#at least? my face is mostly clear? i get break outs sometimes but it is miraculously not affected by whatever specifically afflicts my back

[brunchable]

The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × × 

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking. 

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief. 

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music. 

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky. 

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs. 

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss. 

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression. 

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

[dcxdpdabbles]

just imagining danny finally finding wes in cassandra's curse all

danny: you have something that belongs to me

wes: damn it fenton! shit like this is why your parents think we're dating

danny: i thought it was your constant obsession with me and the fact you spent months following me with a camera trying to get proof of my identity

tim: *watching his maybe boyfriend flirting with a cute hero*

tim: i can work with this

Given the circumstances, Wes is resting relatively well in his hospital bed. He hasn't seen Tim Drake since first waking up….in a sense. This may have something to do with people's odd reaction to the word "meta."

As far as the people in this world are concerned, Wes is a newly changed meta due to his encounter with Joker.

He isn't sure what that means, as the hospital staff talk about it like he would already know, and he hasn't had much time to find information on the subject. Based on how people behaved, he can conclude that there was a lousy stigma against Metas, and he wonders if it was like the stigma associated with the AIDS crisis.

Some nurses seemed nervous about touching him, and Wes almost felt terrible if it weren't their actual job to have bedside manners.

Wes's days have mostly been filled with watching late-nineties TV shows, doing reruns in his hospital room, and letting the staff check his vitals. He sometimes listens to the radio, but it is only fun if he can dance along to the songs.

It's been about two weeks since his kidnapping.

Whatever the Joker did to him left him feeling weak beyond words, and the most he could bring himself to do without falling flat on his face was wobble his way to the toilet. It took forever to gather enough control to do things like type on a laptop the staff lent him or sat up without flaring his entire boy with pain like the first day.

We could tell this world was different from his own. After living in Amity and surviving whatever new crazy thing happened to Danny, he recognizes portals to other worlds or dimensions.

Just looking outside his window told him how different things were. The cars rolling down the street were less bulky, made smaller, and had smoother edges. The build boards were replaced with giant TV show casting ads, and people walked around with little rectangles resembling buttonless PDAs Tucker was so fond of.

If the more advanced technical devices didn't scream another world, then the fact that his clear blue-sky small town was replaced with towering buildings and grey skies of a large city led Wes to believe he was nowhere near home.

How long would it be now for Danny to find him? He figured he was somewhere close by regarding worlds, seeing as a Clown-Ghost (?) could easily break through the barrier.

He would try calling out for him- as some forms, he had seen online for ghost hunting claimed to say the ghost's name would summon them- but that wouldn't help the secret relationship allegations that the student body had flung onto him and Danny.

At least the nineties sitcom he was forced to get into didn't exist in his world, so they were entertaining when he ignored all the badly aged jokes. Wes sighs, slumping a little in place, trying to ignore the soft ache in his back.

A knock interrupts one of the characters, yelling, "We're on a break!" for which Wes is grateful. He would scream if he had to hear that man complain about his relationship being in on the rocks for not having proper communication. "Come in."

The door flings open to show his favorite nurse. Caroline Hill was one of the few who didn't mind touching or treating him like an average person. She also brought him the laptop, staying by his side while gently encouraging his stiff fingers to type. She laughed when Wes's mind was utterly blown when pressing buttons proved too complicated and flipped the thing into an interactive screen.

She called it a 2-in-1 laptop, but Wes was stuck on the idea that the screen was touchable and that people could use their fingers as a mouse. This world was so cool.

So yes, Wes liked Caroline, so he respected her preference and didn't point out he could tell it was Tim Drake dressed in drag. If she wanted to be known as Caroline and work under that name, then who was he would kick up a fuss about it?

She always answered to feminine pronouns, and the other nurses treated her like any girl Wes, encounter so even if it wasn't simply drag. She was Caroline, and he would treat her as such until she told him otherwise.

"How are you feeling today, Wes?" She asks, voice slightly raspy in the same way that told him she was purposely attempting to make her voice higher but falling short.

He smiles at her. "Same as always. I managed to stand alone without feeling like my legs would give out on me this morning."

"That's great!" She spreads a blanket over his legs, the fabric warm from a heater. He mentions "Gotham" was far too cold for his liking. "What about your meta gene? Any progress?"

She asked a lot about that. Wes wasn't sure what she was hoping for, what the meta was, or if it was safe to admit he had no idea what was happening. On the one hand, it may help him get better treatment if only to earn some respect, but on the other hand, what if metals were targeted by the government, much like the GIW?

He figured it would be better to shrug and act like he was aware but weary of speaking about it. She offered him a small smile, moving the conversation along while checking the machines he was hooked to. He didn't know what half of them did, only recognizing the heart monitor and breathing tank.

On the screen, one of the characters is talking about the betrayal, and he scowls at it. If you sat and talked things through, this wouldn't happen.

Caroline laughs. "But then we wouldn't have a show."

He frowns, "Yeah, but it's not hard to have conversations like that. It's essential in relationships to tell your partner what you expect."

"Speaking from experience?"

Wes flushes, "I haven't dated that much, but my last relationship ended because we wanted different things."

"Well, it's good to know you, and he was mature enough for our age to-"

"Her."

Caroline pauses, blinking owlishly at him. "Pardon?"

"Her. My ex was my old girlfriend." Wes clarifies.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you liked boys, given that you call out for Danny whenever you sleep. " She looks flustered and babbles a little, which doesn't make Wes feel better.

"Why does everyone say that about Danny and me?" He mutters, closing his eyes and trying not to sink in the ground. "I'm bi, and bi-myself but I'm not that desperate."

Caroline offers him an uncomfortable smile before quickly finishing her visit and running out of the room. It's probably for the best.

[catalinaromanoff]

overheated

natasha romanoff x pyrokinetic reader

summary: reader accidentally burns natasha, which causes her to rethink their relationship and their life in general.

(there may be female pronouns scattered in here, but i am not 100% sure.)

warnings: insecurity, mentions of very very slight burn (just redness)

i rest my head on the cold kitchen countertop for a few moments, attempting to get just an ounce of relief from the heat surrounding me.

if you asked me in casual conversation i would say i don’t mind summer. it’s okay; i dont hate it. however, if you asked me on a personal level, i would say i absolutely despise summer. i hate the thought of wearing bikinis, all the bug bites i receive, but i hate the heat most of all. pyrokinetics and heat simply do not mix. ironic, isn’t it?

and so, i press my face harder into the kitchen countertop in the compound for just a bit of relief.

i was currently sitting at the kitchen island. the coolness of the marble surface did provide me with a bit of contrast to my heated skin, but it just wasn’t enough. on top of that it was agonizing listening to my teammates having the time of their lives outside in the compound’s backyard.

some were in the crystal clear water of the immensely big in-ground pool tony had installed while others played a casual game of volleyball.

how i envy them.

however, the people whom i envied the most were the couples outside able to cuddle and kiss each other. my heart breaks a little for my girlfriend when i see laura sitting on clint’s lap on one of the poolside tables knowing we could never do the same.

technically we could, but unfortunately this wasn’t the season to do so. during the winter season me and natasha could cuddle at any time and i would serve as her personal heater. the heat that would emanate from my body would be a nice contrast to the painful coldness of a new york winter.

however, when it’s already around 100 degrees and i am a pyrokinetic that sometimes freaks out and cannot control herself, that leads to accidents.

like this one.

i had banished myself to the kitchen countertop because me and natasha had tried to see if maybe my body temperature wouldn’t flare up like it always did. spoiler alert; it did. natasha had been sitting on my lap with her head in my neck. she began kissing my neck and that’s where i think things began to go downhill.

much of my pyrokinesis revolves around what i’m feeling at the current moment. once i felt natasha’s featherlight kisses on my neck i began to feel things. mostly shy. and so, i slowly began to heat up. eventually things escalated too quickly when natasha bit me. immediately my body became the temperature of the sun and natasha jumped up and away from me.

“ouch!”

i observed as she lightly rubbed her thighs trying to get at least a but of relief. just like i am now. anyway, i could do nothing but watch her knowing i caused this but couldn’t fix it.

“im-im so sorry baby. i’ll go inside. im sorry.”

i quickly get up from my place on the poolside chair, not without noticing the chair had begin to melt a little because of me. it made me feel that much worse.

natasha tried to stop me, but obviously she couldn’t do that much when i couldn’t be touched.

“y/n it’s okay, baby. i’m fine. please don’t go.”

i ignore the concerned expression in my beautiful girlfriend’s face and instead rush to the sliding door separating the big backyard from the avenger’s compound. i thank whoever left the door open in my head as i rush through and close the door behind me.

that brings me to where i am now. a tiny portion of white plastic on my hand from closing the sliding door and a big portion of embarrassment.

i continue to observe the other avengers outside and let out a deep breath.

do i really belong here?

i mean, most of the avengers out there avoid touching me. no handshakes, no hugs, no anything. i understand their fear and apprehension but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. a great deal of them were scared of me and that honestly made my heart break; i didn’t ask to be made this way, so why do i have to suffer the consequences?

the only people who really bothered in trying to get to know me and know when it’s okay to touch me are natasha, wanda, and bucky. they try to understand how my pyrokinesis works and how to prevent meltdowns (haha get it?) like this.

they’ll never truly understand though.

i see wanda talking to natasha and looking back inside at me. i realize almost immediately that she heard my thoughts. dang you, my sexy witch best friend. i see my girlfriend approach the door i had melted not more than 20 minutes ago and slide it open. she makes sure to close it behind her before she sits next to me at the kitchen island.

she looks stunning.

natasha was wearing a simple black bikini, but yet it complimented her so well. it complimented her beautifully sculpted body, her stunning scars scattered around her body, and it just looked right against her sun-kissed skin.

i wish i looked like her.

“hey, how are you feeling?”

i shrug my shoulders.

natasha’s lips form into a straight line on her face as she looks down at her hands. i take this moment to admire her gorgeous face. her cute freckles scattered across nearly every part of her face. that’s one of the things i didn’t mind about summer. nat’s freckles showed up and showed out during the summer.

i decide to speak up. “im sorry.”

nat’s head snaps up at the words of my timid apology.

“honey you have nothing to apologize for. i know that was an accident and i shouldn’t have pushed you that far.”

“no, about everything.”

natasha furrows her brows and her confusion slowly grows. she timidly inches her fingers toward my thigh. she checks my temperature to make sure she can touch me. im lukewarm. she puts her hand on my right thigh with her left hand. that gives me the courage i need to say the next words.

“im sorry for being such a bad girlfriend. i see how you look at other couples and their pda and stuff. you should just break up with me. i mean we can’t even have.. um.. sex without me freaking out and burning you. i just don’t think im lovable and im definitely holding you back from having your dream relationship. maybe you should try dating banner. i hate his guts but you’ll probably be happier with him than you’ll ever be with me.”

an uncomfortable silence fills the room. i bring my arms up on the countertop and stuff my face into them.

we both breathe in the silence for a while. i know natasha doesn’t know what say; i mean what can she say? that everything will be alright? that we’ll be able to do normal couple things one day? she would be lying to my face.

“y/n, look at me.”

i sink deeper into my seat. i feel hot tears begin to pour out of my eyes. i can no longer feel natasha’s touch on my thigh.

i let out a sob. im pathetic.

“baby, please look at me.”

i shake my head.

“fine. y/n, i love you so much. your pyrokinesis will never change that because i didn’t fall in love with your body temperature, but with your personality. you didn’t deserve what those cruel people did to you but unfortunately you cannot change your story. and sure maybe i get a twinge of sadness watching other couples, but i love our connection more than any pda or hugs or touches. i love the way you assure i feel loved without having to touch me all the time. you are more than your pyrokinesis. i will keep saying that until you get it. because it’s true; nothing will ever change that. you are worth the moon and stars to me.”

i feel tears begin to flow down my cheeks. i sit up and look at natasha. i gaze into her eyes for a few seconds but immediately look away. playing with my hands, i utter something under my breath in hopes she won’t hear me.

natasha inches her face closer to mind and kisses my tears away. she pulls back smiling and stares at me knowingly when she feels me heat up a bit.

“what was that honey? i can’t hear you.”

this time i make tiny flames from my fingertips and decide to speak up a little more.

“i said, i love you too.”

natasha smiles at me knowing i do appreciate what she has said, but i’m just too shy.

“natasha, i love you so much you don’t even know. and if i could control myself i would tell you more, but i think if i do i’ll start crying and melt this chair.”

at that natasha giggles and grabs my chin to kiss all over my face.

“heyy! you’re gonna get me riled up!”

i swat her face away. she begins to laugh and i stare at her, confused.

“babe, your face is literally as red as my hair!”

“okay, that’s not fair. you’re such a bad girlfriend.”

i roll my eyes and jump off of my chair, heading towards the sliding door to go back outside.

“you sure you wanna go back outside? if you want to we can stay inside and cool you down. i can ask tony to order us some ice-cream. fuck, we can even get you an ice bath.”

i look back at natasha and shake my head while giggling.

“that’s fine, i want you to enjoy yourself. cmon.”

i wait for my girlfriend to join me and we make our way back outside.

everything turned out fine, for today. there were still a few accidents. unfortunately that’s the reality behind being an enhanced human. we will always make mistakes and have accidents, but that’s what reminds us we are still human.

i am still human, and still lovable.

a/n: this is my first work so be kind lol!! but let me know if you guys have any requests or want me to continue this series (?). honestly this isn’t proofread, the ending was lowkey rushed, and it’s nearly 3am so if it’s dookie that’s why lol. but yea, thank you for reading if you made it this far!

word count: 1.6k

[quaranmine]

i hate my stupid skin i hate that i am cursed with awful acne on my back not even because it has scarred me or whatever but BECAUSE IT HURTS SO MUCH RIGHT NOW AUGHLJSG L;SAGJ HA;BSD;B

[lilis-doodle-dome]

Flirt chart!

Clarifying certain parts:

- Flirting has to be done with intention, can’t be something that is charming/romantic on accident

- For genuine feelings, Kaito and Heiji are both the recipients while Shinichi and Saguru are the ones confessing (decided bcs I wanted an even split and knew Kaito wouldn’t confess any real feelings under threat of death)

More specific thoughts under the cut (and blank chart at the bottom)

- Kaito does not flirt, he tugs at pigtails and pretends that counts, so flirting is a KID specific action. He has no shame in it since it’s all part of the act to him

- I personally hc him as asexual, but even without that, it’s pretty clear that flirting does nothing for him- seeing how he acted in the “date” episode and his 0 interest in valentines day and lack of reaction to Akako

- Mans can not deal with real emotions, especially if they seem like they’re out of nowhere

-and I think he’s the type that once you break past his poker face (which admittedly takes quite a bit) Boom. He’s broken. Shades of red only visible to shrimp and it goes all the way down to his shoulders.

- not much clarification needed for the first two with Shinichi, maybe that this is post-conan, which is why he gets awkward with flirting instead of gloating

- again since this is post-conan I think he makes an effort to be upfront about his feelings right off the bat, no chance for something to get in the way then.

-But he’s not the most self aware so it might take him a bit to puzzle out his emotions, as soon as he does I like to imagine him turning to the recipient of his feelings, and dramatically announcing his discovery, like it’s a deduction show. Finger point and all

- He’ll probably get embarrassed the next second when he realizes what he did

- Hakuba is just using standard high-class English niceties he learned from growing up rich in London, but he’s also observant enough to see that it clearly causes a reaction when used

- and I don’t think he’s above using that to his advantage, especially since he can be otherwise awkward at socializing

- although I don’t think he realizes it could be taken as leading someone on, since he doesn’t really have any intentions with it beyond gaining favor and he’s not quite aware enough to see the heart eyes directed his way

- I only did verbal flirting so in that case I think it mostly goes over Hakuba’s head (a combination of cultural differences and social obliviousness) but if you did more physical advances -alla holding his hand or bumping shoulders- then he would react by going stone still, completely tense and delightfully red!

- Like Shinichi I think Saguru prefers to be upfront with his feelings and would confess quickly after figuring out his feelings, sometimes it can be hard to be fully truthful but he finds it’s generally worth it in the end

- even if he’s rejected then he can move on instead of perseverate over the feelings

- Hattori is the character I know the least by my general vibe is that he sucks at intentional flirting (although tends to do things unthinkingly that knock people off their feet)

- He’s kinda a Tsundere? More in the sense that any attempts at flirting are more likely to be somehow taken as a slight and make him competitive, instead of landing at romantic as intended

- Sunshine golden retriever smile. What else is there to say. You agree.

Blank chart if anyone wants it!

[bandgie]

Agora Hills

Changbin x fem!reader

synopsis: You thought breaking up with Changbin was for the best, but he's here to remind you that's completely and utterly wrong.

warnings: MDNI 18+, suggestive themes, exes-to-lovers, rich!changbin, he's an asshole but means well, some angst mostly fluff, thats it lol

1.5k words

It's not as though you hated Changbin, quite the opposite actually.

He's caring, sweet, and would rip the shirt off his back if you asked. He would treat you well, spoil you like a baby. He's really the whole package...all for one thing.

As sweet as he is to you, he's too snobby with other people. You knew he had money, lots of it. Anyone with that amount to their name can let it get to their head, but Changbin loved showing off how much he had. You couldn't do it anymore.

The final straw was when you were out on a double date with your friends. The restaurant wasn't up to Changbin's taste, and he made it very clear he did not like it to everyone. You tried to awkwardly laugh it off, but it was hard not to when he said, "This is why I don't like hanging out with the middle class, no offense. You guys just have no taste."

You saw red. Here was your boyfriend belittling the class your family has had to work their way into. With clenched teeth you apologized to your friends, broke up with Changbin, and had your friends drive you home.

It's been two weeks, and he's been calling you nonstop. Text after text, call after call, voicemail after voicemail. When you weren't picking up, he started sending gifts to your door. Jewelry, bouquets of flowers, clothes you knew cost more than your rent. Changbin had a habit of showing his love through materialistic ways, but it was getting annoying having to return them back to his address.

"You should ask for a car," your roommate chirps. 

You only rolled your eyes and groaned in return. You slumped further into the couch before burying your face in your hands. 

"You're supposed to be helping me," you say frustratingly. 

"I am," she protests. "Your shit car is breaking down, again, and you and I both know damn well your little sugar daddy would love to buy you a better one."

Angrily, you place your hands on the sides of the couch and sit up. "He's not my sugar daddy! Don't call him that."

Your roommate tsks and shakes her head, "Whatever. Have you called him at least?" 

You shake your head back, "I haven't spoken to him since that night."

"Well, maybe you should," she reasons. "Some guys need to hear it more than once, especially if you just up and left him like that. Who knows, maybe you can work things out too."

"I have," you stress. "He's just so...ignorant sometimes. And plus, I can't take him back after what he said to you."

Rather than seeming upset, your roommate shrugs. "I've heard worse. Plus I don't think he meant it in a bad way, like you said, he's just a little ignorant."

Her aloofness makes you both on edge and at ease. It's good to hear that she wasn't as offended as you thought she'd be, but her being so nonchalant about your situation is irritating. 

In times like these, you wish someone could just tell you what to do. 

"I say you call him," she answers your prayers. "If he's an ass, it only proves that you were right to dump him. If he's not, then you either owe him a better breakup or another chance."

Finding resolution, you stand to your feet and grab your phone from the coffee table. "You say it like it's so easy."

"That's because it is."

-

Changbin picks up on the first ring. Not that it should surprise you, but the rehearsed words die in your throat when he answers with an overly excited hello?

When you don't answer he prompts you again, "Baby...are you there?"

You can feel the way your heart clenches at the pet name. It's only been a mere two weeks since you've heard his voice and you're already wanting to cry. 

"Don't call me that," your voice is small. 

"Why not?" He asks. You can hear how shaky his voice is, but you convince yourself it's the static. If he really cared about you, he wouldn't have said that in the first place. "Are you not my baby anymore?"

You have to chew on your bottom lip and look up to the ceiling of your room to keep yourself from crying. A few seconds pass before you speak, "I dunno...Changbin you really...you really messed up."

"I know, baby, and I'm so sorry. I'm stupid. I hurt you and embarrassed you in front of your friends. I would do it over again if I could, baby believe me. We can fix this, I can be better. I love you, you know that."

He's right, you do know that. There wasn't a moment in your relationship where you doubted his love for you. Changbin has been a little snobby before, but that doesn't compare to his overwhelming adoration for you.

"I love you too Binnie," you sniff. "I wanna fix this too."

You swear you can hear him smile behind the phone. "That's all I need to hear baby. You mean so much to me that I can't even explain it, you know that?"

Despite the tears on your waterline you laugh, "Yeah I do Binnie. You mean a lot to me too."

Changbin laughs with you. "I miss you baby...it's so lonely in my mansion."

Whatever tenderness you had filling your heart dissipates and is replaced with agitation. "Jesus this is exactly what I mean! It's those little stupid fucking remarks that-"

"No! Baby baby I didn't mean it like that! It's a Doja Cat song-"

"-and here I was really wanting to make things work and you just-"

The two of you begin to talk over one another, the previous confessions nearly forgotten. It takes Changbin profusely apologizing and begging for you to stop arguing. 

"Over the phone isn't gonna cut it. I'll send a limo and you can come over. Please baby, we can fix this."

You sigh heavily and collapse on your bed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Okay."

-

No matter how many times you enter Changbin's house, if you can call it that, it always leaves you breathless. Polished floors, high ceilings, with chandeliers dangling up above you. It's clean, not a speck of dust in sight, most likely thanks to the many invisible housemaids. 

He had ushered you to his room, sitting you on his couch as he remained standing. 

It felt good to see him, even if you were pissed. He was as muscular as ever, a black tank top showing his pecs and arms deliciously. He must've worked out before you came, he tended to use the gym as a stress reliever. 

"There's really no excuse I have other than I'm stupid." Changbin starts. 

You let a small breath of air out that mimics laughter, "You don't have to tell me that.

Changbin smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah." He pauses. "At the dinner, I really don't know why I even said that. I didn't mean to hurt you, or your friends. It's was inappropriate and fucked up of me. We can go and I can apologize to them. Anything you want me to do, just name it."

Timidly, he gets on his knees between your legs and takes your hands into his own. "I love you. I love everything about you even if I complain like an idiot. I'm just not used to...some things, but I don't want that to be the end of us. I can learn, and I can change. Just don't leave me. Please."

God, if there's one thing Changbin is good at, it's begging. His hot breath fans over your bare legs, sending chills up your body. You can feel the heat of his body rolling off onto yours. He looks beautiful. His dark, messy curls that sit at the top of his head, the broadness of his shoulders, the way his lips pout. 

As big as he is, he's still a baby.

Your baby.

Gently, you untangle your hands from his, and his face drops for a moment. You quickly place them on his face, pulling him forward until his lips meet your own. 

Changbin squeaks at the feel of your kiss, but his initial shock turns into passion. He grips the side of your face with one hand while the other steadies himself on your knee. It's gentle, the way he pulls back for a moment before diving back in.

There’s nothing but love in his featherlight lips enveloping yours. All you can feel is him, his passion, his devotion to you. All the things he wants to say- no, he needs to say is conveyed through the kiss.

His hands snakes to the back of your head, pushing you deeper into his mouth. It doesn't take long before his lips don't feel like enough, and you're both opening your mouths to taste each other. 

It makes your heart swoon to know that he tastes the same. Familiar. Safe. 

Changbin grows bold, the hand on your knee moving up to grip the plushness of your thighs. 

"So, you forgive me?" He asks between kisses.

You pull back and pretend to think, "I don't know. Why should I?"

This makes Changbin smile, fully. "I can show you. Would that be better?"

The hand on your thigh inches to the hem of your shorts. The way his warm fingers caress your skin makes you involuntarily open your legs a little wider. 

"I guess that'll do for now."

a/n: this is a little different from what I usually post, but I like it. hope you do too! thank you @then-make-me for editing/proofreading!

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

Michael proves that he needs help

Angst, Gore (?)

A/n: So, Originally the chapter was longer. But it was wayyyy too long, so I choose to split it.

La Vaguelette

Chapter 8 > Chapter 9 < Chapter 10

Leonardo was reading peaceful one of his science books. One of many he owns in heaven.

He loves these kinds of pieces like electric, Atomic and the other things that the human created with his little help. 

Even though sometimes it ended in war or weapon, which was kind of disappointing for Leonardo. Why would they create something to just destroy themselves?

He stopped reading as he felt the sudden familiar power of an opening a portal. 

He looked above his book trying to catch what was disturbing his peace. 

Leonardo watched as Michael came through a portal and carried you in his arms. 

Of course it is Michael.

“The Seraphim?” Leonardo asked his smaller brother as he raised his finger towards his face to adjust his glasses. 

Michael looked over at Leonardo, and cursed.

oh he is so fucked. 

Leonardo was the responsible one.

Always listening to what father has to say and always do his job 100% correct.

Mostly he keeps heaven in control so nothing gets out of hand.

It was till they created Sera, and now he's thinking about getting his old responsibility back.

Sera couldn't be trusted anymore. She had one job and Michael did it for her.

Bring the seraphim back.

“What?! Nooo that’s just an exorcist who needed help-“ 

“What is she doing here?” Leonardo stated clear. He is not in the mood to play with Michaels dumb little games.

“Just doing my job.” Michael said, his emotionless eyes looking at Leonardo. 

Leonardo sighed laying his book aside. “He said not to hurt her,” He looked down at your broken legs and hands. “And you obviously did.” His golden eyes burned into Michael’s soul, making him shudder. 

“Calm down brother! You really think she’ll come without a fight? You’re too naïve.” Michael laughed nervously.

“I could’ve done it better.” Leonardo said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Maybe even Sera." An cold wind blow freezed the tips of Leonardo's Black hair.

Michael was not pleased with the comparison with Sera.

Michael stepped forward his icy blue eyes bored into Leonardo golden one. “I will handle it.” 

…

Michael pulled you along with him. Not caring that you got a cut added every time you slammed against a rock, that laid on the floor. 

You were in a place in heaven that looked identical to hell, maybe even worse. 

The floor was worn out and every surface was uneven and had holes. 

A place that was hidden before bare eyes.

A prison or worst a torture chamber.

Creatures were behind those bars and are more terrifying than anything in Hell. 

Except maybe root.

It was Michael playhouse, his palace. 

The place where he can live his sadistic and psychopathic ways fully. 

And everything else is his Hunting ground. 

Making people disappear out of nothing and bringing them in the depths of this lovely place.

Someone who lands in here never goes back, not at least in the form how they came. 

They get completely mangled and stitched together like in the worst horror movie. 

You are Michael's new subject that he got in his claws.

The one he’ll break and re-build.

You’ll be the one who’ll destroy her loving partner.

His perfect subject.

How is he still in Heaven you ask? 

One of daddy’s Favorite. 

He threw you into an empty dark room and you hit your head hard against the dirty cell wall. 

Blood started oozing out of the fresh wound, but no reaction. 

The pain is nothing compared to the old wounds. 

It was just a little pinch. 

The hole in your thigh pulsated harshly reminding you of its very existence.

You squinted your eyes open, only to realize that you were hanging high above from the ground. 

You tried to move but the chains on your wrist held you in place. 

It hurts. 

The chains scratched your wrist open in a slow pace. Your broken hand was pressed firmly against the chain. It feels like your hands are getting ripped apart from your Arm.

It hurts so bad.

You wanted to scream but you can’t, his ice was still on your lips making you shiver from the cold.

Lucifer help

Legs were unmoving and you got in a panic like state. 

You can’t move an inch. 

Please Lucifer it hurts

You’re a damsel in need and Michael could you whatever he wants with you. 

And right now, he was watching you suffer. 

He probably got an erection seeing you hanging there with the broken limps He caused. 

“So, you’re awake?”

He sat down on a chair that stood in front of your cell, your new home. “Choosing not to talk, huh?” He chuckled when the sound of moving chains echoed through the dark hollow walls. 

The magic this place once held, was completely sucked out by Michael's evil thoughts.

“If you think that is the worst it can get, I must disappoint you.” A monstress scream and a slashing sound of a whip was what caught your attention.

It is unbearable.

The sounds of Angels that were getting ripped apart and sewed together to create some of Michaels weird obsession.

And you may wonder how Michael ended this way. He used to be a happy Man, and now he is a cold hearted psychopath.

And echo in those walls gave you the answer. A small whisper in the last bits of magic the Playhouse had.

It gave you the answer to this question.

He wants to create, just like his twin brother Lucifer. 

But he can’t.

So, he took this place to make creatures for heavens protection. But these creation never worked. They were brainless and brutal monsters.

Killing everything that was near them.

And he fell deeper into despair.

He never could be Lucifer and it was pissing him off.

He wasn't as creative as Lucifer. He never could be.

Lucifer was God’s favorite.

So, Michael sabotaged him.

Making Lucifer fall for Lilith and letting the forbidden Apple into Lucifers grasps.

It was Michael's duty to protect. But he didn't protect the Apple, no. You could say he gave it to him like a wrapped up gift.

Lastly Michael gave father the Idea to create Hell.

And after that Michael talked to his brothers to banish Lucifer into hell.

For his sins.

And now Lucifers Playhouse is his. The precious thing that Lucifer had in heaven, he even took this.

And now he has you too.

All mine. thought Michael, driven by envy and Jealousy.

How is this place in heaven? How is he in heaven

“We’ll see each other tomorrow rotten Apple. Try to take some rest, tomorrow isn’t going to be a good day for you.”

…

The voices stopped.

The sound of heels meeting the cold floor was the only thing that kept you sane for a second.

It kept the voices away that talked through the walls.

Sometimes you could see how they dragged an Angel down into the surgery Room.

So that happens to those who betray him.

It was cold and lonely down here. 

The sound of voices and clicking of the clock ringed in your ears. It was uncomfortable.

All you wanted was going back to your beloved Lucifer.

You couldn’t sleep because of the pain from the hole in your thigh that started to get infected. 

The flesh around it grew fury red and the bugs started to slowly eat the flesh around it.

You closed your eyes to imagine that you were with him. That this all was a nightmare and you're alright.

But the pain reminds you that nothing is alright.

Everything will be alright.

"You Liar." You whispered and opened your eyes to look at the black surrounding.

The sound of heels hitting the floor grew louder and louder till it stopped.

You raised your head and looked into those golden eyes that brought some light into this dark place. 

“I never dared to go to Michael’s playhouse, but I had to see it for myself. The Seraphim that father wants to have back. And yet here you are chained up by our dearest Brother Michael.” 

Click. 

He opened your cell and released you from the chains. 

You fell right into his arms, and he wasn’t cold like Michael, no. He was warm like Lucifer; you miss him already. His hands raised and touched your forehead, he pushed your hair slowly out of your face and the warm feeling came back. 

It reminded you when Lucifer and you first met. This unknown Angel was helping you. 

Why?

As if he heard your thoughts, he Introduced himself as The Arch Angel Leonardo. 

“I’m here to help. I can’t get you out of here yet, but I can heal your wounds.” Your hand and legs snapped in their right place, and you could feel them again. 

A tear of hope streaked down onto Leonardo’s black coat, and he stroked your back softly. 

The hope will not last long. Not as long you're here trapped into Michael's little Playhouse.

“You can rest for now.”

He laid you on the hard bed that was in the corner from the cell and his grip left your body. 

It was a step back into reality. 

The coldness hit your neck like a cold shower. You buried yourself under the thin sheet for any warmth it may have. And you finally slept out of exhausting.

_____

Lucifer was pacing around the hotel lobby, “We must do something!” He was terrified what will happen to you if he doesn't do anything.

He knows how heaven can manipulate and cruel. 

But Michael was a different story.

He was not allowed in heaven, so how can he get you back? it was against the agreement they had.

But he will go regardless. For you he’d break this one rule he never over stepped. 

For you he'd destroy heaven if it means to get you back.

Charlie stood there in silence, she felt like it was all her fault. She hadn’t put any safety measurements in her hotel to keep any attacker at bay. 

And Michael took you away.

Now Lucifer lost you, and worse they all lost you. 

And maybe she’ll lose her father of her dumb mistake. 

Soulmates can’t be separated for a long time for a reason.

“Luci?” 

A soft voice called out for him. 

He spun around and glared at the person who stood on the staircase. “Lilith?” 

Again, weird timing. 

She stepped in front of him not even glancing at the other members. 

She has something planned, Angel Dust thought as he looked her into the eyes. 

They gave a dangerous look. A glint of hatred reflecting in them.

She's not here to be friendly.

_____

You woke up from the heavy sound of metal meeting stone. Voices were keeping you from going back to sleep.

Michael and another person were standing in front of you observing the scenery.

Michael looked at your healthy body. No Broken Limps.“Leonardo has to ruin all my fun.” Michael pouted and the other one just shrugged.

“He doesn’t like when you’re, you know, you?” The other person said looking at you.

You stood up and stretched your body, the aching pain of your muscles calmed in relief after some movement.

You looked the other person right into their golden eyes, just like Leonardo's.  

His Grin was just like Lucifers just with Humane teeth. 

Why do they have to be all related.

He bowed slightly and introduced himself as Azrael the Arch Angel of Death. 

Your mind spins what type of Arch Angel is Leonardo and what was Lucifer? 

You know that Michael is the Arch Angel of protection. 

You know so much about Lucifer but also nothing.

With a snap of Michaels fingers, you were back up in chains. 

You grunted at the sudden burning sensation from the chains. They were icy cold. “Your little lover boy seems to be in a little trouble my dear.”

___

Lucifer stepped back as Lilith stalked towards him, throwing affection comments on him. 

What is her plan? 

Lucifers back hit the wall with his back, there’s no escape.

He cursed.

Lucifer doesn't want to hurt Lilith.

Not in front of Their baby.

_____

“He spins lies and crawls between sheets.” Michael chuckled, and Azrael crossed his arms in front of his chest the smirk never left his face. 

In front of you an orb appeared, it was deep black with a white aura flying around it. 

“Let me show you something my dear.” Azrael said pointing towards the orb.

The orb showed the Hotel, or rather the scene that takes place in the hotel.

Lucifer and Lilith were standing both so close.

Lucifer wouldn't do anything, he loves you right?

___

Lilith pulled his chin towards him and kissed him forcefully.

Shoving her tongue into his mouth.

A passionate kiss was shared between. Or that's how it looked.

____

You looked at the orb Azrael made for you to look through. 

Your hands ached from being chained too long, bruises almost turning black. And all you could do is watching helplessly how Lilith was kissing Lucifer. 

No that's a Lie.

A piercing pain throbbed and spread in your heart. Like a knife that buries itself slowly into the soft flesh of your heart. The knife slowly gets dragged down, slicing your chest open in the process. 

That's the nearest thing that could describe the pain you feel right now.

“He never loved you.” Azrael’s words echoed through your hollowed skull, your mind was screaming, and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

The pain that resides in your heart and the words Azrael and Michael were planting into your minf.

Stop

This all must be a lie.

This must be fake.

Lucifer would never do that to you. “It’s real darling.” Azrael took your chin between his fingertips, a sadistic grin never failed to appear.

No

Your body felt numb, you slumped down when Azrael let you go. 

You hang on the chains like a dead corpse.

Michael looked from the shadow; he loved the view.

Your suffering was pure pleasure to him, you suffer is his suffer and it filled his icy cold heart with desire. 

He wants more destruction. 

More of your breaking.

He wants to see you break into itty bitty pieces. 

So, pity full. 

Your eyes were empty, you’re shutting down. No more defense reflexes.

You wanted to die right here and there.

Were you not enough?

You should’ve known that this was all a lie. 

It was all your fault after all. 

You broke his trust in the first place. 

Leonardo looked down at your figure and he was the only one who didn’t smile. 

Since when is he watching anyways?

Is it pity? Is it caring? 

Stop, stop. 

Stop looking at me like that.

He should smile not taking pity on your own misery as something sad.

They’re all the same, Arch Angels are all the same, even Lucifer.

He wants to use you just like anyone else.

Leonardo will play with you and then throw you away like everyone else.

You were mad and disappointed. Lucifer made you feel like the only person he needed.

But in reality he just wanted you gone so he could have Lilith back. 

And when you were captured by the one and only Michael. 

And Lilith took the opportunity that you here chained up in here.

She lets Michael do whatever he wants with you. and in return she returns to Lucifer.

Wasn’t she known to be kind and loving and just left Lucifer with their child.

Then she replaced you, taking her spot back that she left long time ago.

Were you living to rot in your own misery.

Who would Love you anyway?

Not even your own mother glanced a second glance at you when you needed her the most.

You felt like a failure.

You couldn’t even keep your own Soulmate that is destined to stay by your side. 

You looked up at Leonardo, his pitiful stare was stirring something in you. Something you never felt, it was indeed a sin. 

In the end you never dared to sin. But the plates have changed. Your life already is horrible.

Anger, and the desire to kill build up in your chest. Filling the pain that is planted deep in the softness of your heart.

“don’t look at me like that. Go on laugh, laugh that I thought he would safe me out of here. NO ONE IS STOPPING YOU!” You clawed up to him, the chains were rustling and the skin of your wrist were scratch open.

You wanted to claw his face open. You wanted the pain to stop. Tears were falling uncontrollably, and the sobbing mixed with the horrible sight of you clawing to get out.

That someone will come and save you out of this.

But no one will come

You feel like you’re going to burst, you didn’t want this life. 

You wanted Love, you wanted to be loved and someone to tell you that you're safe.

You missed him even though he betrayed you.

Love is the greatest curse of them all

God created you out of mere dust and let you stay in the dirt. 

Not even God could love you. 

Leonardo shifted his gaze away from you, “I’m sorry…” You laughed at his attempted apology. And your body fell lump.

"I got you" Sera whispered as she held you close to your body. You giggled and looked up to your mother. "You'll never leave me, right Mom?" And Sera nods. "Never."

She left.

"I got you sweetie." Lucifer's Forehead was on yours and he hums a soft tune that calmed you down.

You had a panic attack.

You dreamed about your mother again and Lucifer came to calm you down."I'll not leave you."

That’s what Lucifer said and look where he is now. 

He's gone.

"You're alone, Y/n."

In the Arms of his beloved Lilith.

____

Lucifer was quick to push Lilith away with brutal force. He rubbed his mouth with his clawed hand in a disgusting meanor. 

“Get the fuck off me.” He said while spitting the mixed saliva out of his mouth.

His lips felt like they’ve touched poison. 

He was glad you haven’t seen this. He is scared that you’d misinterpret this. 

He doesn’t want Lilith he wants you.

And he certainly doesn't want to lose you.

Little did he know that’s why Lilith did it and in fact you’ve saw the kiss they shared. 

Lilith, who was now on the ground, smirked up to him.

“The damage already done love.” Her Voice was full of venom. That’s not the Lilith Lucifer used to know. 

Lilith was kind and loving.

And now she’s rotten and disgusting like spoiled milk.

“What have you done?” He tilted his head rather asking himself what damage Lilith meant.

“Your little Angel. She’s the one you love and care so much and she’s the one who’ll burn this all down.” Lucifer raised his eyebrows. 

“What you mean?” Angel dust asked, clearly knowing who’s she referring too. “Yeah, she’ll never do that.” Husk stated serious catching everyone in surprise. 

He genuinely cares about you and that surprised the others.

The Husk cares about an Angel. Wouldn’t be the first Angel but the other is a demon that carries the name Angel. 

The name of his new Identity.

Lilith laughed, “God has his Plans.” 

Lucifers ears peaked at that, “God? Now you’re a puppet of him? The one who you said made you suffer? Really? That’s why you left me all alone with a child?” 

He took a deep breath closing his eyes, trying to calm down his building anger.

“Where is she?” He asked calmly, his eyes remained closed as he waited for her answer. 

No Answer. 

“Tell him, you pig.” Vaggie said holding a spear deathly on Lilith’s neck.

“I could kill you in less than a second. You’re in the deathly position, Vaggie.” Lilith smirked up at her, tapping with her nail on the Angelic weapon. 

Tap 

Tap

“And in less than a milli second I can wipe you out of existence,” Lucifer opened his eyes showing its fury scarlet color, “So tell me, where is she?” He leaned down towards her face. 

Fire danced along with his words, intimidating Lilith. 

“She is in heaven.” She answered in defeat.

“Oh, we know. But where?” Angel said and his voice wasn’t welcoming either. 

No one hurts his little sugar tits. Not even the Arch Angels themselves. 

“In Michaels playhouse, your old one. That's where she is right now. But I don’t have any more Information.” Lucifer snapped with his fingers. 

Chains appeared out of the ground pulling Lilith down a portal to God knows where. 

Lilith screamed at Lucifer, to let her go. She doesn't want to go there where these chains will drag her.

“We are leaving.” Lucifer muttered, patting the dust from him.

“Where to?” Charlie asked looking her father in his red eyes. 

“It’s time to bring Y/n back.”

Please be alright.

A/n: The Hazbin gang is on their way to Y/n. Let's hope they're not too late.

Thank you all for the Support Pookies<3

💫

Sadly couldn't Tag you

@ayanazoldyck @marydragneell @lunaryasha @cherry-cola-100 @lxkeee @latersgaters-steven @fandom-crashlanding @cupidsgift @steadyconnoisseurnacho @crimsonflameproxy @stormz369 @wooleypeaches @fukingsad @starlitvenus @avadakadabra93 @itzabbeym @asmodeussimpnumber1 @sirenetheblogger @k1y0yo @i-have-no-life-charlie @angelicwillows @0puddleofgender0 @fallenh34art @v3r41ynn @froggybich @pank0w

[deadgxrlsuperstar]

- The eyes don't lie - Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

tags/warnings: SFW, mutal pining, obliviousness, salacious references, swearing, multiple perspectives, fluff.

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

Y/Ns perspective:

"For fucks sake Mina I wasn't eye fucking him" you groaned, playfully throwing one of Mina's pillows at her, in response to your way to nosey bestie. Mina only slyly chuckled in response to your defensiveness. "I WASN'T!!" your outburst only warranted Mina to erupt into an uncontrollable laughter "girl please- you totally were" glaring at your immature and slightly perverted best friend you thought...is that what it looked like...is it that obvious...fuck does he think im a creep?!

Katsuki's perspective:

"Hey there, man!" Kiri gleamed at Bakugou "you were amazing as usual in training today, you gotta show me how to do that move that took down Denki" Bakugou looked at Kiri with his signature scowl and huffed "yeh yeh"...There was an awkward silence between the two young men as they moved about the kitchen alone. " Dude, did you see how Y/N was looking at you?" Bakugou's ears perked up at Kiris comment "how was she looking at me?" gruffly replied Bakugou, acting disinterested."She was definitely checking you out. Her eyes didn't leave you once during the spar with Iida... I would know I was sitting next to her, it was like she was in a trance" Bakugou was internally flooded with butterflies, however logically he had doubts about his friends interpretation..Kiri was way too optimistic sometimes.

Neutral perceptive:

The next day, you and Bakugou exchanged an awkward amount of eyecontact, as per usual. Everyone in the class could tell you were both pining for each other, and they all desperately wanted you both to grow up and talk to each other!! mostly so they won't have to witness such obliviousness and stupidity from two of the top performing students, but at least it reminded them that you were both still human.

When you were mindlessly scrolling on your phone, alone in the classroom during the lunch break, Kiri and Bakugou walked in, immediately stopping their conversation as soon as they noticed you. " Dude," Kiri said quietly. "This is your chance." Swiftly, Kiri left the classroom, leaving only you and Bakugou in the room. Being cautious, Bakugou approached you to sit down on the chair opposite your desk.

Y/Ns perspective:

"Hey bakugou? you alright?" you questioned, putting your phone down. silence... just a painful fucking silence..he didn't respond...he just looked at you like your presence offended him.

Feeling nervous at his intense eyes, you subconsciously leaned back and looked around, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Bakugou leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on your desk. "I think you're pretty" Bakugou blurted out.

Your body stiffened, and you looked at him with skepticism. "huh?" you questioned, but honestly it sounded more mocking than confusion.

Katsuki's perspective:

All of Bakugou's internal alarm bells were ringing, what the fuck did she me "HUH?!" did I sound creepy, was I too forward, does she think im gross???!?!?!

Clearing my throat "I said I think you're pretty". ....Pause...."and I want to take you on a date...if you would let me?". Y/Ns face was so difficult to read, curse that resting bitch face she does so well.

She mirrored me and leaned forward "where?" Y/N smirked.

Damn I haven't thought that far ahead.

"uhhhhhh- honestly I didn't think I would get this far" i sighed looking up into her eyes slowly she was snickering. "well that's unexpected for you...the confidant and brutal Bakugou Katsuki, Lord Explosion Murder Dynamight expected me to reject him?" she was definitely teasing me.

I raised an eyebrow "Is that a yes?"

"Yes that is a yes..." i smiled softly

neutral perspective:

The confession was awkward however Bakugou felt a wave of relief at Y/Ns response and grinned playfully "Good, I'm glad" he chuckled.

a couple minutes of small talk went by

"Do you want to walk with me to the vending machine downstairs?" Y/N asked, getting her burgundy coin purse from her bag.

Bakugou immediately stood up a little too eager to accompany Y/N, on the inside he was absolutely ecstatic that she agreed to go out with him, like a child opening presents on Christmas day kind of excited.

"can I...?" Bakugou gestured wrapping his hand around her waist, silently Y/N gently grabbed his arm and wrapped it around herself and blushed at the contact.

The two of you walked while discussing various dates and events you could go to and laughed about how the two of you were so oblivious reagarding the mutual pining.

Little did you both know that Mina and Denki were hiding under Aizawa Senseis desk listening to the whole confession.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Hello hello - please feel free to ignore if it's not your jam but I'm in love with future fic rockstar eddie/ non famous steve being sickeningly in love - especially outsiders getting jealous when eddie only has eyes for steve!

I got two rock star Eddie requests in a row so I had to break them up a little. I love the idea of Steve like surviving some of the worst shit to happen and then absolutely not able to deal with the crowd at a concert. He is clearly traumatized by what happened, and has to face his fears a bit, and it doesn't go so well. This could have been kind of a time skip thing, but I decided to make Steve suffer more because I'm suffering and that's just how the world turns. Thank you for this one! - Mickala ❤️

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

Steve’s favorite part of going on tour with Eddie was being able to watch soundcheck.

Eddie always put on a great show, and Steve watched from the side of the stage as often as he could, but he went to soundcheck because it felt more intimate.

He could stare openly, not hide the fact that he was one hip thrust away from drooling all over the floor.

The guys in the band just rolled their eyes, used to it for the last several years since Steve started coming with them.

They were all perpetually single, hooking up in some cities, but mostly just enjoying the ride as a group.

Steve could admit though, he was hesitant to go to actual shows, and that was the main reason he never missed soundcheck.

About a year ago, Steve was front row at a show, trying his best to just blend in. It was easier that way. But sometimes blending in wasn’t good enough, not for the hardcore groupies.

They recognized him, and while they didn’t know he was Eddie’s boyfriend, they knew he was special to the band in some way. They quickly got too close, much too close for Steve’s comfort, even for general admission at a metal concert. They crowded him.

He really thought they were just being overly friendly, trying to get backstage, tried to just suck it up and deal with it for the remainder of the show.

But then Eddie did his song. The song he wrote for Steve. He always sang to Steve, in the subtlest way he possibly could, which wasn’t very subtle at all.

He looked towards Steve the entire time. He would smile at him, sometimes even find his way to the side of the stage and blow him a kiss. With a crowd around, it would be nearly impossible for anyone to know who he was blowing a kiss to.

But for this particular show, the groupies surrounding him were almost completely blocking his view. If Eddie wasn’t elevated on stage, he wouldn’t have even been able to see the top of his head.

He knew Eddie must have seen him in the group, must have noticed his predicament.

The music stopped. Dead silence in a metal concert was never a good sign.

“Everyone take a step away from the person you’re closest to. Everyone’s pushing too much.”

Some people listened, but not the groupies surrounding Steve.

“If everyone in the front doesn’t take a couple steps back, I leave. Security will clear this place out, and we never come back. Got it?”

Steve felt the groupies to his left start inching away, and hoped the rest would follow.

Eddie was now standing right in front of Steve. He looked concerned, and Steve knew he probably looked a bit panicked.

“Stevie, give me a thumbs up if you’re good.”

Steve wanted to, he wanted the show to go on, and make this just a distant memory of one of his least favorite Corroded Coffin shows.

But the group around him didn’t seem to like the attention on Steve. Not when they wanted attention on them.

Plus, his arms were pretty much glued to his sides from how close everyone was to him, so even if he was feeling okay with the situation, he had no way to put his thumb up.

“Alright, sorry everyone. Some of you can’t listen, now all of you suffer, just like school. I need security to the front, my left now.”

The crowd was pissed, but once Steve was pulled from the crowd by security and set up on the stage, Eddie pulling him backstage, the rest of the guys following, almost as concerned.

Eddie never stopped a show, never canceled one, never postponed one, never gave less than 150% on stage every night. If he was doing this, it was for a good reason.

Once everything was explained, Eddie had security find out who it was near Steve, and make sure they got banned from all of his shows.

But they were long gone, and Steve obviously didn’t know their names, barely could have picked them out of a lineup.

He decided to stop watching shows from anywhere but backstage, and then it became only watching soundcheck.

But he and Eddie kind of loved that, loved having their moments without having to hide.

The guys would roll their eyes and complain, but they didn’t mean it. They were just happy to have some decent food waiting in leftover containers for them when they got back to the buses or hotels because Steve cooked while they performed.

Eddie would run through a few of the songs, always including Steve’s song even though he didn’t have to.

The venue for tonight was smaller than most of the rest of this tour, intended to be that way so they could go back to their “roots” and have a more intimate setting with fans.

Eddie asked if Steve would want to watch this one, maybe hang out by security at the front of the stage.

Initially, he said no. But Eddie seemed disappointed, even though he insisted he understood and he didn’t want Steve to be uncomfortable, and Steve didn’t want him to be disappointed.

So the day of the show, while watching soundcheck from a chair on stage, he yelled, “Got a ticket for me, big boy?”

He could do this for Eddie. It wouldn’t even be that many people in the crowd, and the chances of the same thing happening again were slim to none.

He’d been through worse.

The way Eddie’s face lit up at his words, his excited bouncing causing his guitar to sway around him.

‘I always got a ticket for you, sweetheart.”

One hour before the show, the guys usually ignored visitors, choosing to use their time to get hydrated and snack, sometimes smoke a bit if they weren’t focused right.

Steve was rarely part of this, even he knew this was a band thing he shouldn’t force himself into.

But tonight, Eddie used the hour before the show to make sure he was taken to a good spot by the stage with security, had a water bottle and granola bar so he wouldn’t have to leave.

Since there was no one but security there, Eddie planted a quick kiss to his forehead before walking away.

“Enjoy the show, Stevie!”

“Always do, Eds!”

The crowd started trickling in only a few minutes later, excitedly getting up to the barricade, talking amongst themselves about the set list. A few people were next to him, but there was enough space that he didn’t feel worried.

He relaxed a bit, taking a few sips of water and smiling at the security guard.

As more people came in, they crowded behind him and next to him. He was somewhat pushed further to the side, but he didn’t mind. He wanted fans to get a great experience, and if that meant he only saw some of the stage, he could live with that.

The lights went down, and he felt a few people crowd in closer to him.

It was fine.

Until the guys took the stage, Eddie immediately bouncing over to his microphone stand and starting on the first song.

The crowd moved in more.

It couldn’t be possible that he was being shoved between people, but he was.

The room was closing in, literally, around him, and he had no idea what to do. The security guard was watching the front row closest to the band, not paying attention to the way Steve had been drawn into the crowd.

He took a deep breath.

Then someone yelled in his ear.

“Hey! You’re Steve right? Like, with the band?”

He managed to nod, but he didn’t want to have a conversation. This was a concert, a loud one. It wasn’t really the time to talk.

But the guy didn’t stop.

“Are you like an assistant? Or a tech guy?”

Steve shook his head.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Well, you go to all the shows right? What do you do?”

He wasn’t going to stop. Steve had to leave.

But there were now a few people in front of him, and he was completely surrounded by people having the time of their lives.

He just needed the security guard to look his way, he could signal him, and he’d be out.

“They stopped that show for you before. People kind of hated you for a while.”

Okay, Steve was done. He knew people kind of hated him for a while, he hated himself for a while. Hated that his reaction caused a whole 2500 people to miss out on half of a show they paid for.

But he reminded himself, the same way Eddie had for weeks, that it was Eddie’s call to end the show.

Any fans that wanted to blame Steve, could take their blind idolization somewhere else.

“I was there. Actually, right next to you. I doubt you remember me.”

He got that right, he didn’t remember him.

“I told everyone you and Eddie must have something going on if he’s willing to stop a show for you. No one believed me.”

Steve remained silent, his breath coming in short pants. He could see Eddie singing to a group on the opposite end of the stage.

“But that’s what it is, right? You two are together and he’s so whipped he ended a show because you can’t handle a crowd?”

Steve had to go.

The guy was touching him in most places, half of it out of necessity, but some of it not. His hand was wrapped around Steve’s wrist, much too tight for it to be accidental or just to get him to move.

“Let go,” Steve managed to say, loud enough to be heard, but his voice was shaking.

The guy did let go, but he didn’t give him any space.

“My friend fucked him once you know.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie had slept with two people before he met Steve, and he didn’t even remember their names. One was a guy at the bar in Indy he frequented, celebrating his 18th birthday in a way he regretted the next morning. The other was a girl, admittedly a test of his sexuality and she probably knew it from the way he fumbled around the entire time.

So whichever one of those people was this guy’s friend, clearly they were telling whatever story got them attention from other fans.

“Good for them,” he said, trying to focus on Eddie.

If he focused on Eddie, he’d be okay.

“Eddie promised to call him and never did. Kind of sucks to be left like that.”

Steve knew that too. That in Eddie’s somewhat drunken stupor, he’d gotten his number and said he would call him, but lost the paper at some point and never went back to the bar.

“Happens to the best of us.”

“Yeah, but not to you apparently.”

Steve started pushing forward, desperate to leave.

Eddie was talking to the crowd now, introducing the guys like he always did after the first two songs.

“You’re not even into this music. Why does he like you?”

Well, that’s certainly a question Steve asked himself often. Couldn’t help it, really.

Eddie, especially now, could have anyone he wanted. Any famous person would probably drop whoever they were currently with to have even a moment of Eddie’s attention.

Steve loved Corroded Coffin’s music, he loved the passion they all put into creating it and performing it, loved listening to Eddie at two in the morning furiously scratching down lyric ideas. He loved hearing some of their influences over the years, even going to some shows for Metallica because he knew it meant a lot to Eddie.

But it’s true he wasn’t a huge fan of this kind of music. He liked pop, he liked stuff you heard on any standard radio station driving down the road. He liked being able to dance along to it when he was cooking.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t belong here just the same as anyone else. He did. Anyone could enjoy this band, just as anyone could enjoy any band, even if it didn’t mesh well with their other interests. That’s regardless of the relationship status between them and the lead singer.

So Steve kept pushing forward, doing his best to get out of the crowd, away from this guy who was much larger than he was.

“Where you going? Can’t handle people knowing you aren’t worth his time?”

Steve’s heart was beating fast, so many sweaty bodies pushing against his on his way to the security guard who looked like he was finally noticing what was going on.

“Can’t believe he wrote a song for someone who doesn’t even watch his shows!”

That one hit Steve in the chest, hard.

This guy was why he couldn’t watch Eddie. He wanted to. He would be at every single show if he could.

But clearly that wasn’t in the cards for him.

He could feel bad about that later.

His focus was entirely on getting backstage for now, ignoring the shouts of everyone he was pushing through.

“Dude, you can’t just push to the front!”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Should’ve been here earlier if you wanted front row!”

Steve’s heart was racing, but he was trying to get to the security guard who was coming towards the barricade.

He reached him, but got shoved hard into the barricade.

The guy from earlier had managed to follow him through the crowd and just pushed him. If there were less people around, he would’ve fallen on his face.

He felt the edge of the barricade dig into his ribs, but it was a minor pain compared to things he’s felt before. He just wanted to go.

He stood up straight, took the biggest breath he could, and let the security guard lift him over the barricade.

Somehow Eddie must have seen it, and he immediately stopped playing.

“What’s going on? Stevie?”

Steve held his thumb up, hoping Eddie would continue and he could sneak out back without causing any more of a scene.

But Eddie must have seen the way Steve was hunched over, holding his rib where he’d been pushed into the barricade.

He was immediately on the edge of the stage, asking the security guard to help lift Steve while he pulled him up.

He was honestly too far into a sudden panic attack to even resist.

Eddie’s hands were on his cheeks as soon as he was sitting on the stage, his wide eyes looking over everywhere. The rest of the guys had all come over to see what was going on.

“Stevie, what happened, sweetheart? Are you hurt? Who did this?” He turned to the guys before Steve could even try to answer. “We’re done. Send everyone home.”

Steve was shaking his head. He didn’t want this to happen again, not because of him.

“People will hate me,” he managed to say.

“What? Sweetheart, no they won’t. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Just let me go backstage.”

Eddie was watching him, trying to figure out if he was faking being okay.

He was, and he knew Eddie would see it, and he would cancel the show, and even more people would hate him.

“We’re done. If people hate you for it, they can hate me too.”

The guys all agreed, because they’re the best, and they know they can’t put on a real show without Eddie anyway.

Steve focused on the way Eddie’s hands felt on his face, his neck, his shoulders. He took a few deep breaths, managing to calm down enough to see the lights come on and the tech guys come out to start breaking down.

“Think you can walk or do you need me to carry you? Where does it hurt, love?”

“I’m okay.”

“That doesn’t answer my questions, sweetheart.”

Oh. Guess not.

“I can walk. It’s just my ribs. Not broken.”

“Who did this?”

Steve knew he could probably still find him in the crowd, had managed to glimpse enough of his clothing and face to point him out if he was still inside.

But it wasn’t worth it.

This would continue to happen. As long as people loved Eddie the way they did, as long as they didn’t like Steve, this would happen.

And Steve was okay with it, he had to be. He knew Eddie would take this harder than he did, maybe even the rest of the guys would too.

“Just a guy. He didn’t like that you never called his friend.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed.

“You remember your 18th birthday?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Steve nodded.

“Fuck them. Seriously, fuck him for seriously thinking a one night stand was gonna go anywhere. Jesus Christ.”

Eddie kissed Steve’s forehead, forgetting that there was still a crowd of disappointed fans, though pretty much everything that had just happened made it pretty clear Steve was his boyfriend.

“Let’s go back to the bus, get on our way home. Wayne’s baking you a cake for the birthday you had to celebrate with us. Said there’s no way the cake we got you was as good as his homemade butter cake.”

“He’s right,” Steve smiled.

This is what it came down to, in the end.

Eddie loved him, loved him enough to come out on stage just to make sure he was okay. Eddie loved him enough to bring him home to his family whenever they could, knew Steve needed to see the kids, see Wayne and Robin whenever possible. Eddie loved him enough to make sure he had a special spot for every soundcheck, sang his song to him every time so he could get his own personal show.

Steve loved him enough to deal with the fans hating him, for some fans to hate them all for supporting Eddie despite the fact that he was queer. Steve loved him enough to let Eddie baby him even though he hated it, especially in front of others. Steve loved him enough to watch every soundcheck like it was a sold out arena show.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Another rant

So, got enough sleep, heard a few commentators and specialists opinions, and talked to a motorsports engineer (my dad btw - who has worked with Indy most of his life, and worked briefly with f1 in the 2010's) about the shenanigans with yesterday's race and here's some food for thought:

ALL cars are weighted before and after they get to parc fermé (so, that's Saturday and then Sunday) so George's was good before the race. (Back in the 80's Tyrrell used to fill balloons with water before getting weighted and then dumping the water during the race - hence weighing after the race as well)

It's not uncommon to get the fuel procedure wrong, there are more than a single tank so sometimes fuel can be left on the car, (So, at least that wasn't intentional)

Here's where things get interesting:

After pits the teams try and run deg rates on their used tyres to confirm if their strategies are well regulated with reality and if going long is a possibility. (Considering Lewis's second pit was H to H, Merc had data on how the deg was on those tyres and could -should actually - be able to project how the deg was going to be all the way to the end)

Other five cars made the one stopper work without being underweight and that's mostly because that was on the tables for them since the beginning and the teams got the cars ready with added in weights.

Import point - my dad was really fixed on this one - to make that one stopper work the cars HAD to carry extra added weight from the whole race, and the extra weight also affects how the tyres degrade (and of course, the overall results)

Considering George's and Lewis's post race interviews, I'd say Mercedes hadn't prepared any of the cars for that possibility because they honestly didn't believe it'd work

The back and forth between George and his engineer to decide to stay out went for about 3 laps, and in that time the data on tyre wear and deg shoud have been analysed and considered (by the whole of the engineers)

A possible reason why Mercedes didn't think George going for a one-stopper would be detrimental to Lewis's race (at that moment p1) was probably because their calculations were wrong, and they thought his tyres would eventually drop off (Lewis would easily catch him and they could try to get their two cars on podium)

And here's where things get tricky:

There's a somewhat unwritten rule in f1 that it's okay to offset strategies between your driver if the overall team result benefits for it, sometimes even at the cost of driver's positions. The only exception being when it's a VERY clear race win you're inverting. (Mclaren last week?!)

Yes, teams have given team orders to invert positions for a number of different reasons, but a 1-2 being inverted because of a strategy decision that left the lead driver (both quali and on the race) on the dark is a big problem. (Ferrari in the early 2000's with Schumi and Barrichello got soooo much heat for it. And probably why Toto had that face, he knew they crossed a line that was going to be hard to justify)

In any way, the mood inside that garage must had been atrocious for both sides. One was pretty much blindsided (Lewis side of the garage probably only learned Russ wouldn't drop off when the whole team did) and the other got dsqed by a mid-race decision that shouldn't have been allowed (btw those calculations are not only made by a single person, exactly as to not get a car dsq for a preventable error).

Honestly, I don't blame either fans (44 and 63) for how they reacted, because both drivers were screwed up by the team. But one probably has a mathematical reasoning behind, whilst the other has a imposing principles reasoning.

Now, something I'll give my two very personal cents about is I hope both drivers learn from that, specially George, because if Lewis can be on the receiving end of a trust breaking decision after 11 years and that many race wins and titles, you guys probably know where I'm going. And for Lewis, I hope he got the idea of how things are going to be moving forward (and this is not about priority it's about trusting the people they let almost dictate their lives for about 2 hours every GP)

[sodafrog13]

finally was able to get down my visual hcs for mary :] i think she, hench, and the son have a Very interesting dynamic. more thoughts under the cut if u care to peek (careful, it's wordy)

i think hench and mary have been together long term by events of the game and i specifically think they started dating when hench wasn't working for the son yet

i actually think he used to work for the columbians, based mostly on mary's intense shock that the son would be so willing to let him leave and also the fact that his skin tone matches the default skin tone of the normal columbian mobsters (though the latter could admittedly just be attributed to dennaton's heavy use of palette swapping and sprite refurbishing). in my thinking, he and/or mary got into some sort of trouble with his former boss and pledged his loyalty to the son and his family if they would be able to get him out.

in doing so, it was made specifically clear to the henchman (likely by the father) that if he were to ever double cross them, he'd have both him and mary killed. thusly, the henchman did everything in his power to be an asset to the russian mafia, so much so that the son, more lenient when it came to the terms of their agreement than his father though perhaps more willing to actively test them, took a shine to him.

the son is curious of mary. as a gay man who doesn't really know he's gay, he honestly has the tendency to be misogynistic to women he doesn't see as his equal (ie the bodyguard), as his interests truly lie in patriarchal views of masculinity and power. he at least has enough foresight to recognize how important she is to the henchman and is fine with letting her be (past the occasional remark about her to the henchman directly). that said, he does consider her a bit of a hindrance re: the henchman's ambitions, but again, never to the extent he'd do anything about it.

mary is genuinely unnerved by the son. she has every right to be, considering both her and her partner's safety are basically up to his family's whims, but she lets the henchman go as he pleases. she recognizes that he has a genuinely fondness for his boss (because it's the same kind of fondness that he has for her) and quite honestly, she doesn't mind him having another partner so long as he's honest with her. it's just the fact that it's him that puts her off. she, however, also has concerns re: the henchman's plans for the future. she doesn't really Mind that they're not married but it is something she'd enjoy. that, and she really does wonder how much longer he's willing to keep doing mob work. he's not old per se but he's definitely not as young as he used to be, and even she can see that he won't last very long with the life that he leads and that scares her.

the henchman is... well, he's indecisive. doesn't really know what he wants until it's hitting him in the face. he's honestly just fine coasting around until some other force leads him off his beaten path, something that annoys the son and concerns mary because it really does sometimes come to a battle of who can get through to him first, even if none of them really know it. he loves them both, he really does, but he's also fickle. because even though he wants them both, he also secretly wants a certain level of freedom that he just can't have by being both tied to people and also a job (as seen in that dream he has where he's driving out of miami, not only without his girl or his boss but in spite of the hurricane that he's sure to run into). so maybe it's not even that he's indecisive, he knows what he wants it's just that he knows, logically, that it is something he cannot have. so he just willingly keeps himself in that loop until something breaks, that something being all those dreams that richard was sending him in an attempt to break the bigger cycle of things.

in a different world, i'd like to imagine that they can work things out. i truly do not blame mary for what she did, because i truly would have done the exact same thing as her in that situation even if it wasn't necessarily what was 'right'. but i feel that in that same vein, hench could have done more to reassure her that things would be fine, esp considering he has a personal enough connection to the son to know that he's different from his father.

but also i mean we all know that nobody in miami has communication skills. that'd be ridiculous there'd be no game otherwise

[the-s1lly-corner]

can u do tadc cast (or probably just a few bc this prompt isn’t very creative) x a reader who looks like the player from animal crossing? ball hands,,, maybe weirdly good at crafting things,, gets stung by bees sometimes mayhaps. Maybe they speak animalese and nobody ever knows what they’re saying LMAO

TADC cast x reader whos like an animal crossing player!

depending on what time it is when i finish writing this, i think imma take a short break to stretch my legs and make something YAHOO!! hope you enjoy this anon!! this reminds me, i cleared out my island by making it totally flat... but i never actually... got to decorating it... huh.... commitment is scary, guys

CAINE:

i think as a funny haha gag thing, how funny would it be if he could actually understand you. like you cant talk, and the noise youre limited to is to your "emotes", but somehow someway for some reason, caine can understand you... genuinely impressed by your crafting and even sometimes asks you to make random things just to see if you can make it! expect some really odd and random requests! not at all phased that you can pick things up with your weird orb hands, hes used to the digital world and its weirdness... thinks...

POMNI:

hey at least theres someone the same height as her in this place...!/hj

tries hard to understand your funky emotes and body language but shes at a loss... i mean at least you can still pick stuff up and try to write, so at theres some method of commutating asides from simply trying to learn how to read you! though, she is a bit unnerved by your silence and how your face is mostly stagnant when you arent.... emoting.. a static smile can get a little unnerving when youre standing next to the person and understand thats its a real person.. you know?

a little confused on how you can just pull things out from thin air, but does admit that it can be useful... has probably tried to ask you to make an exit out of desperation because hey if anyone can make one it would be you so whats the harm in trying (my girl is losing it)

RAGATHA:

i think you guys bond over the crafting; since ragatha makes stuff too, like pillows and clothing and plushies and the like! sure you guys may not be making the exact same things, but you both create and thats enough to bring you two together! doesnt mind that you cant talk, in fact i think after the chaos of a day in the digital circus she embraces the calmness around you... scolds you for constantly being stung by bees, though... though she tries not to be too mean or harsh since its not like youre trying to get stung on purpose... but please just be careful... she worries about you, afterall!

honestly ragatha doesnt have individual fingers, so the fact you can function with balls hands doesnt phase her

JAX:

really touching on the fact you have an inventory that you can hide stuff in i think he would slide you things to hide for him; especially its hes going a "imma do something to someone as a prank then run and use you to hide the evidence" ... you know usual jax antics where he tries to get the reader to help him with his trickery. whether or not you actually aid him is totally up to you. probably makes fun of your short height and the fact youre always getting stung. probably points and laughs when he watches you run around while literally being chased by a swarm. promptly screams when you make a run towards him, thus bringing the bees to him. you have probably bopped him with your net after he says something particularly not-nice, me thinks... or maybe you just dont like him and youre constantly bopping him, i mean i do enjoy it when the reader doesnt like a character but you can easily ignore this little aside if you want this to be a friendship or romance!

KINGER:

OOOOO imagine you come with the basic ring/inventory of tools (net, shovel, watering can, fishing rod, ect) and you can just pull it out of no where.... oooooouuugh imagine taking your net out around him and (wordlessly) offering to go look for bugs with him,.. kind of panics when you get stung by the digital bees; probably helps you patch up... honestly i think given that kinger is all about bugs, i think its a safe bet he would know how to treat bites and stings... so hes your man if youre really bad about avoiding bees and the like! can see tropes that trope where like "whats that? little timmys stuck in the well?? (but thats not what you said/meant)" because youre like emoting and trying to direct his attention somewhere but he gets it. so totally wrong and commits to it before you can stop him. i just think thats funny

ZOOBLE:

thinks youre... odd. though... imagine you can change up your style and appearance by simple interacting with a mirror and wardrobe. i think they would think thats cool, that you can just... do that... zooble has to rip their body parts off (sounds way worse than it actually is, LMAO). probably gives you this look when you walk into the tent to show that once again, youve been attacked by a swarm of bees.... how do they always only sting your left eye...? is that just how your digital body shows the injury, or do they just... no nevermind, theyre just going to give out a sigh before taking you to caine or kinger for medicine. definitely gets onto you for constantly messing with the digital bees, though...

GANGLE:

honestly between all the characters i can easily see her being an animal crossing fan... and while she may not remember all of her old life, i like to think that subconsciously she would recognize you for what your digital body is intimidating... bonus if in the real world animal crossing was her comfort, so naturally, she instinctively finds comfort in you even if she cant totally pin point it... though, she has trouble understanding you outside of your emotes... but even then when you do an angry stamp or shed tears she cant quite pinpoint why youre upset... oooo please make her an art easel! i think that would be a great gift for her and she will be absolutely over the moon!

[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier fic: A Pilot for Christmas

It's @pedrostories Secret Santa day!! My assignment was for @frannyzooey, who requested domesticity, roommates-to-lovers, and fluff or smut 🥰 I had some of the most fun EVER writing this fic, so I hope it will make you smile, too, Kelli. Merry Christmas!! 🎄 Thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmactshirt, both of whom I—not to be dramatic but—basically can't live without at this point, and at the very least couldn't have written this fic. And she's not a Pedro fan so I can't imagine she wants to be tagged in this, but thank you to my friend Alyssa for kindly helping me with one of the very few pieces of actual research I did for it.

Title: A Pilot for Christmas Pairing: Frankie Morales/f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.8k Content/warnings: roommates to lovers, hot single dad Frankie, pining, yearning, lusting, questionable romance novel smut, compromising positions, sexual content, fade to black, food, domesticity. Unbetaed, so please let me know if you spot any typos/errors!

There’s a note for you on the kitchen table, written in Frankie’s even, boxy print: Mac + cheese + trees in fridge if you want some.

Your schedules never align on Wednesdays; your boss’s mandatory mid-week team meetings inevitably keep you late and Frankie is always on his way to Laura’s place by the time you get home. You haven’t met his ex-wife, but you think she must be nice enough since he’s usually in a good mood when he gets home from their weekly family dinners. They’re co-parenting, as he’d explained when you first moved in, and along with providing dinner on Wednesdays he does his part by taking their daughter on the weekends. He’s given you a break in the rent to make up for sharing your apartment with a three-year-old two days a week.

This is technically a sublet, and it’s technically temporary, but you get along well enough with Frankie that sometimes it feels a little like kismet. His old roommate had landed a contract overseas for a year just as you were moving to town, and a mutual friend had connected you. There are four months left on the contract, but you’d heard from the roommate recently that he was expecting the position to be renewed, so most likely you’ll get to stay longer if you want to. Nothing is official yet either way, and you’ve decided to give yourself another month before you start to worry about it.

Having the apartment to yourself once a week is the perfect opportunity to watch your favorite guilty pleasure TV shows without fear of male judgment—not that Frankie gets really rude about it but his silent raised eyebrow speaks volumes—and you happily warm up a bowl of macaroni and cheese and “trees” (broccoli; it turns out toddlers lose interest when you use the B-word) and settle in on the couch.

Living with Frankie has gone better than you’d feared it might. Knowing he was the friend of a friend of a friend had alleviated some of your anxiety about moving in with a stranger, and he’s turned out to be a mostly quiet, respectful roommate. After maintaining clear-cut boundaries for the first couple of weeks, you had both relaxed a little bit and settled into something of a shared routine. He likes to cook but doesn’t enjoy grocery shopping, so you often take his list along with your own to the store—and reap the rewards on nights like this when he keeps you well-fed. You both like to keep a tidy home, and neither of you minds the other person throwing in a few items when you’re doing a load of laundry. You’ve even mostly gotten over the embarrassment of the time Frankie had delicately handed you a pair of thong underwear he’d found trapped in the sleeve of one of his clean shirts. The barely-contained amusement on his face had haunted you for a full week.

When you’ve finished your dinner you pause the TV to go wash your bowl, and while you’re in the kitchen you take a few minutes to put away the dishes Frankie had left drying in the dish rack. It’s an easy symbiosis, you muse, a give-and-take that seems to suit you both. Underneath his note, you write back: Delicious!! Thank you, and sign it with a heart.

Most of the time your editing job allows you to maintain a reasonable work-life balance, but this month you’ve found yourself scrambling to get everything done before the upcoming holiday break. Your co-worker Deandra is off on an unexpected leave, and after taking on a share of her work on top of your own, the projects have started to form an intimidating pile. One Monday, two weeks before Christmas, you compromise your typical boundaries by logging back onto your laptop after dinner to work on a manuscript. Frankie is watching a game with the volume on low and it makes for comfortable background noise while you work from the opposite end of the couch.

Deandra’s specialty is romance, and while you’ve had to get used to covering a new genre, having some variety has been interesting. But a detail in this book is bothering you. You glance at Frankie, whose expression is quietly focused. His team is leading the scoreboard by a healthy margin. You don’t think he’ll mind a brief distraction.

“Hey. I could use your piloting expertise. Can I ask you a weird question?”

Frankie raises an eyebrow and shrugs his assent. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so—is it logistically possible to have sex in a cockpit?”

You have his attention. He slowly turns his head to give you a long, wide-eyed look. After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes, contemplating. “What kind of aircraft are we talking?”

“Like a regular… A commercial passenger plane?”

He nods, pursing his mouth and tilting his head up so he can gaze off into space, like he’s visualizing it. He glances at you again.

“Two people?” he checks.

“Two—yes, it’s—” he’s surprised you a little, and you fumble for words. “It’s not a cockpit orgy,” you tell him.

He laughs. “Pilots like to party,” he says opaquely, and now you’re the one narrowing your eyes at him, but he’s ignoring your questioning look. “Okay, is it possible? Theoretically, sure. Especially if the other person is short. Is it comfortable, though?” He pulls a face. “It wouldn’t be my choice. It’s a cramped space. Someone’s gonna end up hitting their head, or accidentally kicking the instrument panel, or…” he trails off, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s… inadvisable.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You make some notes in the Word document on your screen, still internally recovering from his follow-up question, and Frankie turns his attention back to the TV, where the opposing team is starting to close the lead.

You’re no prude, but the genre you usually work in fades to black more often than not, and this author’s penchant for smutty detail has you feeling slightly in over your head. You’ve made it past the cockpit quickie but four chapters later Frankie’s team is on the cusp of winning their game and your protagonist is finally about to have her tall, dark, and handsome pilot love interest in a real bed.

“This love scene is… really something,” you comment. Frankie looks over in interest.

“Read it to me.”

“It’s dirty,” you warn him.

Frankie smirks. “I think I can handle it.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud from the page: “Isabella’s heart raced in excitement. Roderick was standing so close she felt as though his breath was entering her lungs with every inhalation. He took her hand and pressed her palm to himself, making her feel his turgid cock stirring in his pants—Obviously that needs to go—”

“Which part, the turgid cock?” Frankie asks. “I like it.”

“You like it?” you ask, incredulous.

“What?” he says. “A guy can’t enjoy a turgid cock now?”

“Jesus,” you laugh. Your face is starting to feel warm. “Isabella’s petite hand could barely fit around Roderick’s girthy length and it made her whimper with arousal. Roderick smirked down at her. ‘I can’t wait to be inside you,’ he rasped hungrily. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against his body. ‘Tell me you want it,’ he growled.” You glance at Frankie and see he’s got one arm slung across his chest and the other hand resting at his mouth, thumbnail running distractedly over his lips. He’s staring at the TV without really watching it, and after a moment of silence he finally blinks and meets your eyes again.

“It’s weird you get to read porn for work,” he says dryly, and you bury your face in your hands and laugh.

When the game ends, Frankie switches on an episode of Star Trek that he seems to be half watching while he does something on his phone. On your laptop screen, Roderick has you stymied.

Roderick’s muscular arms tossed Isabella onto the bed like she weighed nothing. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “Give it to me.”

“Give you what, baby?” he rasped. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Give me—” Her pale cheeks blushed prettily. How could she say it out loud? But he was looking at her with such lust in his eyes that she knew he only wanted to make sure she was ready to turn herself over to him, to let him use her any way he liked. The thought of it made her shiver with anticipation. “Give me your cock, Roderick. Make me yours.”

With a growl from deep in his chest, Roderick dragged her hips down the bed so that she was balancing on the edge, where his body loomed over hers. Turning her onto her side, he leaned down to nose under her ear, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck and making her moan. His broad hand clutched her thigh, maneuvering her leg to tuck her knee around his hips, and his other hand he ran tantalizingly down her back until he reached her other thigh. He opened her legs, like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking, and he straightened up, lifting her ankle to rest against his shoulder, and grinding his hard member against her core.

You go over the last few lines again, whispering the words under your breath to yourself as you try to picture the position. You feel like you need a diagram.

“I’m lost,” you declare.

Frankie glances up from his phone. “Hm?”

“I don’t understand where these limbs are going,” you tell him. “I don’t know if my brain just isn’t working because it’s 9 PM or if this passage needs rewriting. Or if this sex is too advanced for me.”

He laughs and makes a grabbing motion at your laptop. “Lemme see.”

You hand it over, standing up to stretch while he reads it to himself.

“‘He opened her legs like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking,’” Frankie reads out dramatically. “Really?”

“Don’t get caught up in the simile,” you say. “Focus on the legs. Is that position even feasible? For someone who isn’t a contortionist?”

“Maybe in the next chapter they reveal she was raised in the circus,” he suggests, but he squints at the screen again, reading through the text. “I think I get it. It’s like—” He gestures with his arms, posing them to mimic Isabella’s legs. It’s borderline incomprehensible.

Later, you’ll blame the late hour and your overworked brain for what happens next. If you’d been running on all cylinders, you would have thought through the boundary-crossing implications of this and stopped yourself, but as it is you frown down at him and say, “Show me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” you urge him, already heading down the hallway to your bedroom. He hesitates, but then follows a few paces behind, and it’s then—the moment he crosses the threshold behind you—that your brain finally catches up to your actions and you begin to realize this was a terrible, terrible idea.

But somehow, coming up with an excuse to turn back feels more mortifying than plowing forward. You sit on the edge of the bed, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Frankie is hanging back, but you give him an expectant look and he takes a step towards you. He clears his throat softly.

“On your side,” he says. It shouldn’t sound like a command—he offers it gently, a reminder of the scene you’re playing out—but something inside you can’t tell the difference and you feel a spot deep in your core go hollow and needy. You turn, obediently, and lay on your right side. He touches the knee of your right leg, urging you to pull it forward.

“This leg around me.”

He steps into the crook of your knee, between your thigh and your calf, and looks down at your other leg, tucked awkwardly between your bodies.

“This is where it gets weird,” he says, and you laugh out loud. The sound dies out when you feel his fingers firmly wrap around your ankle and slowly maneuver your left leg, straight in front of you and then pivoting towards the ceiling. You feel the stretch in your hips, your body turning to follow so you’re halfway between your back and your side. It’s awkward, and he must see your face twist in discomfort, because he stops midway through the movement and rests your foot on his left shoulder. His body is solid and warm against the back of your leg.

“I think in the book it was over here,” he says, tapping his right shoulder. “So maybe she is a contortionist.”

“Or I need to do more Pilates,” you lament. He looks amused.

“Does this position even make sense? Would this work for you?” you ask him, regretting the question as soon as it’s left your mouth. He blinks down at you and his eyes rake down the length of your body to where you’re tangled around him. His hand is still resting over your ankle.

“Your bed is too low,” he says.

It’s—You’d meant the question in a more hypothetical sense. With some other partner, in some other scenario, would this position work? The knowledge that he has taken in the question and assessed the situation—looked at your two bodies in relation to each other, here, in your room, and thought about whether he could fuck you like this—makes you lose your breath.

“Plus—” he continues. He nudges at you to roll you onto your back, carefully lowering your foot from his shoulder so he’s standing between your open legs, nothing between you but empty space and a secret, aching want. He leans in, bracing his hands flat on either side of your body, not touching you but close enough he would only have to lean in. “I like to be able to kiss someone when I make love to them,” he says softly.

He shoots you a smile that could almost be a smirk as he stands up and heads out of the room, leaving you clutching the duvet cover as the world around you tilts on its axis.

It’s not like you’ve never noticed Frankie is attractive. Anybody could see that he is. He’s boyishly cute when he’s playing around with his daughter, their matching, dimpled smiles on display; smoldering when he gets cleaned up to go out on the town with the guys, if a little less runway-ready the morning after; and confusingly, unrecognizably handsome on the occasions he goes clean-shaven. But he’s been so firmly relegated to “platonic male roommate” status since you moved in that you’ve never, even for a second, thought about pursuing anything more. Lusting after your roommate can only end in awkwardness and moving boxes.

So discovering that the man you live with isn’t just good-looking, but has the ability to leave you wet and aching with desire, without even trying, has you looking at everything through a new lens.

On Tuesday, mid-morning, your phone lights up with a text from him. It’s a picture of a small plane cockpit interior, just two seats and a display of navigational instruments.

See how tight she is? he’s written.

You blink at your phone. SHE??

…

She = the plane. Sorry, pilot speak.

Mortifying. You nearly pull up the local apartment rentals page on Craigslist right then and there. You dive into your work instead—not Deandra’s romance, but the grisly thriller in your regular docket. Roderick and Isabella need to give you some space this week. It’s not them, it’s you—and the images of Frankie and you in compromising positions that had popped into your mind when you attempted to pick back up the draft.

He’s like a specter, haunting you.

Wednesday evening is your night with the apartment to yourself, and you’ve never been happier to be alone. He’s left you dinner, again, and you almost don’t eat it on principle—you’ll have to get used to feeding yourself, after all, once he kicks you out for making it too blatantly obvious you want to jump him.

But it would be an actual crime to pass up his enchiladas. You savor the plate. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe as a parting gift, if you ask nicely.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and catch up on one of your shows, and some of the tension you’ve been holding starts to drain from your body. But underneath is a familiar, restless energy buzzing through you, desperate for a different outlet, that you can’t ignore.

You go to bed early. What you need is just a little quality time with yourself, to reconnect and remind your body that you’re perfectly capable of satisfying it on your own—or with the no-strings-attached assistance of a vibrator.

It’s a valiant, miserable attempt. Every tried and true fantasy keeps rerouting back to Frankie. You turn your toy to its highest setting and the sensation still pales in comparison to the thrill of his fingers wrapped securely around your ankle, the line of his body pressed against your legs, and his low, deadly voice telling you how to move.

You go to sleep more frustrated than when you started, only to dream of him. He’s hovering over you, pressing you into the bed, his hot mouth on your neck and sucking on your tits and working his way down to eat you out and bring an orgasm crashing through you—and you wake up at 3 AM with your cunt throbbing between your legs.

One of the things you’ll miss most about this place when you inevitably have to move out due to your incurable roommate attraction is the in-unit washer and dryer. Perhaps in solidarity with your own resolve and self-control, the dryer abruptly breaks in the middle of the week.

“Do you want me to call the landlord, or will you?” you ask Frankie, but he immediately shakes his head.

“Let me take a look at it,” he says.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Two hours and one trip to a hardware store later, he’s on his knees in front of the machine, working quietly save for an occasional soft grunt of exertion when he has to fit something into place.

There’s a bare strip of skin on display where his shirt has ridden up, and a black waistband peeking out from under his jeans. Your mind drifts, imagining away the denim and picturing how the tight boxer briefs would cup his ass and grip his muscular thighs, until your own thighs are clenching and you force yourself to go clean the kitchen instead.

“I’m moving out,” you call over your shoulder as you go.

“I promise I can fix it,” he says, like he thinks you’re just fed up with one broken appliance, not your own internal breakdown.

If only.

It’s 7 AM Friday and you’re fixing your coffee when Frankie ambles into the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot and wearing nothing more than a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms. If you allowed yourself to look, you would see the soft curve of his modest belly and the sparse line of hair trailing down to disappear enticingly under his waistband. His voice is early morning-deep when he mumbles a good morning. His hand steadies casually on your wrist when he stands next to you to grab a mug from the cupboard just to your left, and you hope he can’t feel your pulse quicken under his touch. When his coffee is ready and he takes his first sip, he lets out a satisfied groan. You want to die.

“You must be doing this on purpose,” you say, dismayed.

He blinks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. “Doing what?”

You gesture helplessly, at his naked chest and effortlessly rumpled bedhead. “Just—being all—”

He glances down at himself, then back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being all…?”

“Just—sexy, I guess,” you finally admit.

For a moment, he looks surprised. Then an amused smile spreads slowly over his face and he takes a step towards you, clever eyes taking in how your body straightens and your breath picks up.

“I didn’t realize it bothered you,” he says. “Didn’t you say you were going to move out, anyway?”

“I am,” you say. “I can’t stand you anymore.”

He takes another step closer.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I could give you a reason to stay.”

You slump against the counter at your back, helplessly wanting him.

“Please,” you tell him.

He touches you carefully, one hand skimming your hip and the other on your arm. He cocks his head, looking skeptical.

“You really think I’m sexy?” he asks.

You nod miserably. “It’s torture.”

He laughs and you are desperately endeared by the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and the hint of a dimple peeking out under his beard.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and he leans in, and the touch of his lips to yours makes you feel like you’re floating, like your body might drift up to the sky if not for his sturdy frame anchoring you in place. Like your legs might give out, sending you sliding to the floor, except that he’s pressing close enough now that his body is touching yours, bending you back just enough to easily reach, and his hand has crept up from your arm to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you securely even as he finally pulls his mouth away, leaving you breathless and dazed.

You think you understand the overwrought prose of Deandra’s romances now.

“I can’t stand you either,” he says quietly. “You were torturing me the other night, with all the dirty talk from that book and then making me go to your room. Christ.”

“Sorry,” you say, not really meaning it. You’ve never felt this intoxicated this early in the morning. You’ve never looked into his eyes this close up. They’re a rich, deep brown that you feel halfway hypnotized by.

He glances away and must spot the microwave clock, because he pulls away with a look of regret. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Take a sick day,” you suggest.

He smiles ruefully and shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “But what would you do if I did?

You take a deep breath. Your eyes drop to his waist, and you touch your fingertips gingerly to the soft skin on display there. You lift your gaze to meet his own.

“I’d ask you to take me to bed,” you tell him.

He forces himself to leave. You watch his fingers clenching as he turns away, closing around the empty air as though he wishes it was you.

You go to your own room on unsteady legs and finish getting ready for work, thinking of Frankie’s mouth for your entire commute and almost missing your exit as a result. This time, opening Roderick and Isabella’s romance is a whole new kind of torture, and you end up claiming a headache by 3 o’clock to go home early, not caring if your boss can see through the lie.

Getting home early means you have plenty of time to shower and shave and moisturize with intent this time instead of your regular lazy girl morning routine. You’re soft and smooth and clean, in the kitchen making a snack of crackers and cheese to distract your anticipatory nerves, when Frankie comes home.

He gives you a small, familiar smile and sets a grocery bag on the counter between the two of you.

“You pick which comes first,” he says, nodding to the bag. He steals a cracker off your plate while you peer inside.

He’s brought you two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and one box of condoms.

“All the essentials,” you observe, and he grins. You pluck the condoms out of the bag and hand them to him meaningfully. His smile turns a little sly and he leans in and kisses you, too briefly for your liking, before pulling away again.

“I have to take a quick shower,” he says. “Wait for me?”

You let out a sigh, turning to put away the ice cream. “Don’t take too long,” you joke, gesturing to the pints. “I’ve got two other men waiting for me.”

“Ha, ha,” he says, already halfway down the hall.

Out of the shower, he comes to you with damp hair curling softly around his head, dressed simply in a navy t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants, and looking so good you think you might combust. After a moment of flirtation—your room or mine?—you finally find yourself in his bedroom. He leans in to kiss you and he takes his time this time, cupping your face in his large hand, teasing gently at your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours to deepen the kiss. When he pulls away to trace his lips down your jawline, you take a breath to steady yourself—and then squint in confusion. There’s a familiar scent in his hair.

“Is that—did you use my shampoo?”

He goes still for a moment, caught, and then laughs.

“Mine ran out,” he admits, a little sheepishly. He pulls in closer, nosing at your neck. “Yours is nicer, anyway. I always like how it smells on you.”

“We can share,” you say generously. “I’ve never been one of those roommates who labels all their shit.”

“Good,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your collarbone. “‘Cause I also ate your leftovers.”

You make a sound of exasperation and he tackles you to the bed, promising apologetically that he’ll make it up to you. And then proceeds to do so.

Very thoroughly.

You awaken to find a note on the pillow next to you, in Frankie’s familiar printed handwriting: Going to pick up Baby M. See you soon.

You give yourself a minute to luxuriate in his bed, enjoying the calm, satiated feeling in your body, and the warm scent of him in the sheets, and then you straighten up his bedding and scurry back to your own room to get dressed before he arrives home with his daughter. You’re just pulling your shirt over your head when you hear their voices in the living room, and you go out to greet them. He’s juggling a Starbucks tray in one hand along with his keys and her travel bag. She’s munching contentedly on a snack and doing her part by carrying her favorite stuffed seal plushie.

Over her head, he shoots you a warm, intimate smile. You feel a giddy thrill bubble up in your chest and you grin back at him.

“We made a coffee run,” he says, nodding to the drinks. “Someone wanted a cake pop.” The toddler tips her face up to offer a beatific, icing-smudged smile. Frankie sets her bag on the couch and leads the three of you into the kitchen.

“That one is yours,” he tells you, pointing to one of the cups. Then, to her, “You want some real breakfast, mija?”

You look at the label on the drink and your jaw drops in surprise. “How did you know London Fogs are my favorite?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but you catch a self-satisfied smile on his face as he turns away. “I notice things.”

He keeps a platonic distance while his daughter is in the kitchen but when she leaves to go put her stuffed animal away in her room, he pulls closer, nudging your hand with his. “You alright?” he murmurs.

You rub your thumb across his knuckles. “I’m really, really good.”

“I convince you not to move out?” he asks. You pretend to think about it.

“Almost. I think you could tip the balance if you make me some eggs.”

He clicks his tongue in affirmation. “Got it.”

Later, when the three of you have settled at the breakfast table with piles of fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast, his face changes like he’s just remembered something.

“Hey, how did that book end up, with Roderick and what’s-her-name?” he asks you, taking a sip of his coffee. “You never mentioned it after Monday night.”

You haven’t actually made it to the end yet, but you already know the answer.

“They lived happily ever after,” you tell him. “It’s a staple of the genre. The couple always has a happy ending.”

“Huh,” he says. He gives you a small, private smile, and taps his foot against yours, out of sight under the table. “That’s good to hear.”

[theostrophywife]

stargazing.

i can feel your heart beatin' with mine underneath the stars lookin' for a sign glowing in the dark 'til the sun shines started with a spark now we're on fire

author's note: you already know the drill. i am a hoe for mutual pining between two idiot best friends who are so obviously in love. this one actually gave me chest pains and you'll see why.

song inspiration: stargazing by the neighbourhood.

The City of Starlight lived up to its name as the stars glittered over the horizon. 

A cluster of constellations twinkled directly above the spot you had picked—a grassy knoll by the mouth of the Sidra River, which now lapped against the shore with its sapphire waves. It was by far your favorite place for stargazing because it was distant enough from the noise and excitement of Velaris, sandwiched between the colorful townhouses and the peaks of the misty mountains, allowing you the chance to fully appreciate the starkissed night. 

You placed a hand on your hip as your best friend climbed the hillside, his strides graceful and effortless, reaching the clearing without breaking a sweat, which was more than what you could say for yourself.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of carrying a picnic basket up this hill.”

Azriel raised a brow, the Illyrian warrior utterly unconvinced by your statement. “I’m aware, but I also want to eat sometime before midnight and with the way you’re going, the food will spoil before we even get a chance to taste it.” 

You huffed in feigned offense and crossed your arms. “Not everyone has the privilege of being ridiculously tall. I mean, have you seen yourself? I get that you’re a brooding warrior and all, but anything above six feet is a little overkill, don’t you think?” 

The shadowsinger chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “My height is perfectly normal. It’s not my fault that you’re practically bite sized.”

You frowned, sticking your tongue out at him. “Come a little closer and we’ll see who’s biting into who.”

“I’m shaking in my leathers.”

Azriel rolled his eyes fondly and shrugged the knapsack off his shoulders before tossing it over to you. The bag containing your favorite blanket and a pair of pillows had derailed your journey for at least ten minutes because your stubborn friend refused to let you carry anything. In the end, you had bullied Azriel into allowing you to lug your own sketchbook and coloured pencils up the damned hill. 

It was an admirable feat given that the shadowsinger was almost as unrelenting as you. Luckily, you could always rely on your secret weapon. A slight pout and puppy dog eyes and Azriel was practically putty in your hands. Needless to say, you weren’t above exploiting his soft spot for you to get what you wanted. 

Mostly because you loved the fact that he could never say no to you. 

"You're absolutely insufferable, shadowsinger."

“Big words for such a small female,” Azriel drawled as you arranged the blanket on the grass. “Careful with the wind, we wouldn’t want it to blow you away.”

You snorted in response, shooting a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. The shadowsinger snickered as you tossed the pillows onto the blanket, putting the finishing touches to your makeshift haven for the night. Azriel plopped onto the ground, stretching his long legs out on the gingham fabric. The moonlight hugged his winged figure, silver beams kissing his devastatingly handsome face.

For a second, you felt jealous of the moon.

While Azriel settled in, you started unpacking the picnic basket. Stored within was an abundance of cheese, fruits, meats, and crackers that you'd nicked from the House of Wind, along with fizzy seltzers that were spiked with wine. You fixed Azriel a plate and handed it over to him. He uncorked the seltzers and clinked his glass against yours with a wink. The two of you dug right in, stuffing yourselves full and getting slightly buzzed from the drinks. 

Azriel propped himself up on his elbows, his features contorted with intense concentration as he watched you toss a grape into the air. He tried to catch it with his mouth, but it hit his nose instead, making you burst out into uncontrollable laughter. The shadowsinger looked utterly confused for a split second before his eyes narrowed in your direction. His gaze darted to the hand you were currently hiding behind your back. 

“You’re cheating,” he said with a pout. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you replied innocently. Behind you, your hand glowed scarlet from the use of your magic. “Maybe you just have terrible aim.”

“Show me your hands, then.”

“No one likes a sore loser, Az.”

Your friend pounced on you, nearly knocking your drinks over as he dug his fingers into your side. You gasped for breath in between high pitched giggles and smacked Azriel’s arm as he mercilessly tickled you. Shadows curled around you like smoke as though they were summoned by the sound of your laughter. 

“You’re going to crush the cupcakes!” you exclaimed, wriggling away from the shadowsinger. 

His dark head perked up at that. If there was anything you knew about your friend, it was that he had an insatiable sweet tooth. You swatted his hand away and pulled out the cupcakes you’d been saving for dessert. 

Azriel eyed it warily. “It looks a little…deflated.”

You frowned, examining the less than fluffy cupcake. “Elain was teaching me how to make them, but then Lucien walked by shirtless and covered in sweat. They disappeared for a suspicious amount of time, so really I can’t be blamed if they turned out awful.”

Your friend chuckled and raised his cupcake to yours, clinking them together in a mock cheer. “Bottoms up, then.”

The second you bit into the cupcake, your face soured. Azriel wore a similar expression, grimacing at the taste. 

“It’s interesting.”

“It tastes like shit, Az.”

Azriel snorted, patting you on the head. “It’s alright. You tried your best, bug.”

You flicked his hand away with a glare. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“But it’s so fitting. You’re cute and small like a lady bug.” You rolled your eyes in response. “Would you prefer something else? Bee? Hornet? Wasp?” Azriel was barely containing his laughter at your obvious annoyance. 

“You’re a pain in the ass, Azriel.”

“Yeah but who else would eat your poison cupcakes and stargaze with you in the middle of the night?”

That earned him a small smile. Azriel winked and sprawled out on the blanket, his wings spreading across the comically small fabric. You sat cross legged, watching as your best friend gazed up at the stars. There was something magical about it. The way the silver beams of moonlight kissed his golden brown skin, the wind tousling his dark locks, the serene smile that spread across his lips. In his cozy striped sweater and sweats, Azriel was the perfect picture of peace. Even his shadows stilled, dripping like honey across his shoulders. 

The sight tugged at your heart. It was perfect. Azriel was perfect and you needed him to see himself exactly how you saw him now. 

You pulled out your sketchbook and coloured pencils at once, scribbling furiously. “Don’t move,” you said, trying your best to capture the moment. 

The shadowsinger obliged, but instead of watching the stars, he turned his attention over to you. The colors blended with your magic as the image before you came to life. You mixed the greens and browns and golds, but somehow they seemed lackluster compared to the glazed honey gaze staring back at you. 

Azriel watched as your magic sparked against the page. He knew how intense you could get when it came to your art, but he’d never seen you like this. After a few more minutes, you leaned back and scrutinized every inch of your canvas. You flicked your wrist and a small spark of scarlet magic spread through the page. Finally, you smiled in satisfaction. 

“It’s perfect,” you murmured. 

“Let's see this masterpiece of yours, then.”

You shook your head. "Not a chance," you said, clutching the drawing to your chest. "At least, not yet."

"So you're saying that there's a slight chance that you'll show it to me someday?" Azriel asked, brimming with curiosity. 

In the years he’d known you, the shadowsinger had only seen a handful of your art. Usually he wouldn’t push, but there was something about the way your eyes twinkled with emotion that made him want to prod. 

“Eventually,” you replied with a soft smile. “When the time is right.”

Azriel didn’t get the chance to ask what that meant before you stashed the drawing away and shuffled beside him. You laid down across his stomach, grinning as you playfully flicked his nose. 

“You’re supposed to be watching the stars, not me.”

“I can enjoy more than one beautiful view at a time.”

You flushed, inclining your head towards the skies so Azriel wouldn’t be able to see the effect of his words. For a while now, the two of you had been teetering that precarious line between just friends and something more. The chemistry between you was visible to everyone. Ever since Kallias had sent you to be his emissary, you and Azriel had grown closer and closer, to the point where your presence in the Night Court had turned into a permanent position.

The shadowsinger had gained your trust with his quiet wit and sharp sarcasm. Little by little, he chipped away at your icy demeanor. In due time, you were both attached at the hip. Besides Kallias and Viviane, he was the only one you'd opened up to about your time under the mountain. Cursed by Amarantha, you were trapped in that wretched place with your cousin, unable to stop the wicked female from wreaking havoc upon the Winter Court. Despite your tremendous power, you were helpless. You lost so many of your loved ones during that time and the guilt had been a heavy burden to bear even after Feyre's sacrifice that led to your freedom.

Azriel showed you that you didn't have to do it alone. Together, you learned how to heal from the ghosts of your past. You found refuge in the dark.

You found a friend.

Whatever it was between you and Azriel, it was something monumental. It wasn’t a fleeting crush or a silly notion of romance, but a magnetic force that had been drawing you together even before you met. 

It felt scary. Like jumping off a cliff and into the raging sea. Though you weren’t the type to balk from a challenge, even you had to admit that it was terrifying. But you knew that you had to take that leap of faith sometime. 

You gazed up at the shadowsinger and found him watching you. The smile that spread across your face was instinctive. “Thanks for coming out here with me, Az.”

“Anytime,” he murmured softly. Azriel weaved his fingers through your hair, curling strands around his knuckles. “I like watching the stars with you. It’s kind of nostalgic, really.”

“How so?” 

Golden eyes flickered down to you as his voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “When I was younger…when all I knew was darkness, I always dreamt of the stars.” 

Your heart ached for a young Azriel, trapped in the dungeons by his cruel father. The experience alone should’ve made him a hardened and bitter male, but your friend was anything but. Despite everything Azriel had endured, there was this resiliency to him that always amazed you. He had such a unique capacity for light and love. 

You intertwined your fingers in his, squeezing gently. He smiled faintly before continuing. “My shadows used to describe the constellations to me. The positioning of the stars, how the night sky looked.” As though they heard his confessions, shadows swarmed around the both of you. “They still do, sometimes.”

A shadow curled like smoke towards a bright star in the sky. "That one is my favorite."

You looked up to where Azriel was pointing and felt your chest tighten. Your voice was shaky as you took a breath. “There’s a legend in the Winter Court about that star. There was once a young goddess named Polaris who roamed Prythian, fated to be lost and alone until a light in the north guided her to the castle of a Fae Prince. He took her in and they fell deeply in love. Polaris married the young prince and together they ruled over our lands until the Daglan came. The prince died fighting against them. Polaris was so heartbroken that she asked the Mother to transform her into a star so she could always watch over the land where her beloved was buried.” 

Azriel listened with rapt attention as you gazed up at the horizon, to a single star shining above all the others. The same one he had pointed at. “Today, we call her the North Star. It’s said that her light is meant to guide you to your other half, just as that star in the sky once led her to her prince.”

The shadowsinger went still underneath you. As you looked up, you found him staring up at Polaris with a burning gaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his eyes met yours. 

Azriel swallowed thickly as his scarred fingers traced the outline of your jaw. Then softly, so low that you had to strain to hear him, he said the words that cracked your heart open. “I think you’re my Polaris.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but before they could fall, before the opportunity escaped you, you conjured the drawing from earlier into Azriel’s hands. The shadowsinger looked down at the moving image of him sprawled out across the grassy knoll, his wings flared out beneath him like some dark prince, a soft smile fixed on his lips as he gazed up at the star shining brightly above him. 

The North Star. 

That’s what Azriel was—your north star. The beacon that led you straight home. The hope that you had held onto even in the darkest of times. Under the Mountain, you hadn't let yourself dream. You didn't think you'd ever get this chance, but somewhere deep down, you kept the story of Polaris and her Prince tucked away in your heart. 

And it had led you here. 

Underneath the light of the north star, in the city you now called home, in the arms of the male that had helped you restore and rebuild yourself after all that you lost. 

All that was left was to take that leap of faith. 

“You’re my north star, Azriel.” You said with a smile, silver lining your eyes. “You led me home.”

One of his shadows darted towards you, catching your tears as Azriel pulled you against him. He cradled your cheek in his hand, fingers trembling as he looked at you. Really looked at you, like he saw all of who you were and adored every part, even the jagged edges.

“Falling in love with my best friend,” he said with a slight smile. “That’s pretty cliche of us, isn’t it?”

Your laughter spilled into the quiet night, happy tears coating your cheeks. “Don’t ruin the moment, Az.”

The endearing grin on his face etched itself into the depths of your soul. “I wouldn’t dream of it, bug.”

As the north star twinkled above the City of Starlight, Azriel leaned in and kissed you for the first time.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.18

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - A dance is held.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2k

Hiiiiiii. I decided to skip the other questioning scene mostly bc I just didn’t wanna write it. I might do a flashback to it later but 🤷🏻‍♀️. Anyway!! I hope we all have a homie like Martyn who will forgive our crimes no questions asked. Here’s some nice Harp music if u want the vibes. All the songs mentioned are in asoiaf.

Shanda was oddly excited given the circumstances, Benjicot had, as he promised, ripped her to shreds during questioning. It was embarrassing to even think about it. She had never been very good at hiding her emotions, displaying them on her face clear as day. He had known that and used it to a harrowing degree. It was lucky she had Martyn to back her up or it would’ve been even worse. Her brother was another can of worms she still had to deal with. But none of this was why she was spinning around her room, excited.

After the disaster of questioning, Lord Elmo had made an announcement.

“Alright you mangy cunts, before I break your hearts and shatter your dreams, I have a proposal. And no, it is not voluntary. You will show up.”

Grumbles went up at that but he had only shot a look that communicated death on protest into the crowd before continuing.

“We’re going to have a dance tonight. That’s right, a proper ball! Now, when was the last time we were all together like this? This is an opportunity for you all to start fresh and build some new relationships. You will behave or I promise a little dance with a pretty girl will be the least of your worries.”

The room was buzzing with whispers before he even finished and Shanda had missed whatever he said after that. As she had already made her way through the crowd to her brother.

“I believe we’ll have a chance to sneak out before it ends to truly talk. I swear, I’ll tell you everything.”

To his credit, Martyn hadn’t been upset at all. Just nodded before he melted into the crowd, losing her and any prying eyes. It was just as well he did as Alysanne found her right after.

“Come on, let’s find something for you to wear.”

Shanda had decided to forgive Alysanne as she hadn’t testified against her. Not that the testimony wouldn’t really contribute one way or the other in the end. It was the thought that mattered. So she let her lead the way.

“How do you know these halls so well?” She asked after the third winding corridor they had turned down.

“Go to enough of these trials and you get bored. Elmo’s like a grumpy uncle, doesn’t mind me poking around a few places. Given I do my part to sway the idiots at home when sentencing rolls around.”

“Are you ever successful?”

Alysanne laughed, grabbing her arm. “Sometimes. Mostly no, but I do try my best.”

Shanda nodded, that was as she figured. At last they came to a door that looked the same as any other but when Alysanne pulled it open, it appeared to be a clothes storage room.

“How strange. Why do they have this?” She asked, looking in at all the various pieces.

“Hand me downs. Elmo says they’ve got generations of Tully ancestors' clothes in here. Which is why he doesn’t mind that we borrow some. Now let’s look.”

Shanda had not looked long when she came across the dress she wanted. It was made so that two pieces joined together over one another. The sleeves were a part of the undergown and blue, so dark it was nearly black. The overgown of the dress was an intricate gold design with calla lilies stitched on in white. It took her breath away. She hadn’t even bothered to see what Alysanne was getting, just grabbed the dress and left.

That led her to where she was now, happily spinning around her room in the beautiful gown. It would be nice to have a single night where she didn’t have to worry about anything. She could just dance and eat, then sneak away to beg her brother's pardon for lacking the good sense the gods gave her. She thought it was ambitious of Lord Elmo to think they could pull this off without any quarreling. But perhaps everyone could behave for just one night.

A knock sounded at her door. She moved to answer it and was delighted to see Martyn standing outside.

“Seems we’ve finally convinced them I’m not going to abscond with you.”

She snorted, taking his offered arm. “Yeah right. Lord Elmo probably tripled the guards for tonight. Fat chance we’ll be sneaking anywhere.” She said loudly enough the guard at her door could hear. It was the first time she had seen him actually stand outside her door.

She dragged her feet so they would not arrive so soon.

“Martyn, I should’ve warned you. I knew he was going to be insane. I, well, suppose I was ashamed.” Her face was tinged pink with remembrance.

“I don’t care. I never did. That day Royce pushed you in the river, I nearly cut his head off.”

She stopped at that, putting a hand on his chest shocked. “You didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes at her before continuing to walk. “Obviously, he’s still here. But I strongly considered it, crazy thing is he would’ve let me. He just accepted that I would kill him and that he deserved it.”

Shanda frowned, her brother had a haunted look in his eyes telling her.

“It’s not right. All of us are fighting. Our mother would be livid to see it, Shan.”

That tugged a smile on her face. Their mother would be yelling at them all.

“‘Family’s all you’ve got!’” She mimicked and Martyn chuckled.

“Too bad she left us with this family and not some other one.” He sighed.

“Come on, let’s find Royce. See if we can’t get him drunk enough to forgive me.” She exclaimed as they entered the great hall once more.

All of the tables were removed, besides the few that held food and drinks. Beautiful streamers of blue and red covered the corners of the room, embroidered with the Tully sigil. Shanda was awe struck by the bead work on them, they flashed iridescent giving the impression of real life scales.

“Let me talk to him first.”

He was gone by the time she replied off handedly, “Yeah, sure.”

She had gotten up close to the banner, admiring the impressive needle work. The beads were pieces of broken clam shell, sewn into the fabric. It must be tedious work to break the shells and then make holes in them.

“A Tully specialty.”

She jumped at Lord Elmo’s booming voice. She’d been so focused she hadn’t noticed him approaching.

“It’s beautiful. Must be awfully tedious work though.” She smiled up at the lord.

“No more so than presiding over court.”

She blushed at that, feeling a bit ashamed.

“I suppose not.”

He clapped her on the back. “Ah don’t worry about it! It always works out in the end. Though, not so well. Or else you all wouldn’t keep coming back.”

On that rather contradictory note, the lord left. Flowers of spring was playing in the background as she looked around the room. It was evident that the riverlanders had taken Lord Elmo’s words to heart. As she saw many of them talking cordially and a few brave souls had even dared to dance.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” It was Beck Grey who asked.

“Is that? No, it couldn’t possibly be Rebecken Grey. He’s only five two and has a gap tooth.”

Beck smiled at her, every tooth gleaming in the torch light as he led her onto the floor.

“Amazing what seven years will do for a man, is it not?”

They spun around the floor together effortlessly. Beck was a cousin of hers on her mother’s side and it had been a great deal of time since she had seen him.

“I have to agree, it will do wonders. My knees are not half so knobbly now and my aim is much improved.”

“So I hear. Is that how you managed to almost slay Benjicot?” He smiled coyly at her.

“Oh cousin, a dance is not enough for secrets I’m afraid. But if Aunty Harra really wants to know, tell her I’m sure we can work out a deal.”

He shook his head at her ruefully. “Some things never change, eh?”

Before she could answer him they were interrupted.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Shanda would’ve advised her cousin that yes they did mind but he had already stepped aside. He shot him a nasty look as he walked away but he just winked.

“How are you enjoying the dance?” Benjicot asked once they began to move together.

The song had switched to Fallen Leaves which was slower and much sadder.

“Fine before you butted in. Can’t find another pretty girl to bother in all of the riverlands?”

They swayed back and forth, barely turning about.

“Why should I? I’ve made my intentions clear.”

“How about common decen-“

He interrupted her, pulling her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

“Decency is me covering for you while you sneak out to try and rebuild your sibling bond.”

She pulled back aghast. How did he know? Rolling her eyes she blew out a frustrated breath.

“Stop spying on me!”

“Okay sweetheart, but you might want to make your move now. I think the little one is making a break for it.”

Shanda saw what he meant as she met Martyn’s eyes across the floor. He looked exasperated and was quickly going after a hurried Royce.

“Shit.” She muttered before rushing after them.

Benjicot pulled her up short though.

“Wait, half the room will see you follow if you go now. Dance one more with me.”

He was probably right but she really didn’t care at the moment.

“No, I’ll miss them if I wait!”

But he held on to her firmly as the song shifted into the familiar tones of Fall of Maidenpool. She wrinkled her brow as the harp picked up.

“Lord Elmo’s a bit on the nose with this one.” She laughed.

“What do you mean?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You’re joking right?”

When he stared blankly at her she groaned and explained.

“It’s about the fall of Maidenpool, the defeat of a Riverlander by the Andals. Florian the brave, one of the last great kings. It’s a metaphor for all of us. Hatred, spite and violence are our Andals, and we let them in every day. Tearing ourselves apart from the inside and because of it our lands are weak, disorganized. Ready for a collapse, just like Maidenpool.” She sighed, gutted at the thought.

When she looked back at Benjicot, he was staring at her.

“I think you’ll be safe to go now.” He whispered.

She was out of his grasp and out the door in the next instant, the sound of Maidenpool drifting further away as she looked for her brothers. Walking along the halls it didn’t take her long to hear them.

“…sense of it!”

“Just wait! She’s coming to explain.”

Martyn’s expression was one of relief as she rounded the corner and layed eyes on him. Royce was standing upright looking tense, whereas Martyn sat calmly on the floor.

“See,” Martyn beamed. “Here she is.”

“Right well, explain then.”

“Royce, you hot headed fool.” She held up a hand to silence him when he tried to interrupt her. “Listen to me. However much I grieve that mother went away in hopes of procuring me a suitor, I do not hold myself responsible and do you know why?”

He silently raged in front of her.

“Because our mother could not be swayed nor bullied into doing anything less than what she set out to do. There was nothing you, me or even our father could’ve said to pull her back. Secondly, I have not given up hope on finding her killers and if you give me some time I just might.”

“Oh bullshit, Shanda. You can’t sneak your way into finding everything out.”

“No but you can fucking negotiate your way into just about anything. Pull your head out of your ass! The entire riverlands is here, Royce. Waiting in that room for three very interesting Brackens to chat them up. They are dying for us to talk to them, make a move. Do something useful and help me!”

She could see the struggle playing out in her brother's mind across his face. He made a frustrated noise before running his hands through his hair.

“What do I say?”

Shanda smirked at Martyn before the three of them set to scheming.

[nevesmose]

Bandages on Broken Souls: A Nostramo Culture/Lore Post

Sometimes I think about the wee lower-deck people that were all covered in bandages in the Night Lords Trilogy. Why so bandagey? (Bandagepilled wrapmaxxers, not beating the bandage allegations, etc)

She glanced at the wretch, who was unhealthily tall and sexless in its overcloak, keeping its face behind stained bandages. Several others lurked close to the door, whispering amongst themselves. It was impossible not to smell their sweat, their stinking, bloodstained bandages, and the rancid oil-blood of their bionics.

Those ones. The attendants providing for Octavia's needs as a Navigator. Octavia's attendants.

It turns out ADB does tell us a bit later on:

The chlorine reek of them offended his senses, the way it rose in a miasma from their antiseptic-soaked bandages, as if such trivial protections could ward against the changes of the warp.

This is very interesting to me for a few reasons since it can lead to various interpretations about Nostraman culture, even though it's important to bear in mind that what we're seeing is the degraded situation after however-many thousand subjective years of dicking about in the Warp, Eye of Terror etc.

They believe, or at least Ruven the POV character here thinks they believe, that warp mutation can be defended against with purely physical items i.e. bandages and disinfectant. While it's easy to point to examples of people from all kinds of cultures in the setting using spiritual or metaphysical ways to protect themselves from the warp, I find it interesting that this doesn't seem to occur to the Nostramans.

In fact, unless I'm remembering it wrong (always a possibility tbh) other than a small mention in one of the Gendor Skraivok short stories about there being a secret Lectitio Divinitatus cult among the serfs, there seems to be very little spiritual/religious belief organic to Nostramo itself.

That makes some sense, I think. It is after all Space Gotham, a world of armoured groundcars and looming starscrapers where everyone is living under some form or another of very high pressure just to survive whether that means getting their next meal or keeping their position in high level gang politics. Whatever beliefs the original settlers brought with them to the Sunless World were, I imagine, ground away over time as generations passed and people had other, more visceral concerns.

There are a few scenes in the 1984 nuclear war TV movie Threads that take place in the period about 10-20 years after the bombs have fallen. It's clear that the by now rapidly deteriorating survivors of the pre-war world are trying as best they can to provide some kind of education for their post-war descendants, but this is extremely limited and relies on what they can gather together from whatever books, VHS tapes etc happened to survive the war:

"The skeleton of a cat! A cat's skeleton!"

And we can see that it simply means nothing to the children and young adults whose entire existence revolves around basic survival - mostly food and the things they have to do in order to get it.

This, in a way, is what I think happened to whatever beliefs in anything beyond the material that may have ever existed on Nostramo by the time we see it in the Crusade/Heresy era. It's a sad, stunted little world and I feel immensely sorry for the nasty, skeevy people it produced.

Another factor affecting this would of course be the Night Haunter. You don't really need to have a spiritual/metaphorical figure or system dispensing rules and justice when Konrad is actually real and inside your home making it brutally clear what his views on law-breaking are.

So, in my usual roundabout way, we come back to the bandages again. My view, as I've expressed before in my ramblings, is that Konrad didn't truly eradicate crime on Nostramo so much as eradicate the appearance of it.

There's a legend from Ancient Greece about a Spartan boy training to be a warrior which I'll post as a screenshot below since I think we could all do with a break from my writing style for a bit:

"He could steal and suffer and die rather than be found out" is the relevant part here I think. Much like the idea that snitches get stitches or the mafia code of omertà where one's value in society and life itself hinge on a mutual keeping of silence against any and all authority figures.

We know that even before Konrad arrived, Nostraman society functioned on a gang allegiance basis, so already fertile ground for a very insular and secretive type of culture. But then we add the Night Haunter to the mix and the numbers spell disaster for you at Sacrifice the social pressure in this direction ramps up massively.

It's also made very clear pretty much everywhere that Nostramo is a vicious, predatory society. There's a description in one of the Skraivok stories of Phy Orlon, the canonical smallest saddest uwu-iest Night Lord:

It astounded Skraivok how such a vulpine little thing had made it through the selection process. Even bulked by legionary gifts, Orlon still managed to convey the impression of feebleness. Towards the end, Nostramo had been providing only the dregs of the dregs. No wonder Curze had levelled the place.

Weakness was like the scent of blood in the water to the Night Lords. Legionaries like Orlon would always attach themselves to those they deemed powerful, for protection. That explained the ridiculous batwings welded to the top of his helm in emulation of Sevatar, and why he had appointed himself as Skraivok’s adjutant.

It's like prison or high school. Even the transhuman supersoldier Nostramans still function this way. What hope do ordinary people have?

Not much at all, I think. Just in order to survive day to day it'd be necessary to conceal any injury, weakness or deformity at the risk of having it being ruthlessly used against you by just about everyone.

So we come back to the bandages again. Told you I'd get there eventually. We see that the attendants are in fact completely covered in bandages Joshua Graham style:

‘Lord,’ they hissed through slits in their faces that were once lips. Their bloodstained bandages rustled as they shifted and lowered their weapons.

[...]

She raised a bandaged hand, as if she could possibly bar the warrior’s passage with a demand, let alone with her physical presence.

I can imagine the impulse to cover up and conceal any weakness applies very strongly to warp mutations of any sort. Curdled and degraded over millennia roaming the immaterium in the bowels of a ship with the changes becoming worse and worse the longer they go on, it would be plausible for this to develop into a need to cover up and disinfect every inch of oneself in order to maintain some pretence, however flimsy, of being a capable human being.

The saddest part of it for me, though, is that all of the attendants are like this. It's a situation where everyone is quite literally in the same boat, undergoing the same suffering, and yet they still retain this deeply-ingrained need to hide and conceal themselves from each other. It feels like even here, ten thousand years after its destruction, Nostramo's poison is still influencing them, still flowing through their veins to keep them separated, afraid, and deeply alone.

Oh wow, a few paragraphs from ADB somehow led to a great long wall of text. Congratulations if you've made it this far!

PS: This being ADB I feel obliged to consider the possibility of Ruven either lying or being mistaken. I don't think this is likely since he is a) also Nostraman and b) a sorcerer meaning that if there was any spiritual aspect going on he would more than likely have the requisite cultural/magical knowledge or experience to be aware of it or otherwise detect it. Ruven is a conniving goth thot but he has no reason to lie in that particular bit of his own thoughts.