#:: connections. :: handsome jack. ::

[sleepy-crypt1d]

love people making jack this suave sexy put together badass like babe we are talking about a man who canonically wont say fuck and says "yahtzee" when hes excited

[splatcat64]

the same goes to you for getting excited LOL !! that was a very endearing talk about the both of them (all four of them) it was super interesting :) i love hearing other ppls thoughts on characters. honestly i see all ur points and agree with everything. :P one of the few ppl in the current blands tag (or overall, i know this place has been a nightmare) mentioning jack being a genocidal fascist so im like I Respect You . im a bit shy to babble on my thoughts but theres SOOOO MUCH. idk what u use for music so ill just tell u text so u can look it up - its on my general borderlands playlist but it was such a fiona song to me but the hand that feeds by the crane wives.. i know the lyrics are about not caring about money but the symbolism is important to me . i have parts that make me go nuts but you know . hehe

I am SO glad we’re on the same page lmao thank you!!! This really warms my heart :}

I totally understand being shy to spit out your thoughts, often, if I’m not having trouble just getting the words out in general, I’m too damn scared to say anything. Just recently I worked up the courage to actually speak what I think here. And I am GLAD I can be of service in that way oh my god. I respect u too it’s been. A huge honor, I stalk literally all the tags and it can be like a minefield. Like, It’s okay to like Jack as a character, he’s a compelling villain and I think he’s really well written. But he’s genocidal and a fascist… that can’t be ignored bl2 literally yells it at you. However an analysis of him is definitely not for this post and definitely not my strongest suit, we’ll see about that on my side.

And I use Spotify! Seeing you mention crane wives made my brain EXPLODE because not only are they a reaaaally Fiona like band, it gives real Sasha vibes, and just tales/borderlands in general. I’m definitely biased because of stuff with me and my friends own stories and headcanons and ocs, but even with a grain of salt if you or anyone wants to check more songs out pleaaase do. I definitely agree that I can see how the hand that feeds is soooo Fiona but I’m gonna go run and listen to it in the context of her now.

BUT I do have some Crane wives songs that I one, just recommend in general, and two, can fit the tales cast really well. High Horse, Curses [it’s popular I know but trust me I have a vision], and Arcturus Beaming.

High horse just reminds me of Fiona and Sasha a lot, it’s been influenced by stuff me and my best friend come up with so. Again. Biased, but it’s a GOOD song. Arcturus Beaming is new, and it’s not some people’s fav but because it reminded me so much of the tales cast I have a very good opinion of it. For lack of better words that shit was so good I immediately slapped that shit on my tales’ oc’s playlist cause holy shit. Good song. AND THE SYMBOLISM GOD. Anyways those are my recs if you wanna check them out, otherwise, Tysm and Ty for the song rec I appreciate it so so so much!!!!

[phenikas]

Rhack Week 2023 | Day 5 - Night Out

Words: 1623

Warnings: Mentions of depression and death "mild" alcohol consumption, very vague descriptions of sexual stuff (it's as vague as it can be, although still not recommended for minors)

_______________________

Blinding neon lights, music that drowns out every bleak thought, and most importantly- a never-ending tab at one of Meridian's hottest clubs- The Supernova.

Jack had never been one to dislike such distractions, especially when he needed to get his mind off work. But being a floating hologram stuck with a depressed CEO of a multimillion-dollar weapons giant meant that he had no work. His only source of entertainment was watching Rhys eat, sleep, work, and drink himself away.

Maybe Jack should've said something earlier. Maybe he could've prevented this slow and agonizing spiral into borderline alcoholism. But time and time again, he had been reminded that he was a nobody to the Atlas CEO. Endless strings of code kept up to date by the kindness of Rhys' heart.

"The Supernova? Again?"

"Shut up."

He had no say over how Rhys should live his life. Jack kept his promise that he'd watch Rhys wither away, wait until the perfect moment to strike, snatch his life and all that kept him going.

The problem was, Jack didn't know what kept him- them- going. Was it a principle? To survive despite all odds? Rhys' willingness to fight his way out of whatever turmoil he could? Or did he have a higher purpose Jack didn't know about?

"Maybe we could-"

"I said shut up!"

Jack sat back, as he always did, and watched with concern in his mind. Kept his mouth shut as Rhys poured unknown contents into his mouth. Held his gaze, green-eyed, resentful towards any who plastered their physical bodies against Rhys' in an uncaring manner.

Being an observer was torture. "Think you've had enough for tonight, cupcake. I know you can't handle-"

"You don't know shit, alright?" Rhys snapped his head at the hologram, oblivious to all who gave him concerned looks, "You don't know me. You don't know what I want. You don't care. So stop pretending like you do."

Jack backed off, offended, scared for the first time since- since- "Why did you bring me back, huh? So I can watch you ruin your life? Because you were lonely? Because you didn’t know what else to do with me? Why am I still here?"

Rhys lowered his head, his attention on the half-empty glass in front of him. This was not a conversation they were meant to have at a stupid dance club, Jack knew that very well. But when else would he get his answers? If Rhys' avoidance of the topic when he was sober was as clear of a sign as Jack thought, then maybe Rhys’ drunken self would be more open to letting his feelings float to the surface. "Shut up."

Or not.

"Alright, how about this. You get me out of your cybernetics, I get out of your hair. Put me in a new body or destroy me. At this point, I couldn't give two shits what happens to me. I mean, anything's better than this. And you clearly don't want me around, so why the hell should I still be here."

"Fine." Jack didn't know what to make of this answer. Everything was better than living like he didn't exist. Even being sent into pure oblivion. But he didn't know if Rhys was taking his words seriously, or just trying to get rid of him for the night. "Remind me tomorrow. Now get out of my sight."

Remind me tomorrow. That phrase used to bring a smile to Jack's face. It was meant for trivialities, easily forgettable things that just couldn't stick around long enough for Rhys to remember.

But the more he used it, the more Jack realized that they were no longer in the territory of “triviality“. Rhys had been forgetting, his mind shutting down and only focused on the "now" rather than the past and future. He was dooming himself each and every second he spent in those stupid clubs. Numbing his mind. Forgetting how to feel.

Jack disappeared out of his vision, but he was still there, watching Rhys waste his night in the presence of like-minded individuals. Strangely enough, Jack didn't feel compelled to get out of Rhys' hair yet. It was a hypothetical question, the one he had given him; meant to get a reaction out of the man. But if Rhys didn't care enough to remember, then maybe it was finally time for Jack to leave.

_______________________

"Stupid-" Rhys whispered to himself, unable to meet the eyes of whoever was currently on top of him trying their best to rid Rhys of his current distraction. He came into the club to rid himself of troubles, and yet one seemed to just love lingering around, his name like sweet venom on his tongue, "-Jack."

"Not my name, honey."

Rhys rolled his eyes, pushing the stranger off him despite their heated moment. He couldn't deny that Jack got under his skin that night. Whatever the hell he meant by leaving- Rhys needed to stop thinking so hard. "Bring me something hard. Actually, scratch that- I need something that can get me wasted right now. And put it on my tab."

The stranger, a worker of the Supernova, nodded his head in a panicked manner, rushing off towards the bar. Rhys let out a groan of discomfort, sitting back in the booth. As soon as he noticed the blues of Jack's hologram appear right across from him, he started second-guessing his earlier order.

"Not really feeling it tonight, huh?"

Rhys hoped his annoyance and frustration caused by Jack were obvious in his drunken expressions. He gripped onto the seat so tightly; they must've been. But Jack was... Jack. Rhys had no idea how many things he could pick up on. "This would've been so much easier if you were-"

"Gone? Yeah, tell me about it."

"Here," Rhys whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He didn't know if his whisper was loud enough, or if Jack had read his mind somehow, but as soon as he opened his eyes, the hologram was at his side, concern written all over his features. "Here, Jack." Rhys weakly patted the spot next to him, then pointed at his forehead, "Not- not here."

"Rhys?" Jack's voice sounded distant, like an echo in a dark cave. It came suddenly, the darkness that overwhelmed Rhys. He could not see anything, yet he could feel his body moving on its own, out of his control. Maybe this was it. The moment Jack's been waiting for. A true test towards their gained trust. One that could cost him his life.

"I got it from here." Jack's voice was soft. Almost muted. Warm. Cautious. Safe. Everything Rhys wanted to hear at that moment. Yet the consequences terrified him.

He didn't want to die. Not yet.

"Jack-!"

_______________________

Rhys didn't know what it was that woke him up first; the artificial morning rays that shone through his window right onto his face, his throbbing headache, or the fact that he was still alive.

He was still alive.

He turned around in his bed, wanting to stay in just a while longer.

Just. A. While.

"Mornin', pumpkin."

Rhys' heart skipped a beat, remnants of last night coming up blank. He knew he'd been at the club, where else? But how did he get home? Did he call a cab? Did someone take him?

Did Jack?

Rhys turned around once again; his face instantly met with that of the hologram who had been kneeling near the bed for who knows how long. "Jack." Rhys reached his hand out, his thumb brushing against where Jack's lip should've been.

Jack's eyes followed the motion, silent, observing. And when Rhys’ hand didn't move, only then did he have the courage to speak, "It's been a while since I took control. Gotta say, I'm as surprised as you that I managed to get you here."

"Thank you."

The hologram gave him a weak smile. "Don't worry about it. I mean, it's the last thing I could do since- you know- I'll be going away one way or another."

Rhys' eyes widened, the dread from last night coming to the surface. Right. Jack had asked him to be let go. And Rhys agreed. Why did he agree again?

"I-" Rhys began, his voice stuck in his sore throat, coherent thoughts lost in his foggy mind. Jack watched him struggle with his words, waiting for an answer to their problem, "I don't- Jack, I don't want you to go. I can't-"

"Why?" Jack asked as straightforward of a question as he could. But Rhys didn't know the answer.

He couldn't admit the answer.

"I don't want you to go. Where would you even go? What's out there for you? Who else would you go to?"

"Who- what does that have to do with anything? You wanted me gone. I'm offering you a solution. So, pick your damn mind. What do you want?"

Rhys had hit a new low. Begging Handsome Jack to stay was embarrassing, something he never thought he'd do after everything they went through. But it was true. He needed Jack. "I want you to stay. Please. I'll give you a body, just don't go. I- I need a friend. Someone by my side. I need you."

"You need a friend." Jack repeated, the words feeling alien on his tongue.

"Y-Yes?"

"I'll stay," the hologram agreed, although Rhys could already see the reluctance in his eyes, "on one condition."

"Tell me."

"You stop going to that stupid club. And drinking. And paying for those weirdos." Jack stood up; his back turned to Rhys. Before he had disappeared completely though, there was something else Rhys overhead, perhaps by Jack's will, "Geez, wasting your money like that when I'm right here."

"Huh?"

_______________________

Rhack Week 2023 | Day 5 - Night Out

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 6

[jam-packed]

been very into borderlands lately

how do i make this abt motogp..........

[quickestgold]

Okay but LISTENNNNN. Reader and Jack having feelings for eachother but he pulls back (she’s still new , too young , etc) he’s been cold and she decided to take that day off work and go to Pitt Fest and …oh no…. (Still lives but it’s BAD)

Strip Her: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma/gun violence, mass shooting, GSWs, blood; Reader basically does what Santos did, but in the field hah! > No "good girl" energy from Jack, just anger for putting yourself in danger lol

Word count: 2k+

A/n: Thanks so much for sending this in, so sorry it's taken so long!! Lmk what you think!! ♡

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"Hi, handsome."

"Wanna come over after your shift?"

Read.

You huff out a humorless laugh. The old man really left you on Read.

You know Jack isn't a big texter, making the age-gap between you hilariously obvious. But today it gets to you.

Jack isn't your immediate superior, but you wonder if this is why he's been acting cold. More than usual.

The ER staff love to talk. Of course they do. But neither Jack nor you care about that. You’ve made it clear there’s an undeniable connection between you.

So, you’ve acted on it.

The last couple of months have been bliss, an unspoken understanding of exclusivity.

But now, Jack's been distant. Swapping shifts, avoiding working with you.

Was it something you did?

You've already double texted him today, wishing him a good shift and letting him know that Robby's asked you to 'babysit'.

How embarrassing. But you draft another.

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, will be up for some fun when you get home... ;)"

You delete the last part. God. Don't show your age!

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, see you soon."

You hit send.

Code Triage. Emergency Department Now.

The mass casualty event is in full swing. Patients come and go. Green. Yellow. Pink. Red. Black and White.

It's a haze of coordinated chaos.

Jack keeps trying to reach you in-between treating patients, leaving you countless voicemails.

Of course he would.

"Hey, Y/N. It's Jack. Call or text me the second you get this message, okay?" His voice trembles. "She's not picking up."

"I can't reach Jake either." Robby mutters.

"I'm sure they're ok." Dana offers gently.

Time slips away, minutes turning into hours. Their shift was supposed to end a while ago, but they've stopped keeping track.

"I'm going to check on triage." Robby announces, stepping out to help Shen and Ellis assess incoming patients. "No pulse. Black and white. Pink zone. Strong pulse. Unresponsive. No obvious GSW. Red zone GSW left chest."

A familiar voice cuts through the noise. "She was talking when we first got into the truck. T- There was so much blood."

"Jake!" Robby's at his side in a flash.

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad...", Jake cries out.

Robby is at a loss for words, his medical instincts fighting the fatherly ones in a gruesome match.

"I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time", Jake stutters.

"That's good. You're good", Robby reassures him, more for himself than Jake.

The team rushes Leah into the ER. Jake follows closely behind. "You can't stay with her. There's no room and we need to work on Leah right now", Robby says firmly, getting to work immediately.

Jack spots them and hurries over, panic rising in his chest.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asks, voice tight.

"I- I don’t know," Jake mutters. "She stopped Leah’s bleeding, then went back in."

"What do you mean?" Jack growls, trying to keep his voice calm.

Robby looks up, taking in Jake's words. The lines on his forehead growing deeper.

"People were screaming. The shots were so loud. She- She went back to see if others needed help." Jake's eyes well up, before he is wheeled off to get treated.

Of course you would put someone else's safety over your own.

Others might see it as noble, but Robby and Jack think it's reckless.

They exchange a look, knowing there's nothing they can do to reach you. To make sure you're okay.

Jack is called to another patient, while Robby proceeds to work on Leah.

Despite their best efforts, it's not enough.

Minutes pass. Jack watches Robby closely, his desperation becoming more evident by the second. Dana gives Jack a knowing look, recognizing the only person who can reach Robby right now is him.

Jack steps closer, glasses off, his voice gentle.

"The bullet tore through her heart", he says softly, giving Robby time to process.

"Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotamy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back." Jack's words hang heavy in the air, but he continues.

"We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl." Jack doesn't let it show, but it pains him to see Robby hurting like this.

Robby does one final pulse check. But Leah's heart is no longer beating, the realization shattering his own.

"Okay, we're done", Robby whispers, breaking.

"We stopped at 19:47", Dana declares. "Move her to Pedes?", she asks gently.

Robby just nods.

"You want me to go with you to talk to Jake?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, thanks. I got it."

But another gurney is wheeled in. Robby notices first.

"Jesus Christ", he mutters. "What's going on?"

"Female. 30s. GSW to the right inguinal region. Retroperitoneal bleed", Dr. Mohan declares. But there's someone else kneeling at the end of the gurney, holding the patient's leg up. Robby and Jack's eyes widen, when they meet yours.

"The bullet must have tracked north and hit the external illiac", you state nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned looks from your colleagues.

It was supposed to be your day off.

"Dr. Y/LN did a REBOA in the field to stop the bleeding", Samira continues.

"You did what?!" Robby gasps, incredulous but unable to hide his pride.

Jack is by your side in an instant. "Are you shitting me?"

"Hello to you too, Dr. Abbot", you smile weakly, still focused on the patient’s wound.

Another time, your smile would’ve lit a spark. Not now.

Jack's anger is palpable.

You’ve seen it before, his cold, stone-faced demeanor, always one existential crisis away from breaking. But never directed at you.

"Are you hurt?" Jack’s voice is dangerously low.

He's scared.

Robby and Jack scan your blood-soaked clothing. You quickly dismiss their concern.

"Uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery, no other options. I blew up a balloon in the aorta to stop the bleed. Going in a few inches, zone three, below the kidney. I just needed to hit the femoral artery."

You hesitate, but go for it anyway.

"Piece of cake", you grin, weaker than usual, but you hope they don't notice. They do.

"Radial's stronger." Mel confirms.

Robby and Jack both notice your uneven breathing but chalk it up to the stress and trauma you've experienced.

"Also, GSW to the chest, left hypochondriac region. Probable internal bleeding", you continue.

"No. That's not true-", Samira objects.

You direct everyone's attention to your own chest, your breathing becoming erratic.

"What?!" Jack's voice cracks, disbelief, shock and fear hitting him all at once.

You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat, the ER growing eerily quiet at your confession.

"Okay. Let go of her leg", Robby orders in an intimidating tone.

"Gurney!" Jack barks.

"I need to lock the balloon first." You stare directly into Jack's eyes, knowing he won't budge. You turn to your friend and mentor, pleading.

"Robby." He knows you're right.

"Do it." Robby nods, ordering Whittaker to check the wound once you're done.

"BP's 110, by palp", Donnie announces.

Jack remains frozen, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

"The balloon can stay up for an hour max. Get IR and Vascular on the case." Robby directs, before drawing everyone's attention back to you.

Your patient is stable.

You've done what you can.

But the blood loss is catching up with you.

"I- I think it's a through-and-through. My back hurts like hell and my legs feel funny." Jack snaps out of his trance, his training kicking in.

Robby lifts your top, shocked at the severity of the injury. Jack shuts his eyes, unable to stomach the sight.

It must be bad.

But it doesn't hurt too much.

Not a great sign.

"Okay. Stabilize her", Robby orders, multiple hands are on you immediately, steadying you. Grabbing the base of your neck, your shoulders and hips, securing you in place.

You're still sat on the gurney, but have now let go of the patient's leg.

"Strip her", Jack commands, voice low and firm, eyes dark and unreadable.

You try to lighten the mood. "Gee, buy me dinner first, won't you?"

A few giggles from the team, but Jack's lips are tightly pressed together in a fine line, facing downwards.

Dana cuts through your top, leaving only your bra. Unusual. But you're relieved to not flash your coworkers. You'd rather like to maintain the mysterious vibe you've got going on.

"Cowards", you tease. More chuckles, but worry growing on everyone's faces.

You whisper to Jack, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't respond. Can't look at you. Instead he orders a chest tube and a unit of blood.

A sharp gasp rips through you, the weight on your chest suddenly making it hard to breathe. "Fuck, that hurts." Any last traces of playfulness vanish, replaced by something else.

Fear.

Jack realizes he has to save his anger for later. "Hey. It's okay", a slight smile now tugging at his lips. "I've seen you worse", but the vulnerability in his voice betrays him.

Shit. It must be really bad. He's cracking jokes now?

Your anxiety spikes.

Is Jack about to watch you die?

You shiver at the thought. Or maybe it's the blood loss. Probably both.

Your vision blurs. Your thoughts get foggy.

"J-Jack?" You're not sure he hears you. Or anybody really. Did the words even come out?

Your eyes flutter shut. There are no more thoughts.

Only darkness.

Robby orders Jack to step back, the roles tragically reversed.

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He has been distant with you. But not because of your age, or your careers.

No, it's because letting you in means risking losing you and he knows he can't survive that kind of pain. He’s seen too much death, too much loss. And loving you only makes that fear stronger.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"I know." Robby is laser-focused, but shudders at the thought of Jack up on that roof again.

Painfully aware of the inevitable cost of losing you.

They won't. They can't.

Monitors and machines beep in a faint rhythm.

You wake, eyes heavy. A familiar figure is propped up in the armchair beside your bed.

He looks like shit.

Jack's wearing the same bloodstained scrubs, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair dishevelled. On second thought... it's a look.

"Hi, handsome", you whisper, unsure if it’s the relief of being alive, the pain meds or just seeing Jack, but a wave of comfort floods you.

He leans in, eyes wide with tenderness.

"Hi, beautiful."

His gaze radiates a warmth that kept you alive, even when your skin grew cold.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft. So unbelievably soft. The anger has subsided, but you know there’s a conversation you’ll have another day.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Peachy", you exhale, giving him a warm and genuine smile. He returns it, his shoulders relaxing more with every steady breath you take.

You hesitate, but finally go for it. "So, about you leaving me on Read." Your smile turns into a familiar smirk. "You know only old people leave voicemails, right?"

Jack's breath catches in his throat, caught off guard. He chokes out a strangled laugh.

"You're unbelievable", he says, before leaning down, his lips brushing gently over yours.

The grip this man has on me I swear... Also, I'm still in shock from ep13 and I fear it's only getting worse... Jack being so rational about letting Leah go was So Painful, so writing this was very cathartic. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[mvth3r]

The Ol' Switcheroo

your husband wasn't the joking type, but his brother sure was. that was fine, you would teach him that every game didn't need to be brought home.

cw: 18+ (suggestive language), cursing, black reader, second person pov

an: *taps mic* is this thing on?!

The man standing in front of you was not your husband.

He looked like him, sure, from the warm, dark eyes framed by unfairly thick lashes down to the full lips that sat beneath neatly trimmed facial hair.

But you knew better.

Smoke had texted you an hour ago, letting you know he was on the way home. Usually, he’d call you when he was heading in, asking if you needed anything or if you’d cooked, but you hadn’t thought much of it, responding with wishes of safe travels and going on about your business. Now you were wondering if the lack of phone call had been in an effort to keep you from clocking their scheme too soon.

Unfortunately, they had failed.

The differences between Smoke and Stack were less than minimal when it came to their appearance. Early on, you might have confused them once or twice on account of not having met Smoke’s family yet, but you were seasoned now. You could pick your husband out if he were a quintuplet.

Stack stood in front of you with a dour expression, dressed in the suit that Smoke had left home in earlier that morning, coincidentally on his way to meet his brother for a business meeting.

From then to now, you had no clue what they’d been up to beyond Smoke’s texts through the day, but those were often far and few between. Your husband was a man of few words, especially when it pertained to business. You didn’t particularly mind, secure in the fact that you would always be the first person notified if something bad happened.

You refocused your attention on Stack, watching him watch you like he was waiting for you to catch on. How he had convinced your husband to play such a silly game, you had no clue, but whatever. You would play your role.

“Welcome home, handsome,” you said, arms reaching up to twine around Stack’s neck in a textbook loving embrace.

Stack wasn’t so good of an actor that he could conceal the way he startled, arms stuttering as they lifted to wrap around your waist in turn, “Evening, baby. How was your day?”

“Oh, it was fine. Just missed you a lot,” you put on a charming smile, leaning back to look Stack in the eye. One of your hands slid slowly around his neck and down the muscly planes of his chest, “How was yours?”

Stack blinked a couple of times, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh, “It was alright. Meeting went well and all that.”

“Oh yeah?” You responded, fingers toying with the buttons of his dress shirt, “Well a good job deserves a fittin’ reward, don’t you think?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement in the hall that connected the kitchen, where you and Stack stood, to the garage. Your smile turned coy, full lips twisting wickedly.

Stack cleared his throat, stepping backwards out of your embrace in an attempt to make some distance, but you followed him anyway, the gap between you disappearing as it formed, “Don’t need a gift for doing my job, baby.”

You hummed, hands raising to push him lightly against the edge of the counter, “I didn’t say anything about a gift, handsome.”

The emerging bewilderment on Stack’s face almost made you crack, the laugh bubbling up in chest, but you were too committed to your performance. Silly games, silly prizes, and all that.

“Don’t go gettin’ shy on me now,” you whispered, pressed in close against his chest, “Since when you had a problem with a lil’ kitchen love? You don’t like bending me over the counters no more?”

If you hadn’t been so close, you would’ve missed the choked off whimper that came from Stack’s throat. His eyes darted towards that dark hallway like he was waiting for Smoke to turn the corner and jack him up.

But you knew he wouldn’t.

He was watching, you knew that. You could practically feel his eyes traveling over you from that hallway, gaze as piercing as you knew it to be.

He wanted to see how far you would go. You wanted him to make you stop.

A different game, but just as fun.

Your hands drifted slowly over Stack’s ribcage and down to his waist, nails scraping softly over the fabric. By the time you’d reached his thighs you could feel his heart beat quickening.

“Or maybe,” you whispered, those fingers creeping towards his zipper, “you’re in the mood for something else..”

You let your voice trail off, tone layered with heat and intent, as you began to shift, crouching low until you rested perfectly on your knees. Your eyes met Stack’s from where he stood frozen above you, mouth slack with genuine shock. His gaze shifted from yours to the grip your fingers now had on his zipper and back.

“Is that what it is, baby?” You murmured sweetly, face moving closer until your lips hovered just shy of making damning contact with his pants leg, “Is my mouth a better reward than my—”

Stack jerked suddenly, and you didn’t have to turn to know that Smoke had finally made his entrance. You rose slowly from your spot on the floor, a false look of confusion painted on your face. It was for Stack’s benefit more than yours at this point, and he knew that.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why you actin’ like this?”

“Game’s over, stop fuckin’ around,” Smoke cut in before he could respond, voice gruff.

You glanced back and forth between the two of them, eyes widening dramatically, “Smoke?! Oh my goodness! I thought you were him!”

Smoke’s voice was sharper, “Cut it out.”

You held on to your wide eyed look for a few more seconds before finally allowing your expression to drop, a laugh rumbling in your chest, “Okay, okay. I’m done.”

Stack, brain finally back online, sputtered in amused disbelief, “You knew the whole time? Could’a fooled me, shit!”

You hummed, laughter tapering off, “Might'a been born at night, but not last night, Stack. You think I can’t recognize my own husband?”

“Ah hell,” he grumbled, “You should’a just said somethin’.”

“Maybe,” you agreed, “But now y’all know I ain’t the one for these crazy games, and..”

Your gaze shifted to your husband, ever the quiet observer, “This was much more fun, don’t you think, Elijah?”

Smoke huffed a dry laugh, hand reaching out to ease you closer, “Sure. Why don’t you head on upstairs? Let me walk this fool out and I’ll be up to talk about just how hilarious you are.”

The following silence was heavy, not with tension but heat and you couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose to life on the skin under Smoke’s fingers.

You didn’t bother with a response, smiling sweetly instead and turning instead towards where Smoke was directing you, a brief ‘Have a good night’ tossed Stack’s way as you left the room.

Stack shuffled back the way he’d came, through the dark hallway and out to the garage that was still open. His eyes flitted from the dark glint of his truck’s metal to the cement floor, contemplative.

“What, Stack?” Smoke muttered, standing behind him in the doorway.

“Guess she know’s you better than we thought, huh?” He responded, a weak attempt at humor.

Smoke didn’t respond. Stack hadn't expected him to.

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, opting to twirl it around his fingers rather than reaching next for a lighter, "You think she really would'a..."

"If I let her," Smoke responded coolly. "'s that what you wanted me to do?"

It was Stack's turn to go quiet, he fingers stilling long enough for the cigarette to slide silently to the floor.

He heard Smoke turn on his heel, muttering, "Drive safe. And close the garage 'fore you leave."

The door closed with finality and Stack released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Silly games, indeed.

[starkenobi]

HERO 4 HIRE | Chapter One { nice to meet ya }

masterlist — the pitt x avengers crossover masterlist

Pairing: Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x former avenger!reader.

Summary: There's a new regular in The Pitt, a woman prone to stumbles and misfortunes. She always comes when her wounds need stitching and wearing fading bruises, to the point Robby's getting worried. Until her face is all over the news: former avenger tears down crimelord and political connections.

tags: strangers to lovers; violence; injuries; mature; romcom.

a/n: got a bit carried away with the drama, but I hope you guys enjoy this first part! oh, and a special thank you to @jupitersmoon167 for helping me choose reader superhero name!

word count: 4.9k.

— this fic is dedicated to my bestfriend @faethbees luv ya 💜

You showed up one morning, in the quiet period between chaos and the first wave of people from the waiting room. Whitaker came closer to the nurses’ station to find Robby, a worried expression on his face and asking for help evaluating a case. There’s something off, he whispered, don't think she's telling the truth about how she got hurt.

Entering the room, Robby came face to face with a dislocated nose, a cut on the eyebrow, a busted lip and hand with scratches. Adding the old purple bruise in the right eye, it was hard to believe a word you said. A clumsy person that's trying to make big on the fighting ring. It was odd, but they couldn't do much. You were lucid and calm, despite the tiredness, you didn't show any behavior that could confirm their suspicions. So they discharged you like any other patient, quickly forgetting what happened.

Until you showed up again two weeks later.

With a new black eye starting to swell and bruised knuckles.

Then just two days later.

Bruised ribs and a concussion.

And then again one week later.

Sprained foot, bloody knuckles and bloody mouth.

After almost four months of collecting small injuries that required at least three stitches, you officially became a new regular. And with each passing day, Robby became even more worried. To the point where he started thinking about you even outside of his work hours.

He went to work every day wondering if he would find you still alive on his next shift.

The worst part? It seemed like only he cared about your wellbeing, struggling to maintain a professional approach while you kept flirting with him. You were friendly, an extrovert, almost like an orange cat – not a golden retriever, there was a dangerously craziness energy in you, not a silly playful one.

You always showed up around the same time, between the waves of patients, sometimes even carrying a bag full of food for the ed team – something Robby could never understand how you could get it. Other times, you brought coffee especially for him, followed by a ‘you’re the only one, handsome’ or something like ‘just a thank you for your magic hands last time’.

So you talked and flirted, and seemed to quickly know everyone within the department. You gossiped with Perlah and Princess as if you were long-time friends. Even Myrna knew who you were and had a special scandalous nickname for you (Baby Maso).

You were everywhere, but no one seemed to know any deep information about you or your life.

You were an enigma.

A puzzle he couldn't figure out.

A beautiful riddle that he wanted to get his hands on and solve.

Sometimes he had to fight the desire to shut you up with a kiss.

And that's a big damn problem.

“Your Rocky Balboa is here," Jack said as a greeting when he saw Robby approaching.

Robby sighed. "How bad is it this time?"

"Well, stitches on forehead, stitches on right cheek, stitches on left arm, stitches for a stab in the hand. And one dislocated right shoulder.” Jack enumerated. "I must say, looks like gang shit, brother."

Nodding slowly, Robby sighed again. "I know, but the police disagree."

Jack looks at him with raised brows. "For real?"

"Yeah, some detective came here. I reported her on the second visit, y'know?" Robby rubbed his face, already feeling tired and his shift hadn't even started yet. "The detective took her, said he'd keep an eye on her. Then, when I called him again, he said she was telling the truth and just to patch her up."

"Not at all suspicious." Jack whistled low, then got his backpack and threw over his shoulder. "Alright, I'm out. She's on her usual spot, sleeping."

Robby nodded, sighing for a third time. "Thanks, brother. Rest well, see you later."

He slowly made his way to the nurses' station, Dana nodded her head pointing somewhere behind her.

"Don't even bother going to see her. She's gone."

Robby blinked at her slowly. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, Whitaker went there to offer coffee and found the bed empty." Dana said, a knowing smile on her lips, sliding a paper towards him. "She left this, though."

Grabbing the piece of paper, Robby looked for a long moment, then looked to the ceiling as if he would find the answers there.

'See you soon, handsome. I'll bring coffee next time.'

You showing up during the night shift for the first time was a sign from the universe that Robby didn't catch. The following visits to the Pitt were before sunrise, and your injuries got progressively worse.

And whatever you were doing was starting to get to you. Emotionally and psychologically, as if physically wasn't enough. It was easier to notice your exhaustion, like you didn't get a chance to relax properly for just one minute.

“I'm telling you, man, I saw her somewhere before.” Shen insisted, after the ninth time you crashed into the night shift. “I think I've heard her voice on the news.”

Ellis rolled her eyes. “Why would she be on the news?”

“Dunno, can't remember.” Shen shrugged, attention returning to bed 13, where Jack was stitching you up. “Is she sleeping?”

“Yeah, think so.” Ellis answered, a bit of wonder on her face.

“Broken arm and broken fingers? A sprained foot, bruised ribs and several cuts? She's part of a fight club like Brad Pitt.” The younger attending conspired, crossing his arms as he took turns looking at the board and bed 13.

“Dr. Robby is going to flip tomorrow.” Ellis stated.

That night, Jack thought for a fleeting moment to report you again. Worried about what you got yourself into, but mostly important, worried about the effect you had on Robby's life. In the end, he didn't call anyone. Not even Robby. He let you sleep once again, waking you up before the day shift came. At least, both of you agreed that sometimes Robby didn't need to see how in bad shape you were.

Smiling in gratitude, you walked out silently and disappeared discreetly. No hesitation, even with all your injuries. Jack knew that kind of walk, that kind of behavior. He's seen this before, and deep down he wished to be wrong.

You were back to the ER two weeks later, during the day shift. It was a curse and a blessing. Limping, the cast on your arm shattered, busted lip and a nose bleeding. Dana was the first to notice you, but Princess was the quickest to move to search for Robby.

“Welcome back to the living hours, darling.” Dana greeted, meeting you halfway and turning you to room 8. Her trained eyes quickly evaluated you from head to toes. Nodding to herself, the charge nurse declared, “Robby will be here soon.”

You frowned. “Can't you call, I dunno, Samira?”

“No can do,” Dana shrugged. From where she was standing in the doorway, she could see Princess pointing in her direction and soon Robby was striding over with a worried expression on his face. “Your doctor is already here.”

“Dana, please-”

The charge nurse ignored your call and left you behind, with no time or route to escape, soon enough you were staring into a pair of sad brown eyes. You don't say anything, keeping your mouth shut for the first time since meeting him. Robby let out a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. Then his eyes roamed over your body, categorizing each wound by priority level.

“Dr. Santos, since you're here, get the necessary supplies to take care of the patient.” Robby ordered, his eyes still locked on you.

You arched an eyebrow, surprised for not having noticed the younger woman's silent approach, but incapable of breaking Robby's stare. Without saying anything, he stepped closer and reached for your face. His touch was gentle, tilting your face to assess the bleeding from your nose.

“Does it hurt?” Robby asked quietly.

His somber expression made you swallow your sassy comment, and whisper cautiously, “No, not anymore.”

He nodded, but you knew he didn't believe you. Robby shifted his eyes lower, narrowing as he noticed the rip in the right thigh of your cargo pants. “And your leg?”

“Fell down funny, but nothing broken or needing stitches.” you answered trustfully, holding back the need to shrug because you knew Robby wouldn't appreciate it.

Letting his hands fall off your face, you instantly missed his touch and warmth. Robby stepped back when Santos returned to the room. He watched the intern arrange the material and put the gloves on, then turned away, declaring a simple, “Dr. Santos, let me know when you finish her treatment. I'll see how the others are.”

“This was as good as a trainwreck,” Santos stated bluntly.

You snorted humorously. “I shouldn't have come.”

Santos didn't comment right away, choosing to wipe the blood from your face. When you were clean and she deemed the bleeding had actually stopped, she muttered closely. “He's always worried about you, y'know? At least when you come, he's sure you're still alive.”

You didn't need to ask her who she meant, it was clear enough. And it made you feel guilty for creating such a deep bond with him. At first, it wasn't anything, just you being silly and trying to distract yourself a little in the middle of the chaos you were in. Of course things quickly changed, there was a spark and connection. You felt greedy coming to The Pitt to get a little dose of Robby. Maybe you were being only selfish in the end.

A voice startled you from your thoughts. “Why can't you listen to me for once, troublemaker?”

Your head snapped towards the voice at the same time Santos turned around. Leaning on the doorframe was the detective responsible for you. You groaned. “Francis, what are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Take a guess, silly.”

“He called you?” you shouldn't feel offended nor sad about the fact, but something inside you didn't like it one bit.

Santos whistled. “Trainwreck.”

You looked incredulously at her. The intern didn't look back, focusing on renewing the cast on your arm.

“He wasn't ratting you out, in fact, he asked me why I wasn't doing my job properly.” Clint had the audacity to snicker, but composed himself after seeing your glare. Clearing his throat, he stated. “I'll give you a ride home.”

Saluting with two fingers, Clint walked away, probably to make a fool of himself to the nurses.

Nine minutes later Robby was back. An unreadable expression on his face and gloved hands. He watched Santos finish the cast on your arm in silence. A tall imposing figure at her back. And when she moved to see your thigh, Robby stopped her.

“Dr Mohan needs help to speed up the treatment of the patients.”

Santos opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but decided against it in the end. Nodding, she glanced at you before leaving in hurried steps.

There's a short pause.

“Do you want me to take off my pants, doc?”

“Jesus Christ,” Robby exhaled shakily, sliding a hand across his face.

“It's fine, I'm wearing lace.” You said softly, giving him a flirtatiously smile.

Robby squared his shoulders, stepping up and standing dangerously too close. His ears and neck turned red. He warned huskily, “Behave.”

You nodded and stayed quiet. Realizing that you would obey his warning, he checked your thigh with a feather-light touch. Robby sighed after noticing the angry bruise.

“I'm sorry for making you worry all the time,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual.

Robby took a breath, nodding once. His brown sad eyes staring at your soul. “Are you ever going to tell me the truth?”

Of course he would ask that. You knew that everyone in that ER pretended to believe in your lie (because they couldn't think of a loophole thanks to Clint coming to rescue you). Unfortunately, you couldn't risk telling him what you were really doing in Pittsburgh. Risk him. It was safer for him to think you were a gang member. Or a lunatic. He'd never survive if he knew the mess you were trying to clean up.

So you decided on a promise, you owned him at least that. “Yes, Michael.”

“But not now.”

“No.”

Not wanting to push, he excused himself. “I'll prepare your discharge papers.”

Robby didn't return with the papers.

Clint was the one to come get you, papers in hand. When you got out of the room, Robby was nowhere to be found. So you accepted defeat with a heavy heart, and left without looking back.

Meanwhile, Robby was sitting alone in the break room, cup full of coffee to try and drown his worries.

“She's gone.” Dana declared as she opened the door, raised eyebrow and a knowing look in her eyes. “Thought you'd wanna know the coast is clear, so you can stop hiding.”

“I'm not hiding,” Robby lifted the coffee he was holding. “See, I'm taking five to recharge.”

“The detective is handsome, right?” Frank joined them at the break room, a little smirk on his lips. “Blonde, fit, husky voice, blue eyes…”

“Came running to her rescue like those movie heartthrobs.” Dana sassed.

“Fuck.” Robby groaned, standing up and swiftly walking between them to get back to work.

Frank called after him, “Just saying!”

Like other times, you didn't come back to the follow-up care. However, Robby felt in his gut something was definitely wrong. The detective didn’t answer his calls, but sent an ominous text saying you were fine and staying low, whatever the hell that meant. The routine in the ER continued, forcing Robby to focus on patients and the chaotic rush of managing residents, interns and students. The worst part was when he was home alone. He tried to drown his thoughts and worries about you with housework and sleep.

You were gone for two months. Robby wasn't sleeping well, he felt like a ticking time bomb. And it got worse with Dana and Jack constantly asking if he was okay. He definitely wasn't. Detective Francis came by once during the night shift, handed over a note signed by you. Robby asked Dana to read it first, his heart clenching in his chest as he waited for the worst. He was always expecting the worst. When he heard Dana laugh, he felt his shoulders slump in sheer anxiety.

'Broke my old phone. And then noticed that I never directly gave my number to you. I'll be quitting my job soon. So let’s go out on a date, okay? I’ll wear something nice just for you.'

You were trouble. So much trouble. You’re gonna be the death of him. But that stupid note made him smile and feel like he was his stupid 20s something all over again. He texted you a simple ‘behave’ and kept smiling for the rest of the shift. Robby didn't even mind Dana and Jack teaming up to make fun of him. He went home making planes, thinking that maybe, just maybe, everything's going to finally work out for him. After almost one year of you turning his mind upside down, he should known better.

Night shift was finally slowing down around midnight, only two patients were staying until morning. Jack was updating the charts while Shen and Ellis bickered over some dumb shit they saw online when the radio crackled to life. Woman with multiple trauma, in her 30s, crashing down. ETA 3 minutes. The team was quickly to move.

Shen and Ellis went outside to help the emts with the victim. Jack stood back to prepare the trauma bay with the rest of the staff. No one was prepared to see you on the stretcher, completely covered in blood, unconscious and at death's door. Jack felt like he had been thrown back to when he was out in the field saving soldiers years ago.

“Bridget, call Robby now!” Jack yelled, his voice hard and determined.

Jack always knew this moment would come, at least it was him taking you to the OR. And he knew that whatever happened there, Robby needed to be here too. Robby would never recover if he wasn't by your side at a critical moment like this. Would never forgive himself. In the mean time, Jack would gladly Jack would gladly take the burden of opening your chest, to stop the internal bleeding, search all the bullets, cauterize all your wounds, fix your broken bones, make your heart beat with his own hands. It took hours, but Jack wouldn't lose you at that table.

Robby arrived in the ER like a raging river. Bloodshot eyes, hyperventilating, trembling hands, messed hair. He didn’t hear or see anyone around him, no one was capable of preventing him from reaching the OR. The worst part? He didn’t scream or cry out loud, his legs just gave up right there at the door.

He watched silently as Jack, Shen, Ellis and Walsh worked together with the rest of the team to save you. Rocking back and forth, Robby covered his ears but was unable to look away. There was so much blood. It was as bad as Pittfest, maybe worse, because all that blood covering the floor was just yours.

“Please. Oh, God. Please. Not her too. Not her.” Robby repeated in a weak voice, drowned out by all the chaos.

It wasn't until he came face to face with Jack that he realized you were no longer at the table. He felt all the air escape him, heart in his throat. There was a ringing in his ear, he couldn't understand what Jack was trying to say. Robby closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the nose. Then, he looked into Jack's eyes for answers.

“She’s fine, brother. She’s alive. Breathe. We’ve got her.” Jack repeated over and over, waiting for Robby to come to his senses.

He sucked in a breath, hands clasping on Jack’s shoulders. “She’s safe?”

“Yeah, brother.” Jack nodded, watching him closely. He held Robby by his arms and helped him get up. “We took her to the pedes room, for privacy and safety. She’s gonna stay with us.”

“What the hell happened?” Robby questioned, dragging his hands on his face before looking around the now empty OR.

“I don’t know, man.” Jack shook his head, at loss. Then added, “I asked Shen and Ellis to find out, thought. Let’s get out of here. Wanna see her?”

“Yeah,” he answered softly.

Jack accompanied him to the pedes in silence. When they stopped walking, Jack looked at him carefully. “She’s sleeping now, so stay as longer you need and then meet me at the hub.”

Left alone, Robby took several deep breaths before finally opening the door and getting inside the pedes room. You were right in the middle, lying in bed with an oxygen mask and wires connecting you to the machines. He slowly came closer, standing beside your bed. His eyes analyzed every bruise, every detail. with trembling fingers, he caressed your face and brushed away the hair that had fallen into your face. You were gone for two long months and now you were there. He almost lost you on the same day his heart had filled with hope of having a chance with you. A broken laugh escaped him, the overwhelming turmoil of the situation catching him once again.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Robby whispered wrecked, eyes still wet from all the tears and voice raw of emotion. He leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

He didn’t linger. Opting to search for Jack and get answers. He took one last look at you and carefully closed the door behind him. He found Jack and the others with one of the tv of the hub turned on the news. Frowning, Robby hurried his steps.

'Former avenger member known as Shrike tears down crimelord, and brings to light political corruption and executives connections linked to the growing wave of violence and crime in Pittsburgh. Witnesses at the scene helped the hero who was seriously injured in the aftermath, but no one knows where she was taken. What we know is that Shrike's face is all over social media for the first time after bravely using her helmet to disarm a criminal who was holding a child hostage–'

“Oh Lord,” Robby gasped, the world around him tilting down. He closed his eyes tight, hands supporting his weight on the nurse’s station.

“I knew it!” Shen squealed somewhere behind him, voice full of enthusiasm. “I said I heard her voice on the news!”

“Shut up, Shen.” Ellis elbowed him hard in the stomach. Shen let out a faint grunt of discomfort but fell silent.

Jack came closer, standing beside him and squeezing his shoulder. “She’s gonna be okay, brother.”

“I could have lost her and I wouldn’t have know.” Robby whispered, mind still reeling trying to process all the situation. “All this time I thought-”

“Does it matter now?” Jack tilted his head, trying to make eye contact with his friend, a serious expression on his face. “You can't blame yourself for a disguise she created for safety.”

Suddenly, rushing through the ambulance area, Detective Francis materialized in front of them. No, not detective Francis. Clint Barton, the avenger Hawkeye. He was still dressed in his suit, but he was carrying the famous purple bow and arrows. Robby was glad that the ER had reached a lull, with few patients to witness the situation.

“How is she?” Clint asked, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head and squinting his eyes because of the bright light. “Got held up finishing the cleaning.”

“You.” Robby hissed.

Clint raised an eyebrow, scratching his chin unperturbed. “Yeah?”

Jack sighed. “She had surgery and is under observation. She lost a lot of blood, we removed seven bullets. Her right arm was broken in three places, had a deep cut on her temple and head trauma.”

“Well, it could be worse.” Clint nodded, shoulders relaxing. He offered a crooked smile, “She’s had worse, actually. But thank you for taking care of her stubborn ass.”

“He's so cool,” Shen whispered to Ellis, but loud enough to be heard.

Everyone ignored Shen’s comment.

“I'll take you to where she is,” Jack offered, hand pointing to the path in invitation. “I think it's best not to draw any unwanted attention right now.”

“Right.” Clint sighed, starting to follow Jack. Stopping abruptly to face Robby. “For what it’s worth, she took your safety into consideration. It's personal to her.”

The hero then followed Jack's footsteps again, disappearing down the hallway to the most secluded and discreet room in the ER.

Robby let out a shaky breath, leaning forward again, tense shoulders and head in hands. He felt like shit. Emotions and reason at war inside him. He kept repeating in his mind that she's alive, she's alive, she's alive, she’s alive like a mantra. But he remained afraid that he would wake up at any moment and be told that she had died on the trauma table.

Jack found him a few minutes later, at the ambulance entrance, sitting against the hospital wall. Knees close to the chest, arms resting on his legs and hands holding his head. Getting closer, he noticed that Robby had tears on his face, but he wasn't crying desperately like before. Jack stopped beside him, leaning against the wall, and drew in a long breath. Looking at the watch on his wrist, it was already two in the morning.

“She’s awake,” he informed, an incredulous huff escaped him. “The cut on her temple is superficial now.”

Robby snapped his head up, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“The little shit has a slight better healing metabolism, according to the hawkguy.” Jack shook his head, still not believing everything that happened. “Not like the crazy dude called dead something, or like Captain America, but there’s something. That’s what he said.”

Throwing his hands up, Robby cursed softly. “It just gets better and better the emotional rollercoaster.”

“Go home, brother.” Jack said, after looking at his friend for a long moment. “Try to rest a bit before your shift.”

Robby nodded once, slowly getting up from the ground. “Yeah, guess I’ll need all the rest I can get.” Glancing at Jack, he smiled faintly. “Thank you for calling me.”

“See you in the morning.” Jack replied, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

Rest was forced due to exhaustion. Robby barely touched the bed and passed out, everything that happened that night catching him as a wrecking ball. Four hours of sleep later, he was re-entering the ED grounds. The place bursting with energy more than normal, night shift and day shift staff completely agitated.

Dana approached him before he could reach the hub, her expression a mix of seriousness teetering on the edge of mischief. “Glad you decided to join us. Your circus has been on fire for too long already.”

Confusion settled onto his features, “I didn't get enough sleep to deal with any shit before clock in.”

“Oh, you're going to want to get involved in this one.” Dana snickered with a smirk. “Pedes room rings you a bell?”

Robby straightens up at that, glancing worriedly at the nurse charge. When she didn’t elaborate, he changed his route. Hurried his steps towards the pedes, throwing his backpack in the locker on the way. Jack was already there, standing at the pedes’ door with Shen and Perlah.

“What’s going on?” Robby asked, worried eyes trying to catch a glimpse inside.

Jack held up a hand to stop him, “She’s awake and has visitors-”

“I should make a birdcage and lock you two in there! That's not being careful!” a male voice boomed inside the room, making Jack fall silent. Despite the volume, the voice sounded more worried and exasperated than anything. “That's why I created your fucking suit, to avoid shit like this!”

“What the fuck?” Robby muttered.

Shen giddly chimed in, “Tony Stark in the flesh, dude.”

“He came from the roof not even twenty minutes ago.” Perlah informed dutifully, arms crossed.

“It's time enough,” Robby muttered.

The door opened suddenly. Tony who was about to leave stopped abruptly. He looked from Jack to Robby, and then Shen and Perlah, before his focus returned to the two senior attendants.

“I’ll be contacting the hospital for a donation to the ED as a thank you.” Tony declared simply, he glanced inside the room towards the bed before fixing Robby with curious eyes. “Take good care of her, that's my only warning.”

Without missing a beat, you hissed behind him. “Tony!”

“That’s my cue, I know the way out.”

And just like that Tony Stark, the famous IronMan, passed like a hurricane. Clint was the next to come to the door, a tired expression on his features. “Thanks again, guys. I’ll be going too for now. Gotta sleep.”

“You were drooling not even half an hour ago!” You retaliated, arms crossed petulantly.

“She’s all yours, man.” Clint said, clapping Robby’s shoulder and ignoring you. He then turned to Jack, “Can you help me gather everyone of the night shift? Wanna know everyone’s names.”

It was obvious why the hero was asking that. So Jack just nodded, and tilted his head for Shen and Perlah to go with him. The four of them quickly left Robby alone with you. He remained rooted in the doorway, staring at you on the bed. Looking breathtaking. As if you hadn't given him a terrible panic attack out of fear of losing you forever before he even had the chance to hold you.

“Are you going to stand there forever?”

You asked, eyes full of vulnerability. He didn’t answer out loud, just crossed the threshold and closed the door. He came closer with careful steps, taking one of your hands into his. You stared at each other in silence, then Robby brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

“Please, don’t scare me like this again.” he pleaded. “I thought I was going to lose.”

You drew a sharp breath. “Michael-”

“I know you had to do what was necessary, sweetheart.” He cut you off softly, kissing the palm of your hand before bringing to his face. “I’m proud of you, don't get me wrong. But you’re important to me.”

“So,” you started, using your hand holding him to tilt his face down towards you, nose brushing against his. “You already know everything?”

“That you’re the amazing Shrike? That I want to know you inside out? Date you? Love you?” Robby whispered on your lips, almost touching. “Yeah, I already know.”

You closed the distance and kissed him, heart fluttering overwhelmed with emotion. His arms held with care, but he kissed you back all-consuming. Months of pent up emotions and tension pouring into the kiss. He licked hotly into your mouth before breaking the kiss. He rested his forehead on yours, sighing deeply in contentment.

“What do you think about home-cooked meal on a first date?” Robby breathed, one eyebrow shooting up in amused curiosity.

“If it's you, Michael, then it's perfect.” You whispered sweetly.

“Good, because you’re not leaving my sight anytime soon.”

Your laughter echoed through the room, making Robby smile goofily. Yeah, maybe, just maybe everything's going to finally work out.

Thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜 Let me know what you think! Comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

There's no taglist, but you can follow this story (and the other crossovers) through the tag #avenger!reader x the pitt!

[luveline]

Hiiiiii!!!!!!! I recently got back into criminal minds and devoured all ur hotch fics like a MANIAC (you write. So unbelievably well. Im also in love w ur tasm peter stuff, you are just such a good writer thru and thru) and that one request where Jack calls reader mom for the first time really stuck w me so I was wondering if maybe I could request smth of the opposite? Like not-so-single mom!reader and hotch have been dating for a while and her lil girl calls him dad for the first time :3 🖤🖤

thank you for requesting! 💌 ��your daughter calls Hotch dad for the first time. fem, 2k

“Come in, come in!” Hotch says, the door held ajar by his arm, forcing you to squeeze in and save the heat. “Quickly, honey, please, get out of the rain.” 

Sarah bursts in through the door and away from the rain, her vinyl coat covered in raindrops, her boots wet with mud. “Aaron!” she says, pulling it into something softened and excited at once, though her ‘r’s are weak, closer to ‘w’s. “I missed you.” She jumps from one foot to the other. 

He makes sure you’re safely inside before he abandons you. It’s not very kind to you, but he can’t help himself. “Sarah,” he says, without your daughter’s sweetness but heavily fond, “I missed you more, honey. How many days has it been?” 

“Four!” she says, holding up four fingers as Hotch grabs her by the waist. 

He doesn’t mind her wet coat, working an arm around and beneath her to shuck off her muddy shoes. They topple to the ground to unveil damp socks. 

“Oh, no, your socks are wet. I did all the laundry while we were waiting, I have some warm ones for you in the dryer. Should we get you out of this coat?” 

“Where’s Jack?” you ask. 

“Eating. He was starving, couldn’t wait.” 

You kick your shoes off and gather them with Sarah’s to line up by the door. Hotch takes off Sarah’s coat with some one-armed manoeuvring, aware of her smiley gaze following his every move. 

“I,” you say, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, cold lips to his rough skin, “am gonna go to the toilet really quickly. Hi, handsome.” 

He savours your kiss and watches you go. He owes you a better greeting, he missed you just as much as he missed your girl. For now, he wipes the cold from Sarah’s cheeks and stations her comfortably on his navel. 

He loves her like his own. He’s privileged to get the opportunity, and it’s hard not to feel that low level of awe whenever she’s around, because she loves him the same way. Sarah waits for him to smile before she wraps her arms around his neck, long enough to twine her fingers in the short hair she finds there. 

It’s funny to love someone you had no hand in bringing into the world, but no less real. He’d do anything for Sarah. I miss you doesn’t cover it, but it’s a start. “I missed you,” he murmurs, not well-versed in baby talk but always willing to try for his kids. “It’s so nice to see you. Jack missed you too, should we go see him? I can change your socks.” 

He ushers her back enough to see her. She has such loving eyes, not shy at all as she nods her head. “Can you make crackers?” 

He beams. “Oooh, yes. Crackers and cheese and apple slices, I know what you want, honey. It’s ready for you in the kitchen.” 

Things weren’t easy at first for either you nor Hotch. He works too much, and you both have priorities that can’t be shifted, but the connection between you was easy. Love, undoubtedly, pretty much the moment you met, even if it scared him. He never thought he’d get a second chance and he’s not sure you thought you’d find yours either, and yet loving you has been as helpless as loving your daughter. He doesn’t have a choice and he doesn’t want one. 

In this time, you’ve found routine. He’s introduced the idea of moving in together and you’re excited for it, though concrete plans haven’t been laid. There’s a lot of questions and no need to rush into answering them yet. He has no intentions of letting you go now —Hotch will do anything it takes to keep his small family. 

Today, right now, that’s crackers. 

“Sarah!” Jack says when he sees them, jumping off of his chair to climb on top of it. He holds his hands out and Hotch leans down with a loving laugh to let his son hug her. “You’re back!” 

“I’m back,” she agrees. 

“Do you want some of my sandwiches? Daddy made me two.” 

“Yes!” she says, wiggling to be put down and given what he’s promising. 

Hotch fights to take her to the sink and wash her little hands, to her horror and whining. He says, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you gotta wash your hands before you eat.” 

He puts her in her own chair, and it is Sarah’s chair, outfitted with a big pillow so she can see the table and marked by a pink star sticker, putting a placemat in front of her. Jack quickly pushes one of his sandwiches towards her. “There you go.” 

“Thank you, Jackers,” she says. 

Hotch smiles. Despite their different interests and ages, they’re quick to get along. 

He shouldn’t pry while you’re in the bathroom, but he worries about you. “Honey?” he calls up the stairs. 

“I’m just changing!” 

“Yeah? Can you bring some socks for Sarah, please?” 

You shout back something incomprehensible. He returns to the kitchen, where Sarah looks over the chair with pleading eyes and asks, “Crackers?” a piece of lettuce stuck to her chin. 

“Ah,” he says showfully, turning to the fridge to grab the plate of crackers, sliced cheese, and apples he’d Saran wrapped an hour ago. He peels off the wrapping and places it in front of her. “Here, sweetheart. Do you want anything else? Maybe some chips?” 

She laughs and grabs a piece of apple without answering him. 

“What about you, sweetheart? Drink?” he asks Jack. 

“Yes please, daddy.” 

Hotch makes Jack a cup of orange juice and Sarah a sippy cup, hers diluted some with water. He places them down in front of the kids, crouching between their chairs, intending to stay and chat. “How’s that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to listen for your light footsteps on the stairs.  

“Thanks, daddy,” Jack says. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Sarah echoes, reaching for him. Hotch offers his hand, startled, not quick enough to hide it. She doesn’t pay any mind to his expression, pleased to have her hand held and her big plastic plate of crackers to munch on. 

“Why’d you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” you ask, passing him Sarah’s socks, and rounding the table to stand by Jack's other side. “Hi,” you add, ruffling Jack’s hair, “look at you, gorgeous, you got your hair cut.” 

Hotch rubs Sarah’s knuckles, trying to phrase it, not sure how to tell you with the kids still there. Will Sarah feel embarrassed if he brings it up so swiftly? Will she feel like she’s done something wrong? Will you? 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He decides to present you with the situation. He’s not manipulative, but clever. “Mommy got your socks, too. Can we take these cold ones off, is that okay?” 

“Yes, please,” Sarah says.

You watch in confusion. Hotch gives you a quick look. Trust me for a second. 

He eases the socks off of her feet, laughs when she laughs at his tickling, even if he’s not quite sure how to feel. Happy, he gives her toes a squeeze and bunches a sock up to pull it over her heel and up to her ankle. “One,” he says, repeating the process with the same tenderness. “Two. There we go, all warm again, Sarah.” 

“Thanks, daddy.” 

You breathe in. 

Sarah puts some cheese on a cracker and offers it to Hotch, who eats it while you summon him away with silent parent talk. He kisses her forehead and wipes it clean as he goes. 

“Did she do that when I was upstairs?” you ask quietly. 

Hotch knows you. Loves you, but knows you intrinsically. He knows just by looking at you that you’re happy, but you’re worried about something, and it’s not hard to guess what it is: he might not want Sarah to call him daddy, and telling her not to might break her heart, and yours too. 

“She did.” 

“She’s never… expressed that interest to me.” 

“Sometimes they think about things more than we know.” Jack still surprises him as he did when he was a toddler.

“She just loves you,” you say. 

“I love her. She can call me whatever she wants to.” 

You hold his wrist, taking a step closer to him. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure.” He murmurs now you’re close, ducking his head to yours, two halves of the same heart looking at one another’s hands. “I love her more than anything in the world. I want to make her crackers for the rest of my life.” Hotch puts his index finger to the soft skin under your chin. “Maybe by tomorrow she’ll forget she called me daddy and she’ll never say it again, but… I want her to. Is that okay?” he asks. 

You lean up to kiss him and you nod into his lips, which makes it hard but not impossible to kiss back. “She loves you so much,” you say quietly. You’d only wanted a quick peck. 

He might’ve said he loves her more than anything, but there’s a level on which he holds her and Jack where you sit too. He loves you. You made Sarah who she is all by yourself, and you’re so lovable standing in his reach. You’re perfect. 

Maybe he’s feeling sweet because Sarah called him daddy. 

“I think Jack confused her,” he says. 

“Maybe. You are, you know, her dad. You do everything a dad would.” 

Hotch slots his leg between yours and leans back to force you into his favourite kind of hug. You laugh slowly, hug the same, your arms sliding up over his shoulders to wrap behind his head, your hand cupping his hair. 

He closes his eyes and feels your waist. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he says. 

“I don’t worry about you and Sarah, I know you love her. I guess I just worry about us. Not that you don’t love me, Aaron.” 

“Big changes,” he guesses in a whisper. 

“Big changes.” 

He encourages you away to hold your face. He hopes that waiting with you in quiet for a while can explain it better than words. 

Your shoulders finally relax. 

[ilyprs]

P I S T A N T H R O P H O B I A | s.geum

───𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛───

pistanthrophobia : the fear of trusting people, forming close romantic relationships, and being vulnerable in interpersonal connections

' in which she can't escape her first love

•seong-je x reader

•part 2. ( u can find the first part on my profile i just couldn’t figure out how to link it !!😭)

ׂׂૢ་༘______________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•✩♬ now playing: i'm unhappy | aespa

Serim lay awake in her bed for a long time, replaying the entire day in her mind. She couldn't understand how a day that had started off so beautifully could end in such a disaster. The boys hadn't let the topic go, and she literally had to drag them away by their ears to stop them from going back and beating up the other guys. They only winced in pain and swore to her, that if there was something she was hiding from them, they would find out. She had only briefly explained what had happened and had left out important details—like seeing Geum Seong-je again—because if she'd mentioned that, they definitely would have gone back, and it would've ended in bloodshed. Afterward, the boys had walked her all the way to her front door and waited until she was safely inside before making their own way home. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, her friends could tell that something was wrong, and they wouldn't let it go easily.

The thought of Seong-je made her heart ache again. Every day, she had done her best to suppress her feelings for him—and it had worked relatively well, until she saw him again today. The last time she had seen him was quite a while ago, since she had spent months avoiding the places he might be. All the feelings she had fought so hard to bury suddenly came flooding back, and she couldn't believe it. It was all just too much for her to handle at the moment. Determined, she got up and rummaged through her nightstand until she found what she was looking for. Quietly, she grabbed a pack of cigarettes and her favourite lighter that Seong-je had gifted her and stepped out onto the balcony. The chilly air welcomed her and she brought her jacked closer to her body. She never smoked when they used to be together but he had always insisted on her having something that resembled him and gave her a dark red lighter with his initials on. She could never bring herself to throw it away. It was one of the few things she had left of him before he became the way he was now.

Serim rarely smoked—and only when she was completely overwhelmed. It was a habit she'd picked up after leaving him. The smell was oddly familiar and brought her back to those times when she sat on this very balcony, facing him, just watching him. He looked so beautiful in the sunset—his glasses always slipping slightly down his nose, smoking in the chair directly across from hers. The smoke which was lingering on him and the way he breathed it out only had made him hotter than he already was. Sometimes he caught her staring and asked why she was looking at him like that. She always said it was nothing, but they both knew it was much more than that. He then would always get close to her and give her that fucking smirk he always had sitting on his stupidly handsome face, before he leaned in and kissed her. Other times he would just admire her and tell her how beautiful she looked in the sunlight. There were even many instances in which they whispered quiet confessions at each other under the moonlight.

„The moon is beautiful isn't it?"

As the memories rushed back, her heart clenched again, and she lit her cigarette. It was windy, and she had to shield the flame with her hand to get it lit. With a heavy heart, she took a deep drag that didn't even taste good and tried to push the old memories from her mind. But it only brought more pain and sorrow. No matter how much she wished it, nothing would ever be the same again.

She spent exactly 34 minutes on the balcony. When she stepped back into her room, the warm air wrapped around her, making her feel a little better. Quietly, she tucked the pack and lighter back into her nightstand and checked her messages one last time. She didn't want to, but her fingers moved automatically to the archived chats and opened his contact. Two hours ago, he had sent her a picture with a message. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should just ignore it—but her curiosity was too strong. She opened the photo, and her phone almost slipped from her hands.

It showed a bloody hand bent at a strange angle. The fingers were twisted unnaturally, and the hand was covered in scratches, blood, and bruises. Serim didn't need to think twice—she knew exactly who it was. Her breath hitched and she was close to throwing up. It was the guy who had tried to hit her. She had heard his painful screams when she was running away. Serim couldn't believe what she was seeing with her own eyes but she should have known better. She knew that the boy never could have just walked away as if nothing had happened.

As she exited the photo, she saw another message:

"That's what happens to anyone who even thinks about hurting you."

Serim's heart skipped a beat. Seong-je's jealousy wasn't anything new to her, but she had a feeling it had only gotten worse since they went their separate ways. For the past two years, no guy had dared to talk to her—Seong-je had threatened everyone around her with death if they even got close. It was one of the reasons she had to change schools. Seong-je started getting into physical altercations almost daily—just looking at her was enough to piss him off, which led to a lot of problems and fights.

Her fingers trembled as she typed a short message to him. She had sworn never to contact him again, but if innocent people were getting hurt, she couldn't just sit quietly and do nothing. Sometimes, she cursed herself for her compassion and empathy.

"Leave me alone."

Without thinking twice, she hit send. She was about to throw her phone against the wall to escape this madness when it buzzed again, pulling her out of her thoughts. With shaking hands, she looked at the screen. He had replied immediately, as if he'd been waiting the whole time.

"Never."

Serim really was about to throw her phone, but she knew it wouldn't change anything. Instead, she just let it fall onto her pillow and layed down. He would never give up, and she would never have peace. Every time she blocked him, he messaged her from a new number. Even when she changed her number, he would find her new one within days. Lee Serim was never truly free from this boy, no matter where or how far she went. It was impossible to escape him. She knew someone was always watching her—she had caught people following her before, but when she confronted them, the next day it would be someone new and the cycle would just repeat itself. To call him obsessed would be the understatement of the year. He seemed to live and breath only for her. And she was slowly reaching her breaking point. She didn't respond anymore, set her phone aside, and tried to sleep. But her thoughts kept returning to him. Before she drifted off, she blocked his new number too.

⸻

The next morning, she had to force herself out of bed. The night had been long and sleepless, and she was beyond exhausted—but skipping school wasn't an option. She quickly got ready and grabbed a small breakfast. She gave her dad a quick kiss and promised to come to training later, then stepped outside. Just as she opened the door, Gotak was standing there, about to knock. Startled, he flinched, and Serim had to smile. It had become a routine for the two of them to walk to school together every day. Usually, Baku was with them too, but that idiot was currently serving his suspension.

„Morning. You look like shit," Gotak commented, eyeing her with concern. „Did you sleep at all?" he asked as he instinctively took her backpack so she could throw her jacket over her school uniform. Serim bit down on her now-reddened lips—the same way she had all night—and looked at him.

„Thanks, just what I wanted to hear first thing in the morning," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes before giving him a small hit on the back of his head. She was very grateful for her friends and their honesty but sometimes it was just to much to bare. The worst part was, he wasn't even lying—she really did look awful. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and she looked like a walking corpse in the mirror that morning. She didn't even have the energy to cover them up, so she accepted her zombie appearance for the day.

Gotak kept watching her with worry as they made their way to school. She had taken her backpack back when he, once again, asked if everything was alright. She knew that no matter what she said, he wouldn't be convinced—but she simply didn't have the energy to explain again and waved him off. Gotak just eyed her suspiciously but left it at that after a while. Serim was in no mood to talk.

⸻

When they arrived at school, she sat at her desk and wanted to start studying right away, when suddenly a small boy with cute glasses rushed into the classroom and frantically started digging through his oversized bag. He moved quickly between the desks, placing some sort of snack on almost every one. Sometimes he picked the wrong one, muttered a quiet curse, and switched it out for the right one. Confused, Serim watched the boy as he suddenly approached her and silently placed a strawberry milk on her desk. Perplexed, she spoke:

„Excuse me, I think you've got the wrong desk."

The boy's eyes widened in panic, and he apologized repeatedly before rushing out again. She stared after him, bewildered. Serim had seen the boy multiple times by now but everytime he seemed to be in a hurry and just rushed off so she never got to talk to him properly.

What was that about?

Lee Serim just shrugged in confusion and tried to drown out the noise of her classmates by putting in her AirPods and focusing on the math book in front of her. Serim was an excellent student who always had top grades. Solving problems came naturally to her. She didn't need to study much, which made her friends jealous—but they made good use of her intelligence and forced her to study with them before exams which sometimes ended with a screaming match that everyone was involved in.

The class dragged on endlessly, and Serim felt like she could fall asleep any second, thanks to the previous night. All she wanted was to crawl back into her room and never come out again. None of her friends were in her class, which made it even harder to stay awake—but she pushed through. She remembered her promise to her Dad to visit the gym after she was done with school and sighed again. All she wanted to do was go home and just sleep for the rest of her damned life.

Just before the class ended, her phone buzzed and suddenly she got a bad feeling. An unknown number lit up on her screen. Her heart immediately sank—she didn't even need to check to know who it was from. Her palms started sweating, and she struggled to breathe. Cursing quietly under her breath, she opened the message.

"8 PM. At our favorite place."

„our“. That was funny. There was nothing left of them or atleast what used to be them.

Just as she read it, another message popped up.

"If you don't come, I'll find you."

Serim could swear her heart stopped. Her mind raced and she found herself imagining multiple ways this could go, and none of them ended good. She was in serious trouble.

„You dumb motherfucker i swear to god!" she whispered quietly as she dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes while trying her best to not breakdown in the middle of math class.

She was so fucking tired.

—

taglist: @gacktsa @dripoftheseus @rockerica @b3autyist3rror 🩷

[lovemomhatepolice]

drew starkey nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Drew is very caring. You can never complain about lack of attention or proper care. He even forgets himself sometimes so long as you are well taken care of. Fortunately, you are able to balance the middle ground so that both of you are maximally satisfied and cared for. After sex, he is even more cuddly. He is constantly following you, never leaving your side B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) I don't know if he has favorite body parts, both with you and with himself. Drew is really a person who admires the whole body. He realizes that he's damn handsome and well-groomed, so he likes himself in general. With you, he has the same. He likes, loves your body as a whole. Okay but how do you connect during sex in this one place. GOD!!! C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He's a fan of ending up inside you. If you just let him, of course, he seizes the opportunity every time. It probably connects with his breeding kink, but you have no problem with it. You even quite like it... D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Everyone is familiar with this popular tweet about spitting in the mouth. And everyone is well aware that it was certainly memorable for this man. Surely he won't let go of talking about it, and maybe he'll wait to talk about it himself? E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Well he is experienced, although he hasn't had many girlfriends or side hook-ups in his life. He knows perfectly well what he is doing, how he should move, what to touch. A good knight with good weapons. It can work wonders with your body, even without much care (although he still tries hard) F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) A fan of the classic missionary! It could be simple, but no, the missionary gives him plenty of options. He can change his angle in you, kiss you wherever he wants, he can perfectly see the place where you connect. Well, he has to pamper his pillow princess and he doesn't mind it at all G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Drew laughs a lot, oh, hearing his throaty laugh during sex is something else. it often happens to him, but you don’t protest. You also have moments of silliness, and your whole act becomes a place of silly text. However, more often he happens to be serious, grown man behave like this, right? (kidding aside this man will do anything to make you laugh. Well unless you happen to be crying from arousal)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Little hair on top = little hair on the bottom. He likes to keep everything well trimmed. Even his hands happen to shave, so what's the surprise that he's shaved in his intimate areas. I think with you, he would also expect you to have it neat so he could dive in there without a problem I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) He can really be affectionate during sex. If you feel that way, that's how he will be. He loves to give emotion into it, not to show that it's carnal pleasure alone. He likes to tell you all sorts of compliments, to show that he cares, that it feels good. If you want rose petals, you'll have rose petals J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Oh, he doesn't have to worry about that. You're both aroused at the same time, and if you're not, let's not lie to each other - one word and you're already on your knees. And if you're not next to each other? He keeps it inside and waits until you meet, then your act has even more power K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Breeding. The beautiful man is now over thirty, and a light has gone on in his head about starting a family. And when you showed up, he can't stand it all the more without a vision of you with a belly full of his baby L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Wherever you want. Drew is quite submissive about it. The bed, the countertop, the wall, the shower. Wherever you want, really. And he'll run after you like a stray puppy. But sex in the tub, oh, just a word, and he's already there. Ready and compact for action. Bubbles, warm water, steam rising in the bathroom, oh god M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You in his too-big-for-you T-shirts with nothing underneath, oh god, this man is already on his knees for you. Or the sight of your hips moving to the beat of the music, especially close to his crotch, oh, it's too much for him

A/N: part two BUZZ CUT DREW I'M CRYING

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[wolfstarlibrarian]

As the Wolfstar Librarian I'm kind of shocked I haven't made this a list yet! And I just finished reading this cute book during the holidays so enjoy a late holiday rec!

Bookstore Wolfstar Fics

Collateral by fingerprintbruises The fic where Sirius flees from the paparazzi, Remus runs a bookstore, and Lily has great timing.

You've Got Love by @cruisinwritealong Remus connects with an enigmatic stranger online, runs an amazing bookstore, and has his life flipped upside down when a Potter Brothers Books megastore opens up just a few blocks away. To makes things even worse the owner of the megastore is charming, funny, and hot as hell. Based on the movie You've Got Mail

Wholly Civilised (orphaned account)

When Remus Lupin is mugged in an alley, the last thing he expects is to invite the mugger to his flat and offer him food and a job. But that's exactly what he does. What he learns about Sirius Black after that, turns his entire world upside down.

The Quiet War by CF_Casper "Let's use love like a knife try to cut through the surface Love can break through the ice when you're fighting a different kind of war” (Sirius and Lily are in a gang. James and Remus run a book shop. Everyone falls in love.)

The Certainty of You by uponavenueroad Sirius is a Hollywood actor who has not been entirely forthcoming about his identity to an undeniably charming, befuddled antique book seller from Notting Hill. The truth comes to a head the morning after a steamy one-night stand. A movie-star AU that’s loosely inspired by the classic romcom 'Notting Hill'.

A Likely Story (orphaned account Sirius Black is a famous Youtuber who can't help but keep coming back to the cozy bookstore, "A Likely Story". He quickly finds himself falling for the cute bookworm, Remus Lupin. This story won't be too long and is for all the softies that just need some fluff.

A Novel Idea by @haywirecompass Sirius writes horror, with the occasional help of his two best friends, who are raising a child and therefore worry him sometimes with the ideas they come up with. He loves reading just as much as he loves writing, so the new bookshop down the road seems like to perfect place to go to load his bookshelves to breaking point. Then he meets the owner, who is somehow adorable and hot at the same time, and everything goes a bit pear-shaped.

The Cafe Upstairs by @cottonpadenthusiast Remus Lupin can sum himself up in two words; book nerd. He can also sum up Sirius Black in three; hottest guy ever. Moreover, he can sum up the likelihood of a relationship between them in one; impossible.

Fine Motor Skills by @femme--de--lettres Sirius Black's car needs work—again. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin is amused to see his favorite customer back at his mechanic's shop.

the inconveniences in our favour by @magicbeings This is a story about a graffiti-covered wall, a boy unhealthily obsessed with it, and a man who really only wanted his dream of owning a peaceful bookshop not to be ruined by a stubborn artist. Sometimes, the most frustrating inconveniences turn out to really work in your favour.

A Very Bad, Terrible, No Good Day by @solar3cl1ip5e On the worst day of his life, Remus wakes up with a cold, without power, and no tissues. He also rear-ends the most attractive man he's ever seen.

Cupid Disarmed by Anonymous Remus Lupin has Veela blood, Sirius Black reads trite romance novels, and neither of them are quite sure what the fuck to do with their hands when they get to talking with one another.

You Burn Brighter than the Stars by The_wolf_the_rat_the_dog_and_the_stag Remus meets Sirius at the university bookstore where he works and falls instantly in love.

BOOK REC:

Looking for a book similar to these fics? With characters that are so lovable? Check out this book that features a queer bookstore owner and a romance novelist!

Look Up, Handsome by Jack Strange

[dyns33]

Devil may care

I needed to write a Dad Matt, because I love Dad Matt stories, this man would be the best and the worst of a father for so many reasons.

Oh and Born Again never happened here. Nope, nope.

Y/N had only had two great loves in her life.

The first, Matt Murdock, during their college years. They weren't really together. Matthew was gallant, but he didn't want to commit to a serious relationship, yet they saw each other regularly.

His best friend often teased him when he saw them together, that it was ridiculous to refuse to name what they were when it was so obvious, which made him groan.

Without going into detail, Matt had told her about his childhood, his mother's abandonment, his father's death, the loss of his vision, his ex. He had a hard time trusting after all that, getting attached to people.

Y/N had tried to understand, to accept. But she was in love, she could feel it, and it wasn't healthy to continue like this if he wouldn't agree to give her more. She'd tried to talk to him about it after graduation, and of course, he'd immediately shut down. That night, it was over.

Three months later, Y/N met the second love of her life. A stunning, surprising entrance, after several weeks of vomiting in the morning and being tired.

"… I can't be pregnant."

"Oh, but you are !" the nurse repeated happily. "The blood test is infallible, you're having a baby ! Congratulations ! The daddy will be delighted !"

Having not been in a relationship since graduating, she didn't have to think twice to figure out who the dad was, and that he wouldn't be delighted.

Y/N could have called Matt. If he hadn't answered, she could also have called Foggy, who had wished her well after the breakup, with a sad smile. They always said they were going to work together, avocados at law.

But he didn't want a serious relationship, much less a child. However, as a good Catholic and a man of honor, Matthew would take responsibility. Unhappy, stuck, he would agree to support her. She loved him too much to inflict that on him.

It was too late to have an abortion, otherwise she might have considered it. There was always adoption too. It wouldn't be easy raising a child alone, with her job and her tiny apartment.

But when that little boy stared at her with his big eyes, Y/N knew she would never leave him. It was love at first sight.

She named him Jack. It came out without thinking, a connection to his father and grandfather, whom he would never meet. He looked a lot like him : the hair, the eyes, the nose. That mischievous little smile, which you couldn't refuse anything.

As expected, it wasn't always easy, despite the help of her family and friends. But she didn't regret it. Every moment with her son was wonderful.

Walks in the park, trips to the pool, birthdays. Even grocery shopping became a game with him, talking to everyone and jumping up and down the aisles, asking to buy everything.

Normally, he stayed close to her, obeying, but that day, the five-year-old boy was probably in an adventurous mood. Y/N had turned her head for a few seconds to grab some cereal and he had disappeared. Panicked, she had checked everywhere, calling his name louder and louder, until she spotted him talking to a stranger.

Except it wasn't a stranger.

If you could say he had changed, it was only to point out that he was even more handsome, with his suit, red glasses, and neatly styled hair.

Head tilted to one side, gripping his cane, Matthew Murdock made a funny face as he concentrated on the long story the little boy was telling him.

He couldn't know. He had no way of knowing, and Y/N slowly approached to hug his son, whispering an apology, hoping he wouldn't recognize her voice.

"Y/N ! No way, what a coincidence ! It's been so long, you… Oh, hello, little man ! Is that your son ?!"

"… Hello Foggy. Yes."

"He's adorable ! Matt, he's adorable ! You should see him ! It's funny, he looks a lot like you, it's like…"

Despite what some might think because of his flashy appearance, Foggy was smart. His sentence cut off abruptly, his smile frozen, and he looked from Jack to Matt, and finally to Y/N, fully understanding what was happening. Forgetting her groceries, Y/N stammered excuses to quickly get out of the store with her son, not giving them time to react.

Perhaps she should have known this would happen when she moved near Hell's Kitchen. Matthew was proud of his neighborhood, born and raised, and never wanted to leave. But it had the cheapest apartments, allowing for a room for Jack.

Maybe he hadn't understood. Maybe he only suspected, but he would choose to forget what had just happened.

But Y/N knew Matt. He was stubborn, he was curious, and above all, he wanted to do good.

So it wasn't really a surprise to find him on her doorstep. She wondered how he'd found her address, but three days of panic attacks seemed about right for him before he presented himself to her.

"… Can I come in ?" he asked nervously.

"Of course. Jack's napping."

"You named him Jack ?"

His lips trembled, betraying his emotion. It touched him that she had chosen his father's name for their son. He admired his father.

Not knowing where to begin, Y/N invited him to sit down, offering him some tea so she could gain more time to find the right words. Beginning with an apology seemed logical.

"I didn't want to force this on you. I won't force it on you. I'm not asking you for anything. If you wanted to see him, I wouldn't object, but I would understand if you…"

"Of course I want to see him." Matt said, his voice full of confidence. "I want to be there for him. For you."

There it was, the famous duty of sacrifice she dreaded so much. Y/N bit the inside of her mouth, unsure how to push him away without hurting or insulting him. Because it was really nice of him to want to be there. But he hadn't asked for all this, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"Look, Matt… You don't have to."

"It's my decision."

"I know, and I thank you. I'm sure you'd be wonderful with Jack, that he'd adore you, but… You don't love me. You didn't want anything serious, that's why we broke up, and why I didn't call you when I found out I was pregnant. I didn't want to put you through that. Think carefully, because if I tell him you're his father, then it'll be forever."

Matt listened patiently to her speech, swallowing each word and nodding, before placing his hand on hers.

"I don't need to think."

"Matthew…" she sighed.

"I loved you. I… I want you to know that. I was young, stupid, scared. I'm probably still pretty stupid and scared, Foggy told me that often. He yelled at me a lot when I left you, the biggest mistake of my life. I thought it was for the best. That I didn't deserve you, that I was bound to lose you or hurt you. Y/N… I don't feel obligated at all."

It was too good to be true. He wasn't a liar, she knew that. She'd always been able to trust him, always count on him. But as a mother, Y/N had to be careful.

Swallowing back a sob, she simply squeezed Matt's hand, and he tenderly stroked her fingers.

After a long silence, he resumed his thoughtful pout, indicating that maybe she wasn't entirely wrong to be on her guard.

He mumbled, before saying there was something he needed to tell her before deciding if she wanted him in her life.

Jokingly, she asked if he was married, which made him smile. No, there wasn't anyone else. Good thing, but that didn't mean he wasn't about to tell her something huge.

"So… I… I'm Dar…"

"Mommy ?"

Rubbing his still sleepy eyes, Jack trotted over to the couch to grab Y/N's leg. Frozen on his spot, mouth open, Matt didn't finish his big revelation, flustered.

"Who's that ?" the child asked in a small voice.

"Um… It's, uh…"

"I'm one of your mom's friends. We met at the store, remember ?"

"Oh, yeah."

Jack then flashed a big smile, considering his mom's friends to be his friends, and so he let go of Y/N to cuddle Matt's leg, gripping tightly like a little koala.

This could have panicked Matthew even more, but he couldn't help his beaming smile, patting his son's head before turning his attention back to Y/N, his face lit up with happiness.

They would take their time to catch up, then tell Jack the news, but everything would be fine, she could feel it right now.

Matt would also have to finish telling her his secret, but that couldn't be that important, right ?

[sinsydia]

I just made a wonderful connection. have you perhaps seen the movie Four brothers??? the character Jack mercer interpreted by Garrett Hedlund looks so much like your version of Sebastian. I was just wondering if you seen it and you were inspired or if it's just a beautiful coincidence 😭🙏🏼

here's some pics of his character in the movie. he's also emo/punk in it so it's kinda accurate

IM CRYING BECAUSE YOU ARE SO CLOSE!!! the answer is yes and no.

Yes: i did use him as inspo/reference.

No: Not Sebastian. Sam!!! :D

ive actually never seen the movie but i saw him while scrolling thru pinterest and thought he'd make a nice sam reference. Mostly for the hair and facial expressions!

With Sebastian, i don't use any references. However, as far as looks go he is almost a replica of my OC Emi (down to the piercings), which tbh i developed for years purely out of "how do i make him handsome af" lmao :3

most recent Emi art:

thanks for this yunodazed! you have a good eye!!

cheers to beautiful coincidences!! 😂

[h20]

Angel, my beloved

in my mind she is constantly feeling the affects of eridium poisoning. She cannot digest food, she has a port for easy vein access, she has severe chronic pain & her bed is a hospital bed. She wishes she had fairy lights, but she has the glow of her eridium tank.

she suffers from nightmares & PTSD related to the death of her mother, feeling responsible & having not grieved properly, feeling abandoned by her father. She hates Handsome Jack, but she craves his connection all the same. He sends Tim in his place to see her a lot of the time.

She used to have a team of child caretakers, Nanny’s, a pediatrician all sworn to secrecy— but overtime Jack stopped trusting everyone, only bots, himself, or Tim could interact with her. It was all very strict & monitored. She yearns for freedom, but it scares her too.

Lying to the vault hunters comes easy to her, she’ll do whatever Jack asks. She fantasizes about being one of them. She feels bad for what they’ve done together, but she can’t imagine life any other way.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

childhood friend turned celebrity headcanons

DON'T ASK WHY OR HOW COME, JUST CONSUME THESE QUIETLY AND MOVE ON 🤡

Curiouser and Curiouser...

You never thought you'd see the day where your bestie makes it big in the world of entertainment. Ace had always been bright-eyed whenever he talked about those ambitions—to dance among the stars, to shine like them, to be gazed at by tons of adoring fans. He’s been training really hard to make it here, and you’ve been cheering him at every milestone.

He'd show you his latest routine (he's been practicing hard to be noticed at the upcoming auditions!), finishing with a flourish--breathless--as he looks at your expectantly for your feedback. "Well?" Ace would demand with a smirk. "Did that make your heart skip a beat?" It's been so long since then, and he still makes every movement look so effortless, like he’s not even trying.

He's currently known in the entertainment industry as a jack of all trades, a man of many talents. Besides the singing and dancing, Ace does some VA work on the side (you're not surprised; he's always been good at doing vocal impressions). On variety shows, he even pulls out a deck of cards to do magic tricks—tricks he has practiced with you time and time again. The nostalgic memories well up inside of you every time you're flicking through the channels and catch Ace doing a trick or pulling a voice he has tested on you no less than twenty times.

You heard his latest song playing in a store the other day. His voice had floated over to you as you perused the items on display, some cheeky pop song (Fitting for him, you think), the lyrics telling of distant love. Listening to it makes your heart ache with longing. If you close your eyes, it feels as though Ace is right there beside you, serenading, as he did all those years ago.

He still has your number, still texts you whenever he has a few minutes of break on set or backstage. Ace is hot shit and he knows it. He tends to brag about his latest projects ("I'm in high demand, you know!") or asks you've seen that one film or music video he starred in. If you have, he'll fish for compliments ("Sooo, what'd you think? Was I cool or what?"). If you haven't, he'll goad you to give it a shot. ("Who knows~ You might come out of it appreciating a whole new side of me!”)

He enjoys using his connections in the fashion world to dress well daily; Ace will send you selfies of new stuff he’s wearing for a music video shoot or whatever he got gifted from a fashion brand he worked with. He demands to know your opinion—he wants to hear you tell him how cool and handsome he is!

Ace will frequently tell you about his fans and how dedicated they are to him. It's not that he cares about them any more deeply than their relationship as an idol and a fan, he just does it to observe your reactions and to see if you get jealous when he mentions them.

Sometimes he'll play coy when you initiate the texts; he'll leave you on read and then respond veeery late into the day with a joking "Didja miss me? Desperate for my attention? Don’t worry, I know you’ll always be my biggest fan.”

He shamelessly saves you VIP tickets to his live shows (though he’ll claim he just “happens to have it” on hand). While he’s performing, Ace makes extra effort to throw fanservice your way—and while the fans around you squeal and insist he’s looking at them, you know deep in your heart that his heated gaze is reserved for you and you alone.

After those shows, he’ll of course insist that you come see him backstage. You’ll sit on the couch and wait for him to change into his plainclothes—complete with a baseball cap, sunglasses, and mask to hide his identity—then he’ll walk you home, an arm wrapped around your shoulder. “We could take my private car,” he mutters, “but I think I like having you all to myself, without the chauffeur butting in.”

You worry that someone might spot you, that there will be a massive scandal—but Ace takes it all in stride. “Yeah? Well, if it happens, it happens. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have you as my partner in crime~”

This wasn’t the career path Deuce thought he’d end up in, but life works in strange and mysterious ways. You were out chilling with him one day when a recruiter came up to Deuce and offered his card. He wasn’t going to entertain it until you encouraged him, and well… from there, it snowballed into unexpected stardom.

A lot of his work comes in modeling, just because it’s simpler for him to not overthink about answers to give or how to act on set. Often you’ll be browsing a fashion magazine and stumble across a full page or even a spread of Deuce in a bomber jacket posed against a vehicle—a magical wheel, a car. Sometimes he’s staring wistfully at the scenario, his profile cutting a sharp figure, and other times his gaze is right on you, intense as the sun on the ocean blue. When did he become so manly? you wonder. It must be the professional lighting and styling.

Deuce has had to work twice as hard as his peers to get to where he is. He isn’t super coordinated, and he’s pretty slow at learning new things—but it’s his passion and his willingness to get back up again and again that’s admirable. You stay up late with him, clapping to the beat of the music and calling out numbers to help out, but really Deuce thinks it’s your company that’s motivating him to keep going.

His public image is that of a cool and tough beauty with a vulnerable side. In interviews, he tends to bring up being raised by a single mom and how tight he is with her, as well as his love of eggs and baby chicks—all things you already knew about him well before his era of popularity, That always gets the audience tearing up or cooing about how cute he is. When he trips over his words or stumbles, that only adds to his appeal. That clumsiness contrasts well with his coolness, and you’re just glad that the rest of the world can appreciate that about him.

His mom, Dylla, still chats with you! You remember her hosting you as a kid, offering cute little hard boiled eggs cut up into little white rabbits and gushing about how cute her son looks in the fuzzy bunny onesie she got for him with her savings. These days, Dylla doesn’t want for much but still keeps in touch. You’ve noticed that she’s been asking a lot about her son and what you think about him. You reassure her that you’re close, which makes her laugh in a boisterous way.

In one of the talk shows he’s on, Deuce is asked what his “type” is. He takes a long time to mull it over, taking the question very seriously, then settles on… “Truth be told, there’s someone I’ve had a crush on for the longest time. They’ve been with me since the start of my career, and I don’t think I’d even be where I am now without them. They’re always so kind and supportive, but… I worry about things changing between us. Every time I think about telling them how I feel, I chicken out.” The crowd awwwws and the host asks the viewers to hype Deuce up, turning the atmosphere in the studio electric.

He’s not totally sure how to deal with fans quite yet. He has confided in you that he doesn’t think he will ever truly get the hang of it. At meet-and-greets, Deuce will shake their hands, smile, bow at a 90 degree angle to thank everyone for their support. But then his face lights up when you make it to the front of the line, and his posture completely relaxes. “You came to see me,” he whispers in disbelief. “I wanted to surprise you,” you say, taking his hand. And suddenly, he feels warm and safe, right at home with you.

He gets so embarrassed when he sees that you own his merch and even save magazines with his image on them. “I gotta archive your journey to higher and higher heights,” you joke. “Hey, remember how I’d always tell you to remember me when you’re rich and famous? You stuck to your word.” But Deuce says he’s nothing special, that he only got lucky because you’re by his side. Of course he wouldn’t forget you. “To me, you are…” but his words hang there, not knowing how to finish.

Deuce is still careless at times when he hangs out with you. He will usually forget to wear a disguise, so you have to tut and help him sort out something on the fly. You lend him your jacket (wrong size), your hat (oof, it’s going to smell like your shampoo), even comb your fingers through his hair to try and get it to look different. Deuce accepts the items and swears he’ll wash them and return them to you when next you meet.

Despite it all, Deuce stays humble. The same old Deuce you’ve known since you were kids, the guy promises to beat up the schoolyard bully that made you cry and carries your stuff when your arms are full. He promptly replies to your texts and calls—and once, he left on his magical wheel in the middle of a gig when you said you needed him. (His manager wasn’t too happy about that, but Deuce gladly took the scolding.)

You tease him about how he presents in public versus in private. He comes off as so stoic in those glossy high fashion mags, but he’s always so earnest and open with you. He flushes and turns away, muttering, “I-I guess I feel comfortable around you. I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

[luveline]

could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k

You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair. 

He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.

"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds." 

"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day." 

"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys." 

"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit." 

You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly. 

"I understand that it sounds fantastical." 

"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am." 

"That's alright. Take your time." 

Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?

You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well." 

"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly. 

You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too. 

"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly." 

Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you. 

"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends." 

"What do you think?" 

"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic." 

"What's his first?" he asks. 

"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form." 

"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things." 

"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you." 

"Aaron," he corrects.

Your tone drops too low. "Aaron." 

"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him." 

You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job." 

"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks. 

"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up." 

"I could say the same thing." 

The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"

Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you." 

"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?" 

Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!" 

"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you. 

"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper. 

He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope. 

You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.

Dear Miss L/N, 

I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter. 

Gratefully yours, 

Aaron Hotchner. 

P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him. 

You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?