#sighs. i think it'd be good if i could have a reminder every time i think to seek comfort that just says ''you can't rely on them for that''

[spacebagfullofstars]

Evolution X-Men meeting Deadpool for the first time

An idea for the first episode Deadpool would appear in the show. It'd take place during early season 2. I don't have enough ideas to write the whole thing but here's the introduction

After the Brotherhood fled and the old warehouse was empty once more, the X-Men could finally focus on their unexpected guest. Through the darkness where he stood, they could see him sheathing his katanas and stretching his arms.

"Phiii-ew! Nothing like a good workout after a mind-numbingly boring sail home!" He said, rolling his neck and shoulders. "Warms my cold, unfeeling heart to see the streets just as crime-infested as I left them!"

After a second, the man stepped towards them and into the light. The younger members of the X-Men couldn't help, but gasp when he revealed himself to them.

The person who joined their fight was wearing a red and black costume that covered his whole body, including his face. Outside of the twin katanas on his back, he had two gun pouches attached to the sides of a multi-pocketed belt. His white eyes stared at them with unclear intent.

"You?!" While Kitty, Rogue and Kurt were intimidated by his presence, Scott and Jean stood their ground. They appeared to be more disgusted than afraid. Surprisingly, the man seemed to recognise them as well.

"Jeanie! Scottie! Long time no see! Come here and give uncle Deadpool a hug!" He said, spreading his arms. Before he ran at them, Jean used her powers to throw him into the air. His enthusiasm faltered.

"Cold. I guess you don't want all the radical gifts I bough you abroad!" He said, starting to levitate upside down. "Do kids these days still say it? Do they say 'radical'? I hate that word. I hope it'll die out quickly."

"You know this weirdo?" Kitty whispered to them.

"That's all you have to say about little ol' me?" Deadpool interrupted, then traced a line from his eye down his cheek. "You can't see it, but I just shed a sad tear. I thought we were friends."

"He calls himself Deadpool." Jean stated. "He used to break into the Institute regularly."

"We're not-"

"As (I'm pretty sure) my pop used to say, if you want something done right, do it yourself!" The mercenary clapped his hands, interrupting her again. He kicked his legs and pushed himself back up so he could face them properly.

"I go by many names! Deadpool is one, but some prefer to call me the Merc with the Mouth!" He stated, pointing his thumbs at himself. "The world-famous mercenary willing to do any kind of job for a good pay, weapon expert, master of all known fighting styles and three times Champion of Hot Dog Eating in West Virginia! This city used to belong to me, but the merc job is unforgiving and I had to leave it for like twenty years!"

"We haven't seen you in two years." Scott corrected.

"It felt like twenty to me, so it must've been! Now I come back and see that you X-Dorks grew in numbers!" Deadpool continued, then crossed his arms and looked away. "Not that I'm bitter, or anything. I can do so much better than your little rich kid houseclub anyway."

"... Wait, he was an X-Man?!" Rouge asked, baffled.

"Professor tried giving him a chance once." Jean sighed. "He almost blew up the mansion."

"Like that old thing doesn't blow up every other week, am I right, guys?" Deadpool snorted and rose his hand. Outside of the distance between them, no one was willing to give him a high five. He waited a few more seconds and then high fived himself.

"Is it bad that he kinda reminds me of Kurt when he has too much sugar?" Kitty snickered.

"Don't even joke like that!" Kurt didn't like that.

"The only difference is that Kurt isn't..." Scott began, then whistled and swirled his finger around the side of his head.

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'able to think outside the box', three eyes." Deadpool overheard them and air quoted. Without any warning, he disappeared in a small flash of energy.

"What the-?!" Kurt cried out as they all stepped back in surprise. After a second, the mercenary reappeared behind them.

"And who those adorable new faces might be?" His voice startled them all. "No, no, don't tell me! You look like Jessica," He said, pointing at surprised Kitty. "Your super power is shrinking. You look like Bridget and you love being different!" He pointed at Rogue, making her scoff at him. "And you look like Elvis! You have an eternal bad hair day!" He said, pointing at Kurt.

"What?" The blue boy squinted.

"Deadpool, stay away from them!" Scott warned, flashing his visor in readiness. "Whatever you came here for, you're not getting it from us!"

"Look at you all grown up and shouting orders like a boss man! Relax, kid, I have no quarrel with you today. I just wanted to catch up and meet new people! Speaking of..." Deadpool said, then reloaded his gun that he suddenly grabbed. Something darkened in his eyes. "Where's Wolverine?"

The other X-Men could see Jean and Scott getting tense. It seemed that despite their distate, they were scared of the man after all.

Suddenly, Deadpool seemed to hear something and his head perked up a bit. They could almost see a smirk forming on his face.

"Right on the clock." He mused. He spun his gun in his hand, then without any warning, whipped back and fired a single shot.

Wolverine had entered the warehouse and managed to sneak behind them. He quickly released his claws and slashed the bullet mid-air. Before other X-Men could stop him, Deadpool switched, pulled out his katanas and teleported again. He reappeared right in front of Logan and took a swing at him. His weapons and the mutant's claws clashed.

"Kurt, get everyone outta here!" The X-Man shouted. The boy nodded. The kids came closer and he teleported them away, leaving the two alone.

"I had a feelin' I smelled a rottin' brain somewhere!" Wolverine growled.

"You're the one to talk, dog-breath!" Deadpool retorted, trying to slash him again. Wolverine blocked him. "Dog, or bear, or some other animal that smells bad! I don't want to say badger, because I feel like I'd be beating a dead horse at this point-"

"I miss the silence already!" Logan said. He roared and tried to throw a punch.

Meanwhile, the group reappeared outside.

"What does this Deadpool guy want with Logan?!" Rouge couldn't help, but grow concerned.

"They have... history." Scott explained. "I'm pretty sure they hate each other."

"Like he and Sabertooth?" Kitty asked.

"Honestly? We have no idea." Jean admitted. "It's best to just stay out of the way and let Logan handle it. He always does."

As soon as she said that, they heard an explosion that made them jump. Suddenly, Wolverine fell out of a window with a trail of smoke following him. Deadpool jumped after him and skilfully landed on the ground. When he stood up, the kids saw that he was holding a bomb with his face painted on it.

"He has explosives?!" Kurt shouted, tugging his hair. Logan returned on his feet, smoke from the explosion still dancing on his body.

"I thought you were done takin' bounties on me!" He shouted.

"I am, but it's an emergency!" Deadpool said, throwing the bomb from hand to hand. "I need this money more than I need food and water!"

"A sellout through and through!" Wolverine said, then charged back. Deadpool let him get close, teleported, and then tried to throw a bomb at him from the distance. Logan kicked it right into the ocean and it exploded in the water.

The mercenary quickly switched back to his katanas and charged with full force at his opponent. There was a lot of slashing, dodging and rolling involved. Neither of them managed to reach each other for a good while. Finally, Wolverine used an opportunity to pin Deadpool to the ground with one arm behind his back.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" He cried. "That's foul play! You're disqualified for being a bad sport!"

"Cry me a river, Wilson." Logan tsked. "Whoever hired you must've not known that you always lose to me."

"Yeah. That might be true." The mercenary said, another almost visible smirk appearing on his face. Little did Wolverine know, his free arm was trying to reach for a hidden pocket in his costume. "By the way, don't think that I forgot to bring a souvenir or two for my bestest friend. Why don't you let me go so I can show it to you?"

"I ain't lettin' you go that easily, bub. You're gonna tell me exactly who sent you and what kinda money made you break your promise."

"Oh, I love to talk! Especially with you!" He quietly unzipped the pocket and reached inside. "But you know I can't talk about my employers. Merc 101. Buuuut, I can tell you all about the crazy places I've been to for the past two years! I learned like three different languages! Do you want me to say something in Chinese?"

"If you're tryin' to make me angry, it ain't gonna work. We've been doin' this song and dance long enough for me to know when you're lookin' for a distraction."

"Awww, you care about me enough to know my strategy! You so deserve that little treat I bought you!"

"Logan, look out!" Rouge shouted, but she was too late. Logan felt a sharp sting in his leg. He gasped and quickly pushed himself off Deadpool. He looked down and saw a dart sticking from his thigh. The X-Men were ready to intervene.

"Do not get involved!" Logan snarled, sensing their intent. His head was already beginning to spin.

"Yeah, you better listen to Papa Wolvie! This is between us adults!" Deadpool shouted, looking at them as well. The mutant suddenly fell to his knees, trying to fight whatever Deadpool injected into him, but it seemed stronger than his healing factor. His eyes started feeling heavy, and finally, he fell lifelessly on the ground.

"Logan!" The kids yelled. Jean was already floating whatever she could to throw at Deadpool.

"Don't worry, X-Kids! I promise to give him back as soon as I get my money! Follow your dreams and stay in school!" Deadpool gave them a peace sign before he kneeled in front of Wolverine and teleported away with him.

[mishkakagehishka]

My stomach hasn't stopped turrrrrning sbbsbsbssnsnsn

[pomefioredove]

if you're still taking requests for the event could i request floyd with "Maybe we should just kiss to break the tension" ? ty !

hehe ofc ofc!

summary: "maybe we should just kiss to break the tension" type of post: fic characters: floyd additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, pre book 3, kissing, yuu is very much canon yuu here lol a part of this event

Riddle's noble efforts to warn you about Floyd Leech had fallen on deaf ears.

"And stay out of trouble!" were his exact words, if you remembered correctly.

You'd almost scoffed.

You had already been at NRC for months; you'd fought monsters, solved mysteries, and come out of all of it in one piece.

You could handle a history of magic project.

Sure, this is your first mixed-year assignment; and yes, the project itself makes up a great portion of your semester grade...

...but if anyone had asked you, you'd say that a measly school presentation is nothing compared to what you've already been through.

"Remember not to play along with his antics; it only encourages him,"

Riddle had wasted no time lecturing you about your mysterious project partner the second his name left your lips.

You'd come to him to ask if he knew the guy, not his entire life story.

"Stay focused... and stay out of trouble!"

Trouble. Ha. Every second at NRC since you'd arrived had been trouble.

You walk into the library; like usual, it's mostly empty.

Floyd Leech, Floyd Leech... now, where would...?

"Hey, you!"

You turn on your heels to face the source of the shout; leaning against a bookshelf behind you is the tallest boy you've ever seen.

He even gives off the vague impression of towering over you, making you feel small regardless...

"Man, I almost didn't see 'ya, you're so tiny," he grins, baring a row of sharp teeth. "I'm gonna call you Shrimpy. Now, come onnn, I've been waiting forever!"

You're early. Before you can say as much, he grabs you by the forearm and drags you off to a table.

"Alright, Shrimpy," he says, taking a seat across from you. "What's on the docket for today?"

"Uhh..." you're still slightly dazed. He's got some energy, that's for sure.

Riddle's words flash through your mind.

"...Well, I was thinking we could find our material first, then outline..."

"Reading?" Floyd asks, slumping in his seat as if he'd just received terrible news.

You blink. "...Well, we're going to have to read a little,"

He groans, loudly. A few people in the library turn to stare before awkwardly shuffling away.

"...Nah, I'm not in the mood. Let me do 'somethin else,"

What had Riddle said yesterday? "He changes his mind at the drop of a hat. Arguing is no good,"

"...Okay," you say, tentatively reading his expression. "I'll start with the outline. Do you want to look for pictures instead?"

He's quiet, as if seriously considering the pros and cons of the offer, and then he shrugs.

You sigh. Riddle was just being overdramatic. This is fine!

Floyd becomes lost in his assigned job, leafing through an atlas in search of a map from the time period you're researching, leaving you to your reading.

It'd be an easier job with two people, but...

"You're real quiet, Shrimpy,"

You look up from your encyclopedia. He'd shoved the atlas aside, his eyes fixed on you instead.

You raise an eyebrow. "I'm reading...?"

"Aw. Don't tell me you're the serious type?" a loud, dramatic sigh follows. "I was hoping we could have some fun. I was really looking forward to meeting you and all..."

You have to remind yourself that you have a reputation here. Great...

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I'm a pretty boring person. Normal,"

Floyd's brow furrows. "Nah, I don't buy that. You wanna know what I think?"

You don't like this. The way he's looking at you, like he sees something you don't...

"...I think you only act normal 'cause you're afraid of being judged. You try way too hard to be a good student and stuff 'cause you wanna fit in here,"

Ouch. You blink, momentarily stunned to silence. He could tell all that just from watching you read?

"I'm just 'sayin," he gives you another sharp smile. "I wouldn't mind if you stopped acting all serious around me. You're way too tense."

"...Tense? I am not tense,"

Your denial only encourages him. A wide grin creeps across his face.

"Yeah, you know. You could feel the stress in this place from a mile away...

...Maybe we should just kiss to break the tension,"

Riddle had drilled you for hours; Floyd stealing your things, making you chase him, getting bored and leaving, a thousand possible situations that could come out of a simple study session...

...This was not one of them.

Floyd grins again, wider this time. "Ahah, never mind. You're way too boring and normal for something like that, right?"

You suddenly feel hot; he's putting you on the spot, and he knows it. He seems to be living for your agitation.

"Hey, that's not fair-"

"Fair schmair," he cuts in. "I gave you a dare, and you can't do it. Happens all the time to you, I bet. It's-"

Riddle had warned you, several times, quite clearly, not to play along.

But... in your defense...

Floyd giggles against your lips, the delighted little noise giving away a hint of surprise. His hands, cold and clammy but nice nonetheless, grab hold of your face, drawing you closer into the kiss. He's threatening to pull you across the table at this point...

...It's a good thing you chose a time when the library would be empty.

After a minute or two, he lets go, leaving you breathless with another smile.

"I knew you had it in 'ya," he says, reaching across the table to pull the encyclopedia back towards him.

"My turn to read, okay? I was getting bored of the pictures,"

[munson-blurbs]

hope you don't mind me asking but could reader adopt harris officially? it'd be a sweet little blurb ☺️

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: Harris makes a special request on his birthday: for you to adopt him and officially be his mommy.

TW: mention of parental neglect/drug use, pretty much just all fluff and happiness

WC: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms out there! Y'all are badasses who deserve to be celebrated. I used this video for the judge's dialogue to ensure accuracy.

February 2001

“So, Har,” Eddie starts through a mouthful of cake, “did you have a good birthday?”

Harris nods emphatically, digging into his own slice. A dollop of vanilla frosting dots the tip of his nose, but he continues eating, unbothered.

Eddie looks at you as you try to contain the inevitable mess that Hendrix will make. His chubby cheeks are already decorated with chocolate cake, and he’s only a few bites in. “Can you believe we have a nine-year-old now?”

You shake your head. The years truly have flown by, and though you haven’t had the privilege of being there for all of them, it feels as though Harris’s fifth birthday was only yesterday. 

“What’s crazy to me is that Harris is the same age you were when I took you in,” Wayne says to Eddie. He glances at his nephew, a wistful look in his old eyes. 

“Oh, yeah!” Harris grins. “I forgot you took care of Daddy.”

Eddie leans back in his seat and smirks. “Did you ever regret adopting me, Old Man?” 

“Every damn day.”

While he may have tuned out his dad and grandfather’s back-and-forth, you can see Harris pause before he continues eating. He’s never been one to stifle his curiosity, the wheels in his head turning as he processes the information. 

His time to ask a question grinds to a halt when Hendrix slams his little palm right into the cake slice, grabs a chunk of it, and smashes it into his face. If any actually got in his mouth, it would be a miracle. 

Harris gets his opportunity later that night. Eddie tucks him into bed, pulling the SpongeBob comforter up to his chin, and kisses his head. 

“Daddy?” Harris asks before Eddie can stand up. 

“Hmm?”

“Why did Grampa adopt you?”

Eddie exhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek. As his eldest son has gotten older, he’s become more honest with him, not constantly shielding him from painful truths. He chooses his words carefully before speaking again. 

“Well, my mom and dad weren’t good parents. They didn’t take care of me, and they made a lot of bad choices,” he says. Memories flash through his mind, ones of eviction notices and strangers constantly in his home. Ones of police officers snapping handcuffs on his parents’ wrists, the two of them too far gone to even register to the severity of the situation. He shakes it off, turning his attention back to Harris. “And so Grampa Wayne took me in and adopted me so I would have a safe, happy home.”

“Like how my mom made bad choices? My real mom?”

Eddie nods, wondering if Harris knows how closely their situations resembled each other. Except you did what your father didn’t–you changed, he reminds himself. 

“Yeah, like that.”

Harris thinks for a moment. “But now Mom is my mom. So does that mean she adopted me?”

“No, she didn’t adopt you.” His heart sinks when he sees the small pout forming on Harris’s lips. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Eddie scratches at his jawline, his nails digging into a particular itchy patch of stubble. “Well, honestly…we wanted to make sure it was what you wanted, Har. Because Mom will love you no matter what,” he makes sure to add. 

Without any hesitation, Harris declares, “It’s what I want.”

“Are you sure? You can sleep on it—” Eddie feels a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth despite his attempt to remain neutral. Yes, his son often acts on impulse, but Eddie can tell this isn’t one of those instances. 

Harris huffs out an impatient sigh, irritated that he even has to explain himself. “Dad, I’m nine now,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m almost double-digits. And I know I want Mom to adopt me.”

Eddie grins wider, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “All right, bud. You got it.” He stands up with a grunt, something that Harris has already dubbed an ‘old man noise.’ “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Harris agrees sleepily, cocooning himself in his blankets while Eddie turns out the light. 

Eddie is teeming with excitement when he sees you sitting in the family room, an open bag of sour cream and onion potato chips in your lap. Hendrix was fast asleep in his crib, and it was finally time for you and your husband to relax. 

“So,” Eddie says, sliding onto the couch cushion next to you and plucking a chip from the bag, “it turns out that the birthday boy has one more gift request. A big one, actually.”

You raise your brows. “How big? Like, Hot Wheels track big or space camp big?”

“Neither.” Eddie’s eyes gleam. “He wants you to adopt him.”

You sit up quickly, a smile stretching across your face. “Are you…are you serious?”

“One hundred percent.” Eddie says with a nod. “He insisted on it, actually. I don’t think you could say no even if you wanted to.”

His teasing would normally draw a snarky retort from you, but you’re too overwhelmed to come up with a quip. “Harris wants me to adopt him,” you say slowly, letting each word seep into your tongue. 

Eddie kisses your cheek, his nose brushing your warm skin. “This is everything I ever wanted for him, you know,” he murmurs. Another kiss, then he tilts your chin so he can place his lips on yours. “Thank you for loving him.”

You snuggle in closer, your head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me.”

September 2002

It’s a special occasion when you can convince Eddie and Wayne Munson to wear a suit and tie, but you didn’t even have to ask today. Both men are dressed with their shirts tucked into their slacks—not jeans. 

You smooth out a pleat in your dress, scoop Hendrix out of his Pack-N-Play, and grin at your family. 

“You guys ready?” You ask, desperate to get everyone into the car before someone spills something on their clothes. While Harris and Hendrix would be the most obvious culprits of a mess, the men are just as capable of causing chaos.

Eddie slings Hendrix’s diaper bag over his shoulder and takes Harris’s hand in his. “Let’s ship out, team.”

“Ship out!” Hendrix echoes–loudly, right in your ear. You wince, but you can’t stay annoyed for too long, considering how happy you are. How happy everyone is; even the baby of the family, who doesn’t know why he’s in a good mood, just that he is.

Everyone piles into the sedan: Eddie in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, and Wayne squished between his grandsons in the back.

“Don’t know how I ended up here,” Wayne grumbles, reaching behind for his seatbelt. 

Eddie grabs your hand as he pulls onto the road, giving it a tender squeeze. This is a huge deal; logically, you know this. To Eddie, he’s officially giving his son the mother he always deserved, and you’ll be able to make all sorts of important decisions for Harris. But to you, there is no piece of paper that can strengthen or weaken your love for your oldest son. Still, this is a promise from you to Harris, one that you will never break.

The courthouse’s silence is promptly broken with the Munsons’ arrival, as your family’s presence tends to do. Hendrix enjoys the way his delighted shrieks reverberate down the empty hallway, and Harris grips a nearby bench to jump out his nervous energy.

“Har?” you call out, waving him over to a private spot. He stops jumping long enough to follow you, shaking his hands excitedly.

You crouch down to his height and dig through your purse until you find what you’re looking for: a shiny silver compass with a quote engraved on the back:

“If you don’t get lost, there’s a chance you may never be found.” 

“Uncle Dusty recommended his favorite compass, and he said you can bring it on your next camping trip” you say with a smile, your lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “I hope that every time you use it, you remember that I’ll always be here to help you find your way.”

Harris looks from you to the compass and back again. He grins and flings his arms around you, nearly knocking you over in the process.

“This is so cool!” He cheers. “I’m gonna show everyone!”

“What do you say?” Eddie reminds him, a twinkle in his eye.

Harris barely turns around to you to yell, “Thanks, Mom!”

Mom. That title never gets old, and you don’t think it ever will.

“Munson?” You jump slightly when a bailiff announces that it’s your turn to see the judge. He gives a small smile as you enter the courtroom, probably relieved that this is a joyful occasion that won’t likely require his intervention.

This is it, you think. You wish your dress had pockets to hide your trembling hands.

Everyone takes their positions. Harris stands between you and Eddie, and Wayne holds Hendrix at the end, ready to make a quick getaway in case the youngest Munson decides to throw a tantrum.

The judge addresses you directly. Her tone is firm but warm as she says, “Do you understand that if your petition for the adoption of Harris Wayne Munson is granted, you will be legally responsible for him?”

“Yes.” You feel Harris’s palm slide against yours; when you briefly look down, you see that his other hand is holding Eddie’s.

“And do you understand that this support includes food, clothing, shelter, as well as medical and educational support?” She continues.

You nod. “Yes.”

“And do you understand that if your request is granted, that you will be Harris’s parent in all respects, just as if he had been born to you?”

“Yes.” Your heart swells with love. Just as if he had been born to you. Even with the memorable pains and trials brought on by carrying and delivering Hendrix, you considered Harris just as much your son.

“And do you understand you will be undertaking the intellectual, spiritual, and moral guidance of Harris?”

You can almost hear your husband’s thoughts: Better her than me.

“Yes.” 

The judge goes through a few more questions, all regarding your abilities to care for Harris. With each one, you feel Harris’s bouncing get more exuberant; part of you wishes you could join him.

Finally, she declares, “Based upon the reports and recommendations, this court finds that granting this petition is in the best interest of Harris.” She looks directly at Harris as she says, “Congratulations, she’s officially your Mommy.”

A choked sob escapes your throat, and your free hand flies to your mouth. You and Eddie both crouch down to embrace Harris, and you can’t help but notice the tears in your husband’s eyes. Wayne makes his way to you and, as best as he can with Hendrix still in his arms, wraps you in a hug. You think he might be the only adult not crying, but a tell-tale sniffle gives him away.

Hendrix is very confused by the overt display of emotion. The last time Wayne cried was well before the boy was born, back when the Colts won the 1970 Super Bowl against the Cowboys.

“Daddy? Mommy? Grampa?” He asks. “Why you cry?”

“We’re fine, buddy. Just have some big feelings. Happy feelings,” Eddie clarifies, kissing Hendrix on a chubby cheek. He looks at Harris and grins. “How does it feel, Har? Now that Mom adopted you?”

Harris scrunches up his face. “Like the same.”

You laugh and ruffle his hair. It’s not as wild as it was when he was your student, his curls less of a mop. “Good ‘the same’?”

He grins, nodding and hugging you again. “I can’t wait to tell all of my friends, and Uncle Dusty, and Mr. Will…”

Harris continues listing people he’s going to share his news with all the way to the parking lot. Some names you recognize, and others he might as well be making up.

“Wait! I almost forgot!” You reach into your purse and pull out a Ziploc bag containing five Oreos. “Everyone take one, but don’t eat it yet.”

When each person has an Oreo in their hand, you raise your own to eye-level and begin your toast. “To my first son, Harris. Thank you for making me a mommy.”

“To Harris!” Wayne and Eddie chorus, and Hendrix just yells his brother’s name before chowing down on his cookie. 

As you all pile back into the car, Eddie takes your hand in his. Chocolate is still tucked into the crevices of his lips. 

“To you, Sweetheart. Thank you for being the mommy Harris always wanted. Thank you for making us a family again.”

The kiss tastes of vanilla creme, sugary sweet, and you swear you wouldn’t have broken it if Wayne didn’t clear his throat. 

“No need to make a third kid up there,” he mutters under his breath. 

Eddie glares at him, hoping Harris didn’t overhear the comment, but you press on. “Shall we celebrate at the diner?”

“Can we share pancakes?” Harris beams.

You crane your neck and look back at him, once again overwhelmed by the amount of love you hold for him–for your son.

“I’d love to.”

--

[irisintheafterglow]

the first time you tell opla!zoro that you love him, you're not sober either. (part one here!)

"i just-i just don't know what to do," you sniffle, another wave of emotions leaking through your tired eyes and onto your tear-stained shirt. "i'm so in love with him it makes me physically ill, nami."

"mhmm, i can tell," she replies absentmindedly, taking another sip from her drink in the musty light of the bar.

"nami," you plead, wasted out of your mind with your cheek pressed against the dirty table.

"sweetheart," she replies with the same melodrama, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

"i'm so sad." your voice breaks on the last word and you make a loud hiccup-like noise that has the other guests of the bar eyeing you warily. you couldn't guess how long it'd been since you dragged nami from her hammock to go drink your sorrows away. to her credit, she stayed with you until her patience was thinner than a paper cut.

"i know you are," she says slowly after you'd gone over the same topic about four times in the last five minutes. "look, i feel like you should just tell him. he already told you his feelings."

"see, but that's the thing." she shoots you a skeptical look and you sigh back at her. "what if he's lying? or if he didn't actually mean it?"

"why would he lie about something so significant as that?"

"i don't know, maybe he thought i was someone else-"

"from what you've very thoroughly informed me, he expressed his feelings for you, and only you," she reminds you, tilting her glass toward you for emphasis. her gaze flicks up behind you and she raises her eyebrows briefly, like whoever was approaching was another tool for her entertainment. "tell him. it's now or never."

"what the hell do you-"

"you're out of your mind if you think it's okay to get them drunk before a mission." his voice immediately sobers you, white-hot shame coursing through your veins as you sit up and try to make yourself look presentable. thankfully, he's glaring daggers into nami, who merely shrugs and offers something about being here for a good time, not a long time. "c'mon, i'm taking you back to the ship," he mutters, lifting you from your seat and letting you grab his unfairly strong bicep for stability.

"why'd you come get me?" your steps wobble slightly on the cobblestone, but zoro's determination to keep you upright is unwavering. "i could have gone home with nami."

"i got worried about where you were. thought something happened."

"nothing happened except alcohol and feelings," you drawl absentmindedly, the airy feeling in your mind becoming fuzzier the longer you're with him.

"ah, two of my favorite things."

"liar, you only talk about your feelings when you're drunk." blinking slowly to recenter yourself, you cut him off before he can counter your accusation. "like, the other night. when you told me you loved me." the words slip out unplanned and his body becomes deathly still next to you, his arm so tense you could mine it with a pickaxe.

"i said...what?"

"that you loved me and that it was a secret," you say plainly, glancing at him to find his face a nearly imperceptible shade of pink. "what's with the blush?"

"it's nothing," he says quietly. sober you would have left the conversation at that, respecting his need for privacy and security about his private feelings.

drunk you, however, has no such manners.

"look at you, all red and shit." his ears become an even deeper shade of pink and you can't help laughing at his poor attempt to hide his embarrassment. "you wouldn't be so flushed if it was actually nothing, so what is it?"

"it's nothing," he restates. "it doesn't matter."

"it matters to me. you matter to me." his face feels like it's been set on fire and every place your body is making contact with his feels like an electric current. did you have any idea what your words were doing to him, he wondered. sure, what you said made his brain go foggy like the island coastline in the morning, but what you made him feel was so much worse. you made him feel so lovesick, it pained him.

"the sentiment is reciprocated," he murmurs low enough that you can barely hear him. even while you're dancing around in the streetlights, you've never looked so beautiful to him.

"can i tell you a secret?" he swallows thickly, unsure of how to continue navigating this situation. he settles for nodding, every movement restrained to keep from kissing you until the only oxygen in his lungs has gone through yours first. "you can't tell anyone, though."

"i'm a great secret keeper."

"no, you're not," you reply instantly and his mouth gapes indignantly. "you told me your biggest secret and you don't even remember it."

"fine. i won't tell anyone what you tell me, then. i don't know about anyone else," he promises. after what seemed like an eternity, he finally helps you into your hammock, taking great care to make sure you don't fall out. "if i do tell someone, you can kick me in the balls."

"enticing offer," you laugh and his mouth quirks in a half-smile that you only saw once in a blue moon.

"so, the secret?"

"oh, right," you whisper sleepily. "the secret is that i love you too. i love you so much that i want to throw up."

"i think that might be the alcohol, doll," he murmurs, his fingers gently brushing your cheek. "sober you and sober me need to have a long talk in the morning."

"we said that last time but didn't do shit about it."

"well, i think it's time i did something about it." your eyebrows furrow, completely forgetting anything you'd just talked about. it's okay, he figures. he'll show you how much you mean to him when you're both ready.

"did something about what?"

"how much i love you, too."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[blitzyn]

prospect

toji fushiguro x m!reader

request: none

a/n -> sighs and explodes i need this man injected in my blood right NOW. nobody will be able to convince me that this man doesn’t have a breeding kink. sometimes i forget im writing for real people on a real platform and it jump scares me when people comment on my work. but in a good way ofc i love seeing people’s thoughts on my stuff. ANYWAYS. REQS.

wc -> 4.7k words of filth LMAO

cw -> anal fingering, anal sex, spit as lube, throat fucking, using “pussy” and “cunt” as a synonym, mild impact play, breeding kink, mirror sex, finger hooking, bondage, begging, brief gun play, when i say “little” i mean that in a condescending sorta way and not bc the reader is described to be petite and tiny, not beta read obv

"You're a tricky one, I'll give you that," is the first thing the man before you said. It'd been quite a while since the first time the two of you met in a dingy bar hidden in the sketchier parts of town. He hadn't been trying to kill you then - he was but a fellow patron eager to ruin his liver. Originally, he had a strange gut feeling about you. Like a pretty thing like you wasn't all it seemed, but he shrugged it off after a well-placed look from you offering to buy a couple more rounds.

So when he's given another job, the first thing he does is laugh. He didn't really mean it at first, but really, the irony was hilarious. The guy he nearly got to fuck was his current target: [Name] [L.Name], a rising Jujutsu Sorcerer. He obviously wasn't as strong as the esteemed Gojo Satoru or Geto Suguru, but he was advancing a little faster than many would've liked.

"Thanks. I tried," you replied, seeming much too relaxed for a man about to be assassinated. You were currently stuck on the floor with your arms tied behind your back and your legs bound together by plain, old, ordinary rope. You were a little embarrassed, truthfully, to have been caught by such a mundane trap like this.

You struggled against your restraints a bit, sighing in defeat when you only served to remind yourself just how stuck you were. "These are pretty secure," you started, giving the man before you a laidback smirk. "You experienced?"

Toji gave you a quizzical look for a moment before breaking out in an amused grin, resting his handgun against his shoulder. He definitely wasn't expecting his target to start flirting with him instead of pleading for his life like he was used to. But he'll entertain you for a while. "You could say that."

You huffed through your nose, your eyes lazily flitting around the room. You were making your way back inside the abandoned building you chose to hide in when you suddenly found yourself tied up. It took you a moment to realize you couldn't move when he appeared in front of you, but even less to recognize him as the man you almost got to sleep with. "I would've loved to have you tie me up back then, but this wasn't really what I was thinking about."

"Your phone's a real cockblock, huh?" He chuckled lightly, in an almost mocking manner from what you managed to detect in his voice. "Can't even begin to imagine how long you've had to go without gettin' laid."

You rolled your eyes like he wasn't only there to kill you and get his money. "Don't get me started. There's always something new I have to kill every fuckin' second. My boss thinks it's great training to go out whenever I can."

Right. Technically, you weren't a fully-fledged Sorcerer. You had more of a vigilante-esque vibe to you. You hadn't attended either Jujutsu High School in Tokyo or Kyoto as well, only taught by your family and experiences. Not that that really mattered anyway. You fought, you got strong, and now someone put a hit on you.

You sighed, shifting your body to a more comfortable position before tilting your head back against the wall. “This is the part where I beg for my life, right?” You questioned rhetorically, with an almost bored expression on your face before your eyes lit up with an idea. “I’m not too good at that, but I am good at begging for something else.”

Toji raised an eyebrow in intrigue, unable to fight off the grin at the obvious implication. He didn’t stop you from shamelessly checking him out, but he cut your ogle session short regardless.

“Yeah? Care to elaborate?” He made his way closer, crouching in front of you to get a better view of your face. He knew what you were asking for. He just wanted to know if you’d follow through with it.

Maybe it was the adrenaline making you bold, knowing that he could easily kill you with the pull of a trigger—or maybe it was just because he was really fucking hot. With a quick, obvious glance to his crotch (you could see the imprint of his dick through his sweatpants), you spoke clearly. “I want you to fuck me.”

He liked how forward you were, how unafraid you were to say what you wanted. He swiped his tongue over his lips and nearly laughed at how your eyes darted downwards to watch it. “You call that beggin’?” He taunted, raising his arm to press the tip of his gun against your chin to tilt your head up. “Do it right.”

A shudder ran through your body at his demand, leaving a trail of heat that settled right into your groin. You felt hyper aware of everything—of the cool metal on your skin, of the faint gunpowder scent emanating from the barrel, of your heartbeat thrumming so hard you briefly wondered if he could hear it.

“Oh, please, Mr. Fushiguro,” you whined, staring up at him through your lashes pleadingly. You tried to squeeze your thighs together as you squirmed, attempting to provide your hardening dick friction. “Please fuck me. I’ve been thinking about this whole time. I need it so much.”

“Well, aren’t you a confident little thing,” he remarked with a thoughtful hum, carefully inspecting your reactions. “But what makes you think I won’t just kill you and get my money?”

“Because you haven’t yet,” you replied with a smug undertone in your voice, like you figured him all out. Although, when he dragged his gun up towards your lips, a brief wave of fear washed down your body, settling deep in your chest.

“Really? That’s all you’re going off of?” He tilted his head, watching you through the dark curtain of hair that fell over his piercing eyes. “That’s cute.” He held his finger over the trigger, teasingly flexing it before relaxing just as fast. He found it funny how your confident facade slipped away the moment you remembered that you weren’t talking to a casual friend—that the Sorcerer Killer himself was staring you down the barrel of his gun. But, apparently, that’s what got you all hot and bothered.

“I didn’t think you’d be this desperate.” His scarred lips curled upwards in a predatory grin as he nudged the tip of his gun against your mouth, prying it open. You fought the urge to squirm when he pushed it further, jaw straining, but you tried your best to comply. “You seemed all mysterious ‘n’ unassuming back at the bar. What happened to that? Got me feelin’ like I got the wrong person with the way you’re actin’.”

You tried to shake your head while a garbled noise left your throat, but he kept you firmly in place as he pushed it as far as he could go. Even as you squinted, it was hard not to practically eyefuck him where you sat. Your watery irises trailed over the length of his arm, tracing the bulging veins that patterned over his forearm, dipping back underneath his skin before reappearing in his thick bicep. His shirt did little to hide his chest, squeezing in just the right places to render any woman jealous.

You couldn’t stop your gaze from wandering down, down towards his legs, zeroing in on the dick print he so obviously flaunted like a trophy. Your mouth watered, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. You slid your tongue over the rough metal, imagining that it was his cock stretching your eager throat wide open; imagining the salty taste of his precum, of the scent of his musk, of—

“My eyes’re up here, pretty boy,” he interrupted, pressing the gun up against your palate to snap you out of your stupor and avert your gaze. “If you’re gonna deny bein’ a slut, at least act like it.”

He pulled it out of your drooling mouth, wiping the string of saliva off on your cheek before setting it on the floor with a dull thud. Your face was messy, chest heaving up and down as you panted, expectantly waiting for him to continue like a lost puppy.

“You’re so damn easy,” he commented teasingly, reaching down to palm his cock through his pants. It throbbed under his touch, leaking precum and straining against the fabric. “If I’da known all it took for you to get all nice ‘n’ compliant f’me was a dick down your throat, I’d have my money by now.” There was a hint of honesty to his voice that you couldn’t even find in yourself to protest.

“Please…” you breathlessly whined, trying to writhe out of your binds, but it was tied too tightly around your body to free yourself. “I want it. Stop messing with me.”

“I know.” He reached down to shift you onto your knees, steadying you with a firm hand on the back of your neck. You watched him slide his free hand under his pants to pull his thick cock out, eyes fixated on the leaking tip. He wrapped it around the shaft and leisurely jerked himself off, the wet sounds of his precum sliding along the shaft mixing in with your labored breaths and his quiet groans.

Finally, after what felt like decades, he shuffled forward just enough to press himself against your lips, finding little need to nudge his way inside when you so eagerly parted them for him. You let out a pleased noise at the taste of his precum, beginning to squint and fight the urge to gag when he refused to stop until your nose was buried in his pubes. He held you there for a moment, enjoying the sight of your throat bulging to accommodate his cock.

“You’re takin’ me in so easily,” he purred, sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of your tongue tracing over a prominent vein, making him twitch in your mouth. “Is this what you do? Use your body to live a little longer? 'Cause I gotta say, whatever you're doin' is really payin' off."

You visibly preened at his praise, feeling your dick strain against the fabric of your pants. He let you move at your own pace, watching you hollow your cheeks and slide and bob your head up and down. He was thick and long and made your jaw ache in the best way, utterly infatuated with his scent, with his taste, with the way he let you go at your own pace—but you knew better. You knew that he could easily take that control away from you and fuck your face.

You kind of wished he did, honestly.

With a bit of effort, you pulled away from his cock, breathing heavily. Your voice was shaky but it was firm, determined to get what you wanted. “Fuck my throat,” you demanded, staring up at him through your lashes. He gave you an intrigued smile, clearly pleased with your eagerness to be used like a toy.

“You sure? ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ til I cum,” he warned. He hardly gave you enough time to reply before he held the base of his cock, gently tapping the tip against your slick lips to get you to open up wide again, obviously unconcerned with your response. “But if you really insist, then who am I to say no to a pretty thing like you?”

He adjusted his stance, towering over you with both his hands atop your head. He allowed you to take a deep breath before pulling you to him just as he shoved his cock back down your throat. You were still unused to him, nearly choking at the sudden movement, feeling tears pool along your lashes. You could’ve sworn his musk was an actual aphrodisiac. It was all you could smell, filling up your nostrils to render your mind a pathetically fuzzy mess.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he drawled out, staring you down with enough heat in his eyes to practically glue you to the floor. You weren’t even sure if you’d get up and leave if he gave you the chance to. Probably not, frankly. Not with the way his strong hands so easily kept you in place, nor with how he strained your jaw—infatuated with every inch and vein and his salty precum. “Take it all, baby.”

He chuckled to himself, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice. “But I didn’t need to tell you that, huh? Is this muscle memory takin’ over?” Despite his words, his brows were furrowed, focused on thrusting his hips, stoking the rising fire in his abdomen. His rhythmic groans were music to your ears, mixing in with your wet gags and the faint sound of his balls slapping your chin.

“Fuck,” he panted, taking one hand off to wipe your hair off of your forehead and get a look at your watery, unfocused eyes. It sent a heat down his spine that made his cock jolt at the sight of your blissed out face. “You’re so damn tight… gonna make me cum.”

“Is that what you want?” He grunted, digging his fingertips into your skin. “Y’think it’s what you deserve?” For a moment, you were worried he was going to stop. But he didn’t really, instead he kept you still, holding you at a distance to make sure you didn’t accidentally pass out. “I wanna hear you beg for it.”

You blinked your tears away and looked up at him, squinting, confused when he hadn’t let you go yet. It took you a second to piece together what he wanted of you, and felt the burn of embarrassment trickle down your spine and settle into your chest when you did. He wanted you to beg with his cock in your mouth. You were quiet, unsure how to respond without choking and coughing into next week.

“C’mon,” he persisted, his scarred lips lifting in a grin. “I know a little slut like you can do it.”

With a deep breath, you attempted to get your words out through muffled sounds that very vaguely sounded like sentences. It was humiliating—letting him use you to entertain himself like this, but it was an exhilarating feeling that made your cock twitch and throb, aching to be touched.

“Sorry, what was that?” He questioned mockingly, expression laced with faux concern. “Do you mind repeating that?”

You paused, staring up at him pleadingly, but when that didn’t seem to work, you tried again. Drool seeped out the corners of your lips, trailing down your chin. It was hard to breathe and form coherent thoughts. Your cock throbbed and ached to be touched, finding your pants to be uncomfortably suffocating.

“Was that so hard?” He questioned rhetorically as he tugged your face close again, savoring the feeling of your throat squeezing around his dick before beginning to fuck it. He groaned when he felt you run your tongue over the veins, the vibrations of your voice sending heat through his body that he eagerly chased.

He swore under his breath, panting, focused on the tightening coil in his abdomen. “Shit—I’m about to—fuck—cum.”

You moaned when you felt him still, pressing your face into his pelvis to make sure every drop of his cum went down your throat. It was difficult to swallow, letting your eyes flutter shut until he was finished. Your vision was a bit blurry when he finally decided to pull away, leaving you gasping and panting.

“I want—I need you to fuck me,” you slurred, desire flashing brightly in your eyes. Your voice was raw and hoarse and raspy, but there was no hiding your desperation. “Please. I need it so bad it fucking hurts. Please, Fushiguro.”

“I just got done cumming down your throat and you’re already askin’ for more?” He chuckled condescendingly, reaching out to swipe the pad of his thumb along your chin to gather the mix of saliva cum. He brought it to your lips, watching you wrap them around his finger and suck the fluids off his skin. “You needy whore. You’re lucky I’m not in any rush right now.”

With a swift hand, he untied the rope holding your legs together to lead you to a different spot, confident that you wouldn’t make a break for it. Not that you could nor wanted to, anyways.

The mirror before you was dusty and cracked, but it still served its purpose well. He kicked your legs apart and brought you back down to your knees, lowering himself behind you with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You nearly came on the spot when he squeezed your aching cock, hips jerking needily, but he let go in the blink of an eye to unzip your pants and bring them down far enough to expose your ass. He brought two fingers to your lips and dipped them inside your mouth with his other hand, coating them with your saliva rather haphazardly.

He swiftly brought them back down, running them over your balls and perineum teasingly, grinning at your sharp intake of breath. He slid the pads of them over your hole, just barely pushing them through to feel the resistance give way before pulling them back out.

“I swear to god, I’ll—“ you tried to threaten, only to be cut off by a whorish moan that Toji managed to tear from your lips when he shoved his fingers inside you. They pressed against your prostate, firm and unrelenting, rubbing it just the slightest bit to keep you reeling. The sudden stretch fucking burned as you clamped down on him like a vice, wincing and groaning.

“You’ll what?” He urged, eyes fixated on your face, watching every single muscle twitch, noticing the way your cock spurt a fresh stream of precum down the throbbing shaft. “C’mon, don’t get all shy on me now. What were you saying?”

He thrust his fingers in and out slowly, emphasizing the wet squelching sounds of your asshole. You could feel his breaths brushing against your heated skin, sending shivers up and down your spine that ended in your fingertips. Your knees ached and your arms were growing numb from being tied back for so long but you figured you could ignore it for a little while longer if it meant you’d get what you wanted. His dick, namely.

“I’ll—agh, fuck—I’ll…” you trailed off, hardly able to form a coherent sentence with the way he massaged your prostate so perfectly. “Just… just shut up,” you muttered finally, breathless and unfocused as you stared at the spot you connected from the reflection in the old mirror. A subtle feeling of embarrassment settled in your heaving chest when you heard the raspy sound of his chuckle.

“Is that it?” He taunted, locking eyes with you. His free hand slid upwards, teasing your nipples through your shirt to watch you squirm. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight. I’m startin’ to question whether or not you’re really some hotshot Sorcerer.”

It was hard to refute him when you looked the way you did—all messy and disheveled and desperate, hard for the man supposed to kill you. You were completely unlike yourself hardly half an hour ago, but you barely gave a shit. How could you when the hottest man you’ve ever seen was behind you, fingerfucking your eager hole? Chances like these don’t come often to you, that’s for sure.

You shivered and moaned, leaning back against his chest. Your hips practically moved on their own accord, thighs flexing to keep yourself upright as you tried to fuck yourself on his thick digits. Toji could see the way your eyes unfocused and glossed over with understimulated tears, frustrated and horribly pent-up.

He gave your prostate a quick jab, firm enough to intensify the heated coil in your belly, but too fast to savor. He wasn’t planning on giving in to you so easily as he avoided your sensitive spot, instead moving his fingers in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

“God—stop doing that,” you pleaded. You felt like an open book, unable to stop yourself from furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance or conceal the painstakingly obvious glint of hunger in your pupil-blown irises.

“Quit whinin’ and maybe I’ll consider it,” he murmured gruffly, enraptured by the way you writhed and squirmed and looked just downright pathetic. You both knew he wouldn’t, not when all the others he’s fucked couldn’t hold a candle to your pliant little body. You knew why he was there in the first place, but still, you remained there on your knees even when he untied them.

You nearly let out a sob when he curled his fingers again, offering you the barest of touches to your prostate that sent liquid fire coursing through your veins.

“Fuck, please,” you begged, yet again. You didn’t know much of this you could take or how long it’d be until he caved. God, was it so much to ask for a man to fuck you stupid?!

“I want your cock inside me so bad, fucking me fast ‘n’ hard ‘n’ deep,” you slurred, hardly able to maintain even the barest shred of dignity. You looked into his deep, green eyes through the mirror’s reflection, hoping he’d relent.

“Yeah? Y’want me in this slutty pussy?” He purred, sliding his slick fingers out of your twitching hole to give it a sharp slap. You jolted just as a spurt of precum slid down your hard cock, leaking onto your clothed, heaving abdomen. He chuckled breathlessly as he leisurely rubbed your puffy rim with the pad of a finger. “You should’ve just said so.”

He wiped his fingers off on the back of your shirt, offering you an oblivious shrug when you glared at him through the mirror. Your knees ached when he had you lean forward a little, placing your more of your weight on the poor joints as he reached down to quickly jerk himself off before tapping the tip of his dick on your asshole one, two, three quick times.

It felt like he was splitting you apart when he finally decided to push through after spitting on your hole, groaning at the way you squeezed around him tighter than a damn virgin. It hurt like a bitch. Of course it did—you made him rush and he was using less than ideal lube, but, God, you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t feel so fucking good.

You watched him lean back a little and hold you by the ropes binding your arms together, rolling his hips experimentally, only to grind his cockhead into your prostate so deliciously you saw stars. A searing heat enveloped your body, blinding you with white that took you far too long to come down from. Opening your eyes (you didn’t even realize you closed them), you instantly spotted your twitching cock drooling cum onto the floor. Fuck. He didn’t even start and you came.

“That was so damn fast.” He couldn’t be bothered to stop the hint of a laugh from leaving his throat. With his free hand, he reached down and gave your throbbing dick a squeeze, stroking it with a tight grip to milk out the rest of your cum.

You shuddered and trembled, biting your lip to stifle your moans. He let go to stuff two of his slick fingers in your mouth, careless with how deep he forced them in. Not that you really minded as you swirled your tongue around his skin, readily cleaning it off. You locked eyes, keeping your expression firm in a weak attempt to regain even a sliver of composure when he suddenly moved, giving you a quick, harsh thrust that nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

He shifted his fingers, curling them as they pulled on your cheek, tugging at the flesh until he forces your mouth wide open. You couldn’t stop your tongue from lolling out, jaw slack as you drooled and whined and cried every time he rammed his thick cock into your eager fuckhole. He was relentless—pounding into you fast and hard and deep, just like you begged for so prettily.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, digging his fingertips into the flesh of your hip hard enough to leave bruises, arms flexing to yank you back as soon as he pulled out. “Your pussy’s so damn tight,” he panted, brows furrowed in focus, relishing in the sound of his hips slapping your ass and your whorish moans. “M’gonna make sure your messy little cunt remembers my cock by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” you nodded, hands itching to grab onto his biceps, his back, something to ground yourself while he churned your insides to mush. It was nigh impossible to think or breathe or speak, but it felt so fucking good.

“Awh, look at yourself,” he cooed, his voice slightly jumpy as he let go of your mouth to roughly pat your cheek, forcing you out of your stupor to make you stare at your reflection. “Are you out of it already? Should I stop?” He questioned, his raspy voice laced with faux concern.

“No! N-No,” you stammered, finding it difficult to comprehend what he was saying until moments later, alerted by the word “stop”. “Don’t stop! Ohh, oh god, please don’t stop!”

You’re so, so sensitive and so full, and you can feel him losing his rhythm. His cock is heavy in your stomach and you swear through your addled brain it’s weighing you down as a trail of precum connects your heated bodies together, frothing between your thighs and his balls.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunted, gritting his teeth. He could feel the burning coil in his abdomen intensify with each passing second, and suddenly he’s speeding up, pistoning into you with loud and sloppy thrusts. His green eyes are locked on your swollen and puffy hole sucking him in with a vice grip, watching his cock slide in and out, in and out, over and over again until you’re cumming hard, shaking and convulsing.

“That’s it,” he growls, the sound low and deep. It went straight into your stomach, sparks lighting up under your skin as your hips jerk, unsure whether you want to endure the building overstimulation or move away. “M’gonna cum so deep inside your pretty little pussy I’ll knock you up,” he murmured in your ear, dragging a canine down your neck to clamp his teeth down on the flesh. “Y’want that? To be my breeding bitch?”

You sobbed, unable to answer, but he didn’t need one. Not when your body spoke for you.

He fucked the air out of your lungs one, two, three more times, feeling his balls tighten until he finally came, spilling his cum so deep inside you, you were sure it’d stay there for weeks. You moaned, savoring the warmth that spread through your body with each spurt of his cum that coated your velvety insides, trying to catch your breath before you had to move.

Toji sighed in satisfaction, pulling out after a few moments. He watched your fucked-out hole clench around nothing as it leaked with his seed, spreading one of your asscheeks to get a better view before giving it a final pat.

You didn’t realize he cut the ropes holding your arms behind your back until you nearly fell face-first onto the floor, catching yourself with your numb hands.

“Ow… fuck,” you cursed at the sharp stinging sensation that ran up your arms, shaking them uselessly in an attempt to restore the blood flow faster.

“You were better than I thought you’d be,” he hummed, getting up to fix his clothes. He grabbed his handgun from off the ground, holding it against his shoulder as he stared you down. “But you have three days. Make ‘em count.”

You weren’t oblivious to know that he was giving you a three-day recovery period before he began hunting you again. Even then, you couldn’t stop the shiver of excitement from running through your spine at the prospect of seeing him again.

You grinned, breathless and shaky but confident nonetheless. It was unlikely he’d fuck you once he found you, but a man could dream. "I will."

cross-posted on ao3

[kenmakodz]

CANDID LOVE ˙✧˖📷

02. shitty sushi place ☆

writing in-between cuts!

you sigh, tucking your phone away— they’re way too close now to keep typing about them, it’d be obvious. it will be fine, you think. nobara has hung out with maki and her friends plenty of times; if she gets along with them, so can you!

“hey again!” you wave, walking to meet the duo halfway. the shorter blonde boy is first to acknowledge you, nodding his head as his pace comes to a halt- a greeting, you suppose. maki lazily holds up a hand as if to say hello. “nice to see you again, just on our turf this time huh?” she chuckles on the last word, coaxing you to smile back- intrigued at her way of starting a conversation. “yeah, seems like the tables have turned. it’s much smaller than i expected, though.” you turn to face the boy standing next to her, deciding it would be rude to not introduce yourself. “nice to meet you as well, y/n l/n.” he nods again, “toge inumaki.” his voice is much quieter than you expected, maybe he’s the shy type? or maybe he’s just not interested in talking to you; who knows. 

maki’s tour isn’t very…. detailed. “this is the dining hall, we eat here sometimes.” , “this is the common area that nobody sits in.” , etc etc. to most, this would come off as rude and uninterested. in reality, she actually made you laugh quite a few times. she slipped in jokes here and there, the majority of them being about the wide range of interesting professors she's come across. an honest tour is much better than an over-detailed, over-explanation of every single thing on campus that close to nobody cares about; she reminds you a lot of megumi the whole time. the boy wouldn’t say too much, just some playful banter back and forth with the two of you about certain classes, random places on campus, and the like. it was nice, you thought- not as awkward or as forced as you felt like it would be. maki seemed to be enjoying herself as well, noticing that you laughed whenever she poked at the school for its quirks.

after about an hour of walking around, the three of you seem to halt rather abruptly. you notice the two friends begin texting, so you lean against the building and begin to lazily scroll while they do their own thing.

finally, she looks up, clearly contemplating something. “would you want to come get sushi with us? our other friend, yuuta is on the way too. he’s studying the same thing as you.”

you pause. being invited out with them was the last thing you had expected- when her mouth opened, you were anticipating her to offer walking you back home. the confusion definitely shows on your face, and the boy (who you now know as toge) laughs at your reaction. “you can say no if you don’t want to,” making a mental note to punch yourself for being so awkward later on, you finally respond, starting to laugh along. “im sorry, i don’t know why i reacted like that- i’m honestly starving, that would be great!”

you've gained 3 new followers!

￬ makizen, fortnitegod, y.okkotsu.

fun facts -> yuuta was contemplating skipping his lecture for that sushi all. day. it'd been a while since the three of them went out, and it could be a while before they get to do it again, since work begins to pile up around this time in the year. when he heard about y/n being there, he almost backed out. yuuta hyperfocuses on first-impressions, and showing up sleep deprived after a 2 hour lecture was NOT his idea of a good one.

previous , masterlist, next [03. life: ended]

taglist is open! @just-a-girlblogger @moryymor @swissy23 @hvnyacoded @sereniteav @k4romis @jayathelostdragon @h3rmess @olivandeee @lysaray @ari3000dontcare @raechu11

⤷ © kenmakodz

[changetyre]

Don’t know if you take requests but I really want a fic with Pierre where y/n is a presenter for Sky Sports or something and they start having an affair. Maybe they sleep together after his podium when his gf isn’t in the paddock and then it starts to become and regular occurrence

Dirty Little Secret II Pierre Gasly x Reader ⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: Sometimes all it takes to break your morals is a French accent and ocean-blue eyes.

WARNINGS: **18+** ,cheating (Not proofread)

A/N: I do not condone cheating but I would lie if I said I didn't enjoy a fic with this plot every once in a while...strictly fictional cheating though...enjoy xx

You watched proudly as Pierre stood up in the third step of the podium his smile bigger than Daniel Riccirdo's at this point with how good his race was after struggling for so long.

You'd be lying if you said that you felt nothing for this man, not even when he looked down at you sending a wink your way as if his girlfriend wasn't watching this at home right now.

This was wrong, so wrong on so many levels yet still it'd be dumber if you tried to deny that he didn't make you feel all sorts of ways.

He was so flirty, so incredibly flirty, and the way his eyes just penetrated deep into your soul whenever he looked at you was torture. Pierre knew exactly what he was doing when he played his games with you.

He knew it was wrong, he knew he was a taken man but he didn't seem to give a fuck as he continually spoke suggestively to you, also trying to get you to fall for him, to make the first move.

And yes he might've been successful in making you flustered, and he might've ALMOST been successful in getting you to go home with him multiple late nights but you were stubborn as well, there was a lot on the line for you and it would take more than a few pickup lines and sly smirks.

You were certainly an idiot for thinking so as all it took that night was for Pierre to whisper a few dirty thoughts into your head at the club for you to currently be riding him right now.

"Fuck you're so gorgeous." Pierre panted as he squeezed your breasts enjoying the sight on top of him.

"Shush." Your hands were planted on his chest for balance as you'd found the perfect pace bouncing up and down on him.

"This is better than I ever imagined." Pierre continued speaking only reminding you more and more about how wrong this was.

But he was right. It was so fucking good and you didn't have the willpower to stop.

"Fuck." The high was coming quickly and it was setting you off pace so Pierre took the liberty to flip you over before pounding into you.

"You gonna cum with me baby?" Pierre asked you, his lips right above yours as he set the perfect pace this time.

"Agh." You moaned, unable to properly think with the amount of pleasure coursing through your body right now. "Faster, faster, please" You begged Pierre as you could feel your orgasm coming.

"You're such a perfect little slut." Pierre smirked as he quickened his pace, capturing his lips in yours and muffling your cries of pleasure as your orgasm finally washed over you.

"Sh*t." You sighed, your body twitching as Pierre slowly decreased his pace but remained in you.

"I'll give you a few seconds." Pierre laughed as he turned you around with him, making sure you stayed connected.

Did this man want to go again? Your mind was screaming inside. You were spent but surprisingly not opposed to the idea. It would be the last time anyway so why not enjoy it?

3 months later

"Good Morning Pierre how are we feeling today?" You asked the man in front of you who immediately took the time to scan you from head to toe.

This didn't fail to set off butterflies in your stomach thanking the heavens that you remained strictly behind the camera so no one could see the way your cheeks suddenly tinted.

Pierre eyed you as if he hadn't completely railed you this very morning making you rush to work with shaky legs while trying to cover the multiple marks he'd left across your body.

"Excellent, I must say it's been a great morning...good workout and feeling ready to take on the weekend," Pierre smirked proudly his eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

The public was used to Pierre's flirty behavior, his dirty comments, and the way he liked to play around in interviews and it was all fun and games to him, he loved the thrill of it but for you, it was like walking on a very slim tight rope and every little comment just set you off balance a little making you almost slip into the abyss.

Maybe Pierre didn't give a shit if the world found out about the situation between the both of you, the one that should've never started in the first place, because it sure as hell seemed like it but for you it was different. You'd worked night and day to get to the position you had right now, having to face all sorts of sexist comments about how you got your job and constantly getting hate.

So something like this could cost you everything. Yet somehow every weekend you seemed willing to risk it all for a man?

It was crazy, you knew it was crazy. It simply didn't make sense. Anyone who knew you would never believe that the y/n that had sworn time and time again never to risk anything for a man, never be the person to possibly come between a relationship was now doing both for this guy.

Through the week these thoughts swirled in your head long enough to convince you that you had to put an end to it but as soon as Pierre showed up at your door, flashing those gorgeous blue eyes and speaking with that beautiful accent he had you down on your knees again and again...literally.

That and paired with the fact that this man fucked like a literal god seemed like reason enough for you to keep doing this...doing him.

"I'm glad to hear you're feeling so well Pierre, what can we expect from you this weekend?" You cleared your throat before asking hoping any nerves in your voice wouldn't be picked up by the public.

"Well, you can definitely expect a lot more from me." Pierre bit his lip as he maintained firm eye contact with you. "I hope I can go faster, push harder, I'll give my all as usual...all the way to the finish line," Pierre smirked.

Fuck Pierre Gasly. He knew exactly what he was doing and you hated how much it turned you on.

"Well, good luck to you Pierre." You quickly finished up knowing that you literally wouldn't be able to ask him anything else without sounding off.

"Alright, See you later." Pierre winked before walking to his next interview.

This really had to end this time.

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Your day started as it normally does. You woke up in your boyfriend's arms, trying to wiggle away from him without disturbing his sleep. And like every morning, Coryo woke up, only to hold you closer and press a good morning kiss to your lips.

“Morning, darling.” He greeted you, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning, Coryo “ You replied with a smile.

“Where are you going, baby?” Coryo asked as you tried to get up.

“I need to pee and we have to get ready.” You told the platinum blonde, whose curls were messily resting against his red silk pillowcase like a halo. When Coriolanus made no move to let you get up, you lightly rubbed his chest while reminding him, “We both have classes today and you have that meeting with Dr. Gaul to see if you're qualified to be promoted from an intern to a full time gamemaker position.”

“I think you're more nervous about my meeting than I am.” Your boyfriend sighed, letting his hold on you go.

“It's a very important meeting, Coryo. Of course I'm nervous for you.” You told your boyfriend as he sat on the edge of the bed, slipping on his slippers. Before he could stand up, you wrapped your arms around him from behind. Resting your head against his shoulder, you said, “I know how much you want to become a gamemaker.” The blonde man didn't say a word, just placed his large hand over yours. He ran the calloused pad on his thumb over his knuckles as you continued your thoughts with, “You're always pushing yourself to be the best. And to become the youngest gamemaker in Panem's history while enrolled at the University as a double major's an honor, one that I know you want to have.”

“You know me so well, Y/N.” Coriolanus lightly chuckled. Gently unwrapping your arms from around him and standing up, he sighed, “We better get on with our morning.”

After doing your morning routine of showering, dressing, and eating breakfast, Coryo drove you both to Capitol University, the most esteemed university in all of Panem. Since you were a couple of years younger than him, your classes were mostly pre-recs and were on the other side of the campus then the major focused classes. So, you and your boyfriend parted ways with a kiss shortly after arriving in the parking lot of the University.

Coriolanus took off towards where his classes and friends were while you took off to find your own friends and attend your classes.

Everything was going fine until lunchtime rolled around.

You usually ate lunch with your friends, a small group of girls that you've known since your academy days. Sometimes Coriolanus would join you, bringing Clemensia and Festus to tag along. Other times, which was usually all the time, your boyfriend spent his lunch hour in the library studying, working on projects, and drawing up proposals to hand to Dr. Gaul concerning the games.

Unfortunately for you, this afternoon was one of those days that Coryo was holed up in the University library, doing something productive in his quest for academic supremacy and power.

Usually, it'd be fine and you'd just eat in the University dining hall with your friends, but not today.

No…

Today you got into a fight with your friends. A fight that started over a simple disagreement. It was a silly disagreement really. A disagreement that started over, of all things, dresses for the upcoming Spring Ball.

One of your friends got upset that you simply told her that maybe she shouldn't plan to wear a black dress, but maybe something pastel since she already wore black a few months back for the Yule Ball. She snapped at you and even made a snide remark about how you could afford to buy a thousand dresses and for a thousand balls since you're shacking up with Coriolanus Snow. The remark hurt, but what hurt worse was that your other friends backed her up; attacked you too.

The lunch fight got so heated with all the screaming, yelling, shouting, and crying that the other students eating in the dining hall stopped what they were doing to watch and listen in.

Yea, your fight with your friends was quickly becoming a spectacle for gossip.

Feeling overwhelmed by sadness, you gathered your things and rushed out of the dining hall. Unfortunately, your absence was the perfect opportunity for your friends to start spreading lies about you. To make it seem like you weren't a good friend, that you were greedy, etc.

The girls you've been friends with since your Academy Days were being petty. Ruining years of friendship. And for what?

A simple disagreement. Or was there more to it? Was jealousy over your relationship with Coryo the true cause of it?

Your day went from bad to worse when your phone kept going off left and right with Pangram notifications. As it turns out, your friends weren't your friends anymore and they were posting all kinds of mean things about you. Even tagging you in the posts too. And your best friend, well she was petty enough to post the glittery words of Fuck You on her social media.

Words aimed at you.

And the worst part was that you're dealing with all of this alone since your boyfriend has his own studies to worry about. And, of course, he has a very important meeting with Dr. Gaul about his future career.

Usually you'd catch a ride home with one of your friends if Coryo had work or meeting scheduled at the Citadel, but not today.

Today you had to walk home from the University since you lost your friends. And, of course, your mind kept replaying everything as you walked home.

And when you finally got home, you dropped your books on the glass star shaped coffee table and made a mad dash to your bedroom before Grandma’am could realize that you were home and ask about your day.

You adored Coriolanus' grandmother, you really did, but sometimes she could be a bit much. And after the day you had, well, you just didn't want to deal with her. In fact, you didn't want to deal with anybody at the moment.

All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry.

When Coriolanus walked into the penthouse he had a huge smile on his face. He was on the right track for graduating Summa Cum Laude and being the Valedictorian of his class. He was also given an assistant gamemaker position, which was amazing consider that made him the youngest gamemaker on Dr. Gaul's staff.

Dr. Gaul has told Coriolanus that he had a drive that she hadn't seen since she taught his father. That, in fact, his drive for success surpassed that of the late General Snow’s. That he, Coriolanus Snow, was destined for great things; to be a great contributor to Panem. She even told him that she saw political potential in him.

Coryo couldn't wait to tell both you and Grandma'am about his great news, but when he came home he was only met with the sight of Grandma’am in a sitting chair, watching one of her late afternoon Capitol TV soaps, and your books on the glass coffee table. He instantly knew that something was wrong. You'd never ignore Grandma’am. Not unless you weren't feeling well.

No. You loved his Grandma’am. Adored her, enjoyed her company.

“Is Y/N feeling unwell?” Coriolanus asked his Grandma'am, his icy blue eyes shifting between her and your books.

“I'm not sure, Coryo. I didn't see her come in.” The old woman, dressed in a fine tunic and a matching jeweled turbin, told her grandson.

“I’ll check on her, Grandma'am. Just continue watching your soap.” He told her before walking down the hall towards his room. The room that he's been sharing with you ever since he moved you in.

“Darling, are you unwell?” Coryo asked, opening the door and stepping inside of the bedroom.

The site of you curled up in a ball on the bed, crying, gutted him. He hates to see you cry.

And whoever made you cry was dead. Coriolanus would personally make sure of it. Nobody makes his baby cry and gets away with it

Nobody.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” Coryo asked, rushing over to the bed.

And when you felt him wrap his arms around you, you broke down. You told him everything that happened. About the fight and how you lost all of your friends. About how they pettily posted shit on Pangram all day and how they've been gossiping about you; talking trash.

Coriolanus just let you spill your guts to him. The more you told him, the more he began to scheme up ideas to make those girls pay for what they did to you.

And they were going to pay.

Their families were going to pay too.

All because they made you cry. When they made the girlfriend of Coriolanus Snow cry, well, they just opened up Pandora's box. And once that bitch’s open, it doesn't close.

As Coryo spooned you, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and assured you, “You’ll feel better now that you've cried it out, baby” He nuzzled your neck, only to tell you, “I'm sorry those bitches did that to you, Y/N. You're the sweetest girl I know; you didn't deserve that.”

“It hurts, Coryo.” You sniffled. Staring out the window that was by the bed, you sighed, “I thought they were my friends. I've known them for years, just for them to turn on me because of a comment about a dress.”

Everything clicked in Coriolanus mind as soon as he heard you say ‘just for them to turn on me because of a comment about a dress’. Those words were all it took for him to realize that your friends were jealous of you because you belonged to him. They were jealous because he moved you into his house and spoiled you with clothes, jewelry, sweets, and anything else you could possibly want. They're jealous because he's rich, the Plinth heir, and he's showering you (his girl that made him fall in love again, even though he swore he'd never love anyone ever again) in luxury.

“They're jealous, baby.” Your boyfriend told you.

“I know.” You sadly nodded.

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Coriolanus promised, “Baby, I'll never let anyone hurt you ever again.”

And he kept that promise.

Coriolanus made your former friends pay for what they done to you. For making you cry.

He ruined and bankrupted their families. He also ruined their reputations and had them expelled from the University.

Your Coryo made sure that everyone knew that if they messed with you then they messed with him. Safe to say, everyone kisses your ass out of fear that your boyfriend would make them disappear or make their lives a living hell.

Coriolanus also made sure that you were accepted into his friend circle. Those snotty rich kids at least didn't backstab their friends.

Well, Coriolanus did out of that group, but he wouldn't be backstabbing them til years later when he got deep into his presidential campaigns.

But for now, Coryo was just your supportive boyfriend that held you as you cried, dried your tears, and made everything all better for you.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth

[brbsoulnomming]

Static

Steve's never certain if he hates walking through the crowds after a match or not. Sometimes, when he walks back to his flat, all bloody and bruised and exhausted, the press of so many other people feels oppressive. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, that he's in a little bubble of his own space and nothing can touch him. But sometimes, even though there's an edge of pain in every step, the bustle of people reminds him of why he does this, reminds him of everyone he's trying to protect and everything he wants to be able to keep on going exactly as it is.

Today is not a hates day.

Today the crowds feel warm and full of energy, and he basks in it, lets the feel of so much life wash over him.

Today he buys sunflowers at his favorite florist, listening to the soft hum of bees he can hear in the back of their shop. Today he asks if they have any honey, tucks a bottle of it into his pocket and sucks on a piece of the soft, sticky candy that Mrs. Anderson makes from it. The augment he keeps for show chimes softly in his ear, alerting him that funds have been withdrawn from his arena account. He doesn't know how much, but it doesn't matter. He trusts Mrs. Anderson enough not to rip him off, and anyway, he makes more than enough from his fights to get anything he wants.

It'd be enough to get out of this place ten times over, if the credits Creel gave his gladiators were good anywhere else but the citydome he runs.

Mrs. Anderson wraps up his flowers for him, and Steve gives her a warm smile when she gives him an extra one for his girl.

He can't remember if she thinks his girl is Robin, or Nancy, or Max, or Erica, or El, but it doesn't really matter.

They're all his girls, and he'd do absolutely anything at all to give them the world.

He settles the bouquet under his arms, counts the flowers - there's enough to give each of them two, but he knows he won't see them in person any time soon.

It's been quiet enough that he might have suggested a meet up, but there's… something that stops him. Steve doesn't know what it is, can't put words to what he's picked up on, but it settles heavy in the pit of his stomach. He's learned the hard way to listen to it.

They can't risk it.

Static blares in his mind as he opens his communication link, feeling out for who's listening in and smiling to himself when he senses El.

El's favorites are sunflowers, same as him. They're Max's favorites, too, but only because he knows they remind her of El.

‘Sunflowers!’ El says immediately, delighted.

‘Fresh cut,’ he tells her. ‘Want to smell?’

Her presence is suddenly much stronger in his mind, and he dutifully leans in to pull in a deep breath, holds it for a few moments, then lets the honey candy in his mouth settle right over his tongue.

There's a pleased little sigh, a soft touch of gratitude, then she withdraws.

‘When's your next match?’ Lucas asks.

‘In two days,’ Steve replies.

There's no response, not even a wordless one, but Steve knows Lucas well enough to tell that he's disappointed. Two days isn't enough time for him to sneak out, let alone have a Creel sanctioned vacation.

‘It's not the same without you here.’ Dustin's voice is colored with disappointment, too, and Steve can feel the sharpness of what he isn't saying.

‘I know, buddy. I miss you guys, too.’

He wishes he could tell them that it wouldn't be much longer. Steve's got plenty on Henry Creel, more than enough to have made this mission a success already, but they're never going to get an opportunity like this again.

He needs to stay as long as possible.

‘I'll ask for a vacation after my next couple of matches. How did your collaboration with Suzie go?’

Steve listens to the Party over the comm links for a little while longer, just to keep his own longing for home at bay, until he gets out of the busy part of the citydome and has to say goodbye.

His head goes silent as he closes his comm link, and he's alone once more - aside from the ever present trace of Robin, all wrapped up in his neural pathways that are more circuits than synapses these days, but she doesn't count. She's as much a part of him as his own thoughts are.

Tension prickles at the back of his neck when he picks up on footsteps approaching, more purposeful than anyone else passing by. Sure enough, someone falls into step with him, and his head jerks over - then relaxes.

“My liege,” Munson greets, throwing a grin at him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”

He didn't think it was possible, but Munson's smile widens even more.

“To celebrate!” he announces, arms spread as though gesturing to the wide expanse of celebratory pleasures to be had around them.

Which are exactly none, considering Steve'd already passed the pleasure district. He raises one eyebrow to convey just that.

Munson is undeterred.

“Come on, your Majesty,” he cajoles. “Look at you! First time in weeks that a gladiator walked away from a match with barely a scratch on them! Surely such a transcendent performance from the King is worthy of deigning to mingle with the Freak?”

Steve's going to say yes, he already knows he is, but he makes him wait a little longer, making a big show of sighing and crossing his arms and looking him up and down.

It's then that he sees it.

If Steve was everything he was pretending to be and nothing more, he never would have picked up on anything. There's nothing in Munson's demeanor that is any different from the handful of other times they've caught up with each other for a drink after a match.

It's only because his scans pick up so much more that he detects the unsteady beat of Munson's heart, how he holds himself ready the same way he does in the arena.

And the gun tucked in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Right.

Looks like he's out of time here, then.

If Steve's honest, he's a little surprised that it's Munson. The rivalry between the Freak and the King is all for show in the arena - not like it is between him and Billy Hargrove or between Munson and Jason “the Prophet” Carver.

If Steve's even more honest, he's disappointed, in more ways than he can spend time sorting through right now.

“Fine,” he says, letting himself sound long suffering. “Where are we going? I'll swing by home to drop these off and meet you there.”

Something tense but otherwise unreadable flickers behind Munson's eyes, and Steve wonders if he's been ordered not to allow him to leave his sight. He doesn't have a choice, though - it's a reasonable request, exactly what Steve would have said if he hadn't caught on, and his only other option is -

“Allow me to accompany you,” Munson says, bowing low in a show of gallantry.

It's a risk.

Steve's never let another gladiator come to his flat before, and there's very little chance that he'd let Munson come now, even if he didn't realize what Munson's true intentions were. He wonders what the back up plan is if he says no, wonders if Munson will do it right here in the open.

“Why?” Steve asks, unable to stop himself from pushing, even though he knows it's a bad idea.

Munson peeks up from his bow, flutters his lashes, all playful exaggeration. “And risk you backing out and abandoning the likes of little ole me?”

“Never backed out before after I've said yes,” Steve points out, digging in. Pushing harder. “Unless you have a reason for inviting yourself over? Maybe a different kind of celebration in mind?”

Munson tips his head back down, but Steve's scanner can pick up the way he swallows, harsh and rough. “Yeah.” It's flat and hollow, and it immediately sounds wrong to Steve's ears. “Yeah, maybe I had something different in mind.”

That's -

Not what Steve was expecting.

Would he, Steve wonders? Would Munson play that card, even though he clearly doesn't want to, even though he kind of sounds like he hates himself a little for it?

“Hey,” Steve says, unbidden. “I'm just messing with you, man. It's fine, you can come with me to drop them off.”

Steve might be well aware that he's going to have to kill Munson, but he doesn't want to be cruel about it.

Munson straightens, his usual smile back on his face, and he checks his shoulder into Steve's hard enough that it stings a little. “Asshole,” he says.

“You're the one who hangs out with me,” Steve replies.

The crowd thins even more as they move into the residential blocks. They're not going in the direction of Steve's flat - but they are going in a direction that he could live in, and it's not like Munson knows where he actually stays. It's not like Munson knows that Steve's already activated his comm link and told the Party his cover's been blown, and that he has to get out of the citydome tonight.

“Hey, Munson?” Steve asks, slowing to a stop.

Munson hums, looking over at him with a brow raised in question.

Steve pulls the extra sunflower that Mrs. Anderson had given him free from the bouquet, tucks it into the front pocket of Munson's jacket.

“I really am sorry about before, I shouldn't have messed with you like that,” he says.

He's sorry about a lot more than that, but this is what he's got.

Munson's lips twist down, and he sighs as he pushes Steve's hands away - though he leaves the sunflower there.

“Steve,” he says, soft and filled with something like regret.

Nothing follows it.

There's a beat where they look at each other, and Steve thinks -

And then there's the sound of harsh laughter, boots dropping onto the ground as someone swings down from one of the platforms overhead.

“King Steve,” Hargrove drawls. “Sweet on the Freak. You're really making it easy to knock you off that throne, aren't you?”

Shit.

Steve's in worse trouble than he thought.

He steps back automatically, shooting a betrayed little look over at Munson - it's one thing for Munson to be planning on killing him, it's another for him to lead Hargrove to him.

But Munson looks surprised, and then furious, and Steve realizes -

Hargrove isn't here for Steve. Or at least, not just for Steve.

“I told Creel you couldn't do it,” Hargrove tells Munson, voice conversational. “You're all bark and no bite, aren't you?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Hargrove,” Munson says tersely, teeth gritted.

“No can do, Junior,” Hargrove replies. “I have to clean up your mess.”

“You set me up,” Munson bites out. “This was never going to be a fair chance, was it?”

Hargrove shrugs, unconcerned. “You want me to drag you back to Creel to explain yourself, or should I just put you out of your misery here?”

The thing is, Steve thinks Munson would have done it before Hargrove showed up. Steve and Munson are friends, maybe, but loyalty to other gladiators only goes so far, and Creel keeps them all under a heavy thumb. It wouldn't have been anything personal - it would have been just what Munson had to do to survive in this place.

The thing is, Steve knows he would have put a bullet in Munson's brain right here. It would have destroyed a piece of him to do it, he can acknowledge that now, but he would have done it without hesitation if it meant keeping the resistance in general - and the Party in specific - safe.

The thing is, even if Hargrove does kill Steve - even if Munson kills Steve, even if he manages to kill Hargrove before he can report back to Creel - Munson is finished, now. Unfair or not, he's failed the test. There's no going back, not if Creel doesn't trust him, and Steve knows Munson's smart enough to have realized that.

The thing is, if Creel suspected Munson enough to have Hargrove follow him to make sure he got the job done, there must be a reason why, and Steve wants to know it.

‘Change of plans,’ he tells Robin, even though he can already feel her at the back of his mind like fingertips ghosting through his hair, downloading his memories until she's caught up. She already knows exactly what he's going to do.

The piece of him that would have died with Eddie Munson finally settles into place, the circuitry that makes up more of him than he usually lets on humming softly in his veins as it adjusts to account for it.

Steve swings around to stand in front of Eddie, and plants his feet.

“If you want him,” he says, and he can hear the echo of it through the static of his communication link, calm and determined.

Steve's never felt more steady than he does when he's standing between a looming threat and one of the people who've become part of the very core of him.

“You'll have to go through me.”

Hargrove sneers at him. “You can barely hold your own against me in the arena.”

“The arena’s all show.” Steve laughs, a little mean. “You think I'm sitting here with prototype Harrington augments and all they've got is what you've seen?”

He's not sure why he's keeping up the pretense that he's nothing more than what he seems. If Creel is sending people to kill him, he has to know Steve's part of the Party. But it's ingrained in him, somehow, to protect them until his last breath, whether it's artificial or not.

The question makes Hargrove scoff, and Steve swings at him.

Hargrove lets it hit, laughs at him again with blood dripping from his mouth, and then -

They've fought in the arena, before. Not often, because they're brutal with each other, and because Creel knows their matches always draw a massive crowd and likes to drag out the tension, keep the audience wanting more.

This is nothing like that.

Despite their brutality, there's an element of safety in arena matches. The punishment for killing one of Creel's gladiators is harsh and swift, and so they're almost never in any real danger.

This is - Steve can see the hatred in Hargrove's eyes, same as he always does, but now there's intent, now Hargrove's own augments have been let loose, and there's more power behind every punch than Steve's ever felt before.

Steve's starting to think the only way he can beat Hargrove is to really let himself go, and it makes his heart quicken, makes the dread in his chest coil tighter and tighter - makes Robin even more present in his mind, makes her whisper ‘you have to, it's okay, I'm here, I won't let you lose yourself,’ -

Until a shot rings out, clipping Hargrove on the shoulder.

It's not that Steve forgot Eddie.

It's just that he kind of assumed that Eddie would run off after Steve took his first swing at Hargrove. It'd been part of the reason that he pulled Hargrove's attention onto himself in the first place.

The expression on Hargrove's face says that he'd assumed the same thing, and he shoots a venomous look over at Eddie.

“Who's cleaning up messes now?” Eddie asks.

Hargrove snarls, drawing his own gun on Eddie, and -

Steve's too close for Eddie to get a clear shot at Hargrove, and by now he's starting to think that Eddie won't take the shot if it means he'll have to shoot through Steve, but he knows damn well Hargrove won't have the same reservations.

‘Robin,’ Steve says, even though she's already there, flooding his mind until she's all he can feel.

He can't lose himself when he does this if he's so much her that they can't separate each other out.

Steve lets go.

Electricity flares under his skin, crackling and humming, and when he grabs Hargrove's hand it immediately shorts out his gun. It flows out - and out and out and out and out, overloading the circuitry of Hargrove’s augment and threatening to burn it through completely if it keeps going, and he needs to -

He needs to -

‘Stop.’

Steve can't tell if it's Robin's voice or his, but it doesn't matter.

It's enough to get him to pull himself back. He lets go of Hargrove, breathing heavily as he shuts himself down. Steve's expecting to have to fight with himself, with the way the power in him wants an outlet, but it simmers back down with little more than a whisper. It's easier than it's ever been before, and he can feel Robin's pride whispering through him.

Steve looks up, just in time to see Eddie pointing his gun at Hargrove.

“Don't,” Steve says, stepping between Eddie and Hargrove.

It isn't the same as when he stood between them last time.

For one, Billy Hargrove isn't exactly conscious. For another - Steve doesn't care about Hargrove himself, not the way every part of his being screamed at him to protect Eddie. The only reason Steve's standing here at all is for Max.

“He'll tell Creel,” Eddie says. “You know if he's still alive, if he gets back to him, we're finished.”

“We're finished here either way,” Steve points out. “And Billy Hargrove isn't our decision to make. It belongs to someone else.”

Eddie looks at him searchingly, for a long moment. “If not you, then who?”

It's a fair demand.

As far as the general public knows, as far as Henry Creel knows - the rivalry between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington is as intimate as it is intense. Steve would be lying if he pretended like he didn't know that there was a fan favorite theory that there was something more behind their fights.

But it's never been true. Steve's only ever hated Hargrove for what he did to Lucas and Max.

“Come with me,” Steve says. “And I'll introduce you to her.”

Eddie's eyes are dark, unreadable.

Except -

Except.

Except Steve can read into them, can read hesitancy, longing, hope.

He reaches out, snags Eddie's hand, links their fingers together.

“Come with me,” Steve says again. “And I'll protect you.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, soft and almost surprised. “Okay.”

[thermitetermite]

I return from the grave for one night only to post a Helluva Boss AU. Enjoy my delulu AU about a Christmas tree capitalist clown spider demon and his adopted cyborg clown son.

Also there is swearing and mentions of Fizzaroli's accident.

Mammon being a half decent step-dad AU

Mammon hears about Fizz much earlier though the grapevine (Paimon complaining to all royal demons about how his son got rid of all their shit bc of some clown kid)

Interested, he attends a show in disguise.

He finds that Fizz is good. Like, really good! Dollar signs start popping up in his head. Also the little bugger kind of reminds him of himself.

Immediately asks to buy Fizz from Cash Buckzo. He refuses at first because Fizz is his star but with strong negotiating tactics (money and threats) he caves.

Fizz is nervous about leaving his only home behind but is excited to be "adopted" by Mammon! His hero!

It's giving bought by One Direction vibes

At first Mammon was planning to just train him to be a child actor/clown, give him a TV show and pawn him off to someone to actually raise full-time. He wanted to be the convenient step-dad, not a full time parent!

That changed after the first couple nights with Fizz living in his mansion.

It started with Fizz handing him a red balloon horse.

"Alright, not bad kid, but can ya make a balloon unicorn?"

Fizz ran off to attempt to make it. That'll keep him busy for a few hours, guess that meant he could make some calls and... He was back already with the completed unicorn.

"Give me another!"

"Uh, alright ya little bugger, why dontcha make a Quevie?"

This back and forth happened for the next few hours, with Mammon judging the balloon animal, giving a few pointers when he messed up, and Fizz making the next animal he asked for.

Damn, this parenting shit is easy.

It eventually got so late that Fizz fell asleep on the couch trying to complete a kangaroo.

Sighing, Mammon picked Fizz up and carried him to the bedroom he hired someone to decorate. He tucked him into bed and finally after an entire day was able to make a call.

However, the first call he made wasn't to the networking company or his broadcasting station. Instead, it was to Lucifer, his self proclaimed best friend and a successful parent.

"What is it Mammon? Do you have any idea how late it is?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just had a quick question for ya. What do children eat? Cereal? Oats? Ice cream?"

Needless to say, Lucifer had a long talk with Mammon about how to raise a kid, stating it'd be hard work.

After hanging up and going to bed, Mammon had only one thought on his mind. To raise this kid better than any of the other Sins could. His boy would be talk of the town and the best clown in all of Hell.

That first week of parenting went about as well as you'd expect.

Mammon had the approach of being "The fun step-dad" which included eating candy for every meal, teaching him swear words and showing him how to do all the tricks he thought a capable child could do.

(These tricks may or may not have included tax evasion and driving)

Speaking of, Mammon insisted on bringing Fizzaroli everywhere. Including work.

"Mammon, sir, I'm sorry for filing the paperwork for the expansion of LooLoo Land wrong- is that a child?"

"Yeah, this is my boy. Look attem. Ain't he talented!" Cue Fizz hanging off one of his arms. "Whatdya think Fizzie? Should we keep or fire him?"

"Fire!"

"You heard the boy! Off withya, ya bloody cunt!"

"Bloody cunt!"

Mammon would belly laugh whenever Fizzaroli would copy his swearing or accent. When is children swearing NOT funny?

Mammon's definitely the type to have tons of pictures in his wallet of his kid. Fizzaroli does get a TV show, lots of interviews and the spotlight often but whenever someone asks Mammon about him he immediately opens the photo wallet.

(He would kill anyone who even touched it)

Of course he still has some of the Mammon-ness we know, bribing and pushing Fizz to do shows, acts, commercials and more, causing Fizz to start getting overwhelmed.

Then one day Fizz's accident happened (it's a canon event)

Mammon practically broke down Belphagor's door when he got the news Fizz was hurt, demanding his boy get the best treatment in Hell.

Mammon didn't sleep for the entire time Fizz was in that hospital bed, sitting beside him for days at a time just thinking about how he nearly lost him. He couldn't lose him.

When Fizz woke up/was stable, Mammon was there during his emotional moments. When Fizz asked if Mammon would replace him he scoffed.

"Fizzie, why would I replace you? You're in recovery right now. A break. Yer fans are dying to see that Fizzie face when you get outta here. You're more popular and more in demand than ever. You do the recoverin and I'll show you the huge profit we return."

Mammon to English translation: It's stupid to think I'll leave. You'll be able to return to the stage, I'll make sure of it. You'll get better and I'll be here with you.

Fizz eventually recovered but needed limbs so Mammon sent a request (demand) to the best mechanic in Hell, Asmodeus. If anyone could make limbs for his boy it'd be that rooster fuck.

Of course just because Mammon had faith in him didn't mean he wasn't picky in what he delivered.

"Can ya loop your arm like a bendy straw?"

"Uh, no."

"Then it's not good enough for you!"

Mammon practically sent Asmodeus a list of limb adjustments and upgrades that needed to be done every other week. All other times he had Fizzie trying all these different therapies, practicing with his limbs, and occasionally try doing a trick. (Not clown car driving after last time). Eventually he was mostly satisfied with the work and to celebrate "Ozzie not *HONK*-ing up" he started teaching Fizz how to play the guitar.

Cue a bit of a time skip of say 7 years.

Fizz has his hands in nearly every facet of entertainment. News, sports, cooking competitions (which he surprisingly sucked at), and of course comedy. Fizz didn't want to say it but doing so much had him tired, stressed, and anxious. He was doing this for Mammon, the person who gave him everything. He couldn't just let him down. He'd seen what happened to those that failed him. All those people who got fired for mistakes they made. He couldn't fail.

At the same time Mammon wants to get into the robot doll industry. Not sex dolls because he can't stand the thought of his (boy) brand being sold like that. Instead personal assistance robots that have all the features. It can make coffee, teach you yoga, be a parent, etc. but of course he needs the mechanical help of Asmodeus again.

Once again Fizz is taking trips to Lust to oversee the production of the robots. After 2 years of this the robots are completed (a huge financial success) and Fizz asks Mammon if he can stay with Ozzie.

Mammon is surprised but ok with it as long as he visits and does a show every now and again. Especially guest judging the Clown Pageant.

He doesn't realize Fizz and Oz have a thing until the Clown Pageant (his final one in canon)

Once it comes out, oh boy, Mammon goes full demon mode. Shit gets ugly. Mammon goes on his normal rant (minus the "raised you like the son I didn't want" part) and Fizz, unwaivering because he's seen this a million times, retorts back with all the anxiety Mammon caused. The acting and shows. How it weighed on him. How he was so scared of fucking something up and getting kicked out.

"I'd never kick you out! You're the crown jewel of my empire! My runt turned pick of the litta! I made you in my image! If I pushed you hard it was because you could be better! I raised you! You've got my training in your back pocket so I knew you could be a better clown than I ever was! All of this was for you!"

Eventually Mammon breaks down and asks why Asmodeus. He's worried about their relationship considering he's known Asmodeus since the beginning of hell.

"Why do you need to date him when you have my empire! If you need money, we have it! If you need companionship, we can buy it! If you need power we have that too! We built this empire! Your talent brought in a fortune and you've seen how to run the business! If you need your own power or your own space you can have it!"

"I'm not with him for any of those things! I know I have everything else here! But I love him Mammon! He takes care of me. He's kind, sweet, handsome, and supports me even on my roughest days. I love him."

"...he makes you feel safe?"

"Yes."

"He treats you good?"

"He treats me amazingly."

"You love him?"

"With all my heart."

"...ok."

"Ok?"

"I... Respect your decision. I'm going to make it about me but please bear with me. I know I haven't been the best at raising you. I can be overbearing. And clingy. And I pushed you to do a lot of things that were hard or uncomfortable or er... greedy. I haven't been the best influence on your life but I did my best and if I had to I'd do it all over again."

"Mam..."

"Up up up, let me finish ya little shit. You know I have a hard time letting go of things. And I was kidding myself when I thought I'd have ya forever. I forgot how fast ya implings grow up. I thought I could keep ya safe and smilin but I couldn't even do that right. The second most painful thing I experienced in my life was gettin kicked from heaven. The most was seein you in that hospital bed. I've been smotherin ya since. Yer my boy and I wanted better for ya. Thought I could protect ya if I pushed harder. Taught ya more. Did more shit with ya. But in the end you were always gonna have ta leave ta find a life of yer own.

Mammon paused, taking a familiar but heavily deflated remnant of a red horse balloon from under his hat

"I'm at least glad ya took somethin after me. Yer greedy like me and ya landed the best bachelor Hell has ta offer. I... I don't want to let ya go but... Ya need to do this. Live yer life kid, and live it better than me."

The fucking stadium was in tears (me too tbh)

Before Fizz could say anything (he was choking on his words) Mammon extended a card with his sigil on it.

"Remember I'm always here. Please... Call me if ya need me."

Fizz wrapped his robotic limbs around Mammon, bringing him in for a tight hug.

"I love you, Dad."

Mammon cried on that stage, hugging the son he always wanted.

[sydsaint]

Hey Babe, I was wondering if you wrote for Darby Allin? If so could you possibly write a little fic for him. No pressure, Love you♥

My emo lover <3

Summary: The reader gears up for Revolution and Sting's retirement match. Helping her father and Darby wherever she can.

"Darbs, have you seen my dad today?" You question your boyfriend while digging around for his face paint in your bag.

"I haven't seen him since the airport, no." Darby replies. "Why? What's up?" He tilts his head at you curiously.

You shrug and finally find what you're looking for. "I was just curious." You assure him. "It's going to be weird no having him around every week."

"I think we'll be okay." Darby chuckles. "Plus he's still working backstage once in a while isn't he? So he won't be completely gone." He reminds you.

"That's true." You nod. "Alright, sit down. What kind of design do you want tonight?" You ask him while shaking a face paint bottle in your hand.

Darby shrugs and sits down in a chair next to where you're standing. He pulls his shirt over his head and settles into his seat.

"You can pick." Darby decides after a moment of thought. "You haven't made me look bad yet." He grins at you.

You giggle and shake your head. "I think it'd be pretty hard to make you look bad, pretty boy."

"Pretty boy?" Darby replies pointedly. "Hey! I'm hardcore!" He protests.

"You can be hardcore and look like a pretty boy at the same time." You laugh and cup his cheek with your free hand. "Now hold still please."

Darby obeys and stops talking for the moment. You start smearing face paint all over one side of his face and begin blending it out for him. Throughout the process of you making Darby's face paint design look right he gazes up at you with adorable puppy dog eyes.

"Do you have to stare at me like that? It's distracting." You grumble to Darby.

"Like what?" Darby replies with a knowing grin.

You roll your eyes at him and switch colors. "Like you're madly in love with me."

"Maybe I am." Darby replies.

"Okay lover boy." You giggle and lean down for a kiss. "There, now you look as hardcore as you claim to be."

You start putting away all your stuff and Darby checks his reflection in his phone. "Do I get an 'I love you' back?" He asks you.

"I gave you a kiss." You protest. "Isn't that enough?" You tease him.

"Coming from you? It's never enough." Darby insists. "Come on." He whines. "I love you. Three simple words. For good luck." Darby comes up behind you for a hug.

You sigh when Darby wraps his arms around you. "You know people might not think you're such a hardcore dude if they saw how clingy you are." You joke.

"What can I say? I'm a lover not a fighter." Darby replies.

"Okay!" You laugh and turn around in Darby's arms. "Tell that to all the times I've had to bandage you up." You remind him. "I love you, you overly-violent idiot. Now go find my dad." You give him a small shove toward the door.

Darby grins to himself and lingers at the door. "I knew you loved me."

"Mhm. Go! Before my dad thinks I stole you." You point at the door.

"It'd be worth it." Darby replies as he heads out the door.

You roll your eyes again with a smile on your face and finish cleaning up.

You hang around in the locker room for a while and watch the show unfold on a tv monitor. Toward the end of the show you watch the Jackson brothers head out to the ring and once again start badmouthing your father and Darby. A fight ensues of course, and you know that you'll be checking Darby for injuries later.

After the show goes off the air you sit and wait for Darby and Sting to head back to the locker room.

"Hey, dad." You greet Sting when he finally show up with Darby.

"Hey, sweetie." Sting nods to you. "How has your day been?" He asks you.

You shrug as Darby walks over to you. "It was fine. You didn't hit your head did you?" You ask Darby.

"I don't think I did." Darby shrugs.

"You don't thin you did?" You repeat him and begin looking at his head. "How do you not know if you hit your head?"

Sting chuckles at your bickering. "You'd better get used to it Darby." He snickers. "With me gone she's about to get ten times worse." He jokes.

"Oh I know I'm so annoying for caring about my boyfriend." You huff.

"I love you too." Darby grins.

Sting laughs and you stop fawning over Darby. Everyone settles down and starts packing up to leave.

"So," Sting prompts you. "How do you feel about coming out to the ring with me and Darby on Sunday?" He asks you.

"Do you want me out there?" You ask in surprise. "Is that even a good idea? I don't want to get in the way, dad."

Sting shakes his head. "You're my only kid that doesn't have to be in the crowd." He reminds you. "Why wouldn't I want you out there."

"Darby? What do you think?" You turn to Darby.

"I don't see why not." Darby shrugs. "I don't think Matt and Nick are the types to mess with you if you're out there. And even if they are, you know I'd never let them get the chance to hurt you." He adds.

You nod, knowing that Darby would go through hell to make sure that you're safe. "Alright, yeah, I'll go out there with you two." You decide to honor Sting's request. "I can play cheerleader for one night. Plus it'll be fun to rub it in the guy' face." You giggle.

"Atta girl." Sting beams. "That's why you're my favorite." He teases you.

"Awe, I love you too, dad." You giggle and hug him.

[lipringlrh]

just being polite - cth

summary: you and calum broke up, but you decide to call him again to tell him you love him.

pairing: calum hood x genderneutral!reader

an: in honour of his birthday:)

word count: ~1250

requested: yes

warnings: phone call, bit of angst, pet names, bit of a cliffhanger

feedback appreciated!!

...

It'd only been two months since your breakup with Calum and somehow you still managed to miss him more and more each day.

You were still led in bed - even though it was mid-afternoon. You had just finished crying over your third film of the day, each one somehow reminding you more and more of him.

You decided you were going to call him. You missed him too much. Each day you regretted the break up but, after many romantic films, you decided you were going to have you own romance movie and get your happy ending. And you couldn't think of anyone other than Calum.

The break up, per se, wasn't horrible; it was the seeing each other again and again, starting new fights, that was the most painful. It seemed more and more impossible to fall out of love with him. Every time you tried, you heard his voice in the back of your mind, "baby, I am so sorry.”

His voice seemed to just nag you, telling you over and over again he wanted you back. Whether it was true or not, you didn't know, but what you did know was that you wanted Calum back in your life, no matter the circumstances.

And now here you were, deciding to to call him, dialling in his number, which you shamelessly knew off by heart, even planning to lose all your dignity in the process, and beg for him back. Except, maybe without the begging. If he agreed straight away it would be a little less time consuming.

By the third ring, you had always considered hanging up. What if he didn't want you? What if he moved on already? You couldn't bare that thought. It would prove to you how much less he cared about you than he made you believe. You couldn't fathom how he could've possibly got over you in such short time if he really loved you as much as he promised.

However, Calum had seen the call. He'd noticed from the very first ring. He had stared at your name - a little shocked - debating how long to wait until he could answer without seeming desperate.

Calum missed you. More than he ever imagined was possible. He was never told how to get over a true love so had spent his time similarly to you, convinced it was impossible to ever move on.

As much as he missed you, he was a coward, admittedly so, and wouldn't call you. He couldn't handle a bad response. He had never been hurt this badly and hearing you say you didn't want him would break him far from recovery.

He'd never admit it, but scrolling through social media, he found a video explaining how to get someone back thorough manifestation, which he tried with you, and if this call went the way he wanted, it would have successfully worked.

Calum couldn't wait anymore and answered the phone, immediately pulling up to his ear and mumbling a, "hello?"

He heard a sigh of relief from the other end of the phone before hearing a small, "hi," greeted back to him.

The line was silent for a little while before you heard Calum murmur, “why'd you call?"

You could tell he was apprehensive. You were too.

"Just- I wanted to ask how you are?" It came out more as a question. Your hands were getting more sweaty as you were trying not to anticipate the worse response. You were contemplating backing out entirely but a good result was too heavenly.

"You want to ask how I am? That's- that's it?" He scoffed. "The last time you saw me, we were screaming at each other and now you're asking how i am?"

“| was just being polite," you objected, "was trying not to get anyone annoyed." It was like you could feel Calum roll his eyes. All you wanted was a civil conversation and a love confession but seemingly, you'd already failed at one.

You both went silent again, neither knowing what to say. Calum didn't know why he was getting so annoyed. He figured he just needed another way of getting out his emotions other than crying. He knew he'd started off rough, maybe altering the tone of the rest of the conversation, but he was too stubborn to apologise now, especially without knowing the real reason you called.

"Is that all you wanted because I think we're done now.” He spoke, the malice leaving his body the second he finished. His head fell down in regret. He didn't want to finish talking to you; he never wanted to. The thought that he may of just ruined his chances with you, again, sprung back in his mind. Recurring and repeating every second.

"You never actually answered," you responded, "I'm waiting.” You sounded tired. You didn't know if you could handle another conversation like this: tense and argumentative. You just wanted your boyfriend back.

Calum seemed to notice. When he answered, he spoke much more calmly with a hint of sadness in his voice, "I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. If there's anything you learnt from your time together, it was how to tell his emotions. As sick as it sounded, you wanted him to have missed you like you missed him. You'd never want to see him hurt but you wanted him to miss you, to come back and tell you he loved you.

Everything fell silent again..

“I don't want to go," you faltered.

He was quiet; he didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say but didn’t know if he could admit it to you. Neither of you wanted to be in a vulnerable position. You both felt the love you held for each other but you both couldn’t tell what the other thought was best to do.

“I don’t want you to go either,” he admitted.

Everything fell silent again, you wanted to tell him you loved him but the words felt like sick in your mouth. You didn’t want lose him more than you had - if that was even possible.

“I miss you, Cal,” you paused again, letting everything go quiet. When Calum was about to reply, you interrupted him. You needed to get everything across to him before he had the chance to disagree.

“I miss you so much, Cal. I know we broke up and I know there was so many reasons but none of them matter anymore. I want you, Cal, over everything, and I want us back, please. I lo-“

“Save that for when I see you again, okay baby?” Your stomach fluttered at the nickname. “I miss you too.”

“Where are you at the moment? I want to see you soon.” you whispered, like a secret. You didn’t want to complicate things, you wanted Calum to be comfortable and not rush anything.

“M‘near you. I know it’s late but could i maybe come over? We can talk, try to sort this out properly?” You hummed back as a reply, adding a “please do” to the end.

“I’ll see you in maybe half an hour, that okay?” You nodded before realising then muttered out a yes, walking into your bathroom to see how you look.

“Okay, see you soon baby.”

requests are open, feedback is appreciated!

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou's S/O becoming a Daemon

Velvet had known S/O to be quite the klutz back then.

They were scarily efficient at hunting and fighting, but other than that? (Y/N) was an absolute catastrophe and quite the airhead.

When Velvet had met them three years later after the village was attacked, she expected a massive personality shift like hers, or some of the others she had met.

When they turned around, getting ready for a fight, Velvet steeled herself to put down a familiar face.

Only for them to drop their weapons and almost tackle Velvet in a hug.

(S/O) "VELVET! YOU'RE OKAY!"

And even though Velvet had grown far stronger than the last time they met, the force of the hug threatened to snap Velvet in half.

(Velvet) "S-S/O...! CAN'T...BREATHE!"

Releasing her from their death grip, they quickly moved to help her up.

(S/O) "S-Sorry! I just go so excited, I can't believe you're okay!"

(Velvet) "I...I see you haven't changed at all. That's...surprising."

As far as she knew, people became Daemons due to an overflow of malevolence. Someone as gentle as S/O becoming one was almost inconcievable.

Especially compared to herself.

Despite that fact, she was honestly glad that something from her old life managed to keep intact, reminding her of why she was out to kill Artorias.

Upon hearing their plan to get revenge for Laphicet, S/O joined without hesitation. And the two even managed to rekindle their old relationship, even if it was a bit...rocky.

Velvet and S/O tore apart anything that got in their path, the way they fought was almost as vicious as herself.

But when it came to outside of combat...

(S/O) "I think I'll cook today Ve-"

(Velvet) "Not happening."

(S/O) "Huh? Why?"

(Velvet) "Have your skills improved any these past three years?"

(S/O) "I would think so!...At least, I hope!"

(Laphicet) "Isn't that mean to S/O, Velvet?"

(Velvet) "Trust me, it's for the good of everyone present. Honestly, what they cook could probably make me taste again."

(S/O) "I-Is that why you can eat my food now?!"

Velvet looked sorry for S/O, seeing their distraught expression.

Which completely shocked everyone.

(Velvet) "...I should have mentioned that sooner."

Every Daemon was an abomination that had to be taken down, that was what the Abbey taught Eleanor.

Until meeting Velvet, Rokurou, and even her own S/O.

She was completely heartbroken, learning the fact S/O had become what she swore to destroy.

But during her travels, she began to learn the truth of daemonblight, and that sometimes humans were worse than them.

One thing that confused her greatly, was the fact S/O had remained largely unchanged, minus their red eyes and the markings over their body.

They were still the airhead she fell in love with, which conflicted her to no end.

As time went on and her attitude towards the Abbey changed, she was so happy that she could continue to be with someone she loved, even if they were going to live longer than her.

During combat, Eleanor could rely on S/O the most, watching as they dashed around the field with startling speed, dispatching of every last enemy with blinding ease with their needles.

However, she was the one to reign them whenever it was outside of combat.

...

Rokurou crashed through the wooden wall, scaring Eleanor as she leapt back, readying her spear in retaliation.

Only to find S/O rushing through the hole they made with him, apologizing profusely.

(S/O) "OH GODS! I-I AM SO SORRY!"

(Rokurou) "O-Ow..."

(Eleanor) "What the heck is going on!?"

(S/O) "T-THEY JUST SCARED ME AS A JOKE AND...A-and um, I may have...punched him."

He slowly rose up, hand on his head and he began chuckling, albeit injured.

(Rokurou) "Yeah, that was my fault, honestly. Thought it'd be a funny idea, even though I've seen how hard they hit."

(Eleanor) "S/O, you can't just be punching people!"

(S/O) "I-It wasn't on purpose!"

Eleanor just sighed and helped Rokurou up, continuing to scold S/O. She had done this many times back when they were growing up, and nothing had changed.

Except their strength, that was definitely new.

Magilou wasn't that shocked to see her S/O that unaffected.

(Magilou) "There's no thoughts in that pretty head of theirs, I honestly would have been more surprised if they actually changed!"

(S/O) "H-Hey...!"

She knew of their incredible strength and questionable skills outside of anything that required killing. But Magilou didn't care about that.

She cared more about the goofball that laid inside the boulder-kicking body. And she weaponizes it.

(Magilou) "S/O, I'M BEING ATTACKED!"

Eizen watches as the concrete wall next to them suddenly bursts with S/O, weapons drawn and absolutely ready to tear the throat out of someone.

(S/O) "WHERE ARE TH-...Eizen? Magilou?"

(Magilou) "See? Told you it worked!"

(Eizen) "Huh, two seconds, exactly like you said. I don't know if that's impressive or concerning."

(S/O) "Magilou!"

They began pouting as Magilou dramatically flailed her arms and wrapped it around them.

(Magilou) "I'm so sorry, my dear! I just had to prove how reliable you are!"

(S/O) "You're making me sound more like a dog than your partner..."

(Magilou) "Perish the thought! I would not dare to think of you so low! Besides, that's what Bienfu is for."

(Eizen) "Magilou here just said that if she called for you, you'd answer. Even faster if she sounded like she was in danger. Loyalty is not something to be ashamed of...Though your taste is questionable."

Eizen stared at Magilou.

(S/O) "Don't say something so rude!"

Eizen just shrugged as S/O picked up Magilou, the witch sticking her tongue in defiance.

[echo-rambles]

love don't know how to rest

words: 2,679 summary: a quick phone call with your boyfriend chan turns into a mini vent session. tags: swearing, established relationship, long distance relationship, minor argument, fluff, making up note: this started off as me clowning on chan's new hair because as much as I love him I was not a fan of it when I initially saw it. somehow it turned into a weird little vent thing about missing someone and wishing they'd take better care of themselves. (title from how to rest by the crane wives)

-o0o-

“Hey baby.” You immediately greet, answering your phone and then propping it up so your hands are free. 

Chan's face takes up the majority of the screen, and you get a close up of his forehead before he also seems to settle his phone somewhere. He hums in acknowledgment. 

You know for a fact he’s not trying to be rude, so you don’t worry too much about his non-greeting. Quickly looking at the time and doing the math, you speak up again. “Good morning. Have you just woken up?” It would be about 8am in Korea right now. 

“Hi- sorry I meant to say hi when you did.” It’s ok, you mumble, moving about the kitchen as you continue to make yourself dinner. Chan had messaged you only a few minutes ago, asking if you were busy and if he could call through. It wasn’t a very complicated dinner, mostly just heating up leftovers on the stove, so of course you told him to call. “I’ve been up since… six? Five maybe.” 

“Chan.” You chastise gently. Sending him a little look from your spot at the stove. He ducks his head, already giving you one of his smiles that spell an apology. 

“I know. I just- my brain hasn’t been able to shut off. I’m making the most of it until I end up crashing in the middle of the day.” 

“Light schedule?” You ask, already assuming the answer since otherwise he wouldn’t be able to so readily nap mid day. Chan makes a little agreeable noise. “That's good. And hey, if you don’t sleep at some point I can always ask Seungmin to smother you until you pass out. Forced nap time.” 

“That’s so fucked up.” But it gets him to chuckle, and that’s really what matters. “He’d do it too.” 

“Of course he would; I asked. Hey, nice hat by the way.” You lean close to your phone, squinting at the beanie he’s wearing. 

It makes Chan groan and push the beanie over his eyes for a brief second. “I'm trying to hide my hair, since someone hates it.” 

“I never said I hate it!”

“…you said it reminded you of straw.” 

Ok, so maybe you absolutely said something like that when you first saw his hair. It sort of just tumbled out of your mouth. “Because they bleached it all wrong! They killed your hair, Christopher. I was shocked, and distraught.” 

Chan shifts his beanie around, laying his hand flat on his head but never once taking it off. “I thought it would’ve come out better. I’ve been wanting to dye it-”

“I know, baby.” The teasing slips away from your tone, replaced by something more gentle and understanding. “But you gotta let your hair heal first before you fuck with it. Maybe let it grow out and dye it dark the next time you can? And then, once it’s no longer damaged as hell, you can do something fun. Like pink?”

Chan’s nodding along to your words, clearly watching you shut off the stove and shove all of your food into a bowl. He smiles at your suggestion. “One day you’ll get your pink hair dreams.” 

“We can match! It'd be so much fun. I think the world needs Pink Chan more than ever, really.” 

He hums instead of playing into the banter, hand still on his head, and you know that no matter how much you apologize for your initial reaction or how many jokes you make, the thought that he did something you don’t like is going to eat him up. Sighing, you bring the phone close to your face. 

“I think you look gorgeous no matter what, you know that right? I’ll tell you every single day until you believe me. Even with straw hair.” You lower your voice, trying to sound as solemn and as serious as you can. “Even if you were bald.”

“Bald?” His face goes all scrunched as he laughs, tipping his head out of frame and pressing a hand over his eyes. 

“Yeah. Shave it all off. Start from scratch.” You bring the phone and your bowl over to the couch, settling in. “I’m sure there’d be girls who would go crazy for the shaved look.”

“Should I be worried that you’re making sure I look good for other girls?” 

“Hey, listen, this is your job, and part of my job as the world's greatest girlfriend is to make sure you’re marketable to your audience.”

He’s still smiling, all big and soft and it loosens the knot of guilt in your chest. 

After a few minutes of the both of you falling silent, you eating and Chan just watching you, you finally speak up again. “I’m sorry for saying that stuff about your hair. I didn’t mean to sound so… mean.” 

“I know. I appreciate the apology though.”

“I just worry. Which is a shit excuse but- I don’t want them ruining your hair. I need you to take care of yourself, because I’m not there to do it!” 

“I know-”

“You take care of the boys and I take care of you because you refuse to let them do it; that’s always been the deal, but I’m not there so now no one is taking care of you-” 

“Love,” he cuts you off. Voice firm and commanding. “It’s just hair.” It’s your turn to mumble out an I know. “It’ll grow back. It can be fixed. I’m ok.” 

“I just wish I was there.” 

The silence creeps in again, and your food is growing cold. Every day you miss him, and the feeling just continues to grow and grow and you’re so afraid that it’ll get so big that soon you won’t have room for anything else. You need him to be ok, because if he’s not then… you’re not really sure what you’d do. 

“We take care of each other, yeah?” Chan says, making you snap your attention back to your screen. He must have pulled his phone closer to his face, and if this were any other moment you’d take the opportunity to snap a picture of the angle he chose, but since you feel all cold and serious in the pit of your stomach you instead just nod at his words. 

“Yeah-” 

“I don’t want you to ever feel like this is a one way street. It’s not your job to take care of me.” 

“I definitely don’t get paid enough for it to be a job.” The pit isn’t too cold or serious for you to deny yourself mumbling out a little quip. 

“We choose to look out for each other, yeah? I take care of you too. Don’t forget that.” Your little comment makes him smile. Just a tick of his mouth, but his whole face softens and you wish you could touch him right now. 

You want to be in his arms. Face pressed to his neck, where you can feel his pulse against the highest point of your cheek and his hands spread across your back and anchoring you. Long distance sucks ass. 

“I won’t. But sometimes-” You stop yourself, chew at your bottom lip and aggressively spear your food with your fork. “I worry that you’re so busy taking care of everyone else that sometimes you forget about yourself.”

“I’m guessing this has gone way beyond your feelings about my hair.” Chan tries to joke, but there’s still that underlying tone of his. The special one that only he can really get. It works it’s way under your skin. 

For a brief moment you think about leaving it there. Changing the subject. This was meant to be a relaxing phone call during a moment Chan had to breathe. He has a break and he chose to call you and all of a sudden you're just sort of dumping out all of these thoughts onto him over room temperature leftovers. 

But then you remind yourself that this is Chan. He’ll know if you’re trying to bottle something away. He always does. You joke that you know him, that he’s like an open book to you. This isn’t a one way street. He knows you just as well. 

Fuck it. Rip the band-aid off. 

“You look stressed. Overworked. Like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Oh wow, ok. Straight to the point.” 

“The only reason I know you’ve been eating is because Lino and Bin would probably force feed you before you ever went hungry. You just look exhausted and I know this is your job- I know you signed up for this. But it still breaks my heart sometimes when I can see you starting to strain under the pressure.” 

“I’m- I’m doing fine. It’s hard, yeah, but-”

“It’s worth it.” You finish his sentence, already knowing what he’s going to say because he always says the same thing. “I know. Why do you think it kills me that I can’t fucking be there? Because you work yourself to the bone and there’s no one around that’s willing to pull you away and force you to actually take care of yourself. The boys- I know they try, but they still see you as their leader. As their big brother. The things I do, the way I argue with you? No way they’d be willing to go that far. And I’m not trying to paint myself as this ultra special person but- jesus Chris, you can’t tell me that if, I don’t know; Felix tried to speak to you the way I do, you wouldn’t get upset.” 

Chan doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are big and liquid and he’s listening to every single word out of your mouth. When you say his name, directly ask him a question, he’s blinking. Thinking about it. “No, you’re right.” 

Finally, you place your bowl on the coffee table, feeling like you need to get up and move or else you’ll probably start crying or something equally as embarrassing. God, it’s like all of these pent up emotions have just decided to spill out. Things you didn’t even realize you were upset about until now.

“Your hair honestly means nothing in the grand scheme of things. It’s hair, like you said. But it was something for me to tease you about- something small that I was upset about that I could actually comment on, when really all I’ve wanted to do these last few weeks is scream at you to slow the fuck down. No- I know what you’re going to say and I’m not talking about the company schedules. That’s your job. I’m talking about all of the extra hours I know you’re pulling because nothing feels perfect enough. All of those hours where you’re meant to be relaxing but instead you just work more because you feel like if you stop you’ll stagnate.”

Leaning away from his phone, Chan takes a deep breath. Puffs out his cheeks for a moment before releasing it all and then dragging both hands over his face. The beanie gets dislodged, and you see a shock of pastel yelloworange. It’s not even that bad. It looks cute on him. But it felt like some weird shock to your system when he showed it to you and you could tell he was unhappy with it. 

“What do you want me to say? It seems like you’ve covered all of the bases.” 

“I want-” You huff in frustration. “I don’t want you to say what you think I want to hear, ok? Never. We don’t do that to each other. I just want-” Again, you cut yourself off, not actually sure what you want. Not sure what the entire fucking point of this little rant has been. 

You take your built up tension and you make good use of it. Bringing your bowl to the kitchen and beginning to clean up the dishes while you listen to the way Chan sighs into the silence. There really isn’t anything for him to say. 

You can hear the way he tries to start a sentence at least twice, and you know that he’s frustrated that he can’t fix whatever this is. But there’s nothing to fix because nothing’s broken. You’re just kind of at the end of your rope and you just want your boyfriend close. Shutting off the sink and picking up your phone, you try to give him something close to a reassuring smile.

“Listen, I think I figured out what I want.” He looks at you, jaw working and eyes shining and you want to take his face in your hands and kiss him stupid. But you can’t have that, not right now. So you’ll have to settle with second best. “We take care of each other, yeah, absolutely, but that means you have to take care of yourself when I’m not around to do it. Because I’m thousands of miles away. I know it’s a big ask but can you please do that… for me?” 

“Yeah… yeah, I can do that. I’m sorry I made you worry.” 

“Baby, I don’t need an apology. I just want you to be healthy.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching the way his eyes flick down and away from his phone before skipping back to you. “And also for your hair to look different.” 

“Wow.” It gets him to laugh. It feels like a small victory. 

“I’m nothing if not consistent. And hey, I’m sorry too. For just- whatever that was. It was unfair to unload it all when you’re probably minutes away from being busy again.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for. Like, I do get why you’re sorry but I’ll always choose to listen to your problems. Especially if they include me, that way we can figure out how to fix it.” His soft smile is back, crinkling his eyes and making your lungs weak. 

Humming, you finally finish putting all of the dishes away. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” 

“I love you the most.” 

“I’m pretty sure I loved you before I knew you.” Chan says, smile stretching wider as he tilts his head like an adorable fucking puppy. 

You smile back, and it feels like sugar fills your mouth. “Ooh, that’s a good one.” 

It’s the same little game you always play after any sort of tense conversation. Trying to one up the other and having to concede when they say something that legitimately makes you melt. It’s a reminder that things are hard but you get through it. 

Hoisting yourself up onto the kitchen counter, you sigh. It’s a little dramatic, infusing just enough theatrics to keep the levity of the conversation. “Sometimes it really sucks that we both believe in healthy communication. I wish we were the type of couple to ignore things until the feeling goes away but really it just festers until we can’t take it anymore.”

“I know, right. We’re just too good at being a couple. It’s kind of boring actually.”

“That’s what I’m saying! You should tell me to shut the fuck up more often and I’ll… I don’t know, accuse you of cheating?”

“With who?”

“Lino?”

“Wow. Shut the fuck up!” He manages to say, between his breathless laughter.

“Yeah! See, you’re getting the hang of it already.” 

Things might not be solved, like at all, but you feel a little lighter. You spend the next ten minutes joking with Chan, and things feel like they settle back to normal. You’ll probably have to have this conversation again, with less tension and frustration. But that’s for later. When he doesn’t look so tired and has a block of free time to actually talk about it in depth.

You’re going to see him, soon. You hold on to that knowledge as tightly as you can. You’ll be there, with him, able to touch him and kiss him and tell him that all you want is for him to be happy. Maybe you can have this conversation again, in person. Where you can hold hands and crawl into his lap. Soon.

[heraldeez]

i saw your requests were open temporarily, may i request a first kiss with jayce ? i think it'd be cute. i hope youve been well !

I have been well, thanks for asking! Life's crazy because I'm getting ready to move.

DEFINITELY CUTE. I want to smooch him. I wasn't sure if you meant his first kiss, the reader's first kiss, or their first kiss together, so I just knocked down two targets and hoped for the best 🙈. Hope you enjoy!

Jayce x Reader | 962 | SFW

Contains: bad group projects, falling asleep on someone, and some sweet sweet smoochin.

Jayce stiffens as your jaw comes to rest against his shoulder, hands freezing their progress. Chancing a glance down, he confirms that yeah, you’re out cold.

It's another late night at the Academy, spent doing curriculum work instead of work that could change the world someday. Jayce was fighting with a tricky relay of copper fittings. You'd finished your share of the project twenty minutes ago, both the clean copy of delicately illustrated schematics and all the vocal presentation bits that Jayce dreaded.

Nobody likes group projects. Jayce knows he isn't out of the ordinary there. He just can't help but feel that it grates on him more than the average student, faced with the fact that most of his peers didn't actually care about discovery. They just cared about making themselves look good. 

Not you, though. He'd only shared classes with you this semester, but you were always fair in your division of the work.

And you were one of the only people who seemed to be able to stand his… candidness, always laughing it off when he’d get frustrated with the pace, being slowed down by others.

‘It’ll get done either way, slow or not.’ You'd been smiling at him so sweetly when you'd said that, despite the fact that he knew he had been nothing but irritated and fussy. Your patience had left him stricken with… something.

Jayce decides to leave you be, asleep on his shoulder. This project wouldn't have been a problem if the rest of your group members had anything to offer except slapdash efforts and excuses, leaving the two of you with the brunt of the work.

Tonight, Jayce is the one slowing you down, grumbling his way through fixing the shoddy work your other partners had put forward and finishing the things they had neglected to do entirely. To get this project up to his usual standards…

It’s eating up far too much time. The least he can do is let you rest a bit.

---

Your pillow is talking.

“Finally. Alright, I’ve got it dialed in so the fluid can actually cycle through all of the cooling chambers even as a prototype – the professor should be impressed. This is almost professional quality, so our marks should be flawless.”

Your pillow also smells incredibly good, nice and warm, so you elect to ignore it and nuzzle deeper.

“Are you listening?” – it sounds incredibly put out – “Hey. Wake up, we can go home now.”

Blearily, you blink your eyes open and find yourself caught up in Jayce’s gaze, the low lamplight reflecting off the gold of his eyes and revealing him peering down at you, close and tired and – dare you say – almost fond looking.

This close you can see every last eyelash, and how his stubble is starting to come in from the late hour on the alluring curve of his jaw. Despite the bags under his eyes, they’re bright and satisfied, his face almost glowing, the way it always does when he’s worked hard and made something perfect.

In fact, you can almost feel that glow on your skin. When did he get so warm? His ears are starting to get red.

That little detail reminds you just how close your faces have become, but a sleepy contentedness has drizzled its way into your joints, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

He’s just so –

“You’re really lovely when you’re making progress, you know that? It opens you up,” you sigh, still half dreaming, watching the flush spill across his face.

Jayce is too busy looking at your mouth to respond, his own ever so slightly parted.

Were you not half asleep, you probably never would have chanced it. But the way he was looking at you almost lost, how close he was –

It felt natural, to wriggle in closer, tilt up your jaw invitingly.

You catch the way his brows shoot up just as your eyes slip shut, and your mouth slots perfectly against his, slow and –

And unmoving. A little shocked stiff. Jayce makes a funny little noise in the back of his throat, something aching and perhaps a touch confused.

You jolt back, suddenly a whole lot more awake. “Sorry. Wow, sorry, I should have asked first –”

“It’s fine,” Jayce cuts in, a little strangled, busying himself with wrapping the prototype in oilcloth and setting it inside its small crate as an excuse not to meet your eyes. “You were – It was nice, just – I’ve never done that before.”

The end of his sentence leaves him in a rush. If it’s possible, his ears seem even redder now.

“Never?” you echo, a bit disbelieving in the wake of how plush and soft his lips had been against yours.

His shoulders hunch up defensively, looking awfully small for such a large man. “I’m kind of a busy guy, alright?”

Jayce’s fingers snap the clasps shut on the lid of the box, but your brain wrapped itself around the way he’d said your kiss was ‘nice’, and you’re itching to try again, to give him something even nicer to latch on to.

“Too busy to give it another go?”

Jayce’s wide eyes cut over to yours finally, from where he’s tucking the prototype into his satchel.

His fingers loosen on the strap of his bag. “Well. Maybe not,” Jayce mumbles, leaning in close enough for you to close the gap again.

The shuddering exhale Jayce gives you when you bring your lips together this time is everything, your hand coming up to cup his jaw and guide him into the most comfortable angle. His movements are still a bit stilted compared to yours, but he’s mimicking your motions in an incredibly earnest fashion.

You have no doubt he’ll be a quick study.