#whatever. i'm rambling. and mostly joking.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

still genuinely can't believe how folks were surprised that Lestat was acting like a villain in the show that was based on book series where the first book has Lestat as a villain. and then later Armand as a villain in the same book. Like, obviously they are going to be the season 1 and 2 villains. AND love interests, bc our boy Louis is screwy in the head and we love him for it.

[transmascutena]

i did not know tumblr had a tag limit until i made that post lmao. had to cut out some of what i wanted to say

[luvsavos]

pain is temporary shara brainrot is eternal

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Past the Cemetery Gates

I haven't written ak!red hood in a while so here he is! This was originally for a request but I read the ask wrong and didn't realize until it was too late cause I'm mostly running off cough medicine and coffee  CW: You get chased and harassed by some creeps, and then there's some possible murder ~6.2k words

Every Sunday at three in the afternoon, you have a routine. You walk to the train station, take the six train four stops north, and, if the weather is good, you'll walk exactly six blocks to get to Gotham Cemetery. (If the weather is bad, however, you're more inclined to wait for the three-thirty-five bus, which stops almost exactly in front of the old, iron gates that lead into the graveyard)

This is the routine you have followed for every week of your life since Jason Todd died, ripped from your side by a cruel twist of fate. They called it a disappearance, an accident, a runway, all things you knew it wasn't. But it was Dick, after months and months of begging for the truth, for crumbs of anything to help ease your grief, who called it for what it was. A murder. A life ended by the bloodstained hands of the Joker.

It became a fact that engraved itself to the very core of your soul. Jason Todd was murdered. Jason Todd was murdered, so every Sunday, you find yourself standing six feet above where he should lay resting, where he should be resting forever. But the coffin you helped bury is empty, devoid of anyone or anything to care if you appear on Sundays or not.

Even so, visiting him, visiting the headstone with his name, just feels like what you have to do. He was your best friend, your foundation, and no matter how many months or years pass, it doesn't change that he is at the core of who you became. Your jokes mirror his humor, your favorite color was his too, your room is still littered with trinkets that remind you of him. You still throw punches just the way he taught you.

You couldn't just move past Jason, it never felt right to even try. So when you do go see him– his grave– you tell him about your week. Scrub the marble rock and leave flowers while you ramble about whatever is going on in the world, share jokes, relive memories, spill secrets, all to the boy who can never answer again. 

This is what you do, rain or shine, whether the city is in havoc or in some semblance of peace, in a rare calm before the next storm of mayhem whatever rouge designs to inflict on the streets of Gotham. (You've missed this tradition only once. Only the week Batman was revealed as Bruce Wayne, only after Batman died, and you had another empty coffin to stand by as it was lowered into the dirt)

It's something you're so used to, a task you know like the back of your hand. Every other Sunday, you'll run into a family with flowers, the ones that stop at a pristine white headstone to tell their grandmother about how big her grandchildren are getting. Every third Sunday, the flowers and gifts you leave behind are cleaned up by the caretakers once you leave. Every Sunday, save one or two, you smile at the elderly woman who walks in with a coffee and newspaper in hand.

These are all things that you're used to, facts known in your soul. It's why you notice him. The man in the ball cap and hoodie that hovers two rows and seven headstones behind you. The one that's been standing there before you arrive, and stands there no matter how long you stay, for the past three Sundays you've been visiting Jason. 

It's not exactly wrong for him to be there. It's just new. Different. And ever since Bruce died– ever since Dick disappeared without a whisper– you've been on edge. The whole city has been, really, but you can't help but feel like there's still a price you have to pay. That your time is somehow up. That after years of knowing who Batman is– after losing Jason and being able to do nothing about it– you're going to face something. 

You think it might be karma. Or maybe it's retribution. But there's a score to settle with the universe–  with something or someone out there. After all, knowledge has never been free in Gotham, and the weight of being associated with Batman always comes with a cost. 

It's not like you were a hero, or even the slightest bit a vigilante, but it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that you cared for Jason, and that Jason was Robin, Batman's protege.

And with no heroes left in Gotham to exact revenge on, why wouldn't they look for the next best thing? Why wouldn't that eventually make you a target? 

The paranoia isn't exactly your notion, but Tim's last, frantic warning before he went dark. But his words ring true, you've seen how everyone who's ever even talked to Bruce Wayne has been put under a microscope but the media, the GCPD, the world. And even if they haven't gotten their claws into you, it's only a matter of time before they, or someone with a score to settle does.

(Tim wasn't even the only person to warn you to watch your back, The GCPD's very own commissioner mentioned his own hushed concerns at Bruce's funeral. You had thanked him, and tried not to think too hard about what Babs not being there meant)

It should scare you, but all you feel is a vague sense of resignation. You just hope, that if whatever's coming finally catches up to you, if the slow creeping dread and feelings of being watched catches up to you, you'll find your way back to Jason.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when a voice speaks lowly behind you, you jolt, scolding yourself for getting caught off guard. But then his words register, and you whirl around, fuming, "What did you say?"

The stranger jerks his head towards the gravestone– Jason's headstone– "He was a stupid kid."

"He was not–" You start to hiss, huffing up in defense of the boy that meant everything to you, before he cuts you off.

"He was. He got himself caught. Caused a lot of problems. Trusted the wrong people. Did everything wrong and for what," he scoffs.

Your glare hardens as you step forward, trying to see under the ballcap and hood drawn low over his face, "He helped people. You can't just come here and spew whatever you feel like–"

He cuts you off again with the sound of your name, almost a warning, almost a threat. "Why are you really here," He asks, and you feel a chill creep up your spine as he digs his fists further into his pockets.

"I– always come here," you settle on. You know Bruce would chastise you for giving away your routine, but you can't find it in yourself to care when he already knows your name, with your blood simmering beneath your skin. 

"It's a waste of time. There's no one here to care," he protests, lips curling into a sneer.

"I care," you mumble, the fight draining out of you. You know that, in a way, he's right. There's no body. No Jason. No reward or salvation in your weekly visits. But you come anyway. It's just what you do. 

He stares at you for a moment more, you assume if you could see under the shadow of his ball cap he would be scowling. He doesn't say anything more, just turns and leaves you to a silent headstone and an empty grave. 

You don't mean to stay as long as you do, after he leaves. But you linger among the marble and granite gravestones for a long time, lost in your own thoughts, the feeling that, even in death, you find new ways to fail Jason Todd. It's not a feeling that makes sense, but grief rarely is. 

It's not until you realize you've missed your usual train home, that you finally find your bearings, that you force yourself to smile and wave to someone that's not there. Never there. Never will be there. 

The walk to the train station is fine, if not a bit windy. The train ride is normal, if a little quieter than normal. But the problem comes as you step off the stairs of the subway and onto the streets, and a low whistle breaks the strange silence that's been cast over the city just as the sun begins to set. 

"Come join us, sweet cheeks," a voice drawls, stumbling and slurred as he trips over his feet and words, "You look like you need the company." Four equally drunk men follow him, grins leering as they take you in and lewdly gesture for you to come closer.

Dread settles in your stomach, far worse than it did when the stranger approached you in the cemetery. Night is falling, and everyone knows that there's no solace in the shadows anymore, no watchful eye in the dark to save you. You drop your gaze and start walking, steady, but quick as you ignore their groans of annoyance and agitation. 

"Hey, hey, where are ya going," one of the men calls after you, and their pace quickens to match yours, "No need to be all shy. We just wanna be friends."

Another of them snickers, "Oh, yeah, close friends."

A gust of wind blows through your clothes, and you suppress a shiver, every nerve on edge as you focus on putting on foot in front of the other. 

The teasing tone in the air shifts, and a rough hand grabs your shoulder, turning you around– you hadn't realized just how close they'd gotten. 

"Would ya look at that? Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Yer one of the Bat's little friends. Why don't ya tell us what it was like cuddling up to old Brucie, " he leers, grin wide and menacing. 

"Back off," you snap, fed with strangers who think they have a right to your past.

"Don't be such a killjoy," He huffs, half playful, half a real, honest threat, "Just give us a chance to get to know ya. We only wanna have some fun, is all." His hand starts to drop along your shoulder blade, and his voice goes vicious, "It'll be a good time, baby, promise." 

Instinct takes over before you can think better on it, and you aim a hook right for his chin. It's one of your better punches, one that sends him stumbling back into the arms of his drunken friends. 

Everything freezes, their gazes dart between you and the reeling man pushing himself back to his feet. There's a snarl on his face, a manic look in his eyes, and all it takes is for him to open his mouth and start hissing cusses at you for you to turn on your heel and run. 

It takes less time than you'd hope for them to realize you're running, even less for them to start following you. 

You're going to die, is what runs through your head as you duck around corners and rush through the darkening streets. You're going to die and they're going to hide your body and no one is ever going to find you and you're going to rot at the bottom of Gotham Harbor and you'll just be another statistic in the never ending plague crime that always seems to win.

Laughs and jeers sound behind you as you run, the sound of heavy feet hitting concrete follows you down the twists and turns of Gotham's alleyways. They're close, too close. You don't know how a group of drunken catcallers could be so fast, but they are. 

"Come back here," They snap at you, practically breathing down your neck. You can feel fingers brushing against your back, hear their taunts in your ears. But you just need to keep running, if you can make it to your building– make it to other people– 

A hand catches your arm painfully, cutting your thoughts short and throwing you to the ground. "Caught you," the man sneers, grabbing the back of your shirt to drag you in an isolated alley. The other four men follow behind, panting and jostling each other as snide grins fill their faces.

You kick, claw at the hands pulling you into the alley, but it only makes them laugh harder as he hoists you up to slam you into a wall. You wince, head spinning as you push and shove at his arms, but he hardly seems to notice as his friends creep closer, eager and excited. 

"Shouldn't have done that, there ain't anyone here to save ya" he grumbles, the air rancid with the smell of alcohol as he grabs at your jacket, "We coulda had a good time, but ya had to go be difficult and run the fun for–"

The weight is ripped off you in an instant, you barely have time to process the relief that floods your senses when you're jarred to stillness by the blood red bat that meets your eyes. There's not supposed to be any bats left in Gotham, but your mind is quick to supply the faint recollection of whispers you've heard of a new vigilante. Rumors made fact by the truth in front of you, Red Hood.

"You're dead," he says, even and tight, even though the modulator. He says it not to you, but to them, the men backing up wearily and uneasily. "You're all dead," he repeats, voice dropping as they exchange glances, not knowing what to make of him. 

You don't quite know what to make of him either. His fists are clenched, his muscles are tense, but the set of his shoulders is confident, self assured that he can deliver on his threats. He's steady and shaking all at once, and you have the distinct feeling he's shaking out of sheer rage, of holding back from whatever he's planning on doing. 

The air is heavy, you're practically holding your breath as you press back against the wall, unable to look away. They're afraid. You can't help but be too. Red Hood– hero or not– is dangerous. You can feel his anger vibrating against your skin, taste his vow to kill them in the air.

One of the men laughs, "You can't take all of us–" he starts, and the tension snaps, Red Hood snaps.

You know you should run. You know you should turn away, but you can't. You watch every punch that meets flesh, every splatter of blood that hits the concrete, every limb that twists in a way that it shouldn't. You hear every plea for mercy, every sickening crunch of bone, every gasp and wheeze for air. 

You witness it all, every time his boot comes down onto mangled limbs, every time his gloved hands drags back a man that tries to flee. He doesn't stop, doesn't offer a hint of compassion until the alley is silent, save for his heaving of his chest beneath his armor. 

Only then does he turn back to you. You regret not running while you had the chance. But even as your knees shake and you curse your frozen state, you have the feeling he would have followed you if you had run. 

He walks closer, your mind goes blank in fear, and he gently brushes his fingers over your cheek, observing the wetness that soaks into his gloves when he pulls his hand away. You didn't even realize you were crying.  

"Did they… hurt you," he asks, words short and clipped and not at all comforting. 

It takes all of your strength to will yourself into shaking your head. You're scratched up from being dragged, your head hurts from when it hit the wall, but telling him any of that? You're afraid of giving him any excuse to stay.

He studies you, judges you, and you do the same. His helmet glows eerily in the dim light of the alley, as red as the crimson bat on his back. He's not shaking anymore, but he doesn't seem calm either. You imagine he's still feeling the same adrenaline that's coursing through your veins. But you doubt he feels the same urge to get as far away from the situation as possible.

The silence drags on for too long, and you feel like you have to break it, get him to stop staring at you. Especially when it feels like he's picking you apart, like he knows exactly what's going on in your head. "Thank you," you settle on, words careful and quiet as you do your best to wipe the tears from your face.

He straightens out, a huff of a laugh filling your ears like he can't believe what he's hearing, "You're thanking me for killing them?"

"I'm thanking you for saving me," you correct, focusing your gaze on a random brick of the alley, doing your best to avoid looking at the carnage he laid waste behind him, to ignore the unnatural silence save for you and him. 

He hunches back into himself, and you can't help but feel uneasy that he's still here, like he's waiting for something. "You shouldn't be out here," he tells you.

You think that's obvious enough and you almost want to roll your eyes, but your knees are still shaking, and you can't find the strength to push off the wall yet. So you nod instead, hoping he'll leave you to figure it out alone, to have a moment where you can let it all wash over you and just break down. 

"I can take you home," he says, after another long moment of silence, voice flat without a hint of emotion to betray his true feelings. 

That grabs your attention, pulling you out a spiral you didn't even realize you were in, "No, it's–" you start. 

"You're scared of me," he cuts you off, demanding.

You think that this is obvious too. "Anyone would be," you admit reluctantly, and you hate that you feel like you're answering wrong, like he expects something different from you. 

You watch as his fists clench than unclench, and his head ducks like he's lost in thought, "Fine. You're scared. Be scared," he lifts his head again, tone almost accusing, "It doesn't change that it's not safe for you to stay here, or that I'm taking you home."

"I can get myself back–" you begin, pushing yourself off the wall as your heart rate spikes. The last thing you want is for him to know where you live, for you to get involved in anymore people that wear the symbol of the bat. But your protests count for nothing when pain shoots up from your ankle, making your knees buckle under your own weight.

You wince, expecting to hit the cold concrete, but it's warm, leather covered arms that catch you instead, cradling you against sturdy armor. 

You freeze, you think he freezes too, until he exhales softly, tension draining from his body, "You said you weren't hurt."

"I didn't think I was," you mumble, almost embarrassed as you brace your hands unsurely against his arms trying to push yourself back up onto your uninjured foot. You roll your ankle slowly, wincing quietly at the pain that radiates when you move it. You must sprained it at some point, you realize.

Red Hood just holds you tighter when you try to move, silent as if he's weighing his options. "I'll carry you," he tells you, already maneuvering you to lift you into his arms.

It just makes you squirm, uneasy over this stranger, how easy this all seems to be for him, "I don't need to be carried."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a noise you can only hear because he's holding you so close, and says your name like he's trying to find all the patience in the world to deal with you, "You didn't used to mind being picked up."

Your world tilts on its axis and he lifts you into his arms like his words didn't change everything– like the fact that he knows you means nothing at all. You should be scared, should be terrified of him, but you just feel resigned. It was only a matter of time before the consequences of knowing Batman– knowing Robin– caught up to you. Really you're just surprised it didn't happen sooner.

But something about his words itches at your skin. It's not far-fetched for him to know your name. What is strange, what's wrong even, is that he thought you wouldn't mind being carried. Because you didn't used to.

"Why do you know that," you ask, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds.

He doesn't answer for a moment, just carries you through the dark twist and turns of Gotham's alleyways, "Lots of people know your name," he decides on telling you, once you start to squirm in his arms.

"That's not what I asked," you protest, but even as you press him for details, you're starting to get more concerned about where he's bringing you than why he knows your name.

"I keep track of all of Batman's associates," he says, voice more strained than truthful, even through the modulator of his helmet.

"Is that why you wear the bat," you prompt, curiosity making you speak before you can think on your words, "Did you know him?" Honestly, while you don't claim to know all of Bruce's vigilante friends, you'd like to think you would have known about someone like Red Hood. (and really you would feel safer if he was a friend of Bruce)

His grip shifts on you, the only indicator that he's uncomfortable with your line of questions, "It's a reminder."

You both ignore how he avoids your second question. Even if he saved you, you still haven't gotten comfortable with the vigilante that attacked those men with such ruthlessness and precision. You start to ask another question, torn between wanting to know what it's a reminder of and wanting to know where he's taking you, before he cuts you off.

"Do you always interrogate the people trying to help you," he sighs out, head tipping down as if he's trying to get a look at your face.

"Only when I don't know where they're taking me after," you snark out, with more bite than you probably should have. 

"I'm taking you home," he supplies, picking up his pace like he can't get rid of you fast enough.

"Whose home? My home? You know where I live," you rapid fire at him, throat tightening with panic.

He stumbles a little, a noise of alarm escapes the back of your throat, but he doesn't drop you.

"I– my home?" he tries, but you know it's a lie. He knows that you know he's lying, and his shoulders deflate a little when you start accusing him of it.

"You know where I live," you say slowly, voice sure and steady despite your fear.

"I know where lots of people live," he grumbles, and goes right back to his quickened walk, just shy of jogging and nearly jostling you in his arms.

"Is this some kind of revenge plot," you start, finality sinking into your bones, "Because if you're trying to get back at anyone– at Batman– I'm not gonna try to–"

He snorts, cutting off your words, and you note that it sounds unpracticed. His grip softness before he speaks again, "No, been there, done that. Didn't help. I really am just trying to get you home safe."

A part of you believes him, but a bigger part of you just wants to grab his helmet and rip it off his head. He's frustrating, and even as your apartment building comes into view, even as the ordeal comes towards an end, you find yourself wanting to know him. 

It's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain. He knows you. He knows– knew– Batman. And you want to know him, or at the least, how he's aware of all of it. 

"Who are you," you breathe out, the sound barely a whisper. It's the one question that's truly been plaguing you since he said you didn't used to mind being carried. You can count the people who knew that on one hand. And for him to say it so casually, to say it like he's experienced it first hand, you don't like what it implies. 

"Red Hood," he answers gruffly, voice clipped, "Do you think you can get up to your place by yourself?"

"No," you huff out, annoyance creeping into your face. In truth, you probably could limp your way up to your apartment, but you're not willing to let this go. Not when there's more to this– to him– than he's willing to share with you.

He stands still outside your building for a full thirty seconds before mumbling, "Fine," and carrying you inside. Neither of you try to start a conversation. You don't dig for answers when he presses the correct number for your floor in the elevator. You don't even get angry when he walks right to your door without asking for directions.

He starts to put you down, but even with the clear unease and tension in his body, he's still careful.

"Wait," you say quickly, "I need help wrapping my ankle."

"You know how to do that," Red Hood sighs out, annoyance clear as day in his voice.

"I forgot how," you lie. You know you're being stubborn, you know inviting him in is dangerous, but every part of you feels like you need answers from him. That knowing will solve something. 

His silence is enough to pick up on that fact that he doesn't believe you in the slightest. But he doesn't try to pull away or leave when you lean into him and unlock your door. He doesn't even seem upset when you look up at him expectantly when the door swings open, he just loops an arm around your waist and guides you to the couch.

"Where's your kit," he asks once you've settled and seated.

"Bathroom," you supply easily, and he turns and walks in that direction without another word. It unnerves you that he knows where it is without you needing to guide him, but you can't say you're surprised. 

He comes back with the first aid kit quickly, and kneels in front of you to carefully take off your shoe. Red Hood observes your ankle for a moment before he tugs off his gloves and starts to dig through your first aid kit for bandages.

It gives you a chance to observe him. His armor looks strong enough, but his jacket is full of rips and tears. His hood hides most of his helmet, but what you can see seems more technologically advanced than you expected. There's guns and knives strapped to his thighs and you think you see a grenade hooked to his waist. It all radiates danger.

You turn your attention to the rest of him. Even with the hunch in his shoulders, he's big. You think he might be as tall Bruce is– was. You get the distinct, strange feeling that you would like the color of his eyes. 

His voice breaks the silence as he starts to wrap your ankle with calloused, warm hands.

"What," you ask dumbly, so lost in studying him, in the feel of his steady hands ghosting over your skin, you've missed what his words were. 

"You should keep ice on it, about thirty minutes at a time. And elevate it until the swelling goes down," He repeats, movements practiced as he finishes tending to your injury, "You got that?"

You remember that well enough, Jason had more than his fair share of sprained ankles when you were growing up, but there's no point in sharing that when you're meant to be playing dumb. "Got it," you say confidently.

"Good," he murmurs, standing up faster than you expected, like he can't wait to get as far away from you as possible.

"Wait," you startle, grabbing his wrist, "You still never told me who you are."

"I never said I would," he half-growls at you, but he doesn't tear his arm away from your hold.

"What if I need to contact you," you counter, fingers tightening into the fabric of his jacket.

He lets out a heavy sigh, and for the first time he seems genuinely annoyed. Red Hood levels you with a glare you can feel even through his helmet and grits out, "Why would you need to contact me."

You almost drop your grip on him, feeling as uneasy as you did watching him beat your attackers, "Well– those men went after me– they knew who I was. That I knew Batman, I mean, Bruce. And if they can figure it out–"

"You don't have to worry about that," he tells you, voice softening at the nervousness you don't quite mean to show him, "I took care of it already."

That does get you to drop his wrist, "But there's more people out there than them. What if Two-Face decides I'm an easy target? Or Penguin gets out of jail. Or–"

He says name sternly, cutting off your rambling, "I took care of it already."

"You– what" you question, confusion and surprise spreading across your face.

"I took care of it," he repeats again, nothing but fierce, decisive truth in his voice, "Anyone who thought they could get to you. Anyone who wanted to use you because of your connection to– to them. I took care of it."

It stuns you, and half expect him to leave you to your shock. But he stands there waiting, patient as if he's ready and willing to face your fury or your understanding. "Why," is all you manage to ask.

"I owe you," he murmurs, like it's his greatest secret, "If it wasn't for me… If I hadn't– If we didn't–" he cuts himself off with a pained groan, "It doesn't matter. It's too dangerous for you to be involved in this."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and I'm already involved," you breathe out, feeling like you're at the edge of the abyss, "I might as well have a bat branded on me, you know."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you feel like with just one push, everything will change. You need to know. You need to know why he's gone out of his way to keep you safe, why he's offered you so much help, why his fingers lingered over your skin while he wrapped your ankle. 

His shoulders slump, defeated and drained, "I know. It'd be better if you just got out of the city."

"There's nowhere to go, even if there was, Batman has enemies everywhere," you say gently, shifting forward on the couch. "Please? I'm just– so tired of being in the dark." And it's the truth. You're exhausted by the radio silence from Dick and Tim and Barbara. You're sick of jumping at shadows, and you know it's not wrong to reach for something real– a raft in a storm. 

His head snaps up at your plea, and he lets out a low, almost inaudible curse, "You won't like the answer, sweetheart. They say ignorance is bliss."

"Ignorance is a curse," you counter, eyes meeting the blank red of his helmet in quiet defiance. 

"Just– don't freak out," he mumbles after a strained, heavy moment. You nod, and it takes a long, long minute for him to finally move. He reaches up, and the air disappears from your lungs. You expected him to tell you how he knew Batman, why he feels like he owes you, what he's been through to even want to care about your safety– not to reveal his identity. (Even if you had asked for it)

He removes his helmet, letting it hang loosely in his grip. And suddenly everything makes sense. Desperate, clear blue eyes stare right back at you. Red Hood– Jason Todd– clenches and unclenches his fists gaze unwavering as he waits for your judgement. When you offer none but silence, he speaks, "Do you understand now? Do you get why I took care of it? Why I'll keep taking care of it?"

"Jason," you finally manage to choke out, not bothering to hide the way your vision blurs with tears, "They said– I thought– I thought you were dead."

He cringes slightly, a pained look that scrunches his nose the exact same way it did when you were kids, "Yeah."

"You're not dead," you gasp and you don't mean to cry in front of him again, but your tears spill freely as the entire night, every awful thing that's happened since you've lost him, crashes over you, "You're not dead."

That breaks something in him, and he's back on his knees before you, cradling your face and wiping your tears with his thumbs without you even really registering that he's moving, "Yeah," he repeats, like it's the only word he can find in his vocabulary to say.

You press your palms to the back of his hands, distraught and frantic to keep him there, "I missed you."

A myriad of emotions flick over his face, disbelief, hurt, guilt, and a few you don't quite catch before he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters your name with such pain you want to scream, "I'm not– what you remember. I'm not good. You saw first hand what I'm capable of."

"I don't care," you stumble out quickly, "If you hadn't been there– if you didn't save me they would have–"

Your voice trails off when his finger tighten for the briefest second against your face, and his eyes open, flashing with a darkness you don't recognize, "I wouldn't have let them. It won't happen." His voice is hard, firm with certainty, and if the rage simmering under his voice was directed at you, you think you would have run.

But it's Jason, and the anger disappears as quickly as it comes once he starts drying your tears again. You exhale shakily and lean into his touch, relief outweighing any nerves settling in your stomach, "I'm glad you're here."

His fingers still over your skin for a moment before his fingers continue their soothing pattern against your cheeks and under your eyes, "Me too," he says softly, like admitting it too loudly will break something. His gaze darts to the window, and your heart drops in your chest. 

"I don't want you to go," you plead, and before you think better of it, you push off the couch to bury your face in his throat, arms hooking around his neck like they're your last life line.

He stiffens, and you freeze. You messed up, you messed up and now he's going to hate you and he's going to leave and never come back and you're an awful person for even thinking he'd want to hug you and– and his arms come up to hug you back, crushing you to his chest. 

He runs his hand up and down your spine, soothing you the same way he used to, "I'm not going anywhere, unless you want me to. Okay?"

You nod into his shoulder, the tension draining from your body. He's warm. You have no idea how you didn't catch on to the fact that it was him sooner. He still smells the same– save the gun powder– and he's still as gentle as he's always been when he touches you. 

"I'm so sorry–" you choke out, pressing yourself as close as you can to him, wanting to hold him against you forever, to prove to yourself again and again that he really is alive.

"We don't have to do that," he murmurs, and you nearly melt when he presses a kiss to your temple, "We can save the apologies for later."

You find yourself nodding again, wanting to savor him, the moment, the feeling that for the first time in longer than you can remember, something like hope is blossoming in your chest. You giggle a little when an absurd thought crosses your mind, unable to stifle it.

"What is it," He– Jason– asks quietly. 

"I need something new to do on Sundays now," you say into his shoulder, a smile forming on your face, "I used to– it's not funny– but I'd visit your grave then and now you're not dead and now I–"

"Don't have to," he finishes for you, gentle and almost fond. 

You hum in agreement, even if it wasn't what you were going to say.

"We can do something," he offers, tucking you closer. 

The suggestion makes you feel like you're floating on air, and longing wells in your throat, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoes, and this time you do melt when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, "We'll make a tradition of it."

"I'd like that," you admit, shy to reveal how much that means to you.

Jason squeezes your waist in answer, voice as tender as yours, "Me too." 

Your smile grows wider despite yourself. You still have more questions that you can form right now, but Jason is rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. So, Red Hood can wait. Gotham can wait. Everything else can wait until you both start to stitch yourself back together in each other's arms. 

[tourturestarradio]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒✮

"𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐘𝐨𝐮!"

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Pairing: Monster trio! x reader!

Prompt: The gifts you give to the trio and the gifts they'd give you!

Warnings: just mostly fluff and fun

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

I feel like Luffy would treasure anything you gave him, like how he is with his hat

So he wouldn't mind whatever you got him and didn't understand why you got so stressed when it came to you getting him a gift

So on Christmas he was excited to see what you got him munching on gingerbread man

He absolutely SUCKS at getting someone a gift

He would think it a good gift and honestly you don't have the heart to tell him it's bad

Once you both exchanged gifts he had a bright gleam in his eye as he watched you open your gift

His grin grew much wider as you smiled at the small necklace he got you it had a little 'L' on it (Nami totally didn't throw away his gift and switch it out)

He hurried and unwrapped his gift his grin dropping as he sees a framed picture of him and his brothers, and two necklaces one with your first initial and the other one with the initials 'ASL'

You were worried you may have made him upset but when his arms wrapped around you tightly you smile as he tackled you into a hug, comedic tears running down his face

"Th-This is the best gift ever!" he shouted smushing his cheek against yours

Safe to say he liked your gift

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

I can't see Zoro as someone who gives thoughtful gifts, like at all...

He would "gift" whatever he found laying around

No joke he literally got you one of his weights put it in a lazily wrapped box and handed it over to you

It wasn't until AFTER Nami cracked her fist over his head that he started putting in more effort but ONLY for you

He would be stuck and would need help from Nami and Robin to get you a gift

But it wasn't of much help Nami spouting "get them something pretty! Or expensive!" and Robin stating "Get them something they like, or something with important meaning"

So he left the women figuring they wouldn't be of much help

And don't get me wrong he would know everything you liked and dislike

He heard alll your long rambles about what you enjoyed, what you hated, your favorite food, favorite drink everything and you would never know

Which is the only reason he was so stumped, he knew too much now he didn't know what to get at all so he bought literally everything he thought you would like hoping it would make you happy.

Now you on the other hand already knew what to get him, but luck wasn't really wasn't on your side as you made your way down to a shop in town but some petty thugs tried to rob you but you weren't fazed even in the slightest you just wanted to get back to the ship

But these guys really made it hard for you, they just kept pestering you, and it's not like you could do much because you left your weapon back on the ship

Zoro leaving a store, had spotted you being surrounded by some random men

He dropped the many boxes and bags seemingly appearing behind the men and cutting them down with ease

You smiled at him throwing your arms around his shoulders "my hero!"

Zoro pretended not to be fazed by your words but the small smile said otherwise

Later he showed you the gifts he got you but you sighed leaning on him "oh you're the best gift I could ask for" you said placing a little bow on his head

"So does that mean I can take all this stuff back?"

"No♡"

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

Tried to get you a ring.

I'm not kidding, he would be dead set on proposing to you, but when Robin said that'd be to much he dropped that plan, (he still kept the ring....just in case)

I could see him as someone who thinks too much about what to get you

It was very tiring for him so settled for something nice, something he was good at, cooking. Cooking like a little fancy dinner for the two of you

But that plan was also shot down when you trotted into the kitchen dressed in a cute Santa outfit while he was trying to cook

Coming up behind him, he knew you were there BUT he didn't know you were gonna touch him so he did a little when you wrapped your arms around his torso pressing your cheek again his back

He froze in his spot as if he had turned to stone, you peeked around him "Merry Christmas honey" you muttered sliding a box next to him, he could feel his heart rate increase as he heard your voice

Slowly turning to face you he knew he'd be blinded by your beauty but this! As soon as he laid eyes on you it was over

Falling back he kicked the bucket blood gushing from his nose

You only sighed at his antics as you went and got chopper

Upon waking up Sanji looked around "maybe it was just a dream..."

Oh but it wasn't looking to his right he saw a medium sized box on his nightstand

Placing it in his lap he saw a little note on top that read 'Hope you like love you!'

He smiled at the note and set it aside opening the box he was stunned on top there was a heart shaped locket, opening it it was a picture of you and him his smile grew bigger as he looked through the rest of the box, it was filled with memories of you and him mostly different photos

One stood out though, it was a picture of you and him, you were hugging his side and kissing his cheek as his face was beat red

Holding the picture close to his chest he smiled

You really were his one true love.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

A/n: I'm so mad I couldn't put this out on Christmas RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh

[cupidsworstcrime]

Aromantic!Jason Todd x Reader - life partners

sweet fluff , gets suggestive towards the end

Jason sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees like he’s about to confess to a murder. You can tell he’s been working up to something—he’s been weird all week. Not bad weird, just... Jason weird. Overthinking. Avoiding eye contact during quiet moments. Spending more time on rooftops than in your shared space. Now he’s finally here, fidgeting like a ticking bomb.

“I, uh… I need to tell you something,” he starts, voice low, eyes fixed on the floor.

You tilt your head, giving him your full attention.

“I’m… I’m not really—fuck, I'm not feeling 'love' with you—not with anyone,” he says, stumbling over the word like it’s broken glass in his mouth. “I thought maybe it would change, y’know? Like, that it would just happen eventually. That I’d feel it the way other people do. But I don’t. And I’ve been trying to be what you might want, and that’s not fair to you. I should’ve said something sooner. I’m so sorry.”

You blink at him, stunned not by the confession itself but by how hard he’s being on himself. You lean forward and gently bump your shoulder against his. “So… what I’m hearing is that my hot, badass vigilante boyfriend is turning into my hot, badass vigilante platonic life partner?” It's mostly a joke, but partially serious.

He lets out a startled, breathy laugh. “Wait, what?”

You grin. “Jay, I love you. However that love fits for us—romantic, platonic, whatever—I’m here. You still cuddle the hell out of me. You still listen when I ramble. You make my tea right and threaten to shoot at people who look at me wrong. That’s better than most relationships I’ve seen.”

Jason finally looks at you. Really looks at you. There’s something soft in his expression, something unguarded, like you just took a weight off his ribs. “…I’d like that a lot,” he murmurs. “Being your platonic life partner.”

You nudge his knee. “Perfect. Now come be the big spoon. It’s legally required.”

He chuckles, curling up beside you on the bed, arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. “Legally binding,” he mutters, and you feel his smile against your shoulder.

No hearts and flowers. Just you, him, and the kind of love that doesn’t need labels to feel real.

It’s late. You’re both in bed—lights off, blankets pulled up, Jason’s arm casually draped across your waist like always. The TV’s still playing something neither of you are really watching, just background noise to your quiet routine.

You stretch, sighing into your pillow. “Someone flirted with me at work today.”

Jason hums, not moving much except for the lazy curl of his fingers against your side. “Yeah? Were they hot?”

You snort. “Not really. And besides, once they find out it’d be the three of us in bed, it’d be a disaster.”

That gets him to move—his head lifts slightly, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. “Oh yeah. Can’t risk someone getting between our highly structured spooning hierarchy.”

You roll over to face him, grinning. “Exactly. They’d probably try to snuggle in the middle. Total chaos.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, forehead resting against yours. “And I refuse to give up being the big spoon. I have seniority.”

“By, like, a few months,” you tease.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve staked my claim.”

You laugh, shifting closer until your legs tangle and his hand settles comfortably on your back. There’s no heat behind it—just warmth. Familiarity. Comfort.

He whispers, “No one else gets this. Not like we do.”

You close your eyes, smiling. “Exactly.”

And just like that, the flirting coworker, the rest of the world—it all fades into the background. It’s just you and Jason. Roommates. Partners. Lifelong cuddlers.

You’re sitting on the couch, sharing a bag of chips and watching a movie that’s more noise than entertainment, when Jason gets weirdly quiet.

Not his usual quiet, the brooding because he’s overthinking the world quiet. This is different. Fidgety. He keeps adjusting his position, tapping his fingers against his thigh, like he’s trying to work up the nerve to jump off a building.

You glance over. “You good?”

He freezes, like you caught him doing something illegal. “…Yeah. I just. Uh.”

And then he pulls something out of his hoodie pocket.

It’s a ring. No box, no speech. Just a simple silver band he’s obviously been carrying around for a while. Your heart skips a beat as he shoves it toward you with the grace of a man handing over a receipt.

“It’s okay if you say no,” he blurts, eyes locked on the ring and not your face. “I know it’s not, like… a normal proposal or whatever. And it’d be different. We’re different. But I just… care about you. A lot. And I want—” He swallows. “I want to keep doing this. For the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”

Your chest feels like it’s both melting and about to burst. You blink at him, then at the ring, then back at him.

“Jason.”

He finally looks up, and god, he looks nervous. Like he fully expects you to run out the door.

You take the ring gently from his hand, then smile—soft, warm, real.

“Of course I’ll marry you, dumbass.”

His whole body deflates with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and the laugh that escapes him is so full of relief it’s almost a wheeze. “Seriously?”

You nod. “Seriously.”

He grins, all awkward and lopsided. “Okay. Cool. Good. Um… Do I put it on you now or…?”

You offer your hand. “Let’s try the traditional part, at least.”

The ring slips onto your finger a little crooked, his hands still shaking slightly. But it fits. It’s perfect.

So is he.

The ceremony is small—just how the two of you wanted it. A tucked-away garden, sunlight trickling through leaves, chairs filled with the people who matter most. Jason’s siblings linger near the back, trying to look casual in suits. Your friends smile with quiet joy, tissues already in hand. Roy is fanning his imaginary tears dramatically.

Jason stands across from you, dressed neat but still Jason—tie slightly crooked, hair wind-tousled, and eyes locked on you like you’re the only real thing in the world.

When it’s his turn to speak, he clears his throat, shifting awkwardly with the paper in his hand, then glances at it... and folds it up instead.

“I tried writing this down,” he begins, voice a little shaky but steadying with each word, “but nothing I wrote sounded like me. Or like us.”

A pause. You smile, encouraging.

“I used to think marriage meant… being something I’m not. That I’d have to change. That someone would want more from me than I could give.” He exhales slowly, glancing down and then back up, meeting your eyes. “But you never asked me to be anyone else. You didn’t try to fix me. You just saw me.”

He swallows hard, blinking fast.

“You’ve accepted me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. You’ve loved me in ways I didn’t think I deserved. And you let me love you back, even if it’s not the way people expect. Even if it’s not romantic or flashy.”

He reaches out, takes your hands in his.

“You’re my best friend. You’re my safe place. You’re my home. And I love you—not in the way the world writes songs about, maybe—but in the way that still means forever.”

You feel tears prick your eyes. Not from sadness. Just the overwhelming warmth of being seen, chosen, kept.

Jason smiles—soft and vulnerable and just a little crooked. “So, yeah. I’m yours. If you’ll still have me.”

You squeeze his hand, voice full of emotion when you answer.

“Always.”

The officiant smiles, voice warm as they say, “You may now kiss the spouse.”

There’s a flicker of nervous laughter in the crowd, but Jason doesn’t move at first. He just looks at you—eyes soft, shining with something deeper than anyone else could understand.

Then he steps in, close enough that the world fades around you. He touches his forehead to yours, gentle and grounding, like he’s memorizing this moment. The hush of the garden is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He pulls back just enough to press a kiss to your cheek—tender, deliberate. A vow in itself.

The crowd claps, some smiling, some tearing up. But you’re only focused on him. The warmth of his hand in yours. The quiet, certain way he smiles like this is everything he’s ever needed.

And honestly? It is.

The reception winds down with laughter and cake crumbs, the soft echo of music still buzzing in your bones. When you finally make it back to the room—your room, now shared in every way that counts—Jason closes the door behind you with a quiet click, hands in his pockets, watching you with that thoughtful, slightly awkward expression he wears when he’s got too many thoughts and not enough exits.

You’re halfway through unpinning your hair when he clears his throat.

“I, uh… I was thinking,” he starts, voice low and a little stiff, “I know this wasn’t a… traditional wedding in a lot of ways. But I still wanted to give you a proper wedding night. If you wanted.”

You blink at him, caught between touched and amused. “Jay. You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, a little helpless, a little sheepish. “I know. I just—hell, I don’t know, I wanted to make it special or something. Even if it’s not all... fireworks and romance.”

You smile gently, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Being with you is already special. You don’t owe me anything just because we got married.”

He looks at you for a second—longer—and then, very dryly, very Jason, mutters, “Okay, but just because I’m not in love with you doesn’t mean you didn’t get me hard walking around in that wedding fit all night.”

You burst out laughing, nearly burying your face in his chest as he smirks down at you.

“I knew you kept staring at my ass during the reception.”

“I have photographic memory. It’s a crime not to.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him in close. He’s warm. Solid. Yours.

“Guess this means we’re consummating our weird little best friend marriage?”

Jason hums, leaning in to kiss your temple. “We can take it slow. Or fast. Whatever you want. Just… wanna be close to you tonight.”

You nod, heart full, and tug him toward the bed.

“Come be close, husband.”

He groans playfully. “God, that’s so weird.”

“And yet you’re still following me.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, climbing in after you, “you are ridiculously hot for my platonic life partner.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Todd.”

He grins against your neck, arms curling around you like always. Maybe not the way you imagined your wedding night. But exactly the way it was meant to be.

[snarkspawn]

tell us more about ur lucanismancer rook please!!!

Oooof well!! What do you want to know? :'D I always find it easier to answer specific questions than to just ramble on with only my jumbled meandering thoughts as a guide lol

So uhhh ... his name is Nazeeh and he's in his early 30s, I'm kind of still chewing on his backstory so I haven't really settled on anything concrete yet except that he's from MInrathous, probably, and before he was adopted by the Mercars he grew up as a slave/indentured servant in the household of a (Venatori) magister. He's very smart but not particularly educated (and whatever the opposite of a bookworm is). Generally speaking he's very laid back, honest and direct, although he prefers hiding truths in jokes that often don't land (terrible sense of humour). He does have a temper but it mostly shows when he perceives some kind of injustice, in which case he will fight tooth and nail to right whatever he feels is wrong. He also thinks he's charming but he's really not, he's just lucky he's cute lmao

I think he came into his magic rather late so his approach is very fists first, throw lightning bolts later haha he's also an incurable optimist and very annoying about it. Like he doesn't even think of failure as an option, if you fail it just means you have to get up and try again until it works. Which also means that he often doesn't stop to think things through but just blindly jumps ahead and runs into situations that could've easily been avoided if he had taken a moment to consider all the options. He's a do-er, definitely.

In terms of the game he's an orb and dagger mage (no specialisation, more a jack-of-all-trades/whatever-works kind of thing) and mostly purple with a bit of red here and there. His best friend is Davrin but he's very close with Emmrich and Bellara as well (the latter he kind of views as a little sister, especially after the whole Cyrian thing).

Anyway, here he is with his mullet down

[marvelstan0905]

"Trust me, you're not heavy"

Boyfriend!Kenji Sato X FEM!Chubby/Plus Size! Reader

TW : insecurities regarding weight/fluff/wholesome/stammering/picking up/angst/slightly new relationship/comparison/lewd joke at the end/not proofread yet/ mixed POV

-Hi. This is for comfort. Mostly for me,because I am on the thicker side and these are thoughts that have coursed through my mind. If you will be triggered please don't go beyond the line. I am a Female/AFAB so it will be with she/her pronouns! I'm still gonna write other scenarios with GN readers in mind! Thank you for the love and support😘

©all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

Today was a relaxing day. A chill day from all the chaos that both me and Kenji had been going through. We were relaxing together at Kenji's house. My legs laid on his lap as I sat across from him on the couch. We were watching a movie occasionally being on our phones. Kenji put down his phone and looked at me thoughtfully.

"Hey baby?" Kenji started hesitantly as he took my hand and gently put my phone down. I hummed and smiled giving him my attention. "Can I ask why you don't let me pick you up or sit in my lap?"

I froze. I expected the question but I didn't really expect the question so soon ant so abruptly. I looked away from Kenji, clearing my throat.

"W-What do you mean, baby?" I cleared my throat and withdraw my legs from his lap hugging my knees. Kenji's eyes softened in concern as he observed your tense and almost, hiding body language.

"Well..baby we've been dating for quite a while yet you've never sat in my lap or let me pick you up. If I try to pick you up, you squirm away and stiffen up...did I do something to make you uncomfortable?" Kenji spoke sincerely as he gently took ahold of my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. His beautiful mauve turquoise eyes held concern and guilt. I felt bad.

"N-No. Of course its not you, baby. It's me, really. I..I dont even know where to start really" I breathed with a nervous laughter. I played with his soft but calloused hands. Kenji felt relieved but it still didn't exactly explain why. He wouldn't pressure his girl to talk about it but they had great communication.

"Well you know,you can tell me anything. I'd never judge you. You're the perfect specimen to me" Kenji added with conviction and genuineness. I blushed and shook my head.

"I know that, my love. You'd never judge me. It's just..I'm not exactly small, you know? I don't weigh like 40kgs and stuff like that. Plus I've never really been lifted up or put my whole weight on someone, if that makes sense? Like for trustfall exercises at school, I never got a turn or piggy back rides. Stuff like that..I know it's stupid" I rambled whiles touching my head. I tugged on my sweater sleeves. Kenji's eyes softened and hardened at the same time, he was was quite upset people treated you that way. "Even if someone did volunteer they'd be huffing and puffing or straning. So I'd prefer if you didn't get a hernia or something like that picking me up"

"Welk to start baby, fuxk those people who treated you like that. I'd like their names and Instagram handles..Number 2. It doesn't matter that you don't weigh 40kgs or whatever. That's actually unhealthy but anyways. I don't care if you're not small. Just means there's more to touch and feel on" Kenji smirked whiles groping my pudgy love handles. I giggled and pushed his hands away causing him to chuckle.

"Babe. It's not stupid at all. Trust me, I won't get a hernia or huff or puff, okay? I'm an athlete, I play a sport which requires a great deal of strength. I probably lift weights heavier than you. Even if you weighed 6000lbs I'd glad pick you up and put you in my lap and arms"Kenji assured me whiles he pulled me closer and held my hands.

"I know it's scary but please trust me. I think you're the most beautiful girl ever. With all cute abundance as well. It means I get a marshmallow and extra softness to cuddle, okay?" Kenji smiled and stood up pulling us both to our feet. He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. "Can we try it? I promise I won't drop you or strain? I'm not fragile, my love. I won't break if I pick you up. Come on your dating the Ken Sato. Believe when I say you're not heavy at all"

Kenji was convincing but I was still anxious. I really didn't want to be embarrassing or scarred for life...again. I didn't want to witness my boyfriend struggle under my weight but then again, he was right. He did lift weights far heavier than me. His half alien self did have that extra strength and power. I looked up at him and Kenji gave me the puppy eyes and the pout. I groaned and sighed, he really did look like a kicked puppy. "Please princess of mine, please. Trust me?"

"Finnnne. I'm being serious, baby. I'm trusting you. J-Just a minute, okay?" I stammered anxiously. Kenji's smiled brightened up and without a second of hesitation, his large hands wrapped around my thick thighs and picked me up without a struggle or hassle. My instant reaction was to push him away and stiffened up, but I took a deep breath. Kenji wrapped my legs around his waist. His hands laid comfortably under my thighs. I looked at him expecting a tomato face or something but he seemed..fine. Genuinely content and happy as he rocked from side to side slowly.

" Look at that..I'm not huffing or puffing. Neither am I crumbling. See ,baby trust me. You're as light as a paperclip to me. I can toss you around like a ragdoll if I wanted" Kenji shrugged with a triumphant smirk as his hands climbed up and onto my rear. I flushed and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still a lot to get used to but I really liked this. It was nice."Feels good, huh? Plus you're all nice and close to me. I get to kiss you more too"

Kenji spoke softly whiles his lips peppered kisses all over my face. Small flustered giggles left my lips as I leaned into his affection.

"Guess I was too anxious. Thank you, baby. Means alot that you're patient like this. The reassurance means alot as well" I say softly whiles nuzzling my cheek against his cheek. Kenji hummed in satisfaction as well nuzzling against me as well.

"This is nothing, baby. I just wanted you close and for you to be more comfortable in your own skin. I love you so much. All of you. In and out, okay? In fact, I'd like to add to all that chubbiness. Just make you eat even more" Kenji murmured whiles kissing my cheek continously. I giggled and shook my head. We stood like this for a few minutes in a comfortable silence as we exchanged kisses and nuzzles. It was so nice and intimate. The once nervous and anxious air from before seemed to have dissipated as we cuddled in content.

"You know this means I can eat you out in the air now" Kenji murmured with his cheek restint against my head. I clicked my tongue, with a flustered gasp and gently pinched his chest. "Ow! What? Wishful thinking..you know? A little manhandling..come on you know you want to?"

"Kenji Sato!"

"Okay..Okay..I'm sorry..maybe we can try the butterfly position now-"

Thwack

"Ow!O-Okay. Okay. I'm sorry, babygirl. We can talk later hmm?"

[alottiegoingon]

golden rule

lucy maclean x gn!reader

summary: you become lucy's only friend in wasteland.

warnings: weapon usage/mentions, brief blood mention, wasteland and life outside the vault, lucy is naive and oblivious at first and a hot mess later, mostly just fluff, golden retriever lucy & black cat reader type of shit, kinda enemies/strangers to secret in lover with each other, reader is hot i wanna date them but also a loser if you see through them, no nsfw, not proofread

"just give it a thought, alright? we could help each other."

"why would i want you for a company? no offense, princess, but i don't associate with vault dwellers." you take a look at her from head to toes, studying the details in her jumper. despite how cool her pistol looked attached to her belt like that, the yellow and blue choice was kind of goofy, you thought.

you can see the excitement in her eyes disappearing as she hears you and you almost felt sorry for her. almost. "okay, ouch." she tilts her head, crossing her arms. in a second, her dramatic act gave place to a smug smile. "oh, i know! what if i help you to find the head?"

even your own bitterness left your soul as you hear her. you pause for a moment, searching for any sign of unseriousness in her face. maybe it was just a bad joke? but then, she keeps staring at you with those huge eyes and a not so subtle smile, proud of what she had said.

"i'm sorry, a head? you mean someone's head?" you frown. "i don't know what you vault people think of us but i'm not a monster." you weren't really offended, but seeing the panic in her face was actually princeless.

"what? no, no! i was just- everyone wants that head and i thought you-" she starts to ramble, not wanting to offend you. her beam went away as fast as it reached her face. you almost felt bad for her twice in a row now.

you couldn't hold yourself back anymore and allowed a smirk to creep onto your lips. she immediately stopped talking and, even though she exhaled relief, you knew that deep down she wanted to kill you but was too kind for that.

"oh. you were messing with me. funny." she gives you a forced dry laugh. it was actually annoying how she tried to be so nice all the time.

as a response, you give her a nonchalant wry smile. "anyway. i'm not looking for a dog right now, so..." you sigh, reaching for the heavy backpack on the floor and sliding it onto your shoulders. "but good luck with the head or whatever it means." you wink at the stranger and turn around to leave.

"wait! please." she grabs your wrist before you could take the first step and in response, you turn around again impatiently, glancing down at her tight grip on your skin. it takes her a while to realize that she's still holding you but as soon as she does, she immediately looks at your wrist as well and let go of it. "sorry." she whispers.

you were ready to interrupt her but, curiously, you felt bad when seeing how insanely desperate she was. it wouldn't hurt to just hear what the had to say, right?

"i've been having a rough week, okay? everyone i've met tried to kill me, except for you. a weird..." she pauses, thinking "robot, or whatever, tried to harvest my organs out and i had to cut someone's head off. and i may not be the strongest or the most experienced person but i can learn!" she was truly putting on her best show while you stood in front of her completely unbothered. at least, you liked to think that you were a complete fearless and tough person. "just... please?"

against all odds, you didn't deny it immediately. and, if you didn't deny it immediately, you knew what it meant. fuck, when did you become such a softie? it could be, of course, the way her hair looked pretty even in a messy ponytail or how the cut on her lip made her look so incredibly ho-

"okay, fine. whatever." that idiot creepy huge smile of hers spread on her face again before you could even finish. "listen up, i'm not done." you roll your eyes. "we'll do things my way, get it? you speak when i speak, you shoot when i shoot, you walk when i walk." you take steps closer to her while you talk. firm, hoarse and assertive tone. you stop when you feel the tip of her nose almost touching yours, keeping the steady the eye contact intact. you were so busy initimidating her that you don't even notice when she hold her breath.

"you are my shadow." you reach up for her face, cupping her chin with your thumb and index finger, forcing her to look back at you. "you don't exist unless i tell you to. do you understand me?" you stated with a piercing gaze.

you thought it was impossible for her eyes to get any bigger but when you step out of your scary platform, you notice her terrified expression. "okey dokey..." she nods frantically.

you gotta admit it. she didn't seem as goofy as before while paying attention to you so devotedly like that. even when still wearing that ridiculous jumper.

eventually, you realize that your eyes were betraying you by staring at her for a little too long. you clean your throat, trying to cover that up. "good. let's go now. we can't stay here forever." you step back and start to walk away, not even waiting for her to join you.

you hear her hasty footsteps getting closer as she tries to catch up to you until she finally shares your pace. "i'm lucy, by the way. lucy maclean." she held her head high, corners of her mouth going up again. god, she smiled a lot.

"good for you. i'm still gonna call you princess, though."

"not to brag, cause that would be impolite of me, but i found a really cool place when i was looking for a river this morning." lucy's smiling from ear to ear and excitedly rocking from side to side is the first thing you see when you open your eyes after a tough night of sleep.

a week had passed since you met lucy. no matter how tough you considered yourself to be, lucy was persistent, charming, sweet and funny enough to make her way to your heart and you knew that you were doomed. deep down, you were suspicious that she knew that as well.

"why are you always so happy?" you groan, rubbing your eyes. unlike lucy, you were not a morning person. or a night person. or any time of the day person.

"good morning to you too, sunshine!"

you are forced to get up, not being actually opposed to it, and take a short sip from your last water bottle. maybe taking a look at lucy's oh so great place would be useful.

"okay then. let's do it, princess." you use your hands to brush the remains of sand and dust out of your pants but lucy's cute giggle prevents you from heading out of the shelter you had found.

lucy approaches you with her usual polite and sweet grin and you unconsciously flinch as she stops just a few inches from you and touch you. predictable, she was gentle while brushing the top of your hair with her fingers, fixing the bundle of messy strands that merged together while you were sleeping and added a funny volume to your head. you follow every move of her with darting eyes and an uncontrollable urge to admire her green eyes focused on your hair and reddish parted lips.

"there you go. pretty as always." lucy coos and before withdrawing herself, her fingers slid down by a few inches and casually tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. for the first time in ages, you froze.

thankfully, lucy didn't seem to notice how affected you were by her innocent act. "thanks." you whispered in a ridiculously soft grin and followed her out of the shelter.

"why do you have a gun if you don't like using it? that's stupid." you tease lucy while you two walked side by side, following the train track to the place she had mentioned.

"i do use it. just when i have no other option. you know, because of the golden rule." she shrugs, proudly, proceeding to explain it to you.

you really tried to not care or call it dumb, but instead, you snorted in amusement. "you are way too naive, you know that?"

a dilapidated house.

lucy's incredible and cool place was nothing but a whole junk. everything was falling apart and, judging by how empty it was, many others were there before you.

"it looked cool from the outside..." she explains herself while scratching the back of her neck.

you were strong. firm. scary and ruthless even. you would shove a knife on anybody's throat if they wasted your time like that, especially after a terrible night of sleep. but, again, it wasn't anybody. it was her.

so, funny or not, you laughed.

"god, you are such a terrible explorer." you take a quick peek at her with the corner of your eyes, wearing an idiotic and foolish smirk on your lips.

"i am not!" her jaw drops and her voice sounds whinier as she defends herself but giggle along with you, not feeling scared to be vulnerable and fully stare at you.

you didn't have to answer to that. all you did was look back and forth at her and the house, proving your point.

"okay, you got me there." she looks down, dramatically pouting and pretending to feel so insulted. "but at least i made you smile. looks good on you." lucy's lips twitch in a shy grin.

"maybe i should smile more, then. if you like it." you boldly murmur, surprised at yourself for saying that. you could swear that lucy's face got almost entirely red but you didn't have enough time to appreciate it or figure if it was real.

"look at those cute lovebirds. love has returned to wasteland, gentlemen." a tall, sturdy middle-aged man mocks you to two other creepy looking guys. one was even missing an eye. in two seconds, you were able to count how many weapons they had and your first thought was the possibility of lucy getting hurt.

you quickly stood in front of her, shielding her from any kind of possible danger.

everthing happened too fast after that. all you remember is denying their offer to take your backpacks with the remains of food and water you had and all of your weapons.

everything went black for a second as your body hit the ground. you slowly manage to get on your knees and look around but lucy isn't there and you are trapped. you feel a sharp pain as you breathe in and a drop of blood hits your pants. you shudder at the moment you cautiously feel your cheek, warm to the touch and stinging like you were poked by a thousand needles. your fingertips carefully drop to your mouth and you hiss as you touch the wide cut on your swollen lower lip.

you notice the crisp click of the gun's trigger being released and you look up, expecting to see the weapon pointed at your head. instead, you see the men with their hands above their heads.

"get away from them!" lucy's voice fills your ears and you turn your head back to find her with a huge weapon in hands pointed at the strangers. she takes a quick glance at you and you see the anger inside her overflow as she notices your wounds.

"i'm gonna count to three and i want your ugly, filthy and miserable roaches out of my face or... or i'll shoot!" judging by her tone, you can easily notice how nervous she is even though she's trying her best to actually stand up for you.

and the thought of being protected by someone made your heart flutter. you weren't bothered by the aching pain in your lip when you found yourself proudly smiling at her.

the big guy seemed to notice the tension in her voice and took a step closer to you. you could only imagine how badly he had regretted that as soon as a loud bang echoed through the entire house and his foot was hanging by a thread, quite too literally.

"oh, golly..." lucy mutters with widen eyes. you follow her shock with a gasp that was completely muffled by the loud and agonized screech.

"don't make me repeat myself! all of you out, now!" she yells, threatening them by aiming the gun at them once more. "if that's okay with you, please." the scary expression in her face swiftly changed to a well-mannered and soft grin.

the injured men is rushedly dragged out by the other two, not looking back and you can not believe that someone as adorable looking as lucy was the one to broke her dear rule and hurt people.

"thank you! t-take care." she waves at them innocently, still with the gun in hands before running to you.

[salty-scars01]

Boyfriend Headcanons • Kn8 Boys

I WANT WHOLESOME FLUFFY STUFFS SO BAD BUT ALL I SEE IS SMUT so I've decided to write some more fluffy things so I can giggle at my writing later. And maybe cringe in a few days.

A/N: This is a bit of a long one

Characters: Kafka Hibino, Reno Ichikawa, Iharu Furuhashi, Aoi Kaguragi, Haruichi Izumo, Soshiro Hoshina, Gen Narumi

※ Kafka Hibino

On a scale of 1-10?

100000000

He gives 110% in any and all situations

Date nights? You bet

Kisses? Anywhere and everywhere

Gifts? Nothing expensive, but always ever so thoughtful

WET kisses (to the cheek) just to mess with you

He LOVES to make you laugh too

And he's full of dad jokes

KING of praise and compliments

Will not, cannot go a day without giving at least three compliments to you

Says "I love you" as many times as he possibly can, and even though he says it a lot, you can always tell he means it, even if it's just over text

He'd also pull out a chair for you at restaurants, even if it's McDonald's or something

He's not the jealous type, but he is a bit insecure about your relationship because he has no idea how someone like you could be into a geezer like him

He will absolutely hold your hand and be a clown about it

If you're walking around, he swings your hand and might even lift your arm up to let you hop off of a sidewalk curb if you're that type of person

Arguments and fights are not something he enjoys, so if a problem ever does arise, he'll never raise his voice, and he tries to calmly discuss the issue(s)

Freaking cuddle monster

Literally and figuratively

He would trust you to know about his Kaiju secret whether you're in or out of the defense force, but only once your relationship becomes serious

And that brings me back to my previous point; he'd absolutely love to cuddle in or out of his kaiju form

I like to think that since his kaiju skin is more like armor or scales, he finds the comfort of your soft skin against his full-bodied hardness

He's also willing to go full kaiju-mode to protect you if you're ever in danger

※ Reno Ichikawa

He's so sweet omg

He's not always shy in your relationship

Not too clingy either

When you start dating, he's more hesitant to do anything in public; holding your hand, any sort of kisses, even simple touches are nerve wracking for him, just because he's not too sure of himself, or if he'd be crossing any boundaries

Once your relationship becomes serious though, he's less reluctant to do things with you in public, but he'll always ask first

He definitely loves little date nights. Nothing too crazy

If you do go out to eat or something, he's the type to say something to the server staff if your order got messed up

A movie and some cuddling king of guy

He likes to bring you little things as gifts, saving the flowers for special occasions and random surprises

Things he likes to gift are things like trinkets, keychains, simple jewelry, even some small cute plushies he thinks you might like

Gods forbid if you're in danger, because he'd let the world freeze over before you ever got hurt and it's kinda hot

※ Iharu Furuhashi

Puppy love puppy love puppy love

Plus, he likes a little teasing

And he's loud. So loud... But it's endearing

He loves to shower you in compliments when you get a private moment, and he loves to make you blush and laugh, especially out in public

He's also the jealous type, but just a little

If someone is trying to hit you up or touch you, he just materializes by your side and puts his arms around your waist and yells something like, "They're taken!"

He dotes on you most of the time, doesn't matter if it's in public or in private, if you show any signs of discomfort or if you say anything as simple as "I'm thirsty," he'll go and immediately get you whatever it is you need

He's the kind of boyfriend to let you drink out of his bottle/cup just so he doesn't have to leave you by yourself

He would also definitely talk your ear off from time to time, mostly ramblings about nothing

You can't convince me he doesn't have at least a sprinkle of ADHD

He's a clingy one, but as soon as you say you want your space, he's two feet away already

Lowkey an unhinged gentleman and respectful

Definitely a cuddle monster

But he bites too

He's not huge on gifts, but only because he's worried you won't like what he brings you

If you so much as mention wanting or liking something, he'll go and get it for you the next chance he gets

He doesn't like arguments as much as Kafka doesn't

He'd try to rationalize and calm you down before he discusses the issue

I like to think that he's more than a little insecure about his combat power, especially since he has to watch his comrades around him grow stronger by the day

If you're ever in danger, he wouldn't hesitate to reach you and do his best to protect you

The issue is I feel like he'd also be the type to sacrifice himself for you, as much as he hates the thought of leaving you alone, he'd rather see you safe then wind up with both of you dead

Happy thoughts...

I have a headcanon for him that if he gets a special weapon or power, it'd be fire themed to further push the "rivals" thing with Ichikawa and he'd probably yap about to you, telling you and Ichikawa that this just heats up their rivalry (no pun intended)

He'd get you a ring too just because he thinks it'd look good on your finger

※ Aoi Kaguragi

Lowkey kinda soft

But also, scary dog privileges

He may be a big boy, but he likes his quiet moments with you

He likes to listen to you talk while he just holds you

He'll nod along and hum here and there, but he makes sure to actively listen, even if he's so comfortable that he could fall asleep

And he every so often might whisper a compliment into your ear

Instead of itemized gifts, he'd bring you coffee or tea, or whatever your favorite food/drink is

That and things that can be of use to you

Being ex-military, he likes to bring you things that you would find useful

He's not a big fan of bringing chocolates and flowers, but he will if it's a special occasion

He likes cuddles, but more than that he likes holding you in his lap with his arms around you

He likes to make you feel warm and protected

He really likes to put his face in your hair too

Not a big date night guy, but he does especially love quality time

This man will shake heaven and earth to protect you

I also have a headcanon that if he gets a special power/weapon that it'll be earth/rock/stone themed

He's the type to carry you if you get injured

He probably also knows at least the basics of first aid as he is ex-military

※ Haruichi Izumo

He is a romantic

He does like his dates, but he won't go anywhere too fancy or expensive, just because he wants you to love him and not his family name or money

The same thing applies to gifts, he won't go out of his way to get anything expensive, but he keeps it thoughtful and simplistic

If you happen to want something badly enough that is on the high-priced side, he'd get that for you just to see you happy

He loves it when you use his first name when you tell him you love him because of this too. It makes him feel special because he is

He loves to give compliments too. From things as simple as, "That looks good on you," to "You make the world better just by being in it."

Can be kind of cheesy with it too

I can also see him reciting poems to you every once in a while, while curled up with you and his face buried in your neck or shoulder

He's the type to bring you a single red rose, or a whole bouquet, and bring new ones whenever yours start to wilt

I also like to think that he would love to stargaze but maybe I'm just projecting

He's also a little bit of a tease

Nothing like Hoshina would be though

He'd tease if he sees a blush, or you get flustered

He also likes to tease with kisses

He likes to go on little coffee or cafe outings

He wouldn't call them dates himself, but they kind of are

Whenever you do go out to something like a restaurant, he'd pull out your chair for you

He, as the others, would absolutely HUNT DOWN any kaiju that dare threaten you

But he'd play it off like "of course I did," afterwards

He's not super cuddly outright, but he'll always be open to it after a rough day or just if you ask

Though he does particularly like to lay his head on your shoulder

He likes the little touches, and doing things like laying in your lap or playing with your hair

※ Soshiro Hoshina

TEASE

In every sense of the word

Teases about everything

And he especially likes it if you can pick back at him

If you manage to fluster him, he's guaranteed to fall into the pit known as "Love" and he will NEVER be able to get out

Not that he wants to

He likes compliments, both giving and receiving, but especially receiving

Tell him that his muscles look good or that he's hot

Stroke his ego, I dare you

He's guaranteed to get you back

He probably wants to take you on dates, and by that, I mean hang around with you all day and maybe cuddle a little bit, but he's too swamped with work most of the time

He's also probably a little reluctant to make your relationship serious just because of the dangerous nature of his work, but he falls just a little bit harder if you still want to be together knowing the risks

Speaking of, he's a big risk taker

In the sense that he'll do things to test you. Everything from a kiss in front of his whole squad to jumping off of a twenty-story building with you in his arms to get away from a kaiju

Honestly, being with him is like being on the craziest roller coaster you've ever seen

He also can be soft

I like to think that he's a cuddler when he's sleepy

I wouldn't say he's necessarily touch-starved, but it's definitely comforting to be able to hold someone at night and have someone to come home to. Especially after particularly dangerous or long missions

He will literally never ever tell you, but you're his little slice of heaven. His sanctuary. His happiness

Danger be damned if you're in trouble. He'll take down a kaiju of any size if you couldn't defend yourself

Then this asshole would poke at you for it. "You really couldn't take that thing down?" While internally worrying about you

※ Gen Narumi

You may as well be dating a goblin

I mean, you signed up for it so you can't exactly complain

He's a gremlin, a creature, a thing, but he's a thing you love

Especially when he's gaming, and he turns to face you with his eyes wide and a handful of chips or junk food hanging from his lips

He reminds me of a lizard somehow

He'd be the type to offer you food only after he's put half of it in his mouth and give just the most shit-eating grin you've ever seen

And then he'd be kind of shocked and impressed if you actually take it out of his mouth

He might clean up his office a little bit for you too, a little bit

He doesn't exactly do dates, but he'd enjoy playing multiplayer games with you

He's also not super big on gifts, but I'd like to think that if you get into a serious relationship, he'd buy a second custom console controller and a second pair of switch controllers for you

I have literally no reason for this one, but he'd LOVE it if you told him his eyes were pretty

He'd fall head over heels with someone who either a) got flustered nearly every time he poked fun, or b) someone who could keep up with his rat antics

In battle, he has faith that you'll be able to help yourself, but he does keep an eye on you and doesn't stray too far if possible

If you end up biting off more than you can chew though, his gun-lance-sword thing will be the only warning you get before that kaiju is in a billion pieces before you

I feel like he'd also do a quick check up on you, like a chaste "You good?" and then bully you (affectionately) similarly to Hoshina

He's also not very cuddly, aside from holding you on his lap or letting you lay your head across his legs every now and then

He'd share a single person sleeping bag with you though

[toastytrusty]

ok i know I'm a few days late now BUT! full thoughts on hickey davechella.

his undiagnosed playlist is mostly instrumentals. could represent how disconnected he feels from reality, could represent him repressing his emotions/ignoring his issues/masking his true self/whatever. you get it

the non instrumentals on undiagnosed are really upsetting. was lowkey crying listening to Black Holes In The Sand. gives credence to the disconnected from reality theory

also Come Over. is the vibe self hatred, self pity, something else? lots of family issues certainly but we'll get to that later

I Would for You (on undiagnosed) is also on gibson's playlist. lol

The Sound of the End of Music (on undiagnosed) is a mash up of This is the End and The Sound of Music. This is the End was on tozer's playlist. lol

an undiagnosed hickey attatching himself to other people and mirroring them rather than developing his own sense of self? likely story. morphing how he thinks they are and what he thinks they like into something else entirely? even more likely

The Angel Gabriel on undiagnosed. just everything about that. why is he listening to christian hymns. i' m gonna freak out

the songs on undiagnosed that can only be described as Weird Noises. Shell Cameo, which is a single piano with? shower noises? in the background? Weather Three immediately after that, which is just. 12 minutes of doom sirens. he likes weird noises

Glory Only Once also very similar. anyone else hear the ominous whistling? 😂

so many orchestral pieces. what a cultured young lad

Vexations: Vexations: Thème being almost complete silence. kind of similar to the instrumentals possibly representing a disconnect from reality. there's just nothing

The Unanswered Question has a lot to unpack. i don't wanna ramble Too much about music history and the significance of this song but. it is a piece in conflict with itself, asking itself questions and leaving itself unsatisfied. it's about the inherent terrifying disorder of existence. it's about finding comfort in solitude and silence. you ever think

Don't Smoke in Bed. just. everything about that song. yeah

now on the treatment playlist. his music taste fucking rocks. we got ella fitzgerald we got father john misty we got jeff buckley we got the beatles we got peter gabriel we got bruce springsteen. he is cooking

first song on treatment, What Do You Think Will Happen Now? feels like affirmations and something he's trying to convince himself of rather than something he yet believes. prefacing the playlist with a new positive worldview, representing his journey with getting treatment? perhaps?

he immediately has more weird noises on treatment. Hocket for Two Voices: I.— is very short and i am sure there is lovely musical theory behind it that i am not smart enough to comprehend but it is kinda just weird noises to the untrained ear. A Boy Called Conjuror is also like this. a love of weird noises transcends therapy!

I'm 89 falls into a similar category. he just listens to people talk. he is clearly still quite lonely

there is still a good amount of instrumentals on treatment, but the vibe is Decidedly different. big Maybe It's All Going To Be Okay energy. Forever Held made me cry the first time i heard it

most of the songs are not instrumental though! very lyrical. something about him approaching and processing his issues.

the songs about love on treatment. All The Right Reasons is very deeply moving Made me cry a bit. Love Love Love actually made me take my headphones off stand up and walk across my room but maybe i'm just too mountain goats pilled

side note for that: the song called Love on undiagnosed is an instrumental. love was something abstract and impossible to define or put into words before, but now it feels a lot more real.

It's Only A Paper Moon was very moving. he just needed someone to believe in him

Because the Night. i laughed. even treated modern hickey yearns for cannibalism as a metaphor for love. i'm joking. mostly

we still got christian themes in treatment! they are, however, less overt. like it's become a part of something else and can peacefully exist alongside him, rather than being so blatant and forceful. the jeff buckleys, father john misty (kinda.), etc

SPEAKING OF THE JEFF BUCKLEYS AND THE FATHER JOHN MISTY. New Year's Prayer is a heavy hitter. it's hard to pin down the exact vibes but it's somewhere between coping and accepting. if you get it. and Bored in the USA is one of the most reminscent of show hickey's pysche, imo. it's steeped in fear and regret and a resigned kind of hope

in line with the religion stuff. the orchestral piece, Gnossienne: No. 3, references gnosticism, a religious doctrine that supposes divinity can only be found in rejecting the material world (because it is evil) and the god that created it (because it is evil), and instead finding salvation in some secret hidden being through a different kind of spirituality. lol

Nobody's Fault but My Own is kind of heartbreaking honestly. it shows how much he Is healing and Is processing and Is taking accountability and changing the way he views the world. one of the most impactful imo

Kansas City felt very reminscent of show hickey's relationship with london

Mercy Street. so much to unpack. the daddy issues. the remorse. the begging for forgiveness.

even more family issues because the last song on the treatment playlist is My Father's House. it felt kind of like an ultimate culmination of the thesis of treatment being him facing his issues and being forced to confront and process them. there's an element of being too late to right the wrongs of your past, but there's also the element of accepting that, and forgiving yourself

now. the radioheads on both albums. both second to last song on their respective playlist. How to Dissappear Completely on undiagnosed, How to Dissappear into Strings on treatment. the first one was kind of viscerally upsetting and felt very in line with how disconnected the entire undiagnosed playlist was, almost like he doesn't feel real. one of the few lyrical songs on a mostly instrumental playlist is about how much he's Not a part of the world around him. smth smth the only thing he can put into words is that he has no words. however, How to Dissappear into Strings is Not! lyrical! it is entirely instrumental, on an otherwise predominantly lyrical playlist. like he's not thinking about dissapearing anymore, or he can no longer put words to it. it's still there, some things can't be magically cured and made go away forever, but it's less, now.

aspects of both playlists being very similar, sharing sounds and themes and artists, felt very much like healing not being linear, and treatment not entirely changing who you are. it's clearly the same person behind each playlist, with different experiences shaping them differently, but the same nonetheless. it's really beautiful

and to close out, i just want to say how meaningful this whole experience with hickey's playlists was to me. it was genuinely so truly truly moving to witness a character that is clearly severely mentally ill be given the grace and opportunity to heal and overcome their struggles, rather than it being homogenized into the rest of them. so often characters like this are not treated with the same potential to overcome, and are condemned to just being Like That forever, as if their struggles are inseparable from their essence and something that defines them. they are wholly characterized by being quirky and insane and inconsolably evil. but that clearly was not how this was treated at all (and never how hickey has been treated by the show), and being able to witness hickey's journey across these two playlists was very cathartic to me, and i appreciate it. a lot.

[evilrobertsmith]

Intro Post ☆

post limit? no ❤️

last updated 04/27/25

About me:

im a minor so dont be weird

canadian

i can speak french but not perfectly

feel free to dm me or send me asks or tag me in stuff i love yapping

chronic reblogger + i post whatever random thoughts i have

i do use slurs im allowed to say and i have a bad habit of suicidal jokes and i probs swear a lot mostly habit so thats my bad im also lowk a freak so don't question some of the stuff i rb / post (on occasion)

i tend to like flirt w my friends so pls pls pls lmk if i make u uncomfy with that and also assume im not srs

@eroswmorals is my handsome wife

@b0ngobill @bongo-bill-s @alg3bra @johnny-son are our children (im forgetting one)

our wedding post if ur curious

Main Interests:

my chemical romance

btvs (on s3)

garfield

house md (finished s4)

Fav music:

tbh i listen to pretty much everything but here's some of my favs

artists/bands:

my chemical romance

the cure

the front bottoms

seen live:

lana del ray (2023)

brandon lake (2024) (at my moms request)

rend collective (also my mom) 2025

seeing MCR (this summer 2025)

genres:

Punk / Emo / Goth / Riot grrl / Ska / Midwest emo / Crunk / Indie / Rock / Folk

Tag System? / Blog specifics

queue runs from 12-6 am PST (if there's anything in there)

#killiez rambles - yapping tag

#asks!! - asks duh

i dont really have any other tags at the moment but i'm working on it (be patient guys i'll get there one day)

Other socials:

spotify

tiktok (evilrobertsmith)

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youtube (wolfmann.mp3)

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letterboxd (evilzoinks)

PLS PLS PLS ADD ME ON LETTERBOXD I NEED MOOTS

if we're friends feel free to ask for my discord or snap (im not on there that often though)

divider is from @chilumitos idk abt the rest

[harbingersecho]

RVB OC Week Day 1; Introduction AGENT ARIZONA _ "Guess you got me, Counselor. I peaked a decade ago and now I'm wasting my time running a daycare for miserable 20-somethings who're gonna get killed, crippled, or institutionalized in a year. [...] I've heard. But I'm forty-two, not twenty-two, and I don't need to be sold on a daydream. So... What, exactly, do you have to offer me?"

anyway, here's a more in-depth look at Ari for the rvb oc week ft. an old stuff from 2023 that I used for her on artfight and some new outfit/armor things for him. random thoughts/rambles + info under the cut for those interested --

Ari was born around 46-47 years before Blood Gulch and she was with Project Freelancer for around three years until it fell apart - originally he died in the MOI crash, but since Temple later on apparently 'imprisoned' her in the living armor room (and then THAT got retconned last year), I've kept his alive status more vague, Schödinger's cat style lol. (Timeline taken from the rvb guide book)

Anyway, small facts about him I guess; she was made Major/Battalion XO in her early thirties, she has a sister and 3 nieces/nephews that he sees once in a while, he's an inconsistent smoker, and she has a more southern(? if that's what it'd be called, I'm not American and it's not really like that Texan type so...) accent that she hides for several reasons. Also one of the few poor souls who finds Wyoming's knock knock jokes funny even if he pretends otherwise ...

Originally she was a LCDR but idk if PFL has navicom freelancers + tbh I based that position off of Mass Effect lol, so now he's an eq rank of O-4 but in the Marine Corps which I think PFL falls mostly under? Idk man. I think the background storyline still works tho so it's fine

In Project Freelancer, as one of the older and more experienced agents, he was often working as a team leader or a strategist of sorts which also aligns with her previous position - though now he's actually much more involved in the ops which she likes. His skillset is somewhat crowd control-esque (which includes tracking obv), combined with eliminating targets. (I have like a "guide" on how she should be played if he was in a hero shooter/moba/whatever but this is waaay too long already, you get the concept)

The armor design (halo5 ver) is largery taken from the Freelancer presumed to be Arizona in Battlescars - a Tracer helmet with an Achilles armor. Since rvb doesn't exactly follow Halo lore, I'm imagining this to mean it's largely "functions" as a Tracer armor, i.e. tactical and tracking focused, though maybe she was considered for Omega before Tex got him (since Achilles apparently comes with an aggressive AI in Halo lore but PFL only had Alpha + the fragments and Ari never received an AI). As a Major/XO, she wore the Halo Reach Commando helmet

I didn't draw them here but I do also have other 'versions' for her armor dependant on the game (like 'realistically' he couldn't wear this armor in Halo 3 etc) but idk if it's like. That important or whatever and I'm not like an expert on Halo armor lol (tho if you have opinions on if the H3 helmet should be Security, 'basic' or ODST etc or if you have info/ideas abt Halo armor in RVB in general do LMK <3)

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Hi Rae!! Congrats so much on the 1.5k!! Been a longtime fan of this blog and I'm always blown away by your works.

For the event can I ask for domestic life/married life headcannons? Or just hear you yap on how Jason and Arkham Knight Jason act in those situations? I personally think Jason would act as a doting, head over heels almost worshipping his darling spouse. Whereas Ak! Jason would kinda be the dark romance almost mafia archetype instead, but on the more quiet obsessive devotion and acts of service galore side with a dash of occasional bordering on if not yandere-ism because of his paranoia and being very overprotective but his spouse has a general idea of what their husband does.

Once again, congratulations and you deserve every follow and reblog and like.

- Rosa🧸🤎

Domestic Headcanons

Hi, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy!

Honestly, I could ramble about whether or not I think AK would ever get married, but it's not about that rn ~700 words

Jason

His favorite thing in the world is waking up next to you. Really, he doesn't think anything beats opening his eyes and seeing the morning sun glint off the metal bands around his and your ring finger. He'll ignore the growling in his stomach and the alarms about to go off for as long as he can, just for another moment to hold you in his arms, warm and tucked away from the world

Speaking of wedding rings, Jason is constantly twisting or fiddling with yours. It's mostly because he's just in awe that it's there, real and cool, and glittering on your finger. He likes to take the opportunity to tease you about buying a bigger rock, even if you tell him anything bigger would look ridiculous and just get you mugged. (He can handle a mugger– or five– so he doesn't think that should be an issue)

Nothing feels like a chore when he's doing it with you. Folding laundry to your favorite tv show, washing dishes while talking about everything and anything, making meals while your music fills the kitchen– he loves it all. Just being in your space, lingering in the mundane, day to day tasks feels special when he gets to see you smile and laugh at whatever joke he's made 

You share the same blanket when you're sitting on the couch, always. He made a point of buying the largest, softest one he could find in your favorite color, more or less for the excuse to have you close. Neither of you mind cuddling together, of course, but it's still an unspoken rule that if either of you comes to sit next to the other, you lift the blanket for them, even when you fight

Matching Fuzzy Socks for every occasion. Neither of you necessarily wear them out of the house, but when you're home and Gotham is cold, there are, in fact, heated debates and competitions over who gets to pick what set you're both going to wear that day. (Yes, his favorite pair are the Red Hood ones, and no, he doesn't think that says anything about his ego. They're just the fluffiest and therefore, the best) 

AK!Jason

The Arkham Knight comes from a crueler version of Gotham, but he is by no means cruel to you. There are nights where he's sharper, tensing at every noise and bump that sounds too close to your windows and doors, but it only serves to make him hold you closer, ever watchful for danger that could cause you harm– threats that would take you from him

He doesn't go out with you often, but he tries to make up for it in his own way. Public dates are rare, if they happen at all, but he doesn't hesitate to try and make you feel special when you do go out. Entire theaters are rented out in your name, museums and galleries are closed just so you can walk arm and arm through marbled halls without anyone else around 

When you're both together, he's always in your space, always finding an excuse to touch you. He only ever softens under your gaze, only ever feels at home when your hands hold his. He'll fixate on the ring you wear often. He likes pressing a kiss to the cold jewel that catches light so perfectly on your finger. It always feels so big, knowing you said yes, knowing you willingly tied yourself to him for eternity 

He constantly comes home with gifts– whether it be flowers, food, jewels, clothes, or trinkets– he rarely comes back empty handed. It's less out of a love language, but more out of a desire to show you he's worth being with. The Arkham Knight– before, during, and after he held the name– always has something to prove. But that doesn't mean the thanks you give, the kisses to his cheek and the smiles you offer, are any less special to him (or that his actions mean any less) 

He finds comfort in the long moments of silence. Don't get it wrong, he loves to listen to you talk, but there's something about just being in each other's presence without the need for words that soothes something fragmented deep in his soul. He likes to listen to you breathe, feel the rise and fall of your chest against him while he reads whatever book you're flipping through over your shoulder. Those are the only times he ever really feels peace anymore

[mxtantrights]

Sé que se puede, se puede amar

a/n: anddd he strikes again. when I said I was down bad for this man I really meant it. it's bad. anyways this isn't gonna be a two parter (I know I said that last time but this time I mean it!! mostly)

for the sake of this fic: Armando and Mike are still working on their relationship but they are close enough to have each other's phone numbers, Armando is out of prison, he didn't kill the chief, Armando is in some form of therapy.

also based on this song which I've had in my playlist forever.

Armando knows things about life. Like how to aim a gun to kill and how to aim a gun to send a warning. He knows the difference between a friend and an enemy. He knows that life isn't fair, that it's messy and takes no prisoners.

Of course in therapy he's learning to see the positives. He gets to wake up every day in a bed, under a roof, with food to eat and a family (of sorts) to talk to.

And all of those things do him just fine. He just feels like there should be more. Like there is something missing.

This is why, and the only reason why, he pulls out his phone and calls Mike. It takes three rings, and on the third Armando is ready to hand up and text him saying it was a butt dial. But Mike picks up.

They both greet each other. Mike asks how Armando is doing. Armando should say okay, or fine. But he doesn't really want to lie. So he tells the truth which is still a bit rare for him at this point in his life.

He tells Mike about this feeling he has in his chest. How quiet his apartment is and how boring it looks. How when he's done with work, he hangs out with the only co-worker he can stand and then shuffles home.

Mike jokes with Armando that he's missing a love life. Which Armando doesn't take seriously at all. He's a good looking man in Miami, he's not missing out on anything.

Then Mike tells him that there's a difference between whatever one-night stands he's had and the real thing. Mike goes on a tangent about his former ways and how he's glad he wrapped it up and fell in love with his now-wife.

They end the call joking around with each other, Mike tells him to stay out of trouble, and Armando tells him to not hold his breath.

But as Armando falls asleep that night, or tried to, Mike's words hit him. All the meaning less hook ups, hook-ups that he might've wanted to be more. He was searching for something and he didn't even know it.

-------

THREE WEEKS LATER

There are boxes in the hallway up to his apartment. It makes him do a double take. It made him highly suspicious but it's still something he's working on getting used to. Not exactly trusting other people out right but not thinking the worst without having evidence to do so.

Armando hears the elevator ding. He took the stairs up, because it was coming down from the forth floor. From his floor. Whoever it is could be his new neighbor.

He turns around, wanting to see who it is.

Seeing you isn't like how they describe it in the movies. It's not like he's instantly in love with you or something. This is real life, that's not how it works.

But he sees you, with a box in your hands. In a short sleeve pink shirt and a pair of jean overalls. And you come walking his way, with a smile on your face. And he doesn't smile at people. Never to be polite, never to ease tension or awkwardness.

He smiles when you stop just a foot in front of him.

"You must be my neighbor. I'm sorry for all the boxes." you say.

"Don't worry about it. Do you need help?" he asks.

He never offers to help people. But it just came tumbling out of his mouth before he could think any better. He didn't know you, he doesn't know if he can trust you, but here he is offering to move your stuff in.

You ramble about how he doesn't have to, but he just takes one of the boxes that line the hallway floor into his arms. You lead the way to the apartment across from his and key open the door.

When he puts down the box inside your apartment you offer him a bottle of water. He jokes that it was only box and there are a few more he wants to help you with before he can earn a water from you.

So as you head back down stairs to get more boxes, he moves the ones in the hallway inside your apartment. Most of them pretty heavy. He can see why you were just lining them up instead of bringing them in one by one.

The two of you talk friendly, which his also something he doesn't usually do. Armando? Friendly? Either he says nothing or he says something that would get him smacked. Or at least that's what his mother always said.

It takes about an hour and change to get all the boxes inside your apartment.

When you finally get the last one inside, you exhale in relief. Then you go over to the fridge which only has a carton of eggs, milk, a measly half opened package of bread and a case of hard seltzer. You offer him one now.

He takes it, leaning against the wall. None of your furniture is ready to sit on.

You talk casually about what you do for a living, why you moved to Miami, where home is, etc. He learns things about you then and wonders if this will be a one off.

He's the one to cut it short. Armando says he's got early hours tomorrow so he's going to go. Which isn't true per say. Yes he has work but he doesn't need to leave because of that. It's not like he's going to go to bed right at this moment.

But he also doesn't want to take up your time. You obviously have somethings to unpack. He doesn't want to keep you any longer. So the two of you say goodbye.

-

A MONTH LATER

He's starting to think he's weird. He's weird, he has to be, for noticing these things about you. Like what time you get up in the morning because he can smell your breakfast through his apartment. Or which days you happen to have off because he can smell your cleaning products.

He's weird. Definitely.

Mike said he has a crush.

Out of all the things Armando was expecting Mike to say, it wasn't that. He's a grown man! He doesn't have a crush on you! That's stupid. He likes running into you, and when you two have time to talk you do.

But he doesn't have your number. He hasn't been in your apartment since he helped you move in. And you've never stepped foot inside of his.

He doesn't have a crush on you. He doesn't really even know you.

Well he knows that you moved to Miami because of a better job opportunity and to be closer to your family. While you liked the east coast you didn't really think of staying there your whole life.

Okay he knows a little bit about you. But only what you've told him. It's not like what Mike said over the phone. There aren't little things he notices you do.

A knock comes from his door. Armando isn't expecting someone so at first he doesn't answer.

There's another knock. Then he can hear your voice calling out his name. He gets up from the couch quickly. Quicker that he likes.

He unlocks then opens the door.

There you stand, a case of coronas in your hand.

He notices right away that you look good. He always thought you were good looking but you look really good right now. You're in a little black dress, and your hair isn't in it's usual state.

Damn. He might have a crush on you.

"Had a bad date, wanted to hang out with someone that doesn't make me want to throw myself off a very tall building." you say.

He opens the door wider, and invites you in. And he feels like a dog for closing the door after you and taking in your full figure. He'll punish himself later, when you're gone.

You take a seat on his couch like you've been here before. You sit all comfortable like, against one of his pillows. You take out one of the glass bottles.

Armando thinks to himself he doesn't know where he put the bottle opener. But then he sees you take out your keys and bend the cap open. He laughs to himself.

He joints you on the couch. Taking a beer for himself and sitting across from you. He opens the bottle on the end of the coffee table. And you laugh at him.

"You know the date wasn't that bad." you speak.

Armando's eyebrows raise, "So what did it?"

"When he started talking about how he wants to get back into stocks. How he misses the rush and feeling like he's on top of the world." you answer.

Armando makes a face. He knows guys like that. Guys that wear the cleanest suits and do the 'finest' drugs. Only to be the worst men walking earth because of how they treat others as objects.

"What made you go out on the date with this loser anyways?" he asks.

You shrug your shoulders and take a swig of beer.

"Thought I would try the dating scene in Miami. I've been proven wrong." you reply honestly.

Armando takes you in for a moment. You were looking for something too. He doesn't know why that thought makes him a little bit happier than before. That you could possibly be in the same boat as him, looking for something a bit more.

You seem to notice him not answering so you wave your hand in his face. But he's not dozing off, he's looking right at you. So when your hand goes left to right his eyes follow your movements.

"I suppose you have no complaints in the dating department." you say.

Armando shrugs his shoulders this time, "I don't."

There's a silence. He watches your face scrunch in confusion. You're too smart. Armando has a way of answering sometimes that is truthful, if you read between the lines.

You're reading between the lines very quickly. Like you see through him.

"As in you don't have complaints, or you don't date?" you ask.

He chuckles and leans back into the couch.

"There are no complains because I don't date." he answers.

"Oh. Wow I just thought because you're good looking and you seem kind-"

"You think I'm good looking?" he cuts you off.

There's a smile on his face. The front row of his teeth showing. He's happy that you find him good looking. He's not saying anything is going to happen between the two of you. But the prospect of it seems, fun.

You laugh, "Of course I mean come on. That's like not even subjective, that's pure fact."

"Wow. Did you have a drink before this? You're bold tonight." he replies.

With that you take the glass bottle and raise it up to you lips. You finish off the beer and set the empty glass back down on the table to your side.

"Don't lie, you like it."

-

A WEEK LATER

He thinks you're doing this on purpose. Yes, when you showed up in that dress the other night that was an accident. A happy accident. But ever since then it's like you've been on his radar.

Just doing things that pique his interest. More than usual.

Like when you were re-painting your front door in that short sleeve and overall combo. He doesn't know what it was about that outfit but he'll never forget it.

Or that time when you asked if you could use his shower. Your was down. Which, he knew about because the landlord had said that whole line was down for the day. You came over in the cutest robe and all your shower products.

He's losing his mind. At least he thinks so.

Thats's the only reason why he's waiting up for you. He got home five minutes ago but he's leaning against his door and playing on his phone.

Because he's losing his mind over you.

He hears the elevator ding. He doesn't look up from his phone yet. Not yet.

"Armando?" you ask.

He looks up.

You've got a bit of a pout on your face. He can't help the smile on his face. You walk up to him, your feet shuffling against the hallway floor. Your bag is slung over your shoulder.

"Hey." he says.

"Are you locked out or something?" you ask him again.

He thinks, there's an idea. Should he though? It wouldn't be very honest of him. But he isn't really feeling like being honest will get his mind off you.

"Forgot my keys at work." he says.

You move over to your own door. He watches as you unlock it and open it wide, gesturing him inside. He peels himself off his door and walks into your apartment.

He feels you behind him, you close the door.

"If you want a drink you're shit outta luck. Forgot to get some this weekend." you say.

He chuckles, "That's alright. I'm just waiting for my coworker to drop my keys off."

"Oh yeah, how far out are they?"

Armando knows how to lie. He's been lying his whole life. Doing those jobs for his mother, being a part of the world he was in. Lying was like breathing. If you didn't do it, you didn't last an hour.

But remember he's losing his mind.

So he comes up with the only answer that he can think of.

He watches you take off your shoes and take a seat on the couch.

"An hour."

You tilt your head at his answer. He had said before that his job was only twenty minutes away. So of course an hour seems like an unreasonable answer.

"I thought-"

He cuts you off, "someone else closed up. so he has to come from his place, which is about twenty minutes in the other direction."

In his head that makes perfect sense. It's just confusing enough to not be pondered for too long. You nod your head, and shed the blazer off of your body.

He joins you on the couch, resting his bag on the floor. His bag which as his keys inside. He'll be sure to not kick it so you don't hear the jingle of the metal.

"How was your day?" you ask, an emphasis on your which means your day sucked.

If he couldn't already tell by the pout you had when you strolled off the elevator.

"Nothing new. But I think I wanna hear about what has you so stressed." he answers.

You sigh, "I'm just bring passed grunt work. I hate it. But I'm new so I can't really say no."

"You want me to come down there and knock some skulls?" he jokes.

You laugh.

"No, I promise. Thanks for the offer though Hercules." you tease.

You see, that right there. That right there is what gets him. You do these things, you say these things and he doesn't know if you possibly feel the same way he does.

You suddenly get up, heading for the kitchen. You do it with a smile. He watches you in pure amusement. He doesn't know why.

When you come back, you have two beers in your hand. It confuses him for a moment. You seem to be able to read his face.

"Well, I figure if I stopped lying, you would too." you say.

You put his beer on the coffee table in front of you. Then you open yours and take a sip. His eyebrows raise on his forehead.

"Okay. I have my keys." he says.

You nod, "So why were you waiting outside of your door?"

"I was waiting for you."

You sit up at that answer, "because..."

He lightly chuckles.

"Because I think I'm going crazy." he answers.

"Crazy about what?" you ask.

"Crazy about you."

You smile wildly, "You just made my day so much better."

-

THREE MONTHS LATER

Armando knows you have an affect on him. But he didn't notice quite the affect he has on you. How could he? He doesn't really put it together like that.

Yes, he knows you like him. You like teasing him. You like riling him up a bit. You also like hearing him talk. Whenever he decided to say more than four sentences you were always so ready to listen.

Which is why he didn't notice that affect he had on you when he said those words a few moments ago. You asked him to repeat it.

You're standing in between his legs as he sits on the couch. His hands are comforting you, rubbing up and down ont he back off your thighs. Your hands are around his neck.

"I said I want to go to bed with you." he repeats.

You look around the room. Which makes him laugh. Of course there is no one else around. Even if there were he would only be talking to you.

He brings you in by the waist, looking you right in the eyes.

"You heard me querida." he says softly.

You smile widely, "I know but I just can't believe you would say something like that. I mean you're making me melt."

He kisses your stomach though the button up shirt you're wearing. You run your hands through his short hair as he does.

He looks up at you.

It's been three months of dates, late night texts, and dropping by each other's places. He didn't think he'd get here. To this point in his life. Asking for something so mundane. To go to bed with you.

But right now that's all he wants.

After a long day of work, he just wants to change his clothes and have you sleeping next to him. He wants to see your nose twitch in your sleep like it usually does. During a movie night at his place you fell asleep and he saw it for the first time. Couldn't get it out of his mind for days.

"Do you have a change of clothes for me?" you ask quietly.

He nods his head, "I have everything. All you have to do is say yes."

You smile.

"Take me to bed, 'Mando."

He wastes no time. With no other words he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and carries you to his room. You latch onto him and nestle your face into the crook of his neck.

Armando wants to remember this feeling forever. It's not love. Not yet. It's the possibility of falling in love.

[prettybuck]

Can I ask for "I'm just so afraid." For buddietommy if it inspires anything pls and thanks 🫶🏼

Thank you for the prompt! I changed the wording up a bit, but I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

send me a buddie/bucktommy/buddietommy prompt

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"You love him."

In the space of a single second, and with three simple words, it feels like Buck's entire world crashes at his feet. The dish he's washing slips from his hands, clattering to the bottom of the sink as his blood runs cold. Gone is the levity that settled over his apartment from the moment Eddie walked through the door with two six packs and a wide grin.

He thought the dinner went well. Jokes were cracked, old stories were retold, and times were reminisced upon. Now, with Eddie out on the balcony talking to Chris on the phone and the weight of Tommy's eyes on him, Buck's mind spins with what could have given him away. There's nothing he did differently, as far as he can remember, but maybe that's the problem.

"Evan, hey."

Tommy is across the room in seconds, the warmth of his hand seeping through Buck's shirt as it settles over his back. He doesn't deserve the touch, the comfort, but he can't bring himself to refuse it either.

"Don't," he manages, bracing his trembling hands on either side of the sink.

"It's okay," Tommy says quietly, rubbing his back.

Buck swallows hard against the lump rising in his throat and the burn of tears in his eyes, but it does nothing to help.

"No, it's not," he says, shaking his head. "It's not."

"Look at me."

Tommy's hand finds his chin, giving him little choice but to turn his head. Those eyes he knows so well by now are filled with understanding that he hasn't earned by any means.

"Do you love me?"

The question catches him off guard, not because he doesn't know the answer but because it's only been a handful of months since their first kiss in this very kitchen. No one is supposed to ask that question, because no one in their right mind falls in love that quickly.

Then again, Buck's never done anything right. Why start now?

"Yes," he says, his voice barely above a whisper because he's already dug his grave and he might as well keep going at it.

But Tommy doesn't look upset by it. The corner of his mouth ticks up just slightly, and there's that sparkle in his eye that appears on rare occasions. Mostly when Buck is rambling on and on about whatever topic has caught his attention.

"And you love him?"

A tear slips down his cheek, and all he can do is nod.

And as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, the balcony door opens at that very moment and Eddie steps back inside with a wide grin on his face. Buck's heart aches at the sight, as he and Tommy both turn their heads to look. Weeks went by without a smile from Eddie, but Chris is opening up again and so is Eddie, in so many ways. And Buck is so proud of him for it, and he's absolutely terrified of stealing away that newfound lightness he sees in his best friend.

"Chris says hi," Eddie says lightly, carefully shutting the door behind him without quite looking at them yet. "He's been going on about this new game, can't wait to play it with–"

He cuts off just as his eyes fall on them, flitting from Buck to Tommy and back, his smile fading.

"What's going on?"

Buck clears his throat, shrugging off Tommy's hand and turning back to the sink.

"Nothing," he says dismissively, wiping the tears from his cheeks before he picks up the dish he dropped.

"Buck," Eddie says at the same time Tommy murmurs, "Evan."

"It's nothing," Buck repeats, scrubbing furiously at the plate.

He has no doubt that there's some kind of silent exchange of looks behind his back, but he tries not to think about it. He can still salvage this night, and maybe even his relationship with Tommy. Eddie doesn't know a thing, so nothing at all has to change. All he has to do is get past it.

It's nothing he hasn't done before.

"Listen to me," Tommy says, leaning against the counter with an unwavering stare fixed on the side of his head. "There's nothing wrong with anything you just said, okay?"

Buck can't help but scoff, placing the plate on his drying rack with more force than necessary and nearly knocking the entire thing off of the counter.

"Can someone clue me in?" Eddie asks, every bit as confused as he is worried.

"No," Buck says forcefully, shooting Tommy a warning look that is answered with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

He feels cornered, and there's nothing that he wants to do more than flee the scene. But his apartment is entirely too small for that, and he finds himself resenting the open floor plan that Ali talked him into all those years ago.

"You have nothing to be afraid of."

"Yes I do," Buck says, letting out a humorless laugh. "I have everything to be afraid of, so just... forget it, okay? Please?"

Tommy catches his arm before he can reach for another plate, and he's strong enough to resist Buck's effort to pull away. He guides Buck to face him, both hands cupping his cheeks.

"Trust me, baby," he says, warm and soothing. "I wouldn't lie to you. Not about anything but especially about this, okay?"

Buck's eyes flutter closed for just a moment, his faith in Tommy battling with the fear that's sinking deep claws into him.

Then he looks to Eddie.

Eddie, who has spent months finding himself and who came out the other side more settled in his skin than Buck has ever seen him. Eddie, who probably deserves better than Buck could ever give him. Eddie, who he loves so damn much it that sometimes it feels like it might destroy him.

It still could.

"Can I?" Eddie asks warily, gesturing to the distance between them.

Something about it hurts, because Eddie's never asked before. Half-convinced he's already fucked this up, Buck can only bring himself to nod. Slowly, as if approaching a spooked animal, Eddie rounds the kitchen island and stops just short of him and Tommy.

"You can tell me anything, Buck. You know that."

Shaking his head, Buck steps out of Tommy's arms and scrubs his hands over his stinging eyes.

"Not this."

"Yes this," Eddie counters, his voice sounding even closer now.

"I can't," Buck says helplessly, dropping his hands to look between them.

Tommy, who seems so unsurprised and so okay with this in a way Buck can't quite wrap his mind around. He admitted to being in love with another man in the same that he confessed his love to his boyfriend. Anyone else would be running for the hills right now, but Tommy is still there, for reasons beyond his comprehension.

Eddie, who has that familiar look in his eyes like he wants to take Buck in his arms and shake sense into him every bit as much as he wants to hold him close. There's no tension in his shoulders or unease in his gaze. He stares with open worry and at least a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue.

"Talk to me," Eddie says quietly, his arm lifting and his hand settling in that spot on Buck's shoulder.

As if he gravitates there, it's almost always where he lands. Just close enough for his thumb to brush Buck's collarbone in a touch that never fails to soothe him.

"I'm so afraid," Buck says, a hitch in his voice that betrays the depths of the fear he feels.

"Of what?" Eddie asks gently, tipping his head to the side, those warm, dark eyes wide and imploring.

"I'll ruin everything."

"What if you don't?" Tommy speaks up, stepping closer to them both. "What if you get everything you want?"

Buck can only blink, because how can that be possible? It's him they're talking about. He doesn't get to have any sort of happiness that lasts. He never has, not even when he was a kid. He's gotten so used to fucking things up and letting go of what he wants most, that the mere idea of getting to have this is something that never truly occurred to him.

"Stay with us, sweetheart."

He doesn't realize his mind has drifted until Eddie's voice brings him back. Buck's eyes snap to him as he tries to wrap his mind around what he just heard.

"Talk to me," Eddie repeats, nodding his head as if to confirm that yes, Buck heard exactly what he thought he did.

"I love you."

It's the easiest confession he's ever made, and yet the hardest three words he's ever spoken all at once. Eddie's eyes soften even more, if possible, and a smile pulls at his lips. A beautiful, bright, unrestrained smile that Buck will never, ever get tired of seeing. And... he put it there. Didn't he?

"Was that so hard?" Eddie says, a note of teasing in his voice.

Buck all but sobs out a laugh, tipping his head to the ceiling as relief sweeps over him and nearly brings him to his knees.

"Yes," he says honestly.

Eddie sighs, reaching up to brush a soft touch over his cheek.

"I know," he says, his eyes dropping to Buck's lips. "But the world isn't ending, and you didn't ruin anything."

"I didn't?"

Eddie shakes his head, his fingers slipping into Buck's hair as he steps in close.

"Not even close."

The words are all but breathed against his lips, and then Eddie is kissing him. It's tender and featherlight, and it's absolutely perfect. His eyes flutter open as Eddie draws away, just in time to see him glance at Tommy. Buck can't help how his heart drops, and he's almost afraid to look at his boyfriend too. But there's nothing but satisfaction in his gaze when he meets his eyes.

"You were right, Tommy," he says, pitching his voice differently as he sidles up close to them. "However should I thank you, Tommy?"

Eddie huffs out a laugh as Tommy's arm slides around Buck's waist, bringing them all closer than they've ever been.

Buck never wants it to end.

"This is... okay?" he asks warily.

"Evan, what did I say?" Tommy says, his other hand lifting to take hold of his chin in a gentle grip. "There's nothing wrong with wanting both of us, okay? I promise, you aren't the only one feeling it."

Buck's eyes grow slightly wider his eyes darting to Eddie.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Buck," Eddie says, a note of amusement in his voice. "What, I haven't been dropping enough hints?"

It only occurs to him then, that Eddie might have been doing exactly that. There's over a dozen instances in the last month alone that he can recall, and it leaves him open-mouthed and shocked.

"And you?" he asks, his attention shifting to Tommy.

"I love you," Tommy says easily, and without a beat of hesitation. "I don't feel the same about Eddie yet and, if I'm reading the room right, he doesn't either. But that being said, I can see myself getting there one day."

Eddie hums his agreement, his eyes dropping to absolutely one hundred percent check Tommy out. Slowly and salaciously, with clear want in his eyes that's returned a thousandfold in Tommy's.

"How did I not see this?" Buck blurts out, unable to help himself.

"Because you were too busy making yourself miserable over all that love you have to give, and you believe that you don't deserve to have exactly what you want," Eddie says, turning back to him. "Not that I can throw stones. A few months ago, I would've been running for the hills before I let myself have this."

Buck nods, because he knows it's true, about both of them.

"You do deserve this, by the way," Tommy says, and it's impossible to know exactly who he's talking to.

Not that it really matters.

"We're really doing this?" Buck asks, almost tempted to pinch himself to make sure he's not dreaming.

"I think so, if that's what you want." Eddie says.

He lets himself think about it, even if his immediate reaction is fuck yes.

"Will you call me 'sweetheart' again?" he asks.

Eddie grins and Tommy laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

"Anytime you want."

"All the time," Tommy says, his voice serious even as his eyes crinkle happily. "I'm just warning you, he's going to want it all the time."

Buck hums, leaning in to brush a kiss over Tommy's lips as he daringly grabs a handful of his ass, feeling more like himself now that everything is out in the open and he hasn't burned his entire world down.

"Not the only thing I want all the time," he says in a low voice.

"And this is why I need back-up," Tommy says, tapping his cheek lightly. "You're insatiable."

Buck smirks, looking to Eddie who is watching them with poorly hidden hunger in his eyes.

"You sure you're up for it, Diaz?" he asks, suddenly recalling another evening years ago, when he sauntered up to Eddie and challenged him with a hand on his own belt.

In hindsight, this really was a long time coming.

Eddie doesn't say anything, instead grabbing a fistful of his shirt as he draws him into a far less chaste kiss. It's all consuming, stealing away his breath and his bravado all at once, leaving him dizzy and panting for more by the time Eddie pulls away.

"I guess we'll see," he says, his voice cocky in a way that has Buck fighting his own temptation to jump him right there.

"Guess we will," Buck says with a grin, leaning into Tommy's chest as his hand slips into Eddie's.

And for once, he thinks he might just get to have everything he wants.