#if you need me to narrow it down I can also say

[mmso-notlikethat]

Bucktommy Ι WC: 3400 Ι Christmas fic Ι cw: unintentional self-harm

I might have some kind of fixation with writing them drunk but well... I love seeing them messy and pathetic sue me 😞

also on ao3

"Bar fights on Christmas Eve. Why is this a thing?" Hen muttered.

Eddie adjusted his gloves, surveying the scene. "Maybe Santa didn’t bring what they wanted."

Chimney chuckled. "Or someone sang ‘Last Christmas’ one too many times."

Buck stayed quiet, his mind already churning with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. As they approached, a police officer waved them over.

"This one’s yours... I think," the officer said, jerking his thumb toward someone sitting on the curb. Buck’s stomach sank as soon as he recognized the messy mop of dark hair.

"Tommy?" Buck’s voice came out in disbelief.

Hen tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Oh no.”

Tommy looked up, his face marked with a bruise along his cheekbone and a faint cut near his eyebrow. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled and slightly damp as if someone had spilled a drink on him. Despite all of this, he grinned widely. "Heyyyyy! Look who’s here! Evan! No Buck!! My favorite ex!"

Chimney blinked, caught between disbelief and amusement. "Okay, Christmas just got interesting."

Buck groaned, already dreading whatever explanation was coming. "What happened?"

Tommy tried moving, the cuffs clinking as he gestured grandly. "Do you know how great you are, Evan? You’re like—like Santa, but with better arms!"

"Okay, he’s drunk," Eddie said, trying—and failing—to hide his amusement.

Hen smirked. "No kidding, detective."

The officer sighed. "Bar fight broke out. He didn’t throw any punches, but he got hit, refused medical attention, and wouldn’t leave when we asked. Kept insisting he was fine."

"I am fine," Tommy slurred, his voice betraying just how much he wasn’t. "They didn’t mean it. They were just… passionate about pool tables."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "They punched you in the face."

"And the ribs," Tommy added cheerfully. "But I didn’t hit back! Isn’t that the Christmas spirit?"

Chimney snorted, already enjoying this far more than he should. "You got sucker-punched, and your takeaway is holiday cheer?"

"Forgiveness is key, Howie," Tommy declared dramatically. He leaned back slightly, his cuffs clinking. "I’m basically a saint."

Hen crouched in front of him, tilting her head. "How much did you drink?"

Tommy squinted, holding up his fingers. "Two? Maybe four? Could be six. Math’s hard."

The officer crossed his arms, visibly irritated. "He was trying to mediate, but when things got heated, one of the guys turned on him. Said something about him 'looking smug'—whatever that means."

Tommy perked up. "I do look smug! It’s my default face."

"Congratulations," Buck muttered. "You got punched for your great personality."

Hen smirked. "To be fair, it’s a punchable face."

"Thanks, Hen. Love you too," Tommy shot back, swaying slightly. "But seriously, I didn’t even fight back. I just told them to calm down, and, bam, fist to the face. It was… educational."

Eddie crossed his arms. "You learned nothing."

"I learned not to stand too close to drunk strangers holding beer bottles," Tommy said wisely.

The officer announced. "Look, if you can take him off our hands, I’m willing to let him go. Just… keep him out of trouble."

Tommy perked up. "See? I’m very cooperative. Just ask—what’s your name again? Officer Friendly?"

Buck said shocked and unbelieving “Let him go? You said he didn’t even hit back! Why is he even cuffed?? Why didn’t you just let him leave?”

The officer shrugged. "He was being stubborn. Kept saying he was fine, didn’t need help, and that he was 'the spirit of Christmas.' You try reasoning with that."

Tommy nodded proudly. "I am the spirit of Christmas. Forgiveness, love, and mild head injuries."

Chimney shook his head, grinning. "Oh, this is gold. Someone should write this down."

Eddie crouched beside Tommy, examining his bruised face. "Doesn’t look like it’s broken, but you’ll need an ice pack.”

The officer muttered something under his breath while uncuffing him, and Eddie stood up to help Tommy stand.

"You’re lucky they didn’t haul you in," Eddie said, steadying him. "But seriously, you okay?"

Tommy waved a hand, swaying slightly. "Never better. Just a little… dented."

"Dented," Buck repeated, his jaw tightening as he noticed the way Tommy flinched when Eddie accidentally brushed his side. "We’re checking those ribs now.”

Tommy looked at him with an exaggerated pout. "Evan, you’re still bossy. I missed that."

Buck rolled his eyes, biting back the mix of worry and frustration bubbling inside him. "Let’s go."

Tommy suddenly leaned toward Buck, sniffing dramatically. "You smell good. Like cookies. Did you bake? You totally baked."

"Sit down, Tommy," Buck said, guiding him toward the ambulance. "And stop sniffing me."

"Can we keep him like this?" Hen asked. "He’s much more entertaining."

"Yeah, it’s like finding a unicorn," Eddie added. "Drunk, unfiltered Tommy. Never thought I’d see the day."

Once Tommy was helped into the ambulance, Buck followed close behind, his jaw tight with concern. Tommy sat on the gurney, looking dazed but still trying to joke.

"See? I’m fine. You’re overreacting. Classic Evan."

"Take your shirt off," Buck said, already pulling gloves on. "We need to check for bruising."

Tommy leaned back against the gurney, his grin widening lazily. "Oooh you are a medic now? If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for the whole Christmas emergency."

"Tommy, stop," Buck said, exasperated, his voice sharp with worry. "Just let me check."

Tommy shook his head, folding his arms defiantly. "Nope. Not letting you play doctor."

Hen stepped in, putting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. "Let the professionals handle this, Buck."

"I can handle it," Buck argued, his eyes fixed on Tommy. "He’s hurt."

Chimney appeared on Buck’s other side, smirking. "He’s always been stubborn. You’re not gonna win this one. Let us do our job."

Buck hesitated, his hands falling to his sides as Hen gently nudged him out of the way. She crouched in front of Tommy, her voice calm but commanding. "Alright, Tommy. You don’t get a choice. Shirt off, now."

Tommy sighed dramatically, wincing slightly as he pulled off his jacket and shirt. Underneath, dark bruises were spreading across his ribs and a faint red mark lingered along his shoulder.

Hen frowned. "That looks nasty. You’re definitely going to the hospital."

"It’s just a bruise," Tommy said with a wave of his hand. "Tough guy stuff, you know."

Chimney raised an eyebrow. "Tough guys don’t take punches like that without flinching. Which you did, by the way."

"That’s because I’m cool under pressure," Tommy said with exaggerated flair.

Buck, standing nearby, crossed his arms tightly, his jaw set. "Cool under pressure doesn’t mean you don’t need help. You’re going to the hospital, Tommy."

Tommy tilted his head toward Buck, his smile turning genuine.

Buck didn’t wait for him to speak, his eyes flicking to the bruises before meeting Tommy’s gaze. "Let’s just get you taken care of."

Hen cleared her throat. "Alright, playtime’s over. Chim, get the monitor. We’re not taking chances with those ribs."

Tommy slumped back against the gurney, his grin faint but still there. "You guys really are like family. Dysfunctional, but family. Awesome."

As Hen and Chimney worked, Buck hovered nearby, his concern palpable. Tommy—even drunk—noticed, his voice softening. "Hey, Evan. I’m okay."

"You don’t look okay," Buck said, his voice clipped.

"But I will be," Tommy murmured. "Thanks… to you and all of you."

The ambulance hummed quietly as it crossed the dark streets, the faint sound of sirens cutting through the stillness. Buck sat on the bench across from Tommy, his eyes fixed on him as Hen drove and Chimney worked on notes up front. Tommy leaned back against the gurney, arms folded across his chest, his bruised face turned toward the ceiling.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Buck asked, breaking the silence.

Tommy tilted his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? Didn’t the officer give you the play-by-play? It’s pretty simple, guy punches me, I forgive him, everyone moves on."

Buck’s jaw tightened. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, you gotta be more specific, Evan," Tommy said, the grin widening. "I’ve had a lot of adventures tonight. Bar fights, karaoke, getting arrested… It’s been a full Christmas Eve."

Buck leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I mean why you were even there. Why were you drinking alone? Why did you let someone hit you and just—wave it off?"

Tommy shrugged, his expression still light. "Maybe I was spreading Christmas cheer. You know, turn the other cheek and all that."

"Tommy," Buck said, his voice sharper now, "this isn’t funny."

"Neither are you, but we all have our flaws," Tommy quipped, winking. "Come on, lighten up. It’s Christmas."

Buck’s patience frayed. "You’re covered in bruises and sitting in an ambulance, and you’re joking. Why can’t you just be serious now for five minutes?"

The grin on Tommy’s face faltered, and he turned his head away, looking at the far wall of the ambulance. His voice, when it came, was quieter. "Because serious didn’t help."

The tension in the small space grew, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Buck exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to rein in his frustration. His eyes drifted to Tommy again, and that’s when he noticed it—his eyes, red and puffy, like he’d been crying before the fight.

"Tommy…" Buck started, his voice softer. "Have you been—"

"Don’t," Tommy interrupted, his tone flat. "Just… don’t."

Buck fell silent, studying him closer. The faint hollows beneath Tommy’s cheekbones were more pronounced than he remembered, and the way his jacket hung slightly looser over his frame caught his attention. He wasn’t skinny, but he was leaner—more muscular, yes, but not in a healthy way. It looked like someone who’d been skipping meals and pushing too hard.

"You’re not eating enough," Buck said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Tommy glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t realize you were also a nutritionist now."

Buck’s concern only deepened. "You’re overworking yourself. You’ve always done that, but this—this is different."

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he looked away again, his voice barely audible. "I’m fine, Evan."

"No, you’re not," Buck shot back, but Tommy didn’t respond. He stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the window as the city lights blurred by.

After a long stretch of silence, Tommy murmured so quietly that Buck almost missed it. "I HATE Christmas. Stupid captain—‘You are taking Christmas off, Kinard.’ Stupid, stupid."

Buck glanced at him, startled by the soft admission. Tommy’s head lolled slightly to the side, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, but the slurred bitterness in his tone cut through the haze of drunkenness.

“Stupid Christmas. Stupid captain made me take it off. What else was I supposed to do?”

"Tommy…" Buck started, but Tommy didn’t look at him. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible and leaned back against the gurney, his expression shutting down entirely.

The ambulance fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the engine. Buck leaned back against the bench, his hands gripping his knees as he tried to process what Tommy had said—or what he didn’t say. He wanted to push, to get answers, but the look on Tommy’s face—the shut-down, closed-off expression—stopped him. For now, at least.

…

The fluorescent lights in the hospital room buzzed as the doctor stood at the foot of Tommy’s bed, flipping through his chart. Tommy sat up slightly, one hand rubbing his forehead as he squinted at the doctor. He was more coherent now, though his eyes still held a hint of fatigue.

“Here’s what we’re looking at,” the doctor began. “Bruised cheek bone, two stitches on the cut above your eyebrow, bruised ribs, and—” he paused, giving Tommy a pointed look, “—a mild concussion. Turns out you did hit your head during the fight. But with how drunk you were, it wasn’t immediately obvious if it was the alcohol or a concussion causing your symptoms.”

Tommy groaned, leaning back against the pillows. “Great. So I’m a walking disaster. Is that what you’re saying?”

The doctor didn’t smile. “I’m saying we’re keeping you overnight for observation. It’s standard with head injuries, and given your condition—”

“I’m fine,” Tommy interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I don’t need to stay here. I just need some water, maybe a snack, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You have a concussion and bruised ribs. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Debate? Come on,” Tommy said, his voice edging on pleading. “I’ve had worse. I’m a firefighter, I know what I’m saying. Just let me go home, and I’ll sleep it off.”

“You’re staying,” Buck’s voice cut through the room before the doctor could respond.

Tommy turned his head sharply, his tired eyes narrowing. “Why are you even here?” he snapped. “Just go. You got me checked in, that’s enough. Thank you very much!”

Buck didn’t flinch, didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he took a step closer, the tension in his face eased, despite the frustration still lingering in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re staying the night. End of discussion.”

Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing as the motion aggravated his bruised ribs. “Unbelievable. You think you can just waltz in here and—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted again. “You need to rest. Stop arguing.”

For a moment, Tommy just stared at him, his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t have the energy to keep up the fight. He let out a frustrated sigh, looking away. “Fine. Whatever.”

Buck nodded once, then turned toward the door. “I’m going to tell everyone your state and that you’re staying the night.”

That stopped Tommy cold. “Everyone?” His voice was sharper now, his head snapping back toward Buck.

Buck paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Everyone who needs to know.”

…

When Buck came back Tommy was lying back against the pillows, his face slightly turned to one side. His breathing was slow but uneven, like he was trying to stay awake despite the pull of exhaustion. Buck sat in the chair beside the bed, scrolling through his phone, his leg bouncing slightly in nervous habit.

Minutes passed, the quiet of the hospital only broken by the occasional beep from the monitor. Tommy stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at Buck, who hadn’t noticed he was awake. Tommy’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the familiar slope of his shoulders, the furrow of his brow as he focused on his screen. Finally, Tommy sighed, his voice soft and scratchy.

“Another Christmas at the hospital. Old habits die hard, huh?”

Buck’s head snapped up, startled. “Uh, you woke up.”

Tommy smiled faintly, shifting slightly on the bed. “Yeah, happens sometimes.”

Buck leaned forward, tucking his phone away. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Should I call the doctor?”

Tommy shook his head and immediately regretted it, wincing as pain shot through his temple. “Ow. Nope. Definitely no head shaking.”

Buck stood quickly, his concern sharpening. “You okay? Want me to get someone?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said, his voice sharp. He looked at Buck and gave a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks for staying, though. Uh… sorry about your shift.”

Buck moved to stand beside the bed, waving it off casually. “Bobby gave me the rest off. I’ll cover another shift later. It’s fine.”

Tommy winced again as he shifted to sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, sorry… you know you didn’t have to.”

Buck’s expression relaxed, but there was a weight to his gaze as he looked down at Tommy. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, without warning, Buck reached out, his hand brushing gently against Tommy’s bruised cheek.

Tommy froze, startled by the touch. His instinct was to lean back, but instead, he found himself leaning into Buck’s palm, almost without thinking. “Uh, what…”

“Tommy... you’re hurt,” Buck said, his voice quiet and firm.

Tommy blinked at him, then let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Duh.”

Buck didn’t move his hand, his thumb grazing just below the cut near Tommy’s eyebrow. “No, Tommy,” he said, his voice heavier now. “You’re hurt.”

The words landed with a weight that seemed to knock the air out of the room. Tommy stared up at him, his expression unreadable, until his eyes began to glisten. He blinked rapidly, turning his face slightly to avoid Buck’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

“You’re not,” Buck said, lowering his hand but not stepping away. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to push the emotion back down. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

Buck pulled the chair closer and sat down his eyes drifted to the bruises shadowing Tommy’s cheek and the faint red line where the stitches had been placed, “You don’t always have to handle it alone, you know. You can… let someone in. Let me in.”

For a long moment, Tommy didn’t respond. Then he exhaled slowly, leaning his head back against the pillow.

“I think I forgot how.” his voice quiet, almost fragile. It was the kind of admission that wasn’t meant to be heard aloud.

Buck’s chest tightened at the words. He gave a faint, sad smile. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Tommy’s gaze flicked toward him, a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe hope, but definitely vulnerability. It wasn’t a side of Tommy Buck had seen often, and it wasn’t one Tommy would have willingly shown under normal circumstances. But here, under the dim hospital lights, stripped of his usual defenses, he couldn’t hide.

Tommy shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of the hospital blanket, where Buck's hand rested. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he muttered, his tone lighter now, though the exhaustion still lingered.

Buck let out a small laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

Tommy smirked faintly at that, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Buck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because you need someone to be.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”

Buck’s response was immediate, no hesitation in it. “You do.”

For a moment, Tommy said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the faint glow of the city lights filtered through the blinds. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Buck straightened slightly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to be. I told you we’ll figure it out together.”

Tommy looked at him again, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, he nodded—just a small, almost imperceptible movement—and leaned his head back against the pillow once more.

Buck hesitated, then said quietly, “Uh… Merry Christmas…?”

The words seemed to break something loose in Tommy. He suddenly sat up, his movements sharp and panicked, a decision he regretted immediately. His face contorted in pain as he squeezed his eyes shut, a wince escaping his lips. “Shit,” he hissed, his hand instinctively clutching his side. “Shit, Evan, it’s Christmas!”

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the outburst. “Tommy—”

“You should be with your family, not in a hospital!” Tommy’s voice cracked slightly, and his hands trembled as he rubbed at his face. His breathing hitched, and for a moment, it looked like he was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t mean to— You shouldn’t be— God, this is all—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted softly, standing and taking a step closer to the bed.

Tommy shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You should be with your family. Or—hell, with the 118—they’re your family anyway.”

Buck sighed, ducking his head for a moment as he tried to steady himself. Then, with quiet determination, he moved closer, cupping Tommy’s face with both hands and gently forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Tommy,” he said firmly, his voice steady and filled with certainty. “Don’t you get it? I am exactly where I want to be.”

[revelboo]

AAA I absolutely adore how you write the scavengers, gave me a newfound appreciation for Spinister 🥹

He’s an adorable dummy. I wish IDW had gotten into what exactly happened to him, because he has his moments where you can tell he was brilliant at one point

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 11

Scavengers x Reader

• “No Spin,” you say, twisting so your back is to the screen as you sit in the crook of his arm where he’s sprawled on the floor. “That’s not-well, I mean some people might, but most people don’t drag the delivery guy and the hot neighbor in the house for a threesome.” Trying to figure out how to explain while also trying your hardest to ignore the over the top moans and wet sounds of the video. Hating that you keep looking despite your insistence that it’s filth. And really hating that you’re not helping fight Swindle’s claim that humans are just obsessed with sex by looking. “Porn’s not exactly the best example of human relationships.” And there’s no way to frame this in your head to make it better. You like your guys, especially since being able to understand them. This, though? Their apparent fascination with sex? You don’t get. Maybe it’s like a train wreck to them. Absolutely horrific even as it’s fascinating.

• Head tipping as he divides his attention between the video and you, Spinister rubs the side of his masked face against your shoulder. “But there’s a name for it,” he says. Watching your little face redden, he vents against you. Unbothered when you push against him with a soft hand, aware of the faint change to your scent that he needs to investigate. Knows you’re unhappy with him, if the details are a bit hazy. Things getting confused in his processor sometimes. But it’s a little easier to focus when you’re around, gravitating toward you, the softness of you in his servos, the sound of your voice. “Interfacing is painful for humans?” He asks, optics narrowing when one of the humans screams.

• “No, it’s-,” you begin, eyes closing because this conversation is painful. “Sex feels good. I guess we’re just vocal?” You mumble, mortified as Spinister tips his head to see you when you weakly shrug and then slides you out of your warm spot to bump his masked jaw against you, rubbing over your legs and belly with his face like an overly affectionate cat while you try to fend him off when he just rumbles at you. And that porn actress is screaming ‘yes!’ over and over. “Pitiful little spikes on them,” Crankcase adds and you look up at him from upside down. Catching your eye, he gestures at the screen. Risking a peek and shivering as some new guy, the pool boy maybe, bends the actress over the edge of the bed and fucks her. Spikes? He can’t be talking about what you think he is. When you frown at him, he traces a shape in the air at his crotch level and, yeah. That’s exactly what he’s talking about. Don’t ask. Don’t. Why would they even need those? Mouth opening and shutting as Crankcase just stares you down like he’s daring you to ask the question. Because your awful little brain is wondering about giant, alien robots fucking.

• “You started without us?” Misfire mutters, watching as Fulcrum stares at the screen, spots you looking at him, and immediately averts his optics in embarrassment as Spinister rumbles at you coaxingly. Striding into the common area, the Seeker sprawls out beside Crankcase, ignoring the other mech’s annoyed rumble to focus on the screen and the humans. Stretching out a ped to tap at Spinister until he turns to frown at him and you look over. “Doing anything for you?” He asks, grinning crookedly as you stiffen and Spin just stares at him blankly. Because teasing you? Too easy, enjoying watching your face redden. “You know, Spin would play medic with you.” Laughing when Spinister looks confusedly from you to him. Hearing him mutter that he is a medic as you put your face in your hands. Venting, he almost laughs. Because, yeah, you’re mortified right now, but you’re also interested, your scent shifting. Something he’s sure they’ve all clued in on in the small space.

• “We have a job. Remember? The job?” Optics narrowing as he’s ignored, Krok vents tiredly and unhooks the datapad to a chorus of complaints and one very small thank you. Glancing at where you’re sprawled on your back almost hidden by Spinister and watching him, he fidgets. That’s going to be a problem sooner or later. Spinister already too clingy and barely understanding boundaries. You’re one of them. An honorary Scavenger, but also so helpless. Knowing you’ll have to stay on the ship alone makes him oddly uneasy. Because if something happens to them? You’ll probably starve to death trapped in the ship or be discovered. Either way? He can’t imagine you’ll survive long without them to take care of you. “Let’s go. You can make the human uncomfortable later.” And your eyes narrow at him as Spinister slowly stands with you and he ignores the way the big medic nuzzles against you. Just like he ignores how protective he feels of you. How much he worries.

Previous

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical Symphony - Part 11

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I am going on a little vacay and I'll probably won't be able to update it as regurlarly, but I'm going to try and schedule this chapter and another one. Good news is more time to write :D

A.N. 2: Apparently the tags have not been wroking. If you asked to be tagged and haven't been, let me know!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10

• ··········· • ············ •

It was the morning of the day after Viktor had come to the penthouse and taken a twelve-hour power nap. 

You walked into the kitchen with a yawn that stopped abruptly when you saw the three people in the room. Two of its usual occupants: your mother, Wyllah, but also a very tired Jayce. Your eyes shifted between your mother and the tanned man on the table, hunching sheepishly as he sipped from a mug filled with coffee to the brim.

“Jayce?” Your tone is a mix between a welcome and a question, not even bothering to call him by his title.

He mumbled his reply, and you looked back at your mother and Wyllah. They both gave a sad smile and a shrug.

“You left the lab.” You began, trying to get him to talk, and he nodded. 

His hair was unkempt, and his beard was starting to emerge, meaning he probably had not even been home yet.

“I needed to find Viktor.” He said, not looking up from the mug. “Your mother found me halfway out of the Academy.”

“I left one of my security guards at the lab door,” Wyllah explained proudly. “No one is getting in unless we say so.”

“Thank you.” Jayce said, still looking at his reflection.

“Did you two argue?” You asked, knowing the answer.

Viktor would have never just walked out of the lab, leaving his best friend behind, and Jayce wouldn’t look half as dejected if they had parted ways amicably. Although Viktor had probably already gotten over the argument, Jayce liked to mull over it. 

“How…?” he asked. “Wild guess…” you answered.

He sighed, putting his head on his head, finger digging into his unkempt hair.

“What was it about?” You inquired, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, even though you could also guess the subject.

“What do you think?” He snapped, and you sat down in front of him at the booth, grabbing a cookie from the plate one of the older women had placed on the table.

“The great mystery of Runeterra.” You grinned, and he just stared at you, eyes narrowed. “I know it was about the council shenanigans, but what was it specifically about? Gods know you two can fight about a fleck of dust in the window.”

Jayce looked at you and was about to retort but closed his mouth and looked at his coffee before sighing and reopening his mouth.

“I told him I want to give the Hextech freely to the council in exchange for keeping us there as engineers for it, no matter what. I would rather be there to stop them from screwing up than have it destroyed or sold to someone else.” He sighed. “Viktor would rather grab everything and run as far as he can to keep it safe.”

You smiled softly at him gently and touched his white-knuckled hand on the mug. He relaxed his grip and looked at you.

“You can both be right, you know.” “I know, but it’s not that I want to be right… It’s just…” he scoffed, frustrated, looking at the window. “He has stood up for so long, taken so many beatings from topside, kept a straight face throughout everything we’ve ever been through; he has made his mark in this world whether he signs on it or not… And now he wants to run? It feels like a step backward.”

“You both know what hunger feels like, what a wind so cold that seeps through your clothes feels like in your bones. You both know how it is to have nothing and then have everything.” Jayce looked at you both confused and interested. “The difference is Tallis; he knows what happens when you just wait and watch. You get eaten by the big fish eventually. He stood up so many other times because he knew you’d have his back. But right now both your backs are against the wall, and there will be no sorcerer to help you escape the storm.”

There was silence in the kitchen as Jayce searched your eyes for answers all the while trying to assimilate what you said about Viktor.

“How…?” He asked again. “Your past and my present aren’t that different.” 

His eyes widened for a second, and he was about to start talking again when you shook your head.

“Discussion for another time and place.” 

He nodded, still reeling but quieted down when the telltale sounds of a cane making its way to the kitchen were heard.

“What do I say?” “Nothing…” you whispered back. “He is your friend Jay. He understands the same way you do…deep down…”

Viktor was also stifling a yawn as he made his way to the kitchen, stopping mid-stride just as you did when he saw the other man in the kitchen. 

“Jayce?” He puzzled, eyes still blinking the sleep away. “Hey, buddy! You got me worried there for a second.” Jayce got up from the table and walked towards him, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen…I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t.”

Viktor blinked a couple of times and gave him a nod and a smile.

“Do not worry, Jayce. I understand.” He patted the bigger man’s arm and limped to the small breakfast nook, where you sat.

“Thank you, Madame Rainemour, for the hospitality.” He smiled at your mother, and she smiled back. “I don’t think I had any say in it this time, but you're welcome, my dear.”

He shifted his eyes to you, and you shrugged.

“You looked like exhaustion and tiredness had a child and left it out in the rain.” You paused and raised an eyebrow, conveying you were joking. “No offense…”

“None taken.” He smirked and grabbed a cookie from the plate.

“Well,” your mother clapped, and everyone’s eyes turned to her, you noticing a small grin on Wyllah’s face. “Since everyone is now sort of awake and looking less dejected…I have a plan…” “A plan?” Jayce asked, leaning against the door frame. “A plan.” Wyllah repeated. “Should I be scared?” Viktor asked, and both older women shook their heads in sync. “That makes me scared.” “Alright, you two... out with it...” You motioned with your head for the ladies to sit and talk.

Your mother started to explain what she had been doing yesterday after she left you and Viktor. Esther had put on her detective’s hat and gone to investigate the ins and outs of whatever was happening with the Hextech vs. Council situation.

She found that the council was going to make the decision to take control of Talis Lab and Hextech in a week or so, with Councilor Salo spearheading the efforts, being the one that seemingly had lost more in the rocket attack.

He had announced to all of those who wanted to hear him about the dangers of the usage of hextech by those who wanted the worst for Piltover. The topsiders had clutched their pearls and agreed he was right and that the council, the voice of all citizens of Piltover, needed to seize control of the tech.

Jayce bonked his forehead on the door frame where he was leaning, and Viktor rolled his eyes.

“I’m starting to see the beauty of him as a stain on the hex gate’s floor…” you mumbled, munching on a cookie. Viktor looked at you questioningly, and you shrugged him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do not despair, my dears; as I’ve noted, I have a plan.”

Between her and Wyllah, the plan was laid out in front of the three of you. Your mother would rally up all of the investors and get them to stop the tech from falling into the council’s hands. It seemed simple and very straightforward, but knowing the Topsiders, there will be money exchange and drama and fights. Something your mother seemed very willing to do.

Both of the scientists had nodded in agreement to whatever your mother had put on the table, and you realized how much trust they all had in each other. The universe had to find a way to make up for you not being here. It had put your mother in their path so they could have her instead of you. It hurt as much as it elated you. 

“And what do we do in the meantime?” Viktor asked, breaking a cookie in half. “Well, we will need Jayce’s assistance.” Esther pointed at the broader man. “His place as a councillor and one part of the Hextech team will help us get to certain people. But I don’t think that would be your cup of tea, so you can keep securing the lab and the projects, making sure nothing ends up being shown to prying eyes.” “Are they allowing us to work?” Viktor asked Jayce. “No. No hextech projects are allowed to go forth.” Both men sighed. “I’ll stay in the lab with Viktor. I don’t want to get mixed up in that crowd again…” “Again?” Jayce raised his eyebrows, and you matched the expression.

After a while of discussing and more planning, between calculation and scheduling, your head was about to burst, so you excused yourself for a bathroom break and walked to the living room. You sat on the chair that wasn’t Viktor’s favorite place on earth and, drowning out the noise from the kitchen, felt the sunshine on your face.

You jumped at Jayce’s voice calling your name right next to you.

“Holy blue balls of Hextech.” You mumbled, putting your hands on your heart and leaning back on the chair. “Oh, so that’s where it comes from…” Jayce joked. “Sorry…” “Don’t worry about it.” You looked up at him, leaning your elbows into your knees.

“About that thing you said before.” Jayce took a deep breath. “I never told that to anyone but Viktor, and I know he would never tell anyone…” “Like I said, your past is my present. I was snapped here the same way you were.” “Yeah, I got it the first time. I’m as smart as the other co-creator of Hextech, believe it or not.” He grinned. “How? I have searched and researched high and low to figure out why it happened to me, and I never found the answers. Did he appear to you too? The mage? Did some runes in the sky and…new place, new you?”

You shook your head and looked at your hands. He was taking this considerably well, which made sense since he had also lived through something similar.

“I don’t know how it happened; I was there one second and here the next.” “That’s why you ran to the council room; you did know what was gonna happen.” He frowned, his eyes searching the air for connections. “Were you in the council room? Or in the Undercity?”

“I was in the lab when it happened. All was quiet, and then…boom…”  “What changed?” Jayce asked, and you shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you. Not all of the details. You…from there…lived it…you felt it…If I tell you, it might make you do something that would lead to the same path, and…I can’t go through that again.”

He nodded, understanding that the addition of knowledge to a situation can drastically change the outcome. You looked at his wrist, the leather band secured tightly around it and the teardrop-shaped gem encased in it. Stretching your arm, you grabbed his hand, turning it palm up. The rune was different. 

Jayce also grabbed your hand and turned it palm up. A different rune was carved there, not glowing since you had spent most of the night remaking the star rune in case Viktor woke up. You looked up at him and sighed, his eyes searching for answers.

“I think the technical term is Rune Speaker…” You smiled at him, finding amazement in his eyes.

• ············ •

It didn’t take the group long to have a sort of guarding schedule around keeping the stuff in the lab from prying eyes. Because it was involved in council business, the boys couldn’t work there, but they refused to leave anything unsupervised. And that’s why they had looked like exhaustion itself.

Between the two of them, yourself and some of Wyllah's personal security, it was manageable, although Salo had shaken his fist at having the unknown guards at the door. To which your mother promptly told him she had more money invested in that lab than he could count; she was merely securing her investment.

Your endeavor to enter the orchestra was still in full swing, so you took the time at the lab to write out some of the music you were composing. You had an outline of the piece, but it needed tweaking and cleaning up.

You were not a composer. You hated writing your music. It felt strained. You’d rather just sit at the piano and play something from the top of your head. You were good at that. This was hell for you.

Groaning, you laid your forehead on the cold lab table and groaned. A hand patted your arm, and instinctively you jumped back as far as you could.

“Eh. It’s just me, good old Viktor.” the scientist announced, limping around you and placing a cup of tea and something wrapped in a cloth on the table. “One of those days, huh?”

He sat down next to you and peered at what you were doing. 

“Looks complicated.” He said, taking a book out of his shoulder bag, and you look at him sideways, glaring at the man. You pointed to the chalkboard that now has a sheet covering it and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen what you do…” you mumbled. “Numbers. I crunch numbers. Calculation and variants. It’s easy. I see them in my mind. Some are more complicated than others, but… It’s easy. This…?” He touched the clean sheet of music and made a negative sound with his throat. “Cannot comprehend.”

“Remind me to teach you the scale at some point. My mother is catching on pretty quickly. I fear she might get the position faster than me.” “Position?”  “I’m trying for the orchestra. I’ve learned that being a stay-at-home Piltie is not for me.” “Piltie?” He frowned at the nickname the Zaunites gave the topsiders. “How very uncivilized of you.” 

You both chuckled at his joke, and he nudged your shoulder in a friendly manner. He mentioned the wrapped thing with his chin, and you grabbed it. A small little cake was inside. A round little creamy thing with a slice of strawberry on top.

“Don’t expect much.” He said, opening his book. “It’s from the Academy’s cafe.”

You took a bite out of it. It was a little dry, but it was sugar, and you welcomed the feeling of something sweet in these desperate times.

“Where's Jayce?” You asked after you finished with the pastry. “I thought he was supposed to come with you.”

Viktor took a sip of his cup of tea and shook his head, rolling his eyes in the process.

“Councilor Medarda asked to see him.” He scoffed. “Confraternizing with the enemy, more like it.” “Spending time with his significant other.” you corrected, smiling when he made a ‘yeah yeah’ face.

Silent took over the lab while the two of you both got entranced by your tasks; only the scratching of pens on paper was heard. It was a friendly silence, with both of you sitting close enough that your knees would bump occasionally. Sometimes you would hum the melody you were writing, and he would stop writing to listen to it.

After a while Viktor stretched, moving his arms up to the ceiling. You looked at him and mimicked the movement but stretched your arms in front of you. The two loud ‘aahs’ of pleasure came from both of you in sync, making you both snort.

“I have been thinking…” Viktor began relaxing on the table, his shoulder hunching over. “The other day, you kept having to remake the rune.”

“You noticed?” You looked away from him, slightly embarrassed. “I thought you were sleeping.” “I caught you once or twice. It was a nice gesture, so I kept quiet. In any case, you had to keep redoing it. And well, we have had the same problem with the cores.”

“Vik…” you warned, but he raised his hand, stopping you.

“I know, but technically I am not using your magic for Hextech; I’m using Hextech for your magic. We solved that problem by introducing an artificial rune to the process.” He drew two squares touching on one corner, a crude infinity symbol. “That sustains the power of the core indefinitely. If we work at this the same way we work with Hexcore, your rune ‘push’ simply means you have no other inputs to add to it, and that means that inputs can be added.”

You remembered the rune circle in the council chambers. Going by what Viktor was saying, it made sense; the magic didn’t happen until you had pushed it forward, waiting until you finished the whole rune circle to work and slamming your hand on it to work.

“Could work, but if you tell it to keep going indefinitely, how do we stop it?“ You looked back at him and saw him scratch his neck.

“Usually we have buttons and dials…sometimes an emergency lever.”He placed his head on his hands and looked around for inspiration to strike.

You looked down at your music sheet and rolled your eyes. The answer was right in front of you. You slid the music sheet towards him.

“When you want to bring your composition to an end, you add this…” You pointed to a circle enclosing a crosshair.

“The runes are a language, and languages are fluid. New words are being introduced every day. We can keep adding to it until it works…” Viktor continued excitedly. “We have to test this theory.”

“I’m not going to test something that has a possibility of permanently staying in your lab. I don’t think a never-ending whirlwind is very discreet.” 

His shoulders slumped for a second, and then he pointed to a small door next to the front door. That was a cleaning supply room spacious enough for the janitor to keep his cart there, but it was closed off so that if something were to happen in there, it would be contained.

“Alright…Let’s test this out.” You rolled the stool away from the table and slapped your hands on your thighs, watching Viktor move with efficiency.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | Part 3

CW: A man being creepy at the gym

AO3 | Part 1

“She gave me a gift card.”

König stares at his boots, arms crossed and shoulders resting against the back of his therapist’s couch.

“I’m not seeing why this makes you so upset.” Rich shifts in his chair across the small room, putting his stylus on the screen of his tablet. “Last time we talked you told me you were worried about a woman you had helped at the gym since she had been hurt and now you’re mad that she gave you a gift card to say thank you for the help?”

Frustrated, König turned to stare out the window. Sometimes squirrels would scamper down the powerline and give him an excuse to avoid trying to find words. He doubted he would find the words for this feeling in any of the languages he knew.

“I am…upset because,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “Danke was enough.”

“Do you feel like it’s fair to say you are upset because the exchange of money changed the interaction for you?”

“Ja,” he nodded.

“Okay,” Rich glances at his watch. “Can I give you my thoughts on the matter? I know you’ve been working at understanding others more.”

König narrows his eyes but nods his consent. He had worked with Rich for enough years to trust his opinion.

“You said she told you that she would bring a card the next day you saw each other but insisted after you walked her to her car, right?”

“Ja.”

“Okay, did you consider that she felt like asking for help needed something in return? Walking a woman to her car is a layer of safety, a measure of security that to her must have been a weight off her shoulders. She doesn’t know you well but wants the exchange to be equal. Could it be that she didn’t want to burden you?”

König turns the words over in his mind. You had been so apologetic even ask you asked for his help. The only time König had ever feared for his life had been under the hands of his vater.

“Help is no burden,” he argues, not quite willing to concede the point.

“I don’t imagine that it is, you work hard to be kind. I am saying that from her perspective, help and kindness are not guaranteed. By virtue of being a woman, she is always at a disadvantage and will do what she can to keep herself safe.”

He grunted.

“Sorry König, this might be one of those times to use radical acceptance. You will never understand the fear of existing in a small body where every man is a threat.” Rich shrugged one shoulder.

A moment passes in silence before König reveals the other reason the interaction bothered him so much.

“She has started to appear in my art.”

That got a double eyebrow lift from Rich. It wasn’t often that König caught his therapist by surprise.

“You’re art is how you process a lot of the trauma from serving right? How do you feel that your gym buddy is in your art?”

“Conflicted.”

Rich said nothing, only noting something on his tablet.

The silence compelled him to speak more. Rich knew it and König knew Rich knew it.

“Carving her feels different. Pulling memories from stone reminds me of the sting of pain.”

“How does carving her feel?”

“Freeing.”

Rich studies König. König leans over and picks through the basket of fidgets that sat at the end of the couch.

“Do you want to go into that more or leave it for now?”

König delayed answering until he pulled puddy between his hands.

“Leave it.”

“I’ll make a note to check back on the topic next time we chat then. How is your art selling right now? It’s still on display at the gallery right?”

They drift into more familiar and safe discussions.

There is only five minutes left. He has been watching the clock. There wouldn’t be time to get deep into this.

“Tell me to stop, to stop talking to her.”

Rich’s brows lift with confusion, it is also in the lilting of his voice, “You want me to tell you to stop making a human connection? The goal we’ve been working toward for nearly seven months now?”

König scowled as he shifted on the couch, arms folding across his chest. It sounded stupid when he put it that way.

“It’s okay to be scared König. This is a big step.”

He doesn’t reply, debating how to settle this struggle within himself.

“Did you already schedule your regular appointment with the front desk?” Rich asks, letting the topic drop.

One thing he excelled at carving had always been hands. The intricacies and the expressions that can be found in fingers had fascinated him. It was your hands he pulled from a small chunk of granite. Before he knew they were your hands he had carved a delicate ring on the left hand. The fingers on the left hand curled over the right ones, the piece ending below the right wrist. The pose reminded him of how you held pressure on your bleeding finger those weeks ago.

Frustrated he set it aside to continue on a massive piece. With a view into a building, as wide as he is tall, a house of worship is starting to come together. He carved out the rough shapes of the pillars and dug through the stone to what he had decided to be the back wall. Now came the time-consuming work of removing stone until he could begin to carve the bodies that lay scattered along the floor. This had been one of his worst nightmares. They had been too late.

Music drifted through the space from his built-in speakers. König worked late into the afternoon until Feather, the gallerist, arrived to peruse his recently completed carvings to see which she would like to house and which would be listed on the website or hawked directly to wealthy buyers.

Feather looked like she ran an art gallery. Her bold colors, expensive suits, matching lipstick, and perfectly done hair always set König on edge. Even in her heels, the top of her head reached his elbow. He remained seated as she let herself into his studio.

“Ah! There is my favorite artist. Where are the new pieces for me?” She breezed past him as he stayed seated on his stool. Feather knew where the new pieces would be by now.

Ignoring her, König focused on his carving. He could not work while anyone else existed in his studio but this process of removing stone to access the image didn’t count.

After several minutes Feather appeared in his line of view.

“I want the whole lot, stellar as always my dear.” She spoke with a crispness to her words, as if her job required a level of uppityness.

“Same terms as always,” König fiddles with the edge of his chisel. It needs to be sharpened soon.

“Agreed,” Feather crosses her arms. Her eyes drift over his current work in progress before she turns and points to the hands he had set aside.

“How much for the hands?”

A chill wraps itself around his spine.

“Not for sale.”

A good business woman Feather narrows her eyes at him and throws out a number much higher than they usually agreed upon for smaller pieces. He lifts a brow before shaking his head.

She tried three more offers before sighing and folding her arms dramatically.

“König I know all artists are finicky about their work but I have a patron who has been asking for something like this for a long time. He would pay through the nose if I sent him a photo. He would pay especially well since it is your work.”

“Goodbye Feather,” he pulled the remote from his pocket and increased the volume of the music.

He didn’t create for money. König carved images from stone because if he left them inside they would fester and canker his soul.

Feather got the message and fired off a text to him before leaving of when her team would be by to pick up all the pieces agreed upon and confirmed his payment would be sent via wire after they arrived at the gallery. He marked the messages as read and set all his tools in their home nearly an hour later. Eating a quick meal he readied himself for the gym, and more of you.

His time with KorTac gave him the ability to appear focused while his mind drifts. Sliding through his thoughts König cannot quite decide how to feel about the interactions he has had with you. Bringing you up in therapy hadn’t helped yet.

When the doors move and allow you entry König is shocked at your smile as your eyes find his. He reciprocates the small wave you give him as you head into the changing room. Then curses himself for the niggle of brightness that your smile brought. Continuing his workout König kept you in sight but did not approach. He had been stilted and stiff when you had pressed the gift card into his hands on Wednesday and didn’t know how or if he wanted to try and bridge that gap.

A man approaches you four different times in the span of twenty minutes. When you finally snap at him, anger contorting your face, you point to König. He watches as you stomp away from the man and approach him instead.

Any anger disappeared from your eyes by the time you reached him. You folded your arms tight to your chest and blinked rapidly as if to fight back tears. When you stopped you stood entirely too close for the acquaintances that you were.

“König?”

“Ja?”

“Can you bend down a moment for me?”

He does as requested, not pausing to think that he should not accept orders from you.

“There is a man that is bothering me and I told him you were my boyfriend. Can you pretend until he leaves?”

König can only blink at you before glaring at the man in question. The prick sneers a huff of breath in your direction.

“How does one pretend to be a boyfriend?” He keeps his volume low.

“You could put a hand on my waist or something? I just need him to leave me alone. The reason I like this gym is most of the guys only talk to me when they have a correction or to encourage me to hit a new PR. I don’t want to leave but if he keeps bothering me I am gonna have to go home,” you tighten your folded arms to your chest, clearly upset.

Following the twitch of his muscles König pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head as he lets his killer face stare out at the man who bothered you. The fucker tries to maintain a sneer, but when your arms slip around König’s waist and the hateful glare pummeling him from across the gym becomes too much he man left in a tizzy.

When you pull back from the hug König struggles to return his hands to his sides and not leave them trailing the top of your hip bones. His fingers ache both from the touch and the lack of contact.

You rub a palm under one eye, wiping away the wetness that collected there.

“Thanks, sorry. I had a bad day at work and then the nonsense with a guy being a jerk I might actually call it a night.” You sniff lightly, giving him a watery smile.

“We can work out together if you want?”

König took whatever courage he had found a way to take the reigns and shake it until the bastard had to be dead in his skull.

You rub a thumb beneath your nose, face contemplative.

“That would actually be okay, yeah.”

He blinks at you, unsure why you would say yes. And then unsure of how to make this work.

“I don’t want to disrupt your routine,” you rush to fill the silence that had grown between you, “I can do whatever you are doing today, provided we fix the weights for me.”

Nodding König replies, “Company is welcome, but no offering to pay.”

You tongue at your teeth behind your lips.

König gives a startled laugh. You had labeled the feeling he and his therapist were unable to articulate.

“Okay, you are uncomfortable with thank-you gifts. Got it.”

“Ja, help is given, not bought.”

A beautiful blush stains your cheeks. The sight of your blushing smile sticks like a bur on a sock as he walks you to your car and waves to you as you disappear into the night. The change in color on your face haunts his dreams.

Masterlist | Chiseled Heart Masterlist

@backseatsoldier minor updates from what you read but 😘

[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 3

Ta~ da~! Part 3 and done. (Here's Part 1 and Part 2, if ya want.) It didn't go exactly as I wanted but when I went back to rewrite part of it I couldn't make myself do it so. Welp, it is what it is. But, here we go -

---------

A little while later, Tim yelps from his side of the bed. Jason’s head whips around to see what the commotion is, bumping shoulders with Tim who has also hastily sat up.

Craning his neck, Jason looks down over the side of the bed to where Tim is staring, dumbfounded. All he sees is Tim’s bag, open with the Red Robin costume on top. Sort of strange since leaving their gear out in the open isn’t exactly Bat-protocol. No telling when a nosy or distracted maid might barge in. Otherwise, nothing is amiss. Color Jason confused.

“What the fuck,” Tim breathes as he scoots further back till he’s half in Jason’s lap which, awesome, but weird.

“What?” Jason snaps. 

Over the side of the bed, the sleeve of the Red Robin suit snakes up and slaps down hard on Tim’s wrist near the edge of the bed. He makes a high noise of surprise then he’s fully in Jason’s lap. Still awesome, very much so, but bigger fish to fry and everything. Such as the irrefutable proof that Red Robin has gained the nebulous honor of having a mind of its own. And it’s apparently not very happy with Tim if the way it snaps out to hit him again is any indication. This time, Tim pulls his hand back before he can get slapped.

“How-” Tim chokes out, whipping his head around to stare at Jason.

Their faces are so damned close Jason can feel the too fast puffs of Tim’s breath against his cheek. It’s doing him absolutely no favors in staying focused on the issue at hand. 

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Did you do something to it?”

“Me? That thing was totally normal until you got a hold of it. What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Un-fucking-likely!”

A pitter patter of sound draws both of them away from the edge of their budding argument. Back at the side of the bed, the Red Robin suit is padding its sleeves against the blanket to draw their attention. Guess it didn’t like where their conversation was headed. 

“Oh yeah, that thing is totally alive,” Jason says. 

“No” Tim drawls sarcastically. He frowns at the suit. A flash of understanding brightens his face as his mouth drops open. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Mind cluing in us pea brained peons?”

Without looking, Tim hits Jason in the chest with the back of his hand. “All the malfunctions!”

Tim doesn’t need to say anything else for Jason to pick up what he’s laying down. The events of the past few weeks make a lot more sense now. Including their current predicament which has led to a lap full of dressed down, sleep warm Tim. Touche, Red Robin, well done. He has to hand it to the suit. Red Hood is all overt action with very little subtly but Red Robin had completely flown under his radar. Even yelling at it earlier was based more on a vague hunch.

“I’m glad I hollered at it earlier then.”

Tim’s eyes snap back to him, incredulous and amused. “You were talking to an inanimate object?”

“First of all, it isn’t inanimate any more. Second, don’t act like you’ve never talked at something before.”

Tellingly, Tim stays silent. 

“Look at it this way, you’ve been chosen,” Jason says with a shrug. “Better than, I guess, since you brought the fuckin’ thing to life.”

Tim does this odd thing where he goes boneless. As in he falls limp against Jason’s chest with his head resting on Jason’s shoulder. For a second, he’s worried something is wrong. Tim wouldn’t be Tim if he weren’t wound tighter than a spring. He’s the most neurotic sonuvabitch Jason knows. To have him so soft and pliant? It’s kind of throwing him for a loop.

Looking down at Tim’s face, Jason’s worries bleed away. The content, gentle happiness he finds there, only a thin thread of bitter sadness belying it, tells Jason all he needs to know. Once more, because he’s just that good, Jason has stuck his foot in his mouth. Except in a good way this time. 

Thinking back, Tim told him what it was like when he was first Robin. It sure as hell hadn’t felt good when Robin didn’t want anything to do with him. He can’t imagine what it was like for Tim to have to actively fight against the suit. To push and push and push till he was finally, reluctantly accepted. Only to be dropped and have nothing waiting for him, ready for him. The lonely ache of wondering if he’s good enough and that’s why a suit doesn’t come for him. Needing to push past all that, piled on top of the long hours and endless horrors the nightlife brings, and keep on keepin’ on. 

But Jason has pointed out the obvious which he doesn’t doubt Tim completely overlooked. In agreement, Red Robin raises its sleeve and points at Jason.

“Oh,” Tim breathes. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Me neither. Way to make history.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “But I don’t get it. Why do all of this?”

Once more, Red Robin pointedly gestures towards Jason. He glares at the damn thing because if anyone needs to shut up, it’s Red Robin. Given the genuine curiosity and bafflement in Tim’s voice, Jason’s pretty sure he’s not being purposefully obtuse. Granted, Tim can lie with the best of them, the little scamp. Jason has been meaning to get a few lessons. His gut is telling him this isn’t one of those times. Tim really doesn’t get it and Jason would like it to stay that way until he can either nut up and confess or brutally murder the impulse to fuck him raw at the first opportunity.

“No idea,” Jason replies lightly.

On his side of the bed, Jason’s bag wiggles violently. He groans and clenches his jaw, unwilling to let Red Hood enter the chat. This is a recipe for disaster. Adding in his suit won’t help him in keeping his inconvenient crush under wraps. For all he knows, Red Robin and Red Hood have been colluding together to make this shit happen. 

“What,” Tim starts before trailing off. 

The stare he pins Jason down with is so intense and invasive Jason feels like he needs to shove Tim off and disappear for a few months. It’s something akin to being flayed alive. His eyes skitter across Jason’s face, breaking him down bit by bit without needing to say a word or lift a finger. Really, Jason should get Tim away from him before he peels away the last layers keeping Jason from being truly perceived. 

Lightning quick and catching Jason unaware, Tim lunges across him to drape himself over Jason’s side of the bed. With deft fingers, he yanks open Jason’s bag. There the Red Hood is in all its glory, helmet on top of a bundle of heavy padding and armor. The lights on the eyes flash and Tim blinks down at it. 

“Hey, now!” Jason chides, dipping down so he can shut the bag before the shit show starts.

He doesn’t get that far before he’s getting full-on backhanded by the sleeve of his own suit. Wow, the suits are being aggressive. He’s not even sure what to do so he tenses up and stares at the wall. There’s enough semtex in the bag to blow it all to hell, right? He could totally ask Alfred to call up Lucius for a new suit. If Tim can finagle a consciousness into a regular suit, Jason should be able to as well. Maybe the next one won’t be such an asshole. Though he doubts it. On all counts.

He doesn’t remember if actually brought any plastique. Lucius isn’t exactly itching to do Jason any favors and Alfred would be more likely to politely mock him for doing something as stupid as blowing up his own suit. There’s no way for them to know how Red Robin is Red Robin now. And he’s, admittedly, a major asshole so it only makes sense whatever suit gets stuck with him has a personality to match. 

Tim bops the helmet and scowls at it. “Rude.” Red Hood doesn’t hit Tim. Instead, it pats him on the cheek gently. “Much better,” Tim says, satisfied.

Jason gapes at the interaction. “That is so unfair. What the fuck!”

“I told you things went well when I covered for you.”

“Apparently. Maybe a little too well.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It seemed like the Red Hood lik-”

Flipping over so his ass is seated in the well of Jason’s legs, back arched over his thigh, Tim looks at Jason. Jason doesn’t like the way Tim is looking at him. It’s less wondering and more knowing. So he does what he does best and tries to push Tim off him. They’ve been too close to too long and the need to run is an overwhelming compulsion at this point. Like a goddamn lamprey, Tim winds his arms around Jason’s waist and holds fast. The guy doesn’t go anywhere despite Jason’s best efforts since he isn’t in a position to get the leverage he needs to pry Tim off.

“You like me,” Tim says simply.

Jason chokes as the bottom of his stomach falls out. “No, I don’t,” Jason denies.

His helmet makes a high pitched whine of protest like the voice modulator got hit with a current and fried the circuitry. Goddamn, he thinks he even hears a click from one of his guns. Red Hood is a straight up thug. Which Jason loves but, holy hell, right now he definitely doesn’t. Being bullied by what amounts to a souped up, military grade Call of Duty cosplay hits him right in his pride. Forget Bruce and the clusterfuck of that whole thing, this is his new villain origin story. 

Red Robin isn’t so charmed by his denial either. The suit flops onto the bed, farther up this time, so it can nail him right in the shin. Jason makes a pained noise more from being startled than it actually hurting. If the blanket weren’t draped over his legs, then, yeah, that would’ve stung. Great, now, he’s being bullied by the equivalent of a theater major seamstress’ fever dream too. When will the injustices end?

Throwing his hands up, literally because he’s so far past settling for metaphorically doing it, Jason looks to the ceiling and prays for patience. And to not get socked in the jaw by Tim for what he’s about to say. Still, to the pock-marked ceiling, Jason says, “Fine, yes, I like you! Jesus, fuck, everybody lay offa me! This is the worst kind of peer pressure. At least I could cunt punt a peer but no. I get some goddamn JoAnn Fabric cast offs harassing me.”

“And me,” Tim pipes up.

“And you! Which, can’t we focus on the miracle of your suit showing signs of intelligent, manipulative and kind-of-dickish life? Let’s go back to you getting misty eyed over a newly minted supernatural costume.”

“We’ll come back to that,” Tim agrees, “but first we should probably deal with this. Just, Jason...”

Well, shit, he doesn’t like Tim’s tone. It’s not the voice of a man about to lay his heart bare in preparation for an emotionally charged conversation destined to end in a heated kiss and a roll in the sack before the camera cuts to black. Nor is it shy and demure or happy and accepting. Jason doesn’t want to put a name to it but, if he had to, he’d say Tim sounds distinctly awkward and uncomfortable. Hesitant and pained. This does not bode well for his chances. He can already smell the acrid, sharp scent of his chances going up in flames. 

“There’s a lot between us,” Tim says somewhere around the bottom of Jason’s ribcage. “That we’ve never talked about.” Now Tim pulls away fully until he’s back on his side of the bed.

Jason knows a let down when he hears one. He opens his mouth to tell Tim to can it, spare them both the continued embarrassment. On some level, Jason always knew anything between them would be doomed. Forget burning the bridge between himself and Tim, Jason incinerated it. With prejudice. The fact they’ve come so far already is a miracle. It’s the little, emaciated street kid in him that makes him greedy, to take and take and take until he can’t anymore. Well, this is the can’t anymore, he guesses. But now he’ll lose it all. 

The words are there on the tip of his tongue when his helmet makes another whirring, whining noise of protest on one side of the bed and there’s the pat, pat, pat of fabric against fabric on the other. His head whips between the Red Hood, disgruntled and displeased, and Red Robin attacking Tim’s leg much as it had Jason. Tim quickly scoots back towards Jason and pulls his legs in. In response, Red Robin flops onto the bed again and nails Tim right across the face. 

Jason has never claimed to be a good person so he laughs. “Okay, I’m starting to feel fuckin’ hunted here. I get why they’re coming at me but-”

He breaks off since there’s no point in finishing the sentence. Tim is a genius. Point blank, period. It’s a verifiable fact Jason hates and likes in equal measure. If his big brain can’t piece together a puzzle, Jason doesn’t stand a chance but by no means is he a slouch. For this, understanding why Red Robin and Red Hood are coming at Tim just as hard as they are at him, Jason doesn’t need a three digit IQ. 

“You little shit, you like me too,” Jason accuses, honestly mad Tim was about to dismiss him out of hand. 

Tim doesn’t say anything which is answer enough for Jason. Not for Red Robin who whips out at Tim again, making him curl up tighter and away from the offending garment. Or offended garment, in this case. 

“I’m bad at this,” Tim hisses to his suit. “God, why are you so-”

“Oddly violent?”

“Persistent,” Tim insists, glaring at Jason. 

Jason fixes him with a look.

“And a manipulative asshole,” Jason supplies but he isn’t talking about Tim’s suit anymore.

“I’m bad at this,” Tim says again, this time directly to Jason.

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

Red Robin and Red Hood voice their displeasure as much as they can.

Rolling his eyes, Jason talks at the ceiling again because it’s easier. “Why wouldn’t you just say that? Okay, you’re bad at it, fine. I literally paved the way for you to just say ‘Golly gee, me too’.”

“I’m awkward, okay?” Tim blurts, irritated and not bothering to pull on his usual carefully crafted mask of indifference. “I’m not exactly the greatest when it comes to interpersonal relationships. You can just ask Steph.” After a brief pause, Tim backpedals, “Actually, don’t. Never do that.”

“Well now I have to.”

“You really, really don’t.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being such a coward-”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Jason says maturely.

Jason should’ve known the kiss was coming as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Not once has Jason seen Tim back down from a challenge once it has been set down in front of him. Including the time Jason gave him a spectacular beat down in Titans Tower and demanded to know if Tim thought he was good enough for Robin. Half unconscious and bloodied, Tim had said yes. 

This isn’t so different, Jason thinks, because he kisses back, brutal and vicious and commanding, while Tim takes it all then dishes it back. More than once, Jason’s teeth clack against Tim’s but neither of them pull away. Somewhere between now and Jason’s head emptying of rational thought, his hand has found its way to the back of Tim’s neck, keeping him in place. He doesn’t have to worry about Tim pulling away, not really, with the way Tim holds onto Jason’s waist.

The world drops away till there’s nothing but the soft, barely there moans Tim breathes into him. He swallows them greedily, vows to get more of them till he’s had his fill. His other hand, the one not latched onto Tim, finds Tim’s thigh and kneads at the muscle there. One of Tim’s hands slides down and skirts along the edge of his shirt till it teasingly slips under the fabric. The rough, calloused pads of Tim’s fingers ghost over his stomach, making the muscles twitch. 

It all comes back into focus, hitting him like a freight train, when the hand on Tim’s leg can’t wander any farther up than it already has even though he knows he’s nowhere near his ultimate end goal. Cracking open his eyes, Jason looks down to see Red Robin forming a blockade to preserve Tim’s chastity. Red Robin doesn’t get to mastermind them into a bed together then dictate what they do when Tim’s making those encouraging, willing little noises.

Leaning back to catch his breath, Jason reluctantly lets go of Tim’s leg and scruffs the Red Robin suit then tosses it over the side of the bed with a growl. 

“That was uncalled for,” Tim tells him.

“You want me to stop?” Jason asks.

“No. Very much no.”

“Then it was called for,” Jason asserts. 

“Fair enough,” Tim laughs. He huffs as his eyes dart from one side of the bed to the other. “It’d be weird to do anything with the suits here though.”

“They literally fondle us on a nightly basis. I think their definition of propriety is a little different from ours,” Jason points out. 

Looking thoughtful, Tim says, “Huh, I knew the Red Hood suit was chafing weird when I wore it.”

Leaning over, Jason slaps his helmet and shoves his bag under the bed. “Goddamn dirty dog, keep your kevlar weave off.” 

The Red Hood doesn’t make a peep or put up any protest. Jason doubts it’s because the suit wore itself out being more active than usual. Stupid thing probably doesn’t have a good counter argument, having been caught out and ruthlessly thrown under the bus by Tim. 

“In its defense, it really made things easy and protected me well. It was, sweet, too, I guess?” Tim offers.

“Well, good,” Jason replies lamely. “Can’t say the same about Red Robin,” he adds with a glare at Tim’s side of the bed where Red Robin is hopefully puddled on the ground and content to stay there.

Meddlers, the both of them. Grade A meddlers of the highest order. 

“Yeah,” Tim says contemplatively. 

To poke the bruise one more time, Jason tells him, “Yanno, the suit’s probably something special because you’re something special.”

The sappy ass words make Jason feel like the world’s biggest tool but it’s worth it for the instant flush. His cheeks and ears and neck all go a delicious pink that Jason wants to bite at. Take the light dusting and make it vibrant. Create a portrait of deep reds and purples wherever he can. Jason thinks he’ll get the chance to do that sooner than expected when Tim tackles him. After a brief scuffle, Jason rolls them so Tim’s under him with his wrists pinned and legs draped on either side of Jason’s hips. Tim could get out of the hold. Jason isn’t trying to really keep him down. 

But Tim doesn’t. 

He allows it which is enough for Jason to settle his weight over Tim and forget about the busy body suits probably basking in smug satisfaction for getting them to this point.

[chameleonwritess]

Okay I accidentally got the flambé insanity out of my system on my enstars spam Instagram but I’m still gonna scream about ibayuzu bc I NEED TO….

Listen, I may say things about how awful they are for each other and like ‘lol ibayuzu is their bad ending’ because I love me some toxic yaoi, but hear me out: nah it’s not actually all that toxic OR bad for them, they just need to SIT DOWN AND COMMUNICATE WITHOUT THE DRAMATICS AND THE CONSTANT TRYING TO ONE UP EACH OTHER which is probably not gonna happen because they both love the dramatics and one upping each other too much

Now here’s why: pretty much the ONLY TIME we see Yuzuru get to be himself is when he’s talking to Ibara. Can you imagine how much of a relief it must be to him that FINALLY he can drop the act and SNAP at this Guy? Knowing that a) he can take it because he’s actively encouraged it and is already well aware of exactly how ruthless Yuzuru is capable of being and b) it’s not going to ruin his reputation or leak his background to any fans or higher ups because Ibara needs to keep their history just as secret at Yuzuru. Ibara is so so important to Yuzuru because as much as he can complain about how much he despises him…. He’s not even ALLOWED to express open distaste for anyone else- this is the one person he can be a bitch towards without fear or without having to cover up the bitchiness with feigned niceties (and Yuzuru is such a bitch at heart xoxo)

And now for Ibara. Yuzuru is one of the only people he can ALWAYS trust. He knows Yuzuru’s past, he knows Yuzuru’s mindset better than anyone else and he KNOWS he’s the only one who’s aware of how Yuzuru really feels and works, which gives him the comfort of knowing that Yuzuru isn’t gonna betray him. Yuzuru has nothing to gain from screwing him over and ruining his life or anything else. Sure he’s a thorn in his side when it comes to his sneaky tricks and schemes, but when it comes to being able to breathe freely and not have to battle every day of his life, afraid that everyone around him is just waiting for the opportunity to tear him down and send him right back into the battlefield, he knows that Yuzuru is safe. And I think he’s aware enough by now that Yuzuru does genuinely care about him- favourite pupil privileges and all that.

So basically, Flambé sent me insane because of the amount of mentions about their joint past and the way they instantly retort back to anything the other says. Yuzuru snarkily saying that Ibara must struggle to give gifts because he doesn’t care about anyone else (I smell resentment from the past. Why are you so convinced of that, Yuzuru? You know Ibara just wanted a safe haven- upset that wasn’t you? Upset he chose Nagisa over you???? Upset that he doesn’t care about you like you care about him??????????). We also have Ibara scheming in his own mind and WATCHING for Yuzuru’s reaction. Because Yuzuru doesn’t say anything. We just get a sprite of him narrowing his eyes. And suddenly Ibara’s like ‘haha he noticed! Just as I expected hehe! Can’t get away with anything with Yuzuru around!’… Ibara why are you watching? Why are you waiting and hoping he thwarts you????? (Lmao Perry and Doofenshmirtz ass dynamic) Ibara you don’t need to pretend to be evil just to get Yuzuru to stop you so you have an excuse to enjoy being an idol….. I mean, Yuzuru sees through it and is gonna enable that for you anyway but THERE WAS NO NEED I PROMISE!!

Ugh they make me insane. Read Flambé, y’all!!! It’s also one of my fave Rinne stories because I love love love when an all out over the top dramatic character gets to show a more subdued side and drop the mask for a bit- especially around a specific person (rinniki nation winning) (wow weird thing for the notorious wataei freak to comment on)

And I’m done byeeee

[nickeverdeen]

Mission Saved | Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Pairings: Kate x reader (romantic), Yelena x reader (family), Peter x reader (platonic), Kate x Yelena (platonic), Kate x Peter (platonic), Yelena x Peter (platonic)

Type of fic: Comedy, Fluff, Angst/Comfort

Warnings: Little out of character for almost everyone, light smut implication

Summary: It’s Christmas and Kate thought it wouldn’t be a big of a deal to leave you alone for them while she goes on a mission, but her two companions manage to open her eyes.

———————

The small apartment felt emptier than usual. You had just finished decorating the little Christmas tree you managed to squeeze inside, and as you sat down, your phone buzzed. It was Kate, her voice coming through with warmth but also with a tinge of something you knew too well—regret.

“I’m sorry, babe. I don’t think I’ll be home for Christmas,” Kate said from the other end of the call. You glanced at the tree, the lights blinking softly, and tried your best to hide the sadness in your voice.

“It’s okay, Kate,” you replied, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “We can always make it up next year.”

But Kate wasn’t an idiot—she knew that this wasn’t just about “next year.” The disappointment was unmistakable, even if you didn’t openly protest. Before she could say anything, though, you hung up, leaving her staring at her phone in surprise. You had never done that before.

The next day, Kate found herself in a jet on the way to another mission, accompanied by Peter Parker and Yelena Belova. The ride was uneventful until Yelena, clearly bored, turned her attention to Kate, her eyes narrowing as she studied her friend.

“Did my sister break up with you?” Yelena asked bluntly, her tone lacking any hint of tact.

Kate’s heart sank at the question. “No, she didn’t break up with me,” she said, her voice defensive. Yelena’s bluntness had struck a nerve.

“Then why are you here?” Yelena pressed on, frowning. “Why aren’t you home?”

Peter, who had been quietly listening, gave Kate a confused look. “Yeah, it’s Christmas. Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?”

Kate stammered, trying to explain. “I—I mean, it’s just a mission. It’s not like a big deal, right?” She felt the uncertainty grow as she spoke, her words falling flat.

Yelena’s eyes widened in disbelief, and she exchanged a look with Peter. “Not a big deal?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “It’s Christmas, Kate. You left her alone on Christmas. Do you know how sad she’s been lately?”

Kate felt her heart drop, her stomach churning with anxiety. She had noticed how you’d been down lately, but she hadn’t realized just how much her absence was affecting you. Peter shook his head, his expression full of disappointment.

“Do you at least have presents for her?” he asked, hoping Kate had something planned.

Kate stayed quiet, her face flushing in embarrassment. Both Peter and Yelena groaned in frustration, exchanging exasperated looks.

“Okay, that’s it,” Yelena said, standing up and grabbing the communicator. “We’re holding off the mission. Backup will take care of it.” She turned back to Kate, her eyes softening slightly. “You need to go home and fix this.”

Peter nodded, giving Kate a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “She loves you, Kate. Just go make it right.”

As soon as they had the mission covered, Yelena set the jet’s direction back to New York, determined to help Kate save her relationship. The flight back was tense, Kate’s mind racing with fears that you might be done with her for good. Peter did his best to calm her down, reminding her of all the good memories you shared and assuring her that you still loved her.

When they landed, Kate hurried off, waving a quick goodbye to Yelena and Peter as she made her way to her car. She drove fast—too fast—earning herself a speeding ticket along the way, but she couldn’t care less. She needed to make this right.

Kate rushed through the stores, buying anything she knew you’d mentioned wanting—gifts she hoped would make you smile. When she finally arrived at your shared apartment, her heart sank at the sight. The place was quiet, the festive decorations feeling hollow without you there to enjoy them. She found you lying on your bed, petting Lucky absentmindedly, neither of you showing any sign of excitement.

“Hey,” Kate called softly, stepping inside with bags and a box of pizza in her hands. “I brought pizza for dinner.”

You looked up, surprised to see her here, but you didn’t move to greet her. Instead, you stayed on the bed, unsure of how to feel. Lucky, on the other hand, jumped up, wagging his tail as he ran over to greet Kate.

Kate’s heart ached at the sight of you, your usual warmth replaced with uncertainty. She put the bags down, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I’m a terrible girlfriend. Please, please don’t break up with me. I promise I’ll never leave you alone on Christmas again, or any other important day—”

You got up, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and pressed your lips against hers, cutting her off. Kate froze for a moment before relaxing into the kiss, her arms wrapping around you tightly.

When you finally pulled away, you gave her a small smile. “You’re forgiven, Kate. Just… don’t do it again, okay?”

Kate nodded, her eyes glistening with relief. “I promise.”

Slowly, the heaviness in the room began to lift. You both moved to the living room, exchanging gifts and decorating the tree together. You put on some Christmas music, the familiar tunes filling the apartment as you laughed together. Kate still felt a twinge of guilt, but seeing you smile made her feel a little better.

She had also picked up matching Christmas sweater pajamas for the two of you, and after dinner, you went to take a shower, changing into the cozy PJs afterward. When you returned, you found that Kate had set up the couch with fluffy blankets and pillows, your favorite movie ready to play. She handed you a mug of hot cocoa, her eyes soft as she watched you.

You smiled, your heart warming at the sight. “You really went all out, huh?”

Kate shrugged, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Only the best for you.”

You settled on the couch together, cuddled up under the blankets as the movie began. Halfway through, Kate took a picture of the two of you, sending it to Peter and Yelena with the caption: Mission saved.

A moment later, Yelena’s response came through: Did you get a head?

Kate choked on her cocoa, quickly typing back a no before turning the group chat off, her cheeks flushed. You looked up at her, curious. “What’s up?”

Kate shook her head, giving you a smile. “Nothing important.”

You snuggled closer, your head resting on her shoulder as you whispered, “Merry Christmas, Kate.”

Kate pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her arms tightening around you. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

Lucky jumped up onto your lap, curling up and falling asleep as you both smiled, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket. Despite everything, this was perfect—and Kate knew she’d never take it for granted again.

[andromeda-pleiades]

Captain's Favorite

WORD COUNT: 2,183

PAIRING: John Price x NB!Oc

This is a rewrite that I felt I could do justice. I also am releasing an OC list and writing this longer story help with ideas

In one of the more secluded briefing rooms, Captain John Price stood at the head of the table, his commanding presence unshaken by the dim, flickering light above. The mission had taken an unexpected turn when the terrorist organization relocated their base to a fortified ship in international waters. The Navy intervened, sending one of their best—Captain Bee.

Price had already dealt with Bee in the past. They were capable, yes, but their constant need to challenge him grated on his patience, while beneficial in some cases it usually ended with the both of them making a fool of themselves. Beside him, Captain Bee leaned against the table, their arms crossed and expression tight. Though they often came across as confident and collected, their narrowed eyes betrayed a flicker of unease at standing so close to Price.

“John,” Bee began, their voice sharper than usual, “my team and I are clearly better suited to lead this mission. We've already reviewed the terrain, the approach, and the objectives.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to just step back and follow orders, yeah?” He crossed his arms, his gaze meeting theirs. “This isn’t about who’s better suited. We’re both here. Get on board.”

Bee bristled, their cheeks heating slightly as they looked away. “You’re impossible.” they muttered, messing with the jewelry that adorned thier fingers.

Why does he always get under my skin?

“You’ve said that before,” Price replied, his tone gruff but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t bother me then, either.”

Bee glared at him, their frustration bubbling over. “You’re so full of yourself. Just stay out of my way.”

“I’ll do my job,” Price shot back, his voice firm. “You focus on doing yours.”

The room fell silent as the two locked eyes, their teams exchanging awkward glances. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat on one side, while Bee’s five—Coma, Harpy, Hold em', Torres, and Quinn—occupied the other. Soap leaned toward Ghost, muttering, “Think we’ll make it outta here before they kill each other?”

Ghost didn’t bother responding, his masked face unreadable.

Bee eventually turned back to the table, taking a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” They went over the plan in clipped tones, detailing the approach to the ship, the entry points, and the objective: securing the stolen intel and disabling the ship's communications.

Price listened silently, occasionally nodding, but his stern expression never wavered. When Bee finally finished, he leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the tension. “One thing, Bee. My team doesn’t sit back and watch. We’ll take point on the comms. You can handle the extraction.”

Bee’s eyes flashed. “Fine. Just don’t slow us down.”

Price gave a short, gruff laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The room emptied quickly, soldiers moving with practiced efficiency. Bee lingered, adjusting the straps of their gear as Price’s heavy footsteps echoed behind them. “Hope you’re ready,” he murmured, voice low.

The moon hung low over the dark sea as the teams approached the ship in separate boats. Bee’s five-member team cut through the water silently, their movements precise and rehearsed. Price’s trio followed close behind, Soap keeping an eye on the horizon while Gaz and Ghost prepped their gear.

As they reached the ship’s hull, Bee gave a quick signal to their team. “Harper, Torres, up first. Clear the Deck.”

Price watched from his boat, his jaw tightening. “Ghost, Soap, cover them. Gaz, with me.”

Bee shot him a glare as they started climbing the rope ladder. “Didn’t I say my team would handle the Deck?”

“And I said we don’t sit back,” Price replied evenly, hoisting himself up behind Ghost.

The Deck was cleared in seconds, Bee’s team securing the perimeter while Price’s team moved toward the communications tower. Bee followed, keeping a wary eye on Price. His movements were steady and efficient, and as much as they hated to admit it, he made it look easy.

“Torres, Hold em',” Bee whispered into their comms. “Stay sharp. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Price’s voice crackled over the shared channel. “Ghost, get those comms down. We’ll sweep the upper levels.”

Bee clicked their tongue, irritation flaring. He’s always got to take charge, doesn’t he?

As the teams moved closer to the ship the energry started to get a little more competitive

“Got two hostiles down in the control room,” Gaz reported.

“Already cleared three in the storage bay,”Harpy countered smugly.

Price shot a glance at Bee, who scowled. “Don’t look at me. Just because my team’s better doesn’t mean I’m keeping track,” they muttered, though their tone was laced with pride.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Price muttered under his breath.

The teams had split momentarily, each taking different routes through the ship. Bee led their team down a narrow corridor toward the engine room while Price’s trio moved to secure the communications tower.

As Bee rounded a corner, their comm crackled to life. “Bee,” Price’s gruff voice came through. “How’s your end looking?”

“Fine,” Bee replied curtly, pausing to let Harpy and Hold ‘Em clear the next section. “We’ve taken out five hostiles already. You?”

“Seven,” Price answered, his tone laced with challenge.

Bee scoffed. “Yeah, sure you did.”

“Think I’m lying?” Price’s voice was firm, but Bee knew the subtle tease hidden in his tone. That familiar mix of irritation and something else—something they didn’t want to acknowledge—tightened their chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bee shot back. “Odds are in our favor.”

A beat of silence, then Price spoke again, his voice low and deliberate. “Tell you what—let’s make it interesting. Whoever racks up the most head counts owes the other. Call it... rights to brag for the next op.”

Bee smirked despite the heat creeping up their neck. “Bragging rights? That’s dull. If I win, I want something better. I want the ‘Ole Special.’”

For the first time, Price chuckled—deep, rough, and unexpectedly warm. “The ‘Ole Special’? You serious?”

“Dead serious.” Bee adjusted their grip on their weapon, willing their pulse to steady. Why does he always have this effect on me?

Price laughed again, the sound crackling through the comms. “Alright, fine. But when I win, you’re gonna swallow those words.”

Bee rolled their eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Big talk, John. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

“Always do,” Price replied gruffly, before the comms went silent.

The bet fueled the tension as the mission progressed. Bee’s team was meticulous, moving with precision and clearing each section swiftly.

“Two down in the engine room,” Torres reported over the comms.

“Three more in the storage bay,” Harpy added smugly.

Bee smirked despite themself. “Let’s keep it up. We’re not losing to them.”

Their comm crackled with Price’s voice. “Nineteen so far. How about you?”

Bee froze. “What? That’s not possible.”

“Calling me a liar again, Bee?” Price’s tone was sharp, his gravelly voice carrying that faint trace of humor that made Bee’s blood boil.

“I’m calling you delusional,” Bee snapped, even as their stomach flipped at the sound of his voice.

“Careful,” Price warned, his voice dropping an octave. “You’ve still got time to catch up—barely.”

Bee growled under their breath. “Coma, Quinn, double-time it. We’re not losing to them."

By the time the safe was cracked and the intel secured, the teams gathered at the extraction point. Bee approached Price, their jaw tight and their pulse annoyingly erratic.

“Well?” they demanded, arms crossed on their chest “What’s the count?”

Price looked up from his weapon, his smirk barely visible under his thick beard. “Twenty-four for us. You?”

Bee hesitated. “…Twenty-three.”

Soap let out a whistle, grinning as he looked between the two captains. “Close one, eh?”

Price’s eyes twinkled as he stepped closer to Bee, his imposing frame cutting through the tension like a blade. “Looks like you owe me, Captain.”

Bee glared, heat rising to their cheeks. “Don’t push it, John.”

Price leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Told you you’d swallow those words.”

Bee’s face burned as they turned away, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

Price’s low chuckle followed them into the chopper, settling in their chest like an ache they couldn’t quite shake.

The debrief room emptied quickly, chairs scraping against the floor as soldiers rushed out for their evening meal. Only Bee remained,a habit they picked up over the years, absently twirling the silver ring on their index finger. The familiar sound of Price's heavy boots stopped directly behind them.

"Come on, Bee," he murmured, voice low enough that only they could hear.

The walk to John's office would have been humiliating for anyone else—Price following close behind like a guard walking a prisoner to judgment. But Bee felt their pulse quicken with each step, trying to maintain their composure despite the anticipation building in their chest. It had been weeks since they'd been alone with John, and the tension between them had only grown.

Price settled against his desk when they arrived, arms crossed over his chest. The same knowing smirk from the debrief played at the corners of his mouth. "Well then," he drawled, "going to hold your end of the bet, or are you going to talk your way out of it again?"

Bee's eyes fell on the worn leather couch, memories of previous encounters flooding back. They grabbed one of the cushions and sank to their knees, having learned from experience that the hard floor left marks that were difficult to explain later. Their heart raced as they looked up at John, fighting to keep their expression neutral despite the heat building under their skin.

"I'm not going to do all the work for you, John," they said, proud of how steady their voice remained. Good, they thought, let him think I'm not excited.

John's smirk bloomed into a full smile as he began unbuckling his belt, the soft leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. "You know," he mused, "when you said you wanted the 'Ole Special,' I thought you would have tried harder to win." He traced their bottom lip with his thumb. "Guess you just love taking it."

The way Price's voice dropped when aroused sent shivers down Bee's spine, but they wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much power he held over them. Instead of responding, they maintained eye contact and ran their tongue along his length, satisfaction coursing through them when his words caught in his throat.

Their initial plan was to tease, to draw out the moment and maintain some semblance of control, but desire won out. Still, they forced themselves to move slowly, unwilling to reveal just how eager they truly were.

"Getting sloppy, Lieutenant," Price growled, his fingers holding the side of their head. The gentle grip turned firm as he took control, guiding their movements with increasing urgency.

Bee braced their hands against his thighs as he set a steady rhythm, the solid wood of his desk at their back. The office filled with a symphony of sounds—his low grunts, their muffled moans, and the wet sounds of their enthusiasm.

"Bloody hell, Lieutenant," Price gasped, holding them close until their nose brushed against him. "So tight and wet and obedient. So desperate you don't even care that our men are right outside

A moan vibrated in Bee's throat at his words, drawing a breathless groan from above as Price's grip tightened further.

His movements grew erratic, desperate, as he held them in place. With a final, deep thrust, Price stilled, his warmth flooding their throat as a guttural groan escaped him. Bee waited until his grip loosened before sliding back, a silvery strand briefly connecting them before breaking.

They coughed a few times, clearing their throat, then looked up at him with a cocky smirk. "You used to last so much longer," they teased, voice slightly hoarse. "Getting old, John?"

John tucked himself away, fastening his belt with practiced ease. His breathing was still slightly uneven as he looked down at them, noting the flush in their cheeks and the way their pupils were still blown wide. "Need any help with your... situation?" he offered, gesturing vaguely toward them.

Bee pushed themselves to their feet, brushing off their knees with affected casualness. "I think I'll save it," they said, smoothing down their uniform. "For next time." They stepped closer, close enough that Price could feel their breath against his ear. "When I'll have you on your knees for me."

They turned toward the door, hiding their situation. Before they could reach for the handle, Price's voice stopped them.

"Bee," he called softly, making them pause. "It was... nice to see you again. Like this."

Heat bloomed across Bee's cheeks at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. They didn't trust themselves to turn around, knowing the boyish smile spreading across their face would give away too much. Instead, they gave a quick nod and slipped out the door, their heart hammering against their ribs as they hurried down the corridor.

Only when they were safely around the corner did they allow themselves to smile

All banners by @cafekitsune

[ironlamb]

" IT DOES NOT PLEASE ME . it is simply a symptom of having a well functioning mind ." cersha snaps with a roll of her eyes , huffing in a way that makes her expression twist yet again . " not that you would know , clearly ." the words are bitten out as she brings her goblet right back to her lips , taking another healthy sip before she's narrowing her eyes sharply as he continues . the glare that is levelled his way is sharp enough to cut even if her expression barely twitches outside of it . when she was younger she would often imagine the power she would wield if her look alone could kill . ironically enough , that original thought as well was in relation to her brother . apparently some things never change . " i will have you know , they are already thoroughly impressed , varyn . not all of us have to rid ourself of our clothes and dignity to gain admiration ." perhaps the iciness of cersha's tone is only proving his point , but she sees little reason to change it . it's with a grand roll of her eyes that she scoffs . " and am i to believe a marriage with you will be joyful ? you leave far more pain in your wake than i ever have . at least my use of the pieces around me is for a goal rather than for sport ." some part of cersha is aware that she has gone on the attack instinctively ; a gut reaction in defense , born of a desire to protect one's soft underbelly from something a bit too sharp . and yet she can do very little to help it . what else is a lion to do but bite and claw and roar when cornered ? it is with a measured movement that cersha begins to top up her goblet , her hand steady even as clenches her teeth just hard enough to ache . the sigh that flows out of her nostrils is slow .

" i do not need you to lecture me , varyn . i am more than capable of making myself lovable ." the words are purposefully even as cersha moves to place down the bottle , as she unclenches her jaw with a conscious movement . it takes just as much effort to unclench her fingers from the neck of that bottle instead of hitting her brother over the head with it . the option is perhaps especially tempting with the lack of witnesses . " why do you think i am gathering information so diligently ? i do not seek to blackmail them for the entirety of our marriage ." cersha huffs as she looks into the liquid in her cup, staring at her distorted , reddish reflection within it even as she says , " once i know what she wants , i can be that and the love will come with it ." it is only then that cersha sighs and says , " besides , i have already begun and she seems more than pleased with who she believes her betrothed to be ." she moves to toss a curl over her shoulder primly as she says , " this is not something new to me ." love was a strange concept . on some level cersha would like to think she understood it . people loved what was presented to them . what they could see . what they could hear . if those cards were just right then adoration would follow . cersha has experienced it . from gathering the hearts of the lords and ladies that her parents entertained as a child , to collecting the affection of eligible lords and ladies in her adulthood , cersha understood love , and lust , and infatuation or what have you . it was something that could be trapped if you put out just the right bait . and one could create that bait with the right information . cersha knows that she was the bait . that she could mold herself into it . that she could become it . but she also knows that it was that bait that people found themself tempted by . that it was that bait that they'd come to love . that it wasn't her , truly . she could make herself into something lovable but was she lovable ? it wasn't particularly something she found need to worry over . after all , if you could trick people into loving you did it truly matter ? telessa loved her somehow , of that she was quite sure . varyn loved her , in his own strange way . and cedric , surely . perhaps her father as well , on good days . on cersha's good days , of course. her mother must have loved her at some point , surely . perhaps she may not have liked her , but she must have loved her for at least some time . maybe for that first moon . or for that first instant , even . perhaps she was born with claws and fangs , but there were some who loved her anyways .

but cersha knows to be loved is one thing , and to love is entirely another . and yet wondering over her capability to love would take up mental energy that varyn seemed intent to hog to himself at the moment . for just an instant cersha can't help but be grateful to him for it . at his question , she doesn't hesitate : " i want to rule , varyn ." cersha says with the same confidence that she perhaps came out of the womb with , her brows arching her brother's way as if the very question was somehow an insult to her resolve . " i was born for it . i would excel at it . and for that i should have a right to it ." it is with that that cersha shrugs , blunt as she says , " and the seven kingdoms would be better for it if i was in such a position ." it's all she has ever wanted . perhaps that in itself is strange , but it's the truth . cersha could not explain the feeling within her . the innate drive towards this end , the burning desire towards her goal . all she knew that it was there : burning endlessly . it had yet to so much as flicker since she realized its existence and now here she is . so close to it . so very , very close to it . she knows the flames won't burn her once she's engulfed in them . perhaps that is the immunity that uniting with a dragon will afford her . cersha arches a brow at varyn's gesture , studying him for a moment before she's moving to sit down with a sigh that is accompanied by a roll of her eyes . it is at that point that she settles in to listen , doing not much more than shrugging at the mentioning of catching her spiders ( after all , she had sent much more than two ) and merely blinking his way for the rest of it . cersha would like to say that she is dreadfully surprised . she would like to say that she is shocked . and yet at the end of his tale she can only sigh deeply again . " you are an imbecile , do you know that ?" cersha's expression is twisted with something deeply unimpressed , and despite knowing that getting drunk at these festivities is the very last thing she wants to do she can't help but take another healthy gulp from her goblet . " gods ." cersha's expression twists in something resembling annoyance as she pulls her goblet from her lips again . " i knew you would father a thousand bastards , so that is of no surprise to me , but a lady , varyn ? truly ?"

cersha could keep the judgement out of her voice if she tried , but thankfully there is little need to . the only one here to hear her scolding is varyn , who is apparently welcoming it . so cersha doesn't dull the cut of her tongue even slightly in response . " can you not just go to a brothel like any other depraved man !" she throws her hands up in frustration . " or god , exercise some semblance of self control for once in your life ." cersha takes a long look at varyn before clucking her tongue , her hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose tightly as she takes a measured breath . " not to say she is innocent either . you both are at fault considering that the birth of a bastard would be the natural result of your joint carelessness ." a scoff as she shakes her head and gestures to him frustratedly . " and you lying truly helped nothing ! we should have been prepared for this and gotten ahead of it however instead you kept this to yourself ! and all you've done to rectify your mistake is to haphazardly slap a bandage on it ! " her lips twist then , her expression almost thoughtful before she glances to her brother . she looks at him a long moment then , expression sour and eyes tight before she sighs and says , " does she still love you ?" cersha can't help but scoff as varyn directs the attention back to her , brows arching . " oh no , you are not getting out of this that easily ." she points a finger to him then , brow arching . " do not detract from the point at hand . you will overshadow my engagement with your nonsense at this rate !" she snaps frustratedly . however it is with a slight huff that she waves a hand and adds , " but if you must know she trusts me explicitly and wishes to treat me as her equal ." cersha's brows raise pointedly with the words as she moves to take another sip from her goblet . " which is fundamentally a poor course to take all things considered but again ," a gesture to all of him as her nose wrinkles in frustration . " your mess has taken momentary priority ."

"Alright Cersha, if it pleases you to get worked up over every minor inconvenience I shall not stand in your way." she was exhausting, truly. Her vigilance, and constant need to stay ahead of everything and everyone was tiresome to observe -- he could only imagine how much more tiresome it must've been to live. But at this point, Varyn supposed if his dear sister did not have anything to worry about, she would simply explode. Or implode. Collapse, cease to exist. "You resemble our lord father more every day. Perhaps if you were to truly impress your marriage prospect you ought to take a step back and assume some favourable traits of our late mother. You are far too cold and much too sharp -- I cannot imagine being stuck in a marriage with you and hoping it would bring up any sort of happiness."

Varyn wasn't trying to be cruel. In fact, he was trying to be helpful. With wine between his lips, smoothing out his throat, he reminded himself no one else would dare voice these opinions to her face.

"You are smarter than I, dear sister, we are both aware -- but I feel I must remind you that no matter how logical and favourable the arrangement of marriage might be, those who have souls -- and 'm speaking of Vaelora here, not you -- long for some sort of love and connection and intimacy, on a deeper, perhaps even a subconscious level." he is being brutally honest, the kind of honesty he only ever afforded his sister. Showing a side of himself, only she ever got to see. "You may know everything there is to know of Vaelora, and say all the right words. You may present yourself, our family, our gold, our usefulness to the crown in the most perfectly packaged manner. But, dear sister -- can you make her love you? Because that --" he taps the table beside him, eyes focused on hers. "That is where true power lies. If you can get them to love you, you can get them to do anything. To overlook anything."

It was a skill, like any other. Varyn knew a thing or two when it came to love. He knew how to inspire it, how to use his charisma, his charms, his words to get strings of other peoples hearts to attach to his own. He knew how to look a woman in the eye, and tell her whatever it is she wanted to hear. And he knew, above all else, how to stay detached. For love was only there for the taking. Giving it -- it was too great a risk. The kind of risk he was not willing to take. He would not fall prey to.

"I've never asked. But what is it you want Cer? Power, I understand. But that cannot be all, surely?"

When the topic switched back to him, he finished his cup and gestured to the chair beside him. She would need to be sat down for this. He poured himself another, and then let a sigh of anxiety he'd carried on for most of the day, lift off his shoulder. He slouched, almost, a rare sight to behold and with his thumb and index finger he quickly pinched the top of his nose before falling into his story.

"You have heard of my exploits in Dorne. I'm sure. Twice I caught your very own spiders in my way, ever watchful." he did not care that his sister had her eyes on him, no matter where he went. He always assumed it brought her ease, knowing his movements. But she did not know...everything. "When I was training, I became acquainted with one Lady Dayne. A southern beauty, just as I like them. Long dark hair, violet eyes, olive skin. I must say, she left me rather breathless." his brows raise and he will speed up the story knowing his sister will hold no patience for poetics. "She did not fall for my charms instantly. Suppose you could say I wore her down. One thing...then another and...well, we are both adults, you can assume how this story should end."

He gives up the cup now, and takes a hold of the bottle instead. "I was growing rather fond of her, so I decided to leave Dorne. I'm sure father would have orchestrated a marriage alliance instantly should he gotten a whiff of our affair, so I did not return home yet." there's a pause. "Then a raven came in the night. Informing me of Lady Daynes unfortunate new...condition." Cersha would understand. "I burnt it."

Leaning forward in the chair, he feels lighter after his admittance. "I put it out of my mind. I am not the first, nor the last lord to sire a noble bastard." it would have been nice if it all just ended there. "All that is to say, Lady Dayne is now here. As is the babe. And I have barely managed to avoid a scene in the gardens by lying to her face I held no knowledge of her...predicament. Needless to say she's bound to find the truth eventually, but until then I should hope to find a way to resolve this situation without sullying our precious name." He had purposefully avoided mentioning the inexplicable bond and connection he felt towards the child. "There. Feel free to scold me now, I should welcome it for once."

Finally, he will relax and switch back to Cershas pressing matter. "What did she say during your meeting? Must have been something to have you feeling so...out of depth?"

[pagerunner-j]

I have had a miserable couple of weeks, but today? It’s 75 degrees, clear skies, light breeze, I’ve got one of these, and things are, at this particular moment, lovely.

(Also, locals or determined geoguessers can probably tell where I am. But fuck it. ;)

[thelaurenshippen]

open ai made a little post about how they chose their chatbot voices and two things stood out to me:

a) I am genuinely pleased and surprised that the voices come from specific real people that they hired and paid, rather than being built off of all of the data open ai has scraped. the voice for siri did one job for one company 20 years ago and now she is literally everywhere without ever being compensated by apple or even acknowledged as the voice. there's simply no way she was paid enough in that original job. whereas, open ai says "each actor receives compensation above top-of-market rates, and this will continue for as long as their voices are used in our products." this could mean literally anything (what market rate are we going above? does continue mean they get residuals or get paid for doing more sessions?) but, christ, at least the actors are doing it with full knowledge of what their voices are being used for and can decide for themselves if the compensation is enough

b) the post talks about working with "award-winning casting directors" to get the voices. first of all, yay for paying casting directors! we love to see it. but they also say the CDs received over 400 submissions in a week and they state that like a big number and it's just...not at all. and look, without knowing the intricacies of the casting process, it's hard to know what approach the CDs took - it's very possible they were selective from the jump and 400 is a lot from the pool they were tapping. 400 would be a lot if you were going to the agencies directly and asking for names, but there's just no way in hell open ai went after big stars for this. so it would've been a pool of unknowns. in which case, 400 is laughably small. even if you're not using the big casting sites like actorsaccess, I've worked on projects with CDs and their own internal systems where we've gotten over 100 submissions for a single role. I've posted roles on casting sites and received literally thousands of submissions in just a few days

look, I have a very limited perspective on this - I am not a casting director (imo, one of the most important and undervalued jobs in hollywood) and I, in fact, hate the process of casting with a passion. but 400 just seemed like such a tiny pool to pull from and, idk, it heartens me! it's heartening to think that there's very little interest from actors and agents to be doing this kind of stuff. and absolutely no shade to the actors who did--I want actors to get their bag however they want as long as it's, like, safe sane and consensual, you know? but there's something encouraging about thinking that open ai hired some big casting agency to get their foot into the voice acting door and people didn't come running

[gibbearish]

btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest

[gxlden-angels]

Hello! I apologize if this is a nosy question, but what is the silly feelings wheel app you were talking about in a previous post? My therapist and I have been working on identifying feelings but I still very much rely on a list of feeling words to have any idea what I’m feeling, so it could be a helpful resource. No worries if you don’t want to share, just thought I would ask :)

It's called How We Feel! I'm not sure if it's available on all devices yet, but it's on ios and the google play store for sure.

I've been using it for about a year. It's more of a chart than a wheel but people usually recognize the wheel better so that's what I call it. When you first start it has a 10-part tutorial about emotional acceptance and regulation, then it has suggestions for each category of emotion. You can access both at any time tho after those first 10 days.

It has a share option so you can have friends, which has been great for me cause it prompts me to check on friends and them to do the same for me. It allows you to just respond with a little emoji in like a "I'm here for you" little notification to your friend, or you can reach out to your friend on your own. Its really helped me cause I'm bad at reaching out when I need support so to me and I'm bad about taking on other's problems even when I can't handle it so being able to send a little emoji instead to make sure my friends know I'm there if they need me and them doing the same has been great

[gorespawn]

I listened to some of your music recs and they're so good! You have great taste! Do you have any more music recs?

shaking with an excitement that cannot even be graded on the richter scale. oh boy, do i!

[lxnarphase]

━ ❝ OH, IT'S MINIKUNA ! ❞

✮₊‧⁺...content: heian era!sukuna x wife!reader, fluff, mentions of childbirth, sukuna is an overly proud father, sukuna is whipped for his wife

✮₊‧⁺...lunar's note: based of this little blurbie and this one too !! needed some fluff with kuna bc he would love having a baby girl idc what anyone says !!! also i did my best describing the birthing process in a time accurate period but it's definitely a bit inaccurate because...i have never had a baby LOL

no one has ever seen sukuna ryomen, king of curses, wince before.

not until today, at the wrath of his pregnant wife who somehow got a hold of his fingers instead of his hand.

one of the nurses did warn him to not give you his finger and to ensure you always hold his hand. but by the gods, he swears you almost ripped his finger off.

it's cute to him, however, when you attempt to curse him out.

'gods, sukuna, i despise your entire being!'

'i know, my wife.'

'i should've never let you get me pregnant, you animal!'

'you begged for it, my wife.'

'i am never letting you bed me again, use your hand for the rest of your existence!'

'you can't keep your hands off me, my wife, no need to lie.'

but the sigh of relief, the way you instantly look down and coo once the sound of wailing filled the air...it makes him melt just a little bit.

he can't deny, seeing you in pain made him heated. it took everything in him not to kill every midwife, nurse, and lady-in-waiting in your birth room for not being able to make this process completely painless.

except chiyo. he would have to reward your personal physician for preparing you so well for this...

what did the old hag like again? wines, meats, gifts for her grandchildren back at home?

hm, yes, that would be great for her. of course, he'll say it was from you. the king of curses shows gratitude for no one.

he's pulled out of his thoughts at the hushed whispers once the other women exam the baby before following your unspoken request to hold your child.

"d-do you think lord sukuna will harm our lady for this...?"

"i hope not, surely he can make an exception, t-they both are still young and can always try for more!"

"but he's the king of curses, t-there no way he won't have a reaction!"

before he can demand what they find so important to discuss in front of you, chiyo hushes the girls with a wave of her hand, ushering the girls to help wipe off your sweat, tears, and clean off the baby—gentle like it's the finest glass, she instructs—before turning to sukuna with a knowing smile.

"well, your greatness...congratulations on having a healthy and gorgeous little girl," she hums, wiping her hands with a clean cloth before going to rinse her hands to help stitch any rips and clean you up.

the room falls silent aside from your soft little coos and the wails of your daughter as you brush the wet, fluffy hair on her little head.

all the women in the room continue to work, but it's clear they are silently waiting for his outburst.

everyone knows that a proper heir to any throne is a boy...but now, sukuna's first born child is a girl.

but rather angry, yelling, and threats to your and your child's life, the room is filled with Suku's booming laughter, which practically shakes the entire room.

instead of an enraged expression, pure delight, and excitement are painted on his face as he sits next to you on the soft cushiony bedding on the floor, his hand caressing the rounded cheek of your newborn.

"so, you've given me a girl," he hums in delight, all four of his eyes narrowing. "this will be the one who takes over my throne once i decide to step down?"

this thing, this tiny, itty bitty baby...came from you both? it's almost laughable how small this baby is compared to his hand, that something so little could be related to him.

she's...nothing short of perfect. "absolutely divine...she will not just be beautiful like her mother, but as powerful as both of us."

he's so proud of you and your child. he would shower your daughter with riches, love, and anything she could ever want and ask for.

but, he couldn't lie.

she's a damned fat baby, big head and all.

"sukuna, watch your mouth!"

he can't help but laugh, not realizing his thoughts came out of his mouth. "what, it's a good thing! means she's healthy," he boasts with a grin, leaning down closer to see her better.

"she looks strong already. as soon as she is able, i will personally teach her how to be a truly malevolent little princess, how to properly slit the necks of her enemies, how to—!”

oh, he is so excited, it's adorable.

“sukuna, shush, i just gave birth to a child with a massive head like yours, give me a moment," you say with a light laugh, your smile still reaching your clearly tired eyes.

“…apologies, my wife.”

chiyo can't help but laugh with you she finishes applying the healing ointment on your lower body, using a bit of her cursed energy to speed up the healing process to help you skip any serious pain.

after all, nothing but the best physician for you in sukuna's palace.

"always such an excitable boy, my lord, ever since you were a young man," she hums, helping one of the midwives properly wrap your baby in the soft, clean cloth.

"be gentle with her," you instruct him, gently moving your arms toward him so he could take the little bundle. he's...nervous, but he hides it well.

you place your daughter in his arms and he looks down at her, suddenly conscious of how loud he's breathing. she's got his hair, still a bit wet but soft and fluffy. it's pink, just like his.

a pleased rumble vibrates his chest, and he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

but then...her eyes open.

both sets.

he almost didn't notice it at first, they're just so small, but they're there. the same color as yours, pretty and big, filled with so much life.

his eyes burn, vision getting blurry. no words come to his head, he can't think of anything to say. he's so caught up in his thought he doesn't even notice chiyo ushering the other girls in the room out and shutting the door before quietly tending to you with water or food.

she knows that look, you do as well. she's been around longer than uraume to know her master, knowing the king of curses since his young years as the unwanted child of the village, abandoned by his mother for his 'horrid' appearance.

she was lucky to have found him before the villagers got to him, torches, axes, pitchforks and daggers in hand to take care of the child who they believed to have brought misfortune to their home.

getting him to safety was one of the best decisions she'd ever made, king of curses or not. no child deserved to be abandoned like that. and now, he's seeing himself in that tiny little being in his arms right now...chiyo can only imagine what he's feeling.

so, out of respect, she keeps her gaze averted, pretending she does not see the misty gaze he gives your daughter. this is a moment for you and him, and she does her best to make all her movements as quiet as possible.

all sukuna can think about in this moment is how he used to be just as tiny as this. he was just as vulnerable in his mothers arms. he couldn't talk, couldn't speak, couldn't fend for himself.

yet, his parents looked down at him just like this and decided he was an abomination and didn't give him a chance.

but now?

sukuna knows he would never, ever let anything happen to this little bundle in his arms. he would rather destroy the entire planet before letting anything happen to his baby girl. no one would make his little one suffer and live to see another day.

he flinches just a little, feeling your soft hand rubbing his bicep. "it's okay, my love," you softly coo at him, reaching up to wipe a tear from his eye before it had a chance to drip down his cheek. "she's going to grow up feeling loved and cherished because she's got a great father."

"hmm..."

a smile crosses his features as he looks back down, looking at the squirming baby so makes a little noise before calming down when he strokes her little, chubby cheek again to keep her from crying again.

"and she's got a great mother. she'll be the most wonderful princess in all of history," he says with a toothy grin, chest rumbling with a laugh.

"aww, my love, that's so sweet..."

"seriously, though, how in hells did you squeeze this thing out of ya? thing's got the head of a watermelon."

"sukuna, give me back my baby, and chiyo? get this man some food to stuff in his mouth before he says something to warrent the rage of a new mother."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[sttoru]

ahh i just cant stop thinking of sukuna's fav concubine getting injured from the other concubines but she hides it because shes scared of being weak (in sukuna's eyes) and/or a burden ☹️☹️

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, sprinkle of angst n comfort. size difference. reader gets called ‘brat, woman, little one’ — ig this is a bit early in their relationship

“i’ve arrived, my lord,” you announce your presence once you step into sukuna’s quarters. the dimly lit room removed all the stress you currently had in your system—the knowledge that you’re safe in his space causes your shoulders to drop.

sukuna turns his head to look at you while he’s laid back on his bed, topless. all four of his eyes roam over your body, which isn’t anything unusual for you. he always does that.

“tch. took ya long enough,” the king of curses scoffs before gesturing for you to come closer, making that familiar motion with his fingers, “when i order y’ to come, you’re supposed to drop everything and rush to be at my service, woman.”

you hurry over to his side of the bed with a nod. “my apologies,” you mutter. you can’t tell him why you’re late, because hell would break loose within these walls. and also because you’re scared of what his reaction would be.

before being called over, you were in the kitchen, peacefully trying to get a snack, when two other concubines entered the room. you tried ignoring them, but that didn’t seem to be the smartest move. it wasn’t long before they threw derogatory remarks at you.

of course, you stood up for yourself and yelled some back. that’s when one of them pushed you backwards, causing the skin near your hand to get slightly burned by the fire on the stove.

if it weren’t for the maids around that went to report the ruckus to uraume, god knows what more would have went down in that kitchen.

“oi,” sukuna grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. he can immediately notice the vacant look in your eyes, which is unusual for you. you snap out of your trance and set the nasty memories aside—ignoring the impulse to scratch the injury on your wrist.

“i’m sorry, my lord,” you say again before slowly undoing your obi. you figure that is why sukuna had called you over, to do your job as his concubine. you halt your movements when you realise that undressing meant that he’s going to see the wound on your skin.

you hesitate. that same instant of hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by the king of curses. a large hand of his moves to stop both of your wrists from pulling off your robes.

“. . .i’m giving y’ three seconds of my time,” sukuna narrows his eyes after allowing you to speak up and tell him what’s on your mind. he hears you whimper in pain when he holds onto your wrist, your facial expression clearly uncomfortable. “spit it out,” he impatiently huffs. he wants to hear you say what’s wrong.

you desperately shake your head, biting your bottom lip. you don’t want to tell him—even though you know you’re obligated to.

denying an answer to sukuna was your next big mistake.

“fuckin’ brat,” the pink-haired man grunts. he yanks your arms up to his face, harshly pulling down the sleeves of your kimono. all four of his red eyes immediately fall onto the wound on your wrist. you obviously hadn’t treat it yet, even though you should have done so long ago.

there’s tension hanging in the air almost instantly after your little secret gets revealed. sukuna’s grip on your hands tightens which causes you to flinch. you close your eyes and expect the worst. you can already hear the insults he’ll throw at you—how he’ll call you useless, weak, stupid and all that.

“look up at me,” his voice rings out in a firm tone. you don’t want to anger him more than he already is, so you obey. you open your eyes and glance upwards, your worried gaze meeting his.

sukuna takes a deep breath to contain the bubbling rage inside of him; a rare sight indeed. he doesn’t want to unnecessarily lash out at you when it isn’t needed. however, he can’t deny that itching urge in his chest, to get mad at whoever caused your skin to get tainted like that.

sukuna stares at you with an intimidating glare. when you expect him to yell profanities at you, the unexpected happens.

“who did this to you?” he asks, voice strained like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you blink a few times. the king of curses sounds pissed off, and when he’s in that kind of mood, you know he’s not to be played with. you look the other way and try to think of a proper answer.

will you snitch and cause unnecessary bloodbath, or will you spare the lives of the concubines who hurt you and lie?

you’re scared of being seen as useless by sukuna if you tell him the truth. if you lie, he’ll probably call you weak and stupid as well. it’s a lose-lose situation, you conclude.

you swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth before parting your lips.

“m-miko,” her name echoes in his ears. you decide to be honest, because you know that there’s no fooling the ryomen sukuna. a second of silence follows and when you look up at him, he stares back at you with furrowed brows.

“ah,” you then realise that he doesn’t know his concubines by name. he has way too many women at his disposal and doesn’t find them worthy enough to remember.

however you have heard from uraume and the others that he does know your name—only yours. it makes you feel special.

you try to describe the concubine you’ve tussled with, “s-short blonde hair, uhm, mole under her right eye.. brown colored eyes—“

sukuna thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue once he faintly remembers who that’s supposed to be. without a word, he stands up and wraps one muscular arm around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you under his armpit like some package.

“uraume!”

his voice is loud enough to make the walls shake and it carries a clear hint of pure rage. everyone in the estate should have heard him by now, which means that they know what is going down in a couple seconds.

sukuna sounding this angry only means one thing; someone is going to die today.

the servants hurriedly scurry around, deeply bowing as he walks past them in the hallway with you still tucked underneath his arms. you let yourself be carried while your heart beats uncontrollably fast in your chest.

you feel your hands shake a bit. seeing someone like sukuna be this mad for your sake—to the point that he’s ready to turn the entire area upside down—is somehow thrilling. though, you can’t help but feel sick because of your own thoughts.

someone is going to die and there you are, cheesing about the king of curses.

you see the white-haired chef appear from a corner, their steps hurried. they glance at you and then back at their master. it’s like they immediately connect the dots.

“treat her in my quarters. don’t let her leave until i come back,” sukuna commands without even looking at uraume. he’s staring ahead, with an ominous aura emitting from his body, one that somebody can sense from miles away.

he puts you down next to uraume before glancing your way one last time. he lets out a deep sigh as he sees the worried expression you’re making. he lowers his head to your level so you’d be face to face.

“and you,” his warm breath hits your cheeks and sends a shiver down your spine. you gulp as sukuna’s hand reaches up to firmly tug at your earlobe, “i’ll deal with your ass later, yeah? i’ll make you feel what it means to hide stuff from me, little one.”

that sentence makes you even more nervous. you know you won’t be able to avoid the punishment sukuna has in mind, so you simply nod. “understood,” you reply in a squeaky voice. you don’t have the guts to disobey him—he’s already out to kill someone and you don’t want to be the next victim.

sukuna straightens his back again and continues his journey towards the concubines’ quarters. every heavy step makes the floors and walls shake, a sign of his unstoppable rage that’s about to be unleashed.

you feel slightly puzzled. you didn’t expect this outcome when you revealed your injury to the ruthless man. you expected to be belittled and mocked for not being able to prevent a wound from being inflicted on your body.

instead, there he goes, off to get revenge in your stead. you feel a twisted sense of satisfaction after seeing sukuna be this protective over you. actions like these demonstrate more than his dull words can do, even if it may seem like he doesn’t care about what could happen to a human like you.