#i just expressed how frustrated and disappointed

[aventurineswife]

“That may be your parent, but that is my spouse”

Tags: @aloudice, Jing Yuan x Reader, Established Relationship, Family, Parenting, Gender-Neutral terms, Gentle Parenting, Respect, Soft Moments, Authority, Protective Dad.

[Inspired by]

The soft golden hues of the setting sun filtered through the grand windows of the Luofu, casting a gentle glow over the spacious room. Jing Yuan, as usual, had positioned himself at the balcony, gazing out over the vastness of the Xianzhou, but his eyes weren’t as focused as they usually were. His attention had subtly shifted, and there was a trace of amusement in his gaze as he watched you and your child in the middle of a lighthearted confrontation.

"Don't you dare try to sneak out again, little one." you said firmly, your voice calm but with an undeniable authority that only a parent could master. You stood with your arms crossed, watching as your child huffed in defiance.

"But I wanted to go to the garden!" the child protested, their small face scrunching up in frustration. "It's boring here!"

"You can go to the garden after finishing your lessons. Now, come on, let’s be reasonable."

Jing Yuan smiled faintly, his sharp eyes flicking to the scene in front of him as he leaned against the railing. From his vantage point, he could see the way your patience was slowly running thin. But it was clear you weren't losing your cool. You never did.

However, his smile faded as he saw the little one’s growing agitation. Their defiance was turning into something more—something less playful. With a sudden outburst, the child scowled, pointing a finger at you in irritation.

"I hate you! You’re so mean!" they shouted, their tiny fist shaking.

Before you could respond, your child made an impulsive move. In a burst of anger, they swung their arm toward you, trying to smack your arm in protest. It was a childish action—undoubtedly a sign of frustration—but the intent, even from such a young one, still struck a nerve. You blinked, surprised at the sudden aggression, but before you could react, a low voice interrupted the tense moment.

"That may be your parent, but that is my spouse. And you will not be disrespecting them like that."

Jing Yuan’s voice rang out, clear and firm, cutting through the tense air. His tone was not one of anger but of authority—an unwavering reminder of the respect that was due to you, no matter how young or headstrong the child might be.

The child froze, the smack they had intended to deliver now hanging awkwardly in the air. Jing Yuan stepped forward with the effortless grace that came from centuries of experience. His tall figure loomed with quiet command, his gaze soft yet piercing as he knelt down to meet their eyes.

"You know better than that, don’t you?" he asked, his tone still gentle, though the weight of it carried deep, fatherly disappointment. "Respect is something that should come naturally, not just when it’s convenient. Now apologize."

The child, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, lowered their head, guilt washing over their face. "Sorry, Mom/Dad… I didn’t mean it…" they mumbled, eyes downcast.

Jing Yuan nodded, his expression softening. He reached out, placing a hand gently on your shoulder in a rare display of affection, the gesture tender as if to reassure you. You met his gaze, the quiet understanding between you both palpable in the moment.

"Don’t worry," Jing Yuan murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I’ll handle this. You don’t need to bear the brunt of their frustration."

You gave a soft smile, nodding in appreciation. "Thank you, Jing Yuan," you replied, your heart swelling with affection for both him and the little one. "But you know, they’re just learning."

Jing Yuan chuckled softly, a warm sound that lingered in the room. "Yes, they are. But that doesn't mean we let them forget their manners."

With a final look at your child, who was now quietly contemplating their actions, Jing Yuan stood up straight and turned his attention back to you, the occasional glimmer of weariness in his golden eyes. Despite the aura of wisdom and authority he wore like a second skin, you could still see the parent beneath it all—a person who was willing to move mountains to protect their family.

And with that, everything felt in its proper place.

[Aventurine ver]

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 9: Folklore Creatures

Spin on "Little Red Riding Hood" anyone? What could be better than someone so obsessed with you, they simply want to eat you up?

Prompt: Folklore Creatures | Cautionary Tales // Truth // Naivity Warnings: Yandere, Violence (non-main character murder, Blood Mention, Implied Bullying of the reader (off-screen)), Topic of Jealousy, Posessiveness

"Love you, hun."

Pressing a gentle kiss to your head, your boyfriend got up, stretching his arms high over his head and popping his neck before he got to his feet with a sigh. "Where are you going? Do you really have to leave?" you mumbled, the disappointment unmistakably in your voice. It had been like this for weeks now, where you two spent a passionate night before he slipped out without a trace to find him all day.

"Mhm," he sighed, leaning down to you again to catch your lips once more. "You know how much it pains me, but I got to go before it's too late. Wouldn't want to awaken the monster in me, would you?"

He said it as if it was a challenge, and you giggled, thinking it was just another innuendo. "Wouldn't let me get out of bed, huh?"

"Oh, I'd gobble you up, darling."

Laughing, he stepped away, putting his shirt back on as he dipped into the bathroom of your small apartment real quick. The moment he disappeared from view, you couldn't help your expression from showing the disappointment and frustration you felt. It had been almost a month now, and you two never went out together in the daylight, never saw each other except when he picked you up for a night out in the club or came to watch a movie that was never finished.

It felt more like you were his friend-with-benefits—you didn't even know his last name.

As if you were the other one.

The thought made your blood boil. You weren't proud of it, but in a moment of jealous weakness, you had checked his phone, seeing countless messages where he told people how excited he was to hang out and make appointments with them while he never seemed to do the same for you. It didn't seem like he had another partner in his life, but how could you be sure when he played the role of the mysterious night visitor rather than your wholesome boyfriend?

Was he ashamed of you? Were you not good enough? Did he just keep you around for his entertainment? The questions plagued you as he never gave you a good answer. He wouldn't even entertain the discussions, only vowing that he loved you and his work was very important and took him all day.

So why was he meeting other people then?

There wasn't much time once he said his goodbyes, his kisses nothing short of loving and sweet. For a possible cheater, he was good at what he was doing. You only had a few seconds of self-doubt about what you were going to do before you were out of the door and hunting after him, long coat and sunglasses on in true stalker-fashion. It felt wrong, and you hated yourself for mistrusting him so much, but at the same time, you two were still practically strangers, knowing so little while still being so in love. A little craziness was inevitable, right?

However, as your boyfriend turned from the main street into the shady path leading to the central park of your town, you suddenly felt a sense of panic. What if you accidentally got involved with some shady fellow? What if this was a drug deal or worse? Why would someone need to go to a park in the middle of the night?

You had assumed he was leaving you alone every night to hook up with other people or go back to an unsuspecting partner, but as you gently brushed through the thicket, trying to stay out of the moonlight that would give away your presence, you suddenly weren't so sure anymore.

You could still see him as he walked further into the park. It should have been your sign to leave, get away while you could, and cut all contact... but you had already gotten this far. Following closely by hiding behind trees and the occasional park bench, you tracked him through the greenery. Once, he almost seemed to spot you, but you ducked into a bush just in time, regretting this move only when the thicket tore at the fabric of your coat, making unnecessary noise. Still, you managed to stay hidden, heart racing and always alert.

Eventually, your boyfriend sat on a park bench in front of a pond. Nothing much happened for the next few minutes, and you were about to call this mission off, seeing how relaxed he was. It was as if he simply enjoyed hanging out in the park at night like a semi-normal person would.

But footsteps crunching over the gravel made you cower lower, your eyes fixating on the person approaching. Your boyfriend lifted a hand in greeting, and the person sprinted forward, hood falling off her head, revealing a cruel sight.

Because you knew the woman your boyfriend was meeting.

Your bully.

Heart sinking into your stomach, you watched as she jumped into his arms, giggling as your boyfriend spun her around. The only reason for them to meet you could think of was that the two set you up, made you fall in love with him so they could laugh at you behind your back. It really broke your heart to watch them cuddle on the park bench, your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—ruffling her hair.

You didn't want to stay to see this.

It was a good thing you found out, but with tears filling your eyes, you knew you had to leave before you were discovered or hurt yourself more by watching them. This trainwreck wasn't one you should have been observing, and it hurt enough that you wanted to never come out of your home again.

"You know, [Name]?" your boyfriend suddenly asked, the sound of your name on his tongue so bittersweet.

"Who? Oh..." your bully replied, thinking for a moment. "What about them? They are a loser, not worth your time."

"Is that so? Because they told me about you, lots of things."

"You're ruining the mood. Isn't it enough that I agreed to meet you here? It's so creepy! Did you know how they found quite a few bodies lately around this park? We should go clubbing or to a bar, why are we even here talking about some loser?"

Your bully let out a frustrated sigh, throwing her hair back over her shoulder before leaning close. "You know we never even kissed until now. Don't you think it's such a waste of those lovely lips to talk when we could make out instead?"

Letting out a dry laugh, he didn't seem flattered at all as she tried to avert the topic of you. Good, you thought, because you really weren't up to hearing about yourself from the bully and the traitor. Even so, you couldn't move. As if you were frozen to the spot.

"Good thing you mentioned that. I prefer not making my partner worried about whether I'm cheating or not."

"Partner?" your bully spat, scrunching up her nose, the ugliness of her expression matching her personality. "Don't tell me you're fucking with that. I thought you had better taste when you asked me out to dinner the last few times. Thought you'd appreciate beauty more--"

Her words were cut off as your boyfriend's hand wrapped around your throat. He brought her face closer to his, sounding more enraged than you had ever heard him before. "How dare you talk about them like that. They are perfect. Wonderful. Special. It's filth like you that needs to be taken out so my love can be happy."

The two rose from their seat, and you watched as your boyfriend seemingly effortlessly hoisted your bully into the air. Something felt off, and you couldn't look away as you watched the clothes on his body tearing apart, your bully struggling as his fingers stretched and wrapped around her neck completely. She let out mewls and gasps as she tried to kick him, tried to make him stop, but the horror was in both of your eyes as you watched your boyfriend transform.

Skin turned into fur, mouth into snout. His posture changed as his body grew taller, monstrous, into a beast. Part of you couldn't believe your own eyes as you watched him take on canine features as if you were in a movie, watching a werewolf transform, but by the way, your bully was struggling harder, unable to scream, you realized it was real, and she saw it too.

Horrified, you could only clasp your hands over your mouth, containing your shivers. Doggish years popped up from his head, twisting and turning towards your direction. You had to be quiet, undetected, or surely, you'd be the next prey of that monster. His snout opened, long, sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight, and you heard the gurgled scream of your bully before the beast pounced, biting between her neck and shoulder.

Your bully was still kicking and trying to break loose as blood gushed from the bite, her sounds turning into gurgles before everything quieted out, and she stopped moving. Even though your eyes were so wide open, you couldn't believe them at all, couldn't understand what just happened, only listening to the sound of fluids gushing out and dripping to the floor, bones breaking beneath the claws and massive jaw, and eventually, her body simply slipping from his grip, seemingly meaningless.

"[Name], [Name], [Name]. Isn't it so impolite to eavesdrop on others?" the monster suddenly grumbled. Its massive head swung in your direction, eyes scanning from one side of the thicket to the other before finally settling on you despite the greenery. "I didn't want you to find out like this. We could have talked about it some other time—like on a picnic!"

Putting his feet into motion, you were still completely frozen as you watched the creature march towards you. If this was a bad dream, now would have been a good moment to wake up. You two held the eye contact, even as you watched the grotesque features slowly turn back into a human, first the head, then arms.

"Well, it is your business, too, I'll admit. I've been doing this all of you. Was I not a good boy, taking care of all these mean people for you?"

Until now, you had never taken much notice of the people you disliked disappearing. If anything, you were glad they weren't around anymore. But now that he was pointing it out, a cold shudder ran down your spine, guilt overcoming you.

"They were in the way of your happiness, and I need a good meal every now and then. We both got something out of it, you sweet, sweet thing—look at you cowering. Are you scared? Of the big, bad wolf? What if I'm a nice wolf, will you come to me then? Don't worry, no one's going to hurt you, I'll take care of all that try."

Even with the words so sweetly murmured, you didn't dare move and fall for his promises. He was a fucking werewolf or any other kind of monster! But werewolf made the most sense. It also explained so much more, for example, how he knew exactly where you were. It only made you wonder if he knew all along. Let himself be exposed to you. Wanting for you to see this.

See him.

Now back in his human form, he reached into the bush, parting it aside to reveal your cowering form. His grin widened as he watched you trembling in fear from him, this... other side of him probably enjoying a primal thrill at the prey he had caught.

"What... what are you? You had those big ears-"

"-to hear your thrilling pulse, darling."

"And your eyes were-"

"-so I could spot you and make sure you'd not hurt yourself, sweetheart."

"A-And your mouth was... you know."

At this, he simply grinned, and you gulped down any other word. "Gobble you up," he said earlier that night. It had not just been a sexy innuendo.

"Are you... going to kill me, too?" you asked woefully, feeling like your fate had already been sealed.

"You? Now, now, who'd do such a thing."

Clicking his tongue at you as if you had just insulted him, your boyfriend stepped through the gap in the bush, crossing over into your hideout, destroying every safety this thicket had provided with his presence. He leaned down, picking you up with what you now knew was unnatural strength and holding your bridal style as he carried you back towards the pond. The moonlight shined down on you two, the reflection on the water's surface blinding you. But it wasn't enough to make you forget about the body that laid just below you.

"I'm glad you could make it here, though. I wanted to enjoy the full moon with you for so long, you know? But you did interrupt my meal, how are you going to make up for it?" he asked, not a hint of seriousness in his voice. As if this was all a game rather than the brutal reality you had only just learned about.

"I--" you sputtered, unable to answer that. Your mind kept coming back to realize you were the next best meal to have and served as if on a silver platter as he carried you.

"Juuust joking," your boyfriend laughed. "How about we go home and order some late-night food? I'm so hungry!"

Ignoring the dead body on the floor, he merely stepped over it, chatting about whether he wanted burger or tacos as if he hadn't just revealed himself to be a fairytale monster and killed someone.

"Or, you know, we could make this fun. You could run, and I could catch you, have a nibble of those sweet cheeks; how about it?"

You felt the blood drain from your face, and his grin diminished as he watched you cower into yourself, his grip tightening around as you grew tense. "Okay, too early, got it."

"You're really not going to kill me?"

"Nope. Can't. You're my mate. You're what all werewolves crave—what I crave. Your happiness is all that satisfies me."

"Then... you'll let me go if I want to?"

His expression turned into a frown, and he shook his head. "There are rules," he said factually. "I'll explain them to you someday. But basically, they don't allow us to tell people about our existence. If I let you go, you might tell someone and--"

"I won't! I promise! I'll take your secret to the grave, please!" you pleaded, and your boyfriend grimaced, looking unhappy at your determination.

"And even more importantly-" he continued, raising his voice threatingly to make you behave. "-they teach us to never let our mates go, as there won't be another one. And living without is torture for a werewolf."

"Never?" you whined softly, and the smile returned to his face. Now he looked almost completely back to normal, like the sweet boyfriend you fell in love with. But you couldn't ignore the wolf in a sheep's skin—not with the blood of your bully still clinging to his chest.

"Never," he assured you firmly, and you knew instinctively that he meant it.

[thebreakfastgenie]

This is hilarious, because most of the leftists on this site hate me and would be outraged that @takashi0 labelled me one.

But you're the real charmer here. OP took a screen shot of my vent post, probably because I turned reblogs off, but you had to tag me in.

This was a vent post that I made because I was stunned by the audacity of the post I was referencing to imply that white men being hated by the left for their "immutable traits" have some kind of unique experience and other people just don't understand.

And I'm not talking about being hated by society in general I am talking about being hated by the left for immutable traits.

Do any of you have any idea how much the left hates women? I've received fairly graphic hate and suicide baiting from the left. I can't tell you the number of women I've talked to who've gotten that and worse. And all of us are women who have had contact with the left because we share some beliefs and values.

I'm also Jewish. Do you really want to talk about how the left feels about Jews? I'm also a lesbian and I've been made to feel unwelcome as a result so many times. I was hated for being a lesbian in a queer, leftist fandom space. I don't know a day without being hated for immutable traits. So excuse me if I struggle to feel sympathy for a white man complaining about it. That's what I meant by world's smallest violin.

The reason I made my own post to vent my frustration with that specific idea and didn't confront the poster is I do believe there was value in his overall point. I was actually incredibly disappointed to find this part in the post, because I think "people who feel alienated sometimes find community on the right" is a pattern worth talking about and trying to address. But this last week men have just been completely unable to read the room.

Within days of the second election in eight years that showed women just how much our country hates us, men were posting about how we need to reach out to men, to men support or have supported right wing ideas, and be nicer to them or else they'll do worse. I guarantee you there are a lot of women who share this goal and are even willing to help (although it's my belief that it's largely men who need to be doing this work, because the men they're trying to reach don't listen to women and women don't need to put themselves in danger) but we couldn't even have a few days to grieve. Women are expected to be 24/7 empathy machines, even at our lowest point.

And you know what the real kicker is? I never said I hated this man. Nothing in this post suggests I hate men. A woman venting about struggling to feel sympathy for a white man who feels hated for things he can't control is what you consider hateful.

You don't know me, and you have no idea how much time and energy I've spent practicing empathy, engaging with people in good faith even when they expressed views I didn't agree with, trying to inform people I felt were well-intentioned but simply misinformed... and Donald Trump won anyway. So why should I care if complaining about men will supposedly make him win? I've mostly gotten the nihilism out of my system at this point, but come on.

I turned off reblogs on my post for a reason, I would like this to be the last time I address this publicly.

Lefists: "How could we have possibly lost to Trump?!" Leftists, every single waking second since 2015:

[activesplooger]

Lucifer comforting reader? Self image and body harm comfort, fluff (IF YOUR NOT COMFORTABLE DOING THIS ONE YOU DONT HAVE TO HUN GRAH)

-lovely 🫐

you got it!! bit of a short one tho, hope you enjoy :]

Tears roll down your cheeks as you stare at your reflection. You're not disappointed or upset by what you see anymore, just numb. Scars scatter your body, further blemishing your imperfect skin. A scowl etches on your features. Of course, you have to look like this. It's your fault. It's your fault for feeling this way. And you just had to make it worse by tearing up your skin.

You're overcome by a feeling of frustration, staring at yourself blankly in the mirror. Words plague your mind the longer you stare - useless, dumb, ugly, unloveable. That last word struck a chord with you. You start to sob, sliding your back against the wall until you fully sit. Hugging your knees, your body starts to shake as you sit helplessly on the ground.

Disgusting

Worthless

Pathetic

Defeated-

You snap out of your thoughts as you feel a familiar slender hand grasp your shoulder gently. Lifting your head up, you see Lucifer crouched down beside you with a soft expression on his face. "Hey, love. What are you doing down here?" he asks quietly. You shrug and look off to the side, avoiding his gaze. "Hey, look at me," Lucifer grabs your chin and gently guides you to look at him, "tell me what's wrong.". "I just feel... worthless. I-I can't help but hate myself... My body- My face- My fucking scars that I caused-!".

Lucifer notices you getting worked up the more you talk, "Shh, calm down my dear, it's okay... I'm sorry you feel worthless, my love, but you're not, I promise. If it weren't for you, I don't know where I'd be.". He smiles at you, almost a lovestruck grin, "And you're beautiful to me. You're Everything.". He softly pries your arm away from your knees and gently traces your scars, "These are a testament to your pain... to what you've been through, they don't make you ugly, they're proof that you're strong. The strongest person I've ever known.".

"No," you interrupt, "I'm weak, I can't just live life normally like other people...". "Oh, my love," he lifts your arm to his lips and kisses up and down it. He speaks between each kiss, each word a praise

"Beautiful"

"Precious"

"Strong"

"Mine"

His words comfort you, you weren't cured of your insecurities of course, but it helped a ton. He always made sure you knew how highly he thinks of you, and it never failed to help you. You lean into his touch, unfurling yourself of your closed-off position.

Lucifer lights up as he sees you open up. Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him bury your face into his chest, and sob. "Shh, I'm here," he coos, arms tightening around you, "I've got you.".

Slowly and carefully, he lifts you off the ground and carries you to the bedroom. Once you arrive, he sets you down and kneels before you, taking off your shoes. He kicks off his own boots and lays beside you, patting his chest to signal you to lie there. Your tears slow down as you lay against him, the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat calming you down. "I love you, I'm so sorry you feel this way. I wish you saw yourself the way I see you," he whispers.

"I love you too, Lucifer. Just- hold me..."

"Of course, it'd be my pleasure," Lucifer holds you tightly against him, raking his fingers through your hair and softly massaging your head. He hums a melody softly, his angelic voice vibrating against his chest.

The two of you stayed in this embrace until you felt comfortable enough to get out, Lucifer staying by your side each step of the way. He made you all your favorite foods and listened to all your insecurities, making sure you felt heard and valid in your problems.

The End <3

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Soft Hearts, Healing Hands

Pairing: Steddie X Female!Reader

Warnings: fluff, bit of angst, reader is on their period and having a rough day, lashing out

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I haven’t written for steddie in a bit so here we go!

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You had known the day would be rough from the moment you stepped into work. The phone had been ringing off the hook since you’d clocked in, and every customer seemed to have a complaint that could only be “solved” by raising their voice. Your boss was no better, throwing task after task at you with hardly a word of thanks. To top it all off, you’d felt the dreaded cramps creeping in around lunchtime, and by the end of your shift, the pain was a full-blown ache in your lower back and abdomen. Exhausted, sore, and overwhelmed, you drove home hoping for a quiet evening, but your mood was at an all-time low. Exhausted, sore, and ready to collapse, you finally drove home, hoping for a quiet night with your boys.

Pulling into the driveway, you let out a long breath, taking a moment to compose yourself before going inside. But the second you opened the door, you were greeted by the warm scent of food and the soft glow of candlelight, illuminating the living room in a cozy glow. Blinking in surprise, you saw Steve and Eddie waiting by the dinner table, both wearing eager, excited smiles.

“Hey, babe!” Steve called, hurrying over to greet you with open arms. “We made dinner for you!”

Eddie grinned, gesturing at the beautifully set table. “Yeah, we have a whole night planned out—just for you.”

Their enthusiasm, while sweet, hit you at the wrong moment. Already on edge, you struggled to keep calm, but their hopeful faces only added to the weight you’d been carrying all day. You could feel the ache in your body intensifying as Steve started listing out their evening plans, each suggestion a reminder of how desperately you just wanted peace and quiet. Your heart softened at their thoughtfulness, but exhaustion quickly swallowed any relief. The cramps throbbed sharply, a reminder that all you really wanted was to collapse somewhere and rest, not to engage in cheerful plans. They were still talking, detailing each part of the night with hopeful excitement, and it was all too much.

“Can we not do this right now?” you snapped, your voice coming out sharper than you meant. “I just had the worst day, and I can’t… I just can’t deal with all of this.”

Their faces fell, the joy in their expressions replaced with hurt and confusion. Steve’s shoulders slumped slightly, and Eddie’s smile faded. You could see the flicker of disappointment in their eyes, and guilt rushed in, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. They’d put so much effort into making the night special, and here you were, lashing out at them. They had gone to so much effort to make the night special, and here you were, taking out all your frustration on them. You swallowed hard, feeling a tear slip down your cheek as you took a shaky breath.

A knot of regret formed in your chest, and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet their gazes. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, swallowing back tears. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve just… today’s been hell.”

Steve stepped forward, worry etched into his face. “What happened?”

You sighed, rubbing at your temples as you gathered your thoughts. “It’s just been one thing after another. Work was crazy — nonstop calls, angry customers, and my boss breathing down my neck. And then… I got my period today. My back is killing me, my stomach hurts… I just feel like a mess.”

The frustration and exhaustion finally came spilling out, and you felt yourself choke up. “And you two were just trying to do something sweet, and I ruined it,” you added, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Steve’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle hug. “You don’t have to apologize,” he murmured, his hands rubbing soothing circles along your back. “Sounds like you’ve had a terrible day. Come on, let us take care of you. No more plans, just whatever you need, alright?”

Eddie came up beside you, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ve been holding all that in, haven’t you?” he asked softly. “You don’t have to. We’re here to help.”

Letting them guide you, you moved to the table, and Eddie pulled out a chair for you. Steve poured a glass of water and set it beside a plate piled with comforting food. They both sat with you, watching carefully, each of them making sure you didn’t have to lift a finger. Their kindness, the comfort in their actions, slowly began to ease the tightness in your chest.

Eddie reached across the table, squeezing your hand gently. “Here, take these,” he said, handing you some pain relievers. “They should help with the cramps.”

Dinner turned into a quiet, intimate meal. The boys shared lighthearted stories about their day, coaxing a few smiles and chuckles from you, their gentle voices filling the room with a comforting warmth. Slowly, the weight of your day seemed to dissolve, your body relaxing bit by bit.

Once you were done eating, Steve took your hand, leading you to the couch. He wrapped you in a soft blanket, while Eddie placed a warm heating pad over your abdomen. The soothing heat helped ease the cramps, and you let out a long, relieved sigh, sinking into the cushions.

“Movie time,” Eddie announced with a gentle smile, clicking on your favorite film. He sat down beside you, pulling you close, while Steve took his place on the other side, draping his arm over your shoulders.

“Are you comfortable? Need anything else?” Steve asked, his voice soft and warm.

You shook your head, feeling a rush of gratitude. “Just stay here,” you whispered, leaning into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Eddie promised, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Throughout the movie, they took turns checking on you. Eddie adjusted the heating pad when it slipped, brought you water, and occasionally ran his fingers along your arm. Steve traced gentle patterns through your hair, his steady, calming presence lulling you into a peaceful state. The cramps and the aches, though still there, felt more bearable with them by your side.

When the movie ended, they led you to bed, each of them curling up on either side of you. They nestled close, wrapping you in warmth and security, their gentle breathing steady and reassuring. But even with their comforting presence, a flicker of guilt lingered in your heart.

“I’m really sorry for snapping earlier,” you murmured, voice barely audible. “I was a mess, and you two didn’t deserve that.”

Steve’s hand found yours, his voice gentle but firm. “Hey, you don’t need to apologize. We all have rough days. We get it.”

Eddie leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Honestly, if either of us were dealing with what you’re dealing with — that kind of pain and a day from hell? We’d probably have snapped a lot sooner.”

Their understanding made your heart swell, and Steve brushed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re just glad you’re letting us take care of you. You deserve this.”

Nestled between them, you finally felt all the day’s pain and frustration slip away. Safe, warm, and wrapped in their love, you closed your eyes, letting go of the day’s weight. With their steady breathing lulling you into peace, you drifted off, knowing they’d always be there to hold you through the tough days.

[blankticket]

"Ah." Vash's expression, unfiltered and in rapid succession: frustration—disappointment—pity—weary acceptance.

It doesn't strike him as fair for Wolfwood's husband to expend most of his lifespan, for Wolfwood to die and for Livio to live, just for the Punisher to be used in the way the Eye designed anyway.

So it's clearly not the answer that Vash had wanted to hear. But he makes no move to insist further, despite previously expressing a wish to be more assertive. He's careful to nod politely, to stifle the sentiment before it bled into anything else.

If Wolfwood wasn't yet ready to unburden himself with that cross, to let it be the tombstone of the life he used to live, then that was that.

Besides, it's hard not to relate so heavily to what Wolfwood must be feeling right now. Given… Everything.

But—not once had Vash ever wanted to take another life. Even his predecessor had confessed to living decades of murderous rage aimed at his own brother. Yet he'd changed. With that in mind, Stamps figures that Vash must be hurting terribly from this, perhaps worse than how either of these two feel right now.

Paradoxically, the sympathy helps in distancing himself from his own feelings. He'd rather keep others in mind anyway.

The wind returns, gentle and pleasantly refreshing. He reaches over to snag the empty taffy wrapper before it's blown away, crumpling it in his left palm.

"…It'll be alright," Vash assures, trying to elaborate on earlier. "I figure you probably feel awfully lonesome about all this. I'm not unaware about how cruel my brother can get. How he must've got to you.

"But Vash n'Nicholas love you a lot. 'M sure they'll come around."

No, don't cry, fuck—

His own smile, equally as empty, falls, and Wolfwood sags forward again.

What a question; a difficult one to answer. The Punisher is a symbol for a lot of things: his pain, the abuse he suffered, his loss of childhood, the lives he's taken, his own gravemarker. Of course he would spend his days carrying the same thing he'd be buried under on his back. It was only fitting.

It was handed to him after he was taught to kill. Only a few in existence, he was told, and it should have been an honor to wield it. But he was only a boy, it had been so much bigger than he was then.

A lot of people died while staring up the barrel of it.

But it's a part of his life he doesn't think he could just... give up, just like that.

"It's..." Wolfwood hesitates, uncertain of if he should say it. "It's part of me, y'know. Always will be. I can't let it get into the wrong hands."

[j-femmescoli]

i had my potential roommates fuck up and make us lose out on our (my dream) apartment by not filing their documents in time before another group swept in and got signed so i sent them a really long text explaining how disappointed i am and how i felt like i did most of the work for this apartment because i wanted to be moved in in like 2 weeks and now i have to find a place before school starts in, again, like 2 weeks and then saying that im gonna move on and look for a place without them because i dont want to go thru this again and now im worried that it's too aggressive.

[imaginmatrix]

I ordered something ultra rare that I’ve been looking for for a decade (pjo related) and I saw it pop up and snatched it quick, but I’m SO nervous I got scammed 😅 (not that I would mind TOO much because I’d been thinking of donating to the seller anyway if someone else had bought it first because they seem to have fallen on hard times so it’s just like “clearly you needed the money”)

But I’m so anxious because I haven’t gotten a tracking number but they said it’s out for delivery so I’m like… will I have this super cool dream item by the time I get home today or is it just a ruse and they’ll come back tomorrow with “huh it says it was delayed/couldn’t be delivered” and then ghost me?????

[aventurineswife]

Love and Boundaries

Tags: @aloudice, Dad!Aventurine x Parent!Reader, Established Relationship, Parenting, Family Fluff, Soft Aventurine, Parental Support, Gentle Reprimand, Disciplining, Love and Respect, Family Bond, Protective Aventurine.

[Inspired By]

Aventurine stood near the doorway of the living room, his eyes carefully following the scene unfolding before him. The soft hum of the evening air mingled with the occasional scolding tone of your voice as you gently but firmly reprimanded your child.

“You know better than this, sweetheart,” you said, keeping your tone calm but serious. “You can’t just go around breaking things because you're angry.”

The child, their small face scrunched up in frustration, crossed their arms tightly over their chest. Their eyes flickered with defiance before they muttered, “I hate you! I don’t care about your stupid rules!”

Aventurine’s lips pressed into a thin line, his mind whirring through the possibilities of how to handle the situation. He could see the irritation and hurt in your expression, a look that immediately triggered a protective instinct inside him.

The child, in a fit of anger, stepped toward you, fists clenched, eyes burning with rebellious fire. Without warning, they swung their hand toward you, aiming to hit you in an outburst of frustration.

Your heart dropped at the sudden move, but before the impact could land, Aventurine was there, his presence a calming yet assertive force in the room.

“Enough.” he said, his voice low but commanding. His figure seemed to fill the doorway as he approached, his demeanor far more imposing than it had been just moments ago. His hand reached out, gently grasping the child’s wrist mid-swing, halting them in their tracks.

“You do not lay a hand on them,” Aventurine continued, his gaze unwavering, now focused solely on his child. His voice was sharper, colder, but still held that underlying warmth that only you could recognize. “That may be your parent, but that is my spouse, and you will not be disrespecting them like that.”

The child’s eyes widened in shock, their defiance crumbling at the sternness in their father’s voice. Aventurine’s eyes flickered with a mix of concern and disappointment, yet his love for you shone clearly through his words.

“You need to learn respect,” he said, kneeling down to meet the child’s eye level, his hand still holding their wrist. “This kind of behavior is not acceptable, not in this house, and certainly not toward your other parent.”

You stood quietly, your heart swelling with love and relief. Aventurine had always been able to maintain control, but his fierceness in protecting you, in teaching their child to respect boundaries, made you feel seen, cherished.

The child slowly lowered their gaze, their anger subsiding, replaced by a quiet sadness.

“I’m sorry…” they muttered, their voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean it.”

Aventurine released their wrist, placing a gentle hand on their shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean it,” he said softly, his tone shifting to one of understanding. “But you need to understand that actions have consequences. Words have weight. We don’t lash out at people we love.”

The room fell into a brief silence, the tension easing as Aventurine’s words sank in. He turned to you, a soft smile creeping onto his lips, the playful gleam in his eyes returning.

“You’re okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice as he reached out to cup your cheek with one hand.

You nodded, your heart warming from his unwavering support. “I’m fine. Thank you, Aventurine.”

His smile deepened, his eyes softening. “You know I would do anything for you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

With a soft laugh, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tender embrace. His child, now standing a little further away, seemed to be processing what had just happened. Aventurine’s hand gently rested on your back, a symbol of the unity that kept you all together, no matter how complicated things got.

In that quiet moment, you realized that, despite the challenges of raising a child together, there was no greater feeling than having a partner who would always stand by you—someone who loved you and your family, and who would protect you from anything that tried to tear you apart.

[Jing Yuan ver]

[lightseoul]

a/n. second time writing from bkg's perspective. this was so fun! (1.1k)

the moment that cemented bakugou’s resolve to marry you wasn’t exactly grand.

it wasn’t your first kiss.

or the first time you made love to each other.

not even the first time you met his nerd-ass friends or his (slightly) overbearing parents. although those two come as close runner-ups.

no, it was rather a random saturday morning after you spent a night at his place, now clad in what he thinks is nothing but your intimates and a burnt orange t-shirt of his that drapes loosely over your frame.

and as he enters the kitchen and closes the distance between the two of you with a few strides, he can’t help but wonder what you’re doing—deeply focused on your laptop—when you’re probably the one who’s extra pedantic about not bringing work home.

“morning,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss your cheek, which you happily accept. although, to his chagrin, your eyes remain on your computer screen, not even sparing him a single glance.

he knows it’s fucking embarrassing, how strongly you elicit feelings within him without you even fucking trying, but he can’t stop the frown that takes over his face even if he attempted to fight it.

shaking off the irrational disappointment from not even being ignored, he rounds the kitchen island and starts brewing the two of you coffee.

“by the way,” he starts, glancing at you over his shoulder, “the old hag’s birthday is coming up. she wants to have dinner with just the four of us, or some shit.”

“i know,” you simply pipe up from where you’re seated on one of his fancy bar stools, gaze still glued on whatever the fuck it is that’s keeping your attention from him.

he turns to you, a manual coffee grinder in tow. “you do?”

at that, you finally look up at him, an innocent expression etched across your features. “you don’t remember? i asked you when your parents’ birthdays were way back in march.”

way back in march.

back when you unanimously decided to decisively end the dating phase and become boyfriend-girlfriend.

“yeah?” is the only thing he manages to get out.

you let out a soft laugh that’s nothing but music to his ears. “yeah, dummy.”

before you can get to see the red that’s most definitely creeping up to his cheeks, bakugou turns his back against you, returning to busying himself with crushing the beans into fine powder and pouring lukewarm water into the machine.

only a few months before reaching a full year together, and you still manage to make him fucking blush.

over the most mundane things, too.

when he first got into his very first relationship with you at the ripe age of 28, he thought he’d outgrown and was way past the embarrassing shit that the human body was capable of when dealing with anything remotely close to romance.

it didn’t take him long enough into your relationship to find out he was so, so wrong.

sighing, he pours out the cup of ground beans onto the filter, finally pressing the button and bringing the coffee maker to life.

you must be done with what’s highly likely is work by now.

but chancing a glance at you, he’s once again met with palpable disappointment when the very same sight greets him.

before he can rein them in, the words come tumbling out of his lips.

“the fuck is so important on that laptop?”

his booming voice must’ve caught you off guard, because you startle ever so minutely in your seat.

“sorry,” he quickly adds on, albeit through a mutter; frustration with himself and his inability to modulate his voice added to the increasingly long list of emotions he’s having to fucking deal with right now.

waving him off, you shoot him another one of that disarming smile of yours. “‘s funny that you ask. i was just about to ask you for your opinion.”

with that, you gesture him to come close with your fingers. curious, he once again rounds the island, ultimately occupying the spot to your right and leaning down to peer at the small text on your screen.

before he can even get a word in, you hurriedly explain yourself. “mitsuki-san mentioned her personal sewing machine broke, so i’ve been thinking about getting her a new one.”

you point to a sleek, off-white model among what looks to be a vast array of selections, “i researched the specs and i think this one’s the best. what do you think?”

a million things course through his mind in an instant, but what he ends up sputtering out is: “you’re such a fucking nerd, you know that?”

at that, you look up at him, your seemingly perpetually moisturized lips now formed into a playful pout, and it takes everything in him not to just pull you in for a kiss and completely abandon the conversation in its entirety.

but he’d like to think he at least has the slightest bit of self-control.

even if you do wear him the fuck out on a daily basis.

“i just want to make sure it’s perfect!” you argue, shifting to stare at your laptop again and bringing him back to the present. your voice is way smaller when you continue. “…i want her to like me.”

he doesn’t even miss a beat. “she already fucking does, dumbass.”

and she really does.

the morning after bakugou first brought you to meet his parents a whopping two months into calling it official, mitsuki texted him something along the lines of having the family heirloom slash ring already adjusted to fit your finger.

he immediately called the old hag after receiving the message just to reprimand her ear off for being too fucking forward and for meddling too much.

but, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he was angry not because mitsuki was imposing, but because he couldn’t believe his mother beat him to that important realization.

the realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one.

and now, as he studies you as you scroll through more and more iterations of the best sewing machines on the market with your eyebrows adorably furrowed in utmost concentration, it dawns on him.

it dawns on him that that maybe just turned into a definitely.

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon

˖⁺‧₊ this one made me smile like an idiot while writing lmao. as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

[gothgoblinbabe]

The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: You can’t stand each other, so it’s a mystery to you and Logan why you’re sent out together on an assignment. To make it worse, you’d have to act much closer than you really were.

Warnings:  mutant!reader (no specific power mentioned, though), fem!reader, enemies to lovers, swearing,  fake dating (technically fake marriage), mentions of violence, a little bit of suggestive stuff, a little bit of fluff i guess, and mild alcohol consumption. I think that's all but if i missed any, please let me know! also this is def loosely inspired by the movies 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' and '10 Things I Hate About You'

Word Count: 5K

part 2

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ .

You hate the way he dresses.

You hate his stupid hair.

You hate the pet names he calls you.

You hate his voice.

You hate his hazel eyes.

You hate his smile.

You hate Logan Howlett.

It was no secret and neither was the fact that he couldn’t stand you either. You bickered like a married couple, constantly fought till you bled when you were training and couldn’t go a day without one of you insulting the other. Truthfully, it was probably because you were too alike - fire versus fire - and knew exactly how to press each other's buttons.

That’s why you were both confused when you stood in Charles’ office - dumbfounded expression on your faces - as he told you that he assigned you to a mission together.

“Oh, no way,” you nearly laughed, thinking it was a joke.

“Yeah, not happening,” Logan agreed. It may have been the only thing you’ve ever agreed on.

“That’s unfortunate for both of you, as I am sending you anyway. You are the only capable people that aren’t already out on an assignment or teaching a class full time.”

“How do you expect us to do it without killing each other?” you raised your eyebrows.

“You are adults. I trust you will navigate that on your own.”

Logan scoffed beside you, his arms crossed over his chest.

You sighed, closing your eyes in frustration and biting the bullet, “what do we have to do?”

“There is a safe hidden in the home of a very wealthy socialite who’s been involved in orchestrating attacks on mutants - injecting them with a serum that replaces their mutation gene with that of a normal human,” Charles began to explain.

Your chest felt heavy. It always made you anxious and a little ill when you’d hear the stories of people who hated you so much that they’d go as far as to harm or violate you in some way, all in the name of trying to rid the earth of you completely or turn you into one of them.

“The only known sample of the serum is locked in that safe,” he continued, “and I will need you to retrieve it. You are to infiltrate a gathering being held in her home, obtain the contents of the safe and return promptly.”

“So, we’re…going to a party?” Logan asked with one eyebrow raised.

“A dinner party,” Charles replied, “and another thing - you must not attend as yourselves. You’ve been invited on the good word of another guest - someone we trust - but you’ve been invited as a married couple to avoid arousing suspicion.”

He must’ve been getting some sick enjoyment from this.

“Married couple,” you repeated, your eyes narrowed, “Us. You want us to pretend to be a couple.”

“What, do I have to like - touch her? I’m not doing that,” Logan piped up.

“Oh, i’m so disappointed,” you rolled your eyes, sarcasm clear in your voice, “Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off.”

“No, you.”

“I said it first!”

“Enough,” Charles interrupted, “you will be attending as Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“Huh,” Logan hummed, “that’s creative.”

“Its inconspicuous,” he replied.

“What are our first names, then?”

“You have creative liberty. I trust you will come up with something just as unremarkable.”

“How about Sid and Nancy?” you scoffed, chuckling a little in disbelief. 

“Does that mean I get to stab you?”

“You’d miss.”

Charles had his head in his hands.

“How about Jack and Jill?”

You both turned your heads to him when he spoke, pausing the back and forth between you that you were sure to continue later. You glanced at Logan and shrugged, indifferent to the names.

“That’ll work,” Logan mirrored your actions.

“Lovely. Tomorrow evening at five. I will have the address ready. In the meantime, here,” he opened his palm and placed two rings on the table, “these are your wedding bands.”

You huffed and took the smaller of the two, Logan picking up the plain silver band. Yours was simple - a false diamond in the middle and two smaller ones on each side.

“What, you couldn’t get me anything bigger?” you joked to Logan, holding up the ring. 

“Oh, you want somethin’ big?”

Your eyes went wide and you elbowed him in the arm, groaning in disgust, “Gross.”

—----------------

Five o’clock came fast, your nerves seemingly increasing the speed of time. You’d made a mess of your wardrobe looking for something to wear that was comfortable, but not too ‘you’. What would a rich person wear to a dinner party? How the hell were you supposed to know?

Some nice pants, a blouse and complimenting shoes would have to do - it was the only thing you had that looked relatively formal. Adding some jewelry made it just a little more convincing. 

You went down the stairs to meet Logan at the front door, dreading the coming hours. You turned the corner and finally saw him, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He wore a white t-shirt tucked into his jeans, his boots, and he’d traded his usual leather jacket for a suit jacket. He actually cleaned up pretty nice, but you weren’t gonna tell him that.

He heard your footsteps and turned towards the sound. He could feel the sweat starting to form at the back of his neck. 

He’d never seen you in anything nice like that - you never really had any occasions to dress up for - and he hated how much he liked it. Your pants hugged you perfectly, your blouse was buttoned low and you even had on a little bit of makeup. 

“You don’t look too bad,” he managed to comment, opening the door for you.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you realized aloud, the both of you heading towards Logan’s truck, “You look alright.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Smith.”

He opened the car door for you, uncharacteristically gentlemen-like.

You shot him an odd look and got in anyway.

“I’m practicing,” He explained, shutting your door and walking around to slide into his seat, “can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m a shit husband.”

“Good luck.”

“Uh-oh,” Logan had an amused expression, his eyes glued to the road as you began moving, “that’s not wife behavior, sunshine.”

“Bite Me.”

He clicked his tongue, “Feisty. Oh - I can use that when people ask about us! I’ll say it's one of your absolute worst qualities that any man would be repulsed by, but that our love is blind.”

You scoffed, “Great, and I’ll get to tell them you spend sixteen hours brushing your hair into cat ears and shed all over the bathroom like an animal.”

“See - now, that one seems a little personal.”

“It is.”

“Just pretend for a night that I’m the man of your dreams, okay?” he asked, “pretend I’m, uh - I don’t know, some celebrity guy you have a crush on.”

You were silent for a second, engrossed in thought, “you look nothing like Hugh Jackman.”

“Who? You know what - sure, pretend I'm him, alright? Just squint.”

Truthfully - and you’d rather be stabbed than admit it - Logan wasn’t far off from who you could picture yourself with. Strong, kind of handsome, good with kids. He was humble, most of the time. He was just terribly annoying and way too cocky.

It wasn’t long before he was shifting the truck into park and yanking the keys from the ignition. You let him open your door and walked beside him up the front steps.

“You ready, Jack?” you teased.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Jill.”

He rang the doorbell and you stood awkwardly, eyes scanning your surroundings. The house was huge - probably only a bit smaller than the mansion - and modern, something probably built in the last ten years. The front lawn was impeccable, as were the marble statues strategically placed between foliage and flora. 

The door opened and you inhaled sharply, trying to prepare yourself to lie your ass off.

“Hello! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Smith! So lovely to meet you, please - come in,” a woman ushered you in, her neck and ears decorated in pearls. You recognized her immediately, Charles having shown you both a picture of the hostess beforehand. You politely greeted her and introduced yourselves, already scanning the room for an emergency exit in case things went sour.

“So,” she continued talking, leading you to sit in the living room with the other mingling guests,”tell me a little about yourselves! John wasn’t very descriptive when he mentioned you. What do you do for work?”

Whoever John was, you silently thanked him.

“Uh, well,” you began, nervously glancing at Logan, “I’m a bank teller.”

Plain, boring, inconspicuous, 

She then looked to Logan expectantly, awaiting his answer. 

“Cage fighter.”

Jesus Christ. You were glaring daggers into the side of his smiling face and he pretended not to notice.

“Really?” the woman in front of you inquired, a hand on her chest. You watched her eyes scan him up and down, landing on the pecs prominent through his shirt. You scoffed out of instinct, faking a cough to cover it up.

‘Oh, yeah. Undefeated MMA champ.”

You looked away to hide the scowl on your face when your eyes locked on the vodka bottle sitting on the table a few feet away with a collection of other booze. Bingo.

“Will you excuse me for just a moment?” you smiled politely and walked away before Logan could protest, leaving him to his own devices.

You twisted the top off the bottle and picked up a glass, filling it with Vodka and some soda that was left on the table.You almost walked away with it, planning to keep it in your hands until you felt your nerves subside, until you remembered you were supposed to be a wife. Wives brought their husbands drinks, right? Not doing so would look rude and rude might blow your cover. So, you reluctantly picked up another glass and filled it partially with whiskey, knowing it was something he’d drink. You happened to glance across to the kitchen and notice a neat little rack of spices and condiments on the counter. A bottle of soy sauce was front and center, like a message from the universe, and you giggled to yourself as you snatched the bottle and hid it up your sleeve - this could be a good night if you made it entertaining.

You returned to Logan with both glasses, handing him the one filled with significantly darker liquid. He looked a little surprised but accepted it anyway.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said with narrowed eyes, a look that asked ‘what are you up to now?’

You simply nodded in acknowledgement, smiling at the hostess still standing in front of you.

“She’s a keeper,” he continued, holding the glass up to his mouth, “ always knows exactly what I like.”

You bit back a snicker as you watched him tilt the glass and finally take a sip.

His eyes went to yours immediately.  He pulled the glass from his lips, mouth still obviously full of whiskey and soy sauce. If looks could kill, you’d be long dead.

“Good, honey?” you smiled wide then, taking a sip of your own drink. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, clearly fighting a grimace. He swallowed and nearly gagged, coughing into his fist, “mhm, just a little strong.”

“Oh,” the hostess began, “Jack was just about to tell us how you met!”

A couple of guests had gathered in the same spot, all lingering in a semicircle. Logan was quite the charmer and it wasn’t a surprise that he already had a couple of women gawking at him, hanging on his every word as if any of it was true. 

“Was he?” your tone was shrill but you attempted to appear playful, lightly smacking him on the arm, “Oh, honey, you should really let me tell it.”

Whatever he was about to come up with, you hoped it was not in the same outlandish category as cage fighting. Before you could begin, though, he dismissively waved his hand in your direction.

“No, no - you’re a little forgetful, sweetheart,” his grin was mischievous as he turned to speak to the surrounding guests, “so, it all started with a tshirt competition at a bar where the girls had to - “

“Nope! Nope,” you interjected, doing your best to keep your tone light and shaking your head, “haha - that must have been another girl, honey!”

That earned a few chuckles from the guests around you and you took the opportunity while everyone's attention was on you to try and spin a tale of your own.

“So, we actually met a couple years ago,” you started, mulling over what true details to sprinkle in or if you should make it up entirely, “uh - in a library.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. You’d been at the mansion for a couple days before you bumped into him in the library while gathering books to try and put together your first lesson plan. You had a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other - admittedly stupid - but you’d always been careful. Except for that once. 

You had a book open in your arms, resting atop the stack you already gathered. You were walking and reading - again, admittedly not very smart - when you bumped into someone, spilling coffee on both of you and sending the stack of books to the floor with an audible thump. 

“Fuck, sorry -” you began to apologize, finally looking up to the strangers face. It was Logan, of course, though you didn’t know that at the time. You remember thinking he was handsome with his scruffy mutton chops and well groomed hair - until he opened his mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?”

You knew it was partially your fault but were irked by his attitude.

“Dude, you weren’t paying attention either, obviously!” you snapped back, looking down at the beige stain now adorning your white button up.

“I’m not the one who carries coffee and a shit ton of books at the same time.”

“Whatever.”

That was your grand introduction, neither of you even exchanging names.

Logan remembered it about the same way you did, though the version he tells is a little different. He loved to tell people that when you bumped into him, it was because you were so lovestruck that you just walked right into him. The part he always left out, though, was the first thing he thought when he saw you. He’d scolded you before even looking up to see who you were and when he had, he wished he’d reacted a little differently. 

You were beautiful, even with coffee spilt all over yourself. You looked like a girl he’d only ever dreamed of, all the way down to the color of your hair and eyes. Unfortunately, he’d already been an asshole. So, from then on, that was basically your shtick - bickering over little things, calling each other names - all to the amusement of everyone around you. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but it was obvious to everyone else that the kind of teasing you did was only because you had feelings for one another - like two elementary school kids - and neither one of you seemed to know how to approach it. The mask would slip sometimes for either one of you - when he’d place a hand on your lower back, the times he’d managed to pin you to the mat during training - and you’d always find yourself staring at the ceiling that night, overthinking every interaction you’d had until the sun came up. He was never any better off, pacing in his room to try and decipher what the hell it was he actually felt for you.

Anyway, you decided to stick to the real story, minus the part where you insulted each other.

“We bumped into each other, literally, and I had coffee and a bunch of books in my arms. So, I drop the books, coffee spills everywhere - of course. Then I looked up at him, and..” you paused, the truth caught in a lump in your throat.

“And it was love at first sight,” Logan added, grinning down at you, “for both of us.”

His eyes were trained on yours and he continued to contribute to the story.

“The second I saw her, I fell in love.”

He was still looking at you. Why was he still looking at you like that? You were supposed to be husband and wife, right, but he was leaning into it far heavier than you expected. It felt like you were the only ones in the room.

A couple ‘aw’s were shared between guests and you smiled politely at the reminder that you were in fact not the only people in the room. As the conversation switched to another topic and someone else began to speak, you felt Logan’s hand at the back of your head, gently playing with your hair. Your face was pink - he was being too nice.

A short while later, you were sitting on the couch beside him, listening to someone’s drawn out story that you stopped paying attention to after six minutes.

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Logan uttered unceremoniously and stood from the couch. He disappeared into the house and not even a minute later, another guy came to sit in his spot.

“Hey,” he put his arm around the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You looked at the fingers grazing your shoulder and sat forward to shrug them off, “nope.”

He told you his name and you couldn’t have cared any less, deciding to actually tune back into the story being told rather than converse with him. He was alright looking, but his approach was far too off putting. 

“So, did you come alone?”

You rolled your eyes at his question, opening your mouth to answer before he cut you off.

“Cause It looks like it, and I can’t stand to see a pretty girl alone.”

You groaned in disgust, hoping if you were dry enough in your answers, he’d leave you be.

“mhm.”

It wasn’t really an answer to anything, just a noise of affirmation. You hoped he’d get the hint then, but of course, he didn’t. In what would probably be the stupidest thing he’d done that night, the guy moved his arm from the back of the couch so he could squeeze your thigh. Right as you were about to tell him to fuck off, you saw a hand grip his shoulder from behind. Logan was leaning over the sofa, bringing his face a little lower so he wouldn’t cause a scene, his dog tags hanging when he leaned forward. He had a death grip on the guy's shoulder while he used his other hand to steady himself against the sofa. 

“Hey, bub.”

The guy looked a little terrified, to say the least, but Logan didn’t let up there.

“Do you always go around hittin’ on people’s wives? Or is it just mine?”

His eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to run but that wasn’t going to happen as long as he was in his grip. 

“I-I didn’t, uh, I didn’t know she - “ the guy sputtered, trying to nervously laugh it off.

“Mhm. Hey, tell you what - why don’t you leave my girl alone and maybe I’ll give you a five minute head start to get the fuck out of here.”

He let go of his shoulder and that was enough to drive him away, the guy scurrying to his feet and finding somewhere else to mingle.

You didn’t know why you found yourself smiling the moment he’d said ‘my girl’. You rid yourself of it with a shake of your head, reminding yourself you were there to do a job.

“Hey,” Logan leaned himself down even further so he could whisper, “I gotta show you something, c’mere.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him but got up to follow. He stopped in the hallway in front of the bathroom, looked around to see if anyone would notice you, and promptly dragged you in with him before closing and locking the door. He hit the light switch and you looked around.

“Do you always take girls to the bathroom on first dates?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“You’d have to go out with me to find out,” he remarked, “besides, it’s not like that. Look.”

You watched him get low to the ground to open the cupboard under the sink and you crouched with him, following his pointing finger to the wood paneling in the back. It looked like a fake back - a board that appeared to be the back of the cabinet but definitely had something behind it. There was a sliver of metal visible behind it when you shined your phone’s flashlight.

“I figured we should look everywhere, so while I was in here I was checking it out - saw that. You think that’s it?”

“Could be,” you answered honestly, “that, or it’s some sort of electrical box we’re about to rip out of the wall. It’s an odd hiding spot for a safe.”

“Not really. Think about it - where's the first place you’d look for a safe?”

“Bedroom or office, maybe.”

“Right, and where's one of the last places you’d check?” he gestured to the open cabinet.

“Under…the sink,” you realized aloud, looking between him and the wooden board. 

“Exactly,” he nodded, swiping the contents of the cabinet onto the floor to gain access, “here’s the thing, though - I’m too big to get in there.”

He could maybe stick his head in, but in order to duck under the pipes from the sink, he’d need to have shoulders that were much less broad.

You sighed, knowing what that meant.

“Alright, alright - move. This better be it.”

You reluctantly crawled under the sink and into the cabinet on your hands and knees. You yanked the wooden board with all your strength and it came free, revealing a metal safe.

“Got it! You were right, it’s the safe.”

Logan simply hummed in response, clearing his throat. You figured he’d be a little more enthusiastic. 

Truthfully, he was too busy staring at your ass in the nice pants you were wearing to pay attention. When he heard your voice, he shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thoughts he was having about you so he could think of a response. He’d always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you all dressed up drove him a little crazy.

“Yeah? Is it locked?”

You inspected the metal box, holding the absurdly large padlock hooked around the latch that opened the door.

“Uh-huh. Padlock - we’re gonna need the numbers.”

“No, we don’t. Bring it out.”

You did as you were told, crawling back out with the safe under your arm and placing it on the bathroom rug. It was a pretty small one - probably a little bigger than a basketball.

Logan picked it up and set it on the counter beside the sink. He unsheathed a claw and sliced through the metal latch that held the door closed in one swift motion.

“Well, yeah - that's one way to do it,” you shrugged.

“Easiest way to do it.”

He reached in and took out the small glass vial. He put it inside the pocket of his suit jacket.

“What if it falls out?” you asked.

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Alright, kid,” he sighed, “what do you want me to do with it? ‘Cause i’m sure as hell not lettin’ you carry it.”

You rolled your eyes and looked him over.

“How about you wrap it in your jacket, like cushioning?”

“Fine.”

He reluctantly shrugged off his jacket, keeping the vial in the pocket but folding the jacket into a ball. You hastily replaced everything in the cabinet, safe included, and you followed Logan as he opened the door to step out - only to be met with another guest, her fist raised to knock.

“Oh! Dear,” she chuckled, clearly a little startled. She looked to the both of you, a grin appearing on her face, “Young love, what a gift. Don’t worry, I didn't see a thing!”

You shot her a confused look, chuckling nervously before you happened to catch a glance of your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Your hair was mussed and your blouse was untucked on one side from having to bend up and down. Logan had taken off his suit jacket and you realized what it was she was implying.

“Oh, oh - we weren’t -”

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded as you stepped out, “like I said - my lips are sealed.”

She shot you both a wink, went into the bathroom and shut the door.

“She thought we were fucking in there,” you mumbled, eyes wide in embarrassment.

“Is that so bad?”

You snapped your head towards him, a confused look on your face, “what?”

Logan shrugged, “we're supposed to be husband and wife, aren't we?”

You shook your head in disbelief and decided to ignore him, both of you joining the other guests back in the living room. Dinner was finally ready and everyone took their seats in the dining room. There were a couple of things on the table you couldn’t even pronounce.

“Is that…meat? A vegetable?” you leaned over to logan, whispering behind your hand and nodding towards one of the dishes.

“Hell if I know,” he muttered, “I don’t think I wanna find out.”

You both piled on the few things onto your plates, poking at it with your forks.

“Do you wanna get a pizza after this?” you whispered.

“Definitely,” he replied, pushing around an unrecognizable sludge with his utensil.

“So, how long did you two say you’ve been together?” You both looked up, only to be met with the hostess’ stare. You had never mentioned how long you’d been ‘together’. Her smile was polite but her stare was piercing, as if she knew something she was not supposed to.

“About three years,” you replied, looking to him for back up.

“We got married a couple months in,” he added, grinning at you. Again, he had that look - like he wasn’t just pretending to be in love with you. 

“We were in this restaurant - this little place we go to all the time,” he kept talking, “and I just told her I thought she was beautiful, that I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“Really? I have to say,” she began, sipping from her glass,” for a young couple who got together so quickly, you two don’t seem very affectionate towards each other.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You shot Logan a panicked look, but he appeared unbothered.

“Ah,” he clicked his tongue,” it’s this rule she’s got about PDA. I’d be all over her if I could.”

You hated the way your face became hot. You couldn’t tell if he was leaning into it to be convincing or flirting just to make you flustered. You heard a muffled snicker from somewhere across the table and your eyes shifted to the source - it was the woman from earlier, the one who’d thought you and Logan were getting busy in the bathroom. 

“Can I at least get a kiss, babe?” Logan cooed, a smug look on his face.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“Being a husband,” he replied in a hush voice. 

It all happened within seconds. His hands cupped your face, warm and soft, and he leaned in to plant a kiss right on your lips. It was gentle and you melted into his touch, kissing him back. When he pulled away, you were still stunned, your lips parted in surprise. 

Logan kissed you.

His lips tasted like the remnants of cigar smoke. His touch was nearly intoxicating, like you were drunk off just the way he held you. You inhaled sharply and finally turned your face out of his grip, eyes glued to the table cloth. You had almost forgotten where you were - feeling like the room was spinning - and you let out a nervous laugh.

The topic of discussion moved on quickly and it seemed like any suspicion the hostess had about either of you had dissipated. You and Logan decided to say your goodbyes immediately after dinner, making some excuse about having to wake up early the next morning. When you stepped out and he shut the door behind him, you couldn’t hold your tongue any longer.

“What the hell was that?” you spat, eyebrows knitted. 

“What was what?”

He was completely nonchalant as he continued to walk next to you towards his truck. 

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He stopped with you at the passenger side of the truck, standing in front of the door so you couldn’t get in.

“What if I wanted to?”

You swallowed hard. It was dead silent outside, save for the chirping of crickets.

“What?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, chewing his bottom lip, “I wanted to kiss you.”

You didn't know what to say. He hated you, didn’t he?

“Logan, I - “

“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in there, pretending to be together.”

His voice almost sounded strained, like he was pleading.

“You don’t even like me, you hate me,” you deflected, but he shook his head.

“That’s not true. I never hated you. I figured you’d hate me after I acted like an asshole when we met, so I went with it. I don’t hate you. I think you’re funny, I think you’re pretty - I just never really knew how to tell you that.”

When you only stared in response, he moved aside and opened your door with a defeated sigh. You were still speechless but you hesitantly slid into the seat anyway, letting him close the door. When he got into the driver's side and started the ignition, you couldn’t stop looking over at him.

“So, you like me,” you finally said aloud.

He kept his eyes glued to the road when he responded in a low voice, “why do you think I bother you so much?”

“You pick on me because you like me? Like a little kid?” you couldn’t help the amusement in your voice as your confused expression turned to a smile.

You saw him bite back a smile that mirrored yours, shaking his head.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, you’re not too bad, you know, and I guess you’re kind of handsome.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mhm, but don’t make me take it back.”

The rest of the short ride home was spent in comfortable silence, both of you seemingly trying to figure out where you’d go from there. When Logan parked his truck and got out, he came around your side to open your door. You hopped out and he shut the door for you, but grabbed your hand before you started to walk away.

“Hey, c’mere for a second.”

You let him pull you a little closer, intertwining both your hands. The evening air was chilly and you could see his breath in the air when he spoke.

“Can I kiss you, for real this time?”

You could feel your heart beating fast and you nodded eagerly. The second you did, his lips were already on yours. His hands let go of yours to settle in your hair, threading the strands between his fingers. His touch felt warm in comparison to the cold air and you leaned further into him with your hands gripping his jacket to pull him close. When he pulled away, he rested his hands on your waist and planted another kiss on your forehead. 

“Maybe we could, uh, try again,” he cleared his throat, running his hands up and down your sides, “be nice to each other this time.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t hate Logan, even though you tried. 

You couldn’t hate his perfect hair.

You couldn’t hate his sweet voice.

You couldn’t hate his kind smile.

You couldn’t hate the way he dressed.

You just couldn’t hate Logan Howlett. 

So, you kissed him again, smiling against his lips and letting him hold you as close as possible, almost lifting you off the ground with his arms around you.

“We should probably go inside, huh?” you mumbled when you leaned back, lightly scratching the mutton chops on the side of his face in an affectionate manner. Those were another thing you’d pretended to hate - probably because you were embarrassed to admit you thought he pulled them off well.

“As you wish, Mrs. Smith.”

He held his hand out for you to take and you did, eyeing the ring on your finger.

“You know,” you held up your hand to show him the jewelry, “I think i’ll keep this.”

He grinned, bringing your knuckles to his lips and leaving a chaste kiss, “I think i'll keep mine, too.”

You were both still holding hands when you went inside, blushing like two little kids. You were so engrossed in one another that you didn’t notice Jean and Ororo in the hallway ahead of you as he leaned down to kiss you again. Now that he knew he could actually do it, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll take it your night went well,” Ororo giggled, Jean doing the same. You jumped a little in surprise, covering your pink face in mild embarrassment. 

“What changed? I thought you hated each other,” the latter of the two asked.

“Eh, he’s not so bad,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders.

‘’Turns out, we make a pretty good fake husband and wife,” he explained, “I guess we got a little too carried away with it.”

As the two of you walked hand in hand further down the hall, Ororo elbowed Jean lightly, leaning over to whisper behind her hand.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

A/N: If you've made it this far, thank you sm for reading!! I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep this as is or add smut so I'll leave it how it is and if enough people ask for it, I can make a part two <3 pls reblog and like if you enjoyed/want more and my inbox is always open :)

Edit: here is the link to part 2!

[theworld-accordingtocasey]

smut where he gets his multiple times on several different occasions throughout the story before it gets to where I get mine <<<

🙄 i don’t read fics so that everything can revolve around the guy’s pleasure like real life

[dirkxcaliborn]

Reddit is absolutely insane sometimes. "my boyfriend gets sad when I don't want to watch him play video games and doesn't feel like playing anymore."

"Your boyfriend is a childish control freak" < not even paraphrased. That's literally how the comment started word for word.

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[midnightorchids]

i am frothing at the mouth at firefighter!Jason🤤

I’ m imagining Jason accidentally bumping into reader who so happens to be a school teacher and he can’t help but flirt just a little bit whilst the class of kids he’s educating on fire safety look at them both with wide eyes😃

I absolutely love this idea so much! I wrote something based off of this ask and low key went a little overboard with world building, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Field trip mornings always created an exciting buzz amongst your students. Their gentle chatter filled the chilly parking lot of the old school and you giggled at their enthusiasm.

The moment brought a sense of nostalgia, it engulfed your heart in a warm embrace. It reminded you of your days in elementary school. The memories of bitter autumn mornings and your teacher’s frustrated attitudes played before your eyes. You smiled thinking about your past and how those small experiences inspired you to pursue a teaching career.

This field trip was a special one as it happened to fall on Halloween Day. The children complained about having to come to school on the holiday, but as soon as you mentioned that they could come costumed, the excitement was back. Your third grade class did not disappoint, they were all dressed in bright costumes for their first ever visit to the fire station.

The bus ride was fairly normal. The children were a mix of both calm and rowdy. You intervened every once in a while when their noise level got too loud, otherwise the students were well behaved.

Entering the fire station was like entering a dream. The foyer of the building was warm and inviting. The heat radiated off of the walls and it made you slip off your coat. There were Halloween decorations coating the pale walls and you watched your children ooh and ahh with excitement.

Your eyes were still scanning the room when a tall man walked over towards you. He wore his uniform around his waist with a black compression shirt that hugged his body. You could see a sleeve of tattoos on display and a thin silver chain peaking through from under his shirt. Despite not wearing your coat anymore, you still felt your body heat up.

You stared at his name tag—Jason, it read. You recalled the name from the numerous emails and phone calls you had exchanged in order to make this tour happen. You always thought his voice was sweet, but you had never imagined him looking like this.

He was attractive—breathtakingly so. His eyes radiated a bright shade of emerald and were full of life. He had heavy bags under his eyes, which, you assumed, were from working long hours at the station. His facial features were sharp. His cheekbones stood high and his hooked nose sat perfectly poised on his face. He looked like a Roman sculpture. Your eyes trailed down to his lips and you noticed a small scar on the right side of his mouth. You felt your fingers twitch, almost as if they were itching to trace the mark.

Jason cleared his throat, pulling you out of your deep trance and you felt goosebumps trailing your skin. You quickly spoke up, trying to ease the tension.

“Hello, my apologies, I completely zoned out, it’s been a long morning,” you said, desperately hoping that he believed the poor excuse you made to justify openly checking out the man.

You suddenly felt even more uncomfortable, you looked to your side only to notice all of your students staring right at you. You felt yourself getting flustered again, but quickly moved past the feeling. You extended your hand to shake Jason’s calloused ones. His eyes raked your figure and he gave you a sly smile.

“It’s okay,” he responded gently. “Shall we get started with the visit,” he changed the subject quickly and you couldn’t be happier.

Jason turned his attention towards the children and greeted them with an enthusiastic expression, his passion for his job clearly reflected in his way of speaking.

He led your tiny class towards the breakout rooms of the fire station. On the way to the rooms, Jason pointed out one of the girl’s Wonder Woman costumes and he shrieked in an endearing sort of way. He kneeled to the girl’s height and handed her a small sticker. She smiled, thanking him. Jason then locked his eyes with yours and called the girl pretty, and you knew at that moment that the comment was not only for her, but for you too. You felt a rush of heat run through your cheeks and up to your ears.

The breakout rooms were similar to the foyer of the fire station. There were little skeletons propped up against the whiteboards and small jack-o-lanterns on each desk.

Once the children had settled, Jason handed the rest of them with fun stickers and pamphlets about fire safety for them to take home. He joked with the kids, and managed to sneak in a fire pun every now and then. He was a good listener, he paid attention to everything the children had to share. You turned your head to the side and silently admired his ability to work with the kids; not everyone could handle a group of eight-year-olds first thing in the morning.

Jason quickly gave the class a presentation about the dangers of fires and the importance of protecting yourselves when dealing with hot objects. It was odd, he wasn’t even trying to hide his flirtatious comments, he’d stare right at you upon the very mention of the word “hot.”

You noticed Jason had a habit of walking around the room, maybe it was to keep the students engaged or maybe he did it for his own reasons. But it had got to the point where he’d brush past you, almost purposefully. The parts of your skin that made contact with his body were on fire.

After the presentation, Jason decided it would be best if the kids got a quick break before continuing the tour of the fire station. You happily agreed, needing a break yourself.

You sat on a chair close to the exit, when one of your students came to you on the verge of tears—the culprit being a paper cut. You cooed at the child, gently cupping their much smaller hand and guiding them to your first aid kit. Unknown to you, Jason was watching the interaction play out.

He hadn’t known you long, but he thought you were stunning. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way your features sat against your skin, and the way you spoke with such eloquence. It was everything he found attractive, but seeing you showcase such patience with the “wounded” child, made his heart race. Not only were you beautiful, but you were kind—to Jason, in the very little time he had known you, you felt like an angel.

“Do you like them,” a small voice suddenly spoke. It was the Wonder Woman from earlier and Jason smiled.

“Ah the lovely Wonder Woman is back,” he replied, ignoring the child’s question. The little girl giggled.

“I think you have a crush on my teacher,” Jason raised his eyebrow. What did this little girl know about crushes? The child laughed again and said, “I think she might like you back.”

“What makes you say that,” Jason inquired, now suddenly interested. The little girl shrugged and made a face.

“I dunno,” and with that, she ran off, leaving Jason confused.

After the break, Jason guided the students to the main hall to show them the fire trucks. The energy was high in the room, the kids were beaming with excitement. The tension between you and Jason only seemed to rise though. With every passing flirtatious comment and every lingering look, you felt yourself getting more anxious. How inappropriate would it be if you asked for his number at the end of the field trip… you caught yourself thinking.

It was as if Jason had read your mind because at the end of the tour, he pulled you aside to thank you for bringing in the children and letting him have the opportunity to teach them. You grinned and also expressed your gratitude. You began to walk towards the students, when Jason grabbed your wrist and held onto you gently. He slipped a piece of paper into your palm and sent you a quick wink before heading out.

You stared at the small paper and slowly opened it.

Inside, the words read in messy lines, “call me,” with a string of numbers. You looked into the direction that Jason left, and smiled to yourself.

You were definitely going to call him.

[belqva]

— NO OTHER HEART ꪆৎ ˚⋅ [lando norris]

pairing: lando norris x reader

synopsis: you comfort lando after the events of the brazilian grand prix

word count: 0.8k

a/n: you know what they say the devil works hard but tumblr writers work harder! english is not my first language!! there isn’t much to say really the fic speaks for itself, I’m absolutely heartbroken for Lando 💔 as always my recs are open!

You step quietly from the bathroom, padding softly across the cool floor as you return to the hotel room you’re sharing with Lando. The evening Sao Paulo air hums faintly through the window, thick with the memory of a long, disappointing race. One night here before flying back to England, and it’s clear he’s wrestling with every second of it. The race weekend just… didn’t come together. Barely scraping into Q2, battling through a tough race, and ending P6 while Max took the win. His championship dreams seem to be slipping through his fingers like sand, fading at lightspeed.

You open the door gently, taking in the quiet expanse of the hotel room and finding Lando on the edge of the bed, his back to you, head buried in his hands. Tension radiates from him, heavy and unmoving, and it tugs at your heart.

Without saying anything, you step closer, placing a careful hand on his shoulder, light as a whisper. “Lan…” Your voice is soft, a thread in the quiet.

He lifts his head, meeting your gaze with an expression so blank, it’s like he’s hollowed out. No anger, no frustration—just this bleak emptiness that stirs something deep inside you. You sit beside him, keeping your arm wrapped around him, grounding him, holding him steady.

“Lando, I—” you begin, but he cuts you off, his tone edged with exhaustion.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.” He lets out a frustrated breath, and you feel his shoulder tense under your hand.

You turn to face him, gently coaxing his chin up to look at you. “Lando, I know you don’t want to talk. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.” Your words are quiet but firm, steady, because he needs that right now.

His gaze flickers, a brief flash of anger, though you know it’s not really aimed at you. “There’s nothing to fix, Y/N. It’s gone. All of it, because of my driving,” he snaps, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. His anger wavers, softening just at the edges, but it stings all the same.

You take a steadying breath, resisting the urge to match his frustration. Instead, you lean closer, voice gentle yet unwavering. “You don’t get it, Lando.”

He huffs, his tone almost mocking, almost defensive. “What don’t I get, huh? If you’re so smart, then explain it to me.”

The weight of his disappointment is heavy between you both, and for a second, you hesitate. But then you see it—behind the frustration, the anger, the shame. He looks like a kicked puppy, lost and vulnerable, and it breaks your heart.

“Lando, it’s not your fault,” you say, your voice firm but full of warmth. You feel him still, his eyes flickering as he processes your words. “It’s not. The team made mistakes, the setup wasn’t right. Yes, maybe you slipped up, but you gave it everything you had.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring down, lost in his thoughts. Finally, he mumbles, barely audible, “But it wasn’t enough.”

You take his face gently in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me, Lando. I will love you no matter what. Championship or no championship, none of that changes how I see you. I love you if you’re rich, if you’re poor, if you’re old, if you’re tired. None of this changes what you are to me.”

Your voice wavers, a rawness creeping in as your own emotions surface. “This hurts me as much as it hurts you. Seeing you like this, feeling this pain—I wish I could take it away. But this is motorsport, Lando. This is Formula 1. It’s brutal, and it’s unforgiving, and I know you know that.”

His lips part, his eyes glossing with unshed tears as he finally allows himself to feel everything he’s been holding back. The first tear slips free, tracing a line down his cheek, and you open your arms. He doesn’t hesitate—he just collapses against you, burying his face in your shoulder, gripping you like you’re the last solid thing in a world that’s crumbling around him.

You stroke his hair, the familiar scent of him filling your senses as you hold him, feeling his silent sobs shake against you. “I will love you, Lando Norris, no matter what,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “I need you to know that. You’re my anchor just as much as I’m yours.”

You both stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the silence speak louder than words. You bury your face in his messy curls, and together, you grieve the almost-end of a season that held so much promise. But despite everything—the heartbreak, the frustration, the unfulfilled dreams—the love between you is fierce and unwavering, a light that refuses to go out.

And in this moment, with the world shut out, you’re two pieces of the same soul, holding each other up, finding strength in the love you share. Because even when everything else falls away, even when the races are lost and the dreams go unrealized, you’re here. And that’s all that matters.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

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THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

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