#another time i guess.. when I make some more

[megumimania]

saw this thread of people showing off their engagement rings and thought this is so s6-7!spencer x fiancée!reader coded.

“good morning, everybody!” you chirped, rolling in with pastries and some fresh coffee for the team.

your unusual enthusiasm on a monday morning was met with looks of suspicion from the team. the unexpected coffee run that you were known to hate did nothing but further their suspicions.

“so i’m guessing valentines went really well for you, huh?” derek teased, wiggling his eyebrows at you. the implication making your skin run hot.

“if i have to sit through another hr seminar on appropriate discussions in the workplace, it’s all your fault.” you swatted his shoulder playfully (purposefully), laughing as he jerked back and soothed his achy shoulder. “this is your first strike morgan.”

“ouch! did pretty boy get you brass knuckles for valentines or something?” he momentarily frowned rubbing his now sore arm. his eyes lit up as he realised the rock that was sitting on your finger.

“well i’ll be damned, that is a rock.” he whistled lowly, taking your hand as he moved it closer to the light, to inspect it even more closely. emily, jj and penelope walked over to you and derek, intrigued by the shiny new thing on your finger.

“what are you guys doing—ooh!” penelope marvelled at the ring much to a disgruntled derek, who couldn’t believe spencer was going to get married before he did.

“oh it’s even more gorgeous in person, damn those crappy pixels.” she grumbled, as she moved your hand so the diamonds would glitter under the desk lights. It was an intricate design that had your birthstone adorned on it.

the girls shared the same level of enthusiasm and excitement as you did. with jj and emily asking for a play by play of how the proposal went down, from the restaurant to the date and finally to when spencer finally proposed.

“it looks like spencer is quite the romantic.” emily commented, seemingly surprised and happy for you both.

love wasn’t something all agents could afford to have—especially in their line of work. so the fact the two of her favourite people were getting married in spite of the odds made her happy.

“okay proposal talk aside, who is gonna be the maid of honor? who’s gonna be your bridesmaids? are you planning to hyphenate or are you gonna take the plunge and go all the way?” penelope asked, already thinking about the logistics of it all that made you chuckle.

the thought of it all was overwhelming, all of the eventual planning and budgeting you were going to have to do was threatening to crash the excitement of your wedding. it was jj’s calming voice that calmed the barrage of thoughts that were running through your head.

“pen, she just said yes to the man like four days ago.”jj giggled at her friends eagerness. “i’m sure they’ll iron out the details later.” she replied, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder which you were thankful for.

in the midst of the congratulations you were receiving from your fellow colleagues and associates alongside the pre wedding buzz, everyone failed to noticed to spencer walk in.

it wasn’t until morgan caught the familiar mop of brown hair was when he called out to him. “hey, pretty boy! why didn’t you say that you and bau barbie over here got engaged?”

you rolled your eyes at his nickname for you. it was born from your affinity to wear an assortment of stylishly impractical outfits that always made it past fbi standards because you always somehow made it functional for use. like the time you chased an unsub down in a park wearing designer jeans.

spencer sheepishly rubbed his neck that flushed a shade of light pink as the attention was now on him. “i thought the picture on her instagram story was already a dead giveaway.” he shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets.

the post couldn’t have been more obvious if you had tried. the shot of you posed up on the couch with your hand resting on your head as if you were nursing a mean headache, with the ring almost demanding to be the centre of attention. you and spencer agreed it was a pretty funny take on the traditional engagement announcements.

“oh, so you were letting the ring do all the talking. smart.” morgan nudged you playfully, before he turned to join the others who were busy fawning over pictures of henry that jj was showing them all.

spencer thought this would be the right time to steal a quick kiss from you. he wasn’t a fan of pda and preferred his quite intimate moments with you away from prying eyes.

he barely managed to press a swift kiss before morgan teased him, “hey loverboy! you better save that for the wedding night.” he said a bit too loudly as half of the office turned to the source of the noise. if there was anything spencer hated being the topic of bureau gossip, but that was less than his hatred for meaningless small talk.

he sighed knowing that he’d be subjected to hearing ‘congratulations’ or knowing glances all day or maybe week—depending if anything else more interesting happened like the one time there was a interdepartmental affair between the cybercrime and the counterterrorism unit.

morgan chuckled watching spencer’s face flush a light pink in response to getting caught. yeah it looked like the prank war treaty and truce that garcia made them both sign and agree to in her signature glittery pen, after she accidentally got flour-bombed in the midst of their prank war was about to be over with.

you just hoped that you’d be kept out of the crossfire this time and that they’d manage to pack it in before your upcoming wedding.

[maripoorsa]

Within this context I want to ask anyone who sees this reblog to ask themselves what some things are that they feel Very Strongly about.

What are some things that you think are unacceptable no matter what. Make a small list of them.

They could be kinks, the way people should act at movies, it could be about manners, even job etiquette, or more in line with the post: something you thing is immoral with no excuse for the behavior/act.

Now consider that you're wrong.

Because the things fascists make you think and the way they make you think them are tied to your own principles as OP outlined above. Im sure there are many things that you believe you are right about because to think otherwise would be immoral. Right?

Like sex scenes, certain kinks, and dark romance.

So now ask yourself how open you would be to hearing out the other side in good faith. Would you even be willing to listen?

Your ability to learn and hear new ideas is what ultimately will separate you from the fascists.

So how much would your own passion and desire to do the right thing stop you from considering the other side?

And if you can't see yourself being open to that sort of thing, then the fascist propaganda has worked.

Because guess who else isn't open to being wrong? Guess who else would rather shut down an argument, silence their opponents, and even harm people who don't believe the same things they do? Guess who else thinks that anyone who disagrees with them is a moral failure? Guess who else thinks they know better than everyone else and wouldn't entertain the idea that what they believe could be wrong?

Fascists, yes.

And then they use that logic to say "well if you don't believe x is wrong like me then you deserve y."

And there have been many, many people throughout history who saw their fascist governments hurting people and enabled it by saying things like, "well, if Those People didn't x then they wouldny be treated like y. They should just stop x behavior."

And you know what that does? Places all blame of fascism onto its victims while at the same time enforcing fascist norms onto society.

Fascists are masters of turning people against groups they see as unwanted for that very reason. They get the public to do most of the finger wagging then, once they manufactured enough supoort using propaganda, they start passing fascist law.

They tie Black people to crime, Trans people to perverts, Jewish ppl to greed, migrants to job theft, gays to godlessness, the disabled to bad dna, etc. All of these groups are blamed for the inequality of the True Countrymen.

So if you

Struggle to accept being wrong

Struggle to accept new ideas of right/wrong

Struggle to change your own idea of right/wrong

Struggle to accept when you're (part of) the problem

Have a tendency to blame cruelty on victims rather than it's perpetrators or enablers

Have a group of people you are disgusted by and would struggle to see in another light

Think people who are, in your opinion, living incorrectly or immorally deserve bad things to happen to them

You are traveling down a dangerous pipeline.

This is your sign to turn back.

Fascism rarely ever actually sneaks up on a government. As a few people above stated, they've been raising alarms for a while and were called every name in the book. I have too. So have a lot of people I know.

Think back to this last election, heated as it was. How often did you see people shut down criticisms of democrats? More specifically, how often did you see people justifying fascist acts and law in the name of their own security? How malicious did you see those people get? How often did they harass anyone who disagrees with them?

Do you know who else saw it? Do you know who else saw even the bluest of liberals justify genocide as long it kept them safe? Do you know who else saw them harass poc who wouldn't enthusiastically elect someone they saw as the Right choice?

Fascists.

it's true and you should say it.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Trembling Heart, ft. FIFTY FIFTY Chanelle

tags: first time, creampie

length: 6k+

author's note: I tried a more show-not-tell approach with this—let me know if you like it.

-

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet your men.

“We’re going to head to Pioneer Heights this morning. We will be taking over evacuating the earthquake victims, and since most of the big rubbles have been cleared a few hours ago, we won’t use as many heavy equipment this time.” As you speak, you notice the way some men are getting uneasy; your best guess is they have loved ones they haven’t heard from since the event of the quake. “I won’t waste more of your time; you already know what to do—let’s roll, gentlemen.”

After putting on your helmet, you get in the passenger seat of one of the rescue trucks. “Captain,” the man holding the wheel calls to you. “I’ll be honest, I really want to look for my wife and child.” You ask if he knows where they were around the event of the disaster, and based on the phone locator app he has, they were in the downtown area when the earthquake struck.

“I understand that you’re concerned, but we already have a ton of people there; your family will be found in no time,” you attempt to assure him, placing your hand on his shoulder for good measure. The man nods slowly, his eyes remain fixed on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, “alright, let’s head to Pioneer.”

Before long, you and your convoy are on your way to Pioneer Heights, and it’s only a couple of blocks away before you reach the edge of the area. While it’s true that heavy machinery has cleared most of the heavy wreckage, there are still some high piles you and your crew need to get through. “Alright, let’s get off here and spread around.” The men on the back of the truck catch the signal as you get off, following your gesture and doing the same. “Four hours of search and one hour of break for two shifts for now.”

You let your crew spread around the area while you opt to take on this sizeable pile of ruins in front of what used to be a high-rise apartment building. “Time to test this new toy.” You pull out a ground-penetrating radar that was recently developed by a high-tech contractor, and you’re glad to see that it allows you to get an idea of what’s trapped underneath all of this mess. “That… looks like a person.” As you put your ears against the rubble, rhythmic, nearly inaudible knocks are heard—only a person is capable of making such rhythm.

“Someone’s here!”

 With the help of a fellow rescuer, you lift the big debris, putting your backs to it to free this trapped person who turns out to be a woman around your age; her hair is a mess, her body is bruised and cut, and her clothes are damaged in various spots. “Let’s get you out of here, miss.”

“M-my brother,” she mutters weakly. “F-find him.” You nod firmly. “Of course, it’s what we’re here for.” You help her get on a stretcher, and as she gets carried away to receive medical help, you turn your focus back on the pile. “Alright, mister brother, where are you.”

After a few minutes of scanning, another void is detected in the pile. “I hope that’s him,” you think. Since the pile he’s stuck under consists of smaller pieces, you can dig through it yourself, and before long, you see a glimpse of skin through a tiny gap. “Someone’s here!” you announce again. You focus on pushing the rocks aside until more of the victim’s body can be seen. “Hold on, mister; help is coming,” you say to him.

“Ah, fuck—someone get me a drill, please.”

You stick your hand out, and a handheld drill is handed over to you by one of your crew members. You use the chisel-like tip to break the boulder into smaller pieces that are easier to handle. Soon, there is enough room to pull the man out of the mess, and based on the similar facial features, you guess that this is the brother of the woman from earlier. “You’ll be tended to by the medics now, mister,” you say to the weak, out-of-oxygen man.

-

A few days after the evacuation operation, you’re invited by one of the doctors of a nearby hospital to visit the recovering evacuees. She says that you should wear your duty attire, since that will likely help them recognize you.

You arrive at the hospital in your high-vis orange operative uniform, donning a radio on your chest for some extra appearance points. A doctor wearing a mask welcomes you at the front desk. “Good morning, Captain Morris.” You shake her hand firmly. “Good morning to you too, doctor.” As she guides you to your destination, the doctor, whose last name is Arnot (based on the name tag on her chest), proceeds to ramble about how everyone at the hospital has been working restlessly to tend to the survivors. “Doing God’s work as always, Doctor Arnot.”

The doctor stops at a slightly ajar door at the end of the second-floor hallway. “Let’s start here.” She opens the door for you and guides you in to see this survivor. “Miss Moon, this is the SAR operative you wanted to meet.” Your heart skips a beat. “Wanted to meet me, hey?” you thought.

The doctor soon leaves, giving you and this Moon lady a chance to catch up in private. “Hello, good morning,” you wave at her with a smile, “my name is Morris, Gerald Morris, from the Search and Rescue unit.” She returns the smile twice as sweetly. “Chanelle, Chanelle Moon,” she introduces herself. “Please, have a seat.”

You take her invitation, dragging a chair to sit close to her. “How are you, Miss Moon?” Her lips curve into a warm smile. “I’ve been well, and so has been my brother, all thanks to you.” Your cheeks warmed, and a flush crept up your neck thanks to her praise. “I don’t mean to brag, miss, but I was just doing my job.” Chanelle chuckles. “Sure, but you did your job so well, and for that, I’m thankful.”

Chanelle asks if you have time to spare to listen to her. “Well, yes, but if duty calls, I’m out of here.” Her face turns serious for a moment. “Oh, are there still evacuation operations?” You tell her that there are still open reports of missing loved ones submitted by the people, and the SAR department is busy turning every rock to find them. She nods, seemingly deep in thoughts. “Well, I wish all of you good luck. If there’s anything I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” You thank her for the kind words and intentions.

“Yeah, that’s enough talk about work—do you have any other thing to talk about?”

“Not really, but I still would love to have you here with me,” Chanelle’s beautiful smile makes a return, “so, would you stay for a while?”

You offer a tentative smile as you think about the hidden intentions and unspoken words, and eventually, you decide to reply, “I will be honest, I don’t want to make us a subject of gossip by lingering around for too long.” Chanelle sighs as a flicker of disappointment crosses her features. “You’re… brutally frontal,” she says.

“I mean… I can give you my number, if that’s okay with you.”

Chanelle chuckles at your offer. “Are you interested or are you not, because I’m getting mixed signals here.” Her words have you scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t know, really—I do know I enjoy being with you, though.” The way you’re saying these words oh-so-brazenly makes you think you’re not in control of yourself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so presumptuous,” you try to save yourself. Chanelle shakes her head. “You weren’t, so please, write down your number somewhere.”

There’s no paper or pen in the hospital room, so you head out to the nurse’s desk to get one. “Excuse me, can I get a pen and paper, please?” Lucky for you, the nurse doesn’t ask any question; she just hands you what you’re asking for. With them in hand, you return to Chanelle’s room.

As you write down the digits of your number, your satellite phone rings, and because of the panic, your handwriting becomes rushed and ugly towards the end. “I’m sorry, but I’m needed somewhere else,” you say. She nods in understanding. “Of course—save them all, tiger.” You and Chanelle look at each other, as if waiting for one party to say something first. Her chuckle tells you that she has nothing else to say. “Right, well,” you hand her the paper with your number on it, “see you soon, Chanelle.”

-

Around a week has passed since the earthquake, and the city is slowly getting back on its feet. Shops and offices are reopening, remnants of debris are getting cleared, and sirens are heard less often. Compare this peacefulness to the chaos from a few days ago when things are a mess; it’s almost fascinating how quickly people move on. While you enjoy such peace and sitting around in your office, it’s getting… boring.

So, to combat this boredom that’s getting unbearable, you decide to head out of your office, and since it’s close to downtown—thank God for that promotion two years ago—you don’t have to walk far to reach civilization. You make your way to this minimalistic coffee shop called Memories at The Intersection that is located at the intersection opposite you, hoping to find one of two things: something that can warm your body or someone to chat with.

Your eyes pick up nothing extravagant inside the shop; wooden furniture is spread around the interior, the barista is at the back, and there are stools going around the counter. You approach the counter while looking at the no-frill menu shown on the overhead TV.

“Hello, welcome to Memories at The Intersection. What would you like to have, officer?” You have a habit when visiting a new coffee shop to test its quality, which is to get a large iced americano and a large latte with no sugar. “Of course, that would be $10 for both.”

You pull out your wallet from your pocket, and that’s when the woman sitting at the counter next to you says something. “No, he’s with me; I’ll pay for his stuff.” Without looking at her, you (politely) insist on paying yourself—the woman insists back, though. “Please, that’s the least I can do for someone who saved my life.”

Your gaze leaves your wallet and moves towards this woman, and your heart skips a beat. “Chanelle? What are you doing here?” She chuckles. “I mean, this place is mine.” You see the barista blushing at the movie-like scene that is unfolding before her eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Well, isn’t this just convenient.”

Chanelle invites you to join her in her room upstairs, and you take the offer without thinking twice. “Send his orders upstairs, Athena,” Chanelle says to the barista as you leave with her. “Oh, and be sure to knock first—don’t walk in on us while we’re… talking.” Heat creeps up to your cheeks due to her suggestive words. “Of course, Miss Moon,” Athena says.

Chanelle takes you to her private space that almost feels like a living room at someone’s house. “Sorry about the mess, but nonetheless, welcome to my office, Gerald.” You break out a laugh. “Believe me, baby, my office is much messier than yours.” She turns around and looks at you straight in the eyes. “Baby, huh? You’ve gotten comfortable with me, haven’t you, SAR Operative Gerald Morris?” You slap your own mouth for letting the endearment slip out. “My, I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me.” Chanelle smiles sheepishly. “Oh, it’s fine—I mean, I would be lying if I wasn’t attracted to you.”

You’re stuck in a stupor. “She’s attracted to me, huh,” you ask yourself. Chanelle snaps her fingers in front of you. “C’mon, it’s not the time to lose focus.” She turns around after getting you unstuck, but her steps are halted when you catch her wrist in your hand. “What—” Before she can finish her sentence, a fleeting peck lands on her lips. “Thank you for everything, Chanelle.” She licks her lips, savoring the taste you left on them. “Sure, Gerald,” she smiles warmly, “thank you for everything too—I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

After easing the tension between the two of you, Chanelle makes her way towards her desk. “What’s that for,” you ask, pointing at the microphone that’s fixed on a stand. “Singing, of course,” she answers, excitement woven in her voice. You ask if she’s down to sing right now, but she says no; she’s not in the mood and isn’t feeling well enough to sing. “I will sing for you next time, though.”

Chanelle sighs deeply as her butt lands on her chair. “Gerald,” she calls to you. “Can I ask some things about your work?” You headed out of your office to take a break from thinking about work, but Chanelle wants to talk about work—eh, whatever; let’s entertain her for now. “Yeah, sure.”

“What was the most difficult operation in your career?”

“Physically or mentally?”

Chanelle pauses momentarily.

“Both.”

You take a few deep breaths as you formulate an answer for her. “Saving that drowned child was… very rough,” you reveal. Her features soften as she imagines what it must have been like for you. “Drowned child, huh? Can I ask why it was difficult?” You nod. “He was the only child of a couple who had been childless for 13 years.” Chanelle stays silent, giving you the chance to keep talking if you wish. “Talking more about the operation would kill the mood, so I’ll stop here.”

It seems that she regrets asking that question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go that deep right out the gate.” You close your eyes as you try to shake off the resurfacing images from that operation. “Yeah, well,” you sigh heavily, “that mission was both successful and unsuccessful at the same time.”

Some knocks are heard from the door, and you get on your feet to answer it. “No, no, let me,” she says, opting to answer it herself. Chanelle returns to you with your orders in her hands. “Here,” she hands them over to you, “let me know if you like it.” You first take a sip of the iced americano. “Pretty good,” you say. Chanelle lightly smacks you on the shoulder. “If you wanted to test us, at least do it properly—get a pour-over or something like that,” she says. Your cheeks turn red as you chuckle. “Sorry, I just like iced americano a lot.”

She then urges you to try the sugar-less latte, and your comment is the same as the americano. “Ugh, you’re so annoying—y’know, we should have a coffee date one day; I’ll teach you everything about coffee.” There is an opening to be bold here. “So, you’re saying that you want to see me again?” Chanelle, having been caught slipping, bites her bottom lip. “Maybe I do.”

As you enjoy the coffee and Chanelle’s company, rain starts pouring out of the night sky, falling hard right from the start. “Should’ve ordered something hot,” you blurt, thus causing Chanelle to laugh. “I mean, we have the best cappuccino in the city, if I do say so myself.” “Oh, yes, please,” you take her up on the offer right away. Chanelle calls the barista downstairs with the landline on her desk, ordering on your behalf. “Hey, uh, do you want some snacks too?” You say yes, so Chanelle orders a mixed snack platter for you. “Alright, they’ll be here soon.”

Before long, a cup of cappuccino and a plate of fried snacks appear before your eyes, delivered by the same barista from earlier. “You’re going to need to pay if you keep this up,” she quips. “Oh, don’t worry about it; I’ll even pay interests if I must.”

You take a piece of potato wedge from the plate and dip it into the sauce. As you munch on it, Chanelle looks at you intently while leaning against her propped-up arm. “I like garlic, and I hope you do too,” she comments. You show her two thumbs up. “Awesome sauce—just the perfect amount of garlic.”

Chanelle leaves her chair and joins you on the couch. “Do you mind sharing?” she asks. “No, not at all; have at it.” She replicates your gesture of picking up a piece of potato wedge and dipping it in the sauce, but she doesn’t look as satisfied as you. “Something’s off…” Chanelle trails off as she thinks about it. “Is it, though, because I think this is good?” Her forehead creases. “You don’t think this tastes bitter?” Well, you do, but you thought it was part of the charm. “Yeah, no, it’s not supposed to be like this.”

Chanelle offers you to get another sauce, but you decline, saying that you like this one despite the bitterness. She scoffs. “You like bitter? Is your life not bitter enough?” You chuckle a bit. “My life isn’t bitter now that you’re here with me.” She smacks your arm. “Oh, aren’t you the charmer,” she counters.

The satellite phone in your back pocket buzzes, a call to get back to reality. “Ah, shit,” you say in your head. “Not now,” you think. “Hello, this is Morris,” you greet the caller, forcing a calm, professional tone. “A landslide? Where?” A nervous shiver runs down Chanelle’s spine as she listens to the conversation you’re having; the thought of getting caught in a landslide triggers her trauma of being caught in an earthquake. Not only that, but the way you shift away from her does nothing to ease her nervousness.

“Hey, I—” The tenseness in her body is clear for you to see; her knuckles that are gripping her knees are white, and her gaze is long yet empty. “Chanelle, I’m sorry, but—” “Go, Gerald,” she says with urgency in her voice. “Do you need me to take you there?” You quickly consider the practical aspect of her offer, since your squad mates must have taken the truck. “Yes, please.”

Chanelle turns out to be quite the fast driver, zipping through traffic and cutting people off at every chance she gets. “Just a few kilometers to go, baby.” The endearing term flies out of your lips without restrictions—your mind is too occupied with thoughts of evacuating people out of the landslide.

As soon as the car stops, you quickly thank Chanelle for the help and sprint towards the evacuation site, not even bothering to put on a helmet first despite getting yelled at by your team members. “Then get me a damn helmet, why don’t you?” you bark back. Someone puts a helmet on your head from behind, and you make quick work with the strap, thus fixing it in place.

Chanelle steps out of her car after getting herself calm. Her gaze darts around, following your every movement as you scurry around the site. “C’mon, Gerald, save them like you saved me,” she thinks. She unconsciously steps closer towards the site, only stopping because a police officer reminds her to keep her distance. “Please, that’s my boyfriend,” she blurts. Insistent, the officer raises his hand, but his expressions are softening. “Your boyfriend is in safe hands, miss; these guys are the best we have,” the officer replies. Pride soars in her heart at the officer’s words. “Yeah, well, my boyfriend is the one with safe hands,” she says to herself, her eyes still stuck on you.

-

Time has passed by, and your legs finally give out, thus causing your butt to land on the rough asphalt. “Fuck, man.” Your chest heaves, each breath ragged and heavy. “W-water, please,” you say to a police officer who’s staring at you. With a firm nod, he turns around to find some water for you, and before long, you have a bottle of water in your hands. “T-thanks,” you say weakly.

“Gerald! Gerald, over here!” Chanelle’s voice cracks as she calls you over. You turn your head towards the source of the sound; Chanelle is waving her arm with fervor to get your attention. With a grunt, you gather your strength and walk towards her with heavy steps, dragging your legs along the way. You collapse near her, and Chanelle promptly gets down to her knees on the ground, her arms running on your body, trying to drive exhaustion away from your body. “You’ve done well, baby; you’ve done all you could,” she says, offering support and praise. Your eyes are closed as you nod. “T-thanks, baby.”

The blaring sounds of the ambulance siren pierce through the night, but they resemble the most comforting musical arrangement to your ears. “Yeah, take them,” you mutter weakly. Your racing heart gradually slows down as the sounds of the siren fade away, and now you’re able to open your eyes again.

“C-Chanelle,” you weakly lift your hand to reach her face, your voice barely audible, “t-thank you, seriously.” Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over as she cups your dirty face. “No, baby, thank you—thank you for saving them,” she replies, her voice shaking from the emotions. The endearment wraps around your exhausted body like a warm blanket. “I’m sorry but let me catch my breath for a minute.”

“Baby, let me take you home—you look like you can’t even stand,” Chanelle offers you some help. You nod, grateful for her generous offer. “That… would be great, actually.” With her help, you lift your back off the ground and get in a sitting position. You then call one of your teammates over. “Wrap things up quickly and RTB,” you say to him. “Yes, sir,” he replies, leaving your side to spread the command around. After making sure that everyone gets the message, you shift your attention to Chanelle. “Alright, I-I think we can go home now.”

Chanelle wraps her arm around you, guiding you back towards her car. “You know,” she breaks the silence, “I’m so, so proud of you, baby—you were incredibly brave, you know.” Fighting the heat on your cheeks, you thank her for the supportive words. “Alright, I’ll take you home now, baby,” she says. “I promise you will have the best sleep tonight.”

You groan as you settle yourself into the passenger seat. “Oh, God, my back.” Chanelle looks at you, studying your expressions intently. “Patience, please—look, I’ll drive fast like earlier.” As the car starts rolling, you lean against the window, your eyes getting heavy. “I’ll… get some rest.”

-

Chanelle taps your forearm to wake you up. “Babe, we’re here,” she whispers softly. Sleepy you might be, but you know this isn’t the neighborhood you live in. “This is my place,” she confirms. “C’mon, I’ll help you inside.” You shake your head, determined to get yourself on your feet. “I’ll be just fine, baby,” you say, your voice heavy.

Once again, Chanelle puts her arm around you as she guides you around the interior of her house. “Look, that’s our destination right there,” she points at a closed door, and you’re relieved that you don’t have to go up some stairs.

Chanelle props you up on the edge of the bed. “Undress, baby,” she demands. “Don’t sleep in your uniform.” You pause as you’re hesitant to oblige, considering the type of dynamics you currently have with her. “I-I only have my boxers underneath this,” you say. She looks nervous to have you nearly naked in front of her, but it’s the best in her opinion. “Just… just do it, please,” she says, her voice firm yet tender.

You make quick work of your uniform, leaving them discarded on the floor by the bed. “Good, baby, now lie down for me,” she says. Chanelle's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight before her; the way the fabric of your boxers stretch with your every move steals her attention. “Not now, Chanelle—he doesn’t need it right now,” she tells herself, doing her best to resist the growing urge.

Fighting the hesitation in her head, Chanelle climbs onto the bed, hugging you from the side. “Oh my God, you’re hot.” You chuckle a little. “Excuse me?” She blushes at the realization of the ambiguous nature of her statement. “No, I… I didn’t mean it like that—your body is literally hot, Gerald.” A small laugh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I got what you meant,” you say, amusement drawn on your face.

-

Chanelle stirs awake when she feels you jolt out of nowhere. “Baby,” she calls to you in a whispered voice. Through her sleepiness and the darkness of the bedroom, she scans your body for signs of discomfort, and she finds plenty of them; your body is tense, your veins are popping under the skin of your neck, and your forehead is coated with cold sweat. Her heart clenches with worry as she touches your heaving chest, her hand trembling from the unease in her belly.

A tear rolls down her cheek as you keep shaking violently in your sleep. “G-Gerald,” Chanelle rubs your chest tenderly, “Gerald, please, it’s just a nightmare.” Her attempt at soothing you is futile; you’re still tossing your head around as if trying to dodge something. “Gerald, please, baby,” she voices her distress at your condition. In a moment of desperation, Chanelle shakes your whole body with all her might until you wake up.

“Gerald, just wake the fuck up already—please!”

“H-huh? W-what?”

Seeing you wake up, Chanelle falls limply onto your body, still unable to stop crying. “G-Gerald, y-you were having a nightmare, weren’t you, baby?” Your gaze roams the dim bedroom. “Y-yes, I-I think so,” you reply. She presses a kiss onto your chest. “Y-you’re safe with me, baby; y-you don’t have anything to worry about, trust me.” Your hand subconsciously lands on the small of her back just above her hips. “I-I’m sorry, baby; I… I didn’t mean to worry you like that.”

Chanelle’s sobs die down eventually, but her embrace isn’t losing its warmth at all. She snuggles closer while looking up at you. “Do you… want to talk about it?” You take a deep breath; talking about it will help ease the emotional strain. “I saw… people,” you begin, your voice shaky. “They were screaming, so desperate for help, but no matter how hard I tried, they just… they kept getting swallowed by the ground—I… I couldn’t save them.” Chanelle keeps her gaze while her fingers softly tap your chest as she listens to you, creating a safe space for your vulnerable self.

“You know what, though, baby,” she says in a loving, tranquilizing tone. “There are a ton of people out there who were so lucky to have you save them, and I’m one of those people.” Your mind goes back to the day you pulled her out of the rubble, comparing her looks then and now. “You were so… weak,” you mutter. Chanelle sighs at the cheerless memory. “I was holding on to dear life, and suddenly, you freed me from the debris. You’re a hero, Gerald—you’re my hero.”

Despite the dimness of the bedroom, Chanelle’s glassy eyes are clear for you to see. “I love you, Gerald—I want to be with you when nightmares invade your sleep.” You place your hand on hers, savoring the little electric shocks from the contact. “Nightmares won’t haunt me ever again, baby; they’ll be scared of you, my guardian.” A chuckle escape Chanelle’s lips as a tear cling onto her cheek. “No, that’s really cute, actually,” she says. “Now, let me take you to sleep again, Gerald.”

-

Chanelle, fighting the heaviness of her eyelids, looks around the bedroom that is subtly lit by the morning sun. She sighs in contentment as her body relaxes, the tension from the previous night melting away. She looks up towards you, and when your gaze suddenly meets hers, her heart skips a beat.

“Goodness me, I thought you were asleep.” Your lips curve into a smile. “I mean, I was—I woke up not long before you,” you say. Chanelle hides her face deep in the crook of your neck, filling her system with your scent. She silently wishes you had taken a shower before you slept, though.

“I won’t lie; I haven’t slept this good in a while.” “Must be because you slept next to your hero,” you quip, a hint of teasing in your voice. “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” she says. “It felt so safe, and I’m sure you felt the same.” You nod slowly, having no intention of disagreeing. “Thank you, baby, for everything you’ve done so far.” Her cheeks turn soft pink; hearing such an endearment feels rather overwhelming when it’s said in a relaxed situation compared to a heated one.

Chanelle slowly untangles her limbs from yours, gracefully sliding out of bed. “We should start the day soon—what if you’re called to duty again?” Your grin falters, but you quickly regain control of your expressions. “Well, you know the drill; if I get a call, I’m out of here.” She looks at you with a smile, her heart swelling with pride for what you do. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I hope you don’t get a call today; I think you deserve some rest.”

You keep your eyes on her swaying hips as she leaves you alone in bed. “Oh, by the way,” she suddenly turns around, catching you staring at her asset, “I’ll make you some coffee, give you a taste of perfection.” You chuckle, already excited at the prospect of having Chanelle make you coffee. “Surprise me, baby.���

After getting yourself together, you step out of the bedroom, and the smell of coffee invades your nose unforgivingly—it’s dark with a subtle hint of chocolate. “It smells much better than your coffee shop.” Chanelle laughs, amused by your comment. “It’s far better and more expensive than the stuff I sell there,” she says.

Before your eyes comes this warm, magical brew that might as well be a love potion, the steam carrying every bit of aroma. “Wow, the smell,” you take a quick sniff, “that’s just incredible.” Chanelle watches you intently, a wide smile spreading across her face, her eyes sparkling with pride and affection.

You close your eyes as you savor the flavors that linger on your tongue; the coffee is rich yet smooth, and the chocolaty edge gives more character and depth to it. In a moment of speechlessness, you let your body melt into the chair of the dining table, sighing in contentment over and over again.

“Wow—just wow,” you’re simply in awe, “can I buy this somewhere, because I would love to start every single day with this?” Chanelle pads over to you with her fists on her waist. “Why buy it if you can get it from me every morning, baby, hm?” Your cheeks are almost as hot as the cup of coffee. “Oh, stop, you’re going to make me burst.” Her fingers on your chin have your heart racing as she tilts your head upwards. “Now you feel more like a regular person than a no-bullshit SAR guy.” A smirk graces your features. “Do I also feel more like a boyfriend to you now, baby?” Amused, Chanelle pinches your cheek lightly. “Yeah, you totally do.”

“In fact…” Chanelle climbs onto your lap and places her hands on your shoulders, her crotch hovering dangerously close over yours. “You’re a very, very hot boyfriend to me right now.” A shiver runs down her spine as your warm exhale hits her skin. “Say, baby, am I attractive to you just like you are to me?” Chanelle asks, her eyes dark with want and need. “Yes, baby; you’re insanely attractive,” you say, slowly losing yourself in the intimacy.

“Then kiss me…”

Her eyes close as she leans closer towards you, and as soon as your lips meet hers, Chanelle sinks into your muscular frame, surrendering herself to your touch. “Gerald…” she says your name in a whisper. “Make love to me, please.” Chanelle presses her forehead against yours, her breaths short and rapid. “Please, Gerald, I-I’ll do anything as long as you’ll touch me.” She moans when a fleeting peck lands on her neck.

Chanelle reflexively wraps her legs tightly around your waist when you lift her into the air out of the blue. “Yes, Gerald, take me to the bedroom just like this.” As she’s being transported to the bedroom, Chanelle’s mind races with thoughts of feeling your hot skin against hers, and the prospect alone is making her more desperate and eager.

Chanelle gasps softly when her back lands on the soft mattress. “Chanelle, baby,” you whisper right into her ear. “I love you.” Tears pool in her eyes, blurring her vision. She has been dying to hear those three words from you. As simple as they are, those words carry a bigger, deeper meaning for her—a promise of something real, something everlasting. “I… love you too, Gerald,” she replies, her voice trembling from the emotions.

You reach for the first button of her pajama top, your fingers shaking slightly from the nerves. “Take your time, Gerald; we have all day.” A small smile spreads across your face. “Of course, baby,” you punctuate your words with a quick peck to her lips. One by one, her buttons become undone, thus allowing you to have a tantalizing peek of her skin.

When your palm grazes her bare belly, Chanelle’s breath hitches, her back arching instinctively. “Baby, fuck,” she mutters with a hint of impatience in her voice. “Why must you tease me this much—why can’t you just take me right away?” Your other hand cups her cheek, your thumb tracing small circles on her face. “I’m not teasing you, baby; I’m just basking in the intimacy.” Chanelle sighs as she rubs her face against your hand. “You’re right; I should be more patient,” she looks at you with a tender smile, “after all, you’re my beloved, not my fling.”

Chanelle places her hands on the waistband of your boxers, hooking her fingers on the inside. “I’m glad you didn’t have anything to wear—it’s way easier like this,” she quips. You chuckle, impressed by how she’s able to make such witty comments amidst the intimate nature of the encounter. “I suppose you deserve credit for your quick-thinking last night,” you reply with a sly grin.

The banter fades into the cool bedroom air, in its place blooms a more profound intimacy. “Gerald, can we…?” Without saying anything else, you quickly free yourself from the constraints of your boxers, and seeing you undress swiftly with intent makes Chanelle do the same, tossing her unbuttoned pajamas to the floor. Chanelle gasps when your bare skin meets hers. “Yes, finally—now, take me, Gerald,” she urges you, too eager to lose herself in the sauce of want only you can offer.

Chanelle’s eyes slam shut as your manhood slowly penetrates her, her breath rapid and ragged, as she savors the sensual stretch of her glistening, sensitive flesh. “G-Gerald—” Your lips capture hers in a passionate tangle, adding more intimacy to the hot encounter. “Mmph…” Chanelle moans into the kiss as your tongue wrestles with hers.

Your thrusts become deeper, stronger, your rhythm matching the frantic beat of your hearts. Her cries fill the room, echoing your own ragged breaths. Her nails dig into your back, urging you on, her body arching to meet your every move. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the world narrowing down to this moment, this connection, this impending explosive release.

“Chanelle…”

With a soft whisper of her name, you come undone, flooding her insides with your hot essence.

“I love you, Chanelle—I love you so, so much.”

Tears, plenty of them, flow down her temples, leaving a wet trail in their wake. “Chanelle, what’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?” you ask while your thumbs are busy wiping her tears. She shakes her head as she tries to force a smile, but her trembling lips betray her. “That was… my first time, Gerald, a-and… I’m so glad I did it with you.”

You pull her closer, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions: protectiveness, tenderness, and a profound sense of belonging. “Oh, baby, thank you for granting me this honor,” you say, your voice shaking because of the genuine feelings you have for her. “I… I will never take you for granted, Chanelle.” Chanelle wraps her limbs more tightly around your body, afraid that you’ll disappear if she lets go. “I-I love you, Gerald. I love you so much.”

-

The first rays of the morning sun fill the bedroom, providing a gentle, warm blanket for both of you. You slowly open your eyes, and the first thing your gaze lands on is your cock, the remnants of last night’s encounter still visible; the tip of your manhood is coated with crimson streaks, proof of Chanelle’s lost innocence.

You reach out to the sleeping beauty, your touch firm yet careful. “Chanelle, baby,” you call to her in a whisper. Chanelle slowly stirs awake at your touch, a smile tugging at her lips at the sight of you. “Good morning, my love,” she says, no longer showing a first-timer’s vulnerability. She shifts closer to you, pressing her face against your firm chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Gerald.” You give her a gentle peck to the top of her head. “Nor would I, my dear love.”

In the quiet warmth, Chanelle knows that nothing, not even earthquakes, can shake the ground on which this love is built.

Hell, even if it crumbles, she knows that you will save her out of it, just like you have.

[comatosebunny09]

sensitive | sylus

— summary: sylus gets his ears pierced. — cw: reader is not mc, fluff, silliness, self-indulgent, a little suggestive, romantic dribble, inspired by the ear-piercing scene from loveless — wc: 1.8K

You’re surprised he can even get his ears pierced, given his rapid healing ability. 

Still, they look good on him—the onyx studs that take up most of his earlobes, matching his cufflinks. 

You stifle a quiet laugh behind your fist as the twins crowd around him, stars in their eyes. Their body language is animated as they praise Sylus and his fashion sense. He stands amid them, akimbo, smirking like a proud dad, a chuckle in his throat.

You wonder what influenced his decision to pierce his ears. 

That is until a pretty hunter pops her head into the front door behind him, her eyes creasing with mirth. 

She sidles up beside you, beaming like the cat who got the cream. Pats your shoulder, and you smirk at her in your periphery, shaking your head.

Of course.

“Let me guess: this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“I know. I’m pretty awesome, right?”

You snort over folded arms. Leave it to Emcee to manipulate your boss into doing something so drastic.

—

You can’t keep your eyes off them—his ears.

One, because you’ve always found them to be one of his most adorable features. Two, because they’ve looked more irritated than usual, burning an angry red beneath the heavy gems in his lobes.

He seems uncomfortable with them, too. Wincing in meetings when he positions himself a certain way in his seat. An occasional, barely-there sound drawn from his throat when his hair scrapes his ears. And he’s more irate than what’s typical of Onychinus’ kingpin, lashing out unprovoked or being more quiet and reserved than you’re accustomed to.

You offer him painkillers to ease the ache. Even suggested he take the earrings out a few times; his ears are clearly sensitive, and perhaps the studs are too much for them to bear. 

But he waves you off with a tired smile. Reasons that they’re still healing, so he’ll just have to put up with the discomfort until then. 

—

“I feel terrible,” says Emcee for the umpteenth time, fiddling with the strap of her bag as she walks beside you through the mall.

“It’s alright,” you assuage, “you wouldn’t have known. I don’t even think he knows he can’t just wear anything. You know he’s bourgeois.”

She studies her feet, remorse twisting up her features. “I know. But I picked them out, ya know? And I’m the one who talked him into getting them pierced in the first place.”

You squeeze her shoulder, a reassuring smile curling your lips. “You did good. They look good. Maybe we can find something a little less gaudy, though. Something that won’t make his ears fall off.”

Emcee snorts, nudging you. She seems to be in better spirits, taking you in with those big eyes. “Yeah. Well, hey! Let’s stop here first!”

You don’t protest when she comically drags you into a jewelry store, her somberness an afterthought.

—

You’re as quiet as a secret, thanking your years of training for making you so. 

You slink into Sylus’ study, clutching a palm-sized, black box behind your back. He’s out conducting business, leaving the various trinkets and adornments of his office unprotected.

Giving the room another once over to ensure he won’t appear from the shadows—and that Mephisto isn’t around—you pad over to his desk, strewn with various papers and fountain pens.

Discreetly, you place the box on the edge near his chair where he’ll easily find it, the intricately curled scarlet ribbon catching in the ambient light. You try to make it look inconspicuous. Arrange some papers around it, fussing over its positioning before giving up.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous—it’s just your boss. Sylus, the man who isn’t afraid to sing like a metal pipe dragged over concrete in public. You’ve given him gifts before. Though you don’t think you’ve ever given him something so…personalized.

With your heart in your throat, you flee his study, praying to the powers above that he likes your present as much as you enjoyed picking it out.

—

“I wouldn’t put it past you to plant a bomb in my office,” Sylus teases.

You scoff from the opposite side of his desk. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it four years ago, bossman.”

He quirks a brow, studying you from the safety of his leather, high-backed chair. Seems to consider your words before you give him an exasperated look. 

He summoned you to his office a few hours after you’d snuck in. Of course, his security system picked up everything. You should’ve known.

You watch him fiddle with the box, your chest swelling with anxiety. 

“Just open the damn thing. It’s not a bomb.”

He taps his temple in that customary way, humor tugging at his lips. “That’s something that someone trying to kill me would say.” 

You roll your eyes, growing impatient.

Sylus doesn’t make you wait much longer, and you watch him tug at the ribbon with bated breath. Your heart seems to stop beating as he peels the box open, and he’s stock-still when he beholds what’s inside. 

He appears considerate. Quiet as his expression softens, eyes wavering between you and the box.

“Are these for me?” he queries hoarsely. Almost disbelieving.

You nod rigidly, fear and rejection coiling around your spine. You picked out hypoallergenic studs to hopefully curb his sensitivity. They’re modest yet stylish enough to complement his style.

Does he like them? Shit, does he hate them?

He chuckles something low. Something fond, and you feel it curdling in your stomach. He suddenly pushes away from his desk, and you blink rapidly, alarmed.

Sylus peers at you with a rare tenderness shining in his eyes. Expectant. “Would you like to do me the honor?” 

You gape like a fish out of water, owlishly blinking before you pick up what he’s talking about. “Uh, sure?” 

You inwardly kick yourself for how small you sound, how your voice cracks, and you awkwardly round his desk to stand before him, nerves wound tight. He leans back in a casual slouch, the soft mirth never leaving his handsome face whilst his eyes slide shut.

You step between his splayed legs, heat surging like molten liquid through your body. You pluck the matte box from betwixt his fingers, and you shudder when your skin meets. It’s strange; you’ve been close to him before. So why does tonight feel so…intimate?

Determined, you wet your drying lips with your tongue, pushing out a breath and resigning yourself. You bend slightly at the waist, fingers cautiously grazing over his skin to clasp one of his earlobes. You flinch when Sylus winces, a strained sound torn from his throat. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s alright.” He turns his head, offering you his ear, pretty lashes fluttering beneath a slightly furrowed brow. “Keep going.”

You swallow thickly past the sand in your throat. Try again, his fingers tightly gripping the armrests of his chair in your periphery. 

You feel awful. Know that his ears are still a little sensitive. But they’re soft and elastic beneath your fingers, and you’re hyper-vigilant as you remove one of his earrings.

His body tenses, legs threatening to lock around your hips as you stand between them. But he stops himself, instead giving you his other ear to repeat the process. 

He seems to relax once you’ve removed both earrings, lips slightly parting with a relieved breath out. You can’t help wanting to run your fingers along the cartilage. Want to rub the pain away. Maybe sink your teeth into it. 

“You’re sure this is alright?” you caution, plucking one of the studs from the box and setting said box on his desk behind you. 

He nods, holding his breath, brows knitting together. You feel like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be. Touching him in intimate places with the way he bristles and lightly gasps as you carefully slot each new stud in his lobes.

You’re grateful it’s over, taking a step back to appraise your work. And dammit it all, if he didn’t look good before…

“How do they look?”

“Hot,” you reply before you can think. 

Sylus chuckles at your brazenness, and the air seems to shift. An arm creeps around your waist, his massive hand finding the small of your back, its warmth bleeding through your blouse. Without warning, he tugs you closer until you stumble into him, your knee propped on the chair between his thighs. 

The look he wears is predatory. His eyes shine like dwindling coals, falling to your mouth before easing up to drill into your soul.

“Wouldn’t you like a closer look?”

His warm breath fanning over your face is dizzying. The proximity of his body to yours, his chest so pleasantly rigid and hot beneath your palms, and that devastating scent he carries is a recipe for disaster. There’s no mistaking his body language, the languid stir of his eyes. 

But you’re you, and this is your boss. Sure, you’ve been attracted to him for a very long time. But you’ve never acted on your infatuation, figuring he would reject you in favor of someone else. You didn’t want to muck up the relationship you’d worked so hard to construct. 

So, you laugh off his flirtations, attempting to quell the thumping of your heart in your throat. “Did Emcee talk you into doing shrooms, too?”

His voice crackles like a hearth fire. “Why? Do I look like I’m under the influence?”

You catch your breath, unaware you were even holding it. “No, but you’re acting kind of…strange.”

“Am I?” His hand makes several expeditions up and down your back, his free hand falling to your waist. 

You gasp, lips quivering, eyes hooded.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, sweetheart,” he murmurs, enamored by your mouth, “feel free to tell me to stop.”

How could you when he makes you feel like this? Witless, confused, hot? The English language eludes you when a slender finger crooks under your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

Your body is under his command as he lures you closer, fully intending to kiss you. Pleasant tingles ricochet through your bones when his lips graze yours, and you’re about to abandon your inhibitions and just kiss him.

Until the door of his study flies open, the heavy oakwood cracking against the wall, and you don’t think you’ve ever moved faster, scurrying away from Sylus to stand rigidly at his side.

“Hey, bossman,” says Kieran, oblivious to what he just interrupted. “Your guest is here.”

You don’t miss the growl roiling in Sylus’ chest, and if looks could kill…

You take the opportunity to slip out of his office while he’s giving Kieran an earful about manners, and you slink against a wall in the hallway once you’re out of earshot. A lovestruck smile crests over your face, your heart pounding beneath your fist curled to your chest. 

Perhaps you should invest in these heartfelt gifts more often if it means having more close calls like that with the object of your quiet pining.

[wordsofwhimsy]

♥ My Hero ♥

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ Two posts, back to back?? Somebody better come put me out cuz I am on fireee 🔥🔥 This is just a cute little fluff piece for our main man cause I thought he needed some attention 😘 【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ Main!Mark Grayson x Reader 【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ None 【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ “Here I Am” by Rick Ross

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Mark hovered outside your apartment, the familiar sense of comfort tugging at him as he flew the last few feet to your balcony. After a long day of fighting battles and putting out fires—both literal and metaphorical—he was looking forward to some semblance of peace. And there was no place that felt more like peace than with you.

He landed softly, his boots making a quiet thud on the floor of the balcony. As he stepped inside, the warm scent of something delicious hit him. It smelled like home, and for once, he felt like he could truly relax.

You were in the kitchen, humming happily to yourself as you stirred something in a pot on the stove. When you turned around and saw him, your face lit up like the sun had just broken through the clouds.

"Mark!" you cheered, setting the spoon down and rushing over to him. "You're here!"

He smiled, his exhaustion melting away just a little bit at the sight of you. "Hey. I made it."

You laughed, a joyful sound that made his heart skip a beat. "I’m so glad! I’m making dinner—well, trying to, anyway. You’re just in time to see how badly I struggle with cooking."

Mark leaned against the doorway, watching you with a grin. “I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

You gave him a playful look, grabbing a jar of garlic from the counter. "I’m not doing fine. This jar is impossible. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t get it open."

With a dramatic sigh, you held it out toward him, your brows raised in mock defeat. "I know I could probably do it if I had the right muscles, but… unfortunately, I don’t. So, hero, think you can help?"

Mark’s grin widened, amused by how you called on him for help so effortlessly. Even though he was absolutely drained from the day's chaos, there was something about your bubbly energy that made him feel lighter. He stepped forward, reaching for the jar, and with an almost embarrassing lack of effort twisted the lid off.

You gasped, eyes wide with exaggerated awe. "Oh my gosh! You’re my hero!"

Mark chuckled, holding the jar out to you like he was showing off a trophy. “Guess I’ve still got it.”

You looked at him with such admiration that it made his chest tight. “You’re so strong,” you said, practically glowing with excitement. “Like, seriously! You just make it look so easy!”

He couldn’t help but tease. With a sly grin, Mark stood up straighter, flexing his arm and giving you a playful eyebrow raise. “What? You think I’ve been skipping arm day?”

You looked at his flexed muscles, then back at him, your face lighting up with a mixture of admiration and sheer delight. “I think you’ve been skipping nothing,” you gushed, eyes sparkling. “I mean, look at you! You’re literally, like… a superhero.”

Mark’s grin widened, loving the way you fawned over him so freely. It was hard not to get a little caught up in the energy you were giving him. It was so pure, so genuine. In that moment, everything else—the fights, the battles, the stress—seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was you.

He shifted slightly, still holding the jar in one hand. "Guess it’s not so bad being a hero when you get to come home to this," he said, his voice softening just a bit.

You beamed, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips, lingering for a moment. “I’m just lucky you’re here.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat, and for a second, the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy. He put the jar down on the counter and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for another, deeper kiss. When he pulled away all he could see was you, still looking up at him like he could do no wrong. The warmth of your smile, the way you were so genuinely excited to see him—it overwhelmed all of his sense and all he could think of was you.

“Alright, let’s see what’s cooking,” he said, shifting the conversation, but still holding onto that feeling of lightness that you brought him. He peered into the pot and saw a mix of vegetables and meat, filling the room with a mouthwatering aroma. "Smells amazing. What’s in the pot?"

You grinned. "It’s a surprise. But I’ll tell you this: it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Promise."

Mark laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead before turning back to the counter. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the last of his exhaustion drift away as he started to help you prepare the rest of the meal.

Despite the brutal day, despite the fights and the villains, here in your kitchen, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be. Your energy was infectious, your admiration for him so genuine that it made him feel invincible again, if only for a moment.

As he pulled a pot from the cabinet and set it on the stove, you wandered over to him again, still buzzing with excitement.

"You know," you said with a grin as you snaked your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. "I think you’re more of a hero in real life than you even know."

Mark gave a small, playful shrug as he stirred the meal. “Well, I don’t know about that... but I’ve got to say, I’m glad I’m your hero."

You giggled. “That’s all that matters.”

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 APPLE CIDER huh yunjin x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ “and even if we’re just friends, we could be more than that”

↳ YUNJIN & HER SOLOIST GF 🍓

  ۫ • when yunjin started training again there was this one artist that she listened to that just always seemed to get her through tough times.

  ۫ • yn was her name, a rookie and she just had this angst but soft vibe to her that anyone could listen to if they wanted to be peaceful or just scream their lungs out and that’s exactly the type of music yunjin needed during that time.

  ۫ •  she found her so unique for some reason she was in the industry but she was like her own category. she was under a big company that didn’t produce the type of music she makes, she didn’t dance and she kind of just put out whatever she wanted.

  ۫ • she was also kinda cute.

  ۫ • yunjin carried her love for the artist through training, preparing for debut, listening to her an hour before lesserafim’s debut stage to calm her nerves to talking about yn during her first live alone a couple months after debut.

  ۫ • “my favourite artist?” yunjin read the comment aloud, swaying slightly to the sound of yn’s voice playing in the background. “hmm… I’ll give you a hint she’s playing right now.” she smiled as the chat sped up, comments flooding in. “I love yn so much. her music has gotten me through a lot, she’s so talented.” she tucked a strand of hair out of her face, eyes softening. “I still can’t believe she’s a couple years younger than me… she’s so talented. should I sing on of her songs?”

  ۫ • yunjin didn’t think much of it after the live, it wasn’t until deep in the night her phone started blowing with messages from her friends nearly giving her a heart attack.

  ۫ • “omg yn mentioned you on her live” “ouuuu guess who just mentioned you” “you’re gonna freak out.”

  ۫ • first of all how did she miss yn’s live? (yn never goes live so both yunjin and yn stans are on their knees begging her to go live everyday) and second of all HUH???

  ۫ • she immediately opens twitter and luckily it’s the first thing she sees.

  ۫ • OMG yn mentioned yunjin on her live today my sserayn crumbs.

  ۫ • “I don’t know, guys, attack me all you want, but milkis over banana milk any day,” yn said, spinning lazily in her chair. she slowed to a stop, eyes flicking to the chat. “did you see lesserafim’s yunjin’s live today? she mentioned you—yes! yeah, I did,” she nodded, lips curling into a small smile. “she’s a pretty cool girl. I’m really flattered that she’s a fan. I really liked lesserafim’s debut, so I guess me and her have something in common. when they get a fandom name, let me know.” she leaned forward slightly, about to move on before gasping. “oh! and her cover! it was so good, I love her voice—like, let’s make a song together at this point.”

  ۫ • yunjin nearly screamed so loud the whole dorm would’ve woken up.

  ۫ • yn knew who she was…yn wanted to make a song with her

۫ • yunjin stared at her phone, debating for a solid five minutes before opening yn’s instagram and hovering over the dm button.

۫ • after another minute of staring, she finally typed, "so… about that song?" and hit send before she could second guess herself.

۫ • she immediately threw her phone across the bed, heart pounding. she did not just do that.

۫ • except she did. and when her phone buzzed a few minutes later, she swore her soul left her body.

۫ • yn: oh? you actually wanna do it?🤭 ۫ • yunjin: um YES??? ۫ • yn: [a funny picture that only showed her forehead in a dark] . let’s make it happen.

۫ • and just like that, they started texting back and forth, going from talking about music to random late night conversations about their favorite snacks, childhood stories, and the most unhinged videos they cound find.

۫ • by the time they met up in the studio, it was like they’d known each other forever.

۫ • and at the end of the year, they actually released a song together, fans loved the sound of yunjin’s voice on a song that was more yn’s vibe and just the overall chemistry that yn and yunjin had.

۫ • and a behind the scenes vlogs had fans convinced there was something more going on.

۫ • yunjin was crushing. hard. but she kept it cool… until she didn’t.

۫ • one night, after another long texting session, she found herself typing, "so, are we gonna keep making music or do I get to take you on a date too?"

۫ • yn: that was really smooth dude. ۫ • yunjin:… is that you saying yes? ۫ • yn: maybe… depends on if it’s a sushi place if it is then yes

[etherealrin]

hii! so I just found out the guy I was talking to wasn’t taking anything seriously 😭😭 so could I request something about rin x fem!reader where he comforts her and maybe secretly had a crush on her the whole time? like maybe she tells him about it and how the guy admitted to saying really nice things he didn’t even mean? and how he also said “we’ll see” like ???? I’m still so appalled HAHAHAHA

HAHAHA not my request being too realistic 😭 but no pressure!! you can ignore it too :)

- 💫

ᯓ★ stability.

itoshi rin will always be there for you, even if you feel like no one is.

warnings: mild angst to comfort // wc: 700

note: fem!reader, hurt to comfort

rin hates it.

he hates it when he's forced to sit and watch you cry over some shitty guy, he hates watching you shrink into the despair, and he hates that someone so lukewarm dared to hurt your feelings. and of course, right now he holds the most hate for the asshole that had caused all of this.

he stares at you as you hug your knees to your chest. rin's never been the best at comforting people; especially when it came to you, because he couldn't tell you his honest thoughts.

he sighs and sits down in the space beside you, the two of you hunched over on his plush sofa. he had been concerned when you'd called him asking if you could come over—not giving an explanation when he asked for one. rin gently wraps an arm around your shaking figure as you sob your eyes out.

"so," he begins, voice barely above a whisper. "what happened?"

"r-rin, he," your words are cut off by sniffles. rin silently hands you a tissue, which you accept gratefully. "he lied." you finally manage, an image of the guy you'd been entertaining for the last few months flashing in your mind.

"what do you mean?" rin's trying to keep his voice flat, to not let his outrage manifest.

"i guess he just wasn't serious about me, or about anything." you sigh, and rin's heart drops with the sound. "he apparently didn't mean much of what he said, when he complimented me or whatever, he just wanted to see how i'd react. as if i'm some doll," you scoff bitterly.

"...i'll kill him." rin hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the familiar phrase slips from his lips, dripping with acidity. the threat makes your mouth twist up, just a bit, as you giggle quietly. "what's so funny?" rin turns to look at you. you look beautiful; so much more than perfect, even if you were a bit red and teary-eyed, mascara smudging faint black lines around your eyelid.

"you're so reliable rin," your voice is wistful, sounding like you're lost within the walls of your own thoughts. "you say the same thing about all of my exes. you're always here for me."

oh, rin could name a million other ways he could be there for you: he waits for you each morning at the bus stop, he always texts to make sure you've eaten well, drops off coffee to your place when you're overloaded with work, and he'd do so much more if it would make you smile.

"i'd be different," he mutters. rin can feel your gaze settle on him, confusion rolling off you in waves.

"huh?" fuck it.

"i never lie when i tell you that you're absolutely breathtaking, because you are. i wouldn't mess with your emotions, because i care about you. i would give you the universe and the galaxy. i'd care about you more than any of your exes did, i'd-" rin falters, catching your expression out of the corner of his eye. your mouth is parted in a perfect little "o" as the reality of rin's words sink in.

for a minute it's pure, stifling silence between you two. the last thing he expects is for you to lean back into his chest, exhaling deeply.

"rin," you start. his breathtaking teal eyes stare back at you, afraid to say another word. "i- i didn't realize you felt that way too."

rin's breath hitches.

"forget about him, forget about all of them, please."

"i don't deserve you," your voice is small and raw around the edges, eyes glued to the floor.

"no, you don't. you're right." rin's words hit you like a truck. "you deserve so much more than me. i know i'm not perfect, but if you give me time i," he breathes, words spilling out like a bleeding cut. "i can work on it, i swear."

itoshi rin has always been your stability, your confidant, your white knight—but he can't live with just that now.

maybe, this time, he might come out as something more.

a/n: oml hi star anonnnn! + wtf i'm so sorry that happened to u i've been in ur place too, just know that you're 100x more special than you can even fathom and boys (the bad ones) aren't shit! i hope ur doing okay <3

ılılılılılılı now playing: stability by oceanfromtheblue, star shopping by lil peep, ykwim? by yot club

masterlist.

[sl-vega]

SWEET N' SOUR ! - a scaramouche celebrity smau

-> PROLOGUE; all because I liked a boy

additional notes:

HI HI

i wanted to post this chapter yesterday but i'm SUPER sick right now so staring at a screen was basically a death sentence for me

so to make it up to you guys I wanted to make this chapter longer than I originally wanted it to be!

i was debating whether I wanted to release to prologue or the profiles first, but seeing as how scara's fg isn't relevant yet (and how y/n's entire gc was shown in the second teaser, I decided on uploading the prologue first!

and part of me also want you guys to guess some of the irl equivalents to some of the characters here!

aka half of them

only half of y/n friend group (including y/n mind you) are essentially au versions of another celebrity/semi famous person

so leave your guesses in my ask box/comments!

anyways LMAO other random notes

while this smau won't be an exact one to one of how the music industry works (ie me taking creative liberties with fontinalia being based off of broadway records even though it functions VERY differently from the source) I do like to include accurately depicted parts of it when I can!

when Beidou was talking about qixing showing an interest in y/n, the A&R team that she mentioned is a very real part of any record label!

A&R stands for artists and repertoire, and it's basically a fancy term for talent scouts who find new artists to sign to the label they work for!

anyways lmao this was a VERY long a/n, so thanks for reading all that if you did

as per usual, taglist is always open and please let me know if you want to have a cameo as a fan username (and thank you to all the people who let me use their's as fans in this chapter!)

also let me know if any of y'all are comfortable with being scara haters, venti can't keep doing the work for you

˚୨୧⋆｡ synopsis:  the bright lights of fame and fortune aren’t for everyone, and you’re starting to think you’re part of that majority. You just can’t seem to catch a break! Every movie you’re in goes straight to DVD, every album you drop just barely gets any streams. From child star to sub par popstar, it seems clear that the world has some kind of vendetta against you and you love to blame it on a certain rising musical sensation; Scaramouche. Thanks to your godforsaken luck you happened to go out with the wrong guy at the wrong time because he just so happened to be Scaramouche’s ex, next thing you know you wake up to truck loads of death threats, your record label dropping you, AND a whole album labelling you as the ‘other woman’! After what seemed like a never ending onslaught of straight bullying and harassment, you had long since retreated from the limelight, the only thing left from your music career being ever so occasional covers on YouTube that only your few close friends watched religiously. However, after writing a heartfelt original piece and uploading it from your humble bedroom, it goes viral! A single song has thrusted you head first into stardom once more, and face to face with the person you ruined it for you.

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🍬 (open) taglist: @shrii-kk @freyao7 @analiee6 @thetwinkims @bellflower1257 @blvdmrcnry @bloukoup @yuan1819 @yourstrulymauki @fungaltoehehe @enrions @atlatcaheart @mywillt0live @myeomiz @adornavia @automaticpatroltragedy @scaraenthusiast1 @sesamemin @syunifu @blueberrybxba @fishii28 @a-sorrowful-tune @emvss @jiminscarmex @mwaiu @lloversss @d4y-dr3am3r @usagiarchive @idaissupercool @raytoebiter @lizzie-harper @anqelkoz @blue-moonies @lalalaloveallmydays @jinjjjia

[dependell]

People act like the only reason you could dislike the 13th doctor is because you're misogynist. I'll be the first to say I love Jodie Whittaker, but her entire run as the doctor was tainted by Chris Chibnall, who seemingly lacked an understanding of how characters or stories should work.

I used to keep up with the show as it aired, I watched The Doctor Falls and Twice Upon A Time live and was completely engrossed. I was optimistic about series 11 and eager to see what fresh direction the show might go.

I was treated to stories befitting the worst of the classic era. This was some Sixth Doctor level bad writing. I couldn't make it through series 11 at the time of airing. It was only after Chibnall had finished his run and handed the reins back over to RTD that I had the bravery to actually go back and see what he did with the show. I finished Series 11 recently.

The closest to decent episode was It Takes You Away but even that was still a rushed and half-baked mess. Episodes like Kerblam! and Rosa are downright insulting to the viewer, one performs apologetics for Amazon's treatment of its workers using the Doctor as a mouthpiece (the Doctor never considers the managers' complicity in the system and after giving them a stern talking-to trusts them to turn it into a Good™ megacorporation off-screen... This is after she unnecessarily and brutally murders a revolutionary worker). The season ending on The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos is another half-baked slap in the face, Chibnall trying to pretend he can do series-long arcs just as well as Moffat or Davies, except he absolutely cannot.

Surprisingly, Resolution was actually pretty decent, probably better than any Series 11 episode, not least of which because I can understand the danger, the stakes, and the Doctor gets to actually care about something instead of being written to bumble aimlessly about the entire episode.

Admittedly I've only made it a little bit into Series 12, but that's because it's genuinely difficult to watch. I feel like my intelligence is being insulted at every turn. It feels like Doctor Who for the TikTok generation. Spyfall was a sad, sad excuse for a Doctor Who spy thriller. Half of the setups it gives go genuinely nowhere, dozens of mystery boxes reduced to red herrings, because it turns out it was The Master! He did it all, because... uhm... well... A-AND he convinced these interdimensional beings to help him by, uh... well... he uh... well I guess it doesn't matter! They were helping him in the first place because they wanted to... uh... They wanted... Hmm... Well there was that tech CEO guy! He was super involved, because he wanted to turn humans into hard drives, for uh... Well... He wanted that because... I guess he had a lot of data to store, which would be... Hmm...

Dhawan's Master exemplifies the flattening of every character under Chibnall. All the work Moffat did to add layers of complexity and depth to Missy gets thrown out the window (k, admittedly it does seem Moffat was the one to break that particular toy before Chibnall got to it, but when has "the Master gets killed at the end of the story" ever stopped them from showing up unscathed later on?), Dhawan takes Simm's craziness and cranks it up to 11, now he just laughs maniacally and seems to do completely random things for no particular reason, just if he finds them amusing in the moment. But he also brought back his shrink ray so they can pretend this is more faithful to the classic era. Nevermind that the classic era Master was always a suave Machiavellian mastermind. I'd personally love to see Dhawan do that, but instead he just giggles like a doofus all the time. At least give them romantic tension like Missy/12 or something, jeez!

And then only last night did I finish Orphan 55, which is probably a low point not just for the Chibnall era but for the entire modern run (I won't say it's the worst of the entire show, the classic era has its... moments). It is literally an unfinished episode of television, self-admitted by the production crew, the entire latter half is so sloppily edited that you will actually struggle to follow what is supposed to be happening. They clearly did not get all the shots they needed and had to just toss whatever they had together and pray. My favorite part was their land tank being surrounded by monsters so they flee... by, uh, climbing out the bottom and running away from the tank that is clearly not surrounded by monsters at all. But that's not all, no no, the writing is miserable, nobody talks or acts like a human being, there is zero charisma, none of the subplots matter or leave any emotional impression (the grandma almost made me feel an emotion, until her reaction to hearing her husband was killed is "ugh! how could you?"), the twist can be seen coming from miles away and it's all just so the Doctor can lecture us like a neoliberal politician who wants to sound mad at "the system" without calling any one thing or person out because the system lines their pockets.

I am still going to force myself to finish Series 12 and 13 because I am a fan of this show and that means I must subject myself to as much of it as I can. But watching Orphan 55 is the type of stuff that makes me put the show down for a few weeks. It's the kind of thing that made me stop tuning in live every week.

The saddest part, really, is that the show is still like this, in a lot of ways. Yeah sure Davies came back, but he seems ill-fitted to the modern style of television where you get 8 episodes and ten billion dollars. "Season One"/Series 14 was a hugely mixed bag, with highlights like 73 Yards and Dot & Bubble underscored by flops like Space Babies and the finale that calls you an idiot for following the threads Davies purposefully laid out for you to follow. And he seems to share Chibnall's inability to convey any sense of character or who these people actually are.

Who is the thirteenth Doctor? She's the eleventh Doctor's autism turned up a few notches until she acts genuinely stupid in ways the Doctor usually didn't (well, Moffat had his moments with 11 and 12...). She doesn't have much beyond that, any deeper philosophy must be inferred to have carried over from previous incarnations.

Who is Ryan? Well, he's a black teenager with a contentious relationship with his stepdad. And him being black does matter so we can make sure to only give him black love interests 🙄. In the first episode we see he has a motive disability and a YouTube channel. Neither of these things come up again. So that's his character.

Who is Graham? Well, he's the step-dad Ryan has a contentious relationship with. His wife died, and that comes up exactly once in It Takes You Away, and then doesn't matter.

Who is Yaz? She got the worst of the bunch. She's a woman... Well, an Indian woman, so she can have a personal connection in Demons of the Punjab, but then her race never matters again. We see she's a cop in the first episode! That never comes up again. So she's just... A woman. Who is there. And as I understand it tries to get kissy-kissy with 13 in the last season. I mean I can't blame her, it's Jodie Whittaker.

And even though I haven't finished Series 12, I know exactly where it's going. The Timeless Child. I used to be much more upset about it, but now I see it for all that it is - a desperate, cloying attempt to claw back some relevancy for the show since its viewership and ratings had been steadily falling for years. A no-holds-barred, "throw the emergency Lore Change lever!" that gives the illusion of being a really big deal while truly having very little impact on the Doctor or her character. What does the Timeless Child really change about the Doctor? On like a core, character level. All it does is shuffle some facts around on a Wikia page.

I just wish 13 had better material to work with. Here's hoping Big Finish can step up and give her some decent stories.

seeing 12th doctor fans trashing 13.... let's all hold hands and be fandom pariahs together... peace and love....

[hqwkeyes]

The Devil You Know (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.9k+ words Warnings: mentions of stalking, slight allusions to domestic violence, alcohol consumption, drunkenness, maybe like one swear word? like maybe, slight angst, cheeky Matt, i think that's it but idk i'm exhausted. (adding the cut at the very beginning due to the more triggering nature of some of the warnings) Summary: After working alongside Matt Murdock for about a year, you start to notice that he seems like maybe can see you. It's a crazy thought, and you feel almost bad for having it at all. That is, until you have a brush with Daredevil one night.

Part 2 // Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

note: pls be nice about this one. it's been a really long time since i've written anything and it's also my first time writing for matt. thx.

You've been working at Nelson, Murdock, and Page for a while now, and it's been a little over a year and a half since you met the gang. It all started with the end of your last relationship, which was rocky to say the least. It was around that time that you first encountered Karen. She had overheard you arguing with your ex in front of a café because he wouldn't stop following you. Karen pretended to be a friend you were meeting, and your ex left shortly after, though you figured he would pop up again. She insisted that you sit down inside with her, and upon hearing about how your ex kept showing up wherever you were, she offered you help. It wasn't long after that she introduced her two friends/colleagues, Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock, who also insisted on helping at no cost to you.

Karen had done some digging into your ex and found out how he had been tracking you. They were able to document his antics enough to build a stalking case against him and file an order of protection. Still, it was hard to feel safe after all he had put you through. You knew the statistics—the chances of experiencing violence at the hands of the person you have a restraining order against significantly increase once they are notified of it. Karen helped you find a new apartment, and Matt and Foggy helped you break your lease without any major issues. You had grown incredibly close with the three of them throughout this process. They looked out for you, made you feel safe, made you feel cared for. So when they asked you one night, over drinks at Josie's, to work for them, you couldn't refuse the offer—you didn't want to. They offered to support you in your endeavors to become a paralegal, something you expressed an interest in early on in your relationship with them. You wanted to help people the way they had helped you, so you started doing secretarial work for them while preparing.

Fast forward about a year, and you've nearly completed your paralegal certification. Your time at Nelson, Murdock, and Page has been incredible. Not only have you learned so much about the legal realm, but you also gained a bunch of work experience, and most importantly, you've found a family in these three wonderful people.

However, there are a few things about Matt Murdock that have felt a bit off to you. Not in a weird or creepy way—Matt was a perfect gentleman, always looking after you and making sure you feel safe, and you considered him a close friend. But you've felt a bit paranoid around him, because sometimes it almost feels like he can see you or something. It made you feel a little self-conscious around him at times. Like a few weeks ago, you had only just come into the office—you hadn't said a word yet—and he greeted you by name. When you asked how he knew it was you, he laughed it off, wearing that little satisfied grin he often had, and saying it was just a good guess because you usually arrived before Foggy. A good enough reason, you thought. Another time, he had been discussing paperwork with you when you accidentally bumped a paperweight off the edge your desk, and he caught it before it could hit the floor. He had said it was just good reflexes. And just last week, the four of you were walking to Josie's after work. Matt was holding onto you for guidance when suddenly, two men fell out of a bar you were passing, fighting each other to the ground. They would have crushed you if it hadn't been for Matt tugging you out of the way and into his chest. It had felt intentional, as if he had seen them coming, but he had apologized, saying he just tripped and was holding onto you for balance.

Tonight, the four of you had, once again, gone to Josie's. Normally, you wouldn't stay out this late on a weeknight, but it was to celebrate a win in court, and this case had been a tough one. After about an hour or so, Matt says he's calling it a night so he can do some prep for the morning. Foggy and Karen insist on staying, already a little tipsy. You tell Matt you'll stay behind to get the two of them home safely later, and he squeezes your shoulder in thanks as he passes by on his way out, telling you to call him if you need anything. You both know Karen and Foggy can get a bit crazy when they drink together.

A couple hours later, your two friends have had more than enough to drink. You've only had another drink or two since Matt left, having opted to look after the pair. You notice that Foggy's phone is going off, and he asks you to answer it for him, claiming he's too drunk, but you know he just doesn't want Marci to yell at him. When you tell her about his current condition, she lets out a humored sigh and says she's on her way to pick him up. At this, Foggy and Karen both decide to have one more drink. By the time Marci arrives, you need help getting both your friends outside. She insists on taking Karen home too and even offers you a ride, but you're a short walk in the opposite direction.

On the walk home, there's a shortcut through an alleyway that you would normally only consider attempting in the daylight, but there's no one around and you're exhausted. Taking the long way would add an extra five minutes of walking and you're pretty desperate to just get home, so you say screw it. You're basically sober anyway.

You're nearly at the other end of the alley when someone comes up from behind you and slams you into the wall on your right, grabbing your purse in the process. As you fall to the ground, you notice something dropping down from the fire escapes above. It takes a moment before you can try to get to your feet, and when you do, there's a man standing over you. You freeze, cowering back against the wall. And then you notice the horns on his mask.

"Are you alright?" the man—Daredevil—asks, holding out a gloved hand. You take it, and he gently helps you to your feet before returning your purse to you.

"Um yeah, I think so," you say, finding your bearings.

"What were you doing in an alleyway this late anyway?" His voice teasing, shaking his head, his lips falling into a small smirk.

"Just trying to get home," you tell him, but your eyes are searching the area until they fall on the man who attacked you, sprawled out on the ground a few feet away.

A beat passes.

"You're bleeding," Daredevil tells you, and you look up at him. "You should get that looked at."

"I'll be fine, it's probably just a scrape," you say, and he exhales in what almost sounds like a chuckle.

"It's more than just a scrape," he notes as he gently reaches up and swipes some blood from the cut on your forehead before explaining how to properly clean it. There's a tenderness to his actions that nearly makes you forget how crazy all of this is.

He feels...familiar to you. The cadence of his voice, his demeanor. You look him over, your eyes falling to the curve of his lips, a near smirk below his mask, and it feels like you've seen him before. Your brow furrows, eyes searching him. It's a silly thought—an impossible one—but before you can even really process it, your mouth is moving.

"Matt?" Your voice is a breathless whisper.

Oh god, maybe you are drunk. But Daredevil's breath hitched at that. Or maybe you imagined it? Your head is spinning—maybe you hit it harder than you thought.

"I'm sorry," you rush out. "You just reminded me of a friend of mine for a minute. You sound a lot like him, the way you talk. And he likes to tease people. And, I don't know, I guess I thought you kinda looked like him for a minute with that cute little grin. But that's not even possible, and I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't even thinking when I said it, it just kind of came out, but that really, really isn't po-" your babbling is cut off by a gloved finger being pressed delicately to your lips.

You stare up at him with wide eyes, your pulse quickening. Several seconds pass in silence, and you wish you could read his expression under that mask. Finally, he pulls his finger away and you stand there, frozen in place, almost afraid to speak.

Before you know it, Daredevil is gently taking your hand and leading you back into the darkness of they alley. You should be terrified. You have no clue what he's going to do to you, but for some reason, you trust him. He releases your hand and slowly, his hands move up to his mask. When it comes off, you clap your hand over your mouth to avoid gasping aloud.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Daredevil Matt says softly, "but I also didn't want to lie to you."

"But I-"

"I am blind," he notes with a light chuckle. "Just to get that out of the way."

"O-okay," you stammer.

He leans in towards you, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know you might feel angry, or betrayed, or some other kind of hurt, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me explain."

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded. Speechless. He lets out another breathy laugh.

"If you want, I can meet you at your place, come up the fire escape, and I can tell you everything," he offers.

You take a moment to mull it over before nodding, then feeling silly and whispering, an "okay."

"I know you nodded," he tells you, and your eyes go wide again.

"Okay, you're definitely gonna have to explain," you say with a snort, lightly shoving his shoulder before starting out of the alley again. You turn to see Matt darting up the fire escapes before hurrying off towards your home yourself, shaking your head in disbelief.

When you finally get inside, you slip your shoes off and turn the lights on before thinking better and flicking them back off. Suddenly, your masked friend is at your window on your fire escape, and you rush to unlock it and let him in.

"I can't believe this is happening," you mumble, and you catch that thin smirk of his again as he slips inside.

"Quit smirking and start talking, Murdock," you mutter as you pad into your kitchen and pour two glasses of water. You're probably going to need something stronger, but you need to be sober for this conversation.

Matt takes a seat on your couch and he explains. Everything. From the accident that took his sight to his training with Stick to taking down Fisk's corruption, and everything in between. Finally, when he's done, he waits for you to say something. You've been pacing the room, but now you stop. Several moments pass as you take everything in, and finally you suck in a sharp breath.

"I'm not mad," you exhale, and you see the tension leave his shoulders. Your pacing resumes. "I am hurt, though. I know I haven't been around nearly as long as Foggy or Karen, but we all work so closely together. Hell, I even considered us close friends. But you didn't think you could trust me with this, and that's what hurts."

"And I'm sorry. I knew I couldn't lie to you about it–"

"But you did lie. Maybe not about Daredevil directly, but all those times—the damn paperweight a while ago, those guys fighting on the way to Josie's last week—you made me feel like I was going crazy. You didn't even have to tell me about Daredevil to tell me about that." You pause, facing away from him, scrubbing your hands over your face before dragging them away.

"And you can hear my heartbeat? Can tell when I'm lying and all? I just–" you sigh. "I don't know Matt. I don't know what to say."

"You're right. I haven't been truthful with you, and I–" He pauses. Then, quieter, "I understand if this makes you want to reconsider our relationships." At this, your heart drops. You whip around, searching his face. His expression is unreadable.

"Is that what you want?" Your words are barely a whisper, but now you know he can hear you.

"No," he sighs, facing you. "It isn't. I love having you with us at the office, and I really enjoy all the time we spend together. I also felt that we were close friends. And it's not that I didn't trust you. It's just– I guess it was nice just being able to be me with again. Just Matt Murdock. Not worrying about what I was getting up to as Daredevil."

"Well," you start with a sigh, "if it makes you feel any better, I often worry about what you're getting up to as Matt Murdock anyway." There's a bit of humor in your tone, and you look up at your friend, his mouth curving into a grin again.

"Is that so?" He cocks his head to the side, his grin growing.

"It is," you say, your smile spreading as well.

You both let out a light laugh, and you walk over to sit beside him, resting a hand on his knee.

"Can you promise me that you'll be honest with me from now on?" You ask, leaning into him.

"I promise."

"Good," you murmur, dropping your head onto his shoulder. He wraps an arm around you, gently squeezing your shoulder.

The two of you stay like this for a few moments, and just when you're starting to get a little sleepy, he clears his throat.

"So," he starts. You glance up at him, that cheeky smirk creeping across his lips again. "What was that earlier about my 'cute little grin'?"

You shoot up straight beside him, and he lets out a deep laugh, pulling you closer into his side. You're turning an impossible shade of red, which you previously would've been glad he couldn't see, but now you know he definitely feels you burning up beside him. You decide it's best to just roll with it.

"You know, that little smirk you always have. You do it whenever you're satisfied with something, or when you're getting a rise out of someone. You're doing it right now, actually." Now you're gaining confidence, but you know he can still hear the stutter of your heartbeat as you try to calm yourself down.

"Is that so?" His grin grows.

"It is," you say, shrugging his arm off of you as you turn to face him. He turns towards you as well.

"You enjoy teasing people, huh?"

"Well I'm enjoying teasing you right now, if I'm being honest. Which I promised I would be." And just when you thought that smirk couldn't grow anymore devilish.

"Already on such thin ice and you wanna tease me, Murdock?" you taunt. "Maybe you don't want us to be friends anymore."

An expression flashes across his features, there and gone in but a moment. You can see in his face that he's thinking—considering. He tilts his head a bit, wets his lips.

"Maybe I don't." You feel yourself flushing again, heat creeping up your neck, and that smirk of his is coming back in full force.

You falter, blowing out a breath, a bit of that confidence leaving you. "Yeah, okay, Matt."

Something in his expression changes, softens; his smirk turning into something almost somber.

"It's uh– it's getting late. I should let you get to bed," he suggests quietly before taking your hand in both of his. "Thank you for hearing me out. And for taking this so well." He brings your hand to his lips, brushing a featherlight kiss to the back of it. Your mouth is slightly agape as you stare at him for a moment, breathless.

He releases you and stands swiftly, making his way to your window once again, and you quickly get to your feet and follow him, your heart racing. He opens your window a bit before turning to you.

"Thank you again. Really."

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Of course."

"I'll uh– I'll see you in the morning then."

"See you in the morning, Matt," you say softly.

And then he puts on his mask, opens the window, and steps out onto the fire escape once again before turning to you.

"Make sure you lock that behind me, okay?" You let out a light chortle at that.

"I will, I promise."

"Good," he says, and something about his entire demeanor feels half-hearted. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Daredevil," you say with a small smile.

You glance behind you into your dark apartment, and when you turn back, Matt is gone. You stick your head out the window to search for him, but when you don't find him, you realize he probably went to the roof.

You shut and lock the window before turning and leaning against it, covering your face with your hands as you relive the past two hours in your head. Your face flushes again as you recall your last few minutes together, and as you begin to ready yourself for bed, you wonder how the hell you're going to face him at work tomorrow. Part 2 // Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

[adverbally]

Pack to Square One

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “pack dynamics” and “heats/ruts” | wc: 1,417 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steve & Wayne, background Steddie, Omega Steve, Omega Wayne, Alpha Eddie, hurt/comfort, non-sexual heat assistance, Wayne is going to help the shit out of Steve because he’s PACK dammit

———

Wayne wakes with a start, heart racing as he tries to orient himself in the early-morning gloom. He can’t figure out what woke him until the phone starts ringing again. After only two hours of sleep following a late shift, the piercing tone shoots right through Wayne’s cottony head.

He stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen, almost fumbling the receiver with sleep-clumsy fingers when he picks it up.

“Munson,” he answers gruffly.

“Wayne?” It sounds like Steve on the other end of the phone, his voice warbling out of him, thick with tears.

Wayne is suddenly wide awake. “Steve? What’s wrong, is Eddie okay?”

“He’s not here.” He’s nearly hyperventilating, each inhale a gasp that immediately gets punched out of him. “Not ‘til Monday, but I’m–” The sob that bursts out of Steve is abruptly muffled, almost like the boy slapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle the noise.

It sets Wayne’s teeth on edge. He knows Eddie is out of town, visiting Chicago with the other Corroded Coffin boys to meet with some record executives, but the lack of context behind Steve’s distress makes everything feel more ominous. Is Eddie hurt and Steve can feel it through their bond? Is Steve hurt? “Son, I need you to tell me what’s going on. You’re scarin’ me.”

“My heat started,” he whines miserably. “It wasn’t supposed to come yet and Eddie isn’t here, and I…” He takes another wet, shuddering breath.

If Wayne had to guess, he’d say that Steve hasn’t spent a heat alone since he and Eddie got together over two years ago. To suddenly be missing that emotional support, on top of dealing with the physical effects of not having his mate to temper his heat… Wayne’s Omega wants to howl just thinking about how much Steve must be hurting right now.

Steve sniffles. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve woken you up for this. I’m being stupid.”

He softens his voice when he tells Steve, “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for leanin’ on your pack when you need it.” Steve stifles another mournful noise and Wayne’s heart breaks for him, knowing how much of Steve’s life was spent without any pack to speak of. “What can I do to help?”

“Wayne–” Steve starts to protest.

“Let me help you. Please.”

He swallows so hard Wayne can hear it. “I don’t know how.”

Wayne isn’t sure what Steve means. He doesn’t know how Wayne can help? How to let Wayne help? He decides not to push while Steve is so upset. “Why don’t I pick up some groceries and bring them over?” he suggests. “You can decide when I get there whether you want some company or not.”

“Okay.” Steve sniffs, then quietly repeats, as if to himself, “Okay.”

“I can be there in thirty minutes,” Wayne promises. “You just sit tight. I’ll see you soon.”

He hates to hang up but Steve needs him there, not over the phone. Wayne makes another quick call to the plant, warning them that a family emergency will keep him away from his shift tonight, and leaves a message at Eddie's hotel before he begins to strategize.

Pack members tend to smell alike, Wayne knows. Experts on secondary gender theorize that it had evolutionary benefits— promoting pack cohesion, discouraging incest among relatives to limit inbreeding, preventing Alphas and Omegas from perceiving their mate’s family as a threat. Even packs not joined by blood could find their scents shifting to become more similar over time.

From the day Eddie had presented, his and Wayne’s scents have been in perfect harmony. They smell like an apple orchard, though Eddie’s aroma is more woodsy and green compared to Wayne’s more fruity and floral notes. Steve himself had noted more than once how soothing he found Wayne’s scent, so similar to that of his Alpha’s but with the reassuring warmth of an Omega packmate.

Wayne can’t help with the physical aspects of Steve’s heat, would never dream of touching him that way. But he can comfort him, can make sure he’s safe and surrounded by someone that smells familiar enough to keep him from going feral. He dresses quickly in his oldest flannel and a t-shirt he wore earlier in the week, both saturated with his scent, hoping it will be enough to help Steve.

—---

When he arrives at Steve and Eddie’s apartment, arms full of grocery bags, Wayne can smell distressed Omega as soon as he opens the front door.

“Eddie?” Steve calls from the bedroom. There’s a terrible mix of hope and despair in his voice, knowing that his mate is hundreds of miles away but unwilling to truly believe it.

When Wayne comes down the hallway, he can see the moment Steve realizes Eddie still isn’t there. His face, already flushed and sweaty, crumples. He tucks one of Eddie’s blankets more tightly around himself, buries his face in the nearest pillow– probably also Eddie’s– and shakes.

“I know, kid, I’m sorry. I left a message at the hotel for him, but he probably won’t be able to get here until tomorrow at the earliest.” Wayne kicks off his boots next to the abandoned bags of sports drinks and snacks. When Steve doesn’t respond, he asks, “Can I come into your nest, Omega?”

“I want Eddie.” His brow furrows in pain. Cramps, if Wayne had to guess, plus the emotional anguish of not having his mate nearby. “Why isn’t he here?”

Wayne kneels at the side of the bed, careful not to touch any of the fabric that makes up the border of Steve’s nest. “He’ll be here as soon as he can. I’m gonna stay with you until then, okay? You don’t have to let me in your nest, but I’m not leavin’ you alone right now.”

Steve blinks at him for a moment before he processes Wayne’s scent. His lip quivers. “Sorry, I didn’t… Of course you can come in.”

He does, carefully climbing into the bed beside Steve. The younger Omega is on him immediately, cuddling into his side and burying his face in his scent gland. Steve lets out a shuddering breath, hot against Wayne’s neck, but the tension gradually leaves his body with each inhale. He definitely seems calmer than he’d sounded on the phone earlier.

“You holdin’ up okay?” Wayne asks softly.

“Not really,” he admits. “Feels like I’m on the verge of losing it completely. I dunno what I’d do without you here.”

Wayne wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t be fun but you’d be fine, I’m sure. You spent heats alone before you and Eddie got together, right?”

“Yeah, and they sucked.” His exhale might have been a laugh if he had more energy.

“Believe me, I know. I’ve been there, too.”

Steve is quiet for so long that Wayne thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he asks, “Did you ever…?”

The thought is unfinished but easy enough to guess. “There were a few heats I had company for, but nothin’ ever lasted. Not like you and Ed.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He nuzzles his cheek against Wayne’s neck, mixing their scents. Steve smells like carrot cake, all sweet and lightly spiced. It’s nice, normally, but it currently has an edge of burnt sugar from Steve’s heat and resulting anxiety.

“No need to be sorry,” Wayne reassures him. He doesn’t feel like he’s missed out on much– he has more of a pack now than he had ever dreamed of as a pup, and he’d never been much for romance anyway. Bachelorhood suits him. “I just got Ed out of the house, I don’t need someone else bothering me now.”

His joke lands, and Steve chuckles despite his misery. “Yeah, you deserve some peace and quiet.”

“Not from you and Ed, you hear me? You’re never bothering me.” Wayne emphasizes the declaration with a gentle shake of Steve’s shoulders.

“Okay.” Steve takes another breath, then another, slower and slower as he starts to drift off. Wayne’s presence, combined with Eddie’s scent lingering in the nest, seems to have worked well enough to relax him. He’ll probably sleep through the worst of it today, then Wayne can leave him in Eddie’s capable care when he inevitably rushes home tonight or tomorrow.

Until then, Wayne will settle in for a nap with Steve, probably pester him into eating something later, and let the younger Omega scent him to his heart’s content.

He’ll do it all happily, because that’s what pack does.

[evansbuck-ley]

I told you things that I never said

based on spec for 8x11 (potential spoilers so proceed with caution)

read below or on ao3

It’s been a month since the kidnapping and Maddie finally began feeling like herself again. Her scar was healing, her bump was growing and she was finally sleeping through the night without waking up in a sweat. The trauma and her pregnancy had left her on bed rest for the next few months, with strict instruction to avoid stress, keep off her feet and stay away from any heavy lifting.

And for the most part, she had been doing well. Chimney had been the most doting husband possible, waiting on her hand and foot, taking care of her needs, making sure their daughter Jee-Yun was also being well cared for. Frankly, she had been enjoying the peace and quiet.

Well that was until her baby brother came storming into her bedroom late one afternoon.

“I’m so pissed!” He declared as he barralled his way into the room. His curls were disheveled, his cheeks pink with anger and he had the biggest pout ever slapped on his face. Buck threw himself down on the bed next to her, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he left out a huff.

“Hello to you too.” She mumbled under her breath as she dropped the book she was reading on the table beside her. Carefully, she rearranged herself in the bed so she was facing Buck, a hand coming to rest gently over her belly. Buck simply rolled his eyes as a response before letting out another huff. Maddie couldn’t help but laugh at him, she brought her hand up to brush his curls off his forehead.

“What’s happened?” She asked softly. He looked at her for a moment, a flash of panic appeared in his eyes before he began to speak.

“I may have bumped into Tommy last night,” He began. Maddie felt her eyes widen in surprise but remained silent as she waited patiently for him to continue. “I was at a bar with some friends and he was there as well. Things were awkward at first but after a few drinks it became easier to be around him. And after a few more drinks I may or may not have kissed him, which may or may not have ended with us back at the house having sex on the couch.”

“I see.” She replied simply.

“He ended up staying the night after few more rounds of -“

“Buck, please remember who you are talking to.” Maddie commented flatly.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, he stayed the night and when I woke up this morning he was gone! And all I got was a stupid “I’m sorry” text. Can you believe it!” Buck was sitting up straight by the time he finished his sentence, his legs crossed as he faced Maddie.

“Okay,” she started cautiously. She watched him for a moment as he fiddled with the strings to his hoodie. “I’m guessing you guys haven’t actually talked about the break up then?”

“Mads, my mouth was a bit preoccupied.”

“That’s a mental image I didn’t want in my head.” She groaned as she rubbed her temples gently. “So you guys didn’t talk about the break up. And I'm assuming when you say house you are referring to your house, which Tommy will probably assume is still Eddie’s house.” Buck stared at her like she was speaking another language. He opened his mouth briefly before closing again, pressing his lips together.

“Do you think maybe Tommy thinks that you and Eddie are…you know?” Maddie continued carefully. Buck scoffed, looking at his sister incredulously. He jumped up from the bed and began pacing around the room.

“Ew, what?! Gross. No, why would he think that! We are just friends, nothing else.” Buck replied, his arms flapping as he spoke. “And this is not about Eddie or Eddie's house. It’s about Tommy. Why would he leave like that without talking to me first?!”

Buck was tired, annoyed and frustrated. He had been waiting weeks, months for the chance to see Tommy. To talk to him, to plead and beg. And he ruined it all because he was horny and impulsive. He paused his pacing so he could sit back down on the bed next to Maddie, falling back until his head was resting on her lap, just below her bump.

Maddie let out a sigh as her hand found its way back to Buck’s curls, combing through them gently as he took a minute to think. “Do you think Tommy left because he thought that last night was just a hookup? That it meant nothing to you?”

“W-why would he think that Mads? Of course it wasn’t nothing. It would never be nothing. It’s Tommy. I-I love him.” Silence fell between them. Buck could feel his heart hammering against his chest. It was the first time he’s ever said that, first time he allowed himself to really think that.

“Oh my god.” Buck whispered. Heat began pooling in the pit of his belly, raising up through his chest, all the way up to the tip of his ears. A soft smile began to spread across his face and Maddie knew right there that he found his answer. “I-I need to call him and tell him!”

Before Maddie could react, Buck sprang to his feet. It looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He was lighter and bright than he was when he first walked in. Like the missing piece finally slotted into place. He reached down to cup Maddies cheeks, pressed a sloppy kiss on her forehead before turning on his heels and bolted out of the door.

And a few weeks later when Tommy is sitting at the end of her dining table with Buck beaming and giggling away, Maddie can’t help but laugh to herself.

[zivazivc]

How do you think Les would act toward Floyd older? After the third movie, I mean.

Calmer, and stable Floyd, who I'm guessing actually got some help in the village. Maybe Floyd got help by talking things out there with someone, like therapy-ish. Or, just his brothers helping him through it all, because that's probably what he needed.

Seeing him happier than when he last saw him.

And, his new hair! I mean, him learning of everything that happened.

Would they get together again, or rekindle whatever reasonship (staying just friends?)

Ohh my story has gone through so many changes and updates that I haven't really talked about on here so it's hard to answer this ask straightforwardly now. 😅

I have caved and decided Les and Floyd still end up together so... 🙈

"I thought you were dead..." | "'M sorry."

Here's an updated version of this old post:

The timeline right now is more or less the same with them having a nasty breakup when Floyd is 22. The cause for it is that until that point Floyd only has hypomanic episodes which raise some eyebrows but they aren't that concerning to anyone, not with the kind of lifestyle they are having anyway. But at the time of the breakup he suffers from full-blown mania with psychosis for the first time which hurts both him as well as Les and the other bandmates.

Then there's the 2 year period where they are apart and Floyd falls hard into substance abuse and bad habits. Then Les bumps into him at a party and gets them to talk outside. It's clear to both that they feel incredibly sorry about what happened when they broke up. Floyd quickly after coming down from his mania realized that what he believed was going was all a delusion his brain convinced him of. And Les feels responsible for the addicted and mentally unwell state Floyd has ended up in.

There's still love there but so much hurt and the trust they had is damaged to the point they're unsure if it's fixable. Neither of them knows how to even address what went down in those days leading up to the breakup.

Les decides to help Floyd get back on his feet but he doesn't want him near the band anymore. He's convinced that the band isn't good for him anyway. He finds him a place to stay and a job in a remote town where not much goes on so he has a chance to sober up. The band at this point is still trying to make it work by doing gigs, so Les visits him little by little in between to check on him during this time period.

They go back to being friends gradually and Floyd shows interest in getting back together romantically from early on while Les has trust issues he can't get past. Les is very reserved and non-confrontational when it comes to addressing his hurt so he doesn't bring it up. Floyd is usually the one who would make those conversations happen, but Floyd at this point isn't aware that he has bipolar and doesn't understand what happened (is happening) to him, and he is very uncomfortable addressing it too.

But eventually they can no longer tiptoe around the topic of their breakup. Les wants to know what happened and why Floyd accused him of the things he did - which to Les it felt like Floyd took everything Les had confided in him regarding his childhood abuse and throwing it back in his face. Floyd feels awful because the only explanation he has is that at the time he really thought they were true. He tells him that he knows they aren't true but that something was really really wrong with him. He tries to explain what he was going through the best he can and he also tells him that whenever he tried to address it back then he was accused of constantly getting high on worms behind their backs which is what caused his paranoia to spiral.

The conversation doesn't answer everything but it makes it clear to both that neither of them wanted to hurt the other person, especially not intentionally. Which is what allows them to make the step into getting back together.

But not long after this Floyd suffers another strong manic episode and messes up at his job and books it out of that town. Once Les finds him and sees him in that hyper and erratic state again but now with more understanding, he tries his hardest to bring it down and help, and he finally firmly tells him that he needs to get professional help. Floyd doesn't like the idea of going to therapy so he says he'll go only if Les goes too to work out his own trauma. Around this point it's also when the band officially breaks up (they just couldn't ever recover after losing Floyd and Liv) so Les has no excuses to give why he can't go and he eventually agrees.

Floyd finally gets his bipolar diagnosis (yay!) and gets "meds" for it, and this revelation also helps both of them to really put the breakup incident behind them.

After this point they're more or less together. I say "more or less" because they're not in a conventional relationship and they're not following the classic rules of being a couple. They know each other inside out and are both deeply and unconditionally in love with each other but whatever they have looks more like casual dating that's been going on for more than a decade. Sometimes they live together like an old married couple and sometimes they don't and they keep in touch through letters and scheduled calls in phone booths.

One day during their "apart time" Floyd stops answering those scheduled calls and Les gets worried and sets out to look for him, which turns into a desperate months-long search while tensions in the country are high, non Rock Trolls are getting arrested and disappearing left and right, and the Rock Kingdom is secretly planning their invasion of the other kingdoms.

.

.

.

[dailydoseoffanfics]

HEHEHEHHHE I'M GLAD TO SERVE :3

(warning: uhhh pretty angsty, i guess) (but i suck at writing angst soo uhh..bare with me.) (also another possible ooc)

Okay so, if you were controlling the killers before they trusted you, then you just gave a good reason as to why they shouldn't trust you. I mean, from their perspective, they gotta go through rounds where they're being chased by killers, so imagine their reaction when they found you're controlling the people that is killing them. I think they gonna start a rebellion against you at this point 💀

HOWEVER, if all of them had a mutual agreement to trust you and they found out? Oh, I feel like all of the survivors are gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions. They're gonna feel any emotions except anything that's positive. Shock, sadness, angriness, disbelief, you name it. But y'know what they all have in common? All of the survivors will feel betrayed.

(How did the survivors figured it out? Well guess what. When you're controlling the killers, they also have VISIBLE, WHITE STRINGS ON THEM !!!11 OH NOES!!!)

Noob just. automatically goes back into being scared of you. All the trust they had for you vanishes. (Especially if you killed them) And now they're putting more efforts into getting out of your strings. They looked up to you. They thought they could trust. But now, they feel like an idiot for trusting you. Why would you do this? WHY?

Now, for Two Time, it depends. If they found out before the obsession, their view on you becomes more negative, and now they think you're some kind of devil. They gonna think you see all of their teammates merely as toys, including them, which puts a bad taste on Two Time. So, expect to see them heavily glaring at your screen, and on rare occasions, even try to cut a string with their dagger.

But during the obsession?

....Well. They definitely saw it for sure, but they choose to ignore it. You see, when Two Time is obsessing over admiring you, they think you're a pure deity that could do no wrong. They totally didn't witness you killing Chance as Chance drops dead on the floor. So uh, Two Time in their delusional era.

Speaking of Chance, he's a....pretty special case. Because instead of immediately losing trust, he initially smirks. Crunky! You're the big bad killer now? Well, if it's a challenge, then he accepts. Chance likes challenges, and you being a killer excites them more. I mean, makes the experience more thrilling, i guess?

However, Chance is NOT blind. They saw how you controlling one of the killers has affected the survivors, and the survivors AREN'T happy. (Except for Two Time he guesses...) It's not like he doesn't give a shit about how their friends are feeling, so basically, Chance has mixed feelings about you, especially as he's thinking more about you being the reason as to why he's stuck in this time-looping game.

Chance won't try to break out of your strings, but you will notice how Chance has a blank face throughout the rounds....

Elliot on the other hand, completely loses his shit, in a bad way. I'm talking like CRASHING THE FUCK OUT type of way. So ALL this time, he thought he could trust you, that you just had good intentions and meant no harm, that you just wanted to help him and his friends. He trusted you, he TRULY did. But then YOU turn around and control those.....those PEOPLE THAT LOVE TO TARGET AND KILL HIM EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. ROUND.

He's saying all of this internally, but trust me when I say that this man is TWEAKING. Like....you can see his eye twitch once in a while and he KNOWS he can't get out of your control, so he just resorts into saying passive-aggressive stuff towards you. He's definitely going to make his hatred towards you LOUD AND CLEAR.

He's mostly pissed off, but another part of him just feels. Crushed. Sad. He genuinely feels so stupid for trusting you. He just..... wants everything to be quiet. And be left alone.

(elliot's reaction summarized):

Shedletsky, Builderman and Guest 1337 are gonna feel the MOST betrayed about this. I mean, at this point, almost ALL of the survivors are gonna be pissed about it, ESPECIALLY THESE 3. Great, absolutely wonderful, they totally asked for this already hellhole game to make their lives worse by having you betray their trust. They're totally jumping up and down from joy.

Even then, they can't get out of your grasp, it's almost as if the world is mocking their lives and purely just sees all 3 of their sufferings as entertainment. It almost feels hopeless. Keyword: almost.

Yeahhh, Shed's gonna rebel by just. Randomly stopping regardless if they're in a chase or not. Oh and he's gonna purposely miss his slash no matter how correct and close the position is (bro's gonna step back). Builderman's the MOST BLUNT. Bro's gonna start dissing you, telling you that you're just like the killers: seeing their fear and deaths merely as entertainment. Guest 1337 won't do much, but he WILL give you disapproving looks and sometimes snears at you.

(I just know Shed will be MORE pissed off if you're playing as 1x1x1x1. Like...dude. C'mon, REALLY? YOU'RE CONTROLLING HIS LITERAL EMBODIMENT OF HATRED??? Ohhh, Shed is SEETHING, meanwhile, 1x1x1x1's pride and ego is secretly rising, and he's got a cocky grin on his face.)

007n7....has nothing to say, initially. It's just.... This is just too much for him. First he has to deal with his son being a killer, and now he has to deal with you? Yeahhhh... bro will be the first person to accept his fate. And when you're playing as him again, 007n7 will avoid eye contact with you as MUCH as possible. He needs someone to talk to :broken_heart:

In conclusion? You better have the option of being a killer disabled. Or have a 700-word essay with REASONABLE and GOOD explanations as to why you've played as a killer.

[msunitedstatesjames]

I'm sure I'm gonna be preaching to the choir on this one, Tumblr gamers being who they are, but I don't use any other social media where discourse is really a thing, so here we are. Mild Kingdom Come Deliverance II spoilers incoming.

On other social media platforms, I continue to see people criticize the Henry/Hans romance option, primarily by saying that it is unrealistic and makes no sense. I wanted to address that because personally I felt it to be highly realistic. A couple of disclaimers here, I'm not an expert on the 1400s, nor am I gay or bisexual. But I do have a background in literary analysis, and examining characters and stories in video games isn't so different from doing it in books.

I've seen some people claim that Hans couldn't possibly canonically have feelings for Henry because Hans is based on a real person. I'll address this one first because it's such a patently ridiculous argument. My dudes, I hate to break it to you, but most of the specific details of in game Hans were designed for a video game. I think it's safe to say that every interaction and relationship and event he goes through in the games isn't necessarily a true reflection of the real-life Hans' lived experiences.

I guess, other than that, I really can't understand what people thought was unrealistic about their romance option. Yes, it would have been forbidden and considered one of the greatest moral trespasses of the time. Yes, the punishment for such an act would mostly have been extreme, possibly castration, possibly being burned at the stake. And yet, real people in Europe in the middle ages still had same sex relationships. We know they did because we have real historical information about people being punished for that very reason. On top of that, there have been a number of nobles who were strongly rumored to have same sex relationships, which isn't the same as proof I guess, but it's not exactly the sort of thing you would openly write about in letters to your pals, not when it was a risk to your life. And I hope we can all agree that people interested in same sex relationships always existed, even if they couldn’t be open about it and didn't have the words for it that we have now.

I guess some people are more likely to say that it didn't make sense based on the specific natures of the characters involved. And honestly, I also don't really buy that one. I'm really not sure which aspects of their characters make it impossible or unlikely for them to have romantic feelings for one another.

It's certainly canon that Hans at least is pretty unconcerned about Christian morality. He's out there committing pretty major sins on the regular and is entirely unrepetant. He gets drunk, has unmarried sex, has sex for fun rather than for reproduction, is lustful, is too proud, and even breaks purely human laws such as poaching (though maybe you don't count that one since he is a noble). He loves doing anything he considers fun or thrilling, anything that will relieve his boredom, and he rarely takes into consideration the risks or consequences of such actions. I have no problem at all believing he would be willing to risk having sex with a man under the right circumstances, if only because it would be different and exciting, and I can't imagine circumstances more conducive to this possibility than the circumstances in this game, but we'll get to that later.

As for Henry, unless you play him as a very specific, extremely moral type, I think he's not a whole lot more strictly moral than Hans. Henry can get up to pretty much all the same things as Hans, and unless you're really careful with your choices, he still gets up to things that you don't intend. I play pretty much "in universe moral" characters in RPGs, but even my Henry occasionally steals, loots, gets drunk, and has sex. Some of that was by choice, some was just the result of cutscenes that happened with certain quests. At his strictest, I would say Henry is still at least passively accepting of "immorality" purely based on his friendship with Hans, who drags Henry into his shenanigans more often than not. So I don't think it's impossible for him to have romantic or sexual interest in Hans either, at least based on morality.

I also don't think the nature of their friendship precludes the possibility of a romantic or sexual entaglement. Some people argue that they're just close male friends, and if that's how you play your Henry then that's true, but the nature of their friendship doesn't make it impossible for any other kind of feelings to exist between them in character arcs different from yours. I would say it's pretty generally accepted that by the end of the 2nd game, Henry and Hans certainly love each other in one meaning of the word at least. Obviously they have the love of two extremely close friends. They've been through hell together, and they've both directly risked their lives to save each other when they could easily have left the other to die. You don't often do that for people that you don't love. But loving each other as friends doesn't mean they can't love each other in a romantic way as well, or least have an attraction to each other. Lots of real life couples or sexual partners have started out as friends, and even those that didn't still often consider their partner to be their best friend. So I don't see friendship as something that excludes the possibility of love or sex. (Not to mention the multiple real life examples of soldiers who have fought together, grown close through thier struggles, and eventually ended up growing into some form of sexual or romantic relationship.)

I've listed some of the reasons I don't find their romance to be unrealistic, now let me tell you some of the reasons I do find it realistic and well done.

I've already mentioned that if the circumstances were right, I have no problem imagining Hans trying to hook up with a man. And the circumstances for their romance scene were almost ideal as a setup (which I imagine was the point). Obviously, this would be a hugely risky venture, even for someone like Hans who doesn't worry much about consequences and is generally protected from legal consequences due to his status. So if you were going to undertake a same sex relationship or liason of some kind, I would imagine you would want one of two situations to be true. Either you would want to keep things as anonymous as possible, so there's little chance of your secret getting out, or you would want to be with someone you trust implicitly. Henry and Hans would certainly fall in the latter category. Hans already knows Henry would be willing to die to protect him. Even if the worst happened and Henry was completely disgusted with Hans, he certainly wouldn't turn Hans over to the church to be burned at the stake. Hans might lose his best friend and protector, which would be terrible, but at least he wouldn't lose his life.

The direness of their situation also works in favor of their romance. It adds a lot of urgency to the whole situation. It gives it a "now or never" feeling, that might make people act on impulses they never would have before. There's a good chance in this scene that one or both of them might die very soon. If that's the case, the very serious possible consequences suddenly seem a lot less important. What does it matter that the church might burn you if you're already going to be dead before they have the chance? Even losing Henry as a friend, terrible though it would be for Hans, wouldn't matter much if they were both going to die anyway.

And I think the way they set up the whole scene and the character reactions really adds to the realism factor as well. Henry's initial impulse, to push Hans away, seems very real considering the society they live in. Even though the player as Henry chooses to kiss Hans, Henry still isn't able to bring himself to do it. All he can manage are some vaguely comforting words and a brief clasp of Hans' hand. Hans makes the first move, which realistically, as a noble and Henry's superior, I think he would have to in this time. Henry is ultimately in more danger than Hans here in terms of societal protections, though arguably Hans has a lot more to lose materially. And it makes sense for Henry to be programmed to feel a certain amount of alarm and disgust as a protective impulse to a man kissing him in this sort of society. Hans reacts so well, too. There's so many layers to the emotions on his face in this scene. You can watch him flicker quickly between surprise, regret, panic, self loathing, and resignation. Which seems pretty on point for someone who believes he just ruined his only real friendship and, despite trusting Henry, who might have just put himself in far reaching peril. But then Henry has a moment to reflect and witness Hans' distress, and he realizes what he wants and all the reasons they might as well give it a go, and he very reasonably locks the door and goes back to Hans.

And I think the realism to their romance comes all throughout the game, before, during, and after the romance scene. The few chances you have for Henry to flirt with Hans are all very tame, almost coded and carefully said so as to be easily explained away by any listener (or by Hans if he doesn't feel the same way) as words between two friends. Mostly, Henry emphasizes that he cares about Hans and wants to support him, all things that could easily be true between two good friends, especially when one's job is to protect the other. The absolute most hardcore flirting Henry does before the romance scene is to tell Hans that he really cares about him, and Hans will pretty calmly agree with the sentiment. Which, if you're trying to feel out if your friend also feels some kind of attraction to you, but that attraction could get you both killed, is about the best you can do. During the romance scene Hans has to go into an elaborate anecdote about famous knights who just really, really cared about each other. He mentions that there's some aspect of the the tale that he "doesn't have his own words for" (same sex love, anyone?), and he lets Henry point out the similarities between the story and their own relationship. He even goes so far as to imply that he would die if Henry died, without saying it in so many words, which if there's a clearer way to tell someone you love them in a way that you could somehow write off as nonromantic, I don't know it. And then, after hearing Henry tell him throughout the game about how deeply he cares for Hans and wants to spend more time together, Hans still waits until Henry grabs his hand and swears to return to him before he makes a move. Even after the romance, Henry and Hans are still extremely careful to mask their words for listening ears. Henry refers to Hans' "encouragement." Hans refers to "what happened," which could mean anything to an innocent listener, and "me and you." He also mentions that maybe they should find somewhere "more private" to stay, which would seem like a perfectly reasonable thing for a young nobleman to want. They're still, necessarily, being extremely cautious. Which makes it all very realistic to me.

I think some of the Henry/Hans complainers want to act like having a "gay romance" option in the game means the equivalent of what it would mean in modern day or in a fantasy game like BG3. Like they're just going to be walking around 1400s Europe holding hands and making out in public. And maybe that's why they call it unrealistic. But let's be real, whether you choose the romance or not, very little is going to change for Henry and Hans. Hans will still have to get married to a woman, and Henry will probably marry some day, too. There's a good chance they'll both keep sleeping around with whatever women they can in the meantime because at this point nothing would be more suspicious than to stop. At best, Henry will get to stay on in Hans' castle and be his occassional lover when he has to settle down to start a family. All that seems like a pretty realistic rendition of how a Middle Ages same sex relationship would have to look, so I have to wonder how all these people are finding this relationship to be so "unrealistic?"

[spearsillustration]

Younger Cecil Stedman X Secret Wife/Hero Reader

Summary - This takes place immediately after Cecil gets hurt, following all the intense surgery and necessary medical procedures to patch him up. The wounds are still fresh, and the lingering ache from the ordeal is a constant reminder of how close things came to going horribly wrong.

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Notes - Oay since this is my first time writing for him it might be ooc, but I’m trying my best. Though after reading all the other fanfics about him (which isn’t enough) I think I did enough research. Plus rewating every scene he’s in I think I’m ready. Alright, enough ranting I hope you enjoy. 

P.S. I rushed to finish this after work so there might be some small mistakes here and there. I'll edit it in due time.

Word count: 2,510

Page number: 7

It had been two weeks since I’d heard anything from Cecil. I called and texted him till my fingers went numb. We might go weeks without seeing each other due to work but he’d always try to call or message me so we knew the other was alright. Last I knew he went on a solo mission when they got a tip, but I was sure he would be fine. If it was something life-threatening they would have sent me in to assist as his partner. 

After I hadn’t heard back from him I knew something was wrong. I had to keep our marriage a secret for both our safety, but It was hard to keep a level head not knowing if my husband was okay. I made calls asking about his whereabouts in a way that didn’t scream desperately worried. 

It was another week before I got any information and…It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I was told the entire mission was confidential information. But was told that Celil got hurt pretty badly.  They reassured me of his excellent care, and their voices receded to a faint hum in the back of my mind, the shock numbing my senses. He had been in the medical facility for the past two weeks and I hadn’t been told a single thing. I had to control myself as my blood felt like it was boiling. But the anger quickly passed and despair followed. I thanked them for finally getting back with me.

I asked if I could see him. I joked that I needed to make sure my favorite partner wasn’t dead yet. I worked with most of the higher ranked agents but I worked with him the most. Noone needed to know the real reason, to any if them we just worked well together. It was hard to put on the fake smile and laughter that followed. 

They weren't sure if he was ready for visitors. I have to ask someone higher up to get anything done around here. I rubbed my temple in frustration and with a deep sigh thanked them before hanging up the phone. 

I had to make an appointment with the medical facility desk the following day and fill out paperwork explaining why I was visiting and so forth. The process was excruciating as it was time-consuming. Guess being a hero who works for the GDA doesn’t get you ahead of anyone else around here. I rushed through everything making my handwriting sloppy as all hell but I got it finished and quickly gave it back so I could see him as soon as possible. 

“In a hurry (Y/N).” The person working at the desk joked with a smile. 

“Y-Yeah plenty of work to get done, people to save all that,” I responded as normal as possible. 

“I understand that. I’ll get these sorted out as quickly as I can for you. But for now, I’ll need you to wait over there for me.” She said gesturing to the seats where I just was.

I held back an annoyed sigh as I thanked her. I returned to my seat in the corner. Every minute dragged on making me worry even more. After a while, I pulled out my phone looking for a distraction so my mind didn’t wander too much. But that made it worse when I ended up opening my gallery and looking at the few pictures I had of Cecil and me. I had some cute selfies of us together, a picture I took when he fell asleep at his desk that he thinks I deleted, date photos, and things he sent me from work. 

“(Y/N),” She called from the desk. 

My head quickly shot up as I heard my name.  

“You can see him now. The doctor says he’s well enough for visitors”

“Thank you,” I quickly responded and I calmly walked to his room, well until I was out of sight then I practically ran. 

Once I got to his room I froze unable to move for a moment. It took me a good minute before I brought my hand up to knock on the door. I heard a strained voice.

“Come in,” Cecil said voice sounding deeper than the last time I heard him. 

I slowly opened the door expecting the worst. 

When I opened his door his face was inflamed and raw from previous reconstructive surgery, marred by a prominent scar that ran across half of his face. Despite the shock and pain, a surge of relief washed over me—Cecil was alive, albeit heavily sedated. 

"Cecil..." I mumbled as my eyes watered in relief. 

A hoarse, gravelly whisper escaped his lips, his voice cracked and rough. "(Y/N)...?"

I slowly walked over the the hospital bed he was lying in and sat down on the chain that was beside his bed. I gripped his hand with both of mine lovingly as if I was gonna lose him now. 

“Yes, I'm here,” I said with a smile as tears fell down my face.

His fingers trembled ever so slightly, but he managed to squeeze my hand. "Don't...cry." he rasped, his expression tightening with effort. "Look...at me."

I looked into his eyes weakly unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face.

His gaze softened as he noticed my tears, a pang of anguish flashed across his eyes. He slowly raised his hand, movement restricted by lingering pain. He gently swiped his thumb against my cheek, attempting to comfort me.

"I'm okay," he whispered, his voice hoarse and laced with weakness. "I'm... here, (Y/N)."

I leaned into his touch and caressed his hand. “I-I could have lost you. I don’t even know what happened to you for two weeks I’ve been driving myself insane not even knowing if you were alive.” I said between weak whimpers almost unable to stop myself from sobbing.

The sound of my voice, trembling and filled with sobs, pierced him deeply. He squeezed my hand again, a silent act of reassurance. Even in his pain-muddled state, he loathed seeing me this distraught.

His gaze bore into me, unflinching and intense. "You...didn't lose me." His voice, though rough, held a steely resolve. "I'm here...I'm not going anywhere."

“I should have been there. You might not be stuck in this damn hospital bed if I went with you.” I said sorrowfully, deeply regretting my absence. “It's never safe to go on missions alone, why were you alone?” I wined out painfully.

His grip tightened on my hand, a mix of annoyance and concern crossing his expression. "Stop." His voice held a touch of firmness. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

He sighed, looking away momentarily, his gaze fixated on the sterile, blank hospital wall.  "I...went...alone because...it was supposed to be...low risk. The intelligence was wrong."

I looked away in shame. “I still wish I was there for you.”

"Stop," he repeated, his voice stern but not without a note of vulnerability. "You...can't always be there."

He shifted his gaze back to me. "I don't want you...risking your life...just for me. I need you...safe."

“I know, but I was so scared. They didn’t even tell me you were hurt till the other day. I was worried to death.”

He winced at my words, his expression etched with pain both physical and emotional. The intensity in his eyes softened as he realized the depth of my concern.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I...didn't consider...how scared you would be...waiting for me."

“Of course, I was worried. I’m not just your partner Cecil, I'm your wife. It's my job to worry about you. On and off work.” 

The corner of his lip lifted in a small, tired smirk.

"Worrying isn’t on the list of your marital duties," he retorted weakly, trying to infuse a hint of humor into the situation.

“Well with you it's at the top of the list.”

His smirk broadened ever so slightly, his eyes softening with affection.

"You're hardly the stereotypical doting housewife," he pointed out.

“Well, a stereotypical wife couldn't handle you.”

A chuckle, low and rumbling, escaped him, though it was followed by a wince of pain. "Ain't that...the truth," he agreed, his eyes gleaming with affection.

Seeing him wince in pain made my smile fall. “How are you feeling... really?”

His expression sobered, the amusement in his eyes fading as he sighed heavily. "Like... I got hit by a goddamn truck," he admitted. "Whole body feels like it's on fire. And my head hurts like a sonofabitch."

“Even with all the painkillers they most likely got you on?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Painkillers...take the edge off," he muttered, his gaze distant. "But they don't...fix everything." He shifted uncomfortably, wincing again as the movement aggravated his already sore body.

I scooted the chair I was sitting in even closer to his bed. I’d be in the hospital bed with him if I didn’t have any self-control. 

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or is it to confidential?” I asked turning to look him in the eyes. 

“Look you know I can’t tell you, and…you don’t want to know.” He answered the way I expected him too.

“Then it’s probably for the best then,” I responded meekly but pushed past that feeling. “How much longer till you can leave the medical facility and I can get you some real food?” 

“Probably another week before they finally let me go.” He sighed in annoyance. 

“Well guess I’ll have to come visit you every day till they finally release you.” I teased knowing he hated sitting around doing nothing in a bed all day. 

His gaze fixed on me, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I know you will," he murmured, his voice gruff but lacking any hint of annoyance. "Can't get rid of... you that easy."

“Oh, so you thought getting hurt and almost dying would get rid of me. That some facial scar would bother me. Hell, you married me, and it's gonna take far more than that to run me off. Till death do us part is literal with me sweetheart.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile as I continued. “You’re too stubborn.”

“Well, I have to be when It comes to you or you’d never listen,” I said with a smile before gently kissing the new scar on his face.

He flinched at the touch of my lips against his sensitive scar, though his expression softened as he felt the love in that tender gesture making his cheeks turn a light shade of pink that was almost too light to notice. 

"Careful," he murmured gently "It's still a bit tender."

I bit my lip playfully with a wink, “It's kind of attractive.” 

He let out a huff of amusement, his smirk returning. "You always did...have peculiar tastes," he said, a slight edge of teasing in his voice.

“Well, I married you if that tells you anything.”

"You must've...lost your damn mind,"

“Maybe a little,” I responded before hearing a knock at the door. I quickly shot up and made myself presentable since our marriage was a secret to almost everyone else.

His attention shifted to the knock on the door, his expression slightly alarmed. Despite his injured state, there was a guarded wariness in his gaze. He discreetly gestured for me to step back, not wanting outsiders to witness the intimacy of your relationship.

 I moved the chair back and stood up to answer the door. A GDA nurse entered, her expression professional and her voice courteous.

"Good evening, ma'am. I just need to check on Mr. Stedman's vitals." She briskly moved to the side of his bed, affixing the blood pressure cuff to his arm without sparing either of us a second glance.

"Of course." I stepped back so I wasn't in her way and continued speaking to Cecil but only about the stuff he missed at work while he was gone so we wouldn't give away our relationship.

He nodded, shifting slightly to allow the nurse access to his arm. As the nurse proceeded to take his vitals, he engaged in the conversation with you, keeping up the pretense of a casual work update. His gaze flickered between you and the nurse, aware of the need to maintain discretion.

Once the nurse was finished and left us alone I let out a sigh. As the nurse departed, closing the door behind her, the room fell silent once again. He relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing now that she was gone.

"Close call," he murmured, his gaze flickering from the door to me. 

"It not like we were making passionate love to each other." I teased.

"That's not the point," he retorted gruffly, trying to maintain a stern demeanor. "We're trying to keep things... under wraps."

"Trust me I know more than anyone," I responded before my watch started beeping alerting me of trouble. I sighed in annoyance and looked up at Cecil painfully.

He noticed the beeping of your watch and the expression of annoyance on your face. A frown creased his brow as he recognized the sound.

"Duty calls?" he murmured, his voice tinged with resignation.

"At the worst times, as usual, People always need saving at the most inconvenient times I swear," I mumbled. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And don't almost die on me again while I'm gone please."

His expression softened, his gaze fixed on you intently. "No promises," he said with a hint of a smirk, though his words held a note of sincere concern. "Be careful out there."

“Always am. But let's not forget something.” I quickly remarked before walking back over and leaning in for a loving goodbye kiss.

He leaned into the kiss, his hand gently cupping my chin. When I pulled back, a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Don't do anything reckless," he murmured, his gaze locking with mine.