#how are you gonna tell me something is clearance when i can point to the wall in the full price section they’re on and you still maintain

[livvyofthelake]

cup that i’ve used for my stupid chai lattes too many times that i nor the dishwasher can ever seem to wash thoroughly enough that there isn’t a faint residue of tea in it i can taste every time i try to put water in it now.

[alchemistc]

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

[ineylesian]

Adler taking care of a drunk/and or high reader😭😭 THERES NOT ENOUGH ADLER FICS IM GONNA CRY I LOVR HIM

AO3 | NAV

wc — 1k

author’s note — hii sorry this took so long!! arqhms we’re-so-back arc took a little longer than expected, but here a little drabble for you. still learning how to write for adler, he’s a little tricky, but i’ll cook when BO6 comes out 🫡

Your head is pounding. 

The world around you is shrouded in a dark shear. Blurred sit the lights that shine down on shaking hands, gently tapping against the ring of a nearly emptied glass. Ice swirls and clashes as you slide the drink back and forth, in and out, steady as the breaths that pool from your mouth. 

In. Out. You’re convinced that you’re fine. You just need another drink– something bitter to wind you down and help you forget. That’s all it does, anyway. All you can do is forget, and drink it all down once you remember. 

You raise your hand, silently waving to the woman who served your last four, five shots to you. Her head falls into half of a nod, eyes moving from yours as she stills, cloth in hand slowing on the rim of the glass she cleans. 

“That’ll be enough for tonight, thanks.”

Your eyebrows narrow as her nod changes to acknowledgment toward the voice behind you, sending a look of sympathy your way as she turns. Sighing, you quickly down the last watered down drops in your glass, swiveling sideways to glare at a pair of tan aviators looking your way.

“You can’t tell me-”

“You reek of whiskey, can smell it all over you.” He’s quick to cut you off, ice clinking together as he pulls the glass from you, sliding it out of reach. “It doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve had enough.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, your gaze wanders down to his jeans. Your features contort into a resemblance of a sneer, finger jutting out to point at the outline of a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

“And who says what’s enough for you?” 

A few moments of silence pass; you don’t miss the quick roll of his tongue over his lips. The aviators can’t hide the vision of him briefly closing his eyes, searching for what he’ll say next. It’s something you know he always does when he’s trying to pick his next words carefully. 

Drunk or sober, Adler is always logical with the way he talks to you. You believe it stems from the desire to never give the sense of a false promise. They sit reserved for nights of uncertainty, unsure of whether tomorrow is a guarantee. Whispers of his desires only seem to visit you in your dreams.

“Smoking doesn’t impact my ability to think.” You sense his gaze flick between your face and legs. “I could go through an entire pack and still be able to carry myself out of here. Half a bottle of Jack Daniels prevents you from getting up and walking out of here.”

Adler doesn’t miss the look of defiance that crosses your face after he’s done speaking. Following the clearance of your tab, he leans back, arms settling over one another. 

“Go on, then. If you can get yourself out of here, you can tell me when to stop for the rest of my life.”

Antagonizing, snide. It’s the tactic you’ve seen more times than you can count, saccharine tongue used to taunt and beckon failure. However, the amount of alcohol in your stomach lets his provocation slither into your brain like honey, liquid courage screaming at you to shut him up. 

You barely lift your shoes off of the barstool’s bottom level when your vision goes blurry, large spots of black making the floor seem akin to the wall 10 feet away. The rush of fear that you’re falling is swiftly diminished as a pair of hands pull you forward, and you’re met with the brush of cashmere on your cheek.

You’re too drunk to notice the action. He’s quick, the way that his fingers gently card through your hair, the feeling gone as a summer breeze washes over your skin. However, the warmth lingers, and you lift your head to look at him, eyes brimming with tears due to the gradual worsening of the pounding in your head.

“Take me home.” You drawl, arms blindly reaching around his torso, locking together. “Please, Russ.”

You hear his scoff, lightly chiding, but you can barely make out the amused quirk of his lips as he stands up, slowly situating your feet onto the floor.

“Walk with me.”

You do as you’re told, whining incoherently at him as he loops your arm around his neck. Adler calls a thanks to the bartender, and you stumble over your feet two or three times before you reach the door. The cool rush of night is quick to dust your face as you move outside, a harsh contrast to the contents of your stomach that causes you to mindlessly shiver.

“Adler...”

Your complaint is met with a soft click of the tongue, yet, the sensation of warmed leather falls over your shoulders within seconds. A lopsided smile graces your face, and you allow your eyes to roam from chestnut strands that fall over his aviators to the polished black leather on his feet.

“And the next layer?”

A gentle push follows your remark, and you scoff dramatically, arms looping around Adler’s neck as he spins you back toward him. You grin as he tilts your head up against his chest, silently celebrating the empty streets that allow him to hold you as he does. 

“Does the princess require any more care?” 

Still heavily whiskey blooded, you hum, neck craning up to meet his gaze. 

“Just your bed.”

You don’t expect a response, and he doesn’t give one. Satisfied, you lean back into the soft fabric of his turtleneck, knowing the soft strokes of his hands along your back won't leave you alone tonight.

[elizabethwritesmen]

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 8: November 2, 2024

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: you meet soap at the bar and finally see simon. turns out, he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. he takes you home and you find out just how much.

warnings: smutty smutty smut!!! beware!! p in v, fingering, all the good things. degradation and praise, size kink if you squint, probably a few more things but that’s all i can think of! let me know if i missed any!

series masterlist

November 2, 2024

It was cold outside, so I near sprinted from the cab to the bar, rushing in and hoping for some kind of warmth. I sighed in relief as the heat rushed around me, like a big hug.

I wasn’t accustomed to such cool temperatures, it never got super cold in my little beach town and if it did it was only in late January and lasted for about a day but London had been consistently chilly since I got there.

I looked around, noting that the place was a bit packed. I couldn’t see Soap or Simon or any of the guys anywhere, and I started to get discouraged, preparing to just leave with whatever pride I had left. Then I stopped myself. This was my only chance to see him. I wasn’t going to get another one, and if I blew it, who knew how if we’d ever cross paths again?

I steeled my resolve, making my way further into the pub and scooting past people as politely as I could. Finally, I saw him. They had a little booth in the corner, all of them with drinks in front of them.

I stood there for a second, nerves aflame and telling me to turn around for whatever it’s worth. I tried to push them away but the longer I stared at him the worse they got. Then, Gaz noticed me, his face lighting up as he nudged Simon on the arm and gestured in my direction.

Then, his eyes were on me. It was almost too much, the weight of them. The way they widened, he was clearly shocked. I took a deep breath in, telling myself to just walk over there but I couldn’t. My feet wouldn’t cooperate.

I must’ve stood there looking dumb for a whole minute before someone ran into me, knocking me right down onto the floor as they stepped past me, not even acknowledging what they’d done. Drunk off their ass, probably. I huffed, trying to pull myself up but someone else ran into me, knocking me down again.

“Here,” I looked up and it was him, offering me his hand. I took it carefully and he pulled me onto my feet, watching quietly as I brushed the dirt off my clothes.

“Thank you,” I offered shyly, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re here,” he sounded like he didn’t even believe it, the words a whisper on his lips, a ghost of a thing that couldn’t possibly be true.

“I’m here,” I nodded, finally looking up with a smile and he visibly relaxed, pulling me into him and hugging me. I wound my arms around his neck, returning it tightly, relief flooding over me and healing all of the wounds that had formed since I last saw him.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, pulling away. He looked tired. He probably felt tired. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through.

“I got accepted to the law school at Cambridge.” He thought over my words for a second, eyes widening when the meaning of them sunk in. “I live here now, Simon.”

“I was gonna come back for you,” he rushed out the words like an apology, “I promised and I intended to keep it. I just got back from deployment but I was gonna go the second I got clearance.”

“I know. I never doubted you for a second. I just…. I just thought something had happened to you and I worried a lot. I don’t know how to contact you, I don’t know what you look like. All I have is a first name that may not even be real.”

“I promise, it’s real,” he chuckled, “Come on, sit down. I’ll order you a drink.”

He ushered me into the booth and then went to the bar, leaving me alone with the guys who were all giving me knowing looks.

“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” I asked Soap.

“I thought it’d be better as a surprise.”

“He told us, though,” Price pointed out and I narrowed my eyes.

“So you told everybody but him? That’s so mean!”

“Not really,” Soap shrugged, “Bet not knowing he was gonna see you made it a whole lot more special.”

I rolled my eyes, sinking into the cushion of the seat, chatting with them about what had been going on with me. Finally, Simon returned and handed me a glass.

“What’s this?”

“It’s sweet, you’ll like it,” he said, slipping in beside me. I shrugged, taking a sip and grinning when I realized he was right.

“You know me better than I give you credit for,” I giggled, sipping again.

“That I do.”

We spent the next few hours catching up. He seemed like he really wanted to know what I’d been up to. It seemed like he thought he wasn’t ever gonna see me again, just like I’d thought about him, and it made the night feel more loaded than it was. I’d come to London for him, whether I admitted it or not, and I wanted to be with him. I had no delusions that he felt the same way, only the tiniest bit of hope that had dwindled in the year he’d been gone. It sparked back to life, though, every time his eyes landed on me or his hand gently brushed my hair away from my face.

“You wanna get out of here soon?” he leaned in and asked me, and I nodded.

And a few minutes later, he stood, holding his hand out for me to take, and lead me outside to his vehicle. He helped me into it then got into the driver’s side and took off out of the parking lot.

“So.. you’re based here? In London?”

“For now, yes. I still go everywhere, though. It’s just… of all the places I am, I’m here the most.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’. You got that look.”

“What look?”

“You get lost in your head and your nose scrunches.”

“No it doesn’t,” I defended, and he laughed.

“I’ve spent a lot of time looking at your face, I think I know better than you.”

“Whatever.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head o’ yours or what?” he asked again, and I bit my lip, suddenly nervous.

“You think I’ll see you more?”

“Well I suppose so, since we live in the same place now.”

“But you said you’re gone a lot.”

“Yeah. But I always find my way back home.”

I grinned slightly, “So no more waiting a few months to see you for a few hours?”

“No more.”

My grin turned into a full on smile, heart pumping a little faster as that spark of hope grew even more.

He pulled up to my house a few minutes later and walked me to my front door, waiting patiently as I unlocked it. He didn’t ask if he could come in and I didn’t stop him, we just made our way inside together like it was second nature.

“Make yourself at home,” I hummed as I pulled my shoes off and tossed them into the basket beside the door. “I’m gonna get comfy.”

I walked into my room and found a pair of sweatpants and a cropped tank top, changing out of my cute clothes and into the soft and cozy ones. When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch waiting for me. I somewhat awkwardly plopped down on the other side of the couch, feeling the butterflies twenty fold, making me almost nauseous.

He raised a brow at me, eyeing me suspiciously before turning back away. It seem almost like he was nervous too.

I cleared my throat and spoke, “I know you probably have other girls here that you like more than me. Or anywhere, really. Maybe one in every country, I’d believe it. But…”

“But?” he urged me on after I paused, and I sighed, preparing to further embarrass myself.

“I just.. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to say. I guess I want to know… if I’m different than them? I don’t have any misconceptions about us, I promise I know where I stand and I know you don’t want anything real but do you at least… do you at least want me here?”

He stared at me for a moment, thinking about his answer, then gave it to me bluntly. “There are no other girls.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Not even one?”

“Not even one. There were none before you and there won’t be any after you.” I looked at him like I was stupid for a moment, in a bit of disbelief.

“But you’re Ghost. I - I see the way women look at you, and on top of that you’re this badass super soldier with the coolest mask ever. I’m just… I’m just me. How could there not be anyone else?”

“You’re just you, huh?” he snorted, and I furrowed my brows at him. “You’re just the girl who dances on bars and jumps in pools half naked to prove she isn’t scared? Just the girl who moved to the other side of the world to find me?”

“I didn’t come here to find you.”

He raised an eyebrow, and I faltered under it. We both knew that was a lie. “You’re the best girl I’ve met. I want you here.”

My eyes met his and I couldn’t fight off the smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and relaxed a bit, turning to face him.

“So we have all the time in the world now,” I mused.

“We do.”

We locked eyes, and my breath caught in my throat as the reality settled in my bones. We really did have all the time in the world. He’d still be there tomorrow. No sad goodbyes.

“Come here,” it was an order, low and rough, and I jumped straight into action, scooting closer to him until I was right beside him. He grabbed my thigh, pulling it over his lap until I was straddling him and I about choked on my own spit. “Such a good girl for me.”

Fuck, I forgot how good he was at turning me into a puddle. I let out a whine and he laughed, grabbing my hips and pulling them forward to rest right on his, pulling a gasp from me.

“Been too long, huh?” I nodded, my hair falling all over the place from the force of it, “I know, baby. It was so mean of me to leave you for so long.”

“So mean,” I whined, unable to stop the way my hips moved back and forth against his, my eyes almost rolling into the back of my head because he was already hard and the angle was hitting my clit just right.

“Breathe, baby,” he reminded me and I nodded, making an effort to inhale and exhale as I kept going. “Look at you, my little slut, cock drunk already.” I nodded, groaning as he held my hips still, eyes opening and peering into his. “You been with anybody else since I last saw you?”

“No.”

“You were waiting for me?”

“Yes,” I nodded, trying to move again but he didn’t let me.

“You been making yourself cum?” I looked down at my lap, shaking my head slightly and he grabbed my chin and yanked it back up, forcing me to keep eye contact. “Why?”

“Nothing works anymore now that… now that we…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but he understood.

“Now that I wrecked you?”

“Yeah,” I bit my lip, squirming against his rough hands. “Hated you for leaving me like that, don’t think anything else will ever do.”

“Aww,” his voice was patronizing but it sent heat straight to my center, “I’m sorry, baby. Let me make up for it.”

“Please,” I asked, my voice a broken moan, barely audible.

His hands stayed tight on my hips but started rocking me slowly, an agonizing pace, and the noises I was making were obscene.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he was in awe staring down at the spot on my sweatpants, “Need it bad, huh?”

“Nnhgh, uh huh,” I was close to collapsing on him, a mess of nerves that felt like they were going to snap. I needed him and I needed him right that second.

“Take your pants off for me,” he pushed me gently off his lap and I did as asked, slipping them off and kicking them away. “Shirt, too.” So I pulled it over my head and it joined my pants. He leaned forward in his seat, his hands closing around the band of my underwear and ripping. I gasped as he threw them in the pile.

“Those were expensive!”

“I’ll buy you ten new pairs,” he shrugged, kissing my tummy and then pulling me back onto his lap.

He made a show of pulling off his belt and undoing his pants, pulling himself out of his boxers and he was just as huge as I remembered. I gawked for a moment and he laughed, pulling me closer.

I was all too eager to get to it, setting myself up but he stopped me.

“Gotta stretch you out some, baby, don’t wanna hurt you.” Before I could complain, his fingers found my entrance and began stroking back and forth before pushing in, fucking into my already very wet hole and making me come undone in seconds. I felt like I was on fire as I gripped his shoulders, barely able to keep myself up. He kept that pace going, bringing his thumb to my clit, and I about jumped out of my skin, grinding down on his hand pathetically. “Just like that, baby, such a filthy little slut for me,” he coaxed my orgasm out of me with his words and I leaned down to kiss him, lips rough on his as my hips spasmed and I finished on his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean and I gasped, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

“Please fuck me, gonna die if you don’t fuck me Simon,” I begged and he nodded.

“Let’s go to bed.”

I grinned and stood up, eagerly sprinting to my room and he laughed, following me. He looked so good in the doorway, large and taking up what seemed like all the space in the room just by being there. I scooted back against my pillows, waiting patiently for him in the dark room only barely lit by light outside of the window.

He walked in slowly, climbing up my bed until he was propped up on his arms on top of me, leaning down to capture my lips in his own and it felt sweeter than the rest. Our tongues slid together in harmony as his hands wandered, touching everything they could reach and it was a lot.

Though it embarrassed me, I was past the point of caring as I started begging, my cries muffled by his mouth as he grabbed my thigh and pulled it around his waist. He lined himself up and I cursed the clothes he was wearing, wanting to feel more of him.

He slowly pressed himself in, but I was gone from the tip alone. I squeaked as he made it farther and farther, letting out a whimper of pain once it got too much. I hadn’t done anything like that in a while, so I was still a little tight even with him opening me up first, and he halted.

“Tell me when,” his words were simple but they were loaded and I nodded.

“Just give me a second, please,” I whispered into the dark, how sweet it was that he was waiting for me to tell him I was okay. “Okay,” I nodded a moment later, “Fuck me.”

He growled, pushing in the rest of the way until I could feel his pelvis pressing against me, brushing my clit tantalizingly. He pulled out after giving me time to adjust and pressed in again a little faster, until he was slamming inside of me and I was a moaning, whimpering mess under him. He seemed to like me that way, holding my face tight in his hands so I couldn’t look away from him, swallowing my sounds with his kisses as he went harder.

I was close, so close I was clenching around him, and he grabbed me under my waist and tipped us over so he was sitting against the headboard and I was on top. I let out a shaky breath as the new angle sent him even deeper inside of me and started greedily grinding on him.

“That’s it, take what you need baby, make yourself cum on my cock,” his words sent ripples of pleasure through me and I could feel that peak inside, ready to tip over it. “Gonna cum with you, you want that? Want it inside of you?” I nodded desperately at his words, clawing into the fabric of his shirt as I started bouncing, needing to go over the edge more than I’d needed anything else, ever. I needed everything about him more than I was accustomed to, and I already knew that I’d never be able to do what we were doing with anyone else. Nothing else would ever do.

“Fuck, come on baby, cum for me,” his hand wrapped around my throat and my vision went white, eyes rolling back as my hips stuttered and thrashed, my orgasm bubbling up and I could feel his close behind. I rode out the high, not giving him a second’s break from my screams as his hips jutted inside of me, filling me up with his own cum, fucking me full.

We took a second to breathe when it was over, just gazing at each other. He brushed my hair out of my face, wiping under my eyes.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” he smiled, and I nodded, climbing off of him and making my way to the bathroom with him close behind. “You wanna take a shower?” he asked me once we were inside and I nodded slowly, exhaustion settling in. “Okay baby, let me get it ready for you.” He turned on the spray, hand under it waiting for it to get hot before turning to me. “Wanna wash your hair?” I shook my head, and he nodded, grabbing a hair tie from the counter behind me and turning me around to face the mirror as he got to work, pulling all my locks into a messy bun on the top of my head. I giggled, it looked a little silly but it was nice to see he didn’t have much experience with women’s hair.

He still hadn’t pushed his mask down, so I turned around and kissed him once, doing it for him and smiling at him once it was back in place. Then, I stepped into the shower and washed all the grime of the day off, along with all the evidence of the things he’d just done to me, shivering when I thought about it too much, missing his warmth already.

I half expected him to be gone when I got out and the thought scared me, but there he was, laying down waiting for me. I grinned, relief settling in as I pulled on a T shirt and panties, slipping in beside him and letting me snuggle me close.

“You must be uncomfy,” I furrowed my brows, gesturing to his jeans and long sleeve shirt, and he shrugged.

“‘m fine.”

“Are you sure? I can-“

“‘m sure. Go to sleep.”

I nodded slowly, smiling as he pulled me in closer, feeling like I was where I was supposed to be. This felt so different from the time he brought me home drunk, that felt like longing and this felt like forever. I tried to push the stupid thoughts away, knowing he probably didn’t want that but at the same time he was there, and he wasn’t leaving, because he didn’t want to. That thought alone was enough to send me into a peaceful sleep.

[fuck-customers]

I lost my cool and legit yelled at a customer today, for the first time in maybe ever (been in retail 6.5 years now). And I’m not even gonna get in trouble because my manager’s amazing.

So first some background: five months ago, corporate took out 6/8 of our registers and gave us 4 self-checkouts (henceforth abbreviated to SCO), leaving us with only two real registers. Also, today I had about five full carriages worth of clearance to put price stickers on as a side task.

So this lady comes up with her kid (kid never said a word, I pass no judgement on her) and says “what, are there no registers open?” but dripping with attitude, a running theme throughout everything she says to me. I’m busy with the clearance, so trying to gently direct people to use SCO so I can keep working on that, so I say “if you’re using SCO, there are four” because no one else was up front. She’s like “where’s the SCO?” and I say “the big white things” and point to the one directly in front of her. Then it’s “I didn’t know you had SCO” “that’s why we’ve got the signs up there” and point to the signs above her head.

And now I guess I’ve pissed her off for not apologizing because she can’t be bothered to use her eyes and brain together. She starts telling me I have a DiSgUsTiNg attitude, and that I seem miserable. Which is when I start yelling, that I AM miserable because I’m SICK. (I always wear a fabric mask at work, but I double-masked today, wearing a medical-grade one under the fabric mask.)

So then she starts going on about how I should be home if I’m sick, and I tell her I have been all week but no one could cover this shift for me (I’m also mostly better now, just occasionally coughing up the leftover junk in my lungs). And she doesn’t wanna hear it, because god forbid I be an actual person and not a retail robot.

(I don’t do well with confrontation, so by this point I’m physically shaking.)

So then she wants a manager. So on the walkie talkie I’m like “[Store Leader] I need you at the front Right Now”. She’s great, all the managers are great, so she hurries up front and takes over. The lady’s now saying she has cash and can’t use the SCO (never mentioning cash before that). So S takes her on a real register while I keep tagging the clearance. And the lady’s telling her my attitude was DiSgUsTiNg, like actually emphasizing it in a way even S was making fun of after. And saying her daughter shouldn’t have to see that on her birthday. (My brain when I heard that: Bitch, you’re the one who STARTED all this by being a cunt for no fucking reason).

But so S finishes up and gets her out, and by then two other managers, L and B, had come up to see what was happening, because they’d heard my yelling and my plea for S to come up right away. As S was ringing the lady up, she asked for my name, which S did give her, but when she and I were telling L and B about what had happened, S said “yeah if she complains to the district manager it’s whatever, he always checks with me about employee complaints”. And S straight up said that if he does call to check about a complaint, she’ll say “oh that’s so weird, OP’s one of my friendliest cashiers [true, my name literally means happy and I am quite the embodiment of it], I can’t imagine she’d do something like that”.

I very much do not recommend trying this course of action, but damn does it feel amazing to be so well backed up by my managers ❤️

Posted by admin Rodney.

[k1ranishf4]

It is 8am, I haven’t slept at all and most likely have all qualifications needed to be declared clinically insane.

BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK MAN??!,!!?!,!,!,!, KXKKSOZLSKXJDLZKSNICUEJSPMWOZHC

I’M GONNA FUCKING KMS AT THIS POINT

*GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILERS BELOW*

It all started so nicely; the first 30 seconds or so literally showed us Crowley when he was still an angel, happily creating the stars and the galaxy and being so proud of his work to the point where he couldn’t even stop smiling like an idiot.

And Aziraphale was with him!! Aziraphale, who fell in love with Crowley even before Earth itself was created; Aziraphale, who couldn’t take his eyes off of Crowley for even just one second while the other was rambling about the stars.

It just got better and sweeter after that, I literally couldn’t stop thinking about how they definitely seem like an old married couple to bystanders, especially whenever they bicker back and forth!

Not to mention their familiarity. You could tell back in season one that those two have known each other for a really really long time and it just got more obvious with this season.

Their mutual pining was also painfully obvious, as always, but this time it really punched me in the guts. I kept coming back to tumblr every now and then when I needed a giggling-and-kicking feet-break while watching and obviously saw a few posts and gifs. Which didn’t exactly help my kicked-puppy-phase. I’ll come back to this later.

Anyway, I’m also hyperventilating about the “One cast-out Prince of Heaven was already bad enough” or something along those lines and was like “ARE THEY INDIRECTLY CONFIRMING THAT CROWLEY WAS THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL BEFORE HE FELL???” Because the way I see it, the answer seems to be yes.

Muriel basically said “I don’t have the clearance to show you these files, I’m really sorry” and Crowley just— the fact that the files can only be accessed by angels of higher status tells enough for us to know, but then again, I could be reading way too much into it and all of that could be something else entirely (which I highly doubt, but we saw that literally anything can happen).

Another thing that I absolutely loved was Saraquael’s floating wheelchair. It looked so cool, to be honest. I also liked that they decided to have a disabled angel, instead of going with “yeah, they’re all at peak physical performance”.

Coming back to the Idiots in Love, I honestly thought that it was hilarious of them to stick their noses into other people’s love lives, yet they’re blind/mute/deaf/whatever you want to call it when it comes to the both of them. Loved how two mere humans had to talk sense to a literal demon.

The Kiss. Oh, the Kiss. That broke me. I was worried at first when Aziraphale came back to the bookshop after his little walk and talk with Metatron and was actually shocked to find out that my anxious worry was right. Angel comes back with a two meters wide smile plastered on his face and suddenly starts talking about Heaven again.

That definitely hurt Crowley on an indescribable level. Imagine most of the current problems in your life have been solved again, you’re daydreaming about a lovely dinner at the Ritz with the love of your life and have (some of) your precious, peaceful and fragile existence back when suddenly all of your hopes and dreams get crushed by the very person that you love because they can’t help Heaven’s brainwashing and their own righteousness.

Imagine them happily talking about the very place that you were cast out of just for daring to question or even make suggestions for God’s Great Plan. Yup, definitely sucked for Crowley. I believe that in that moment, when he kissed Aziraphale, he was hoping to finally open the angel’s eyes and make him see and understand what Crowley truly meant.

He just wanted to be away from everyone and everything and have his love by his side, just like he always had been.

But Aziraphale didn’t—couldn’t!— understand that. He was losing his faith and frankly, I still think he does, but deep down, there’s this something in him that sees the good in everyone. Especially Heaven, because God and the angels are supposed to be the good guys here! Hell is obviously bad and evil, and so are demons, then Heaven must’ve been better!

He’s loved Crowley for as long as Crowley has loved him, but in that moment, he saw his chance to possibly make a change and had to take it. He doubted this decision, obviously!! But he also knew that change was desperately needed, even though he seemed to regret his choices and even considered just going back to Crowley.

Crowley, on the other hand, expected Aziraphale to immediately turn down the offer and when it was clear that he hadn’t, he tried to convince Aziraphale of just calling everything off. He waited outside by his car, because Aziraphale always came back after arguments like this. He came back when Crowley had asked for holy water, despite being against it. He came back when Crowley had offered to run away together multiple times during Armageddon. He always returned to Crowley despite his own opinions and Crowley thought that this might also be just like those times.

Except it wasn’t. He got another “I forgive you” and watched the most important person to him step into the elevator to Heaven. The bookshop was in the hands of a stranger and their countless ‘dates’ became just another thing in the past.

He was lonely again, just like he had been when he had fallen and this time, there didn’t seem to be a solution to his loneliness.

It was absolutely fulfilling to see Beelzebub and Gabriel get together and be happy and I was desperately hoping that we’d see the same with Aziraphale and Crowley, but it was just wishful thinking.

At this point, I think that Neil Gaiman just took everything he saw on Tumblr and Twitter and said “let’s put all of this into the second season, but with extra angst in the ending.”

Which is incredible!! But it still hurt my soul and I’m gonna be thinking about this until we hopefully get a season 3.

It’s 9am now, I’ve been typing this for an whole hour and am incapable of forming any coherent thoughts. If something else should come to my mind, I’ll post it after finally catching some Zs.

[junglekarmapippa]

Robbie on Robbie #16: "I know it's coming, there's gonna be violence"

from Tripping (from Intensive Care)

RJ looked up from his working table when his boss, Billy Cranston, entered his office.

"RJ," Billy started. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes," RJ said with a shaky voice.

"What is it?"

RJ bent to retrieve something from under his work table as he spoke. "I have been working for Cranston Technology for almost three years."

"I know, I plucked you out of university myself, you are exceptional."

"Thanks," RJ said from under the table. "I just wanted to say that, first of all, I honestly appreciate the opportunity to work with you, and in this level of clearance."

This was a red flag for Billy. Suspicion lit up like a Christmas tree in his brain.

"What's going on, RJ?"

RJ finally came out from under the table, with a safe box in his hands.

"I didn't mean to step on your toes," he said, putting the box on the table.

"What are you talking about?" Billy said, genuinely confused. "What's in the box?"

RJ used his fingerprint to open the box. "I call them the Solar Morphers," he said, showing Billy the content of the box: three pairs of sunglasses: one red, one blue, and one yellow.

"Solar Morphers?" Billy repeated. "You've created Morphers?"

"Well, not functional morphers," RJ cleared. "I couldn't connect them to the Morphing Grid, I don't know how."

Billy took a few seconds to look at the Morphers in the box. "How do you even know about the Morphing Grid?"

"There's a database--"

"How did you access that database?"

"Brute force," RJ admitted.

"Brute force?!"

"Yes." RJ shook his head. "That's beside the point, the point is I need to connect these Morphers to the Grid. Can you teach me how?"

"Absolutely not," Billy said, closing the box.

"Can you connect them for me?"

"No," Billy said sternly. "The Morphing Grid is not a toy, RJ."

"I know it's not. Please, Billy, I need them."

"What for?"

RJ looked at the box. "I can't tell you."

"Then the answer is no."

Billy turned to leave and RJ called after him: "Fine! I'll tell you, please, don't go."

Billy turned around and looked at him with his arms crossed. RJ struggled to pull his shirt up his arm and ended up taking it off. He showed Billy his forearm tattoo.

"I'm a part of a secret Kung Fu academy called the Pai Zhua, the order of the claw." Billy showed no response to this. "We have an ancient enemy, Dai Shi, the great death. He's an eight-headed dragon demon, and he's currently captured in the academy."

"What do you need the Morphers for, RJ, I don't have all night."

"I was chosen to train the three Protectors. Students, tasked with stopping and destroying Dai Shi, should he escape like the prophecies say. The Protectors will be sent my way, for me to train and guide them in their battle. They will be teenagers, Billy. Three teenagers armed with some Kung Fu moves to defeat a ten-thousand-year-old demon. They won't stand a chance." RJ stopped talking, looking for any reaction on Billy's face but there was still none. "They will die unless I can figure out a way to protect them," RJ continued, opening the box again. "This is the only thing I can think of."

"You want these morphers for your students?"

"Yes. Please, Billy, I'm just trying to protect them long enough. Dai Shi will escape soon. I know it's coming, there's gonna be violence. I'm just trying to find a way to protect my students."

"And you think a Morpher will guarantee their victory?"

"No, of course not," RJ replied shaking his head. "But it will at least give them a fighting chance, as their Master, that's all I need."

"And which one will be yours? Let me guess, the red one."

"No."

"No?"

"This is not my battle to fight. All three Morphers would go to my students."

Billy took a minute to consider what RJ had told him. He took one of the Morphers out of the box and inspected it. He was impressed by the craftsmanship RJ had put in them. He put the device back in the box.

"I'll connect them to the Morphing Grid for you with some conditions."

"Shoot!" RJ said, his face illuminated with hope.

"The design of these is proprietary technology of Cranston Tech, so we can put it somewhere where it won't ever see the light of day again."

"You'll have the blueprints on your desk within the hour."

"And you will make one for yourself. It's only fair."

"A Morpher for myself?"

"Yes. If you're sending your students to the battlefield, you are joining them."

RJ took a few seconds to respond to that.

"Fair enough."

"And you have to promise me you won't give them to someone unworthy. If there is a chance they might misuse them, they can't have them, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fine. Stay after hours, so we can connect them without anyone noticing." He turned to leave, then stopped in his tracks. "Oh, and RJ--"

"Yes?" RJ said with a smile on his face.

"If I ever catch you brute forcing your way into another database, I will fire you on the spot."

RJ smirked and nodded. Billy left the office and RJ let out a small laugh of victory.

His students wouldn't be completely safe, but at least they would stand a chance. The rest was in his hands.

Dai Shi wouldn't know what hit him.

[hinatastinygiant]

8 | Rose

Pairing: Itadori x Fem!Reader

The Encounter

Your kidnapper wakes you up later that night with it still downpouring around you and rubs your leg. You sit up on your cot, which is soaked through, and look around at the forest surrounding you. How the hell did you get to this new spot? You weren't here when you fell asleep. Certainly not on a cot. To your surprise, he then sits beside you and hands you a mostly dry map of the campgrounds.

You blink sleep out of your eyes and try to read the map. He points to a spot near the edge of the map, and you assume it's the spot you are in right now. Then, he marks a small X on the opposite side, explaining that your friends' tents are there.

"Why are you giving me this?" you ask him as you try to memorize the route he has traced out for you.

He then leans back and sighs. "You can go there if you live through all of this, 'cause I can tell you right now if you don't follow my directions, you'll never find them."

You can tell he's trying to make it sound like a threat, but you're not buying it.

"And what's to stop me from going there now?" you grumble, trying to pull yourself together even though you feel like crying.

"Nothing," he shrugs.

You blink. He's not going to fight you on it?

"What?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "You're not gonna go through with it, anyway."

Your lip twitches. "Oh, yeah? And what makes you think that?"

He just stares at you. You look away, and the two of you sit in silence for a long time. You try not to think about your friends, but they're all you can think about. And then, you stand up. When he doesn't move, you slowly begin to walk away. Once you're past the clearance, you bolt in the direction you memorized from the map. Even if this is another one of his stupid traps, you might as well try.

Not too long after your run, lightning strikes a tree nearby and a branch comes tumbling down. You scream, and something slams into your stomach. You fly backwards into a puddle of mud and rainwater and land on your back. The wind is knocked out of you, and you feel a sharp pain in your shoulder.

However, you know you can't let this keep you from finding your friends. Except now, your path is blocked. There's nothing else to do but backtrack. And then, the idea to backtrack back to that first location where your kidnapper had brought you hits you. If you could find some way to stay there, maybe your friends would eventually find you.

But first, you need to make sure you're keeping a safe distance from your kidnapper.

You get back up on your feet and keep walking. However, the pain in your stomach makes it hard to move very fast. You keep your hand on the pain, and you wonder if this is really a good idea. Either way, you decide it's time to start heading one mile north.

ˏˋ°•*��➷

NOBARA'S P.O.V.

God, I'm such an idiot! I should have known there was something going on between Y/N and Itadori.

"So have the two of you..." I ask him as we wander in the forest for Y/N long after 24 hours have passed.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks.

"You know... have you...?" I'm not even sure how to finish the sentence.

"What?" Itadori asks again.

"You know..." I repeat, trying not to get too frustrated.

"Why the hell do you want to know that?!" he gulps.

Itadori clearly doesn't want to say anything. I wonder if that was his idea or Y/N's. Why would they keep it a secret from us for this long? They didn't think we'd be upset with them, did they?

"So what exactly were the two of you doing when we left the other night?" I ask him.

"W-well, she was just helping me with some stuff," he explains.

I snort. "Yeah right."

"Well whatever they were doing it isn't any of our business," Fushiguro chimes in, sighing.

"I know it isn't, but it's Y/N," I point out. "I can't just not know what's going on with one of my best friends."

"Well, then ask Y/N instead of prying into Itadori's private life," he tells me.

I roll my eyes and decide to drop the conversation after that.

The three of us keep walking through the forest, but the more we search, the more it seems like the whole situation was pointless. We smell like shit and I'm finally realizing how much I absolutely despise camping.

"This sucks," I grumble.

"No shit," Fushiguro rolls his eyes as we follow after his dogs.

"What if Y/N ran away from us?" Itadori suddenly blurts out.

"Why the hell would she run away?" Fushiguro snaps.

"I don't know, but it kind of seems like she's moving around... getting further," he shrugs.

"Yeah, cause whatever sicko took her is probably trying to lure the rest of us in, too!" I tell him.

"Wait, stop talking," Fushiguro interrupts us.

"Huh?" I ask, stopping in my tracks.

"Shh," he holds his hand out, and both me and Itadori look around.

The two dogs begin to sniff the ground. They found prints! Finally! Itadori grabs one of them by the collar and gets yanked away as it runs off. The rest of us follow after them until we arrive at another site, littered with leftover food. Then, we can hear the sound of footsteps approaching us.

"Hello?!" I call out, grabbing Fushiguro's arm for protection, even though I'm sure as shit he'd never do that.

"Y/N?!" Itadori screams, running toward the sound.

"Shit, wait!" Fushiguro warns, but it's too late, Itadori is out of our line of sight.

We follow after him until we finally see him again. And there he is, with his arms wrapped tightly around a soaking-wet Y/N.

"Y/N!" I gasp when I see her.

"Oh, thank god!" Fushiguro sighs.

"She's freezing!" Itadori calls out, holding her tight.

"Get her some fucking clothes," Fushiguro barks at him.

"Oh yeah? With what? We've all been out here freezing our asses off in this crap rain!" Itadori snaps.

Fushiguro sighs. "Let's get her back to camp and find her some blankets or something."

"Yeah, no shit," Itadori rolls his eyes, leading the way. I can't help but smile, happier than I've ever been to see her.

The Encounter

Taglist: @liyahsocorro @Bandit6199 @little-aruma

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 91

Fallen Idols

“Fallen Idols”

Plot Description: Sam and Dean reunite to investigate a small town whose inhabitants are being killed by famous dead people

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I am far far too poor to buy the car James Dean died in and I have a healthy respect/fear of cursed items. I think I’m okay

Deans literally saying “we need a breather episode, Sammy” not in so many words. Honestly, yeah…the team does need some practice to get to be where y’all once were

CANTON, OHIO!! That’s not too far from me! (It’s like an hour/hour and a half drive…)

Dean’s excitement over this is fantastic. UMMMMM, how DARE you call another car Baby. I am TELLING the impala. Especially when this car’s name is LITERALLY Little Bastard

Goddammit Dean…can you stop pretending to be a casting agent

Was not expecting the person this dude said “no, you’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead” to be ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Like, at that point it had been almost a CENTURY AND A HALF

Wait…is this the one with the wax…YEAH! It’s the one with the wax museum! Paris Hilton’s in this one if I remember correctly

This wax museum in the middle of OHIO has REGULARS??? I just…ok. Actually, seeing the actual belongings of these famous people on the wax figures would be kind of cool. But I don’t think that’s gonna make your museum hip with millennials, especially if you keep calling us Gen Y

So which president is about to try to kill Sam?

Or is it…yeah. Gahndi. Gahndi tried to kill Sam

I’m glad the writers decide to have these brotherly conflicts on non-apocalyptic focused episodes

How the FUCK did Sam get clearance to just go digging around a corpse in the morgue

“Let’s go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton” is one of those lines that can only be seriously said in this show

Oh, is Poe going to get in the mix??

There she is!!! Amazing. Honestly, there’s something about her filing or sharpening her nails on that knife while wearing a frilly blue minidress. I’m literally obsessed with her performance in this episode

That felt…um, EXCESSIVE, Sam.

This reconciliation is really sweet 🥹

“Been On My Mind…”: Nope. There’s too much brotherly conflict

[the-eclectic-fox]

Convention Etiquette

First day of comic con down! Lots ...lots happened today. Good and bad ...mostly not great.

But one thing that happened all day that pissed me off to the point I actually blew up at the guy, was, every time there was someone at my table looking, he would call to them and draw them away from my table. Even if I was talking to them. Don't. Fucking. Do. That. Shit. It happened ALL DAY. So finally I'd had enough and I got in the guys face (he was twice my size and twice my weight but I've been awake for 43.5 hours). I, actually managing to bite my tongue and not yell or swear but said "Hey Bud, can you do me a favor? How about WAITING until the people are done looking at my table before calling them away. I paid just as much as you did to be here." He stuttered and tried to argue so I just raised my voice and said "THANK YOU." Then, my sarcasm got the better of me and when he let a customer pass my table before talking to them I applauded and said "there, was that so hard?" And probably louder than I needed to ...

So I got the stink eye the rest of the time ...

I got him black listed so I still think I came out on top.

Artists are a community. You do not compete, you do not bully, you do not shame, you do not steal. You build up, you help, you support. If people come to me and are looking for something that I don't have but have seen, I will direct them there. Hell, I bought a bunch of prints from an artist (like, a professional artist - more pro than my amateur ass) and he thanked me for supporting him like 5 times, like sweetie, it's what we do! Your work is stunning so take my money and start telling me all about how you created it! (He published books with work from like frigging Ramon Perez)

In new comic con tradition I got some new tattoos, which if I get the chance to stream this coming week you will get to see them! I'm slowly getting all my fingers tattooed. I have very high pain tolerance (I'm a ginger with neurological damage, my body has a weird relationship with pain) and my friend has a very light touch (I always recommend him to people with low pain tolerance or scared first timers) so the first few passes feel like nothing. And it's so nice cause like an hour before that his wife ran up behind me and humped my ass (I would explain my friend group ...but I really can't ...the worst is when she did it, I had to look and see who it was because so many of my female friends greet one another that way) and then I talked with him about art, comics, and how much bullshit AI art is. It was amazing, and how I started my day.

It was mostly down hill from there. To block the glaring sun they put up curtains ...but the curtains covered the vents for the AC. SO basically - a sauna. But my system has been a little messed up so my hands were like ice and trembling non-stop while the rest of me was overheating and sweating.

No one was buying anything and we were almost completely dead the entire day. We talked to a lot of people and NO ONE is impressed this year. The weather was beautiful and there was a fair going on not far from it so that really killed us. I'm hoping that the new trend of Sunday's being busier continues on because the asshole beside me left (not because of me, he was only there today anyways) and the Art Director specifically gave me the table to spread out to for Sunday so I'm gonna put all my clearance out and make it look nice.

I hope tomorrow is a better day but I'm starting to lose faith in Comic Cons in general (not just the local one).

[valeriehalla]

This month I have been engaging in a project titled "Valerie's Back-To-School Babyfication," the story of which follows at length.

On November third, as the clock ticked nearer to midnight and I had still not managed to get any of the huge amount of work I planned to do done, frustration mounting to untold levels, I told myself this: If I can work for literally 30 minutes on literally anything at all, I will count it as a "win," and then I will play SNES games and eat clearance Halloween candy and go to bed.

How did I get to this level of dysfunction? Well, uhhhh. My work life is chaos. I mean this in the mathematical sense: It's a system that compounds upon itself unpredictably given small changes to its initial conditions. One day a long time ago (I assume), in the middle of what was probably a perfectly functional workweek, some distraction kept me from getting as much work done as I wanted. And I said, "No problem -- I'll make up for it tomorrow!"

When inevitably I didn't make up for it the next day, because the stress of the looming jumbo-sized workload just made me procrastinate rather than work harder or faster, I repeated myself: I'll simply do an absurd amount of work next time. And I really, truly believed in my ability to do this!!! I considered it a fully normal and realistic aspiration. You have no idea how long I can lead myself on like this. You're sitting there thinking, "eventually you're going to be telling yourself you're gonna do 25 hours of work in a day, and that's just silly." And you mean it as a joke, like as a logical demonstration of why this pattern of thinking is flawed. And I'm telling you:

For about a year, I carried on waking up every day fully intending to do months' worth of unfinished work before bed that same day.

Like, okay. I didn't think this literally. But I believed it in spirit and in practice. At some point I had been playing catch-up on a pile of work for so long that I didn't even remember when it had started accumulating. All I knew is that if I wanted to prove myself, to get things back to normal, to remember what it's like to be a functional human being, I had to catch up. I needed this. I needed a win.

The stress of this monumental self-imposed workload eventually meant that more days than not I went to bed having not done any work at all. Something would go just a little wrong with my day and I would know that This Isn't The One. This isn't The Day I Get My Life Back Together. I woke up a little too late, I spent a little too long reading, whatever. The size of the task demanded absolute perfection. The endeavor had to get off on the right foot.

I'm like the most cartoonish morning person you've ever met. No matter what happened the previous day, I always woke up feeling nothing but excitement about the endless possibilities of the day ahead of me. This quirk gave my emotional highs and lows the characteristic shape of a sawtooth wave: Sky-high morale in the morning, steadily decreasing as the day wears on and the perfect possibilities turn into mediocre realities, until my body hits the bed in utter dejection.

Occasionally I would luck into a string of days that really did go just right, and I would sputter back into a work machine. But as time went on and the pile of unfinished dreams grew, this got rarer and rarer. Eventually, with the help of a few tragic life events, my dysfunctional freefall hit terminal velocity. I didn't have the ability to have a functional workday anymore. Even still, I carried on picking up my pieces, believing full-heartedly that tomorrow would be the day.

This utterly depressing cycle would have surely continued unto my death and perhaps even my subsequent reincarnations had it not been for the events of November 3rd, when, in a fit of frankly maniacal frustration, I told myself that I would call it a win if I could just do thirty minutes of work on literally anything.

You wanna know what happened?

I mean, I kind of doodled awkwardly for 30 minutes until the kitchen timer went off and then set my tablet aside and ate candy. The doodle wasn't even good, like, it completely sucked because by this point I hadn't actually drawn anything in about a month?

Here's the part that's really stupid. I decided to commit to the bit. I decided that this really did count as a win. It was the first win I'd given myself in God knows how long -- a year?? Long enough that the idea of what constituted a "win" had become nebulous and fleeting, like chasing my own shadow. So it felt, honestly, darkly humorous to call this thirty minutes of trashy scribbling a victory worthy of spending the rest of the night relaxing.

I did, though. And I thought to myself: "Maybe tomorrow I can try for 45 minutes."

This is what I've been calling my "Back-To-School Babyfication Project." (Read the title in the same voice as "Human Instrumentality Project," please.) The rules are simple: Every day, try doing fifteen more minutes of work than the previous day, unless the previous day sucked, in which case try the same amount. I briefly considered adding half an hour a day, because I wanted to get up to what I once considered "full speed" as soon as possible, but I stuck with 15 minutes. I mean, am I not the baby who is going back to school?

I'm all the way up to 2 hours and 45 minutes now, which, if you're the math-doing type, you'll notice means I actually failed this challenge a few times in the past couple weeks, so great is my dysfunction. But I'm winning more often than I'm not. And when the timer beeps, I put work away and don't think about it.

It owns!!!

I'm using kind of self-deprecating language here, but I need you to understand that I feel incredibly empowered. I decided for once to not believe in myself, and the results have been life-changing. It's actually great to be The Baby Who's Going Back To School!!!

It is my nature that I sometimes have to learn simple lessons over and over again. Here's a simple lesson: If you want to climb a mountain, you should probably, like -- I don't know, try climbing a rock first? Maybe some stairs? Even if you've climbed a mountain before -- even if you've built your whole identity as a human being around climbing mountains in a unique and personally meaningful way -- you probably can't just, like, decide to do it if you've spent the last forever not doing it.

One more: The stuff that you do that's not climbing mountains or rocks or whatever is non-optional. You don't stroll up to a mountain, try getting up there, fail, and then just, like, hang out indefinitely until the spirit of rock climbing inhabits your body once again. Like a hungry Sim who couldn't find a path to the microwave so now they're just standing in the kitchen crying and peeing themselves as their green gem turns red. You're gonna die up on that mountain, little baby!! You need to sip some juice and go back to school!!

See what I mean? Really, really obvious lessons. But I found ways to not learn them. I don't know why, or how. (Let's be honest: It's probably ADHD.) I'm just like this, and I won't get anywhere by pretending I'm not.

For those in the back, this is what I'm learning at baby school, without the metaphor:

Productivity is all about habits. You will always tend to do whatever it is you already tend to do. If you want to develop better habits, take your time and start small.

You have to clearly delineate work from the rest of your life. This is hard when you're self-employed and you work from home, and harder still if you're some kind of artist, because that means that your work is also probably the thing you (at least theoretically) like to do more than anything in the world. But you must: You have to be able to imagine a world in the far future -- of like 9 PM -- in which you are no longer working because you stopped working because it was time to stop working, because that means you're allowed to do things other than work!! Even Minecraft doesn't count as procrastination when you're officially Off Work!!

Be strict about your limits. Never work unpaid overtime, even for yourself. Under no circumstances ever fall into the mindset of playing "make-up" for yesterday's unfinished business. Definitely never do it twice!!

Sometimes winning is just losing with grace and clarity of purpose.

Anyway I have to go draw for almost three whole hours, so I'll see you later!!! ILU bye!!!

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

Reading your most recent chapter reminded me just how good you are at building dread. Do you have any writing advice on how to do that?

I’ve been trying to find a good way to word this answer for a couple days so I’m just gonna go easy on myself and use bullet points

Look up hitchcock’s bomb under the table. Basically, if you have a scene where a bunch of characters are talking, and suddenly a bomb goes off, you only have a few seconds of excitement from the audience. But, if you tell the audience there’s a bomb under the table that’s going to go off in 5 minutes, it completely changes the tone of the scene. Now, everyone is on the edge of their seat. Will the characters notice the bomb in time? Will they be able to disarm it or get away in time? Will they be able to get clear if they can’t? Basically, you tell your audience that something bad is going to happen in advance so the anticipation sets in.

a critical part of the bomb under the table is the reminder. You can’t just show the bomb, then not acknowledge it until the explosion. The audience needs to be reminded that the bomb is there and still active. This is especially important when the characters don’t know about the thing that’s going to hurt them and can’t react. If a character is on the run from the law, they might see wanted posters or a news story about them before the scene where the cops show up. The longer between set up and pay off, the more reminders you need.

The unknown is a powerful force of fear that you should lean in to. Who made the bomb? Why was it put there? Where those characters targets or was it meant for someone else? Are there more bombs? Throw in little details that might hint at the mystery, but might not. The bomb had initials on it, and now the surviving character can’t help but see the initials everywhere. Or, you need company security clearance to get in the building in the first place, so whoever planted the bomb is someone the character must know. In this way, you can build even more dread on top of previous payoffs.

anxiety makes each moment take forever, and dread should be expressed as such in writing. Take the time for your character to stew in their anxiety, considering different possibilities of what could happen. Have the character participate in the anticipation of the bad thing. What if, what if, what if? There is a Goldilocks zone with this: two much is tedious but not enough feels like not a big deal. There’s no chart or equation i can give you for how much time you should be spending on dread, so understanding proper timing is something that needs to come with practice.

another trick i use to express the nerves of characters is to write anxiety spikes like action scenes. Quick short sentences. Dropped articles. Limited detail. Impact. This, I feel, helps to recreate that feeling of your heart racing while sitting still during a panic attack. It’s that little push over the edge of empathy beyond simply describing a racing heart.

get into the physicality of dread. I mentioned the racing heart, but there’s also icicles in the chest, or organs turning inside out. Not only can one not sleep, they’re so wired they can’t even keep their eyes closed. I personally lose my sense of taste when I’m too riled up. If your character feels it, so will your audience.

Contrast dread with what is normal. These things could be connected or not. This character usually likes video games but they can’t distract them from being worried about their friend in the hospital. A crime show used to be that character’s favorite but after they’re encounter with the knife man it’s not so fun anymore.

Basic activities can be charged with dread depending on the context. A character who’s a wanted criminal must give up their comfortable home and go on the run. They only grabbed so much money before they left, and every other store and restaurant they can afford has security cameras. Everything they own and rely on now sits in their car, which is uncomfortable to sleep in, but they need to leave it unattended to go buy supplies. Now, a grocery run is life and death. They move quickly through the store to get what they need, but no so quickly their squeaky shoes might cover up the muffled sound of an alarm going off. Should they bother to compare calories to see which foods will last them the longest if they need to ration, or just go straight for the cheapest crap? Will they have enough cash to cover what they need? And why is that other guy in the aisle looking at them? Are they looking? Could they take them in a fight?

If you have any other specific questions about any of this, please feel free to ask

[favefandomimagines]

Give Me A Reason to Stay (b.b.)

Summary: the battle is over, you can finally breathe. but will bucky give you a reason to stay with him in Louisiana? 

AN: inspired by the finale of tfaws! so potential spoilers and obvs i’m gonna include some angst (stark!reader)

You finally caught a moment to breathe after what felt like years of fighting. After so long of going from one disaster to the next, you could finally stop and pause. Actually enjoy life for once. 

Since your father died, you never stopped moving. Being CFO of Stark Industries, helping Wanda escape the authorities after her grief induced episode and then Sam and Bucky called you for help. It never seemed to stop. 

But, after Karli died and the rest of the Flag Smashers gone, you could take your well deserved pause. At least for a little while before your inherited work called. 

Sam invited you to come to his home town in Louisiana for a celebration of sorts and you couldn’t say no. Him telling you that Bucky was going to be there was also a selling point. 

You and Bucky had a complicated history. You helped Sam and Steve stop him and HYDRA and then went on the manhunt for him. Even after finding out he killed your grandparents, you were still there. You understood that it wasn’t Bucky’s mind, just his body. You were there in Wakanda and helped set him free from his trigger words. 

But nothing ever progressed from the stolen looks, the longing glances and the quick touches. The amount of times Bucky Barnes saved your life and threatened others who tried to hurt you, you thought he felt something for you. But the nagging feeling in the back of your head told you that you were wrong. 

At the celebration, the many neighborhood kids were gathered around you as you created stars in your hands, almost like your own personal galaxy. The kids thought it was magic and you rather liked that perspective on your powers. 

Bucky and Sam were talking with Sarah and some other neighbors but Bucky couldn’t focus on the conversation when he was too busy watching you. 

Your smile was so wide that he thought it could light up a city block. You looked genuinely happy, a look he hadn’t seen on you in a long time. It was refreshing and your happiness made him happy. 

“You’re being creepy.” Sam commented, nudging the super soldier. “What?” Bucky asked. “You’re staring.” Sam said. “I-I was not staring.” He stammered. “You so were. Just tell her how you feel already. I can assure you she feels the same way.” Sam told him. “I can’t just tell her.” Bucky rebutted. “Yes, yes you can. What are you afraid of?” Sam asked.

The 106 year-old man paused for a moment as he continued to stare at you. “I can’t be the one that causes her more pain.” He said. Sam furrowed his eyebrows at Bucky’s answer. “She’s been through too much already. Losing Natasha, watching her father die, the nightmares she has. I’m not back to myself yet and I can’t cause her anymore pain.” Bucky explained. 

The conversation was cut short when you approached the two men. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Pepper just called and said the donors are pulling out of the eco-friendly power source project we’re working on. She needs my help fixing it.” You told them. 

“Do you really have to go?” Sam asked. “Unfortunately. Pepper says she can do it on her own, she did it before I was old enough but since my name is still attached to the company, I have to go. Board meeting at 9 tomorrow.” You explained. “I’ll go grab Sarah, she’s going to insist on giving you leftovers to take.” Sam said, giving you a nice smile. 

You turned to Bucky who was very quiet since you walked over. “So, you’re really going back?” He asked you. “Yeah. Unless you give me a reason to stay.” You answered honestly. And rather boldly.

Bucky wanted to say something so bad. He wanted to tell you that he loved you and wanted you to stay with him there but the words didn’t come out. And if he was already feeling bad before, the look on your face broke his heart. 

You gave him a tight lipped smile, a small head nod before you walked away from him. He watched as you slapped a fake smile on, say goodbye to Sarah and Sam before leaving the party rather quickly. 

“What the happened with Y/N?” Sarah asked approaching Bucky. “Nothing. She just had to go.” Bucky lied. Sam saw right through it obviously. Something had happened between you and Bucky and he was determined to find out and play cupid. 

“What really happened?” Sam asked. “She asked me to give her a reason to stay. And I didn’t say anything.” Bucky answered. “Come on, man. You love her, she loves you. Y/N wouldn’t give you the time of day if she couldn’t handle your baggage. You need each other more than you want to admit, Buck.” Sam said.

Bucky sighed and cursed himself for letting you go. “Okay, what do I do?” He asked. “Go to New York. Pull a rom-com move and crash that board meeting and tell her that you love her.” Sam answered.

And Bucky did just that. He got on the first flight to New York and came up with a whole speech in his head for what he was going to say to you.

He made it at the nick of time and was surprised he still had security clearance to the building. When he arrived to the correct floor, he saw Pepper standing in the hallway.

“Bucky, I didn’t expect to see you here.” She said to him. “Where’s Y/N? I need to talk to her.” Bucky said. “She’s in the conference room, preparing for the meeting.” Pepper answered.

Bucky practically ran to the conference room and almost broke down the door.

“B-Bucky?” You questioned. “I love you, Y/N. You asked me to give you a reason to stay and I was scared. Scared that I’d cause you more pain and you don’t deserve that after what you’ve been through. But I can’t deny that I love you anymore.” Bucky confessed.

You were at a loss for words, not really expecting a love confession from Bucky Barnes. “You love me?” You questioned quietly. “Yes. I love you.” He said. “Come back to Louisiana with me. We can start over, have the life we both deserve. Or, I can come back here and you can still help Pepper run Stark Industries. I don’t care as long as I get a chance at a life with you.” Bucky added.

“You really mean that?” You asked. “I really do mean that.” He answered. He watched you intently as you processed everything Bucky had just told you.

You looked down at your presentation notes before you picked them up and folded the papers in half. “Friday, can you bring Pepper into the conference room please?” You asked the AI. “Of course, Ms. Stark.” It said.

You and Bucky waited in a tension filled silence when the door opened. “What’s going on?” Pepper asked. “I think it’s time I sign those papers.” You told her.

Pepper smiled widely at you, happy that you were choosing yourself over the company for once. “It’s about time.” She commented. “I’ll go get them drawn up.” She added before leaving the room.

“Wait what papers?” Bucky asked. “I’m giving every aspect of the company to Pepper. I’ll no longer be listed as an executive for Stark Industries. Which means, I can go anywhere I want for as long as I want.” You explained.

“You mean-“ Bucky started. “I’m going to Louisiana with you. For however long you’ll have me.” You interjected. Bucky laughed lightly as he made his way over to you, cupped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply.

It was a feeling you both had been waiting for and it was one that was definitely worth the wait. You had been putting off your personal life out of fear it wouldn’t work but now you just wanted to be with each other. No matter what happens down the line.

“And if it wasn’t obvious, I love you too.” You said once you parted. “I’d hope so, doll.” Bucky replied.

—

You and Bucky approached the large gathering of people with food in your hands, saying your hellos and giving out hugs and handshakes.

“There you two are! I was wondering if you’d ever show!” Sam scolded you two. “What do you expect? We’re newlyweds.” You laughed. “And it’s about damn time it happened too.” Sarah commented.

You sat down at the picnic table, Bucky resting his flesh hand on your thigh. You stared down at the ring on your finger quite fondly and thought of your dad. Hoping he’d be proud of letting the company go three years ago and living your life to its fullest.

“Aunt Y/N! Can we see the stars again?” Cass asked with all of his friends behind him. “Can’t say no to a future leading astronomer now can I?” You teased the boy. You got up from the table and stood a few feet away, creating the stars with your hands like you had years prior.

Again, Bucky watched you fondly but this time he wasn’t pining after you, hoping he’d build the courage to tell you how he felt. He was watching you as his wife and as his future.

“You really do love her, don’t you?” Sam asked. “Yeah. I really do.” Bucky answered, a smile adorning his face. “You’re going to be amazing parents.” Sarah added. “Parents?” Bucky questioned. “Oh no she hasn’t told you yet.” Sarah said, standing up from the table.

“Is Y/N,” Bucky started. “Am I what?” You asked. Bucky turned to you and rose from his seat so he could stand eye to eye with you. “Are you pregnant?” He asked.

You looked behind him and glared at Sarah before staring back at Bucky. “Yeah, yeah I am. You’re gonna be dad James Bucky Barnes.” You told him with a watery smile.

Just the thought of bringing a child into the world with Bucky made you more emotional than you thought possible.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” Bucky questioned. You nodded your head and Bucky scooped you up in his arms and if felt like everything was falling into place.

After 109 years of not having an ounce of peace or feeling as if he was a monster and a burden, he was getting the life he had always dreamed of. And he got to do it all with you.

[marauderundercover]

Maribat Halloween: Decorating

Marinette Dupain Cheng groans, dropping herself across her friend’s lap, hiding her face in her hands. 

“What’s up Pixie Pop?” Jason asks, his attention immediately on her. She just groans, trying not to think of the ways she had failed today. “Pix?” Jason prompts. She huffs and sits up, pouting. 

“I met a boy today.” She says, and Jason grins. 

“Didya say something embarrassing?” He teases, and she huffs. 

“Kind of.” She says vaguely, not willing to go into it. 

“Ya know you’re gonna tell me eventually. Might as well just tell me now.” Jason points out, and Marinette sighs, rubbing her hand over her face. 

“So he was super cute and instead of doing something normal like tell him he’s cute or ask him out or anything else, I volunteered to be his secretary for the month while his is on vacation.” She rambles out, groaning. Jason snorts, laughing loudly until he stops abruptly. Marinette glances at him, frowning at his sudden change. “What-” 

“Your meeting today, it was at Wayne Enterprises, wasn’t it.” He says, his frustration clear. 

“Yeah?” She draws out, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Goddamnit Replacement.” Jason swears, shaking his head. 

“What?” Marinette raises an eyebrow, completely lost. Jason sighs. 

“Let me tell you a little about Tim Drake.”

---

Tim Drake was confused, as he walked into Wayne Enterprises on October 1st. And he didn't like to be confused. But all things considered, he felt that his confusion was valid. After all, when he left the building at eleven o'clock last night (long after everyone else, even his secretary, had left), the building looked like a normal office building. Now, though, there were spiderwebs and tiny pumpkins everywhere. Tiny plastic spiders and cloth ghosts hung from the ceilings. It was cute, but he had no idea how it could've happened. Or when. Deciding to check the security tapes, he walks swiftly over to the elevator, blinking in surprise at the change in music. Instead of the usual (boring) elevator music, an instrumental version of "This is Halloween" was playing softly. Honestly, it was impressive. Whoever had managed to do it had done so without Tim seeing them as he left, and without tripping any of the alarms. He'd just have to hope that whoever did it wasn't willing to use their powers for evil.

As the elevator stops at his floor, he mentally makes a note to ask Marinette, his temporary secretary, if she'd seen anyone strange when she left the night before. She’d only been his secretary for two weeks, and was only scheduled to do the job for one more. She had come in for a meeting with Lucius Fox, something to do with a fabric Lucius had developed, Tim was unsure on the details. But when she came in, she’d seen the absolute mess that the top floor had become since Tim’s secretary had left on vacation. She’d nearly insisted on helping out, and Tim honestly loved having her around. Marinette was funny, and cute and smart and- He frowns, shaking his head to clear it. Sure, he had a crush on her. But nothing could come of it. He’d seen Jason picking her up a couple times, and as much as he disliked his brother at times, he wouldn’t try to date the girl his brother was dating. Sighing, he watches as the numbers finally approach his floor.

The second he walks onto his floor, he's bombarded with even more decorations. More of the same from downstairs, but there were also skeletons (dressed in tiny costumes), plastic bags, and Marinette- for some reason- had a witch's hat on. Tim's eyebrow raises. 

"Feeling festive?" He asks, confused. It's not that Marinette was always serious. In fact, he'd seen her leap over a counter for a cup of coffee. But he'd never seen her in a hat. Especially not a witch hat. 

"Is it too much? We don't really do Halloween in France, not like this anyway." She says nervously, touching the hat.

"Well, er, it's definitely more than I'm used to." He says, before the pieces click together. "Wait a minute, did you decorate the entire building?" Tim asks, completely shocked. Though, he probably shouldn't be. The woman was a force of nature. Marinette blushes. 

"Yeah, I just thought- sorry, Jason mentioned something about it the other day.” She says and Tim sighs. Of course his asshole brother had something to do with this. Tim drops into the seat in front of Marinette’s desk and smiles at her gently. 

“What exactly did he say?” Tim asks, and Tim’s surprised to see that Marinette’s face can get even more red. She mumbles something, and Tim frowns. “Couldn’t hear you, Mari.” He says. She sighs, pushing a stray piece of hair out of her face. 

“He said that you love Halloween.” She says again, and Tim blinks in surprise. 

“Wait, what?” 

“You, he said that you like Halloween. And I wasn’t exactly sure how much would be too much and I’ve never been great at subtlety and so I decided that it wouldn’t be the end of the world to do the whole tower instead of just this floor but then I had to call Jason to help me change the music in the elevator because I didn’t have the clearance for that and-” She rambles, and Tim frowns, reaching forward to grab her hands to try and get her to slow down, to help her calm down. She takes in a deep breath and grins at him, making his heart skip a beat. 

“Sorry, I just, you were rambling.” Tim says, quickly releasing her hands. 

“I really like you.” She blurts out, her eyes widening. Tim’s eyebrows shoot upwards. 

“I-you-Jason?” He says and she frowns. 

“What about Jason?” She asks. 

“You, you and Jason. I can’t- you’re dating Jason, aren’t you?” He asks, and she laughs, which confuses him even more. Was she laughing at him? Or at the suggestion? 

“Jason is one of my best friends. And, like my friends Adrien and Nino, he’s also practically my brother.” She explains, her amused smile shifting into something else. Something softer. 

“So you aren’t dating my brother?” Tim asks, and Marinette shakes her head, giggling softly. 

“If I was dating Jason, I definitely wouldn’t have decorated the entirety of Wayne Enterprises to try and ask you out.” She says. Tim grins as her words register. 

“You want to ask me out?” He clarifies, and she nods.

“Coffee after work? I’ll buy.” She offers, and he smiles. 

“As long as I can buy next time.” He says with a grin. Who knew a couple of decorations could lead to something so great.

Permanent tag list (open): @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @maribat-october-rarepairs

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Hi I need to ask a favor of you... Can we get like,,, the reader trying to set cc!dream up with a friend of theirs and he actually likes the reader so we get like dream trying to say that he likes the reader. Idk if this makes sense but I just want a dramatic like "ARE YOU DUMB" moment. Thank u, I'll exit the stage.

Okay so long story short, I had a series about Dre that I was going to write (like a million years ago even before e!k) and I tuned up the confession scene because it fit with the request. Idk idk. It was back when I was having my romance novel phase. N E WAY. happy reading :) ♡ g

𝐄𝐆𝐎 & 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: language, angst, being so overdramatic, mentions of rivals to lovers, being in a shower, kinda cringe ngl

Dream eyed you over his glass from across the table, his legs long enough that he was invading your space beneath the surface. His green eyes burned into you, which you attempted to let roll off your shoulders innocently. Your friend was talking up Sapnap, completely destroying your plan put in place. It seemed like Dream could tell what you were up to as well, and by the look he was sending your way and the tension in his shoulders, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for it. Sapnap asked the girl beside you how she was doing in her classes and before he could boast about his own achievements, you butted in. “You know, Clay’s ranked fourth in our sociology class.” Dream rolled his eyes as your friend’s brow perked at your statement.

She cracked a grin in his direction. “Oh really? You some kind of a genius?” She joked, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Dream chewed the inside of his cheek and folded his hands together on the table, uncomfortable now that you had shifted the subject matter to him. “Uh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s an intro course so…” he mumbled. She hummed in response and he wet his lips.

You jumped into the small bit of silence. “Come on, don’t downplay! He’s also helped me pass calculus last year,” you boasted. Dream shut his eyes briefly as if it were taking every ounce of his being not to scold you. You didn’t care.

“That’s awesome! I’m actually a mathematics major,” your friend eased. “Maybe if you are some kind of genius you could help me figure out homeomorphically irreducible trees sometime,” she jousted with a small wink. Dream chuckled and you thought maybe… finally… they were clicking. You knew you were right, you knew they were a perfect match. Dream just had to put forth a bit more effort.

Dream’s eyes flashed to you again briefly, as if a symbol of telling you he’d kill you for pushing this. “Oh, I don’t know anything about math really, but Sapnap knows a lot of the math professors,” he turned over with a soft smile, sending your friend back into Sapnap’s metaphorical tract. The two started rambling to each other and Dream shot you a dirty look. “Cut it out,” he bit, barely loud enough for you to even hear. You took this as a challenge.

Another round of drinks came to the table, Dream had yet to completely finish his first as it seemed like something was weighing on his mind. You had gotten into the habit of picking up every subtle tick he had and picking at it. You silently listened to the conversation between Nick and your friend as it wound down, giving you the opportunity to strike up something else about Dream. “So Clay, what was your beer pong average last semester?” You asked, taking a sip from your straw innocently.

He sent you a deadpan expression, but Sapnap answered for him. “Oh, trust me, Clay’s the one you want on your team at every frat party,” he praised. You knew how much your friend liked the whole idea of winning pointless party games.

“I think it’s time I walk you home,” Dream mumbled after standing before you could answer. You followed him out of the restaurant, sending your friend and Sapnap an awkward grin. They had barely noticed anyway; too caught up in their own conversation. You jogged a bit to catch up to Dream as he shoved his fists in his pockets. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He grumbled.

You furrowed your brows, nudging his arm playfully. “What do you mean? I’m trying to get you laid!” You chided. He rolled his eyes again. “Loosen up! Come on, she’s pretty isn’t she.”

Dream sighed deeply. “Of course she’s pretty. Just quit with meddling in my sex life,” he hissed.

You laughed mockingly. “You are so tightly wound!” He pushed the door open to your building. You could tell you were pushing his buttons as he pursed his lips instead of firing something back at you. “You’re such a killjoy,” you joshed, pinching his side.

He swatted your hand away, attempting to ignore you. “Quit.”

“Fine, whatever. Go home and make fast with your hand.” That was it---the last push.

Dream grabbed your arm and yanked you down the hall behind him. You could practically see the steam rolling off his shoulders as he turned a corner and you began to grow tense. You knew he'd never hurt you but the sheer anxiety of what he was going to do next weighed on your conscience. Had you gone too far this time? You'd pushed him past his limit before, but he'd never taken you with him when he needed to remove himself from the situation.

You were shocked as he threw open the door to the communal showers, your brows knitting together in confusion as you began to claw at his hand. "Clay, stop! What are you doing?" You gritted, struggling against his grip. He threw open one of the stall doors and tossed you inside, your back hit the linoleum tiling with a quiet thump and you glared at him with scolding eyes as if to bite ‘don't you dare touch me’ into his skin.

He pursed his lips as if his anger was threatening to boil over and he turned the knob behind you, instantly soaking you and your clothes in freezing water. You painstakingly jumped for the dial and he grabbed your arm again, pulling you inches from his face. "You need to cool the fuck down. I'm serious!" He snapped.

Your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your head in disbelief at the audacity he had. His jaw tensed as he glared at your features and you drew his arm closer, turning on your heel so he replaced you in the water. His reaction was subtle to the dowsing; instead, he released his grip on you. "What the hell is your problem!" You yelled. This was unknowingly becoming your breaking point. You hadn't woken up that day and realized today is the day I choose violence but Dream's medieval form of communicating with you was striking a hidden nerve.

"My problem? MY PROBLEM?" He let out an exasperated sigh, turning slightly to twist the knob for hot water before laying into you. Why he didn't just turn off the water was unbeknownst to you. "My problem is you!"

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Me?" You tsked at him. "Why don't you get a fucking life-"

"Are you really that fucking stupid?" He bit. Your disgusted look you made sure to exaggerate twisted something behind his eyes. The shower began to produce steam over his shoulders. Dream's hair had begun hanging in short ringlets around his ears. His long-sleeved t-shirt clung to his body enough that you could see every dip in his chest. Every breath he drew in to calm himself down rippled through his silhouette. In the slightest way, it seemed as if the dragon was finally baring his soft underbelly to you.

His hands balled into fists at your look of disbelief at him calling you dumb. He groaned deeply, bringing his palms to his eyes and gritting his teeth. He then pushed his fingers into his wet hair, plastering it back from framing his face. Dream's bright eyes studied you with his features set in stone. "How could you not realize?" He let out a short exhale, his hands seemingly gripping for his own thoughts as they moved with his search of words. "I know you aren't as aloof as you put off. I know you know that I-" he stopped himself short with an aggressive shrug of his shoulders. It was almost humoring to see him standing like a wet dog in front of you and at a loss for words. That big head of his was proving to be a difficult landscape for him to form sentences. "... That I-" he bit into his lip, frustration settling into his brow.

You rolled your eyes again, your wet clothes feeling uncomfortable as they began to shrink against certain parts of your body. The steam from the water was enveloping the two of you in the small space, but your close stance kept a breath of clearance in your visions. "Spit it out, Clay. Obviously, I'm too dumb to put two and two together. You're gonna have to man up and get over it," you snapped and his eyes flashed up to the ceiling.

He gritted his teeth again. "Fuck. What am I trying to say?" He hissed. The gears in his head were beginning to rust with overstimulation, and you could tell. He was hesitant as if debating what would be his next move. The tall man before you was slowly unraveling into unarticulated emotions. The minuscule thought tugged at your mind that Dream was attempting to tell you he felt something for you. It was oddly satisfying to juxtapose your ill-fated seven minutes in heaven experience when you had met him with the close, wet atmosphere you were in now. Even back then Dream couldn't figure out what to say.

He swallowed, his anger had melded into something less aggressive and more inwardly scorning. "I care about you," he blurted, his voice coming out uneven. He wasn't nervous and it seemed as if he'd practiced this in the mirror yet was crumbling under the pressure of you actually standing before him. "I care about you," he repeated, his face still tense and severe.

You were taken aback by his simple statement, awaiting his next move. You didn't dare arrest your eyes from his, your mind blurring about what to say to his confession. You knew that was big coming from him at the way it tugged at your heartstrings, making you blush in the ferocity of the steaming stall. The beat of silence was broken as he took a step toward you, taking your face into his large hands in a gentle gesture. His fingers threatened to snake into your hair as his thumb traced the bend in your jaw. Droplets of water fell off of him to splash against your sopping wet clothing, the warmth of his figure nearly pressed against yours sending rushes of goosebumps across the plain of your skin.

His eyes searched yours as he hesitated, as if savoring being close enough to taste you, yet the anticipation of sealing the fated and quarrelsome air between the two of you with his kiss was nearly too unrealistic for his mind to comprehend. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly against the flesh of your bottom lip as if he were wondering if the shade was their true color, all of his movements completely foiling the way he'd always handled you.

His look of desire and unsteadiness gave him the appearance of an explorer wandering around a foreign planet with the consistency of practice but restraint. You'd heard other girls talking about being with Dream---a fumbling night of drunken fun or a quick use and jading---but the Dream standing before you now seemed to be his own breed. You let your mind flicker to the fantasy that maybe the boy itching to mark you was a figment of him reserved and stocked only for you.

You found yourself leaning on your toes as his eyes began to close, drawing you in with his subtle caress. The water thundered down against him as his towering frame shielded you from the shower, the sound of its stream bouncing off the floor and your matted articles of clothing mixing with Dream's soft breath. As he pressed his lips against yours, it seemed like he was hesitant as if you'd snatch yourself away from his cradling like you always had, but sure enough, your sneakers were glued to the floor beneath you. Wherever you were going in the next few minutes would be to follow his lead.

His fingers dipped into your locks, bringing you deeper into his gesture of passion. Your mind clicked into the reality of the situation as your shoulders sank into a sense of calmness. Your hands found purchase around his waist, wanting to reassure him that you were reading his actions as your fingers traced the lines and dips in his back.

He kissed you with a needy passiveness that bled into the echoing taste of mint, bitter coffee, and the soft embrace of his mildly chapped lips. You'd been close enough to him in the past to dig your nose into his clean scent, but as he pressed against you, it was all you could focus on. He kissed you as if his lips were studying to be experts on your own; a kneading of exploratory gentleness met with a keen sense of wanting to pour everything unsaid between the two of you into this action. It was like he hungrily wanted to know the curvature of your mouth like the back of his hand.

He broke away from you breathlessly and your floating sense of calm clouded and compacted your words. You hesitated to open your eyes as you felt him settle his forehead against yours, not wanting to extract himself from you yet. You subtly enjoyed the fact of sharing air with him as you drew in a deep breath, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth. You wanted that taste to live on your tongue.

Clay stepped back, shrugging out of your hold reluctantly. His hand moved to settle over his mouth as if he was silently apologizing for the suddenness of that action. Your mind was running wild with the thought of him. You parted your lips, stunned enough that you could barely remember how to stand on your own let alone string together a sentence.

He swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your eyes. "I- um," his tongue darted across his lips and you yearned at the fact that you wanted to be pressed against him again, selfishly needing to be tangled among his long limbs or you'd surely die. "I'll see you around," he stated, undoubtedly noticing how verklempt you were and what kind of effect he'd had on you.

He moved to step around you and your eyes glued to where he was standing before. He halted when his shoulder brushed against yours, his gaze turning to trace against your features as you struggled to meet his eyes. You knew he was biting back a smirk as he went on his way again, leaving you to decompose at the mental imagery of him.

You heard the door swing shut behind him and you pushed your wet hair away from your face, turning off the water. As you stepped from the stall, you met eyes with a girl who perked an eyebrow in your direction. She froze in the middle of brushing her teeth, having obviously seen Clay leave, and at the sight of you, she smirked. “Alright, alright. I see you, Elizabeth Bennett,” she winked, swaying a bit before continuing on with her routine.

Dream Tag List: (follow this link to be added ;))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy

[parkersbliss]

hey could i request a kaz fic with prompts: 001, 007 and 041? pleasee let it end in fluff i can’t bare angst after your last fic lol <3

yes ofc ofc, kaz fluff for you

Dead Man | K. Brekker

prompts: 001: “Why do you care?” 007: “Give me one good reason.” 041: “I cant stand the sight of you in someone else’s arms!”

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Kaz wasn’t a jealous person. That’s what he tells himself, but he believes it’s far from true. Then again, he didn’t have to believe it to be true. He seems to lie to himself a lot. He’s also noticed he seems to lie a lot more when you’re involved.

His favorite lie would have to be, I’m not in love with (Y/N). He definitely was.

But Kaz Brekker was too prideful to ever admit that. Being in love gave you a weakness, and Kaz was not weak. Far from it, actually. He was the most feared man in Ketterdam. There was a reason he was successful, and that was simply because he didn’t have a weakness.

Well, a weakness that people knew about.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jesper asked, casting a sideways glance at you.

Kaz rolls his eyes, slamming his hands down on the table. “Unless you have a better one, I suggest you shut up.”

Jesper opens his mouth to object, but he shakes his head and shuts up.

Good, he knows better.

“Looking good is a Jesper talent, isn’t it?”

Jesper straightens his back and his jacket, brushing his thumb against his lip. “Why yes, it is.”

“Then I don’t see the problem. You just have to do it with (Y/N).”

You nod, bumping shoulders with the Zemeni boy. “Yeah, we could be a great power couple.”

Jesper laughs nervously, looking at Kaz and seeing the slightest hint of murder in his eyes. There was nothing wrong with the plan except the part where Jesper has to play your boyfriend when Kaz has the biggest crush on you known to man. Jesper knew better than to get in his way. He would really prefer to keep his life than get his head chopped off with a single look.

“You both know your target?” Kaz asked.

You and Jesper nod.

“Good. Get in, get the info and get out. No gambling and no drinking.” He points an accusing finger at Jesper. “I don’t think I have to explain that to you, (Y/N). Any objections?”

Jesper shakily raises his hand. “Yes, so why can’t you go as (Y/N)’s boyfriend?”

Inej looks to Jesper with raised eyebrows. “Are you serious right now?”

“I just think that they would make a more convincing couple!”

“Jesper,” Kaz said lowly, and he knows he’s in for it. “When I say you’re posing as (Y/N)’s boyfriend, you are posing as her boyfriend. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Jesper squeaks.

Kaz pulls back, slapping his cane on the ground and leaning his hands on it. When Jesper doesn’t move, he rolls his eyes, “Well, get to it!”

“Right!” Jesper said, scrambling to get out of the room.

“He seems awfully nervous,” You said.

“I’ll go check on him,” Inej said, passing by you with a smile.

That leaves you and Kaz.

“You were a bit harsh on him, don’t you think?” You asked.

Kaz shrugs. “Not really. It’s Jesper.”

“I think you scared the poor boy half to death.”

Kaz raises a single brow at you. “I don’t see an issue. He still has half to go.”

You let out a soft chuckle, and Kaz swears his heart stops for just a moment. He could listen to it forever.

“Is there a reason you’re so adamant about him being my fake boyfriend?”

“He’s the best choice.”

“Right.”

“You beg to differ?”

You shake your head, “Not at all.”

Kaz knows you did, but he doesn’t say anything. “You should get ready.”

You nod, “Yeah, I should. I’ll see you after, boss.”

…

“Wow,” Jesper said, offering his arm to you. “You look dazzling.”

“I learn from the best,” You wink, looping your arm through his.

Kaz’s lips are pursed into a straight line, and Jesper will be grateful when he’s out of his sight and range.

“Inej and I will be across the street. You know what to do if it goes south.”

“Sure do, Boss,” Jesper replied, eager to leave.

Kaz nods, stepping back, and you both enter the club. He leads you towards the bar and takes a seat. You stand next to him, scanning the crowd for the target.

“Put your arm around my waist,” You hiss to Jesper when you spot him.

“I don’t know about that,” Jesper laughed nervously.

“Jesper.”

“Okay!”

He slips an arm around your waist, nervously looking around to ensure Kaz can’t see. When he’s sure he’s safe, he relaxes a bit more. Everything goes smooth as you wait for your target to come over. You didn’t want to lure him in case that made you both more suspicious. It takes longer than both of you want, but eventually, he makes it to the only open seat in the bar; the one next to you.

He orders a few shots and Jesper makes the first move. “Rough night?”

He groans. “You have no idea.”

“Try me.”

“I’m Archer,” The target said, but of course, you already knew that. He was working for a Mercher, who rumor had it - recently imported something worth millions. Kaz wanted to know what it was and if it was worth it.

“Roman,” Jesper grinned, sticking out a hand.

“And what about this pretty lady?”

You gave him your fake name with a smile as you shuffle closer to Jesper.

“Boss is treating me like shit,” Archer groans, taking a shot. Jesper offers to pay for more. The tipsier he got, the more he would spill. “We got this new import the other week, been on high security since. Doubled my hours, didn’t double my pay.”

“New import? What could be so valuable?”

Archer shrugs. “I have no idea. Not allowed to tell, anyway. Sorry bud.”

“That’s a damn shame.”

Archer leans in, alcohol evident in his breath and you almost choke. “Between you and me, I think it’s some new weapon from Novyi Zem.”

There it was.

Jesper raises his brows. “Do you know what kind?”

“Some kind of gun, or guns.”

Jesper leans back. “Huh. I assume he keeps them in the back.”

Archer shakes his head. “No, he’s too cautious with this. He keeps in the vault in the basement.”

“A vault? Must be worth a lot.”

“Top security clearance. He has it scan his eyes, then his fingerprint and a password to get in.”

“My god,” Jesper laughed. “That’s a lot.”

Archer takes another shot. “You’re telling me.”

You don’t say much, playing the part of dumb arm candy. Your eyes wander the club when you spot a familiar face. He’s walking towards you.

You take a deep breath, turning your head to Jesper. You lean in to whisper, “We got someone coming towards us. He knows us. We need to hide.”

“How?”

“Kiss me.”

“You are out of your mind,” Jesper hisses. God, if Kaz found out, he would be dead in seconds.

“It’s that or death. I promise I don’t bite.”

“Are you two okay?” Archer asked.

Jesper coughs, pushing you off. “Yes, the misses it just eager to get home.”

Archer nods. “I see. I should get going too.”

Jesper lets him. You already got enough information.

“Jesper,” You whisper, tugging on his coat.

He was a dead man either way.

He grabs your face, kissing you with his eyes closed. It doesn’t mean anything to either of you. It’s just the difference between life and death for now. He can see the person leave out of the corner of his eyes. He’s about to pull back when a cane slams the bar floor. Jesper jumps back.

He is so dead.

Kaz's eyes blaze with something much more than rage, and Jesper doesn’t doubt it’s for him.

“Kaz,” you breathe out.

“We’re done here.”

Jesper stands up from the bar, letting go of you. “Yes, we are.”

He practically runs out of there, leaving you with a very pissed-off Kaz.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

He ignores you and walks away.

“Kaz?” You shout, catching up with him.

“What?” He snaps, never looking at you as you walk back to the slat. Jesper was gone, probably hiding somewhere. Inej was covering for him, but Kaz pays no mind.

“We got the information. Why are you so mad?”

Kaz throws open the door to his office, standing behind his desk and finally looking up. “You want to know why I’m so mad?”

“Yes!”

“Because you kissed Jesper!”

“What?” You asked. You couldn’t understand why he was so mad about that. He was the one who assigned him as your partner. “Why do you care?”

It’s not meant to come off rude, you just didn’t understand.

Kaz purses his lips and looks the other way. He can’t bring himself to say why; he won’t admit his weakness.

“Give me one good reason,” You beg. “I’m not mad at you, Kaz. I just don’t underst-”

“I can’t stand the sight of you in someone else’s arms!”

That’s not what you expected. However, it makes your stomach do flips. You swallow the butterflies.

“Then why did you partner Jesper and me together?” You asked softly.

Kaz sighs, “I thought I could prove to myself that I wasn’t in love with you by seeing you with him.”

You snort. “And how did that work out?”

“It didn’t.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

Kaz can hear the mischief in your voice. He’s expecting rejection, but you sound happy.

“I think I’m going to admit that I’m in love with you,” he said, turning back around to face you.

“Well, that’s good,” You grin, grabbing his coat and pulling him the slightest bit closer. He doesn’t pull away. “Cause I’m in love with you too.”