#and then someone i care about says something in a way/in a tone that i percieve as them being mad at me

[tokkiwrites]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After breaking up with your boyfriend of four years, you’re left heartbroken and desperate to leave it all behind. But as fate would have it, just as you’re about to walk out the door of his house, you run into his fatherㅡ the man who’s always lingered at the edges of your mind. the next sensible thing to do is fuck him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: pwp, bf's dad joel miller x f! reader, short description of toxic rs, fight scene, afab reader, i dont know if this is categorized as cheating :p , age gap, fingering f receiving, joel has a huge one but we alr know!, dirty talk, pet names, p in v unprotected, creampie, slight slapping and hairpulling.

✿ 🪽 𓈒 ﹫𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 ..＼ ♰ i have been neglecting you cute freaks, but i am here to feed you. behold! boyfriend's dad joel miller smut! around 2.6k words, so it's pretty short, but i hope you love it. not proofread!!!!! okay baiiii 😎🫶🏻

The fight tears through the house like a hurricane, each word leaving wounds too deep. "You never listen to me!" you yell, your voice raw and trembling. Your chest aches, your throat burns, but the word vomit won’t stop pouring out. "Four years, and it’s like I’m shouting into a void! Do you even care about us?"

"Do you even fucking hear yourself?" he fires back, pacing the room like he can’t bear to stand still. "God, all you do is pick fights! You always need something to be wrong. What the actual fuck?"

"Because something is wrong!" Your voice cracks, and the tears come faster now, hot and humiliating. You hate how small you feel, how desperately you want him to care. "I’ve been fighting for this, for you, and all you do is act like it’s a burden!" He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Maybe it is. Maybe you are." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly still. You don’t want to cry anymore, but the tears fall anyway, blurring your vision as you step back. "Fine," you whisper, your voice trembling. "If that’s how you feel, then we’re done. I’m done." He freezes, his expression shifting to something almost regretful— but not enough to stop him. "Fuck this." He grabs his keys from the counter and storms out without another word. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

For a moment, you just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you try to hold in the sobs threatening to break free. The silence feels suffocating, pressing in on you from every angle. You can’t stay here. You need to leave.

You grab your bag and wipe your face as best you can, hands still shaking. You tell yourself you’re fine, that the fresh air will help. But as you turn the corner into the foyer, you collide with something solid— someone solid. "Whoa there," a low voice drawls, steadying you with hands firm and sure. Your heart stutters as you look up and see Joel, your now ex-boyfriend's father.

Your breath catches in your throat. His hand is on your arm, warm and grounding, as his dark eyes search your face. His presence is like a balm, so different from the storm you just walked out of. He’s all quiet strength and rugged edges, his salt-and-pepper beard only making him look more like someone carved out of the earth itself. "Hey, sweet girl," he says, his tone warm and laced with that familiar twang. "What’s got you all worked up? You alright?" The sound of his voice is enough to break you all over again. You shake your head, the tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. You try to answer, but your words falter. All you can do is nod, though you know you’re far from alright. Not when his thumb is brushing lightly over your flesh, not when his scent— warm, woodsy, familiar— makes your knees fall weak. You can’t look at him, can’t look at the steadiness in his eyes or the way his hands ground you when you feel like you’re falling apart.

"Hey now," he says softly, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. His arms wrap around you, strong and safe, and for the first time all night, you don’t feel like you’re about to shatter. "C’mere, sweet thing. You gotta talk to me, mkay? What happened?" You press your face into his chest, breathing in hus smell that makes you feel like you’re home, even though you know you shouldn’t.

It’s absurd, really. You’ve always known he was handsome, but standing this close, it hits you differently. You’ve always noticed him in ways you shouldn’t, caught yourself glancing too long, wondering too much. And now, with tears still wet on your cheeks and your heart in pieces, he feels like the only steady thing left in the world.

"It’s over," you mumble against his shirt, your voice muffled but thick with emotion. "I broke it off with him. For r-real this time..." Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders as his brow furrows. "You and him?" he asks gently, but you could tell he wasn't quite sure in your answer. "You sure ‘bout that?"

"Y-yeah..." You nod, your throat tight. "So you don’t have to... act nice anymore. You don’t have to pretend like you like m-me or care or whatever. It’s done now..." His expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face before something warmer takes its place. His lips part slightly as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

"Sweetheart," he says, his voice dipping lower, softer, like a secret meant just for you. "What the hell gave you the idea I don’t like you?" You blink up at him, stunned. "I just—"

"Little lady," he interrupts, leaning closer, his voice growing rougher, "it’s damn near impossible not to like you." Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your cheek, his stare unflinching, as he examines your tear-stained face. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never noticed before—something unguarded, like he’s been holding it back for years. "Sweet thing like you," he murmurs, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. "Anyone with half a brain’d like you. But me? Hell, darlin’. I’ve liked you since the day I met you."

You step back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze fully, searching his face for any hint of pity, of kindness given out of obligation. "You don’t need to lie to me," you say, voice trembling. It feels like your heart is spilling out of you, breaking open right here in front of him. "Not just to make me feel better..."

Joel’s brow furrows, his dark eyes softening, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. A thread holds stretched taut between you. He doesn’t drop his hands from your shoulders, doesn’t let you pull away any further. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re the most important thing in the world right now, like he’s trying to figure out how to put the pieces of you back together.

"What reason would I have to lie to ya now that you ain't with my sorry ass boy?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it carries a shiver down your whole body. You swallow hard, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You stumble over your own tongue.

Joel exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes bore into yours. simmering, waiting to swallow you whole. "Darlin’," he murmurs, "Let me show you then." Before you can even think, he leans in.

The world falls away the moment his lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s giving you a chance to stop him if this isn’t what you want. But when you don’t pull away and when you melt into him instead, your fingers clutching at his shirt, he deepens the kiss, large hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips are warm and sure, washing away any heartbreak you might've felt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. "Am I lyin'?" Your chest tightens, the tears welling up again, but this time they’re different. They’re not the tears of heartbreak—you’re not even sure what they are, only that they feel a little like hope.

"Mister Miller," you breathe, his name dancing on your puffy lips. He smiles, soft and a little sad, brushing a thumb along your cheek. "I got you, sweet girl. You just let me." and you crumble completely. with no hesitation, he picks you up, taking you to the nearest bedroom, where he closes the door behind.

it felt wrong. it was wrong. but the way he looked looming over, you got your head spinning in all the right ways. the bed pooled under you, sheets rustling as you watched joel discard part of his clothes. you nip at your lower lip, scooting your body upward to remove the pants you had on. in mere seconds, both of you are naked, gasping, and holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

You finally get to see joel fully naked and you can't quite understand how a man his age looks the way he does, and how he's still single, given the package he's been blessed with. "you can stop starin' now. you wanna get me shy?" joel teases, his shaft now on full view for you to gawk at. you're taken by surprise when he so easily pulls you down towards him.

he trailed kisses down your chest like flowers fall from cherry trees in the spring, your body reacting in ways you didn’t know were possible. "Please hurry..." and he chuckles, maybe proud maybe amused to see you this desperate. "'m sorry, darlin'" You purr under his touch, wrapping around him like he's a lifeline. his lips crash against yours again, rough palm slipping into your wet panties. you gasp, the feeling so strange yet so familiar. he lets go of your lips, thick fingers working their way inside of you. Joels eyes meet yours, and he curls his digits, speed picking up. the sounds youㅡ your pussy made, were pure music to him, constant encouragement to go harder, faster, loving the way you looked crumbling onto his fingers. "got such a pretty pussy. Sure you ok with an old man ruin it for anyone else?" he asked it as if it was the least absurd thing he could say right now. you nod your head profusely. "atta girl. knew you were the obedient kind first time I saw ya."

"You gonna come?" Almost mocking you, but you could bot form the proper words. You just looked deep into his glinting eyes as your hand made its way to his hardened crotch. "P-pleasee..." Joel almost loses himself, but he's steady with his movements. "Wanna come on my cock, hm? is that what you beggin' for?" your folds drip and clench around him deliciously, you don't want it to end. and when you're almost there... he stops. you whine in protest but you're quickly put back in your place with a firm tug at your hair. "You take what I give you, girl. Now ass up." you comply. in a second, your back is facing him, red cheeks now hidden into his pillow. you try to balance yourself up with one arm, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Spread 'em." And you do just that, pulling at your flesh. like an auction. only it's you presenting your cunt for fucking. "Fuck, look at that..." he tuts, gathering some of your juices on his pulsing tip, dragging it up and down your puffy lips. "Pretty girl. She cryin' for me, baby?" a string of fain 'yesyesyes' reaches his ear. hes quiet for a bit but the moment he pushes the tip inside you feel your knees buckle, all the strength you had left into your arms fluttering away. you fall face first into the mattres under you as joel pushes down your lower back. it hurts, but the pain is delicious. your moans feel the room, the occasional slap to your ass interrupting them. Joel is strong, fast and brutal, leaving you no room to breathe, fucking so deep into you you're sure he's way past your bellybutton. "T-takin' it so well, pretty girl, so well.." your skin burns where joel touched it, whole head fuzzy and empty. "pleasepleaseplease" as the whole bed shakes and strums to his movements.

your back arches as waves of pleasure break over your body like water on a shore. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made. "been dreamin' about havin' you like this, baby. look at herㅡ" joel throws his head back, delivering a harsh thrust, the pain quickly melding into pleasure. "gonna come, hm?" he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." You don't know if you're crying because it feels too good or because of how long you've waited for this, no matter how unforgiving this could be.

eyes shot open when he roughly yanks your hair, your skin slapping on his being to only sound you can faintly make out in your dazed state. you let your whole body go, tongue lulled out as he takes out on you anything he might've been feeling. you were at his mercy, your moans irrefutable. your stomach flips and churns as that familiar feeling pools again in your lower tummy, and you were chasing it, crying. from what, you didn't quite know. maybe because you've never been fucked this good or maybe because it'll be over too soon.

the room was stuffy. "o-oh myㅡ god!" You yelp when joels speed picks up, shocked that he can go that fast, considering you've heard him multiple times complaining about his bad back. "shitㅡ i gotta come, baby. you gonna let me do it in ya? huh?" You nod your head so, squeezing around him like a ring, and he rewards you with a slap to your ass. "fuckin' slut." he laughs through breathy moans. you're holding on for dear life, reaching for anything your fingers can grasp at this moment. you're sure the neighbors are having a blast seeing the whole house shake. "that's it, girl. take itㅡ c'mon..." with a few more pumps his hips come to a halt, whole body trembling as he comes ropes inside of you. you let go, bliss washing over you, the ringing in your ears covering the soft curses escaping Joel's lips. steadying himself, he pulls out, voice cracking as he speaks again. "fuuck... baby, look at her." he smiles crooked, watching intently as his come drips out of you, cascading down to your thighs. you lick your lips, looking back and right up at him whilst spreading your legs wider.

"Don't do that. think I don't have it in me to fuck you again?"

you tease, "i don't know. do you?" and he laughs, pushing inside of you again, watching as your face contorts in pleasure. "Careful, girl."

you wonder when your boyfriendㅡ i mean exㅡ will come back home.

[croziers-compass]

Truly, the base thing is that the younger generations of humans do not treat engaging with other people as speaking to another human being. Going to sound like a boomer myself, but there is such a distinct lack of both respect and decency. In online spaces and social media, respect is not something that is rewarded or treated as a standard; and that standard is entirely gone. So many of the younger folks nowadays treat all of their engagements across the internet with a lack of respect, decency, and honouring of the other person and their presence in their communication. Their time is spent in an online environment where they are enticed with drama, conflict, and they entertain boredom with antagonism. They also are engaging with people that they will never have to really see or properly engage with and if they want they can guilt-free block and never see someone again. This has rewarded and encouraged poor social skills and an inability to properly make deep and understanding connections with potential employers or individuals that can help move their careers or interests forwards. And then they, without knowing any better, ask the questions of: "Why do I have to treat another human being like a human being?" because they are not rewarded for treating human beings like human beings and not just a source of online entertainment and media consumption to scratch an itch. And this isn't just about e-mails as well. The way social engagements online have developed is very poor. Etiquette isn't something that's meant to be posh or high-toned. It isn't meant to be a display of superiority. It's meant to show respect, decency, and to let someone know you actually care about the other person, what they have to say, and how they feel about something. It shows you are also receptive to what the other person has. Don't you want someone to make you feel like they care and are listening to you? So when you reach out to people online, how you choose to engage with someone will determine if they wish to engage with you further. If you want to make connections with other human beings, you may have to understand that it is not always going to revolve solely around yourself. And I absolutely understand that the current settings of the social expectations of social media environments have derailed any idea of conducting yourself with dignity and respect or treating other people with dignity and respect. But it's something that will negatively impact someone in the future if they fail to grasp the importance of treating other people with basic communicated respect. Especially in professional settings.

not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram

the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis

[fucked-up-mover-shaker]

ive said this once and i will say it again, grady is the most nuanced character in KOTLC. Purely from just how he is written in canon- there is so much we can draw from his character with little inference.

On the one hand, you have a walking tragedy: he manifested one of the rarest and most dangerous abilities in the lost cities at a young age, he lost his daughter to her fiance, (if we're talking theory, he may have been in the neverseen), you can't help but feel sympathy for him.

But then- you realize something terrifying.

Gisela and Vespera are right.

Grady is the most ruthless elf in the lost cities.

But he's also one of the kindest.

Despite the danger it poses, he and Edaline adopt the Moonlark, they put themselves at risk. Despite everything been through, they willingly give their love to a girl who needs it. That is one of the kindest acts someone can pull off.

However, as alluded to earlier, there's another side to him. Despite how concerned, kind, and thoughtful he is; he is also vengeful, impulsive, and distrusting.

Let's look at Everblaze again. Partially because it's the best example of his darker nature, partially because I have it on hand right now, partially because it is my favorite book in the series.

In Everblaze, Grady's vengeance and impulse is seen in full. Take King DImitar, for an example. Sophie was going to be taken away; and Grady jumped in. He believed it to be the right thing to do; and believe me it was, but there is a dark tone to it. A feeling of impulse; that he wasn't truly thinking at the moment. And he almost violated the treaty, if it wasn't for the Councillors coming to his defense.

This scene serves as subtle foreshadowing for later and sets up something very important about Grady:

He could kill someone if he wanted to. And he knows that.

But what could push him that far? Well, there is an answer to that, an answer we later find out:

Jolie's death.

When he finds out the true circumstances to Jolie's untimely demise, his sheer ruthlessness is demonstrated. There's a deeper level to this however, it is his underlying fear of being taken advantage of showing to its surface.

Brant took advantage of Grady and Edaline, and that is the biggest injustice to Grady. Because it's what he has been fearing, it's why he had closed himself off to the world.

That fear causes the sheer level of terror that is caused in Grady. Terror that builds into his impulses, which causes him to go out to find Brant, with intent to kill.

That's why he doesn't want Sophie to come with, he doesn't want his daughter to see the monster he was about to become.

The monster he believes himself to be.

It's not just Everblaze, but a feeling that permeates his character and his choices.

His distrust of Keefe stems from two things:

The similarities he sees between himself and Keefe (the sense of humor, the blond hair, and later in the books; the ability of control).

How that, in a way, is all Grady has ever known.

Elves manifest young. Meaning that he has spent a majority of his life being distrusted by his peers, as well as distrusting the world and fearing someone would take advantage of him.

So when there's a talented but terrified young kid that needs his helps; whether through adoption or through training, he obligies.

Why?

Because he sees himself so much in that situation. Because of that deep feeling of kinship, he feels a need to take care of people in that situation.

Grady's empathy trumps his distrust.

And that's why he starts helping Keefe. That's why he adopts Sophie.

tl;dr: grady's character absolutely FUCKS why does no one talk about this???

also he is hotter than hell and i will fight people on this

[obxsummer]

i still need you // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: late night conversations turn ugly, jj sets off on an adventure with his dad, and an SOS text leads to a life stopping moment for john b.

warnings: nothing you haven’t seen in obx before

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

--

JJ Maybank loved you. 

If everything else in the world was suddenly a lie, that statement would remain true. JJ Maybank loved you so much, he swore it was the only thing he was good at. 

He never realized how valuable it was to have someone so in tune with his every motion, his every thought and reaction. You were always there no matter what was going on, and you always knew how to handle it.

He was trying. He was trying really hard to give you that same effort, that same love and attention you gave him every time, but he had to admit that he was struggling. What was supposed to be a simple trip to the bathroom was slowly turning into the worst conversation of his life, and as he watched your walls crash in front of him, he didn’t know what to do.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question had you flying out of the hammock and back into the bedroom before you could even get a word out. JJ was standing in the bathroom doorway, Sarah’s capped pregnancy test in his hand. Your heart fell to your ass and you just stared at him.

“Babe?”

You shook your head, tears forming faster than you wished when you realized you’d been so unfair to him. “JJ, I gotta talk to you.”

“Are you pregnant?” He repeated the question much quieter, his tone still soft and careful as he approached. 

You shook your head again. “No. It’s not mine.”

JJ nodded, his gaze dropping to the two lines on the test as he stared at it. “Then…?”

“Sarah’s.”

There was a sense of relief that overtook him, but part of him was also sad. Starting a family with you is something JJ had been hesitant about, especially with his own paternal history. He didn’t know if he could fix the curse of his dad’s behavior. Both of his so called fathers' behavior, actually. 

“Would… Would you-”

“I can’t have kids.”

JJ blinked and looked up at you. “Huh?”

You crossed your arms over your chest protectively. “Because of everything… with- with Rafe. They said there’s…it’s not impossible but it’s extremely high risk and unlikely.” 

When he was silent, you knew this was a dealbreaker. You should’ve told him, given him a chance to run before he put a ring on your finger and gave all this effort to you.

“I know I should’ve told you, so if…if you want this back, it’s okay. I don’t blame you if you wanna act like this never happened, but I’m sorry and-”

“Shut up.” The command sent you silent as you stopped pulling the ring from your finger, eyes going wide in shock. JJ shook his head in disbelief and you were somehow so terrified of what he was going to say. This could very well be the end of everything you’d been through all because you couldn’t be honest with him. 

“You… you think I would leave you? Over this?” JJ’s emotions were getting the best of him now and he couldn’t pull his gaze from your teary one. “I have your initials inked into my skin. Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrugged. “I’m not… I’m just giving you an out. Incase you want it.”

“Why would I ever want that?” He was much louder now and you almost took a step back before reminding yourself that this was JJ, your JJ. “Why would I ever leave you over something you can’t control? Sweetheart, I love you more than anything. If you wanted kids, fine, we would have them. But if you didn’t, or you couldn’t, that’s okay. I’m not willing to risk losing you over some annoying ass toddler that messes up all my shit for a handful of years.”

He pointed the small pink stick in your direction, his own eyes wet as his frustration carried into his tone. You knew it wasn’t directed at your actions, rather the way your head had been handling everything, but it still felt weird. “Don’t you ever, and I mean ever hide something like this from me just because your head is telling you, I don’t want you. Because-”

The door slammed open at the worst opportunity possible, both you and JJ turning to see Sarah and John B looking back. You gasped at them, knowing everything probably looked and sounded so wrong. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s mine!” Sarah practically yelled, running forward to grab the test from JJ’s hand as she stood in front of him at her full height. “It’s mine, okay? And drop the fucking tone with her, JJ. You have no idea what she’s been through and-”

“Hey, it’s-” John B held a hand in front of you when you went to intercept Sarah. JJ’s eyes were wide at the words coming out of the girl’s mouth but he didn’t argue back with her. 

“Sarah, he didn’t-” 

She turned to hold a finger to you before continuing to lay into JJ. “If you so much as think about saying another nasty word to her, I’ll cut your dick off in your sleep. I swear to God, JJ, you have-”

“He wasn’t doing anything!” You blurted out when her threat became a little too realistic for your liking. “We were talking, okay and-”

“He was yelling-”

“Because I was being selfish!” You snapped at John B, frustration and emotion boiling over. “I should’ve told him everything a while ago, and I didn’t. This is on me, okay? Leave him alone.”

Three sets of eyes watched you carefully as you laid the most vulnerable pieces of you out for them to see. 

“It’s my fault,” You nearly broke there, a breathy hiccup escaping as you tried to keep it calm. “I don’t want the pity. I don’t need it. I should’ve fought back against him, tried to defend myself more but I-”

John B shook his head, his voice breaking as he whispered your name. 

You ignored him and looked straight at JJ. “He ruined the best thing I could ever give you. You deserved the chance to correct all the things your dad did to you, the things he put you through. All I wanted was to give you everything you never had, to be everything you never had because you deserve that and so much more. And I let Rafe Cameron of all people ruin me… I’m ruined for you.”

You felt like you were witnessing a slow motion car crash. All of your nightmares had consisted of one thing: losing. Losing JJ, losing your friends, losing yourself. You felt like it was coming to life in front of you.

“I can’t do this.”

Stabbing you in the heart would’ve hurt less than JJ’s statement, but you had to accept it. You gave him an out and he was taking it. Part of you wanted him to blame you because it would at least give you some confirmation on what he was thinking. All you could do was nod and look at the floor. You’d finally done it, you’d manage to push away the one person who knew you inside and out and you only had yourself to blame.

“I can’t sit here and let you think a single word of that is true.” JJ pulled at his hair. God, you looked so broken in front of him and he couldn’t believe this whole night was turning in this direction. He crossed the room to hold your face in his hands, heart breaking at the tears on your cheeks and the way you shivered from his touch.  “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re everything to me. I don’t give a flying fuck if you walked out of that whole nightmare with one eyeball and four fingers on one hand. You walked out and you’re still here. That’s what matters. You are and you will continue to be my entire world. I told you tonight, and I will continue to tell you every single day if that’s what you need.” 

“And you’re the furthest thing from ruined.” Sarah reminded you that she was in the room, John B crying behind her as they watched the scene from a small distance. “God, you’re literally perfect. A great boyfriend, a great brother, amazing friends. You’re so kind and selfless, and you’re so dedicated to each and every one of us in ways that nobody else is. I give you one look and you’re already on the same wavelength as me without a word. I’m not going to stand here and watch the future godmother and favorite aunt of my child think so negatively about herself when she is easily one of the best things in each of our lives.”

JJ was there to catch you when you sobbed, your whole body nearly collapsing in relief that he knew everything now, that you weren’t carrying what felt like the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

“I suck at sappy shit, everyone c’mere.” John B managed to pull a laugh out of the group, the four of you hugging each other tightly in the middle of your bedroom like the world around didn’t exist. Sarah, John B, and JJ had seen the worst pieces of you and still loved you unconditionally. It was time to get out of your head and embrace it, no matter how much you wanted to hide away. 

“Now that that’s over with… you’re fucking pregnant?!”

--

The chaos of the night finally settled down enough after JJ expressed his excitement for John B and Sarah. He didn’t hesitate to guide you to bed shortly after, mumble apologies being shared that tonight didn’t go differently, but you reassured him you had forever to celebrate it. Sarah eventually curled up next to you, the two of you in a fitful sleep for as long as you could while the boys stayed up to keep an eye on Groff.

Sarah was scrolling on her phone when you woke up a few hours later. She looked over her case to smile at you as you groaned loudly and stretched. 

“Are you and John B actually going to apply for a marriage license?” Your voice was raspy as you spoke, your eyes meeting hers as you shifted on your side to look at her.

She dropped her phone to the comforter. “I think so, unless he changed his mind from yesterday. That was the plan.”

You nodded, a small smile growing on your face. “Are you nervous?”

Sarah let out a breathy laugh. “Hardly. I just can’t believe all the shit that happened in the last 24 hours.”

The two of you conversed for a few moments longer before climbing out of bed to get ready for the day. While Sarah busied herself finding a cute white dress (one of her own, this time), you quickly changed and did your morning routine before settling in to help her curl her hair.

“Ready?” You asked as she slipped her shoes on and turned off the light. She nodded, grabbing your hand to pull you down the stairs. Cleo was eating a sandwich in the kitchen and looked up as you entered.

“Don’t tell me I’m losing another one today?” Her eyebrow raised in curiosity as Sarah practically skipped outside.

“We have to share the same last name for a little bit, right?” You winked in her direction, the pieces falling together before she shook her head jokingly.

JJ, Pope, and John B were already outside, apparently packing the Twinkie to head to Larissa’s grave with Groff. Your brother was literally pacing a path into the grass, his head snapping up as Sarah stepped off the porch with a tiny squeal.

“Let’s make this quick,” JJ was oblivious to the couple next to you and rubbed at his face to wake himself up. 

You hid your smile behind your hand as John B and Sarah stared at each other for a moment, both of them red in the face as she finally reached your brother’s side.

“Hey, we’re gonna get out of your hair, actually,” John B’s voice was so absentminded as he kept his eyes on Sarah, completely disregarding JJ’s confused look. He pointed in your general direction as he took her hand. “Love you, see you in a few. Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shifted into your fiancé’s shoulder, his arm falling around you as he took in the duo for the first time this morning. Pope gave you a confused glance to which you just held up your left hand and pointed to the ring on your finger. He nodded, much easier to communicate wordlessly with than JJ would be. 

“I, uh, okay?” JJ’s confusion made you laugh as Sarah and John B disappeared around the side of the house without a word, small talk being shared between the two of them as they made their way down the dock. He turned to look at you and clocked the smile on your face. “Something to share with the class?”

You shook your head, pushing up on your toes to kiss him. “Not in the slightest. You ready to go?”

JJ glanced between the Twinkie and the porch where Groff was getting to his feet. “How about you stay here with the girls and Pope? I… this is my mom. I feel like it should be personal, you know?”

You glared at him. “What did John B say?”

The way he took a step back already told you the answer. “No, nothing. Nothing, I just think I should give this a shot, on my own, you know?”

“JJ, I swear-”

He grabbed your shoulders carefully. “I love you. And if shit goes south, I can’t risk having you in danger with me not being able to help. So, please. Stay here, with them, and I’ll be back. Okay?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” You admitted quietly, your hand grabbing on his wrist. You weren’t so convinced by his reasoning and with Groff giving you weird vibes, you really didn’t like this idea. “Be careful? I know he’s supposedly your dad and all but…”

JJ nodded in understanding, his eyes catching on someone behind you. “Told you I’ll always come home to you, and I mean it. Love you, sweet girl.”

He kissed you softly, hand slipping from your shoulder to hold your neck gently. You hummed in satisfaction, your fingers grabbing his flannel to pull him slightly closer. 

“Alright, lovebirds.” Groff’s voice ruined your goodbye as he stopped next to you. Pulling away from JJ, you gave the man a sharp glare, unamused by his comments and whatever assumed power he thought he had over JJ. 

Rolling your eyes, you gave JJ one more kiss. “Love you, please be careful.” 

You stepped away from him to head back inside, but an unfamiliar hand landed on your shoulder, stopping your retreat. You turned back to Groff, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and removed his hand, pointing down at the ring on your finger. “I…um. I always wanted a daughter, Larissa did too. I’m glad you’ll be joining our family one day.”

The disgust on your face was very evident as you stared back at him, forcing a nod. “Yeah, considering you gave away your own son, I’m finding that hard to believe.”

Groff gave you a short nod before turning to climb into the Twinkie’s passenger seat as JJ slammed the door of the driver’s side. You shook your head as the van started and drove away, the sinking feeling in your stomach building with each passing moment. 

“You feel the same way I do about this?” Pope asked as he joined your side, the two of you watching the van disappear out on the road.

You sighed, “We shouldn’t have let him go alone. That man is the biggest manipulator if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“Now all we can do is wait and hope he comes back, preferably without that pathetic excuse for a man.”

--

While JJ busied himself adventuring with his dad, Pope and Cleo went out to grab gas for the boats with the remainder of the five grand down payment Wes Genrette had given. You and Kiara busied yourselves trying to get some items together for the potential trip to Morocco (if it happened) but mostly trying to downsize to what could be taken to Ward’s rental condo. The property was left in Sarah’s name, thankfully away from Rose’s evil claws, so your group could try to wiggle in as best as possible, but the three bedroom condo was no match for your family of seven, and soon to be a baby.

“I’m gonna grab supplies and shit from outside,” You said with a huff, brushing the sweat from your forehead. “Be right back.”

Kie was head first in making sandwiches and food to take along, so you dipped out of the room by yourself. The wind was refreshing, blowing across your skin as the two of you headed into the store area to collect your items. 

You grabbed a handful of first aid items, shoving them in your worn backpack with as much organization as you could muster. 

Humming along to the music on your phone, you moved fluidly to grab random supplies from the walls, figuring the store wouldn’t need them much anyway considering the property wasn’t yours soon.

Something moved in your peripheral and you turned to see the Twinkie parked outside again. A small frown formed on your face; you didn’t think JJ and Groff would be back that quick. Walking out, you glanced to catch sight of the blond boy but came up short. 

“Babe?” You called out, heading toward the driver side in case they were still talking inside. Except, they weren’t. Nobody was inside, actually. “JJ?”

You spun on your heels in hopes of him popping out, but still no sight of him. Setting your course to the house in hopes that he’d be there instead, you were met with Chandler Groff popping out of the side door in what looked like a hurry.

Stopping, you crossed your arms and glared at him. “Can I help you?”

He had the tube containing the scroll in his hand, and motioned toward it. “Uh, hi. I uh, I just came to grab the scroll to make sure it’s not just the artifact from the mausoleum.”

His rushed tone told you there was more to the story but you nodded. “Mhmm, um. Where’s JJ?”

“Oh, he stayed behind at the family plot. He sent me to retrieve this. I thought I’d give him some time alone, you know?” He took a few steps toward you, that you immediately repeated in the opposite direction to put some distance back. Any further and you’d be against the Twinkie and out of options.

You dug your fingers into your arm. “He certainly got his lying skills from Luke because I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

Groff laughed but you could tell it was forced. “Well, you hardly know me, of course you aren’t going to believe me. You can ask your friend in there… uh Kiara is it? She seemed fine with the idea.”

“Oh so you won’t mind if I just call him, then?” You reached into your pocket where your phone was still playing music.

“Yeah, yeah you should. You should call him. He’ll confirm. Go ahead.”

Your back hit the metal of the van as Groff continued to push into your space. You glanced down, swiping for the FaceID to activate and unlock before completely bypassing checking JJ’s location and instead pressing the lock buttom twice. Times like these you really thanked Sarah for helping you set up the shortcuts she did.

All it took was that one split second before Groff’s hands were shoving you and your head collided with the window of the Twinkie, glass shattering from the impact. Your phone slipped from your hands and you gasped, knees giving out as you grabbed your head in pain.

“Kie!” The scream tore through your throat but was cut off as Groff grabbed your throat and yanked you off the ground. 

Panic set in instantly, all of your senses blurring as images of Rafe flashed in front of you. You struggled to get air in your lungs and gasped, hands shoving and feet kicking like it would do you any good.

One last hit to your head, and the sweet dark relief took over.

Then silence.

--

You weren’t sure if you were awake.

There had been moments like this in the past when you were at the Camerons’, so blissed and drugged out that you couldn’t tell the difference from reality or hallucinations. Like a sensory tank, there was no light or noise. Just you and your racing thoughts and the loud thump of your heart in your ears.

Here you were, all over again. No sense of where you were, what had happened, or who was around. You could barely breathe and the hefty duct tape on your mouth stole your inability to speak. The sharp bite of pain when you tried to move was thanks to zip ties that were too tight, and you realized how utterly stuck you were.

The tears came first, followed by the hyperventilating. You tried running through the methods they taught you in therapy, the counting, the timed breathing. JJ’s voice was echoing in your head to keep your airways open and not clench your hands but JJ wasn’t here, you couldn’t move, and one of your main airways was not an option.

An attempted cry left your body, but you doubted anyone could hear it. It was so muffled and quiet that it might as well have been a whisper in a concert arena. 

You were going to die. You were going to die here, alone, with nothing but the thoughts in your head to keep you company. You hoped Kiara was okay. Hoped that none of your friends would be the ones to find you, if they even could. 

The tears were unstoppable now, small sobs escaping as you tried to pull air in your lungs but it was getting harder. It felt like someone’s hand squeezing around your throat.

Tighter, tighter, tighter.

Gone.

--

Kiara was a stranger to what it felt like being knocked unconscious. Hell, the closest she’s ever gotten was because of Pope nearly concussing her with an ore a couple of weeks ago. It was never from being punched in the head and colliding with the table.

The headache was killer, enough to send her vision swaying but she forced herself to her feet. “Ah, fuck.” Her fingers poked the area where the pain was radiating, but no blood came back so she considered that a good sign. 

“Kie!” 

John B’s scream was not a good one, and it was enough to get her moving out of the house to see him sprinting across the yard with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah close behind. 

“What’s happening?” Her voice was much quieter than she expected as the all moved toward her. Pope’s hands were gentle as they hovered her face, taking in the bruising on her cheek.

“What happened to you?” Cleo asked, wincing at the injury.

Kiara shook her head, “I can’t… just give me a second.”

“Where is she?” John B asked, eyes scanning the entire ground. He was on the verge of screaming or crying, or shit maybe he needed to throw up. “The SOS text came from her phone, fro-from the shortcut, where is she?”

“John B!” Sarah picked up the device in question that was resting in the grass near the van, the music still playing from it loud enough that she could hear.

The sight of your case made his heart drop. “Shit, stay here. Check the house,” He directed toward Pope and Cleo, practically sprinting toward Sarah.

“It seems fine,” She commented, “Music still on and everything. Maybe she did it accidentally?”

Except, John B wasn’t looking at the phone in Sarah’s hand. His eyes were locked on the nearly shattered window behind her head, a window that hadn’t been fucked up before. Sarah noticed his silence and looked over her shoulder, the broken glass answer enough that no you didn’t do this accidentally.

John B yelled your name again, nothing following his call, so he took off running into the shop with hopes that maybe you would be there. If Kiara was in the house, chances were, you weren’t.

Except the shop was empty, besides your backpack resting on the counter with various shit scattered around it.

“Is she in here?” Sarah asked as she ran up behind John B, her eyes scanning the room for any sight of you. “John B?”

“What the fuck?” You brother tugged at his hair and moved to where your bag was sitting as he tried to look for any clue, anything, that would tell him where you were. “No, no, no. We can’t do this again. I-I.. I told her I’d never let something like this happen, what if-”

“John B, John B, hey!” Sarah grabbed his face as gently as possibly. “Do not lose your shit. Not right now. She needs you, okay?”

His hands were fucking shaking and suddenly, this was too scary for him. Something had happened, and now you were missing.

“Look, look. I’ll get you a water and we can see if Kie remembers anything okay? It’s probably a miscommunication and-” Sarah turned toward the red Coca-Cola cooler that usually housed the ice for cold drinks and stopped short at the screw driver wrenched between one of the closures. “Did you lock this?”

John B pulled his hand from his face to look at what she was referring to. “What? No, we never…”

Sarah ripped the screwdriver out in a second, flipping the latch to unlock the lid so she could pry it open. “John B!”

The Routledge boy jumped forward to look and nearly threw up his breakfast. “Move, move!”

Reaching down, he grabbed ahold of your unmoving body, your skin so pale and cold that he didn’t know what to do. His knees hit the ground hard as he laid you down, hands moving to shake you. “Wake up, hey. Wake up!”

Sarah called your name, her touch gentle as she pulled the duct tape off your mouth, but you still didn’t move. “John B, she’s not breathing!”

“Pope, help!” 

Like a series of deja vu, John B’s hands went to your chest to push down harshly, the rhythmic movement too familiar for comfort. Sarah had been in this same position under his hands before, a gunshot wound to her hip and barely enough blood to keep her alive. John B never wanted to do this again, and he sure as shit never wanted to do it to you.

“Pinch her nose, and breathe in her mouth,” He gasped out in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay. “Pope!”

Sarah followed the directions, pinching your nose and opening your mouth to push air back into your lungs. She was shaking, barely able to see through her tears. 

A series of footsteps came seconds later, and Pope swore his whole world stopped at the sight ahead of him. You, his practically adopted sister, lying still on the floor as John B attempted CPR. Kiara nearly screamed, and Cleo stood in shock as Pope flung forward to take over the compressions with more confidence and precision.

“Go, again,” He directed to Sarah as John B tumbled back against the counter in shock. Pope started his compressions again, keeping his count outloud. 

Kiara stumbled to your brother’s side, wrapping her arms around him as they stared on, horrified. Cleo moved to grab scissors, her careful movement cutting the zip ties from your ankles as Pope continued to put pressure on your chest.

And then you coughed. 

And Pope fell into a fit of tears. Removing his hands from your chest, he fell back on his ass in what felt like exhaustion. 

“Aye! You okay?” Cleo was trying to keep a level head but the way her heart was pounding against her chest told her otherwise. She’d never been so close to losing someone, not like this. She carefully snipped the remaining ziptie and your hands instantly reached for Sarah, who cried into your hair and helped you sit up.

Despite your wishes, you couldn’t get your voice to work and opted for nodding instead. Your throat ached and your head felt like it was going to shatter into pieces, and you were so, so cold.

“Holy shit,” Pope choked out as he watched you blink and your own chest move air into your body. Your head was reeling at all of their concern and voices so you closed your eyes and continued to focus on just evening out the flow of air. 

John B ripped himself out of Kiara’s arms and next to Sarah the second he got a grasp on what the fuck just happened. “Hey, hi. You’re okay. It’s okay now.”

You reached out to grab John B’s hand, squeezing enough to let him know you could hear him and were responsive. Sarah’s warmth left your side a moment after and John B easily took her place, his arms cradling you against him like you were a small child as he cried into your hair. 

Wrapping your arms around him, you blinked your eyes open to see Pope sitting in front of you with Cleo rubbing his shoulder soothingly, Kie leaning against his side. He quickly brushed the tears from his cheeks but it already told you everything. 

You mouthed a thank you and cuddled in closer to John B’s chest, opting to just breathe breathe breathe.

You weren’t sure what the fuck had just happened, but it seemed like your friends were about to have one crazy ass story to tell. 

-- 

John B did not let you out of his sight. 

After carrying you back to the house and directing Sarah to help you into your warmest sweatshirt and sweatpants, he looked to Kiara for answers.

The girl’s brainfog had thankfully cleared and she was about to recount Groff showing up, claiming he and JJ found the lens and needed the scroll. When Kiara asked where her friend was, Groff knocked her out, which meant her intercepted you next.

Nobody wanted to ask questions, but the SOS text on their phone screens was hard to pull their eyes off of.

When everyone had phones replaced following El Dorado, Sarah had made sure to set up a shortcut that sent an SOS text with a location to the group chat in case of an emergency. She hoped it would never be used, but she was so thankful you thought quick enough to use it in this situation. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if not.

“Here.” She handed you an warm cup of tea with honey in hopes that it would help soothe the soreness in your throat but the handprint outside on your skin told her otherwise. After helping you crawl under the covers, she sent a quick text to John B that you were settled before the group came tumbling in. 

Your brother instantly threw himself next to you near the top of the best, shifting so you could lean against him and he could keep a hand on your arm at all times. Kiara took your other side, sitting crisscross as she held an ice pack to her head. 

“Y’all are dramatic,” Your voice was practically gone as you joked with them before taking another sip of your tea.

“And you sound like you smoke six packs a day,” Cleo chimed back with a teasing smile on her face. “Save your voice, girly. We got you.”

You gave her a weak smile.

The next twenty minutes consisted of everyone sharing what the fuck had happened in the past few hours. Pope and Cleo nearly got wiped out by Kelce which caused them to collide with Sarah and John B who had been running from Topper and Ruthie. Kiara took a gnarly blow to the head like you did, and JJ was still absent from the group.

Splendid. 

“So, what? Groff left with the map and lens and JJ’s still with him?” Pope recounted as he started to pace the floor. 

Your calls to JJ had been ignored and considering he didn’t show up with the SOS text, you were really worried Groff had gotten to him. Your fingers moved across the screen to pull up his location again and you dropped it on the center of the bed so your friends could see his location pinging from the middle of the ocean.

Turning to John B, you tried to communicate with your hands that you all needed to leave, but he was unamused. “No, no. You’re not leaving this room, let alone this house any time soon. You hear me? Grounded.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the comforter to open your notes app and type away. 

Then you guys need to go. If something happens to him and I’m the reason you didn’t go, I’ll never forgive myself. 

You shoved the device in John B’s direction, watching as he skimmed the words before shaking his head slightly. Annoyed by his silence, you moved it over so Sarah could read it instead.

“She’s got a point, John B. We need to go.”

John B took a look around the room, everyone’s expressions matching Sarah’s as they read the message on your phone. He hated this, the thought of pulling you out of a safe space after he just nearly broke your ribs from the force of his own hands because you weren’t breathing.

“Fine, fine,” He admitted defeat when even Cleo nudged her head in the direction of the water. “Go get your shit. I need to talk to this one first.”

Your eyes were going to get stuck in the back of your head if you rolled them again so you just sighed and flopped against the pillows as everyone scattered. Sarah patted your knee through the covers, reassuring she’d grab your backpack and everything before slipping out the door, leaving you with your brother.

You quickly typed on your phone as John B watched you.

I’m not arguing with you via notes app, bro.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Don’t wanna argue. Just um…” He let out a breath, tears filling his eyes faster than he intended. “You really scared me, out there. And I don’t like the idea of you getting thrown back into danger, but the idea of leaving you here is even worse. So I need you… I really need you to promise me something.”

John B shifted to sit where you could see him easier and not strain your neck looking up at him. He grabbed the phone from your hand and let it fall, taking both of your palms into his. “I need you to promise me that you’ll stick with Sarah. And you won’t go throwing yourself in front of anyone if it comes to it. You… you both mean way too much for me to lose you to a stupid fucking treasure hunt. Okay?”

You squeezed his hands and nodded, because it’s really all you could do. So you did.

And now, you needed to find JJ… but nothing was ever that simple for you all, was it?

--

a/n: did i redeem myself??? also john b is not over what just happened and i think another crashout is coming

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[mcrveilles]

just this once // ln4

HI WE'RE BACK - i'm having so much fun writing this. thank you for liking it and your encouragement.

word count: 2.1k warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, heartache, feelings of betrayal includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend summary: the consequences hit hard

PART FIVE previous part - next part

The tension thickens, pressing down on your chest as Max’s words settle in the air between you. You glance at Lando, hoping he has some magic explanation, some way to fix this, but his jaw is set, his eyes locked on Max. His usual easy charm is nowhere to be found, and for the first time tonight, he looks genuinely shaken. Max crosses his arms, his sharp gaze moving between the two of you. "Well?" he presses, his voice growing louder. "Someone better start talking."

You take a shaky breath, your hands twisting together at your sides. “Max, it’s not like that,” you manage, though your voice wavers under the weight of his stare. “We weren’t sneaking around. I mean, not intentionally. It’s just…” You trail off, your words getting stuck in your throat. “Not intentionally?” Max repeats, his tone dripping with disbelief. “So what? It just accidentally happened?”

Lando steps in then, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t plan this, Max. I swear. But… yeah, there’s something between us.” He glances at you, his expression softening before he looks back at Max. “It wasn’t something we wanted to hide from you. We just—”

“Wanted to keep it quiet until it suited you?” Max interrupts, his voice rising. “Do you even understand what this looks like? You, my best friend, going behind my back with my sister? And you—” He turns to you, his eyes filled with something between anger and betrayal. “You didn’t think to tell me? Not once?” You flinch at the accusation, guilt curling in your stomach. “I didn’t know how,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, congratulations,” Max snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Mission failed.”

The words hit like a slap, and you blink back the sting of tears. Max has never spoken to you like this, never looked at you like this—like he doesn’t even recognize you. The hurt in his eyes is worse than the anger, and it makes your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for. “Max,” Lando says again, his tone softer now. “You’re my best mate. I never wanted to hurt you either. But…” He hesitates, like he’s searching for the right words. “I care about her. A lot. And if you can’t see that—”

“That’s the problem,” Max cuts in, his voice raw. “I do see it. I saw it tonight, clear as day. And maybe even before that, but I ignored it because I trusted you, Lando. I trusted both of you.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you hold them back, refusing to break under the pressure of Max’s gaze. “I need some time,” Max finally says, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute. “To think. To figure out how I feel about all of this.” He takes a step back toward the door, pausing to look at Lando. “Don’t follow me. Either of you.” And with that, he turns and walks back inside, leaving you and Lando alone on the balcony once more. The sound of the party swells as the door shuts behind him, a stark contrast to the silence that settles between you.

Lando exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he mutters, “that went about as badly as it could’ve.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

He steps closer then, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that feels both apologetic and grounding. “We’ll fix this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a determination that makes your chest tighten. “I don’t know how yet, but we’ll fix it.” You nod, though you’re not sure that you believe him. The night feels heavier now, the spark of earlier completely snuffed out. But when Lando’s fingers lace with yours, you let yourself hold onto him—just for a moment—because even in the mess you’ve made, he’s the only thing that feels steady.

You pull your hand from his stepping back until the cool metal of the balcony railing presses against your spine. Lando’s brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you might shatter. But you already feel like you’re breaking. Your breath comes too fast, and your chest tightens as all the emotions swirling inside you—guilt, fear, frustration—bubble to the surface. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “What do you mean?” His voice is steadier now, but you can see the cracks in his confident mask. He takes a step forward, and you immediately hold up a hand to stop him.

“I mean this.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “Us. Whatever this is. I can’t, Lando. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He stares at you, his jaw tightening. “Baby, don’t do this,” he says, his tone low but urgent, almost pleading. “I’m serious, Lando,” you say, hating the way your voice wavers. “Max hates me now. He hates you. And he has every right to. We were selfish, and we’ve ruined everything.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Lando says firmly, his hands falling to his sides. “He’s just upset. He needs time to process this, that’s all.”

“Maybe,” you say, your throat tightening, “but I can’t keep doing this with you, sneaking around, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. It’s too much, Lando. I can’t handle it.” The hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the stomach, and you have to look away, focusing instead on the city lights below. For a moment, the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the muffled music from inside the apartment. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

You laugh bitterly, though there’s no humor in it. “Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified, Lando. I’m terrified of hurting Max even more, of ruining what we had—what you and Max have. And I’m terrified of…” You trail off, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.

“Of what?” he presses gently, stepping closer despite your earlier protest. His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of you.

“Of you,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “Of how much I feel when I’m with you. Of how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around. It’s too much, Lando. You’re too much.” He doesn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, heavy and suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge of vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

“I’m not going to apologize for how I feel about you,” he says. “And I’m not going to let you push me away just because you’re scared.”

“Lando—”

“No, let me finish,” he says, his tone firmer now. “I get it. You’re overwhelmed. So am I. But this? What we have? It’s real. And I’m not going to let you throw it away because you’re too afraid to fight for it.” His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest. You want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but deep down, you know he’s not. Still, the fear is stronger. It wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs. “I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “I need to figure things out on my own.”

His face falls, and the sight nearly breaks you. But he nods, his jaw tight. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It is,” you say, though the words feel like a lie.

He steps back, his hands sliding into his pockets. For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then he nods again, turns, and walks back inside without another word. You stay on the balcony, the cool night air doing nothing to ease the heat burning in your chest. And as the door clicks shut behind him, you realize just how much it hurts to push him away.

The second Lando steps away, a hollowness seeps into your chest, spreading fast and heavy like a lead weight. The cool night air brushes against your skin, but instead of soothing you, it amplifies the ache inside, making every breath sharp and uneven. You tell yourself this is for the best, that pushing him away was the right thing to do—for Max, for Lando, for yourself—but the words ring hollow.

Guilt churns in your stomach, twisting like a knife. Max’s face, the flash of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, replays in your mind like a haunting reel, over and over again. And then there’s Lando. The look he gave you before he turned away—raw, unguarded—feels like a scar you’ll carry for a long time. You hate that you put it there.

Your hands tremble as you grip the railing, the cold metal biting into your palms. Everything feels too much, too fast. You were supposed to keep things simple. One night. One moment. A slip you could explain away and move on from. But it’s become so much more, hasn’t it? And now, it’s spiraled into a mess you can’t seem to untangle.

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and your vision blurs as tears pool in your eyes. You don’t know if you’re angry, sad, or just exhausted—maybe all three. Angry at yourself for letting this happen, sad for the way things are unraveling, and exhausted from pretending you don’t care as much as you do.

And you do care. That’s the worst part. You care so much it’s terrifying. Every glance, every touch, every stolen moment with Lando has carved its way into you, leaving marks you don’t know how to erase. And the thought of losing him—really losing him—hurts more than you want to admit.

But the fear is louder. Fear of what this could mean for Max, for your family, for your heart. Fear of stepping into something that feels so big, so overwhelming, it might swallow you whole.

So you stay rooted there, staring out at the city lights, wishing they could somehow illuminate the answers you so desperately need. But all they do is flicker and blur, leaving you just as lost as before.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The buzz of Silverstone is electric, a sea of orange and British flags waving wildly as engines roar to life. The atmosphere is alive, but you feel out of sync, moving through the paddock like a ghost. Max is there, but his smiles are subdued when it comes to you. He’s cheering forLando, though, still proud and supporting his best friend for his home race. Still, his excitement feels muted, his celebratory backslaps and grins somehow...limited and different. It’s like he’s drawing a line, one you’re not sure how to cross.

Lando keeps his distance too. You catch glimpses of him—a flash of his curls beneath his cap, the familiar set of his jaw as he talks to his engineers—but he never looks your way. You tell yourself it’s for the best, but it doesn’t stop the ache every time he passes.

When the race begins, you stand in the far back of his garage, heart pounding as Lando’s car tears through the track. Every overtake, every perfect turn has you holding your breath. You try not to think about the way things used to be—the way you’d celebrate together, no hesitation, no lines drawn in the sand. But you can’t help it. Because even with everything between you now, you’re still there, willing him to succeed.

When he crosses the finish line in P3, with Lewis winning the race, the roar of the crowd is deafening. You clap and cheer with the rest of them, smiling despite yourself as Lando lifts his trophy. Max is by your side in the crowd, grinning from ear to ear, but even his elation feels careful, like there’s something unsaid hanging between all of you.

Lando doesn’t look for you when he steps down from the podium. He’s swarmed by cameras and teammates, orange confetti raining down, but he doesn’t scan the crowd like he used to. And you? You stay on the sidelines, your pride for him tangled up in all the things you’re too scared to face.

tag list: @sltwins @sarx164 @hadesnumber1daughter @fullmugwolffish @willowsnook @sageskiesf1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @rawr-123s-stuff @leclercdream @chezmardybum @landossainz @cloud-55 @sillyfreakfanparty @harrysdimple05 @mwuaferrari @milkysoop @weekendlusting @chezmardybum @isotopemylove @luvvcharxo

[reiding-writing]

I love the team teasing cold!Reader and Spencer hshsh. How about when they are in a case and Spencer is in danger and she is just desperate trying to get to him?

FACE TO FACE — SPENCER REID!

you threaten to crack under the stress of spencer’s abduction.

spencer reid x cold!reader | h/c | 1.2k | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — cold!readers origin story is taking so long i needed to take a break and work on something else 😭

The air in the BAU’s makeshift command center was heavy with tension, the only sound the incessant clicking of Garcia’s keyboard and the faint hum of monitors displaying a live feed. On one of the screens, Spencer was hunched over in a chair, blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow, his hands bound behind him.

The unsub paced in and out of the frame, holding a metal pipe.

Your fingers curled into fists as you stared at the screen, your stomach twisted in knots. Spencer’s soft grunts of pain, muffled by the gag in his mouth, made you want to smash something—or someone.

“Garcia,” you barked, voice sharp and cold. “How long until you trace the signal?”

Penelope flinched at your tone but kept her focus on the screen. “I—I’m working on it! The unsub’s bouncing the signal off half a dozen different servers—”

“I don’t care about the technical details,” you snapped, pacing. “Just hurry up.”

Derek Morgan stepped in, his voice steady but firm. “Hey, we’re all doing the best we can. Yelling at Garcia isn’t gonna make this go any faster,”

You stop pacing to turn to him, ice in your glare. “We need faster, Morgan. He’s—” You cut yourself off, unable to finish the sentence as Spencer let out another muffled cry on the screen. The unsub had struck him across the shoulder, causing him to slump forward.

Your jaw clenched as you spun back to the screen. “Come on, Reid,” you murmured under your breath. Your voice was barely audible, but the desperation in it made the team exchange glances. For all your cold, aloof demeanor, this was the first time they’d seen real cracks.

Hotch’s voice cut through the room like a whip. “Garcia, update.”

“I’m close, sir,” she said, her voice trembling. “But it’s not as simple as just pulling a trace. They’re using layers of encryption, and—”

“And he doesn’t have time for this-!” you snapped again, leaning over her desk. You caught yourself shaking, barely keeping it together.

On the screen, Spencer lifted his head, his eyes half-lidded but somehow defiant. The unsub grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright, barking something inaudible to the camera.

You watch the way Spencer winces, how he refuses to break eye contact with his captor. His lips moved, and though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, you recognised the look. He was stalling. Buying time.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to focus. Your cold fury had always been your armour, your defense mechanism, but right now, it felt like a weight pulling you under. The team needed you sharp. Spencer needed you sharp.

Emily’s hand landed on your shoulder, grounding you. “We’re going to get him back,” she said softly.

You didn’t answer, your eyes fixed on the screen. Another blow landed, and this time, Spencer couldn’t hold back the cry of pain. Your fingernails bit into your palm.

“I can’t just sit here and watch this,” you muttered, turning toward Hotch. “Let me take a team. Let me—”

“We don’t know where he is yet,” Hotch said, his voice calm but resolute. “The signal—”

“The signal,” you interrupted, your voice rising, “is taking too long. Every second we waste is another second he’s in danger.”

Hotch met your gaze, unflinching. “And every second we rush is another second we risk losing him entirely. You know that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words, but it didn’t make the helplessness any easier to bear. “He’ll die before we find him at this rate.”

You didn’t want to think about it like that. You didn’t want to think about the fact that a blow misplaced agaisnt Spencer’s head, or his torso, could mean whatever clock he had on his life would stop before you even knew where he was.

You didn’t want to think about the fact that even if you did get a location he could be too far away to get to him.

You needed a headstart. You needed to be out there, actually searching for him instead of standing around and waiting like an idiot.

Garcia let out a triumphant gasp. “Got it! I’ve got a location!”

And your head goes quiet.

Everyone surged into action at once. Hotch barked orders, Morgan grabbed his vest, and you were already halfway to the door. As the team piled into the SUVs, your focus narrowed to one singular thought: getting to Spencer.

The drive felt like an eternity, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios despite your best efforts to suppress them. When the vehicles screeched to a halt outside an abandoned warehouse, you didn’t wait for orders. You shoved the door open and bolted toward the entrance.

“Wait!” Morgan called after you, but you were already inside, gun drawn, heart pounding.

“FBI! Drop it!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the cavernous space.

The unsub spun toward you, startled, but he recovered quickly, pulling Spencer from the chair to use him as a human shield.

“Stay back, or I’ll kill him,” the unsub hissed, pulling the metal pipe across Spencer’s throat between tow hands.

Your grip trembles as you aim your gun, your finger hovering over the trigger. “Let him go.” you demanded, your voice icy despite the panic swirling inside you.

Spencer met your eyes, breath coming out in pants from the pressure on his esophagus. “Don’t—” he croaked, but his words were cut off as the unsub tightened his grip.

"I’ll do it!" the unsub threatened.

A shot rings out.

The unsub crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him, Morgan’s form emerging to fill the space, his gun still raised.

There’s a moment where you can’t do anything but breathe, and then your legs carry you forward to push the unsub’s limp body off of Spencer’s tugging the latter to sit upright.

“Reid—” Your eyes scan the bruises on his face, on his shoulders and down his arms. “How much pain are you in?”

For once, you didn’t care about the team watching. You didn’t care about your reputation as the cold, detached one. All that mattered was that Spencer was alive, and you needed to make sure it stayed that way.

“I need to go to the hospital,” Spencer grimaces, his hand weak against your arm as he uses you as a support.

“There’s an ambulance outside, pretty boy,” Morgan kneels tentatively, hesitantly pressing a hand to his back to aid in Spencer’s effort not to fall over. “We’ve got you from here,”

[urdreamydoodles]

how about scott, logan, colossus, jean, storm, hank, and wanda with a wild child reader, this is a kid who doesn’t know the meaning of structure or discipline. They are the epitome of skateboarder who live in a basement who survives on nothing but greasy new york pizza( they eat nothing but junk food and take out) . A kid who is constantly coming home bruised and bleeding from wild stunts. Its not even they’re fault they have the kind of neglectful parents that are like i dont care what you do as long as you don't bother me, so they chose to have absolute freedom

X-Men x Child!Reader

You are a wild kid due to your parents' neglect

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Colossus, Hank McCoy, Erik Lehnsherr, Wanda Maximoff

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You first meet Logan when he pulls you out of a scuffle in a dingy alley, your knuckles bloodied from throwing punches at a group of older kids who deserved it for being jerks. His gruff voice cuts through the tension, "What the hell are you doin', kid?" You shrug, brushing past him like he’s just another stranger trying to lecture you. But Logan isn’t just anyone, and the next time he catches you doing something reckless—trying to ride your skateboard off a railing—you realize you’re not shaking him off so easily.

- Logan quickly learns that you’re a wild spirit, one who doesn’t know when to stop. Your bruises and scratches only fuel his frustration. “You think you’re indestructible, huh?” he growls after dragging you to the mansion with your arm in a makeshift sling. “Guess what? You ain’t.” His tough love feels invasive at first, but there’s a strange warmth to it. Maybe because, deep down, you can tell he actually cares, unlike anyone else in your life.

- Despite his grumbling, Logan becomes your shadow. He’s there when you wipe out attempting a trick and nearly break your ankle. He’s the one hauling you to Hank for first aid when you stumble back to the mansion with a bloody nose. "One of these days, you're gonna kill yourself, and I ain’t buryin' a kid," he grumbles, but his actions betray his words. The way he watches you so intently, like he’s trying to figure you out, makes you feel… seen.

- One day, after Logan drags you out of another scrape, you snap. “Why do you even care?!” you yell, your voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like to not have anyone!” Logan’s face hardens, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. “You’re wrong, kid,” he says, his tone unusually soft. Later, you overhear him talking to Charles about you. "They remind me of me. Don’t know how to stop fightin’ ‘cause they never had anyone to fight for ‘em."

- Logan starts teaching you how to channel your energy into something productive. “If you’re gonna take risks, at least do it smart,” he grunts, handing you a pair of gloves to protect your hands. He shows you how to defend yourself properly, how to pick your battles. It’s not just about fighting—it’s about self-control, something he knows all too well. And while you hate admitting it, his lessons actually stick.

- The breakthrough comes when you stumble into his room late at night, tears streaming down your face after a nightmare. You hate showing weakness, but Logan doesn’t push. He just sits with you, his presence steady and grounding. “You’re not alone, kid,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.” It’s the first time you realize that maybe, just maybe, you have someone in your corner.

- Over time, you start seeing Logan as more than the grumpy guy who keeps saving your ass. He’s your protector, your mentor, your family. When he gruffly hands you a plate of food during a mansion barbecue and tells you to “eat somethin’ that ain’t junk,” you laugh. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips. You’re still a wild child, but now you’ve got someone who understands—and who won’t let you face the world alone.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- You meet Remy when you’re caught sneaking onto the mansion grounds, trying to pull off some ridiculous stunt involving fireworks and a ramp. Instead of ratting you out, he smirks, intrigued by your audacity. “You got guts, kid,” he says, his Cajun accent dripping with charm. “But guts won’t save you from bein’ stupid.” He’s more amused than annoyed, but you get the feeling he’s watching you now—and not just because you nearly burned the lawn down.

- Remy quickly picks up on your chaotic energy and reckless behavior. “You remind me of a younger me,” he teases, tossing a playing card between his fingers. “All fire, no plan.” At first, you think he’s mocking you, but there’s a glint in his eye that suggests he gets it. He sees through your bravado, recognizing the pain you’re trying to bury under all your stunts and defiance.

- Unlike Logan, Remy doesn’t try to stop you outright. Instead, he plays along, meeting you where you’re at. He even joins you in some of your escapades, though he always makes sure to keep things from getting too out of hand. “If you gonna be crazy, at least do it with style,” he says, flipping his trench coat dramatically as he guides you away from trouble.

- One day, after you’ve crashed spectacularly and are nursing a busted knee, Remy sits beside you with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “You don’t gotta live like dis, y’know,” he says softly. “Runnin’ wild ain’t freedom—it’s just a way to hide.” His words hit harder than you’d like to admit, and for the first time, you let yourself wonder if he might be right.

- Remy starts teaching you his tricks—not just the flashy card stuff, but how to think ahead, how to read people, how to stay one step ahead of the chaos. “Life’s a game, cher,” he says, his voice light but his gaze sharp. “And you gotta learn how to play it.” You soak up his lessons, not realizing until later that he’s been guiding you toward something more stable all along.

- The turning point comes when you call Remy late one night, scared and unsure after a particularly bad fight with your parents. He doesn’t hesitate, showing up within minutes and whisking you away to his favorite rooftop hideout. “Ain’t no shame in needin’ help, kid,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. For the first time, you let yourself lean on someone else.

- Remy becomes your anchor, your partner in crime, and your found family all rolled into one. He still teases you endlessly, but there’s a warmth to it now, a sense of belonging you’ve never had before. And when he hands you a deck of cards and says, “You’re one of us now,” you know he means it.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- You meet Kurt when he teleports into the middle of one of your stunts, startling you so badly you nearly fall off the scaffolding you’d been climbing. “Mein Gott, what are you doing up here?” he exclaims, grabbing you before you can tumble to the ground. Despite your protests, he doesn’t let go until you’re safely on solid ground. “You are going to give me a heart attack!”

- Kurt is immediately concerned by your recklessness, but his approach is softer than the others. “Why do you put yourself in such danger, mein freund?” he asks, his golden eyes full of genuine worry. You brush him off at first, but his kindness is disarming. He doesn’t scold you; he just wants to understand.

- It doesn’t take long for Kurt to realize that your behavior stems from more than just a thirst for adrenaline. When you accidentally let slip a comment about your neglectful parents, he connects the dots. “No one should feel like they have to fend for themselves,” he says quietly. His words linger, echoing in your mind long after he’s gone.

- Kurt becomes a constant presence in your life, always ready with a kind word or a helping hand. He patches you up after your latest mishap, his touch gentle as he bandages your scraped knees. “You have so much potential,” he tells you, his tone earnest. “Do not waste it on proving yourself to people who do not care.” His faith in you is both comforting and terrifying.

- He introduces you to the quiet joys of his world—stargazing from the mansion’s roof, reading old adventure novels, sharing stories from his travels. Slowly, you begin to see that life doesn’t have to be a constant whirlwind of chaos. There’s beauty in stillness, too, and Kurt shows you how to find it.

- The breakthrough comes during a particularly bad night when you show up at his door, trembling and unsure how to explain the weight you’re carrying. Kurt doesn’t push; he simply listens, his quiet empathy wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “You are not alone,” he says softly. “And you never will be, as long as I am here.”

- Over time, Kurt becomes more than just a mentor—he’s your family. His unwavering belief in you helps you believe in yourself, and his gentle guidance gives you the strength to start healing. When he tells you, “You are like a sibling to me,” you feel a warmth you’ve never known before.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- You meet Scott after he catches you skateboarding through the mansion’s hallways, narrowly avoiding a collision with Jean. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he demands, his tone sharp. You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his authority, but Scott doesn’t back down. “This isn’t a playground,” he says firmly. “If you’re going to be here, you need to follow the rules.”

- Scott’s strict demeanor grates on you, and you go out of your way to push his buttons. Every time he tells you to stop doing something, you double down, your defiance fueling his frustration. “You can’t just do whatever you want,” he says one day, his voice rising. “This isn’t about control—it’s about keeping you safe!”

- Despite his exasperation, Scott can’t help but worry about you. He starts noticing the bruises, the late-night returns, the way you flinch whenever someone mentions your parents. “Is everything okay at home?” he asks gently, his concern breaking through his usual stoicism. You brush him off, but his question lingers in your mind.

- Scott eventually realizes that his strict approach isn’t working, so he tries a different tactic. He starts showing up at the skate park, watching from a distance as you pull off tricks. “You’ve got talent,” he admits grudgingly. “But talent doesn’t mean much if you don’t take care of yourself.” His rare praise catches you off guard, and you start seeing him in a new light.

- He begins mentoring you, teaching you the value of discipline and structure. “It’s not about following orders,” he explains. “It’s about having a plan, knowing what you’re fighting for.” His lessons are tough, but they resonate, and you find yourself striving to meet his expectations—not because you have to, but because you want to.

- The turning point comes when Scott finds you sitting alone in the mansion’s garden, your usual bravado stripped away. “I don’t know how to fix this,” you admit, your voice shaking. Scott sits beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says quietly. “We’re here for you—I’m here for you.”

- Scott becomes a pillar in your life, someone you can rely on no matter what. His unwavering support gives you the strength to face your demons, and his belief in you helps you start believing in yourself. When he calls you “family,” it’s the first time the word feels real, and you know you’ve finally found a place where you belong.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- You meet Jean when you crash into her during a particularly reckless skateboard trick, nearly sending her coffee flying. She catches it with her telekinesis, raising an eyebrow as she looks you over. “Impressive landing,” she says dryly. “But maybe next time, try not to take me out with you.” Her calm demeanor throws you off, but you can’t help noticing the faint amusement in her smile.

- Jean quickly picks up on your chaotic nature—not just from your antics, but because your mind is loud, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that practically scream for attention. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” she tells you one day after catching you sneaking out for another dangerous stunt. Her words linger, even if you act like they don’t matter.

- She doesn’t confront you as directly as others might, but her presence is constant. She starts showing up in subtle ways—inviting you to sit with her during meals, offering to help patch you up after a bad fall, or simply listening when you’re too tired to pretend everything’s fine. Jean has a knack for making you feel seen, even when you’re trying to disappear into the noise.

- One day, after you’ve come home battered and bruised yet again, Jean corners you in the kitchen. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm. When you try to brush her off, she places a hand on yours. “I know what it’s like to feel out of control. But there are other ways to find freedom.” Her sincerity cracks something open in you, though you’re not ready to admit it yet.

- Jean begins introducing you to meditation, something you initially laugh off as “not your thing.” But when she guides you through it, her voice soft and steady, you find a surprising sense of peace. “Chaos doesn’t define you,” she says one evening. “You can still be yourself without destroying yourself.” Her unwavering belief in you starts to shift how you see yourself.

- The turning point comes when Jean catches you breaking down after a particularly bad day. You try to push her away, but she doesn’t let you. “You’re allowed to feel this way,” she says, her arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. “But you don’t have to face it alone.” For the first time, you let yourself cry in front of someone, and her compassion feels like a lifeline.

- Jean becomes your safe haven, the person who reminds you that strength doesn’t always mean pushing through the pain. She helps you channel your energy into healthier outlets, guiding you with patience and understanding. When she calls you “family,” it feels like coming home, and you know you’ve found someone who will always have your back.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- You meet Storm during a thunderstorm, when you’re out pulling stunts despite the pouring rain. She appears seemingly out of nowhere, her white hair glowing against the dark sky. “What are you doing out here?” she asks, her voice calm but commanding. When you shrug and say something about “living life to the fullest,” she shakes her head. “This isn’t living. This is tempting fate.”

- Ororo is both fascinated and concerned by your recklessness. She sees your wild spirit but also senses the pain behind it. “The storm inside you is powerful,” she says one day, her gaze piercing. “But if you do not learn to guide it, it will consume you.” Her words stick with you, even if you pretend not to care.

- Unlike others, Ororo doesn’t try to control you. Instead, she shows you the beauty of balance. She takes you on walks through nature, pointing out how even the fiercest storms have purpose and harmony. “Freedom isn’t chaos,” she says gently. “It’s understanding your power and using it wisely.” Her wisdom challenges your worldview in ways you don’t expect.

- After one particularly dangerous stunt leaves you with a sprained ankle, Ororo carries you back to the mansion without a word. Later, as she wraps your foot with care, she looks at you with a mix of sternness and compassion. “Why do you punish yourself like this?” she asks softly. You have no answer, but the question lingers.

- Storm begins teaching you control—not through force, but through patience. She encourages you to embrace your passions without letting them rule you. She even takes you flying with her, the wind carrying you both as she shows you what true freedom feels like. “You are not a prisoner of your past,” she says one evening. “You can create your own path.”

- The breakthrough comes during a quiet moment in the mansion garden, where you admit that your recklessness comes from a place of pain and neglect. Ororo listens without judgment, her presence as steady as the earth beneath your feet. “You are stronger than you realize,” she says, her voice full of conviction. “And you are not alone in this.”

- Over time, Ororo becomes your guide and your family. Her unwavering belief in you helps you find balance in your life, and her calm strength inspires you to grow. When she calls you “child of the storm,” it’s not just a nickname—it’s a reminder that you’ve found a place where you truly belong.

Piotr Rasputin aka. Colossus

- You meet Piotr after crashing into him—literally. Your skateboard ricochets off his metal form, leaving you sprawled on the ground. “Are you alright?” he asks, his deep voice filled with concern. When you laugh it off, he frowns. “You should be more careful. Your life is not something to take lightly.”

- Piotr is immediately struck by your wild energy, but instead of chastising you, he approaches you with gentle curiosity. “Why do you live this way?” he asks one day, his steel-blue eyes sincere. When you deflect with a joke, he doesn’t press, but his quiet concern stays with you.

- Despite his towering form, Piotr is surprisingly soft-spoken and kind. He starts looking out for you in small ways—offering to carry your gear, fixing your skateboard when it breaks, even cooking meals for you when he notices you survive on junk food. “You must take care of your body,” he says with a small smile. “It is the only one you have.”

- One evening, after a particularly reckless stunt leaves you limping back to the mansion, Piotr sits you down and talks about his own struggles with responsibility and self-worth. “I know what it is like to feel lost,” he says quietly. “But pain does not have to define you.” His words are simple but powerful, and they linger in your mind.

- Piotr begins teaching you art as a way to channel your energy. At first, you scoff at the idea of painting, but his patience wins you over. “Art is not about perfection,” he says, guiding your hand. “It is about expression.” Slowly, you find yourself drawn to the calmness it brings, a stark contrast to your usual chaos.

- The turning point comes when you confide in Piotr about your neglectful parents. He listens without interruption, his steady presence grounding you. “You deserve better,” he says firmly. “And you are not alone anymore.” His unwavering support feels like a lifeline, and for the first time, you let yourself believe in the possibility of a better future.

- Piotr becomes a constant source of strength and stability in your life. His quiet kindness helps you find balance, and his belief in you gives you the courage to grow. When he calls you “family,” it feels like a promise—a reminder that you’ll never have to face the world alone again.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Your first encounter with Hank is in his lab, where you crash into a shelf of equipment while trying to skateboard through the mansion hallways. He looks up from his work, unamused, as you sheepishly pick up a beaker. “Fascinating,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “An experiment in chaos.” You expect him to yell, but instead, he studies you with quiet curiosity, his sharp intellect already dissecting your motives.

- Hank is both intrigued and exasperated by your lack of structure. “Do you understand the repercussions of your actions?” he asks when you try to sneak off with a bag of chips for dinner instead of eating a proper meal. His lectures are long and full of big words, but somewhere in the middle, you catch a hint of genuine concern.

- He starts observing your behavior more closely, not as a judgment but as a puzzle to solve. “You remind me of entropy,” he says one day, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Chaotic, unpredictable, but not without purpose.” Despite his logical approach, there’s warmth in the way he speaks to you, like he’s trying to understand rather than condemn.

- After finding you late at night in the kitchen, rummaging for junk food with a fresh set of scrapes and bruises, Hank decides to intervene. “Your body is a machine, and you’re running it into the ground,” he says, handing you a plate of something surprisingly healthy. When you grumble about his nagging, he smiles. “Consider it an experiment in self-preservation.”

- Hank starts introducing structure into your life in small, unobtrusive ways—inviting you to join him in the lab, teaching you how to fix your skateboard, and even sneaking vegetables into your meals. You find yourself drawn to his calm and steady presence, even if you won’t admit it out loud.

- One day, after a particularly reckless stunt leaves you with a sprained wrist, you break down and confess the truth about your home life. Hank listens intently, his usual verbosity giving way to silence as he processes your words. “You are not a failed experiment,” he says firmly. “You are a work in progress, and I intend to see you thrive.”

- Over time, Hank becomes your anchor, the person who helps you find balance between chaos and order. His guidance isn’t just about rules—it’s about helping you see your own potential. When he calls you “family,” it feels like the culmination of every moment he spent believing in you, even when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- You meet Erik when you’re caught trespassing near one of his hideouts, attempting a trick off a rail. He steps out of the shadows, his imposing figure stopping you in your tracks. “You’ve got nerve,” he says, his voice cold and calculating. You expect him to throw you out, but instead, he watches you with a strange mix of curiosity and disdain.

- Erik is fascinated by your wild energy, though he would never admit it. “You remind me of my youth,” he says one day, his tone sharp. “Defiant, reckless, and utterly unafraid of consequences.” His words sting, but there’s something in his gaze—a flicker of understanding—that makes you pause.

- He doesn’t tolerate your antics, but he doesn’t outright condemn them either. Instead, he challenges you, questioning your choices in a way that forces you to reflect. “What are you running from?” he asks bluntly after catching you sneaking out again. His directness catches you off guard, and for once, you don’t have a snarky reply.

- Erik’s approach to helping you is harsh but effective. He doesn’t coddle or comfort—instead, he teaches you the value of strength and self-reliance. “The world will not be kind to you,” he says, his voice heavy with experience. “But that does not mean you must surrender to it.” His lessons are tough, but they resonate deeply.

- Despite his stern demeanor, Erik has moments of surprising gentleness. He notices your injuries, your exhaustion, your deflections, and though he doesn’t press, he makes it clear that he sees you. “Pain is a powerful motivator,” he says one evening. “But it does not have to define you.”

- The turning point comes when you break down after a particularly bad day, your defenses finally shattering. Erik doesn’t offer empty comfort—instead, he shares his own struggles, his own pain. “You are stronger than your circumstances,” he says quietly. “And you are not as alone as you think.”

- Erik becomes an unexpected source of stability in your life. His belief in your strength pushes you to grow, while his rare moments of kindness remind you that even the toughest exteriors can hide a compassionate heart. When he finally calls you “family,” it feels like the highest honor, a testament to the bond you’ve built through fire and resilience.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- You meet Wanda when you accidentally skate into one of her magical runes, disrupting a spell she was casting. She turns to you, her red eyes glowing faintly. “You shouldn’t be here,” she says, her voice laced with warning. But instead of scolding you, she tilts her head, curious. “Why are you always running?”

- Wanda is both drawn to and exasperated by your chaotic nature. “You remind me of Pietro,” she says one day, her voice tinged with sadness. “Always moving, never stopping to think about the consequences.” Her words cut deeper than you expect, leaving you to wonder why her disappointment stings so much.

- Unlike others, Wanda doesn’t try to impose structure on you. Instead, she meets you where you are, offering understanding without judgment. She starts leaving little charms around the mansion—spells to protect you from injury or to heal your bruises. “You may not care about yourself,” she says softly, “but I do.”

- One night, after returning home with a fresh set of cuts and scrapes, you find Wanda waiting for you. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. When you try to brush her off, she touches your hand, and for a moment, you feel the warmth of her magic easing your pain.

- Wanda starts teaching you small spells—little enchantments to protect yourself or to calm your restless mind. At first, you’re skeptical, but her patience and quiet encouragement win you over. “Magic isn’t about control,” she tells you one day. “It’s about balance—finding harmony within chaos.”

- The breakthrough comes when you finally open up about your neglectful home life. Wanda listens intently, her empathy as deep as her power. “I know what it’s like to feel unwanted,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “But you are wanted here. You are loved.” Her words feel like a balm, soothing wounds you didn’t know you had.

- Wanda becomes a source of unconditional support in your life. Her kindness and understanding help you start healing, and her belief in you gives you the strength to believe in yourself. When she calls you “family,” it feels like a spell—a promise that no matter what, you’ll always have a place where you belong.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴡ ᴏ ʟ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ɴ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: James Howlett x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Requested by lovely @fexi626. Hope you enjoy!

Logan first notices you when you move into the same small town he’s been hiding out in. It’s supposed to be a temporary stop for him—stay low, avoid attention, move on. But then there’s you, sweet and quiet, with a kindness that catches him completely off guard. It’s the way you smile when you pass him at the local diner or the soft “Good morning” you murmur when you see him on the street. It sparks something primal inside him.

Logan’s the kind of guy who tries to convince himself to stay out of it. "Don’t need to drag her into my mess," he tells himself, nursing a beer at the bar while you laugh with your friends a few tables over. But he keeps looking your way, and when some jackass sidles up to you and tries getting handsy, Logan’s out of his chair before he’s even thought it through.

The guy gets the message fast—hard not to when Logan slams him into the nearest wall. "You touch her again, you’re leavin’ here in pieces. Got it?" The look in his eyes isn’t one anyone would argue with, not if they wanted to keep breathing.

After that, Logan decides he’s gonna keep an eye on you. For your own good, he tells himself. You’re too damn sweet, too damn trusting, and the world’s full of people who’d take advantage of that. He’s doing you a favor, really. "You don’t even know how much trouble’s out there, darlin’," he mutters, walking a few steps behind you on your way home, just close enough to make sure nothing happens.

Logan’s not subtle, though he thinks he is. You start noticing him everywhere—leaning against the counter at the diner where you work, walking past your building more times than coincidence could explain. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs. "Town ain’t that big. Guess we keep runnin’ into each other." But there’s something in his tone, in the way his eyes linger on you, that makes it feel like more.

He starts inserting himself into your life. Fixing your car when it won’t start. Showing up at the bar when you’re out with friends. "Just lookin’ out for you," he says gruffly when you question it. "Not like anyone else around here’s got the balls to."

Logan’s protectiveness is… intense. If someone so much as looks at you wrong, he’s ready to start a fight. And if someone flirts with you? Forget it. You don’t even hear about half the times he’s dealt with someone behind the scenes. He doesn’t see it as a problem—it’s just him taking care of things. "Don’t need you worryin’ about shit like that. That’s my job."

Despite the rough edges, there’s a softness to him when it comes to you. When you’re upset, he doesn’t say much—just pulls you close, lets you bury your face in his chest while he rubs your back. "I got you," he murmurs, his voice low and steady. "Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m around."

But make no mistake—his love comes with a possessive streak a mile wide. If you ever tried to pull away, Logan wouldn’t take it well. He wouldn’t yell or plead; he’d just… make sure you understood. "You don’t get it, do you? You’re mine, darlin’. Always gonna be. Doesn’t matter where you go—I’ll find you. And I’ll bring you back."

Logan doesn’t think of himself as a good man, but when it comes to you, he’s downright delusional. "You deserve better, I know that. But better ain’t what you got. You got me. And I ain’t lettin’ go."

His jealousy burns hot, but his devotion runs even deeper. You’re the one thing in his life that makes him feel… human. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means crossing every line he swore he wouldn’t. "The world’s a shitshow, sweetheart. But you? You’re the only good thing in it. Don’t expect me to let that go."

Logan’s a rough-around-the-edges—possessive, protective, and dangerously loyal. He doesn’t sugarcoat things, doesn’t try to hide who he is. His love is raw, fierce, and unrelenting, just like the man himself.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[bandsofmarv]

Cold to the touch

Enemies to lovers Bucky x reader

TW - smut, angst

The compound was unusually quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea, hoping the caffeine would get you through another tense morning.

It wasn’t the missions, the training, or even the threat of constant danger that drained you. No, it was him.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Resident pain in your ass.

You had been forced to work together on Steve’s orders, a new partnership meant to “strengthen the team dynamic.” Instead, it had only strengthened your resolve to avoid him at all costs. Bucky was cold, distant, and maddeningly closed off. And worse, he seemed to go out of his way to make your life hell.“Up early, huh?” His voice, low and gravelly, startled you out of your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

You turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. He looked as stoic as ever, but there was a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

He shrugged, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until he broke it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question.

You blinked at him, surprised by his directness. “Not everything is about you, Barnes.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this is,” he said, turning to face you fully. His gaze was sharp, assessing, like he was trying to read your mind. “What’s your problem with me, anyway?”

“My problem?” You laughed bitterly, setting your mug down with a clink. “You’re arrogant, impossible to talk to, and you act like the whole world owes you something.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, the faintest crack in his icy exterior. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back. “You don’t let anyone in. You’re like a damn wall.”

He took a step closer, his steel-blue eyes burning into yours. “Maybe I don’t let people in because I know how it ends. People like you—they don’t stick around when things get messy.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, cutting through your anger like a blade. For a moment, you saw the man beneath the armor, the one haunted by a past he couldn’t escape.

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, your tone losing its edge. “You don’t get to push people away and then blame them for not trying.”

Bucky stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his metal hand bracing on the counter beside you.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why not just walk away?”

Your breath hitched as his proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a mix of leather and something distinctly him, filled your senses, making it impossible to think straight.

“Maybe I’m just stubborn,” you said, your voice shaking slightly.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Stubborn enough to take a chance on someone like me?”

You didn’t have time to answer. Bucky’s lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrelenting, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You gasped against his mouth, your hands flying to his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He made the decision for you. His flesh hand slid to your waist, tugging you against him as his metal fingers traced up your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His kiss was messy, full of teeth and hunger, but it was exactly what you needed.

“Bucky,” you breathed when his lips left yours to trail down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin. “If you want me to, tell me now.” But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him closer, threading your fingers through his hair as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of you like he was memorizing it.

“Hard to love, huh?” you murmured, your voice teasing despite the breathlessness.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea.”

And then he kissed you again, and for the first time, you thought maybe you were willing to find out.

[yoomiwrites]

We won⁶

Summary: The war is won, yet you lost too much. Between friendship and love, what will you—what will Ekko—pick?

Note: And there we go, the last chapter of this little mini-series. I enjoyed it a lot & am sure it won't be the last time I'll write something for Ekko. The next character will be Silco, though! Maybe I'll see some of you there. The Teaser-Chapter will be posted today and then updated every week (not friday though). But we all agree that Ekko is giving his best to be a green flag, yeah?? Happy reading!

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Ekko didn’t know when he’d become the one chasing, but now that he was, he realized how much he wanted it. You had moved on—or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. And yet, there was a sliver of hope he clung to, a belief that maybe, just maybe, he could prove himself worthy of the place in your heart you had once reserved for him.

It wasn’t easy.

At first, things felt awkward between you. You were close again, but not like before. Conversations weren’t as effortless, your smiles not as lingering. Still, Ekko didn’t let it deter him. Instead, he decided to show you how much he cared in ways that words couldn’t.

He started small. A carved charm you could wear on a necklace, shaped like the Firelights' sigil. A meal he’d cooked, albeit clumsily, when he heard you’d skipped dinner working on repairs. Even a patch for your jacket that matched one he’d sewn into his own.

“Just thought you could use it,” he’d say, his tone casual but his eyes searching yours for a hint of approval.

You always accepted his gestures with a warm smile and a thank you, but he could tell you were cautious. He’d earned your trust once before, and now he had to earn it again.

Beyond the gifts, Ekko worked on being honest with his feelings, even when it made him feel vulnerable. He told you about his struggles, his fears, and his regrets—especially the regret of not seeing you sooner.

“I know I messed up,” he said one evening, his voice steady but soft. “But I’m trying. For you. For us. I just… I need you to know that.”

You didn’t respond immediately, but the way your expression softened gave him hope.

Weeks turned into a month, and the distance between you began to shrink. You lingered longer during visits, laughed more freely at his jokes, and even surprised him with small gifts of your own. One evening, as you both worked side by side fixing a drone, your hand brushed his. Neither of you moved away.

For Ekko, it was enough. He wasn’t in a rush anymore. Winning your heart wasn’t about a grand gesture or a perfect moment. It was about showing you, day by day, that he was someone worth trusting again.

It had been another long day. The streets of Zaun were alive, but the heavy haze of loss still lingered in the air. You had spent hours helping organize supplies, your hands raw and your body aching. Ekko had spent his day in the Firelight base, making repairs and tending to the drones that patrolled the streets.

You stopped by the base as the sun dipped below the horizon. The door creaked open, and he looked up, his face lighting up when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, setting down a wrench. “You’re late.”

“Blame Vi,” you said, smiling as you stepped inside. “She thought it’d be funny to put me in charge of inventory. I think she just wanted to get out of doing it herself.”

He chuckled, brushing his hands on his pants. “Classic Vi.”

There was a comfortable silence as you leaned against the workbench, watching him fiddle with a half-disassembled drone. The low hum of the Firelight base filled the air, and for a moment, it was enough just to be near him.

But then he stopped, his hands falling still. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quiet but steady, “can we talk?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You nodded, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest. “Of course. What’s up?”

He turned to face you fully, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About us.”

You froze, your mind racing. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this without messing it up, but... I can’t keep holding it in.” He paused, searching your face. “I love you, Y/N. I think I have for a long time—I was just too stupid to see it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he continued, his voice gaining strength. “And I know I might’ve missed my chance. But I need you to know how I feel, even if it’s too late.”

You took a shaky breath, your heart pounding. “Ekko… it’s not too late.”

His eyes widened slightly, hope flickering across his face. “It’s not?”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through your disbelief. “I waited for you for so long, and I thought… I thought you’d never feel the same way. But I never stopped caring about you. I have never stopped loving you.”

His breath hitched, and before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you. His hands found your face, cradling it gently as he leaned in. His lips met yours, and the world seemed to fade away. The kiss was soft but charged with emotion—a mixture of relief and longing. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You laughed, your cheeks warm. “You’re lucky I let you.”

He chuckled, his arms slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

The days that followed felt like a dream. The awkwardness that had lingered between you dissolved, replaced by a new sense of closeness. Ekko still left little gifts for you—flowers he’d found, a charm he’d carved—but now they came with lingering kisses and soft whispers.

Together, you began planning for the future. Not just for Zaun, but for yourselves. The world was still a mess, and there was so much work to be done, but you faced it together.

As you sat on the rooftop one evening, the city spread out below you, Ekko reached for your hand.

“You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “we’ve been through hell and back. But I think... we’re gonna be okay.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, we are.”

And in that moment, with the stars overhead and his hand in yours, you believed it. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: you wouldn’t face it alone.

[anxious-lee]

|| Ridiculous Problems Require Ridiculous Solutions ||

A/N: me going to sleep at night knowing i write OOC tickles for serious media: 😴😴😴

Summary: Jayce refuses to get some sleep, but Viktor might have a way to convince him.

Word count: 1292

---

It's easier to scold someone else's lack of self-care than it is to work on your own.

When Viktor neglects his sleep, Jayce knows exactly what to say every time. "You can't keep overworking your body like this. Sooner or later, you're going to shut down."

But when Jayce neglects his sleep, he finds new ways to rationalize his decision thanks to his sleep-deprived daze. He pretends like he can't see Viktor staring ironically at him from down the table.

Okay, so maybe he was being a bit of a hypocrite. But these were special circumstances! They were expected to present a new Hextech device to the council in a few days, and they were running behind schedule. Jayce had tried to speed things along by putting in a few more hours at his station, but what was supposed to be "a few hours" turned into the entire night.

Viktor, as Jayce expected, was none too pleased. He insisted that they had already done more than was even necessary, and that any more modifications could have been dealt with in the morning. He even had the nerve to parrot Jayce's own lecture back to him.

"If you keep this up, sooner or later your body will shut down."

"Why does that sound so familiar?" Jayce groaned sarcastically. Regardless of his ill-advised choices, this machine still needed finishing, and that was what he was going to do.

He couldn't quite remember getting up out of his chair and making his way over to the toolbox, as the world seemed to blur around him, but a curmudgeonly voice brought him back to the present.

"Jayce, please, what you've done is good enough. Go home and get some sleep."

"Viktor, I'm fine, I'm really fine. I can still work."

"What is it you're reaching for right now?"

Jayce blinked down at where his hand was grabbing... thin air. Dazed, he spun around until he found the tool box on complete opposite end of the table.

Viktor gestured emphatically at the box. "You see? You're not thinking clearly," His voice changed suddenly into a compassionate, almost pleading tone. "You've gone too long without sleep. I'll handle the preparations today, you can go home."

"Vik, I can't just drop this now okay? I'm so close now. I mean think about it, what's more important right now: the amount of sleep I get, or proving our value to the council?"

"I cannot believe you're asking me this" said Viktor, sounding more exhausted than his partner in that moment.

Ignoring him, Jayce staggered to where the toolbox actually was, and grabbed a wrench.

Unfortunately for him, Viktor was not willing to let this go. He gripped Jayce by the arm clutching the wrench.

"Jayce, put it down. I don't want to need to use force." Although it was certainly a threat, they both knew implicitly that Viktor wasn't very cross with Jayce at all. But dammit, he would go to bed.

Jayce chuckled. "Not happening, Vik."

"Ehhhh fine. If that's the way it has to be" Viktor said, with something akin to a smirk in his voice. A smirk that usually meant trouble for Jayce.

A hand suddenly began squeezing up Jayce's side, making the scientist bark in a choke of laughter. It wasn't often that Viktor opted to play dirty like this; only when the situation desperately called for it. He was nothing if not a determined man.

Laughing freely, Jayce remained where he stood. At a new ninety-degree angle, sure, but still standing. If Viktor wanted to take this up a notch, then so would he. He'll laugh until his sides split open, but he is not losing this fight.

"Viktor, whahat the hehehelll!" He giggled.

"I have asked you several times to take a break, but if you want to go about this like a child, then I will treat you like one" Viktor teased.

Jayce could hear the smugness in his voice.

"I'm noHOt givihing IN!"

"How unfortunate for you."

The hand at Jayce's side was now climbing it's way up to his arm. Jayce twisted around every which way he could to try and stall its arrival, but to little success. He would rather die than admit it, but he truly couldn't help giggling even if it wasn't involuntary. The sensation, sparkling its way through his nerves like lightning through tree branches, was just so funny. It was pleasant, in the most unbearable way. He couldn't fully wrap his head around it, and he didn't have time to, because Viktor was still clawing into his armpit.

Jayce wasn't going to take this lying down. He started to pull away from his partner, hoping that Viktor wouldn't persist that much. Maybe moving away would be all it took for this tickly spell to be broken.

But to no such luck. Viktor could see his plan to move before he enacted it. Quick as a flash, he gripped Jayce's arm with his free hand, now effectively pinning him to his side.

"And where do you think you're going?" Viktor asked.

"Lehet mehehe gohoho!"

"You know what it is I want Jayce. I'll keep tickling until you go to bed."

"You cahan't brihihibe me into being healthyhyhyhy!"

"Bribe?"

Oh, fuck.

"Is this a bribe then?" came the voice above him. His voice was like a warm spotlight, exposing him with the softest touch. It was the same tone he got when something truly fascinated him; when his object of study surprised him and heightened his sense of curiosity even more.

Jayce's eyes had shut tight as soon as he realized what he had said, too mortified to dare a look. The tickling had stopped. Of course it did. Why would Viktor keep going after hearing him say something that stupid? He didn't even think it, it just slipped out! But he couldn't say that he was mistaken. Because he was having fun. Goofing off, having Viktor be close to him, playing with him-

Viktor had been quiet for a total of three whole seconds, but to Jayce, it may as well have been twenty. Then came Viktor's voice.

"Well, in that case-" he said, a little too giddy for Jayce's liking.

"Wait, Viktor, I didn't mean it like-"

A hand latched onto his other side, simultaneously pulling him in like an awkward side-hug. The other hand had surrendered the grip on his arm in favor of scratching at his belly. The frantic giggles that left his mouth were not helping to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

"How about this for a deal?" Viktor smiled, a gentle and adoring look in his eyes that Jayce could not appreciate, as his eyes were still clamped shut. "We go home, get relaxed, and I tickle you senseless until you're worn out. Sound fair?"

What didn't sound fair was how flirty he sounded. Jayce's face burned red, and he knew he couldn't hide it. He buried his face into Viktor's chest.

"I'll take that as a yes."

And with that, the tickling stopped. Only for this moment. Viktor's hands now cradled his husband's face, pulling it out from his chest and against his forehead.

"You make me so stupidly weak" he said, pressing a kiss to his nose.

"Which one of us has been laughing themselves stupid for the past five minutes?"

That got a giggle out of Viktor. With a final poke in the side, he grabbed his cane and turned toward the door, with Jayce grabbing their coats behind them.

"You don't think anyone heard us, do you?" Jayce asked nervously.

"Don't worry, Sky's not here today."

From behind the closed door, Sky took that as a sign to leave quickly, and she did so without a sound.

---

I swear I am actually going to write lee!viktor soon trust

[rose24207]

Omg your fic 'Unseen tears' gave me an lando fic idea, where lando is being distant and staying out late and reader thinks he's cheating with all the secret phone calls as well but he's not cheating it's just a new enemy that's been close to then and he's trying to take care of it.

Is there someone else?

Summary: When Lando grows distant and secretive, leading you to suspect infidelity, you uncover his dangerous efforts to protect you from a rival threatening his place in the criminal underworld.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, mention of cheating

A/N: Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The glow of the clock on the bedside table read 2:37 AM. The spot beside you in bed was still cold.

Again.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you turned over, staring at the empty space.

It wasn’t the first night Lando hadn’t come home on time. In the past two weeks, his excuses grew more vague, his explanations shorter.

“Work,” he’d said the last time.

Always work.

But the shadows in his green eyes told a story he wasn’t ready to share.

And then there were the phone calls. The ones he took in hushed tones, walking out of the room whenever his phone buzzed. You'd heard snippets—names you didn’t recognize, low threats you barely caught.

The doubt clawed at your chest. Was there someone else?

It seemed like the only logical explanation. He’d grown distant, withdrawn. The kisses were quick, the touches less tender. Your mind filled in the gaps with every worst-case scenario imaginable.

The next morning, you confronted him.

“Lando, we need to talk.”

He looked up from his cup of coffee, his sharp jaw tightening. “About what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, setting your mug down harder than you intended. “You’ve been distant. You’re gone all the time, and I never know where you are. Then there are the phone calls—”

“I told you, it’s work.”

“That’s not enough anymore!” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You’re hiding something from me, and I—”

Lando’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, running a hand through his curls. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice low, strained.

You scoffed. “Then tell me what it is, because from where I’m standing, it looks like—”

“Don’t,” he warned, his tone icy. “Don’t say it.”

Your heart clenched at the frustration in his voice, but you pushed forward. “If it’s not another woman, Lando, then what the hell is it?”

He didn’t answer.

He just stared at you, his jaw tight, before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

“I’ll be back later,” he muttered, slamming it shut behind him.

The spiral of doubt consumed you the rest of the day. You tried to distract yourself—cleaning, running errands, anything to keep your mind busy—but the weight of uncertainty hung over you like a storm cloud.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and Lando still hadn’t returned, you made a decision.

You were going to follow him.

It wasn’t hard to track him down. Lando wasn’t exactly subtle with his comings and goings, and you’d memorized the way his car sounded as it pulled out of the driveway.

You waited a few minutes after he left that night before slipping into your own car and trailing him.

He drove into the city, past the busy nightlife districts, to a darker, quieter part of town. Your pulse quickened as you watched him park outside an unmarked building.

He glanced around before slipping inside.

You waited a few moments before following, heart pounding.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, and the smell of smoke lingered in the air.

You hid behind a pillar, peeking around just in time to see Lando standing at a table, surrounded by men in suits.

He looked calm, collected, but there was an edge to his posture—a tension you recognized.

“You think you can just move in on my territory?” Lando said, his voice cold and sharp, carrying easily across the room.

One of the men chuckled darkly. “Your territory? You’re losing your grip, Norris. Everyone knows it.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, and you saw his hand subtly shift to the inside of his jacket. Your breath hitched.

“I’ll say this once,” Lando said, his tone deadly. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my people. And stay the hell away from her.”

Her. Your stomach dropped.

The man smirked. “Oh, you mean your pretty little girlfriend? What’s her name again—”

Before he could finish, Lando’s fist connected with his jaw. The room erupted into chaos.

You didn’t remember how you got home. Your mind was spinning with everything you’d seen and heard.

When Lando finally walked through the door, hours later, his shirt was rumpled, his knuckles bruised.

“You followed me,” he said, his voice low, his eyes dark as they met yours.

You didn’t deny it. “What the hell was that, Lando?”

He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “It’s complicated.”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You don’t get to brush me off anymore. I need to know what’s going on. I deserve to know.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours.

Then, finally, he sighed.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From them,” he said, his voice heavy. “That man you saw tonight? He’s been causing problems. He’s dangerous. And he’s been threatening you.”

Your breath caught. “Me?”

Lando nodded, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’ve been distant. Why I’ve been staying out late. I’ve been trying to handle it—keep him away from you.”

The weight of his words sank in, and suddenly, everything made sense. The late nights, the secret phone calls, the tension in his shoulders—it wasn’t because of another woman.

It was because he was trying to protect you.

You stepped closer, reaching for his hand. “Lando…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought if I could handle it on my own, you wouldn’t have to know.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “I’m always going to worry about you. But we’re in this together, okay? You don’t have to do it alone.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

Thank you for reading!

[fishysaltine]

Honestly I’ve always seen Bloodbath (or the kill Zara quest) as Illario’s final desperate attempt to be swayed form his plan. It kind of reminds me of Solas and Varric’s note of him in the beginning of the game “he just needs someone to give him a different option”

Like Illario is genuinely upset about this whole thing. He thought Lucanis was dead, and we see that he was such a chronically depressed alcoholic yapper after Lucanis’ death that even though he did give the hit, he at least regretted it or it didn’t sit well with him. (I have no doubt Zara manipulated him to some extent into it, since she has her eyes on Lucanis after the Wigmaker job anyway, but neither Zara or Illario are actually explored in game). But when Illario is taking us to the boat, he makes note of saying Catarina didn’t tell him because “I would have tried to save him.” The way he says that line is in a COMPLETELY different tone than anything else he says. It’s stern and to the point, not condescending like after Illario takes out Zara and talks down on Lucanis, telling him he’s a danger and liability.

If Illario knew Lucanis was actually alive, he probably would have killed Zara earlier. And Zara obviously KNEW THIS because she didn’t tell Illario Lucanis was ALIVE for that very reason. Illario never knew about Spite. He never planned for the Ossuary. He never meant for that to happen! Zara knew that whatever Illario and she had going on would never even be close to the bond Lucanis and Illario have, and Illario would put that over power every single time.

Almost every single time.

Because he knows what he did, and he still goes out for coffee with Lucanis and the weirdo rando that saved him. And then he tries to convince Lucanis to stay away from Zara, because he knows that Zara is capable of and how not only she can, but has hurt Lucanis. (She turned his big brother into an abomination!)

WAIT A MINUTE WHO ELSE DOES THAT? Lucanis does! Except Lucanis is more direct about it. Says that Zara might come after him. Illario tries to convince Lucanis she’s in fuckass land, get him out of the situation ENTIRELY involving Antiva, the Anntam, First Talon. Yeah, there’s probably a selfish motivation, but in Wigmaker Illario is so fucking scared Lucanis is going to essentially fling himself off a cliff, there’s a genuine “heyy can you take a holiday? Can you stop being passively suicidal for me, your little cousin? Can we stop with the ‘death is my calling’ shit?”

Of course Illario can’t just go “uhh I’ll take care of it dw bro” because to Lucanis the beef with Illario and Zara isn’t merely as personal as he (and Spites) beef with her. They really just want to protect one another and get their dues.

Illario killing Zara wasn’t so much for him. I mean she kind of played him, but whatever, it didn’t necessarily affect Illario in anyway, it was for Lucanis. A way to try and appease the guilt of something that he never intended to happen to his older brother. That’s why Illario wants to be there during Bloodbath. “It’s Crow business” aka ‘WHY ARE YOU TAKING WEIRDO RANDO 1 & 2 OVER ME? I deserve to be at your side, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and back, why won’t you let me anymore?’

So Illario meets Lucanis and his rando friends on the rooftop. Lucanis asks him what he’s doing there- and Illario says he wants to go. He’s so desperate to go, to prove his alliance to his big brother cousin. But that’s not all. Lucanis has been gone for a year, and then left immediately. Killing and missions, being Crow’s is one of the main ways Lucanis and Illario bond.

Illario has never felt good enough. For his grandmother, for Lucanis, for anyone. That’s why he started this mess. Zara tells him Lucanis doesn’t think he’s good enough, he never will be, until he does the most Crow thing ever and cuts him out of the family line. Then finally, maybe, when his cousin’s eyes are glassy and corpse empty, will they be filled with approval.

But Lucanis is right here (with two randos)! And Illario asks him to involve him, just looking for that smidge of approval. And Lucanis says no. Ok. Cool! Maybe he just wants you safe. Fine, whatever. But you’re capable- at least you think you are.

So you ask the damning question. “You think I’m not good enough?”

And your cousin, your big brother, simply says: “Are you?”

While surely a good natured jab from Lucanis as siblings do, had Lucanis’ answer been anything even close to praise or more concern, I think Illario would’ve been fine to step out of the way. ALL he needed was Lucanis’ mild assurance/approval. Just a ‘oh no, you’re good enough. I just don’t want you getting hurt is all’

But he doesn’t say that. He simply feeds into the very insecurity that sent Illario to selling him out, the very one that Zara told him but he never quite believed until the words came from Lucanis’ mouth. ‘You’re not good enough to stand by my side anymore.’ And potentially ‘I’ve replaced you with rando 1 & 2, I don’t need you anymore’

So then he doubles down. No more playing nice cousin or big brother little brother. If Lucanis doesn’t want Illario by his side anymore- fuck it, Illario doesn’t need him. Lucanis saying Illario isn’t good enough isn’t just a blow to his ego, or self confidence/self esteem, it’s a flat out rejection. So he takes the kill from Lucanis, and essentially tells him to get the fuck out of dodge or else, and then tries to strong arm first Talon.

Lucanis never quite gives Illario “the different option.” Illario throws their bond away not because he necessarily wants to, but because he thinks Lucanis’ threw it away first, and that he’s just folding onto a frayed rope (not even mentioning how Illario crosses out Lucanis’ name in the family line, showing how he just… almost doesn’t exist. He’s gone to Illario. Illario’s so hurt by everything he just wants Lucanis gone at this point, come hell or high water.)

Lucanis quite literally says that the only way Catarina would be proud of Illario is if he kills her, and if that extends to Lucanis, so be it.

[caker-baker]

Playing Sides

The detective allowed themself tense shoulders and whitened knuckles, if only to properly play the game.

Body language could make and break this meeting, and they needed to be a collection of fearful memories on display for the villain, an offering, appeasement, something else here and there.

If anyone other than the villain noticed the act, they were obviously choosing not to say something, going about their individual days, drinking coffee and politely nibbling on microwaved pastries.

But those people didn’t matter, not when there was something else much more pressing at the table.

“This seems a tad…” The villain sitting across from the appeasing detective took their time looking for the word. “incompatible.”

The detective only spared a sweeping glance at the rest of the cafe. “For you or for me?”

Chuckling, the villain raised their coffee cup to their lips. “Tricky, tricky, tricky. Always is with you.” They took an appreciative sip, eyes never leaving the detective. “What is this act you’re putting on? It’s good, believable, but not enough of a constant for me to place any value in it. I don’t appreciate attempts at flattery.”

The first thought was to argue, because why wouldn’t it be? The detective was a professional, their job was to unearth, discover, and find the final truth, the one answer.

Sitting in front of an anthropomorphized file of contradictions with the ability to lie, could, arguably, make the detective jumpy, twitching to argue and argue and argue until that final truth was revealed.

“Maybe it’s not an act.” The detective finally said, not exactly an argument, but a halfway concession, relaxing their muscles, loosening the vice grip on their coffee. “Maybe I’m scared.”

“But not of me.”

“Should I be?”

The villain offered a closed lip smile, one motion away from baring their teeth.

“I don’t so much mind you, my dear detective friend.”

“I don’t care for flattery, either.” The detective said.

“Good thing it wasn’t flattery. You would notice if I were to compliment you.” The villain watched them, particularly their relaxed hands.

The detective managed to rid the urge to move their hands then and there, stayed completely still even as the chill creeped up their spin.

“No, no, not flattery.” The villain continued. “Merely acknowledging the truth. We have a good deal going for each other.” They leaned forward. “Which is why this meeting worries me, why I was unconvinced of your taut facade, your attempts of appeasement.”

The detective straightened, knowing well enough that the villain was mocking their strategy.

“You were hoping to…what? Beg for some sort of help?”

“No.”

“Ask for something, then?”

The detective stayed silent, looking away as the villain stared them down, goading them on in their silent way.

The two did have a good deal going on, and if the detective was wrong, this could ruin that.

But they weren’t wrong.

“There have been whispers, Villain.”

“There tend to be, yes, old friend.”

“About something, someone, coming.” If the villain wanted to respond, the detective wasn’t going to give them a chance. “Now, you know me, you know us, our usual deal. I play both sides of the fence, just barely. Lately, during some of my data tracking for the heroes, I’ve noticed a disturbing pattern.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been forced to wonder something, I have a question for you. All I need is a simple yes or no-”

“Going to stop you there.” The villain set down their cup, fixing the detective with a colder, less amicable gaze. “I do know our usual deal, which is why I’m insulted now. You wanted information, pertinent, valuable information about something disturbing, and you were hoping to bargain with your fear?”

“Villain-”

Their eyes widened, the table under their fist began to crack.

“Careful.”

The detective couldn’t hide any body language from that, flinching at the tone of voice, tones, that the villain had - a million low voices all merging into one, horrific growl that sent shivers wracking up the detective’s spine, hurting their very bones.

“My guilt!” The detective spat out, ignoring the building bone nausea. “It wasn’t fear. You’re right. I’m not scared, not yet, but I’m guilty, and I will be terrified depending on your answer. If this ends up a yes, then I’m prepared to offer you something that I cannot take back, Villain. I’ll trade in something terrible for the rest of us, if it means I have the smallest chance to prepare.”

Those wide eyes narrowed, but the cracking table at least stopped, and the million low voices returned to one.

“Do tell.”

“Answer me first.”

“Tricky, tricky, trick.” The villain relaxed into their chair, amused now. “I’ll decide if it’s worth answering, Detective. Seem fair? Ask your silly yes or no question.”

Another sweep around the coffee shop, everything going according to how the detective had set up.

“Normally, your type gets quiet, goes under radar before a bigger stunt is pulled. I keep track, alert the proper channels, make sure not too many civvies are in a particular high risk zone at a given day. Some contacts in other big cities have reached out, said it’s been too quiet, everyone’s been too quiet.”

The villain’s amusement had already been fanned like a flame, crossing their arms and watching the detective lay it out for them as if it was some soap opera.

“I’ll spare you too many details, but I have reason to believe something big is being planned for here.” They held up a hand, watching the villain’s eyebrow quirk up. “I just need to know, yes or no, is this happening? Is my home going to be razed down for a personal vendetta? A final heroes vs. villains?”

The villain looked the detective up and down.

“If you knew the answer to that, what would you do?”

“Let you and yours duke it out with the heroes. Take the place if you want, it’s only a place, but I’d like to minimize civvy death count, Villain. I’d get in touch with those channels and start mass evacuation. I’d start it now.”

“And now the fun part.” They leaned in again. “What could you offer me in exchange for this answer? What could bring you of all people to guilt? You, whom I almost respect?”

The detective swallowed, and placed their bag on the table, letting the villain take a look inside.

Body language would make or break this.

“Power dampening cuffs. A prototype. I can’t guarantee they work. But I’m sure if you and yours worked together, you could figure something out.”

For the first time, the villain seemed surprised, hardly giving the prototype cuffs another glance.

“Detective-”

“I can’t guarantee they work.” The detective repeated. “But in this squabble of yours that may or may not be coming up, you could use these, and they would help, I know they would.”

“Hm. And you’ll let me walk out with these and the current schematics if I answer you? What if I lie? You make the wrong call, and I still have these. Maybe I will lie, maybe I want to see you be horribly wrong at such a cost.”

“You don’t.” The detective wasn’t wrong. They weren’t.

“Why’s that?”

“It would be no fun for you. You couldn’t almost respect me if this was the end of our partnership, my too easy failure.”

There was so much the detective was betting on, and knowing the villain was one of them.

The villain was a villain through and through, conniving, powerful, selfish, dangerous. And sometimes, those traits, the selfishness, carried into these little deals of theirs.

No, the villain wouldn’t want this to end without a bang. The villain would want to string along the detective until there was no more use of them.

“In a way,” The villain said, standing and grabbing the bag. “You’re right. It would be no fun. I don’t just want these, though. I want something else.”

“Answer the question, I’ll see what else I can do.”

The villain stared down at the detective for a long time. A minute. Two. Three. Or maybe it was only three seconds, stretched out into the fraying ends of a perfectly planned meeting.

“Yes.” The villain finally said. “The answer is yes, something is coming.”

The detective stood, not too quickly. “Thank you. I appreciate that. What do you want? Codes to inaccessible areas? You can have them as soon as-”

Reaching across, the villain grasped the detective’s shoulder. “The ramifications of razing this city down, as you so put, were lost on me. How could you and I keep this up if you’re running off, evacuating with the other saps?” They watched how the detective’s eyes flitted to the villain’s hand. “What I want, Detective, is to keep having fun.”

“Villain, there’s not much you or I can do to continue this deal of ours if there’s all out super war-”

“You play for heroes and villains, or, excuse me, just barely.” Their hand tightened on the detective’s shoulder. “Let’s see what sort of fun we can have with that.”

Before the detective could open their mouth, the villain smiled, and the two disappeared.

[sturnswrites]

terms and conditions - pt.2

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ you move in with the triplets after losing your apartment prompting a "roommate agreement". after having a tricky relationship with matt, some of the rules begin to blur.

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The first few days of moving in were... an adjustment. Sharing a house with three brothers was like stepping into a live sitcom, complete with chaotic energy, random outbursts, and an alarming amount of inside jokes I didn’t understand yet.

“Y/N! You left your shoes by the door again!” Nick shouted from the living room.

You poked my head out from your room. “And?”

“And I almost broke my neck tripping over them! You trying to kill me?”

Chris’s laughter echoed from the kitchen. “Yeah, Y/N, if you want to take Nick out, at least make it look like an accident.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled something about dramatics, heading downstairs to retrieve the offending sneakers. Nick was sprawled on the couch, singing some ridiculous pop song at the top of his lungs.

“Is it always like this?” you asked, pointing toward him.

Matt, who was quietly scrolling on his phone in the armchair, glanced up. “Worse, sometimes.” His voice was flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Chris leaned over from the kitchen. “This is actually him on a calm day.”

- 

One evening, after a particularly long day, you trudged into the kitchen in search of a snack. The house was quiet for once, which was rare.

“Hey, Matt, do we have any—” you stopped mid-sentence, your brain stuttering to a halt.

Matt stood by the counter, shirtless, a glass of water in hand. The dim light from above highlighted the definition of his shoulders and the lean muscles of his torso. His hair was messy, looking like he had just woken up from a nap, and there was a quiet confidence about him that made the room feel smaller.

He turned, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing. I—uh, I was just—” you gestured vaguely at the pantry, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the kitchen felt.

“Looking for something?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as if he knew exactly why you were flustered.

“Yeah. A snack. But it’s fine. I’ll... I’ll just grab it later.” you turned to leave, but your sock caught on the edge of the rug, and you stumbled.

Matt’s hand shot out, steadying you with a firm grip on your arm.

The brief contact sent a jolt through you, and when you looked up, his face was closer than you expected. His light eyes held yours for a beat too long, and your breath hitched.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low.

The air between you two shifted, heavy with something unspoken.

Before either of you could say a word, Chris’s voice rang out from the living room. “Matt! Are you still hogging the kitchen?”

Matt let go of your arm, clearing his throat. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”

“Yeah. Sure,” you mumbled, practically running out of the room.

Later that night, long after the others had gone to bed, you found yourself lying in your room, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as someone shifted in their sleep.

You weren’t tired. Not really.

Your mind kept drifting back to earlier in the kitchen—the way Matt had looked at you, his brow furrowed in that way that made him seem more serious than he actually was. Or how the light had cast a faint glow over his skin, every muscle in his torso so defined it could’ve been sculpted.

You groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. Get a grip, Y/N.

It wasn’t just how he looked, though. It was the way he had steadied you, his grip firm yet gentle, like he wasn’t quite sure whether to let go. And then there was the tone of his voice, low and calm, like he had some kind of unintentional pull over the air around him.

You turned onto your side, burying your face in the pillow. It was nothing. Just an awkward moment between roommates.

Except... it wasn’t nothing, was it?

You’d known Matt for a while now, long enough to recognize that he didn’t let people in easily. He kept most of the world at arm’s length, guarded and cool. But in that moment, when his hand lingered on your arm, it felt different. Like he was letting you in, just for a second.

It was ridiculous to overthink it. You’d agreed—sworn—to keep things platonic. And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had felt it too, that unspoken charge in the air between you two.

You let out a frustrated sigh and rolled onto your back again. “You’re being ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself.

Still, sleep didn’t come easily. And when it finally did, it was filled with flashes of dark eyes, quiet smirks, and the ghost of a touch that lingered far too long.

-

The next day, while you were out shopping with Alyssa, Matt and Chris were hanging out in the living room, Nick upstairs editing.

“So...” Chris started, his tone dripping with amusement.

Matt didn’t look up from his phone. “What?”

“Y/N,” Chris said, dragging out the name.

Matt’s head snapped up. “What about her?”

Chris grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Oh, nothing. Just... there’s some tension there, don’t you think?”

“There’s no tension,” Matt said flatly, but his shoulders were stiff.

“Right,” Chris said, nodding exaggeratedly. “Totally normal for you to go all stoic every time she’s around.”

“Chris,” Matt warned.

“Relax, dude. I’m just saying,” Chris continued, his grin widening. “You’re usually Mr. Cool and Collected, but with her? It’s like you don’t know where to put your hands.”

Matt glared at him. “Drop it.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris said, holding up his hands in surrender. But the glint in his eyes said he wasn’t done stirring the pot.

-

The first time all four of you ended up in the living room late at night, it wasn’t planned. You had gone down to the kitchen for a glass of water, only to find Nick already sprawled across the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. He was wearing headphones and mouthing the words to a song you couldn’t hear, completely lost in whatever he was editing.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Nick startled slightly, yanking off his headphones. “Oh, hey! Nah, just finishing this edit. It’s way quieter at night, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” you replied, smiling as you grabbed your glass.

You hadn’t planned on staying, but before you knew it, Chris came up from downstairs, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. He plopped onto the couch next to Nick, his hair a mess.

“What’s this, an impromptu sibling meeting without me?” he joked, yawning loudly.

“More like an insomniacs’ club,” you said, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table.

Minutes later, Matt emerged from his room, looking far more composed than the rest of you despite the late hour. His eyes scanned the room briefly before he wordlessly sat in the armchair, his quiet presence rounding out the group.

It started simple—Nick rambling about the video he was editing, asking for input that none of you were awake enough to give. Chris chimed in with random anecdotes from his day, weaving exaggerated stories that had us all cracking up, despite how absurd they were.

And then there was Matt, who sat quietly for most of it, his smirks and soft chuckles a steady undercurrent to the lively conversation. He only jumped in when he had something particularly clever or sarcastic to say, and when he did, it always left Nick groaning, Chris clutching his stomach with laughter, and you shaking your head, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

At one point, the conversation shifted to childhood memories, and the brothers began trading stories about growing up together.

“Matt used to eat dirt when he was, like, five,” Chris said, grinning devilishly.

“I did not eat dirt,” Matt shot back, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his faint smile.

“You absolutely did,” Nick chimed in. “You said it was ‘flavorful.’”

You burst out laughing, and Matt groaned, leaning back in the chair. “This is why I don’t talk during these things.”

“Oh, come on, you love us,” Chris teased, throwing a pillow at Matt, who caught it effortlessly.

The mood was light, easy, and for the first time since moving in, you felt like you were really starting to fit into their dynamic.

At one point, Nick started playing music from his laptop, singing along dramatically to every word. Chris joined in, his voice completely off-key, and soon enough, we were all belting out the chorus to some early 2000s pop song, the kind of music that only sounds good when you’re singing it at the top of your lungs with friends.

Matt, to your surprise, even sang a little, though it was more of a quiet hum under his breath. It was rare to see him this relaxed, and it caught you off guard how much you liked it.

By the time the night wound down, you all were all half-asleep. Chris had completely passed out on the couch, Nick was still typing something on his laptop but moving slower than before, and Matt remained in the armchair, his gaze flicking between you as if making sure you were all okay before calling it a night.

You caught his eye for a brief moment, and he gave you the faintest smile, one that felt softer, more genuine than the others he’d given throughout the night.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, standing and stretching.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

As you climbed the stairs to your room, you felt a strange sense of belonging settle over you. This house, chaotic and unpredictable as it was, was starting to feel like home.

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[toothlespoggers]

I got silly and infodumped again…

The fact that crystalised despite being the worst ninjago season by far- showed that for a long time now, possibly since season 11 has had his emotions turned off. Is crazy to me. Because I know Cole had a pretty okay moment with Zane about it and he ended up turning it back on in the same season or maybe even same episode I can’t fully recall. But I don’t know how mentally fucked these characters are or what- but I feel like no one stopped to think about that for enough time. Like Cole, he’s a very caring, affectionate, empathetic guy. Yet even he didn’t really seem to register the implications this had for Zane’s mental health. Zane is filled with so much emotional turmoil that he physically couldn’t bear to feel anymore. And this group of traumatised young adults were like- “oh haha Zane, that’s so quirky, that’s so silly of you, haha relatable anyway-“ Like duuuude I don’t know if this is the writers wanting to avoid actually discussing mental health in a “children’s” show or if these characters have had such little emotional awareness and support through their lives, almost dying everyday since they were teenagers that they are so desensitised to the horrors tm that they literally cannot tell when someone is basically holding a sign over their head saying “I NEED SERIOUS HELP.”

That kinda says a lot about Sensei wu, doesn’t it? I mean he’s great we Stan- but he did kinda adopt a bunch of struggling teenagers and burden them with saving the world and then allowed them to put themselves in harms way for years, without ever sitting them down and asking them if they were okay, emotionally? Like I don’t know if this happened and I didn’t see it or if it was implied to happen off screen but I really doubt wu was any sort of a support system for these guys that treated him like a father figure.  

Maybe it’s because this cycle of pain goes back to wu as well, because he’s not the most stable person in the world either, but idk it feels crazy to me that these people that were basically family. Just- never checked in on eachothers well being or looked out for each others mental issues.

I mean they never really got a break and when they did- hell the only reason season 11 happened was because wu, so obsessed with the ninja being in tip top condition urged them to do something, which led these idiots to unleashing Aspheera and then ended up with probably the worst fate you could wish upon a Lego, for Zane. Seriously the fact they turned the ice emperor thing into a joke is so tone deaf to me like if this happened to your friend. In real life, (just suspend disbelief for a second) you would be absolutely GUTTED. You’d probably feel SO BAD. And that person? Probably can’t function like a normal individual anymore. Probably needs serious therapy.  Not a joke.

I don’t hate wu, I never did. But I just think he’s been very irresponsible with the way he’s handled his students and while he’s wise in some aspects 70% of problems in the show could’ve been avoided if this old man valued communication.

And if this isn’t based on the characters flaws. And it’s Lego refusing to discuss mental illness and mental health. COME ON LEGO IT WOULD EDUCATE YOUR YOUNG AUDIENCE ON PTSD, ANXIETY AND HOW TO HEALTHILY DEAL WITH YOUR PROBLEMS. Because right now, if you wanna deal with issues the ninja way, YOU BURY THEM AND TAKE THEM TO THE GRAVE AND YOU NEVER COMPLAIN OR REST.

All I want is at least one episode where it’s not all about the current bad guy or plot and it’s just about the ninja actually confiding in one another and trying to help their friends out. Maybe Zane or Lloyd finally snap and have a full mental breakdown and the only way to deal with it is for them to actually talk about it and work it out. I’m sure you can make a compelling episode with that in mind. They’ve tried to address mental health in the show with Lloyds anxiety arc thing in DR they need to do better.

We need a scene in DR where Zane and Frohicky are at the monastery while the other ninja are doing stuff, (maybe I’ll work out the details more and write something on this) and something happens where all the pain and trauma and just, awfulness just builds up in Zane’s mind and he just. Has a moment where he cracks. And he stops working on whatever he’s working on. And Frohicky notices the shift in the air and suddenly his entire demeanour changes and he comes over concerned and Zane is standing there or kneeling and Frohicky puts his hand on his shoulder and asks. “Are you okay?” And Zane just doesn’t know how to respond. He tries to shake everything off but he can’t, he’s never been asked that before. And Frohicky starts babbling on trying to help him and offers to get him set up so he can rest, and Zane doesn’t have the strength to object or the will to say anything and he’s just like.

“I.. don’t know.” In a final response to the previous question. 

And it’s just a scene where Zane accepts Frohickys gesture of kindness. And while not everything is fixed obviously. You can slowly see the tension leaving him.

Because it matters if someone asks you if you’re okay. It reaches into the darkest place and offers a hand saying “I’ll listen.” And that could genuinely change someone’s life.