#I can practically hear his voice saying this

[cutiefulism]

puppyboy!caleb who just wants to fuck a litter into u :((

cw — breeding (dadoy), use of gege, typical caleb activities except hes a germand shepard, pet names (baby, honey, wife but theyre not married). fluffy prequel here.

he thinks you should have known. all the signs were right there, practically jingling in your face.

“did you— mm . . really think i’d invite you over for somethin’ as harmless as a common cold?”

he knows you won’t respond verbally. can’t respond, he thinks, not when his hips are slamming against your juicy ass, cock filling you up to the brim after his fingers and mouth worked so hard to stretch you out.

and even that hadn’t been enough. he still had to go reaaaal slow, ease it into that filthy, drooling hole, and by then he was just so impatient that he couldn’t wait any longer! :p

caleb will be gentle next time, he promises.

saliva and tears dribble down your chin, rolling down your chest and onto his sheets, and he wishes he could lean forward to lap it all up with his tongue. instead, he nuzzles into the side of your tainted neck, pressing little loving pecks against reddened skin as if to make up for the brutal way he’s splitting you open.

“y-yer just so gullible, baby. always takin’ your gege’s word for fact.”

you attempt to shake your head, a few, rare pieces of coherent thought stringing together enough to actually speak. “ungh, ngh! n-no, ‘m not . . not dumb.”

look at you. stubborn as always, ready to defend yourself and your beliefs at a moment’s notice. it’s cute.

“of course you aren’t,” caleb coos with a breathy chuckle, and he takes your soft, warm skin into his mouth, sucking another bruise to join the others. “never said you were. you’re a smart girl. my smart girl, and that’s exactly why i have to breed you.”

he feels the way your velvety walls clamp down on his aching cock at his words, and he grins. he knows all of your little weak protests earlier were fake.

all those “but, caleb, i don’t think it’s a good idea, we’re not even married” and “i’m just not ready yet” and “we’re both so busy, how will we have time for the baby?”

that was all bullshit.

you want this. you know you do, and caleb definitely knows you do.

you’re just in denial. but don’t worry — he’ll fuck that out of you.

“it’s o-only right to— shit–” plap “spread my wife’s beauty and smarts–” plap “to the rest of the world, right?”

caleb slams forward, hips stilling for a moment as he whimpers against your bitten-up neck, and a desperate mewl leaves your own lips as the impact lunges you forward.

his weeping tip is smooching your cervix, ready to pump a load into your temporarily empty womb.

“say . . say you want it.”

you blink, brows drawing together as you try to focus through the drunken haze. “w-wha?”

“say you want my cum, say you wanna be a mommy f’me,” he groans, and despite the low roughness of his voice, you can hear that almost pathetic pleading underneath.

and how could you deny caleb like this?

your head bobs, throat dry. “i wan’ it. please, caleb. fill . . fill me up.”

that’s all he needs.

caleb’s thick tail gives a happy thump against the sheets as his hips start up again, this pace much more demanding than the previous. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d be trying to fuck you into the mattress.

“thaaaat’s it,” he sighs, and all you can do is squeal as the bed creaks and rocks beneath you. “lemme stuff this pretty pussy full, honey.”

“i’ll . . f-fuck, ngh— give you as many pups as ya want. a whole . . a whole fucking football team—!” his words break off into a whine when you clamp down on him again, and he already knows what’s going to happen before you even try to say it.

this time, you really can’t speak. all you can do is moan and attempt silly, broken cries of his name, pleasure coiling to a fever pitch in your gut.

he knows you better than you know yourself, after all.

“mmf, a-ah, ‘m cumming— c-caleb!”

his name sounds so beautiful on your lips, like a siren’s call to his heavy, tightening balls and twitching dick.

within seconds of you gushing all over his cock, squirt spraying all over that dark, almost curly patch of pubic hair, his hips are stuttering, pretty violet eyes rolling back as he mumbles your name again and again like a damn prayer.

caleb dumps thick ropes of gooey seed into your warm, waiting womb and, oh, it is so much. much more than you expected, and it feels . . good.

a small bulge appears on your tummy where caleb has stuffed you to your limit, and you’re sure it’s going to leak out, make an even bigger mess all over your sheets.

the knot at the base of his girth swells, trapping his cum inside, and even if caleb had the traitorous thought of pulling out of you, he couldn’t.

even his basic biology knows that a single drop can’t and won’t go to waste.

he whines, hot, damp breath ghosting across your skin as he shoves his face into your neck again, that feral need mostly disappearing. you can feel his chest heaving in time with your own against your back, fluffy ears twitching.

“i’ll make up to you for rounds four and five, how about that?”

“l-let’s take a small break, okay? ‘m sorry for bein’ so rough on you, baby,” he mumbles, and your heart gives a helpless flutter at the genuine guilt in his tone.

you’ve never quite gotten used to his flips in personality.

doing gradients is actually hell on earth wtf

[paucubarsisimp]

attention

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which lando and your son are fighting for your attention

warnings: two very clingy babies

a/n: first f1 fanfic! lmk what you guys think!

the house is eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the tv in the background. you’re curled up on the couch, flicking through a magazine, legs tucked beneath you. it’s one of those rare moments when everything feels calm—well, that’s about to change. because in this house, peace never lasts long.

theo, your five-year-old, suddenly bursts into the room, his little footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. he’s clutching a set of plastic blocks, face bright with excitement. “mummy, look! i built the biggest tower!” he exclaims, holding them up in front of you like a trophy, his wide eyes pleading for your praise.

you glance up and smile, your heart melting just a little at his enthusiasm. “wow, theo! that’s amazing! you worked so hard on it.”

just as you’re about to reach for the blocks to take a closer look, lando strolls in, hair still damp from his shower, a towel around his neck. he scans the room and spots you on the couch. his eyes gleam mischievously, and before you know it, he’s leaning toward you. “hey, that’s my spot,” he says, playfully pointing at your lap.

theo freezes, glaring at lando as if he just dared to commit a great injustice. “no! mummy’s mine!” theo declares, squeezing tighter around your neck, like a tiny koala.

you laugh softly, amused at how ridiculous this whole situation is. “boys, please. there’s enough of me to go around, okay?”

lando pouts, but it’s clear he’s not giving up that easily. “but i was here first,” he says with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto the couch beside you. he leans in closer, clearly making a point to get as close as possible. “i want some attention too.”

theo, sensing the challenge, crosses his arms over his chest. “no, you can’t have her,” he huffs, his little voice firm and adamant.

you try to keep your composure, but it’s hard when both of them are giving you that look—like they’re both fighting for the same thing. your attention. “lando, theo, seriously. you both need to share. i love you both, no need to fight.”

but theo’s not backing down. “mummy, look at my tower! it’s way bigger than daddy’s race car!” he lifts the blocks again, practically shoving them in your face.

lando grins, his eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “oh, really? i think i’ve got a pretty awesome race car. much cooler than a tower.” he leans in, making sure you can hear his tone. “want to see it, babe?”

theo gasps in horror. “no! mummy! look at my tower!” he says, pushing lando’s arm away, as if he could physically block his dad from you. his tiny hands press against lando’s chest, trying to shove him back.

lando raises an eyebrow, impressed. “well, i guess he’s got a bit of me in him, huh?” he grins, nudging theo with his elbow.

theo shakes his head furiously, his little body tense as he pulls your arms tighter around himself. “no! mummy’s mine!” he says, his tone determined, though there’s an adorably stubborn edge to it.

you laugh, trying to calm the storm that’s brewing between your two favorite people. “boys,” you sigh, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips, “can we all just get along?”

lando leans over, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, fully aware that theo is watching. “well, i think i’m still winning,” he says, looking at you with a teasing grin.

theo, who had been trying to maintain his stance as the “only one worthy of mummy’s attention,” glares at his dad, then glances at you. “mummy, tell daddy he can’t sit here. i need you.”

you raise an eyebrow at theo’s bold declaration. “theo,” you start, chuckling, “i’m not telling daddy he can’t sit here. i love both of you. and you both need to share mummy’s attention.”

lando stretches out next to you with a dramatic groan, “but it’s so much more fun when i get all of it.” he nudges theo with his foot, a playful gleam in his eye.

theo crosses his arms, sticking his tongue out at his dad. “mummy’s my best friend,” he says defiantly.

“oh really?” lando smirks, raising an eyebrow. “well, i’m pretty sure i’m her best friend too.”

the battle rages on. and despite the chaos, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. because in the end, you have the best of both worlds—two amazing boys who will never stop fighting for your attention, and your heart full of love for them both.

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely you know that part in s6ep19 where Spencer says he can’t sleep and can’t focus on cases and he looks like he just needs a BIG HUG could you please write something about reader comforting him- either as bau agent or as just significant other because no one else will do the comfort justice the way you can okay love you bye

sleep — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , mention of spencer looking / being exhausted a/n: hi hi !! honestly that ep always makes my heart hurt bc he looked so so so so exhausted :( i hope i did your request justice <3

You should have felt hurt. Or sad. Or at least disappointed. But you didn’t.

Maybe you were too used to this by now—the way Spencer threw himself into work until his body had no choice but to shut down. The way he lost track of time, of himself, of you.

Still, you hadn’t expected to hear it from Penelope.

She had called you after they returned from the case, her voice hesitant, choosing her words carefully. That alone told you enough. Spencer hadn’t stopped by your apartment like he usually did.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

“He wouldn’t stop working,” she had said. “Hotch had to practically drag him up to his hotel room, and even then, I don’t think he actually slept.”

That was worse than normal.

You knew Spencer had a habit of pushing himself past his limits, but this time, he hadn’t even come to you. And that was what worried you the most.

So you didn’t care if you seemed clingy or overbearing. You didn’t care if he might have wanted space. You weren’t going to let him spiral alone.

Grabbing your jacket, you shoved your arms through the sleeves, barely taking the time to lock the door behind you as you rushed out of your apartment. Fifteen minutes later, you were standing in front of Spencer’s door, your heart hammering against your ribs as you knocked.

There was a long pause. Then, finally, the door creaked open.

The moment you saw him, you had to fight the urge to physically react.

He looked exhausted.

His hair was more disheveled than usual, messy strands sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it nonstop. The dark circles under his eyes were worse than you’d ever seen them—deep, almost bruised-looking hollows. His usually sharp cheekbones were even more pronounced.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, rough like he hadn’t used it in hours.

“Checking up on you,” you said simply.

You stepped inside without giving him the chance to protest, pushing the door closed behind you. Spencer just stood there, watching as you toed off your shoes and shrugged out of your jacket, hanging it neatly on the rack by the door—like this was just any other night, like nothing was wrong.

But something was wrong.

And you weren’t going to let him brush it aside.

“Okay, come on.” You reached for his hand as you pulled him toward his bedroom.

He didn’t resist.

He followed wordlessly, exhaustion weighing down his every step. Inside, you went straight to his closet, flipping through the hangers until you found what you were looking for. One of his favorite sweaters—the soft brown one that you’d seen him wear countless times.

You pulled it from the hanger and turned back to him, pressing it into his hands.

“Put this on,” you murmured.

Spencer stared down at the sweater for a moment before looking at you, his gaze unreadable.

“Who told you?” he asked as he pulled the fabric over his head, the movement slow and tired.

“Penelope.”

“Of course.” He sighed, adjusting the sleeves, his fingers lingering on the hem. Now dressed in the familiar comfort of his sweater, he looked back at you. “Now what?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him without hesitation.

Spencer froze.

For a moment, he didn’t move—like he wasn’t sure how to react. But you didn’t let go. Your arms stayed firm around his neck, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater as you pressed yourself against him.

With your lips close to his ear, you murmured, “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I love you, Spence. And I’m here for you.”

That was all it took.

The tension in his body gave way as he exhaled a shaky breath, and then, finally, he hugged you back.

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his grip almost desperate. His lips brushed against your shoulder, lingering there.

You were pretty sure you stood there for at least five minutes, wrapped in each other’s warmth, neither of you speaking. You only pulled back when you felt him loosen his grip first.

Leaning back slightly, you placed your hands on his face, your thumbs gently tracing over the sharp planes of his cheekbones, soothing him. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

“You need to sleep,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the dark circles under his eyes again.

“I can’t,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“You have to try.”

One of your hands drifted up, fingers slipping through his unruly curls, smoothing them down. A slow, comforting motion. He stayed quiet, his tired eyes searching yours like he was trying to memorize the way you looked at him.

After a moment, he finally spoke.

“Will you stay?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You have to ask?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something else, but before he could, you dropped your hand from his hair and turned toward his bed. Pulling back the blankets, you glanced at him expectantly.

“Come on,” you urged.

Spencer hesitated for only a second before stepping forward. He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion radiating from every movement. You slipped in beside him, settling against the pillows, waiting for him to follow.

And he did.

Without a word, he laid down, turning onto his side so he could face you.

You reached out, your fingers grazing his wrist before sliding down to intertwine with his.

“Close your eyes, Spence,” you whispered.

And, for the first time in days, he did.

Spencer stayed beside you, but sleep still wasn’t coming easily. Even as his body slumped against the bed, his fingers twitched slightly, his breaths uneven. His mind was still running, and you could feel it—like an engine that refused to shut off.

You sighed, adjusting your position. You guided him toward you without a word.

Spencer blinked at you, puzzled, until you tugged on his arm again. “Spence, come here.”

He hesitated for only a second before shifting, laying his head against your shoulder, his body half-draped over yours. His long limbs folded awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure how to settle, but then he exhaled, the weight of him sinking into you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing down the curls. “You’re really bad at this whole relaxing thing, you know that?”

He let out a quiet huff against your shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your brain is like a hamster on a wheel. A very fast, very anxious hamster.”

Spencer made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s… not inaccurate.”

You grinned a little, continuing to comb your fingers through his hair. “Well, tell the hamster to take a break. He’s had a long day.”

Spencer hummed, shifting slightly, pressing his face closer into the crook of your neck. “The hamster is skeptical.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “The hamster needs to trust me.”

He was quiet for a moment, his breathing a little slower now. “I do.” His voice was softer, more tired.

You smiled, rubbing slow circles against his back. “Good.”

It still took a while. He fidgeted, exhaled sharply once or twice, but you just kept holding him, kept whispering small, mindless things—about how tired you were, how unfair it was that he had such nice hair when he barely even tried, how you were absolutely stealing one of his sweaters in the morning.

And finally, finally, his breathing evened out.

His body went still, warm and heavy against yours, his grip on your shirt slackening as he actually drifted off.

You smirked, murmuring softly, “See? Even the hamster gets tired eventually.”

And, for the first time all night, he didn’t respond.

[linoxpudding]

Second Chances - Han Jisung

summary: when your husband fails to show up for your family, you bring up divorce — only then does he wake up

pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 1318 words

a/n: remember the twins in jisung's part of this fic? here's a little years later scenario where they have a younger brother now

-

The Kids: Twin Girls (Jisoo, Minsoo - 7 years old) and Son (Jihoon - 5 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted.

Physically, emotionally, mentally—every part of you was stretched thin, fraying at the edges. The weight of everything threatened to crush you, and tonight, it finally broke you.

One of your twin daughters, Minsoo, had her first-ever ballet recital at school today. The one she had spent months practicing for. The one where she had asked, with those wide, hopeful eyes, “Will Appa come this time?”

You had smiled, smoothed down her tutu, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Of course, baby. He promised.”

But promises didn’t mean much anymore. Not when they came from Han Jisung.

Because when the curtains lifted, and Minsoo stood on stage, her little eyes scanning the audience with anticipation, her smile slowly faltered. Her twirls lost confidence. And when she finally spotted you, sitting alone, her lips wobbled.

And your heart shattered.

Just like it had last month when Jisung missed Jisoo’s science fair. And the time before that, when he forgot about Jihoon’s first-award ceremony at school, where your youngest won an award for being 'most creative' in his class.

How many times were you supposed to make excuses for him? How many times were you supposed to be both parents while he drowned himself in work, in schedules, in music, in everything but the family he promised to cherish?

Not anymore. You reached your breaking point.

Jisung felt it the moment he stepped into the house.

Something was wrong.

The lights were dim, the air heavy. His bag slipped from his shoulder, and he rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted from a long day in the studio.

“Baby, I’m home,” he called out, toeing off his shoes. He glanced at the clock. 12:37 AM.

Late. Again.

The guilt gnawed at his chest, but he pushed it down. He had deadlines, commitments—he was doing all of this for you and the kids, wasn’t he?

Still, when you stepped out of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes void of warmth, his stomach twisted.

“We need to talk.”

He sighed. “Babe, can it wait? It’s been a long—”

“No.” Your voice was firm. “It can’t.”

Something in your tone made him look up. Really look. And for the first time in a long time, he saw something that terrified him.

You weren’t just mad. You were done.

“Baby—” he started

“Let's go to our bedroom,” you cut him off, “the kids are sleeping, i dont want to wake them up.”

He followed you quietly, and as soon as he shut the bedroom door behind him, you said it.

“I want a divorce.”

The words left your lips like venom. You had imagined saying them before, but you never thought you’d actually do it.

Jisung blinked. Like he didn’t hear you. Like his brain refused to process the words.

“W-What?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I want a divorce, Jisung.”

His bag hit the floor. His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, laughing weakly, like this was some cruel joke. “You’re just mad. We fight, we argue, but we always—”

“I’m tired, Jisung.” Your voice cracked. “I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of raising our kids alone. I’m tired of watching them get disappointed over and over again.”

His jaw tightened. “I provide for them—”

“I don’t care about money!” You snapped, voice breaking. “I care about our kids growing up with a father who actually shows up! You keep missing everything, Jisung! Do you even know how much it hurts them? How much does it hurt me?”

Jisung’s breath came out uneven. “I—”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes stinging. “You know what’s funny? If we get divorced, maybe then they’ll actually get to see you. Because at least then, you’ll be forced to make time.”

Jisung’s lips parted, but no words came out. He looked at you like you had just stabbed him.

Then, suddenly—

Thump.

He dropped to his knees. He felt the world tilted. His ears rang.

Jisung’s knees hit the floor before he even realized what was happening. His hands shot out, grasping at your legs, your hands, anything he could hold on to.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Please, don’t do this.”

You flinched, stepping back slightly, but he held onto your legs tightly.

“I know I messed up,” he choked out. “I know I’ve been the worst husband, the worst dad, but please—please don’t leave me.” His fingers curled around your waist, his grip desperate. “I’ll fix this. I’ll be better. Just… don’t give up on me.”

Your face crumpled, and you teared up and gently you pulled away from him.

“Jisung… it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” he pleaded, voice trembling. “It is to me. I’ll do anything. I’ll quit music—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “You love music, Jisung. I would never take that from you.” Your voice wavered. “I just need you to love us just as much.”

He let out a sob, his chest shaking. “I do.” His voice cracked. “I do, I do, I do. I love you. I love our kids. You’re my whole world, please don’t leave.”

Jisung, the man who once stood on sold-out stages with a mic in hand, now knelt before you, crying.

And it broke him.

The memories hit him all at once.

The way Jisoo had tugged at his sleeve last week, asking if he could just stay home for one day.

The way Jihoon had slowly stopped telling him about his day, because he knew Appa was busy.

The way Minsoo had once whispered to him, “Appa, do you love me?” Even though he reassured her, he knew this question shouldn't even have crossed her little mind in the first place.

His heart clenched so painfully he thought he might die from it.

You exhaled shakily. “Jisung, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His breath hitched. He looked broken.

His face was crumpled, his hands shaking, his entire body trembling as he knelt before you. And you hated it.

You hated that even after all this, after all the pain and loneliness, you still loved him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You let out a deep breath. “Jisung, I—”

“Then let me prove it,” he whispered. “Give me one last chance. Let me fight for you, for our family.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, you reluctantly said, “…one last chance.”

Jisung let out a broken sob, he quickly got up and pressed his forehead against yours, then cupped your face before whispering, “I won't let you down ever again.”

He then pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurt.

But deep down, a part of you wondered.

Would things really change?

Or were you just delaying the inevitable heartbreak?

------------------

The next few months felt… different. Not perfect, not magically healed overnight, but different.

Jisung started coming home earlier—first by an hour, then two. At first, the kids were hesitant, unsure if this was temporary, but slowly, their walls began to lower. Jihoon started showing him his drawings again. Jisoo asked him to help with her homework. Minsoo hesitated before ballet practice, glancing at him nervously.

“I’ll be there,” Jisung promised.

And this time, he was.

He still made mistakes—forgot to pack Jihoon’s lunch one morning, burned dinner when he tried to help. But instead of brushing it off or making excuses, he tried again. He listened more. He asked questions. He showed up.

And you?

You watched. You waited. You guarded your heart, afraid to believe in him again. But every night, when he reached for your hand—just a small touch, a silent reassurance—you found yourself hesitating less and less.

Maybe love wasn’t enough to fix everything. But effort? Effort could.

And for the first time in a long time, Jisung was finally trying.

[darkwicks]

Daydreaming

He knows you’ll always do your best to listen to him, but he prefers it this way. How else will he be able to get lost in you?

PAIRING.⠀Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀gender neutral reader | established relationship, fluff, nerd4nerd, Star Wars <3 | ~0,7k words

A/N.⠀I admit this is very very self-indulgent but I hope someone out there can enjoy it regardless :)

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

Rambling about your interests is a regular occurrence, but you’ve been more withdrawn as of late.

You never need to explain to him—he knows you like the back of his hand. Stress from your health and studies, your insecurity getting the best of you; part of him blames himself for being so distant this week. Being the Colonel comes with a massive workload. Though Caleb is more than capable of finishing his tasks successfully and punctually, sometimes he’s needed in several places at once. You’ve been buried in work yourself, going to sleep even earlier because of tiredness.

There haven’t been many chances to spend time together lately, which is why he just had to grab this chance as soon as it became available.

A video on the television is paused in favour of you explaining it to him, moving your hands animatedly. Your eyes are practically twinkling as you chatter away. He’s still listening attentively (multiverses and portals, or something like that) but it’s hard trying not to get lost in how happy you look. He thinks it’s the most radiant you’ve appeared in days.

It’s in moments like these that Caleb falls a little more in love with you.

He lets out a quiet, dreamy sigh as he leans against the cushions. He’s tuning out the world around him, and the only voice he hears is yours. You’re smiling so wide and you’re glowing, exuding warmth and joy in waves. He snaps himself back to the present when you suddenly stop and stare at him with worry in your eyes, your brows furrowing in concern.

“Am I boring you?” you blurt out. The urge to flick your forehead for immediately jumping to such a negative conclusion is strong. He opts for affectionately ruffling your hair instead, resting his hand on the top of your head.

“Of course not. I’m still listening,” he says. He smiles mischievously. “Nerd.”

“I’m the nerd?” you gasp in exaggerated incredulity, swatting his hand away in retaliation. “You’re the one with a bunch of LEGO kits!”

“And I bought them because you wanted them,” he retorts, amused. “You wanted to build the Death Star together on Valentine’s day. Only nerds pick that over going to the mall.”

“It’s more fun because there’s nothing at the mall,” you grumble. “And you wanted the Millennium Falcon. You’re just as much of a nerd as I am.”

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

“Caleb!”

You shove him while giggling, eyes crinkling into little curved moons. He feigns agony, clutching his shoulder and letting out a playful grunt. The action only makes you laugh harder and shove him again before slumping against him with a huff.

“I still can’t believe you actually like listening to me ramble,” you sigh once you’ve cooled down, peering up at him. “Don’t you get tired?”

“I like seeing you happy,” Caleb says simply. You turn your head away and bite back a smile, making his lips curl into a smile of his own. You’re so easily flustered over the smallest things. It’s endearing to him. “What?”

“You know I’d listen to you talk about planes too, right? Even if I don’t understand it?” you ask, returning your gaze to him. “I feel bad making you listen to my nonsense.”

He shrugs. “It’s not nonsense if it makes you happy.”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, he pulls you closer. You make yourself comfortable by his side, reaching out to lace your fingers together. You bring his hand up to your lips and press a chaste kiss on it, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his skin. He exhales slowly, filled with contentment. He knows you’ll always do your best to listen to him, but he prefers it this way. How else will he be able to get lost in you?

“So. Do you want to tell me about this character?”

You immediately light up and nod, clapping your hands together in excitement. As you begin your introduction, he finds himself staring at you again, tuning out the world around him except for you. He’s always happy to listen, but you’ll have to excuse him just this once—he’s falling in love with you all over again.

[sweetfcwn]

sharing a bed for the first time with george and hes trying to make you feel comfortable but hes also just teasing you nonstop

same sheets - george clarke.

this is such a cute request! thank you so much - let me know what you think!!

you’re lying there in the quiet of the room, barely able to breathe without feeling your heart skip. george is next to you, sprawled out but somehow still so close. the bed feels impossibly small, but not in a bad way. you can feel the heat of his body even though there's still a little space between you.

“you’re being awfully quiet,” george says, his voice light and teasing. you glance at him, only to find him watching you with a grin playing at the edges of his lips. you roll your eyes, trying to act like you’re unaffected.

“i’m just tired,” you mutter, but it comes out more as a confession than anything else. george raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“tired, huh?” he repeats, leaning up on one elbow. “or maybe you’re just too shy to admit that you’re nervous sharing a bed with me?”

you try to hide the blush creeping up your neck by pulling the blanket tighter around you. “i’m not nervous,” you insist, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds.

“uh-huh,” george says, his grin widening. “sure, sure. i can see that little twitch in your eye.” he wiggles his fingers, making you jump slightly as they hover just above your arm. “you’re practically vibrating with nervous energy.”

“i’m not!” you protest, though it’s even harder to hold your ground when he’s so close, that ridiculous grin on his face, and his fingers so close to your skin.

“okay, okay,” he says, giving you a mock-somber look, like he’s trying to act serious. “i’ll stop teasing. promise.”

you relax a little, but just as you start to feel like you’re in the clear, you feel the bed shift beside you. before you know it, george’s arm is around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “but you’re still blushing,” he whispers in your ear. “and now you’re way too close for me to ignore that.”

you stiffen, half-expecting him to tease you about it more, but instead, you feel his thumb softly rubbing circles on your arm, gentle and reassuring. “you’re cute when you blush,” he says, the teasing in his voice replaced by something softer.

“stop,” you mumble, but the smile on your face gives you away. you know exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how to get under your skin in the best way possible.

“what? i’m just telling the truth,” he says innocently, but the way his fingers trace along your skin tells you that he’s enjoying this way too much. “besides, it’s cute that you’re embarrassed. i didn’t know i had this effect on you.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but you can’t stop your lips from curving into a smile. you give up trying to pretend like it’s annoying when it’s actually just… endearing.

george’s grin softens a little, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “i just like making you smile,” he admits, his voice quieter now, a little more sincere. "and if that means teasing you a bit, i’ll take the risk."

you melt into the warmth of his embrace, the teasing, the laughter—it all feels like a comfort now, like something that’s just part of the rhythm between the two of you.

“yeah, well,” you say, your voice soft but playful, “you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”

george chuckles, and you feel the vibrations in his chest. “that’s all i ever want to hear.” he tightens his hold on you just a little, and you can’t help but feel a quiet happiness settle in your chest as you close your eyes. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

[lyn31]

A Bet

Summary:

At this point, you just can't help yourself.

AO3 link

Notes:

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader

College AU, fluff and short.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to start something. Really, you don’t.

But Zayne is staring at the café menu like he hasn’t ordered the exact same thing every single time—a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream, as sweet as he can get away with—and it’s right there, practically gift-wrapped for you.

“You’re getting the caramel macchiato,” you say, lounging back in your seat.

Zayne doesn’t even glance at you. “You don’t know that.”

You scoff. “Please. You’re a sugar fiend. If no one stopped you, you’d probably drink syrup straight from the bottle.”

Across the table, Caleb perks up like he’s just sensed drama brewing. “Oh, this is good. You that sure?”

You meet Zayne’s gaze, and something shifts—playful, challenging, a silent dare hanging between you. You grin. “I’d bet on it.”

His brow lifts slightly. “What’s the wager?”

“If I’m right, you have to carry my books for a week.”

Zayne tilts his head, considering. Then, too smoothly, he counters, “And if I win, you have to admit I’m right about something. Publicly.”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “That’s low.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Of course, you take it. You’re already mentally celebrating when he steps up to the counter. You don’t even need to hear it; you know exactly what he’s about to order.

Then—

“One matcha. No sugar.”

The café goes dead silent.

Your jaw drops.

And then the group erupts.

Caleb fake-wipes a tear. “You hate to see it.”

Your sister shakes her head, sipping her drink. “You walked right into that.”

You’re still staring at Zayne like he just declared he was moving to Mars.

He looks far too smug as he picks up his drink, fingers curling around the cup like he hasn’t just betrayed every shred of trust you ever had in him.

“You hate matcha,” you say, scandalized. “And no sugar? Who even are you right now?”

He shrugs. “Guess you were wrong.”

You gape at him, betrayal sinking deep into your bones. “You’re a liar and a fraud.”

Zayne doesn’t even acknowledge the accusation. He just lifts his drink in a lazy toast. “And yet, I still win.”

Except—

Instead of drinking it, he slides the cup toward you.

You blink. Then blink again. “What?”

Zayne exhales like you’re the one being difficult. “Relax. I ordered the usual.” His voice is maddeningly casual. “Just wanted to see your face.”

The café explodes.

Caleb groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my God, just date.”

Your sister lets out a long-suffering sigh. “One day, they’ll figure it out.”

You and Zayne exchange a glance, equally confused. “Figure what out?”

No one answers. They’ve already moved on.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

And I can't help myself either 😂 I love the idea that everyone on their campus is equally invested and done with these two ahahahaha

[secretlysimpash]

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

It's been a few months since your initial mating, you’ve got three mates and some pups on the way…And Price is left alone with you on the base while the boys are off on some classified business.

!!!! MDNI !!!

warning(s): reader is female, typical A/B/O shit (alphas, omegas, betas, mates, marks, scents, pups), pregnancy, lactation, fluff (kinda?? i think this constitutes as fluff)

“I’m sorry, did you say triplets, John?”

Laswell’s incredulous voice came from the other end of the call, and the equally surprised Captain held the phone from his ear for a moment. Inhaling deeply, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You heard right, Laswell…” He confirmed, his voice perfectly calm, even if he was still reeling himself. “The medic found three during the ultrasound. Can’t tell if they’re all Simon’s either.” Not that it’d matter. He added mentally, knowing full well that you and the three men were mated now. Even if it’s Simon’s mark on your neck, Johnny and Kyle are also your alphas in every sense of the word. Heteropaternal superfecundation isn’t common, but not unheard of for omegas in heat, and especially for omegas whose bodies accept more than one mate…Like yours did. 

“Fuck me…So her temporary replacement might be more permanent than I expected.” Laswell said, a begrudging note of resignation laced into her words regarding the flippant alpha filling in for you. A beat of silence stretched between them before she exhaled. “Okay…Keep in touch, I’ll swing by when I’m finished with this paperwork. God knows how long this’ll take.”

John straightened up, humming out softly in response. “Right…Take your time, don’t go completely mad, Kate.” And then the call ends. It went over better than expected, all things considered. She didn’t tear him a new one the same way she did when he informed her that you’d be staying for an extra week after the initial incident roughly four months ago. 

Bringing a hand down his face, John abandons his phone and makes his way to the window in his office. A lot has happened in four months, and he’s still wrapping his head around it. He watched his lieutenant and two sergeants stake their claim on you, taking you on many dates and outings, and just being wonderful alphas…If not a bit overprotective of you. John watched you splitting your nights up between the three alphas, never once asking for your own room (he tried giving you your own room, only to find your three alphas piled into the small bed meant for one, crowding you that morning).

Speaking of the other alphas…All three had to head out of the base early this morning to share notes with Farah Karim and Alex Keller in a classified location, and they aren’t expected to be back until tomorrow evening. They didn’t want to leave their sweet omega alone, nor did they want to wake her up to say goodbye since you seemed so peaceful. So, instead, John listened from outside of Soap’s quarters as they shared hushed farewells with you.

“We’ll be back before ye ken…”

“Captain’ll be here if you need anything, birdie.”

“Stay outta trouble…And don’t give your mum a hard time.”

That last bit from Gaz was aimed at the pups growing inside of you, and was no doubt followed up with a kiss to the growing bump. It warmed his heart a bit, truly…Seeing the three men he works so close with, ones he’s been through hell with, being so content. He watches the budding leaves sway on the tree near his window, exhaling through his nose when he hears something shuffling past his office. Turning his head, he can see the shadow of someone passing by under the door. 

Must be her. He thought as he crossed over to the door. Once it was open, he’s greeted by the sight of you toddling into the kitchen. You’re practically swimming in one of Soap’s shirts, wearing an old pair of pajama pants courtesy of Gaz, and he can pick up on Ghost’s leathery scent underneath the other two. 

“Morning.” John grunts out, making his way into the kitchen after you. When you turn to look at him in front of the fridge, he can’t help but smile. You’re literally barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, practically glowing despite your slightly frazzled appearance. 

“It’s…” You begin, squinting at the time on the clock. “More like afternoon…But hi. My appetite finally caught up with me.”

John hums in response as he fills up the coffee maker before hitting brew. He recalls how you weren’t feeling very hungry in the past few days, having an upset stomach that would only tolerate liquids and the occasional strange pregnancy craving (the sight of you eating pickles with chocolate ice cream will haunt John’s dreams). “Want me to make you something?”

“I can cook…” You respond, shifting through the cabinets. “The boys are amazing, but they haven’t let me cook my own meal since…God, since before they knew I was pregnant, actually.”

“They’re just eager to show you that they can provide.” John explains, taking out a mug for himself and one for you. “It's a thing with us alphas. The macho and dominant part is there, but we want our omegas to know they can count on us to provide for them and our pups. An alpha being soft for their mate and brood is important.”

As you listen along, you pull out some pancake mix, intent on making a nice stack for yourself. You try to ignore the odd feeling in your chest…In your breasts, more specifically. It’s just another side effect of being pregnant with pups, three at that. They seem more tender, sore even. Your mind is set on making and devouring as many pancakes as possible, sore tits be damned. 

John is in the middle of pouring himself some coffee, fixing it the way he likes, but stopping mid-pour of the miniscule bit of milk he usually adds. There’s something about your scent, something different. The usual sweet scent was already faintly noticeable under the three scents of your alphas. But now, it’s growing stronger somehow. Vanilla fills his senses, and his eyes turn to you. It’s almost intoxicating, and he really shouldn’t be eyeing you as you mix together the contents of the pancake batter. But here he is…Staring…And staring…Until he sees it.

“...Did the medic say anything you need to look out for?” He asks suddenly, eyes settled on your chest area. “Changes, or…”

You think for a bit, your caffeine-free brain taking some time to catch up as you squint at nothing. “Uh…Weight gain, cravings, tender breasts, tender…Gums, I think, and…” Finally, you felt his gaze practically burning a hole through your–rather Soap’s–shirt. Your face warms when you see where he’s looking, and your own eyes drop. “Oh…! Oh…Shit. That’s…” You bring a hand up to the damp material, milk staining the area over your nipple. 

John scrubs a hand down his beard, covering his mouth to conceal an amused chuckle. “Was lactation something to expect this soon?” The way your mouth opens and closes wordlessly as realization takes over your eyes, has his answer. “Did you want me to finish with the pancakes…? You could go take care of your…Situation. I won’t interfere.”

You give him a grateful look, setting the whisk down in the batter. “Yeah…I’d like that.” You say before scurrying off to the bathroom. Before you’re too far, you throw over your shoulder, “Add blueberries and chocolate chips…Please!”

At least you didn’t ask for pickles on the side.

…

John made a nice stack of five pancakes for you, not putting the syrup on just yet. He waited for a bit after they were finished, and waited some more. When you didn’t show twenty minutes after, your stack and coffee starting to cool, he got curious. They took a few minutes to cook, so it's been…Nearly an hour since you left to deal with the leakage. So, he followed your scent down the hall and right to the bathroom. Your scent is still there, but faint, and leading to Simon’s room. Inside, he finds you sitting on the bed. You’re sitting cross legged in the middle, a barely audible whine leaving you as you press a damp cloth to your tender breasts.

“Hey…Feeling alright?” John asks, leaning in the doorway as he sets a concerned look on you. His inner alpha is demanding that he go in there and gather you up into his arms. But he holds off…He is nothing if not a very disciplined man.

“The cold compress works but…I…” You avoid his gaze, feeling heated under it. “Didn’t want to just walk out without a shirt on.”

When John hears your stomach growl, followed up by a frustrated sound caught between a whine and a groan, he makes the conclusion. “And you’re hungrier now than before…You know it's nothing I haven’t seen before.”

It’s true, John has walked in on you with one or more of your alphas more than once in some compromising positions. But still, you have some shame. 

John thinks for a moment, exhaling through his nose as he observes your current state. Shirtless, with your hands clutching at your chest with a damp cloth. He mutters out a “stay here” before leaving the doorway. When he returns, he has a plate of pancakes in one hand, and a cold pack in the other.

“Set the washcloth down. This’ll stay cold longer…” He says, offering the pack to you. When you remove the washcloth, he’s met with the sight of your breasts. A bit of near transparent liquid is beaded at one of the peaks, and part of him wants to use his mouth to assist you…But the louder, more disciplined part of his brain is in control. He lets you place the pack over your sore chest, and then he spears the pancakes which he already cut up onto the fork. Once he brings the forked pancakes up to your lips, his free hand hovering under to make sure no syrup drips onto the bed, you realize what he’s doing.

Silently, you take the fork into your mouth, giving him a grateful look. For the next few minutes, he just repeats the process of gathering the cut up pancakes onto the fork and feeding you. As he does, he talks to lessen the tension or any awkwardness of this alpha who’s not mated to you taking care of you. He doesn’t talk about anything in particular, nothing serious. Just about the weather, the news, how happy “his boys” have been since you stumbled into their lives. Your inner omega is calm, at peace, much less worried and uncomfortable than before. 

The blueberry-and-chocolate-chip pancakes are just about finished, the last bit stabbed onto the fork and being lifted to your mouth when the door to Simon’s room opens. You didn’t hear anyone coming into the base/pack house, not over John’s soothing, honeyed voice. And no discernable scent is present…It isn’t until you see a familiar blonde head peek in, blue eyes settling on the pair of you, that you see who it is.

“Laswell!” You chirp out, eyes lighting. It’s been a week or so since she last visited. “Laswell, guess what, I’m having–”

“Triplets.” She finished for you, eyes finally settling on John. The beta wasn’t sure where to look at first. Your topless self, the blue cold pack covering your chest, the syrup drenched pancakes…

John, who’s letting you finally take the last bit of your breakfast into your mouth, gives her a sheepish smile. “I feel like you’ve walked in on your assistant enough in the past few months…”

“Not the worst thing I’ve seen from the past few months either.” She deadpans, leaning in the doorway. Despite her tone, her eyes hold a fondness at the sight before her.

So now you have four…Four alphas who are more than willing to look after you and the three pups on the way.

[monotonesmile]

Hi!!!!! Can you write a Jason Todd x reader where the reader is planning a surprise birthday party for Jason with Dick but Jason gets jealous and thinks the reader is cheating on him

Surprise!

[Jason Todd X GN!Reader]

[Word Count: 1946]

[Warnings: Accusations of cheating]

[Fic Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst]

[Notes: Goddamn, y’all just want to hurt this man, don’t ya? Well, I’m here to oblige. Enjoy.]

———————————————————————

They were taken out of their concentration while working on some papers when their phone started to ring on their desk, looking at the caller ID, they saw the name Dick Grayson, Jason’s older brother, confused, they picked up their phone and answered.

“Hello?” They were a bit confused as they answered the phone, waiting to hear why Dick was calling them during the middle of the night. Jason was out on patrol as Red Hood when this happened so they don’t know if he was calling for Jason.

“Hey! I’ve got a question for you.” Dick’s voice came through the speaker on the phone, cheerful as always, he definitely seemed excited about something, if they could see him, he'd probably be bouncing off the walls with excitement about this mystery question.

“Uh…sure? What’s up?” They raise an eyebrow as they look down at the papers they were working on, setting the phone down and putting him on speaker so they can continue their work, wondering what he is so excited about.

“Do you want to help me plan a surprise party for Jason’s birthday?” Dick enthusiastically asks, practically vibrating with excitement through the phone.

“Oh shit! Yes! Absolutely!” They were immediately infected by his excitement, they were more than happy to help plan a birthday party for their boyfriend, why wouldn’t they! They love him so much, they would be overjoyed to help surprise him for his birthday!

“Awesome, okay, so where do you want to meet up to go over this stuff?” They could practically hear Dick grinning through the phone, he was just so happy to surprise his brother for his birthday, it feels nice to act like a normal family sometimes.

“Oh! There’s this little coffee shop downtown that I go too, we can go there to plan something out if that works for you.” They chime in, offering one of their favorite little coffee shops to meet up at, it’s quiet and out of the way, perfect place to plan a surprise party.

“Perfect! Does Saturday at…maybe two work for you?” Dick hums, excited to start planning this thing, who else would he plan it with? Jason’s own partner is perfect for the job!

“That works for me, see you then! Stay safe, have a nice night!” They nod, writing the date in their calendar so they’ll remember before bidding him goodnight, hearing him say his goodbye before hanging up the phone. They’re smiling, excited to do something special for Jason, the man they love so very deeply.

———————————————————————

Multiple Saturday’s had passed around by now, Jason’s birthday slowly creeping up on them, but now they have to get ready, pulling on their socks before they run out the bedroom in some casual clothing, sliding past Jason as they gather different items to take with them to the small cafe. A small notebook, pen, stickers for the fun of it, just the things they’ll need as they had started planning the food that’ll be at the birthday, besides cake of course, that’s a given for a birthday.

Jason was watching them run around their apartment with a confused expression as he sat on the couch watching tv, his eyes tracking them as they grabbed seemingly different items for something he has no idea about, he didn’t even get a clue on what exactly they were doing, it’s obvious they were going out but he doesn’t know the reason why, they hadn’t told him anything, just leaving him a confused mess of a man as they slid on their shoes.

He was going to ask where they were going but he didn’t get the chance as they pulled on their coat, saying a quick love you and goodbye before the door shutting echoed through the apartment. Well…that was a very fast exit. Now he’s even more confused about what they were doing, something in his gut telling him to follow them, so he slowly got off the couch, grabbing his keys and following out the door.

Jason quickly put on his helmet when their car left the parking lot of their apartment complex, got onto his motorcycle as it revved to life, pulled out of the lot and followed from a distance, sometimes his training as a vigilante is really helpful in everyday life. He followed them through different streets before they got to downtown Gotham, seeing their car park, he had parked a few blocks down to keep his cover and distance, silently following them as they headed into a small coffee shop, he could recognize it as one of their favorites.

He is just even more confused now, why were you here? Are you meeting with a friend? Studying maybe? Is that why you came out here? He can’t blame them if that’s why they were here, it’s a nice place, and for a moment he was tempted to go inside before he spotted an all too familiar face from behind the window, his older brother, Dick Grayson. His eyes had widened in surprise, his mind doing backflips on trying to think of a reason he would be here, until they had sat down across from him. So that's why you were here. He watched as the two spoke, smiling and talking excitedly, although he can’t make out what either of you are saying.

Jason didn’t know how to feel about it, while he was more than happy that they got along with his family, it was always something he loved about them, but this makes his stomach churn in jealousy, his mind racing with confusion and concern, and a thought he wished never crossed his mind came into though. Had you been cheating on him with his own brother? It was something he didn’t want to believe, but he could see how ecstatic they were when with Dick, and it hurt more than he thought it would.

He didn’t want to believe what was in front of him, oh how he wished this was just a nightmare or Scarecrow's fear gas, but no, this was reality, and it hurt him more than anything else could, he wanted to barge in and confront them, but he couldn’t, he can’t deal with that pain right now, he could be wrong about all of this, he hopes he’s wrong. So, he turned back to his motorcycle, getting on, and driving home in complete silence, his mind running wild, giving him a headache.

———————————————————————

The door shut behind him with a thud, Jason had his breathing heavy as he entered the living room, pacing around as his arms crossed, his fingers gripping tightly onto the fabric of his shirt, he mind was running completely wild with theories, none of them comforting or good, the longer he paced, the more he feared that they were actually cheating on him, he doesn’t think he could handle that kind of pain and betrayal.

But of course they’d cheat with Dick, why wouldn’t they? He’s everything Jason can’t be, he was charming, flirtatious, he could actually give them the life they wanted, a stable life with a vigilante, something Jason could never give to them due to his own demons and past. It hurt to admit that he truly thought they were too good for him, maybe they’d be better off with Dick, they’d have a good life with him.

Jason’s thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and closing, how long had he been pacing? He doesn’t know, but he knows that they’re home now. He glanced over to see them tugging their shoes off with a smile on their face, he had to take a moment to catch his breath and calm his breathing before he walked over to them as they were shrugging off their coat and about to put it away.

When they spotted him walking over they were quick to greet him, “Jason!” They had chirped, smiling up at the larger man, usually hearing them call his name and cheerfully greet him would make his heart flutter but this time it made him feel sick to his stomach due to prior thoughts and his fears.

It hurt seeing their smile but he took a deep breath before asking the very question he dreads the answer to so much.

“Are you cheating on me with Dick?” Jason tried to conceal the pain on his face by keeping a stern look and his head up but it was obvious how much hurt he felt, his eyebrows twitching as his eyes told the entire story, they were sad, glossy eyes, filled with pain.

“Wh-what!? No! God no!” They sputtered as their response was almost instant, they whipped around, dropping their coat with their surprise at his question, their face was a complete look of shock and confusion, they had no idea why he would even think that!

“Hold on! Before you say anything else! Here, you can look through our texts!” They were quick to pull their phone from their pocket, practically shoving it into his hands after unlocking it, they had wanted to prove their loyalty, confused but truly wanting to dispel his suspicions and fear,

Jason hesitated but looked down at the phone, afraid of what he’ll find, slowly scrolling through the many messages the two had sent over multiple days, their activity had spiked as of recent, and he still has no clue why.

“I swear, I would never cheat on you! Me and Dick were…we were just meeting to plan a surprise for you, I’m so sorry Jason…” They sigh quietly, fidgeting with their hands as they look down, feeling bad as they admit the reason for their many disappearances over the few weeks.

“I hadn’t realized I was ignoring and neglecting you, I never meant to do that, I was just so excited to surprise you.” They felt so guilty for their oversight, they should’ve just told him that they were going to talk to his brother rather than say absolutely nothing at all to him about where they were going, they can’t blame him for his worries, they made a mistake and are owning up to it.

Jason practically deflated when he confirmed their words with the texts, they had just been talking about the former surprise and what they were planning for it, it made his entire body relax so much, he was so glad that his fears and suspicions were incorrect, they weren’t cheating, they were trying to do something sweet for him.

“God…I’m sorry.” Jason sighs, running a hand through his hair as he handed their phone back to them so they could put it away. “I shouldn’t have just accused you of that, I should’ve trusted you more…” Well now he felt bad for a completely different reason, he just accused his loving partner of cheating on him.

“No! It’s fine, I understand, I should’ve known better, probably should’ve told you where I was going…” They cut him off with a hug, feeling his strong arms wrap around them in response, holding them close as he sighs again, happy to have them in his arms after such a confusing and stressful day.

“So…what exactly is the surprise?” Jason hums, now curious and a bit cheeky as he asks, he wants to know what they’re planning since they had already told him that the reason they were meeting his brother was to plan some kind of event.

“Jason no, it’s supposed to be a surprise!” They huffed in response, hearing him laugh at their grumpy reply, he knew they wouldn’t spill, a pity.

“Yeah yeah…love you, Doll.” He chuckles, kissing their forehead gently.

“Love you too, Red.”

———————————————————————

[Requests are open!]

[bluemantics]

When he looks in the mirror, sometimes Keith searches for Shiro. He tilts his head, eyes tracing his nose, his hair, wondering if blinking hard enough will change things. It never does. 

Keith knows it’s stupid— Shiro isn’t actually his brother. It’s just difficult for him to watch that empty seat in the dining room, hard for him to hear the deafening gaps in conversation Shiro would fill. 

So he looks, and he tries. When Allura approaches him to strategize, his mind races to Shiro’s normal responses. If Pidge seems to work harder than normal, he lectures her, ignoring her muttered “isn’t that rich, from you.” Hunk cooks and Keith remarks on how delicious it tastes, thanks him for feeding the team. All of this leads to stares. 

Nothing is seamless anymore, not even waking up. He has to walk by Shiro’s room every day. One time, he stepped foot inside, and left immediately after. Shiro’s walls closed in and suffocated him, pressured him. It still feels wrong to be occupying any space where his echoes ring out. 

Black is no different. She reminds him that she knows, she knows he is not Shiro, tries to comfort him with soothing pulses. Yet all he can see when he looks through her eyes is someone who is smaller, angrier, and vulnerable. He can’t get comfortable in his seat. Keith never envisioned himself at the helm of anything, much less the team designed to save the whole universe. When he’s alone, and thinks of it too much, a gap between his ribs aches. 

This team might be destined to save the universe, but Keith Kogane was never destined to lead it. 

The worst times are when he forgets. He lets himself feel eased, laughs with the team like it’s natural, issues orders without deliberation or second guessing. In those instances, guilt weighs on him like a thundercloud. How could he have felt so familiar in someone else’s role? Keith quickly retreats, reminds himself of his place. Not the helm; he’s the stand-in. 

All this self-loathing would be so much easier if it weren’t for Lance, badgering him constantly. Day in and day out, his new “right hand” constantly pushes him. 

“Join us for dinner or I won’t participate in tomorrow’s training exercises.”

“Team movie night! Your turn to choose.”

“Are you sure that’s the right plan? I’ve been thinking—“

It’s fucking annoying when he’s thinking, but it’s all Lance seems to do. He offers up opinions constantly without being asked, shows up to meetings between Keith and Allura, knocks on his door after difficult missions. Keith can’t remember doing any of this when he was supposedly Shiro’s right hand. 

“Why are you always on my tail, Lance?” Keith demands after a particular comment. 

“Because you need it.”

Lance has a new confidence when he speaks, a bravado that doesn’t need flowery words. His voice is sure. 

Keith knows he’s right. Part of him secretly relishes Lance’s feedback, uses his presence as a crutch. Another part of him is ashamed to rely on anyone at all. Shiro stood tall as a lone watchdog over them and barely needed help from anyone, much less the mess that was Keith. It makes him doubt his older brother’s judgement in choosing him for Black. 

He’s exhausted from questioning himself, his brother, his teammates. At night, he tosses and turns, and every time he tries to train, Lance stops him—or worse—joins him. Keith has a looser grip on his sword and his words at night. Control slipping, he worries he will say the wrong thing as Lance takes him down with newfound skill that only time and practice bring. 

“Since when did you get good at this?” Keith heaves from the ground, chest rising and falling quickly. Lance stands over him, smiling widely with pride. 

“Since you needed a new sparring partner.”

Keith notices Lance doing this a lot lately, anticipating everyone’s needs. Suddenly, Lance wraps Pidge in blankets, tells Hunk not to worry about a broken gadget, and comforts the Alteans by listening to their stories. 

With a pang, Keith realizes something: Lance is a better leader. The whole team probably knows it by now. Effortlessly, Lance fills new shoes without so much as a complaint, while Keith flounders trying to shove his square-shaped self into a circular opening. 

When Shiro comes back, Keith doesn’t even register the differences between This Shiro and His Shiro. He grew up with nothing, so he isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Instead, he did what he’d been itching to do since he first stepped in Black. 

Keith ran away.

When he’s alone in his quarters at the Blade, he looks in mirrors. He searches for traces of Lance and sees none. Hands cold and stiff, he covers the looking glass with a sheet, unwilling to stare back at an unworthy face.

[malk1ns]

february 25 @ flyers, 6-1 loss

good absolute god, guys. consider trying?

a pathetic game overall, capped off by this vibe and this postgame insight:

no joy in mudville and don't expect much in this fic except for my signature 'overly saccharine ending'. sorry!

Sid and Zhenya’s names are up on the whiteboard for press availability when they troop back into the locker room, stunned silent by the loss.

Zhenya’s heart sinks, but he squares his shoulders and starts plucking off his pads, running through his own game. A giveaway, a losing night in the faceoff dot, no shots on goal—they’re going to rip him apart. He can already picture the headlines—Malkin’s sloppy play costs Penguins another crucial divisional match-up, or maybe Malkin’s effort makes it clear why he should be Russia-bound after the season.

At least he didn’t take a penalty tonight.

“Fuck no,” Sid says from one seat down, but Zhenya ignores him until Sid practically knocks him over on his way to the front of the room.

Zhenya raises an eyebrow when Sid reaches the whiteboard and wipes their names off with his sleeve. He turns and faces the comms people who are hovering nervously at the door and crosses his arms. “G and I aren’t talking to them,” he says, jutting his chin out. “He played fine. I played fine. Neither of us have anything to say. Get someone else to do it.” He stares the staffers down, waiting for a challenge.

None comes. Sid’s one of the most spoiled athletes in North America, but it’s all done preemptively—he rarely asks for anything, especially like this. When he does, people listen.

Sid pauses on his way back to his stall. “Get a move on,” he mutters. “If we’re not on our way out when they let the vultures in, someone will try to stop us.” He raises his voice a little bit, still quiet enough to plausibly still be addressing Zhenya privately but loud enough that the guys near them can hear. “Someone who phoned it in tonight can give them a quote. Not you.”

The atmosphere in the room deflates even further, if that was possible. Zhenya would feel bad, but frankly? He’s sick of it.

They’re rebuilding. Everyone with a brain knows that. Zhenya expected it eventually. He knew it was possible that he’d spend the last years of his career surrounded by journeymen who couldn’t keep up, even as his own footspeed declined. In theory, that didn’t bother him. He did what he came here to do almost 20 years ago; he doesn’t have anything to prove.

In practice, though, the grind of trying to lift spirits and motivate a bench that’s half-composed of players who wilt at the first sign of adversity, who aren’t interested in fighting back, is exhausting. Zhenya’s just had a two-week vacation and he’s already exhausted only three games into this side of break.

Sid, who spent those two weeks playing with and against the best of the best, is practically vibrating with anger.

They make it out of the locker room just as the press is let in, and Zhenya looks over his shoulder on his way out, making eye contact with Yohe. Great. At least Sid’s hot on his heels, practically pushing him out into the hallway; nobody will be able to write that Geno Malkin is dodging the press after a shitty game.

“God damn it,” Sid swears once they’re out of earshot, kicking at a trash can as they make their way out to where the bus is waiting. “Fucking hell, I hate it here. I hate this city, I hate this team.”

“Which one,” Zhenya says drily, and Sid snorts, jamming an elbow into his side.

Normally Sid would scold Zhenya after laughing, too painfully conscious of his own captaincy to not feel guilty over insulting his teammates. The fact that he doesn’t tonight says more than any of Sid’s own words ever could.

Zhenya slides into the second row of the bus, and Sid plops down next to him. They don’t speak on the bus; Zhenya’s answering texts from his mama back in Pittsburgh, and Sid’s thumbs are flying over his phone screen, conducting whatever inscrutable business the face of the league is responsible for no matter the hour. Zhenya used to ask. It was never very interesting.

It’s usually a coin flip if Sid wants Zhenya sitting next to him on the plane. It’s less likely after a bad loss, when Sid prefers to brood and Zhenya spends his pique on the card table, but as they pile onto the plane Sid tugs Zhenya into his row, so Zhenya settles into his chair and avoids eye contact with the rest of the team. Now that he’s had a little distance from the game, he feels a little bad about ditching the media. He’s a leader on this team, and leaders don’t welch on their responsibilities.

Sid does not seem to be similarly burdened. He’s already listing towards Zhenya with his eyes half-closed. Zhenya doesn’t blame him—he’s hurt, and he barely got any rest between Four Nations and the regular season resuming. Zhenya spent hours begging Sid to sit for a game, maybe two, just to give himself time to heal.

Sid refused. Zhenya knew he would. He had to try anyway.

He sneaks his hand under Sid’s plane blanket, resting it on Sid’s thigh and squeezing. Sid grunts and spreads his legs, but Zhenya’s not trying to start anything; he could use with a little comfort, and Sid will never admit it but he could too.

Their days of fooling around on planes are well over, not that they ever did that after heartbreakers like this one even when they were young stupid(er). No, they’d save that type of comfort for at home, tucked away in someone’s bedroom and tangled in each other until the memories faded.

That won’t be the case tonight. They both need sleep; there’s a game Thursday, followed by yet another hellish back-to-back over the weekend.

Zhenya wonders if he should push it. Their sex life has suffered badly this season; between injuries and illnesses and the tension from the rink bleeding into their home life, Zhenya’s getting laid less now than he has his entire adult life. Their house is as likely to be filled with frosty post-argument silence as it is with amorous sighs these days.

Sid snores in his ear the entire short flight back to Pittsburgh, and he’s quiet in the car ride back.

“Should I have extended?” he asks when they’re settled into bed back at home. Zhenya was half-asleep, but Sid’s question snaps him back awake.

“Huh?” he mumbles. “You mean like…not sign here?”

“Not sign,” Sid emphasizes. Zhenya feels him turn on the mattress until they’re facing each other. “Maybe I should have said this would be my last season and hung it up. I mean, we’re not going to be good for years, all I’m doing is take up cap space…” He pats gently over the mattress until he finds Zhenya’s arm. “Maybe the PA won’t flip shit if I say that I want to retire after all if I do it before the new contract kicks in.”

“Stupid,” Zhenya mutters, and Sid’s fingers pinch into his skin. “You’re Penguins, Sid. Like, you’re need to be there for kids, for set example. If you’re keep play hard, guys watch, they learn. Sometimes it’s not work in game, but they see. Plus, what you do? You get bored, come to practice anyway.”

Sid laughs a little, scooting closer. “Probably,” he concedes. “It’s just…at the tournament, watching the way the crowd reacted to Mario…he’s a legend, obviously, but he’s in the past. And I was standing there listening to them cheer for me, and it sounded the same. I’m still playing fine, but I’m turning into a legacy even while I’m still in the league.” He sighs. “I have never felt as old as I did during those games in my whole life. Old, and tired. I probably could have used the break after all.”

“Oh, Sid,” Zhenya whispers, tugging Sid’s shoulder until they’re pressed together. His heart hurts. “You’re most important hockey player for Canada ever, probably. It’s not like…you’re not legacy yet, you’re still play. You’re inspire everyone there. They all talk about how good you do, how much you help. We watch games here while you’re gone and the young guys, all they’re say is how exciting for seeing you play international again.” He squeezes Sid tight to his body, shaking him a little. “Not too old. Old, okay yes, we old now. But too old? No. Not your fault team does this, not your contract’s fault. We try, you try hardest always. Other guys, maybe they don’t. Can’t control.”

Sid sighs, and it sounds watery. When he presses his face to Zhenya’s chest, Zhenya can feel damp soak through his sleep shirt. “Sorry,” he says, garbled through the fabric. “I’m being dumb. I’m tired, and that game sucked, and holy fuck I hate Philly.” 

“Game is bad, yes,” Zhenya agrees, running his hands over Sid’s back. “Philly is always suck, yes. But we have twenty more games, try again to play good. It’s okay, Sid. Nobody thinks you’re bad just because of team.”

“It’s probably selfish, huh?” Sid muses, turning his head to the side. “That I care so much about how I look now with the team doing so bad. I never used to.”

Zhenya shrugs. “Allowed to be selfish. You give everything for team, for league. Is okay to want to break records, play well just for you, know that people see. But they do, Sid. Cheers in Montreal, that’s for how you’re play for so long. Not because you’re, like…statue, walking around on the ice again.”

Sid doesn’t reply, but Zhenya can feel his shoulders relax.

“I tell Kyle they put you on your knees for your statue,” Zhenya says, startling Sid into a laugh. “Tell him for goals, but really I want to look at and think of you blowing me. It’s big secret for me, nobody knows.”

“Oh my god,” Sid squawks, slapping at Zhenya’s chest. “You didn’t say that to Kyle.”

Zhenya did. He sent Kyle a half-dozen goal videos of Sid dropping to a knee to score; his signature pose, the one he hits when the other goalie has no chance.

He didn’t say anything about the blowjobs, obviously. 

“Well, I’m going to tell him that your statue should be of…of…” Sid trails off.

Zhenya gives him a minute before shaking his head. “Sidney, Sidney,” he says, pouring as much mock-concern into his voice as he can. “Too tired for dirty joke? Can’t think of even one thing? Maybe you retire after all. Too old to keep up.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Sid says, but his voice is light.

Leading a team like the 24-25 Pittsburgh Penguins might be hard, Zhenya thinks as they finally drift off, but leading Sidney Crosby out of his down-moods is easy. Then again, he’s got almost fifteen years of firsthand experience.

[cuteandhughesy]

congrats on 1k! could I request nathan mackinnon with prompt 9? thanks🫶🏼

prompt no 9: "i'm not leaving you like this"

“what the fuck is lego friends?” nathan asks, voice a mixture of distaste and curiosity. you eyes the box clutched in your hands, gaze darting between the set and your wide, hopeful eyes.

“it’s like…girl lego.” you say, tossing it into the shopping chart that you’ve left in the middle of the lego aisle. “isn’t it cute.”

instantly nathan is plucking the box out of the cart before you can even blink and puts it back on the shelf. “we’re not getting lego friends.” he says, tone finalized.

you frown, “you said we could pick out a lego set.” you begin pulling at the hem of your sweater—you’re not actually upset with nathan, but you did like the lego set. it was a little doggie clinic, with a few figurines and even a little lego dog.

nathan turns his attention back to the shelves in front of him, lined with various lego sets—all different colours and variations of pieces. different movies and games all transformed into tiny little pieces. one look at your exaggerated pout has him rolling his eyes fondly. “yeah I did,” he hums, picking up one of the harry potter sets—the sorting hat to be exact. “but I also said we have to decide together.”

and then nathan does exactly what you just did and plops the sorting hat box into the cart. you sqwak like a bird, darting forward and taking the box. “hey! you just said we decide together.”

his brows furrow like he’s confused. “yeah. we both love harry potter.”

“yeah but doesn’t mean I want this one.” you stress, placing it back on the shelf. nathan exhales sharply through his nose, leaning over the handles of the shopping chart. oblivious, you begin walking down the aisle, eyeing all the different lego sets, pausing anytime one peaks your interests.

just when he’s about to urge you to hurry up, you gasp like you’ve just discovered diamonds, grabbing a large lego box and skipping back over to nathan. you thrust the box in his direction, “we have to get this one!”

he takes the box, turning it over. “twilight?”

“please.”

nathan looks back at you, “I don’t like twilight.”

“correction,” you chime, “you’ve never seen twilight.” you walk closer to him, fingers curling around the metal bars of the cart as you take another peek at the cullen house set.

a beat passes and nathan sighs, gesturing for you to take the box again. “no.”

“no?”

“I won’t enjoy building that,” nathan tells you. you give him a half amused scoff, practically ripping the box out of your boyfriend’s hands and then slowly walk back to where you found it.

“so you just suppose we should get fortnite lego or something?” your grumble, crossing your arms tightly and turning to face nathan. his brows raise in amusement, and that only makes you frown. you turn away from him again, pretending to be engrossed in the avatar lego.

he sighs. you guys didn’t even come to the store for lego, you came because nathan needed body wash and socks. plus you were running low on groceries, so you decided on stopping at walmart before going to whole foods to get all of nathan’s health freak foods. you will die on the hill for walmarts banana chocolate chip muffins—no matter how many times nathan says there’s healthier options.

you sigh loudly, “just leave me here then. go get your stupid socks.”

that makes nathan grin, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a lopsided grin that never fails to send you into a puddle. you don’t look at him, even when you can hear the wheels of the shopping cart squeak on the tiles, coming closer to you. “i’m not leaving you like this.” he breathes, chest brushing your shoulder.

before you can register what he’s doing, nathan is reaching over you, grabbing the cullen house back off the shelf and putting it into the empty cart.

your eyes widen, spinning on your heels to face your boyfriend. “you’re gunna build it with me?”

he smiles, bringing you into his chest with a single strong tug around your waist. “i’ll build it with you.”

you grin, pushing up on your toes to press a kiss on the underside of his stubbled jawline. “you’re the best.”

—

(unedited)

[gf2bellamy]

Hi hello!

Oh my gosh I love your work so much like you are the absolute GOAT of Spencer fluff fics.

If it’s not a bother, can I please request reader starting her first day at the bau and she’s all shy and nervous because she’s the youngest and wants to make a good impression and as she’s greeting everyone she goes to shake Spencer’s hand he does the whole thing about pathogens and says how it’s safer to kiss and her being so flustered just goes ‘oh okay’ and gives a quick peck on his cheek without thinking and scampers away leaving him completely dazed?

impressions — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: statistics about bacteria , reader being nervous a/n: thank you so so much !!! that actually made my day thank you <3333333 i hope you like this :)

Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were convinced everyone in the bullpen could hear it.

You had barely stepped through the doors of the BAU, and already, nerves were twisting in your stomach like a tangled mess of wires.

Your first day, your first real job with the FBI, and, perhaps most daunting of all, the knowledge that you were the youngest agent on the team.

Someone had been kind enough to guide you through the bullpen.

It was surreal, stepping into their world.

You took a deep breath, forcing your feet to move forward, and stopped in front of the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office. You quickly smoothed your hands over your neatly pressed blazer, as if that would somehow make you appear more put together than you felt.

Swallowing hard, you raised a shaky fist and knocked.

“Come in.” The voice was firm, authoritative, but not unkind.

You exhaled, steeling yourself, and pushed the door open.

Aaron Hotchner sat behind his desk, looking up from a file in front of him. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you in that way you imagined only a profiler could.

You quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

He greeted you with a small smile, standing up as he extended a hand. “Welcome to the BAU.”

You shook his hand as firmly as you could manage, hoping he couldn’t feel how clammy your palm was. “Thank you, sir. It’s—” You hesitated, your mind scrambling for words that didn’t sound completely ridiculous. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Hotch gave you a small nod, motioning for you to take a seat across from him. “I’ve read your file. Your record is impressive.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picked up. “I, um—thank you, sir.”

“I know this unit can be… intimidating,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “But you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t capable. I trust that you’ll prove yourself.”

This settled some of the nerves still twisting in your stomach.

“I’ll do my best,” you said, meaning every word.

“I expect nothing less.” Hotch nodded with a small smile at you.

“The rest of the team is in the conference room,” Hotch continued as he stood, already moving toward the door. He pulled it open for you, nodding for you to follow.

As you stepped into the bullpen, trying to steady the nerves still buzzing under your skin, Hotch continued, “We have a case in Texas. You’ll be briefed shortly.”

Right. No slow introductions, no easing into things. You had expected as much, but it still made your stomach twist with anticipation.

This was it—your first case, your first real step into the world of the BAU.

Just as you rounded the corner toward the conference room, a blur of movement caught your eye.

Spencer Reid was practically sprinting through the bullpen, his satchel bouncing against his side as he hastily adjusted his tie. He skidded to a stop just in front of Hotch, his curls slightly disheveled, his breath uneven.

“Sorry I’m late,” Spencer said quickly, pushing his hair back from his face. “The metro had a delay, and then I was going over some of the Texas case files and lost track of time—”

Hotch held up a hand, cutting off the ramble. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp look he gave Spencer was enough to make him straighten his posture.

“Reid,” Hotch said, a quiet warning in his tone.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry.”

Hotch sighed but let it go, instead turning to you. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You took a step forward, offering a polite smile as you extended your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer glanced at your outstretched hand for half a second before grimacing slightly. “Oh, uh—I don’t really do handshakes,” he said, hesitating before explaining further. “Handshakes transfer more bacteria than any other common form of physical greeting? Studies show that the average handshake can transfer up to 124 million bacteria in just a few seconds.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

Spencer nodded, entirely serious. “Statistically speaking, it’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

You blinked.

For a moment, your brain completely stalled.

Kissing.

Safer.

Without thinking—without even processing what you were doing—you leaned in and pressed the quickest, most flustered peck to his cheek.

Spencer went completely still. His mouth fell open slightly, his wide eyes blinking in rapid succession as if his brain had just short-circuited.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced yourself to straighten, offering him a small, nervous smile—because what else were you supposed to do?

Before either of you could say anything, Hotch pushed open the door to the conference room. You stepped in immediately.

Spencer, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

His mouth hung open slightly, his brain working overtime to process what had just happened.

Hotch gave him a look. “You walked into that one.”

Spencer barely heard him. His hand drifted up to his cheek, still warm from the press of your lips, and he stood there, completely dazed, as the reality of his morning took an unexpected and utterly bewildering turn.

[into-the-milgramverse]

Regardless of our stances on characters, I think we should vote them all Innocent, since this is the last trial and it's very likely the guilty vote will result in death (the images for dead prisoners are labeled as "guilty")

I'll only mention here the characters I feel like people really wanna vote guilty now

First, Muu.

So what if you see her as just stereotypical bully? So what if you consider her to be responsible for Haruka's death all because she was the one who brought him food and then expected a pat on the back? We knew he'll kill himself if Muu gets voted guilty, and we knew Muu was supportive of that "because that's what friends do". Our own choices lead to Haruka's death. Sure, being further encouraged by Muu and Kotoko didn't help. And also, what if T2 Guilty vote he received too felt like further encouragement? He basically had only one person tell him not to do it, vs 2 people + entirety of the audience tell him to go ahead.

Her being voted guilty this trial will not bring back Haruka.

Second, Fuuta.

No, he didn't kill Shidou as some claim just to paint him in bad light. And also, so what if he turned to religion? I'd like you to go through constantly feeling like you're watched and hearing voices judge every single thing about you, not being able to sleep properly for a year and longer, and have constant pain from an untreated injury, all the while guilt over your past actions that your friend group also participated in is weighing heavily on you. Let's see if you wouldn't latch onto first thing that promises relief from all of that. Can you seriously blame him for that?

I'm gonna be honest tho, given he has an untreated eye injury, I feel like he'll die regardless (eye infection can be very dangerous if left untreated and its a short way from eye to brain). At very least, he should be allowed to go home to see his family for last time.

Third, Amane.

Even Jackalope, who's painting her as this evil brat who's out to murder everyone who's against her beliefs, tells us that it's just a domino effect of Kotoko's actions. I'd also say her current beliefs are heavily formed by our own voting. First MV showed her simply helping a cat and then getting punished for it. And what do we do? We voted her guilty. We punished her. After seeing her help a cat. I think it's clear here that this results in strengthening the "You deserve to be punished for practicing medicine" belief.

I get it, you're sad, you're hurt, you're angry, you need someone to blame, which is Amane T2 Inno voters and Amane herself, but Amane being voted guilty will not bring back Shidou and Mahiru. Voting her guilty this trial will just result in her getting killed.

Fourth, Kotoko.

Yes, her actions caused this and if we voted her guilty T1, they wouldn't have happened. But, look back at her actions during T1: do any of them give a very clear signal that she sees all crime equally, that voting her inno would have given her a go ahead to do as she pleases and that she'll just beat up anyone to brink of death? They don't. We might look back now and see some signs, but given we didn't vote her guilty back then, that tells you those signs weren't very clear. Also, plenty of people didn't take voting seriously at that time, and many voted her simply because she looked cool. Even if you were somehow able to see into the future, she'd still get inno, maybe just at smaller percentage. Also, her crime is indirect murder, not the one we see in first MV. The murder we see her do in her MV was already judged outside of Milgram.

Her being voted guilty will not bring back Haruka, Shidou or Mahiru. And I don't think it's fair to vote her based on our assumption that she will just go back to killing people once she's out — even if she does, she still hasn't actually done that. How different does that make us from Amane if we simply killed her now in advance to prevent her from interfering with other people's lives?

[alkalineapparition]

Give

König x Reader | Full Chapter

Part 19- You can thread the needle, time and time again

König POV 

At this, König stills.  

Shock. Then fury—frigid and sharp. His fists clench as he fights to hold it in, his body going rigid. A statue. Waiting, unbreathing, for you to continue.

For a long while, you say nothing. Still picking at the damned sheets, eyes unfocused. He clears his throat. You jump.

"Explain." His voice is stiff, strained with barely concealed rage.

"I... I don't know where to start," you admit, chewing your lip beneath the mask.

König forces himself to be patient. "Start from the beginning, yes?"

You inhale deeply, exhaling slow. Shoulders straightening, still looking at the floor. Still refusing to meet his eyes.

"I joined the Army when I was eighteen years old." 

Not quite the beginning he meant, but he does not interrupt. He will not miss a chance to hear about the thing you so rarely speak of—yourself.

"I didn't... I didn't necessarily want to. But I didn't really have any other options. My home life, it wasn't... the best."

Your face twists with something dark. He doesn’t press— knows better, though a pit forms in his stomach.

"Anyway, I figured I'd join, maybe be assigned a desk job or work in the mess hall doing food prep," a bitter laugh slips out.

"I did get a desk job; communications. And I loved it. For a while." 

Silence again. 

"Why the Green Berets, then?" 

A little smile, still tinged with that acrid aftertaste. "I wanted to do more," you mumur, so softly he almost misses it.

"The Green Berets, they do the most humanitarian work out of any of the United States armed forces. Did you know that?"

He shakes his head, equally quiet. "No, I did not." 

"I felt like a coward, hiding behind the desk. I didn't want to join, I had to. It was... almost a compulsion. Couldn't imagine doing anything else." You shake your head. 

"I was young and stupid. I hated getting up early. Hated being yelled at. Hated exercise. Still can't understand what I was thinking..." you trail off.

"But it was something I had to do. And I did— I was the youngest female Green Beret to ever graduate." There’s something like pride in your voice.

"I was promoted to Sergeant. Still working comms, but in the field this time." 

You swallow. Your next words snag, a loose thread caught on jagged metal. 

"It was near the end of my first contract, when my squadron was ordered to preform an exfiltration in Al Mazrah. A local group had captured some high ranking-personnel from a multinational spec ops unit." 

It clicks into place before you finish. The undeaniable truth of who exactly you had been sent after. 

König says nothing. 

"It went well at first. Almost textbook. We grabbed the target, were on our way out. He was beat to shit, so I was practically carrying him. Then... then all hell broke loose."

Finally, you look at him, eyes haunted— decaying.

"There was a grenade," the words are whispered, anguished.

Dear God.

"I... I laid on top of the target. Didn't have time to run."

You are pleading with him now. Begging him to understand. 

The room is silent but for your ragged breathing. Tears threaten your lash line, the ache in them evident as you choke, "My team didn't make it." 

The sight of your tears nearly undoes him. This quiet devastation is somehow worse than the mournful wailing from that night outside the medical wing. It rips through him, as your pain always does.

Before he can stop himself, König grasps your hand, threading his fingers with yours. 

He squeezes. His gaze never wavers.

You take a shaky breath, steadying yourself. 

"I don't remember getting up or dragging us out, but I must have. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the hospital, feeling like shit warmed over." 

"I was medically dead, you know. Five whole minutes. In a coma for nearly a month." 

Silence reigns again. And König wonders how the fuck you are still here.

You fidget, waiting for him to speak.

"What happened next?" 

Your eyebrows raise, clearly not expecting such interest in the after. 

"Got honorably discharged, started recovery. It was shit."

The dry tone of your voice forces a a low laugh from him. 

"And how did you end up here?" 

"KorTac didn't take long to reach out. Funded my recovery under the condition I sign a contract after."

It is his turn to raise his eyebrows. Since when did KorTac take an interest in wounded soldiers? His confusion must be evident, since you shrug.

"Don't know why. But I sure as hell wasn't turning down the chance to walk again." 

The horror at your statement must also be plain on his face, because you let out a biting laugh. 

"You think the VA gave a fuck if I walked again? They wanted to stick me in a wheel chair to rot." 

It makes him sick. The thought of you—prideful, so independent—withering away in an underfunded hospital. Alone. Forgotten.

König swallows against the ache it brings, reaching for the right words—for something, anything, that might stitch back the wounds you just tore open for him to see.

"It's how I got these, you know." Your voice is conversational, almost hollow, as your fingers trace the scars eclipsing your chest and arm.

"You must think I'm horribly stupid."

He does not miss the forced humor in your voice. Nor does he miss the quiet search beneath it—the search for his damnation, his approval, something.

"I think," he begins, his free hand trailing up your arm, fingers ghosting over skin before settling at your shoulder, "that you are brave."

He holds you like something fragile, like fractured glass. Despite the strength beneath his hand, he finds you delicate. Precious.

You look up at him, startled. "I think," his voice is little more than a whisper, "you are horribly selfless."

König wishes to believe the sudden, unsteady catch in your breath is a mirror of his own feelings, but knows it is not. He stomps his down, determined to right the lense through which you view yourself, if nothing else.

"I think you are so very kind, Taube, but unable see past yourself. Please do not think I would ever consider you less than, for being courageous." He searches your eyes. 

Something unnamed passes through them, soft and warm, vulnerable. It makes his heart stutter in his chest. 

 

He wants to kiss you.

 

The thought is errant, but cutting. König jerks back before he can act on it. 

Scheiße.

Clearing his throat, he allows his hand to fall from your shoulder. 

"And you are not the only one with scars, Atlas." 

He looks back to you, but you look suspiciously unsurprised. "Is that why you wear it?" Your chin tilts towards his face, an obvious reference to the mask.

The question is curious, no judgement in your voice. He nods, absentmindedly brushing his fingers across his mouth. 

"Ja. I learned early that others do not take kindly to those who appear different." He pauses. "Children are cruel." 

You frown. "Yes, they are. They're also ignorant." You look down, and before he can stop, König finds himself marveling at the shadows your lashes cast against your cheek, fluttering as you search for words.

"I bet you're beautiful under that hood anyway." 

 

His breathing stops.

 

Barely able to choke out the words, he mutters, "I assure you, I am not."

You hum, unconvinced. "Whatever you say." 

His eye twitches, desperate to change the topic. "Will you be able to work with Price?" 

Cutting him a look that could peel paint from the walls, you nod once. Sharp and decisive.

"Yes. It just... caught me off guard, is all. If I had known it wouldn't have been like that. I swear, I'm fine." König hears what you do not say, how it is less about the Captain and more about the remnants of your past.

About never being able to escape it entirely, no matter how far you run.

[ficfield]

Aftermath

Chris Redfield x Nurse!Reader (AFAB) Set straight after the events of “Vendetta”.

Request: Can you do Vendetta Chris x readernurse! (AFAB please) id like it long to and hopefully a series🙏

The reader and Chris have a close relationship, she tends to always be the one who patches him up, he won’t go to anyone else. I’m going for a cute slow-burn romance here, thought it’d be really cute. I love the idea of it being a little series too, let’s see where their little story will take them. 

Enjoy my lovelies!!

The BSAA infirmary was quieter than usual tonight. The usual chaos of agents coming and going had settled, leaving only the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant chatter of night-shift personnel. The latest mission had been won, but the weight of it still clung to the air like smoke.

Chris Redfield set on the edge of an infirmary bed, stiff and bruised, as you gathered supplies to clean him up, again.

Rebecca Chambers stood nearby, arms crossed as she eyed Chris like an exasperated older sister. “You really need to stop playing human punching bag, Chris.”

Leon Kennedy, meanwhile, was sprawled lazily on the next bed over, tossing a stress ball into the air. “Oh, please. You think this is bad? You should’ve seen the guy he went up against. Looked like he got run over by a truck, twice.” 

Chris shot him a look. “Not helping, Leon.”

Leon smirked. “I wasn’t trying to.”

You suppressed a smile as you turned back to Chris, setting your supplies on the tray beside him. “Alright, Redfield. Shirt off.”

Chris arched an eyebrow. “You know, you could at least buy me dinner first.”

Rebecca let out a groan. “Oh my god.” 

Leon, however, leaned up on his elbows, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Damn, am I witnessing some workplace romance? Nurse, you sure you don’t wanna patch me up instead? I can be very appreciative.” 

You didn’t even look at him as you grabbed antiseptic. “Leon, the only thing you need patched up is your ego.”

Rebecca snorted. Chris smirked.

Leon clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That’s a wound even I can’t recover from.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “For once in your life, shut up, Kennedy.”

Leon just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, big guy. I’m just saying, if you’re gonna flirt, at least let the rest of us have a shot.”

Chris gave him a flat stare. “You don’t have a shot.”

Leon gasped, looking at you for support. “You hear that? He’s cockblocking me. that’s cruel.”

You smirked, dabbing at Chris’s wound with careful precision. “he’s not wrong though, you don’t have a shot.” 

Chris glanced at you, trying to conceal his amused smirk.

Leon threw his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll back off. For now.”

Rebecca shook her head, looking between the three of you. “This is exhausting.” 

You chuckled before focusing on Chris again, eyes scanning the fresh gash along his ribs. It wasn’t deep, but it had bled enough to make a mess of his side. Your fingers ghosted over the bruising there, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath your touch. 

“you really don’t take care of yourself,” you murmured.

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ve got you for that.” 

Leon made a tiny gagging noise, but Rebecca elbowed him before he could speak.

Ignoring them, you kept your focus on Chris, cleaning the wound with gentle, practiced movements. He barely reacted, but you saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers curled against the edge of the bed. 

“… How bad was it out there?’ you asked finally, voice quieter.

Chris leaned back slightly, exhaling. “Bad enough.”

That was all he said. That was all he needed to say.

You finished dressing his wound, smoothing down the gauze with delicate fingers before stepping back. “All done.” 

Chris nodded but didn’t move right away. Instead, he watched you, his expression softer than usual.

“…You’re always here,” he murmured.

You tilted your head. “Where else would I be?”

Leon clapped his hands together. “Alright, lovebirds, as charming as this is, can we go get food now? Or are we still playing ‘patch up Chris’?”

Chris groaned. “Jesus, Leon.”

Rebecca sighed. You are the worst.” 

You just laughed, shaking your head as you cleaned up your supplies. Whatever this was between you and Chris, this unspoken understanding, this quiet pull, it wasn’t going anywhere. 

And maybe, just maybe, that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

(TO BE CONTINUED)