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azzifuddslover · 2 days ago

Text

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, pining, light jealousy

word count: 3.6k

tw: swearing, talks of alcohol use

a/n: very proud of myself for finishing this as quick as i did. ngl i was so giddy writing this chapter, it might be my favorite so far! please lemme know how y’all are liking it, enjoy! 🩷

CHAPTER FOUR

paige wakes up in her bed, in the same clothes as the night before. her pounding headache is evident, and her memory is foggy. she recalls drinking far too much, but there’s still a gap in her mind regarding the last few hours. how did she end up in her dorm?

she came to the conclusion that nika or aubrey had brought her back home. i mean, they did witness her drinking more than she should on a thursday night, so it’s a solid assumption.

paige reaches for her phone; there’s three missed calls from nika, two from aubrey, and one message from coach auriemma. fuck. she’s late for practice.

the memory of azzi rejecting her floods her mind, which makes paige contempt staying in her bed for the remainder of practice.

as paige scrambles to get dressed and head out, she’s physically off balanced, still dizzy from all the alcohol she had consumed. she grabs an advil and quickly shallows out before throwing her basketball bag on and rushing out the door.

heads turn to look at paige as she strides through the gym door, already out of breath.

nika is the first to pull paige aside; “girl, where were you? are you good?” she questions, concerned.

paige fakes a smile, “i’m good nik. i just overslept.”

“you sure you’re okay? you were drinking a lot yesterday.”

“really, i’m okay.”

nika gives paige a reassuring squeeze on her shoulders, “alright. if you say so.”

paige begins to walk to the lockers rooms, purposefully avoiding coach, who calls her over anyway.

“where were you?” he asks, clearly furious at paige’s absence.

“i’m sorry coach, i overslept.”

“you should know better, paige,” he says firmly, “everyone, run 10 laps.”

loud groans come from each of the players. coach auriemma’s eyes widen in challenge, “don’t like that? make it 20.”

paige’s lips curl; she receives dirty looks from her teammates, annoyance bouncing off them. she desperately wants to run away, go anywhere but here, yet she sets her bag down and runs with her team.

practice is the slowest it’s ever been for paige. and the pounding headache she continues to have doesn’t help one bit. she remains out of sync, constantly missing easy layups and wide open 3 pointers. all she wants is for this damn practice to end so she can sleep the rest of the day away.

she’s been intentionally avoiding azzi, not meeting her eyes, building distance between the two, not even passing her the ball, regardless if she was open or not.

but when azzi throws a soft glance at paige does she meet her eye contact. azzi wears a concerned, light expression on her face, with an ounce of sadness in her gaze.

paige shoots a glare at the younger girl as she remembers the events of yesterday. azzi and paige’s bodies flush together. their lips inches apart. azzi’s rejection. azzi running away from her.

paige is first the break eye contact, going back to shooting. or atleast, attempting to shoot.

once practice comes to an end, everyone is eager to leave. it’s been a long day, and they all needed rest.

as azzi was about to exit out the gym door, paige pulls her into the locker room, quickly and swiftly.

“jesus, paige-“

paige places her hand on azzi’s forearm, “look, azzi. about yesterday,” she begins.

azzi’s cheeks flush, “paige-“

“listen, i was drunk out of my mind. i didn’t realize what i was doing or who i was doing it with. i hope you’d know i would never do that sober.”

pain hits azzi like a brick. she knew paige would regret it in the morning.

although azzi had been the one to pull away, it didn’t mean she didn’t want to kiss paige- she did. she desperately did. she still does.

“i.. okay,” azzi whispers, eyes flicking to the floor.

paige pulls her hand away from azzi’s arm, while continuing to look at the brunette.

“alright then,” she nods, “we good here?”

azzi opens her mouth, then shuts it and nods as well.

paige flings her bag over her shoulder and casually moves for the door. azzi’s not far behind her, placing her bag on her own shoulders and leaving the locker room.

the two girls walk in opposite directions, not bothering to glance back. paige closes her eyes as regret strikes her hard. she had lied to azzi. she wanted to kiss her yesterday, still wants to, but what else could she do? azzi pulled away. she pulled away. she had to at least try to act like it was a mistake.

later that evening, paige is in bed, with her phone in her hand. ever since practice earlier in the day, she had been completely worn out, still suffering from a terrible headache.

paige scrolls on tiktok for while, before switching over to her favorite app, instagram. she views her teammates stories and likes a few posts. she sees caroline posted a photo dump, and as she scrolls through the photos, observing each one, she notices azzi in the last photo.

it was a picture of her and caroline in one of their dorm rooms, arms around each other, and azzi’s lips on carol’s cheek, in a friendly manner. it doesn’t settle the blinding jealousy paige feels, though. her fingers tighten in her hands, causing marks on her palms.

god, azzi looks so good in that photo. her hair was loose at her shoulders; she had on a bright pink hoodie paired with black leggings. paige never wished more to be someone else in this given moment.

paige clicks on caroline’s photo, causing azzi’s instagram page to pop up. she quickly hits it to reveal lots of posts from throughout the years.

she scrolls through all her posts, way back to 2015, and she’s reminded of USA basketball days. when azzi dmed her about accidentally liking an old photo of hers. red covers her cheeks in embarrassment.

she views azzi’s most recent photo dump; it was a few pictures of her playing basketball and some with their teammates.

with a slip of a finger, paige likes the photo. again.

“god fucking dammit!” paige exclaims, shifting up in a sitting position while nerves stir in her stomach.

she shuts her phone off and tosses it on the bed. paige covers her face with both hands, shaking it head at her stupidity.

her phone buzzes against her bed; paige already knows what it’s going to be. and as expected, it’s an instagram dm.

i’m getting deja vu, it read. paige’s lips tilt up, somewhat pleased that azzi still remembers their interaction from years prior.

would u believe me if i say it was another glitch? paige texts.

anxiously waiting for azzi’s respond, paige fiddles with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

i’d say these glitches are awfully convenient, aren’t they?

a soft giggle escapes the older girl’s lips, as she swiftly replies.

they most definitely are, she sends.

after a couple minutes, azzi finally replies: sooo watcha doing?

paige arches an eyebrow, surprised to find azzi continuing the conversation.

laying in bed, what about u? she types almost instantly.

yeah same, i’m so bored, azzi’s message read.

an idea arises in her mind: same. wanna maybe come over? dorka isn’t here rn.

minutes pass without a respond from azzi. was that too much? does azzi not want to hang out with her? does azzi still hate her?

and do what? azzi finally sent.

paige tilts her head- what would they do? she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

not really sure. we could watch a movie or something, whatever you want.

seconds later azzi responds. sounds good, i’ll be there in 5.

paige scurries off her bed, frantically trying to make her room look somewhat presentable for the younger girl. not that she wanted to make an impression, or anything.

she stuffs dirty clothes in her bed, throws away old water bottles and miscellaneous wrappers before lowering the lighting to appear slightly darker.

as she replaces her current hoodie for a cuter one, she hears a quiet knock at the door. her head whips in that direction while nerves erupt in her stomach.

she opens the door to reveal a smiling azzi. she has on a simple white sweatshirt, baggy black sweatpants, with a pair of nike slides.

“hey,” azzi says, looking into paige’s eyes.

“hi,” paige replies, holding eye contact, “come on in.”

paige moves to the side, allowing azzi to enter her dorm room, cautiously. azzi observes her room better than she previously had when they were first in here alone, taking in the posters, books, decorations. it was all so paige.

paige gently shuts the door before going to sit back on her bed.

“you played really well yesterday, you know,” paige compliments.

azzi’s smile grows, revealing her dimples that paige loves a little too much, “thank you. that means a lot.”

blush reaches paige’s face, “yeah, of course. but i’m sure you already knew that.”

azzi arches a brow, “what do you mean?”

“how coach compliments your game all the time. you’re the team’s princess, practically,” paige notes.

“well, i wouldn’t-“

“not that i can blame him, though. your skills are undeniable, az,” paige cuts her off, the tips of her lips lifting.

azzi brings a hand up to cover her wide grin at paige’s compliment and the use of her nickname.

“getting soft on me, bueckers?”

paige playfully rolls her eyes, “you wish.”

paige shifts over on the bed, making enough room for azzi to sit as well. “you can come sit, y’know.”

azzi is hesitant, but regardless, walks over to paige’s bed and sits alongside the older girl. their thighs brush against each other’s, sending butterflies to azzi’s stomach.

the two girls settle on a movie, the notebook, to watch for the evening.

“want something to drink?” paige offers.

“um, water is fine, thanks,” azzi answers.

paige simply nods and walks out the bedroom, out to the small kitchen her and dorka share. while she’s gone for a quick moment, azzi decides to get more comfortable, allowing herself to lay out in paige’s medium sized bed.

paige comes back to the room and brings herself to a halt. god. azzi laying on her bed was not one she’d imagine actually happening, but is damn grateful it is.

“thought i’d get more comfortable for the movie,” azzi says, like the answer is obvious.

“that makes sense,” paige replies, breathlessly. she sets down azzi’s requested water and her own on the bedside table, while she carefully crawls in bed next to azzi, laying out as well.

the two girls bodies’ are side by side, full on touching one another’s. and paige couldn’t be happier.

“y’know, you’re a really great player too, paige,” azzi whispers, a couple minutes into the romantic film.

“thank you,” paige begins, “i thought i’d never hear those words come out of your mouth.”

azzi snorts, “yeah, well, me either to be honest. i’ve always hated you.”

paige’s lips turn slightly downward, yet is unsurprised at azzi’s comment. she knew azzi had hated her, ever since USA basketball. she hated azzi, too. well, tried to hate her.

“i hated you, too,” paige lies right through her teeth.

azzi turns her body to face paige, “do you still hate me?”

paige scoffs, because how could she, or anyone for that matter, ever hate someone like azzi? paige shifts her body, facing the brunette’s; “i don’t know, my opinion on you changes everyday,” she teases.

azzi smiles- her brown eyes roam paige’s face, then drop to her pink lips. she knows better; paige literally said mere hours ago she would never kiss azzi sober.

“i’m kidding. i don’t. i could never hate you,” paige mutters, barely loud enough for azzi to hear.

just as azzi’s about to respond, exhaustion washes over her, causing her to drift to sleep. in paige’s dorm. in her bed.

paige’s eyelids flutter open as the remnants of sleep faded. the warmth of her bed surrounds her as she was the first to wake. she glances at the body in front of her, taken aback at the sight of the curly headed brunette. her breathing is steady and peaceful, lips slightly ajar. paige lays motionless for a moment, listening to the gentle rhythm of her own heart, before carefully, slowly reaching around to grip her phone.

paige’s eyes widen as she views the current time- 3:01 am in the morning. they had been asleep for several hours at this point, right alongside of each other.

paige looks over at dorka’s empty bed and is surprised not to see her. she figures she’s staying at one of their teammates room.

paige sets her phone back on the bedside table, takes a swig of water, before returning to her laying position in front of azzi, who remains asleep. she slowly reaches her hand out to graze azzi’s cheek, then twirl a loose curl around her finger, careful not to wake the younger girl.

minutes later, with paige continuing to stare at azzi, her eyelids finally open. she stretches slightly, lets out a faint yawn, before making eye contact with the blonde.

“hi,” azzi whispers, still dazed from her long rest.

paige gently smirks, “hey.”

“we fell asleep?”

“guess so. i don’t think i watched past 10 minutes of the movie,” paige laughs.

“same,” azzi shares the laughter.

the two girls shift into a sitting position, not caring enough to move when they touch one another.

“pass me my water?” azzi asks.

paige nods, grabbing azzi’s water bottle, as well as her own.

“thanks,” azzi says once paige hands it to her. she downs the entire bottle as paige silently watches in admiration.

“thirsty?” paige teases.

“you have no idea,” azzi replies, out of breath, “can i have some of yours?”

paige’s eyebrows rise, kind of surprised at the question. “yeah, ‘course.”

she passes her water off the azzi, who gratefully takes it. she takes several sips.

“what time is it?” azzi questions the older girl.

“3 am,” paige replies.

azzi turns her head at paige in surprise, “are you joking? we slept for that long?”

“i know right,” paige says, equally as shocked.

“i should probably get going then,” azzi says, beginning to get off the bed.

paige turns her head to azzi, “what? you don’t have to. it’s the middle of the night, azzi.”

“you want me to stay?”

paige looks away, flustered, “um, i didn’t say that. i’m just saying you’re allowed to stay if you want to. dorka’s probably at one of the girls’ room, so we have enough space.”

“alright then,” azzi nods, “do you have a shirt i can borrow? i hate sleeping in sweatshirts.”

“didn’t seem to have a problem with it earlier,” paige notes, “but yeah, i do.”

the blonde rises off her bed, scrambles in her messy closet, blocking it with her body to avoid azzi seeing the clutter. she pulls out an old USA basketball t-shirt that she figures azzi would be fine with.

“this good?” paige questions.

glancing at the shirt, azzi’s lips turn up, “that’s great. thanks, paige.”

she throws the shirt to azzi, who also pushes herself off the bed, easily catching it. paige exits the room, going to get more waters for the two of them. azzi lifts off her sweatshirt, tosses it to the ground when paige quickly returns.

paige nearly drops the bottles of water at the sight of azzi’s bare back. her eyes widen, her breath hitches. she wasn’t wearing a bra this entire time?

azzi pulls on the t-shirt paige kindly let her borrow, before turning around, noticing paige staring at her with her jaw dropped.

“i- i’m sorry…” paige stammers, shaking her head at herself.

azzi’s heart is basically beating out of her goddamn chest. she smiles gently, “you’re fine.”

paige finally moves from her spot at the door and places the bottles down. she stares at azzi, wondering if they’d continue to share the bed or if one of them would move to dorka’s.

azzi stares back at the older girl, thinking the same think but not voicing it.

eventually, paige breaks the silence. “i can sleep on dorka’s bed.” she walks over to the empty, made bed, slightly disappointed azzi isn’t protesting against it.

panic soon sets in for azzi, “what? no, it’s your bed, paige. you should sleep it in.”

“really, it’s fine, i don’t mind,” she lowers herself on the bed.

“paige, cmon. i’m not making you sleep in a different bed,” azzi argues.

“okay then..” paige says, confusion setting in.

azzi plops back onto paige’s bed, moving over so there’s enough room for the older girl, “just come back over here.”

paige’s cheeks blush against her will, a smirk settling on her face. “if you insist.”

the two girls get comfortable on the bed, legs touching ever so slightly.

“night,” azzi whispers.

“night, az.”

azzi, this time, is first to wake. paige is much, much closer to her than she had been when they first fell asleep. azzi suddenly feels an arm wrapped tightly around her waist that has her pulled practically flushed against paige’s body. paige’s hand is underneath azzi’s shirt, on her bare back. azzi allows herself to admire a sleeping paige for a quick moment.

she checks her phone- 8:30 in the morning. azzi carefully takes paige’s arm and places it gently on the bed, then crawls out of the warm bed, trying her best not to disturb the blonde.

with her phone in her hand, she glances back at paige, and exits the room.

later that day, in the afternoon, the entire uconn women’s basketball team is scattered in paige and dorka’s room. there’s players on both beds, on the small couch, on the floor. azzi is planted against paige’s bed, while paige is seated on the couch.

the team had been chatting about a variety of things when kk comes up with an idea for the girls.

“guys, we should play spin the bottle!” kk announces, loudly.

“what are we, 10?” paige scoffs, rolling her eyes at the game idea.

“cmon, p, don’t be blame. plus, i’m so bored,” kk whines.

“i’m down,” nika agrees.

“same, why not,” jana says.

soon, each player agrees to a game of spin the bottle, even though paige is convinced it’s a stupid idea. they all sit in a circle, tight enough so they’re all touching, due to the size of the dorm. kk places a bottle in the middle of the circle and gives it a gentle spin.

it lands on aubrey and lou. nika lets out a soft chuckle, causing aubrey to laugh as well.

“pucker up, lou lou,” aubrey smiles before swiftly placing a kiss on lou’s lips, not lasting more than 2 seconds.

the bottle is once again spun, fast this time. it lands on nika and jana, who smirk and touch lips.

paige shifts in her seating, silently wondering if the bottle would ever land on her. she doubts it.

kk gives the bottle a good spin, making it travel faster than before. paige anxiously watches the bottle, fidgeting with her fingers as nerves take over her body.

the first spin lands on azzi. oh jesus. whoever this next spin lands on should consider themselves lucky, paige thinks. she then takes in account that azzi still is wearing her USA basketball shirt.

it’s azzi’s turn for nerves to overpower her. her heart quickens, palms begin to sweat in anticipation for whoever she’s about to kiss.

the next spin seems to last an eternity. paige swears it goes in slow motion. but eventually, it points directly at the blonde.

azzi’s eyes practically bulge out of socket. her jaw drops as she locks eyes with paige, who looks equally as surprised.

ignoring the o’s and ah’s she receives from her teammates, paige makes her way over to the curly headed brunette, careful not to show how nervous she is to kiss azzi.

the older girl settles comfortably in front of azzi. her gaze roams azzi’s flushed face, which causes paige to smirk knowingly.

there is a heavy silence, the air between them electric, both eager and tentative. slowly, paige places her hand on azzi’s hot cheek, and leans in. when their lips finally brush, it was gentle- hesitant at first- but the warmth between them quickly grew, the kiss only deepening as both hearts speed up. a soft, trembling sigh escapes azzi’s mouth while paige’s deepens the kiss even further. she slips her tongue into the younger girl’s mouth, swirling and testing the waters.

after what feels like forever but not nearly enough, paige pulls away, disconnecting their lips. she removes her hand off azzi’s waist- which uncontrollably moved there from her cheek- and crawls back to her original spot, besides dorka and jana.

she glances back at azzi, who’s lips are pluffy and a darker shade of pink, while her cheeks are a softer pink.

the room continued to buzz with energy, the laughter of her teammates echoing from the game, but all paige could hear is the steady of her own heart. her pulse quickens when azzi meets her gaze, heat and want in her lingering eyes. for a moment, the noise of their friends fade away, leaving only the weight of a shared silence between the two.

the blonde didn’t take her focus off azzi. she didn’t smile, didn’t do or say anything. just watched.

azzi clears her throat, trying to act as casual as possible, but her hands betray her, nervously fiddling in her lap. she quickly flicks her eyes to the ground, but not before noticing paige’s lips twitch softly, as she was fighting off a grin.

then, without a word, paige turns her attention back to the silly game her teammates were continuing to play, yet azzi couldn’t shake the warmth in her chest or the growing electricity still intensely present between them.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #uconn wbb #nika muhl #uconn huskies #basketball #paige x azzi #fanfic #pazzi fics #paige buckets #fan fiction #uconn women’s basketball

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livingmeatloaf · 3 days ago

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The tags from @perpetualstateofcrying are so good, I'm putting them on the main post!

#amen to all the above! #and i'm just gonna add on some of the wisdom that one of my fave profs instilled in all of us abt texts/ learning/understanding #his main point was this: understanding will almost always come /after/ learning something #understanding usually comes at the absolute earliest while you're in the middle of actively learning it; it may not come for a While after #and when coming up against something new for the first time no one's gonna get it at first blush - and that's/fine/ #it usually takes being exposed to something multiple times before your conscious brain can actually comprehend it

#so the approach he taught us when reading anything (esp academic texts bc college) is that you just plan to read it multiple times #read it once (relatively quickly) to get a sense of the writer's style and vocabulary and the general gist of the topic at hand #(don't spend time rereading sections to try and understand what they're saying - that's not the point of reading it at this stage!) #then read it a second time to get a sense of the general structure of the arguments/evidence/etc (make some notes if smth pops out) #then read it a third time to start identifying and digesting the arguments being made (Really start taking notes here) #and take breaks between readings! let your brain recover and percolate! #it was way more helpful for me to take 20 minutes to read through a dense academic article then go make dinner before coming back to spend

#30 minutes reading it again while taking some notes and setting it aside for an hour to come back to it instead of trying to slog through i #all in one go and being miserable at the end of 3 hours feeling stupider than when i started bc i still didn't Get It

#and like this professor was explicit in teaching this bc his main goal was us learning how to learn first; #us learning the material content of his course was a secondary goal bc it would follow once we started hitting the first one #and i know this isn't gonna solve any and all issues with accessibility (op points out several - academia is Rife with plain bad writing) #but this was incredibly helpful in giving me a concrete method to approach academic texts that Wasn't an exercise in frustration/futility

#so like. if anyone else finds this helpful then i'm glad!

I was never taught to learn like this, and now I want to try it.

i genuinely have no animosity towards ppl who get upset abt not being able to read academic texts + i do think we need to expand the pathways/methods of being exposed to critical concepts so that "sit + read for 2 hours" is not the only option.

however, as someone dx with adhd + incapable of sitting still for even a minute (actually right at this moment i am writing this instead of reading the book sitting open in front of me), i do feel like a lot of ppl do not realize that not all readings are designed to be read like a novel.

as in, it's ok + normal + good to need to reread a paragraph several times, to only read part of a book, to have to research or reference words or concepts in order to grasp the reading, to skip over large chunks of text which are not relevant to your expertise, to continue reading despite not understanding a concept. this is something 'neurotypical' academics do frequently + many of these texts, especially contemporary ones, were designed with this in mind.

there are many ppl with accessibility needs that are not being met by academic texts at this time! many texts (in my humble opinion) are unnecessarily complex in order to show off or hide the fact that they have no idea what they're talking about.

i still feel like many of the kneejerk reactions on this site are based on the assumption that their experience reading academic texts should be similar to their experiences reading a nyt bestseller, rather than a process of thinking, analyzing, researching, processing, returning. some of u are telling yourself that any challenges u face while reading are a result of some internal fault u have + not an expected + precious part of the experience.

#Get peer reviewed #I'm glad you had a teacher that prioritized learning!#This sounds like a really good way to take in information

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fungateshortcakes · 1 day ago

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Tummy ache

Do I have kids? No. Do I want kids? Fuck no. Did I still write this because dad logan makes me feel a certain type of way? HELL YES

Pairing: Worst!Logan x single mom!Reader

Summary: It's late and your little daughter Laura won't stop crying and screaming, no matter what you do. You take her to your best friend Wade, who lives in the same apartment buildung. Will he and Logan be able to help you?

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warning/tags: english is not my first language, fluff, slight missunderstandings, Wade bc he needs a warning, implied sexual themes, friends to lovers, just cuteness, Laura doesn't exists as an adult like in the movie, rushed ending?, leave me alone I finished this at midnight

__________________________________

Logan was snoring on the couch in Wades apartment when loud, frantic knocks sounded on the door. He grumbled in annoyance as he turned, pulling a pillow over his head.

He heard Wade skip to the door in a pair of white underpants with hearts on them and a loose, grey wolverine fangirl shirt. "Must be the horse dildo I ordered" he spoke happily as if it was the most normal thing to say. Once Wade opened the door, the piercing shrieks of a baby crying echoed through the apartment.

You held your one year and a half old daughter in your arms, her face red as she cried into your shoulder. Wade noted that your hair was a mess and you seemed awfully tired. Well- it was late and on any other day, you and your daughter would already be sleeping. But there was clearly something that bothered her. She had been crying and screeching and in discomfort for an hour without you finding what caused it or how to fix it.

You tried feeding her, but she wouldn't open her mouth for the spoon. You tried reading to her, but she would always push away the books. You changed her diapers in case her sensitive skin was irritated by the dampness, but she hadn't peed. You didn't know why she was so distressed and nothing seemed to distract her from whatever it was that made her cry.

You were desperate. And while your best friend Wade wasn't really...fond of kids, which you couldn't blame him for, you still went to him for help. You never truly wanted kids yourself. But when the condom broke and your ex left you upon finding out you were pregnant, you were stuck with your baby. And now you wouldn't trade her for the world. Except in times where she was screaming with no appearant reason. "Hey Wade, I'm so sorry to bother you guys this late at night, but Laura, she won't stop crying. I've tried everything and I don't know what to do" you croaked, rocking the small child in your arms, shushing her to no avail.

Wade brought you inside so you wouldn't stay outside in the hallway any longer. No need for some neighbors to peek their head out of their doors to see what was going on.

In situations like these, Wade could be oddly serious and actually tried to help. He knew you were insecure because of your baby. You didn't want to be a nuisance or burden to anyone because you knew that your daughter could be a lot. Kids were high maintanance and you didn't want to make people feel like they were obligated to make room and drop everything once you arrived with your child. You couldn't expect from anyone that they were okay with you bringing your kid over. But Wade wanted you to know that even though he didn't like kids, you were his best friend and Laura had been nothing but a sweetheart so far. You were always welcome in his apartment.

Wade kicked Logan from the couch "Get your fat ass off the couch, the Lady needs a place to sit" he loudly said over Lauras crying. Logan groaned. You sat on the sofa and tried to take up as little space as possible. "Im sorry Logan, didn't want to disturb your sleep." you apologized meekly. "I can..I can move to the chair here" you muttered, pointing to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair that replaced an armchair, which had recently been thrown out of the apartment due to mysterious stains and various rips and cuts in the fabric.

You had met Logan a few times since he lived with Wade and Althea. And you would be a liar if you said he didn't catch your eye. He was tall, broad and very handsome, pretty much right up you alley. But there was no way he was looking for a chaotic single mother that barely had her life together and struggled to raise an unplanned child because her ex left her. Yeah, no. You were miserable. Logan didn't need any of that.

Adding to that, he always seemed to avoid you when Laura was near. You just thought he didn't like kids, which was totally fair. Truthfully, Logan liked kids and had always wanted some of his own, but it just...never happened. With him being the worst wolverine and all.

Then why did he avoid you and your baby?

Simply said, he didn't want to scare her. Most kids looked at him like he was some sort of big, bad monster. Some ran away, some started crying, others hid from him behind their parents when he walked by. He wasn't good with children either because they never let him close enough before getting scared. He was afraid that Laura would react the same way like all children did. He didn't want you to back away once you realised that Laura didn't approve of him.

He couldn't bear only seeing you from afar.

As you were about to stand up from the couch, Logan stopped you. "No, its fine. Stay on the couch. I can move" he replied and you felt another pang as he moved away from you again.

Wade leaned over the couch, looking down at Laura who was still wailing uncontrollably. You sighed deeply, a throbbing ache behind your eyes. "Why won't you stop crying? What's wrong, sweetheart?" you nearly sobbed as well. You were so tired of this, so tired of this sound. You felt so helpless and stupid. "Maybe she wants some food? We have some left-over pizza, I can grind that stuff up into a slurry for her or something" Wade suggested.

You softly shook your head. "She doesn't want to eat, I tried. I also tried to read her a bedtime story, but she just push me away. I also changed her diapers but nothing helped" you rasped, ready to just fall asleep on the spot.

Wade reached down to get your crying daughter out of your arms. "How about you get some sleep while Wolvie and I take care of Laura? Maybe we'll find out what's rubbing her the wrong way." Wade said, cooing to your crying baby. You fell onto the couch, closing your eyes. "I can't just sleep when she is crying" you mumbled, clearly deadly tired.

"We'll take care of her. You go sleep" Logan drawled and his deep voice soothed you even more, made you even more sleepy. It was so easy to let your body betray your mind and you hated it. "Okay..." you whispered, too tired to argue. And before you could snuggle into the couch cushions, you felt two strong arms slip under your body and lifting you up as if you weighted nothing. You were so tired, you couldn't even gasp or protest as Logan brought you into Wades room, your senses enveloped with his scent.

He carefully lowered you down onto the matress, covering you up with a blanket. "Sleep tight, love. We'll take great care of your little one, so you don't have to worry about a thing" he drawled softly and only after closing the door behind him did he hope that you hadn't catched his slip-up, that he had called you love.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

In had been another two hours of constant crying and screaming. The kid must be exhausted from all the crying, but she still didn't stop. If you asked Logan, it became even worse.

"God, can you shut up for a minute? I am trying everything here!" Wade stressed, bouncing Laura in his arms and patting her back. "Don't tell your mom I said that" he whispered right after. Laura wailed and pushed herself away from Wade with her tiny hands, which were surprisingly really strong. She squirmed in his grasp, desperate to be set down.

"This is how you thank me? I've worked my ass off the past hour to get everything to your liking and now you push me away?" he grumbled, but set her down with a loud 'ouch!' after she started to scratch him.

Her tiny feet waddled against the livingroom floor as fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks. She had a tummy ache, but she couldn't communicate that with anyone. There were a few words she knew and could say- cat, dog, mama. But she didn't have the words to say that something was hurting.

Logan sat on the couch and watched her as she stood a few feet away from him with her red face, screaming together the whole neighborhood. He sighed deeply, the sound making his ears ring. Then, out of nowhere, she waddled over to him.

"No, no, bub. Not a good idea. Get back to uncle Wade" he told her, scooting up the couch a bit more. He could have just stood up and walk away- why didn’t he? Laura stood between his legs now, demanding uppies from him as she cried. Logan shook his head, ready to call Wade from the kitchen, when Laura began screetching, stretching herself to Logan, standing on her small tip toes.

With a huff, he picked her up, his big and warm hands eveloping her small body. He leaned back against the couch with her on his lap. To his surpise, she quieted down. "You okay now, bub?" he asked her, jumping as she snuggled herself against his chest. Due to his mutation, Logan was always very warm. His whole body was like a heater and that warmth soothed Lauras tummy ache, unbeknownst to him.

The apartment was quiet now, only a few hiccups and sighs coming from Laura as she let her stomach ache be washed away by Logans cozy warm body. He didn't know what to do! One minute he was tortured by her screams and now she was napping on him. On him! Out of all people, she chose to rest on him.

"Is she dead!?" It was now Wades turn to yell as he came stumbling into the kitchen because it suddenly went all quiet. Logan didn't answer him nor did he move a muscle, too scared to wake your baby up.

"What the fuck" Wade blurted out upon seeing something he had never thought he would ever witness in his entire life. Logan shushed him, making Wade frown. He came closer, his face next to Lauras sleeping one "You little cheating slut" he sharply whispered, earning himself a shove from Logan. "Seriously, did you knock her out? Why is she sleeping all of a sudden?" Wade asked with crossed arms.

"I don't know. She wanted me to pick her up, so I did. Then she stopped crying and fell asleep" Logan explained, a warm feeling spreading in his chest as he watched the slow rise and fall of Lauras breath, her tiny hand tightly holding onto his shirt.

"Wow" Wade said. "You're the baby whisperer" Logan shot him a glare.

Wade went on a rant about how everything would have been easier if Logan took Laura from the start before finally falling asleep draped over the chair, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. For a moment, Logan thought about bringing Laura to you so she could sleep with her mom. But as he tried to peel her off of him, she started fuzzing and whimpering until she was laying back on his chest.

He sighed deeply. Well, gotta make the best of the situation, huh? With a grunt, he made himself comfortable on the couch and fell asleep with a broad hand securily holding Laura on top of him.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You woke up well rested. Weird. You haven't slept this good since Laura had been born.

Laura!

You jumped awake, stumbling over some stuff in Wades room before you reached the door. It was quiet as you opened it and you were met with the sight of Logan, the fucking Wolverine, sound asleep with your daughter cuddled up on him as if he was some kind of big teddy.

Your heart soared in your chest, your stomach did flips and summer saults. And your pussy throbbed. Couldn't help it, seeing him with your baby did something to your ovaries. It was...so cute. You wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with them, trace patterns onto his pecks while Laura would squeak out an adorable smile-

"Mama" Laura squealed suddenly, flashing you a smile with her few teeth. "Hey there, baby" you cooed to her, kneeling down next to the couch to be eye-level with her. She smiled brightly, whatever it was that had bothered her yesterday completely forgotten. "You seem happy using uncle Logan as a pillow" you said to her, kissing her chubby cheek.

Logan started waking up, only registering Laura at first. "You slept well, bub?" he muttered with a deep sleep laced voice, gently rubbing Lauras small head with his large hand that easily fitted around the back of her head.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for asking" you giggled softly, amused by the way Logan nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing that you were there too, witnessing how he went soft for your daughter. An embarrassed blush krept onto his face and he cleared his throat, sitting up and avoiding your gaze. "Sorry, she...she only stopped crying when she sat on my lap"

You smiled softly at him. "Seems like she really likes you, then." and I like you too, you wanted to add, but didn't. "She is usually not that touchy with people she barely met" you said and hearing your reassurance- the fact that Laura seemed to like him- it warmed his heart. But he would never admit that.

"Well, I guess I'm flattered" Logan replied with the hint of a smile, his gaze soft as you lost yourself in his eyes, Lauras babbling fading into the background. For a moment, you let yourself think about what could have been. This baby, it could have been Logans and yours. She could have been born because two people truly loved each other. Did Logan love you? You doubted it. But when he looked at you like that, you allowed yourself to be fooled.

"I don't know how you manage to fuck each other just with your eyes, but get a room. There are children present" Wade suddenly said outraged, covering Mary Puppins eyes.

You picked up Laura from Logans lap, holding her against your hip to bring distance between you, Logan and Wades teasing. Logan cleared his throat, clearly disappointed.

"I am so, so thankful that you guys helped me. I don't know what you did or what was wrong with her, but she seems all better now. Is there anything I can do to show my gratitude? you asked, gently bouncing Laura in your arms.

Logan shook his head "No need, bub" he grumbled in his deep voice. He would have done this a thousand times if it meant he could hold your baby in his arms as if it was his. "Make that creamy ass mac and cheese and my life is yours. That stuff tastes and sounds better than any pussy" Wade chimes in, making you laugh. You promised to invite both of them over for dinner sometimes this week and they happily agreed. Laura squeaked out a cute "bye!" before you went back to your own apartment again.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Ever since that day, visits to either Wades or your apartment became more frequent and Laura couldn't be happier seeing Logan pretty much every day. She would stick to his leg from the minute she saw him and to the last second before he left. It was adorable and made you fall even deeper in love with someone you could never have.

Wade made it his mission to steal Laura away from you and Logan. Partly because he wanted you to spend more time alone, and to teach her some words since he was her 'uncle' after all.

Laura sat on his lap, staring down at Wades phone. He looked over her head. He had a picture open that showed you, Laura, Logan and Wade. "And who is that?" he pointed to you, earning a delighted squeal from Laura as she pointed to your smiling face on the picture as well "Mama!" she babbled. Wade cheered her on, applauding her. "That's right, and that is Dada. Dada" he pointed to Logan. Laura recognized him, smiling brightly and giggling, but she didn't say anything. "Can you say that? Dada?" Wade asked in the best baby voice he could muster. But still, Laura wouldn't say anything. "Come on, say Dada. Da-da" Wade tried one last time, but Laura unwrapped himself from his arms to go and play with some toys scrattered on the floor. He huffed in frustration. It was easier to teach kids swear words than this.

Two days later, the day for the dinner came and someone rang your doorbell. You left Laura to play on her playmat and went over to the door, opening it a slit before realising that it was Logan. You fixed your hair with flushed cheeks, you hadn't expected him to come this early, you had just started the dinner preperations. "Oh, hey Logan. What are you doing here? Dinner was planned in two hours" you said, gingerly letting him into your apartment which you hadn't had the time to tidy up yet. Logan wasn't the guy to judge, but you still felt insecure.

"I thought I'd help you with the cooking and all. Look after Laura so you can work in peace" he said, knowing that he was just here to spend more time with you and Laura alone to give him the feeling of having his own little domestic family that he will never actually experience.

You smiled at him "That's very nice of you, but Laura is actually being very umcomplicated today" speaking of which, you showed him that your kid was silently playing with her toys. Upon noticing you and Logan, she squealed and stood up slowly, trying to keep her balance, before she waddled up to him excitedly. "There's my little pumpkin" he drawled, bending down to pick her up swiftly.

"Dada!" she giggled, making you an Logan stop in your tracks. "Did you hear that?" he asked you, looking over at you with a shocked expression. You frowned. You had never taught her to say that. "Sweetheart, who is that?" You asked the little girl, tapping Logans arm, just to be sure you hadn't heard her incorrectly. "Dada" she squeaks again, playing with his coarse beard.

You both looked at each other in disbelieve and for a second, you feared Logan woulf shove Laura into your arms and leave. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know where she got that from" you tried to apologize, but the rejection from Logan never came.

He held her lovingly to his chest, giving her forhead a kiss. It made your heart pound faster. "No, it's okay" he reassured you, his large hand enveloping the back of Lauras head. "I...I could be her dad. If you want me to be" his question struck you like lightning, it was like a damn marriage proposal.

A marriage proposal you would never say no to. He looked at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your answer and worrying he had overstepped.

"Yes. Be the father she never had. And please be the love I always wanted" you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, your lips brushing against the other and it was nothing you had ever felt before. You had kissed your ex- but never did it feel like this. So right. His free hand snaked around your waist, deepening the kiss until Laura decided to pull at your shiny necklace.

You smiled at her, taking her into your arms. "Do you want to play with daddy while I make mac and cheese?" you asked your daughter and minutes later, Logan had brought her playmat and some toys into the kitchen to sit beside her on the ground to watch and entertain her. It was like nothing had changed. Little did you know, Logan had accepted the little girl as his daughter way before today, even if you guys had never confessed.

And as you stole glances down to Logan, who was already looking at you with these half lidded bedroom eyes, you knew that after dinner, Logan and you would be trying for Lauras sibling.

_______________________________

I really hoped you liked this, I feel like I've rusted a bit. Still got a lot of smut ideas and fics open that I need to finish. Wish me luck☹ if you saw any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't. Leave me alone im tired

Btw, thanks to @buck-star for motivation me to finally finish this <33

#logan howlett x reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x reader #logan howlett #logan wolverine #marvel #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #worst wolverine #worst wolverine x reader #mcu #logan howlett fluff #fluff #oneshot

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v1sexual · 21 hours ago

Text

that’s a wrap 🎬 ; vi (arcane)

a behind the senes arcane modern au ! (bcs wtf was that ending)

note : this fic (like all of my other ones) are a bit (a lot actually) self indulgent. this will also be in a third person’s point of view because i’m trying to get used (and get better) writing in a 3rd person’s pov. this is also lowkey a vi x reader *sighs*, i just love my gf so bad ya’ll.

p.s. the character names are also their names in ‘real life’ (because i said so).

cw : spoilers for arcane act 3, swearing,

unedited & not proofread

ever since she got her dream role as one of the leading cast in arcane, she started filming bits and pieces of how the show came to life (with the consent of everyone involved of course). since the filming of season 1 up to season 2 act three, (name) has compiled an hour worth of uncut behind the scenes content that she and the cast planned on releasing during the opening premiere for the last act of arcane.

“you ready shortcake?” (name)’s girlfriend called out, just as she finished putting a thin sheet of lipgloss on her lips. “almost done violet,” she called out, putting her shoes one.

(name) took one last look at herself in the full body mirror, admiring her hard work. she wore a dark red dress paired with sheer black elbow length gloves, and black platform heels with red accents (that violet gifted you a couple months ago).

after shoving her phone inside a red clutch, (name)’s bedroom door opened. violet stood in front of her. she wore a two-piece suit with a dark red button-up blouse tucked inside her pants, the first couple of buttons of the blouse were undone, and her hair (at least the ones on the side of her head that wasn’t shaved) was in a messy slick back.

“absolutely gorgeous,” vi whispered under her breath. she walked towards (name), she placed her hands on her girlfriend’s hips before leaning down to kiss her. “flatterer,” (name) giggled as she pressed a finger against vi’s lips, preventing vi from kissing her.

vi nipped at her girlfriend’s gloved finger, “i speak the truth, and nothing but the truth.” she whispered.

(name) hummed, smiling lovingly as her girlfriend. “thank you baby, you look amazing yourself. hot even.”

a loud noise came from (name) and vi’s phone, interrupting their moment.

“we need to go violet, it’s almost time for the premiere.” (name) exclaimed excitedly, breaking away from her girlfriend. she held onto vi’s arm and practically dragged her outside.

“i don’t get a kiss before we go?” vi pouted, (name) rolled her eyes before pressing a quick peck on vi’s lips then proceeded to get inside the passenger seat of her girlfriend’s car. vi sighed, shaking her head before she went inside the driver seat and thinking how she’d make you pay later for not giving her a proper kiss.

ꕀ

let’s just say that everyone was bawling after premiering the last three episodes of arcane. (name) sat in between vi and her sister powder (whose head was resting against ekko’s shoulder) practically vibrating with excitement as the producers went on stage to thank everyone, especially the fans, for coming to the premiere.

it was almost time to present the special behind the scenes video (name) made. everyone knew of the special little project but no one has really seen it, not the director, the producers, or even her loving girlfriend. soon enough, she was called on stage for a little speech and to present the video.

“hi everyone,” she started, voice shaking a bit. “first of all i would like to thank you for coming to tonight’s premiere. it’s been an honor to work with you for the past couple of years. as you all know, i’ve been compiling tons of little snippets of us ever since the production of arcane has started. all in all, i’ve collected an hour’s worth of behind the scenes content. since i didn’t want to keep all of us in here for another hour or so i’ve edited the video and out came the 10 minute behind the scenes compilation that i’m about to play. but don’t worry, i’ve already uploaded the original uncut version to the shared online album for everyone to view.”

a series of murmurs and giggles filled the audience as (name) gave herself a second to pause. “anyways,” you cleared your throat. “without further ado, i present, arcane : behind all the heartbreak and drama, enjoy!”

when (name) sat down next to her girlfriend, the video started rolling.

ꕀ

scene one.

the camera unfocused and focused as a young looking (name) had her face up to close to it’s lens. she had a cheeky smile on her face.

“hi guys! it’s (name) and today is the first day of filming arcane!” she then proceeded to flip the camera and did a little trailer tour. she the went outside where she introduced everyone in the cast as well as the director and producers.

scene two.

the video cuts to what seems to be the scene where the battle between silco and vander happened. (name) shows the audience the set, some of the special effects, and had the actresses for young vi and powder do a little question and answer for her.

“hey girls!” she called out. the two children ran towards her, giddy smiles on their faces. it was right after filming the scene of vi and powder’s falling out, when vi called powder a jinx.

“how does the nose feel?” (name) asked, gingerly touching child powder’s nose that hade fake blood dripping from it. the child shrugged, replying “i’ve had worse. she punches like a little girl.” which made the tween who played young vi roll her eyes.

“that’s a bunch of bull! she cried actual tears, like real tears! she totally wasn’t acting”

(name) sighed and left the two children to playfully argue before the camera cuts to vander and silco. the two men were taking a nap on the side of the set, both had their arms crossed and head leaning against the wall. “they truly are brother,” she spoke into the camera.

the scene cuts again, this time (name) was with the kids who played mylo and claggor.

“as you can see i am not dead,” mylo shouted at the camera, a cheeky grin on his face. while claggor imitates mylo’s death scene, his hand clutching where the steel bar pierces mylo’s skin before dramatically falling to the ground and laughing his ass off.

scene three.

(name)’s camera was propped up against a mirror, she was currently in the hair and make-up booth with jayce, viktor, and mel. she held her mic against her, “so my dearest mel, how does it feel to have everyone wish they were jayce during that one scene?” (name) wiggled her eyebrows as mel began laughing uncontrollably.

“all i can say is i’d rather have the beautiful zaunite enforcer rather than the golden boy,” mel said jokingly into the mic, referring to (name)’s character in the show. making everyone in the dressing room laugh.

the scene then cuts to what seems to be (name) reading people’s tweets regarding the show to the rest of the cast.

“jayce this one’s directed to you,” (name) said in between laughs. “i hate hate hate jayce talis. imagine being in the lap of a literal goddess but all you is cry and whine about your historic twink bag fumble.”

jayce was dumbfounded as everyone doubled up in laughter. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!?” he shouted. poor boy looked so confused, he looked like he had stroke trying to understand what historic twink bag fumble meant.

“this last one is for vik,” (name) started as the laughter died down (jayce still consfused in the background, asking vi what ‘historic twink bag fumble’ meant). “one of the fans said, ‘can i lick-“ almost immediately (name) started laughing.

“they said ‘can i lick viktor’s hextechticles.’” almost immediately everyone started laughing again, the sounds of boisterous laughter filled the room.

viktor’s cheeks tinted pink, he gripped his stomach as he laughed. “i have no idea how to respond to that.” he wheezed into the mic.

scene four.

“good morning everyone!” (name) exclaimed, waving at the camera. “we have my fave girl with us. the one, the only, caitlyn!”

the blue haired girl grinned, “but i’m not your favorite-“ she said in a teasing tone before got she cut off.

“you are my favorite girl,” (name) huffed, a visible blush paints her cheek as caitlyn rolled her eyes playfully.

she then proceeded to do a quick set tour, showing the audience how it really looked like without any cgi and all that jazz. the scene ends with (name) and caitlyn yapping about routines or rituals that helped them get in the mood to play their characters.

scene five.

this clip was taken during the filming of season two. (name) smiled at camera, her fingers on her lips in a shushing expression then pans the camera behind her. she was in one of the dressing rooms, and in the corner was sevika, powder (dressed up as jinx), and isha, who were sound asleep.

“look at this cute little dysfunctional family,” (name) whispered. sevika had powder leaning on her shoulder as isha was sprawled on her lap.

scene six.

“don’t fret ya’ll she’s alive!” (name) shouted at the camera, holding isha out like a sacrificial lamb. the camera seemed like it was held by someone significantly taller than her, the angle looking a bit funny as she held isha up.

the child laughed, (name) then propped the kid on her hip. powder then walked in-frame, she took isha from (name)’s hold and helped the kid up on her shoulders. “SHE’S ALIVEEEE!” powder shouted before running around the set, her hands supporting the kid’s weight.

“i swear if she dropped the kid-“ a voice from behind the camera mumbled.

“they’re gonna be fine vi,” (name) laughed. “let them be.”

scene seven.

during this scene, instead of the usual (name) who filmed most (if not all) the videos, it was cait and powder who held the camera. a cheeky grin etched on their lips. the camera then flipped to show their surroundings.

lo and behold, it was vi. she was cocooned in a thick blanket snoring away without a care in the world. cait then proceeded to walk towards her. once close enough, she held the camera at an angle to show (name) who was tucked between vi’s legs, her head resting against vi’s chest with the blanket almost covering her whole body.

“aren’t they the cutest,” cait snickered.

“can’t beat the dating allegations now,” powder replied with a snort.

scene eight.

“i’m actually bawling,” (name) whispered into the camera before adjusting it to show the rest of the set. the others are currently in the middle of filming a scene for act 3, she zoomed the camera to powder and ekko. they were dancing as the song ‘ma meilleure ennemie’ played in the background.

mylo and claggor’s hushed voices joined (name)’s as she continued to film, then suddenly the camera was yanked away and mylo’s face entered the frame.

“for anyone wondering, they’re actually dating in real life.” mylo whispered, claggor then appeared next to him with an unamused expression. “that was supposed to be a secret! they’re not out in the public yet.” he scolded.

“well, you can tell by the chemistry and tension between them. doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. have you seen the dating rumours?”

(name)’s sigh was visibly heard before snatching the camera. “if by then ekko and power hasn’t come out as a couple yet i’ll just cut this part out.” she murmured.

scene nine.

“what is everyone’s fave song from the series?” (name) said, reading aloud the question written in a piece of paper.

“that’s a tough one,” ambessa said.

“probably to ashes and blood,” sevika exclaimed, then nods of agreement and murmurs filled the room.

“mine’s a no brainer,” heimerdinger piped. “my favorite song is spin the wheel, sung by yours truly.” everyone laughed, a couple people agreed as others began playfully teasing heimerdinger.

(name) smiled at her friends before looking at the camera. “my favorite has to be our love or ma meillure ennemie.”

“enemy by imagine dragons!”

everyone then proceeded to sing the song, goofily making sound effects and lowering their voices.

scene ten.

(name) panned the camera up, she zoomed in on vi and powder as they acted one of the most heartbreaking scenes in act 3. vi’s gauntlet clutched powder’s hand as the blue haired girl dangled, vander, who was dressed in the pre-cgi warwick costume, held her, the wires supporting their weights.

tears streamed down vi’s face as she looked down at her sister, she opened her mouth to deliver her line but nothing came out.

“crap, i forgot the line. wait.” she called out, smiling sheepishly.

the director sighed, “cut! let’s roll that again.”

powder laughed and shakes her head. “you fucking idiot.”

“cut it out you two,” vander scolded, his deep voice menacing yet playful.

“yeah, yeah.” vi replied, then held a thumbs up to signal that she was ready.

(name)’s laughs can be heard from behind the camera, she then flipped it to show her face. “you guys are about to hate every single thing about this scene i just know it.” caitlyn appeared next to her, she nursed a cup of coffee and smiled at the camera.

“be sure to keep your eyes open though,” was all caitlyn said before winking and walking away.

ꕀ

pictures taken from the set began to appear in a slideshow as the video ended. almost everyone was in shambles, especially the fans who were invited to come to the premiere. a round of applause echoed across the room as the producers step onto the stage again for the closing remarks.

the event ended a couple hours later than expected. the cast mingled, had a late dinner and a couple of drinks. everyone was enjoying themselves and having fun one last time before they went their separate ways.

“sad to think how i won’t be seeing everyone everyday now,” (name) whispered sadly as she and vi sat in one corner of the room. “i sure will miss everyone.”

vi draped an arm over her girlfriend’s shoulders, she leaned down until her face was adjacent to (name)’s. “not us though.” vi smiled teasingly.

“won’t you get tired of me though?” (name) asked, her hands cupped vi’s cheeks. her girlfriend snorted, acting as if she had just told a funny joke. “not by a long shot cupcake.”

the two leaned forward, their noses touching, lips only centimetres apart. just as about their lips met, cait’s voice startled them.

“i’m gonna have to borrow my best girl for a second vi,” she teased. “you can have (name) all to yourself later but for now we need to dance.”

the next thing (name) knew she was being dragged to dance floor by caitlyn, loud music blasting as her friend swayed. she looked back at vi who shrugged at her, a smile playing on her lips. (name) smiled before blowing her girlfriend a kiss. soon enough everybody joined them on the dance floor. ekko, powder, and isha danced in a circle, sevika who was reluctantly dragged by mel, jayce and viktor who gawked at heimerdinger (who was absolutely smashing the dance floor by the way), and then there was mylo who was talking to the dj as claggor did his best in becoming wingman of the year. some stayed seated and chose to drink, like silco, vander, and ambessa, who watched the others danced.

soon enough, the night finally ended. a couple people who were sober chaperoned those who were drunk, some opted to stay in nearby hotels. after saying their goodbyes, vi and (name) drove back to their shared apartment.

“that was fun,” (name) yawned as she plopped down on the couch, vi knelt in front of her started taking off her girlfriend’s shoes.

“tired?” she asked, rubbing the soles of (name)’s sore feet making the smaller girl groan. she responded with a soft ‘yes’, before closing her eyes. the sensation of vi’s lips making it’s way up her thigh startled her, her eyes fluttered open as she looked down.

vi smiled pressing another kiss on her girlfriend’s thigh before hiking them up and resting them on her shoulders. (name)’s dress pooled at her upper thigh, exposing her soft skin. “you sure?” vi whispered.

“mmm,” (name) hummed. “maybe not too tired.” she answered, making her girlfriend chuckle.

“good,” vi murmured against (name)’s skin. “because you’re in for a long night shortcake.”

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ddarker-dreams · 2 days ago

Note

Can you spare us some Scara crumbs for this starving pigeons pls?🥺🥺🥺 I miss the way how you write that shortass gremlin so much (I miss my wife, tails... I miss my wife)

There comes a point where even you, one of the few species capable of withstanding long-term exposure to a certain Harbinger, find yourself exasperated. Beneath his apathetic façade lies a volatile ego, poised to misinterpret the most innocent acts as a knife through the heart. Scaramouche's treated you coldly since you both retired to your personal quarters. You'd like to claim ignorance, but you know better — know him better — which makes remedying the issue harder.

"You had a fun evening, I take it?"

His voice shoots across the room, releasing the taut string that's had you in the crosshair for hours.

"It was fine," you accentuate your indifference with a shrug. Then, a counterattack of your own: "Why?"

He puffs his cheek to the side, looking more like an indignant child than one of the most feared forces at the Fatui's disposal. "Oh, no reason. I just couldn't help but notice how eager you were to fawn over my co-worker."

And there it is, you think. Why did we have to run into Childe, of all people...?

"I was just being polite."

"'Polite?'" He repeats, barking out a hollow laugh. "That smile, those sweet expressions were polite? Are you sure you weren't auditioning to be a courtesan?"

You offer him your most unimpressed look. Scaramouche returns it tenfold, narrowing his eyes and closing the gap in distance between you. You take it as an opportunity to examine the finer details he works so diligently to hide. The trembling of his lower lip, curling of his fists, and the watery sheen coating his eyes.

Although he doesn't require oxygen, his chest heaves like he's been deprived of it.

Or something of equal significance.

"I can't stand it," he admits, raising a shaky hand to cup your face. "You— that... nauseating charm. You're bound to attract pests everywhere you go. I thought by now, it'd be clear that you're off limits, but..."

Electricity crackles in the air.

Then, he freezes when you lay your hand on his.

"No one's going to try anything," you reassure. You leave out the part that they might as well be bringing about the end of the world. "Let's just call it a night before we get more worked up, okay?"

His fingers twitch.

Eventually, he averts his gaze, a rosy blush dusting over his cheeks.

Scaramouche clears his throat, then grumbles, "... I'm not worked up."

Regardless of his complaints, he silently acquiesces to your wish, slinking his way over to your wardrobe to contemplate what he'll have you wear the following day.

#I MISSED HIM TOO ANON!!!!!!#love this terrible boy <3 #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #scaramouche brainrot #my stuff #answered #Anonymous

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sapphiresaphics · 2 days ago

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I don’t know how people keep coming up with the worst takes on things, but here we are.

You wanna be logical about this? Okay fine.

Jinx locked her in the cell. She can’t get out. Even if she thinks she’s going to commit suicide, there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s locked in the cell. We don’t know how long it is before Caitlyn shows up. Could’ve been hours. There’s a war about to happen. No amount of hunting for Jinx is going to stop that. She doesn’t know where Jinx’s hideout is anyway. The chances of her FINDING her sister is slim to none now. Also, this is a prison. There are guards everywhere. Even if Jinx tries to leave, she’s likely going to get caught again and just thrown back into another cell. And even if she escapes, the possibilities are extremely low Vi will ever be able to find her and… need I remind you… a war is on the way. She’s got maybe a few hours at best before it gets here and kills everyone. She’s betrayed Caitlyn’s trust and lost her sister and she’s stuck in the cell. There’s nothing left for her.

So when Caitlyn comes in and tells her she expected to find her there and informs her that no, actually, she let her sister go and didn’t try to kill her or lock her back up and is letting go of the anger Jinx has had on her mind and that it’s okay that she tried to free her sister, Vi snaps. Because in that moment the ONLY person she has left is Caitlyn. And Caitlyn, the woman who’s been trying to kill her sister and broke up with her because Vi wouldn’t kill her sister, just informed her that she’s letting her sister go free. Which at the end of the day is all Vi really wanted.

And frankly I don’t think Vi really understands how devastated Jinx is. She comes in begging her sister to join up and fight and using her explosive potential to help out in the upcoming battle. She’s thinking of how this fight is going to get hundreds of people killed and she’s trying to build her sister up. From her point of view Jinx just needs a hug and to be told she’s special, because no matter how hard vi tries she’s always going to see Jinx as Powder. And while she has good intentions, this is NOT what Jinx needs to hear right now. Jinx is grieving and Vi is begging her to blow more shit up.

I am SO FUCKING DONE with people like you going “oh logically why wouldn’t she be trying to stop her sister from committing suicide? Why would she just fuck in a cell?! It’s such awkward timing! What bad writing!” Because you guys never stop and think about the character’s motivations.

YOU know jinx is suicidal. YOU know she is not doing well. But Vi doesn’t. Vi is blinded by Powder. She still doesn’t see Jinx or understand what Jinx has gone through. The idea that her sister is suicidal doesn’t even cross her mind. That fight in the tomb? Just her being crazy again. Jinx being theatrical again. Nothing new.

Fucking hell… that’s WHY Jinx locks her in the cell. Because even after everything they’ve gone through, she still sees her as powder. The “you’re never going to give up on me are you?” line is Jinx realizing that Vi will never truly see her as Jinx. That’s WHY she locks Vi in the cell. Because Jinx needs to leave this endless cycle and let Vi be able to move on. That’s why she tells her she doesn’t need to worry about her anymore or feel guilty and that she deserves to be happy with Caitlyn.

So yeah, they fuck in the cell because in that moment, Vi has lost everything. She doesn’t know if Jinx is alive or dead, she doesn’t know if she can find her before the war hits and potentially kills everyone and herself, and she’s gone behind Caitlyn’s back to release Jinx. She’s at her lowest point, with no time to do anything productive, and the girl of her dreams just informed her that it’s okay she betrayed her because she’s so god damn predictable and that’s something she loves about Vi, and that she’s letting her hatred of Jinx go. This is Caitlyn confirming to Vi that is was okay for her to love her sister that much. The one thing Vi has been repeatedly told by everyone around her she can’t do.

So this is VI’s emotions EXPLODING at the thought she still has one thing good left in her life. And she is going to take it NOW because this tension has been building and building for such a long time it NEEDS RELEASE. In that moment there’s no logic. No thought to the real world or what could be. It is pure emotional INSTINCT. Caitlyn has offered herself up on a silver platter and she is going to EAT.

The amount of effort you guys put into trying to misunderstand the characters, the scenes, and the intention behind the dialogue is ASTOUNDING. You should be awarded a medal for being so mind numbingly REDUCTIVE in your “criticisms.”

saw these comments on an edit on tt and they really made me stop and rethink for a second, especially the second comment ...

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #arcane critical #arcane rant #violyn #sebian lex #arcane jinx #arcane vi

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certaimromance · 2 days ago

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ꫂ ၴႅၴ Tall Child.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: No matter how hard you try to impress him, Agent Hotchner never seems to be satisfied with your work. And it all comes crashing down when you decide to confront him.

Words: 2,7k.

TW: mentions of crime. reader was injured (nothing serious). angst WITHOUT happy ending. hotch being a father figure. soo much angst (yes, again). father and rebellious daughter type discussion. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: He is so ❤️‍🔥daddy❤️‍🔥 but also 💔dad💔 for me, okay?

This was painful to write, so I loved it (I literally wrote it with I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski in the background).

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Anyone who knows you knows that your lifelong dream was to help make the world a better place.

And from your day one at the BAU, you felt like your wildest dreams had come true. You were saving lives, reassuring victims, and helping to bring to justice those who tormented them so they could never do it to anyone else again. You were making a real difference in the world, even if you weren't the caped superhero you wanted to be as a kid.

But, as they say, nothing's perfect. And your job had more contradictions for your mental and physical health than there were fingers on your hands to count. The long and unstable schedule, the few hours of sleep, nightmares about the atrocities you saw, no social life outside the team...and of course, the constant disappointment you felt from Aaron Hotchner, your boss.

From day one, you had worked tirelessly to prove yourself. You craved the approval of your superiors, the respect of your colleagues. The job was demanding, yes, but you wanted to show that you could not only handle it but thrive under the pressure. And you had earned the trust and admiration of everyone around you, except for him.

Agent Hotchner was an enigma to you. There was something about him that both intrigued and intimidated you. He was always so calm, without showing much emotion, without so much as a smile for you. He was a wall you couldn't break through no matter how hard you tried. You had tried so hard to impress him, to make sure he saw your dedication, your work ethic, but you always seemed to fall short. His approval, or lack thereof, hurt more than anything else. You had gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make it any easier.

And now, here you were, in his office, watching him scrutinize your medical diagnosis. He had just glanced at the report from the doctor that had followed you back from the Utah case. Your shoulder, a minor injury, but one that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t thrown yourself headfirst into the danger in the way you did.

Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, you dared to speak. “What do you think? I am practically at my best.”

Deep down, you knew you were lying through your teeth and that you were not well with an injured shoulder, a concussion, and several bruises, but you refused to say so out loud. You were a brave girl, and he should know.

Hotch looked up from the report in his hand and stared at you. It was the kind of look that made your hair stand on end and gave you a feeling that something was wrong.

“No, you're not.” He sighs and closes the folder before walking over to the desk you were sitting behind. He leans against it as he looks at you, arms folded across his chest. “You disobeyed a direct order during the case. You abandoned your partner.”

“I didn’t abandon Reid,” you replied, your voice sounding more defensive than you intended. You straightened in your chair, wincing slightly as your shoulder protested the movement. “I simply suggested he wait behind me. And it worked, didn’t it? He saved the victim, and I stopped the unsub.”

Teamwork, as you liked to call it.

“It paid off this time,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But that doesn’t excuse disregarding protocol. You put yourself and your partner in unnecessary danger. That’s not the kind of decision-making we can afford here.”

Oh no, here comes the usual chatter you didn't want to hear this time. Normally, you would be quiet, listening and nodding at his every word, but this time there was something different. You just longed for congratulations. Was it really so difficult for him to tell you once that you did something right?

You stiffened in your chair, the ache in your shoulder suddenly more pronounced. “With all due respect, I evaluated the situation and made a hard decision. I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle themselves in the field.”

Even as the words came out, you felt very nervous. You didn't know if it was the drugs they gave you in the hospital to fight the pain or if it was just your shyness leaving your body completely for no reason.

“I’m not questioning your skills,” he replied sharply. “But you’re not operating at one hundred percent, and that affects your judgment. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for months—longer, maybe. And now you’re injured. You need time to recover and think about this.”

God, no.

“I don’t need time; I need to work,” you shot back, frustration lacing your tone. This job was your lifeline, your purpose. Without it, who were you?

“You know we work as a team. A unit. And when one part of the unit breaks down, there are consequences.” His voice wasn’t just firm; it was unyielding, like a warning. The way he said it almost felt like he was speaking to a child—a reprimand you didn’t want but knew you had earned. “No one is above the team, not even you.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it or the words he used, but it was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and you were tired of putting up with the situation. This was the first time you had made a decision on your own, the first time you had not discussed your ideas with the team only to have them ignored and then spoken louder by someone else. Finally, you had acted, and even that was wrong.

You were tired, fucking tired of being ignored and judged much more harshly than the rest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely audible but heavy with frustration. The ache in your shoulder seemed to flare as if your body was responding to the tension in the room. “And what consequences are you thinking of, sir?” you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. There was no hiding the venom now. “What’s worse than not being valued even when I do my job?”

His gaze turned hard as if your tone had cut him deeper than any physical injury could. He didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from someone who had otherwise followed his orders without question. You saw the shift in him, the quiet fury simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. If you were anyone else, the conversation would have already escalated. But you weren’t anyone else. You were someone he knew far too well.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” he bit back, his voice low and steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. There was no mistake now—this wasn’t just about the case. This was more personal. “You are suspended. Your gun and badge on the table. Now.”

Oh, oh, oh.

The words hung in the air between you like a guillotine, sudden and final. The room seemed to close in on you, the breath in your chest catching in surprise. You didn’t know if it was the shock or the disbelief, but your mind struggled to grasp the magnitude of his command. Suspended? Your world was spinning.

You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you with nothing but a hollow sound of confusion. “What? Why?”

“Agent, you disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself and your partner,” he said firmly. “I don’t take your actions lightly. Suspension is not a punishment—it’s a consequence. You need time to heal, both physically and mentally.”

The idea of being sidelined was incomprehensible. The thought of doing nothing—being stuck in your apartment, forced to be still—felt suffocating. No. You couldn’t accept it.

“This is ridiculous. I did my job! I stopped the unsub! Reid saved the victim because I made the right choice!”

You saved a life, even if it meant risking a little of your own. You did save it.

“And what happens next time?” Hotch shot back, his voice rising slightly. “What happens if your judgment falters again because you’re running on empty? What if next time, it’s Reid who doesn’t come back?”

Then, silence.

The thought of Spencer getting hurt turned your stomach and made you question your actions. If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself…His life did matter, a lot.

“Gun. Badge. Now.” Your boss talks again. He gestured toward the desk.

Your fingers trembled, betraying you as you reached for the gun on your hip. The cool metal felt foreign in your hands, like something that had never truly belonged to you. Your mind screamed for you to stop, to stand your ground, to fight this. But your body, exhausted and broken, refused to cooperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice cracked before you could get the words out. “I…I didn’t mean…I just…”

Finally, with a shaky breath, you placed your gun on the desk. The thud it made as it landed felt like the sound of everything you had worked for being shattered in front of you. You could feel the sting of unshed tears burning in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

It didn’t matter what you said. It never seemed to matter, not with him. You had tried so hard to be the one who did everything right, to be the one he could rely on, and yet all you had earned was this—this cold, final judgment. He wasn’t just your boss in that moment; he was the embodiment of everything you had tried to prove yourself against. A reminder that, no matter what you did, it still wasn’t enough.

The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them, the bitter taste of them already familiar. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” The tone you had intended to be defiant came out more like a desperate plea. “You think I can’t handle this, that I’m just some liability?”

He didn’t flinch at your outburst. His gaze softened, but just barely. “No,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle but firm. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not weak. But you’re hurting, and I can see it. You need time to recover.”

The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you tried to fight back the burning in your chest. You refused to let the tears well up, to let them gather where he could see them. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.

“I don’t need time,” you said, your voice sharp, biting. But underneath the defiance was something raw and desperate, a quiet plea that you couldn’t fully suppress. “I need to be here. I need to do my job. I need to save lives.”

The last part came out as a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the fragile conviction you had left. You felt like you were slipping, like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and all you could do was cling to this one thing—the job. The only thing that made you feel like you mattered.

“The only life you need to save now is yours,” he said, his voice quieter but still heavy with authority.

You froze, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing tide. Your stomach churned, and you fought to keep your composure, to keep from lashing out, even though every part of you wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

A bitter, trembling laugh bubbled up from your throat, unbidden and full of venom. “If it had been Reid or Morgan, you wouldn’t be doing this,” you snapped, the accusation like a raw wound exposed to the open air.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, or something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tightened, his posture stiffening, and when he spoke, his voice was sharper than before, each word deliberate and cutting.

“No,” he said, the firmness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Because they would never have done this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. It slammed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every other sound. His words rang in your ears, echoing in the hollow space left behind by your crumbling defenses.

They would never have done this.

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your ribs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. He wasn’t just saying you’d made a mistake—he was saying you were the mistake. That you weren’t good enough. That you never would be.

“Is this because I’m a woman?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. There was a bitter edge to them, a question that had been gnawing at you for far too long. “Because Elle is too, and even she has more, or is it because of my age? Reid is younger, and you never doubt him.”

“It’s not about any of that,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. But it wasn’t reassuring. It only sounded like an evasion, like he was brushing your concerns aside, and it made your chest ache all over again. “It’s not about your gender or your age.”

“It’s about me,” you said, the words like glass shards scraping at your insides. “It’s about how you don’t trust me.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost like guilt, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth, but the words he spoke next were measured, controlled. Too controlled.

“No,” he said, his voice so steady it almost hurt. “That’s not it.”

You stared at him, heart racing, hands trembling, as the truth wrapped around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His words weren’t just dismissing your feelings—they were rejecting everything you had ever believed about your worth, about why you were here, in this moment, fighting so desperately for something you couldn’t even name.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t going to back down. Not anymore.

“Then what is it?” You whispered, voice breaking, tears finally threatening to spill. “What is it, Hotch? What is it about me that isn’t enough?”

“It’s not about you,” he said, but his voice lacked the certainty it usually held. “It’s not about trusting you…It’s about protecting you.” His gaze softened just enough for you to notice, but it only made the pain worse. “I can’t lose…I can’t let you lose yourself.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You were trembling, your pulse racing in your ears, but now there was only a terrible stillness. You swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness that rose up in your throat.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” you snapped, barely holding back the frustration that bubbled to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to act like you’re my father, making me follow some imaginary line, keeping me under your control. If you want to raise someone, you already have a baby at home.”

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—just the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes. The barest flinch. But it was enough to make you feel the weight of your accusation like a stone, sinking into your chest. The silence that followed was thick with it, suffocating, and you could feel the air growing heavier between you.

“I’m not your dad,” he said, the words low, the icy calm of his voice unmistakable. There was no anger in it, just a hollow, painful truth. But the sting of it was sharp enough to leave a mark.

You blinked, the sharpness of his response cutting through you like a blade. You wanted to fight back, to lash out with everything you had, but something stopped you. Instead, your voice came out quieter, almost hollow as you whispered, “I know…Do you know that?”

And then, just like that, you turned away, your breath ragged in your chest. You didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t wait for anything. You couldn’t stand the ache that had taken root in your chest, the fear that had begun to take shape in the corners of your mind.

And the door slammed behind you.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader

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dollishsz · 15 hours ago

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BATBOYS GENERAL HCS DURING DATING ── .✦

a/n: my posts are barely getting engagement so it would be nice to reblog + like + cmmt tysm! Also

I’m so tired because I don’t know what I want to do with myself when like writing because I don’t have much ideas yk, (I do have a lottt of ideas just don’t want to like spam and idk how to like execute it correctly so ya) but I’m so grateful I’m back!

(Tags: batboys general hcs + fem!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments: Dick will compliment you constantly, but they’re the slightly extra kind. “You look like you just walked off the cover of a magazine… Or like you’re about to rob a bank with your style, and I’m here for it.”

Date Nights: Dick is a hopeless romantic mixed a romantic flirty person. He'll plan elaborate date nights that are almost too perfect. You're having a candlelit dinner on a rooftop... until a mosquito swoops by, and you both spend 20 minutes trying to catch it.

Awkwardly Adorable: Dick tries so hard to be smooth, but when it’s just the two of you, he ends up tripping over his words, saying things like “I love you… like… in a non-creepy way… I mean, I know that sounds creepy but—“, “you know dick, you could’ve just told me you loved me no need for all that extra yapping.”

Sharing Food: He can’t resist sharing his food with you but will dramatically defend his fries. “No, you can't have any. This is the last one. You’ll be fine. It’s called 'the sacrifice of love.'”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy But Cute: Jason might be brooding and grumpy on the outside, but once he gets comfortable with you, he’s a sucker for giving you the best hugs. They’re just not as soft as you expect, because, well, he’s Red Hood and that’s not very 'soft' in his book.

Love Language: He definitely has a love language of throwing sarcastic remarks at you to show affection. “I’m just saying, you look so good, I might actually let you live longer than five minutes without me.”

Meme Sharing: Jason will share the funniest memes with you, and he will laugh harder than anyone else when you send him a reaction meme. You two could spend hours going through meme after meme while ignoring his patrol responsibilities.

Late Night Conversations: He’s always the first to text at 3 am just to say, “I’m not okay. Also, I think I might’ve made pasta in the Batcave, but it’s 80% burnt and half of the 20% is missing on the ground in other words, it’s fully burnt. You in?”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Puns & Dad Jokes: Tim is the king of puns. You might be mid-sentence talking about something serious, and he’ll sneak in, “Well, that’s egg-sactly what I was thinking.”

Organizing Everything: Tim will have a notebook just for your relationship. He organizes things like "future plans," "annoying habits to change," and “how we can both pretend to be normal in public.”

Overthinking: Tim might send you long, thoughtful texts about nothing and everything, then panic and delete them. Later, you get a short text that says, “Hey, I like you. It’s cool. Let’s go save Gotham.”

Netflix & Research: On date nights, Tim is all about watching a documentary on some obscure topic. You wanted to watch a rom-com? Nope. Tim says, “Let’s learn about the history of ancient pizza ovens.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Fiercely Protective: Damian will go full boss mode in a relationship. If someone even looks at you wrong, he’s ready to challenge them to a duel. You’ve never seen someone challenge a guy at the coffee shop to a sword fight over a latte until you met him.

Literally Shakespeare: He has this bizarre habit of reciting random Shakespeare quotes when trying to express his feelings. “My love for you is like a tempest, crashing and relentless. Also, I think you forgot to add sugar in my coffee.”

Jealousy: He’ll get jealous of even the smallest things. That random guy who offered to help you with your grocery bags? Damian’s glaring at them from across the parking lot, preparing his “You’re not worthy” speech.

Tenderness: Don’t be fooled by his brooding exterior. Damian will get you flowers (in his own way) — like a very dramatic single red rose that he purchased with the least amount of emotion possible, but you know he spent an hour picking the perfect one.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Grumpy But Loyal: Bruce is that partner who takes a long time to warm up to things, but once he’s in, he’s in 100%. He’ll still be grumpy, though. If you show up in a bat-themed shirt, you’ll get a raised eyebrow and a grunt that could probably level an entire building.

Affectionate In His Own Way: Bruce will bring you your favorite coffee without asking because he’s been paying attention to your usual order for the past six months. But if you say anything about it, he’ll act like he’s annoyed. “I’m Batman. I don’t do things for people.”

Overprotective: He’ll put the Batcomputer between the two of you if he’s feeling protective, even if it’s completely unnecessary. Someone bumps into you? Bruce is already three steps ahead, tracking their life history and figuring out their deepest secrets, just in case.

Romantic, But Quiet About It: Bruce can’t show his love through words, but the way he gives you his jacket when it’s cold speaks volumes. Of course, he acts like it was an accident. “I didn’t want you to catch a cold, that’s all. I’m not a softy, don’t read into it.”

GENERAL TRAITS FOUND IN THEM ── .✦

Matching Outfits: They’ll all pretend like they’re too cool for matching outfits, but one day they’ll catch themselves accidentally twinning with you, and neither of you can ever act normal again.

In Public: They’ll all act like they don’t care if you hold their hand in public, but if anyone tries to grab your hand instead, they’ll give them a glare that could freeze a person in place.

Batman’s Turtleneck: Every Batboy secretly loves when Bruce wears his iconic black turtleneck and glasses. They all think Bruce looks like a mysterious intellectual, and they might just start commenting on it to mess with him. Bruce is too focused on Gotham to care.

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keferon · 12 hours ago

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Ok so, I've got a little something that's been eating in my head for the past hour or so

So, from as far as i am aware, it depends on the iteration of him, but I've seen a few posts talking about how Ratchet is, first and foremost, a healer, and he wants to help people no matter what. But he's stuck under the terrible circumstances of war, and can't save everyone (not like he can always save everyone, even without a war, but it gets alot more challenging). How he even sometimes helps decepticons!

And so, for the mecha au, i kept thinking: Ratchet having a breaking point after losing one last pilot he was close to (honestly something i plan to write at some point), to a stupif decision the company has made, and they right of the bat, not even a week later is sending new recruits, young recruits, to the same suicidal mission bc "they were so close the last time"

He breaks, leaves, and hides with his alien bf, going off radar and starts to secretly help out the citizens, the families, the children, caught on the crossfire because it just seems like no one cares for the little guys anymore.

He works for the people. He's a healer at heart, even if he's not allowed to be - my sister

Idk, just a thought. Not entirely sure what your interpretation of Ratchet really intels, but it's something that keeps chewing at my brain after a few posts about him i saw a while back.

What gets to me though, is wondering how that comes across to Deadlock, ya know? Does that push some change of heart? Does he see the human differently as he risks himself to save the one little kid everyone seems to ignore the cries for help?

I'd imagine Ratchet asking Deadlock help ride around the ruins and to carry the wounded.

Actually. This is EXACTLY how I see him. Like. YES. ABSOLUTELY.

The same thing he was doing in canon, working in Dead end. Caring for people. Regular people who suffer from the war the most.

#tf mecha universe

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bitchslapblastoids · 2 days ago

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no but actually one of the most perfect examples of this was the number of times i was chatting with someone and asked "are you going in spoiler-free?" and their answer was some variation of ".....yeah, i guess?" and me realizing that staying away from spoilers just. isn't an issue for some people. because they have, like, other interests and things.

these shows are always a humbling reminder that there are in fact many casual fans !!!!! which truly is helpful to realize and like see in action. That there are many ppl who love dan and phil who actually aren’t in so deep that they can’t see the sunlight anymore

#there was a point where i ended up in a cluster of reddit phannies and it was like OH so we are ACTUALLY on different planets ok #i remarked (in a suuuuuper normal and totally chill tone obvs) that dan was wearing the full pvc suit bc i was looking at m&g pics #and one of them was like 'oh i figured he'd just never wear that again after he realized where it's from'#or the people who had silver tickets but knew nothing about the preshow experience and expected it to be like an hour long q&a session #but also had no idea what the phlit was or why people were writing questions down #it's interesting that a lot of these people are probably like tier 2 of the iceberg phannies. they're phannies enough to pay for silver!#really uh. puts things into perspective eh?#phandom #terrible influence tour

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mephisto-reporting · 19 hours ago

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Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous. His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

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strang3lov3 · 2 days ago

Text

Rescue Mission

“You take him beautifully, birdie. Beautifully,” Ezra says, now drawing in and out of you at a faster pace. “Look how happy he is inside a’ ya. You’re soakin’ the fella.”

Tags - smut, dubcon, dbf/dad’s weed guy/uncle!ezra (he’s not your biological uncle. I promise), pussy job, unprotected piv, creampie, cock pronouns in excess, cock nicknames (fella, bastard), Ezra’s cock has a titan’s girth (thank @beefrobeefcal), fire hazards, somno ish, plumber’s crack, smoking weed, a tasteful amount of pussy pronouns, me writing Ezra comes with its own warning, surprise surprise Ezra is morally bankrupt, Beefro contributed so I’m not all to blame, Ezra has a lot more jizz than the average man. i don't know how to summarize this. Fic Help - thank you @beefrobeefcal for being my guiding light. Without you this fic would be nothing! thank you @endlessthxxghts and @noxturnalnymph for your eyeballs! A/N - heddo! I finished my research paper but I still have a few things to do as far as school goes, but the end of the semester is right around the corner!! Thank you all for being so patient with me this month. I love you. Mwah!

This is my submission for @sp00kymulderr’s cock pronoun event. I had so much fun with this!! Thank you for hosting, Gideon!!

After packing your old Vera Bradley weekender duffel bag with the last of your clothes for the long weekend ahead of you, you open up your phone one last time to check the weather. It’s not supposed to snow until later in the afternoon, but you’ll make it to your dad’s before then.

You haul your duffel into the backseat of your car, then carefully place two 9x13 Pyrex pans covered in tin foil next to it. Your dad asked that you prepare a couple of Thanksgiving sides - sweet potatoes and broccoli cheese casserole. Your dad is taking care of the turkey, with other extended family members taking care of everything else.

You do one last quick check to make sure everything is in order, taking care to give your cat an extra scoop of food.

Fuck - the litter box. You almost forgot! You thoroughly clean it so your neighbor doesn’t have as much work to do when they’re caring for your cat in your absence, but you realize you forgot to buy a new tub of litter at the store the other day. Not to worry, your dad left you some in the trunk of your car for some reason or another. You’ll just leave that for your neighbor to use.

You get into the driver’s seat after turning off all the lights and pull up directions to your dad’s on your phone and put on Father John Misty’s newest album, then you’re on your merry way.

About a quarter way through your drive, you have to turn your windshield wipers on. It’s not bad, but there’s the tiniest sprinkle of snow coming down. It’s probably nothing. People are driving like morons under just the threat of snow, but it’s nothing. It’ll be fine. At a stoplight, you change the music. This time, you listen to Love Deluxe by Sadé, one of your Uncle Ezra’s favorite albums. You wonder if you’ll see him at Thanksgiving.

Quickly, the snow becomes not-nothing. The further you drive, the worse it gets. The snowflakes are getting bigger and coming down heavier, and the road ahead of you is becoming so covered that you can hardly make out the white and yellow lines painted on the road. You’ve slowed to driving at about twenty miles an hour, and you’re growing nervous. It seems like you’re headed deeper into the storm.

Forty-five minutes pass, though you’ve not driven more than ten miles. It’s coming down now, and the roads are so thick with snow that you’re driving at what feels slower than a glacial pace. This is getting dangerous. The good news, however, is that you did see plow trucks driving down the opposite side of the median. Not confident in your ability to safely drive through what is now probably three inches of snow on the ground, plus the added slush and ice, you decide to pull over and wait for a truck to salt and plow the roads before continuing on your way. You turn on your hazards and watch the traffic move slowly ahead of you; it seems that nobody else has the same idea as you.

You text your dad first just to let him know that you’ll be a bit late, that you’re pulling over to wait out the storm and wait for the roads to be plowed.

Ok. Stay safe. - Dad.

Things could be worse, right? You’re safe and warm in your car, you have plenty of gas in the tank. It’s probably another 45 minutes of just waiting, but finally, it happens: plow trucks drive by, salting the roads in their wake. Halle-fucking-lujah. You adjust your mirrors, put your seatbelt back on, and throw the gear shift into drive. Aaand…

You’re stuck.

You press the gas again, and you’re still stuck. It doesn’t take long for you to start to panic. But your dad will know what to do, right? You call your dad and explain the situation to him.

“Try rocking the car,” your dad tells you.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Forward, reverse. Forward, reverse.”

With your dad on speakerphone, you try just that, but it’s a difficult maneuver. “It’s not working, Dad.”

“Okay, okay. Can you dig yourself out?”

“No!” you whine. “I am not doing that.”

Your dad’s eye roll is audible. “Alright. Cat litter. I left you cat litter in your trunk last time you came up, remember? Sprinkle that around your tires, it should give you enough traction to get out.”

“Cat litter…cat litter…”

“Yes, the cat litter. That I left in your trunk.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Yes. About that.”

Your dad groans on the other end of the phone, “You have to be kidding. Okay. Hang on, where are you again?”

“Just past…I don’t know. I’ll drop you a pin.” You text your dad your location. The text takes some time to go through, but it does.

“Alright. Uncle Ezra’s not far from you. I’ll give him a call, see if he can’t pick you up. Hang tight.”

“Isn’t he with you?”

“No,” your dad replies. “Why would he be with me?”

“I just figured he’d be up for Thanksgiving too.”

“I invited him, but I never heard back. Dude probably forgot. Okay, call you back.”

Sounds like Ezra. Ezra always was an…odd duck. You remember him visiting from time to time when you were a kid, and he and your dad would spend a lot of time locked in the garage together. It wasn’t until much later that you realized they were smoking weed.

Ezra’s not your uncle, not really. It’s just what he calls himself. He’s your dad’s old coworker turned weed dealer turned buddy. Probably still sells your dad weed, though. Ezra also used to sell your dad quarter sticks of dynamite for the Fourth of July, and both of them made you promise not to tell anyone about that.

Ezra was always a comforting, if somewhat peculiar, presence in your life. He called himself your guardian angel and texted you from an unknown number - he never has the same phone number whenever he texts you - on your twenty-first birthday, promising that one day soon he’d take you out for a beer.

Your dad calls you back. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet him back.

Your dad cuts right to the chase. He tells you that Uncle Ezra is on his way, that he has your location and he’ll come pick you up in thirty minutes. Worry about towing your car later, et cetera.

“Okay. Love you. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Love you too, honey. Be safe.”

‘On his way’ your ass. True to Uncle Ezra’s style, he doesn’t show up until nearly two and a half hours later. It’s just like that time he told you he’d pick you up from something at eleven and didn’t show up until the clock said 11:47. ‘Yeah,” he said, ‘Clock still says eleven, don’t it?’ He pulls up next to your car in a beat up old Kia van, the same Kia he’s been driving for years.

Ezra hops out of his car, clad in snow boots, plaid pajama bottoms, a Carhartt jacket, and a fleece trapper hat. He stomps through the snow and opens your door, then ushers you into his van. “I apologize for the delay. Wasn’t expectin’ to be assigned a rescue mission,” he shouts at you. You’re not sure why he’s yelling.

You watch Ezra grab your prepared food and the duffel from the back of your car, his ass crack visible through his falling pants. Ezra tosses it all haphazardly in his before getting back into the driver’s seat. He’s covered in snow, stomping off the flakes before looking over at you. With his dark brown eyes narrowed in your direction, he scans you up and down. “What on God’s green earth is the matter with you? You intended to traverse without the proper coverage?”

“Excuse me?”

It takes your brain double the time to process Ezra’s words. You forgot about the unique way he speaks, his very particular vocabulary. You wonder where he picked up that way of speaking.

Ezra gestures to your torso. Oh, you think. Right. You’re just wearing a hoodie. You suppose it could have been a problem, had your car’s heat gone out.

“Jacket,” he chastises you.

“Yeah, no. I got it.”

“Then where is it?”

“No- like, I understood what you-” Ezra stares at you expectantly, with raised eyebrows. “Never mind.”

Ezra shakes his head in disappointment, then puts his foot on the brake of his Kia and pulls it into drive. “My domicile will have to do for you tonight, birdie. If you are amenable to it, of course.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Works for me.”

It takes Ezra about forty-five minutes to drive back to his house, which is located behind a water tower and a church off of a highway exit. It’s in a secluded area, thick with trees, the snow much heavier on the unplowed roads over here. Ezra pulls into his driveway, then opens the garage via a remote control attached to his sun visor. He gets out of his seat first, then rounds the front of his van and opens your door. “Hold onto me,” he tells you, holding out his arm. “You’re liable to slip and fall on these slick grounds.”

You take hold of Ezra’s sleeve, and he carefully helps you out of the van and ushers you inside his house. “Get settled in. I shall retrieve your belongings and return to you post haste.”

You toe off your shoes and leave them on Ezra’s doormat, then begin strolling through his home, perusing through his belongings. His home is cluttered yet clean; lava lamps left on, paintings of St. Francis and St. Gertrude on the walls in his game room, which has floor to ceiling bookshelves full of board games and Dungeons & Dragons paraphernalia. A Halloween bucket full of month-old candy on the table. The house smells strongly of incense, and when you turn the corner and enter the living room you see that Ezra’s left his fireplace lit.

“Awh shit, must’ve slipped my mind,” Ezra says, noticing the same thing you do. He’s got your duffel bag on his back and the Pyrex pans in his arms. He sets all items down, then goes back into his garage without a word. A few minutes pass and you’re left confused by his absence, so you follow him.

“Uncle Ezra?”

Ezra’s at his workbench, the warm flicker of a flame illuminating his handsome features as he lights a joint. He blows out the smoke, then smiles at you. “Joinin’ me?”

“Uhhh…”

“C’mon,” he urges. “It’s the holidays.”

You join Ezra at his workbench, still unsure if you want to partake yet. While Ezra smokes, you study his workbench. There’s not one tool in sight, but there’s lucky bingo trolls, little Buddha statues, snow globes, and other little tchotchkes sitting on the bench. It’s lit by old, dim, rainbow Christmas lights, and little ornaments hang from the wire. You touch an ornament depicting John McClane from Die Hard in when he’s in the air vent, turning it side to side as you inspect it.

“Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker,” Ezra croaks out with a smile then coughs. He offers you his joint. “Let’s have ourselves a merry little Christmas, now.”

“It’s Thanksgiving, Ez.”

Ezra’s brows knit together, “What’d I say?”

“Christmas.”

“Oh.”

Ezra’s still confused as he puts the pieces together, and then he realizes you’re correct. “I suppose you’re right, little bird. In any case, s’a reason to celebrate with a little green, no?”

“I’m not sure Thanksgiving is the weed-smoking holiday.”

“Oh, but it is indeed, little bird. C’mere.” Ezra takes a pull from the joint held between his middle and forefingers, then, still holding the joint, puts both hands on your cheeks and pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours. He blows the smoke into your mouth, “Attagirl,” he says, his lips curled in a wry smile that makes your stomach churn and your heart flutter. You cough a bit, turning away from him to hide your flustered expression. Ezra pats you on the back. “You’re alright. You got it.”

He pulls off his trapper hat then, setting it on the workbench. His black hair all messy, and he’s gotten grayer since you’ve seen him last, but that little white streak is still prominent as ever. “Let’s get you somethin’ to eat. Betcha need somethin’ in ya,” he says.

Ezra ushers you inside, then sits you down on a barstool at the kitchen counter window. He opens his once white but yellowing-with-age refrigerator, scratching the back of his head as he examines his lack of contents in it. “I got…uh…” he trails off, bending his upper half to look through condiments and cans of ginger ale. “Wasn’t expectin’ company.” He opens a box of take-out, takes a whiff, and recoils. “Christ almighty,” he exclaims, “Don’t even wanna know what that most unholy concoction is.” then throws the box away.

You have to laugh. Ezra is as Ezra as ever. Charming, bizarre, endearing, confusing. He’s never had his shit together, not once. You slide out of your barstool, then head into the kitchen to join him. You nudge him to the side, then pull out your Pyrex pans of Thanksgiving sides from his refrigerator. He’s got an R2-D2 magnet holding up a paper full of logins and passwords on it. ‘ezralikesballs’ is his WiFi password, apparently.

Ezra smirks at you, tapping his index finger against his temple. “Smart girl,” he says, watching as you start pressing buttons on his oven. “Hold it right there–” Ezra pushes you out of the way and opens the oven door, pulling out various Halloween decorations, all of them plastic, before allowing you to preheat his oven. “Didn’t have a proper place to store ‘em.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How this man made it past forty years is beyond you. You preheat Ezra’s oven, then sit back down at the barstool as you wait for it to heat up. Ezra pours you a glass of ginger ale, and you spend the time until your food is warmed talking.

Ezra doesn’t have oven mitts or potholders, so you have to pull your pans out with kitchen towels. You carefully pull off the foil, and Ezra’s standing beside you with plates and forks, ready to serve you both.

“Goddamn,” he marvels, salivating at the sight of the food you prepared. “You made all of this?”

“I did, yeah,” you reply, smiling shyly.

“Beautiful. Jus’ beautiful.” Ezra serves himself first, a generous helping of both the sweet potatoes and broccoli casserole. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a can of Ocean Spray jellied cranberry sauce, “Knew this’d come in handy. Never hurts to have a can of this stuff for emergencies,” Ezra tells you, waving the can in your direction. He serves you next, then opens the cranberry sauce and puts a bit of it on both of your plates. You avert your eyes from the expiration date on the can. You don’t wanna know.

With a nod of his head, Ezra tells you to go sit in his living room. He pushes an ottoman in your direction with his foot, then sits down on his sofa. He pats the spot next to himself, “C’mere, sweetheart. Uncle Ezra missed his birdie.” You sit next to Ezra, who then turns on his TV. He puts on the Thanksgiving classic, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, which is also one of his favorite movies. “‘Tis the season.”

Ezra nudges you and leans down to whisper in your ear, “Wake up, sleepyhead. The hour’s come for us to adjourn to my quarters,” he drawls.

“Hm?”

You hadn’t even realized you were asleep, and asleep on Ezra’s shoulder at that. In your head, you thought you could still hear the movie, that you were following along to it. You’re surprised to see Steve Martin cursing out the airport attendant on Ezra’s TV.

“Bedtime,” he says. “Upstairs.”

“Oh. That’s okay, Uncle Ezra. I’m fine right here.”

“On the sofa?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

You turn your head to face Ezra better, stunned. “No?”

“This couch is Hans’ domain. Best not to provoke the fella. Don’t feel like settin’ him off tonight.”

Hans is Ezra’s cat that you’ve rarely ever seen, but have often felt when his feather-duster tail brushes your foot, heard him when he hisses at you before skittering off into a dark corner. He has to be in his twenties at this point, an Eldritch creature. Hans was ancient when Ezra found him palling around with a raccoon by his garbage, and that was years ago. Ezra’s always spoken about him like Hans is an abusive husband, that one wrong move could result in a reckoning most unpleasant. You’re glad to know the beast is well.

Ezra stands up first, then stretches backward, exposing his soft, pillowy tummy and happy trail to you. He smirks when he catches you looking. “Your turn, birdie. Up you go.” Ezra bends forward and takes hold of both of your hands, then guides you upstairs and into his bedroom.

You enter the dark room first, Ezra right behind you with his hand on the small of your back. He turns the lights on and his bed is neatly made with the scratchiest flannel sheets that have to be well over decades old, knit afghans that are even older and have absolutely seen better days. Ezra peels off his clothes, tossing them into a laundry basket on the floor. Clad in nothing but boxers, Ezra gets into his bed.

God, it is sweltering. Ezra’s house is warm to begin with, but does not heat efficiently at all. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and change, pulling out from your duffel only an oversized t-shirt. You’ll just be strategic, so as not to flash Ezra.

You return to Ezra’s bedroom, and he looks halfway asleep already. “Do Uncle Ezra a kindness, darlin’, and hit the lights for me.” Ezra makes a lazy gesture toward the light switch by the door.

You turn off the light, and darkness consumes the small bedroom until Ezra turns on his small CRT-TV, Die Hard playing and already halfway through. Another one of Ezra’s favorite films, as evidenced by the name he gave his cat and the little ornament in the garage. You’re not much of a sleep-with-the-TV-on person, but Ezra’s blackout blinds kind of freak you out so it’s nice to have that light. Plus, the volume is low enough. It’s been a long, long day. It weirds you out a little to sleep next to Ezra, but you know that while he’s a strange and bizarre man, he’s ultimately harmless. You slide into bed, exhausted to the point that you’re not even bothered by Ezra’s rock-hard mattress or the scratchiness of his sheets and blankets. The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re asleep.

You wake up in Ezra’s bedroom to that suffocating, smothering heat, the hot air so thick that it burns your nose and your throat. God, how does he sleep this way? His flannel sheets under your body are also warm, and Ezra’s insulating all that heat with his own body. Ezra’s cuddling you tightly, and you’re not sure when that happened, not sure whether he initiated it or if you did. Despite the heat, you don’t entirely mind when he snuggles you closer, curling himself around your body. Nuzzling the back of your neck, strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

Until you do mind.

He groans when he presses himself tightly against your frame, his hard cock against your ass as he ruts his hips into you.

“Uncle Ezra,” you whisper, scooting your body in the opposite direction. In Ezra’s unconscious state, he pulls you back against his body, now fully grinding his hard bulge into your backside with a rhythmic tilting of his hips. “Ezra,” you hiss, voice firmer.

“Wha…” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, his words slow and slurred. His brow pinched together and his eyes are squeezed shut to block out bluish light from his TV. “What’s ‘a matter?”

“You- your-” You swallow, trying to summon the words.

“What’s that? You’re havin’ a nightmare of sorts? C’mere, sweet birdie. Go back to sleep. I gotcha.” Ezra presses a kiss against the back of your head.

“N-no, fuck. Ezra-” You wiggle out from Ezra’s hold, then flip over onto your back.

The loss of your warm body against his cock, that’s when it all clicks for Ezra. “Ohhhh, I get it,” he murmurs, chuckling. “I understand perfectly well.”

“Yeah…”

“I do apologize, little bird,” Ezra says in a raspy, low voice. He reaches for your cheek and drags his pointer finger up and down the soft skin there. “The bastard’s got a mind of his own, doesn’t he?”

Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking weird. He? Ezra’s given his cock pronouns?

“S’alright, go on back to sleep, now.”

This has to be a nightmare. Or something in between a nightmare and a wet dream. You’ve had those before, anyway. You drift off to sleep once more, then awake again to Ezra’s bulge against you. This time, you feel more of him. His underwear is off, and he’s rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy. “Ezra!”

“What’s troublin’ ya now, birdie, tell me.”

“You…fuck.”

Fuck, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong and you know it. But goddamn, if his cock isn’t thick. Ezra keeps rocking his hips, grunting softly in your ear as he rubs his hard length against your pussy, arousal dampening the cotton of your underwear.

“I do apologize for wakin’ ya with my member, but he’s got a titan’s girth, birdie. What’s a man to do?”

Titan’s girth…what the fuck. You don’t even know where to begin deciphering that statement. Right now, the only thing on your mind is fighting the growing heat, that sticky feeling building deep in your belly as Ezra continues to grind against you. His little noises of pleasure aren’t helping in the slightest.

“Let’s get you outta these,” Ezra huffs rather impatiently, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, then pulls them down with a practiced ease. He tilts your ass, “Yeah, lay like that. You won’t even know he’s there,” he whispers, then slots his length between your lips, coating himself in your arousal as he moves his hips. “Don’t pay him any mind, birdie.”

“Ez- oh, fuck–” you gasp when the thick head of his cock catches against your clit, sparking a pleasure even more intense. “We - you can’t.”

“Oh, I know, angel. He just needs to feel ya a bit, that’s all. Not gonna feel any sort ‘a - fuck–” Ezra notches his tip inside you, only temporarily as he continues rutting, “Any intrusion of any sort.”

“O-okay.”

Ezra snakes a hand under your shirt and paws at your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh in such a manner so as not to be too harsh, but god, he could tear you apart. Ever the gentleman, he holds back, teasing your nipples with his fingers instead. You moan a little louder, a little more sweetly when he does that to you.

It’s an excruciating tease - long, arduous, excruciating. Ezra needs more from you. He could get himself off just like this, fucking your slick folds and no more, but Ezra’s really not one to deprive himself. He’s always been a bit of a libertine in that regard, believing that pleasure’s good for the heart, good for the soul, too. He can’t stave off his hedonistic tendencies much longer, “Ohh, Christ. You feel how fuckin’ hard he is? He needs ya somethin’ fierce, birdie. Needs to be inside that sweet cunt of yours.”

“Ezra…”

“Why don’t you let him in, sweetheart? You need it too, I know you do.”

“We really shouldn’t, Ezra.”

“Says who, sweetheart? Ah–” Ezra notches his tip inside you fully, inching inside you little by little, “You cure what ails him, little bird. Be a lamb, now.” Ezra pushes inside you in one full thrust, burying himself down to the hilt. Ezra did get you sufficiently wet, but it’s still, still such a stretch. You wince in pain, and Ezra covers your mouth to quiet your cry. “You’ll get used to him. Relax, angel. M’gonna have him take good care of ya.”

With that, Ezra builds a slow pace at first. Just steadily moving in and out of you, his short term goal only to get you used to the thickness of his member. “Ezra,” you sigh.

“You take him beautifully, birdie. Beautifully,” Ezra says, now drawing in and out of you at a faster pace. “Look how happy he is inside a’ ya. You’re soakin’ the fella.”

Ezra moves fluidly, thrusting in and out of you as he breathes heavily in your ear, whispering swears you’ve only rarely heard him speak. This angle in particular has Ezra hitting that most special place inside of you as that hot, fiery pleasure inside you intensifies tenfold.

He’s sweaty and warm against you, his body slick with sweat. You clutch his forearm as he fucks you, rocking your hips to match his thrusts. He feels so fucking good, good enough to scramble every thought in your brain. His cock is so long and thick and curved at just the perfect angle.

Ezra wriggles his arm down the front of you, fingers immediately finding your clit. You gasp when he touches it, rubbing perfect, practiced circles into the sensitive bud. “Oh fuck, Ezra.”

“Yeah, she likes that, doesn't she, birdie? Don’t take much at all.” Ezra smiles behind you, then presses a kiss against your cheek. He breathes you in as he fucks you, rubbing your clit with precision to bring you to the edge. Within seconds, you’re whimpering, thighs twitching against his large, masculine hand. “Let go,” he grunts. “Come all over him.”

With his ministrations, his cock fucking you perfectly, you come with a loud symphony of moans, a mixture of swears and Ezra’s own name. Your pulsing cunt coaxes Ezra’s own orgasm along, walls squeezing around him as he paints your insides with so, so much come. A truly astounding amount of come.

“Ohhh, he needed that,” Ezra groans, pulling out of you with no regard for his spend that spills out of you and onto his flannel sheets. “Thanks for humorin’ him, birdie. Go on and get some sleep now.”

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some kind thoughts or send me an ask!! Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me motivated to write, and goes so far in making this blog feel like a community 🩷

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect smut #ezra fanfiction #ezra prospect #Ezra prospect x reader smut #ezra prospect x you #Pedro pascal characters #prospect (2018)

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