#so you are doomed from the start.......................

[unriding]

HOW THEY COMFORT YOU AFTER A NIGHTMARE. moze, mydei, phainon. sfw. fluff + comfort. written with f!reader! in which the hsr men reassure you that you’re safe with them after a scary dream.

— MOZE.

The room you share with Moze feels foreign as soon as you jolt awake with a sharp gasp. Nothing at all like how it usually is.

It’s Cold. Empty. Much too spacious. And…. where’s Moze?

The nightmare you’ve only barely managed to escape seconds ago comes creeping back to haunt you as quickly as it had left — fragments of fear and loneliness rushing in and swirling about in your head, shooting up your spine as you shakily cling onto your blanket. “M..Moze…?”

There’s nothing, save for the sound of wind beating against the window. Violently so, you quickly realize, with each slam of the branches against the glass making you sink further and further back into the corner of your bed. “…Are you here..? Moze—”

Every part of you hopes that he is. Perhaps he’s just lurking somewhere within the shadows as he normally does. Still beside you nevertheless. Always within earshot and always making sure you were safe.

Any shadow could be him — you know this well, but the shadows don’t usually look so cold. They don’t usually stare back at you with such a haunting air around them, nor do they ever feel this empty.

A part of you wants nothing but to bury yourself beneath your blankets — slam your eyes shut and hope that you’re still dreaming.

Any scenario in which you don’t wake up alone in the dead of night, and any scenario in which Moze hadn’t packed up his things and left without a word.

Any scenario where he’s still here.

But you don’t. Still too fearful to move even a single muscle, so you settle for clinging tightly onto your blankets instead, eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement.

Any sign of Moze.

It’s only a second later when the door creaks. Quietly. Though your eyes seem to finally find the shred of courage needed to slam shut at this, head ducking beneath the blanket with a muffled whimper to seek refuge from what you think is doom.

Only, it never comes.

“You’re awake.” The mattress dips from where he sits down beside you, and then you feel a second blanket cover the lower half of your body soon after. “Did I wake you?”

It’s almost silly how quickly the fear begins to dissipate — his presence enough to convince you to wiggle your way out of your blanket, only enough to peer up at him through tearful eyes. “Moze….?”

The look on his face changes ever so slightly as soon as he hears you, even more as soon as he sees you. “I thought .. you left. Like, left me. In my dream, I think — but when I woke up —”

“I didn’t leave.”

The three simple words that loosen the grip on your chest like clockwork. He pulls you into a tight hug before you manage to choke out another word, strong arms keeping you flush against his chest to let you soak up his warmth, the way you always like to do.

He feels you trembling against him, hears the way you sniffle into his shirt, and yet — you latch onto him without another moment of hesitation. “You were shaking in your sleep.”

Moze doesn’t let go, even when he stretches to reach behind you, bunching the second blanket he had left to grab around your frame before his arms wrap back around you. “I thought you might get sick, otherwise.”

You nuzzle deeper into the safety of his embrace. “You.. you went to get blankets in the middle of the night? Because I was cold..?”

“Yes.”

— MYDEI.

Mydei notices the way you stir in your sleep long before you even have the chance to jerk awake, let alone keep yourself up for nearly long enough to work up the courage needed to nudge at his shoulder seeking some comfort.

It catches his eye within an instant — gaze flickering to the way your eyebrows furrow first, then how your body starts to curl up on itself hoping to hide from something. You’re having a nightmare.

It’s not an odd thing for Mydei to stay awake longer than you. He’s grown fond — Phainon’s words, to be exact — of the way you nuzzle yourself closer to him in your sleep. Just a small habit of yours. To press your cheek into the firm muscle of his arm, your own limbs tangled over his in an effort to keep him close to you.

You insist that it helps you sleep better, and that fact is obvious enough. You sleep like a log as soon as you’re latched onto him as so, and whenever he decides to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him — big hand mindlessly rubbing your back up and down and feeling the way your frame melts underneath his touch — your lips curl into a small smile, even in your sleep.

It’s why seeing you in such discomfort bothers him. The way fresh tears start to collect along your lashes, face frowning and body tense and trembling — all things he absolutely never wants to see, especially when you’re safe beside him.

Mydei puts down his drink first. Almost instinctively, not taking his eyes off of you for even a moment before he’s letting out a huff, easily pulling you to rest fully on top of him (another thing that he remembers you enjoying, as you’ve mentioned once that it’s fun to hug him like a koala while sitting in his lap).

Only, you don’t hug him this time, and the frown stays on your face.

He frowns now, too.

“Hey.” His arms wrap around you even tighter now, one moving to cradle the back of your head and the other around your shoulders, as if keeping you safely tucked away from whatever threatens your comfort. “It’s only a nightmare.”

You make a noise in response, one akin to a whine or a grumble before your fingers start to dig into the muscle of his shoulder, stirring and fidgeting in your sleep — even more so than before. His mind hesitates for only a moment, conflicted as to whether he should abruptly wake you or continue to hold you in hopes that whatever is scaring you eventually leaves.

He settles for both.

“Nothing’s here,” he continues, pulling you closer to him, this time moving to press a kiss against your forehead. Another, after. One against your temple. Then another against your forehead, for extra measure.

This time, your expression softens, hands relaxing to lightly rest on his body. It’s working.

“See that?” His voice comes out softer, and perhaps if you were awake, you’d point this out.

But you’re not.

So he settles on holding you close like this instead, keeping you warm and close to his heart. “You’re safe.”

— PHAINON.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes shoot open to be faced with Phainon, hands on each side of your head as he hovers over you, concern and what you think might be a hint of fear etched deep into his features. “You’re okay. It was only a dream.”

“Ph-” you call out to him, or at least you try, but the words get caught in your throat, as if something wants to keep you away from him. Your eyes widen. “..on..?”

You hadn’t been expecting him to visit you so soon. His presence almost catches you off guard, more so than the nightmare that had scared you awake, maybe. (Though, perhaps he had intentionally avoided telling you, since he’s always had a thing or two to say about you skipping rest from excitement to see him.)

It wasn’t uncommon for you to have nightmares like these. Nights where you abruptly jerk awake in a cold sweat, barely mustering the courage to wrap yourself in a blanket before seeking out Phainon.

The first person you’ve always sought out, and the only person whose hold can make you feel as safe as you do. Such as now.

“Come closer,” his brows furrow deeper when your lips continue to wobble, now opting to fully climb onto your bed to lay beside you, immediately pulling you towards him. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Sorry..” you grasp at his shirt, almost instinctively. “I know you’re busy — it’s okay. I was just a little scared—”

He doesn’t move away, only letting out a soft sigh of relief at the realization that you’re at least not physically hurt before he’s holding you even tighter against himself, as if shielding you from your thoughts with his own body. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything harm you.”

“Don’t worry.”

It might just be magic, you think, the way one simple embrace from Phainon can put an end to your fears so quickly. It was often that you’ve told him this — a shy tug on his sleeve and a reminder of just how much you cherish him, to which he only ruffles your hair with a soft smile — followed by another promise that he’ll keep you safe.

Always.

“And,” he shifts his position on your bed, the movement drawing you out of your thoughts when his chin comes to lightly rest atop your head, “I’ve told you there’s no need for apologies, haven’t I?”

“Oops,” you weakly mumble against his chest. “It slipped again.. sor—”

“Ah. And almost again, huh? That’s fine. Let’s focus on getting you back to sleep again for now,” he plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, “Close your eyes.”

[asksonicverse]

You dont need to answer but I just wanted to tell you I adore Paradox being like "I hate all of them except" and then listing everyone except like 2 guys, honey you don't hate *all* of them you expressly don't hate *most of them*

Extremely charming characterization i adore it

[Creator Special number 2!]

So glad someone noticed that, I was originally going to have him name EVERYONE except Boost but then I was like “nah, Mania is just too annoying for Paradox to tolerate him”

And thanks! I’m trying to be… consistent with my characterization of each of them and stay in line with canon but like… URGH sometimes I want to deviate so bad just to indulge but I resist!

Needless to say tho, prism is probably going to get more affectionate later on. Rewatched Sonic Prime again and bro is a cutie patootie!

Headcanons… headcanons… hmm

Well, starting with the obvious, Paradox goes to therapy as I’ve mentioned which I think is hilarious. He and Lance are the only Shadows who really have their shit together which is why I think Sonadow works well for them? (we stan healthy relationships guys)

I do head canon that Eight doesn’t like being touched really at all anymore. After the metal virus, he grew so used to the fact that he couldn’t touch anyone that it sorta just stuck. He does it to save people, but not anything more. :(

And while I’m a sucker for the Trans Sonic HC I decided not to implement it in this particular AU!

I really want to include Captain Sonic and Shadow, but I haven’t played nor watched a serious play through of the game. (I’ve only really listened to a bit of the Snapcube dub..)

can someone tell me if Shadow is a Barista or a Mechanic in that game btw?? I google it, nothing pops up. I could’ve sworn there was something about a mechanic.

Uhh I LOVE Sonic Frontiers, fire game. If I include that one, it’ll ALSO be Sonamy since I’m pretty sure that game takes place before SA2 in canon?

I’m trying to keep the Sonics and Shadows balanced but I’d love to add Generations Shadow and Sonic. Just thinking of names already I get “Doom” for Shadow and “Emerald” for Sonic. (Referencing the fake emerald from their interaction in the shadow story)

Unfortunately I haven’t seen the Archie comics or Sonic Underground so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Someone also asked about if I’d ever include different AU’s: maybe if those AU creators gave me permission I’d be down to do a collab for a few asks or something!

Nope!

I dunno I just..! … how do I do? I’m fast. And you’re slow. That’s how I did it. /ref

Ahahah just kidding! But I am very fast. A few years ago I convinced myself I was a “slow drawer” because I was in a discord server with someone I looked up to (and holy cheese they could draw out fully articulate sketches in like 30 seconds!)

So I got insecure and taught myself to draw really fast. So now I just.. zoom! This does have a terrible draw back where I will very frequently forget smaller details.

Like if you look at half the posts, Shadow is missing his eyeliner and other markings frequently.

THIS IS JUST HILARIOUS TO ME YOU GUYS. PLEASE—

I’ve gotten SO many asks in my box about using Maria to calm the Shadows down or trying to give Shadows “Maria plushies”

Imagine you’re having a bad day and you get a plushie of your dead sibling thrown at you??? LMFAOOOO

I CANT I CANT I CANT PUT THEM THROUGH THAT 💔 Also I see every single ask.

“Do you all like Latinas” and “sonic which shadow is the hottest/shadow which sonic is the hottest” have all been engraved in my brain

Was joking with a friend on how that second question would come out LMFAOO

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[gf2bellamy]

haircut — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you're caught off guard by spencer's haircut content warnings: mention of stuffing yourself with ice cream and popcorn a/n: boyband spencer makes me feel things so i just had to write this

You pushed open the door to the conference room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of paper and ink from the stacks of case files spread across the table. 

Penelope Garcia was already seated. She looked up from her laptop the moment you entered, her eyes lighting up as she greeted you. 

"Good morning, sunshine!" she chirped, holding out a file for you. 

You smiled, the warmth of her energy making the early morning a little more bearable. “Good morning,” you replied, taking your seat beside her. “Thanks, Pen.” 

She gave you a playful wink. “Always here to deliver your daily dose of doom and gloom.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair, settling in. “How was your weekend?” you asked, genuinely curious. 

Penelope sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, my dear, it was divine—a full 48 hours of zero crime, binge-watching the most ridiculous reality shows, and eating a huge amount of popcorn. A true masterpiece of relaxation.What about you?” Penelope asked, her eyes fixed on her computer screen as she attempted to pull up the PowerPoint for the case briefing. 

You sighed, stretching slightly in your chair. “Same thing,” you admitted. “Spent the weekend on the couch, barely moving, while shoveling buckets of ice cream down like it was my full-time job.” 

Penelope gasped dramatically, turning to you with wide eyes. “You didn’t move? At all?” 

“Barely,” you confirmed, already missing the comfort of your couch. “Honestly, I think I might have become part of it.” 

She snorted, shaking her head as she finally got the PowerPoint to cooperate. “Respect,” she said, clicking through the slides. 

Before you could respond, the conference room door opened again, and the rest of the team started trickling in. Hotch took a seat next to you, as he opened his files, while JJ leaned toward Penelope, the two of them quickly falling into conversation.

You glanced around the table, scanning the usual faces—until you noticed an empty seat. 

Spencer’s seat. 

Your brows furrowed slightly. He was never late. If anything, he was usually one of the first to arrive, sitting quietly with his coffee, already halfway through the case materials before anyone else had even opened their files. 

When JJ and Penelope began presenting the case, you had no time to let your anxieties cloud your judgement regarding the empty seat. voices pulling you back into work mode.

That was until JJ suddenly smirked and said, “Well, hello.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to her, confused by her reaction—until you followed her gaze. 

And then, your mouth fell open. 

Spencer had just walked in. 

But not the Spencer you had been expecting. 

He looked… different. 

Not in a bad way. Not even in a way you had the right words for. Just—different.

His normally tousled curls had been cut shorter, neater, styled in a way that framed his face and somehow made him look even more—God help you—attractive. It was a change you hadn’t been prepared for, and from the silence that briefly passed over the team, you weren’t the only one caught off guard. 

Spencer gave a small, almost shy smile at JJ’s reaction before heading to his seat. He settled down on the other side of Hotch, setting his bag on the table. 

Hotch barely looked up from his file as he raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “What, did you join a boyband?” 

A small frown creased Spencer’s face. “No,” he replied, the petulant tone in his voice making a few people chuckle. 

Conversation quickly resumed, the team diving back into case details as though nothing had happened. But you? You were barely processing a single word. 

Your mind was too busy reeling. 

Your eyes kept drifting back to Spencer, betraying you as they traced over his new look. The sharpness of his jaw, the way his now-shorter curls curled just slightly at his temples, the way his freshly cut hair made his cheekbones stand out a little more. 

This was dangerous. Very dangerous. 

Because if you had thought Spencer Reid was cute before, you had no idea how you were going to survive this version of him sitting across the room from you every day. 

As expected, Hotch wrapped up the briefing with his usual stern voice. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

The room stirred with movement as everyone gathered their files and bags, preparing to head to the jet. You slung your bag over your shoulder, but not before sneaking a few more glances in Spencer’s direction. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. 

At some point during the meeting, Derek had caught you staring—not once, not twice, but multiple times. And when your eyes met his across the table, he grinned knowingly, amusement flashing in his gaze. 

You had felt your face heat instantly and quickly looked away, pretending to be very focused on your files. 

Smooth. Real smooth. 

You got up, ready to make a quick exit before you could embarrass yourself further, but just as you turned toward the door, Spencer’s voice stopped you. 

“Hey—uh, is it okay if I ride with you?” 

It was such a simple question. A question he had asked before. Sometimes Spencer drove with Derek, other times he rode with you. It was normal. Casual. 

So why did it suddenly feel like the most dangerous thing in the world? 

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Your usual response would have been an easy, effortless “Yes. Of course.” But today? Today, you could barely meet his eyes without feeling like your brain short-circuited. 

Because he looked that good. 

Still, you forced yourself to nod, offering a quick, “Sure.” 

You kept your gaze trained on the hallway as you stepped out of the room, hoping that if you avoided looking at him, your heart would stop hammering against your ribs. 

Unfortunately for you, Spencer had already fallen into step beside you. You stepped into the elevator together, the metallic doors sliding shut with a soft ding.

A silence settled between you, not entirely uncomfortable, but not the easy kind you were used to with Spencer either. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him tapping his shoe against the floor—a habit you’d picked up on over the years. Spencer only did that when he was nervous. 

That surprised you. 

He never did that around you. 

You and Spencer were close—so close that sometimes it felt like too close. Like the kind of close that made your heart race when he so much as looked at you a certain way. And today, with his new haircut and the way his suit fit just right, that feeling was overwhelming. 

Your eyes flickered to the floor, watching his shoe tap against the tile before glancing up at him. 

Big mistake. 

Because the moment you did, your heart flipped in your chest. He looked so good, and that single thought refused to leave your mind no matter how hard you tried to push it away. 

You quickly looked away, biting your lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed your staring. 

But of course, he did. 

“If it’s a bother,” Spencer suddenly spoke, his voice quiet as the elevator hummed downward. “I can drive with Derek to the airport instead.” 

Your stomach twisted at the suggestion. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him in the car with you—it was that you wanted it too much. And now he had clearly picked up on your avoidance, which only made your embarrassment ten times worse. 

“No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head as the elevator dinged again, signaling your arrival. “You’re not a bother at all.” 

You barely gave him time to respond before stepping out of the elevator, making a beeline for the parking garage. 

Spencer followed closely behind, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel his gaze on you. 

You unlocked the car, and Spencer slid into the passenger seat beside you. Normally, by this point, the two of you would already be knee-deep in some random discussion—whether it was a case, a bizarre fact he recently read, or a debate about which movies held up over time. 

But right now? 

Silence. 

Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that came from years of understanding each other so well that words weren’t always necessary. 

This was different. 

Spencer was quiet because he sensed something was off. He was a profiler, after all—he could read people better than anyone, and he had definitely picked up on your shift in behavior.

And you? You were silent because you feared that if you opened your mouth, you’d do something completely mortifying. Like stutter over your words. Or say something dumb. Or worse—blurt out the fact that you had spent the entire morning internally spiraling over how ridiculously good he looked today. 

Your fingers curled around the steering wheel, your gaze fixed ahead. 

Beside you, Spencer set his bag down at his feet, shifting slightly in his seat. You could feel the weight of his stare even without looking at him. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said suddenly, staring straight ahead. “I promise there’s nothing wrong. I guess I’m just… off today.” You exhaled, fingers tapping absently against the wheel. The last thing you wanted was for him to think he wasn’t welcome here. “And I am happy to drive us to the airport.” 

Spencer was quiet for a moment, but then, in a soft voice, he asked, “Do… do you want to talk about it?” 

You swallowed hard, pulling out of the parking lot. The road stretched ahead, but your mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, each one worse than the last. 

What were you supposed to say? 

Oh hey, Spencer, funny thing—I literally cannot look at you right now because you’re so insanely attractive that I might actually die on the spot? 

Yeah. Probably not the best thing to say to a coworker—and more importantly, to the friend you’d been secretly crushing on for longer than you cared to admit. 

So instead, you shook your head, offering the safest response you could manage. 

“No, it’s nothing.” 

You weren’t sure if he believed you. But for now, he didn’t push. 

The drive to the airport was short, but thankfully, Spencer had started talking about the case almost immediately. You were relieved—you could focus on the conversation instead of the way your heart kept stupidly skipping beats.

Plus, driving gave you an excuse to not meet his eyes. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? His eyes. 

Warm and intelligent, always analyzing, always seeing you in ways that made you feel exposed. So, you kept your attention on the road, discussing victim profiles and behavioral patterns. 

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the airport lot. 

You parked carefully, turning off the engine as the conversation about the case trailed off. Both of you got out, grabbing your bags before heading toward the jet. 

It wasn’t until you were walking side by side—no distractions, no case details to focus on—that Spencer suddenly asked, “What do you think of…” He hesitated. “My haircut?” 

You froze for half a second, your grip tightening on the strap of your go-bag. 

Oh. 

Oh, no. 

You hadn’t been prepared for that. 

“Uhm—” You stuttered, caught completely off guard, your brain scrambling for a normal, casual response. 

You walked slower, suddenly hyperaware of his presence beside you. Spencer matched your steps, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced at you, waiting. 

Finally, you swallowed and forced yourself to speak. “It looks great,” you said softly. “I like it.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Yeah?” His lips curved into a small, pleased smile. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, willing yourself to keep it together. 

But then—because the universe apparently wanted you to suffer—your mouth betrayed you. 

“I mean, it makes you look…” You trailed off, but Spencer was still watching you, waiting for you to finish, and oh god, you were already in too deep. You cleared your throat. “Really handsome.” 

Spencer blinked. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

Heat immediately crept up your neck, and you snapped your gaze forward, walking faster in hopes of escaping your own embarrassment. But Spencer—being Spencer—was too damn observant for his own good. 

His eyes widened slightly, something clicking in his mind. His posture straightened, his brows lifting ever so slightly as realization dawned. 

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding my eyes.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Your breath hitched. 

“No, no,” you said quickly, shaking your head as you picked up your pace, the jet now in sight. If you just got inside, if you just sat down and pretended this conversation never happened, maybe—maybe—you could salvage what was left of your dignity. 

But Spencer wasn’t letting it go that easily. 

“Wait—” He reached for your wrist, his touch light but enough to stop you in your tracks. 

You swallowed hard. 

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned to face him, keeping your eyes trained somewhere near his shoulder instead of his face. 

Spencer let out a soft breath, studying you. “So… I was right?” 

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Your heart was pounding. 

“About you avoiding my eyes,” he clarified, his voice softer now, more careful. 

You exhaled sharply, forcing a nervous laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “I—no, I just—” You sighed, giving up mid-sentence. Lying to Spencer Reid was pointless. He could probably read you better than you could. 

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was debating whether or not to reach for you again. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes flickering across your face, searching for something. “You think I look… handsome?” 

You groaned, shutting your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. “Spencer, please.” 

But he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smug. He looked genuinely curious. 

And that—somehow—was worse. 

You sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes, okay? I think you look… really good.” You avoided his gaze, focusing on a spot over his shoulder. “Too good, actually, which is kind of annoying because it makes it really hard to—” You stopped yourself before you could say concentrate at work like a normal human being, realizing how that sounded. 

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, as if surprised by your admission. But then, slowly, his mouth curved into a small smile. 

Not a smirk, not teasing—just… soft. 

Warm. 

And something about that undid you a little. 

“I didn’t think you noticed things like that about me,” he admitted quietly. 

Your eyes snapped to his. 

Was he serious? 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Spencer, are you kidding? Of course I notice things like that about you.” 

His smile faltered just slightly, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he looked down, like he was processing that. 

The jet door opened in the distance, voices echoing faintly from inside, but neither of you moved. 

Then, after a long moment, Spencer glanced back up at you. 

“I think you look really good all the time,” he said simply. 

Your breath caught. 

Before you could respond, a voice called out from the jet—Derek, naturally. “You two coming or what?” 

You cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away from Spencer’s as you took a step toward the jet. “Yeah, coming!” you called back, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Spencer fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets, but his small smile remained. 

And as you both climbed the steps to the jet, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this conversation wasn’t over yet. 

[nymphomatique]

gold star student

professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * one bad grade is one too many, so you ask one professor logan howlett, phd. for some extra credit after class. inspired by this art.

cw: reader lowkey has undiagnosed adhd, u want that cookie so effing bad, oral (m & f), praise, some degradation, swearing (it’s logan), shaky power dynamics so it can be considered dub-con, non specific age gap, college aged reader, logan puts stickers on your face while you blow him, face slapping, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), finger sucking, spitting on the pussy, grey streak logan cause if he ain’t greying im not staying!!!, this is just me being horny idk what else to say i’m sorry yall

wc: 8k

❤︎ a/n: this was…. a labour of love to say the least. i hate the ending but fuck it we ball. enjoy <3

Ever since you were a child, anything and everything that had to do with academia had been the bane of your existence. Sitting at a desk for eight odd hours in a day wasn’t only grossly unappealing to you, but a mental challenge as well. You had found it hard to grasp onto concepts and new materials as well as the other kids, unable to focus on whatever spiel of the day your teacher went on about and still found yourself struggling in higher education. From kindergarten, to elementary, to middle school, to high school, up until now in your college years, you find that not only has your attention deficit gotten worse, but so has your motivation in academia in general. 

A floater student is what you would consider yourself, showing up to class once in a blue moon, rather busying yourself with doom scrolling in your dormitory or shopping off campus at the mall, only showing up during exam time and barely passing. your prognosis would be one of the many hyperactive disorders, but you never bothered to diagnose yourself officially. In high school, your parents didn’t make a huge deal of your grades, thanking a graceful god out there that you even got your diploma to begin with. At this age however, with tens of thousands of dollars being poured into your tuition, your mother and father have seemed to coil up even tighter in terms of frustration with your nonchalant attitude towards school. 

A report card from your fall semester riddled with C’s and D’s, emboldened and italicized as if to taunt you silently, was the final straw, the cussing you received was enough for a lifetime. At your parents' discretion, before the start of the semester you consulted with your academic advisor in suggestion of a course schedule that wasn’t a twelve hour day, and professors who would accommodate you with in the case of your late assignments and missing homework. 

All classes but one would be easy- you had been told. Your world history class and its professor had been the only one where you had been saddled with a hardball teacher, rate my professor describing one Logan Howlett, teacher of Modern World History in the Context of Classic Literature, as a man with a foul mouth and harsh grading asshole— with an excellent curriculum but horrible grade weighting, as described by your fellow student body, the mandatory attendance and participation accounting for twenty percent of your grade alone pulling a groan from you as your laptop screen stares back at you, the blue light emitting from it seemingly silently taunting you with the course course outline. Get used to looking at my screen. Three hours in an auditorium, every Wednesday and Friday for twelve weeks at nine in the morning with this douchebag.

You mentally prepare yourself for the exhaustion of the upcoming semester, shutting your laptop closed with a huff of annoyance before laying in bed, mentally preparing yourself for this seemingly infamous professor Howlett.

After a rather inadequate night of sleep, a zero sugar monster energy (gotta give in for the sake of your health where you can) and a double shot latte, you feel something that briefly resembles yet still distant from awake, you find yourself struggling to get comfortable in the stiff chairs in your lecture room. You’re glad you tucked yourself away in a seat in the corner, four rows back from the front, embarrassed that your peers are silently mocking your struggle. 

It’s some odd minutes to nine on the dot, and you’re rather proud of yourself for being able to make it minutes early rather than stumbling in twenty minutes late like you’re prone to doing. Face resting on your hand, cheek squishing your right eye closed, your left eye flits around the room to the other people present, and you wonder if anyone else is stuck in your current situation: burnt out student who didn’t have a choice but to take this class at the least convenient time possible, simply for your graduation credits. Unfortunate kismet, you think, if anybody else in this room also had the privilege to have been born with the unlucky gene you possess. 

Your eyes are heavy, the seconds tickering away at the speed of minutes, and you can’t help it when the last open eye you have flutters close. You hum to yourself, relishing at the feeling of finally being able to rest some more. the quiet shuffling of your classmates feet and the soft scrapings of their chairs, clock ticking so quietly that it barely registers in your mind. The ambient noise is like a blanket to you. It’s not more than five minutes, just a micro nap— you tell yourself, counting the seconds of each minute down silently. 45, 44, 43, 42, what minute is this?, 30, 29, 28, so tired, 22, 21, time to sleep…

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the auditorium door slam shut, blinking away softly the sleep in your eyes. your heart sinks for a minute and panic sets in— did you sleep through the whole class? On the first fucking day? You look around, eyes wide, and immediately sigh in relief when you’re greeted with a full hall. Conversely, you see everyone’s attention to the front of the class with materials out, so you trail your eyes to the front of the room and that’s when you see him, finally. Not his face yet, the wide expanse of his back and tail of his coiffed head facing you all instead. Your eyes trail down his body to his feet, clad in a pair of black combat boots, you can’t help but quirk up and eyebrow, bootcut jeans that seem to be worn in well, seemingly like they’re tailored to his long, very legs, then you see his jacket, which now you catch in time to see him taking it off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath and your breath hitches a bit. You can only see his triceps flexing as he maneuvers his jacket off, but you can just tell he’s covered in rippling muscle, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, wondering if his face is as captivating as the rest of him. Your eyes flit over to the girl sitting two seats down from you, and you can’t help but smile a little at her expression, teeth chewing her bottom lip and eyes widened slightly and blinking in slow flutters, seemingly thinking the same things about this Professor Logan Howlett as you are; He’s obscenely sexy even though I haven’t even seen his face.

When you focus your attention back to the front, your face warms immediately upon finally seeing his– Professor Howlett’s face and fuck, you feel stupid for even thinking that he wouldn’t be even a fraction of attractive. His hair, oh god his hair, styled as if he just rolled out of bed and ran his hands through it once, maybe twice even, streaked with gray at his temples, peppering down into his sideburns and disappearing in his scruffy beard. His eyes are an enrapturing shade of hazel, almost brown, almost green, you squint a little to see the mix of hues better, cursing yourself for sitting so far away. His nose, button-like yet poses so masculine at the same time. His lips look so soft and kissable, framed perfectly by his facial hair as if it’s screaming at you to kiss there, to taste each other, let your tongues touch and whisper your deepest secrets to one another-

Gravelly and deep, his voice rouses you from your rather indulgent fantasy. “Good morning. Lively bunch this semester,” he quips and a quiet wave of laughter reverberates and echoes around you. Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice and you want to smack yourself silly for it. “Gonna spare you all the pointless introductions n’ ice breaking crap, yeah? We’ll go over the syllabus and get this show on the road.”

He’s curt, forward, doesn’t bite his tongue, you deduce. Not the jackass his reviews seem to pin him as, though it’s only the first class. They didn’t seem to mention how ruggedly handsome he was as well, you think and pull your lips taut as Professor Howlett, continues to read off the syllabus. Two essays, three quizzes, and a final reading comprehension exam. Attendance is mandatory Your eyes quickly flit to the back of your skull as he reads off that point. No makeups. No late work. No excuses. 

You feel your heart hammer in your chest a little, a sense of anxiety bubbling up in you at how much this class demands. It’s nerve wracking, super fucking discouraging to say the least given your track record, but you know you have no other choice but to commit fully and pass this class, so help your parents. You suppose you can find the motivation in a hot professor and at the very least, make an effort to roll out of bed and be presentable on the days you show up to his class. You exhale softly, hearing the shuffling of books and closing laptops to rouse you from your thoughts. 

“And don’t forget, first five chapters of tulip fever for next class,” his voice booms in the auditorium, fighting with the noise of students desperate to leave and head to their next class or back to their rooms. You flit your eyes towards your professor, arms crossed and muscles bulging against his shirt, casually leaned against his desk. His eyes meet yours for a moment and your breath hitches immediately. His brow quirks at you silently and you’re sure you might disintegrate on spot. You feel your face heat up and you break away the eye contact to rush out of the lecture, both exhausted and perpetually embarrassed, not having enough energy to handle feeling both. In your haste, you miss the way Logan's lip quirks up for a split second at you, rushing out the door with Tulip Fever and streaks of grey on your mind. 

You find you can’t keep your modern history professor off the brain since leaving the lecture hall that wednesday, ever so flustered. You thought about his thick arms back at your dorm, and how they might feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace. You thought about those graying temples, and the picture it would paint with his head between your thighs. You thought about him in your humanities class as your professor droned on about morality and its many philosophical perspectives, but you tune her voice out and think of his instead, wondering what it would sound like whispering sweet nothings in your ear. The level of yearning you’ve reached is bound to get you in trouble, hell it’s gotten you in trouble already— completely neglecting to finish the first five chapters of Tulip Fever like Professor Howlett had assigned, losing yourself in the work from your other classes. Friday had snuck up on you and you smacked your forehead for being so forgetful, the beginnings of discourage and a knot forming in your stomach. I’m a failure, I suck at this, I should drop out, I’m such a fucking idiot.

The thought of letting down a man you barely know has you berating yourself even further. You need to get a grip and quickly— he’s your teacher for God's sake. You suck in a breath, finding yourself sat in the same lecture hall your vivid fantasies found themselves being born in, laptop open as you’re frantically reading the Sparknotes summary minutes before class is set to start. Today, you chose a seat in the second row, still far off to the right side. You weren’t sure you could stay coherent with his gaze on you so heavy.  You tell yourself you picked this spot for a better learning experience, closer seats meaning less of a chance you fall prey to your fantasies, but deep down beyond the denial you knew better than to convince yourself of a lie like that. You sat upfront because you wanted to see Professor Howlett better, to pinpoint the hues of his eyes you couldn’t make out yesterday from so far behind. You wanted to trail your eyes up and down his muscular frame, taking snapshots of the hair on his forearms, the freckles on his thick knuckles, the veins trailing his big hands—

“Good morning, everyone,” a gruff voice speaks and you feel a ball of energy sits itself deep in your stomach, it’s him. You've missed the deep baritone of his voice, you realize. “Hope you all read up the chapters, yeah? We’ll be discussing ‘em today, and I am the asshole who picks on students to participate.” There’s a soft wave of grumbles from some, but your panic is quiet and you hope to a God in heaven somewhere that he doesn’t pick you, god knows you barely retained any information from your flash round of Sparknotes earlier.

“Like any book, the first few chapters were mostly exposition, character and scene setting stuff. Tell me, what does Sophia’s marriage and lack of heir signify to us in these times?” Professor Howlett asks, and you immediately avert your gaze to the grooves and scratches in the table in front of you. Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please please please— “Yeah, you,” your head snaps up, heart hammering in your chest when you see him nod his head at some girl, some girl with too much fucking chest out, you spit, her hand raised high and smile plastered across her smug little face. Your brows pull together and you barely contain the urge to roll your eyes at her enthusiasm. 

“Thank you, Professor,” This fucking bi- “I think that- that while Cornelius and Sophia are often representative of the way marriage was a lot of the times something more transactional, her being unable to have a kid being a main problem- shows how a lot of times a marriage with no evidence of, um, consummation, is seen as practically null and void.” Your fist tenses against the desk at her answer.

“Little long winded, but yeah, good job..?” his voice lilts off, and you smile a bit knowing he doesn’t even remember her name. “Oh, um, Amber,” she sputters out. He nods at her response and continues asking questions about the book. You feel a little bad as class progresses, your unprovoked and unwarranted jealousy towards another woman over a man who’s simply an authority figure to you both, no matter how attractive, makes you cringe. What is he doing to you? 

“Good answers, guys. Glad you all did more than skim the book,” Professor Howlett muses, turning his back to face you all as he digs through his briefcase. You take this time to admire how broad his back looks, draped in a black polo shirt today that practically has you drooling. “The rest of you I didn’t pick on today aren’t unscathed unfortunately,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns around and presents the stack of papers between his large hands to you all and he smirks, “Pop quiz.” 

A myriad of groans come crashing from all over the lecture hall right down to your ears and you silently join, hands falling down against your desk. You sincerely hope these weren’t going to be graded, praying that Professor Howlett possesses some sense of apologeticness, knowing that the definite zero percent you’d get on this would completely fuck over your overall average for the rest of the semester, subsequently giving your parents ample reason to rip you a fucking brand new one. 

Row by row, he passes a stack of papers for each student to pass down and he stops in front of you, seeing as you so conveniently sat at the end of the second row. “Nervous?” he asks, brow quirked and smug fucking look on his face as you look up at him. You quirk your eyebrow right back at him, “Hardly.” A group of papers fall in front of you and he breathes out a laugh, leaving you to pass papers to the next row. You lied like shit, you were insanely nervous, knowing you hadn’t retained a lick of information from your mini crash course nor the class’ discussion prior.

“No tech, no cheating. You guys know the drill, don’t make me catch you and have to chew you out. Twenty minutes and I’m picking ‘em up.” Logan says, walking down the aisle and back to his desk, his hulking frame leaning against his desk and his arms crossed up against his chest so tight that his biceps practically bulge out of his shirt. Or maybe, he’s just that toned, that any movement, minuscule or major, would have him threatening to rip out of his clothes. You’re practically fighting yourself in your seat, tearing your eyes away from his thick arms and heavy pectorals and down to your paper. 

It’s one page, front and back, ten questions. It wouldn’t be so bad had you actually read the book, considering you can’t even remember the name of the main character in the book. You bite your lip, trying so hard to rack your brain for something that resembles a coherent answer to these questions that will give you at least a 75%, knowing it wouldn’t skew your grade average completely off. What does Maria’s role stand to symbolize in the context of 1600’s Amsterdam?. You clench your  fist so hard around your pen you’re almost amazed that it doesn’t break under the pressure. You didn’t even remember a Maria in the book.

Twenty minutes of writing later, grasping at straws for potential points that would make you feel better than getting a big fat zero on your first quiz in this class, in his class, you’re walking to his desk to place your quiz in a pile with the rest of your peers, just as he’d instructed. You kept your eyes down the entire time, feeling too embarrassed to look at him after that silly excuse for banter you had attempted earlier. Hardly. Yeah fucking right. 

After your quiz, you had been dismissed from class, and you felt the anxiety set in almost immediately. The phone call you had with your parents that weekend over your classes and grades so far only worsened, the stern and subtly implied threat of coming back home to learn at a local college looming silently above you if you didn’t keep your grades up. You had obviously avoided mentioning the pop quiz you had, choosing not to set them ablaze at the mention of the fact that you most definitely failed that pop quiz. The stress of your grades instilled a new found productivity in you, in which you took initiative to read ahead of the assigned chapters and annotate as well as take notes for your modern history class, hoping to be prepared next time he’d ask a question. Your stomach churns at the thought of his praise, Good answer. Very good, kiddo. Like that idea. you imagined he’d say to you. You bite your lip as you study your western civilization notes, maybe he’d even indulge in you, call you his good girl, his good little student, something that Amber would never have above you. 

Monday and Tuesday went by uneventfully, as you completed your labs and started on your assignments when assigned. Tuesday night however, you had been anxious almost, or maybe excited— you weren’t sure, but you did know you wanted to be prepared for this class, to prove to Professor Howlett that you could handle his class, show him that you wouldn’t let him chew you up and spit him out so easily. You took the time before bed on that Tuesday to prepare your books in your bag, organize your notes, and even pick out an outfit, neatly folding it and leaving it on your desk chair. Grades be damned, you were beyond ready to prove everyone wrong, yourself included. 

You sat in the front row again, enraptured in the world of Tulip Fever, but really you would rather focus on Professor Howlett. He was all you thought about these days, especially at night when it was only you and the dark of your dorm to entertain you before bed. You hear a giggle next to you and you snap your head to the direction of the noise. Amber. A deep rumble sounds in front of you, someone clearing their throat. You look forward again and see your professor and your face heats up. “Welcome back to earth, sweetheart,” he muses, humour painted all over his face. Your eyes widen at the pet name he’s given you and you feel like sinking into your seat. “I need you here next time, yeah? Not in that pretty little head of yours,” he says, quiet enough so only you and the front two rows can hear. Your head spins. Pretty. He called you pretty. He continues his lecture like nothing else happened, leaving you dazed at his affection. His eyes flit to you briefly and he smiles, before walking back to the front of the class. 

Little moments like these pepper themselves throughout your lectures with Profess Howlett in between the assignments and lectures and raised hands. You’d catch him looking at the juncture of your breasts sometimes as you wore low cut tops, his lilting voice calling you precious pet names, sweetheart, kiddo, sweets. They all have your face warming. Heated gazes, stolen smiles, one off banter, you were convinced you were being delusional. One particular moment after class where you had asked for details on an assignment had you reeling for days. You went up to him after class to ask your question. His face was insanely close, you could smell the mint off his breath from the gum he was chewing during the lecture, feel his words fan your face, deep rumblings and focused glares as you were only inches away from his face. His lips, oh God his lips… so close, so soft looking, so pink, you had been so caught up in him the entire time. And he had noticed, his fingers coming up to your chip to raise your gaze. He did it wordlessly, eyeing you as you eyed him. His look daring you to say something. Challenge me. I dare you. But you didn’t— you couldn’t, you had tried to focus on something else, his musky woodsy scent, his greying stubble, anything, as he continued to explain your question to you. You walked out of his class that day with jello for legs, replaying the moment in your mind. 

Next class you had seen him he had given the assignments back, adorned with little gold stars on those who had grades higher than a B minus. Your paper had come back to you with an A minu, a little gold star next to your grade. “Boosts morale,” had been Logan’s explanation when a student had asked why the gold star. You smiled. Cute. 

You had felt like you finally found your groove, despite the hiccup you had at the beginning. Your first test of the semester approached, and you weren’t nervous, in fact you showed up to class early, getting a chance to get a good spot and watch Professor Howlett walk in and begin setting up. You had waved, a meek good morning in your own words and he returned a wink back. Your insides tugged at themselves. He had waltzed over to you in your seat, starting up conversation. “Nervous?” he asks, curt and short. You smile, “Hardly,” using your own words once more. “I’m gunning on a gold star. I studied extra hard.” Professor Howlett hums, smile on his face. “I look forward to seeing your work. I enjoy reading it,” he says. He leaves you with those words as he walks back to his desk, more students beginning to pepper in the classroom as the test hour approached. You had been so sure you did excellent on your test, studying for days and days beforehand. So when you got back your test, a C Minus staring back at you with a gut wrenching empty space next to your grade right where a star would be. Tears prick your eyes as you look at the grade, feeling so disappointed in yourself. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

You had promptly stayed behind after class to speak to him, and it seemed like Amber had the same idea, her body close to his as she spoke lowly. She didn’t spare a glance back at you as she spoke to him, hand grazing his bicep as she walked away and past you. Your eyes rolled in your head and you walked up to Professor Howlett next. He’s in the middle of packing up his papers in his bag when you come up to him, and he glances up in acknowledgment before going back to what he’s doing. You breathe out and his brown quirks as he pauses and looks at you. “Yes?” he asks. “I… I would like to see you after class if possible to discuss my grades,” you say, fist curling and uncurling with nerves. ”Tomorrow afternoon come see me at my office,” he says, arms crossing. “Don’t be late. Don’t get your hopes up either,” he quirks. You chew your lip before sighing. “I’ll be there. On time.” 

And true to your word, you showed up promptly and on time. Your heart was hammering in your chest cavity so hard you felt like it would burst through your ribcage. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth, chewing at it tenderly. You had been staring at the mahogany colored door, finished with a shiny golden plaque, L. Howlett, PHD. carved within the surface of the precious metal. His name posed just as intimidating as he did. You’d been standing in front of his door for almost three minutes now, fingers skimming along the hem of your plaid skirt. The accompanying white tanktop and white cardigan hand made your subconscious intentions loud and clear, as some part of you, a delusional part of you, had hoped this school girl-esque get up would grant you some sort of leniency with Professor Howlett as you begged for him to give you a retake, a makeup assignment, something for God’s sake.

Any moment more of hesitancy and you would be late for your two o’clock appointment time, so you bring your knuckles up to the door to knock, twice in succession, when the door swings open in front of you. Your knuckle is almost met with Amber’s face, her shock seeing you just as evident as hers. She doesn’t let it linger however, as she casts a glance over her shoulder and muses a “Bye Professor. Thank you so much, I’ll see you in class Monday,” before looking back forward and right back at you, holding your gaze as she walks right out the door and past you, making sure her shoulder doesn’t miss yours. You scoff. Bitch. 

“Right on time. Come in,” he gestures, refusing to get up from his comfy looking office chair. As you walk around his office you take in the interior briefly. The mahogany furniture, the lingering smell of cigar smoke, evidence of his nasty habit sitting on top of an ashtray on his desk, the glass bar cart, adorned with various bottles of whiskey and gin, and a mini fridge sitting on its bottom shelf— filled with ice and garnish you assume. You eye his book cabinet, shelves stuffed with various literary titles, old and new, classic and contemporary. You find yourself impressed, but you shouldn’t be, his teaching— albeit rough, brutish sometimes even— is a testament to his passion towards books and literature. You smile a little as you sit down in the foam lined chair in front of his desk. You try not to think of who sat in it before you as you feel the residual warmth of it against your thighs. You take in Professor Logan, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans— casual, but damn if he made it look good. You eyed his arms, veiny and bulging out his shirt, before flickering your attention back to his face, framed by those greying temples you oh so loved.

“So?” He trails, redirecting his attention from his desktop to you. You swallow a little and sigh. “Um, I know that you said no… no retakes or anything, and I understand your answer if it’s a hard no,” you say, pausing to look at him to try and assess what he’s thinking, but you’re simply met with a raised brow and crossed arms as he leans back further in his chair. “But I… I was wondering if- Well, my parents, they said that If I have a grade lower than an A on my report card this semester I had to drop out and transfer locally, and I don’t want to make this a pity story but I… It’s only this class where I’m having trouble. And I know what you said but my last test really fucked my average and I-” your nervous ramblings are cut off by him raising his hand. Your lips clamp and you watch him, waiting for his impending words. He makes you sit in the silence and with your words, instead opening his desk drawer, rifling between what sounds like various loose pens and papers before taking a lighter out. Small, sliver, zippo style and engraved with meticulous swirls. He picks up the already cut cigar out the ashtray, placing it between his pink lips, and lights it— two experimental puffs of smoke floating your way and you get dizzy. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks only now, and you try not to roll your eyes and that façade of chivalry. “No,” you shake your head. “Thought so,” he smiles, smug. He puffs from the cigar once more before he places it down on the glass ashtray once again before he speaks up. “As it stands now if you tighten up for the rest of the semester you can pass my class with a B something, which don’t sound too bad to me, sweetheart.” Your gut twists with tension. A B isn’t what you need. You brows furrow and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “I would love to help you sweetheart, trust me I would. But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students who come waltzing in here dressed just like you, begging for an A,” he drawls, picking up his cigar again and slotting it between his lips before he stands up and your breath hitches. “Wh- dressed like me? I didn’t-” you begin, confused at what he’s implying. Your eyes follow his moving figure, his steps taking him around his desk to the side of your chair, conveniently eye level to his groin. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks softly, thumb coming to your chin to direct your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t understand…” you murmur, skin beginning to warm at the rather inappropriate contact and position. Your chest heaves up and down beneath your cardigan and he surely notices letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can put two and two together,” he continues, thumb rubbing softly back and forth against your chin before he drops his hand from you completely. Your eyes drop in sync to his limb, your mind racing a million thoughts a second. But… isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? What you’ve dreamed of for weeks upon weeks? “Look at me,” he says, stern. And you do. “You listen so well,” he hums and you feel the makings of a fire ignite itself inside you somewhere deep. I’m being good. Good for him. “Kills you inside that you couldn’t get that shiny little sticker, doesn’t it?” he muses, looking down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes. You feel tears spring to your eyes at his words. He sees right through you. It did hurt. All you ever wanted to be was good for him. 

“We can fix that today. Tell you what, you be a good student for me, and I’ll be a good teacher to you, yeah?” he says, taking a puff from his cigar. “Nod your head like a good student.” And you do. Up and down, slowly. Your brain is fuzzy. This surely isn’t happening, is it? It couldn’t be. He walks away and back to his desk, propping his cigar down after asking it. He pushes a pile of papers from his desk, until he finds what he’s looking for. A sticker sheet. What is he…

“C’mere,” Professor Howlett gestures with a finger, simultaneously sitting back on his chair. Your legs are trembling under you as you get up and walk towards his side of the desk. Logan pivots his desk chair to the side as you walk over to him and you find yourself standing between his legs, quiet. “Take that off,” he says, flicking his head towards your cardigan. You let it drop off your shoulder promptly, standing only in your white tank top and plaid skirt. “Kneel,” he says, and you drop immediately. Pathetic. Your hands lay in your laps as you’re sat between his legs on your knees. Your breathing is as laboured as ever. You can’t believe this is happening— something that you spent nights dreaming of. Touching him, tasting him, feeling him. He reaches over to his desk and grabs the sticker sheet of gold stars, a fresh sheet of stars neatly arranged row by row. “You know what to do, don’t you sweetheart?” he asks, palm of his hand running against your face. You nod, reaching forward to the zipper of his dark denim jeans before his palm grabs your hand. “When I ask you somethin’, I want a verbal answer. Y’understand?” he says. Your voice feels caught in your throat. He’s so intense your head is spinning. “Y-yes,” you breathe. “Yes what?” he spits back and your heart hammers. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums. He lets go of your hands, taking a sticker off the sheet and placing a small gold star right next to your left eye. Your face heats up at the praise and you almost let out a breath, but you don’t. Your hands go back to undressing Professor Howlett, fingers deft with his button and zipper. He lifts his hips up and helps you shrug his jeans down until they’re sitting on top of his black combat boots, clad only in black briefs. The heavy tent in his pants makes your eyes go wide but you persist, thinking of your grade on the line. With a tug at his boxer band his dick pops up over the elastic, and you pull down until the full sheath of him is bobbing freely. Your eyes widen a little at the sheer size of him, wondering how he could possibly fit inside your mouth let alone your pussy. He was long, eight inches you’d guess just by looking and insanely thick. He was heavy too— the length of him unable to stand up fully, bobbing haphazardly as he twitched from arousal. You looked up at him, and his gaze was steady. Expectant. You sucked in a shallow breath before grabbing his cock, warm to the touch. Your fingers barely touched. You’re hand jerked up once before Professor Howlett was grabbing your wrist, only to spit on his dick, the string of saliva landing on the shaft. “S’better. Go on,” he encourages, and you do— jerking him a little faster now with his spit lubricant, the sound of his slick skin making your pussy feel warm, wet. You jerk him faster, spitting in the palm of your second hand before you join your other, breasts bouncing up and down as you jerk him. Little grunts leave Logan, and it makes your tummy feel warm. You were making him feel— “Good, just like that, yeah. Use your mouth now,” he moans. You felt intimidated by his size, but you persisted still. You wanted to be his good girl.

You look up at him as your mouth opens, coy like a fish, and you wrap your lips around his tip. He inhales a sharp breath and it gives you some encouragement. Be good. Your head drops lower, lower and lower until your mouth his full and his tip is tickling your uvula, and you gag around him, sputtering spit all over him. You pull off his dick to cough and he chuckles at you. “Let’s try again together, yeah?” You nod, “Yes, Sir.” You reposition yourself, back on your knees in front of him. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, open real wide,” he says, tapping your cheek. It felt soft slap more than a tap however. But still, you open your mouth wide, tongue hanging out. “Juuust like that, yeah…” Logan groans, slapping the warmth of his cock on your tongue. “Breath through the nose,” he says, before putting the length of him in your mouth and pulling your head down on him, fist clenched in your hair. He pulls you down deep, further than you managed to reach alone and you gag, spit everywhere, but he pays you no mind. His curses under his breath before standing up out of his seat, your head craning up as his fist pulls at your nape. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, thrusting his cock in an out of your mouth. Your throat feels rubbed raw, tears pooling in your eyes but you hold on, hands gripping his thighs. “Take it, fucking take it,” he grunts. His hand disappears before placing a sticker on your spit-covered cheek and you whimper around his cock. Logan’s brows pull together and he laughs. “That turn you on? You like being my good little student? You like sucking off your professor?” he laughs, fucking your face with a deep pace. You muffle a Yes, Sir around him as his spit soaked balls slap against your chin and he laughs. Sticker after sticker covers the expanse of your face, a juxtaposition to your debauched mascara-streaked-spit-covered face.

Your throat is raw, but you’re relishing in the attention, the praise, the intensity of it. “One more mouthful, c’mon,” he grunts, pushing your head down even further down his cock and you squeal around him. Your eyes snap shut, focusing on holding your breath as he brings his dick deep down your throat until your nose is buried in his greying pubes. “So fucking nasty,” he drawls, deep groan leaving his chest. “Take it, be good and take it,” he says breathless, before he’s spitting his cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow his bitter semen. Your eyes wretch open lowly, watch Logan’s face contort in pleasure as he finishes in your throat and you whimper, squeezing his thighs tightly. “Good student,” he coos, pulling his cock from your mouth and it’s a relief that’s long overdue. Your first unobstructed breath is a deep one, and you’re slightly dizzy from the oxygen after having it restricted for so long. You don’t think about it for long before a hand is pulling you up off the floor, and before you know it, lips are on yours, tongue finding tongue. Your eyes close by themselves and you melt into the kiss, Professor Howlett’s lips soft against yours, but kissing you so roughly. Your arms grip his biceps, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to steady yourself with. 

The kiss breaks and your mind feels hazy. Your eyes open and you see Professor Howlett staring back at you, hands roaming your body. “Pr-professor…” you moan out after a particularly hard squeeze at your ass. “Logan, baby,” he says, kissing your lips once in a peck, and again as a sloppy embrace, his tongue swirling in your mouth and you keen into him. His hands pull at the back of your thighs and you jump up in his arms, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He walks you a few paces, still stuck in an embrace, until he puts on you down on his desk. He breaks the kiss between you two before pulling the front of your tank top down, revealing your breasts to him, nipples pert. He wastes no time kissing and licking your chest, and you throw your head back in a silent moan. He sucks on your nipples for a minute, pinching and toying with your breast until your chest is heaving and nipples are raw. “What a sight for me,” Logan hums, and you feel shy under him like this. “Lean back and spread your legs f’me,” he says low, kneeling as you do as he asks. He’s eye level with your pussy, only covered by your skirt and white panties. He lifts the plaid fabric up and groans, the little wet spot of your pussy a delectable sight. 

Logan leans forward and licks the wet gusset of your panties and you let out a shuddering moan. “P-please, Logan…” you breath, too wound up to wait. He smirks and indulges in you, pliant and needy. He hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, hurrying his face into your wet and waiting pussy. It’s an enrapturing feeling, having him suck and lick and taste your clit and folds like this, groaning into you and he praises you for having such a sweet fuckin’ pussy, baby. He sucks your clit roughly, before pulling back to spit on your pussy, rubbing his nose against your clit before flattening his tongue against your gushing slit once again. The streaks of grey between your thighs sends blood rushing downwards to the center of your arousal and you can’t help but run your hands through his salt and pepper hair. He licks and tongues you until your legs go numb, teasing your orgasm from you time and time again until you’re nearly in tears for him, ready to cum.

 “Please Lo- Sir. Please, Sir. Wanna cum, I’ll be good. Just-” your begging is cut short as two thick fingers push themselves in you and you throw your head back at the stretch. “You’re gonna come for me in a little, sweetheart. Be good for now,” Logan coos, kissing your inner thighs. You’re heaving as he curls and scissors his fingers inside you in a way that feels so unfairly good that tears begin to streak down your face, gold stickers peeling and falling off your damp skin; scattering down on the desk and falling on your chest. “G-gonna… Oh my God, Sir,” you squeal, just about ready to… Until his fingers deftly leave you. Before you can whine about this, Logan’s thick fingers covered in your slick push into your mouth and you groan. “Hush, baby. You’re about to feel real good in a little,” Logan hums, rubbing his cock, now hard again, up and down your wet and sensitive pussy, the head of him hitching your clit so good it hurts. His fingers leave your mouth. “Beg for it.” And you do. You’re a babbling mess under him. “Inside, p-put it inside me, Professor,” you moan, and Logan's resolve snaps, thrusting into you in one fluid movement.

You see stars, no pun intended, at the stretch of him. Your stomach feels full and you shudder, laying back down against the desk. “Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy I ever felt,” Logan coos, fingers pushing back into your mouth. His unoccupied hand grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder and he begins to thrust in and out of you, knocking the wind out of you with every push in and out. Your intermittent moans turn into a symphony of cries as his pace increases and he’s fucking into you at a brutal speed. Your hands are grasped around the wrist of his hand that’s by your mouth, sucking his fingers to soothe the burning part of the pleasure. “That’s it, fucking take it,” he grunts, pushing your leg from around his should back until your knee was touching your shoulder. The new angle made the pleasure unbearable, every movement rubbing against your g-spot. Your eyes begin to close, your body shutting down seemingly as you seem you enter a pleasure comatose, the bubbling pleasure, the fingers in your mouth, it all feels like too much. But Logan doesn’t let you stay in that place for too long, his fingers leaving your mouth to slap your cheek, pulling back down. “I need you right here, know it feels good but I want you with me,” he says breathy, thrusts still never faltering. 

Without his fingers in your mouth your moans are free to be heard, your incoherent babbles of “s’too much,” and “so deep in me, sir,” floating in the air between Logan’s heavy breaths and obscene curses. You’re breasts jump with every thrust in you, your head bouncing up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. “T-Tell me…” you stutter out, eyes fluttering. “Tell you?” he asks, grinding his hips up and deep, and you’re sure he’s grazing your cervix. You grip his t-shirt and keel. He gets what you mean. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re the best girl. You want another star, don’t you?” he breathes out, a hand moving down to your clit as he thrusts up and out, up and out into you. You whimper, his words and ministration’s overwhelming, “Yes, Sir. M’good. So good. W-want it. Please, can I have it?” you babble. You belly feels warm, and the heat bubbles with every brush at your swollen clit and thrust in your pussy. He lets go of the hand at your knee, spreading you open to grab a sticker from the sticker sheet. “Stick your tongue out f’me,” and you do, overwhelmed with this moment. You’re being good. You’re being good. You’re almost there, keep being good. He spits in your mouth and you moan holding it there and waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Swallow it,” he huffs, thrusts faltering. He’s close, you deduce. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let it end. You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him and he groans.

He puts the star sticker on your tongue, and he thrusts in you harder, tweaking at your clit as he does. Your body seizes and you melt into a fit of moans and grunts, and you finally cum, Logan fucking you through it. “Yeah baby, just like that. Kneel for me,” he says, pulling out of you. You lay up off the desk and fall promptly to your knees, watching him jerk himself to orgasm above you with your tongue out, gold star on the middle of your tongue. He grunts with deep Fuck! before warm ropes of cum spray your partially sticker-covered face and tongue. Your eyes close and you hum, relishing in the warmth. Logan wipes the cum from your eyes with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth, and you suck, no questions asked. “Good fucking girl.” 

The moments following are awkward. Logan tucks himself back in his pants, and pulls his jeans up and you’re left laying on the floor, coming down from your ecstasy high. The zip of his jeans breaks the silence and you’re looking up at him, soiled with cum, spit, stickers, tears and mascara. He walks to his bar cart and grabs the cloth hanging off the handle bar, and he hands it to you. You clean yourself up, and when you’re done you find his cardigan in his hands. You fix your tank top back over your breasts and pull the crotch of your panties back into place before grabbing it from him. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “See you in class on Tuesday,” is the last thing he says to you before you leave his office. Stunned.

On Tuesday, he hands you back your test with a new grade, an eighty, and gold sticker placed on it right next to the new grade. He glances at you as you look over your test, and smirks. You read the note he left in red ink on the back of the test, heart beating a little faster once you look back up at him. Good girl. 

send me an ask!

[cosmicplexus]

Astrology Notes

✨ Gemini Moons more than any other placement tend to be very conflicted about their beliefs and ideas.

✨ While often believed to be harsh, moon conjunction saturn in synastry has a nurturing element.

✨Cancer Moon, Venus and Mars women tend to go into careers that satisfy their nurturing side such as careers related to welfare of children and nursing.

✨ People with Moon at venusian or Neptunian degrees 2°, 7°, 12°, 14°, 19°, 24° and 26° need to look into the arts to nurture their inner child even if it's something they've never considered before.

✨If you have Aquarian and Mercurian degrees 3°, 11°, 15°, 23° and 27° in your chart, specifically in your planets and on your ascendant- descendant and midheaven- IC axis, you should at least try a career path that requires you to utilise social media following.

✨ Men with Capricorn placements just like cancer placement men prefer older partners.

✨ Our birth charts are maps to our purpose and we need to drive ourselves to that purpose, for example Jupiter in 2nd house is the greatest indicator of wealth, but you can't acquire that wealth if you never start a business(Jupiter in 8th house may be an exception as the 8th house governs inheritance), but for most parts the principle applies.

Another example is Jupiter in the 9th house aka the "luck" placement, you can't manifest that luck if you never take risks.

✨The 22nd degree(22°) has a bad reputation in astrology when it's actually an indicator of prominence and what rewards us for a long term.

✨The Arian degrees, 1°, 13°, 25° signify the gift of leadership and where we have these can shows us where we have the potential to lead and be pioneers of something.

✨ Mars at 18° is common in those who died from violent and unfortunate incidents. I don't like doom astrology so this is not to scare anyone, but just an observation.

✨Mars in hard aspect to Jupiter in a man's chart is an indicator of an unfaithful man.

✨ While Virgo is often synonymous to stern and "left-brain", Virgo placements especially moon, Venus and Mars are amazing creative writers and their analytical approach often makes their work very pleasing because they're good with details.

✨Libra Moons and Venus people may struggle with not being in a relationship and may get into toxic relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship.

✨ Sagittarius Mars people really take travelling and adventure seriously, this isn't a stereotype.

✨ The easiest way to get the attention of people with Earth Moons, Venus and Mars (Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn) is by talking about money moves. This may sound cliché, but if it's in cosmic plexus' observations, trust that cosmic plexus' has put it to the test.

✨ People with Moon or Mars in hard aspect to Uranus need to try calming remedies such as ashwagandha, lemon balm and chamomile once in a while.

✨Aries and first house Mercuries tend to unintentionally hurt people with their words.

✨If you're interested in dating people who think you're their dream person, please look into Venus in first house synastry.

✨When looking at synastry it's very important to look at how your progressed Moons affect the relationship.

✨ Pisces Moons, Venus and Mars tend to be more in love with the idea of love opposed to being in love with people.

✨Our north node house and degree placements similarly to our Jupiter's placement tells us what easily flows for us.

✨The house your Uranus is in tells you how you use the internet.

✨Certain psychological disorders are triggered by astrological transits, for example erotomania is triggered by transit Neptune's aspects to the natal chart especially natal Venus in hard aspect to transit Neptune.

✨Gemini Moons are some of the best authors ever(I'm not a Gemini Moon, but I really admire their penmanship and ability to accurately describe notions and feelings especially if it's an 8th house Gemini Moon)

✨Taurus and Scorpio risings tend to be possessive in love due to the influence of Scorpio and Taurus on their 7th house.

~Hope you enjoyed this🌻🦋🤍please go check out this star in the making, her music helped me so much with curating these notes

🥀 Standard Birth Chart Reading ~ $15.00

🥀Birth Chart Degree Reading~ $10.00

🥀 Synastry Reading~ $15.00

🥀Career Reading~ $10.00

🥀 Natal Gifts Analysis ~ $10.00

~cosmix plexus©🦋

[hobbitkiller]

Pretending “oil and water” was just about Cait and Vi is very conveniently leaving out a huge chunk of the dialogue. “Topside and bottom, oil and water, that’s all there is. I was stupid to think it could be any different.” That statement wasn’t at all about personality clashes or different goals, because the two of them were very firmly on the same page there. It was about Vi thinking it would never work because topside and bottom could never work. That is simply the text.

You also seem willfully ignorant to what foreshadowing is. Obviously, the point of Jayce and Silco’s conversation wasn’t fighting the Noxians, but there’s a deliberate reason they planted that idea there at that time—also, why do you think the show introduced Ambessa in the first season? How odd to add this new character in so late. It’s almost as though she was being set up to be the big bad in season two or something.

Where did you think the show was going with the hex core? Did you think that was just some random bit of character development for Victor? Did you not catch on to Heimdinger’s apocalyptic predictions of doom?

If you want to say a common enemy is cheap, fine. But it was well set up that the show was going in that direction because of the decisions the characters made that took them to the point where the only way there could be peace was to defeat these common enemies they helped create.

In the quotes you used, they talk about an alien invasion—something completely external. That’s not what happened in Arcane. The danger from Noxus and Victor were the consequences of these characters and societies engaging in a cycle of violence. Ambessa would not have been able to take control if Jinx hadn’t attacked the council and Piltover hadn’t wanted vengeance. Victor would not have been driven to his actions if it were not for his despair at the state of humanity.

The show is called Arcane. It was always going to be about magic. Again, it’s a pretty typical story structure to start grounded and then get more grandiose throughout. You also have to take into account that they were working from source material, so, yeah, Ekko’s time looping ability was going to show up. Victor was going to become the machine herald. The show is based on a video game and you’re somehow surprised the climax was a big battle.

That said, no, it’s not like Age of Ultron, because the battle wasn’t just cool fighting and slow motion group shots. It was Vi and Jinx teaming up—important character moments; Jayce getting through to Victor and their love for each other, platonic or otherwise, saving the day; and the face off between Ambessa, Cait, and Mel—consequences of the choices Ambessa and Caitlyn made. They also took time to show us the regular people who ended up suffering for the mistakes of our characters.

Finally, a show shouldn’t have to explicitly spell out things for an educated audience to understand it. Maybe you would have preferred an epilogue with a montage of what exactly was done other than giving Sevika a seat on the council. Personally, I would find that obnoxious and unnecessary. I prefer it to be unsettled and unresolved because, as crazy as that sounds in this science fiction show, that is more realistic.

As I’ve said elsewhere, the plot of Arcane wasn’t Piltover versus Zaun. The class conflict was a background conflict that informed the characters and the decisions they made. The show was about how the characters become who they are and overcome the cycles that created them. The Piltover/Zaun conflict, and indeed the Noxian conflict and the Arcane conflict exist to serve the development of the characters, not the other way around.

“What happened to rebel Vi? Season 2 destroyed her character!”

“What happened to rebel Vi” is that Vander took her to the bridge where her parents died in his revolution and asked her what she was willing to lose. Then she meets Cait who is gentle and kind while still being tough and it makes her rethink how she sees topside. When Jinx tells her she changed too, that’s what she’s talking about.

I’m sorry if you thought Vi was going to be a topside-hating revolutionary in Season 2, but that’s clearly not where her character arc was going. Remember how she forced her way between Ekko and Cait? It seemed very straightforward that was the role her character was taking on.

I feel similar about people who act like the show was betraying its premise because it ended with reconciliation/Zaun and Piltover working together. Again, the fact that two of the most important relationships were between characters from both sides and that they made a point of talking about Zaun and Piltover first coming together against a common enemy was a pretty clear indicator that was the plan.

Now, I get being annoyed that that was what they chose to do. You don’t have to love the creative decisions of media, just like media doesn’t have to compromise its creative direction to satisfy you. But not liking that they went that direction is not the same as the show having bad writing or engaging in character assassination.

Everything Vi did in season 2 was very much in character with how she changed and who she became throughout Season 1. Hell, she used enforcers and Hextech to raid Shimmer facilities before Commander Kiramman ever threw on a beret. So, yes, actually wearing the uniform was a huge and complicated decision that she was definitely not happy about, but it also fell in line with what she had been doing.

There’s meat for another post at some point about the three different Zaun/enforcer partnerships we see in the show: Vander/Greyson, Silco/Marcus, and Cait/Vi; but I’m not going to go into that now.

TLDR: “Rebel Vi” who wants to fight all of topside hasn’t existed since the end of the second episode of the show.

Editing to add that Vi doesn’t see attacking Chem Barons as attacking Zaun; she’s taking down the people who are destroying Zaun.

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Hi! Can I request some headcannons for yandere Transformers One Starscream? With the reader who is also apart of the High Guard, the reader’s personality is sweet, kind, and bubbly. Thank you for reading this!

(づ￣ 3￣)づ Oh, that fine mech of a guard,,, Starscream,,,

(TFO) Yandere!Starscream w/ a High Guard!Cybertronian!Reader (HCs)

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, marking. Reader is gender neutral and a cybertronian (alt mode not mentioned).

TFO!Starscream's path to become a yandere is a slow burn one.

You two met when you and him started to work as part of the High Guard and in the beginning Starscream would have highly doubted you because of your personality.

Sweet, kind, bubbly - a walking ray of sunshine. How the frag did you manage to become both a potential candidate to be part of the High Guard and actually part of it?

Starscream kept his doubts to himself - as much as he wanted to call out your personality, he decided to let time tell if you were actually worthy and capable to be part of the High Guard or not. After all, he had to focus on himself and his new job.

"I really hope we get to be part of the same squad, Starscream!" You said with your bright smile, optics holding sparkles as you looked at the seeker.

Staring at you for a moment, Starscream looked away to hide the light blue hue appearing on his cheekplates "... I hope so, too."

How funny destiny works - it was your sweet personality that made the seeker slooowly fall in love with you.

No matter how harsh the day was, how tiring the tasks were - you always kept your smile and supported the others. And by Primus, you knew how to fight when needed! It made Starscream's spark sigh.

With Soundwave's and Shockwave's support (and constant call out about his crush on you), Starscream would have been the one to start the relationship, courting you and proving himself to be the perfect potential conjux for you and only you.

He makes sure to let the others know you are his, you are taken, he has his optics on you and that he will not step back. He is going to become an unstoppable force.

His yandere traits would have started to come out to the light in that courting phase, even more if there was another bot that was also trying to court you - my TFO!Starscream would be a possessive, territorial yandere.

I don't think he would have played dirty to get to become your conjux, this mech would have proved himself to be better than any other bot that tried to court you. Strong, a mech that works hard, intelligent, but that's sweet and shows his love for you whenever he gets to hold your servo and whisper you how much he loves you.

When you accepted to take him as your conjux, with that precious laugh full of joy and tears of happiness in your precious optics, you both decided to finally complete the conjux ritus in the following cycles.

Alas, as destiny brought you together, it also decided to be cruel - because both of you didn't got to meet that dreamed day of celebrating becoming each others conjux endura, since the killing of the Primes happened that horrible day...

After you all, or the ones that got to escape and hide from the Quintessons and the corrupted guards that followed Sentinel, in the middle of the night, everyone mourned.

As you cried your optics out and hugged your legs against your chestplate, Starscream held you close, letting you hide your faceplate against his shoulder as his servos caressed the back of your helm.

Your dreams of a peaceful Cybertron free of the Quintesson's wrath, the fact that now your people was doomed with the loss of the 13 Primes and the Matrix, the loss of many of your guard friends and the even bigger loss of your home, of not being able to come back to Iacon - it broke you.

And it broke Starscream too.

To hear your cries it made his spark clench and a need to destroy everything make his whole frame shake.

He would kill Sentinel the moment he got to place his servos on that traitor - for having the Primes and many of his teammates get killed, for having team up with the Quintessons - and for having made you cry and mourn.

"Starscream - what- what we are we gonna do?" You cried softly. The seeker gently snuggled his helm against yours, managing to bring you comfort and make your sobs soften.

"We'll keep fighting. We'll remain in the shadows but keep fighting, do anything to make him fall in front of the Quintessons and then avenge our fallen Primes. And I promise, after that, we'll see our Cybertron bloom in pride and joy again, and become conjux endura of the other, as we wished to." He promised in whispers, kissing your forehelm and letting you recharge in his arms, safe and sound.

He never lets you out of his sight, letting the fear slowly eat him alive at the idea of losing you.

Holds you closely whenever you decide to take a break from smiling - you've tried to keep that bubbly, kind personality of yours even after the tragedy... and it makes Starscream want to end it all, his poor, precious sweetspark. You shouldn't be suffering like this.

He will make Sentinel suffer for having tainted your precious, gentle spark.

Starscream would start to develop a need to mark you - and you let him, it grounds you and it makes him feel his spark set on fire to keep going, to keep fighting in your name.

As he sits on his throne back in the hideout, you sit on his lap, and when your smile wavers and your optics fill with tears after coming back from patrolling and stealth missions, he kisses your tears away.

"Don't cry, my love. We'll get our revenge, and we'll be free."

Hope y'all liked it! (❁´◡`❁) Vhaos out!

[russo-woso]

I want to make him proud || Lia Wälti x reader

Request | Masterlist | Prompt list

Warning death, grief

Summary You’re dad passes and you dedicate your goal to him

When you received the news your dad had died, your world stopped.

Your phone slipped from your hands, your body in shock.

Your father, your hero, who was a perfectly healthy man, had died from a heart attack.

Time stood still when you heard the words - your father passed away.

Your girlfriend, Lia, was in the kitchen when you’d picked up the phone.

She was carried away cooking when she heard your phone hit the ground.

“Baby? Are you okay?” She shouted through, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion when she didn’t get a reply. “Y/N?”

Putting down the knife, she walked through to the living room to see you as white as a ghost.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“He’s gone.” You whispered, your voice in complete disbelief.

“Who’s gone?”

“My dad. He’s gone.” You repeated, tears forming in your eyes.

“Baby, you’re going to have to give me more detail. Where’s he gone?”

“He passed away.”

The weeks that followed were ones filled with doom and grief.

You couldn’t believe it.

You had seen him just days before he passed. He was happy, he was healthy, he was perfect.

You remember the last time you saw him, a massive smile on his face as he reminisced some old stories from when you were growing up.

It had started when Lia spotted a picture of you as a baby on your parent’s mantle piece.

Your dad told the backstory of the picture and then more stories kept coming.

You hid your face in embarrassment as he told your girlfriends the most embarrassing stories known to man.

Even with the biggest smile on his face, you begged him to stop.

What you’d do to see that smile again.

The day of his funeral was the hardest day of your life.

It was a final goodbye to him - one that you never thought you’d have to make until years from now.

Lia remained by your side the whole way though, making it a bit more comforting.

The weekend after the funeral was a big weekend for Arsenal.

They were playing Lyon in the semi finals of the champions league.

Although you were not in the perfect mindset to play in one of the biggest games of the year, you had to.

It was a sellout - 60,000 tickets being sold already.

Despite the team telling you that it was okay to miss a match and how they didn’t expect you to play, you felt like you were letting them and the fans down if you didn’t play.

So, you pushed your emotions to the side, deciding to play the match.

As soon as you walked onto the pitch, you knew you’d made the right decision.

It was the perfect distraction took to take your mind off the grief.

The game kicked off and within seconds, you realised you weren’t just playing for the team - you were playing to make your dad proud.

You had a purpose now.

You were going to make your dad proud.

And that’s what you did.

You had played an outstanding game, but as the final minutes ticked by - the scoreline being 2-2, you wanted nothing more than to change it.

Running up and down the pitch, you pressed and pressed until eventually you intercepted a poor pass.

Within a second instinct, you started charging towards the Lyon keeper.

The ball was glued to your feet, there was no chance anyone was getting it from you.

No one was stopping you from the moment.

This was for your dad.

The ball left your foot, making direct contact with your boot as it curled around the keeper and into the bottom corner.

You fell to your knees, your body shaking from your sobs.

You looked up at the sky, kissing your hand and angling it up to the sky.

“You did it, baby!” Lia exclaimed, kneeling down next to you and enveloping you into a hug.

“I did it for him.”

“And he’s so proud of you.” Lia whispered, kissing your temple.

The girls crowded round, hugging you and patting your head.

“He’d be so proud, Y/N.” Steph said as you stood up, still looking up at the clouds.

You nodded, wiping your tears as you blew a final kiss to the sky.

Lia wrapped her arm around your waist as you walked back to your positions.

You had one mission when you walked onto the pitch and that was to make your dad proud and now you can walk off it knowing you did exactly that.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Well... since bed breaking was briefly mentioned in the last request 😏

How would the monkey kings react to the bed breaking from smexy times with their s/o? Whether its the bed from an inn or their own bed. 🤭

Little addon with how it often it happens

I want to have you in my bed🛏🤭

(Lmk Wukong) You guys were going while one Saturday night, you both just got back from a romantic date and wanted to finish the night with a bang. Ohhhhhhhhh you finish it with a bang indeed because you both went so hard and so fast, that your brains weren't only scrambled but you broke your beds in half scaring the baby monkies who heard it. The next morning you both sat on the ground a bit mortified from how wild things got, however you both wouldn't mind doing it again You just need to make sure you had a back up bed to sleep on.

(HIB Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhh he's embarrassed and shocked, at what just happened, he knew he can get a bit crazy but this never happened before. Wukong and you haven't done anything in a long time together due to some random circumstances, or being caught up in childcare. Now you both had to figure out how to replace the bed before your kids or god forbid pigsy wakes up and sees, or your both will be doomed.

(MKR Wukong) Oh man do you know how many inns you both would get banned from, because of your shared Staminas. Sometimes Wukong would get aroused when you both would still have excess adrenaline from the battlefield, and with that you both would wrestle and rock the bed. Of course your gonna break it in half in a fit of wild passion, the next morning you both were scolded by your master for what happened at the inn. Unfortunately for him you both have no regrets and would probably do it in some other in too.

(NR Wukong) I can see him saying if the bed isn't broken then I'm not doing it right. However he tends to end up taking you to hotels and motels because you guys broke your bed at home, in a night of passion. He knows damn well your shared bed at home would not survive your mating sessions. Which is why he'll do you in a hotel bed he would book them on the weekends so nobody gets suspicious 🤭

(Netflix Wukong) WoW I see getting started by the bed breaking,especially when he was so focused on your shared pleasure You didn't hear any cracking from the bed. Then the next thing you both knew you and your bed were on the floor, now knocking his skinny ass he would brag about this to you until your ears fall off. Wukong would be Remembering this quite fondly for years to come, especially when he made his wife pass out in bed.

(BMW Wukong) Yooooo his ego would punch a Huge hole in the roof To the point where there's Barely any roof left. Wukong loves to go absolutely wild when it comes to you his queen, mating sessions usually last to the Crack of dawn. With that knowledge, it's no wonder your guys bed broken half You both can no longer Control yourselves or learn how to stop for a break. Though that's clearly a problem for later because you're both too addicted to each other to care at the moment.

(Destined one) THIS POOR MONKEY NOY WOULD DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT IF ANYONE FOUND OUT HE BROKE HIS BED SCREWING YOU TO INFINITY!!!!! the Destined one has a reputation of being calm, collected quiet, Disciplined, focus, strict and combat ready. If anyone finds out he lost control to the point where The result is broken furniture, it's over for him that's why the next morning he's quick to check out of the inns you stay in and actively runaway🏃‍♂️.

(Lotmk Wukong) Poor thing is gonna think he's gonna be in big trouble, you both don't do mate very often. Though when you do...boy it's quite a doozy that your gonna need some time to recover from, however this time you did a big uh oh. Wukong and you wrestle to hard that that a part of the bed of the inn you checked in broke, and you both looked at each other in fear. Luckily it was late at night and nobody heard it...the next morning you both made sure to be the first to wake up and leave with the group before anyone found out🤐.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🛏

[trevorsgodmother]

𝓞𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓮… (M.S 🌪)

"Wish you were here right now All of the things i'd do" ☞ Masterlist

Warnings: Smutty smut, CYBER SEX, fingering, jerking off, swearing, pet names, getting caught (?), mentions of spicy pics teehee POV: First person (Matt and reader) Summary: You missed Matt too much, and get an idea...

(Your POV)

I'm currently sitting on my bed, bored out of my mind. My roommate was out for the day, and all my other friends were working. The only other person I could think of bothering was Matt, but he lived 3 hours away. It was annoying, the long distance, but we made it work. I wonder if he would be busy.

Then, I get an idea.

(Matt's POV)

I doom scroll through my phone, unwinding after the long, busy day me and my brothers had. They'd retreated to their own rooms, leaving my floor completely quiet, which was rare.

I was debating on calling my girlfriend, but didn't want to seem needy or overwhelming because we'd called earlier today.

A ping alerts me of a notification. I smile as I see the contact name. My girlfriend. That solved my problem. I click on the notification from SnapChat, leading to a snap. That was a bit weird, usually she just sent photos through messages. Unless...

I click the red square to open it. And my mouth goes dry. It's a mirror selfie of her sitting on her bed, in a blue lingerie set I'd bought her last month for our anniversary.

Holy fuck-

I feel a stirring in my pants, biting my lip as I screenshot the picture and save it to my hidden folder. Great. Now I'm rock hard.

(Your POV)

I giggle as I accept the call, my voice innocent. "Hi Matt. I missed you." I hear a sigh of exasperation from the other line. "You know I could've been around my brothers. Where was the warning??" I smirk at his breathlessness, knowing what's going on with him 'down there'. Even though he can't see me, I twirl my hair, putting on a slightly seductive tone. "Something tells me you wouldn't have minded." His breath hitches as he murmurs. "You're insane. And stop being all cocky"

The rustling of fabric makes a grin spread across my lips. "Whatcha doing then, Matt?" "You know exactly what I'm doing" His rough voice catches me off guard, and my dark blue panties are instantly soaked.

I swallow, shifting down a bit to get comfortable. My free hand trails down my body as I hear him start to grunt. “Matt-“ My voice is whiny, already full of need. I rub over my underwear first, letting myself get wetter.

But I can't hold back.

Every groan from him makes it harder to resist giving into my arousal, and so, as soon as my hand dips under my waistband, I'm in heaven. My fingers skillfully slide up and down my slick heat, gathering my wetness on my fingers. Every stroke makes me bite my lip harder, probably leaving a deep indent. I tease myself a little, then push my fingers in, gasping loudly at the penetration.

One hand is holding the phone to my ear, listening to my boyfriend pleasure himself, while the other is helping me get off to the sound of him.

My fingers moving in and out at a fastening pace causes high-pitched sounds to leave my lips, forgetting about my neighbours for a second. Not that I cared, it felt way too good.

(Matt's POV) (god grant me the strength)

As soon as my hand wrapped around my erection, I let out a deep sigh of relief. That picture had affected me wayyy more than it should've. Then again, I had carefully chosen that set to highlight her best features.

And it definitely did.

Her breath hitching on the other end as she heard me start pumping gave me a boost of confidence (guys i lowk dk how to write jerking off but oh well).

My calloused fingers felt heavenly against my hard cock, each motion making small whimpers escape my lips. I steadily spread my precum down my shaft while satisfying myself. "You don't know how good it is to hear your voice darling-" I rasp out. My eyes are half-lidded as I imagine her hand on me instead, her acrylics sparkling in the low lighting.

My stroking grows more erratic as I hear squelching from the other end.

The combination of her moans while she touched herself plus the sounds of her fingers working were sending me to the edge fast.

My hand quickens, hips jerking up in time to meet my movements. "Fuuckkk, baby- 'm so close-" I groan, eyes fluttering.

She whines softly, and I can tell she is too. "Fuck- Matt-" My stomach tightens, and my dick twitches as she says my name.

"Do- do that again baby-" She moans my name again, and I gasp as I tighten my hold and cum. I let out a guttural groan as hot ropes land on my hand and stomach, my eyes scrunched shut in pleasure.

(Your POV)

As soon as I hear him finish, my body tingles and the band in my tummy snaps. I cry out as I coat my fingers, slowing down my pace to ride out the orgasm.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I wipe my fingers onto my bed sheets.

We stay quiet for a second, before Matt murmurs out. "You ok baby?"

I sigh and nod, then realise he can't see me. "Yes. That was..." "Incredible" He finishes. I pull my blanket up over me, snuggling into the comfort of my bed. "So, about that picture..." I tease. He groans softly. "Fuck, don't even remind me of that." "Why, you gonna get hard again?"

Matt scoffs (ominous music plays as the characters fade into the distance). "I mean, can you blame me baby? You looked absolutely delicious in that set."

My cheeks flush, the words adding to my post-orgasmic bliss and almost making me speechless. "Shut- shut up Matt"

I hear him chuckle, but my ringtone interrupts our moment. I pull the screen away to see who it is, and my brow furrows. "Hang on, someone's calling me." "Who is it?" He asks curiously.

"It's... Nick?" I hear his tone shift as he grunts, annoyed. "What the shit does he want? It's almost 8 in the evening!" "I don't know. I'll call you back, ok?" He sighs, grunts again in acceptance, and cuts our call.

(Matt's POV)

I wait for what seems like forever, immediately back to my doom scrolling. I'm silently cursing my brother for cutting our phone call short, since I was already getting aroused again just thinking of her in that set-

My phone buzzes.

I pick up as fast as possible. "Hello? Babe?" All I hear is laughing and slight choking. "Um...are you ok?" She just keeps going, her breathing getting slightly strained. Finally, her giggles have died down enough to say; "Nick- asked me if- I was over." I'm confused. "Wait, why?"

What she says next mortifies me, making me freeze to my core. My girlfriend, however, could not give less of a fuck that I'd never live this down with my brothers.

"He heard you moaning my name-"

A/N: First smut fic about my boy Matty B <3 (I feel so awkward writing smut bro) DONOT STEAL MUAHAHAH (🎀) Taglist: @hearts4werka @stvrnzcherries @spaghetti835928383 @pvssychicken @snowysosturn @sllutty-sturniolo @sturnmeovr Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @issysh3ll -Ropitipop 👁👅👁

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do you write a positive character slowly being more and more pessimistic? Example: Character is a sunshine at the beginning of the series but after something happened, they became less and less positive. How does the process look like?

Writing Notes: Negative Character Arc

Character Arc - the path a character takes over the course of a story.

A character’s arc involves adversity and challenges, as well as some changes to the character, and ultimately leads to resolution.

Character arcs generally progress in tandem with traditional three-act story structure.

Most protagonist character arcs start with the inciting incident that sets up the stakes and central conflict facing this character.

The way the arc progresses from there depends on what sort of story you are telling and how the character functions.

Negative Change Arc: As the name implies, a negative change arc involves a character starting out as good or benevolent and descending into evil or ill fortune over the course of a story.

Some Related Tropes

Face–Heel Turn: A good guy turns bad.

Fallen Hero: Not all villains are born. Some are made, and none are more tragic than this trope. As the name implies, the Fallen Hero used to be a hero before turning bad. They may even have been an Ideal Hero or another equally optimistic archetype, up until the moment when they suffered something bad enough for them to lose all faith in good and idealism, be it the loss of a loved one, too many good deeds coming back to bite them hard, betrayal by someone they trusted the most, too much distrust from those who should have been allies, or some other faith-shattering event. It might even be a drawn out process of seduction to The Dark Side or fall from grace. What they choose to do about it determines what they become:

If they retreat into themselves and fight evil mercilessly to dull the pain, they become an Anti-Hero, though if this fight is motivated by vengeance, they may run the risk of becoming like the very monsters they have sworn to destroy.

If the loss of faith with humanity and/or society and government makes them decide to do something drastic to "fix" it, they become an Anti-Villain, most commonly a Knight Templar or Dark Messiah.

Alternately, if they just jump off the slippery slope and embrace chaos and the destruction of humanity as the only solution to their pain, they'll become a straight up cackling Card-Carrying Villain. Especially those who only became a hero for fame and glory, rather than for any good cause.

Or they'll be a fusion of the second and third examples and decide that killing/destroying everything is the ONLY way to save EVERYONE from the pain/pointlessness of existence, often becoming a Straw Nihilist and an Omnicidal Maniac.

They might withdraw from society, become a hermit or drunkard, and ignore the ongoing state of the world. If the current generation of heroes meets them, the fallen hero will mock how their deeds are useless. Most likely, however, they will help the new heroes in the hopes that they won't suffer the same fate.

Or they can ditch all of their once good qualities and become a Complete Monster.

The Tragic Hero: A longstanding literary concept, a character with a Fatal Flaw (like Pride, for example) who is doomed to fail in search of a Tragic Dream despite their best efforts and good intentions. This trope can work as a protagonist or an antagonist. As an antagonist, their goals are opposed to the protagonist's, but the audience still feels sympathetic towards them.

The Protagonist's Journey to Villain: A plot in which the protagonist, who starts out well-intentioned, turns into a monster.

Used to Be a Sweet Kid: This applies when a villain or other dark and troubled/troubling character was not so as a child.

Examples

The Shining. It starts off with Jack being a happy family man, albeit with a dark past, until the influence of the hotel drives him to madness and monstrosity.

The Lorax (2012): A good portion of the movie sees the Once-ler telling Ted his backstory, how he went from a kind-hearted, free-spirited inventor to a Corrupt Corporate Executive character trope who causes the extinction of trees due to his greed. However, the Once-ler in the present day really regrets his actions and sincerly helps Ted to restore the trees.

The title character in Carrie (1974, and its film adaptations) is a kind-hearted, but socially outcast teenage girl who spends the first half of the book getting slowly beaten down and pushed to her Rage Breaking Point by her classmates, the school faculty, and even her own mother. The second half is about the massacre she commits as a result when what happens at the Senior Prom makes her snap.

Alexandre Cabanel's The Fallen Angel: Lucifer, once God's brightest angel, lies defeated and resentful after his jealousy toward human beings and power-hungry tendencies drove him to fight (and lose) a war against Heaven.

Arguably the central plot of Breaking Bad, which follows the journey of Walter White across five seasons from sympathetic, kindhearted chemistry teacher and family man suffering from cancer to a fairly loathsome Villain Protagonist. Gets briefly paused halfway through the fifth season when Walt, having reached the top of his empire, having taken his operation global realizes that he has made more money than he could ever hope to spend and far more than he even set out for initially. This leads him to decide he is out of the game, make amends with his former business partner by giving him the money he's owed and try to start over fresh with his family. Then his DEA agent brother-in-law finally figures out he's a drug dealer, causing him to slip back into his criminal ways and his moral degradation resumes. Even if he won't physically harm them, he's perfectly willing to throw his family under the bus to save his own skin like making a false confession tape implicating Hank or in Jesse's case, teaming up with skinheads to have him killed when he becomes too much of a hassle.

The Favourite (2018): Arguably the case for Abigail. She starts out a kind-natured Fallen Princess after her father gambled away both the entire family fortune and herself, so she sets out to join her cousin Sarah at Queen Anne's court in hopes of getting it back. However, as she is sucked into the world of politics and abused consistently by everyone around her, Abigail adapts to their cruel, underhanded ways alarmingly quickly, playing nice around Queen Anne as an antidote to Sarah's personality, faking tears when people push her too far, drugging Sarah's tea, seducing a Lord, marrying him and then all but dumping him once she gets her title back. Her cruelty finally culminates in getting Sarah officially banished from Court and intercepting her letters to the Queen, leaving Anne heartbroken, blatantly cheating on her husband in front of him, and finally stomping on one of Queen Anne's beloved pet bunnies (whom she views as surrogate children) until she nearly kills it. Queen Anne is not amused.

Les Misérables: Inspector Javert is on the side of good and law, but he is so inflated with extreme self-righteousness that, when confronted with Valjean's nobility, he has no choice but to kill himself.

In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Archdeacon Claude Frollo is a compassionate man in the beginning, but after seeing Esmerelda, he goes mad with lust and slowly becomes evil, desiring to either have her for his own or kill her if she won't become his.

The Percy Jackson and the Olympians short story "The Diary of Luke Castellan" shows this off with the titular Luke, a villain-turned-hero who used to be a very sweet kid. Or, as in this chapter of history, a sweet teenager. He's brave, protective, and caring towards his little adopted family, to the point that he closely resembles the later hero of the series, Percy.

In The Witcher as seen by the flashbacks to his childhood with his "Ma" Visenna in the finale episode of Season 1, Geralt was once an adorable little Momma's Boy full of optimism. Completely unlike The Stoic Deadpan Snarker Knight in Sour Armor character trope he is in the present.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

There are so many possible causes as well as directions you can take your story in with this idea. Choose which of these tropes you would like to incorporate into your writing, and also found some examples for inspiration. More information and examples in the links above, hope this helps!

[captain-huggy-bear]

Treat You Right

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unwanted advances, men not taking no for an answer, Clayton's involved in a fight.

Summary: You're not dating Clayton Keller, but there's one thing he can't stand and that's a guy not treating you with respect...turns out he hates it enough to fight a guy in a bar after a game.

Notes: All I have to say is i'm in my Clayton brain rot era.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a normal night or it starts that way. Being friends with a bunch of pro-athletes means you're often dragged out after home game wins to whatever bar they decide is best that night. Tonight it's Sunny's, a common choice for the Utah Hockey Club because of the pool table, dart board and the fact that most of the people who come in are old middle age men or contractors. Guys, who might ask for an autograph but not the usual screaming crowd that make it impossible for them to have a drink or two.

You never really had being friends with the lot of them on your bucket list, but Michael had met you when he'd taken his cats to the vets and you'd been there with your own, a fat black moggie called Gremlin who'd fallen in love with Ranger. From that point on cat dates had been a thing because in Kess' words 'you can't separate true love', you weren't entirely sure whether Gremlin loved Ranger or just wanted to lick the other cat bald.

Either way the moment you became friends with Kess was the moment you became friends with the entire team, suddenly you were being asked to events, invited to home games and the celebratory drinks after. It was nice, for the most part you felt like you were their sister, someone for them to look after but also mock, just as much as you made fun of them. You had a little community, a gang, a group where you belonged even if you weren't actually on the team.

The exception to that rule being Clayton Keller...you definitely did not want to feel like Clayton Keller's sister.

It was bound to happen, that you'd have a crush on at least one of the team. It wasn't really your fault, and well, Clay had this way of treating you, all soft and sweet and like a girl, that had you flushing under his attention and preening at any compliment he gave you. You were almost certain it was a one-sided crush doomed to go nowhere and leave you pining after the captain until you settled for some mediocre guy in finance. He was just so nice to you, so sweet.

Still, Clay was half the reason you'd agreed to come out to Sunny's that night. Determined to spend some time with or at least around him. You'd even gone home to change after the game into a nice dress before coming back out again because maybe, just maybe, this would be the night that Clayton Keller realised you were the girl he wanted.

You're waiting for your coca cola at the bar, leaning on your forearms and watching the room from over your shoulder. Kess and Dylan were playing a game of pool in the corner, Kess appearing to be losing based on the glare he was sending Dylan's way. The rest of the guys were sat around their usual table, beers in hand laughing and joking. Your eyes find Clayton like he's a magnet, he's smirking at something O'Brian's said, Tuna probably making some stupid dirty joke or telling a story at the expense of Kess.

"Hey, pretty..." You're pulled out of your people watching by a slurred drawl far too close to your ear for comfort. Your eyes shift to the man next to you, who might have been considered handsome if he wasn't staring at your boobs so blatantly that you suddenly understood what a tasty pastry felt like in a patisserie window. It wasn't particularly flattering.

You shift away from him as much as you can without appearing rude because he'd managed to somehow sneak up on you and get within inches of your ear. Something you're sure he thought was seductive but just made your shoulders tighten and your body tense.

"Hi." You try to keep your tone short, not wanting to encourage the man but hating to feel like you're being unnecessarily rude as well.

"Can I buy you a drink, baby?"

"I'm good, thanks." You gesture at the soft drink your bartender just placed in front of you, thankful that this is your cue to leave and return to the safety of a group of hockey players.

Unbeknownst to you in that moment Marino is nudging Kells with his elbow, chin gesturing in your direction. You look uncomfortable, the way you're shifting away from the man leering at you, practically leaning over you, says enough. Every time you shift away from him, he shifts closer and it's clear to Clayton that you'd rather be anywhere else.

He can't help it, the way it makes his hackles rise, the way his fist clenches tight around his beer bottle as he takes another swig, forcing himself to be cool, to just let you handle it for a moment. It's not like you're dating, it's not like he has any right to storm over there and maybe he's wrong...maybe you're interested in the guy leering down at you like you're a piece of meat. Maybe he's more your type than Clay is.

He doesn't really blame the guy for showing interest. You're beautiful, always, but...there's something about the way you look tonight. Maybe it's that your dress accentuates your hips or the fact that the colour makes your skin look like its glowing...or maybe Clayton is just a little weak for you. That's not exactly a new revelation for him. He's been weak for you since day one.

"Seriously, baby, that's not a real drink, let me get you a real drink."

"I'm good." You stress your point this time, snatching your drink back from the man who just tried to take it off you and straightening to walk back to the guys. Any pretence of politeness dropped because you don't have to deal with this and you aren't going to.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" It's a shift in attitude that you should have expected, you've seen it before, but you don't expect the hand that wraps around your wrist to stop you walking away, your drink spilling as you're jerked to a stop. His hand is tight, uncomfortable so and the situation has gone from irritating to frightening, fear running down you're spine because this strange man has his hands on you.

Your eyes find Clay's almost instinctively, wide and scared but he's already out of his seat and shoving people out of the way with short, sharp apologies as he goes. It's not like he's alone either, half the team are now looking your way, waiting to see if their captain needs any help or not. Looking to see if they need to also step in.

"Get the fuck off me." Still, in the time it takes Clay to reach you you try to shake the man off, glaring up at him like it might help. It doesn't, if anything his grip tightens and he pulls you closer, a hand reaching for the skin of your thigh like he has any right to touch you.

It's that that has Clay seeing red. Going from thinking he'd calmly intervene to storming between the two of you like a bull in a china shop. It must be the surprise of someone intervening that does it, but the man let's your wrist go and Clay's pushing you gently back and out of the way before he's letting a fist fly at the guy's face without so much as a word towards the other man.

"Shit, Clay...What the fuck are you doing?!" All you can do is take another step back, hands coming to your mouth because out of all the guys on the team, Clay's the last one you expect to be starting a fight in a bar with a guy at least a head taller than him.

He doesn't answer you because he's too busy fighting, you're so shocked, so focused on what's happening in front of you, that you jump when Kess brushes your shoulder, pool having been deserted in favour of helping O'Brian and Marino pull the two men apart.

Despite the size difference Clay's winning or it looks like he's winning, you're pretty certain he's broken the other guy's nose and even with a bloody busted lip, he doesn't look winded or ready to stop. Part of you hates it. A stupid display of male pride and dominance that you should not condone at all...another part of you feels a thrill at Clayton fighting on your behalf, at the blood speckles across his white dress shirt, at the bruising on his knuckles, at the way he licks the blood from his busted lip and smirks at the guy sarcastically. Like he's completely and utterly in control.

You're not sure he's going to stop, eyes feral, mouth pursed, huffing like an angry bull when Kess finally has him round the shoulders and starts pulling him away. Tuna doing the same to the stranger. But, Clay does stop, just shrugs Kess off with sharp movements, "I'm fine. He won't be if he doesn't fucking leave though."

It's Tuna that escorts the stranger out of the bar and you're certain the only thing stopping the bar owner from kicking Clay out is the fact he's a local celebrity who brings in half the customers.

"What the hell, Clay?" You're still shocked by the brute display of force from him, not scared, just surprised. You can't deny there's a certain appeal to it. To the way he looks at you as he wipes blood from his chin, how his large hands clench and unclench testing his knuckles for a break. They're just bruised. He's hot...hotter than usual and you kind of hate that you feel that way, like you're setting feminism back 100 years. But, God...

“No one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? No one.” He can't stand it. The entitlement to grab you, the belief that anyone has a right to touch you without permission, to talk to you like that. He's half a mind to chase after Tuna and the guy, to keep going, but he knows he shouldn't...he's already done more than he probably should have. Headlines in the morning no doubt already looking like 'Utah Captain beats local man in bar brawl!'.

"That...you can't just fight someone for being a asshole," You can see Kess gesturing for everyone to give the two of you privacy as Clay steps into your personal bubble. He's still amped up, chest heaving like he wants another fight, lips parted to take in more air. You hate that you want to take a bite out of him, you hate that you want him to take that energy out on you in a completely different way than fighting.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because...because..." all you can come up with is, "I'm not your girlfriend, Clay...you don't have to defend me."

He looks at you like you're an idiot, the only time he's ever looked at you like that. Like you're daft and it makes you flush with warm embarrassment because why couldn't you think of something better to say.

"No one gets to treat you like dirt. Like a piece of meat. Like he owns you, okay? Doesn't matter if you're my girlfriend or not, men better treat you with respect or they're dealing with me."

"Clay...I get it, you're a woman loving, modern man but..." You're convinced this whole display is just part of his gentlemanly stick, his righteous desire for fairness and justice in the world and nothing to do with you. it would be cute how oblivious you are, if he wasn't so fed up with it.

"And before you start that shit, yeah, I'd defend any woman in here, but I sure as fuck wouldn't be throwing punches over anyone else, baby." Clay runs his hands through his hair frenetically, the strands messy and loose, hat non-existent for once.

You feel like your head is spinning, buzzing, confused because surely he's talking about the fact you're kind of friends, that you're not a stranger. He can't possibly mean...he called you baby? When did Clay ever call you baby?

His laugh is sardonic, disbelieving as he watches the way you stare at him, all wide eyed and confused like he hasn't been trying to flirt with you for the past six months that you've known each other. Like he doesn't try to compliment you every time he sees you. Like he didn't give you his number the very first day so you could meet up. Like he's not totally irrevocably in love with you.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, sweetheart?" He's being a bit abrupt, a little bit mean in a way Clay normally isn't with you. Not quite so soft and he'll apologise for that later but he's still angry about the whole thing and you're obliviousness to his feelings feels like a slap in the face, like he's not good enough for you to even comprehend the idea of something more with. You don't owe him anything, but fuck, he's frustrated with the ignorance of it all.

"You're not my girlfriend, but I sure as hell want you to be and I've been flirting with you for six months and if you're just not interested that's fine, I'll still be in your corner, but I need to know if I'm just wasting my time waiting." This time when you're backed against the bar top by a man, it's by Clay, and it's wanted. He's in your space but with enough room that he's giving you an out, you can slip under his arm and leave at any moment. But you don't.

"You like me?" It's every dream you've had about Clay, every want, rolled up into one. The way he barricades you in on the bar top. The smell of his cologne. The warmth of him. The intense stare of baby blue eyes as he tells you he actually likes you, that your stupid, silly little crush isn't actually as one-sided as you thought.

"Only been flirting with you since the moment we met, baby."

"You've been flirting with me?" You lean back to get a better look at his face, your mouth dropped in shock. In turn he leans back to look at you in a similar manner, eyebrows high, blue eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are you serious?"

"Fuck...I thought...I thought you weren't interested...I thought...I thought you didn't like me back..." You're practically having an existential crisis between his arms because he's just admitted he likes you that he's been flirting with you for months, that all your pining and your moping has been for literally nothing.

"Back?" Clay's smile is starting to grow, the one you adore, all teeth and dimples as he picks up on that one seemingly insignificant word and prods at it. As if that word has put all the frustration, all the anger, all the bad feelings of the night instantly to rest.

"I..."

"Do you like me, baby?" He's all teasing smirks and half-lidded eyes now, leaning back into your space so close that you're chest to chest, nose to nose. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. So close it makes you stutter and freeze.

"Clay..." Your eyes dart to all your friends, all eyes on the two of you as you flush warm, cheeks growing supremely hot because fuck, Clayton Keller looks like he's about to kiss you in the middle of a bar with the entire team watching like they need popcorn.

You watch Clayton's eyes flicker to catch the audience watching, the way he takes a moment to pause, to think, whatever impulsive decision he had being put to rest for the moment.

"C'mon..." His hand is wrapping around yours in no time, tugging you along and out of the bar, away from prying eyes as if that isn't just as blatant, just as obvious as kissing you in front of all of them or whatever he might have planned to do. There's part of you that wonders if this might be all some big joke he's about to play, the insecure part, the little girl from your childhood part, that feels like he might turn around and laugh with a loud 'as if!'.

You let him lead you outside, the night air cool against your arms, the sort of chill that makes goose bumps raise on your arms. He doesn't even hesitate before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders, his arm coming to rest there, tucking you into his side like you belong, like its natural for him to do.

You don't speak as you walk, scared to break the silence until you come to a stop a few streets down in front of a shop that Clay had parked across from earlier in the night. No one is around but you and that's what gives him the confidence to push you against the brick wall of the shop, to lean back into your space and ask the question that he never got an answer to.

"Do you like me, baby?" It's more intimate this time, but less pressured. There are no eyes on you, there are no bright bar lights or teammates getting an eyeful. Something about the dimness of the night, the cool air, the feel of his jacket over your shoulders and him, oh him, leaning into your space again, has you answering honestly.

"Yeah, yeah I do..."

There's a silent conversation that happens as his hand comes up to rest against your throat, thumb rubbing against the underside of your chin. He watches you carefully and you try to answer him without words, that you want this, that you really do like him.

Whatever Clay sees must be enough because he's leaning in slow, just slow enough for you to dip out if he's misread the situation, hand tightening just slightly around your throat before his lips are slanting over yours.

It's not a frantic kiss, not forceful or aggressive. He kisses you like a slow dance, like your the sweetest thing he's ever tasted and he's trying to savour it, enjoy it for as long as he can. Lips soft and slow against yours, tongue licking into your mouth unhurried and patient. If anyone is impatient it's you, your hands tangling into his hair and tugging until he groans against you, until that patience breaks just enough for him to start devouring your mouth like he's a glutton for you.

When Clayton finally pulls back from you you're both heaving in breaths, chests bumping against each other and lips kiss bitten. The smile he gives you is so soft, so sweet it makes you want to melt into a puddle, his eyes crinkling as just a hint of his teeth comes out to play.

"Can I take you on a date?" His nose bumps against yours, purposeful in the brush against your own like he can't stand to be too far away from you right now.

"Yeah, you can take me on a date, Clayton Keller."

"Good, cause I really need an excuse to punch the next guy that looks at you funny," He jokes causing you to let out a huff of a laugh, hand escaping his hair to whack his shoulder admonishingly.

"Don't you dare!"

[lyjen]

Stay, stay, stay | Evan "Buck" Buckley

Summary: When Buck gets assigned to get up the ladder and put a fire out during a rain and thunderstorm, he gets struck by lightning. He’s walking around in a coma dream and has to find his way out of it to get back to his fiancée (Y/n).

Request: @shauna-carsley

<<< 9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

(Y/n) swung the towel over her shoulder as she turned around and made her way to the shelf to get some herbs. 

Buck, on the other hand, placed his foot into the last step of the staircase as he scanned the environment. When he saw his fiancée cooking in the open kitchen, he smiled and made his way over. 

“So.. did I hear you right earlier or are you actually about to serve the team your so-called ‘experimental pasta bake of doom’ for dinner?” he asked as his smile morphed into a playful grin on his face. 

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms as he waited for her to answer. (Y/n) chuckled and threw him a side-eye as she stood on her toes to reach the herbs she needed. When she caught the herbs she closed the cabinet and turned back around to the stove. 

“First of all, it’s not the ‘pasta bake of doom.’ It's just pasta with a little creative touch. Second, aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the truck or something instead of bugging the chef?” she said as she shook the little container to add it to the pot. 

Buck shrugged his shoulders as he moved to the kitchen island where the stove was, and (Y/n) was working on her dish. “I finished, so now I’m on ‘supervision duty.” He answered her question. “You know, just making sure you don’t set the firehouse on fire. Again” he continued as he placed his right hand on the counter and tried to get her to look at him.

She grabbed the wooden spoon that was in the pot and started to stir. “That was one time! And it wasn’t even my fault- the oven malfunctioned.” She told him as she felt the eyes burning into her skin even more. 

But before Buck could even come back with an answer, Chimney passed by with a smirk on his face. “Pretty sure it was malfunctioning because someone put too much cheese on their lasagna.” He said as he kept on moving. 

Buck his eyes grew wide at the reaction, he pointed his finger out at Chimney. “See? It’s not just me who remembers.” Buck said as he turned back towards (Y/n). 

(Y/n) stopped stirring as she gave Chimney a look that said really? She glared at both of them. “You two better shut up or I’ll accidentally forget to make enough for either of you.” 

In the distance a small laugh came from the dining table where Eddie was sitting, his phone was in his hand but his eyes were locked on the conversation between the two. “Really brave, Buck. You keep poking at the person in charge of our  food today. Bold strategy.” Eddie chimed in. 

(Y/n) let out a small sigh  as Buck didn’t drop the conversation, she tapped the remaining sauce off the spoon, back into the pot. Maybe she wasn’t the best chef, and maybe she did almost burn this place down. But at least she was trying? That must’ve meant something, right? 

Buck didn’t even bother to react to Eddie’s comment as the grin on his face grew wider. “I’m just saying, if this pasta bake ends up being a total disaster, the entire firehouse is going to blame me for not stopping it.”

She tapped the spoon one last time on the brim of the pot as she pointed the wooden spoon at him. “You should be blamed- for being annoying, not helpful.” she said as she let the spoon move in between them, almost letting it look like a threat.

A small grin appeared on her face as she locked eyes with Buck, he was just teasing her. They both went silent for a moment as they just looked at each other. Until a voice interrupted the moment. “What’s going on here?” 

Bobby walked in with a clipboard in his hands and one eyebrow raised at the sudden silence. “Nothing, Buck was just on his way to leave the kitchen. He’s officially banned from the kitchen, he’s already on his fifth snarky comment and dinner isn’t even ready yet.” she said as she stood across Buck, switching looks between Bobby and her soon to be husband. 

Buck glanced over his shoulder as he held up his hand in defense. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! Someone’s got to make sure this meal doesn’t turn into a second alarm.” he said as he looked at Bobby. 

And then a familiar sound roared through the entire firehouse, but it wasn't the fire alarm Buck was talking about. 

“Engine 118, truck 118, ambulance 118, structure fire, MacArthur Park Apartments“  The alarm sounded through the house. 

“Okay, one eighteen let’s go!” Bobby said as all the people on the loft dropped what they were doing and stood up to make their way towards the rigs. 

Everyone except for (Y/n).

She was actually on light duty because during her morning run a few days ago, she twisted her ankle. 

She didn’t even know how it happened. It just.. happened. She tried to walk it off, but when she returned home and Buck saw her stumbling while entering the house, he sighed. She always had been kind of clumsy. 

Anyways, walking was still difficult, she could walk but every step hurted. And since it would only slow down the team more than actually help, Bobby had decided that it was best for her and the team to put her on light duty. 

So here she was, trying to make dinner. While the alarm zoomed through the house. (Y/n) watched her friends and colleagues leave the loft, making their way towards the rigs as Buck took another second to look at his fiancée. Buck scanned the scene, he knew no one was waiting for the two of them to be close.. especially on shift. 

But no one except the two of them were on the loft right now. “See you in a bit” Buck said as (Y/n) had already continued to stir the sauce, facing the stove. He pressed his warm lips quickly against her cheek. “Be careful” she told him as he was already making his way towards the stairs. “Oh and don’t do anything stupid!” she added, sounding a little louder now. 

Buck turned around as he continued walking backwards, that same grin as before was written all over his face. “Have you met me?” he said, his grin turning into a small smile as he sent her a fast wink and turned back around speeding down the stairs. 

She didn’t know how long this call was going to take. It was a structure fire, it could take an hour, or it could take four hours, or even six. She decided to just try and finish the dish, so she could reheat it when her team came back from the call. 

-

Buck watched the rain splatter against the windows of the rig as they were making their way towards the structure fire. It was silence on the rig, as everyone was trying to get into focus. The only thing sounding through their headphones was the thunder roaring over Los Angeles. 

The truck pulled to a stop, not even a second later Buck and the rest of the team were stepping out of the rigs. Buck stepped out of the vehicle, feeling the puddle with water splash against his boots. 

“Okay, Hendrix, Meyers, Perez!” Bobby’s voice sounded over the scene, trying to be louder than the rain that was coming down like the gods were mad. The team followed Bobby as he started shouting orders to specific people. “Start evacuating the building!” he continued as he pointed to the building that was on fire with his hand. 

“Chimney, Buck, Eddie.” Bobby pointed at the right people, “You guys are on ladder duty.” He added as the three of them nodded at his words. “I want you to get up to that window and hit it. Let’s go!” the captain continued as he pointed his index finger to the right window. “Copy that cap!”

Not even three minutes later, Eddie was already turning and extending the aerial to the assigned window. With a ladder belt secured around his waist, Buck made his way back to the top of the truck where Chimney was waiting to go up the ladder. The tip of the hose set was hanging over his shoulder as he watched Eddie extend the aerial. 

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going? I got this.” Chimney said as he saw Buck climbing on top of the truck with the ladder belt secured around his waist. “No way, you got the last one.” Buck answered as a soft grunt fell from his mouth and made his way to the start of the ladder. 

Chim squinted his eyes at the rain that was pouring and hitting his face. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track,” he said. Making Buck grin “Come on, Chim, it’s me. I’m always keeping track.” Buck said with enthusiasm in his voice. 

These were the things he loved doing on the job. 

Eddie grinned at the conversation, grabbing the hook and securing Buck to the line, so if something went wrong he wouldn’t fall to his death. 

“Alright, cowboy, go get ‘em.” Eddie said, as Buck accepted the line Chimney was holding out to him. “Alright” he said, as he carefully made his way up the aerial. 

In his left hand he held the hose line and he used his right hand to climb up the ladder. The mix of people’s voices and sirens were filling his eardrums as he finally reached the top of the ladder. 

With his heart beating in his chest, he turned the hose line on and started to aim for the window Bobby had mentioned earlier.  

Where Buck could hear voices from below the ladder earlier, that sound faded away as some electrical buzz took over the scene. It almost sounded like an electricity pole was damaged, but it didn’t come from below him. Whatever he was hearing was from above. 

“The hell is that?” he asked himself. Buck looked above him, fully facing the rain that was still pouring down. But he couldn’t find a source, so he just continued doing his job. It didn’t take five seconds, or there was a flash of white covering Buck’s entire vision. 

The lightning hit his body. And he felt it, everywhere. 

Bobby’s eyes were locked onto the person who was on top of that ladder. But his heart dropped the second he saw what was happening right in front of his eyes. He could hear a loud scream and then Buck’s body tumbled over the edge of the ladder, his body now hanging on to the line that was secured to the ladder belt he was wearing. 

Eddie fell onto the ground after the bolt had struck just near him. He grunted at the pain in his back when it had met the ground. He rolled to his side, as he got onto his knees and hands to reach for his helmet that had prevented him from hitting his head on the asphalt. 

He pressed one hand onto the ground as he pushed himself off the ground and back onto two legs. He pressed his helmet back onto his head as was on his way to climb back onto the truck, not really knowing what had happened. But the moment he was climbing the ladder to get on top of the truck, towards the control panel of the aerial, he looked to his right. 

His best friend was floating in the air, lifeless. 

His eyes widened at the sight, “Buck!” he screamed out. Without thinking, Eddie hurried up the ladder. The steps were wet, making him almost slip now and then, but he didn’t care. He needed to help his teammate, his colleague. 

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Captain Nash, 118. We have a firefighter down at the MacArthur Park Apartment fire. Need additional task force and rescue immediately.” Bobby’s voice sounded over the radio as Eddie called out for his best friend, hoping for some kind of reaction. 

It was horrible, seeing him hanging like that. 

In the meanwhile when Eddie had finally reached the top of the ladder, he tried to pull him up. But pulling up someone who was unconscious was impossible. “Can you hear me? Buck!” he called out, but calling out his name was more for a cry for help than to get him to wake up. The water from the hose line was still spraying down, Eddie didn’t even bother to turn it off. He only had one goal, and that was trying to get Buck down to an ambulance.

If he couldn’t pull Buck up, they had to lower him down. Chimney had taken place down the ladder, ready to help. “We need more slack!” Eddie called out on the top of his lungs. “More slack coming up!” Chimney yelled back. Eddie groaned as he gently let the rope slide through his fingers, and watched Buck’s body being lowered down to the ground where Bobby was. He was commanding Hen to get the ambulance as close as possible. They couldn’t waste a second. 

Buck’s body was almost down at the ground again. Bobby grabbed his feet and turned him so he could be laid down onto the gurney easily. “Come here kid” Bobby’s voice was filled with worry. He put his arm on his back, “I got him, I got him!” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was telling the team, or if he was soothing himself with those words. 

“Okay bring that gurney over here, let’s go!” Bobby commanded his paramedics. 

“I need the lifepak!” Chimney shouted through Bobby’s orders to hurry up. They needed to do something, he was up there for way too long. The entire team was helping Buck onto the gurney which was being flooded with water the second it came out of the ambulance. 

“Let’s get the lifepak on!” Chimney continued as they disconnected Buck from the line he was still attached to. Hen gently took off Buck’s helmet, as they opened his turnout coat. and cut through his uniform to get to his chest. “No pulse.” Hen said as she held her fingers to his neck to check his pulse.While, the worry in her voice almost turned into panic mode. 

“Get that lifepak ready!” Chimney now shouted. But the second he got handed the lifepak, Hen spoke up. “It doesn’t make sense to shock him. He’s in full cardiac arrest!” she said as she looked over at her partner, and towards Buck’s bare chest thinking of what to do. 

“I’m starting compressions, get that lifepak off!” Hen’s partner now said, as he climbed on top of the gurney, pressing his hands deep into Buck’s chest. “Come on Buck! Come on!” Chimney’s voice said as he tried to get his brother-in-law’s heart beating again. “Come on man! You can’t leave (Y/n)!” he continued shouting, hoping those words would get him back to reality. 

“Alright Chim! Chim, we've got to move!” Bobby ordered Chimney, but he was so determined to get him back, words around him weren’t coming through. It wasn’t until Hen gave him a small push, that he realized he needed to get off the gurney. 

“Dispatch, this is Captain 118. We have a firefighter down, struck by lightning, unresponsive, three minutes out.”

______

(Y/n) arrived through the emergency entrance of the hospital. Desperately looking for someone she knew, and could tell her what the hell had happened on that call. Her hair was soaking wet, she didn’t even bother to grab a jacket when she ran outside towards her car. She didn’t care if she’d catch a cold. That was the least of her worries at the moment. 

“Wha..- What the hell happened?” (Y/n) gasped as she stumbled into the waiting room. Finding a small part of her crew. Oh god, the moment she stepped through those doors it almost made her puke. They had been through too much already. But walking through those doors made her heart pound in her chest, like she had run a marathon for miles. 

She hadn’t cried at all, but walking through those doors made it seem more real to her. 

She saw Hen and Eddie turning around, Hen’s eyes were still watering and Eddie’s were red like he hadn’t slept in days. But it wasn’t the exhaustion that made his eyes that red. The second she locked eyes with Hen, (Y/n)’s eyes were still wide open in shock. Tears were stinging in her eyes as the two of them walked towards her. 

“(Y/n)...” Hen sighed, as she stood across from her with Eddie on her left side. “No…” she said as she looked at Hen. Trying to suppress the cry and the tears that were crawling up. Eddie pressed his hand to her upper arm, trying to comfort her. While she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to comfort herself too. 

But the feeling in her chest started to feel tighter within the second. Her breaths were shallow and inconsistent as panic clawed its way through her. Her vision became blurry and she grabbed the fabric of her shirt, pressing the small piece of fabric between her hands to try and get herself back. 

Her world began to spin faster and the sound of her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears. Tears were beginning to slowly stream down her face when Hen started to explain what had happened on scene. But none of the words she told her we're coming through. Everything she said was inaudible. 

“Hey, hey, (Y/n), look at me,” Hen’s calm yet commanding voice cut through the haze, pulling her attention. Her eyes were locked onto Hen now, “Breathe with me, okay?” her voice said. 

(Y/n) shook her head, as more tears streamed down her face. “I... I can’t... I can’t breathe.” 

“Yes, you can. I’m right here with you. We are right here with you.” Hen said softly, as she looked at Eddie and back at (Y/n), gently placing her hands on (Y/n)’s shoulders. “In through your nose for four, out through your mouth for four. Let’s do it together. Ready?”

Hen took a breath in, holding up four fingers as she inhaled. (Y/n) struggled but copied her action, shaky and uneven. Hen’s fingers slowly counted down from four to one, guiding her through it again.

“That’s it. You’re doing great. Just one breath at a time.” She coached her. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s breathing began to steady, the panic loosening its grip. Hen kept her focus on (Y/n) “There you go. See? You’ve got this,” Hen said with a reassuring smile, squeezing (Y/n)’s shoulder. 

Tears rolled down (Y/n)’s cheeks, but she nodded, a small sense of control returning. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Always,” Hen replied, as she guided her to take a seat in one of the hospital waiting room chairs. Eddie and Hen both took a seat beside her, trying to comfort her as they waited for some news. 

“He’s going to be okay” Hen said, placing her hand onto her shoulder as she gave it a soft, gentle, squeeze. 

• Buck’s coma dream

“People have been dropping off food all day.” Margaret said as she proudly looked around the apartment of Buck. Pointing at the flowers and the cards he had received over the days he had been in the hospital. 

“And oh, your kids.. ” Wait, did he hear that right? Was he a father? Did he have kids with (Y/n) in whatever this was? His eyes grew wide, filled with hope as she said those words. He cleared his throat, “I- Um..- Kids?” he stumbled. 

Margaret smiled and nodded at his short question, “yes, your students.” she answered with a duh tone in her voice. Like he had to know what she was talking about. But when the word “kids” fell off his mother’s lips, all he could think about was: where was his fiancée? 

His eyebrows furrowed at her latest words, students? What was she talking about? He was a firefighter, right? What students was she talking about? “What?” he asked his mother with a confused look all over his face. But when his mother wanted to answer his question, he threw another question at her.

“Wait.. Where’s (Y/n)?” he then asked. Looking around the apartment for any clues. What kind of future, dream, universe was he in? He had so many questions floating through his mind right now. 

His mother was looking at him in confusion, “What are you talking about? Who is (Y/n)?” Margaret asked as she followed her son’s eyes, desperately searching the cabinets and shelves that were in the apartment from a distance. 

“My girl, my fiancée? Where is she?” Buck asked. Why didn’t anyone recognize her name? They knew about her, and how much he loved her. Why wasn’t anyone telling him where she was. Were they playing some kind of weird mind game with him? 

“How hard did you hit your head when you made that fall?” Phillip chimed in then. A feeling of annoyance slowly entered his body. “What? I-” he stumbled, but before he could even think of a proper something to say, his dad turned to Daniel. 

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Phillip asked his eldest, with a drink in his hand. Daniel sighed as he opened the fridge and grabbed a beer out of it as he read the label. “Yeah, why do you keep doubting me?” Daniel answered as he closed the fridge then again. “It’s not like I'm a doctor or anything.” He continued, with his eyes still burned onto the label of the beer and he made his way towards the living room part of the apartment. 

As Daniel and Phillip walk towards the couch, Buck’s eyes were locked onto the two of them. But then his attention was caught by something else. A sparkly, golden, 3D model of a ferris wheel was on one of the cabinets in his apartment. 

Determined, he walked towards the cabinet, standing in front of the ferris wheel as he let his fingers trace over the model. “What’s this?” he asked his mother who was following his steps. 

“No Idea. It doesn’t go with anything else I picked out.” Margaret answered his question. 

Only the thought of a ferris wheel made his mind go back to one of the worst days of Buck’s life. His fingers traced over the golden ferris wheel parts, as his eyes were locked onto the piece of decoration. 

The room around him seems to fade away. The sound of the television in the living room playing, and his family members communicating, it all dissolved into the deafening roar of rushing water. 

He was back on the pier. 

The sky was clear and blue, the sun’s reflection was shimmering off the ocean’s surface. Within the snap of a finger, the water retreated, a silent inhale before it’d drown Los Angeles. 

Buck lifted Christopher over his shoulder as he grabbed (Y/n)’s hand who was still staring at what ever the fuck was happening with the ocean. “(Y/n)! Come on!” he yelled as he roughly pulled her with him towards land again. 

He sees (Y/n). Terror in her eyes. Her hand slipping from Buck’s grip as the wave rips them apart.

“(Y/n)!” Buck gasps, his breath hitching. (Y/n) was fighting the water to keep her head up and above the water, but the waves were too strong. He can still feel the water closing in, pulling him under, tossing him through the wreckage. His lungs burn. His muscles scream. (Y/n)’s horrifying scream went through his marrow and bones again, like it did every time he thought back of that day. 

The memories crash into him like the waves did that day. 

“But if you like it, I love it.” His mom touching his shoulder and upper arm yanks him back to the conversation he was having with his mom. His chest heaves as he blinks, the 3D model of a ferris wheel coming back into focus. The sound of water is gone. The scream of (Y/n) still sounding faded in the back of his head. 

• Reality

(Y/n) walked those awful grey and white hospital hallways. She kept her head low, looking down at the ground as she didn’t know what to do with herself. (Y/n) didn’t know how to feel, there were so many emotions rushing through her body.

 She took another turn to the left, Chimney and Bobby came into her view. They were standing in front of one of the windows, looking into the room Buck was being placed in. 

“Hey.” she said, her tone worried. “What do we know?” she asked the two men in front of her who were slowly turning towards (Y/n) now.

“Not much, He’s alive. In critical condition. They had to put him into a medically induced coma to allow his body to rest and recover. The next twenty four hours are going to be crucial.” Bobby said, surprisingly calm. 

She didn’t want to even glance through the window. If she’d do that, things would be real. But it wasn’t a dream. If this was a dream, this would be the definition of a nightmare. But all the times she had pinched herself, wasn’t enough. She sighed as she finally found the courage to look through the window. 

Slowly she let her eyes wander to the bed Buck was lying on. This would be one of the moments that’d hunt her forever, the picture would be burned into her brain. She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lower lip. It was real. 

She took another shaky breath, opening her eyes once more. Scanning the environment. “He’s on life support. Breathing with the help of a ventilator?” (Y/n) said, but it sounded more like a question. 

“The lightning strike was literally a shock to his system. Sent him into cardiac arrest.” Bobby explained the situation as (Y/n)’s eyes were only locked onto her fiancée who was hooked up to all those different machines. 

But Bobby’s explanation was interrupted by a soft sound of a ringtone. Bobby quickly fished his phone from his pocket as he read the caller-ID. “Oh- I’m sorry I have to take this..” he said, excusing himself as he walked away and pressed the phone to his ear. 

Chim took place next to (Y/n) who was still looking through the window. Chimney didn’t say anything as he joined her looking through the window. He gave her some time to just look in peace. There was already so much information coming towards her. 

“It’s so weird.. an hour ago he was up and jumping through the station with his jokes. And now, he’s in there.. hooked up to whatever machines to stay alive.” 

Chimney swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, raw with disbelief. “One second he’s making fun of your cooking skills, the next he’s—” He gestured toward the room, as if that explained everything. As if it ever could.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. (Y/n) bit her lip, her gaze tracing the pale face of the man lying in the hospital bed. He looked so still. So unlike Buck.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Chimney said suddenly, more to himself than anything. “He has to.” he added as he looked to his left, looking at (Y/n) who was trying to suppress her emotions.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. Their throat burned, emotions threatening to spill over. Finally, they nodded, forcing a small, fragile smile.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “He has to.”

And yet, as they stood there, watching Buck fight the battle they couldn’t help him with. All they could do was wait.

• Buck’s coma dream

After Buck had finally convinced coma dream Chimney that he actually knew him, he was hanging with him at the kitchen island. Chimney opened the fridge as he placed a bottle of beer right in front of him. “The last thing I remember is: we were at this apartment fire. It was raining. I went up the ladder and… there was a giant flash.” Buck was going over his thoughts once again. He pushes himself up and he opens the bottle of beer.

“Sounds like you were struck by lightning.” Chimney said, looking at Buck who was starting to pace through the room. “Yeah but, I don’t think I’m dead. It feels like some kind of coma dream.” Buck answered. But just as he turned around and started his first steps of pacing around the apartment..

His eyes fell onto the dining table of Chimney’s apartment. A miniature fire truck was lying on his side on the table. “What the…-” he stumbled, as the memories flashed before his eyes.

Within’ a blink of an eye he was lying on the ground. His hands pressed onto the asphalt beneath him as his left foot was in an odd angle. 

His ears were ringing, his eyes were trying to adjust to what ever the hell just had happened. His vision was blurry, and changing from red to yellow-ish every second. Buck’s hand brushed over the asphalt as he tried to scan the scene he was in. 

The glass windshield of the truck broke, and fell onto the ground. Sending an awful, horrible pain through his leg, making Buck grunt. 

Everything hurt. His head. his legs. his back. Even breathing hurted. 

Buck really didn’t really get whatever was happening. There was this boy, holding some kind of deadman trigger. He kept on wandering around, screaming something. But Buck’s ears were still ringing, so the voices sounded dull to him. 

Suddenly, Bobby was there. His hands in the air, slowly making his way towards the young boy as Buck himself kept fighting to keep his eyes open, and push himself up. Buck couldn’t really register what was happening. He only knew his leg hurted, his head was pounding like it was going to explode any second now. 

Then, Hen, Eddie and Chimney came rushing over towards him. “You’re still with us Buck?” Chimney asked, but he didn’t answer his question.  Hen placed a medic bag next to him as they began to access him. “Buck, how are we doing?” she asked as she dug through the bag. “Kind of numb.” he answered with a trembling voice. But was the only thing that basically could come out of his mouth. 

While Hen, Eddie and Chimney were diagnosing him and tried to give him first aid, he was only searching for her. “Buck!” (Y/n)’s voice, high and strained, cuts through the chaos. His head jerked up, searching for her, and there she was..

Held back by Bobby, his strong grip kept her from entering the scene, away from Buck. Her eyes were wide and in panic mode. 

“Let me help!” she cries, trying to push past Bobby who was in civilian clothes, but he shakes his head. “No. They’ve got this. You need to stay back.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument, but she didn’t care.

“That’s my boyfriend!” she snaps, fighting against his hold. “I can’t just—just stand here!” she cried.

He wanted to tell her it’s okay, that he got this, but the truth was, he didn't. The pain in his leg was unbearable, and he didn’t know if he could keep it together much longer.

“Hang in there Buck” Hen’s voice cuts through the noise. Buck’s breath is coming too fast. The edges of my vision blur. The pain is worse than anything he had ever felt, like his leg is being ground into dust. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the pain. Every firefighter on scene was coming together, getting ready to tilt this truck off his leg. But then his eyes snapped open. And suddenly (Y/n) is there, right in front of him. Bobby had let her go. Or maybe she fought him off, he didn’t know. All he knew was the fact that she was in front of him, holding his arms, ready to slide him from underneath if she could. 

“I’m here,” she breathes, her voice shaking but determined. “Y-Y/N,” he managed, his voice was raw. She shook her head quickly, brushing damp hair from his forehead “Yeah, baby. I’m right here. Just hold on, okay?” she said softly, as she looked to the people who were ready to lift the truck. 

The metal groans as the team works to lift the truck. A rush of hope rushed through his veins, only to be crushed under another wave of agony as the pressure on his leg shifts. A scream leaving Buck’s lips before he could stop himself. His entire body was trembling.  

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” she whispered softly, her thumb brushing over his arms as a attempt to soothe him. 

He was looking at the miniature truck between his fingers. Chimney had been in a coma when that rebar went through his head years ago. Maybe he knew something about coma dreams. With those thoughts, he placed the miniature truck back onto the table and turned around. 

“Okay so, when you were in your coma, what do you remember?” he asked, as he slowly walked back towards the kitchen island Chimney was leaning against. “Nothing” Chimney answered. This was so not helpful. “How long have you been walking around in this coma?” Chimney asked now. 

He shrugged his shoulders, “Uh, I don’t know. Time is weird. Maybe two days?” he guessed. “Wait, you've been walking around in an alternative universe for two days and now you’re just now starting to ask questions?” Chimney asked as he pushed himself from leaning on the kitchen island and started walking towards Buck now. 

“It was kinda nice at first, until I asked my family about (Y/n)...” he told Chimney. But if his family didn’t know (Y/n).. Maybe Chimney would, right? “Wait, you know her right?” Buck asked before Chimney could react to his words. 

Chimney took a moment to think, repeating her name multiple times as he looked to the ceiling. “No, I don’t think I do..” he said, pressing his lips into a thin line and shaking his head. 

The panic was rising in his chest, but maybe he needed a wake up call. “You know, always hanging around the firehouse, always laughing at my dumb jokes.” he tried to help him remember. But he shook his head again. “Buck, I swear, I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Chim said. 

“You have to know her! She’s your colleague, friend, she’s my fiancée for god sake!” A mix of panic, stress and desperation filled his voice. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard that name before,” he said. 

No. No, this wasn’t right. (Y/n) was real. He could still hear their voice, still feel their touch. Why didn’t anyone recognize that name? 

Buck’s throat tightened. His chest heaved as he stared at his friend, searching his face for any sign that this was some twisted joke. But Chimney looked genuinely confused. His hands dug into his hair as the walls closed in. His lungs burned.

With his hands in his hair, he felt his heart pound in his chest, trying to break free. His ears started pounding as his airways closed off. 

He pressed a flat hand on his chest, as he tried to take a breath. But his lungs weren’t working. “Wow, hey, hey, hey!” “Are you okay?” Chimney asked as he saw Buck was having trouble getting air. 

Buck grabs his throat, as a sign that he couldn’t. Blood was rushing towards his head, making it red as he gasped for air. Buck’s eyes became blurry as he tried to keep his balance by holding on to the kitchen island. But he fell down to his knees. “Try to calm down! Try to breathe!”  

• Reality

It has been two days since the accident. And to be honest, (Y/n) hasn’t left this room ever since. Only to use the restroom, get some food or drinks. But most of the time she didn’t have to, because if there was someone who came to visit Buck, they brought something for (Y/n). 

The door was closed, but (Y/n) was sitting across from Buck in some kind of “lazy” hospital chair. She wouldn’t do anything except looking at him, keeping an eye on the machines he was hooked up on, and just watching him breathe. The constant beeping of the machines would sometimes make her fall asleep, like right now. 

“Hey” Chimney said as he walked through the hallway, aiming for Maddie who was looking through the window. “Shouldn’t you be inside with your brother?” he continued. Maddie shook her head, Chimney stopped beside her and followed her eyes letting out a soft sigh. 

(Y/n) was sleeping, her head leaning onto her hand that was placed onto the armrest of the chair. “How long has she been in there?” Maddie asked Chimney, since he got more updates from his crew. “She hasn't left.” Chimney answered her question. Tears were burning in Maddie’s eyes as she looked at the two in the room. 

Maddie had given (Y/n) a new set of clothes on the day it happened. She had hoped (Y/n) would’ve gone home every now and then, but the girl was determined. She had to be there when he woke up. 

The constant beeps switched, they became more and more within the second. (Y/n)’s eyes shot open, like she felt something was wrong. Her eyes shot from Buck’s body right towards the machines. In shock she watched the machines. The words “Lower limit warning” lit up in one of the screens in yellow letters. Her eyes rushed from the machine back to his body.

He was breathing like he was hyperventilating. She was alert the moment she read those words. (Y/n) pushed herself onto her feet, as she yanked the door open. “He can’t breathe!” she yelled as she was now in the grey empty hallways of the ICU. 

Tears burned in her eyes as she watched nurses suddenly dropping everything and running towards her. Everything around her became a blur as she felt two people standing next to her. Maddie’s hand was pressed onto her shoulder, trying to give (Y/n) some kind of comfort as Chimney tried to get the nurses into the room. “Hey, hey, hey! We need someone in here!” Chimney called out and pushed the door more open. 

The nurses were doing their job as (Y/n) stood in the door opening with Chimney and Maddie. Looking at whatever they were doing to help Buck. But (Y/n) couldn’t look at this. If he didn’t make it through, this wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. She turned on her heels, placing her hands on her head as she quickly blinked the tears away. 

• Buck’s coma dream

“What’s wrong with him?” Hen asked, pointing at Buck as she looked back at Chimney. 

Chimney held up his hands as he looked stressed at Buck who was still struggling with taking a single breath. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just having a panic attack.” Chimney guessed as he looked at his friend, hoping she’d know how to help him. 

Hen’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the guy in front of her. Was he for real? “Hey buddy, can you hear me?” she asked. Only receiving a nod from the complete stranger. “Buck can’t breathe.” Chimney concluded, as he watched him. 

But then, it was like the invisible hands that were tightening his airways close, let go all of the sudden. The choking had stopped, he could take a breath without any pain or difficulty. Buck let go of his chest and straightened his back, with a surprised look crossed over his face. 

Chimney and Hen looked at him in confusion. “Or maybe he’s pulling our legs. He’s fine.” Hen said as she switched looks between the two guys. “Sorry, I- I don’t know what happened. It was like all of the sudden my lungs just stopped working.” Buck apologized.  

"And now?” Hen asked as a second check. Buck stretched his arms, shaking his head as he felt nothing weird. “Uh, yeah, no.. I feel better.” he admitted. 

That still confused frown was on Hen’s face visible as she faced Chimney. “And how did this happen?” she asked him. “He was asking about (Y/n), that’s what brought this all on.” he explained, as they both looked at Buck now. 

It didn’t make sense to him. Why could no one in this silly coma dream tell him where (Y/n) was? This was his subconsciousness. He was in charge. Right? “How can it be that no one in this entire universe can’t tell me where my fiancée is?” Buck asked as he looked at both Chimney and Hen. 

Chimney just made the same face as he did a minute ago. There was no change in that. “Wait, wait, wait, that name does sound familiar to me.” Hen then said as she was thinking. 

There was a minute of silence, as a little spark of hope jumped in his chest. He gave her the space to think for a second. But after a moment, the back of Hen’s hand slapped against Chimney’s chest, hard. 

“Isn’t she that nurse from First Presbyterian?” Hen asked Chimney. Both eyes were burned on Chimney now as he was thinking. “You know? The one who’s in charge of the ER?” Hen tried to help him remember. Chimney’s eyes grew wide. “You’re right.”

-

He barged through the doors of the hospital and immediately made his way towards the ER. He knew this hospital like the back of his hand. 

“Excuse me? What are you doing?” A female voice asked him, as he pushed through the other set of swinging doors that made him enter the emergency room. 

He entered the ER, his eyes desperately searching for his girl. The lady at the desk probably was too lazy or busy to follow him and make him leave the ER. Buck only had eyes for one person only. And that’s when he saw her. 

She was smiling at one of her co-workers, that smile that made the rest of the world smile too. That smile that had him wrapped around her finger. She turned around and walked through the ER, leaving his line of sight. She was focused, busy, doing her job like nothing was wrong.

He called her name from a large distance as he watched her back walking away from him further and further. He called her name a second time as he made some speed to follow her. He called her name out even louder the third time. But she didn’t react, didn’t even glance his way.

Like she couldn’t hear him.

Frowning, he stepped closer, following her down the hallway. His pulse quickened. She wasn’t running, but she was moving fast, weaving between nurses and doctors, her attention elsewhere. But he knew a shortcut. 

Still, after a few moments, she started to look over her shoulder, like she could feel him following behind her. Like some part of her knew she was being followed.

She glanced back for a third time, and that’s when Buck made his move. Before she could take another step, he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her sharply into the nearest medicine supply closet.

A squeak left her lips as the door shut behind them. “What the hell-?” she gasped. The lights flickered on, and he saw her. She was here. It wasn’t some kind of döppelganger. It was (Y/n).

He exhaled sharply, his grip loosening around her upper arm. But he looked at her for a second, and pulled her into a crushing hug. His arms locked around her like she might disappear if he let go. 

(Y/n) froze in his embrace. “…Buck?” she said in a confused tone. But Buck shut his eyes, holding onto her tighter. “You’re okay, you’re here.” he whispered. 

She hesitated before answering, her voice careful. “Of course, I’m here.” Buck loosened his arms around her body as he looked her in her eyes again. “What are you doing here? Why are you a nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with confusion

(Y/N) met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. Then, with the faintest smirk, she said, “You tell me. This is your dream. I’m just living in it.” she explained to him. 

His stomach dropped. “So… I’m dead,” he murmured as he let his eyes wander to the ground, his head ready to drown in his own thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head slightly. “Close, but not quite.” 

His breath caught in his throat. “Then where am I? What is this?” He looked around the supply closet like the walls could give him an answer. “Is this… some kind of waiting room? Heaven? Hell?”

(Y/N) sighed, folding her arms as she looked at the panicked face of the guy in front of her. “You need to relax.” she told him. “Relax?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve been stuck here for days, I keep getting flashbacks to traumatizing moments of my life, apparently I’m almost dead. Forgive me if I’m having a hard time relaxing.” He started pacing down the small part of the supplies closet. 

(Y/n) gave him a knowing look before turning away. “Come here.” she said as she walked over to one of the cabinets, opening both doors. Buck watched as she pushed aside bottles of medicine and supplies, revealing something that shouldn’t have been there.

There was a window.

His heart pounded as he stepped forward, through the glass he could see himself. He was lying in a hospital bed, intubated. Unmoving. Machines hooked up to him, beeping softly.

Bobby was there, his hand holding on tight to the rosary beads like it was his only lifeline. Also (Y/n) was there. The real her. Sitting at his bedside, her hands clasped together like she had been praying. 

The air in Buck’s lungs vanished at the image in front of him. 

In shock he watched the three people in the room. “What the hell is this?” Buck asked the (Y/n) who was standing beside him. He glanced to his right, waiting for her to answer. She met his eyes, blinking away the tears that were stinging in her eyes. “Well, Evan Buckley, that right there is reality, whatever is happening on this side is your deep dark subconscious.” she explained. 

The way she said his name made his heart skip a beat. She never called him Evan, only when she wanted to mess with him, but she surely never used his full name. 

Buck’s eyes wandered back to watch the scene in front of him. “Do you know what’s happening to me in there?” he asked. (Y/n) shrugged her shoulders, “Well, it depends on how you look at it. You could be dying or fighting for your life. But it’s kinda up to you.” she answered. Although that didn’t really answer his question. 

At that moment, Bobby stood up from his seat. He walked towards (Y/n) and gave her a hug, as Buck’s parents and sister entered the room, following a doctor. 

“W-what is happening?” Buck asks as panic was rising in his chest and voice. But (Y/n) didn’t answer as she just watched the scene in front of her. “What is happening!?” he asked again. 

But as he looked to his right, (Y/n) was gone. And a döppelganger of himself in a doctor's jacket was standing right next to him. He looked him up and down in shock. “Looks like they’re pulling the plug, Evan.” he said. Before he could even answer for himself, the doctor “him” cut him off. “They don’t care about you. You’re not good enough, you never have been.” he said. 

Buck looked at his döppelganger in shock, as he tried to figure things out. “This is all happening inside my head, which means I've been talking to myself the whole time.” He clarified to himself. “I don’t have to feel bad about not listening to you anymore.” He added as he shoved all the aside bottles of medicine and supplies off the shelves in front of the window. 

The döppelganger watched him with a smirk on his face. “What are you doing?” he said, cocky. “I have to get back! I’m running out of time!” The panic was written all over his face as he yanked all bottles and other supplies off the shelves, and moved the shelves from the window. “It’s impossible, there’s no way back there. You’re stuck with me.” The döppelganger claimed. 

“It’s not impossible! There’s not a locked room anywhere that, with the right tools and enough time, you can’t break into. I know that.” Buck told his subconsciousness. But he could hear a chuckle coming from the other him. 

He walked determined to the side of the room as he took a fire axe out of the red box. “There’s nothing for you in that room. No one in there needs you.” Döppelganger Buck said then, with that same stupid grin on his face. But instead of looking him in the eye, he watched the scene, there’s enough hurt in that room. (Y/n) hasn’t stopped crying since he laid eyes on the window, Bobby was praying with his rosary beads, and if he did that, it must’ve been bad. He wasn’t the only one hurting. 

“Keep telling that to yourself.” he said, and yanked the fire axe through the window. 

______

The first thing Buck felt was warmth. A gentle pressure against his hand. Steady. Familiar. Then, muffled voices entered his ears. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. The scent of antiseptic and something softer… vanilla? No… coconut.

It was (Y/n).

His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open. The hospital lights were too bright, but they weren’t what held his focus. It was her.

Curled up in the chair beside his bed, her head resting against their joined hands, fingers wrapped around his like she had been holding on for dear life. His throat felt like sandpaper, his voice hoarse. “(Y/n)…” he managed to get out. 

She stirred instantly, her fingers twitching against his. Her eyes fluttered open, sleepy and dazed until her eyes landed on his. She froze. Her breath hitched.

“Buck?” Her voice cracked as she shot up, eyes wide with disbelief. A slow, tired smile tugged at Buck’s lips. “Hey.”

A strangled noise left her throat half a sob, half a laugh before she lunged forward, throwing herself into his arms. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body molding against his like she belonged there. He could feel her shaking, feel the way her breath hitched against his shoulder.

“Easy,” he croaked, though he had no complaints about being tackled with this much affection. (Y/n) pulled back to look at him, placing both her hands onto his cheeks, cupping his face. “You’re awake.” she whispered, tears spilling freely now.

Buck blinked up at her, brushing his thumb weakly against her hand. “Told you I’d see you in a bit.”

She let out a breathless, watery laugh, pressing her forehead to his. “You idiot,” she muttered. “You scared the shit out of me.” she said. His heart ached at the exhaustion on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the tension still in her shoulders.

“How long have you been here?” he asked. She swallowed hard, running her fingers through his hair like she couldn’t believe he was real. “Since the moment you got here,” she admitted softly. “I never left. Except to use the restroom.” She cried. “And even then, I made Bobby stand guard.”

Buck’s chest ached, not from the coma, not from the accident but from the fact that she had stayed. She had never given up on him.

“Fiancée of the year,” he said, squeezing her hand weakly. (Y/N) let out a choked laugh, shaking her head as she placed a free hand onto his cheek again, rubbing her thumb against his skin. “Yeah, well, I kinda love you, so.” 

His eyebrows shot up and his lips twitched. “Kinda?” She exhaled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Shut up”

Her fingers brushed against his forehead gently, her thumb smoothing over his cheek. Her expression softened. “You shouldn’t be talking this much,” she told him. “You just woke up.” she continued. 

“I have a lot to say.” He then said. “And you can say it later,” she said firmly, already reaching for the call button. “I need to get a nurse-” she groaned. 

His hand shot up, slower than usual, and weaker than he liked but enough to stop her. Her breath caught as he intertwined their fingers again, holding her there. “Stay,” he whispered.

(Y/n) hesitated, her worry flickering between her brows. But one look at him and she melted. She squeezed his hand and leaned in, her lips brushing against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion started creeping in. “Good,” he murmured sleepily. “Wanna marry you first.” he admitted. (Y/n) let out a breathless laugh, brushing her fingers through his hair again. “We will… when you’re out of the hospital.” she whispered. Buck sent her a small smile and as Buck drifted off again he knew, without a doubt, that he had made it back exactly where he belonged.

Home.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

<<< 9-1-1 Masterlist

[yellowwwcrayon]

Even more nonsense Part #3: It's a Circle Guard that checks Junho's social media every morning and reports to the Frontman. Junho usually doesn't post that much about his life, and then one day boom, it's him and the Recruiter (out of his suit, which to the Circle Guard feels super WRONG and weird) wearing matching hoodies and doing cutesy couples photos with the anniversary caption.

Inho thinks it's a joke at first and texts the Recruiter demanding an update. He confirms its fake and all part of the plan to distract Junho from investigating the squid game, but Junho starts posting increasingly frequently about their "love life" and big brother's like - no, you might think its a joke/pretend, but my baby bro is really into you. UNACCEPTABLE, YOU SICK FUCK. I DEMAND THAT YOU STOP THIS INSTANT.

Recruiter's like, sure boss. Whatever you say. Tries to break it off with Junho. Junho gets pissed. Recruiter gets cuffed to the bed. Breakup attempt fails 🌞

Inho *overseeing the 35th game*: why do I feel nauseous all of a sudden. What is this sense of dread and impending doom?

Junho posting an implicitly sexual photo of the half-naked guy in his bed the next morning, just the back of his shoulder with visible marks on him. And Inho snaps the phone in half with rage. Fuck hosting the VIPs, I need to deal with this NOW.

Inho: get the limo ready, I'm going to do some stuff to the Recruiter.

The Pink Soldiers be like:

(I'm sorry this is just so funny - I can also see Inho kidnapping Gihun and ranting to him about ungrateful little siblings every other week and afterwards, drugging him unconscious so he forgets the whole ordeal and putting him back in his love hotel lair from S2 when he's done venting. (it's his form of therapy, ok?) And Junho later finding out that Inho's been obsessively stalking Gihun and going like - wow, saying my boyfriend is a sick freak when you do this in your free time, hyung?)

Imagine if it was the Salesman that Inho tasked to try and distract Junho/keep him from investigating the games instead of the boat captain, and the Salesman does too good of a job (they hook up repeatedly and then proceeds to actually get into a relationship).

Inho, who's keeping tabs on his brother's social media accounts across all platforms, sees one day that Junho posts a photo of them together with the caption "one year anniversary with this weirdo ❤️" and flips the fuck out, because that was not the deal.

And that ironically is what gets Inho to finally show up in his full Frontman getup, kidnap Junho in that limo, and tell his baby bro very very seriously that he has to break up with his boyfriend because that man is a freak. Stranger danger.

(Salesman probably fake cries to Junho about how Inho threatened him and the Hwang bros get into a shouting match, and Junho gets to say the classic rebellious teenage girl line of "you don't get to tell me what to do, you're not my dad!" and Inho goes quiet and cries a little on the inside.)

Junho: Mission Accomplished. I got laid and got my brother to come crawling back. Two birds with one stone. 🤪

[00valentina-writes00]

Ambessa x reader with gut wrenching mommy issues? 😭 I swear, something in that woman just triggers my mommy issues and IT MAKES ME WANNA START BAWLINGGGGG.

At this point everything I ask for is gonna be about Ambessa (if that’s not a problem) but I know you’ll literally get this JUST RIGHT like you always do. Thank you!! 🖤🖤🖤

(It’s never a bother to write for Ambessa, although, at this rate I’m going to have to make a part two to my Masterlist)

✞⛧ Ambessa with a girl that has horrendous mommy issues ✞⛧

✞⛧ You were raised in an environment where love was a rare currency, a mother who prioritized power and status over affection. It left you feeling neglected and deeply insecure about your worth.

✞⛧ Your mother’s coldness haunted you, leaving you with a deep-seated need for reassurance, for someone to show you what genuine care could look like.

✞⛧ With Ambessa, you find yourself drawn to her commanding nature, but at times, it also triggers something more vulnerable in you—something raw. You see shades of your mother’s harshness in Ambessa’s strength, but at the same time, you’re desperate for the comfort she could provide.

✞⛧ Sometimes, you catch yourself comparing Ambessa to your mother, wondering if she’ll leave you too, just like she did. It’s an insecurity you try to bury, but it surfaces in small ways—lingering doubts, tearful moments, and anxious thoughts.

✞⛧ Ambessa doesn’t always understand the weight of your trauma. At times, she’ll be blunt with you in a way that stings, and you retreat into yourself, silently wondering if it’s just a matter of time before she gives up on you.

✞⛧ When Ambessa shows a rare moment of softness, you’re both relieved and terrified. You desperately want to believe that she could care for you in the ways you need, but the wounds from your past make it hard to trust.

✞⛧ You sometimes freeze when she raises her voice, even if it’s just to give a command in battle or during training. The sound of authority in her tone echoes the way your mother would speak to you.

✞⛧ Ambessa notices your hesitation and softens, but you’re often too afraid to fully show her your insecurities. You never want to appear weak in her eyes, so you bottle it up until it becomes overwhelming.

✞⛧ When you have a bad day, when the weight of your past hits hardest, Ambessa catches you in a rare moment of fragility. You curl into yourself, and she knows—though it’s unspoken—that you’re craving something only a mother’s love could provide.

✞⛧ Ambessa is quick to take charge when she sees you struggling with your emotions. She doesn’t fully know how to comfort you in a way that feels right, but she knows how to protect, how to provide a sense of stability. She doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in her arms, even if it’s a bit awkward.

✞⛧ You often crave validation—“You did well,” “You’re enough.” These simple affirmations mean everything to you, but they’re difficult for you to ask for. It’s a weakness you fear exposing.

✞⛧ Ambessa’s strict, no-nonsense nature sometimes feels too close to your mother’s indifference. In those moments, you shut down emotionally, unsure if you’re just too much for her to handle.

✞⛧ There’s a hidden fear that Ambessa will grow bored of you—she’s powerful, commanding, and might tire of your clingy need for affection and reassurance. Your mother’s abandonment runs deep, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’re not enough for someone like Ambessa.

✞⛧ You’re often afraid of disappointing Ambessa, and the thought of it triggers your deepest insecurities. Even small failures make you wonder if you’ll push her away, if you’re too fragile to be loved properly.

✞⛧ On bad days, when the memories of your mother’s harshness flood in, you find yourself trying to be the perfect partner for Ambessa—often to the detriment of your own well-being. You fear showing weakness because it feels like you’re doomed to repeat the same cycle of neglect.

✞⛧ When Ambessa is harsh with you—maybe even unintentionally—there’s a part of you that recoils, like you did when your mother’s demands were never met with affection. But Ambessa’s different, even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

✞⛧ Ambessa is a woman of few words, but her actions speak volumes. You’ll catch her softening in small ways, checking in with you when you seem distant, a look of concern crossing her face when you’re unusually quiet.

✞⛧ She doesn’t always know how to be tender in the way you need, but she tries. There’s a sharpness to her affection—a strength in it—that speaks to her own understanding of love.

✞⛧ Ambessa’s own experiences with family—especially with Mel—make her fiercely protective of you. She sees your vulnerability and tries to help you process your emotions, though she’s not always equipped to navigate your past trauma.

✞⛧ There are times when you’re upset, and you’ll push Ambessa away, unsure if you even deserve her comfort. But she’s patient. She lets you come to her in your own time, though it hurts her to see you struggle in silence.

✞⛧ Your relationship with Ambessa is complicated by your need for control—an attempt to shield yourself from the pain of abandonment. You’re scared of losing her, but you’re also scared of the intimacy that comes with truly being loved.

✞⛧ Ambessa doesn’t often coddle you, but when she does, it’s rare and meaningful. She understands that there’s a part of you that craves maternal warmth and tries to provide it in her own way, even if it’s a little awkward for her.

✞⛧ You find yourself needing to be needed by Ambessa—sometimes to the point of obsession. When you can’t provide her with something she needs, you feel like you’ve failed her, just like you think you failed your mother.

✞⛧ Ambessa understands that you struggle with your own worth and often takes charge in a way that reassures you—taking care of things so you don’t feel overwhelmed. She’s protective, though sometimes that feels like a reminder of your helplessness.

✞⛧ There are nights when you lie awake, worrying that your need for love will make you too much for Ambessa. You wonder if you’ll eventually drive her away with your fears and neediness.

✞⛧ Ambessa is not a woman who easily shows her emotions, but she takes your insecurities seriously. When you voice your concerns, even if it’s through tears or silent anxiety, she does her best to reassure you—not with soft words, but with firm action. She’s not going anywhere.

✞⛧ Your relationship with Ambessa forces you to confront your fears head-on—your fears of being abandoned, of being unloved, of being too much. She doesn’t coddle you, but she teaches you, slowly and surely, what it means to stand tall despite your brokenness.

✞⛧ Through it all, Ambessa’s care is unspoken. She doesn’t feel the need to constantly reassure you, but her presence in your life is unwavering. She won’t abandon you the way your mother did, and that truth is something you must learn to believe.

✞⛧ The more time you spend with Ambessa, the more you start to trust her. You see the glimmer of care in her eyes when she watches over you—silent, but deeply rooted in the strength of her loyalty. It’s not like what your mother gave you, but it’s real, and it’s yours.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 4

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

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Bucky quietly walked inside the house.  What was usually his sanctuary now felt like it held impending doom.  He and Y/N were just barely starting to get on a better footing with each other.  They were supposed to go on a date tomorrow night.  Why did something like this have to happen now?  He trudged up the stairs slowly, the fear and trepidation making him feel dizzy.  He opened his bedroom door, finding Y/N sitting on their bed reading a book.  She looked up at him and smiled.

“Hey Buck.  How was the party?” she asked sweetly.

Bucky smiled back at her hesitantly.  “It was, um, fun, at first,” he said.  “Good to catch up with Steve.”

“What do you mean ‘at first’?  What happened?” Y/N asked, setting aside her book on the nightstand.

Bucky closed the door, walked to her side of the bed and sat facing her next to her crossed legs.  He reached for her hands, and she met him halfway, letting him hold her hands as he kept his gaze down.  “Something…happened,” he whispered.

Y/N’s hands squeezed his.  “What happened?  You’re scaring me, Bubbas.”

Bucky’s heart felt like it was going to explode.  She called him the pet name he hadn’t heard in a long time, but he was also going to possibly hurt her right afterwards.  He met her gaze.  “A girl from work came on to me tonight,” he said.

Y/N blinked.  “Okay,” she said.

“I told her no, but then she…she kissed me,” Bucky’s voice cracked as he stifled a sob.  

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she stared at him for a good long while.  Bucky felt like he was shrinking under her unyielding stare, but he didn’t dare look or pull away.  He felt her try to pull her hands out of his grasp but he tightened his hold.  “No, please,” he gasped.  “I…I didn’t want it.  She just did it, and I froze because I was in shock, but I pushed her away.”  Y/N’s eyes started to fill with tears.  “Pretty mama, please,” Bucky begged, shifting toward her as his own tears started to fall.  “All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you.  Please, you have to believe me.”  She shut her eyes tight and shook her head, fighting back her own cries.  Bucky let go of her hands and cupped her face in his hands.  “Y/N, please.  Please please please, I’m so sorry.  I should have walked away sooner, I should have said no louder, I shouldn’t have frozen.  My love,” he kissed her cheek and she sniffled sadly.  “My pretty mama,” he kissed the tip of her nose.  “My everything.  Baby, please.”

“I believe you,” Y/N whispered.  Bucky pulled away just enough to look at her.  “I do,” she reassured him.  “I just…I’m sorry.  I just couldn’t stop envisioning it and…I’m feeling a lot of very conflicting things right now.”

“I understand,” Bucky nodded.  “I am, too.  I’m so angry, and I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel afraid to tell me,” Y/N said, looking at him sadly.  “I know I haven’t…I haven’t been very, good to be with for a while now–”

Bucky huffed a watery laugh.  “We’ve been in a weird spot lately,” he agreed.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”

Y/N sniffed again and sighed heavily before smiling timidly at him.  “Me neither,” she promised.  

He leaned his forehead against hers.  “Can I ask for something?” he whispered.

“What?” she whispered back.

“I-I need to get it out of my head,” he said.  “I need your lips to be the last on mine.  It just doesn’t feel right.  Please,” he angled his head, his nose nuzzling her nose and his lips hovering over hers.  

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered at his closeness, and when he met her gaze he saw the desire there that he hadn’t seen for a while.  Her eyes flickered across his face, then she slightly nodded.  That was all the permission he needed, and he leaned in and gently kissed her.  Y/N slowly kissed him back, her lips featherlight against his.  But within a few seconds she suddenly reached out and gripped his shirt in her fingers, pulling him toward her harder, angling her head to deepen the kiss.  Bucky whimpered, his hands moving to the back of her neck then down her back.  Their combined breathing got heavier, pants and sighs filling the room as he hoisted her up and into his lap, having her straddle him as he licked into her mouth, tasting her tongue with his own.  

Y/N’s hips started to grind on top of him, and he shuddered at how good it felt to have her on him like this again.  “Can I have you, pretty mama?” Buck whispered, kissing down to her neck and nipping at her ear.  “God, please let me have you.”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.  “Please Bubbas.”

He groaned at the pet name then flipped them over so she was on her back.  He quickly stripped her of her pajamas and underwear, pulling his own clothes off in record time before hovering over her, his hands exploring her like she was brand new.  And in a lot of ways, she was.  “I’ve missed you,” he said as he kissed down her chest to her breasts, giving them plenty of attention after not seeing them for so long.  

“I’ve missed you, too,” Y/N whispered, her fingers running through his hair and scratching his scalp the way he liked.

It sent shivers down his spine and he smiled against her skin.  Bucky and Y/N used to have a good sex life, making time for each other and taking care of each other regularly, so it was strange for them to not indulge in one another for so long.  This felt like their first time all over again, getting reacquainted with the way her body had changed after three kids and the beginning stages of aging.  Bucky wasn’t as fit as he used to be, either, but Y/N’s hands still felt him all over as if he was the most handsome thing she’d ever seen.

Bucky’s kisses slid down her body until he reached her pussy, and he situated himself on the bed so he could wrap his arms around her thighs and spread her wide open for him.  “I haven’t, um, shaved for a while,” Y/N said suddenly, sounding hesitant.

“I don’t care,” Bucky shook his head, smirking at her before he dipped his head down and started eating her out.  Y/N gasped, her hips twitching and bucking against his face.  His grip on her thighs tightened, not letting her squirm away from him.  Y/N’s hands were shaking by her sides, and at a particularly fast flicking of his tongue against her clit she reached down and gripped his hair in her right hand, her left hand resting against the side of his face, randomly scratching at his beard.  

Bucky reached one hand back around from her thigh, bringing it up to her pussy.  His fingers rubbed at her lower lips as he focused his mouth on her clit.  She was already becoming so wet for him that he smiled as he prodded one finger at her entrance, slowly pushing it all the way in until he was second knuckle deep.  Y/N whined quietly, and it made him feel proud at getting a noise out of her, something so involuntary and primal.  He slowly added a second finger inside her, lapping at her clit and her lips.  He was slow and gentle in his movements in and out of her, curling his fingers just lightly inside as his other hand guided her hips gyrating on his face and his hand.

He hummed against her, pulling a shudder through her whole body, her legs shaking over his shoulders.  Bucky sucked on her clit harshly, his fingers picking up in pace.  Y/N’s hips bucked against his face, and his arm still wrapped around her leg moved up to hold her down over her hips.  “Cum for me, Y/N,” he groaned.  

Y/N stiffened, her fingers nearly ripping at his hair as she slapped a hand over her mouth and moaned, cumming all over his fingers.  Bucky licked up everything he could, prolonging her orgasm for as long as possible as he lazily pumped his fingers in and out of her a while longer.  He finally came to a stop and pulled them out, sucking them into his mouth as he sat up and situated himself between her legs.  

“Fuck, Bubbas,” Y/N sighed.  “Holy shit…”

Bucky leaned down and kissed her, letting her taste the last remnants of herself on his lips.  “You did so good, pretty mama.  So good for me.”  He leaned back up and gripped his cock in his hand, stroking himself and then slapping his cock against her clit, making her jerk and moan.  “How do you want me, love?”

“Like this,” Y/N said, looking up at him pleadingly.  “Just this, please.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky smirked, running the tip of his cock through her slit.  “I’ll do whatever you want.  What does this pretty little pussy need?”  Y/N’s hips shook as he nudged her clit again.  “Does it need to be filled?”

“Yes!” she whimpered.

Bucky couldn’t wait any longer.  It had been too long, and after getting to taste her and have her at his mercy now, his cock was throbbing in need.  “Alright, pretty mama,” he said lowly.  He aimed himself at her entrance, then slowly started pushing in.  They both winced at the tightness and the stretch, and Bucky could tell she hadn’t been masturbating or doing anything to take care of herself for a long time.  “Fuck, love, so tight,” he hissed.  “Jesus, it’s been so long.  You haven’t done anything?  At all?”

Y/N shook her head, looking embarrassed.  “I was just…too tired.  Too busy.”

Bucky whimpered.  Not only had they taken advantage of Y/N and all she did for them, but she had given up taking care of herself in multiple ways to keep up with the demands of their family life.  He leaned down and started kissing and licking at her nipples, helping to stimulate her.  “I’m so sorry, pretty mama,” he murmured against her skin.  “You deserve the world, and I couldn’t give that to you–”

“No,” Y/N said, pulling his head up as he finally slid all the way in.  She kissed him sweetly, running her fingers through his hair.  “You’ve worked so hard for me, for all of us.  I was trying to help take on the rest.  But all I did was end up burning myself out.”

Bucky nuzzled his nose against her cheek, kissing her all over her face.  “I’m still sorry,” he murmured.  “Can you forgive me?”

Y/N’s chest shook on a sob as he rolled his hips into her.  “I forgive you,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

Bucky sighed as he held her close, continuing to kiss her everywhere he could reach.  “Thank you.  Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered back, not trusting his voice.  He licked and sucked at her neck as his hips picked up the pace, but still thrusting into her slowly.  He wanted to take his time, to feel her and indulge in her.  Y/N’s arms wrapped around his back, her nails scratching down his shoulder blades as he pushed into her as far as he could.  Her hot, panting breaths huffed over his neck and shoulder, her sweet little moans and whimpers tickling his ear, and he swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful in his life.  After a torturous amount of time for Bucky to hold off on his pleasure, he could feel her pussy flutter around him.  “Fuck, you gonna cum, pretty mama?  Yeah?  Cum all over my cock while I fill you up?”

Y/N shivered, nodding frantically as her hands moved down his back to his ass, her fingers digging into the cheeks of his ass and pulling him into her harder.  “Bubbas…Bubbas please.  Bucky…”

“You want it harder?” Bucky smirked, pulling away just enough to look at her, staying within inches of her face.  “You want me to fuck you hard, love?”

“Yes!” Y/N squeaked.  “Fuck me harder.  Faster!”

Bucky positioned himself slightly differently and held her tight.  “Whatever you want, mama,” he said, then started thrusting fast and hard into her.

Y/N gasped, her mouth falling open wide.  She hugged him tight again, trying to hold in any loud moans so they wouldn’t wake up the kids.  “Oh my god!” she loudly whispered.

“That’s it, Y/N, take it!  Show me you forgive me, love.  Show me you forgive me with your cum,” he grunted.

Y/N started shaking uncontrollably, then choked on a sharp gasp and stiffened under him.  Her head wrenched back and before she could scream Bucky kissed her hard, swallowing her noises as she came.  Her pussy clamped down impossibly hard on his cock, her cum drenching his hips and the sheets below, her nails digging into his back.  The mix of pain and pleasure spurred Bucky on as he fucked her through her orgasm then finally came deep inside her, pumping her full like he said he would, his own loud groan being covered by her kiss.

Y/N twitched from the rippling pleasure, and Bucky slowly broke the kiss, his lips grazing across her face and down her neck.  “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re amazing,” he whispered.  “Thank you for forgiving me.  Thank you, my pretty mama.  My love.  Shit…” he shuddered as her pussy fluttered around him with the aftershocks of her orgasm.  “You feel so good.  God, I love you.”

“I love you,” Y/N murmured, her hands softly rubbing his back, soothing out the scratches she caused.  “I love you Bubbas.  Love you…I’m so sorry–”

“I’m sorry, too,” Bucky said, kissing her lips.  “But we can work through it, right?  Together?”

She smiled at him.  “Yeah.  You and me against the world, right?”

He smiled at their little mantra they used to say to each other all the time.  “You and me against the world.”

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat @sagexsenorita @abaker74 @vunblr @doodle-with-rhyrhy