yours.” 

“That can’t be right.”

“Well it’s not left."

Lucifer groans loudly, acting like your totally great joke caused him real physical pain, and you tch at him.

You lean into him—rest the back of your head on his shoulder and set your empty wineglass aside on the broad, flat rim of the tub. His right arm snakes around your waist, tugging you up tight against his chest, fingertips tracing shapes into the side of your ribs and sending shivers racing across your skin.

You eye the mountain of white bubbles in front of you—lift a poofy handful out of the water. The smell of peaches brightens the room—all sun kissed and sweet.

You wonder if Lucifer is drunk enough to let you give him a bubble beard. 

"Hey, babe—"

"Don't even think about it." 

"Wh—you don’t even know what I was going to say!" 

Lucifer nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Keep the bubbles away from my face."

"...You’re such a killjoy sometimes." 

“Am I?” He threads his fingers through your hair—pulls slowly to tilt your head to the side and ghosts his lips over your neck, pausing to nip at your pulse point. Slides one hand over your breast, rolling your hard nipple between his soft fingers.

You feel it again, then—the pleasant ache still between your thighs, softened by the water's warmth settling into your body.

Lucifer bites down on your neck with sharp incisors, pulling a soft mewl from you.

You squirm. “Again?” 

You’re not actually surprised. Saturdays are devoted just to the two of you—marathon fucking and unwinding from the weekly chaos. It’s a necessary tradition, especially after a week like this previous one. You had barely seen your beloved, thanks to his boyfriend keeping him busy .  

(Lu has made it very clear that Diavolo isn’t his side piece, but like. Would it really be that bad if he was? You could invite him over for your Saturday Fuckfest, which is a very appealing thought. Who wouldn’t want a piece of that princely cake?)

“Just once more, my love.” Lucifer says. You can feel the words as they move through his chest and past his lips—like the soft rumbles of a cat purring. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs.”

Fuck. He sure as hell doesn’t need to tell you twice.

His fingertips skate down your stomach, deftly moving lower to brush teasingly over your clit and your head lolls back with a strangled little mewl. You turn to the side—he captures your lips with his own, swallows down your little cries. Tastes like cherry wine and dark chocolate. 

It’s too much, and not nearly enough. The damp slick of his chest against your bare back, his hand cupping your breast. He toys with you slowly, teasingly, pressing only the lightest of touches to your clit, and you want—need—more. You rock your hips back, right up against his aching cock and he hisses—pinches your nipple and slips his fingers inside of you in tandem, stretching you wide and exploring as you desperately grind against his hand.

He spent all day teasing you—pushing you to the brink and then taking his sweet time unraveling you. Playing you like a finely tuned instrument until tears pricked at your eyes and you dissolved into a begging, whimpering puddle. That fire still burns in your belly—kindled back to life, red hot and unforgiving as he presses his fingers deeper inside of you.

When it comes to fucking, Lucifer is far more patient than you are—something he’s proven a thousand times over. He enjoys it—breaking you. Ruining you. Pushing you to the brink and leaving you there, time and time again. 

But right now—you want more than just his skillful fingers.

You squirm out of Lucifer’s grip, confusing him for all of two seconds, until you turn around and straddle his strong thighs. Bubbles stick to your arms and tummy like little clouds. 

“I want you inside me.” you pout.

“Was I just not?” he says, cheekily, and you glare.

He suddenly bucks his hips up once into your own, threatening your already questionable balance—nearly sends you careening face first into his shoulder. Sudsy water sloshes over the dark rim of the tub as you steady yourself by placing both hands on his chest. You glare at his smug fucking face. 

His eyes, vibrant and jarring, meet yours—sparkling with delight. Crimson shot through with so much black that you’re not sure where the pupil ends anymore. 

You grab his chin with your slick hand—dig your fingers into his jaw and pull him into a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and heat. Relish the taste of his mouth and the slide of his lips, wordlessly begging for what you want.

He grins against your mouth. “Such a needy little thing.” 

You don’t entertain him with a reply—just grind your hips down on his cock, catching your throbbing clit, leaving you keening.

He sucks the plush of your bottom lip into his mouth and bites as you sink down on the heavy weight of cock, inch by agonizing inch until he’s buried to the hilt. He murmurs praise against your lips as he fills your pussy to the brim—sends white hot sparks shooting up your spine. You burn. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips. Lucifer meets you halfway—always does. Grinds his hips languidly into yours, easing the painful stretch of his cock between your walls into a pleasant fullness. There’s no urgency—he’s already ravaged your sweet, tight cunt. 

Lucifer feasts on your mewls—swallows them whole as he thrusts his hips up, sloshing more water over the tub rim. His hands dig into your hip as he grinds up into you with sharp, short jabs—buries his face into the crook of your neck and bites down hard. Draws blood to the surface and lingers there. Leaves behind berry-red marks. 

Your nipples rub against his chest and you grip his shoulders—dig your nails into the taut, firm lines of muscle. Your thighs tremble as you bounce on his cock, rocking down faster—needy. 

Heat spirals and coils in your belly, winding tighter and tighter until your blood is singing with it, leaving you breathless and dizzy and alight. He snakes a hand down between your legs—fingers finding your clit and your hips spasm, squeezing him so tight that it pulls a hiss from him.

Your climax hits you hard—steals your breath away and makes your vision all fuzzy and dark. Your walls clench and Lucifer pulls your hips down, again and again and again, spurred on by your gasping and whimpering. Dragging your tight, warm pussy on his pulsating cock as he floods your womb with his seed.

As his cock softens inside of you, he releases that bruising grip on your hips—tugs you into a close embrace with absolutely no possibility of escape, squishing your slippery breasts against his chest. Heart drumming a furious beat beneath your skin, you wrap your arms around his neck and melt into his arms. 

For a few beats, it’s silent. You can tell that he wants to say something—he’s practically buzzing with words unspoken.

You lean back to see his face properly and tap the pad of your pointer finger against his chest. “Out with it, handsome.” 

“You know that I love you.” A statement, followed up by a softer, “Right?”

A smile tugs at your lips. As if that’s even a question.  

“Well I'd certainly hope so, because you're stuck with me. Forever.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth slide upwards into that dazzling grin you love so damn much. Then he shifts his hips, reminding you that he's still very much inside of you, and nudges his cock over that little patch inside of you that makes you see sparks but is also far too sensitive right now. Your breath leaves you in one great big whoosh and you bite down hard on your swollen lip.

"You're so mean." 

Lucifer hums in agreement, looking far too thrilled by your reaction. Presses a kiss to your jaw and murmurs, "Say it back."  

"What?" 

He leans back. Searches out your gaze and meets it with his own. "Say that you love me." 

Oh.

You would think he'd be reassured by the fact that his dick is literally still inside you, but… you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to use your words, too. 

You hold his hand—link your pinky finger with his own and say, "I love you."

It’s a promise. 

You relax back into his arms, content to just sit quietly amidst the peach-scented bubbles and confessions.

…For about ten seconds.

“So… About that bubble beard…”

Lucifer scoffs. Presses a kiss to your temple and smiles there. 

He really does love you.