#I will admit I need to watch a real at some point but I don’t consider people who like reals more boring

[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable. 

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin. 

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’” 

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely–  i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings. 

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.” 

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing. 

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them. 

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up—  his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?” 

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out.  “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move. 

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.” 

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received. 

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers. 

his own dream, now his downfall. 

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl. 

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[zhelin-thames]

The Joker was ranting again, his shrill laughter echoing off the walls of the Justice League’s holding cells. Danny Fenton—or as they knew him, the Ghost King—leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a scowl etched on his face. The tension in the room was palpable, the League standing by in case the infamous clown decided to get creative. But Danny wasn’t worried. He’d dealt with worse.

“You think you’re so scary, huh?” Danny muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. The Joker’s grin faltered for a split second before he burst into laughter again, clearly unfazed—or pretending to be. Danny rolled his eyes. “Pathetic. You’re just loud and messy. Real fear doesn’t need a laugh track.”

The room went silent. Superman shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Danny and the Joker. Batman’s eyes narrowed, taking in the Ghost King’s uncharacteristic venom.

It wasn’t that Danny was usually chatty during these encounters, but his utter disdain for the Joker—his unwillingness to engage in anything more than curt dismissal—was becoming a pattern. Everyone noticed it, and no one dared ask. The Joker, for his part, didn’t push further. Something in Danny’s glowing green eyes made even him hesitate.

But when Jonathan Crane—the Scarecrow—was brought in a few weeks later, the mood shifted entirely.

Crane was quiet as he was escorted into a separate cell, his lanky frame hunched but his eyes sharp, calculating. The League had just wrapped up an exhausting mission to stop one of his fear toxin rampages, and they were still on edge. Crane didn’t bother with his usual monologues, which was unusual enough to make everyone uneasy.

Except Danny.

As soon as Danny saw Crane, he snorted. Loudly. The kind of derisive snort that made Wonder Woman glance his way in confusion. “This guy?” Danny said, pointing at Crane with his thumb. “Seriously?”

Crane’s head tilted ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued. “The Ghost King,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “A being of great power and…fear. How delightful.”

“Don’t,” Danny interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, I’ve heard it before. And honestly? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Crane blinked, caught off guard. “Embarrassing myself?”

Danny sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I get it. You’re all about fear. Big bad Scarecrow, master of terror, blah blah blah. But do you even know what fear is? Real fear? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just a guy with some glorified bug spray.”

The room went dead silent. Flash stifled a laugh. Batman’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering between Danny and Crane. The Scarecrow, however, didn’t seem angry. If anything, he looked…intrigued.

“And what,” Crane asked slowly, “would you consider real fear, Your Highness?”

Danny’s eyes glowed brighter, his voice dropping an octave. “Real fear is the kind that makes your soul ache. It’s the kind of fear that lingers in the dark corners of your mind, whispering that you’re not enough, that you’ll never be enough. It’s watching everything you love slip away and knowing you can’t stop it. It’s the void staring back at you and realizing it doesn’t care.”

He leaned forward, his face inches from the glass separating them. “Your little toxins? They’re cheap tricks. Flashy illusions. A waste of potential. You could actually do something with all your knowledge, but instead, you play Halloween in Gotham like some knockoff horror movie villain.”

Crane didn’t reply immediately. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. The others stared at Danny, half-impressed, half-confused. Even Batman’s ever-stoic expression had a flicker of something resembling surprise.

Finally, Crane chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. “But fear, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps one day, you’ll see the artistry in my work.”

Danny scoffed again, turning to leave. “Don’t hold your breath, Doc. You’d pass out before you made anything actually scary.”

As Danny walked away, Superman stepped up beside him, lowering his voice. “You’ve faced worse, haven’t you?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve been worse. That guy? He’s just a waste of scary.”

Superman frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Danny smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Stick around, Big Blue. Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

[poguehearted77]

Oh, Baby!

Summary-> Today is Rafe's birthday and you're determined to throw him the best surprise party before the baby comes in a few days.

☆Some more content from the baby steps couple☆

It was a warm summer night, the kind where the air hummed softly with the songs of crickets and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees. The streets were quiet as you and Rafe drove home, the headlights illuminating the road ahead. The stars sparkled in the clear sky above, but they paled in comparison to the anticipation bubbling in your chest.

“I just wish you’d checked to see that the restaurant had space before we came all the way here,” Rafe sighed, his grip firm on the wheel. He glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly.

You bit your lip, hiding a smile. You’d already called the restaurant weeks ago and knew they were fully booked. That was the whole point. You needed an excuse to get Rafe dressed up in the nicest clothes the two of you could find without him getting suspicious. It was his birthday, after all, and you wanted tonight to be perfect.

"It was supposed to be one of our final nights together with just the two of us," you murmured, playing your part with feigned disappointment. Your hand rested on the swell of your nine-months-pregnant belly.

The truth was, you’d been planning this for the past month—tirelessly working around Rafe’s attentive nature to keep it a secret. He knew you too well, always noticing the slightest change in your demeanour, and you had to put on the performance of your life.

If he’d caught wind of what you were up to, he’d have put a stop to it immediately. Rafe would’ve thrown a fit if he knew you were doing all this while so close to your due date.

When the two of you finally pulled into the driveway of your generously sized home, Rafe parked the car and came around to your side to help you out, as always. He offered his hand, his protectiveness shining through, and you accepted with a grateful smile.

He makes a teasing remark about your slight waddle, "She's comin' any day now isn't she?" You sigh, "I hope so, but she seems to be getting comfortable." Your eyes glimmer as you watch Rafe unlock the front door. But as soon as the door opened, the quiet night erupted into shouts of “Surprise!”

Rafe’s jaw dropped slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you saw genuine shock in his eyes. The foyer was filled with friends and family, grinning and clapping, balloons crowding the ceiling.

Rafe blinked, then broke into a wide grin, pointing at you. “I knew you were up to something,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

You laughed, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, his other hand gently resting over your baby bump. “Happy birthday,” you whispered, feeling his lips press to your temple in gratitude.

You led everyone through the house to the backyard, and that’s when the real surprise hit. The backyard was transformed into a magical wonderland of twinkling fairy lights strung overhead, long tables set with glowing candles, and cozy seating arranged perfectly under the night sky. It was breathtaking.

Rafe took a slow step forward, his gaze sweeping across the setup, a mix of awe and emotion crossing his face. “Wow,” he said softly, looking down at you before his expression morphed into one of concern. “Please tell me you didn't set this up, Y/n.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. “Calm down, I made John B and Topper do it,” you admitted with a cheeky grin. Rafe let out a short laugh, his brows raising. “John B and Topper? Together? Without killing each other?”

“Barely,” you teased. “I supervised, don’t worry.”

He was about to respond when a small voice broke through the chatter. “Happy birthday, Uncle Rafe!”

A little whirlwind of blonde curls and bright eyes ran toward him—it was three-year-old JJ in a white frilly dress. Rafe crouched down and scooped her up with ease, laughing as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he said, tossing her gently in the air.

As you watched him, surrounded by loved ones, holding little JJ close, and smiling brighter than you’d seen in a while, you felt the weight of your efforts melt away. It was all worth it. This was a night you’d both remember forever.

Maybe you'd be lucky to erase the forming memory of the radiating pain that coursed through your abdomen. You found yourself fisting the hand towels in the guest bathroom after your bladder incontinence had caught up to you during the middle of Rafe's speech.

God, what did you eat today? Your stomach had been hurting ever since you came back from the restaurant even though you never ate there. Sometimes you get a break, other times there's a sharp reminder shooting through you. Of course, you considered the possibility of contractions but you denied it.

There was no way in hell you were letting this baby come out on Rafe's birthday.

There's a knock on the door. "Just a second--!" Your voice is hoarse, the words coming out through clenched teeth. "Y/n? It's Sarah." With a deep breath, you reach for the door, revealing the pleasant face of your sister-in-law.

"Is everything okay? Rafe is looking for you." You nod, "Yep, everything's--" Another one. Your jaw clenches and your eyes close, doing your best to focus on the conversation at hand. By the time your eyes opened, Sarah was sliding past you into the bathroom.

"Why's the floor all wet.." Her eyes slowly trail from the wet tiles back up to you where you were still gripping the towel in your right palm. Oblivious to the gears grinding in her mind. "Oh shit." You shake your head over and over, immediately shutting the door on you both.

"Sarah, No. No! You can't tell anyone. It's Rafe's birthday." She couldn't believe what she was hearing, her brows furrowed, "Are you joking? You're in labour! You have to tell him and you have to get to the hospital like now."

"No, Please! Just give me 20 minutes, then I'll go." She couldn't believe she was actually considering it but the sheer look of desperation in your eyes convinced her.

"Fine, and not one second more or I'll deliver your baby myself." She threatens with a smile but she's a Cameron, she means every word. "I love you!" You whistle as you head upstairs to change into a different dress and meet everyone back outside.

"Baby, where did you go for so long? What's with the outfit change?" Your eyes are briefly distracted by the servers gracefully floating around the yard with the requested entrées. "O-oh, I started to feel a little hot in the other one--so," There's a contraction, not as bad as some of the others but you're able to suppress it and blame it on thirst.

"Here," He gets you a glass of water and helps you into your chair on the side of his at the head of the table. As if you'd forgotten the itinerary of the party you planned yourself, you're almost startled when the slide show of nearly all the images you could find of Rafe throughout the years is displayed on the projector.

He turns in his seat to glance at you, "You did not," It was all too much for him. You're the woman of his dreams, going above and beyond to show him how much he means to you and this was just a small example of proof.

The slideshow is touching, cute, and funny when the images of baby Rafe covered in pasta pop up. Once it's over John B suggests you say a few words. Kelce and his childish antics start a chant "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Your eyes roll, and with a minor struggle, you rise to your feet, Rafe standing beside you.

"Thank you all for coming, and helping me celebrate Rafe's 25th--" Oh boy, this was a big one, your mouth falls open in a silent cry and your right hand claws into the meat of Rafe's upper arm, it's so tight that he leans into it and his face contorts with discomfort and worry.

The electronic music is still playing softly in the background as all eyes are on you. "Y/n, Y/n, Are you--" Your lip is caught between your teeth bearing down with the pain, nodding aggressively. "We're having the baby!?" He panics but a huge smile is etched onto his features. "We're having the baby." You confirm and he hugs you.

The table is filled with cheers and glasses clinking together. "Go! Go!" Sarah shouts, and you both spring into action. At least Rafe does, he nearly leaves you behind with all the nerves running through his system.

Helping you back inside the house before he runs up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time, quickly coming down with the baby bag you'd both prepared weeks ago.

The next hour is a blur, one second you're standing in your living room waiting for Rafe to bring down your things, and suddenly you're in a backless hospital gown being strapped into the hospital bed, hooked up like a computer.

There are IVs, heart monitors, and everything else you could identify from your binge sessions of Grey's Anatomy.

“Mrs. Cameron?” A voice cut through the haze as the door opened. The doctor entered, glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. Her calm expression faltered as she scanned the notes. “Oh, wow,” she muttered under her breath before looking up at you.

“Is... is everything okay?” you asked nervously, gripping the bed’s railing as you shot a glance at Rafe, who was perched anxiously at your bedside.

“Everything’s fine,” the doctor assured you quickly, though her tone carried a note of disbelief. “But I have to say—I’m a little shocked at how far along you are.”

Your stomach dropped. “Far along? What do you mean?”

“You’re already at nine centimetres,” the doctor explained, flipping another page on her clipboard. “You’re practically ready to push.” That is not what you wanted to hear.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait—nine? That fast? But I barely knew I was in labour until a few hours ago!” Rafe glances at you in agreement before doing a double take. "A few hours? I thought you just found out at dinner?"

"I knew since we left the restaurant." You coyly admit, and his eyes practically bulge from their sockets. "That was hours ago! Why didn't you tell me?" He seemed almost hurt but his concern overtook it.

"Because it's your birthday, I didn't want the baby to steal your day." He leans up, his gaze softening at your words. "Oh baby, I'd be so lucky to share my birthday with her." His words fall on deaf ears and you pout, eyes glancing at the clock.

10:47

"Well, Mrs. Cameron. It's almost time to start pushing, we're going to transfer you to the delivery room." Everything happened so quickly. Your gaze can hardly focus on anything in the halls as you are pushed past them.

There's one familiar sensation that remained an unchanged variable throughout the whole process. The reassuring hold of Rafe's hand with yours. No matter what, he held on.

When you squeezed his hand so tight with every laborious push. "You're doing good, just a few more pushes and she'll be crowning." Your body throws itself back, defeated. Eyes heavy and your hair sticking to your forehead as you wept.

"I can't, I can't do it. I'm sorry." Rafe's eyes turn mournful, wishing he could take on this pain for you. "Hey, hey. None of that. You're a Cameron now. We get shit done, and you're doing it. You're doing so well, baby. Just keep going, and I'll be right here with you, okay? I love you." He gently moves the hairs sticking to your forehead, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. His words give you the strength to keep going.

"Give us another big push in three, two, one-" Your throat is ripped raw from the pained shouts, but it was so worth it. It’s not long before you finally welcomed your baby girl into the world, at 12:01am.

"She's perfect," Rafe says, in awe of his newborn daughter who's delicately swaddled in those hospital blankets at peace in your hold. She looked up at you with her glassy eyes, lips moving in ways that Rafe could swear were a tribute to you.

"I can't believe she came out of me," It's an untraditional thing for one to say after giving birth but it's how you felt. You were still in disbelief at the whole process. From the day you looked at those two lines on that pregnancy test in St. Tropaz, to the gender reveal on the beach all the way to this very moment.

"You did amazing," Rafe reassures you and only a few moments pass where you enjoy the peace of the new reality of your tiny family. There's a soft knock on the door, and Sarah's head pops in awaiting clearance to be let in.

"Come in," You giggle, so excited to introduce her to her aunt, uncle and cousin. John B's face is overcome with shock and Sarah's with glee while JJ focuses on what she wants.

"Oh my god, she's so precious." Sarah beams as she peers over to get a closer look, and you offer her up into her aunt's hold. "What's her name?" John B is the first to ask, and Rafe grins down at you. "Say hello to, Melody Ava Cameron."

Sarah's eyes immediately misted over, she'd been told about the pleasant encounter you both had at the beach with a very lively toddler, but you knew that wasn't the name that touched her the most. "Melody? You named her after mom?" Rafe nods, a tear slipping from his eye as well.

You knew how much she meant to both of them before she passed, you couldn't think of a better name. Rafe places an arm around his sister as they both admire the baby.

"It's a perfect name, I love it. Congratulations."

[reignpage]

What's Your Favourite Scary Movie?

Synopsis: in which the jjk men are your roommates in a modern au and you've just watched a horror movie Warnings: cursing, some gory descriptions of movie scenes, mostly fluff and crack, not proofread Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna Word Count: 3.2k

Gojo:

He yelps, hands flying. 

“That’s the third jumpscare in five minutes, why do they hate us?”

You laugh, popping some popcorn in your mouth. He’s got the bowl in his lap as you two share a blanket, thighs pressed together, and his arm’s strung at the back of the sofa. Admittedly, you’re sharing a moment that is way too intimate for roommates, but neither of you point it out.

The movie is terrifying. Somehow, everything looks real, and the plot is so captivating you genuinely feel like you’re a character being chased by the slasher. It sets an odd feeling of dread in your stomach. 

Throwing a popcorn in the air, he catches it perfectly and grins at you, expecting praise. You roll your eyes and bury yourself deeper under the blanket. Not even he can distract you from the allure of the horror movie. 

Eventually, the movie ends, and your hands are still shaking. Beside you, Satoru yawns with a stretch, shirt riding up to reveal his hard abs. You poke it. He writhes. 

“Hey! Keep your hands off the merchandise.”

Giggling, you mess up his hair and bid him goodnight. He grumbles complaints but otherwise returns to his room too, a soft smile of his lips as he waves dramatically.

There are lots of shadows in your room. You never noticed it before; it’s all you can see now. Your eyes dart from surface to surface, frantically as if monsters would genuinely pop out. It’s ridiculous. You’re a grown adult. 

Grabbing your phone, you text your roommate. You ask if you can sleep in his room tonight. Through the wall you hear a muffled yell. Something that sounds oddly like, ‘hell yeah’.

Half expecting a flirty message, you’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t tease you too much and says yes. 

You don’t waste any time. 

Rushing to his room, you don’t need to knock because somehow, he senses you and opens the door, a goofy smile on his lips. 

“I’ve been waiting for my moment to shine,” he admits. “I knew you’d crawl into my bed sooner than later.”

You shove at his chest and roll your eyes at his exaggerated moan of pain. Climbing into bed, you make yourself comfortable, plumping up a pillow. He follows right behind you, jumping on the bed and laughing as you both bounce. 

“Don’t be such a child, Satoru.”

He makes a noise of indignation. “Says the scaredy cat next to me?”

The light’s off and your eyes have adjusted. And despite his presence, you don’t feel safe enough to sleep. There are still shadows and faint noises. You’re painfully aware of every creak, every gust of wind, and every thrum of car engines in the street. 

“Still can’t sleep, roomie?” Satoru whispers. He’s a lot closer than you realise but his warm breath does ease your anxiety a little. 

Shuffling, you turn to face him. “Don’t mention this in the morning.”

Without waiting for a response, you throw an arm and a leg over him, resting your head on his chest. He lays deathly still, tense for a second but then relaxes and wraps an arm around you too. 

“I totally will, y’know that, right?”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

He lands a wet kiss atop your head and rubs your back, cooing like a mother. With a feminine voice, his final words are, “Sleep well, my little angelkins.”

How your eyes haven’t gotten permanently stuck in a rolling position you don’t know. 

Geto:

Nodding his head, he studies the screen with mild interest. He isn’t really a movie person, but he never passes up these nights with you. Having seen stellar reviews of this new horror movie, you were excited to watch it with Suguru, hoping to see him be startled for once. 

He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even wince. 

Unlike you. 

Not much of a talker, he doesn’t reply to your frantic complaints about how the characters need to stop saying ‘let’s split up’. Legs crossed, he drums a finger against his lips, watching you more than the screen, though you don’t notice. 

He can see the way you’re trembling, so very sensitive to every noise and movement. He’s finding this so terribly amusing, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. 

Once the movie ends, you part ways — Suguru with his hands in his hoodie pockets, humming, and you with your eyes flitting to the doors and windows. 

“Goodnight, pretty,” he says.

You mutter it back. 

As soon as you lock your door, you rush to the window of your room, pulling at it to ensure it’s securely locked. Satisfied, you sit on your bed eyeing the damn thing. What if you loosened it?

You check again, pulling harder and longer this time. It rattles loudly. Your phone pings.

Suguru’s asking what all the noise is. You explain and his replies only set you even more on edge. He reminds you to check under your bed and when you glance down at it you see only darkness in the gap. A gap big enough for a man to hide under.

Just as soon as he gives you the go-ahead, you run to his room, pushing the door open and jumping into bed, knees knocking into his back. He groans and you pat him apologetically. 

“You’re really scared, aren’t you,” he marvels. He’s still wearing his hoodie; it is cold tonight. You clutch it and hold him tightly. His comforting smell eases your nerves, and you let go of the tension in your shoulders just a little. “Don’t worry, pretty. I got you.”

“Thanks, Suguru,” you mumble, eyes flickering shut. 

He sighs, arm winding around his front to hold your hand which rests on his side. “What are friends for?”

Fast asleep already, you don’t hear the bitter tone of his words.

Choso:

Your friend had recommended a movie they said kept them up all night. Thinking you wouldn’t be bothered, you set it up for movie night with Choso. Even if it doesn’t scare you, it will scare him. And that’s even better. 

Very quickly, not even five minutes in, he’s clinging to your side. One hand holds yours, squeezing at every jumpscare whilst the other rests on your bare knee. You’re only wearing shorts, and you knew your roommate would jump at the chance to cop a feel. Well, you don’t mind. 

His fingers press into the fat of your thigh, but he’s not even looking at you. Choso’s genuinely captivated by the movie, gasping and grimacing like he’s a director’s dream audience. Those fingers dance and drum and rise on your leg. You smack it every time he goes too high. 

He pouts when you do.

When the movie finishes, you ruffle his hair. It’s still wet from his shower, and he hadn’t tied it up into his typical pigtails. Looking up at you, he gives you puppy eyes and before he can ask, you give him a playful ‘sweet dreams, Choso’ before you disappear into your room. 

Just as the door clicks shut, he texts you. 

He’s practically begging for you to grant him mercy, to come and sleep in his bed. Sighing, you agree, knowing full well his hands will wander. But fine. It’s not like you hate it. 

Walking into his room, you sigh when you see he’s got a lamp on and his duvet is halfway down his body, purposefully, you’re willing to bet, if the fact that he had stripped himself of his shirt is anything to go by. 

“Choso, tell me you didn’t take off your shirt because I was coming.” You sigh, exasperated. 

Lying there with an innocent smile, he blinks up at you. “I wouldn’t.”

Oh, but he totally would, the mischievous little thing. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you climb into bed with him regardless, falling down with a huff. Just as your head hits the pillows, he’s scooping you up and tangling his limbs with yours. Ignoring your groans, he lays his head on your chest, nuzzling there with a contented hum. 

“Goodnight!”

“Don’t ‘goodnight’ me, Choso. Get off,” you demand. 

His reply?

To hold you tighter. 

You can’t fight back so you let him have this victory. Just this once. Even when a hand creeps under your shirt to rest on your ribcage, you don’t say a word. He’s such a pain in the ass but he’s an adorable pain in the ass. 

However, when his hand dares creep up a little higher, you smack your head against his. “Don’t you dare or else I’m going back to my own room.”

He mumbles into your chest, “Meanie.”

Days later, when you bring up his sensitivity to horror movies to his little brother, Yuji, the boy can only look confused, head tilting at you. 

“But my big bro loves horror movies?”

The bastard got you.

Toji:

You scream for the fifth time.

“Oh my god! Why am I seeing his literal intestines?”

Your roommate snorts. “You’ll scream at the drop of a fucking pin.”

He had chosen the vilest snuff film to ever exist on the planet. That’s probably not even an exaggeration. Every scene is full of blood and guts and dead bodies. You feel like you’re going to throw up. He, on the other hand, is laughing like he’s watching a comedy instead. 

“Stop glaring at me. Y’r missing the best bits,” he says. The ‘best bits’ in question is someone getting their head chopped off. Fed up, you excuse yourself. “Oh, come on. ’s not that bad.”

You flip him off. 

Hours later, you know he’s in bed. You are too. But you aren’t anywhere near sleepy. In fact, you’re wide awake. 

You can’t get the sight of pools of blood out of your mind. It’s all you can see. That and brain chunks. You’re definitely going to throw up. Shoving the covers off you text him a complaint. His replies only piss you off further. 

Tomorrow you’re going to hide his car keys. 

Somewhere in the apartment, you hear a clatter. You’re sure of it. There was absolutely a noise. Jolting upright, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without waiting for another sign, you make a run for it, bolting to his room. 

After knocking a couple times, he opens the door with a deadpan look. It screams, ‘are you fucking serious?’

And you are. You absolutely are serious. Seeing that pathetic look on your face, he rolls his eyes with a groan lets you in. 

“How old are ya again?”

Shaking, you swear, “I heard a noise. Like an actual noise.”

“So? If there was a killer, ya totally should do the right thing and sacrifice yourself. For the betterment of me, of course.”

You shove at him. “You’re such a prick.”

He rakes a hand through his hair and it’s only now that you realise, he’s just in boxers. His shoulders are broad, abs and arms flexing with the movement and you feel your mouth water at the trail of hair that disappears into his underwear. You’re practically drooling at the sight of his thick thighs, bare and so muscular. 

“Stop eye-fucking me and get to sleep, brat.”

You stop staring. 

Lying side by side, you look up at the ceiling, hands drumming on your stomach. It’s hard to ignore the warmth he’s emanating and the way his masculine scent is filling your nose. 

“Be honest, Fushiguro.” At the sound of your voice, he groans. “You chose that movie to fuck with me, didn’t you?”

“Go to fucking sleep or I’m kicking your dumb ass out.”

You prod his bicep, mostly for your own benefit. “Just tell me the truth. I won’t get mad.”

Swatting your hand away, he growls, “No, I fucking didn’t. Happy now?”

You nod and let out a breath, sinking into the mattress and feeling ready to accept sleep. That is, until he opens his big fat mouth and you’re getting riled up all over again. 

“I totally did, actually.”

“I knew it!”

Nanami:

This was your own fault. 

You chose a stupid horror movie just because it was trending. Now, you’re practically on Kento’s lap, burying your face into his neck at even the mildest of scenes. He doesn’t complain. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer another film? It’s not too late to change,” he kindly offers.

Stubbornly, you shake your head. “No. Let’s finish this.”

Pushing his glasses up, he doesn’t fight you. He himself isn’t a fan of horror movies but he isn’t particularly vulnerable to jumpscares. Kento has always been a rational man, after all. He knows the blood is fake, he can tell when a shot is setting up for a plot twist, and he can already tell who will survive in the end. 

Which is why he makes the perfect movie buddy — he grounds you. His firm hand rubs soothingly on your back, muttering against your head when the scary scenes are done, and he even warns you when he senses another one building. 

He’s always so sweet and so supportive, you never dispute it when your friends joke that he’s practically your boyfriend. And sure, you would absolutely love it if he was, but maybe every kind act is just a reflection of who he is, rather than how he feels about you.

The movie ends and you’re left reeling.

“I can’t believe they killed everyone but just that one girl. She did nothing the entire time!”

Kento chuckles, folding up the blanket. “I believe she is, what they call, ‘the final girl’. So, I suppose she’s already served her purpose by existing.”

You offer to tidy up too, but he shoos you away, reminding you that it’s already late and you have lots to do the next day. With an appreciative smile, you give him a goodnight hug like you do every night and return to your room. 

You don’t stay there for long. 

Unable to stop ruminating on it, you text Kento to ask if the front door’s locked. He says it is. It’s his routine to double check and he does it without failure every night, but you just can’t help but worry it isn’t. Eventually, the fear that it might not be locked, or that it somehow became unlocked, won over you. 

There’s no way you’re going to check yourself. You ask Kento if you can sleep in his room and of course he doesn’t say no. 

His bedside lamp is on, and he’s sat up, reading a book. He gives you a warm smile and pats the bed. You’re a little disappointed he’s fully clothed but you keep that to yourself. 

Once beside him, you lie there, staring up at his face. He isn’t the least bit bothered by the terrifying movie; none would be able to tell he even watched one. Nanami Kento is a rock. Solid and unyielding. 

“Just let me finish this chapter and I’ll turn the light off,” he says. 

You shake your head. “It’s okay. Read as long as you want. Actually, do you mind reading to me? Your voice is so soothing, and I don’t think I can fall asleep otherwise.”

Gentle eyes fall on you and when something soft passes through his eyes, he smiles faintly, the golden flow of his lamp bringing out his youth. And he begins reading out every word on his page, low voice filling the room. 

You can’t recall if you fell asleep three pages later or two whole chapters later, but you do, movie long forgotten. 

Sukuna:

You’re onto him. 

The devil incarnate picked a stupidly gory horror movie. It’s so ridiculous, in fact, you almost mistook it for satire. But it isn’t. He’s trying to make you crack, to watch you squirm because apparently, he has nothing better to do. 

When the seventh jumpscare comes and you don’t flinch, he scoffs. “You watched this shit before?”

“No,” you say.

With thirty minutes still left, he turns the TV off and grumbles as he disappears into his room, the door slamming particularly loud. You sigh. He is so predictable. Truth is, the movie did scare you a little, but not enough to lose this little game you’ve been playing with him. 

At a leisurely pace, you go over your routine, humming a tune as he texts you. The man is always so angry. He really should get laid or something. Better yet, he should actually murder someone like his nature dictates. Maybe then he’ll get off your ass. 

When he threateningly texts that he’s coming to you, you can only pinch your nose bridge and open the door before he kicks it down. What you see on the other side only gives you a bigger headache — he’s only in boxers, muscular body on show, his tattoos highlighting every ridge. 

He pushes past you and gets himself settled into bed, shoving your plushie off the bed and it rolls by your feet. You pick it up and dust it off, placing it your desk chair instead, knowing he’ll just kick it off, or worse, if you place it back on the bed. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he orders, one arm bent behind his head and the other lying straight across your pillow. 

You roll your eyes and climb in despite his stupid attitude. Trying to move his arm, you fail spectacularly; it doesn’t even move an inch. The thing is heavy as hell and his smug ass face knows it. He grunts though when your head falls onto it with more force than necessary. 

You turn your bedside lamp off. 

Encased in darkness, you can only do your best to ignore his presence, with very little success. He’s more on your side than his and he radiates heat like a furnace. The feeling of his hard body against your sides is doing nothing but distract you from seeking sleep. 

You really shouldn’t let him get away with his shit. 

“You call me the pyscho but you didn’t even blink at all that fucking bullshit,” he snarls, breaking the dull silence.

“It really wasn’t that scary, Sukuna.”

That arm you’re resting on curls, wrapping around your head until you’re being held against his chest in a headlock. He whispers against your ear, squeezing threateningly and growling, “You aren’t scared of me?”

You know you should be. He’s proven time and time again there are no lengths he wouldn’t go to prove a point. You’ve seen firsthand the destruction he can cause, the pain he can inflict, and his devil may care attitude. 

He’s a loose cannon. 

“Just go to sleep, weirdo,” you reply, smacking his forearm. 

Sukuna laughs. He actually laughs. You feel it rumble under your head, vibrations reaching your own chest and your eyes flutter shut. 

“You’re lucky you’re fucking adorable, you little brat.”

His threats always fall on deaf ears with you; they no longer hold any weight. Not since you’ve seen all the ways he’d go above and beyond for you. In his own freaky way, he’s shown he cares many times. You can’t possibly be scared of someone who feels as soft as he does.

You fall asleep in his arms, a ghost of something soft grazing your cheek.

[softtdaisy]

a better father / Aaron Hotchner

summary. All Hotch wanted was to get a second chance to be a better dad. And now that you were offering him this chance, he fears he might have failed already.

words count. 2,465

a/n.  I got this idea with the episode from season two when Haley comes and she tells Hotch that he forgot about an appointment for Jack and I was like omg I need to do something with that so here's sad Aaron again

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

Being an FBI agent and a dad was sometimes hard to combine. Hotch knew something about that. 

He had a lot of regrets about Jack. Not being there much when he was a baby, not seeing his first steps, hearing his first word, and missing so many memories that were nicely caught on camera by Haley. Things he could never make up for.

And no matter how often Jack could tell him that he didn’t hold any grudge against his dad, Hotch still felt bad most of the time. Wishing he could get a second chance to be a better dad. 

At some point, he accepted that it would never happen. He was getting older, and the morality wanted him to date women close to his age. Which wasn’t a bad thing at all. He had wonderful dates with them. But none of them wanted to have a child. Some already had one, some never wanted to get pregnant, and some simply couldn’t. And of course it was never a cause of a breakup—or stop seeing them, because Hotch didn’t date most of them. Hotch simply accepted he won’t be a dad again. 

Then he met you.

You were an old friend of JJ's that he met at her birthday. Your work made you travel around the world for many years, which explained your absence during the past parties and you being unknown to most of the team. But you were back in town, ready to meet new people and start a new life.

Hotch never believed in fate.

But he was sure he was destined to meet you.

You were so full of life, acting like a ray of sunshine in every room you were in. And not that he considered himself dark, but he had to admit that his life and job had quite an impact on how he perceived himself. As someone who wasn’t very funny or joyful to be around. Not a very good dad or a nice partner. And sometimes, not even a great boss.

His life was pretty much in black and white. And when you came around, you brought colors with you.

It started that very first night, when you spent almost an hour sitting outside with Aaron. Drinking and watching the stars.

“Shouldn’t you be with JJ?” He asked after you finished a conversation about your favorite countries to visit and the one you recommended for someone like him.

“Don’t know,” you replied, shrugging. “I like being with you.”

Aaron could blame the alcohol for the redness on his cheeks, but you both knew it was insecurity and flattering. It’s been a long time since someone pointed out how they liked spending time with him. He felt…alive, knowing that you wanted to be around him.

And you weren’t lying for a single second. “You’re an interesting man, Aaron Hotchner. You need to let people see that.” you added, giving him a little shoulder bump. You kept your shoulder against his for a second. You loved the little smile your words created and the sparks that appeared in his eyes.

You felt lucky that you were one of the few people he offered a glimpse of the real him.

It started with coffee dates once a week. Before he went to work, and while you were still discovering your new life back in town, you met at the same coffee shop for an hour. You talked about everything, more life than work. You wanted to see Aaron, and not Hotch, the man JJ told you about. 

Even if she gave you such a good description of him that you were already willing to give him your heart without any hesitation.

You loved discovering new things about him every week. 

Each smile was breaking the wall around him.

Each time he put his hand on yours was him installing himself in your life.

And each kiss was you giving your heart to each other. 

These coffee dates were still a thing.

They just happened every day, at the place you were now sharing together.

And not only did you give him a lot of things already, you offered him the chance he thought wouldn’t come again, which he sadly accepted. 

To be a dad again.

You were four months pregnant, and it wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. Either the stress that comes from work or the fact Aaron still felt like he was too old for this, for you. But he was trying his best to make things as perfect as they could be. He was leaving the BAU earlier than before, and every day off was for Jack and for you. 

And every night, he made sure to have at least half an hour with you in the baby’s room to talk about the future.

But sometimes, dealing with both situations can be difficult. And today was another proof.

What was supposed to be a calm office day turned out to be more rough and animated. A new case came in the morning and turned out to be in town. 

Hotch was part of the team that went out to catch the unsub. He was going less on the field these days. There was a selfish reason behind that: he didn’t want to stress you or miss anything important with the baby. But the case being in Virginia, he took the opportunity to follow Spencer and Emily outside while JJ stayed with Penelope, like the good old days.

“God, I wish every case were as simple as this one.” Emily said when they came back to the car, the unsub was with the police officers. And Hotch had to admit it was pretty easy this time. He couldn’t wait to tell you about this one, how good it felt to be back there.

He could already hear you say something like, “We’ll tell our baby how their dad is a superhero,” which reminded him of when Jack used to see him like that. He hoped your baby would feel the same about him.

What if they hated him? What if they blame him for being away, for not doing enough? What if someone terrible happened to them because of his job?

Most of the time, Hotch managed to put these bad ideas away. And when he couldn’t, he found comfort in your arms. That’s what he needed right now.

He only had one thing to do: check on JJ and Penelope once he was back at the office to conclude his report and make sure everybody could go back home soon. Him included.

When Hotch entered Penelope’s office, he was welcomed by her confused and surprised face. “Sir? What are you doing here?” she asked. She got up and took a few steps towards him to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” he asked, even more confused than her. 

And the confusion just kept growing when he looked around and noticed Penelope was alone. “Where is JJ?” 

“Hmm, at the hospital?” From her tone, Hotch could tell that Penelope assumed he was supposed to know about her absence and the reason behind it. “[Y/N] called her?” This wasn’t a real question, because Penelope was there when you called. She heard you. But she couldn’t understand why she would know about that before Hotch.

And he couldn’t believe what he just heard. Sure, it made sense that you would call JJ if you needed help. She was one of your emergency contacts. But why wouldn’t you call him? 

Looking for his phone to check on you, Hotch realized his mistake.

He forgot his phone at his office. And spend the whole day assuming you were fine.

Before Penelope could explain the situation, or maybe she did, but he didn’t listen, Hotch ran to his office. He probably jostled some people in the rush, and there was a high possibility that he forgot to apologize. But it wasn’t his priority. Especially not when he grabbed his phone and saw the notification.

Six missing calls.

Around ten texts.

All from you.

You’ve got awful cramps when you wake up, and nothing would make them go away. You spent most of your day in bed, crying—which you didn’t tell Aaron, but he could hear the tears in your voice in one of your voicemails. You were asking him to come and bring you to the hospital to make sure the baby was doing fine.

But he never answered.

“I called JJ; she’s coming. Please don’t worry and text me when you see this. I love you,” said the last one.

When he dialed your phone, Hotch met your answering machine. 

He kept trying during the drive to the hospital. But all he could hear was your joyful voice asking to leave a message and that you would call back later. 

Never has Aaron needed to hear your voice so badly as right now.

The hospital wasn’t too far away from the bureau. Which didn’t prevent him from driving way above the limits. Not that he cared this time. 

Even if Aaron had prepared his speech in the car to appear calm, he lost his words right when he made his first step in the hospital. Being there was scary. Hopefully, when he arrived, the first person he saw was JJ. He rushed to her, almost scaring her from the way he grabbed her arm.

“Where is she? How is she? And the baby?” 

“Slow down, breathe for a second,” she replied, putting a hand on top of his to try and reassure him. “She is fine. And the baby too.”

The seven words that he needed to hear the most.

“I was supposed to bring her home, but she’ll be happy to have you.” JJ added with a sweet smile. If someone could understand Aaron’s position here, it was her.

Once she indicated to him the room you were staying in and he introduced himself to the nurse, Aaron rushed to meet you.

He was relieved to see you, for real. Sitting on the bed with your eyes closed. He took a second to look at you. Aaron hated that feeling in his stomach. He didn’t realize that until now, there was a quiet thought in his head saying that maybe he wouldn’t see you again. 

But you were there, looking better than he imagined you would. 

And when you opened your eyes and saw the man you love in front of you, you lit up the whole room with your eyes. “Aaron, you’re here!”

“Of course, I am,” he sighed, with a tired smile. He finally walked up to you and accepted the arms you were opening for him. It’s been a long time since a hug had felt this good for him. He let it go for a few seconds, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of having you close to him like that. He imagined you were home, in your bed, on a Sunday morning. Not at the hospital. 

Then everything hit him back. You, being sick and pregnant. Him, not being here for you.

Aaron kissed your forehead before cupping your face with his hands. “What happened?”

“The doctor said it wasn’t serious. Sometimes you get cramped and sick during the second semester. Basically, the baby is telling me to relax and stop overworking.” You replied with a soft laugh that wasn’t effective enough to stop him from frowning. “Love, we are both fine.”

“But I wasn’t there.” 

It hurt you how his voice sounded so sad. 

You heard Aaron speaking when he was physically hurt. And you already hated the way he would contain the pain by gritting his teeth, making his voice sound deeper and heavier. You always thought he was blaming himself for not being careful enough, which explained the tone.

But this time it was different. Aaron sounded like he hated himself for what he thought was a disappointment for you. But for him, mostly. His voice was broken, almost unintelligible. Like he didn’t want to be heard. And deep down, even if it was a part of his life you’d barely ever talked about, you knew where this was coming from.

"Aaron," you said softly, asking him to focus on you and not his pain. "I'm good. We're good.”

When he finally looked up to you, you met his red eyes. “These moments, they’ll happen again, you know.” 

He let out a sad sigh. “That’s not what I want.”

“I know, but you can’t blame yourself for that. This is your job. And we all accept it,” you said. You took one of his hands to put on your rounded belly. “She does too.”

Aaron opened his mouth to reply and argue on how this wasn’t the family dynamic he wanted for his second child. Not again. 

But no sound left his mouth. Which made you smile. This was exactly the reaction you expected from your so serious and composed boyfriend.

“She?” he finally replied, this time the glow in his eyes being replaced by happiness and surprise.

“The doctor did an ultrasound to make sure everything was alright. And this little princess inside finally decided to stop the mystery around herself.” You explained, but it would be a miracle if Aaron even heard you. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction: his mouth open, his eyes going from yours to your belly like he was trying to comprehend what you said. “We’re having a baby girl, Aaron.” This time, you couldn’t contain your own tears.

This was all Aaron needed to put all his stress behind. He couldn’t think about his job and everything that came with it when now he knew that in a few months, he would hold in his arms the miracle he couldn’t wish for anymore. A daughter that will be the result of the love he had for you. A daughter that he will love as much as he loves you. As much as he loves Jack.

Even if he still couldn’t speak, you could tell he was as excited as you by the situation. But there was still one thing that was waiting to be clarified.

“And wanna know the best part?” you asked, slowly caressing your cheek. “She’ll be the biggest daddy’s girl and will always love you. When you’re home, at work, or away. You’ll hold a special place in her heart, forever, Aaron Hotchner.” 

Being an FBI agent and a dad was sometimes hard to combine. But Aaron knew that he was fighting alone to find the perfect balance between both. 

He had you. And a perfect family to make sure he was a great man and a great father.

[webanglikethat]

Inho and Gihun have consumed my brain: a rant.

their dynamic is absolutely insane, like watching two halves of a broken mirror slowly shift toward each other, each reflecting something so raw, so !! unbearably !!! human !!!

they are opposites in the most obvious way: one, a cold-blooded killer who thrives on power, privilege, and pain (though they both come from a similar background); the other, a man haunted by his own humanity, stubbornly holding on to the last shred of his moral compass, believing in a better life, a greater future.

but it’s the tension between them that burns — the way they orbit each other, drawn together by something darker than either of them is willing to admit. and it drives me insane, insane I tell you.

Inho studies Gihun like a predator; he is disguised as an ally, draped in the mask of sympathy and empathy, but every moment spent with him … it’s like watching a snake move through tall grass, its every flicker of movement calculated, controlled and designed to ensnare, trap, conquer, destroy. he watches his every more, everything he does and he doesn’t do. it’s a real time dissection !! he watches Gihun's cracks, his weaknesses, his flickers of anger and despair. every subtle movement doesn’t escape him.

he needs to see that part of him, the part that’s been broken, the part that still hurts. and in a way, he’s intoxicated by it. it’s like he wants to drink from those wounds, to feel the sharp, stinging taste of anguish on his tongue, to experience that pulse of pain, just so he can savor it, dissect it, and make it his own.

he watches Gihun not because he’s merely intrigued, but because in his suffering, in his brokenness, there is beauty. a beauty that can only be savored when torn apart, shredded, dissected, bruised. and the more he watches, the more he feeds on that agony, the deeper he falls into the nightmare of this endless fucking twisted game.

Inho is too far gone. he’s lived through the games, seen how the system works, and he’s embraced it without shame. to him, the so called “blood money” he earned is a truth. he doesn’t hide from it. he doesn’t pretend it’s anything else. he has seen too many bodies pile up to think there’s any other way. Inho believes the only way forward is through destruction. he’s accepted the curse of the games. hell, he’s fucking embraced it ! the lives lost are nothing more than fuel for his ascent to power. people are pawns, and pawns don’t matter. it’s all part of the game.

Gihun, though… he’s not like Inho. he too has been brutalized by the games, crushed under the weight of the world’s cruelty, watching as the lives of those he loved dimmed. BUT! even so !! there’s this flicker of light in him — a really fucking stubborn and desperate hope to protect those who still live, to undo the wrongs. for all the pain he’s endured, he hasn’t completely surrendered to the darkness. he’s been pushed, stretched to the breaking point by the horrors he’s witnessed, by the blood shed that he can never wash away and still lingers even in his dreams … but there’s this part of him that still fights to hold on to the fragments of the man he used to be. he’s so stubbornly human.

and yet, it’s not the break that Inho is after imo — it’s the collapse. he doesn’t just want to see Gihun’s humanity crack; he wants to see him fold. he wants to make him question everything, even his need to protect others, even the value of his own moral code. to descend into madness, forsaking logic.

you can see him being fascinated when Gihun agrees to sacrifice people for the greater good. I swear, you can see Inho alive in that moment. I can’t explain it other than he’s feeding on him. he’s watching this man, so different from him, with scars that shine the same way, who once held onto some semblance of hope, succumb to the same darkness that devoured him.

he wants to see the man who refused to let the games destroy him finally fall into the same dark logic that built those games in the first place.

but here’s the thing — Gihun’s resistance, his refusal to just surrender to Inho's desires, drives him insane. Inho, for all his power, for all his twisted thrill at orchestrating this, isn’t immune to that same hunger. he sees Gihun as both a reflection and a challenge. it torments him. he wants to unravel him from the inside. the more he watches, the more he understands just how much it is tearing at him, how much he wants it.

there is a tenderness to it, a chilling, perverse tenderness, where one offers the illusion of safety while the other inches closer to the slaughter.

what drives me insane is that Gihun doesn’t know. he doesn’t know that the man he’s grown to trust, the one who’s quietly listened to his every confession, who has offered him that flicker of human connection in the desolate wasteland of the games, is the very demon he’s been chasing. the one that has orchestrated every nightmare he’s endured. and every time Gihun speaks of his mission, of his burning desire to kill the one who created this nightmare, to undo the games and get revenge Inho just listens intently, relishing in every moment of vulnerability.  and it’s delicious. Gihun is literally unraveling before him, piece by piece, and Inho hasn’t even revealed the true extent of his power!

the betrayal scene is going to be so good. SO FUCKING GOOD. it’s when Gihun talks about revenge, when he plans to end the game, to kill the person behind it all, that Inho feels that twisted thrill in his chest. because what Gihun doesn’t realize is that all those plans, all those quiet declarations of death, have been heard and they’ve been absorbed, broken down, and processed. Inho already knows what Gihun is capable of, what he’s willing to do, and how far he’s willing to go to get his revenge. it doesn’t matter to Inho. it never has. he’s already five steps ahead. Inho has studied Gihun like a surgeon carving through flesh, patiently unraveling his soul, savoring each fragile thread of hope only to tighten the noose, knowing that the moment Gihun’s trust shatters, so too will his humanity.

-> and like … Gihun’s humanity is his greatest weakness. his desperate hope to protect, to save, to make things right when he couldn’t before (example: in season 1 when a dying man reached for him and he looked away, in season 2 he helped a dying man) that's what Inho sinks his teeth into, because he knows that in this world, hope is the ultimate poison, the biggest gamble. every moment Gihun spends clinging to the idea that he can save anyone, that he can stop the game — that he can stop The Frontman — it draws him closer to the truth that will eventually shatter him.

and imo — Inho watches him with a twisted admiration, because in that desperate struggle, he sees himself or rather, the version of him that could’ve been if he had not embraced the game so fully. and in that, their paths, though seemingly different, are always converging. they are the same in the most brutal way: two sides of a coin, both marked by the same blood, the same violence, the same emptiness, and in the end, they are not so different after all. for all their differences, in the end — they are mirrors.

addition cause I saw this post and omg ?? it’s an intentional, almost possessive move. he’s not just playing along with their conversation; he’s LITERALLYYY replacing Jungbae with himself in Gihun’s mind, stepping into the role of someone who belongs in Gihun’s future.

Inho doesn’t just want power or control over the situation — he wants needs Gihun to need him, to see him as the one who’s always there, the one who understands him, the one who can stand beside him.

and to me, it feels like a possessive kind of longing that goes beyond mere rivalry or control. it’s ugh — just the way they orbit around each other, the way Inho needs Gihun to acknowledge him, to see him as more than just the “other guy that joined my team”.

and as much as Gi-hun is fighting to hold on to his humanity and the relationships that matter to him, Inho is just as desperately fighting to be the one that Gihun turns to in the end. it’s obsessive. it’s possessive. it’s dangerously romantic and I need them to fuck it out.

[f0point5]

i NEED jealous Max. Please 🥺🥺🥺 I love jealous/possessive guys haha the feminism just leaves my body

Me too! GOD. Me, too.

It took me ages to decide how to go about this because I had soooo many ideas but I hope you like it!

✨set during the Miami GP weekend 2022✨

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush

Max glances down at his watch. 17 minutes. 17 minutes you’ve been standing in the gallery area of the garage, fanning yourself with a magazine - with Max’s face on the front of it, no less - in the Miami heat, talking to some freakishly tall guy in a Louis Vuitton denim jacket and aviator sunglasses. He’s so painfully American that Max wonders what you even have to talk about for…eighteen minutes.

You tighten your high ponytail while Paul Bunyon talks, his mouth wide with every word. Max studies your face for any sign that you’re bored. He’s bored of watching this, but he knows from experience that not looking isn’t a real option. You haven’t looked over at him once in those eighteen minutes, in fact you haven’t even been distracted by the mechanics moving around or the noise of drilling and clattering tools.

This guy must be really fucking interesting.

You smile at something Captain America says and Max feels his jaw clenched so hard he thinks a tooth is going to crack.

It’s like he’s thirteen again, watching you stand in the middle of the makeshift paddock at the karting track, swarmed by every one of his competitors, their parents packing up their stuff as they vie for your attention. He was the only one who stayed away, following his dad’s instructions on how to properly dismantle and store things while sneaking glimpses at the show you were running. He would win every race and still go home feeling like a loser.

It’s different now, of course. He doesn’t take your gregarious nature so personally now, and he can admit he understands what men see in you now, even if he doesn’t feel it. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t trigger something in him to see the way men react to you. It might irritate him less if you enjoyed it, but you’ve long since grown out of that. Now, you expect it so much that you ignore it, and Max has no choice to but to notice it, the same way you’d notice a rusty knife embedded in your side.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” GP says, which snaps Max out of his calculations.

“I’m listening,” Max says, fiddling with the brim of his cap. “Drive fast, win race, I got it,”

GP frowns at his dismissive tone, and Max makes a point of looking at his water bottle, lest GP realise what actually had his attention. “Max, you need to focus. What are you even-“ It’s the sound of your laugh - high pitched over the deep bass of the music - that makes GP look across the garage. His features twist in disapproval as he turns back to Max. “You’ve got to be kidding me,”

Max looks down at his shoes, moving his foot as he inspects them. “What?”

Above him, GP groans. “I’m not going to say anything about the situation as a whole, because it’s waste of my time. But specifically now, she’s right there, she’s not going anywhere. Can we please just go through this once and then you can carry on staring?”

Max rolls his eyes, steeling his face as a cameraman enters the garage. He’s wearing a Red Bull shirt so Max doesn’t mind too much, but he can’t be captured looking as morose as he feels. The cameraman pans past him and onto you and the guest. Max watches you cringe as the guy throws up some hand sign to the camera, clearly at home with the media attention.

“Who even is that?” Max asks, unable to hide his rancour. He’s probably going to be forced to take a picture with Popeye later.

“I don’t know, some American football player?” GP says with a shrug, giving Max a helpless look. GP couldn’t give less of a shit about the celebrity guests touted around the gargae, and normally Max is his ally. “Are we done?”

Max nods, but not even a second later he’s looking again. It gets worse the more you talk, he can see this guy becoming more enchanted by the second. He wonders what kind of steroids they take in American sports leagues because the meathead is acting like a dog in heat. He leans towards you at an angle that is wholly unnecessary, his eyes fixated on your mouth, nodding too emphatically at everything you say.

“My God, why doesn’t he just lick her face,” Max says incredulously, more to himself than anything.

“Max,” GP sighs.

“Come on,” Max implores with a scoff, stopping himself from outright gesturing in your direction. “Look at him. That’s embarrassing,”

GP fixes Max with a deadpan expression. “Right, but you being sulky and jealous is the height of cool?”

“I’m not jealous.”

And he isn’t. Because Joe DiMaggio over there doesn’t have anything he wants. He’s not going to waste time being jealous of a guy getting half an hour with you when he has cats, and a home, and a life with you.

Finally, you look in his direction, but only because GP calls your name. “Can you come here?”

You give GP a thumbs up and excuse yourself, trotting over to Max without a second thought. Wannabe Tom Brady brazenly enjoys the view, and Max swears he hasn’t been that close to punching someone since Monza last year.

“What’s up?” You ask, slotting yourself between the two men as you lean back against the shelf.

GP hands you his phone. “Beat this Candy Crush level for me, would you? Been stuck for days,”

You look at him skeptically, but years of being filmed up close by cameras on the pit wall have given GP a hell of a poker face; he just stares back at you, and you give up with a huff.

“Men are hopeless,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more,” GP says, his eyes pointedly on Max, who can’t even defend himself.

Desperate to avoid GP’s scrutiny, he glances over at the gallery, only to find the Yank looking at him. Well, not him, you. He’s got that curious expression as he assesses you fiddling with GP’s phone, one that says he’s trying to understand if he has something to be worried about. He doesn’t. You’re not his to worry about.

“Here,” Max says, pulling off his cap. You barely look up at him before he puts his cap firmly on your head, holding it steady with one hand while pulling your ponytail through the hole at the back with the other.

The brim of the hat obscures half your face, and Max turns so that half your body is shielded by his, which he tells himself is in case a camera comes by.

“It’s sunny,” Max shrugs in his own defence, when he notices you looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

You adjust the cap on your head but don’t take it off. “Why don’t you just give me your letterman jacket?”

“My what?”

“Never mind,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him as you pat his chest with an indulgent smile.

He takes the opportunity at the sound of a large wheel gun to glance over at the gallery, only to meet the eyes of the guy you were talking to. Now that you’re no longer next to him, Max does sort of recognise him. He plays for some team named after an animal. Max just looks at him - he’ll do this all day if he has to - until the guy shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls out his phone, starting to tap away. Yeah, go back to Raya.

Good riddance, Max thinks to himself as he turns back to you, only to find that you already looking at him. He wonders for how long.

He can tell by your smirk that he’s been caught. If he’s honest with himself you caught him five years ago, this was just one of the few moments he let you know it. And you know it. How could you not know?

He thinks for a second that you’re going to tease him, but you don’t. You shift on your feet so that some of your weight rests against his arm, and go back to playing on GP’s phone.

“Go on, GP,” he says, fighting a smile at the large number 1 on the brim of what is now your hat.

He knows from the way GP is looking at him that he’ll get an earful about this later, but right now, he just clears his throat.

“Right, so,”

[leclerc-hs]

hard deck - cl16

pairing: pilot!charles leclerc x f!reader summary: in which your best friend's other best friend hates you OR charles is in love with you and he fucking hates that he is. warnings: language, bad writing (honestly, I think I'm in a bad phase rn and everything I write sucks), NOT PROOFREAD, smutttt (short but 18+ pls) word count: ~3.6k author's note: I'm gonna say I genuinely have no idea wtf I just wrote. its kinda shitty and for that I apologize. I'm still trying to get back into the groove of writing again bc it's been SO long. anyways xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“God, do you ever just shut up?” Charles watches you with irritation, his brow furrowed as he takes a long swig of the amber liquid in his class. The tension hangs thick in the air, his frustration palpable.

He swallows hard, the alcohol clearly his refuge at this moment, a desperate attempt to calm the urge to shove you down the nearest flight of stairs. You can see the conflict brewing behind his eyes, a storm of annoyance and something else— perhaps regret?

No way. Charles ‘Perceval’ Leclerc would never regret being mean to you.

You send him the hardest glare you can muster, swinging your legs to the side of the chair before coming to a stand. “Are you ever not a fucking dick? Seriously how do you have friends?”

“Why? You need tips on how to get some?”

“Perceval!” Carlos gives him a disapproving look, “Cut it out.”

“Me?” His eyes widen in astonishment as he points his fingers to himself in question. “You were thinking it too. You just can’t say it because she’s your childhood friend.”

“Seriously, hermano.” Carlos sighs. “Leave her alone.”

“Don’t sweat it Car,” You mutter, your voice low and casual as you lean against the edge of the table. “I’m moving over there.” You point towards a few of your friends gathered around the dart board.

Carlos’s expression shifts, his eyes widening in that endearing way that always makes you chuckle. “No, stay.” He pleads, giving you the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, complete with a slight pout that would make anyone’s heart melt. “Charles will stop. Right?”

With a playful swing of his arm, he hits Charles in the ribs, the impact harder than necessary. Charles winces dramatically, clutching his side as he shoots Carlos a mock glare, his lips curling into a frown.

“Whatever.”

You make a stupid face of mockery, scrunching your features and sticking out your tongue in the most absurd way possible. Childish? Sure. But damn, it felt good.

Carlos bursts into laughter, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he nearly doubles over. “What even was that? A dying fish?” He jokes, wiping a tear from his eye.

Charles just rolls his eyes, “Seriously? I’m losing brain cells just being around you, Bug.” He retorts, but theres no real annoyance in his voice— just teasing.

Bug. That forsaken nickname he gave you seemed to stick. Even went so far to be your call sign. Probably called you it because he associated you as a pest. But he really meant it as an endearing way. Not that he would ever admit it.

-

You and Charles stand in front of a model fighter jet, the sleek design gleaming under the bright lights, its metallic surface reflecting the excitement in the room. The imposing aircraft, with its sharp lines and polished finish, feels almost alive, and the air is thick with the thrill of aviation.

“Seriously? You think you could handle flying that thing?” you tease, crossing your arms and leaning against the display. Your smirk is playful, but there’s a challenge in your tone.

“Absolutely Bug,” he replies, leaning in slightly, confidence radiating from him. “I’d be soaring through the skies while you’re down here, probably tripping over your own feet.”

“Please,” you scoff, rolling your eyes with a dramatic flair. “You’d probably get lost on the runway, looking for the nearest snack bar instead of focusing on takeoff.”

“Lost? In a fighter jet?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips. “I’d be the one pulling off the real maneuvers while you flounder around in the backseat, screaming like a scared kitten.”

“Real maneuvers?” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Like what? A graceful belly flop?” You lean in closer, narrowing your eyes playfully. “I can just picture it now: Perceval, taking a nosedive to the nearest ice cream stand.”

He leans back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well, at least I’d crash in style. You’d just be a mess, splattered all over the tarmac.”

“Whatever P.”

-

Your voice is the first thing Charles hears, cutting through the fog of sleep. He drags his pillow over his face with a groan, trying to block out the sound, but it only muffles your words.

Do you ever leave Carlos alone?

Charles has successfully avoided you for a whole four days. Probably the longest he’s gone since he met Carlos all those years ago.

The smell of coffee wafted through the air eliciting a groan from him. 

Coffee. Yes.

Charles makes his way to the kitchen, sleep still clinging to his eyes, his hair a wild mess that seems to have taken on a life of its own overnight. The loose grey sweatpants hang loosely off of his hips, giving him that effortlessly disheveled look that somehow works in his favor.

You lean against the counter, a mug of coffee in hand, and can’t help but smirk at the sight. “Wow, you really went all out this morning Sleeping Beauty, didn’t you?” You tease, trying to suppress a laugh.

He squints at you, trying to focus through the remnants of sleep, but it takes him a moment to fully register your presence. You stand there in a large t-shirt that hangs loosely around your frame, the fabric slightly wrinkled, and Charles can’t help but feel a rush of annoyance mixed with something else— something that sets his skin on fire.

The fact that you’re clearly wearing Carlos’ shirt bothers him more than he’d like to admit. “Seriously? Carlos’ shirt?” He finally manages to say, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You glance down at the oversized tee, a playful smile creeping onto your face. “It’s comfortable.”

“Who are you to judge my look, when you’re wearing that.” He defends himself, but can’t help but feel a little flustered. “At least they’re not borrowed from someone else.”

You laugh, and the sound only makes his annoyance deepen. “What? Are you jealous of Carlos’ clothes?”

“Not at all.” He replies, his tone more serious than he intended. “You could just wear something that actually fits you.”

You take a step closer, a playful challenge in your gaze. “And what would you suggest, P?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer you in something that’s not associated with him at all,” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

-

Life was weird.

You and Charles had gone from full-on arguments that filled the air with tension to this strange dance of tip-toeing around one another. It was a shift you hadn’t quite expected. Don’t get it twisted— you still fought. A lot. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t mean; it was almost flirty, charged with a new energy.

“Get that wretched drink away from me.” Charles chirps, wrinkling his nose as you settle into your usual spot at the Hard Deck, the familiar buzz of the bar surrounding you.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There is nothing wretched about a dirty martini. It’s sophisticated.”

“The fact you enjoy olives is nauseating.” He replies, crossing his arms in mock disapproval, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

You take a sip, letting the briny flavor linger on your tongue before responding. “The fact you don’t ever shut up is nauseating.”

He leans in slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t shut up? You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not here to argue tonight.” You say, relaxing into your chair, the low hum of conversation around you a comforting backdrop.

“Oh yeah? Me either,” Charles replies, taking a large gulp of his beer, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Just wondering though. What are you here for?”

You flash him a teasing grin. “To get laid.”

It it weren’t for his widened eyes, Charles gave no emotion away. “Seriously? That’s your game plan for the night?”

“Why not?” You shrug, leaning back with confidence. “All these fighter pilots are an easy lay.”

It was true. You were hot. And that thought alone drove Charles nuts. “And here I thought you were just here for the olives and to annoy me.”

“Those are just the bonus perks,” you quip, glancing around the bar. “Now, I’m gonna go dance and get myself a man.” You slip off your stool with a bright smile, sending a teasing wink in Charles direction. He can’t help but grumble in response.

“If any of those men touch you, I’ll fight them.” Carlos grumbles, bringing the bottled beer to his lips. 

“Oh please.” You wave him off. “Stop acting like I’m some innocent girl Car. You’ve known me too long for that."

-

Charles is pissed.

His jaw was set tight, and each breath seemed measured, like he was holding back a storm. The air around him crackled with tension, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear— whatever had triggered this fury was digging deep.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, P?” Carlos chuckles, cracking a peanut shell onto the wooden bar top before popping it in his mouth.

The air around him felt charged, almost electric, as he pointed a finger toward you. “You just gonna let that guy grope her like that?”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to where you stood, fully engaged in conversation with a pilot named Jake, call sign ‘Hangman’. The way you laughed and leaned in, seemingly at ease, only fueled Charles’s frustration. “She can handle herself, you know that,” Carlos replied, a teasing tone edging into his voice.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean she should.” Charles snapped, his voice low and tight. He leaned forward, the tension in his body palpable as he watched Jake’s hand rest just a little too close for comfort on your waist. “Look how close he is. It’s like he thinks he owns her.”

“You’re ridiculous, P.” Carlos chuckles, shaking his head as he cracks a peanut shell against the wooden bar top. “When are you going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Charles shot back, his gaze still locked on you, oblivious to anything else around him.

“That you like her,” Carlos says, a smirk creeping onto his face as he leans back, arms crossed behind his head.

Charles’s eyes narrowed as he studied you and Jake, the warmth of the bar contrasting sharply with the chill of jealousy creeping in. “Like her?” He echoed, disbelief woven in his tone. “I can barely stand her.” 

But deep down, he felt the truth of it. That he did like you. That he might even love you.

-

“Hangman!” Charles’s voice reverberates through the hangar, its volume cutting through the low hum of conversation and machinery. You wince at the abruptness of it, wondering why on earth he needs to talk to Jake, when he’s clearly talking to you.

Your gaze shifts back to Jake, who is laughing, seemingly unfazed by Charles’s entrance. But it was the way Charles’s rests his hand onto Jake’s shoulder that made you uneasy— too casual, too familiar. A knot formed in your stomach at the sight.

You took a deep breath, deciding to not let your thoughts go south. There’s no way Charles would go as far as sabotaging a potential relationship. Right?

“To what do we owe the displeasure of your annoyance?” You ask, your eyebrows slightly raised in confusion.

Charles shifts his gaze to you, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Yes, fight with me.

“Displeasure?” He shoots back. “You wouldn’t know displeasure if it hit you in the face.”

“What are you five?”

He smirks before shifting his eyes back to Jake, his hand still resting on his shoulder. “I actually need him for something. See ya sweet cheeks.” His tone dripping with mock nonchalance.

You narrow your eyes, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Really? That’s how you’re going to play this?”

-

“You don’t give up, do you?” His voice was low and amused, cutting through your focus on the dart board before you.

You roll your eyes— a reflex you perfected around him— trying to ignore the way Charles’s gaze lingers on you. With a deep breath, you glance over, meeting his warm smile. It’s disarming, that easygoing charm of his, like a breath of fresh air.

His relaxed posture leans casually agains the bar, arms crossed, exuding a effortless confidence that somehow makes you feel at ease. You try to refocus on the dartboard, but it’s hard to concentrate when his eyes are like a magnetic pull, drawing your attention away.

“You know, if you actually focused, you might hit the board this time,” He teases, the playful glint in his eyes making it impossible to stay annoyed.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, before placing all darts down on the table nearby. “Yeah, yeah. Like you’re one to talk about focusing.”

He laughs, and its infectious, a sound that warms the room. “I focus plenty.”

“Yeah,” You agree. “On finding ways to talk dirty.”

The corner of his mouth curls into a confident grin, and his eyes spark with mischief. “It’s a skill. Not everyone can pull off that kind of charm.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference, though your heart flutters a little. “Charm? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his tone low and teasing, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a thrill down your spine. “You know you love it.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“And you love every minute of it,” He counters, leaning slightly closer, the playful challenge in his gaze making it hard to resist the pull between you. The air around you feels charged, a mix of flirtation and genuine connection.

“You know, I fucking hate you.” You say, the words slipping our more forcefully than intended.

Charles chuckles dryly, no humor lacing in his tone. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

“Harsh?” You let out a laugh tinged with bitterness, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “No. Jake won’t even look at me since whatever you said to him.” You cross your arms over your chest.

The air between you thickens, the weight of unspoken tension almost suffocating. Charles shifts slightly, his expression darkening as seriousness settles over him. “Good.”

“I can’t even believe you right now.” Frustration wells up inside as you reach for your bag, the rough fabric grounding you as you stomp toward the exit. Each step feels heavy, fueled by a mix of anger and disbelief. The lively chatter of the bar fades behind you, leaving only the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Charles doesn’t let up, his footsteps echoing behind you, persistent and urgent. “You’re literally such an asshole,” You throw over your shoulder, the words sharp and cutting.

“He doesn’t deserve you!” he shouts, frustration spilling over as he catches up to you, breathless. His hand runs through his hair, a familiar gesture of agitation, and before you can step away, he reaches for your shoulder, gently halting you in your tracks.

“Deserve me?” You repeat his words, incredulity lacing your voice. “What the fuck does that even mean? You hate me, remember?”

Charles looks up at the sky for a brief moment, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion, as if he’s searching for clarity among the stars. “I don’t hate you,” he finally admits, his voice low but intense. “I just… I can’t stand watching him touch you.”

You can feel the tension radiating between you, charged and electric. “But it’s not your call,” you reply, your tone softer but still defensive. 

“You don’t think I know that?” He laughs, but its somewhat sad sounding. “You…you drive me insane.” He says, but its almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“You drive me completely insane actually. Like all I can ever hear is your fuckin’ voice inside of my head. Arguing me over everything. And your stupid fuckin’ jokes too. I can’t even look at olives without seeing your fuckin’ face in them.” He continues on, the words pouring out of him and he can’t stop.

“And I know it sounds crazy because I’ve been such a dick to you. But I didn’t know how to handle these feelings. I mean you’re Carlos’s best friend,” he confesses, his voice trembling slightly, “but I like hearing your voice inside of my head. I like that olives remind me of you. I like you.” His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

They’re so green. A vivid, almost luminescent shade that captures the light and seems to hold an entire universe within them. You realize you’ve never truly noticed how striking they are until this very moment—the way they flicker with emotion, drawing you in and holding you captive.

The green is rich and deep, like a forest canopy dappled with sunlight, alive with the promise of something untamed. You find yourself getting lost in them, feeling the weight of his confession settle around you like a warm embrace. It’s as if all the barriers that had kept you apart are beginning to dissolve, and you can see a vulnerability in him that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you fades away—the sounds of the bustling bar, the cool night air, the lingering frustration—all of it blurs into the background. In the depths of his gaze, you sense a longing, a desire that mirrors your own, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You feel the tension shift, and the space between you feels charged, alive with possibility.

“So hate me all you want, but I couldn’t watch Hangman try to have a meaningless fuck with you.”

“You don’t mean that.” Your voice comes out small and unsure, your throat feeling dryer than before from his confessions.

“Don’t mean what?” He steps closer, eyes never falling from yours, as his calloused finger tips rest along your hips. He almost expects you to flinch and shove him away— hell you think you would too— but you don’t. 

“You think I’d lie about liking you? About wanting you?” His eyes drop to your lips for a mere second before meeting your gaze once more. “It’s not a lie. I’m not that cruel.”

You go to turn from his hold, but his grip on your hips tightens. “Bug, I swear. Why would I embarrass myself like this if it weren’t true?”

The tension is palpable, an electric charge hanging in the air, and your stomach swarms with warmth at his words. “I can’t get your fuckin’ lips out of my mind,” he nearly pleads, his voice thick with desire. “I need to kiss you. Please let me kiss you, yeah?”

You feel your heart race, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as his confession washes over you. The weight of the moment feels like it could burst, and you swear your brain short-circuits, caught between disbelief and overwhelming longing.

Before he can say another word, you rise on your tiptoes, driven by an instinct you can’t ignore. In a swift, bold move, you press your lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, tentative yet charged with all the unspoken words and emotions that have built up between you.

As his lips meld against yours, a rush of warmth surges, igniting a fire that spreads from your lips to the tips of your fingers. The kiss deepens, turning from hesitant to passionate, and Charles groans into your mouth.

Time seems to stretch, the world around you fading into a blur. All that exists is the taste of him, the warmth of his breath, and the intoxicating feeling of connection that envelops you both. 

“Bug,” He pulls you both apart. “We gotta stop or I’m gonna take you right here on the deck of this place.”

You pull back from his embrace, giving him a look as you breath heavily, your lips swollen. “Is it bad to say I like that idea?”

His lets out a long groan and tilts his head back. “I always knew you’d be the death of me.”

“Take me home, P.”

-

“Fuck, baby.” He groans hotly into your ear. “Keep fuckin’ doin that.” His hoarse voice muttered, hands behind his head as he watches you work yourself over his cock.

There’s a sense of desperation on your face, and he can’t help but smirk at the sight of it. 

Your eyes burned with the tears that slid down your cheeks. The feeling of being filled to the brim and fucked the way you needed, was more than enough to elicit tears.

“Fu-uuck.” He groans again, panting out as he drops his hands to hold both your hips. Your hips swivel, a heavy moan escaping your lips as you ground yourself against him in a feverish pace.

“P,” you whine as your mouth falls open into an “O” shape. The air around you is humid and thick as Charles thrusts his hips up into you with ease. “M’so close.”

“Yeah?” His fingers slip to the nape of your neck, squeezing roughly as he pulls your chest down to his. Pumping his cock upwards into you. “C’mon, give it to me.”

You fail to form any words, nothing but grunts and small moans escaping past your lips as Charles fucks himself into you. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. 

“Need it so bad, baby.” He mutters into your ear in between groans. “Need to feel you on me.”

“Mmm, feels so nice.” He urges you on. “You do it so well.”

Charles couldn’t help himself as your wall clamp down him tightly. The pace of his hips, and the force of you driving down onto him, was enough to send you both spiraling over the edge. Crashing.

“You’re so good. Mon dieu.”

“M’gonna go insane baby. Need more.” He groans, flipping you both over before slipping your leg up and fucking into you again. “Y’feel so good. Can’t stop.”

"Never gonna be mean to you again."

"No?"

"No. I promise, Bug."

"Even when I eat olives?"

"Even when you eat olives."

"What about when I argue you on anything."

"Don't care. I only fought with you because it was the only time you gave me actual attention."

Your heart clenches at his words, his hips slowing down as he presses soft kisses to your face.

"What about when-"

"Never again, Bug."

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request headcanons for Remy, Logan, Wade, and Kurt would think about his gender neutral s/o asking him if they can hold his hand or arm if they're scared before watching a scary Halloween movie please?

Headcanons: Remy, Logan, Wade, and Kurt on their Gender-Neutral S/O Asking to Hold Their Hand/Arm Before a Scary Halloween Movie

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Playful Teasing: The second you ask Remy if you can hold his hand or arm, a sly grin spreads across his face. He loves that you're trusting him to comfort you, but he's gotta tease you a little first.

“Oh, chère, scared already? We ain’t even hit play yet,” he’d say with a chuckle, winking at you.

He’d definitely let you hold onto him, though, lacing his fingers with yours without hesitation. He might even wrap an arm around you, pulling you closer for extra security.

Protective Instincts: The idea that you're scared and coming to him for comfort sparks his protective side. He likes being someone you feel safe with.

During the movie, he’d periodically check on you with little side glances, making sure you're doing okay. If he feels you tense up during a particularly scary scene, he’d squeeze your hand reassuringly.

Subtle Bravery Boosts: Remy would quietly hype you up, whispering things like, “Ain’t nothin’ in the movie scarier than me, cher. You’re safe.”

And when you do grip his arm during a jump scare, he’ll smirk and say, “Got ya, didn’t it? Don’t worry, Gambit’s right here.”

Logan (Wolverine)

Soft Under the Rough Exterior: When you ask Logan if you can hold his hand or arm, he’ll grumble something like, “You don’t need to be scared of some movie.” But despite his gruff tone, he’ll offer his hand immediately, maybe even gently wrapping your hand in his big one.

He likes being your safe place, even if he’d never admit it.

Subtle Comfort: Logan’s not one for big shows of affection, but his way of comforting you would be to quietly let you hold onto him however you need.

If you’re holding his arm and you grip it a little tighter when things get intense, he won’t say anything—he might just move his arm closer, making it easier for you to lean on him.

Reassurance Through Actions: When the movie gets particularly scary, Logan might just nonchalantly place a hand on your shoulder or pull you closer without a word. He’s not big on verbal reassurance, but his actions speak volumes.

“Ain’t nothin’ in this movie that could stand up to me, so you’re safe,” he’d mutter at some point, just to remind you that, in real life, he’s scarier than any movie monster.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Dramatic Acceptance: The moment you ask Wade if you can hold his hand or arm, he gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, yes! I thought you’d never ask!” He’s over-the-top with his excitement and will immediately hold out both arms, offering you the choice.

“Do you want this hand or this arm? Maybe both? Do you want to hold my entire body for comfort? I mean, I get it.”

Constant Commentary: While you're watching the movie, Wade will crack jokes about the scary parts to make you feel less afraid. He’ll probably act like he's also scared (even if he's not) just to bond with you over it.

“Oh no, babe! We’re in this together now! We’ll survive the haunted house, or at least... I'll be the bait.”

Affectionate Distraction: Whenever you flinch or squeeze his hand during a jump scare, Wade will use it as an excuse to get extra cuddly. He’d likely say, “See, this is why you date a man who can regenerate. I’ll just grow new limbs if the monsters get me first.”

He’ll hold your hand the whole time, though, genuinely loving that you trust him enough to reach out for comfort.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

Gentle and Reassuring: The moment you ask Kurt if you can hold his hand or arm, he’d smile warmly and take your hand immediately. There’s no teasing or hesitation—he’s more than happy to be your source of comfort.

“Of course, mein Schatz,” he’d say, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. He’s touched that you’d come to him when you're feeling scared.

Comforting Presence: Kurt would naturally move a little closer to you, maybe even drape his tail around your shoulders as a form of comfort. He’s so gentle and understanding that his presence alone would make you feel safer.

Throughout the movie, he’d whisper soft reassurances in German or English, saying things like, “It’s just a movie, love. You’re safe with me.”

Affectionate Gestures: When you grip his hand tightly during the jump scares, he’d blush a little but wouldn’t pull away. He’d lean in slightly, offering you his arm to cling to as well.

“I’m right here, always,” he’d murmur if you got especially tense, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand to soothe you

[nhlclover]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 | 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

summary: luke takes the risk and admits his feelings for you

warnings: a couple instances of cursing, mostly fluff, awkward dialogue

word count: 1.40k

“Luke, if you don’t get your ass over there right now, I’m gonna do it for you.”

Luke turned back around in his chair, reluctantly meeting the sets of eyes boring at him. Dawson let out a snort at Luke's sheepish face. “Look at his cheeks, he’s blushing.” Dawson laughed.

Luke rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his glass. His drink, purchased over an hour ago, had now become watered down and lukewarm.

“You’re such a pussy.” Jack taunted, sipping from his bottle.

“Okay, fuck off guys,” Luke muttered.

Luke fought the urge to look back over his shoulder where he knew he’d spot you still, dancing freely with your friends. Your body swaying and twirling along with the beat, hand in hand with your friend.

“Luke, c’mon, she’s been in Jersey for… what, six months now? And you still haven’t made a move.” Nico pointed out.

“She’s… we’re just friends,” Luke said, pulling his eyes onto his glass.

“Oh please, Luke, you’re not fooling anyone with that whole ‘we’re just friends’ bullshit,” Jack said, his tone practically a laugh.

Luke opened his mouth to retaliate but shut it promptly when he realized he had nothing. Luke had spent countless nights replaying your interactions, dissecting every smile, every laugh, every glance. But nothing gave him a clear answer on what your relationship was.

He remembered the first time you met. One of Luke’s first days on campus he’d gone to the rink to film some content for the Michigan Hockey social media. Your eyes caught Luke first, sparkling as you instructed him on the content he needed to film and the various photos to take.

He got to know you over the year, and your relationship developed into something that felt like more than friends, but you never actually crossed that barrier.

You laughed at his jokes, but then again you laughed at everyone's jokes. You smiled wide at him, but you smiled at everyone. The ambiguity drove Luke mad. Sometimes, he thought he caught you looking at him, your gaze lingering a second longer than necessary. But then he’d dismiss it as wishful thinking. Maybe you were just friendly. Maybe you were just nice.

Then, early this summer when you gave the news of your hiring by the Devils to Luke, he felt that maybe he’d get to clarify what you were. But six months of you being in New Jersey had come and gone, and the status of your relationship still hung up in the air.

“Look, Luke, just go talk to her,” Dawson said, his tone softer. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Luke knew the worst. The worst that could happen was you telling him you didn’t see him that way. That you valued your friendship but nothing more. The worst was losing the ease and comfort of your current relationship. The late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the shared secrets.

But the best? The best was you feeling the same way he did. The best was the possibility of something deeper, real and deep. That thought alone made his heart race and his palms sweat.

“Guys I… I don’t know.” Luke admitted, his voice low and barely audible above the music in the bar. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Nico smiled softly, recognizing the nervous demeanour of the younger boy. “Luke, you’ll never know unless you go for it. And if she doesn’t feel the same way, at least you’ll have your answer. You can move on. But if she does… think about it, man. Think about how amazing that could be.”

Luke thought about it. Thought about what could be between the two of you. And right now the best was seeming like it was worth the risk.

Luke took a deep breath, his mind racing. He glanced over at you one last time, seeing the way you laughed and moved so effortlessly. The fear of rejection loomed over him, but something shone through and pushed him forward. He watched as you said something in your friend's ear, before laughing and sauntering over to the bar.

“Alright,” Luke said, standing up and setting his glass down. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Attaboy!” Dawson cheered, while Jack and Nico whooped in encouragement. Luke gave them a look and they quieted their cheering. The last thing Luke wanted was for the boys to freak you out before he even got a chance to speak.

Luke leaned on the bar next to you, flagging down the bartender before you got the chance to. “Hey, man, can I get a Heineken and a Jack and Coke?”

You shot Luke a small, appreciative smile, your heart tensing slightly at him remembering your usual drink order. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” Luke said, glancing over at you with a small smirk tugging on his lips.

Once you got your drinks, Luke fully turned to you, heart pounding. “Having fun out there?” Luke asked, nodding towards the dance floor.

You laughed, a sounds that was melodic in Luke’s ears. “Yeah, you should join us.”

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe later. I'm more of an observer than a dancer.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “Oh really? I seem to remember a certain someone busting some moves at that team party last month.”

Luke felt his cheeks heat up at the memory. “Okay, okay, maybe I dance a little. But only for special occasions.”

“What? Is tonight not special?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink.

He leaned in slightly, eyeing your face for any hint of where you were going with this. “It is now.”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off-guard by his sudden boldness. “Luke Hughes, are you flirting with me?”

Luke grinned, feeling a rush of adrenaline run through his veins. “Maybe. Is it working?”

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin. Despite him trying to keep a calm exterior, you could tell that Lukes mind was running a million miles a minute. “Maybe. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Luke took a deep breath, deciding that it was now or never. He set his bottle down on the bar top, wiping his damp hands hands, either from sweat or the condensation of his bottle, on his shirt. “Okay, here it goes,” Luke said under his breath. “We’ve known each other for a while now, and… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. You’re amazing, and I love spending time with you.”

Your smile widened, but you stayed silent, giving him the space to continue.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I have feelings for you. More than just friends. I’ve been trying to figure out if you feel the same way, but I can’t tell. So, I’m just gonna come out and say it: I like you. A lot.”

Your expression softened, a mixture of surprise and something else that Luke dared to hope was mutual affection. "Luke… I don't know what to say."

“Say you feel the same way,” Luke said, his voice slightly desperate. “Or tell me you don’t, just give me something, anything.”

“Luke,” you began, your voice filled with warmth. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “Yeah. I’ve liked you for a long time too. I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

Relief washed over Luke, and he couldn’t help but grin. “So… does this mean we can give this a shot? Us, I mean.”

You leaned in closer, your eyes locked onto his. “I’d like that.”

Luke felt a wave of joy and excitement as he closed the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. The bar around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. When you pulled back, you were both smiling, as months of pining had finally culminated.

“So… where do we go from here?” Luke asked.

“How about we start with a dance?” you suggested.

Luke laughed, feeling lighter than he had in months. "Alright, let's do it."

He took your hand, leading you to the dance floor, where you both lost yourselves in the music. As the night went on, Luke realized that taking the risk was the best decision he had ever made.

[holylulusworld]

BFG (1)

Summary: He’s new to town and just your type…

Pairing: Reacher x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: size kink, flirty reader, objectification of Reacher, language

BFG masterlist

“Fuck me, that guy could break me into two halves,” you sigh dreamily as the new face in town steps into the diner. “What a man.”

You lick your lips. He’s tall, and you mean tall when you say it. If anyone wants you to guess, you’d say he’s at least 6’5.

“Y/N, what was the price of the peach pie again?” The new waitress asks. She’s pretty and friendly but her memory is not the best.

Maybe she just smokes too much weed. You don’t blame her. This sleepy little town does this to you. If you don’t take drugs or drink, you spend the time dreaming of a different life.

You sigh again, this time out of frustration because you must take your eye off the thick hottie and turn your attention toward Sally Ann, the new waitress.

“It’s…” You tell her the price while dipping your head to glance at the newbie's ass when he passes the counter by. “Damn him, he’s thick too. What do you weigh, baby? Two hundred and fifty pounds?”

“Miss,” Sally Ann almost whimpers when this mountain of a man asks her about the peach pie. She looks a little lost, and you gladly jump in to turn his attention toward you.

“You can come over here,” you tap the counter. “This spot looks like you’ll fit in.” You grin as he chuckles at your bad joke about his size. “The seat is extra-large. One of our regulars needed a little extra space and cushion.”

“I guess he was tall too,” He asks while plopping down on the larger seat. The seat creaks under his weight and you hope he didn’t break it. Even though, you wouldn’t mind if he tries to break you.

“In size, not height,” you shrug. “That’s what I heard. This was before my time, and he died some years ago. This means, the seat is all yours now, sweetie.”

“Sweetie,” his laughter is deep and rich as he tries to not blush at your flirty banter. “No one ever called me sweet.”

“What a shame,” you pat his hand. Fuck. It looks like his hand is as big as one of your plates. “So, tell me,” you lean closer to whisper, “are you a BFG or are you a bad guy.”

“BFG?” He cocks his head. “Oh…” He chuckles again. “I’m friendly, don’t worry. I only get mad if you want to…”

“Fuck with you?” You cockily reply and mirror his smirk. “Hmm…I don’t think you could handle me, sweetie. I’m too much of a woman for most of the guys in town.”

His eyes scan your body at your words. He hums and drops his eyes to your ass. “I can handle any situation.” His face remains stoic, but his eyes give his dirty thoughts away. “Can I have a slice of the peach pie, ma’am?”

“Only if you never call me ma’am again,” you point a manicured finger at the giant. “People called my granny ma’am.”

“You don’t look like a granny to me,” he waves his huge hand to brush your concern off. “More like you are stranded in a place you don’t belong.” Ah, he tries to analyze you while checking your ass and tits out. “You’re not here for long.”

“Just like you,” you wink at him. “I’ll get you your pie now, and you better eat it up. It’s the best in town.”

“I bet he can break a bone only by grabbing you too hard,” Sally Ann watches the newbie eat his pie. “I wouldn’t want him to touch me. He looks like a brute.”

“No, sweetie,” you let your eyes wander from his broad shoulders, down to his wide back and further to his perfect ass, “he’s the kind of guy knowing how to handle a woman. I don’t think he underestimates his strength. The only problem is, he’s too big for my bed.”

“What?” Sally Ann squeaks. “Don’t tell me you want to take him home.”

“I’d take him anywhere he wants to go,” you nonchalantly admit. “It’s been ages since a real man tried to put his hands on me. This man over there has hands as big as our plates. He knows how to touch a woman.”

You bite your lower lip when he dips his head to look at you. He smirks and lifts the now empty plate. “Can I have another one?”

God, how you love a man who can eat. “Sure, sweetie,” you make your way toward him, swaying your hips on purpose. He glances at Sally Ann who looks a little scared. “How do you like your pie? Do you want some whipped cream too?”

He shrugs. “I’m not picky.”

“You can be picky,” you wink at him. “I won’t let you leave this town hungry and unsatisfied.”

His eyes darken at your words. “What can you recommend? What’s your specialty?”

“I asked you first,” you hold out your hand. “I’m Y/N, what’s your name?”

“Reacher,” he gruffly replies, but his hand takes yours. It’s huge in contrast to your hand, but warm and surprisingly gentle. “I’m here for…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” You hastily say. “I know you are not the kind of man answering questions. If you promise me to not cause trouble at the diner, you are always welcome here.”

“I can’t promise to not cause trouble but,” he squeezes your hand, “I promise that I’ll try not to cause trouble at your diner.”

“You know that this is my diner? How?”

“Sally Ann over there and the other waitresses always look at you for confirmation. The guests show more respect to you, and you don’t keep the tips. You put the money into the tip jar the waitresses share at the end of their shift.”

“You’re quite observant, Reacher.”

“I assume you took over the diner from your,” he searches your face. “Grandmother not so long ago. You still try to figure things out, but your pie tastes great.”

“She died six months ago. Granny left me her house, and the diner,” you sigh, and drop your gaze. “I left my well-paid job, and life behind. She was always good to me, and I didn’t bring it over me to sell the diner.”

“What was your job?” You’ve got the feeling the conversation turned out to be an interrogation.

“Aw, sweetie,” you wink at him, “if you want to know more about me, buy me dinner first.”

He watches you walk away, wondering if you have anything to do with the crime he investigates. Reacher shakes his head. No. You don’t look like a killer. And he doesn’t think for one second that you can break a guy’s neck.

“Hi, what can I do for you?” Sally Ann asks. She’s still intimidated by Reacher’s size or rather his cheer presence at the diner.

“Where’s Y/N?” He cocks his head to look for you.

“I don’t know. She looked pissed and went to the back entrance.”

“I-“ he gets his wallet out to throw money onto the counter. Reacher follows you out of the back entrace, searching for you.

“Whoa, watch your step,” you push your hands against his firm chest to stop him from running the poor dog over. “Hey, that’s his spot. You are not allowed to leave through this entrance.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. He's relieved that you are not on the run, because you are the killer. “I was looking for you. I didn’t want to piss you off asking about your job.”

“Huh? I didn’t leave because you asked me about my job,” you point out. “I saw that bastard from across the street chase this poor guy away. He was only looking for food.”

“Someone tried to hurt the dog?” He squares his jaw. “Who? What did they do?”

You crouch down to add water to the feeding bowl. “The owner of the fancy new restaurant across the street. He always shoos away the kids and pets. I don’t like that man.”

“Restaurant across the street. Got it,” he looks like he makes a mental note. “Is that little boy your dog?”

“He only comes around to get free food,” you smile as the stray feasts on the food you bought for him. “I wanted to take him home, but I guess he likes his freedom. He checks in once in a while to let me know he’s still alive.”

“A stray,” Reacher watches you pat the dog. “Maybe he’s scared of settling down. Someone must’ve chased him away before.”

“Hmm…” You nod thoughtfully and pat the dog’s head. “I only want to protect him. If he runs around town the guy from across the street will hurt him.”

“He won’t.” You feel his hand squeeze your shoulder. “I got a few things to take care of in town. Do you know a cheap motel?”

“I got a spare room I rent out,” you hastily say. “I mean, you could have it. It has got a bathroom too. You can use the kitchen if you clean it afterward. If you help me repair the sink, you can have it for free.”

He nods and holds out his hand to help you up. “I can’t tell you when I’ll be around.”

“Don’t worry,” you grab his hand to write your address on his hand. “You can come around anytime.” His eyes widen when you put a key in his hand next.

“You trust me enough to hand me a key to your home?” He looks surprised. “You’re a little careless.”

“Believe me,” you pat his chest, “I’m not careless, nor dumb. I know exactly who I let inside my house.”

Reacher quirks a brow at your words but doesn’t ask what you mean. You turn your attention back toward the dog, and he’s got work to do.

He will start with the restaurant owner across the street.

Part 2

All works tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superheroees-blog

@thevelvetseries

@anaelsbrunette

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@wally-darling-hyperfixation

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​

@princesssterek​

@xoxabs88xox​

@wandering-spiritash​

@riathearora

@the-loml-got-nailed

@greeneyedblondie44​

@gh0stgurl​

@charmed-asylum​ 

@fallen-wolf22​

@thegirlnextdoorssister​

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187​

@black-rose-29​

@caplanbuckybarnes​

@wykkedwitch​

@sexicherri3​

@loki-laufeyson-1054​

@liloxclu

@km-ffluv​

@bubsonnobx

[3cremepie3]

Airhead pt. 1

Synopsis - Riddle Rosehearts x fem reader. Y/n is an idiot and needs help with studying from Riddle! She wants to pay back his kindness in the only way she know how.

Warnings - innocent riddle, lose of innocence, graphic mentions of head lol, premarital sex, cursing, spit, roughness, slutty y/n, bimbo y/n

A/n - I was supposed to start this series so long ago but I got caught up in request. I found this so fun to write and I will be continuing it!

“Hey riddle,” you exclaimed. You pulled him in for a big hug he deserved it for being so generous. He was helping you study for free! “There’s no need for that.” His words were harsh but his smile said otherwise. Whatever you let him go and plopped down on his bed.

“Wow, it’s so soft I can lay here forever.” You will not now up at once,” he demanded. “In order to get optimal study results students sit at desks. I have a perfectly organized one here.” You sighed getting up to sit at his desk. The chair was cool against your ass cheeks that hung out your dress.

It was uncomfortable and for some reason forced you to sit up. “Now let us begin I have tea time to attend to and I’ll leave you for independent study time then.” Okay,” you accepted. The session didn’t even start yet and you were bored. "Yawning already? Did you not get a good night's rest?"

"No, I stayed up all night waiting on a flash sale." Well, that was idiotic,' He claimed. "When your dorm has no AC you make do with what you can get, look isn't it cute."

"My god," Riddle gasped. "Isn't that lingerie women wear that for their husbands and as far as I know you aren't married." You erupted into a fit of giggles. God, he was over dramatic! “Riddle you're too innocent for your own good," you laughed. "I'm just wearing it to bed what's the harm in that?"

"You're right." He cleared his throat and stepped away to grab a hefty text book. "Hand me your phone there must be no distractions." You were hesitant but handed it over. Riddle grabbed a chair and scooted over towards you. Your body moved closer to his wanting to marinate in his scent. "Wow, you smell so nice Riddle like roses."

"Well thank you I make sure to use rosemary oil and- what are you doing get back to reading at once!" He pointed to the paragraph your eyes finished scanning. "I already finished," you pouted. "Fine then let's get started on this written response."

"The teacher wants you to write this in a formal format so no personal perspective." He continued to yap on and on about something that you couldn't bother to hear as you were distracted by the flamingos running across the yard. "Get him." You cheered leaning out the window to watch the mayhem between students and flamingos concur.

In an instant, you flashed him the short dress that you wore hiked up your back. “You mustn’t lean over like everything is showing,” Riddle yelled. He covered his eyes wanting to keep your privacy. “Ace he went that way,” you pointed. You felt the air on your ass and quickly realized what Riddle had been yelling about.

“Oops my ass was out,” you giggled. “It’s not funny Y/n!” Come on Riddle you act like you’ve never seen anyone’s panties before.” He stared at you blankly. “Wait you genuinely haven’t?” His face became rosy red at your question. “Well, not in real life of course.”

“Christ how is anyone this pure,” you wondered. “My mother kept me very sheltered from a lot of things.” So you’ve never watched porn?” He held his head low not meeting your bright eyes. “ How is that your first thought no I have not.” We’ll have you ever had a girlfriend or a side hoe or a hookup?”

“No I don’t have time for any of that,” he admitted. “I guess remaining top student comes with its downfalls.” You frowned for Riddle. You couldn’t imagine not getting laid. Just then you thought of something. “Well, Riddle since you gave me your time helping me study I’ll give you mine in bed?” You watched him awaiting his answer. “But mother says only married couples do that.”

You slapped your forehead out of frustration. “Mother means married couples stick it in. No one said we have to do all of that.” I suppose there’s no harm since it’ll be a fair exchange and as long as it’s done before tea time.”

“Yup just the perfect pace,” you gleamed. Now why don’t we get on the bed,” you suggested. “Alright.” Oh wow Riddle I’m surprised you’re agreeing to this.” Well, you only live once they say.” He propped himself up on his elbows wanting to face you.

“This process is for relaxation you can lay fully down.” He laid back sinking into his many pillows. “Good boy now take off your clothes.” You heard his breath hitch at the thought but his hands were eager to make them come undone. He stopped at his underwear, however. “Need help or something.” Your hand graced over his bulge and then to the band of his boxers.

“I think that would be best,” he admitted. You couldn’t help but notice his hands shaking. “Aww Riddle don’t be nervous. You sat up to give him some kisses on his burning torso. “It’s just a little dick-sucking,” you reminded. “I know but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Well, then I’ll take things slower if you need it.” You began to kiss him softly he was a beginner after all. The first few were awkward teeth colliding but cute as you shared drool. The next ones were better since you took control catching his tongue in yours. You broke apart letting him catch his breath.

His hands tangled themselves in your hair pulling you back in. You balanced yourself on the bed before pulling your hips over his. Now you straddled his lap and could feel his heat against you. Riddle pulled up your dress which caused a gasp to come from your lips.

“Are you eager now?” Yes.” You looked up to see a riddles face flushed in a shade of scarlet. “Fine then I’m gonna go back down here. You crawled back to his legs making sure to land in an arch. Riddle thought he would lose his mind seeing the peak of your ass on full display. You pulled down his boxers to clearly see his mental state.

“Aww look at you dripping,” you coddled. "You can touch it i see you staring." Oh okay," he hesitated. You felt a hand collide with your ass cheek. He rubbed the flesh gently afterwards although it was an apology. You were gonna let out a protest but his focused face was too cute to pass up. You let a glob of spit coat his tip. You scanned his reaction as it slid down to his base.

His breath hitched at the warmness. Soon your mouth would follow the direction of the spit swallowing him down until you gagged. You exited with a pop making his toes curl. "So how's your first time getting head feel?" Good now continue," he demanded. His hand pushed you down onto his waiting dick.

You felt it twitch in your mouth as your tongue followed every curve every vein its entire being. "Oh my god," Riddle huffed. "Your cocks so cute look at it shake for me." You let it rest and spasm on your cheek. Your face had become wet with spit and his pre but you didn't mind. "Taste so good baby," you mumbled. Riddle could only bite his thumb down in response to holding his moans.

Your hand left his thigh to assist you in pumping him. Your grip was strong bringing his balls to tingle. Your lips noticed as you licked against the masses. And it intensified as you juggled them both in your mouth. He looked down on you astonished at your sinful actions.

Your dress was soaked but you were only just getting started. "Change of plans I want you to throat fuck me." Riddle looked at you like a lost puppy. "What does that mean." After quickly giving him a rundown he got into position. "So like this." He asked while pushing himself into your pulsing throat. Your hand linked themselves on his hips bringing him to push himself even deeper.

Riddle let out a grunt at the sensation of you squeezing around him. "Fuck it's like you're sucking me in." You chuckled you'd never think you'd get to hear Riddle RoseHearts curse. His hips buckled back and forth drilling themselves into you. But you still felt as though he was going to be soft on you.

"Riddle here's your chance to ruin me, to take all anger and stress out on me, to manhandle me. You're a man right then prove it to me." You spoke while scattering cock kisses. Riddle scoffed he was tired of everyone second-guessing him because he was small. "While since you give me permission I shall do my best job at it."

His smile twisted into a cruel smirk. You could tell in his head he had felt as though he was back in charge of the monarchy. While really you were still the dominant you just loved getting throat fucked. His hands raced to grab your neck forcing you to collide with the end of his shaft. You felt his hair tickle your nose while you gagged heavenly.

Riddle couldn't get enough of the vibrations against his core and forced you to stay until he watched your eyes roll back. You coughed greatly after being freed but stars were in your excited eyes as the same fate occurred. You watched Riddle lose himself in the contractions of your throat.

He moaned loudly as he pumped you like a fleshlight. They became whimper and he let out mewls that sounded as though he was crying. It was music to your ears especially when his voice that was sure to go raw yelled "Y/n" a dozen times. If he kept this up your throat would organize his shape forever.

And you wouldn't mind as long as you heard his whimper audio. "So good I think I'm gonna." He tried to give you a warning but it was too late. His cum poured down your throat leaving you to swallow the best you could in the short amount of time you had. The excess liquid spilled down your face and his now empty balls. He finally let go of his grip which allowed you to move away from the monster that was his cock.

You had 100% slayed that beast as he softened in front of your eyes. You pulled the bottom of your dress down ignoring the wet patch your essence had left on his bed. "Now we both held our fair end of the exchange." You spoke your voice raspy while removing your dress and stealing one of Riddle's shirts.

"Yes if you ever need help again be sure to let me know," he exclaimed. "Mhmm I'd love to push things even further. What your mother knows doesn't hurt her Riddle. It's not sin if its secret!”

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“I love you, and I am terrified of what that means.” Simon admitted quietly, his eyes drifting down toward his twiddling fingers as you sat across from him.

Your head perked up, your eyes softening as you looked over at your lieutenant. Your heart felt like it was practically beating out of your chest, your mind struggling to absorb what he’d just confessed to you.

The two of you were stuck in an abandoned home after a failed mission, waiting for much needed evacuation to come and rescue you. Both of you were relatively unharmed, but you’d had a very close call much to Simon’s dismay.

“You love me?” You asked after a moment, struggling to steady your shaking hands. There was no way he returned your affections, no way in hell. After years of working together, you could’ve sworn Simon only ever saw you as a comrade.

Simon said nothing in return as he picked at his nails, his mind swirling with everything he wanted to tell you. Words were not his strong suit, and he shocked even himself when he admitted his deeply rooted feelings for you.

“Simon, I-.”

“When I saw that gun pointed at you, I felt..” Simon took a deep breath before continuing. “If you had died, I don’t know how I would’ve lived with myself.”

“I’m okay though, Simon. I’m alive.”

“No, you don’t get it Y/N.” Simon stood, running his hands through his hair in frustration. His voice was cracking slightly, and it was clear he hadn’t been this distressed in quite some time.

“Help me understand, Simon. Please, let me in.” You pressed gently, not daring move from your spot as you watched him pace at the window.

Simon stopped pacing, and instead stood looking out the shattered window, his eyes landing on the starless sky. “I realized in that moment, when I thought you were going to be killed.. I realized that my heart would stop beating if I never saw your face again.”

A soft sob escaped your lips at his words, and your hands flew to your mouth as tears began to fall down your cheeks. You shakily made your way to your feet, desperately trying to steady your racing heart as you slowly made your way to him.

“And I’m fucking terrified, Y/N. I don’t know how to deal with how I’m feeling, I don’t know how to act, how to think. This is uncharted territory for me.” Simon turned as he spoke, his eyes widening as you were closer to him than before.

“I am too.” You admitted, looking into Simon’s deep brown eyes. “I’m so scared. I spent all this time thinking you never felt the same, and now that I know you do, it..it becomes real. But I trust you, Simon.”

His breath began to quicken as you stepped another inch toward him, your hand reaching to cup his masked cheek softly. “If you continue whatever it is you’re about to do, I can’t promise we can come back from this.”

Standing on your toes, you gave Simon a soft smile before pulling up his mask, revealing his scarred lips. “I know.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Simon grabbed your chin softly, tilting your head up toward him. His brown eyes flickered from your eyes, then to your lips. “Okay.”

With one final glance at your eyes, Simon pressed his lips to yours, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not what came next, not what this meant for the two of you….simply just you and him, and the kiss he never wanted to end.

[euaphora]

“YOU KNOW IM A SEXOHOLIC, IM SO ANXIOUS!”| part1

colleague!kento who saw you the following monday with a weary look plastered on your face while you looked down at the paperwork being overdue, you boss loved giving you a hard time after you rejected him— kento knew this so he could only do so much to give you a better job experience.

colleague!kento who came up to your working cubical, he saw you added another small pin to your collection hung up on clipboard along with a new set of pens you bought. He watches you stress about all the paperwork scattered around the table and listens to your pleading sighs.

colleague!kento who calls you from behind —barely resizing he was standing behind you this entire time, “did you need something?” you asked in a sweet tone, he shakes his head at you at gives you a warm smile, “no I just saw how much work you had due and was wondering if you needed any help?”

colleague!kento who brings his chair from his cubicle to yours so he can fill in the boxes you had missed when you were just trying to finish up and leave to go home to your cat, he saw you wanting to pack up and leave the moment he saw you.

colleague!kento who asked, “since it’s the only the two of us left, would you want to put some music?” he asked while making marks on the paper. “i didn’t even realizing everyone else had gone home..god what time is it?” you sighed, leaning back against the head of your chair.

“12:34” he answered, checking his watch, “He needs to lay off you, nobody here gets this much paper work in a day.” Kento pointed out, looking at your relaxed body suddenly tense up at the thought of your boss.

“Exactly he’s only doing this because…anyways, see this is why your my favorite coworker, Nanami.” You giggle— opening your eyes to look in his direction only to already be meeting his gaze looking down at your body. He quickly fixated his gaze back to the paperwork and clear his throat, “Nanami, we’re you just starting at my chest?” You question him, watching his body language.

“O-of course not, then that would be unprofessional of me..” he quickly explained, nervously laughing it off. You hesitate at first but push yourself of your chair and go up to him, your legs in between his. He looks up at you and grabs the hem of his tie, “is it getting hot in here?”

“Don’t try and change the subject, you want me..don’t you?” You lean down to meet his gaze, getting real up and personal with him. He accepts his fate and admits his feelings, “You have no idea.” He stated, pulling you in by your hips only for you to be straddling his legs, you feel the pump of his muscle in between your folds.

“Wanna ride my leg, bunny?” He asked, teasingly tilting his head to the side while brushing off the stands of hair blocking his view to look at you. You suddenly feel like the shy one now, nodding.

You go onto right leg and slowly pick up your pencil skirt while rocking your hips back and forth, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time while he unbuttoned your dress shirt. “They sit so perfectly..” he said, holding them in his cold, slender hands— felling how warm and plump they are. He easily unclipped the back of your bra, only to wrap his mouth around one— younger lapping over the nipple while the other gets pitched and pulled by his fingers.

“Careful, princess. Don’t be trying to push me away now.” He demands, pulling your hair into a make shift monytail, giving you a soft slap in your cheek.

You push your head back at the euphoric feeling, letting out several pornagraphic moans slip out your mouth, heavy pants joining after. He feels you stutter your hips, knowing your almost close. “Cmon baby, just a few more thrusts…you got it.”

Feeling a knot in your stomach, you hold him by the torso— letting out huffs while rolling your eyes to the back of your head when he slaps your ass and rubs the soft flesh after.

“Cumming! I-im fucking cumming..”

Nanami suddenly feels a wet spot form on his leg, making him give you a quick kiss on the lips so you could still have some air to breath after your earth-shattering orgasm.

“Bend over.”

You pick your head up from his broad shoulders and look up at him, “does he want what I think he does?” You thought while getting up from his lap to lay down on your desk, watching him pull his pants down from behind you. “Let me know if it’s too much…alright, princess?” He reassured, giving you a quick heads up like if he was over nine inche-

He pushed the head of his cock inside you— feeling your velvet walls squeeze him “greedy little pussy,huh?” He shuddered, making you get cut off by your own thoughts. “S-shit.” was all you could slip out before he slipped himself fully inside you, giving you time to adjust to the size, knowing you couldn’t handle it.

He starts pumping his cock while completely ignoring your pleads, “S-slow down…your so deep inside me, Nanami!” You let out a loud moan, feeling hot tears slip out of your now watery eyes.

“It’s only half of me, bunny.”

You felt your head spinning with from what he just said, he felt your walls clenching again, feeling himself reach closer to the edge when the knot on his stomach tightened.

“kentopleaseimgonnacum!” You scream out, thankfully nobody was here so you could let out a loud cry. He slides his veiny fingers inside you mouth, hearing you gag in his fingers, “come on my cock, sweet girl mmm go right ahead you deserve it f-for being good all week..my good girl.”

He leaks his seed inside you while you cum on his cock the same time, feeling your pussy tighten all over again— making it hard for him to pull out. “Oh, you sweet thing, can’t get over this pretty greedy pussy.”

The next morning when your boss came to work, he checked the cameras to see you both in your cubicle, his cum leaking out your pussy while he cleaned you up, giving you a kiss on your forehead.

[umnitsa]

Dirty old man

Summary: Joel is on his seventies, but he still has needs.

A/N: Ok, so. One pic made the rounds in one of the discord servers I frequent and it made me wild, I won't lie (it was a pic/meme with aged Pedro Pascal). Highly inspired by @toxicanonymity's GILF!Joel (mine is a bit of a perv, but this isn't really a dark fic). It was also inspired by @atticrissfinch's MMITB (I wish I had a fraction of her talent for dirty talk, but I'm not even a native speaker of English, so I do what I can). Now you go read them both, I ASSURE YOU it'll be a good time. Huge thanks for all the people that cheered me on with this: Toxi, @romanarose, @beefrobeefcal, @gwendibleywrites, I love you all. (I must admit that I don't know if I'll ever continue this, honestly, although part of me wants to get to the sex scene. xD)

Pairing: No outbreak old man!Joel x Reader

CW: Joel being bold, dirty talk. That's it <3

No beta, we die like lonely writers xD

It wasn’t a bad job.

Sarah wanted to hire you to take care of her father, Joel. He wasn’t that old, but years of hard work in construction gave him some mobility issues. Sarah worried he spent too time alone, and that he could fall, get hurt and trapped without help because of his pride (which seemed to be a real possibility, considering Joel didn’t want to lose his independence in any way).

You were supposed to get the night shift, which was nice. The night shift was calm, except when it wasn’t. Sarah assured you she talked to her father, she wanted to introduce you to him, before you started working.

You prepared for war, if the man was as stubborn and grumpy as his daughter described.

Sarah introduced you and the old man looked at you over his glasses.

“You sure this pretty thing can lift me off the floor?” He asked, a crooked smirk stretching his lips. You considered answering him, but he raised his face defiantly and winked.

He was teasing his daughter.

You chuckled, to Joel’s delight. Sarah hired you on the spot.

***

Joel was grumpy most of the time. You could understand. Getting older was specially hard on some people. Losing their independence seemed to be a horrifying blow.

You admired the family pictures displayed on the walls and the bookshelves. They showed a younger Joel, large and proud, wearing tight tshirts that showed his big arms.

He didn’t change much, to be honest. His hair now was completely silver, as his beard. The wrinkles didn’t spoil his roguish smile. He was on his seventies, but looked younger, somehow. You blamed his brown eyes.

***

“You know what I miss most about my youth?” He said softly one day, entering the living room. You were looking at his pictures. He slowly moved by your side and placed a hand over your back, rubbing gentle circles. “All the pussy.”

You turned to him, astonished at his boldness. He smirked, then shrugged. You felt your face getting warm and a different, slick, syrupy warmth pooling on your lower belly. He licked his lips and sighed.

“It was easy to get pussy with those looks.” He pointed at one picture of himself and smiled proudly. “Didn’t fuck as much as I wanted, or as much as I could. Tried to be a good dad. Don’t regret anything, but... Oh boy, I miss it.” He looked you up and down, his smile turning appreciative.

“Thought old pervs like you liked tiny thin teenagers.” You scoffed.

“Only dumbasses want those.” Joel chuckled, his hand sliding lower on your back. “I like them older. Like you. With those eyes, like you know and did everything under the sun.” Joel hums, closing his eyes. “Get them cockdumb and they cry so sweetly… Mmmm, the surprise in their wide eyes...” He licks his lips, watching your reaction. You laugh, trying to hide your own arousal.

“Well, Joel, I think the preference is because they are supposed to be tight.” You said firmly, standing your ground. You refused to look shocked, and you saw no reason to scold him, at least not yet. Maybe it was your pussy talking.

Joel leaned over you slowly; you stayed very still. His warm breath tickled your ear.

“After a certain size, honey, everything feels tight.” He said softly, grabbing his half hard cock through his pants. You looked down and gasped, noticing the girth of his bulge inside his huge hand. Joel stepped back, smiling proudly, and moved into the house, dragging his feet. “Lemme know if you want a ride, sweetheart. Them blue pills are easy to get.” He turned and winked at you.

[sageyxbabey]

Hospital Food | COD x Reader

MDNI

Summary: Your ex-husband (the biological father of your daughter) shows up when said daughter is admitted to hospital. Your current partner (and your daughter) put him in his place.

aka: stupid man gets verbally wrecked by a 17-year-old girl and a SAS soldier. Inspired by the time my stepdad and i roasted my bio dad.

For @the-californicationist 's Nameless Challenge! This means you have to guess which of the delicious war criminals I'm writing about below. (This has inspired a series, so you'll find out who I was thinking of when the second one comes out. ;) )

WC: ~700 words (oops, forgive me cali)

Pairing: f!reader x tf141 member (but who? 👀)

Your ex-husband stood at the foot of his biological daughter’s hospital bed, watching her tap salt out of the little sachet onto a piece of buttered bread. His face was full of condescension, and you knew yours was full of barely contained disgust as you stared at him. God damn the child support agreement that required you to tell him when she was admitted to a hospital. At least you had otherwise full custody of her, you’re sure your ex would’ve been murdered by now if you’d been forced to see him semi-regularly – either by you or your wonderful (deadly, military-trained) partner who hated the man in front of you almost as much as you did.

God, you wish he was here right now. Unfortunately, he was wonderful enough to have gone down to the cafeteria in search of lunch for the both of you – and something sweet to sneak back in for your little girl. He spoiled her rotten, and it made you love him more every time he did. 

“That’s a lot of salt,” your ex rumbled. If looks could kill, the stare your 17-year-old daughter levelled him with would’ve evaporated him where he stood.

“Yes. It is,” she spoke. 

Tap tap tap, she resumed shaking the sachet.

“They put salt in bread when they make it. White bread is about 3% salt,” he said. As if there was some important point your daughter was missing.

“I know. I’ve made bread before.”

Tap tap tap.

It was taking every fibre of your being not to laugh with sheer joy and vindication as your daughter, the blood of your ex-husband, so casually eviscerated him in the middle of this tiny white room.

“Which is to say, you don’t need to be adding salt to it.” You didn’t think the man could sound any whinier. You were about to step in, but your daughter let out a deep sigh beyond her years (definitely picked up from the soldier who shared your home) and threw the empty salt packet onto the bed tray.

“Tell me, why shouldn’t I eat that much salt?” Her arms crossed in front of her, your ex-husband looked to you for help. He would get none.

“Because… it makes your body retain fluid and raises blood pressure–”

“Correct. I am in this hospital because I have low blood pressure caused by a low volume of fluid in my blood. They give me the salt packet on purpose. I am prescribed literal salt tablets,” she shook the bottle in the man’s face, “because I need to raise my blood pressure up to normal levels.”

Silence. Blinking.

“So I am going to eat this bread because it is what the doctor ordered.” Her head snapped to you, with a chaotic glint in her eye only teenage girls could possess. The next words out of her mouth would stay with you until your dying breath;

“Hey, Mum. When’s Dad coming back?”

You could not fight the grin that spread across your face, the elation jumping in your stomach. A quick glance at your ex-husband’s sour face made it clear that your daughter’s point had struck true – You are not welcome here. I do not need you. I have a real father where you failed.

You opened your mouth to reply, “He’s–”

“Right here, love!” The warm, gravelly voice of your partner filled the room, your daughter’s eyes lighting up with his presence. He stopped to press a tender kiss against your cheek, passing you a toasted sandwich, before he made his way to stand over the shoulder of your precious daughter.

“And I got you something special,” he whispered playfully, “Don’t tell the nurse.” He pulled a poppy seed muffin out of the bag he was holding and placed it on the bed tray in front of her. 

“Sorry mate, who are you?” Your partner turned and cocked his head at your ex. 

Your man knew exactly who the snivelling creature across from him was. Your boyfriend was just deciding to be a little shit, and it was one of the sexiest things you’d ever seen him do. 

“Dad, this is Marcus. You know, the man who got Mum pregnant with me?” Your daughter’s voice was poorly disguised venom. 

“Oh, right! Of course. I suppose I should thank you for your part in creating my wonderful daughter.” He stretched a hand out to your ex-husband who, for once in his life, made the smart choice to shake it and give some poor excuse for why he was needed elsewhere.

As soon as he was out the door, you had your arms around your lover, pressing endless kisses to his cheek as your daughter laughed. 

“Did you hear what I said, Dad?” 

Your partner leaned down to hug the girl – his girl – tightly. He grinned.

“Every fucking word.”

----------

I LOVE MY STEPDAD SO MUCH HE'S MY REAL DAD and my mother and he are truly couple goals. I was on the phone with him the other day when I asked if he remembered this happening. he let out the most fatherly cackle of pure, shit-stirring joy I've ever heard. It was magnificent.

forgot the TAGLIST: @frogtowne @teenagellamaangel @universitypenguin