#can’t and don’t want to replace him to him

[solxamber]

stay w me in this one, kiss cam w the first years 🙂‍↕

Kiss Cam with: The First Years

a/n; anon you brain is so big!! i got so happy??? when i saw this?? i kinda blacked out for a while and ended up writing it

Ace Trappola

The arena was packed, the air buzzing with energy as the Magift team dominated the field. You were sandwiched between Deuce and Ace, the latter chugging a soda while obnoxiously yelling at the players.

“Ace, they can’t hear you,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as he yelled, “PASS THE DISC, YOU IDIOT!”

“I don’t care! They need to know how bad they’re screwing up!” Ace shot back, waving his drink wildly.

Deuce leaned over, clearly mortified. “Can you not embarrass us in front of the whole school?”

Ace just smirked. “What? Embarrassed to be seen with your cooler, more handsome best friend?”

You snorted. “Handsome? In your dreams, Trappola.”

Ace turned to you, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m not handsome? Guess I’ll have to let the kiss cam settle this one.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

As if the universe decided to spite you, the lights dimmed, and a giant heart frame appeared on the jumbotron.

You froze. “No. No way.”

Ace leaned forward, his grin turning devious. “Oh yes.”

Deuce, ever the supportive friend, burst into laughter, slapping his knee. “This is the best day of my life.”

Meanwhile, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “This has to be a mistake.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Come on, lovebirds! Don’t be shy! Show us some NRC spirit!”

“I’m going to die,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“Not without giving the people what they want,” Ace teased, turning to you with an exaggerated smirk. “Come on, for school pride.”

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. “Ace Trappola, I will—”

Before you could finish, Ace leaned in, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. It’s just a little kiss, right?”

Your breath hitched. The crowd was chanting louder now, and your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the embarrassment.

“Just a little kiss,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then it happened.

When his lips met yours, the crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and applause. Time seemed to stop as the noise around you faded into a distant hum.

His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, and the faint taste of soda lingered as he pulled back, his face flushed but grinning like an idiot.

“Well,” he said, his voice slightly breathless, “that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting. “You… You just kissed me!”

“You kissed me back,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Deuce, still laughing like a lunatic, clapped Ace on the back. “Congratulations, Trappola. You finally grew a pair.”

Ace turned to the jumbotron, where your kiss was being replayed in slow motion. “Man, we look good together,” he said smugly, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You shoved him, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Don’t push your luck.”

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Ace was insufferably smug, Deuce wouldn’t stop teasing you, and your heart refused to calm down.

As the crowd filed out of the arena, Ace caught your hand, stopping you just outside the gates.

“Hey,” he said, his usual grin replaced with something softer. “So, uh… about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you. Like, a lot. And this is not just because of the kiss cam thing.”

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Ace…”

“I mean, no pressure or anything!” he added quickly, his face turning red. “But, you know, if you did want to be more than friends, I wouldn’t mind…”

You smiled, stepping closer and leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re such an idiot.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—does that mean…?”

“It means yes, Ace,” you said, laughing. “But you better not let this go to your head.”

Ace grinned, grabbing your hand. “Too late.”

Spoiler: Ace tells everyone at school, and now half the campus thinks the kiss cam was staged. You’re stuck with him, but honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Deuce Spade

The stadium buzzed with excitement, the crowd alive with cheers as NRC's Magift team scored another point. You sat beside Deuce, who was yelling encouragement so earnestly you swore the players might actually hear him through sheer determination.

“Come on! You’ve got this! Pass it—yes!” he shouted, punching the air.

You couldn’t help but smile. Deuce’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if he had accidentally knocked over your popcorn in his excitement earlier.

“You’re going to lose your voice,” you teased, nudging his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a grin. “This is important!”

What wasn’t important, however, was the dreaded kiss cam that appeared on the giant screen moments later.

The heart-shaped frame zoomed in on various couples, each one receiving cheers as they nervously or enthusiastically complied. You laughed, thinking nothing of it—until your own face appeared on the screen.

You froze. “Oh no.”

Deuce, oblivious, kept clapping until the heart frame zoomed out to reveal him beside you. His face turned crimson so fast you worried he might combust.

“W-What?!” he stammered, pointing at the screen as if denying its existence might make it disappear.

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, the announcer’s voice booming. “Come on, lovebirds! Let’s see some NRC spirit!”

“Deuce, say something,” you hissed, your face burning.

“I—uh—I—” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at you. “They—uh—made a mistake! Right?!”

The announcer wasn’t letting up. “Looks like someone’s shy! Don’t leave us hanging!”

Deuce looked at you helplessly, his face a mix of panic and mortification. “I-I’m so sorry about this!”

You sighed, your own heart racing. “It’s fine, Deuce. Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on.”

He nearly choked. “A kiss?!”

“It’s not a marriage proposal!” you shot back, trying to keep your cool despite your own nerves.

He nodded frantically, visibly psyching himself up. “O-Okay! Let’s do this!”

Deuce leaned in slowly, his eyes shut so tightly you thought he might be praying for divine intervention. His lips brushed your cheek in the softest, most hesitant kiss imaginable before he pulled back like he’d just touched a live wire.

The crowd cheered wildly, but Deuce wasn’t done. In his panic, he’d miscalculated the kiss angle, and his forehead accidentally bumped yours as he pulled away.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” he asked, horrified.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nervousness melting away at his sheer awkwardness. “I’m fine, Deuce.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his hands hovering like he wanted to check for injuries.

You smiled and, feeling bold, leaned forward to kiss his cheek in return. The crowd’s cheers doubled, and Deuce looked at you like you’d just announced he’d won the lottery.

“Um,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “That was… uh… nice.”

You laughed. “It’s just a kiss, Deuce.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a kiss.”

Deuce spent the rest of the game sneaking glances at you, his face perpetually red. By the time the match ended, you were sure he’d worn a hole in the ground with all his nervous foot-tapping.

As the two of you walked back to the dorms, he finally cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I… I really like you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “Deuce—”

“I mean it!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out like he’d been holding them back for ages. “I’ve liked you for a while, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and the kiss cam just kind of—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips, effectively silencing his rambling.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, smiling at his stunned expression.

Deuce nodded, his face practically glowing. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Spoiler: Ace finds out and teases Deuce relentlessly, but Deuce doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class and holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack Howl

The stadium was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the stands as NRC's Magift team dominated the field. You sat beside Jack, who had insisted you attend because "It's good to support our school." Truthfully, you didn’t mind—watching the game with Jack was its own kind of fun.

He sat rigidly in his seat, tail swishing lightly as his sharp eyes tracked every play on the field. You chuckled at how serious he looked.

"Jack, relax. It's just a game," you teased.

"It's not just a game," he replied, his ears flicking. "This is about teamwork, discipline, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence when the crowd erupted in cheers. You both looked up to the big screen, only to see a giant pink heart frame around… you and Jack.

Cue Panic.

“Wait, what?!” you exclaimed, your face instantly heating up.

Jack’s ears flattened against his head as his eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh no.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Looks like we’ve got a shy couple! Let’s hear it for them, folks!”

The crowd cheered louder, and you groaned. “Oh, come on…”

Jack was frozen in place, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. His tail puffed up slightly as he asked, “They’ll move on, right? They’ll pick someone else?”

You glanced at the screen, seeing your own mortified expression reflected back at you. “Not unless we do something.”

Jack’s face turned impossibly red. “You mean…?”

“Yes, Jack,” you said, trying to suppress your own embarrassment. “A kiss. Just a small one! It’s no big deal.”

Jack looked at you like you’d just asked him to leap off a cliff. “I can’t! What if it’s weird? Or awkward? Or—”

“Jack,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s just a game. Let’s get it over with.”

His ears twitched nervously as he nodded. “Okay. But, uh… where?”

“Where?” you repeated, confused.

“I mean, do I… your cheek? Your forehead? I—I don’t want to—”

“Jack!” you laughed, despite your own nerves. “Cheek is fine.”

He nodded again, his tail wagging nervously behind him as he leaned in. Just as his lips barely brushed your cheek, the crowd erupted in cheers—only for Jack to try to jerk back so fast that his forehead bumped yours.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing your head.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, panicking.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying not to laugh at his flustered expression. “But you might’ve just knocked me into next week.”

The announcer’s voice interrupted. “Let’s hear it for our lovebirds! What a show!”

You both sank further into your seats, faces burning. Jack mumbled an apology, looking like he wanted to crawl under the stadium.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “You could’ve just kissed me properly.”

Jack froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “What?”

“Yeah,” you teased, grinning. “You’re already on the big screen. Might as well make it count.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his ears flicking nervously. Then, to your surprise, he leaned in again—this time more confidently—and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

The crowd lost it, cheering so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

When Jack pulled back, his face was crimson, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips. “There. Was… was that okay?”

You smiled back, your heart racing. “More than okay.”

Jack spent the rest of the game sitting a little closer to you, his tail wagging uncontrollably. As you left the stadium, he finally cleared his throat.

“So… does this mean we’re—uh… dating?” he asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed, grabbing his hand. “What do you think?”

Jack’s tail wagged even harder. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Spoiler: Ace, Deuce and Epel find out later and tease Jack mercilessly, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class with his hand in yours.

Epel Felmier

The game was electric, with the crowd roaring as NRC held a narrow lead over RSA. You sat near the bench, cheering loudly for one player in particular. Epel was a blur of determination on the field, his every move brimming with adrenaline and a grit that made your heart race just watching him.

During halftime, the players jogged off the field to hydrate and strategize. Epel wiped the sweat from his brow and spotted you by the bench. You held up an electrolyte drink with a proud smile.

“Here, you earned it!” you said, handing him the bottle.

He accepted it with a quick grin, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. “Thanks. Didja see that shot I made earlier?”

“I did!” you replied enthusiastically. “You’re playing amazing out there!”

Your encouragement had him standing a little taller, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection. “Well, I ain’t done yet. Gotta show those RSA guys what we’re made of.”

But before he could head back to the huddle, the crowd’s noise shifted. You both turned toward the massive screen above the field, where a familiar heart-shaped frame surrounded… the two of you.

Epel froze for a fraction of a second, his flushed face turning an even deeper shade of red. You stared at the screen in surprise, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is that… the kiss cam?” you muttered.

Epel glanced back at his team’s huddle, where his teammates were laughing and giving him exaggerated thumbs-ups. The crowd began chanting, egging him on.

In that moment, with the adrenaline from the game still coursing through his veins and the giddy rush of your praise in his chest, Epel made a snap decision.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you—hard, fast, and with enough confidence to leave you absolutely stunned.

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles as Epel pulled back, his violet eyes sparkling mischievously. “Thanks for the drink,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

Then, with one last grin, he jogged back to his team, leaving you standing there, breathless and staring after him.

The rest of the game was a blur. Epel was on fire, scoring two more goals and securing the win for NRC. The crowd was ecstatic, the team celebrating wildly, but your mind was stuck on that kiss.

When the post-game frenzy finally settled, Epel approached you by the bleachers. He was still sweaty and flushed, but his usual nervousness was nowhere to be seen. The adrenaline from the game still seemed to fuel him as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hey,” he started, his accent thick and his voice a little raspy. “About that kiss earlier…”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding. “What about it?”

Epel took a deep breath, his violet eyes locking onto yours. “I ain’t just kissin’ people for fun, ya know? I… I like you. A lot. And I’ve been wantin’ to say somethin’ for ages, but I didn’t know how. Guess the kiss cam kinda forced my hand.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty. “So what are you saying, Epel?”

“I’m sayin’... would ya go out with me?” he asked, his cheeks turning red again.

You pretended to think for a moment, but the truth was, you already knew your answer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Epel’s face lit up, his grin wide and genuine. “Really?!”

“Really,” you said, laughing.

He fist-pumped the air triumphantly before quickly trying to play it cool. “Well, uh, that’s great. I’ll, uh, plan somethin’ nice, alright?”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied, your smile as wide as his.

The kiss cam video was all over campus the next day, much to Epel’s embarrassment and your amusement. Still, neither of you could deny how it sparked something wonderful between you.

And yet, every time someone teased him about it, Epel would just grin and shrug. “What can I say? I go for what I want.”

Sebek Zigvolt

The Magift stadium was loud and lively, the crowd cheering wildly as NRC battled RSA in a fierce match. You sat next to Sebek, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Not for the game, mind you, but for the honor of cheering for his young master.

“Do you see that?!” Sebek shouted, practically jumping out of his seat. “The precision! The sheer grace! Lord Malleus is unmatched on the field!”

You smiled, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, Sebek, I see it. You’ve mentioned it about... ten times now.”

“Only ten?!” He gasped, scandalized. “I must rectify this immediately—”

Before he could continue his speech, the crowd erupted into cheers. Confused, you looked up at the massive screen, only to freeze.

There, framed in a gigantic pink heart, were you and Sebek.

“What… what is this madness?!” Sebek’s voice boomed over the crowd noise, his face quickly turning beet red.

“It’s the kiss cam,” you explained, already feeling the heat creeping up your neck.

Sebek blinked at you, utterly baffled. “Kiss cam? What nonsense is this?!”

The announcer chimed in cheerfully. “Looks like we’ve got a lively one, folks! Give the crowd what they want!”

The audience clapped and whistled, clearly entertained by Sebek’s outburst. Meanwhile, you wished you could melt into the ground.

“Sebek, we’re on the big screen,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low. “Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on!”

Sebek recoiled as if you’d suggested dueling Malleus. “What?! A kiss? In public? In front of—of all these people?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“But—! But—!” Sebek sputtered, his hands flailing in an uncharacteristically awkward display. “I cannot—this is—HOW DARE THEY IMPOSE SUCH A THING?"

The crowd was relentless, chanting louder as Sebek grew more flustered.

“Sebek,” you sighed, leaning closer to him. “If you don’t just do it, they’ll keep us up there forever.”

His eyes widened, darting between you and the screen. “I—fine! But only to end this nonsense!”

Sebek sat up stiffly, his face as red as his dorm uniform. Slowly, he leaned toward you… only to stop halfway, completely frozen.

“Sebek,” you whispered, trying not to laugh at his deer-in-headlights expression. “You’re overthinking it. Just a little peck.”

He shut his eyes tightly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “For the honor of the young master.” Then, with the precision of someone about to execute a high-level spell, he leaned in and pressed the briefest kiss imaginable to your cheek.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Sebek immediately pulled back, clutching his chest like he’d just fought a dragon.

“Well, that was…” You paused, trying to find the right word. “Anticlimactic.”

Sebek glared at you, still blushing furiously. “What more do you want?! I have upheld this ridiculous tradition to the best of my ability!”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. You’re supposed to kiss me on the lips.”

“WHAT?!” Sebek practically shouted, earning another wave of laughter from the crowd.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you teased, leaning in just a bit more.

Sebek’s brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment, but before you could follow through on your teasing threat, he surprised you by leaning in and kissing you properly.

It was quick and clumsy but sincere, and when he pulled back, the people sitting around you erupted into wild cheers.

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to faint. “There. Are you satisfied now?!”

You laughed, touching your lips. “Actually, yeah. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

For the rest of the game, Sebek sat ramrod straight, refusing to look at you.

When the match ended and you both walked back to campus, he finally broke the silence. “That… that was purely for practical purposes!”

You grinned. “Sure, Sebek. Whatever you say.”

He glanced at you, his blush returning in full force. “It—it meant nothing!”

But the way his hand brushed against yours—and stayed there—told a very different story.

Masterlist

[mini-ism]

#— HEDONE.

pairings: lighter lorenz x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,443

synopsis: hedone (hēdonē), an ancient greek word that describes "pleasure.” after the girls leave, it’s just you and lighter. would you let him hold your hand if it gave him pleasure, if it gave him the answers he’s always sought? would you let him fuck you?

warnings: p in v, semi-clothed, hand job, choking, reader gropes lighter, accidental erection, daydreaming/fantasizing, fingering, he’s just a guy who wants to h*ld h*nds, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is bae

the throttle of motorcycles and bikes were a sound you’ve grown accustomed to.

a lot of things in life can be chalked up to the philosophy, the belief, of chasing pleasure. why would you do something you hate if it reaps no reward you enjoy? why would you do something if you don’t like it?

that very same idea can be considered the reason people do anything, generally. subjecting yourself to pain is undesirable to many, the most masochistic of people have their limits too.

the roar of engines grew quieter, replaced by the heavy click of boots against hardwood flooring. it was smart to wear boots around, the wooden flooring was splintered, worn from years of trampling and stomping. a gloved hand landed on your shoulder, taking you out of your trance-like state.

“you good?” the hand on your shoulder drifted down to your upper back, rubbing circles, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. his voice was deep, a handsome sort of rumble. it took some effort to peel your eyes away from the scratched up window.

“yeah, i’m okay.” you brought your gaze up to lighter’s, whose was concealed by his beloved aviators, tinted so dark you wondered if he could even see at times. he stood behind you, to your side, his touch still lingering in circles, inferior to your lower neck.

his demeanor seemed stoic as always, keeping to himself, staying “low-key” as he put it. “the girls are all gone,” he murmured, the hum of their bikes so distant it couldn’t be heard anymore, “just us now.”

lighter’s eyes were glued to the environment outside the window, seemingly entranced, lulled into the same kind of deep thought you were in.

would one derive satisfaction from thought? what is pleasure? how much chasing would someone do for that rush, the release of ecstasy?

lighter’s gloved hand moved lower, to the small of your back, his touch growing into a gentle, almost ghostly, caress. you looked out the window, observing the tan, dusky dirt and sand, the orange hue of the evening sky, the constructs of blazewood, the few little pebbles and rocks scattered around.

your eyes trailed back to him, his gaze now focused on you, still hidden by those fucking sunglasses. his brows had a small indent in them, creased by their furrowing, lips slightly pursed. his gloved touch had since stopped rubbing circles on the superior base of your spine, fingers daring to go lower.

you let out a soft, confused noise, his lips parting slightly. the crease deepened a bit more. how far is someone willing push the limits to fulfill their own desires for satisfaction? depends on who they are.

lighter’s face was contorted into a strained, almost guilty look. his lower lip glistened with a thin and awkward sheen of saliva, expression taut with a shameful tension. how apt is someone to escape pain by indulgence? his fingers crept to your side, clutching it tightly.

you didn’t pull away, not at all.

internally, lighter was warring with himself, telling himself he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. he knew that was a damn lie. it’s not like you're anybody’s personal property, not like you’re pulling away, not like you're running from him. it really isn’t like that, not like you’re touching up on him too, not like you’re more than friends. it scared him, the uncertainty, but he just can’t help himself. you’re irresistible, every part of you.

was pleasure worth the risk of pain? what is pleasure without pain? to perceive one means the other must exist. his grip pulled you flush to his side, pressing you to his body, hold unrelenting. he could really get lost in those eyes, he was already tumbling over himself just staring at you.

you stayed flush against him, even pressing your cheek to his chest. could you hear his heart hammering? it was already thrumming in his ears, blood rushing harder, faster, further, everywhere.

everywhere.

he could only hope you could ignore the raging boner tenting his pants, standing quite proud. his tight pants really don’t help, they felt even more like a barrier than before. his breathing grew heavier, clawing at the last remnants of composure. he was a man that prided himself on his ability to keep it together, always level-headed, despite the circumstances. wouldn’t it be good to let that go? just for a little, just for a while.

his gloved fingers dug even further into your flesh, the sensation grounding, yet intoxicating at the same time. your body was so pliant against his, he was desperately seeking any other thought that didn’t involve pinning you underneath him, getting you bent over and compromised. his resolve was wavering with each second, you’re gonna drive him mad.

lighter’s insistently demanding cock kept stirring, retaliating with each needy twitch. every physical reaction of his spurred his dirty thoughts on further, lewd images of you under, beside, on top of him, his shaft buried as far as it could go inside of you. a particularly vivid picture of you, one leg up on top of his shoulder, leaned upright against a countertop beckoned him deeper into his fantasies. you keened as he shoved himself further inside you, drinking in every noise you made. your eyes were glassy with desire, with need, with… love. his grip on your thigh was tight, grunting with satisfaction as he slid in and out of your warm cunt with aided ease. god, you’d get so fucking wet…

a sharp inhale brought him back to reality. he didn’t realize just how tight his hold on your waist had gotten. “sorry, really, uh…”

instead of wriggling away or whining, you curled closer to him, body melting into his for some semblance of comfort or relief. whichever one was galloping through your motives. the air was tense, he was sure you could feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants, you’re terribly close. not that that’s a problem, unless you don’t want to be poked in the thigh by his touch-starved cock.

yeah, you definitely knew. “are you hard?”

no point in hiding whatever is in very, very plain sight, “uh… yeah, my bad.”

with the simple brush of your hand by his crotch, he bit back a particularly low groan, stifling it as a throaty noise. did you intend to do that? did you intend to rub up against him like that, get him even harder than before? as if that could be possible, it was. his face was strained, cheeks dusted a faint pink, becoming immersed in his fantasies again.

his breaths came in shallow, slight heaves. they sounded like soft gasps, periodic and frantic. fuck, what he wouldn’t give to hear you croon underneath him. you’d look so hot pinned to the bed by your wrists, kissing you until you panted for air, just as needy and depraved as he is for your touch. your tongue would feel so good, swiping against his own, licking down his neck, down his shaft. those darling lips would fit so perfectly around his cock, tongue milking every drop of sweet pleasure out of him. pleasure that belonged in you, hips bucking like a crazed man, drunken and starved, experiencing what it means to feel for the first time.

lighter’s eyes trailed down to his crotch, your hand lingered, ghosting just over the raised clothing over his persistent, weeping cock. he could feel pre-cum seep from the head, dampening his boxers, demanding in tempo with the beat of his heart. the color of lighter’s face darkened, hips involuntarily grinding against your palm. lighter drew in a particularly sharp breath at the much desired friction.

you gave him a knowing look as you continued to palm the prominent bulge in his pants. lighter’s fingers stayed glued to your side, his eyes wide behind the dark lenses, partially in disbelief and in welcome bewilderment. his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, mouth slightly agape. at a loss for words, he let a deep grumble out, his gaze still stuck on your hand. your grip was now entirely on his dick, pressing against the outline, moving from base to tip and back through his pants. “ah, fuck…”

he let out a deep breath, the air held in by his wound muscles, unbeknownst to him. his body relaxed slightly under your gentle touch, slipping back into the comforting coax of his daydream. damn, your hand, it feels way too good. would you let him hold it if he could? hold it while he fucks you, while he guides you, while he walks in stride with you? will you let him interlace his bare fingers with yours? will you kiss each of the scars on his knuckles, wrap your own delicate hand around his aching shaft instead of his own?

would you instinctively reach for him? in a crowded area, would you look for him the way he’d look for you? could he seek every answer in you the way you’d look to him? would you let him fuck it out of you, kiss you until you spoke every word he wanted to hear? merely the satisfied twinkle in your eye soothes his soul. he could satisfy you the way nobody else ever can and will, accept every answer in the way you speak, laugh, cry, scream, and moan… every little gasp and mewl, nobody would take you like he could.

take you from behind, from the side, below and above him, take you as you are, take every word and lack of one. take every good with the bad, every soothe with the familiar burn and sting, if it meant you understood him the way he understands you. he would kiss you the way you like, fuck you ten times over if he knew you loved it, hold your hand tight enough if it meant anything to you. seems like you’re struggling with his belt.

“need a bit of help? i know it can be a pain sometimes. here, i got you.” he put his hand over yours, guiding it towards the overly complicated buckle, unclasping it just enough, loosening it with his own hand grasping yours until you could manage to unzip his pants. “you got it, keep going. i promise i’ll make it worth your while.

you didn’t need it to be ‘worth your while,’ having him in your grasp was already enough. you couldn’t be bothered to move from the window, hand already snaking down his boxers to grab his bare, attention-deprived cock. lighter hummed softly at the feverish contact, feeling your thumb collect the thick bead of pre-cum oozing from his cockhead. as you coated his shaft in his own pre, his head grew slightly dizzy, the sensation overwhelming, yet comforting knowing it was you.

“ah, shit, yeah…” your hand started moving faster as lighter let out a mumbled string of curses. with each passing stroke, he could feel the heat in his body burn hotter, the familiar pool of desperation in his lower gut forming, pleasure soaking into every single cell of his body. all his coherent, ‘normal person’ thoughts were melting away at the mercy of your slick stroke.

with a whispered groan, lighter leaned in, “that feels amazing, but i can’t take another minute without my dick in you.”

hesitantly, you released lighter’s cock, pulling your hand out of the waistband of his boxers. lighter pulled you away from the view of the window, just far enough from prying eyes. within the building was a lounge space and a small kitchenette. lighter cornered you inside the kitchenette, wasting no time to put his lips on yours. his kiss was firm but careful, giving you a moment to melt into his lips, your arm hooking around his neck to pull him further closer. his tongue eventually slipped between your lips, the sweet taste of your mouth mingling with his, eagerly swapping his spit with yours. lighter’s kiss grew heated and intense, exploring every inch of your mouth, his lips searing and nearly bruising. he groaned as your fingers tangled with his dark locks, his glove-clad hands coming to grip the counter on each side of you.

reluctantly, he pulled away, lips still proximal to yours, huffing for breath. lighter’s eyes burned bright with passion, staring you down as if he needed you more than the air that kept him alive. you nearly quivered under his scrutiny, the attractive green hue of his eyes keeping yours. your panties were stuck to your cunt with dampness. your hips rocked into his, heat collecting in the fabric as your cunt leaked, contracting around nothing. “do me a favor? turn the other way for me.”

you did as lighter asked, squirming around so your ass was in direct contact with his hard-on. instinctively, his hips rolled against your ass, the tantalizing swell mocking him. lighter eased your pants and underwear down your thighs and legs, letting them pool against the floor, managing to get his right glove off pretty quickly. the pads of his fingers prodded against your heated pussy, collecting the wetness between your thighs, rubbing your clit a few times from behind.

“you feel that, huh? that’s nothing compared to this dick.” seemingly on cue, his index and middle fingers slipped into your heated cunt, stretching your pussy out wonderfully. you let out a soft moan, feeling the two digits slide in and out with adept ease. each moan was punctuated by his fingers working their way back inside of you, deep within your cunt, the slap of his knuckles on your ass. lighter’s fingers curled just enough to make you croon and let your neck loll downwards, forehead dangerously close to thunking against the counter. your hands gripped at the edge of the countertop, knuckles white as lighter’s other hand spread your pussy to the side. his fingers made an abrupt exit.

you mewled at the loss, trembling weakly at the absence of something inside you, of him. the coil in your gut loosened, knees weak and palms creased by the rigid edge of the kitchenette’s counter. lighter brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them nearly exaggeratedly, savoring the taste of you. he let out a satisfied “mmm,” licking the webbing between the digits, lapping up any remaining slick on his fingers. his left hand fell to his boxers, letting his cock spring free as his right hand got you to arch just right against the cold marble slate, spreading your cunt just enough again to let him take a good look.

“you’re gonna look so good taking my dick.”

lighter slapped the heavy tip of his cock against your slit, the rounded head dragging on your clit, the friction driving you wild. you could feel the excitement inside you build, anticipating the lethal stretch. fuck, you were soaked, the wetness coating his tip thickly, threatening to drip all the way down your thighs and onto the floor below you. he pressed his palm down on your lower back, forcing you to intake a sharp breath, his cock accompanying the newly inhaled air. after the tip got lost inside your heat, your cunt squeezed him tight, lungs immediately letting go of your breath. “that’s it, take it good, just like that.”

you moaned weakly, the thickest part of his cock being the shaft immediately below the tip. it felt so good, being split open by him, even with how wet you are. every fiber of lighter’s being was resisting the urge to snap his hips into yours, bury himself into you with force. your cunt wouldn't take much more, lighter opting to pull out a little to sink deeper inside. as he withdrew, you cried out, lighter hushing you with a soft “shh,” his hips moving forwards into yours again. you let out a string of soft babbles, the addictive stretch over as the rest of his shaft took.

“that’s right, fuuuuck.” he gasped, your pussy immediately gushing around him, clamping down on his length like a vice. after a few merciful moments, lighter dragged his hips back, rocking them into you again. you brokenly moaned, feeling his cock slowly drawl in and out of you a few more times, each movement followed up with a loud, needy moan. fuck, you looked so hot, sexier than he could imagine taking his dick from behind. “let me hear you, come on.” he urged gently.

his right hand pinned the back of your neck down to the cold marble, his hand large enough to wrap around the blood vessels on the lateral sides of your neck. his grip was tight, not entirely brutal, picking up the pace with each drag of his hips. the heat in your tummy flared, a thick sheen of your slick coating his dick, the lubricant creating a mess of his boxers and hem of his jacket. his tight hold on the sides of your neck furthered your high, body arching into his, brain fuzzy with pleasure and disconnected from reality. his cock slammed into you, his own pleasure indicated with a guttural groan. he sounded so hot when he felt good.

“you like it when i fuck you? you like this dick?”

you could offer a broken moan as a response, pussy tightening at his deep, horribly sexy, laugh. “yeah, i know, fuuuck.”

lighter bent lower, his voice ringing in your ears, brain barely processing his words, “you close? you just wont let me go, feels amazing.” your strangled moan told him everything he needed to know. you were closer than you could understand.

the heat of your orgasm pooled deep within you, winding all your muscles tight with tension and desire. with a few harsh thrusts, you let out a cry louder than you anticipated, your neck suddenly free from his hold. lighter bullied himself as deep as he could, watching you come undone. though you couldn’t see as you rode your climax out, he had a smug, proud look on his face.

lighter pulled out of you with an effort, resisting the urge to fuck himself using you. his hand came up to the front part of your throat, where your trachea was, pulling you upwards and putting your backside flush to his chest with a gentle force. “i got you, don’t worry.”

before you knew it, lighter was leaned back on the couch, sinking you onto his cock again, your legs parted as you straddled him. your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he half sat up and half laid back, squealing in pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt again. “knew you could handle it, feels so good.”

didn’t matter what he did with your clothes, now that you were naked on top of him, his signature sunglasses sitting aside on the other cushion. his scarred hands came to rest on your hips, moving you up and down, bouncing you on his cock. he threw his head back, gasping with each oversensitive movement along your walls.

an uncharacteristically high noise left his lips, his eyes focused on the bounce of your tits as he lifted you up and down on his ever-demanding cock. fuck, you looked so good, sweaty and tuckered out, yet still taking him so well. your tits are just the cutest, the way they jiggle with every motion. lighter’s hips rocked upwards, bucking wildly as the high crept onto him, your nails digging into the skin and scar tissue littering his shoulders like a mosaic through his leather jacket. lighter’s control became frantic, guiding your body brutally, the sensitive waves of your previous orgasm washing into this one. lighter grit his teeth, groaning heavily as the coil tightened even more, the intensity of his climax terribly foreign. every muscle in both your bodies ached and wildly tightened with desperation as ecstasy washed over you both.

as you rode out your familiar pleasure, lighter rocked his hips, bucking them, milking out every bit of sensation he could from inside you. lighter covered his face with one hand, peeping one eye out of the gap between his fingers, as the other hand’s nails dug into your bare flesh. “fucking hell, oh, shit…”

you don’t think you’ve ever heard lighter say such vulgar things, especially not swear that much in a minute. as his grip on your waist and hip loosened, it immediately sought out your hand, prying your dominant hand away from his shoulder and interlacing your fingers with his as he heaved. “fuck, you think you’ll let me do this again? as many times as i want?”

[robo-writing]

Okay, now I need a fic based on the session the reader and Logan has when he was slapped. Like the thought of her passing out and he still continued to fuck her? And her coming too and he’s just pumping her full of his come? Lord have mercy 😩🤤

me getting this anon while i was knee-deep in writing angst is something so funny to me, crying my eyes out then opening my inbox to see this gave me mental whiplash like you can’t believe He barely sounds human, more man than beast. The weight of him pins you into the bed, unable to move. The creaking of the bed, your weak cries, his downright animalistic grunts of pleasure as he thrusts into your tired, achy cunt—you two sound like a cheap porno, and not in a good way.

You have no one else to blame for the six foot wall of muscle that pins you to the bed, holds your hands behind your back and fucks you like he’s got something to prove. His hips meet your backside again, and again, and again—each thrust leaving your ass raw.

You don’t know how long it’s been since he’s put you on your stomach, and you don’t care to know; all you want is for him to keep going. Hell, you’re not sure Logan would stop even if you begged him.

Reduced to his animal instincts, if he’s not panting in your ear like a bitch in heat he’s mumbling the filthiest fucking words into your skin, tongue lapping at the salt that clings to it.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he groans, each word emphasized by the sound of skin slapping on skin. “My girl, mine to fuck, mine to breed.”

It genuinely hurts to breathe, but all you scratching at his arms does is spur him even further. Eventually you give up, lie back like a good little whore and let him fuck you until either you pass out or he runs out of energy.

Unsurprisingly, option A seems to happen first.

A few spots in your vision, a ringing in your ears, then nothing. An unknown time passes, and you wake up in the same spot as before, spread open and speared on Logan’s magnificent dick.

At least from what you can gather he’s a bit more put together now, still pumping himself inside your warm walls, but much less violent than he was before. You feel the familiar thrum of orgasm on the horizon, an odd sort of pleasure-pain that keeps you aware long enough to listen to your boyfriend speak.

“‘M sorry baby, fuck, just couldn’t stop,” he says, kissing up and down your spine in apology, still chasing after his own high with each word. “Feel too good, so, so good, goddamn—“

He’s stuttering, cutting himself off, unable to string together a full sentence. You chance a glance at him and fuck, he’s a goddamn mess. Sweat dripping from his brow, muscles flexing so hard you could count each vein, a rosey blush running from his face to his chest—he looks like he’s just came from hell and back. Damn near incoherent, whispering sweet nothings into your shoulder—

“Lemme come in you baby, just one more time, one more fuckin’ time—“

It’s a rhetorical question at this point; like you ever had a choice with the way his cum drips from your cunt. So full of him that each thrust pulls more out of you, only to be replaced. He’s had to have cum inside of you multiple times, the sloppy sound of it mixing with the sound of his balls slapping against your ass.

And yet, he keeps on going.

An urge to control, to keep, a need to stuff his cock inside of you and have you know exactly who it is that has your pussy creaming for him.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Jason: Caught Between Healing and Fear

note: completely inspired by this amazing post! tysm to @timdrakewhump for letting me use it as inspo!! <33

Tim doesn’t flinch around Jason. Not exactly. It’s more of a stiffening, a tightening of his shoulders, a flicker in his eyes that he knows Jason catches. He hates it. Everyone else has moved on. Dick forgave. Bruce rebuilt. Even Damian, with all his sharp edges, has softened into something survivable. But Tim? He still expects a hit that doesn’t come, still hears the echo of fists in the dark.

And that? That’s on him, right? It has to be. Because if everyone else can move on, why can’t he?

They don’t talk about it. Not directly. The bats have always been good at side-stepping, at smoothing over the cracks with enough shared history to pretend the damage never happened. They act like everything’s fixed, like Jason is something fragile they have to keep close, hold together. They ignore the way Tim’s shoulders tense when Jason’s voice gets too loud, the way his hands shake when shadows fall just right. They brush off his excuses to leave the room or, worse, look at him like he’s the problem.

“Jason’s trying, Tim.” “He’s better now.” “Don’t hold onto the past.”

But Tim isn’t holding on. He’s bracing.

Every patrol with Jason is a test. Every sparring match, a gamble. Jason keeps it light—punches pulled, jabs softened with crooked smiles—but Tim knows what Jason’s hands are capable of. He remembers the brutality, the raw fury that doesn’t vanish just because it’s been filed down to something more manageable. He knows Jason’s trying. He knows Jason’s better. But there’s a thin line between better and safe, and Tim’s still learning how to balance on it.

When Jason starts spending more time at the manor, no one questions it. They welcome him with open arms, eager to fill the empty spaces his absence left. He’s part of the family, they say. He needs support, they insist. So Jason sits at the dinner table, helps out on patrol, lounges on the couch like he’s always belonged there. And Tim... Tim watches from the corner of the room, a shadow on the periphery, pretending he doesn’t notice the way everyone else orbits around Jason like he’s the sun.

They send Tim on solo missions now—so Jason can have space. They say it like it’s a good thing, like they’re doing Tim a favor. More responsibility, more autonomy. He should be grateful. And he is. Or he would be, if it didn’t feel like being exiled. The irony isn’t lost on him. They don’t want Jason to be alone, so Tim has to be.

The apartment is quieter than the manor, the kind of quiet that presses in too close. No hum of the Cave, no distant footsteps of someone always nearby. It’s fine. He’s used to it. He tells himself that every night, like a mantra. He likes the solitude. It’s familiar, comforting in a way that makes his chest ache. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too thin, he thinks about calling. Jason always picks up now. He’d probably offer to come over, bridge the gap that Tim never asked to be there.

But what would Tim say? Sorry I still see the blood on your knuckles? Sorry I can’t forget how it felt to be the replacement? Sorry you came back, and I thought it would fix things, but it didn’t?

He doesn’t call.

They’re terrified of losing Jason again. They hold him close, desperate, like he might slip through their fingers if they let go for even a second. Tim understands that. He really does. He remembers the hollow ache that filled the manor after Jason died, the way grief settled into the walls like a permanent stain. No one wants to go through that again. They’d do anything to keep Jason safe, to keep him here.

But no one asks what Tim gave up. What he’s still giving up.

Jason is here, but Tim feels like he’s the ghost.

Sometimes, when they’re all gathered together—Bruce at the head of the table, Dick and Steph cracking jokes, Duke helping himself to another slice of pie—Tim looks around and wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away. Just stood up, walked out, and didn’t come back. Would they miss him? Or would they be too busy watching Jason, making sure he doesn’t disappear again?

He catches Jason watching him sometimes, eyes sharp and knowing. Jason’s not stupid. He sees the cracks. Tim wonders if he feels guilty, or if he’s just waiting for Tim to say something, to break the silence that’s grown too thick between them. But Tim won’t. He can’t. The words stick in his throat, heavy and bitter.

So he stays quiet. He goes on solo missions, patrols alone, comes back to an empty apartment that feels less like home every day. And he tells himself it’s enough.

Because it has to be.

[bandsofmarv]

Better than him

JJ Maybank has always been in love with you, but you chose Rafe Cameron—the worst decision, in his eyes. He always watched from the sidelines that was until he reached his breaking point.

Warnings- not really any jealousy.

The night air was thick with humidity as you walked down the beach, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The argument with Rafe still echoed in your ears—his harsh words, the way he’d grabbed your arm before letting you go with a warning.

You spotted JJ sitting on the lifeguard tower, a beer in hand. He looked up as you approached, his expression shifting from surprise to concern the moment he saw your face.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, jumping down to meet you.

“Nothing,” you muttered, brushing past him.

“Don’t give me that,” JJ said, stepping in front of you. “You’re shaking. Did he—did Rafe do something?”

You hesitated, your silence answering for you. JJ’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists.

“I can’t keep watching this,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t keep watching him hurt you.”

You sat on the sand, staring out at the dark waves. JJ paced in front of you, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by raw frustration.

“You don’t have to stay with him, you know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“It’s not that simple,” you said quietly.

“Yes, it is!” JJ snapped, then immediately softened his tone. “Sorry. I just… I don’t get it. Why him? Why not—”

“Why not you?” you finished for him, looking up at him.

JJ froze, his blue eyes locking with yours. He swallowed hard, then dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Yes,” he said, his voice breaking. “Why not me? I’d never hurt you. I’d never make you feel small or scared. I’d—I’d love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you shook your head. “It’s not that simple, JJ. Rafe… he’s different when it’s just us. He can be good—”

“Good doesn’t leave bruises,” JJ interrupted, his voice sharp. “Good doesn’t make you cry, doesn’t make you feel like this.”

You looked away, the truth of his words cutting deep.

“I know you think you love him,” JJ said, his tone softer now. “But love shouldn’t hurt like this. And I can’t—” He broke off, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand by and watch him destroy you. Please, just… leave him. Be with me. Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

JJ reached for your hand, his touch gentle.

“I’d do anything for you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, tears spilling over. “I know.”

“Then trust me,” he whispered. “Trust that I can be better for you. That I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes begged you to believe him. You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But leaving Rafe felt impossible—like trying to escape a storm that followed you everywhere.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

JJ cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You don’t have to know. Just take my hand, and we’ll figure it out together.”

For a moment, you let yourself imagine it—a life with JJ, free from Rafe’s shadow. It felt like breathing for the first time in years.

“I have to go,” you said, pulling away from JJ.

“No,” he said, standing as you did. “Don’t go back to him. Please.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you said, your voice trembling.

“You always have a choice,” JJ said, desperation lacing his words. “Choose me. Please, just once… choose me.”

You hesitated, your heart caught between the life you knew and the life you wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, turning away.

JJ watched you go, his heart breaking as the waves swallowed the sound of your footsteps.

———————————————————————

Later that night

You sat in Rafe’s car, his hand gripping your thigh as he drove. His apologies came in waves—sweet words meant to soothe the wounds he’d inflicted.

But all you could think about was JJ—the way he’d looked at you, like you were worth saving and for the first time, you wondered if he might be right.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Your Period ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,060ish

Summary: Logan learns to handle your period.

Notes: Hope this lives up to what people want! This fic goes with my series, Love That Burns! Please give it a read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan never really paid much attention to your period until the two of you moved out of the mansion. The first time it happened, Logan came home from work to the smell of blood. It immediately had him on high alert.

“Y/N?” He called, looking around the house for you. “Y/N!”

“In here!” You groaned.

Logan rushed into the bedroom to find you curled up in a ball. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Logan. I’m fine.”

“I smell blood. You most definitely aren't fine.” He came around and sat next to you on the bed. “Are you hurt? Did someone show up here? Where’s the blood—“

You laughed, hand coming up to his arm. “Logan, I can’t believe you haven't sensed it before.”

“Sensed what?”

“I’m on my period.”

“Your… period?”

“Yes. It’s something that happens once a month. Can be painful, lasts for a few days. Can effect—“

“Your moods.”

“Bingo.” You whined, curling up further, as a few cramps rippled through.

“What can I do?”

“It’s fine, Logan. I can handle it. I have for years now.”

“You sure?”

You nodded against the pillow. “I’m sure. Just give me a few minutes and I can get up and make dinner.”

“No. I can handle it.”

“You sure? I can—“

“Let me do this.”

~~~

You ended up falling asleep while Logan got dinner ready. He put together dinner, placed it on a tray, and headed for the bedroom. He hated the idea of waking you, but you needed to eat. Logan placed the tray on the nearby dresser before going over to you. His hand ran up your arm and neck until he was cupping your cheek, thumb gently rubbing over it.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he said gently. You groaned as you began to wake. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay, let me go to the bathroom first,” you mumbled.

Logan helped you up as you were still sleepy. A red spot caught his eye on the bed, causing his eyes to snap to the sweats you were wearing. “Honey, you, uh, you—“

“I’m sorry,” your emotions got the better of you, causing you to tear up.

“Hey, no, stop that,” Logan moved to stand in front of you, holding onto your shoulders. "I'll throw the bedding in the wash, you take a shower."

“But dinner—"

“Can wait.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I’ll set out some clothes, go.” 

He turned you around and guided you into the bathroom. He slipped out, leaving the door ajar behind him so that he could have easier access to you. Logan moved quickly, grabbing a new pair of underwear for you, a pair of his sweatpants, and one of his shirts. He snuck them into the bathroom before taking care of the bedding and replacing it with clean ones. 

The shower turned off soon after the bed had been refreshed, allowing Logan a few more moments to set up dinner on the bed. He was finishing setting dinner up when you exited the bathroom. You shuffled over to Logan, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

“Thank you,” you grumbled.

Logan chuckled as you clung to him, preventing him from trying around. “No need to thank me, sweetheart. It’s part of my job.”

~~~

A few months later, Logan was about to head home from work when he received a call from you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Logan greeted.

“Hey, babe,” you replied. “Can you swing by the store and pick up some things for me?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need ice cream, chips, as well as tampons and pads with wings.”

“Is it already that time again?” He chuckled.

“Yes, and I’m having some serious cravings, so please hurry.”

“You got it. I'll be home soon with the needed supplies.”

“Thanks! Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Logan reached the store, quickly grabbing several different ice cream and chip flavors. With some trepidation, Logan made his way to the feminine care aisle. He grabbed a few boxes of tampons that he recognized before pausing in front of the shelves of pads. He didn't recognize any of them. Your request for pads with wings came back into his mind. Did you mean pads with wings or pads with chicken wings? You did say that you were having cravings. Maybe that is what you wanted for dinner?

Logan grabbed two different types of pads, one with wings and one without, from the same brand of tampons. Before he checked out, Logan grabbed some fresh, hot chicken wings from the store and headed home.

“I’m back!” Logan exclaimed, entering the house with all the groceries. He headed to the kitchen, where you met him.

“Thanks, honey," you kissed his cheek as he set the items on the counter. You looked at the items, quickly noticing the different types of pads and the container of chicken wings. “Logan, what's this?” You tapped on the container of wings.

“I didn’t know if you wanted pads with wings or pads with wings. You said that you were having cravings. and I didn't know if chicken wings were one of your cravings.” You couldn't help but break out into a fit of laughter. “If you don’t want them, I can—“

"No, no, no! Everything is perfect. You did great.”

“You sure?"

“Positive."

~~~

Another time, your cramps were really getting the best of you. You tried to use your powers as a heating pad, but it wasn't working. Logan could tell that you were in pain and was struggling to watch you. 

“You need to tell me what to do, sweetheart," Logan pled, moving from one of his feet to another as he stood next to you. You were curled up on the bed, whining in pain. “I have to do something.”

“Just… hold me,” you requested.

“Do you want me in front or behind?”

“Behind.”

Logan quickly came around the bed and crawled in behind you. “Do you want me anywhere specific?”

“I need your hands.” 

Logan wrapped his arms around you. You took his hands and guided them to your lower stomach. The warmth of his hands immediately began to help you. You sighed, relaxing into him.

“You good?” Logan whispered, wanting to make sure he was actually helping.

“Getting there,” you replied quietly. “Just don’t move.”

He pressed a kiss under your ear. “Not planning on it, sweetheart.”

[vigilskeep]

Can we hear about the soap opera style second de riva?

oh sure

she’s the human mage daughter of the previous talon de riva and she’s also illario’s arranged married wife

viago killed her dad in order to replace him. she’s not angry abt this, actively. (she doubts anyone who had met her father could be angry about it.) but there IS underlying tension, how could there not be? viago could have killed her too, and instead has in some ways become like a brother to her. but in another world where he hadn’t gotten there first, house de riva might have been hers

illario did not want to marry her, she was picked out for him by caterina, to strengthen their house ties. to illario, it reads like an insult: she’s not a match meant for a future first talon, she was passed over and disinherited in her own house. she’s also a mage, which despite all caterina’s claims of it being a new era under the new divine and house dellamorte moving with the times, he suspects would be used against their branch of the family inheriting anything. he didn’t even want to get married in the first place, because he’s a chronic flirt here for a good time. and nobody is dragging lucanis back from tevinter to make him get married like he’s a pawn you can afford to sacrifice

his dissatisfaction means he continues to be a chronic flirt, with other people, after they’re married. she’s professionally humiliated, which is as good as personally humiliated for a crow; charm and beauty were skillsets of hers, she can’t even win over her own husband when it’s required to maintain the alliance in treviso, and everyone knows it? viago’s furious because it’s an insult to house de riva’s honour, too. (he’s being a protective big brother. which would be nice, if he could express it or indeed if he had acted on some of those instincts before agreeing to her being married off. read the contents of these brackets in teia’s voice.) all this is why she is still referred to as a de riva, because she kind of went back home to soothe tensions but without actually getting a divorce

she was obviously normal and rational about all of this, as she always is, a good, composed, collected crow, who has never lost her cool in training or on contracts or with her own father’s murdered body before her very eyes. she would like to clarify that the above events had no effect on her eventually lashing out at a certain antaam patrol and setting several things both metaphorically and very literally on fire. unrelated.

lucanis, on his return, immediately knows exactly what illario was like about it and is intensely mortified on behalf of his family, because he is a man with Romantic Standards. she thinks this is endearing and restrains herself from playing on his heartstrings about it too often. the deeply obvious thing to do here is have them fall in love for drama, that would be the maximum soap opera move, and to be clear i DO think it’s funny for illario to suddenly decide he does actually want his wife as soon as lucanis wants her, but honestly i just want lucanis to have one decent family relationship and this is how i can make that happen by force of will. and now not only is illario’s own wife siding with lucanis in the power struggle, but lucanis is replacing illario with her! we actually don’t need romance to make this deranged

thus i’m still debating the most amusing option on the veilguard team to sweep illario’s wife off her feet. i would love to see where almost any of them are going with this. emmrich, for example. and davrin with lucanis’ sister-in-law is obviously amazing (though i actually don’t think he’d go for a wealthy married human woman, i think he’s got more sense and/or self respect 😭). ultimately neve absolutely has a noir detective’s prerogative to win over a femme fatale with a rich husband who doesn’t treat her right so she would get dibs

[kinzhae]

"Can We Not Do This?" Pt.2

Reader gets home after a long day. unfortunately for her she has a light argument with her partner making her more frustrated and tired like she was not enough,

Part 1; Reader x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru Nanami Kento Part 2; Choso, Ryomen Sukuna, Toji Fushiguro

Angst(?) to comfort, Tired Reader. Fainting. arguing

Here are the rest of the characters, let me know if you guys want me to add others <33

Choso

Choso had always been protective, but today, his concern felt suffocating. As you walked into the room, he immediately asked, “Why didn’t you call? I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” you replied, exhaustion seeping into your voice.

“You didn’t think it was necessary?” he repeated, his tone sharp. “I worry about you, Y/N. Do you not care about that?”

“It’s not like that,” you tried to explain, rubbing your temples as the pounding headache you’d been ignoring all day grew worse. “I just—”

“You just what?” he pressed, his voice louder now. “You don’t care how I feel?”

His words hit a nerve, and the stress of the day finally caught up with you. “I can’t do this right now!” you shouted, but your vision blurred, and your legs gave out beneath you.

“Y/N!” Choso’s panic was immediate as he caught you before you hit the ground. His usual stoic expression crumbled as he held you close, his voice trembling. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?”

When you woke up, his hands were still cradling yours, his face inches from yours as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. I just... I was scared.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you like you might break. “You’re everything to me. Please don’t scare me like that again.”

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna had been in a foul mood all day, and you returning from a mission late only added fuel to the fire.

“You’re pathetic,” he sneered, watching as you dropped your bag by the door. “Can’t even handle a simple mission without dragging yourself home like a corpse.”

“Not everyone’s as invincible as you,” you bit back, your voice trembling with fatigue.

He smirked, leaning back. “Clearly.”

The pounding in your head made it hard to think straight, but you weren’t about to let him win. “Why do you always have to be like this? Just—”

Your words cut off as your knees buckled, and darkness overtook you.

“Tch. Idiot,” Sukuna muttered, but he moved faster than you thought possible, catching you before you hit the floor. His crimson eyes scanned your face, his usual arrogance replaced by a flicker of concern.

When you stirred, you found yourself lying on a soft surface, Sukuna sitting beside you with his arms crossed. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he said gruffly, his voice quieter than usual. “If you’re going to collapse, at least have the decency to warn me.”

You managed a weak smile, and he rolled his eyes. “Rest. I’ll deal with anyone who tries to disturb you. You’re useless like this, but you’re mine to take care of.”

Toji Fushiguro

Toji leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you with a smirk as you walked in, exhausted from your day.

“You look like hell,” he said, grabbing a beer.

“Thanks, Toji,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t get snappy with me, sweetheart,” he replied, his tone turning sharp. “I didn’t make you overwork yourself.”

“I don’t need this right now,” you snapped, rubbing your temples.

“Then don’t bring that attitude home,” he shot back, slamming his beer on the counter. “You’re acting like a brat.”

The pounding in your head became unbearable, and before you could respond, your vision blurred, and the world tilted.

“Shit!” Toji cursed, catching you before you hit the ground. His rough hands were surprisingly gentle as he eased you onto the couch. “Y/N, wake up. Damn it, don’t do this.”

When you opened your eyes, his expression was uncharacteristically soft. “You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered, brushing a hand through his hair. “Don’t push yourself so hard.”

His hand lingered on yours as he added, “Take it easy, alright? I’ll stay here until you’re back on your feet.”

[spotsandsocks]

A Place for You, Next to Me Chapt 1 and 2

Buck finds out that Eddie doesn’t really ‘do’ birthdays so what’s a best friend supposed to do, obviously he can’t let Eddie think he doesn't care. So he makes a plan to celebrate and it’s a good plan, it really is and is it really his fault if one little thing goes wrong with their booking.

It’s certainly not his fault that Eddie’s reaction to the unexpected problem would turn a pleasant weekend away into an agony of temptation.

A tale of pining and love and only one bed.

Fans of only one bed shenanigans - this one’s for you.🥹🌈🛏️🎂🛏️🥃🥃🥃🛏️🤯😍🌈❤️‍🔥 Chapt 1&2 today 3&4 tomorrow 💕

Now I was half way though writing this when @bobbysfirehose posted this stunning piece of art that blew my mind away (all their art is magnificent btw so go check out and shower with love) and with permission I tried to describe the pose towards at the end of the fic because it was just perfect for the situation, so you have a nice visual to go along with the words.

Eddie hadn’t expected any reaction at all, least of all the one he’s getting. Standing in his kitchen he watches Buck process the information he just casually mentioned as part of thier conversation about Chris’ next birthday.

“Are you serious?” 

His best friend is standing there with his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, a puzzled frown on his brow, it’s adorable and amusing and God he loves this man so much. Eddie however is wise enough to look away and keep the sentiment out of his voice.

“Yes I’m serious, Buck. I’ve never done anything special to celebrate any of my birthdays.”

If anything that simple statement makes matters worse, Buck's mouth opens and shuts. He looks like a goldfish, apparently he’s managed to render him speechless and that’s quite an impressive feat.

Eddie takes another sip of beer to hide his smile as Buck flounders. The other man is looking horrified, “Your 15th? That’s special right?”

He shrugs. “Dad was away. We did some stuff at church, nothing big. I got a cake.”

“What about 18?  Or or your 21st?” 

He throws Buck a raised eyebrow, “Think about that for a second.”

A pained look crosses his friend’s face “Oh.” Then his nose crinkles “ Oh.. I don’t think I want to.”

Buck sounds upset. Eddie can just imagine what he’s thinking, how he’s comparing the life that he himself had between 16 and 21 with the one Eddie had. The tragic sympathy emanating out of sad pools of blue is a bit much though, it really wasn’t that bad. Yeah, he didn’t get a lot of time to be young but that’s ok he got other stuff instead. He ended up with the best kid in the world so he can’t really complain about missing birthday celebrations. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, so my life’s been a bit different than yours, but that’s ok . Still got cake, even got a balloon once.” 

His joke falls flat, Buck looks devastated .

“Honestly, all completely normal, I promise, don’t freak out on me.”

He moves around him heading back to the couch and if he touches his arm on the way past, well it’s a tight space to squeeze through. Buck’s own fault really, for filling so much of it. His friend's voice follows him out of the kitchen. 

“But nothing since you got old?”

Eddie turns just so Buck can appreciate the eye roll, “I'm not exactly old Buck, I’m the same age as you.”

“Are we sure about that?” 

Abruptly Buck’s mood shifts and he’s teasing, humour replacing the tragic look that had been there only seconds ago.

“You do kinda look older than me. Pretty sure I spotted some gray hairs on you the other day.”

Eddie glares and throws a handy cushion without aiming. Buck catches it easily and grins, before taking another swig of beer. Eddie tries not to watch his lips or his throat too closely.

[authortelevision]

arthur frederick and the new producer: chapter 2 ₊˚⊹♡

words: 4,476 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆arthurtv slow burn, bach and arthur podcast

after lara leaves bach and arthur’s podcast, you become her replacement. after discovering that arthur hates change, it takes a lot for him to warm up to you and become friends. it also takes a lot for him to admit how he truly feels about you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter One

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter Two ₊˚⊹♡

The next day, you show up to the studio a little more prepared. The anxiety that gnawed at you the night before has faded, replaced by a sense of determination. Isaac’s words are still echoing in your mind: Don’t take his quietness personally. You’ve done your part, and now you just need to focus on the work.

The studio is already humming with activity when you arrive. Arthur is behind the desk, fiddling with the computer, his brow furrowed in concentration. Isaac is sitting on one of the chairs, scrolling through his phone. As you step in, you can sense the tension still hanging in the air, but it’s different this time. Less thick, maybe, less uncomfortable.

Arthur glances up from the computer as you walk in, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe it’s a flash of regret, or maybe it’s just the way his eyes meet yours, but it’s there. He stands up from behind the desk, a little awkwardly, and rubs the back of his neck, clearly trying to make things right.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lower than usual, softer. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I wasn’t… trying to make things uncomfortable. I know I’m not the easiest guy to work with when things change. It’s just… it’s a thing I have to get used to.”

You blink, surprised by the genuine apology. Arthur isn’t the type to readily admit fault, or so it seems. His tone is almost apologetic, and it makes you feel a little more at ease.

You offer a small smile, shrugging off the tension that still lingers between you two. “It’s really okay. No need to apologize. We’re still getting to know each other. I get it.”

Arthur nods, his hands shoved in his pockets, his usual guarded demeanour still there but softer now. “Yeah, well… I’ll try to make it less weird. I just… it’s not easy for me to adjust to new things. But we’ll figure it out.”

You nod back, feeling a little lighter. “I’m sure we will. No worries.”

The recording session starts smoothly enough, though you can tell Arthur’s keeping a critical eye on everything. He’s focused on the technical side, as always, adjusting his mic, and making sure he’s positioned just right. You, on the other hand, are more focused on keeping the flow going, keeping track of the notes, and making sure everything stays on schedule.

As you’re all getting into the conversation for the next segment, Arthur continues to monitor everything closely. You try to keep the mood light, chatting with Isaac about something random, just to keep the energy going. And then, as you settle back into the rhythm of the recording, you hear it.

Arthur’s voice, calm and collected, asks a question. “Alright, Lara, can you just—”

Your stomach drops for a moment.

Lara? You blink, your mind processing the slip-up. Did he just say, Lara?

Arthur’s eyes widen, and for a split second, there’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as he realizes what he’s said. His face goes red, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to correct himself.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his voice flustered. “I meant— sorry, I don’t know why I said that.

You freeze for just a moment, then let out a small laugh, the tension easing away from your body. It’s not like you’ve never been mistaken for someone else before, but the fact that it’s happening now, with Arthur, feels oddly relieving.

“It’s fine,” you say with a grin. “I’ll just cut it out.”

Arthur, still looking embarrassed, gives a small, relieved chuckle. “Right. I’ll get it right next time, I swear.”

Isaac, who has been listening from the side, can’t resist. “Smooth, Arthur,” he teases, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ve gotta start calling her by the right name now. That’s two strikes.”

Arthur looks at Isaac with, a half-hearted glare, but there’s no real anger behind it. It’s more playful than anything. “I said I was sorry,” Arthur mutters, clearly still flustered.

You decide to ease his embarrassment. “Seriously, it’s really okay. I’ll just edit it out of the recording, no big deal.”

Arthur’s shoulders relax a little at that, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his posture, like the weight of the situation has lightened just a bit.

Isaac laughs and gives Arthur a teasing look. “Don’t worry, man. She’s way more chill than you are.”

You chuckle, feeling your nerves loosen. “I’m just here to get the job done. And hey, mistakes happen.”

Arthur nods, his face still a little red but now looking slightly more at ease. “Yeah, well… thanks for being understanding. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

The session continues after that, and while Arthur remains focused, detailed, precise, and ever-critical there’s a subtle shift in the air. The tension that had lingered between the three of you is not as bad now, and even Arthur seems to have relaxed just a bit. It’s a small change, but it’s something.

As the recording wraps up, you feel like the day has gone a little better than expected. Things are still a little formal, but you can sense a slight softening from Arthur. Maybe this whole transition won’t be as difficult as you thought.

Before leaving, Arthur gives you a short nod. “Good work today. We’ll be back at it again soon.”

You smile, glad the day is finally over. “Thanks, Arthur. I’ll see you next time.”

Isaac gives you a small wave and a wide smile. “See you later. Don’t let Arthur bite you next time.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “No promises.”

As you gather your things and make your way out of the studio, you feel a little more at ease. Sure, Arthur might still be a bit reserved, but today felt like a step in the right direction. Maybe, just maybe, you and Arthur will find a way to make this work. It’s early yet, but you’re optimistic.

Later that evening, after the recording session, you sit down at your desk, a cup of tea in hand. You pull out your notes, mentally sorting through ideas for the next episode. There are some technical changes you want to make, as well as a few suggestions for adjusting the flow. Arthur has been quiet on your ideas lately, so you’re hoping that putting them in writing might make things easier.

Taking a deep breath, you open your messages and start typing to Arthur:

You: Hi Arthur, I’ve been thinking about the next episode and wanted to run a few ideas by you.

You: For the intro, I was thinking of tightening it up a bit, maybe cutting down some of the back-and-forth, and then transitioning into the discussion on science in the media. I think it might flow better that way.

You: Also, I’m planning to shift the pacing a little so the segments feel smoother, and not too abrupt. Let me know if you have any thoughts or if you’d like to adjust anything.

You re-read the message once more, making sure it doesn’t sound too casual or too formal, and then hit send.

A few minutes pass before his reply shows up.

Arthur: Yeah, we could do that.

It’s short, too short, and it doesn’t feel like the kind of confirmation you were hoping for. It’s polite but distant. You hesitate, wondering if you should clarify more or give him a bit of space. But it’s hard to tell with Arthur, he’s never the type to volunteer his thoughts unless you push.

You quickly type back:

You: Great. I’ve also been thinking about how we structure the segments. Maybe we could break up the discussion a bit more, and give each part a clearer focus. Do you think that could work? Or is that going too far off track from the way things have been?

A long minute goes by. You begin to second-guess your approach. Should you have sent a more detailed outline? Would it have been better to just go over these ideas in person? You glance at your phone again, willing it to buzz with a more substantial response.

Finally, the next message comes in.

Arthur: I’m not sure about breaking up the segments too much. We’ve got a rhythm, and I don’t want to mess with that unless it’s necessary. But I’m open to tweaking the flow a little like you said.

You feel a slight frustration creeping in, but you try to keep it in check. Arthur’s always like this, careful with changes, and meticulous about keeping the podcast grounded in its original structure. You don’t necessarily disagree, but it can be hard to push for progress when he’s so cautious.

You type your response, trying to phrase it in a way that respects his approach but still moves things forward:

You: Got it. I just think tightening up the pacing could help us maintain the energy. But I’ll make sure not to mess with anything too much.

There’s a brief pause before his reply comes in again.

Arthur: I’m not saying don’t change anything. Just let’s take it slow, yeah?

His tone, though still a bit distant, seems less cold this time. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to fully shut you down, but he’s also not ready to embrace your suggestions completely.

You let out a soft breath, your fingers hovering over the phone for a second, unsure of how to respond. Arthur’s cautious nature is wearing you thin, but you remind yourself, that this is progress, even if it’s slow. Extremely slow.

You reply with:

You: Absolutely, I’ll keep it gradual. I appreciate you taking the time to go over these with me.

The reply comes quickly this time.

Arthur: No problem.

It’s the most he’s said to you all day, and despite the still-cautious tone, you can’t help but feel a bit of relief. Maybe it’s small, but it’s something.

You sit back in your chair and breathe out slowly, feeling a little more at ease with the upcoming recording. There’s still a long way to go before things feel comfortable with Arthur, but this message, this little back-and-forth, the slight conversation reminds you that Arthur is human just like you.

You smile to yourself, finally putting your phone down. You’ll just have to take things one episode at a time.

The next morning, you arrive at the studio early, hoping to get everything ready before the others show up. The low hum of the air conditioning fills the otherwise quiet room, and you take a deep breath as you begin setting up the equipment. You double-check the microphones, adjust the levels on the soundboard, and make sure the recording software is ready to go.

A few minutes later, you hear the door open. Arthur steps inside, looking as serious as ever. He gives you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either, and heads to the table without saying much.

“Good morning,” you say, trying to sound casual, though you can’t help the slight tension in your voice.

“Morning,” he responds without much inflexion, his eyes briefly flicking toward you before he focuses on the phone in his hand.

You watch him for a moment, then turn your attention back to the equipment. You’ve been thinking a lot about the changes you planned to implement. You’ve adjusted the intro to be a bit tighter, and you want to suggest a new structure for the segments. It’s all part of trying to help the show feel a little fresher without losing what’s already there.

“I made some changes to the intro,” you say, breaking the silence. “I tightened it up a bit. It should help with pacing.”

Arthur doesn’t immediately respond, but you can feel his attention shift toward you. He doesn’t look thrilled, but he’s not dismissing it outright either.

“I’ll listen to it when we start recording,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee. “As long as you didn’t go overboard.”

You nod, trying to suppress the knot forming in your stomach. You’d hoped for a little more enthusiasm, but at least he didn’t shut you down completely.

“Maybe add a little more interaction with the camera so it feels a bit more connected, you know?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, setting his coffee mug down with a faint clink. “Connected, huh? Well, I suppose we can try it. As long as you don’t mess with the format too much.”

You smile slightly, but there’s a hint of tension behind the smile. “I won’t. Just a few adjustments here and there.”

Arthur considers it for a moment. “Yeah, we could do that. I hope it doesn’t hurt to try something new.

His words hang in the air, and you feel the sting of the backhanded compliment. It’s not exactly praise, but it’s not a flat-out rejection either. You try to keep your tone positive as you reply, “Right. Just a few adjustments to see how it feels.”

Arthur takes another sip of his coffee, watching you with a careful expression. “Well, as long as you’re not trying to turn it into something it’s not, it should be fine. But don’t get too attached to any one idea if it doesn’t work.”

You nod, keeping your voice steady. “Understood. I think it could help.”

Arthur stands still for a moment, his gaze flickering over to the soundboard. “Fine,” he says, though there’s a slight edge to his tone. “Just don’t change everything all at once. People don’t like it when things change too fast.”

You smile, doing your best to keep things professional. “Of course. Just a few small things.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything else as he heads toward the door. “Alright. I’ll be in the recording room. Let’s see what happens.”

As the rest of the team arrives and the session gets underway, you try to keep the changes subtle, hoping to ease into the new structure without rocking the boat too much. Arthur watches you closely, though he doesn’t offer much in the way of feedback, and you can’t quite tell if he’s warming up to the ideas or just biding his time.

When the session wraps up, you take a deep breath, trying to gauge his reaction. Arthur’s expression is neutral, but his words are the first sign of approval you’ve gotten, even if it’s more reserved than you’d like.

“Not bad,” he says, still with that distant edge to his tone.

You nod, not quite sure how to respond. His approval, if you can even call it that, feels like it’s wrapped in layers of hesitance. But it’s something. It’s progress, at least.

“Thanks, Arthur,” you say, forcing a smile. “I’m glad it worked out.”

He meets your gaze for a brief moment, then turns to pack up his things. “Yeah, well. I’ll catch you next time.”

You watch him go, feeling that same mix of frustration and resolve. Gaining Arthur’s trust is going to take more than a few changes to the show. But you’re in it for the long haul.

The evening air is crisp as you walk home, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet street. The weight of the day’s recording session feels better now, and you can’t help but feel a small sense of relief. Arthur’s approval, however reserved, was a step in the right direction. Things felt like they were getting better, even if it was just by a little bit.

As you push open the door to your flat, the familiar warmth greets you, and you let out a deep breath. The apartment is quiet except for the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen. Emma’s sitting at the table, as she scrolls through her phone.

“Hey,” she says without looking up. “How’d it go today?”

You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes. “Better. Arthur was still… Arthur. But I think he’s starting to warm up to the changes. He even said the pacing was tighter, so that’s something.”

Emma looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Tighter? That’s progress, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, sinking into the chair across from her. “He said it wasn’t a disaster. So, I’m counting that as a win.”

Emma grins turning off her phone to give you her attention. “You’re definitely making progress, then. Sounds like you’re wearing him down.”

“I don’t know about wearing him down,” you say, laughing. “But it feels like he’s finally starting to see what I’m trying to do. It’s definitely not smooth sailing, but I think I’m on the right track.”

“Good,” she says, putting her phone down. “You’ve got this. I told you it’d get better.”

You smile, grateful for her support. “Yeah. Thanks for keeping me grounded.”

The conversation drifts to other things as Emma talks about her day, but in the back of your mind, you can’t help but replay the moments from the recording session. The small victories, the subtle shifts in Arthur’s attitude.

A few days later, the podcast episode finally gets released on YouTube. You’re sitting in your room, headphones on, making some final tweaks to the next episode’s edits when your phone lights up with a notification. It’s from Arthur.

You pause, lifting your phone to read the message.

Arthur: People liked the episode. It was a good idea.

You blink at the screen, not sure what to make of it. Arthur’s compliment is brief, but there’s a certain sincerity in it that you haven’t felt from him before. It’s not effusive praise, but it’s the closest he’s come to offering any kind of real recognition.

You tap out a reply.

You: Thanks! I’m glad it worked out. I thought the pacing changes would help. Do you think we can keep it for next time?

There’s a pause before his reply comes through.

Arthur: Yeah, I think it could work. We’ll see how it plays out over time. But it didn’t mess things up, so that’s something.

You smile to yourself, feeling the smallest spark of pride at his words. It’s still not glowing praise, but it’s progress. You decide to push your luck a bit further.

You: Well, it’s good to know it didn’t ruin everything. I was a little worried about messing with the format too much, but I think it’s working so far.

The phone buzzes again, and you tap to read the response.

Arthur: It’s fine. Just don’t get too attached to one idea. We might need to adjust some stuff as we go. But, yeah, it worked. For now.

You laugh softly, appreciating his honesty, even if it’s wrapped in that typical reserved Arthur style. He’s not exactly glowing, but it’s the most approval you’ve received from him yet.

You: Got it. I’m just trying to make sure the podcast feels fresh without losing what makes it good. Thanks for sticking with it.

Another moment passes before he replies, and you can almost picture him standing there, weighing his words.

Arthur: I don’t like to change much, but if it helps the podcast, I’m all for it. Just don’t go too crazy.

You grin at the message, feeling a wave of relief. Maybe you’re finally on the same page after all.

You: No worries, I’ll keep it balanced. Appreciate the feedback, Arthur. It really means a lot.

Arthur’s reply is quick.

Arthur: Yeah, well. Don’t expect me to say it often. But you’re doing alright so far.

You can’t help but laugh aloud at that, even though his words still carry that distant edge. It’s better than nothing, though.

You: I’ll take it. Thanks, Arthur.

Arthur: You’re welcome.

The conversation ends, and you lean back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t exactly the kind of glowing feedback you might have hoped for, but it’s progress. Real progress. For the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to fit in.

As you settle back into your editing, you can’t help but replay his words in your mind, and for the first time, you start to believe that things might just work out after all.

The morning feels different today. You’re getting ready for the studio, but there’s something about today that feels a little more intentional. As you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, you take your time. You swipe a bit of makeup on your face, just enough to brighten your eyes and smooth out the skin, a small effort to look more put together than usual. You’ve got plans after work, meeting up with your friends for a drink, so you figure why not make a little more effort than usual?

When you finish, you pull on a nice shirt and a pair of black jeans. It’s still casual but just a little more polished than the usual hoodie and jeans. You grab your bag, check yourself one last time in the mirror, and nod to yourself. You look good, or at least better than the usual rush of getting ready in the mornings.

The studio is a short walk away, and by the time you arrive, you feel like you’ve set a tone for the day. You’re ready to take on whatever comes, but there’s a small, fluttering excitement in the back of your mind about the evening plans.

When you step inside the studio, you’re immediately greeted by the familiar sound of the equipment being set up, Isaac moving around, and Arthur sitting at the desk with a coffee cup in hand. His eyes flick up briefly as you enter, but it’s Arthur, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge the extra effort you’ve put into your appearance. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that something feels different today.

You settle into your usual spot, plugging in your laptop and starting to prep the recording software. As you get everything lined up, you notice out of the corner of your eye that Arthur is staring at you.

It’s subtle at first. A glance here, a longer look there. But as he munches on his breakfast, you realise it’s more than just casual glances. He’s looking at you, his focus a little too intense. You can almost feel his gaze, and it’s starting to make you a bit uncomfortable.

You take a deep breath and finally turn your head toward him. “You okay?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can feel the uncertainty hanging in the air.

Arthur blinks, his eyes darting away from you for a split second. He’s caught off guard, but he quickly recovers, wiping his mouth with a napkin before replying. “Yeah. Fine. Just… wondering where you’re going after this.”

His voice is frustratingly neutral, but you can sense there’s something off, he’s not his usual distant self, but the tone of his question has an edge of curiosity that seems out of place.

You glance at him for a moment, unsure of how to read the energy shift. “Oh, I’m going out with my friends after this,” you explain, shrugging a little as if it’s no big deal. “It’s been a while, and I thought I’d take a break from work tonight.”

Arthur nods slowly, then goes back to his food, but his eyes flick up again, almost like he’s trying not to stare directly at you. The silence that falls between you both feels heavier than usual.

“Okay,” he mutters as if he’s forcing the words out.

You try to ignore the strange tension that’s started to build between you two. You turn back to your laptop, hoping to get back to focusing on the work at hand. But out of the corner of your eye, you can still feel Arthur’s eyes on you, lingering, as if he’s studying you more than he usually does.

It’s distracting, and you can’t help but wonder why. Is it because you look a little more put together today? Or is it something else? You tell yourself not to overthink it, but it’s hard not to when his eyes keep flicking back to you in little bursts.

You take a deep breath and shift your focus back to your work, doing your best to ignore the weight of his stare.

The walk home feels longer than usual, the familiar path beneath your feet blurring as your mind races. You replay the day in your head, the awkward interactions, the looks, the laughter. Every small detail becomes magnified, making you question everything.

What did I do wrong? Did I mess something up?

Your thoughts spiral. You can’t shake the image of Arthur staring at you earlier, or how Isaac had looked at him before they both laughed. It didn’t seem malicious, but it felt… weird. Were they laughing at me?

You pull out your phone, your fingers itching to ask someone, to get an answer. You open your messages and send a text to Isaac, hoping he can give you some clarity.

You: Hey, what was all the laughing about today?

You quickly tuck the phone back into your pocket, your heart beating a little faster. What if you’re reading too much into it? What if it’s nothing?

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes, and you pull it out to see Isaac’s reply.

Isaac: Just Arthur being weird, don’t worry about it.

You frown at the screen, not satisfied with that answer. What does that mean?

The message takes a little longer this time, and when it comes, it’s just a short, Nothing important.

You bite your lip, not ready to let it go just yet. But what were you laughing about, exactly?

There’s a slight delay, and then another message pops up.

Isaac: Alright, alright. Arthur just said you looked good today, that’s all.

Your heart skips a beat. Arthur said that? The Arthur who barely looks at you unless he has to? That Arthur?

You stare at your screen for a long moment, not sure how to process it. Finally, you type back,

You: He said I looked good?

Isaac’s reply is quick.

Isaac: Yeah, he did. He’s not great at giving compliments, but he meant it, trust me.

You blink at your phone, your stomach fluttering a little.

You: Well, that’s nice. I guess.

There’s a brief pause before Isaac’s next message arrives.

Isaac: Don’t overthink it, alright? Arthur’s just a little odd sometimes. But yeah, he meant it. Between us, he really meant it.

You exhale, finally feeling a bit better. Maybe it was nothing to worry about after all. Arthur’s compliment, though awkwardly delivered, was still a compliment. A compliment that made your cheeks slightly pink without realising.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, your thoughts slowing down as you continue your walk home.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

a/n: i hope you guys like my chapter 2 I PROMISE THERE WILL BE LOVE JUST REMEMBER ITS A SLOW BURN

for my lovely commenters:

@rubyskies @rkaya @pookietv @rougetv @arthurhillmastermind @picklepiastri @pretendyoucantseeme

[inquisimer]

Helloo happy Friday! For Arlow/Lucanis how about "Please tell me I don’t look as bad as I feel"?

this went... slightly left of my original intention, which means it went sightly left of the prompt, as well - but here we are! ty for the prompt friend <3

Arlow de Riva/Lucanis | 990 words | @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers | a direct follow on from this earlier prompt fill

-

“You left on your own.”

Arlow didn’t look up from her coffee when Lucanis spoke. She’d been staring blankly through the steam, thinking and waiting. Thinking about what Viago said, and waiting for Lucanis to find her. Because she’d known he would—it hadn’t even taken as long as she’d thought it would. He must have noticed her absence right away.

That should make her happy. But it couldn’t—not with her Talon’s warnings haunting her thoughts. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard instead.

“The night just caught up to me and I beelined for the Eluvian,” she lied. “Sorry—I should have told you.”

Lucanis hummed. “The night caught up with you, hm? So it had nothing to do with how angry Viago looked when he left?”

Arlow’s stomach twisted and she cracked one eye open. “He actually looked angry?”

“Mhm. Something must have gotten quite under his skin, if he didn’t bother keeping it locked down in front of the Talons.”

Arlow dropped her forehead to her knees with a groan. Lucanis perched on the coffee table in front of her chair and pulled her coffee from her hands. Her palms felt the evening chill only briefly before he’d replaced the warm ceramic with his hands, thumbs soothing gentle circles over her knuckles.

“Talk to me,” he murmured. “I thought—well, things did go as well as I could have expected. And you were magnificent. I can’t imagine what Viago took issue with.”

Arlow almost laughed. He had no idea how right he was—he couldn’t imagine. She didn’t particularly want to tell him, either. Not only because she thought Viago was wrong, but because even if he was, she knew the fact that he had thought it would plant a seed of doubt in Lucanis. One he neither needed nor deserved.

She lifted her head with a sigh. Lucanis’ eyes swept over her and she felt her tears return at the naked concern there.

And Viago thought he was using her. Damn him.

“Arlow…” Lucanis’ brow furrowed; a dark undercurrent lined his voice. He reached out and traced the line of her cheek, from the corner of her eye to her jaw. His thumb lingered at the side of her chin and Arlow knew what he was seeing: thumb and finger-shaped bruises, just darkening. “Who put their hands on you?”

Arlow shook her head. “That’s from fighting Illario, I’m sure.”

“Please do not lie to me.” Lucanis’ fingers were stressfully gentle as he tilted her face, forcing her to look at him even though she barely felt the pressure against her tender skin. “It’s a little insulting, frankly, that you think I spent a full dance staring at your face and wouldn’t have noticed.”

“They’re bruises. They probably hadn’t formed yet.”

He raised an unimpressed brow at her and she sighed. But also pursed her lips together. Lucanis dropped his hand back to hers, jaw working around what he wanted to say.

“I understand if you want to defend him,” he finally said, “but then defend him. Do not hide from me, cara mia.”

Arlow’s shoulders drooped. “That obvious, huh? I’m losing my edge.”

“It was not such a stretch. If anyone other than Viago had touched you, there would have been blood. Either from your blades, or his. So,” Lucanis leaned forward, cinnamon and leather conditioner invading her senses, “what did he take issue with?”

“With you,” Arlow sighed, dropping her forehead against his. Even if she wasn’t exhausted and hurting, she’d never stood a chance to keep this from him. “You and me, and public displays of affection, and the implications.”

As she’d feared, Lucanis stiffened with every word. She pushed her fingers through his hair, a comfort for them both.

“Did you tell him that we talked about this?”

“No. He’s not worried about what we discussed.” Arlow pressed a soft kiss to Lucanis’ furrowed brow. “I’m going to tell you this,” she said quietly, “but first I want to say: we fought because I do not agree with him. Remember that?”

Lucanis nodded mutely.

“Viago thinks you are using our house to shield House Dellamorte from an internal coup.”

Arlow felt Lucanis’ sharp intake of breath, both against her face and in the tension at his shoulders. She stroked useless comfort at the nape of his neck.

“I really thought we were on better terms than that.”

“His personal opinion of you probably has very little to do with it. Viago is paranoid,” Arlow said bluntly. “And a cynic. Has been as long as I’ve known him. I don’t believe him,” she repeated, clasping Lucanis’ cheek and holding his gaze steady as she did. “And I told him as much.”

An unexpected smile ticked at the corner of Lucanis’ mouth. “Fighting with your Talon? Not your wisest move.”

“Pissing off Viago is an art form that I’ve perfected,” Arlow said. “It just so happens that he pissed me off back—that’s when things get messy between us. Anyway,” she nudged his nose with hers, “You’re a Talon, now. Are you saying that if Viago kicked me out, I’d have nowhere to go?”

Lucanis groaned. “Do not repeat that where Viago can hear you. He’ll think I’m trying to poach you.”

“I guarantee you he already thinks that. And don’t dodge the question.”

“You know I would have you in my house in a heartbeat,” Lucanis murmured. If he heard the double entendre, neither of them mentioned it. “But I don’t think that’s what you want. And, for the record—” he pushed her hair back where it had fallen from the twisted crown, tenderly tucking it behind one pointed ear “—I would never do what he’s suggesting without speaking to him. And you, but certainly him.”

Arlow smiled, ignoring just how much his words eased her heart, and leaned down to kiss him. “That’s what I told him,” she said against his lips.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 7 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Chapter Summary: You and Buck are officially a couple, but it isn't an easy start for either of you.

Word Count: 3k Warnings: none

It’s strange how effortless it is to go from being Buck’s best friend to his girlfriend. Maybe that’s because you’re still best friends, only now, you can make out with each other. Buck being on medical leave is kind of perfect timing, too, because none of your coworkers suspect anything. They aren’t surprised you spend most of your time at his loft. When they wonder how Buck is doing, they ask you; they know you know him best.

“Woah, hey, be careful!”

You and Buck are sitting around his table. Well, you’re sitting at the table, and he’s off to the side, sitting in one chair while another elevates his leg.

You look up at Buck and roll your eyes. “What, you’re gonna sew it back together?”

You’re holding a pair of his navy slacks and ripping apart the left pant leg.

“It doesn’t mean you had to rip them,” he chastises.

You lift up the pants, and you have to admit: it’s not your best work. It’s even, but the edges are frayed.

“Yep, looks terrible.”

“It’ll be fine!” you assure, setting them back down. “We’ll just tuck it in the top of your cast.”

You sit in an uncomfortable silence.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” Buck eventually asks.

You sigh. He had a follow-up appointment with the surgeon today, which wasn’t great. Granted, it could have been much worse. The fracture isn’t healing as expected, so he wants to perform another surgery. It wouldn’t be a minor surgery, either — he’d be replacing the rod and using bone grafts instead.

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “You already know what I think.”

You and the surgeon think Buck should wait a few more weeks before surgery. Buck, being Buck, disagrees.

“The sooner I have the surgery, the sooner I can get back to work.”

“We’re talking about your ability to walk, Buck,” you say slowly. “We’re talking about your health, your life.”

“No, being a firefighter is my life!” Buck shouts. “It is the only thing I have ever done that was important and that mattered, okay? Without that, I-I don’t have…”

His eyes are red, and his voice is breaking.

“You will still be Buck, okay?” You say, kneeling in front of him. “We’ll all still love you. There are lots of other important things that you can do with your life.”

He stares at you, then looks away and clenches his jaw. “Do you know how hard it is to watch you walk out that door every day? Leaving me behind to just sit here and stare at a wall? Knowing you get to go do the one thing I want to, but can’t?”

You press your lips together. “Buck, I’m sorry, I never thought about it-”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” he interrupts. “I-I want you to keep working. I just want to be working with you.”

You move closer, setting a hand on his face and pressing your foreheads together. “I know. I know you do.”

He reaches up to hold your wrist. The two of you stay like that for what feels like hours.

“People assume we choose this life; I'm not so sure. Sometimes, I think this life chooses us.”

Everyone is gathered around foldout tables in the station loft. There are two rows: on one side sits the 118 staff, and on the other side is Eddie’s family. Bobby and Eddie stand in front of everyone.

“For those that answer the call, there can be no doubt, no equivocation,” Bobby continues. “It's not just the lives of those we serve that depend on us, but our own. The lives of our fellow firefighter and first responders. Today, we welcome a new brother into those ranks. After a year of hard work and dedication, I am proud to officially declare that your probationary period is at an end. Welcome to the Los Angeles Fire Department, Firefighter Diaz!”

The two men shake hands as everyone claps and cheers. Christopher stands up and approaches Eddie, offering him his helmet. Eddie picks Christopher up into a hug.

Something draws your eyes to Buck, who’s sitting next to you. He doesn’t see you looking, so you watch as he claps and smiles for his friend.

It’s crazy to think that Eddie’s only been in your lives for a year. In 365 days, he’s become the third closest person to you, right behind Buck and Hen. Something about him, in both a personal and professional sense, fits so perfectly into your life.

Everyone disperses to converse and get lunch from the catering table. Eddie makes his way around the small crowd. Eventually, he makes it to the table where you and Hen are sitting.

Hen pulls him into a sideways hug. “Congrats, Eddie. This is well earned.”

He thanks her and pulls her in a little tighter.

You rise out of your seat and pull him into a hug. You turn your lips to his ear in a whisper. “I’m proud of you.”

Eddie squeezes you tighter. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. For a brief moment, the only thing between your bodies is a held breath.

You separate, but he keeps his hands on your arms. He chuckles and dips his head down.

“What?” You ask, lips curving into a confused smile.

“I’m just… I’m glad I met you.”

You smile warmly as you pat his arms. “Ditto.”

You hear some shouting and laughter. Across the loft, Buck and Chris are playing a game on the TV console. You see Christopher laugh and rest back on the couch while Buck leans forward, pointing at the screen. He gives Chris a gentle push, which makes him laugh harder.

“You two are a thing, aren’t you?”

You turn back to Eddie. You look him up and down. His hands are now buried in his front pockets, and his smile isn't as wide.

You could try faking it, but he’d call you on it in five seconds flat. “We’re that obvious, huh?”

Eddie shrugs a little. “To me, I guess.”

Your smile softens a little.

‘I’m not saying it can never happen.’ The sound of your own words keeps bouncing around your head. You essentially told this man that you could see sharing a life with him… if the timing wasn’t wrong. A strange sensation settles into your stomach. You wonder why it’s the right timing for Buck. You wonder how Eddie feels, knowing he has time to spend with you while also knowing his best friend’s time is just a few minutes sooner. You wonder if it’ll ever be Eddie’s time, and wondering this makes the feeling in your stomach more than a little bit worse.

“Well, you seem happy,” Eddie says, cutting into your thoughts. “I’m happy for you both.”

Part of you hopes he means it, and the other part sort of hopes he’s lying.

You and Buck spend the next few months growing closer. He has the second surgery, and you’re there to help him recover. For now, you’re not sharing work hours, but you’re sharing time. You’re telling your stories, and he’s telling his. Your relationship sews itself like a quilt, each day getting cozier and heavier. The extra warmth is worth the extra weight.

It’s still weird not working with him. Now that he’s going through re-certification, he at least has something to keep himself busy. Before that, he was always at his apartment when you got off work. You’ve been spending most of your free time at his place. You can’t remember the last time you spent the night at your own place; you just pop in occasionally to grab something.

You blink awake, rubbing at your eyes as you yawn. You slowly sit up, and the pleasant smell of fresh coffee greets you. You rub your eyes again, and when you open them, you see Buck standing at the top of the stairwell. He’s already dressed, and he’s holding a mug.

“Hey,” you smile. “You’re up early.”

Buck smiles back. He sits on the edge of the bed, handing you the mug. “I’m heading in now, wanna get a jump on things.”

“Today’s your final eval, right?” You ask as if you don’t already know the answer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“Nah, watching me pretend to save lives isn’t as important as actually saving lives.”

“Well, you’ll be done with pretending by the end of today,” you remind. “You’re gonna do great.”

He grins. “You’re just a twelve today, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back around 8 tonight,” you confirm. “I’ll make dinner! We can celebrate.”

“Sounds perfect,” Buck smiles again.

You return the expression. God, you can’t remember the last time you were this happy.

He looks at his watch. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You nod and bite your lip to hold back a massive grin.

Buck springs to his feet. He kisses you on the forehead before trotting down the stairs. “Love ya!”

Before you can say anything, the front door opens and closes. He’s gone.

“It was just… weird,” you say, tapping your finger against the steering wheel. “I mean, we’ve implied it, but we’ve never said it, you know?”

You’re chatting with Hen in the rig. You’re on your way to a scene call, but it’ll be a few minutes before you arrive.

She figured out you and Buck were dating a few days after it started. Hen’s always been able to read you like a book, so you didn’t even try to deny it. Truthfully, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. The only other person on the team that knows is Eddie, and you’re friends, but not kind of friends. Talking to Eddie about Buck would feel like talking behind Buck’s back.

“So you said it back?” Hen asks.

“He was gone before I could.”

“Do you want to say it back?”

You sigh. “I mean, I kind of feel like I don’t even have to. He knows I love him. He has to know. …Right?”

Hen shrugs. “Just because he knows doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell him. He might need to hear it, even if he knows.”

You pull up to the scene, and it effectively ends the conversation. A car ran through a crowd of pedestrians using the crosswalk and T-boned another car. Once you’re out of the rig, Bobby assigns you and Hen to the most critical pedestrian while Chimney and Eddie check on the driver.

“Hey there,” you greet, grabbing a C-collar from your bag. “What’s your name?”

“Shannon,” the woman musters. Her lips are pale and her voice is raspy.

“Hi Shannon, my friend Hen and I are going to look you over, okay?" You say as you start an IV. "Where does it hurt?”

“Nowhere,” she answers. “That can’t be good, right?”

“You’re in shock; we won’t know the extent of your injuries until we get you to the hospital,” you assure. “Can you wiggle your toes for me?”

You look down at her feet. They aren’t moving.

You place your hands in hers. “Can you squeeze my hands?”

Her hands sit limply in yours.

“I’m not doing anything, am I?” Shannon asks. She shakes her head as much as the collar will allow. “That’s bad. My husband, he’s a paramedic. He’s said that people with severe spinal cord injuries either die or probably wish they were dead.”

“No one’s dying, you hear me, Shannon?” You say, squeezing her hand, even if she can’t feel it.

Shannon. Her husband is a paramedic.

“Eddie,” you whisper before whipping your head around.

He’s already barreling towards the three of you. You stand up, taking a few quick steps forward. You place a hand on his chest to stop him from moving closer.

“Eddie, let me handle this,” you say in a low voice.

“How bad is it?” he asks, staring at his wife. “Spinal injury?”

“Maybe worse.”

Eddie pushes past you and kneels beside Shannon.

“Vitals are trending downward,” Hen says as she pulls her stethoscope from her ears.

“We need to get her out of here, now!” You order, ushering in some paramedics and EMTs.

Eddie stands by and watches as you and some other first responders transfer her onto a backboard and gurney. He then follows you and Hen as you load her into the rig.

“I’m riding with her,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You turn to him, pressing your lips together. “Eddie, it looks like a cervical spine injury. We’ll probably have to intubate her. If we do that, there’s a good chance it’ll never come out.”

Tears form in his eyes. His jaw sets. He nods slightly.

“You need to say goodbye,” you whisper.

You end up intubating her in the ambulance. When you’re hitting the ER, her heart stops, and you begin chest compressions. They code her for about half an hour before Eddie says enough is enough. They call her time of death. Eddie goes to fill out paperwork while you pace around the waiting room.

He comes out a little while later, holding a plastic bag full of Shannon’s belongings. You stop dead in your tracks and just stare at him.

You rub your hands up and down your thighs. “Eddie, I’m so-”

Eddie pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You return it in full force.

You open the door to Buck’s apartment. He’s in the kitchen with his back facing you. A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice on the island. You hear a sizzling sound and watch his arms move. You close the door a little louder than normal.

“Hey, you’re home!” Buck says after he turns around. He’s holding a skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, dropping your bag and jacket on the floor by the front door. “I thought I was supposed to cook.”

“Well, since you were running behind, I figured I’d get a jump on things,” Buck says.

You smile. Even though it doesn’t feel genuine, you hope it looks it. “So you passed, huh?”

“In record time,” Buck adds, returning to his cooking. “Cap should clear me in no time.”

You kick off your shoes and take a seat at the kitchen island. “I’m proud of you. …I love you.”

Buck stops what he’s doing. He turns to face you again, a puzzled look on his face.

“You said it this morning, on your way out,” you say. “I say it in a lot of different ways, but I realized I never told you directly. So… I love you. I need you to know that.”

Buck folds his hands together and leans on the island. “Did something happen at work?”

You smile sadly. “Yeah. Uh… you know Shannon?”

“Eddie’s wife?”

You nod. “She got hit by a car when she was walking in a crosswalk — C-spine injury. We had to tube her in the ambulance. She coded and died in the ER.”

Buck takes his hands in yours. “Are you okay?”

Tears start to form, but you quickly blink them away. They aren’t yours to shed. “I’m fine. I mean, I was just doing my job.”

“How’s Eddie?”

You clear your throat. “Um, about as well as can be expected, I guess? He kind of just… took off. I called him a few times, and he texted me back saying he’s at home with Christopher.”

“That poor kid,” Buck mutters.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, playing with his fingers. “Life is short, so… I just needed to know that you know.”

Buck smiles softly. “I know.”

He begins to cough.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

He steps away, waving a hand as if to tell you he’s fine. He cups the other as he coughs into it.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” you say, already standing to go to the cupboard.

Buck puts his free hand on your shoulder, stopping you. When he pulls back his hand, it’s spattered with blood. Your eyes widen as you look up at him.

“Buck?” you ask, setting a hand on his waist.

He starts coughing again, but this time, a flood of dark red blood flows out of his mouth and down his chin. He stumbles backward.

“Evan?!” you shout, helping him to the floor.

“You got lucky. Most people who suffer a pulmonary embolism aren’t in the same room as a medical professional. It saved your life.”

You’re sitting beside Buck, who’s lying in an ICU bed for the second time this year. You keep his hand in yours, your thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand.

“What caused the blood clot?” you ask.

“Clots, plural. There's the one that hit his lungs, and then there's two more in his leg,” The doctor explains. “As to the cause? It's unclear.”

“Yeah, but he just got a clean bill of health last week,” you argue. “This came out of nowhere.”

“Did it?” The doctor counters. He looks at Buck. “No pain or tenderness in the leg? Any skin discoloration, swelling?”

“...I thought I just pulled a muscle or something.”

You run your free hand over your face.

“Okay, um, well, great. Look, I'm not dead. You found the clots. When can I get out of here?” Buck asks.

“We'll move you to a room and keep you on the anticoagulants. Tomorrow, we'll run some more tests. And then we'll see.”

You thank the doctor for his time, and he dismisses himself from the room. You stare at Buck.

“I wasn’t ignoring this,” he says slowly.

“When did the symptoms start?”

“...A day or two ago.”

You stand out of your chair. “Dammit, Buck.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” he argues. “I thought it was a leg cramp or something.”

You start pacing. “If this happened when you were alone, you could have died.”

“But I-I didn't, okay?” Buck says. “Can… can you just sit down again? Please?”

After a moment, you sigh but ultimately listen to him. You take his hand again, this time with both of yours.

“The last time you were in the hospital, I told you I was scared of losing you. I hope I don’t have to repeat myself,” you say quietly.

“You don’t,” Buck assures. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[the-offside-rule]

Paul Aron (Hitech) - that way

Requested: no, just an idea

Prompt: that way - Tate Mcrae

Warnings: its acc kinda sad

It was a tough weekend. The kind that leaves you drained, questioning your choices, and yearning for something, or someone, to make it better. Y/n sat on the edge of the Aston Martin hospitality lounge, watching the paddock lights flicker as the sun set. The 2024 season was supposed to be her breakout year. After a stellar karting career, climbing through Prema, and now sitting in an F1 seat, she had every reason to feel on top of the world. But today, a botched qualifying session had stolen her momentum.

Her phone buzzed, lighting up with messages from people telling her to shake it off, but she only clicked on one contact.

Y/n Dinner? Your treat.

Paul Feeling better already?

Y/n Not even close. So?

Paul Fine. Where?

Y/n Surprise me.

Paul was as much a part of her journey as her love for racing. They had been teammates, rivals, and now, something more complicated. Ever since their karting days, Y/n had felt a connection with him that went beyond friendly competition. They’d practically grown up together, racing side by side, but the unspoken feelings between them lingered like a storm cloud. Y/n wasn’t subtle, either. She’d dropped hint after hint over the years, teasing him, nudging him toward the obvious. But Paul was stubborn; or oblivious. Maybe both.

By the time Paul picked her up, her mood had slightly improved. He’d chosen a quiet Italian restaurant away from the paddock chaos. They ordered pasta and wine, settling into a comfortable rhythm of conversation. "I still can’t believe you pulled pole today." Y/n said, raising her glass. "You’re making me look bad." Paul grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Not my fault you drive a slower car."

"Oh, don’t start. I could’ve beaten you in that Hitech any day." She shot back, smirking. They joked like this for most of the evening, the stress of the day slowly melting away. Y/n found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, the tension between them forgotten. For a while, it felt like they were just two old friends catching up. But as the night went on, the familiar warmth in her chest grew stronger. The way Paul leaned in when she spoke, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way his gaze lingered on her just a second too long; it was maddening.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. "Paul?" She said softly, setting her glass down. He looked up, his eyes lingering on her for longer than usual. "Yes?" He asked, his voice suddenly cautious. She took a breath in, hoping this wine would be her liquid courage to finally tell him. And then she blurted it out.

"I like you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than anything they’d ever said before. Paul blinked, clearly startled. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he were choosing his next words carefully. "I... I like you too." Relief washed over Y/n, a smile tugging at her lips as she let out her shakened breath. "Thank God. I thought I was imagining things-"

"But-" Paul interrupted quickly. "I mean, as a friend. My best friend. You’re... you’re my best friend." Her smile faltered, replaced by an incredulous scoff. "Friend? Are you serious right now?" Paul avoided her gaze, suddenly very interested in his empty glass. "I mean, that’s what we are, right?" She put her glass down and leaned closer,not wanting to have too much attention put on them. "Paul-" She said, her voice sharper now. "Everyone in the paddock can see it. Ollie, Franco, your teammate, my teammate... hell, even my engineers keep asking if we’re dating! They say you really like me."

"Well, theyre lying to you." Paul said stubbornly, his tone defensive. Silence fell between them again. Y/n looked between his eyes, silently hoping this was a joke. When he picked up his glass and sipped from it, avoiding her gaze, she took it as it was. Y/n laughed bitterly, shaking her head. She chucked her napkin onto the table and sat up. "What are you doing?" Paul asked. "They might be lying, but your eyes aren’t. You don’t look at me like we’re just friends. You’ve never looked at me that way." Paul didn’t respond. He couldn’t. She put down a fifty euro note, hoping it would cover her part of the bill before grabbing her jacket and slinging it over her shoulder. "When you’re ready to stop lying to yourself, you know where to find me." Without another word, she walked out of the restaurant, leaving Paul sitting there alone, his thoughts racing and his heart heavier than ever.

For the first time, in a long time, he realized he might have just made the biggest mistake of his life.

[justevelynnnn]

Magic🍃

Summary: Scott has a headache so you offer him something w/ “magic” to help

Content: Scott summers x Mutant!Fem Reader

Warnings: mentioning of weed infused brownies and them being consumed & a couple of swears…

A/N: I got this idea from somewhere but I can’t remember where…it was on here actually and I was like omg I have to write this ! Ugh I love him so much….

You and Rogue made “brownies” while everyone was gone earlier. Gambit also tried to help but kept messing up so Rogue kicked him out however, he was invited to try a piece still when they were done. It was you three’s secret even though Xavier himself literally already knew, he just didn’t say anything. As long as you guys were responsible he supposed.

But it was others you worried about. Like Wolverine who probably would huff them up in minutes or Beast who’d lecture you for hours about the negative effects. Or…Scott.

The leader made it clear he was a by the book guy. Neat, serious, a rule follower ….whatever. Point was, he didn’t play games. So recreational usage ? Yeah, no. Nope.

You hide the rest in the oven since no one really cooked in there anyways and went back outside. Rogue and Gambit went off somewhere and you wanted to enjoy some outdoor air while these brownies kick in. You spent alot of time out there especially as a result of your mutation. Your powers allowed you to control all things nature. You could move water at will, control wind (but not as good as storm can), grow plants quickly and more. You loved all things nature related especially things you can use in your day to day life like herbal medicines. Or growing tea leaves to drink or even coffee beans.

You were also really into growing weed.

You knew not to get too high especially when important missions were coming up or when you knew a meeting would take place later on so only during your guaranteed free time did you try anything. Rogue caught you once but was really chill about it so now sometimes she gets high with you. But no one else. It was risky doing it but it really helped calm your nerves. Plus, Logan smoked and drank all day long so was it really that bad?

Once outside though, you see your beloved leader sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. He’s muttering something odd. Concerned, you go over to him. Maybe it’s because off the edible that he seems this way? He’s mumbling gibberish. His energy is off. Really off. You just hope that he can’t see how there’s a tint of red in your eyes.

“Hey…Scott? Youuuu okay?” you ask. You lift a hand to touch him but he suddenly looks up at you a bit, startled like he didn’t hear you approaching, which caused you to bring your hand back quickly.

“M’fine.” He says, almost in a groan. He puts his head back down and asks, “Did you need anything?”

“No..just…checking in you?” You don’t know why it came out as a question.

He says nothing.

It’s awkward for a second or two as you just stand there. It hits you that this may be one of his headache episodes Jean told you about. You felt bad for him. You wanted to stay but you get the feeling he wants you to fuck off.

He just groans again, probably in annoyance that you’re still here. It was very unlike him to act like this. This is the first time you’ve seen him in such a, pained, awkward state.

It hurt even more because he was secretly your..crush? You guess that’s the best way to describe it. It wasn’t crazy. Maybe you just admired him a lot as a strong leader. Maybe it was his good looks…. maybe. You just hoped it was a phase. It didn’t help him and Jean have a complicated relationship thing going on that he seemed more attentive to rather than looking for someone new to replace her.

You get an idea. It may be crazy but you didn’t know what else to do. Plus, you were a bit high so your decision making was a bit wonky. You rush inside the mansion and b line to the oven. You grab half a brownie and a bottle of water from the fridge. As you walk back outside you see Scott’s hands caught in his hair. It definitely seems like he’s getting worse. You hoped he accept this and not scold you and kick you off the freaking team or something.

“Hey…um, I brought you something…” You say, sitting next to him.

He lifts his head again and looks in your hands. “Water and….a brownie…?”

He says it low, like he almost was thinking out loud. He’s clearly confused.

“It..um..it has something in it that I think will help you…”

His hands are in his lap now and he’s just staring at you. His gaze feels strong for some reason even though he has the visor on.

He looks back in your hand and gently takes the brownie from you. You watch him slowly take a bite of the brownie, almost like he’s skeptical.. or maybe he is.

“It’s good, but how will this help?” Scott looks back at the ground as he finished the brownie. You almost feel guilty. You play with the bottle in your hand nervously as you think on whether you want to tell him or not. You’re scared of the possibility of him lashing out that you just secretly fed him cannabis.

It’s a couple of seconds before you answer. “They’re justtt, special.”

“Special how?”

“There’s something inside that will help you relax….”

Silence.

“….But, how?”

The question come out a bit sharp, you assume he wants a straight answer but also wonder how he can’t get the hint or has no idea seemingly. You can’t blame him though, why would he suspect a team member to be in possession of weed?

You sigh as you prepare for the worst.

“They have… weed inside.”

Scott slowly turns his head at you. He’s smiling weird. You accidentally clench the water bottle and out the corner of your eye you see some plants move around you two.

“…..What.”

You just stare nervously at his blank smile. You can’t ever really read him or his expressions sometimes but he’s definitely annoyed. Probably mad. Hopefully not furious. Definitely not happy.

It spills out of you. “I’m…I’m so sorry! I just wanted to help you and I know you hate weed and drugs and all that stuff but you looked like you were in so much pain and I just wanted to help and I know I might get kicked off the team but-”

“Hey.”

You stop. You feel a tear slipping from your eye.

“It’s okay.”

Your mouth drops. “W-what?”

“It’s fine. It’s not posion.”

You’re still frozen as Scott grabs the bottle. He’s…okay? Maybe you had too much of the brownies earlier….

“You’re…okay..? But, you hate weed! You said you-”

“I know.” He takes a weirdly large gulp of water. “But you had good intentions. So it’s fine.”

You’re still in shock from his nonchalance. Maybe he’s gonna yell later. Maybe he didn’t really understand that you just gave him a drug that he’s made so clear in the past that he hates.

He finished the water bottle quickly and just lazily throws it behind him. Okay, this may not be Scott. This might be Mystique. Or you’re hallucinating.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Or even, Scott…?”

He laughs at this but quickly winces. “Yes, I’m Scott. It’s just my head is making it hard to care about much right now.”

“Soooo, I’m not in trouble?”

“Professor knows about your sneaky behaviors already, y/n. Did you forget he can read minds? See through walls?” Shit.

You look down sighing. “Nothing gets past him. Seriously.”

“Nope.” Scott leans back on his hands. “But since he’s okay with it, so am I. Plus, Rogue told me last week.”

“Ughhhhh!” Embarrassed you put your head in your hands. Or course, Xavier & Scott knew. How could you be so dumb?

“So, when do these kick in? Sure could use it right now….” Scott looks at you smiling again. He’s amused at your embarrassment.

“It takes awhile…maybe another 40 minutes…?” You say looking away. You can’t look him in the eyes or, well, eye right now.

He laughs again. He believes it’s a placebo that’s making it seem like his headache is fading already because normally he wouldn’t be able to even move right now.

“Y’know…you’re kinda cute flustered..”

He says it so quiet you almost don’t hear it. Shocked you look back at him.

“What? Cute?”

He just nods and goes back to looking ahead at the garden in front of you two. Still shocked you just stare at him for a bit and then look at your feet. Your heart is beating quicker now and okay, why is your face heating up? You’re starting to think this is more than just a crush at this point. Not when everything he does make you feel like this.

You two sit and enjoy the sunset in silence as Scott noticeably relaxes more and more. It was only about 3mg so he shouldn’t be too affected. Just enough. He’s slouched on the bench now, it’s honestly a very rare sight to see him slouched…well, anywhere. He’s smiling at nothing again. You look at him as you literally watch him enjoy his first high. His red visor of course hides his eyes but you imagine they’re red now like yours. Deep down you’re just glad you could help him and his pain ease. And you’re a lot happy that you’re not getting expelled from the school.

Flowers grow at your feet as you just stare at him, heart fluttering. The soft warm light shined on his blissed out face, making him glow beautifully. You notice his relaxed strong arms and his soft pink lips and now tinted pink cheeks. He turns his head slowly to you like earlier except more relaxed. His dorky smile in full view now makes your heart skip a beat and you face heats up more. The flowers grow taller and there’s a slight breeze.

“Y’knowwww? You’re reallyyyy pretty…and kind….i like you, y/n…” He says it slow with that same smile.

You struggle to respond with anything more than, “Thanks, Scott…” because oh my god?!? Holy shit?? Scott Summers just said he thinks you’re pretty. This evening couldn’t get anymore magical.

You spent the rest of the evening watching the sunset with him as he laid a head on your shoulder. High Scott was quiet but definitely more laid back and more open. You enjoyed it a lot. And when it got fully dark you helped guide him back inside just to sit on the couch and enjoy each others company once more.

[xenia12]

Here’s a bunch of 3+ year old incorrect TOH quotes from my notes app because I’m bored

News reporter: There are rumors that you recently went undercover at Hexside under the name “Caleb”. Is this true?

The Golden Guard: Pfft, TITAN no. Caleb’s just a pathetic wannabe who can’t stand his own incompetence. Like, seriously, he can’t do anything right. I feel bad for anyone who has to suffer the embarrassment of being within 20 feet of him. He’s such a loser.

Hunter, watching the clip on his scroll a few hours later: Say that to my face, you fucking tool. Stop being such a royal ass-kisser and get a real job.

The Emerald Entrails, sitting together after practice:

Willow: Are you okay?

Luz: No problemo!

Luz, internally: But it was all problemo.

Gus: What's your biggest fear?

Hunter: Being replaced.

Gus: Damn that's deep.

Gus: My new one is the Kool-Aid man but I feel kinda stupid about it now.

Hunter, lying in the woods, depressed: I'll never be a cop again. I'm gonna have to be a robber.

Lilith: You know, I really wish you’d just admit you made a mistake sometimes.

The Golden Guard, stirring his coffee: I prefer it with salt.

Willow: What are you two arguing about this time?

Hunter: He’s always using human phrases incorrectly!

Gus: Cry me a table, Hunter.

Luz: I'm very disappointed in you, Vee.

Hunter: C'mon, don't get mad at Vee!

Luz: Hunter, stop telling Vee it's okay for her to punch you! She needs to learn not to punch people!

Hunter: But I'm not a person!

Vee: Which is why I punched him!

Lilith: *Turns on the breakroom light*

The Golden Guard: *Sitting at the table, eating bread*

Lilith: It’s four in the morning.

The Golden Guard: Turn the light back off.

Hunter: The joy of hanging out with Luz. You look away for 5 seconds to make sure something is set up correctly, and she bites the tip of a marker off.

Camila: Can you come out?

Luz: Yeah gimme a minute…

Luz: Mom, I’m bi.

Camila: I know that. Come out to the car.

Luz: Okay.

Luz: Car, I’m bi.

Camila, a tired mother:

Willow: *lifting weights*

Hunter: Wow… She’s so intense!

Luz: I wonder what drives her.

Willow, internally: Oh I am going to be SO good at giving hugs.

Hunter, protecting a palistrom forest: I am Hunter, I speak for the trees. Chop them down and I snap your knees.

Luz: I wanna be a knight!

Hunter, basically a knight: What the fuck do you want this shit for? I kill people, all right? Their blood is on my hands! Every night, when I go to sleep, I see their FUCKING faces staring at me! Their families weep, and I FEEL NOTHING! I’M DEAD INSIDE!

Luz: Man, I want some of that in my life!

Luz: I want a trip down memory lane.

Vee: *proceeds to grab every warrior cats book they have and sets them in Luz’s lap*

Vee: I heard you needed these?

Luz: YES! ALL OF THEM!

Hunter: Due to personal reasons, I will be fucking sinking to the bottom of the ocean in a large metal box.

Luz: Did Willow say “I love you” and you said “Thanks”?

Hunter: THE REASONS ARE PERSONAL–

The Golden Guard, on live news: I can't imagine what the Owl Lady is planning, but I can tell you two things: we won't like it and it won't be legal.

Gus: Did you win? Or just not die?

Gus: Either way, hooray.

Hunter: ... Is "no" a valid answer?

Gus: The hooray is redacted and you frighten me.

The Golden Guard: Hey, do you know anyone who can teach me to play the trumpet?

Darius: Why?

The Golden Guard: I want to wander around playing it to annoy Lilith.

Darius: Technically, you don’t actually need to know how to play the trumpet well for that.

The Golden Guard: Darius, you have opened my eyes.

Lilith: Can we talk about that mass message you sent?

The Golden Guard: Why? It was important.

Lilith: All it says is, "I'm back on my shit".

Steve, shrugging: The people need to know.

Gus: How long do you think it’ll be until Willow finally snaps and commits murder?

Hunter: I’ve been operating under the assumption that it’s already happened at some point and it’s just that no one was ever able to trace it back to her.

Hunter: It was difficult, so you’ve just given up. You might fail, so why bother trying?

Luz: Exactly.

Luz, to Amity: I told you he’d understand.

Willow: Remember, when burying a body, make sure to cover it with endangered plants so it’s illegal to dig up!

Willow: Make sure to follow me for more gardening tips!

Hunter: There's something I have to ask about you-know-who.

Luz: Voldemort?

Hunter: No.

Luz: Is it Voldemort?

Hunter: It's not Voldemort.

Luz: You haven’t mentioned wizards once this conversation, so I’m gonna have to assume it’s Voldemort.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

The Cycle series in chronological order (pts.1-28) | Curiosity (pt.28)

Knees up to his chest, hands in his hair. Cupcake doesn’t look very relaxed. But it takes time, Simon knows. He remembers how unsettling it is to have the muzzle and blindfold off, after they were on for a long time. He knows how scary it is to be out of the cage after being in there for so long. So Cupcake gets a free pass to be sullen and jumpy where he sits folded up on the couch.

The TV isn’t just on, Simon is actually playing a video game. Just to catch Major’s interest. Get him to engage a little. Simon cradles the controller and works slowly through the missions, only glancing sidelong at Major once in a while.

The hands that Major has planted on his head aren’t just cradling it, Simon realizes. Those scar-gnarled fingers are twisted into his frizzy brown curls and pulling. Major’s mouth is twisted into a grimace, his forehead pressed to his knees, as he tugs on locks of hair thick enough to not rip out.

Simon thinks if he could get away with ripping his hair out, he would.

“Remy. Kenzo.” Mutters the captor thoughtfully as he selects the next level on the screen. A cheerful menu sound chirps as he selects which power-ups to bring. In his peripheral vision Cupcake falls perfectly still, except to slide his fingers to take hold of a new swath of curls to pull at.

“What?” Grunts the folded-up pet.

“The names you said this morning. Right before you tried to shoot yourself in the head.” Simon doesn’t pause the game, doesn’t turn to look directly at Cupcake. It would scare him away. It’s already lucky to get the guy talking at all. “Remy and Kenzo.”

“...Okay.” The hair-pulling stops self-consciously. It is replaced by Cupcake’s fingers tearing at the pocket of his jeans, working at a hole that’s already been worn into the denim. That hand jerks up on impulse and he scratches at his eyebrow, then his jaw. Those nails are bitten down to the quick again.

“Who are they? Must be important.”

Things used to be so simple with Cupcake. He understood that he could be killed almost instantly, anytime. He knew there was no way out, but there was beer and TV and privacy whenever he wanted it. Right now, though, he just keeps tearing at whatever his restless fingers can find. Cupcake seems like he wants to find a piece of furniture to hide under. Which is so strange, considering all the papers in his file that lay out just how violent and sadistic he can be.

It forces Simon to wonder how his old captor made this look so easy. How he kept people from breaking too badly, too soon.

No answer comes. Cupcake just keeps on tearing loose threads and twisting them around into knots.

“Cupcake,” Simon scolds. Just a little true annoyance makes its way into his voice.

“Can’t,” Answers Cupcake, finally. He crosses his arms and lays them atop his knees, to bury his head in them.

“Oh.” Simon pauses his game, and the sudden absence of ambient music makes the air feel leaden. “So you miss the muzzle? If you don’t want to talk…”

Cupcake seems to shrink, tightening his folded-up posture and squeezing his head between his arms tighter. “Remy and Tank.”

“Kenzo. You said Kenzo.”

A huff of breath. “He’s Kenzo like I’m - my name on paper. But he’s Tank, like I’m Major.”

“Sure, Cupcake.”

The smug correction about his identity doesn’t seem to help. Cupcake’s fingers knot into his hair again. Simon thinks, with increasing confidence, that this is the right approach. Just act like things are normal again.

“I call ‘im Kenzo, when… I don’t know, when… it’s important.”

The game is unpaused. Simon lets the background music diffuse the tension in the air, as a reward for Cupcake talking.

“It sounds like you’re close with him.”

“...Yeah.”

The jumping noises from the TV are the only sounds in the room. An item being picked up, an enemy being beaten.

“So, who is he to you? What makes Kenzo… Tank so important?”

Simon’s patience could run out. For now, it’s a friendly enough conversation. Major presses his forehead as hard as he can to his knee, reveling in the pain of bone pressing on bone.

A moment of tense silence passes. Simon finishes a level and clicks on the next one. “Guessing he’s more than a friend. And you can’t say that.”

Cupcake pulling so hard on his curls that it almost makes Simon wince in sympathy, is enough of an answer. It’s not too hard to imagine why someone who never had a family that loved him, who never learned to read or resolve feelings with anything but violence, would have a hard time admitting to having a boyfriend.

“So, that’s Tank,” Muses the captor. “What about Remy?”

He’s expecting to be met with more conflicted silence. Simon fumbles the level entirely and watches a death screen fade out, as Cupcake answers. “Yeah. Him too.”

How huge this is, to not only get answers, but to genuinely learn something new about Cupcake. He has two boyfriends. He doesn’t have a family who misses him, but he loves people. Thought of them when it counted. Simon tries not to show too much interest at the news. “...How’d you swing that?” He can’t help asking, despite knowing that Major is fragile right now. How did he get not one, but two people in love with him? Major doesn’t seem like the kind of person to feel love, let alone allow anyone else to feel it toward him.

“No idea.” The hair-pulling has eased to a stop again. Maybe he’s too exhausted, too humiliated every day, to maintain a feeling of panic about his secrets being torn out of hiding. Or maybe he understands in some small way that Simon is someone he can trust with this. Major can’t know it for sure, but Simon won’t mock him for being gay. It’s not something he’s interested in doing.

“Yeah, no idea, I bet. You don’t seem like the type. To-” Simon waves a hand, urgently, trying not to be misunderstood. “To have - two of them, I mean. That’s a lot. Of love.”

“I dunno.” Cupcake clearly would never talk about this if he didn’t have to. But he does. The constant struggle to even bother to speak seems to itch under his skin. “Why they do. Like me. ‘m just… y’know.”

Simon scratches at the back of his head, and the motion seems to remind Major to scratch urgently at his face. The captor lets his focus slide further from the game to pay more peripheral attention to Cupcake. “I mean, I can imagine how someone could like you. You’re not the worst.”

That only earns a noncommittal grunt. Cupcake clearly doesn’t think he deserves what he has, out there. It makes the pit of loneliness in Simon’s gut feel… bad.

“Hey, Cupcake. You know, if I don’t have to kill you, one day, I might… I don’t know. Maybe one day, I’d think about letting you go.”

Cupcake shifts. Unfolds himself, head hanging, and gets onto the floor. Hands and knees. Simon knows that too long in the cage made it so he can’t walk, but it’s still unnerving to see him crawling so matter-of-factly. Cupcake shuffles out of sight like that, and for the life of him, Simon can’t imagine where he’s going. The news should have been exciting. He was half hoping that Cupcake would light up with hope and say, Really? Let me go?

Pausing the game to listen, Simon hears a distinctive, soft metallic clanging.

There’s no way.

He rises from his seat just enough to see over the back of the couch. There Cupcake is, having backed himself in, folded up over his knees and resting his head on the floor of the cage. The door is left open, but he’s in there, and his back rises with a deep, shaky breath.

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite,

@wollemi-whump, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska