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eupheme · 3 days ago

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— you’re the one that I want

worst!wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader

tags: soulmate au, roommate!wade & neighbor!f!reader, valentine’s day fic, blind dates, use of alcohol, flirting, light misunderstanding, semi-public makeout

rated m - 2.6k

a/n: my submission for the loveuary challenge hosted by the wonderful @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt! thank you so much, this was so fun 💘

“You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

“No fucking way.”

Wade’s groan stretches long, as his head lolls against the back of the sofa.

“Logan. Peanut. My sweet cheese, my good-time boyeh, please-” His voice strings out the syllables, “I need you to do this for me. I already set it all up, all you gotta to do is go.”

Logan’s scowl deepens, with a sharp jerk of his chin, “I’m not fucking going.”

A sigh then - Wade’s legs stretching wide, as he springs to his feet. Circling around to where Logan leans against the counter, looking every bit rooted to the apartment as the thing growing in the corner of their shared shower.

“I need this. I am finally back on track with Vanessa, and this is a real chance for me to knock it out of the park.” A finger raises, before poking him in the chest, “But I can’t have Mr. Grumpy Gus cramping our style. You feel me?”

An eyebrow arches up, but Wade barely pauses for a breath, “Besides, would you really stand a girl up on Valentine’s Day? Don’t you know what that could do to her psyche? What if that was her thirteenth reason? You really need that on your conscious?”

The filthy scowl Logan shoots him is like a three claw punch to the gut. Wade at least has the decency to look ashamed - fingers splaying wide in placation.

“Just give it a shot. If it all goes south you can just come right home. I won’t even be mad, even if it’s mid-coitus. Pinkie swear.”

The visual makes Logan’s lip curl. Arms crossing over his chest, as his head tilts, “You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

Wade misses the sharp look Logan shoots his way. His tone still teasing, missing just how deep his comment thrums through him.

How it meant something different in his world, rather than the shallow note of connection it seemed to mean here.

It didn’t matter, anyways. There’s only one person in the city he might not mind seeing, and surely you would have other plans.

Logan’s seen your recent date, stopping by the door down the hall in the evenings. Doesn’t much care for his goody-two-shoes vibe, the State University tone.

The memory sends his skin itching. An urge to move - and it’s enough that his arms are loosening.

Deep down, he really doesn’t want to stick around. Had been planning on hitting up a bar, anyways.

Can’t take much of this lovey-dovey shit, never been one of his favorite holidays.

And if his drinks are on Wade’s tab, then…

He’s sure he can let whoever the poor girl is down quick.

“Yes. Yes! Thank you, bestie.” The resignation must flick across his face, because Wade’s fist pumps with triumph, “This is gonna be great, I promise. Even better than the Tony Awards.”

Logan ignores another asinine reference - a final warning leveled his roommate’s way, as his hand curls around the doorframe.

“You got thirty minutes.”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Wade grins.

“That’s twenty-nine too many.”

The heel of your boot bounces underneath the booth. Fingernails drumming on the surface of the sticky table, trying to keep your eyes from flicking to the door each and every time it opens.

This was stupid.

You don’t know how you let Wade talk you into this.

Sister Margaret’s was not your idea of a place to meet someone - romantically, at least. And therefore, the chances of this evening going well were historically low.

But it’d beat your second year of ordering in - the prices hiked up with the holiday. Of another movie marathon alone, picking apart the sordid end of your last relationship.

Anything was better than that, surely.

You’re double-checking your phone for the third time, confirming the text noting which booth to be in - the back left corner one next to the totally-not-a-bloodstain on the floor - when a shadow passes over the edge of your table.

Eyes catching on the flannel that creeps into your vision. Worn, in shades of brown and muted red - a slow drag upward across a broad chest, then higher. Your breath catching, as your mind whirrs - racing catching up.

You should tell your upstairs neighbor “hi”.

Something that resembles polite, normal conversation.

But you can’t seem to find the words.

Because as he slips into the booth, you’re quickly realizing he might just be here for you.

What you do find is -

“Is this a joke?”

Logan’s frown deepens.

A snarled out “what?” that sends a jolt though you, but you’re too confused to examine it. Left babbling, trying to make sense of this.

“Is this because I told Wade he’s a winter?” Your voice pitches higher, “Because his photo was really blurry, and I don’t even do that kind of color analysis-”

Logan scoffs, a hand braced on the table as if to push himself up. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, before he’s asking, “Why would this be a joke?”

Your lips part.

“Because-”

Because you’re here in the hopes of finding someone else. A distraction.

Unsure what to make of this magnetic feeling deep inside your chest when you see him. Having to hold yourself back from taking one step, and then another, when he lingers near the mail room.

You had hoped tonight would help you erase the man that surely does not even know you exist.

“…because I’m sure you have better things to do then uh, do this.”

“This?” He hedges, a brow arching.

“A blind date.”

Something in his eyes flicker, when you finally meet them. The little mark between his brows deepening with the rough rasp of his voice. ”You really didn’t know who you were meeting?”

“No,” Your head shakes, “No. Did you?”

His eyes drop for a beat, before they flick back up.

“No.”

Your tongue dips out to dampen your lip, and you miss the way his eyes track the movement. The question slipping from you without thought.

“Would you have come, if you did?”

The silence stretches out, tipping towards uncomfortable.

And yet, he does not leave. A leather jacket still slung across the back of the booth, as his fingers tap the table.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” He deflects. “You want another?”

Logan’s head dips towards your drink, only the glittery dregs of red remaining, a cherry nestled against the ice.

Your shoulder lifts, about to answer that you probably shouldn’t. That you’ve already made enough of a fool of yourself.

His lips curl at the edges, before you can voice your answer. ”Wade’s buying. Thought we could make a dent in his wallet.”

“Oh.” The word draws out, as your smile stretches.

So, not a rejection.

It might just be an invitation, actually.

“Definitely.”

It’s not how he thought his night would go.

Should have peeled himself away twenty minutes ago, somewhere between your second and third drink and the wind of conversation.

Slunk back home, or to another bar.

Had thought about it, in that moment when you confessed that you hadn’t known he was meeting you.

The thought of it being a disappointment turning his stomach, until you had voiced your question. The hope that wound its way between your words.

Unable to answer, even if he knows what it would have been.

The alcohol flickers inside him, a brief respite to the burn of sore muscles and a bone-deep ache that he’s carried since his world.

Should stop drinking this shit, but he’s been taking it a day at a time. Swapping rubbing alcohol for anything with a kick. That for vodka. Vodka for beer.

It’s not progress, but it’s something.

The feeling never sticks around, but something about you almost mirrors it. A wash of calm as his chin cups in his palm. Senses narrowing down, blocking out all the noise around him.

Eyes snagged on the curl of your lips around the white straw, the pink tinge of gloss left behind.

Helpless, to the tug at his arm as you loosened. The point of your finger to the empty dart board, how he had followed two steps behind.

You’ve missed a handful of your throws. Two darts stuck between the numbers running around the rim. His lips twitching at the frown that pulls down the corner of your lips, the hand that braces at your hip.

“So, did Wade guilt you into coming?”

Your fingers brush his, as you hand over the darts.

“You could say that.” He grunts, eyes slipping towards the board. Still catching the scrunch of your nose, as he amends, “But, like I said. Didn’t know.”

It’s not an answer to your question before, but it’s something that tip-toes close to one. It’s enough that your expression softens - an excited touch against his shoulder when his throw flies true.

“Same.” Your fingers curl against his shirt, transfixed. Hazy - those walls around you from before unstacking one brick at a time, “Almost didn’t go. But you know Wade, and his puppy-dog eyes.”

Logan didn’t.

“-and I uh, thought it would be nice. To not be alone, this year.”

He missed his next throw. A side-eye shot your way.

“Alone?” The word comes out close to a scoff.

Can’t pretend it hasn’t been eating at him. Wondering what the hell Wade had been playing at, inviting you.

“Figured you’d be out with your boyfriend.”

The last dart sinks into the green rim around the red center.

“Very funny.” You hum, stepping up to take his place. A glance over your shoulder, to find him still watching you.

That frown back, as your head tilts.

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He wished he hadn’t asked. Should have just stayed silent, taken this night for what it was.

“Thought I’ve seen a guy around the last couple weeks.“ Logan hands shove into his back pockets, “Just figured…”

Your expression persists. His fingers tap his temple, “Grey streaks, suit.”

As if he doesn’t have some of his own.

“Oh!” Recognition flickers, as you spin back, “Definitely not boyfriend. He’s like, super married.”

Your shot flies wide, bouncing off the wooden walls behind the board - a little huff as you turn back, “They’re due to have their first in a couple months. Been helping them pick things out for the nursery.”

A finger pointed back towards yourself, in explanation, “Figured I could help. Interior designer, and all.”

Something like relief flickers in his chest. Another feeling - deeper, hungrier - almost drowns it out.

The words smooth, as they slip from his lips.

“No guy, then?”

The shake of your head is slow, and that sweet smell that clings to you curls around his senses. Thickens, even - betraying you.

It gives him the confidence to step into your space. Emboldened by the look you give him from beneath the thick fan of your lashes. Hope, burning once again in blown-dark pupils.

“Here.”

A hand touches at your hip, as he eases closer. Plucking the dart from limp fingers.

“You’re holding it too far back. Lemme show you.”

He never gave a damn about this game, but he’ll take any excuse to get closer. To feel the way you stiffen beneath his fingertips, the hitch of your breath.

The shot is lined up.

His wrist extends as he aims, chest brushing against your back, and suddenly - your palm curls around his forearm. Fingers splaying wide as a jolt arcs through his nervous system, shooting from his hand to his core.

Your words muted - it’s only his enhanced senses that have him catching the tail end.

“-like me.”

He makes a rough sound, and again you turn to face him. The prick of goosebumps as your finger trace the dots at his wrist.

“I said you have freckles like me.”

The knitted cuff of your sweater tugged back to show him how yours mirrors his, down to the very last mark.

Time stands still.

Logan’s dreamt about this moment for decades.

Using that little crisscross of dots like a compass.

Guiding him through life - thinking there had to be something about the mansion, its symbol, that tied it to him. Taking on the mantle that mirrored the shape, ink-like against his skin.

Thinking it would lead him somewhere.

Even if he’d been certain he had missed it, somewhere in those two-hundred years. Ships passing in the night, across a lifespan that has stretched far too long.

Always trying to push away those “what ifs”. Had stopped looking a long time ago. Never once, since he’d crossed over. Told himself he was luckier not to have a match.

Not to know love like that - because one day he’d have become acquainted with the loss of it, as well.

He’s had enough of that, in his lifetime.

And this - it’s not what he ever expected.

Finding you in a world that’s not his own. His match with a girl, living on the floor just below his.

It leaves him mute, as your eyes linger.

Not sure what to make of him, he’s certain. Of the part of his lips, his own heart hammering beneath his ribs.

Unsteady, for the first time in decades.

His name pulls him out of his thoughts. Cherry-sweet on your tongue, lilting into a question.

The dart is thrown by muscle memory.

Your fingers still pressed against his mark, as it hits dead center.

He takes his prize, back in the shadowed corner of the booth.

Your eyes already slipping shut, when his fingers tuck under your chin. Lips parting, and he finds himself grateful again for those animal-senses.

Permission in the galloping of your pulse beneath your skin. The held breath as you wait, balanced on the knife’s edge of anticipation.

The soft inhale of breath, when his mouth slants against yours. Fingers curling in his shirt once more, as you part for him.

Swallowing your moan, with the sweep of his tongue. Sweet - grenadine syrup blending with you, and it’s like he cannot get enough. The kiss drawing out, insistent and hungry - a shuddering breath when it finally breaks, as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Pliable, in the way he tugs your thigh over his, seating you in his lap. How you follow, so easily.

Fitting against him as if you were meant to.

And maybe you were - the thought sending his fingers tightening, where they grip at your hips.

As if he won’t let you go, now that he’s found you.

You’re right there with him. Just as affected - your palms smoothing over his chest. Tracing the chain biting into his neck, sinking into his hair when they loop around his shoulders.

Letting your hips rock - a tentative movements, paired with the softest sighs.

Growing bolder when you feel him beneath you - how he encourages it, with the press of his palms. The tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater, a pulse of pleasure at the way you shiver with his touch.

The second gift of his name, and it’s the one he’ll remember most. Drawn-out. Needy, and it only makes him want to hear it more.

Another breath huffed out, a heady throb against the too-tight confines of his jeans.

There’s the crack of a pool cue, a cheer rising at the table across the room.

The bubble bursts.

Bringing him back - even in this dim corner, it’s still far too public for everything he needs to do to you tonight.

A shared thought, your lips kiss-swollen as they press against his neck.

“Can we go home?” You husk, into the shell of his ear.

Something deep inside him purrs at the word. Possessive, wrenching a growl from deep in his chest as he carefully eases you off him.

Pushing himself up from the booth - a hand coming to wrap around your wrist.

Thumb pressed against your pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your skin once more.

Right against your mark.

He’ll tell you tomorrow.

He’ll have time - he’s always had that.

Never been grateful for it.

Not until now.

thank you again, lub and kiwi! I am so excited to check out the fics for your event, and happy I was able to contribute one! I’ve wanted to write a soulmate fic for some time, this has me 👀💖 about writing more!

#happy (early) Valentine’s Day friends 💖#logan howlett x reader #logan howlet fan fic #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x f!reader #wolverine x reader #worst wolverine x reader #klloveuary2025

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theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming · 2 days ago

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Alright don't look at me. This post is going to be very large because I am 3 weeks behind oops. So here we go with Week 4/5/6 of

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you)

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Sterek: 6 Buddie: 33 (Buddie is all below the Read More :) )

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faded from the winter by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•T•9.9K)

Eddie struggles to bounce back after the shooting. Buck starts leaving him with his service dog, Cranberry.

gravity in between us by charmingqueenie | @alexisrosemullens (2025•T•16.7K)

Eddie’s not used to explaining his relationship with Buck. Everyone in LA just knows what they are. They’re Buck and Eddie. There isn’t one without the other. He knows that he’s been vague about what Buck is to him with his new coworkers. He knows this and yet he can’t stop himself. The first few times were an accident. He doesn’t mean to be vague and what he said could imply platonic. This time though. or Eddie accidentally implies that he's dating Buck to his new team in El Paso.

We're Overdue for a Revival by BespectacledBunny | @bespectacledbunnys (2024•M•60.8K)

“If I had,” Chris lingers on the words, watching Eddie intently through the screen, “If I had conditions?” Eddie feels his stomach knot up. It’s the first time Chris has ever alluded to a willingness to come home. Usually he just shoots Eddie down with a flat “I know” before hurrying off the call. Eddie Diaz will be damned before he lets this chance slip through his hands. “Anything,” his voice rings with desperation in his own ears, “Whatever you need to feel ready to come home. If I can make it happen, I will.” Chris eyes him, young face serious as a judge presiding over trial. An apt comparison because only Chris could condemn or parole Eddie. His fate is in his son’s hands so completely that if he was going to therapy, Frank would probably be concerned. Finally, Chris opens his mouth and says something so earth shattering as to crack the foundations of his father’s mind. “Marry Buck,” Chris says firmly.

cat-astrophic by smilingbuckley | @smilingbuckley (2025•T•5.5K)

Buck falls in love with a kitten. The kitten falls in love with Eddie. (Buck doesn't blame her.) -- It doesn’t take long before a familiar truck approaches. Eddie looks unimpressed as Buck gets into the car, holding the kitten tightly to his chest. “I’m surprised it took you this long to pick up a stray.” Buck snorts, “Well, you picked me first, so.” Eddie shakes his head, starting to drive again. “I didn’t pick you. You just appeared.” “Well, this one just appeared as well,” Buck tells him. “I couldn’t leave it, Eddie. What if a predator eats it?”

What if All I Need is You by serenelystrange | @serenelystrange (2025•GA•2.9K)

“Does Ravi actually think me and Eddie are dating?” “Maybe,” Chim says after a moment of consideration. “Or he’s just really good at fucking with you.” “50/50,” Hen agrees. “Eddie doesn’t even like men,” Buck says with a frown. “I asked.” “Of course you did,” Chim says, dropping his head into his hand with a murmured whisper of Jesus Christ.

oh brother, I see (you burn like me) by canadadry (2024•M•47.9K)

Adriana doesn’t tell their parents that she’s going to LA. She doesn’t tell Eddie, either—or ask, for that matter. She does ask Chris, and he thinks it’s a good idea—says as much, on the phone, and doesn’t say much else. “Buck will probably be hovering,” is what Chris does volunteer. It still surprises her when the man who opens the door is not Eddie. It’s—Captain America, is the thing that actually comes to mind—a man close to a foot taller than she is, if not more than that, with blond curls and broad shoulders, and he’s got a question in his very blue eyes that’s probably less friendly than the one he actually asks her. “Uh,” he says. “Can I help you?” — Or: Adriana arrives in LA. Maddie has been here the whole time.

Don’t hang up on me, cause I’m hung up on you by creatures_that_dont_die | @creatures-that-dont-die (2025•E•5.8K)

“What are you making for dinner?” “I was just going to reheat some leftovers,” Buck says. Eddie makes a noncommittal noise on the other end, sounding almost disappointed. “What, were you hoping I’d make you something?” “No, I—” Eddie hesitates, then sighs. “I sort of wanted to listen to you cook.” The softness in his voice shifts to teasing. “You talk so much while you do it, I figure it’ll fill all the silence here. But I can just watch TV instead, once I figure out how to—” “No, no, I’ll cook something. Only because you asked so nicely. I’ll put you on speaker, okay?” As Buck sorts through Eddie’s fridge, deciding what he can throw together, he and Eddie fall into their usual chatter. When he’s at the stove, facing away from his phone resting on the table, he can almost imagine that Eddie is here with him and not 800 miles away. (Buck and Eddie talk on the phone almost constantly, and one thing leads to another.)

one way out and we're gonna find it by atlasblue85 | @atlasblue85 (2025•T•6.9K)

He just needed a little more time, is what he kept telling himself. A little more time to work through it and he’d be okay, wouldn’t feel like there’s a vice grip over his heart and lungs and the voices of his childhood priests in the back of his head at the thought of being seen in public with a man. There’s tears rolling silently down his cheeks now as Buck cradles him, and he finally manages to whisper, “How’d you do it? Go on a date with a guy, in public?” “Eddie?” Buck’s hands still from where they’ve been rubbing soothing patterns across Eddie’s back. “I don’t– I can’t–” Eddie tries, but he can’t make the words come, and he grips Buck’s shirt tighter instead.

younger than clouds by seachanged | @spacesongs (2025•T•1.1K)

When Buck drifts back awake the sun is about to drop over the horizon, its last light bathing the cabin in buttery pinks and corals. Eddie is leaning against the kitchen island dressed in a pair of boxer briefs that appear to be Buck’s, at least judging by how low they hang on his hips.

check me out and take me home by prioritizelove (2025•GA•1.4K)

“Chris really likes you, you know. One time–” Eddie laughs, “One time I brought him here during the evening, so you weren’t here, and he was literally pouting when we left. Said the librarian at the desk wasn’t as good as his friend Buck and ended up just checking out one of those, uh,” he waves a hand, “wimpy diary books.” Or Buck's a children's librarian and Christopher is his favorite patron. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to seeing Christopher’s dad as well.

Meet Me in the Middle (Underneath a Little Bit of Mistletoe) by Princessfbi | @princessfbi (2022•E•40.2K)

“I’m sorry…” Eddie said, holding his hand out to stop the tumble of words falling from Buck’s lips. “You want to what?” Of all the things he thought Buck wanted to talk about at breakfast, the breakfast Buck had asked Eddie if he wanted to grab at the end of their long shift, this was nowhere near it. “Fake date.” Buck repeated with all the confidence in the world that Eddie didn’t believe for a second because what Buck was proposing was insane. “For the holidays.” aka Buck and Eddie agree to fake date each other to get through dinner with their parents during the holidays!

Face to my face by EtoileGarden | @etoilegarden (2023•T•46.5K)

“Is your birthmark genetic?” Bobby asked, raising his eyebrow at Buck over the salami he was slicing. “Does it match one of your parents?” Buck spoke through the slice of salami he’d snuck into his mouth. “Nah,” he said. “I’m the first.” “Maybe your kids will have it,” Hen suggested. “If you end up having kids.” “Poor kids,” Chim said, patted Buck on the back. “I can not imagine that was a kind birthmark to wear during school. Kids are mean.” Buck tried to laugh it off. Was filled with the cold memory of his classmates teasing him. He’d managed to bluster his way into popularity as a teenager - once he’d shot up and became broad in all the right places. But before that? “Maddie - my sister - she always said I looked cool,” he said in an attempt at bravado. “I think - I think - I was fine.” Or - another dad!Buck fic because I always love writing baby fics. Eventual Buck/Eddie.

#Sterek #Buddie #stiles stilinski x derek hale #evan buckey x eddie diaz #2025 Fic Rec List #Sterek Fic Rec #Buddie Fic Rec #I know I'm missing at least 1 tumblr link but I lost the post #and the author doesn't have it anywhere on ao3 :(

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xiaq · 2 days ago

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Would you ever write a story or book about Kuzy? I need more of himmmm ❤️ one of the few characters I'd read MF for though I feel like if anyone would be chill about finding out he was bi and going with it, it'd be Kuzy lol #yeshomo

@rainbowsandcoconut

I don't currently have any substantive plans for a Kuzy story, but if you want some of my brainworms about him/his eventual romance, here you go:

He lives right next to a firehouse and there's a cute, kickass firewoman (cis, leans androgynous) named Nicole "call me Nic" with whom he has occasional banter-moments (I used to live next to a firehouse and if they were out front they'd always chat with me when I walked the dog; I loved that community dynamic).

One night after a rough game, Kuzy is going for a walk and Nic is sitting out on a lawn chair in front of the house processing a rough call, and they have a moment of shared vulnerability together, looking up at the stars. She's the child of immigrants and they bond over how stupid the English language is. Kuzy tells her about Eli/Hawk and she mentions that she loves dogs but can't have one with her work schedule.

Over the next few days, Kuzy can't stop thinking about her. He wants an excuse to see her more often that doesn't feel creepy, so he goes to the shelter nearby and offers to exercise dogs. Now, he has a perfectly good reason to walk past the firehouse (sometimes multiple times a day!) on the off-chance the firefighters are out and he can politely offer a dog's brief company for Nic's enjoyment.

Except he's not super smooth about it because the rest of the folks at the house realize pretty quickly that the giant Russian walking dogs only happens to walk dogs on the days that Nic is on shift.

Convenient.

This continues for longer than it probably should. Until Kuzy is hosting some of the Hounds and one of the rookies does something stupid. Not sure what. I'm thinking gets his hand stuck in an expensive vase. Or maybe his head. And Kuzy very sheepishly has to walk him over to the firehouse like, "hello, this baby is my responsibility, can you please rescue him?" And they eventually get the thing cut off of his hand/head/whatever but one of Nic's bros pulls Kuzy aside and says, "maybe you should just ask her out instead of coming up with increasingly more creative excuses to talk to her—at this rate someone is going to get hurt" and Kuzy is like, “ok, this was 100% not contrived and while I would like to go out with her, she is a goddess who saves lives and I am but a goofy athlete, undeserving of her attentions," and Firefighter Bro like, "you know, I think she'd settle for you."

So, spurred on by this bit of hope, he's like, "I need to do this right, this can't just be some hookup, I like her." And he starts Operation Woo Nic.

And the whole time Nic is like, "would you just fucking take me home, I would like to bang you," but he's trying so hard to be a gentleman about it that she lets him for a while. She's never been woo'ed before. Might be fun. Eventually she gets fed up and when he's dropping off cookies or whatever on his daily dog-walk she's like, "hey, do you want to be my boyfriend? Yeah? Great. We should have sex about that. My shift ends in three hours, what's your address?"

It is possibly the best day of Kuzy's life.

Anyway. As usual, there's no real plot, just vibes. But he is Smitten. And she is hopelessly endeared. And she's certified as a paramedic, so she's constantly ragging him for his little injuries and keeping him honest about PT. At some point she gets injured in the line of duty and he gets to be suitably dramatic and probably make declarations at her hospital bedside. He dotes on her for a while during her recovery.

And eventually he convinces her to move in with him so she can be close to work and she's like, "yeah? That's the only reason? For the ease of my commute?" And he says, "well that but also because I love you more than I thought was possible and when we're not together I miss you like a limb and our schedules are shit enough as it is, I'm greedy for every second I can have with you," and she's like, "yeah, fair enough."

So. Not really sure how it would end, but uh. There you go! Kuzy and his Firefighter Lady. Also he definitely foster-fails multiple times and hires a full-time nanny to take care of all his and Nic's dogs when she's on shift and he's traveling. It's great.

AND I imagine some very funny cultural confusion moments when her family (Japanese) interacts with his family (Russian) but they all generally bond over their shared love of fermented foods and dumplings. And alcohol. There are hijinks.

Ok. The End!

#kuzy #answered asks #lrpd #lrpd adjacent #mywriting #Author things

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caitlynssweetheart · 2 days ago

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002. SEVEN YEARS OF SILENCE〃✦ ┆ E.W

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

PART ONE

ꔫ PARING: childhood friends ellie x reader

ꔫ WORDCOUNT: 1750

ꔫAN: Had to put two parts together for this one but as always hope you guys enjoy it and happy valentines day!!

ꔫ WARNING: angst, religous guilt (i think thats it)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Hours passed as you monitored Ellie's condition. The initial crisis had passed, but she remained unconscious. You found yourself checking her vitals more frequently than necessary, using each moment to study the face you'd forced yourself to forget. The guilt that had been your constant companion for years felt heavier now, more tangible in her physical presence. When your shift finally ended, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. Instead, you sat in the uncomfortable chair beside her bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor became a soundtrack to your thoughts, each beat reminding you of time wasted, of words unsaid.

Your colleagues gave you questioning looks, but you brushed them off with professional explanations about monitoring a critical patient. You couldn't tell them that this was Ellie, that she was once the person who knew all your secrets, who made you feel seen in a world where you were constantly hiding. As dawn approached, her eyelids began to flutter. Your breath caught in your throat as you waited, torn between the desire to be there when she woke up and the urge to run away again. But this time, you stayed. You owed her that much, at least.

When Ellie's eyes finally opened, they were clouded with confusion. She blinked several times, adjusting to the harsh hospital lighting. Your heart raced as her gaze slowly focused, then widened with recognition. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of years of silence hanging between you.

The silence stretched taut between you, filled with unspoken apologies and years of missed chances. You could see the questions forming on her lips, the way her fingers twisted nervously in the hospital blanket. The familiar gesture transported you back to countless late-night conversations, when she would gather her courage before sharing something important.

Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Is this real, or am I having one of those dreams again?" The words 'one of those dreams again' echoed in your mind, making your chest tighten. You leaned forward slightly, maintaining a professional distance despite every instinct urging you to move closer. "You're in the hospital," you explained, your voice steadier than you felt. "There was a car accident. You've been unconscious for several hours." Ellie's eyes never left your face as she processed this information.

Then, unexpectedly, she let out a weak laugh that turned into a grimace of pain. "Of course," she muttered. "Of course it would take something like this to see you again." The bitterness in her voice made you flinch. You deserved it, you knew you did, but it still hurt. You busied yourself checking her vitals, using the familiar routine as a shield against the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I should get the attending physician," you said, starting to stand. But Ellie's hand shot out, catching your wrist with surprising strength. "Don't," she said, her voice stronger now. "Don't run away again. Not yet.” You sank back into your chair, her touch burning against your skin like a brand. The monitor beside her bed betrayed the quickening of her heart rate, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate after all this time. "I was... I was scared." Ellie's grip on your wrist loosened but didn't let go. "Of what? Me? Or yourself?" The question hung in the air between you, demanding an answer you weren't sure you were ready to give. But looking at her now, pale and vulnerable in the hospital bed, you realized you'd spent too many years running from the truth.

"I..." you started, but before you could finally voice the truth that had been trapped inside you for so long, the door swung open with a soft whoosh.

Her doctor strode in, his white coat pristine and his expression professionally neutral as he glanced between you and Ellie, noting your positions with a raised eyebrow. "Ah, you're awake, Ms..." he consulted the chart, "Ms. Williams. I'm Dr. Thompson. I see our resident has been monitoring you closely."

You quickly withdrew your wrist from Ellie's grasp, standing up and smoothing your scrubs. The moment shattered like delicate glass, leaving behind a thousand sharp edges of unspoken words.

"I was just completing my final checks," you said, your professional mask sliding back into place, though your voice wavered slightly. "I'll leave you to examine the patient."

As you moved toward the door, you caught Ellie's eyes one last time. They held the same mixture of hurt and longing that had haunted your dreams for years.

Your shift had ended hours ago, but leaving felt impossible now. The weight of unfinished conversations and renewed possibilities anchored you to the hospital. Still, exhaustion tugged at your edges, and you knew you needed rest to face whatever tomorrow would bring. With heavy steps, you made your way to the locker room to change, your mind replaying every moment of your encounter with Ellie. The drive home loomed ahead, but you wondered if sleep would come at all with so many words still caught in your throat.

Days passed like a blur after that night. You threw yourself into your work, picking up extra shifts in different departments to avoid the fifth floor where Ellie was recovering. Your colleagues noticed the change in you, the dark circles under your eyes deepening, but you brushed off their concerns with practiced smiles and vague excuses. But you couldn't avoid her for any longer, since no one ever wants to change to work the night shift. You were faced again with dread knowing that the next night you’d have to see her again.

As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, memories of her voice, her laugh, and that final look in her eyes kept cycling through your mind. You checked your phone compulsively, though you knew there would be no messages - you hadn't even exchanged numbers.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

When you finally arrived for your night shift, your footsteps echoed hollowly through the hospital corridors. Each step closer to her room felt like walking through quicksand, your chest tightening with every meter. You'd changed your route about three times, taking longer paths to avoid passing her door, but eventually, duty called you there anyway.

The sight of her empty bed hit you like a physical blow. The sheets were pristine, tucked with hospital corners, no trace of her remaining. Your throat closed up as panic clawed its way through your chest. Had something happened? Had she been discharged? Had you lost her again without even getting the chance to—

"Looking for someone?" Her voice came from behind you, making you spin around so quickly you nearly lost your balance. Ellie stood in the doorway, one hand gripping an IV pole, the other pressed against the door frame for support. She looked stronger than yesterday, but the shadows under her eyes matched your own.

"You shouldn't be up," you managed to say, your professional tone betraying none of the turmoil beneath. "The accident—"

"Don't," she cut you off, her voice sharp. "Don't pretend this is just about medical concern. Seven years y/n. Seven years of silence, and now you want to hide behind your scrubs and pretend we're nothing more than doctor and patient?"

The use of your name sent a shiver down your spine. It sounded both foreign and achingly familiar on her lips. You took an involuntary step backward, your back hitting the edge of the medical cart. "Ellie, I—"

The monitor beside her beeped faster, matching her rising anger. She pushed herself up despite the pain, her knuckles white against the hospital sheets.

"You know what's funny?" she continued, her voice trembling. "I waited. For months, I waited for you to call, to explain, to give me any fucking reason why my best friend suddenly decided I wasn't worth knowing anymore. Joel kept telling me to let it go, but I couldn't. I couldn't understand how someone who promised to always be there could just... disappear."

Each word was a knife, cutting deeper than the last. You wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that you'd been drowning in your own fears, your own inadequacies. That leaving her was the hardest thing you'd ever done, and you'd regretted it every day since. But the words stuck in your throat, just like they had seven years ago.

"I thought I was over it," she whispered, her grip on the IV pole tightening until her knuckles went white. "I thought I was over you. But seeing you yesterday... God, it's like no time has passed at all. I still—" She stopped abruptly, swaying slightly.

You moved forward instinctively to steady her, your hands hovering near her shoulders without touching. The space between you crackled with tension, with all the things left unsaid. Her breathing was slightly labored, and you knew you should insist she return to bed, but you couldn't bear to break this moment, as painful as it was.

"I never stopped thinking about you," you finally admitted, your voice barely audible over the hum of hospital equipment. "Not for a single day."

Ellie's laugh was bitter, wet with unshed tears. "That makes it worse, doesn't it? That you thought about me but still chose to stay away. That you cared enough to remember but not enough to write. And now here you are," she laughed, but it was a hollow sound that made your chest ache. "Playing doctor in your pristine white coat, probably living that perfect life your parents always wanted for you. Was it worth it? Was losing everything we had worth making mommy and daddy proud?"

Blood began seeping through the bandage on her forehead, but she didn't seem to notice or care. Her breathing was ragged, each word seeming to cost her something vital.

"I needed you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "When everything went to shit, when I lost everyone else, I needed my best friend. But you were too busy becoming exactly what they wanted you to be."

The monitor's beeping reached a crescendo, and you instinctively moved toward her. She recoiled.

"Don't," she warned, tears finally spilling over. "Don't you dare try to fix this now. You lost that right a long time ago."

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

taglist: @liasxeatt@chaengluva@junipertried@bready101@pornoangelz@xeneasworld@ellensmithxo@xxannyxx@lovelookspretty@vahnilla@lina222eidolonl@fairylesbean@rxreaqia@feralshaunalvr@minnimoon@ilovewomen4lot@iheartclairo66@abbyswh0r3@mxquelo@kaykeryyy@badbye777@mimasroom2 @dollinrehab @0phantom0 @t0x1cw4st3-x3 @sevyscoven @casualdeathxx @ellieslittleslutt

(some i couldn’t tag sorry)

#lesbian #princess 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔. ˚. ᵎᵎ🪷#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams tlou #tlou #tlou part 2 #ellie williams angst #ellie willams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #sapphic #wlw post

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deathofacupid · 9 hours ago

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synopsis: in which what begun as an arranged marriage, blossomed to love. for sukuna, at least. a/n: for my beloved @salsakiyoomi, whom i wrote this for, and who also inspired me. it's, like, 1.7k words, so definitely longer than i'd thought. banner credits to @/aquazero.

"do you think," he begins, his voice a hesitant murmur, so unlike the usual booming pronouncements of a king, that you almost miss it. "do you think it would be fair… to give us a chance?"

you glance up from your book, a collection of ancient poetry, the words blurring as you try to process his question. "sorry?" you ask, genuinely unsure if you’ve heard correctly. the firelight dances in his usually sharp, confident eyes, softening them in a way you’ve never witnessed.

he clicks his tongue, a nervous tic you’ve only ever seen him display in moments of extreme agitation, and shakes his head slightly. a flush creeps up his neck, staining his pale skin a delicate pink. it’s a startling sight on the usually stoic king.

is it embarrassment? fear? the thought is so foreign, so incongruous with the image of sukuna, that you almost dismiss it. almost. yet, as he stands there, fidgeting like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, you can’t fathom any other explanation.

sukuna clears his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet of the room. "i think… we could try," he says, the words coming out in a rush. a pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities. "us."

you blink, your mind struggling to catch up. "what do you mean? we are married, are we not?" the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

"that’s different," he grumbles, scuffing the toe of his boot against the expensive rug. "that’s… not real."

you close your book, the leather binding snapping shut with a sharp sound. setting it aside, you watch him pace, a restless energy radiating from him. you’ve never seen him this… uneasy. vulnerable. it’s unsettling. "we sleep beside each other. we eat together. we share the same last name. what is not real?"

the answer comes quickly, almost too quickly, as if he’s been rehearsing it in his head. "our love. that’s not real."

you shake your head, a small, involuntary movement. "well, of course. we agreed that—"

"—fuck what we agreed to," he interrupts, the crude language shocking you into silence.

"sukuna," you breathe, your eyes widening.

gathering a sudden burst of courage, he steps closer, taking your hands in his. his touch, usually so demanding, is surprisingly gentle. "petal," he whispers, the nickname he only uses when he thinks no one is listening, "i want more."

"i… i don’t think that’s wise," you stammer, instinctively pulling back. the hopeful light in his eyes dims, and your stomach clenches.

"you don’t love me, sukuna," you continue, your voice trembling slightly. "we wouldn’t work like that. things are… perfect right now. the arrangement we have, we’re at the top. we don’t have to worry about… feelings. we—we don’t have anything getting in the way."

"who’s to say they would get in the way?" he counters, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

"we know they would," you insist, the years of carefully constructed logic solidifying your resolve. "and what makes you believe that—that i feel the same?"

"nothing," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. "i don’t know. but if we’re already ‘married,’ would it hurt to…?" he trails off, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desires.

"besides," you say, grasping at any logical argument, "we’re awful to each other."

"i don’t mean any of it, though," he protests, his voice rising in frustration.

"you did before," you remind him, the memory of his cruel words stinging even now. "and i don’t know if i can be with someone like that."

"people change," he whispers, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of understanding.

for a fleeting moment, you waver. you allow yourself to imagine it: a life with sukuna, not as a political alliance, but as something… more. a warmth spreads through your chest, a dangerous, tempting feeling. but then, the cold reality of your responsibilities crashes down on you. you can’t risk it. you can’t risk the stability you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

what if it all goes wrong? what if you have an irreparable fight? what if he uses his power as king to ban you from the battlefield? you love being out there, fighting alongside your troops, protecting your people. you won't be confined to some gilded cage. you won't be stripped of your purpose.

"no," you whisper, the word a death knell to his hopes. "no."

love was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty.

you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom. you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain.

the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

a love that was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna. you're playing a dangerous game, one you're destined to lose."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty. you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom.

you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain. the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

and in the quiet solitude of your gilded cage, you realize that the greatest sacrifice you made was not for your kingdom, but for yourself. you sacrificed your own happiness, your own chance at love, and in doing so, you condemned yourself to a lifetime of regret, a slow, agonizing decay of the heart.

the crown is yours, but the cost… the cost is everything.

#more angst because it's soso fun to write #jjk x reader #jjk #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk x you

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holylulusworld · 2 days ago

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This kiss...

Summary: Bucky kept his distance for as long as he could.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, sneaky Tony

Written for @avengers-assemble-bingo Valentine's Event.

He’s nervous as hell, tugging at the tie he’s wearing only for her.

James Buchanan Barnes faced Red Skull. He faced Hydra. Hell, he faced half of the Avengers.

He defeated enemy after enemy without missing a beat.

Today, he faces his greatest fear. He swallows thickly while trying to remember his speech—no, not a speech, only the words he practiced again and again.

Bucky is nervous, scared, and excited at the same time. He’s worried to fuck his only chance to win you over up.

He stands in front of your building, taking deep breaths. Bucky rubs his hands together, fighting the cold spreading through his body as you step out of the building.

He’s about to walk toward you as a stranger steps out of the building. The man talks to you, laughing at something you said.

“No,” Bucky murmurs to himself. “I waited too long.” His heart squeezes in his chest as he looks your way. He’s about to walk back to his bike when you call his name.

“Buck!” You giggle and cross the street, not even looking left and right to reach him as fast as possible. “I knew you wouldn’t forget our date!”

“Date?” He furrows his brows.

Bucky straightens his tie again as his eyes scan every inch of your body. You look so pretty in your classic 1950s-style polka dot dress with a fitted bodice, cinched waist, and full, flared skirt. You steal his breath when you step closer to place your hand on his chest.

“Yes,” you excitedly say while grabbing his tie to play with it. “Where do we want to go? You didn’t say it when you called me this morning.” You dreamily smile up at Bucky because he finally asked you out.

Bucky swears you are looking so sweet you steal the breath out of his lungs. He just knows he needs to kiss you to test if this is all real.

“Anywhere you want to go,” he softly says. His hands cup your face, and he presses his lips to yours. Gently and slowly at first. Your lips feel soft against his. He moans, and his whole body almost shakes the first time he kisses you.

You gasp against his lips but eagerly kiss him back. Pressing gently against him, you whine. Your hands go to his chest and run through his hair, eager to touch and explore.

Bucky wraps his arms around you, never wanting to let go of you.

You only break the kiss to breathe again, smiling as he lovingly looks at you in his arms.

“So, where do you want to go, Buck?”

"Kiss me again, and I'll tell you," Bucky replies before stealing another kiss.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve looks around the communal room. He came back from a date and wanted to ask Bucky if he finally found the guts to ask you out.

“On a date,” Tony chews audibly on the leftovers of his Valentine’s dinner. “I hope he gets laid. There’s nothing more annoying than a grumpy old man who needs to get laid.”

“Date?” Steve questions. “Did he finally ask Y/N out?”

Tony shrugs. “Kinda.”

Steve quirks a brow at Tony's response. “What’s that supposed to mean, Tony?”

“Maybe,” Tony says and looks over his shoulder, “I asked Friday to call Y/N and use Buckethead’s voice to ask her out. They shared a kiss and went on a date. Mission accomplished. Another satisfied client.”

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #x reader #happy valentine's day

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burningembers91 · 16 hours ago

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Fatherly Disdain - Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Outside Looking In In the Bleak Midwinter Without You Looking Up

Synopsis: Desperate to reconnect with his family, Nam-Gyu agrees to attend dinner with his estranged father, who drops a bombshell on you, threatening everything you've worked so hard for

It was the strong, bold smell of the coffee that awoke you. The rich, dark aroma floated sensually from the cup to your nose, entwining itself around your senses and pulling you from your deep sleep. Nam-Gyu had placed the large cup on your bedside table, complete with his usual sticky note he left each morning, reminding you how much he loved you.

He left so early for work these days, up before the sun rose to go for a run through the neighbourhood, before heading to the office. He was a completely different man these days, so far removed from the one you’d met outside of your old club. These days, Nam-Gyu valued exercise and early mornings, he cooked for you, cleaned the apartment, and did all the grocery shopping. With him around, you never had to lift a finger. You felt guilty sometimes, feeling that you weren’t doing enough around the house, but Nam-Gyu assured you that he liked taking care of you.

He’d always wanted someone like you, someone that he was excited to wake up next to, someone he could spend every day with. He no longer desired the fickle popularity that came with club promoting, finding peace in the cozy existence he shared with you. He relished slow, lazy mornings on your days off, trips to the supermarket and local coffee shop. He would take a night with you on the sofa, with a movie and takeout over a night out drinking with people who couldn’t even be bothered to learn his name. Nam-Gyu would cringe when he thought about the person he used to be, so desperate for the validation of strangers. Now all he needed was you, his friends, and his family.

His job as a Junior Finance Assistant was going well, the people in his small office feeling more like family than colleagues. For the first time, he had a real group of friends, ones that he ate lunch with, went out for drinks and dinner with; he knew these people had his back. His relationships with his brothers had improved, and you were regular visitors to their homes for dinner a few times a month. Nam-Gyu had even reconnected with his mother, filling her in on the past few months and telling her all about the woman who had changed her son so drastically. Everyone was so proud of Nam-Gyu, everyone except his father.

No matter how many times his family sang his praises, Nam-Gyu’s dad wasn’t interested in seeing for himself how much his son had changed. As far he was concerned, Nam-Gyu had been given enough chances to change, and he hadn’t bothered to do so until it was too late.

“He’ll come around,” you told him one day, but you didn’t know his father. Growing up, his home had been a dictatorship, and if you didn’t follow the rules, you were cast out. As much as it hurt Nam-Gyu that he no longer had a relationship with his dad, he chose to focus on the relationships he did have.

He met his mum for coffee once a week during his lunch break, catching her up on his life. “I’d like for you to come for dinner,” she said to him to one day, “It’s been so long since you’ve been home.” “Mum,” Nam-Gyu sighed, tired of having the same conversation again and again. “You know dad doesn’t want me there. He said so himself.” “But I want you there,” she smiled, “you’re my son, and I never should have let you leave.” Nam-Gyu understood his mother’s regret over making him leave, but if he hadn’t left, he probably wouldn’t be with you. He would probably still be standing out in the cold, loving you from afar. “Please,” his mum begged, “this Thursday, come for dinner. You don’t have to stay long, but I miss you.”

You could tell he was nervous about seeing his father again, could see how jittery he was the night before. He’d left extra early this morning, choosing a longer running route to try and dispel some of the anxiety that coursed through his veins. After you finished your coffee, you made sure to tidy the apartment, giving Nam-Gyu one less thing to worry about when he got home.

“It’s going to be ok,” you soothed as you watched him retie his tie for the third time. “It’s just dinner.” You took the silky fabric from his shaking hands, assembling a basic knot for him. You’d never seen Nam-Gyu so dressed up before, not even for work. “Does this shirt look ok with these pants?” He asked, angrily stripping them off. Everything needed to be perfect, and he looked anything but. “Nam-Gyu,” you soothed, “they look really good. Put the pants back on, take a breath and let’s get going, or we’ll miss our bus.”

You waited patiently for him to redress, before pulling him in for one last kiss. You could feel him shaking against you, could see the sweat beading on his brow. “If you feel uncomfortable, we’ll leave,” you said, your stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots as you saw how anxious he was. Nam-Gyu simply nodded, taking a deep intake of breath as he slicked back his hair. He so badly wanted tonight to go well, but he knew his father, and he knew that this dinner would not be an easy one.

You arrived at Nam-Gyu’s parents house at 7pm on the dot. His father detested lateness, something that his son had frequently been during his time living under his roof. He clutched the bouquet of flowers that you’d picked out for his mother, his palms sweaty against the cellophane wrapping. You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before the front door swung open.

Nam-Gyu’s father stood before you, his face stony. “On time for once I see,” he sneered, “first time for everything I suppose.” He stepped aside to let you in, eyeing his son with disdain. His shirt was ill-fitting, his tie too much for a casual dinner and his pants were entirely unsuitable. As for you, his father had no words. “It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, bowing low, ensuring you treated the man with the utmost respect. You could see why Nam-Gyu had been so nervous about coming tonight; his dad had put the fear of God into you.

You didn’t get a response to your greeting, his father leaving the two of you standing in the entryway. You both looked at each other, Nam-Gyu shrugging sadly. As you made your way through, the most incredible smells hit you. There was enough food to feed an entire army, and Nam-Gyu’s mother had evidently been cooking for most of the day. she greeted you with love and warmth, ushering you to the table. You tried hard to make conversation, but Nam-Gyu father wasn’t interested. He answered every question with silence, instead choosing to stare directly at the wall behind you. You couldn’t believe this was how Nam-Gyu spent his childhood, living in the shadow of such a cruel man.

What his father lacked in social graces, his mum more than made up for. She was so excited to hear about your life and your jobs, what you did for fun and who your friends were. You almost forgot his father was sat opposite you as you laughed and joked with Nam-Gyu and his mum. You could see how much love she had for her son, and how much love he had for her in return.

It wasn’t until his father loudly cleared his throat, that you remembered he was still there. Reaching across the table, he handed Nam-Gyu an envelope. “Je-Mun,” his mum whispered, “don’t do this.” You noticed she didn’t make eye contact when she spoke to her husband, and you saw the way the smile quickly faded from your boyfriend’s face.

“What is this?” he asked, looking back and forth between his parents. “My invoice,” his father simply said. Opening the envelope, Nam-Gyu found an itemised invoice for overdue rent, bills, money loaned and food eaten from 2012 – 2024. “What is this?” he asked again, his face pale.

“It’s what you owe me,” his father stated, “that is what your upkeep cost for the twelve years you were leeching off me. Now that you have a job, you can finally pay me back.” The table was stunned into silence, no one quite knowing what to say. The invoice was meticulously detailed, down to the brand of soap Nam-Gyu had used. Had his father really been keeping this kind of record? “This isn’t fair,” you snapped, “you can’t do that.” “I think you’ll find I can do what I like,” Je-Mun grunted back, barely acknowledging you as he spoke. “I will be happy to accept monthly instalments, but I do expect the amount to be paid back in full.” You noticed with sickening disgust that your dinner tonight had also been added to the bill.

Nam-Gyu couldn’t take this, the utter humiliation was beyond suffocating. You made your excuses and left shortly after; his father’s invoice clutched tightly in his hand. you didn’t speak on the way home, his face ghostly white as he tried to figure out how he would pay back such an extortionate sum. He was sure his father had never charged his brothers for their medical degree, so why was he so different?

“You can’t seriously be thinking about paying that back,” you cried when you finally made it back home. “That’s insanity! Who does that kind of thing?” “I’m going to have to,” he whispered, slumping down on the sofa. Just this morning, he’d been so happy and now his world was once again crumbling away. His father would not accept non-payment, but Nam-Gyu had no idea how he’d pay him back. “Can you talk to your brothers?” you asked, “can they make him see sense?” “I really don’t know,” he muttered, “I just… I need some air.”

Nam-Gyu threw on his running gear, heading out of the door and into the night. He ran for miles, his mind whirring as he weighed up his options. He’d been putting money aside each month for a bigger place for the both of you, hoping you’d one day be able to move somewhere with enough space to start a family. Now, he wasn’t even sure how he’d afford to pay the bills on your current place. He’d always known his father was a bastard, but he didn’t think he was that cruel. It was a ploy to humiliate him, to make Nam-Gyu feel worthless.

By the time he arrived back at the apartment, Nam-Gyu had made up his mind. He would no longer allow his father to intimidate him, to make him feel small. He wouldn’t allow himself to be bullied by the man who was supposed to love him. If his father was so desperate for his money, he would have to come and take it by force.

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #squid game season 2 #nam gyu x you #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 3 days ago

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Feeling freaky and all I can think about is dave fucking you from behind with his arm around your neck choking you with those fucking biceps

Someone needs to euthanize me.

A/n: I was writing a different fic when I got this notification and it was really funny bc I had just been staring at the screen thinking about Dave’s fucking arms

Warnings: smut, choking, asphyxiation, spanking, degradation, muscle kink, sir kink, size kink, mirrorsex, belly bulge, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

I have never had such a hard time trying to find a picture of Dave and I’m pretty sure I’ve used this exact picture before but MY GOD I was struggling 😔

Dave had a you in a chokehold, occasionally his hand would come down to spank you. This was your punishment for walking in on him.

It wasn’t your fault, he was so fucking hot and you were sharing a hotel room together while Megadeth was on tour. Dave showered every chance he could and he’d always come out of the bathroom in just a towel.

Of course you ogled him, and he noticed, you didn’t think he’d mind if you just peeked into the bathroom while he showered.

He kept the curtain open, water spraying everywhere. You looked him up and down, eyeing him deliciously all the way from his thick thighs to his meaty cock you wanted to choke on, to have buried so deep inside you it gave you a lobotomy. From his cumgutters and happytrail all the way up to his wet hair before finally landing on… his eyes glaring daggers into you.

His palm landed on your already red ass again. “Fucking bitch, who the fuck said you could come in on me like that?” Your eyes crossed, face red from embarrassment, from how good he felt, a touch of asphyxiation.

“I-I did!” You moaned. “I wanted to see, wanted-wanted you to fuck me.” You moaned out, voice echoing off the tiled walls.

Again his hand came down on you. “This is what you wanted all along?” He demanded. “You could’ve just asked, but I guess I’ll have to train you, huh?”

You whined loudly, walls clenching around him. “Yes, please! Train me.” Dave smirked as you begged him to fix you.

“Such a fucking brat.” His hips stilled inside you, taking away the high you were so close to reaching. Another loud whine left you, tears filling your eyes. “Brats don’t get to cum.” He growled, tightening his hold on you.

You watched the muscles in his arm flex, shoulder and bicep so voluptuous, the veins in his forearm and hand as it clenched in a fist. You looked so weak under him, so small and fragile in his hold.

It got harder to breathe but you couldn’t think about that, too focused on the way he rammed into you repeatedly. Veiny cock hitting deep in you, a bulge forming with every thrust.

His grunts fell straight onto your ear, filling your mind and smoking it up like steam on a mirror. You were sure that if he let go of your throat you’d be screaming his name, creaming around his furry base.

His ball hit your thighs, pubes wet with sweat and your juices leaking from your abused hole, neglected clit pulsing painfully. “Need someone to fix your attitude.” He huffed. “Not gonna get that by getting what you want.” His thrusts stopped again, hold on you tightening once more.

You were in for a long night of choking and edging, your ass stinging. “Plea-please, sir…” you stammered, the lack of oxygen hitting your brain, “I-I’ll be good, I’ll be- I’ll be better, sir, promise…”

Dave’s smirk only widened further. “That’s a good cocksleeve, but sluts don’t talk.”

#megadeth rp #megadeth x reader #megadeth smut #megadeth imagines #megadeth fanfiction #megadeath #megadeth #dave mustaine x you #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine smut #dave mustaine imagines #dave mustaine rp #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine

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lullabyes22-blog · 2 days ago

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Snippet - He's Back - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

A confrontation long overdue.

(Happy Valentine's Day, folks :'D)

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: angst

"I trust," Silco says, breaking the quiet, "you didn't take that personally."

"What, you bailing midway?"

"Hm."

She doesn't frown. But her dipped eyelids shield a stormfront. "...Look. This arrangement? If it's not working out—"

"You know that's not the case."

"No?"

"I only needed..." To put my pieces in back together. "...Space."

"Yeah?" A flash a familiar vigilance. "Sure it's not because of her?"

"Her?"

Does she mean Nandi?

Her sister's specter has ceased to interfere in the peripheries of their intimacy.

Or—gods, has she learnt about his dalliance with Medarda, the long-game laced together in exquisite deception?

Silco doubts it—he covers his tracks—but sometimes he underestimates the razor edge of Sevika's perceptiveness.

Too late to dissemble if that's the case. But before he braces for impact—before the blowback of her judgement leaves him a smoking crater—he prays for a chance to plead his case. To explain that Medarda balances on the precarious axis between personal proclivity and political leverage. To beg Sevika—

(Beg? That's unseemly for both.)

—convince her, that his attraction is a complicated calculus. His goals are on track, even if the rest's tangled in desire's gilded strings. He'll not deny the thrall Medarda exerts; the fascination of her nimble wit; a rare gift in reading people, even the darkest facets of his own nature.

But it's survival—not need—that shares their bed. It's common ground—not devotion—that drives their bargain. It's the irrevocable necessity of circumstance—not goddamn choice—that turns him to the enemy as he once turned to drugs, drink, dissipation.

There is no tether there. Only game after bloody game, Sevika, and if you give the word, I'll burn the board to the ground—

"Sevika," he begins. "I—"

As always, she preempts him. "Jinx."

Silco struggles to conceal his surprise. "...Jinx.."

"You miss her. Miss her so much you'd rather be here, with me, than alone in your penthouse."

"That's not true." It is, and isn't. "I'm not here for—"

"Don't deny it. There's a piece missing with her gone. And that piece won't be filled by any of us here."

"If by piece—," he dares a cautious sidestep "—you mean peace of mind—"

"You barely talk about her," Sevika cuts in. "Don't like to hear her mentioned. When I bring her up, you either ignore it, or change the subject. As if she's locked up somewhere too fucking precious to share with the rest of us. It'd be fine if you were at least drinking like a fish and smoking like a fiend and throwing yourself headfirst into anything involving disembowelment. Instead, you've been..." she gropes for a second. "Distant."

"Distant."

She gives him a meaningful look. "Like you're still in the Deadlands. Still… somewhere I can't follow."

Inwardly, Silco marvels. Outwardly, he says nothing.

It's true; he's kept himself to himself. Not because he's subsumed everything into his work—he has—but because he's lately sensed himself at a crossroads.

Not of Zaun but his own convictions.

Self-concept's not been in the cards for a while. It left when Jinx crashed into his life. Without her, he's not lost the measure of the game, but the measure of himself.

A father.

Except he's still Jinx's father. It defines him like a chalk outline around a corpse; a name carved on a gravestone. He'll always belong to her. No matter where their paths uncross into separate tangents, or where their roads lead together.

But Silco, himself? Beyond Zaun?

He's yet to find the answer, though tonight's left him on surer footing.

From the streets, fireworks spiral, then fade. In the spreading silence, Sevika says, "You can be not-okay, you know. Nobody'd fault you."

Her gentleness unsettles. His deflection is reflexive. "No, they'd simply kill me."

"They'd have to go through me," she says matter-of-factly, "And nobody gets through me."

They trade a brief smile. Tight as tethers go.

Sevika says, "I figured… that was why you let them stay over."

"Who?"

"Pearl’s girls." She sips slowly. Her chest—still faintly sweat-sheened—rises and falls in measured exhalations. "The entire time they were over, you were so... unlike you. Or maybe you: times ten. Like you'd be with Jinx, only... safer." Her eyes meet his. "You must miss it. Taking care of a kid who looks up to you like you're Janna's godsdamn gift."

"Pearl's kin look to the future. Not to me."

"You care about them." A beat, "Same way you must've cared about Pearl."

Silco steels himself against his habitual response: Admit nothing, deny everything, destroy everyone.

Instead, he takes a long swig of tea, buying time before the final draft.

"Yes," he says.

"Yes, what? Which part?"

"All of it." A deeper swallow; tongue weighing each word. "I did care for Pearl. She was fine company. Generous with herself, and patient with my inadequacies."

Sevika scoffs. "Those being?"

"We both know better than to enumerate." A shadow of a smile slinks across his lips, then fades. "It was good, what we had in the Ditch. Not a matter of what my body needed. More... what my self required. With Jinx gone, there was so little to steer me except survival. Except survival is a stalling tactic. It allows you to continue existing. But life, really living, requires meaning. And meaning demands engagement beyond oneself. Pearl gave me a second chance at that."

Silence from across the table. He waits her out: a stubborn force brooding in place. Finally Sevika shakes her head.

"I should've been there," she murmurs. "Should've gone with you."

"How could you have known I'd vanish?"

He thinks of all the things he could tell her of that time. His psyche-marred misery in wake of Jinx’s departure. His rage and emptiness. How he'd been left with the topsoil of his soul stripped bare. All that was left was a doppelgänger sustained on the fumes of memory.

A soulless medium compelled to descend to the darkest core to mine his purpose from stone.

Quietly, he says, "You pledged me your loyalty. Loyalty isn't grounds to follow a leader beyond death's door."

"Is that where you went? Six feet under?"

"A thousand fathoms deep." Draining the mug, he sets it aside. "That's where Pearl found me. Her, and her girls. And from there... they guided me back. In their ordinariness, they were extraordinary. They had such little in the world. Yet they fought for everything in it. Tooth and nail;, blood and bone. Life took nothing from them without paying a price."

Sevika regards her own mug. "So they helped you figure out how to live again."

A cogent summary. He nods.

"Were you and Pearl...?"

"In love? I'd not take it that far." Silco exhales. Pearl's presence is between his ribs—a vivid ache—but not a mortal blow. Her quintessence was pure steel; it'd steeled and purified him in turn. Even in his blackest mourning, he'll carry that unyielding framework into the future. "We suited each other. A simpatico of spirit and flesh. In another life—perhaps that would've sufficed. In this one..." He traces a fingertip down his left cheekbone: the rough corrugation of scar tissue like tear-tracks. "I'm grateful our paths crossed. But I'll always regret the way they did."

"Because she didn't make it."

"Because in seeking her out, I abandoned you."

Sevika doesn't flinch. But her expression, in tiny increments, softens. For the first time since his return, he sees forgiveness. Forgiveness, and a strange species of sorrow: as if she's bracing herself against worse to come.

She's already lost him in more ways than one; to war, to prison, to something else entirely.

To Zaun itself: the loss that keeps on giving.

"Do you ever wonder..." she falters, as if casual discourse might veer the night dangerously off-course. "...if it would've been better if we'd chosen a different path? Stayed apart, in Nandi's wake?"

"If our lives hadn't met at Zaun's center?"

"If the ...grief... hadn't changed us. If we never became this."

"This?"

"Us." She gestures: copper fingers singing on oiled servos. Their everlasting entanglement; their perpetual estrangement. "What if we'd kept it strictly business. No strings attached."

"Strings can be severance. Or safety ropes."

"What's the difference if both'll strangle you?"

"Have they?"

"Don't pretend." Sevika sets down her emptied mug. The knuckles of her good hand are pale on the handle. "If we'd kept it straight business, maybe we would've moved on. You with Pearl. Me with whoever this city threw my way. Instead it's always been this weird limbo. The life we're living, and life we could've been living. Except—it's not living at all. More like the coffin's nailed shut six ways from Sunday. But the grave's still yawning open. Open to chance. But ...never closure."

Hope's not a commodity Silco trades in. But right now it's rushing in like a high tide over sandbags.

"Then—" he swallows, "—is it closure you're after? Or an escape clause?"

Sevika shakes her head. Her sigh is edgy.

"Escape," she says, "isn't freedom. Freedom's a choice."

Silco nods, but says nothing. The silence, seconds ticking by, is an unspoken invitation:

Step through, and show me what you'd choose.

"It's why we work," Sevika goes on. "We didn't choose each other. We chose Zaun. That was the big picture, and we were both in it, and the rest didn't matter. For the longest time, that was all I needed. It was enough. But then... then you were gone. Zaun fell apart, and everything else fell to me, and fell fast. And as it fell, I started thinking: what if things had been different? What if we hadn't been so afraid? Of failure; of fallout? Of... each other? What if I'd stopped staring at the big picture, and taken the risk on getting caught in close-up?"

She meets his stare dead-on. Silco forces himself to weather the spotlight of her scrutiny. He feels, inordinately, like he's facing a firing squad, and his shirt's half-buttoned.

"The days dragged on, and there was no news of you. But even so—even though we'd been finished longtime—I kept wondering. Kept wishing. Just like the night we'd lost on the Bridge. Me, searching and not finding. Me, left waiting and not knowing where to stand." The deep-seated hurt in her eyes—a flicker, then a flame—makes Silco want to gut himself. "There were other offers. Same as last time. Other options. I could've taken 'em and escaped that fucking loop. But instead—fuck. I kept on waiting. I waited, and I waited, and I got sick of the waiting. And it hit me: I wasn't waiting at all. I was stuck. Because I couldn't bear to start again, after losing so damn much. Because moving on meant stepping into the dark, and having nothing underfoot if I fell."

Silco starts to say something. He doesn't.

This is about honesty—not eloquence.

"You know what makes Zaun stand apart?" Sevika says. "We're all about change. About action, not inertia. Me? I wasn't acting. I was going through the motions. Surviving. And in my survival, staying in stasis. Meanwhile the gangs kept warring. The chem-barons kept demanding. The politics kept getting bloodier. My world was coming apart at the seams, and there I was, clinging to scraps like my sanity was worth less than a potshot to the skull." A hard smile surfaces: tough as nails, and molten bright. "It'd be easy to blame you. Say it all led back to you abandoning us. Except we both know the score. You taught it to me, over and over. Cost and reward. Win or lose. Surrender—or fight like hell to keep going."

"You did," Silco says. "This city owes itself to your fortitude. Not mine."

"I tried," Sevika counters, blunt. "I held the center, until I couldn't. But that's the point. Holding the center isn't going anywhere. It's stalling in place." The smile fades, but the fire lingers. "I don't know what threw us together. Chemistry, or karma, or fate playing games. But I do know this. I'm done holding the center. I'm ready to move on. But I can't—won't—unless I know you're moving too. Unless I know you coming back is a choice. Not a dead man marking time."

The ultimatum is brutal. But he reads between the lines. She'd kept it together, and kept herself intact. Survived, not as his second-in-command or factional proxy but as a person.

Just Sevika, fighting for life in a universe of atoms. Just as he had done in the Deadlands.

Tonight, closure's not un the cards. But choice is.

And upon that choice, the groundwork for the next stage of revolution.

"Sevika," Silco begins. "I never considered—"

"I'll bet."

"I meant—I never understood, either. That holding the center meant staying in place."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Because you're always ten steps ahead of everybody." Her eyes flash a semaphore of secret admiration. "Every option weighed; every factor calculated. No errors. No exceptions."

Her faith nearly fells him. He's never been more unworthy of it. Never more terrified of knowing he's unworthy.

"I'm not," he says, "as clever as you think I am."

Her snort snags between his third and fourth rib. "Bullshit."

"It's true. I'm—"

Gods, what does he tell her?

That for all his sturm and drang—laying waste to a city and resurrecting it into splendor—he's a fucking coward at heart? Too gutless to let himself bleed; too feckless to let himself hurt. That for ten years, he's held onto himself by the skin of his teeth, and kept a city in his crosshairs—only to be undone by a little girl's tears? Unmade by fatherhood and the promise a legacy more lasting than the wreckage in his wake?

That he's still unmaking himself, putting the pieces in patterns yet unseen?

And still, there's no promise the pattern will cohere into a whole. Into a man who is halfway worthy of a woman willing to be his spine, his shield, his tether. A woman who has been through her own hell, and yet embodies every quality forged from that hellfire: tenacity, toughness, truth. A woman who manages ninety percent of her life effortlessly and the other ten percent ruthlessly; who fights harder for Zaun than anyone but him; who demands respect without begging for approval; whose tolerance for bullshit ends at the doorstep.

Who grants him access to her body, but whose boundaries are uncompromising. Who compromises daily, for his city's sake, and his own, and still sticks around when she has no cause to care.

Silco starts to speak. Stops. His throat's seized up. Ten fingerprints; Vander's phantom chokehold.

And beyond that chokehold: choice.

Silence crawls between them: tense, terrible, tetherless.

At last, Sevika gusts a sigh.

"Forget it." Her chair scrapes across the tiles. "I shouldn't have brought it up." She rises with military precision: all the momentum, with none of the grace. "Let's call it a night. I need some shut-eye, and you need to be at HQ. I'll radio the crew—"

The mind-body connection reinstates with a wallop.

Before she can withdraw, he's cut off her egress. For some reason he cannot fathom, he finds himself kneeling, though what he has a right to profess at her feet is beyond him.

Daddy, he thinks, proposed to Mother like this.

The recollection's absurdly random, and strangely relevant.

Stunned, Sevika backs into the chair, her elbow banging off the wood. "...What're you—?"

"I choose."

The dark lashes flutter. The tough exterior conceals a flashpoint of panic:

He's lost it.

He's gone mad.

Gone for good, oh gods—

"I choose," he repeats, compelling her stare with his. "I'd choose all the choices that brought us here. Because that's what it was: choice. Not karma, or fate, or sheer dumb luck. I'd still choose to crawl out of that river, and stick a knife in Vander's back. I'd still choose to ally with you, because there was nobody else worth allying with. I'd still choose Jinx, and all the wins and losses that followed. I'd choose freedom; I'd choose Zaun. I'd choose to march the streets with my army—every misfit soldier, every broken soul. And you by my side, leading the charge. As you've led everytime I couldn't. As you've led me through the hardest parts of our journey—whenever I failed to light my own way."

The fear shifts to something else: half-formed, fiercer in its vulnerability.

"You—you don't mean that," she stammers. "You never would have chosen this. Not me, not us—"

Silco takes her good hand in both of his.

Sevika tenses, but doesn't tug away. Plainly her first impulse; to save them both from something irreversible. He recognizes that fear; it's his own.

In another life, he'd never give credence to its silhouette. He'd take her hand, twine her fingers through his, hold on tight—all without a single red lie. He'd have cupped her head, smoothed her hair, then dragging her close, so their foreheads met in a familiar circle of warmth.

That'd been the go-to, once. When touch was easy, and trust a matter of course.

Replicating the gesture now seems a forgery. Worse, a travesty of what once was.

Except what once was is no more. Neither are they. Whoever he is—he must learn it all from scratch.

Starting now.

He stays his knees; he keeps her hand in his.

"I don't care," he says. "I don't care if the odds don't stack up. Or what probability matrix I'm fucking over. All I know is: I choose. Us—whatever us means. Whatever it doesn't. Whether it's you jettisoning everything we've built, or me burning it to ground zero—I'd still choose where it's led us. I'd choose whatever path lies ahead. Even if it takes us out of Zaun's orbit altogether—or down to the last circle of hell. No matter where we fall on that spectrum: I choose, Sevika." He breathes, steadies. "I choose whatever's left."

The silence spins like a roulette wheel: a freefall between extremes.

Her hand's a tether. He holds it tight between his fists, until the subdermal tremor stills.

"Silco..."

"Yes?"

Her eyes are burningly dark. "I'm what's left."

"You are." He skims a thumb over her lifeline, where blue veins branch across her wrist. Life coursing beneath: vital, raw, real. "And you're what I choose. Fuck the rest."

Her breath jitters on a rare laugh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Funny."

"How so?"

"'Cause that's exactly how I feel."

He lifts her palm to his lips. Feels the pulse quickening at the base, overflowing with all he's lacked; with all he needs.

Warmth, want, wholeness.

Unexpectedly, her fingers flex; she twines them through his. The cybernetic hand reaches out to seize his jaw. Gently, then not. She drags him in even as he flows into her embrace. The kiss is like whiskey left mellowing over the hearth-flames: fiery, smooth, familiar. Cardamom lingers in the gaps; the rest's doused in the residue of adrenaline.

Then desire simmers back into the brew: a low smolder, but with the capacity to roar should they pour a stiff shot into the equation. Her arms span his shoulders; his teeth catch her lower-lip. The kiss drags them down deep.

Love's like revolution. An entire paradigm rewritten from the ground up.

In the aftermath, there's always blood.

When they break apart, it's only to breathe. Their skins are pinked with inner-heat; pupils dilated. Sevika's grip is unyielding; her thighs have gone from a rigid V to a needy cinch. His body, fitted between, has traded languor for livewire greed. Memories of earlier burn viscerally bright. Himself inside her, a cock thrust deep; a body on fire against another starved of heat.

He lays a kiss, openmouthed, at her breastbone. Her throat vibrates against his ear: purr, chuckle, moan.

"You should get going," she breathes, "before this gets ugly."

He laps the words from her throat. "That's the idea."

"Tomorrow's schedule... is a shitshow."

"All the better to end on a high note."

"Silco..."

It's a quaver of syllables. Halfway to futility—all the way to surrender.

By nature, Silco presses his advantage: cool palms coasting beneath the hem of her nightshirt, blunt fingernails ghosting goosefleshed flanks. Her breasts fill his palms like decadent teardrops: nipples pebbling into silky little hellos as he rolls each with delicate intent, then roughly pinches. Her startled groan fills his mouth.

Gods above and below—the way she arches; the way she rocks. Her own kisses have gone from scalding to incandescent. He knows they're no longer going to make it to her bed—at least, not immediately. He'll have her here, first: in the kitchen, on his knees. With his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock in her cunt.

Nothing romantic to it, but what he wants is far more real.

"Sweet Janna," Sevika gasps, as he rucks up her nightshirt and fastens on her bare tit like candy, "do you ever ease up?"

Silco hums the negation between her breasts. "...You?"

"Gods, no—" She cups his skull, drags him closer, "but tomorrow—"

"Fuck tomorrow." The crudeness earns him a grin. Her fingers tighten on his crown; her knee hikes higher around his torso. "Tonight's Jubilee. Not your father's bloody funeral. Save the damp squib for when it counts."

Her spiky smirk was spreading. But somewhere, he's hit the wrong note. The spark douses into stillness. Her arms loosen; the Valkyrie wilts.

In her absence, there's only the shape of a wary woman: heavy-boned and hard-lined; scars all across the skin.

Breaking their embrace, she tugs her top down. Self-conscious; unlike herself.

"C'mon," she mutters. "Don't play roulette with the cards you're dealt."

"I thought that was our calling." Bemused, he searches her face. "Unless there someone else you're hedging your bets on?"

"No." An old exhaustion creeps into her eyes. One that prefigures Zaun in its entirety. "Just... no."

"No?"

"I need to be counting sheep tonight. Not stars."

Rising, she gathers the empty mugs, ferrying them to the sink. The shift is sudden and inexplicable. His XO is carved from bedrock, with all its obdurate depths. Moodiness is a character flaw she rarely indulges.

A premonition prickles along Silco's nape. The monster stirring awake. He's never handled disappointment well. Rejection, worse. It makes his knucklebones lock around a blade's hidden heft; ready to dish out whatever collateral damage is necessary until his goal is within reach.

Mine, the monster hisses. Mine.

Ours, he counters, and wills himself to stillness.

"What's wrong?" he says, as mildly as possible. "A minute ago, you were ready."

"I was." She rinses the mugs. Her movements aren't tense, only sharply efficient. "But... tonight's not ideal."

"Bad head?"

Her sidelong smile is wan, but warms her eyes. "Nobody'd level that critique against you, sweetheart."

The Sweetheart is a token; Silco pockets it as compensation. They don't do endearments; haven't in years. Perhaps, tonight, it's one of many rules they're unwriting.

Or perhaps Sevika's setting new parameters for intimacy altogether.

Not his strong suit: abiding by limits. But, then, neither is sharing.

Yet here he stands. Near enough for her heat to soak into him; not so close as to invade her space. He's in no position to inveigle, especially after laying his cards at her feet.

The dice is hers to throw.

"If we're going too fast," he says, "say so. I'll match whatever pace you set."

Her head pivots. She looks—truly looks—as if he's an anomaly she's never encountered. Something enthrallingly new, and far too dangerous.

"You're not angry," she murmurs.

"No."

"Why not?"

His shrug isn't effortless, but it's honest. "We've had a string of long days. We deserve to take the edge off, however we like. If that means shut-eye instead of screwing, so be it. But," and here the devil seeps to the surface, "I'd be lying if I said a quickie wouldn't put a spring in my step tomorrow."

She doesn't laugh, but it's a close call. "I think I'll manage without the extra bounce."

"Are you sure?"

"You know me. Always on the ball."

"You're not. Though you do a damn good job hiding it." He reaches out, thumbing a tangle behind her ear. "You're wired. You're always wired. But this is the first time it shows."

She tenses. But the touch, lingering, softens something within. Her eyes drift half-shut. "...It's nothing."

"No?"

"Just... there's too much riding on the line."

"We're the line, remember?" The caress drifts lower, cupping her nape. She arches into his palm: a dragon seeking shelter. Yet within their closeness is sense of something sinister. A splinter of truth, caught in between. "Unless, in honor of Jubilee, you've chosen abstinence for the month."

"Hardly." There's a trace of a smile; a shadow of bitterness. "That was Nandi's cup of hemlock."

"Hyssop."

"Huh?"

"Hemlock's the killer. Hyssop's the healer." Off her stare, he tips a shoulder. "Your sister taught me the finer points of herblore. During our courtship, I was always bruised, bloody, and bone-deep in doom. She couldn't steer me tidy, so she choose to teach me how to triage a broken arm."

Sevika's scrubbing slows. "That sounds like Nandi."

"A born dogooder."

She laughs—a frayed but genuine sound—just as he suspects her mouth may be running short on indulgence.

"Nah. She had a wicked streak. Only difference is that hers came with a heart of gold. Whereas mine..." She performs a neat sidestep to hang the mugs off their hooks. "Got mine from my old man. Not a lick of shine in sight."

"I disagree."

"Your eyesight's one flaw worth enumerating."

"If I had to list yours, self-deprecation wouldn't feature among them." He catches her wrist, but lightly. "What's wrong? Because something is."

"Something." Her shrug's an imitation of his, but a poor one. "I guess... I'm just being superstitious. Thinking: if I let myself go now, I'll slip up at the next critical juncture. Or get so fucking pissed when you're back to being Zaun's reigning bastard, I won't be able to keep a lid on it? Because—" She swallows. "That's the deal between us. There's always a catch. Cost; reward."

He lets her wrist go. "You think I'm playing games."

"Everything's a goddamn game with you. Same way everything's a game with Janna her-own-damnself. And those games always end up at cross-purposes—and into clusterfucks."

Her silence doesn't quite sit right; Silco feels its surface ripple like a sine wave. There's something vulnerable inside. Something, conversely, walled-off. It recalls the gloss in her eyes when they'd been going at it before. A stormfront brewing north.

Now it occurs to Silco the storm may not entirely be his doing.

"What is this?" He's prowling a circle around her now. "And if you say 'nothing'—"

She nixes the warning with a sharp headshake. "It's not."

"What, then?"

Outside the flat, fireworks: scalding showers of garnet red and verdant green. The eerie fractals dance through the blinds.

On the last ebb of colors, Sevika swallows.

"I can't—" Her voice snags; her lips pull taut. "—trust a single thing about tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you're you, and I'm me. Between us, there's always a flipside. Some wrench in the spokes. Some debt overdue. That's how this game works. That's how it's always worked." Her chin lifts, defiant, but the eyes hold a haunted sheen. "You drive a hard bargain, Silco. But tonight? This deal feels too good to be true. And whatever I have left... I'm not ready to lose. Not if—if you mean what you say. And not if this is the only shot I get at—at—fuck."

Abruptly, she punches the wall. The lapis tile cracks like ice beneath her cybernetic fist.

Dazed, Sevika stares at the damage, the copper knuckles flexing.

A heartbeat later, she's in tears.

Silco's at her side before he registers it. The monster—always slithering, always shapeshifting—is lured to the stress chemicals wafting in the air. The rest of him—the vestigial organ pumping the barest heat to every extremity—pulls rank over roiling appetite.

This isn't a foe to fight. Nor prey to penetrate.

This is Sevika baring a bellyful of hurt.

"Sevika." He catches her shoulders. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing." Furiously, she backhands the tears. "Look, forget it. Just—forget it. It's been a long fucking day. I'm tired. Tomorrow, everything will be fine. You'll be the terror of the deep, and I'll be the stone-cold bitch. Same old, same old. We'll move on; move forward. Like we always do."

"We will." His grip tightens, anchoring her in place. "But not tonight. Tonight, I want the truth."

"Nothing worth sharing."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Abruptly, she wrenches loose.

"Since when do we swap sob stories?" she erupts. "Since when does the Eye of Zaun care what's going on between my ears, and not what deal's brewing in the the backrooms? Since when do you care about anything beyond the big picture, and not what's right in front of you? And why now, Silco? Why tonight, of all nights? When I'm at the end of my fucking rope, and it's just a matter of time before I slip up and strangle myself?"

"Because," Silco snaps, "I do care."

"You don't." She's breathing hard, as if she's sprinted miles to get here. "You're not Sil. You haven't been Sil in over ten fucking years. I was fine with that. Fuck, I was better than fine. I was grateful. 'Cause Sil was mine, and he'd stay mine, even if the rest fell, and our bones rotted. None of this—the dirty deals, the politics, the backstabbing—would touch him. He'd always be that dreamer with a big speech, and the best intentions, even if the worst came knocking. But you—" Her mouth twists. "—you're the fucking monster, remember? The goddamn anti-Sil. You're not supposed to care. You're not supposed to feel a thing. Except lately... you look at me like Sil used to. Like he's still in there, under fifty feet of icewater, and I can't take it. I can't stand you pretending to be him. You can't be. Because him, I knew. Him, I've I believed in. Him, I fought for, and for him, I'd gladly die. You—you're a changeling who stole his skin, and I hate you for it. I hate myself more for wanting you. Because it's too risky to want you. Not if it's all or nothing, and nothing's my most likely bet."

She's barely breathing by the end. The fury's spent itself. Her body's deadweight.

Silco's the one lost at sea.

"Is that what you think?" he says, low. "I'm a pretender in my own skin?"

"I think the last ten years have been a fucking nightmare. I think, whatever you are—whatever you've turned into—that you've still got a long way to go before you're a man I can trust."

"But you want to trust me." He's inching closer. "Trust us."

"I can't!" She jerks back. "I can't go back there. I can't let myself hope."

"Why not?"

"Because—" The bravado cracks. "Because what's left isn't worth losing. You're never gonna change, and neither will the game, and we're both too fucked up to make this work."

"You're wrong."

Inexorably, he advances; she retreats, until he's caged her against the counter. The monster's wide awake, instincts primed to strike. It's Silco's way; coercion as conversational art; proximity as pressure valve.

But here's neither advantage to be extracted, nor damage to impart.

Only his refusal to let her suffer alone.

"I won't," he repeats, softer, "And I'm going to prove it."

"How? By threatening your way into my pants?"

"By owning the truth. Whatever that truth is." He doesn't touch her. Only breathes the salt-scented air between them: stress, sex, tears. The sensory olio solidifies the stakes. "I'm not Sil, and I'll never be again. But he's what I became, Sevika, and he's in me. All the pieces, and none of the pretty. But whatever's left, you can have it all. So long as you'll give me the same."

She shivers. Doesn't move a muscle. Doesn't lash out.

But nor does she run.

"You're asking a lot," she says, raggedly. "What if it's not worth it?"

"Let me be the judge." He holds her eyes. "Tell me what's eating you alive. Because whatever it is—whatever's got you so scared—it won't be the end of us, Sevika. I swear."

Sevika resists; a muscle quivers in her jaw. But the tears are relentless. Each drop's a surrender, unmaking hard-won stoicism by stages.

Finally, she sags. Her voice is uncharacteristically small.

"It's my old man. He's back."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane sevika #sevika #silco x sevika #sevilco

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republicansaretheproblem · 19 hours ago

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I don’t think many of you realize the massive scale of LGBTQIA+ hate being generated by MAGA online. It doesn’t stop there either with MAGA politicians inciting hatred and violence in the real world as well. They are using many vulgarities and slurs I won’t share here but the most common one that that’s not vulgar is degenerate. Every known member of of the lgbt community is now referred to by that term all over social media and in person. People who are allies are getting worked over pretty roughly as well. Hate crimes are off the charts and it might not have reached you yet but it will soon.

You may think it’s worse on Twitter because of Elon and his bots and trolls but here on Tumblr it’s even worse because admin does absolutely nothing. Some may have noticed I’ve tightened up access to my notes, replies, and inbox in recent months. The level of violent psychosexual threats that I’ve been getting just for being pro-Democratic has become too disturbing and nauseating to even read before deleting and blocking.

I’ve been urging everyone who follows me to block MAGAt troll accounts for years and still stand by that. They’re not even bothering to set up functioning accounts anymore but just a screen name without an avatar on blank pages. Their only purpose now is to just harass progressive/liberals/democrats. There are still so many people engaging with them thinking they can make points with them but it’s just a waste of time. You will never change the mind of or convince an anonymous online Nazi of anything. Every time you engage with them or let them post into your notes you’re just giving them oxygen to spread their hatred and vulgar childlike taunts. Basically you’re allowing them to recruit other online lonely losers to their cause. MAGAts are social outcasts who want to belong to something simplistic they can wrap their heads around and Trump’s demagoguery is just what they’ve been looking for. Do us all a favor and block any MAGAt account that tries to interact with you or your online associates. Being blocked online is the thing they fear the most. Let them scream into an empty void instead of giving them the chance to pile onto attacks on us.

#transphobia #trans person murdered #MAGA is literally torturing and killing people on the left #we are in Nazi Germany #Trump did this #republican assholes #maga morons #traitor trump #crooked donald #resist #republican hypocrisy #republican family values #trump sycophants #maga cultists

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jaybejaybeyes · 23 hours ago

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Unpopular opinion: season 2 didn’t do Jayvik the justice it deserved.

But BEFORE you throw anything at me, hear me out. Given where things stood after Jinx’s attack, I get why it went the way it did. From that perspective, their portrayal was pretty solid — the inner conflict, the tragic beauty, the whole multiversal soulmate thing even with the uncanny implications of Old Man Viktor forcing timelines into that Herald ending. I cried my eyes out watching the last ep, it was beautiful, but.

Looking back at s1, my heart aches for the missed potential. The biggest one for me is how we never saw Jayce face the slow, inevitable loss of Viktor. The grief, the helplessness, the weight of watching the person closest to him die — never explored (we didn’t even get to see him properly mourn Viktor’s departure in act 1 of s2). And Viktor? He never had the chance to confront his fear of his legacy being erased again and never shared those thoughts with Jayce.

I know Arcane isn’t about slow hospital room melodrama, but I can’t help but think of the emotional depth we missed. Viktor never had to lean on Jayce — physically and mentally — realising he’s running out of time but he’s got so much to tell him. He never had that raw moment of pure vulnerability, of breaking down — both alone and in front of Jayce — crying, refusing to accept his end, and then coming to terms with it. And Jayce never got to show Viktor how much he’s willing to sacrifice for him in a setting that didn’t require the sacrifice as some heroic act. He mentioned it briefly in s2, but he never actually put everything aside — Council, science — just to be there, letting his life fall apart and the world burn while staying with Viktor, terrified of losing him but trying to stay brave.

Sure, it wouldn’t have been as visually stunning as s2, but I can’t stop thinking about the emotional depth left unexplored — the way it could’ve expanded and enriched their characters. To see them face their greatest fear — losing each other — to see them at their lowest and see their love revealed in such a raw, genuine way… that’s the story I’ll always wish we got

(I suppose I’ll write a fic like that someday and put these thoughts to rest)

#jayvik #jayce talis #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane meta

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system-to-the-madness · 2 days ago

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Perfect - Zuko x Reader

Pairing: Zuko x fem!Reader Word Count: 2 715 Warnings: mentions of kidnapping of children, child slavery, war Summary: After the war is over, Zuko shares his worries with you A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part Eleven (aka the Last Part) of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

Zuko's fingertips were grazing the surface of the pond's water, creating gentle ripples in their path. A turtle duck chick came paddling over, nudging his warm fingers with its cool beak. Pushing his hand underneath the hard shell, he fished the chick out of the water, which, used to the motion, relaxed its legs and patiently waited to be settled down in the folds of his dark red robe where his fingers absentmindedly stroked the top of its feathered head.

It had been two months since the war had ended, since Aang had defeated Zuko's father and Zuko been crowned as Fire Lord. And if he had thought he could relax a little after that, he had been completely wrong about it.

There were treaties he had to make with the other kingdoms. Under his command the colonies in the earth kingdom had started to be dissolved. And there was the matter of these re-education facilities for kidnapped earth kingdom children. Together with him you had freed your sister from one, but as Fire Lord he had learned of three more of these schools. A total of almost two thousand kidnapped kids. Some had been separated from their parents at such a young age for such a long time that there was no hope of finding their families. Some children had been already reunited with theirs, others were still searching. And if Zuko was being honest, it was a tragedy.

There were families that had been whipped out, no parents left, children who would forever keep looking for their mothers or fathers and never find them. There were parents, who's infants had been taken years ago, who now looked at the faces of a bunch of school children, trying to figure out if either of them was theirs. And in all cases, this was the most important to Zuko, it was necessary to always consider the child's happiness and wellbeing before anything else.

If there was a chance that the people claiming a child was theirs were in the wrong, there had to be thorough investigations. If people offered to adopt a child, their backgrounds had to be checked, leaving no stone unturned to figure out if there was any indication the child might suffer with their new parents. It was a hard affair. Emotional, and yet brutally rational.

It was hard carrying all this responsibility atop of his already overwhelming duties as Fire Lord, and even though a capable team was helping in the matter of the kidnapped children, he still felt like he was carrying all the weight himself. If it weren't for you, he probably wouldn't be able to catch a single wink of sleep at night.

He knew it was hard for you to be separated from your sister again, but Xiang had decided against moving into the palace with you and instead moved to Ba Sing Se with Uncle Iroh, who she seemed to have taken a liking to. Even knowing your sister was happier in Ba Sing Se than she would have been here, Zuko knew you missed her terribly.

As if the thought of you had summoned you, he heard the familiar pattern of your steps approach the pond along one of the gravel paths. Zuko lazily leant his head back, his hair falling into his neck as he watched you walk over to him, a soft smile on your face as you approached him. Your hair was bound in a style that seemed like a mixture of traditional Fire Nation Fashion and Earth Kingdom techniques. Your long dress played around your legs in the warm breeze of the sunny morning, and Zuko once again was hit by the realization and wonderment that this perfect person approaching him was the girl who let him love her. A smile tucked at his lips, but yours seemed to falter as you closed in.

“Am I interrupting something,” you asked, making him furrow his brows as you crouched down beside him.

“No,” he answered, although it sounded more like a question. “Why would you?”

“You look… stressed,” you observed, as you reached past him, to run your fingertips over the tiny head of the turtle duck in Zuko’s lap.

“I’m not!” He was aware himself how defensive he sounded, even before you raised your eyebrows at him. But you didn’t comment on it.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” It was a question asked without offence, one that really just asked what he wanted, and Zuko knew that if he told you he wanted to be alone, you would understand without being hurt about it. Still his answer was quicker than his own thoughts.

“No, please stay.”

You smiled at him softly and settled down in the grass beside him. The turtle duck quacked as if welcoming you.

For a while you sat in silence, Zuko occupying his hands with petting the small animal in his lap, while the only sounds around you were the soft gurgling of the brook that fed the pond and the birds singing from the roofs of the palace.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologized. “I know I’m terrible company right now. It’s just- there’s so much going on and-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted him. “I know you have a lot of things to take care of, to think through. It would be a lot even if you had been properly prepared for this position.”

“But I’ve been neglecting you and that’s inexcusable,” Zuko frowned, unable to meet your eyes.

He flinched at the soft touch of your fingers on his cheek as you turned his head to face you. His eyes wandered from your lap over your arm, past the scar he had inflicted on you, up the curve of your neck and the bow of your lips to your mesmerizing eyes. They were warm and compassionate as you asked: “How do you think you have been neglecting me?”

Zuko furrowed his brows and bit his lip, but under your gaze it was impossible to not answer honestly. “I haven’t spent much time with you recently, haven’t been talking to you as much as I should. I want to take better care of you, but in the evenings I’m so tired that I can’t even read to you or enjoy making music together. I feel like I’ve cast you aside and you must feel as if I only use you to find comfort.”

“Do I not bring you comfort,” you asked, running your hands from his cheek down his neck and settling it in his nape, playing with the strands there. The sensation sent a shiver down Zuko’s spine, and he closed his eyes while he hummed appreciatively.

“You do,” he confirmed, “But I don’t want you to think that’s the only reason I want to be with you. I love you,” the words slipped over his lips so easily that he didn’t even notice. “And I want to be able to make you feel loved but instead I’m either locked up in councils or behind a desk the whole day and when I’m not, I’m too lost in my mind, worrying over the responsibility I carry, to pay the due attention to you.”

Zuko’s eyes were still closed, so he startled at the sensation of your lips brushing against his, an innocent kiss, much more innocent than the ones you had begun exchanging recently behind locked doors. But it was more than enough to make his heart skip a beat and his breath hitch. His eyes flickered open to finding your face right in front of his. He occasionally had to remind himself that you were a capable fighter and an increasingly skilled fire bender, because the love in your gaze made it all too easy to forget how dangerous you could be.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pecking his lips again under his observing gaze, before you gently guided him to lay down in your lap. The turtle duck chick in his own lap adjusted to the new position, cuddling into Zuko’s hand. “And I understand that it’s hard for you. There are so many duties all of a sudden. You took over a kingdom that has been at war for the past hundred years, and now you’re trying to bring peace, righting wrongs that were committed generations ago. Nobody would claim this to be an easy task, and I hope you know how proud and impressed I am at the work you are doing alongside everyone.” As you were talking Zuko closely watched your face, the honesty and love that didn’t just shimmer in your voice but also your eyes. “I know you must feel like you are prioritizing your work over us, but please know that I don’t feel neglected at all. I know you make time to have every meal together with me, even if it doesn’t fit your schedule as nicely as your advisors would like to. And maybe you don’t talk to me all the time. But you don’t have to. You are allowed to have your own private thoughts. Which isn’t to say I am not interested in hearing what’s going on in here,” you tapped his forehead gently. “But you don’t have to feel pressured into talking to me. Or listening to me, but I’ve never felt like you didn’t listen when I wanted you to. And you are allowed to just want to sit in silence, too, you know. It’s okay, we don’t have to spend our time together always talking. We can sit in silence, too. That’s okay.”

“But wouldn’t that been boring for you,” Zuko asked, his free hand absentmindedly reaching up to the hand print shaped scar he had unintentionally left on your left arm all those months ago. “I often feel like I don’t want to talk, but I want you around. But can’t ask you to just keep me company without any entertainment.”

“Do you really think I’d only enjoy spending time with you if you entertain or reward me,” you wondered quietly, sounding almost hurt.

Zuko’s fingers brushed over the well healed, slightly raised tissue of the scar, not meeting your gaze and not answering.

“Has it ever occurred to you, that I enjoy spending time with you just because I get to be with you?”

Zuko swallowed thickly as you leant over him, your face covering the blue sky above you.

“You’re an idiot,” you accused, softly knocking your forehead against Zuko’s with a pout.

“Sorry,” he smiled embarrassedly. “It’s just… hard to comprehend, you know.”

You hummed. “I knew I agreed to date a whole bunch of insecurities alongside this pretty face, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Zuko knew you were teasing him, but the compliment didn’t fall on deaf ears and a blush crept into his cheeks.

“You know,” you sat up straight again, your fingers coming to comb through his dark hair, “I enjoy just sitting with you, we don’t have to talk or read or make music. I enjoy sitting just like this. I know you have so many things to do, that you need some time to sort out your thoughts and feelings, I need that too, sometimes. And if you want to be alone for that, you can tell me, and I’ll give you space. But if you want me to just sit with you, I’m happy to do that, too. You don’t have to be afraid to ask.”

Zuko pressed his lips together to hide their quivering. Instead, he focused on tracing your scar again while he felt the turtle duck chick in his other hand nap off.

“Do you remember that one conversation we had once? About having to give feelings space sometimes,” he asked.

You nodded quietly, beginning to braid his hair before undoing it again.

“I think I sometimes just need to do that. I don’t want to be alone for it, because I’m bad with feelings and sometimes they are scary, and having you with me makes me feel safe enough to confront these feelings. But it’s important to do it, to do it this way. And I feel like you understand me.”

You hummed quietly. “I think I do,” you agreed.

For a moment both of you were quiet, you playing with Zuko’s hair and Zuko watching you closely. The light reflecting from the surface of the pond was dancing across your face, lighting up your eyes every other moment, making your hair glow. Zuko suddenly realized that he had probably never felt as peaceful as right now. He felt comfortable, resting in your lap, feeling your warm legs underneath his head, your hands tucking his hair carefully. He felt understood by you, and appreciated. Not something he had a lot of experience with. And he wasn’t quite sure how he deserved someone so perfect at his side. He had never told you, he thought, how perfect he thought you were. So, taking this quiet moment as his chance, he voiced his feelings.

“I sometimes feel scared, because I don’t know how I could ever deserve being with someone as perfect as you, and it makes feel like I might lose you at any moment,” he confessed.

You continued playing with his hair, not meeting his eyes as you answered. “You’re not losing me,” you told him, and the confidence with which you said this was almost enough to convince him of it to be true. “Besides, I’m far from perfect.”

“No, you’re not,” Zuko disagreed determinedly. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect to me.”

Your fingers stilled in his hair and your eyes finally met his. There was a vulnerability in them, that made Zuko’s heart stutter and if your gaze hadn’t frozen him in place, he would have sat up and wrapped you in his arms.

“You really think that,” you asked quietly, and he nodded quickly, hoping his confession wouldn’t scare you off. But instead, you smiled even though he was certain he had seen tears beginning to rise in your eyes. “It makes me very happy to hear that,” you admitted and leant down to kiss his forehead.

You didn’t tell him that you thought he was perfect, too. And Zuko was glad you didn’t. Somehow it would have felt like it would have taken away from the importance of his message to you if you had, and he was happy you accepted his sentiment the way it was without feeling the need to repay the compliment. Instead, you returned to sitting back up, and braiding filigree patterns into his hair while he held the sleeping turtle duck in one hand and had the other wrapped in your dress, while watching your face over him. There were no further words exchanged between the two of you until almost two hours later a bell rung for lunch, and Zuko couldn’t deny that he had never felt more refreshed and relaxed after a break than after sitting with you, even if it was in silence.

It wasn’t until a good while later that you eventually told him you felt like he was perfect to you. It was a compliment Zuko had neither wished nor hoped for, nor expected. But of course, it made him happy to hear, although at that point it had been a knowledge that had settled deep into his soul already. It was the way you treated him every day, the way you treated each other every day, that had woven the subconscious realization into his very being. It was a form of respect you paid each other, not the respect you paid someone of authority but someone you admired. You were teasing each other, laughing with each other. You could sit in silence for hours or talk all through the night without ever growing bored of each other’s company. Of course you had disagreements, but even then, it never felt as if they threatened the bond that connected you now. And when Zuko told you about how he had fallen in love with you while saving you and Aang from Pohuai Stronghold, he admitted you your amusement and his shame, that he still didn’t know why he hadn’t understood from the first moment on how perfect you were.

The End

A/N: This concludes the series! Thank you all for reading! I've had the idea for this first almost a year back, and am now in a very different place than i was then. I finished writing my last exams of my Bachelor's degree today (assuming i don't fail), and can fully focus on writing my thesis from march on. I'm glad i finally got this story out in the world and am happy and greateful for everyone who enjoyed reading it!

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mrkizen · 2 days ago

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wrote smth for his bday and then he posted these pics i went insane i fear...

"i miss you." jaehyun says softly through the speaker.

"i miss you." you respond.

typically his birthday would've been celebrated with you and few of his friends. but here you were, a phone pressed up to your ear, a smile small plastered across your face. while jaehyun lay in a slightly comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling.

birthday's should be well celebrated, but trust, next year would be better than ever.

the space in your bed seemed to be larger than normal. the sheets going on for what seemed like miles. you truly longed for him. though it had only been 4 months since you two were ripped from one another's arms, it felt like 4 years.

"happy birthday, baby."

a small laugh was heard from him, something you missed dearly. "thank you, for the tenth time."

"i can't wait till you get a chance for vacation."

"me too...i miss your face," jaehyun says, sighing dramatically loud. "i miss everything about you.."

the both of you share a small laugh, the slight awkwardness making it oddly comforting. jaehyun continued to talk about everything and nothing at the same time, but you let him.

7 was rolling around soon. meaning only an hour remained before jaehyun would have to turn in his phone for the night.

"damn. i could listen to your voice forever." you compliment. the way he talked so softly to you, and low—not to mention how many people were asleep.

"i need you in my life for eternity," jaehyun battled. you could just imagine him grinning at his words.

"can't believe i haven't fucked that pretty pussy in four months." he whined, barely above a whisper.

"what did you say?" a curious tone to your voice. deep down you knew what he said, but for him to repeat it wouldn't be too bad.

"you heard me." he said lowly.

silence filled the call, only your breaths along with his alternating one another. his slowly became more labored as you took notice. a low wet sound emitted from his side and a wide smile plastered across your face.

"keep going," you suddenly say.

"hm?"

"it's okay, birthday boy. i won't judge you for missing me." you purr, a small tease in your voice.

"fuck, y/n i miss you so bad, i can't...help myself." jaehyun whined, the sounds he couldn't contain growing louder. heat pooled between your thighs due to this.

this would be the first time you would have had come, on a phone call. despite that, your free hand slid down your leggings, running your finger between your folds. your stomach tightened, closing your eyes, using his sounds to let yourself free.

slowly, you inserted two fingers into your warm core, whining at the sensation. damp panties against the back of your hand, eyes tightly shut as you fasten your pace with no rhythm.

"jae.." a desperate cry comes out. the noises he made so dulcet to your ears. his low voice in your ear—like he was practically right next to you.

"so close, are you?" jaehyun increases his speed, unable to form words anymore, just small grunts pouring out.

you mutter a small response.

you moan, lowly, continuing to fuck yourself with your fingers. knowing it could never compare to how he could have you. you throw your head back in frustration, moans growing to high pitched whines, climaxing hard against your fingers.

jaehyun was soon to come after, the sounds of you reeling him to the edge. he could not wait for the second he was able to have himself inside you again.

"god i wish i could have you."

"next year."

"i'll be waiting."

#jaehyun x reader #nct hard hours #missing my man

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goldenboywrites · 21 hours ago

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Oliver was pulled into Cassio’s arms, the blonde’s head tucked into the crook of his neck. The movement hurt his aching body, but he refused to call out in pain. He swallowed it down because he knew, deep down, how much Cass needed this, needed to touch him. If only to reassure himself that Oliver was there, Oliver was breathing. He wouldn’t take that away from his boyfriend, no matter how hard it hurt at that moment. And it did hurt. Every inch of Oliver’s body felt swollen and bruised, but he had done it. He knew how to help Theo. The spell had been successful, and Oliver had done it.

“I don’t know exactly, but I saw the fear in her eyes when she said goodbye to Theo. She knew she wasn’t returning from whatever he would do to her when he realized Theo was out of that house.” There was a slight chance she had survived, but Oliver knew in his heart she hadn’t. He had felt the man’s power, the man’s rage. Alexandra had sacrificed herself to save her son, and she trusted them all to take care of her little boy, to give him the life she couldn’t. “She knew he would kill both of them eventually. It…you guys, it was so fucking bad. Theo would breathe wrong, and that man would lock him in a closet. If he was too loud if he cried. There was always a reason for him to rage out on him…”

How long would it take that man to find Theo here with them? He would know Alexandria had gotten Theo out. Men like that don’t just give up. His gaze sought out the little boy, tearing up at the sight of him sleeping peacefully. He was thankful the spell hadn’t hurt Theo like it had hurt Oliver. He was thankful that the boy was with them. Every single person in this house would protect Theo with their lives. Oliver, especially. He wouldn’t let Alexandria’s sacrifice be in vain.

“I can sketch Theo’s dad so we know who to look for, but no other information than what I’ve already shared with you guys. She sent him to Apollo, knowing he would take him in and protect him. She knew we all would protect him. That’s what we have to do. That’s all we can do at this point.”

When Apollo came to, his vision was blurry and his head fuzzy. He rolled his heavy body over and moved onto his knees. The movement caused a wave of nausea to wash over him, and before he knew it, he was throwing up what little remnants were in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with his hand and dragged himself to his feet. At first glance, fear coursed through his body, his heart beating relentlessly because he didn’t initially recognize where he was. Had he been captured? Was he being tortured? But after glancing around his surroundings, he realized he was in his own basement.

The door clicked open, and Apollo stumbled to the stairs. He had been concussed way too many times to not recognize the signs. But what had happened? His hair felt wet, and he reached up, his hand coming back with blood on his fingers. His body felt bruised to shit too. As he climbed the stairs, he tried to recall what he remembered last. The fight. He and Isaac are fighting over Cassio and Oliver coming around to see Theo. But that didn’t make much sense to him. Their fights were never physical; they would never lay hands on each other in violence.

He went up to the first floor, stumbling into the living room, where he heard them all talking. He sought out Isaac first, eyes scanning over him to ensure he was safe. Then he saw Cassio, who was untouched but cradling Oliver in his arms, who was hurt, and then little Theo, asleep in the middle of the room, not harmed. His body sagged with relief. “What happened?” He asked, his words slurred as his head throbbed to the point that the room spun. He held Cassio’s gaze, trying to decipher the uncomfortable look on his face as their eyes met. “I don’t remember…I,” His knees gave out, and he grasped the edge of the couch, steadying himself against the furniture to remain standing. “I’m missing time. Hours.” Cassio was struggling to keep Apollo’s gaze, making his stomach twist painfully. That wasn’t how things were between them. “What happened?” He asked again, more forcefully.

Alexandria may not have been Cass' favorite person in the world but what had happened to her. Well, what they were assuming had happened, was awful. She'd just been another victim of the awful sub-society that their families all subscribed to. He wondered briefly if his and her's and Apollo's family's maybe had been afforded another opportunity there could have been different ways, different outcomes. Different thems. There were a lot of things Cas was wishing for in that moment, one specifically was to know how Orion was that damn powerful to be able to do that. Perhaps he's not just a junkie. He could ask all those questions of Oliver later on, he knew he'd answer now if he'd asked but they'd already lost enough time.

"So," He started softly, smoothing his hands gently along Oliver's back. He was mindful of how he touched him as he was still trying to piece together how the hell any of this was possible. He supposed that was the beauty and horror of magic. "W-what happened to Alex .. ?" He asked, knowing damn well he'd already known the answer. Apollo was absolutely going to lose his fucking mind when he found out about this. The blonde's head whipped towards the cellar door and another pang of regret washed over him again. This day could go straight to hell for all he cared. As a matter of fact, if he'd wake up right then and there and this was all a nightmare, he'd be so damn grateful but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

Cass immediately took to burying his head in Oliver's neck, apologizing as he did so for any discomfort he caused. How the hell could a little boy cry out like that? How could anyone hurt someone so vulnerable and .. his thoughts trailed off as Cass inhaled his boyfriend's scent and got as close as humanly possible. He had had it bad growing up. A backhand to the mouth every now and then and some truly disgusting words that a child should never hear but it hadn't been like that.

It was moments like this that had Isaac questioning whether or not he truly deserved the things that came into his life. And this one was about that beautiful little boy. But this was more to do with how he came to be in the world. It had been him. And if he expressed this thought to Apollo he'd assure that that wasn't the case and that Theodore would have always been. It would have been in the design. But as Isaac stood there, arms wrapped around his own middle he knew it had been his fault. Alexandria and Apollo were meant to get married. They should have been married and that little boy would have been Apollo's. But Isaac found a man following him one night and from that night on, he was never able to stop luring him on and towards their future. He'd been so good at it that he'd even managed to incorporate little bits of Apollo's bleed over now too.

Isaac was quiet, letting Oliver comfort Cass and vice versa. They all needed a minute he thought. And so he spelled up a basin of warm water a few wash clothes to clean the two up when they were ready. His gaze still hadn't really left the chubby little cherub face that had come to disrupt his whole life that afternoon. A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as Isaac took a wash cloth in one hand and wetted it. He wondered, briefly, if Alexandria had spelled the little boy to look like Apollo for that reason as well. Had she known what was coming for her? He hoped now. Even after everything, Apollo had assured him that he and her hadn't ended on bad terms. Even gave him life updates sometimes. But he was starting to wonder if it had been Apollo lying to him about this or her lying to Apollo and that whole slue of events.

"Di' ya see anythin' else, Oli'va?" Isaac asked softly, tearing his gaze from the child to the cellar door. Without a word, Isaac raised his hand and it popped open. Apollo needed to be up here. Isaac just hoped that Cassio knocking him out was enough to knock the veela magic from his system. For as frustrating as this day had been, at least he knew now for certain that that wasn't something they could play with in the bedroom. Which wasn't ideal but Isaac was not ready for repeat of whatever the hell happened today. "Apollo?" Isaac hollered, looking over towards Oliver and Cassio to see the daggers they were staring. "I will ta'e ca'e o' 'im if nee' be." He assured them, moving closer towards the door just in case. "Bu', was tha' all o' it? Not'in' else?"

#where do we go from here

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dare-writes · 1 day ago

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Oh God Collection

For Valentine’s Day, Aaron surprises you with a treat.

Aaron Taylor Johnson x Female Reader

Slight Tangerine x Female Reader

genre: fluff, smut; 18+ MINORS DNI

wc: 4.8k

sexual content warnings: DUBCON, drunk sex, nearly cheating?, fingering, f!receiving oral, drunk-sex Aaron has an identity problem, couch sex, wall sex, stair sex, roleplay, degradation kink, mentions of a threesome, (technical selfcest?), unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay, slight praise, hair pulling, wrist pulling, slut-shaming, dirty talk, overstimulation, i might have missed something, strength kink if you squint, implied breeding kink

content warnings: slight age gap (27/35), f!reader, tangerine dies and goes to another world, aaron taylor johnson x reader, established relationship, tangerine thinks your his girlfriend from his world, tangerine is lowkey just sad, and a russian lit major, tangerine misses lemon, tangerine gets a real name, aaron implies a threesome with reader and tangerine, lowkey slice of life for a little, unbetaed

the way there is so much more sexual content warnings, but there’s less porn than plot i’m pretty sure.

Happy late Valentine’s Day.

this went an entirely different direction than i planned it to go.

Honestly, you never got the chance to really watch Aaron’s projects except for the premieres he brought you to. You’d only begun dating before Bullet Train’s production, and for obvious reasons, he didn’t start taking you to carpet premieres until recently with Kraven and Nosferatu.

When you knew Aaron was returning, you’d relax in your shared apartment and put on any of his movies. Aaron lost count of how often he would come back when you were either sleeping through the credits or just at the end of a film. It was a pleasant surprise to see that when he saw the credits to one of his films. Aaron didn’t have a lot of films to watch with online streaming services, noticing you mostly do rewatches of his newer films like Bullet Train A Million Little Pieces, even kicking back into his 2010 films like Kick-Ass or (much to his surprise) Chatrooms.

His absence on Valentine’s Day was woeful, but he also said he deserved a little time with your partner despite his absence at the set of Fuze. It was fine enough that he would be out and about in London this time.

You managed to get out of university on Valentine’s Day. Most classes were on the four other days of the week, so you got to stay in and snooze this particular Friday. You knew having a partner in the film industry was going to be tough, so when Aaron told you he wasn’t free on Valentine's Day for some promotional stuff, you didn’t mind. He would find some grand way to make it up, and it was always more than perfect. It’s like he read your mind, knew when you wanted to stay in, and knew when you wanted to go out in town or just have a nice dinner.

For Valentine’s Day, you had your little dinner. An excellent pasta take-out meal and cue up any Aaron Johnson movie to exist across your various streaming platforms. (And the occasional pirating when you hooked your laptop to the TV.)

Aaron has seen your secret TikTok account, where you will mindlessly scroll between assignments or breaks from your university assignments. He’s also used it several times, even stalking through some of your reposts or saves. To your knowledge, he just went through your feed, not stalked your private Aaron Johnson edit collection called “Oh god.”

Throughout your lonely Valentine's Day, Aaron texted you randomly, sending a bouquet of your favorite flowers, sweet treats, and even a pretty dress with a card, saying, "We’ll make it up another day, my love." It was lovely and made you feel a little less alone. That and the plentiful edits saved in your Oh God collection you can always look back in if you miss Aaron extra.

Mindless scrolling was your third favorite hobby; number one was Aaron, and two was whatever activity your university friends wanted to do next.

By nine at night, you’d exhausted all your Aaron, Tangerine, Pietro, Count Vronsky, Sergei, Fredrich, Tom Ryder, and even Ford Brody edit sources.

A rattle came from downstairs, shocking you slightly as you crept around your bedroom. Light on your toes, you looked for the heaviest item you owned in the room.

“Dollface?” A voice called. It made your stomach twist. Was it Aaron? Why the hell was he putting on a different accent?

You crept downstairs. His facial scruff was gone. He was dressed in a navy suit with a waistcoat similar to the one Tangerine wore in the movie. The one thing that caught you off guard was the blood. It was ridiculous. Everything that was once white was now splattered red. Aaron looked great, you almost drooled at the sight of your boyfriend.

You just didn’t understand why he was dressed as Tangerine. Unless this was some sort of roleplay thing you once discussed ages ago.

“Aaron?”

“‘ Ou the hell is Aaron?'” not Aaron asked. That was undoubtedly Aaron’s face, though. His hair was no longer neat American military cut; it was longer, shaggier, and windswept.

“My boyfriend,” you answered as you raised your old laptop.

“The fuck you gonna do with an Apple laptop? Hit me?” He asked snidely. “Doll, whattrya on about? Last I checked, Doll, my name ain’t Aaron.”

He gestured his hands up and down his body like you should recognize him. You did recognize him, but there was no logical explanation as to why Tangerine was standing in your living room, blood dripping onto the hardwood floor. “No, this is fucking weird.”

Was this some weird roleplay thing? You and Aaron had talked about roleplaying and sex. If you had an actor boyfriend, you were doing roleplay without a doubt.

Before you could ask anything else to try to get a hint, Tangerine rolled his eyes and walked to the kitchen. His bloody hands opened his shirt to shrug off his equally bloody shirt and discard it to the sink to run cold water on it. After also washing his hands and checking his non-existent bullet wound, he was back up to you.

You let your defenses down; you had no clue what else to do. Common sense fell out the window when Aaron was around you. His slightly damp hands, gruff from seemingly his gun and all his fights, held your face. His gaudy gold rings were cold to the touch.

“Doll, I missed you… Lemon— where’s Lemon?” He asked as he realized his new location. He was back in London without his twin.

“I don’t know— you. Look, Aaron, is this what I think it is? We never even talked-” Tangerine didn’t even let you finish. His lips were on yours, kissing and biting down on your lower lip. Aaron was aggressive during sex usually, but never this much.

Something in you wanted to playback, be more than just the innocently confused girlfriend. You tried to pull away, but this was still Aaron, and you trusted him. You were no physical match for him. His hands reached and trailed down your body, racing to your pants. Even in his acting, Aaron was still the same when he was in a mood. It made you smile in the kiss.

His mustache tickled. You were used to it enough with Aaron. You finally pulled away, only for him to spin you and toss your torso over the back of the couch.

“Stop! No, I’m not your— Fuck!” You shouted as you tried to sit back up. His hand shoved you down, his other hand yanking down your sleep shorts.

“Fuck, you’re not my what? Hmm? Ya, not my doll anymore?” Tangerine asked gruffly. His lips connected to one of your lower back and bit down. You yowled in pain, his teeth leaving marks down your backside.

“I’m not your girlfriend! Or whatever! I— I’ve got a boyfriend, A—Aaron!” You cried falsely, you were used to Aaron rushing in the beginning. It was also probably a long day for him, you excused it. Also cause you missed him so bad today.

A quick trail from your clit to your hole, Aaron shoved his fingers inside with no hesitation. It was already sopping wet, but Aaron let cold spit drip out his lips and landed where his fingers plunged inside.

“God, Doll, yer still so tight for me,” Aaron said as he pushed his fingers, curling them gently. It didn’t matter despite your (false) protests because the front door opened soon after. “Baby, I’m back!”

Your heart stilled. He’s back?

“Oi! What the hell, Baby? Doll you-“

Something clattered into the floor, and you returned from your room. Aaron… Tangerine… In the same room.

“Aaron! Fuck!” You cried out as he made eye contact.

Aaron and Tangerine still. The same man looked back at one another—Aaron looked back at his 2022 film Character in disbelief. “Aaron— I-“

“Love, what the fuck is this?” Aaron asked. You hadn’t even realized the flush of tears running down your face.

“I don’t know! I thought— I thought you came back early from filming… Then we were kissing, and I— I don’t even know what to— I’m so confused,” you said as you tried to escape Tangerine.

His hands dug into you. His hand reached for his back, then remembered he was gun-less. His gold knuckle dusters glinted against the warm lights of the walls. “The fuck are you?”

“Her fucking boyfriend!” Aaron shouted. He stormed forward and shoved Tangerine off. You bent up from the couch and down to grab your panties from the floor to put on.

“Aaron, honestly, babe, I don’t think you could take him—he’s a murder.”

“I played him!”

“And he’s murdered probably over a thousand people.”

“That’s nice of you, doll, but it’s more like 250? I’m not a serial killer or mass murderer—“Both you and Aaron just stared at him.

“Okay, then if you aren’t… my dollface, then who are you? Cause ya got the same face,” Tangerine asked. His fingers twitched around, his eyes eyeing the slick left on his fingers. He wanted to taste it out of habit but held himself back. Aaron rubbed his face and just looked between you two.

“This is a terrible Valentine’s Day,” Aaron mumbled.

“What do you remember last?” You asked as you grabbed Aaron’s hand with a glare at his comment.

Tangerine looked down at his bloodied pants. “Getting shot by that idiot American.”

“Well, got that right,” Aaron mumbled. He looked exhausted. A wrapped box of more gifts for you was still at the entrance. He just got off work.

“Well, uhm. Tough luck… Tangerine—Fuckin— Can I just get your real name? You’re very much not there anymore in that world.”

“Fuckin’ Thomas,” he mumbled. His eyes bleared at the idea of his brother, the girl he left behind. He scrunched his nose and pretended to weld the tears away.

“Ironic. Yeah, this isn’t a good one to tell you,” you mumbled as you took your lip between your thumb and forefinger.

Aaron took control of this, explaining it all. Bullet Train is a book and movie; Aaron is an actor and plays Tangerine in the 2022 film. Hesitantly, he told Tangerine about his demise, the gunshot likely hitting an artery and killing Tangerine permanently.

Tangerine stilled once again. It’s like his world ended—at least, it did end for him. Entirely. He had nothing left for him here, not a real place to live or an identity to fall back on. He may be a prick, but he did just try having sex with his real person’s girl. He never did that kind of shit (on purpose.) He wouldn’t ruin Aaron Johnson’s life to get himself back into a business he hated and stuck to only because of what else he had.

“Aaron, can we talk?”

Aaron nodded, but not before giving Tangerine water, and you took Aaron into your room. Aaron dropped off a few stuff for Tangerine to wear instead of the sticky yet stiff with blood clothing he just died in. Tangerine left for the guest bathroom and waited anxiously. He was never without Lemon. Thomas was never without Tyler ever. After an hour to Tangerine, you and Aaron emerged again. Tangerine felt certain when he saw Aaron’s hand holding your lower back, but he bared face.

“He and I talked. You can stay here until you can get on your feet. I’m sure you could find someone to create an identity for you or something… But Aaron and I think kicking you out is unfair when you have nothing else.”

Half a year later, Aaron proposed. On August 14th, 2025, Aaron got down on one knee and finally asked you to marry him. You cried joyfully, and he spun you around like his long-lost princess. Tangerine wasn’t bitter. He didn’t say much about it other than congratulations, and he’ll find a way to attend to support the two of you.

Tangerine was glad for the two of you, but he missed his girl. She was known as Nightshade in the Assassin world, but he didn’t even know her real name for safety reasons. (A very sensual and intimate relationship that teetered on romance, but he didn’t wanna go in-depth with his new roommates.) He regularly confided in both of you about missing her. You and Aaron were emotionally secure between one another, periodically letting Tangerine open up to you two.

Tangerine didn’t see Aaron as a brother, but he had no male figure to rely on except Tyler. Aaron was awkward initially, but living Tangerine’s life out was weird for those months during Covid quarantine. Tangerine could have spent his time in therapy, but instead, he decided to try getting a college education.

Tangerine was known as Thomas Henley, an orphan who lived in the countryside and had no documentation about himself. Honestly, you and Aaron did your best not to know much. Thomas didn’t talk about it either, wanting both of you to have complete deniability.

Thomas was still here. None of you had an issue with him sticking around; you found it lovely. Around nine months, he had secured an identity and dyed his hair a frosty blonde. He cut his hair and dolled himself up, but he kept his face clean-shaven except for his mustache, which he maintained, occasionally trimming it shorter and letting it grow out.

You and Aaron said nothing as the two of you giggled. He looked so much like Count Vronsky when he returned home from the hairdresser. Again, you and Aaron giggled when you saw Thomas reading Anna Karenina for his major—Literature with a focus on Russian Lit.

Aaron was away again, filming another movie. You and Thomas sat around, working on your dissertation for what felt like the hundredth time, and Thomas was preparing for his undergraduate exams.

“I fucking hate this,” Thomas groveled over his school-provided laptop. He refused your and Aaron’s attempts to buy him anything. He lived here for free, and his campus job gave him enough money to save.

“You picked Russian Lit—“

“Fuck off.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” You had been waiting for Aaron to be here for this, but you couldn’t resist.

“Break?”

“Yeah,” you nodded as you stood up from the dining table. Thomas agreed, and you picked an Aaron Johnson Classic.

“It’s Anna Karenina—I don’t want to hear about any discrepancies from the original if there are any,” you added hotly before you pressed play. You always admired the cinematic take on the play, with a very stage-theater visual look. For the entire beginning, Thomas was quiet, his eyes overseeing it all.

He even took the time to learn Russian while taking Russian Lit to read Tolstoy in the original text. Thomas was the kind to talk during movies. He mumbled and smiled at the actress for Anna, mentioning she was what he pictured Anna to look like when he imagined her.

When Levin was introduced, you got up from the couch. You set up your phone in the corner against the books in the bookcase behind the couch and press the record button. Then, you returned with a fresh bag of popcorn and passed it to Thomas. The two of you watched. Thomas even liked the stage-theater take on Anna Karenina.

Then Count Vronsky brushed his shoulder against Levin’s and turned to face the ginger man. Thomas burst into a tirade. He grabbed the remote and paused on Aaron’s face. His tirade continued, unbelieving that you took this long to show him Anna Karenina, how you and Aaron were the worst roommates for keeping this secret.

You were sending this to Aaron later. You snagged the remote back and resumed the movie. He kept going, even taking his phone out to spam Aaron, uncaring if he was filming. You managed to get him to shut up when Count Vronsky and Anna danced, which was your favorite part. Aaron had taught it to you on one of your early dates together for fun. You were swooning as he lifted you effortlessly that day.

You watched Aaron with such desire, and Thomas saw it. Nightshade also looked at him the same way while they worked together.

That same night, Thomas apologized to you. You brushed it off, saying that you knew he didn’t mean to do anything terrible to you, even admitting you thought he was Aaron for a Valentine's Day surprise. Thomas snorted at you and rolled his eyes.

“And you’re planning on marrying him; you didn’t even know I wasn’t him,” he said sarcastically. You slapped your hand into his shoulder.

“You have the same face, same body, same fuckin’ hands–even down to your sexual mannerisms! And you never progressed past fingering me,” you rolled your eyes back. The topic was rarely discussed between you, but you and Thomas were best friends. you and Thomas was strictly platonic.

Occasionally, you wondered if Thomas saw Nightshade in you like you saw Aaron in him (except visually). Deep down, his actions perfectly matched Aaron’s. Five years of dating an actor, and being able to meet his character from another world or universe or whatever was ridiculous so to speak. Your heart twisted at the thought of Thomas no longer having Nightshade. You and him talk for a lot longer that night, never grazing on the topic of his arrival or his previous life again.

Aaron and you had bought a house, yet you hadn’t moved out because you were still attending university nearby. Aaron was finally back, no longer filming, and done with Fuze. He was here to plan the wedding. You and Aaron wanted a small summer wedding, not needing anyone more than some friends. Neither of you talked to your family that much, finding the most solace between one another and the friends they had–actors and university friends alike. It took a lot of sifting friends to find out who were friends and who wanted to meet Aaron Johnson.

Of course, Aaron invited actor friends but was hesitant to invite Brian Tyree Henry for apparent reasons.

Thomas said to do it. He would stay away as much as he could, and he wouldn't drink any alcohol to avoid any emotional issues that may arise. In this entire year, you hadn’t rewatched Bullet Train once. You couldn’t, not with Thomas around the apartment. You could barely even watch Aaron–Tangerine edits without feeling some kind of way. Your gut twisted in unspeakable ways as you watched the silly bouncing and rhythmic edits of Aaron-Tangerine, trying to separate Thomas from Aaron as much as possible.

You stared deeply at Tangerine, you could see them both so clearly in Movie-Tangerine. Thomas’s poor smoking habit, and brotherly gentleness, while Aaron’s watchful stares, and facial expressions perfectly mirrored his real life expression.

Part of you swooned over the Movie-Tangerine, which can be considered Aaron-Tangerine too, right?

Back to the wedding, Thomas mostly stuck around the outskirts of the wedding as promised. Brian didn’t even glance his way, but he indeed stared Brian down. His American accent helped a little bit until Aaron and Brian were drinking together, giggling slightly drunk while they recalled their accents for the film. The wedding was lovely, small, and in the backyard of you and Aaron’s new home. It was floral, with a nice tent around the outdoor dining section. The house was overly large; Aaron, the sole provider, took the house payment upon himself. You owned their apartment, telling Thomas he could stay there when you graduated and visit the house whenever he wanted.

Thomas didn’t stay that night. He couldn’t. He knew you two were tipsy and would be consummating the marriage loudly the entire night.

He was right, too. Aaron didn’t even make it up the stairs with you in your sleek white wedding dress. He stripped you in the foyer, his hard-on pressed against his suit pants, and was eating you out while you sat on the top stair of the house.

Your skin was sticky with the summer sweat, and his shaved beard still scratched your thighs raw. After forcing your legs open, his drooly tongue lapped up the dampness between your thighs. He smiled up at you lazily as he slid in his fingers and hummed against your clit. His fingers stretched and pushed around, it was like his second home. Your arms were first. Aaron made himself plenty at home as he smiled up at you with a devilish smile, his lips still attached to your sensitive nerves.

All of Aaron's muscle prep for Kraven’s appearance in a Marvel film was overpowering no matter how much you tried to shove your legs shut. His large free hand shoved them back open without a moments break.

“Mhfm, taste delicious, don’t you, Pretty?” Aaron rhetorically asked.

With a sudden spin guided by Aaron, you then held yourself up on your knees. Your hands pressed against the cold hardwood floors as he pushed himself inside with a languid groan. The stretch was terribly achy. Aaron loved spending time on his knees for you, but the age gap made you giggle as you joked about his aging knees.

“Baby… god, you feel so good. Mhm,” he whispered into your ear. Drunk Aaron was a time, he was different each time. You loved each personality he fucked you in, slipping into different accents from time to time. After six years of being together, you’ve fucked each drunk personality he claimed to shed post-film production.

Allan "Ize" Isaac and his whiny tone while he thrusts into you needily while begging you to come around him was fun. Same with Dave Lizewski pretending to fuck his University history TA or Fredrich moaning in your ear lovingly as he asked to breed you with his children. Your personal favorite was when Aaron cockily fucked you with Pietro’s Sokovian accent teasing you as he overstimulated your clit. But there was one more who hadn’t appeared in the past year.

More often than not, Tangerine came out. Fuck, Aaron made you call him Tangerine multiple times before the appearance of Thomas one year ago.

Today was no different.

When the Cockney slid past Aaron’s tongue like it was his first initial accent, you knew you were done. He even called you Doll as he slid in and out. His cockhead crushed into your cervix more times than you could count. Not that you could count clearly while being impaled by Aaron. He groaned as he moved your hips to slide on and off his cock, “Fuck, so’wet for me huh, doll? Like this cock?”

You cried into the piled dress beneath you, his lips connected to your back. Your knees ache against wood panels, rocking back and forth. His wet lips sucked into your back as he grunted, “God, Doll, yer still so tight for me.”

It was like neuron activation, exactly what Tangerine had said to you a year ago while he fingered you against the couch. You didn’t think about it a lot, an awkward interaction you three claim. For you, it was intoxicating to hear Tangerine say doll, more or less Aaron say it.

You hummed a cry at his comment.

“Say my name, Doll, come on,” he said. Skin slapping echoed in the barely decorated home, your cries echoing off the cold, empty walls. “Fuck… Aaron, pl–”

His hands pulled up your wrists to your lower back, holding your front up as he used you.

“That’s not my name, Dollface.”

For just a moment, you swore this actually was the Thomas Henley you met on Valentine’s Day. You cried out again, “No, Aaron, no! I can’t–”

Morally, you can’t. Aaron (or Tangerine) at this moment had no morals. Never had, will.

“Say it!” He shouted as he released you to fall into your dress. His hands clamped on your hips with a bruising hold. His trimmed nails even dug at the plush of your thighs.

“Fuck, Tangerine!” You sobbed, you squeezed around him as he laughed. Your body was jolting as he did as he pleased, you always let him do as he pleased.

“Whore likes that, huh?” He asked as he snapped into your hole. The constant squeeze around him and the new twist around your stomach told Aaron you were nearing another finish.

You gasped out sobs as his hand dipped down and touched your clit hard; his fingers were rough against the sensitive nerves. Your thighs shook beneath Aaron’s thrusts, wet dripping down your thighs.

“Tan…Tange, I needa cum,” you softly mumbled as you felt him twitch in delight. The knot in your stomach tightened as he punched his cockhead against your g-spot. “Mhm, yeah? Gonna come already? Then you’re gonna make me fuck you again? Need my cock that bad? Need Tangerine that bad?” He asked condescendingly. You shook your head no pathetically, crying out in denial. Your stomach continued to quell, and you squeezed down to try not to cum before granted permission.

“Please let me cum,” you quietly begged.

“Slut wants to cum? Hm, with me and Tangerine? Do it, whore,” He groaned his permission, watching you limply twitch on him as you finished for the second time around him. Aaron smiled behind you before slowly sliding himself out and grabbed you by the wrist to pull you up with one arm.

His chest pressed against your back to help you towards his desired destination. Even while Aaron’s over-confident actions were harsh on your body, he kept and held you firmly with care. You hoped he would bring you to your bedroom, fuck for a bit longer then fall asleep in each others arms.

You neared the wall, your hand sliding along it to keep you up. Aaron stopped your movement, his hands firmly on your elbow now. To your left was the collection of pictures you and Aaron took together or treasured. Most importantly, the picture next to your face.

You, Thomas, and Aaron at your graduation just two months ago. The two boys held you on their shoulders, the black graduation gown billowing around their chests. Your various colored stoles and cords flew in the wind, your tassel was flicking around as well.

Before you were aware of anything else, Aaron hiked you up and slid himself back inside with a prideful moan. His hands still had a tight grip, moving from your elbow to your waist. Aaron spun you around to face him, his lips kissing and sucking down your neck. “Oh, fuck Doll, I’m gonna cum… But tell…me, you wanna fuck us both?”

Drunk, intrusive thoughts rolled back around.

Between them, Aaron and Thomas kissing you up and down your body, two sets of hands holding or even pleasuring you, the thought of absolute overstimulation flooded your cunt. A loud squelch followed as you thought about the possibility of Aaron and Thomas at once. Aaron pushed further inside, kissing your limit. Fuck it sounded wonderful.

While you imagined the chance, Aaron whispered into your ear. “Taking us both… you just want attention, don’t you? ‘m’I not enough?”

“Oh, ffuck. No, just… fuck!” You shouted as he rolled his hips into you. He had you pinned up against the wall, his hips endlessly torturing you in the best way you could dream of.

“No… just you,” you denied with a lazy shake of your head against the painted walls. Aaron, in response, pulled you down into his cock. Slamming you up and down on him while you choked up on air, “Doll, y’know I don't like when you lie,” a strangled moan left Aaron before continuing. “My cum not enough for you, want both of ours?”

“No! Aaron, I don’t want to,” You tried again. He rolled his eyes and sunk his teeth into your neck. His lips hummed with skin between his teeth. Aaron shot his load inside, groaning as he continued to thrust in and out. “Admit it, doll, you want him and me together.”

Even after he filled you up, he kept going.

His fingers took place, but not before taking any fallen liquid and scooping it back inside to fuck his cum inside of you. Shoving three fingers inside of you at once released a throaty “Oh god,” as Aaron’s other hand took your waist and thrusted your hips into his hand.

The wall rattled, and the picture of you, Aaron, and Thomas shook as Aaron shoved his fingers in and out again. A rush flooded down your thighs. Aaron smiled as he felt another fluttering squeeze around him.

Your throat was raw from begging, “Aaa...Aaron, let me cum; please, need’ta cum so bad.”

“Mhm, s’ not Aaron, princess,” the Cockney accent asked as he ground his fingers into the gummiest spot. The sudden pulse around him as he whispered, Princess, into your ear. His nose pressed against your hair with a deep inhale.

“Fuck, Tangerine,” you shouted out as you squeezed against him again. The third knot of the night was getting tighter as you panted the former code name of your closest friend out helplessly. Over and over again, Ta..Tange. Please Tangerine, been good.

Aaron smiled and kissed the back of your head. “Go on, doll. You can do it,” he whispered into your hair. His other hand slid to your front to push you over the edge. A pornographic cry passed your lips as your chest tried to hug the wall to cool yourself down. Aaron groaned quietly again, down to his wrist dripping with you. After leaving your hole empty, Aaron picked you up bridal style to finally lie you two to sleep.

He cleaned you as best as a hazy-drunk-man could. A warm cloth ran up and down your body before getting to the sticky mess between your thighs. It had cooled off by the time he reached your vagina, but he still treated you like porcelain. His lips trailed around as he cleaned.

He vanished again and returned with a bottle of water and he dipped beneath sheets with you.

“I love you Aaron,” you mumbled quietly. You faced his chest and held his waist gently, he set his hand onto your head and quietly kissed you. “I love you too, Princess.”

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