#and like that was fine when i first got them

[ghostwhippet]

From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones. 

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to. 

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour. 

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together. 

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier. 

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours. 

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge. 

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely soon going to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth. 

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once. 

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?” 

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits. 

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?” 

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

[mariasont]

im obsessed with reid’s hands. He’s got gorgeous long fingers its just🫶🏻😩. Id like to request a fic/blurbs whichever you prefer, revolves around that.. maybe he knows the reader loves his hands (especially when he cradles her face-neck and hair pulling).. nothing too spicy tho.. if you dont mind. Love your fics sm🥹

Where Hands Lead - S.R

a/n: i am also a victim to being desperately obsessed with spencer's hands! guilty af! and thank u so much babes i appreicate the love and the request <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: established relationship, hand kink, spencer being a smug little shit, domestic fluff, teasing galore, just two cuties being ridiculously in love!

wc: 1.6k

Spencer Reid's hands were a marvel. You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you noticed them--maybe it was the day you saw him fiddling with a pen during a team meeting, his fingers deftly spinning it like he'd been born doing it. Or maybe it was the time he'd held out a hand to help you up after you got knocked on your ass after rough case, his long fingers wrapping around yours, pulling you to his feet. Whatever the moment, the realization hit you like a freight train: Spencer's hands were distracting. 

Of course, you never said it out loud. Not at first. How do you casually tell your boyfriend that his hands are your newest fixation? You'd settled for sneaky glances, admiring the way his fingers moved over the keys of his computer or absentmindedly tapped against his thigh when he was lost in thought. 

You thought you were being subtle.

But Spencer was sharper than you gave him credit for... and you gave him a lot of credit.

It started with small things. The way he'd catch you staring and tilt his head slightly, curiosity painting his features. Or how his lips would quirk into the barest smile when he'd reach for something near you and your gaze lingered a second too long. He'd never said anything, but you had the nagging suspicion he was onto you.

Then came the day he decided to test his theory.

It had been a rare quiet evening at his apartment. The team's latest case had wrapped up earlier than expected, leaving you both with an unexpectedly free night. Spencer, ever the perfectionist, had insisted on cooking dinner. You'd agreed easily, not-so-secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending uninterrupted tie with him. He'd shooed you out of the kitchen when you tried to help, insisting that you relax while he handled everything.

You were setting the table when it started. Spencer reached over to hand you a glass, his fingers brushing against yours. You glanced at him quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the way your breath caught.

He had.

Spencer's expression didn't give away much--just the faintest quirk of his lips as he turned back to the counter. He began chopping vegetables, his fingers expertly curling and flexing around the knife. The movement was smooth, precise, almost hypnotic, and before you knew it, your eyes were drawn to them again.

"Everything okay over there?" he asked casually, not looking up. His voice was innocent enough, sure, but there was a certain lilt to it that made your cheeks heat.

"Fine," you replied, probably too quickly, forcing your attention back to the table. You busied yourself with arranging the plates, trying to will away the warmth spreading through you. 

Spencer, however, wasn't finished with whatever game he seemed to be playing. As you moved past him to grab utensils, he shifted just enough for his hand to brush against the small of your back. The touch was so light it could have been accidental, but it lingered just a fraction too long to be dismissed entirely. The warmth of it sparked along your spine, making your pulse leap in a way you couldn't quite explain.

What was wrong with you today? He was your boyfriend, for crying out loud. Casual touches like this were normal--expected, even. And yet, every brush of his fingers seemed to unravel you more. You cast a quick glance up at him, trying to gauge if he'd noticed your reaction, but Spencer simply smiled, his expression innocent, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

You clenched the utensils in your hand, suddenly desperate to shake off this fixation before Spencer figured out what was going on. The last thing you needed was for him to think you were completely crazy--obsessed with something as specific as his hands. Surely, that wasn't normal. 

 By the time you finally sat down to eat, your nerves were fully frayed. Flustered didn't even begin to cover it. Spencer, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He moved with his usually calm efficiency, placing food on the table with a soft smile. As he handed you a serving spoon, his fingers brushed against yours once again--warm, gentle, and far too distracting. You lingered a second longer than necessary, and while he didn't say a word, the subtle upward twitch of his lips suggested he notice.

Determined to pull yourself together, you focused on your plate. Or at least, you tried. Every movement Spencer made seemed designed to draw your attention. The way his long fingers curled around his fork, deliberate and precise, made your breath hitch. His index finger tapped lightly against the side of his glass as he considered something. Even the simple act of wiping his mouth with his napkin--slow, measured, maddeningly deliberate--seemed orchestrated to unravel you.

When dinner ended, you were quick to rise, eager to clear the table and escape the tight coil of your own thoughts. But Spencer was quicker. Before you could take a single step, his hand caught your wrist, fingers curling around you with just enough pressure to stop you in your tracks.

"I'll take care of it," he said, thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist before letting go.

Normally, you would argue. He'd cooker dinner, after all--it was only fair that you clean up. But today left you rooted to the spot. You sank back into your chair, wordless, your gaze following him as he moved around the kitchen.

Spencer rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscle of his forearms, and your eyes betrayed you once again, drawn back to his hands. The way they worked was mesmerizing--graceful and efficient as he dried plates, stacked dishes, and wiped down the counters with practiced ease. 

Spencer must have felt your gaze because he glanced over his shoulder, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. He didn't rush, taking his time as he finished tidying up. When he was done, he dried his hands on a dish towel, then set it aside before making his way back to you. His hands were empty now, but no less captivating.

Stopping in front of your chair, Spencer lowered himself to one knee, his eyes meeting yours. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Heat swelled to your face, mind scrambling for something--anything--coherent to say. "I--what?"

Spencer chuckled softly, his hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're not as subtle as you think."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you.

"Next time," he continued, his thumb moving to brush against your cheek, his touch featherlight, "just tell me. I'd hate for you to sit there suffering in silence."

"I... don't know what you mean."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, is that right?"

You nodded quickly.

"So you wouldn't mind if I did this?" he murmured, reaching out to cup your cheeks with the utmost care.

The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, his thumb brushing slow, delicate arcs along your cheekbones. His fingers, long and steady, curled around the sides of your face, glueing you in place. Your breath hitched, the air between you thickening as your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. Words failed you, leaving only the rapid thrum of your heart.

"Or this?" he added, voice softer now, almost a whisper. His fingers slid upward, tangling in your hair with a sort of practiced ease that sent sparks racing along your legs. He tugged lightly, just enough to tilt your head and pull a soft, involuntary gasp from your lips. The gentle pressure was intoxicating, and you bit down on your bottom lip, completely undone.

"Spencer..." you managed, though it barely passed a whisper. His name trembled on your lips, a plea and a confession all at once.

"Or this?" he continued, one hand sliding down to rest on your thigh. His fingers curled just slightly. Your pulse quickened, a fluttering sound that betrayed just how completely he had you in his grasp. Spencer leaned in closer, expression smug, lips moving into a smile that left you breathless. 

"And what about this?" he added, voice dropped to a hushed murmur as his hand moved to tilt your chin upward. Before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, purposeful, and impossible to do anything but melt into. His hands moved back to cradle your face, fingers brushing against your jaw and the sensitive curve of your neck, their touch igniting a fire that spread through your entire body.

When he finally pulled away, you felt like all the air had been vacuumed from your lungs, cheeks flushed and heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could here it.

"Yeah, um," you stammered, the words tumbling out awkwardly as you struggled to regain your footing, "I don't think I mind... you could, uh, do it again if you wanted to."

Spencer's lips quirked into a slow, satisfied smile, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, is that so?"

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, unhurried, as if he were savoring every second. 

He leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, hands still cradling your face, he chuckled softly. "You know lucky for you, if my hands are your favorite thing about me, I've got two of them and all the time in the world."

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[sleepyhoon]

BAJA BLAST - S.JY

pairing. religious stepbro!jake x fem reader genre. drabble, porn w plot warnings. virgin perv jake, stepcest, religious themes, brief mention of alcoholism & death word count. 3.5k smut tags. degradation, dry humping (i guess…), handjob, jake sucks reader’s tits thru her shirt, p in v for like 30 seconds.

a/n. hmm trying to get into darker themes to expand my genres a bit more … not too sure how i feel abt it yet but it was interesting to explore a new trope! i understand darker tropes aren’t for everyone sooo feel free to skip over if this isn’t for you!! <3

———

“You’re disgusting, and you’re not gonna find a God-fearing husband if you keep parading yourself like a slut.”

Jake pries your legs open a little wider, further situating himself between your thighs as he smears his precum on the core of your panties. He glances up at you when you scoff, knees digging into the mattress as he drags the tip of his cock along your clothed cunt. “What?” he sneers, raising a brow at you.

“You have a girlfriend and you’re getting yourself off between someone else’s legs; you’re the slut,” Jake’s cock twitches in the palm of his hand at your insult, you take a mental note of this, “and, I don’t even want a God-fearing husband, whatever that is.”

“It means a religious husband, genius. None of them probably want you anyway, so the feeling is mutual.”

Degrading as it may be, this is the shit that gets Jake off; certainly not his prude, preacher’s daughter girlfriend who only allows him to kiss her for a few seconds at a time, because anything longer than that could be “too tempting”.

He didn’t hate Chaeyoung in the slightest, but he likely wouldn’t have made all that effort to court her had he known she was saving herself for marriage in every aspect. No lingering touches, no suggestive comments, and certainly no racy photos; the poor boy would’ve been fine with her sitting on his lap every now and then if it meant he’d get to jerk off from the weight of someone on top of him.

Much like Chaeyoung, Jake was on the treacherous path of saving himself for marriage, but even he allowed himself a bit of wiggle room. Saving himself entirely for marriage was beyond unrealistic, but he was willing to at least avoid shoving his dick in someone before there was a ring on his finger if it meant he could get off in other ways.

Jake didn’t have the heart to break up with Chaeyoung just because she wanted to stay pure until marriage, but he wasn’t planning on waiting that long to finally get his dick wet. Besides, breaking up with the preacher’s daughter for seemingly no reason was a bad look, especially considering that Jake was the youth pastor at the same exact church.

Aside from the pastor and his wife, Jake and Chaeyoung were the only couple treated as royalty in their church community. They were seen as devoted followers of Christ whilst showcasing what an appropriate, God-fearing, young, Christian couple should look like. From the outside looking in (or even just looking from his girlfriend’s perspective), they truly did resemble a perfect couple.

How Jake got into jerking off between his step-sister’s thighs was a long story.

His original plan was to keep his distance when he first met you a little over a year ago, a few months before his father was preparing to marry your mother. Jake didn’t take kindly to you at first, bewildered on how such a respectful, faith-driven woman such as your mother could produce a daughter the exact opposite of her. Your outfits were entirely too skimpy, you had a horrible attitude, and you had tattoos. In Jake’s eyes, you were the definition of sin.

And that’s exactly why he felt disgusted with himself when he realized he was desperately attracted to you.

It was horrible, the countless nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of you sinking down on his cock and riding him until he passed out. He’s certain his stamina is low and would probably finish in under five minutes, but it doesn’t hurt to dream; and that he does.

Until you showed up to his apartment one Monday morning with a large Baja Blast from Taco Bell and a proposition.

“Taco Bell at ten in the morning, seriously?”

You hadn’t greeted him with a “Good morning!” or “Hey, how are you?” and instead jumped the gun and went straight into, “Hey, you know how my dad died?”

Jake held his front door open, running a hand through his messy, morning hair in confusion as he responded, “Wasn’t it from, like, alcoholism?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, but I meant like… you know that he’s dead, right? Also, Taco Bell serves breakfast, genius.”

“YN, it’s too early for this.” Jake says with a frustrated sigh, prepared to close the door in your face because it’s way too early to deal with your bullshit.

“I’m getting his inheritance from my grandmother, a huge one.”

Jake tried his best at attempting to hide the look of shock on his face. From his knowledge, your grandparents were loaded; practically rolling in money since the moment they were born. Having your father’s inheritance transferred to you was a blessing, Jake didn’t even want to imagine the useless crap you’d waste that money on.

“Congrats, did you come here to rub it in my face?”

You sighed, slightly embarrassed and a little defeated knowing you’d need Jake’s help. You felt entirely guilty for even coming to him in the first place, the two of you weren’t close and hardly spoke outside of gatherings, the only reason you showed up to his apartment was because you didn’t have his phone number; only his address you had to scroll in your GPS to find from the one time you drove him home.

“No, I’m not here to brag. I need your help.”

Jake hesitantly opened his door wider, allowing you into his home that you nervously pace around in. “Help with what?” he asked, locking the door behind him.

“I don’t get the inheritance until after my grandma dies.”

“YN, are you crazy?! I am not helping you kill your grandmother!”

“What?! Jake, no! God, just let me finish.” An awkward beat of silence passed before you continued, “She says I’m not getting the inheritance unless I get into religion and be involved in church.”

“Yeah, can’t help with that.” Jake took a moment to look you up and down, eyes focusing on the fresh tattoo right under your knee, “You’re gonna need a miracle.”

You followed behind Jake like a helpless puppy as he entered his kitchen, nervously toying with your fingers as you set your drink down on the kitchen counter, “I know we aren’t really close, and that’s partially my fault, but I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out with this.”

“With what, YN? You haven’t said what you’d need me to do.”

“Just, every so often, tell my family that I’m involved in church and help out. Shit like that.”

Jake chuckled, powering on his Nespresso, “As if that’s gonna work. You know your family goes to church, right? What are they gonna think if they don’t see you there but I’m telling them you showed up? They’d see right through it.”

“They don’t go every Sunday! I’ll just check ahead of time and go with them whenever they do go, and on the days they don’t go you’d be able to cover for me.”

Jake sighed with a shake of his head, reaching into his cabinet to retrieve a coffee mug, “It’s not just Sunday service, YN. They also go to bible study and help plan church events. Your family is very involved in the community.”

“Again, they don’t attend every event, right? I’ll go when they go and you cover when I can’t! And, besides, it’s not like they’re expecting me to go to every single event; as long as they think I’m putting in effort I’ll be fine.”

You seemed proud of yourself and your plan, which only annoyed your step-brother even further, because you clearly hadn’t thought this through.

“What’s in it for me?”

You paused, quirking a brow at Jake, “What do you mean?”

“We barely even know each other and you expect me to do this big favor for you for free? Be realistic.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want…half of the inheritance.”

“Jake, even you know that’s too much.”

Yeah, maybe he was being a little petty, but it was your own fault for asking for a favor like this and not offering him anything in return. He may not know the exact amount of your inheritance, but based on your reaction, it had to be a life changing amount of money; enough to give him a portion of.

“I’d rather not say what the exact amount is,” you start, looking down at your sneakers, “but it’s a lot, and I’m definitely willing to give you a fraction of it if you help me out. Just not half.”

“How much?”

“For you? Fifty-thousand.”

Jake dropped the ceramic mug to the ground, eyes widening as the cup broke and scattered across the kitchen floor. You flinched, jumping back on instinct while he remained frozen in place. “Fifty-thousand dollars?”

You wanted to tell him it’s truly nothing compared to the amount you’d have leftover, and that you’d offer him more if he insisted on it, but fifty-thousand seems to be enough for him. Instead, you nodded, carefully backing into the living room to avoid accidentally stepping on the ceramic shards.

“Does that work?”

It was too late to pretend your offer wasn’t more than he’d been expecting, but still, Jake had no reason to believe you’d hold up to your end of the deal; even if giving him fifty-thousand dollars would hardly make a dent in what you’d be receiving.

Jake shook his head, “I don’t know you, how can I trust you’ll actually give it to me?”

“You can’t just take my word?”

“The only word I take is the word of God.”

You should’ve seen that one coming.

Jake continued, “I want a down payment that I can receive now; something so that if you don’t pay me, I still got something out of our agreement.”

Intrigued, and a little frightened, you tilted your head at him, “Money?”

Jake shrugged in response, carefully stepping over the shards of ceramic, “Doesn’t have to be, your mom says you don’t have much of it.”

“I have money!”

Jake rolled his eyes, retrieving a broom and dustpan from the hallway closet, “Right, because your part-time barista job pays so much.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I really don’t know what else to offer you.”

“Better think of something or you’re on your own.”

The sound of ceramic clicking together as Jake cleans filled the silence, leaving you to brainstorm on what he would accept as a down payment offer. Money wasn’t an option, and you didn’t know enough about Jake’s interests to offer him some sort of bribe.

However, Jake is a man. Yes, a religious one, but still a man. If you’re lucky enough, there’s one thing you could offer that no man, not even Jake, would pass up.

“Chaeyoung is saving herself for marriage, right?”

Jake paused, suspiciously glancing at you over his shoulder, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes.”

You nodded, “Are you?”

“Again, not your business, but yes.”

“What about loopholes?”

Jake fully turned around this time, narrowing his eyes at you, “YN, where are you going with this?”

You shrugged, defensively raising your hands, “What if I was your loophole? Like, I help you get off however you want without actually having sex, so it won’t count as sinning. And, trust me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jesus Christ, you seriously wanted the inheritance that bad?

Jake immediately wanted to accept the offer and drag you straight into his room, but he couldn’t; he had to be nonchalant about this or risk you revoking your suggestion.

He faked a look of disgust, a confused, twisted snarl on his face as he responded, “But, you’re my step-sister; isn’t that wrong?”

You shrugged, “I don’t care if you don’t. Plus, we’re adults and we barely even know each other, it’s not like our parents married years ago and we grew up as siblings.”

Fair point, not that Jake needed any further convincing.

“I’m not offering you this again, by the way. You either accept it now or you’ll never get the chance again,” you warn Jake, taking a seat down on the edge of his couch.

After a few long moments of pretending to weigh his options, Jake extended the end of the broomstick in your direction, slowly using the handle of it to lift your skirt. You didn’t react, your eyes following the edge of the broomstick as Jake continued his actions. He lowered his head slightly, confused as to why he couldn’t see your panties, until he realized.

You weren’t wearing any.

He cleared his throat, quickly pulling the broom away before leaning it up against the wall. “Sure, whatever, I guess. As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Easiest deal of his life.

Jake made sure you kept to your end of the deal, and maybe took some advantage of it.

The first incident occurred a few weeks after the agreement, when Jake had to cover for you upon missing Sunday service due to you being hungover.

“She was up all night designing flyers for the coat drive next week,” Jake addressed your mother’s concerns, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, “she really wanted to come to today’s service, but I told her she should get some rest.”

Your mother clutched her heart, staring up at Jake in complete awe, “YN? My YN?”

Jake nodded, a sheepish grin on his face as he responded, “The one and only.”

Your mother was skeptical, tilting her head at her stepson with her brows furrowed, “Just doesn’t sound like something she would do, unless there was something in it for her, of course. You’re not covering for her, are you?”

Jake faked a laugh, “The only thing YN is covered in is the blood of Jesus Christ.”

…And apparently Jake’s cum only a few hours later.

“…Now, guess who’s stuck designing flyers for the coat drive? Me!”

“I told you I would do it, you little brat,” your fist tightens around Jake’s clothed cock and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the new, uncomfortable, yet pleasant sensation.

You were slightly off-put and a little humored when Jake showed up to your apartment requesting, “A handjob but I, like, keep my boxers on. Like, just do it through my clothes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather…have your boxers off?”

“Are you nuts? I’m not letting you touch me,” he’d said, unbuttoning his dress pants as he lowered himself on your mattress.

You obliged his request, awkwardly rubbing him through his boxers, watching as his facial expressions changed so quickly and constantly. His brows would furrow then relax, lips would twitch before sinking his teeth in them, all while he tried his best not to finish embarrassingly quick.

Which didn’t work.

Jake was already on the edge of cumming when you lowered your head down to his groin, placing a small peck against the head of his clothed cock, the material sticky and wet from his precum.

His body jolts at the touch, arching off the mattress with swears spewing from his lips as his orgasm washed over him. He shoves his boxers down in record time, grinning to himself when you groan in agony when his cum lands on your cheek.

Had you been literally anyone else, maybe Jake would’ve felt bad that he came so quickly and didn’t have the energy nor interest to give you anything in return; but he didn’t. This was an agreement, and as long as the two of you held to both your ends of the deal, there was nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t owe you anything else.

Surprisingly enough, the arrangements weren’t happening as frequently as Jake hoped they would.

You immersed yourself into the church community, showing up to Sunday Worship and Bible Study as if it were a second nature. Jake should be proud, really, that you’re serious about being devoted; even if it was under the premise of obtaining your father’s inheritance, but he’s pissed.

He waited weeks for you to slip up, intentionally scheduling a Bible Study session or some church fundraiser at a time where he knows you’ll be busy and have no choice to skip, but you show up.

To every fucking event. Until you don’t.

Your younger cousin was getting baptized and you missed it, and if it weren’t for Jake making up some lame excuse and covering for your ass, your mother would’ve gone ballistic on you.

Jake’s happy to cover for you, though, knowing he’d be getting something in return not too long afterwards.

After weeks of feigning, that simple slip up was how Jake found him back between your thighs, pumping his cock along the outline of your cunt through your thin panties.

“Whatever,” you sneer, propping yourself up on your elbows, “marriage is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Jake rolls his eyes, pausing and grateful at the fact that he has a better of your tits. For some godforsaken reason, the air conditioner in your home is always on full blast, and despite assuring your guests that you don’t feel that cold, your body certainly says otherwise; if the way your hardened nippled poke through your shirt is anything to go by.

He licks his lips, pumping his dick a little faster as he leans down and traces his tongue along your clothed nipple. You’re saying something, maybe asking him what he’s doing or to keep going, but he can’t hear you; having you like this is new territory for him, nothing else in the world mattered at this moment.

His saliva stains your t-shirt as he continues, moaning against your chest as he flicks his tongue against your bud. Jake lightly traps your nipple between his teeth, tugging on it just enough to sting before releasing it once again, lapping his tongue against it as if to apologize.

Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a tight grip as Jake moans before shoving your arm away entirely. “Are you insane?! Don’t touch me!”

“But-”

“Wait.”

Fuck, that felt good. It wasn’t much but it felt so fucking good.

He needed more of you, fuck all this waiting for marriage bullshit. He tried his best for as long as he could, and he doesn’t want to fucking wait anymore.

“I wanna try something,” he mumbles, wasting no time in pushing your panties to the side. The sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his mouth water, and Jake swears he can hear a choir of angels singing as he stares down at it in awe.

“Jake, I thought-”

“Fuck that,” Jake is quick to cut you off, already knowing what your next words were, “I don’t wanna wait anymore; show me how.”

“How to what?”

“The one thing you know how to do.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’re such an asshole.” You say, but it doesn’t stop you from maneuvering your right hand between your bodies and gripping the base of Jake’s cock, encouraging him to scoot forward as you guide him directly to your hole.

You don’t move him any further, making the choice of letting Jake decide whether he’s serious about this.

He is.

He presses the head of his cock further into you, squeezing his eyes shut as you wrap around him so snug and perfect. He stills his movements, head dropping to your shoulder with a groan.

It’s already too much and he’s not even halfway in. It feels too good, so wet and warm and tight, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck…”, he mumbles into your shoulder, taking note of how none of this barely had an effect on you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him in an oddly sweet tone, “try moving.”

“I can’t, think I’m gonna come if I do.”

“You’ll be fine, just-”

Jake lets out a loud, frustrated groan as he raises his head away from your shoulder, “You wouldn’t fucking get it.”

Jake spent too many countless nights imagining this very scenario, and now that it’s finally happening he can barely even handle it. Everything feels too good and it’s all too much for him to bear.

He pulls his dick out of you entirely, giving himself a few hard pumps as his impending orgasm approaches. It looks almost painful, the way he’s gripping and pumping his cock, how red his tip is, you’re surprised a few tears don’t slip from his eyes when he finally does finish, painting your thighs with his cum as his body trembles.

He rests a shaky hand on your knee, grip on his cock softening as he makes a mess across your panties, thick, white ropes of cum staining your underwear.

“Fuck,” Jake mumbles to himself as he steadies his breathing. He’s never came this hard before, to the point where he feels exhausted and genuinely empty.

“Are you…okay?” You ask, cringing at the sticky feeling between your thighs.

Jake nods slowly, sitting himself up as he tucks his now-softened cock back into his boxers, “Let’s, uh, get cleaned up so we can go.”

His head his spinning as he rises from your bed, a dizzy feeling coming over him as he stands. Fuck, maybe this is why he should’ve waited for marriage.

“Go where?”

“Bible study is starting soon,” he explains, “if we leave now we can stop by Taco Bell beforehand, I need a Baja Blast.”

[loveesiren]

What about jj saving rafes gf instead of Sarah when she falls off the boat? Even though jj and Rafe hate each other

of course babes! sorry this took a while, i hope you enjoy! :)

𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕

warnings: not proofread, language, slight angst

wc: 2.4k+

Before you were Rafe Cameron’s girl, you were a Pogue through and through. You grew up with JJ and John B, learning to boat, fish, and work hard for the things you wanted. Life was simple but full, with endless summer days spent on the water and nights filled with laughter. When Pope and Kiara joined your crew, it felt like your family was complete—especially since having Kiara around meant you finally had someone who understood what it was like to be a girl surrounded by all that chaotic, masculine energy.

But things changed when you caught the attention of Rafe Cameron. At first, it seemed impossible. A Kook and a Pogue? The idea alone was laughable. Yet, against all odds, there was something magnetic about Rafe—a spark you couldn’t ignore. And to your surprise, he felt it too. It wasn’t long before stolen glances turned into secret meetings, and those meetings turned into something deeper. But every step closer to Rafe felt like a step away from your childhood friends.

Sure, it was fine when John B started dating Sarah Cameron. But when you got with the older Cameron sibling, it was a problem. Rafe’s constant harassment didn’t help your case. Sarah was much kinder than her brother, and the Pogues saw her as someone who genuinely cared for John B. Rafe, on the other hand, had a reputation that preceded him—a volatile temper and a knack for trouble that made him nearly impossible to trust. Except when it came to you. Your presence seemed to calm the storm in his mind.

Choosing Rafe wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that you stopped caring for the Pogues. In fact, you still loved them fiercely, even if your paths had diverged. Being with Rafe meant walking a tightrope. While he harbored a burning hatred for your old crew, he knew better than to act on it—because hurting them meant risking you. And losing you was unthinkable for Rafe, who had grown to see you as the one thing anchoring him in his stormy world. But even his restraint couldn’t erase the tension. The Pogues saw your relationship as a betrayal, and you feared they’d never forgive you. 

Now, you sat alone on the edge of a boat, staring out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic as it stretched endlessly before you. The journey to Morocco wasn’t one you’d ever imagined taking. But here you were, caught between two worlds, trying desperately to keep the peace. It was your idea to bring Rafe and the Pogues together for this mission. You’d convinced Rafe to help them track down Groff, who had made off with his money, knowing it could also give JJ and Pope a chance to evade capture. Even if you weren’t close anymore, you couldn’t bear to see the people you once called family thrown behind bars.

But, as expected, not everything had gone to plan.

The Pogues didn’t trust Rafe—and for good reason. His track record spoke for itself. As soon as they got him on the boat, they tied him up in the tiny bathroom, keeping him under lock and key. You understood their logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to see your boyfriend treated like a prisoner. Worse still, they’d forbidden you from seeing him until you reached Morocco. You didn’t fight them on it. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and besides, you knew better than to argue with JJ when his mind was made up.

So, you sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, the salty breeze brushing against your face. The solitude of the sea was both comforting and suffocating. It gave you time to think—about the choices you’d made, the people you’d hurt, and the fragile balance you were struggling to maintain. You wanted to believe this trip could be a turning point, a chance to bridge the gap between Rafe and the Pogues. But deep down, you knew the odds were slim. Trust was hard to rebuild, and the wounds on both sides ran deep.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you let out a weary sigh. All you could do now was wait—for land, for answers, for the moment when everything would inevitably come to a head. Until then, the sea was your only companion, its endless expanse reflecting the tangled mess of your heart.

-

Sarah was kind. She always had been. Even after all her brother had put her through, she still cared for him enough to make sure he was fed and hydrated. She did the same for you.

“Brought you some dinner,” she said, plopping down beside you.

“Thanks,” you responded softly. You took a few bites of the sandwich she brought you before putting it aside. Your appetite had been wearing thin the entire trip.

“I think it’s stupid too,” she said, looking out at the horizon while the late sun cast bright ripples on the calm water.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole Kook versus Pogue thing. Rafe’s done his fair share of bad shit, but haven’t we all? I really think he wants to help this time.”

“He does,” you said. “All he wants is to get his money back from Groff. He doesn’t care about the crown. Honest.”

“I know,” she said, offering you a soft smile. “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest.”

You pondered her words as she walked off. You weren’t overly close with Sarah. It was almost as if you and she had swapped lives. You started seeing Rafe around the same time Sarah and John B got together, and for the last three years, she’d been getting a taste of life’s adventures while you enjoyed the finer things. You loved Rafe. You were in love with him. You couldn’t imagine being without him. But you often found yourself missing the life you once lived with the Pogues.

You cringed as you swallowed one final shot of whiskey, a vice that did close to nothing to take the stress away. You tossed the bottle to the side and rolled over, closing your eyes and trying your best to relax to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Eventually, you were lulled to sleep, dreaming of Rafe. He smiled as he took you into his large arms, and you felt secure in his warm embrace.

The dream was short-lived, though, as you were thrown roughly against the hard wall of the boat. Disoriented, you struggled to find something to grip. Rain lashed against your face as the boat pitched violently from side to side.

You made your way to your feet and took in your surroundings. The storm had hit fast. You could see movement inside the helm as the Pogues scrambled to navigate the chaos and secure the boat.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Rafe!” your voice rose into a frantic scream as you stumbled toward the helm. You knew you had to find him—if he was left unsecured, he’d drown.

“Y/N, get inside!” JJ’s voice cut through the storm. You turned to see him and John B holding the door open, JJ’s hand extended toward you. You reached for him, but another violent wave threw you to the deck.

“Where’s Rafe?!” you yelled, coughing as salty seawater stung your throat.

“Kiara’s getting him!” John B shouted back.

Moments later, Rafe appeared in the doorway, drenched but alive. “Y/N!”

Relief flooded through you at the sight of him, but your joy was short-lived. A massive wave loomed on the horizon, crashing into the boat with terrifying force. You screamed as the water dragged you off the stern, the world disappearing into a churning abyss.

“Y/N!” JJ and Rafe shouted in unison.

“Rafe!” you screamed, fighting to keep your head above water. The sea clawed at you, threatening to pull you under. “Rafe! Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” JJ’s voice rang out as he dove into the water after you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” John B yelled, trying to hold Rafe back from following. “JJ, no, no, no!”

But it was too late. JJ had already disappeared beneath the waves.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s scream was raw with desperation, tears streaming down his face. John B had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by fear.

John B pressed his hand firmly against Rafe’s chest, forcing him back inside. “Come on, man! We can’t help them if we drown too!” he yelled over the howling wind. He shoved Rafe into the cabin and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Rafe sobbed, pounding his fists against the wall. “I have to go help her! I have to find her, man!”

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos as she wrapped her arms around him. “Rafe, it’s okay! Let’s just get to land. I’m sure they’ll find their way back!” She rubbed his back as he crumpled, his sobs echoing through the small cabin.

-

The water finally calmed as you and JJ struggled onto the sand, every muscle in your body screaming with exhaustion. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the relief of solid ground beneath you was overwhelming. Collapsing onto the beach, you coughed violently, lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his voice ragged between gasps for air.

You nodded weakly, words feeling like too much effort. After a moment, you managed to rasp, “A-Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes passed as you both sat in silence, trying to steady your breathing. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and infinite, illuminated only by a pale sliver of moonlight. A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts turned to Rafe—his face, his voice, and the uncertainty of whether you’d ever see him again.

“They’ll be okay, Y/N,” JJ said softly, his tone more reassuring than he probably felt. “At first light, we’ll head down the beach. We’ll find them.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of emotion. “Hey, Jayj?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, gratitude lacing every syllable.

He turned to you with a tired but genuine smile. “Can’t kill a Pogue, right?”

The next thing you knew, the sun was warming your skin, its gentle rays coaxing you back to consciousness. The once-violent sea was calm now, its rhythmic waves bringing an unexpected peace. You stretched, muscles stiff and aching, before glancing toward the shore.

JJ was standing near the water, absentmindedly dragging his foot through the sand. You rose to your feet, brushing off grains of sand stuck to your damp clothes, and made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

He turned, offering you a small smile. “Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Guess so,” you chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I passed out.”

“Not surprising,” JJ said with a shrug. “You were pretty wrecked.” His tone was light, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I was thinking we head up the beach toward where the boat was headed. If they made it to land, that’s where we’ll find them.”

You winced at the word if, the uncertainty slicing through your chest like a blade. “Okay,” you replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

For the next 45 minutes, the two of you trudged along the beach in silence, your shared determination a quiet bond. Every step brought a mix of hope and dread as you scanned the horizon for any sign of your loved ones.

“You know,” JJ said suddenly, breaking the silence, “they’re probably feeling the same as us—like they might never see us again.”

You shook your head, gripping tightly onto hope. “We’ll find them, Jayj. We have to.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “We will.”

A few more minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak again. “JJ?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do… Do you hate me?” The question felt heavy on your tongue, dredging up years of unspoken tension.

JJ’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He sighed, raking a hand through his damp hair. “No, Y/N. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.”

His words caught you off guard, and you looked down, fiddling with your hands. “It just… it felt like you did.”

JJ’s voice softened as he continued. “I was hurt. You were my best friend, and when you and Rafe got together, it felt like he stole you away. From me. From all of us.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Jayj. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said firmly. “All you’ve ever done was try to keep the peace. I should’ve seen that sooner. And last night, when you fell off the boat…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “All I could think about was how I couldn’t let you die thinking I hated you. You’re my sister, Y/N. You always will be.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. JJ hugged you back tightly, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you, Jayj. I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered.

He pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it. I’ll even make an effort with Rafe if it means getting you back.”

An hour later, the sun was high in the sky when you spotted movement in the distance.

“J, is that them?” you asked breathlessly, shielding your eyes with your hand.

JJ squinted at the figures. “Let’s find out,” he said, quickening his pace.

As you got closer, the shapes grew clearer: Sarah’s golden hair, Kiara’s familiar stance, and Rafe’s unmistakable silhouette towering above the group.

“Rafe!” you cried, breaking into a run.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening before he sprinted toward you. The moment he reached you, his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d never see you again!” He cried.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m safe. JJ saved me.”

When Rafe finally pulled back, his gaze shifted to JJ, who stood a few feet away, watching the reunion. Without hesitation, Rafe approached him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, clapping Rafe on the back. “Yeah, well… couldn’t let her die on my watch,” he said with a crooked smile.

As you stood there, watching the two men who meant so much to you, hope swelled in your chest. For the first time in years, you felt like things might finally be okay.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001 @seojunandsoju @niktwazny303 @jjmaybankmylovee @simp4f1 @faephoria @toftomgmf @bunnykoo901 @adarkskinarchives @millietozier @babybreadamericano @hwaaholic @dilfluvr4evr @wtfdudesblog @harrys-housewife @sereneera @lizziesangel @akobx @kieeslove @serrendiipty @esquivelbianca @agnxstic

[alexvolleyball]

♂BREAKING DISHES!♂

They're filming the tiktok trend with you.

characters: Sylus; Xavier; Zayne; Rafayel.

warnings: Rafayel! I'm not trying to impose complexes on you! Every girl is beautiful!

a/n: English is not my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Requests are open.

Sylus:

• Initially, he was reluctant, insisting he didn't want to waste his time on "nonsense."

• Eventually, though, you managed to persuade him. You showed him several videos demonstrating the trend, and he nodded in understanding. “Why should I put you on my shoulder when you could just sit on my face?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

• You playfully slapped his forearm and shot him a disapproving look. “Sylus! I plan to post this on TikTok!” you exclaimed, half-amused and half-annoyed.

• “Well, if we film something else, then you can post that on—Ouch!” He barely finished his thought before you poked him in the side, pretending to be offended. You turned as if to leave, but he quickly grasped your wrist and pulled you back towards him. “Alright, kitten, don’t sulk, okay?” His voice was gentle as he pressed a soft kiss to your nose, only to follow it up with a playful bite, chuckling at the way you scrunched up your adorable nose in response. “I’ll do it for you.”

• What can I say? He nailed the trend effortlessly. You didn’t even need to jump, as Sylus effortlessly tossed you onto his strong shoulder. A man says it, a man does it. A man of his word indeed. 10/10!

Xavier:

• He was sleeping sweetly until you jolted him awake. You should have seen the look of confusion on his face! Xavier genuinely struggled to comprehend what you wanted from him, his brain still in a fog.

• After a few attempts, he finally nodded and got out of bed, tousling his hair. The man stretched, revealing a hint of his stomach and showcasing his delicious abs. You swallowed hard, pulling yourself together, and placed your phone on the nightstand, turning on the camera.

• To say you nailed it would be an understatement. Xavier still didn’t quite grasp what he was supposed to do. A couple of times, you fell, but his quick reflexes kept you from kissing the floor.

• By the tenth attempt, Xavier somewhat figured things out.

• Well, "figured out" might be a stretch. He just hoisted you up by your arms and legs, tossing you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes! “Xavier! Not like that!”

• And what was the end result? After a couple of hours, you finally captured that trend! But he’s such a sweetheart. “Did I do everything right? Am I a good boy?” The hunter looked at you with puppy dog eyes, flashing a charming smile. How could you stay mad? But for dropping you a few times, you rated him a solid 7/10.

Zayne:

• The cream of the crop.

• He was deeply engrossed in his work at the computer, but the moment you walked in and shared your idea, Zayne immediately set everything aside just to give you his undivided attention.

• It only took him one video to grasp exactly what needed to be done.

• The doctor unfastened the buttons on his sleeves to roll them up, revealing his veined arms.

• No jumping was necessary. The man effortlessly lifted you by the waist and hoisted you onto his shoulder. With one hand securely holding you, he casually slipped the other into his pocket. Zayne caught sight of your beaming smile and couldn’t help but grin back. Tilting his neck towards you, he gently kissed your leg and rubbed his cheek against it. “You're so light, my princess.”

• Too hot and too sweet all at once! ♾️/10!!!

Rafayel:

• After your request, he rolled his eyes. You were already losing interest in filming with him. “Fine, I'll just shoot with your assistant; he looks strong.”

• “What?! Don't you dare!” the artist shouted, feeling a pang of jealousy. “Alright, I'll do that silly trend with you!”

• Well, you knew just where to push his buttons.

• He had come across that type of video a few times, so he knew what to do. But Rafayel wouldn’t be Rafayel if he didn’t start teasing you. He pretended he couldn’t lift you at all. “Damn! You're so heavy!”

• He had you in tears. Rafayel literally knelt before you, begging for your forgiveness. “My little fish, I was just kidding! You’re the lightest girl in the world!”

• In the end, you nailed the trend. The artist effortlessly sat you on his shoulder. For the teasing and reducing you to tears, he gets a 1/10.

© 2024 do reblog, but don’t copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages. Any coincidences are coincidental! The dividers belong to me! If you want use them, just tag me: @alexvolleyball

[rottenfyre]

Do you think Bruce would introduce y/n to the justice league? I could totally see her simping over the flash (Or conner Kent 👀).

The first time you meet Conner, you’re immediately smitten. He’s tall, gorgeous, and has that perfect blend of confidence and awkward boy-next-door energy that you thrive on.

You don’t even bother introducing yourself properly. After the initial “Hey, pretty boy, wanna fuck?” incident, you lean into your new role as his unsolicited sugar mama.

Conner, tries to respond, but you’re already calculating how much of Bruce’s money you’ll need to spoil him.

During one mission, you dramatically announce, “Conner deserves everything! Clothes, gadgets, vacations—all on Daddy Bruce’s tab!”

Once, you bought him an entire motorcycle. When Bruce found out, he dragged you into the Batcave, his voice dangerously calm.

“Explain why my credit card statement says you purchased a $50,000 bike.”

“It’s for Conner. He deserves nice things.”

Bruce’s eye twitches. “Conner can fly. He doesn’t need a bike.”

You shrug. “But he looks so good on it, Bruce. Don’t be stingy.”

You’re constantly “borrowing” Bruce’s money for ridiculous things.

“Bruce, I need a million dollars.”

“For what?” he asks, already exhausted.

“To buy Conner a pony. He’s always wanted one.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not giving you a million dollars.”

“Fine,” you huff. “But don’t come crying to me when Conner’s sad and pony-less.”

You have a love-hate relationship with Diana. You’re in awe of her beauty, strength, and grace, but you’re also deeply insecure.

During one mission, you stop mid-battle to dramatically compare your boobs to hers, much to everyone’s horror.

“Diana,” you sniff, clutching your chest, “I’ll never be able to compete with perfection like yours. It’s not fair!”

Diana, ever graceful, reassures you, “You’re beautiful in your own right.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re perfect,” you reply, before glaring at Bruce. “He never says anything nice to me.”

Bruce, utterly done: “Because you don’t deserve it.”

During a training session, you randomly grab Diana’s hand and place it on your boobs.

“Feel that, Diana. Am I Amazon material yet?”

She humors you, nodding seriously. “You’re getting there.”

You: “If I bulk up, can I join Themyscira?”

Barry finds you hilarious. He loves how unfiltered you are, even when it gets way too inappropriate.

Once, during a mission, you casually said, “Barry, do you think you could vibrate fast enough to—”

Barry, cutting you off, flailing: “DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE.”

You just smirk. “I’m just saying. There’s potential.”

He starts speed-dodging your flirting, but you’re persistent. “One day, Speedy, you’ll come around.”

You have exactly one question for Hal when you meet him:

“So, hypothetically, could you make a functional dild—”

Hal, already holding up a hand: “Nope. Don’t even finish that thought.”

You pout. “Why do you even have the ring if you’re not going to use it creatively?”

Clark tries his best to remain polite and patient, but you test his limits.

“You must’ve been sculpted by the gods,” you tell him once, blatantly checking him out. “What’s it like being perfect, superdaddy?”

“I… um… thank you?” Clark stammers, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck while Bruce glares daggers at you.

You immediately give Arthur the nickname “Aquadaddy” and refuse to call him anything else.

“Look at those arms, Aquadaddy. What’s your bench press, a blue whale?”

Arthur smirks, clearly amused. “Something like that.”

You: “Bet you could throw me across the room.”

Arthur: “Why would I do that?”

You: “For fun. And because I’d enjoy it.”

You’re also obsessed with his tattoos.

“Did it hurt? Can I touch them? Are you planning on getting more? What if we got matching ones?!”

He indulges you for about five seconds before realizing you’re just trying to find an excuse to grope his arm.

“You’re worse than Barry,” he mutters.

During an underwater mission, you accidentally blurted out, “Do mermaids exist? Be honest.”

Arthur: “They’re… complicated.”

You: “Complicated? Are they, like, your exes?”

Arthur groans, swimming away while you cackle.

You’ve made it your life’s mission to torment Bruce.

When the League gathers for a meeting, you always find a way to embarrass him. One time, you slid into the room dramatically, pointed at him, and declared, “That man is the reason I’m not married yet!”

Bruce: “How is this my fault?”

You grin. “Because I’ll never find another man who looks as good in a suit. You’ve ruined my standards.”

You are Bruce’s biggest headache. Every time he turns around, you’re doing something wildly inappropriate.

During a League movie night, you plop yourself on the floor between his legs, resting your head on his thigh.

“Your thighs are so firm, Bruce. You ever think about becoming a leg model?”

Bruce just stares down at you, utterly done. “Go sit somewhere else.”

You grin up at him. “Nope. This is my spot now.”

As unhinged as you are, everyone in the League has a soft spot for you. You make them laugh, even if it’s at Bruce’s expense.

And while your antics are embarrassing for Bruce, they all know you’re a fierce fighter and incredibly loyal. When it matters, you’ve got their backs—and they wouldn’t trade you for anything.

Except Bruce. Bruce would absolutely trade you for five minutes of peace.

[bringbackmaes14]

My mom has her TV on in her room almost 24/7 and it's always on some news outlet or other. We talk a lot about politics and world/national/local events. And we do have a lot of varying views on a lot of things but we're both adults who are capable of saying "well we've both stated we have differing opinions and it's clear that we're actually arguing at this point and not just talking so let's put away the topic for now." But there are also other times where I'm just too overwhelmed by my own life to think about what's going on in the bigger world around me, so my mom knows to be hesitant to bring up news stuff with me (i.e. she doesn't just start talking about politics/world events with me rather she'll ask if I'm in the mindset to discuss things when she wants my opinion on something). This is all relevant.

We've always been able to talk about nearly everything from the economy to the school system to human rights to human tragedy and we've never tried to censor ourselves around each other (outside of getting too emotional with our language). But about two weeks ago when the United Healthcare CEO was assassinated, my mom, who is in her 50s, came to me and she said "Did you see that the CEO of United Healthcare got unalived?"

And I just sat there and looked at her completely confused and she was like "did you not hear about it? It's all over the news. It happened in clear view on the street." Like the problem was that I hadn't heard of the event not that my Gen-X mother had just in a real life conversation said the word "unalived".

And I told her as much. "Yes I've heard that. Why did you say 'unalived' instead of 'murdered'?

And she told me that she just thought that since I'm touchy about heavier topics sometimes (which is definitely true, that does occasionally happen) she thought it would be better to just not use the "heavy" words. I asked her if she realized, honestly, how stupid that was because regardless of the word she used, she was still talking about a murder, it didn't change the subject matter, she was only making the subject matter seem less significant and severe by changing the word to baseless internet lingo that a bunch of misguided, clout-chasing influencers spread.

She hadn't. She's doesn't use the Internet replacement words a lot, online or otherwise. This was a first. She thought this was a different situation, and a fine one to use it in, and like the above stories people shared, it's still not.

I'm allowed to say there are days where I want to avoid heavier topics because I'm overwhelmed. I'm allowed to not ever really discuss certain topics because they actually trigger me based on my own experiences. But people who are out here living their whole lives like just talking about about difficult or controversial topics, or asking questions about it, or enjoying media where it's portrayed (especially when it's actually portrayed respectfully) are being ridiculous, and they're handicapping themselves. They're never going to learn how to talk about hard things, or how to handle hard things. And honestly I feel bad for them.

Luckily, in my case, once I explained why my mom saying what she said was incredibly weird and honestly devaluing to the conversation, she backtracked and told me that (like I said above) she doesn't talk like that regularly and she has no intention to start; it's just that this was a huge news event and that day had been particularly rough for me emotionally and she wasn't sure how to approach it. So her intentions were good and I'm very lucky that she understands and also agrees that the Internet censorship language is incredibly unnecessary.

we have GOT to kill tiktok/twitter self-censorship i just witnessed a grown adult say the word “smex” out loud to our professor

[insomniadreamzz]

Hiiiii! Could you write G!P councilor Sevika x fem reader? Where Sevika comes home to her wife after a council meeting and she is frustrated so reader offers to help her with it and Sevika has her way with reader? Resulting in her getting pregnant.

Thank youuuuu xoxo

Alrightyyy!~ Another G!P Fic

This time Sevika x Fem!Reader

Mentions of G!P, pregnancy, smut

———

You are my world

Sevika just arrived home after the council meeting, not looking very amused as she stomped into the kitchen, making herself a drink and heading to the living room, sitting down on the sofa before taking a sip from her drink and putting the glass down, letting out a annoyed groan.

You heard her being finally home again as you just got out the shower, feeling so happy to see your wife being back home again. „Hey! You’re finally back.“ You cheered happily, walking towards her but her expression made you frown as you sat beside her. „Is something wrong?“ You asked with a tilted head, making her sigh before she answered. „Being a Zauntie member in the council is just frustrating. They don’t really trust me, I get weird looks and-…ugh.“ Sevika groaned, rubbing her face with her hand, you hated seeing her frustrated like that.

„Sevika…give them time. You are the most loyal and kind Zauntie I ever met. You have a heart of gold and they will notice it sooner or later.“ You tried to calm her down, your hand gently caressing her muscular arm, finally she looked at you with a more softer expression and a little smile. „I just know why I made you my wife…you are just so good to me. You don’t know how much you mean to me.“ Sevika responded and you smile brightly before leaning in to press a kiss on her lips. The kiss got returned by her, ending up into a deep and passionate kiss, she really loved you and you loved her.

You soon pull back, both of you catching your breath before you got an idea to make her relax. „You know I do have a idea to get your frustration off…if you like to.“ You said with a teasing voice and Sevika got the message quickly, how could she deny you? She simply couldn’t. „Oh baby I would love that.“ She said with the same lustful voice before picking you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

You moaned softly as Sevika put kisses on your neck, you laying underneath her, being fully exposed to her, you just loved how much affection she shows you, loving and cherishing every inch of your body as she worked her way down to your chest, leaving marks all over your chest and neck so everyone knows you belong to her. She was also fully exposed, her cock rubbing against your wet folds. Your hands are placed on her strong shoulders, whining softly when she started to play with your nipples, arching your back. „Ughh…stop teasing…“ You mumble and she looked up at you with a lustful gaze. „Impatient?“

You just let out a little grunt in response. „Fine fine. I won‘t let my wife wait for longer, after all I am still frustrated and I want to get it all off of me.“ She leaned up as she adjusted herself between your legs, your gaze fixed on her beautiful strong body, your hand moving down along her muscles on her stomach before you let out a moan once she slid inside of you.

„Fuck!…“ You moan out, hands trying to find something to hold onto and they found your pillow, grabbing it tightly as you let Sevika thrust into you. Her size was just perfect for you, filling you completely up and stretching you so good, the first thrusts making you already go crazy. When her hands held your hips you felt a shiver go down your spine because of the feeling of her metal hand on your soft and warm skin. You bit on your lip, trying to hold back your moans.

„Oh no I want to hear those. Don’t you dare holding back.“ She grunted, thrusting harder inside of you and with every thrust, feeling her rubbing your insides and hitting your sweet spot, you moaned louder. „A-Ah! Yes! Yes right there!“ You moaned out, not feeling embarrassed anymore about your lewd moans as the pleasure was taking over, your legs squeezing around Sevika’s hips.

„Damn…that’s right. Give me those sweet sounds of yours.“ Now she was moaning too at the good feeling, filling up the room with lewd sounds of your moaning, whining and the sounds of yours bodies clapping together. You felt close but you didn’t even think about wanting her to stop and pull out like usually.

„C-cum inside me. Please do.“ You begged her and that made Sevika‘s expression softer. „You sure??“ She asked in between her gasps and moans and you nod at her. „Yes. Yes please do. I want it. I want it with you.“ You whined, feeling your orgasm getting closer and your words made her feel even more aroused, Sevika‘s hips now moving almost automatically as she literally rammed her cock inside of you. Making you moan even more lewdly and making you roll your eyes back as you felt a wave of electric shocks through your body, legs shaking as they clenched around her hips. The feeling of your pussy clenching around her cock made her reach her orgasm too, making Sevika moan out and groan as she granted your wish, not pulling out as she came inside of you, filling you with her cum. „Oh fuck! I am cumming“ She moaned out, cock twitching inside of you as she let it all go inside of you, making you feel all warm. She kept on thrusting slowly until she pulled out, watching a little bit of cum getting out of you, she really filled you up with a lot of cum.

After both of you reached your orgasms and calmed down, Sevika laying beside you in bed as she caressed your hair with her human hand. Slowly realising what you just did. „We…are going to be parents.“ She said with a soft whisper and you moved your gaze up to look into your wife’s eyes with a soft and happy eyes. „Yes. That’s all I want. Because you are my world.“ She smiles and you could see her eyes being teary, you didn’t see her being emotional that often but you loved it every time you saw her being soft with you and before she could say anything, she kissed you deeply and passionately. Sometimes actions are more than words and you both were happy to become parents.

[wonderjanga]

Three Man Band

Billy, Mary, and Freddy are three little homeless kids living in a shitty apartment. They have no adult supervision because all three of them are orphans. Billy is the only person with the somewhat stable job of being the Whiz Kid while both Mary and Freddy deliver newspapers. So, these kids can be mature, but let’s talk about a specific time they just acted like kids and actually made some money off of it.

Billy and Mary: *playing cards*

Freddy: *bursts into the room* “Guys! I have an awesome idea.”

Mary: “Uh… What?”

Freddy: “Let’s start a band!”

*silence*

Billy and Mary: *synchronistically frog blink at him*

Billy: *puts his hand of cards down* “Freddy, what are you talking about?”

Freddy: “We should start a band! Think about it. It’ll be a great side hustle and it’ll be super fun!”

It took surprisingly less resistance than Freddy expected for the twins to agree which was great! The twins abandoned the card game so they could discuss who would do what in the band.

Billy: “So, who’s gonna sing?”

Freddy and Mary: “Me!” *share a look*

Mary and Billy: *raise a brow at Freddy*

Freddy: “Okay, fine. Mary can sing. I’ll play guitar then!”

Mary: “Do you even have a guitar?”

Freddy: “No, but I found a working ukulele in a dumpster.”

Billy: “Cool! But what am I gonna do?”

Freddy: “Drums?”

Mary: “We don’t have drums.”

Billy: “Maybe I could bang on bucket or something?”

Freddy: “Let’s find out.”

They spent the rest of the day running around and looking for buckets and slapping them to see if they made a good drum sound. They ended up picking up a metal one that had a giant white paint splatter on it. After that, they took it back to their apartment, dogpiled on the mattress in the corner and slept. Then, the next day, after Billy finished up his broadcast, they set out to make their first appearance as their little band.

They just set up on the side of a popular street and after deciding on a song, they played. They liked to think they did good.

Billy: *walks over to the hat they have on the ground for money and picks it up* “We got… twenty five cents!”

Mary: “Nice!”

Bruce: *clears his throat* “Excuse me?”

Billy, Freddy, and Mary: *look over to him*

Billy: “Yes, mister?”

Bruce: “I thought you three were really good.” *looks to the hat and thinks that they have barely any money*

That’s actually an okay amount for a town in the 1950s. The Bruce Wayne wasn’t going to accept that though.

Bruce: *takes a couple hundreds out of his pocket* “May I?”

Billy: *thinks the bills are ones and holds the hat out* “We’d really appreciate it, mister.”

Billy, Mary, Freddy: *give bright little orphan smiles*

Bruce: *takes a couple more hundreds out because of that and puts it in the hat*

Billy: “Thanks so much, mister!”

As Bruce walked off…

Mary: “Wow! I can’t believe Patrick Wayne just gave us money!”

If Bruce stumbled when he heard that… no he didn’t.

[steveseddie]

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths. 

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down. 

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan. 

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak. 

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.” 

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?” 

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?” 

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside. 

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home. 

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug. 

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over. 

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?” 

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.” 

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much. 

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside. 

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on. 

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.  

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it. 

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.” 

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans. 

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

[thetadispatcher]

"Oh, right, three. I'm sorry." Peter had trouble keeping where most of the androids came from straight, but he tried his best as he didn't want to accidentally offend them. But that still didn't stop him from making mistakes on occasion that he felt he'd have to make up for, even if most of the androids understood that he was only human and an odd one at that.

"They're easier to care for as they need far less work. I can't say for sure if they deviate, but I'd have to say probably. It's just less noticeable as they still act like the animal they're based on. BeeBee is harmless though, sure she was aggressive to begin with, but that was just because Zlatko mutilated her and kept her locked up. She calmed down after I got her fixed back up, think she just needed proof I wasn't going to hurt her before she'd let her guard down." He didn't blame the URS12 for her initial aggression, she'd been through a very traumatic experience and was just acting accordingly as she didn't know he wasn't there to hurt her.

Peter brought his hand to his mouth, sticking two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp, short whistle. He knew G and BeeBee should be inside as Dan had likely taken Strasky for a walk around the property to calm him down, meaning Dan would take over watching for anything suspicious and G would take BeeBee inside for a break.

He lowered his hand as he heard the sound of claws rapidly clicking on the floor that were heading for the basement. He turned as BeeBee came to a halt in front of the room and sat down, chuffing and shaking her head. Peter motioned for her to enter the room as he knew she was waiting for permission. She quickly got up and jogged over to him, getting up on her hind legs as Daniel moved out of the way. She rubbed her nose against his as she made a purring sound, using her front legs to nudge him onto the ground, allowing her easier access to rub against him.

"They are furry, and BeeBee is just as fluffy as a polar bear should be. She usually is with G as he patrols the property, pretty good deterrent for anyone looking to cause trouble." Peter explained as he ruffled her neck. "She's not gonna hurt anyone unless given the command to do so, other then that she's a sweet heart." He gently coaxed her down so he could stand up again as Brent left the room to fetch more finished parts.

"Yeah, but don't point it out to them, they don't like that and I found that out the hard way." Not that it bothered him as he didn't get in trouble for the fight, the group had attacked him first and he had merely defended himself. He was just warned not to call out anymore protestors or acknowledge them if they tried to talk to him.

"Oh, nothing else. The computers should be it as we haven't come across any issues that can't be easily fixed." Sure they were still working on the space, but so far he couldn't name anything else that was obviously wrong that needed to be replaced.

"I don't, but I'm fine with it." He didn't understand why it was so important to the android, but he knew he needed to address Dan's overbearing protectiveness before it worsened.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't blame her if she still wanted nothing to do with me. I did threaten to kill her and jump off the roof with her, even held her out when the RK800 showed up to talk me down." Daniel wouldn't hold it against Emma if she never wanted to see him again after what he'd done to her. "And I find it interesting to deal with someone who's neurodivergent verses one that was perfectly normal." He didn't mind the change, in fact he found it to be a fun learning experience.

"He also really didn't want to be there as his goal was finding me, and being stuck on a rusty ship wasn't helping him accomplish that. And then to be dragged along occasionally or just hearing them planning something just added to his hatred of being there." Peter knew Dan understood it was best he hide as a deviant, but that didn't stop him from being upset about it.

"And finally reuniting with me and finding I lost an eye didn't do him any favors mentally. He deviated because he thought I was dead and had to find out if I was okay, so finding out I actually could've died well he was in the same city as me... Messed him up. I'm gonna see if we can fix that, he's getting very over protective because of that."

"There's three." the android corrected, "Three of us remain on the property."

"What's the point of android animals?" Rook asked, "Do they deviate too? Are they fuzzy at least? Can I pet BeeBee?"

"Rook."

"I want to pet a bear, Willow!"

Willow rolled her eyes, "Yes, the belief that the evil machines are stealing jobs is a myth that only serves the corporations. Unfortunately, most humans are too dense to understand they're considered on par with any other piece of equipment, thus are just as easily replaced by whatever is more cost effective."

So, trying to get the computers out of storage through semi legitimate means was most likely a lost cause. Willow resorted to sending a text instead. "Would you like to have everything delivered to this room?"

"I'm glad you understand now." It still didn't explain why Bishop specifically wanted his counterpart to fail, but that wasn't relevant to the android's argument as to why he felt the need to prevail.

It was a reasonable question, as far as he was concerned.

"Sometimes kids don't know better. Maybe she'll come around when she grows up and starts thinking with her brain." Rook told Daniel, "It's good that you found yourself new people to hang out with, even if one of them speaks in riddles— You've got something to add, Willow?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that Dan was right about most of Jericho's plans."

[whimsybats]

Task Force 141 x Batmom!Reader (Pt. 1?)

crossover AU

platonic Task Force 141 x batmom!reader x batfam

Bruce Wayne x Reader

(this is my first time writing headcanons on here or anywhere so I'm so sorry if it sucks LOL I might be adding more parts to this later/making it a series of headcanons? I need to get used to writing characters and their personalities, any tips would be appreciated!)

Batmom!Reader who was brought into the events of MW1 under Laswell's command.

I'd imagine she'd have become a Lieutenant. Prior to the events of MW1 she might've worked with Ghost a few times.

She assisted Gaz and Price in Piccadilly. With her medical skills and tactics she made an impression on both of them securing her place in 141 as the resident medic.

Her alias is up to you! (ex; Soap, Ghost, Gaz etc.)

I'd imagine she met Bruce pre-robin era after Piccadilly and assisted with an evacuation while he was Batman, despite his multiple attempts to get her out as well.

He then likely looked her up on the computer in the Batcave, intrigued. Bruce noticed her military background, seeing her involvement with Piccadilly among other events in her career, it made sense.

"Lieutenant (L/N)..." Bruce eyed the computer in interest.

"Another one of your... projects Master Bruce?"

"Something like that I guess."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Eventually you met as Bruce and (Y/n) and had gotten married along the way with having adopted your kids.

When you found out Bruce was Batman, you weren't too shocked, seeing as one of your teammates literally code name is Ghost and also dresses... in a similar scary fashion.

One by one he met your team. They each took their turns interrogating him, Price and Ghost the most. They had to make sure he treated their teammate well after all.

Alfred and Price got along well, likely bonding over their shared paternal figure roles and SAS backgrounds.

Soap and Gaz likely bond well with Dick and Jason.

I'm fairly certain Stephanie and Soap would make a great duo. They would so play pranks around the manor, one time they messed with Ghost maybe messing with his gear like his mask or something (maybe making it something cute instead of scary idk LOL) and he couldn't find his backup, so he had to go around in some cute cat balaclava or something.

Ghost might give them some jump scares once in a while, maybe standing in the corner like Drax when they realize some of their equipment is jammed only giving them a eerie smile under his mask and leaving them to figure out some of their own equipment was replaced with water guns or something.

You might end up having to defuse potential fights between Ghost and Bruce reminding you of Bruce's old fights with Jason.

Speaking of Jason... he and Kyle might try to "one up" each other but neither thinking that anything can really beat being revived straight from a Lazarus Pit.

"Ever fallen out of a helicopter... twice?" Gaz smirked.

"Nah, but you ever try dying?" Jason asked in response earning widened eyes from Gaz.

"You serious mate?"

"More than I'd like to admit," he shrugged, "but hey, more to hold over B's head the better."

"Bloody hell... Gotham is insane."

"Takes one to know one, or something like that."

---

Okay so we know Ghost likes to throw in an occasional joke but imagine he'd pull one in front of your kids.

"What do you call a soldier who loves to paint?" he asked Damian who simply looked up at him and glared with Jason right behind him.

"An art-illery master," queue the complaining from Jason and an eye twitch from Damian.

Bruce often gets more stressed whenever you're on the field, somehow he always finds a way to sneak into the comms and make sure your okay on a private line.

"Bruce I'm fine," you grunted as you took down an enemy, "let me speak to my damn Captain."

"...No."

"B..." you sighed, "I'll make sure this mission is done as quick as possible. Just go take care of the kids for me."

"Fine," he grumbled.

"I love you- now give me back my line to Price."

He mutters a "love you too" before cutting the line.

"What the hell was that Lieutenant?" Price asked on a private line with you and 141.

"My dumb husband," you rolled your eyes. (This would likely be when they know Bruce is Batman to avoid confusion)

Soap would whistle on the comms "Someone misses their missus huh?"

"Don't push it Johnny."

----

tag list: @otterluver05 @sad-girl09

please feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged for any upcoming fics related to this crossover!

[jungwnies]

ASKING YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND TO HELP YOU DECORATE THE HOUSE FOR XMAS 🎄

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : tws : light kissing, nothing heavy ୨ৎ : word count : 3094

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : it's finally xmas season & this one was so fun and cute to write i love it >.<

ʚ・max verstappen

it was a couple weeks before christmas, and you were sitting on the floor, a box of ornaments and tangled lights in front of you. max was on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking entirely too relaxed for someone about to be recruited for decorating duty. you glance up at him, already preparing your argument.

“baby,” you say, dragging out his name a little.

he doesn’t even look up at first, just gives you a hum. “hmm?”

“i really want to decorate the house for christmas. the tree, the mantel… everything.”

that gets his attention. he finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “decorate? like, the whole house?”

you nod, trying not to laugh at his expression. “yes. it’s our first christmas here together, and it’ll be fun. please?”

he sighs like you’ve just asked him to do the impossible, setting his phone down and leaning back. “i’m going to be terrible at this,” he mutters, already standing up.

you grin and pat the spot next to you on the floor. “you’ll survive.”

turns out, he wasn’t exaggerating—max is hilariously bad at decorating. the lights are a disaster. he pulls them out of the box, only to end up with a massive tangle in his hands. “how does this even happen?” he grumbles, holding up the mess. “these things are worse than a bad strategy call.”

you laugh, reaching over to help. “just give them to me before you make it worse.”

then it’s the ornaments. he starts off just randomly putting them on the tree until he gets oddly picky about the placement. “you can’t put two gold ones right next to each other,” he says, moving one.

“since when do you care about ornament placement?” you tease.

“i don’t, but this looks wrong,” he says, smirking.

when it’s time for the star, he insists on lifting you so you can put it on top. “don’t fall,” he warns, steadying you with both hands.

“you’ve got me,” you reply, laughing.

later, as you both sit back and look at the finished tree, he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “it’s not terrible,” he says, but the small smile on his face tells you he’s secretly proud.

you let out a soft laugh and give him a kiss on the cheek, "it's perfect considering this is our first christmas together."

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was a chilly december evening, and the house already smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. you were standing in the living room, a box of decorations at your feet and the christmas tree still bare in the corner. lewis wandered in, his beanie still on from walking roscoe outside, and gave you a curious look.

“baby, you planning to do all that by yourself?” he asked, nodding toward the box.

“was kind of hoping you’d help,” you said, looking up at him with a playful grin.

he chuckled, stepping closer and taking off his beanie, his curls springing loose. “you know i’m terrible at this kind of thing, right?”

“you’ll be fine,” you said, pulling out a strand of lights. “besides, it’s about the effort, not perfection.”

he raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile on his face. “you sound like you’re setting me up to fail.”

but, to his credit, lewis dove right in, untangling lights with the focus of someone preparing for a race. “these things are like tire warmers,” he muttered, holding up a hopeless knot.

“i don’t think pirelli makes christmas lights,” you teased, reaching over to help.

once the lights were on the tree—after much adjusting and a few laughs at lewis’ questionable wrapping technique—you moved on to the ornaments. he took his time with each one, carefully inspecting them like they were trophies, even asking about the stories behind a few.

“this one’s cute,” he said, holding up a small handmade ornament. “you make this?”

“when i was a kid,” you admitted, a little embarrassed.

he laughed gently as a slight smile spread onto his face. he help the ornament carefully, placing it near the middle of the tree. “it deserves a good spot.”

when it came time for the tree topper, lewis insisted on doing it himself. “gotta make up for my shocking lights performance,” he joked. he climbed onto a chair, carefully placing the star on top while you steadied him.

stepping back, the two of you admired the tree, the warm glow of the lights filling the room. lewis slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “not bad for a rookie decorator, huh?”

you leaned into him, smiling. “you did great.”

he kissed your temple, his voice soft. “it’s not really about the tree, you know. it’s about moments like this.”

and as roscoe wandered in, settling near the tree with a content sigh, you couldn’t help but think he was absolutely right.

ʚ・george russel

it was late afternoon, and you were sitting on the couch with george, boxes of christmas decorations scattered around the room. the tree stood bare in the corner, waiting for some life to be added to it. george leaned back, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch, watching you as you sorted through ornaments.

“are we actually going to decorate today, or are you just going to stare at the boxes?” you teased, holding up a tangled string of lights.

he smirked, pushing himself off the couch. “alright, alright, i’m coming. but you know i’m terrible with the lights. they’re always a mess.”

you handed him the string, grinning. “well, you’re in luck. you’re tall, so you can deal with the top of the tree.”

george rolled his eyes playfully, taking the lights from you. “great. the perks of being tall. you get stuck doing all the hard jobs.”

“you’re lucky i’m not asking you to string lights outside,” you joked, sorting through the ornaments. “now, don’t mess it up.”

he stepped up to the tree, carefully draping the lights over the branches. “don’t mess it up,” he repeated in a slightly mocking tone, turning back to flash you a cheeky grin. “you’ve got a lot of faith in me.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i do. just... don’t make it look like you threw them on blindfolded.”

george chuckled softly, finishing his work and stepping back to inspect it. “there. masterpiece. what do you think?”

you tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “hmm... it’s not bad. i’d give it... seven out of ten.”

“seven?” he gasped, feigning offense. “love, that’s a solid nine at least.”

“if you say so,” you teased, holding up the star. “want to do the honors?”

he took it from you, carefully placing it on top of the tree. stepping back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “there. now it’s perfect.”

you smiled up at him. “you know, you’re not so bad at this after all.”

“told you,” he said with a wink. “i’m a man of many talents.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

it was late afternoon, the golden light streaming through the windows as you wrestled with a tangled mess of christmas lights. carlos wandered into the living room, wearing his usual casual track pants, a hoodie, and that slight smirk he always seemed to carry.

“qué haces?” (what are you doing?) he asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you struggle.

you sighed dramatically, holding up the lights in defeat. “i’m trying to decorate the tree, but these lights have other plans.”

he chuckled, that low, warm laugh of his, and walked over to you. “ay, dios mío. you didn’t wait for me? i could’ve saved you from this mess.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “oh, so you’re an expert at christmas lights now?”

“of course,” he said, grabbing the tangled strand from your hands. “i am el rey de las luces, the king of the lights." he gave you a wink, but within seconds, he had the lights in just as much of a mess as you did. “eh… maybe not.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “great job, amor.”

“oye, oye, don’t laugh. i’ll fix it,” he insisted, his accent thick as he focused on untangling the lights. his brow furrowed in concentration, the same look he wore when analyzing data back at the paddock. eventually, he managed to untangle the mess, holding up the lights triumphantly. “see? easy.”

stringing the lights around the tree became a team effort—or, more accurately, a comedy routine. carlos kept stopping to adjust them, stepping back every few minutes and tilting his head. “no, no, this side needs more. it’s like setting up the car—balance is everything.”

“you’re overthinking it, amor,” you teased, mimicking his accent slightly, which earned you a playful glare.

“cariño...don’t start with me,” he warned, pointing a light strand at you. “you want a perfect tree or no?”

when it came to the ornaments, carlos became surprisingly sentimental, asking about each one. “this one—where is it from?” he asked, holding up a little wooden angel.

“a market in my hometown,” you said. “my family bought it years ago.”

he smiled, carefully placing it near the top. “then it goes somewhere special.”

finally, the star. carlos insisted on doing it himself, grabbing a chair and climbing up with dramatic flair. “el momento más importante,” (the most important moment) he said, grinning as he carefully positioned the star at the top.

when he climbed down, he stepped back beside you, hands on his hips as he admired the tree. “mira. perfect,” (look. perfect) he said, nodding with satisfaction.

you glanced at him, smiling. “not bad for el rey de las luces.” you tease.

he looked at you, pretending to be offended. “eh, don’t disrespect the king.” then his face softened, and he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “but seriously… it’s nice, no? makes the house feel… like home.”

and with the glow of the tree lights reflecting in his warm brown eyes, you couldn’t agree more.

ʚ・charles leclerc

it was the weekend before christmas, and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar. you were trying your best to bake cookies, but the dough was a bit more messy than you expected. charles had just returned from his morning run, his hair still damp from the sweat, a towel casually draped around his neck. when he saw you, there was that warm smile—always so soft, so fond.

“hey, mon amour,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless, his accent as soft as the morning light streaming through the window.

“my love,” you smiled back, rolling your eyes playfully as you looked at the mess you’d made. “i think i need help here.”

he crossed the room with the grace of someone who was always in control, always in the moment. stepping behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. “bien sûr, anything for you,” he murmured in your ear, the words full of that effortless affection he always seemed to have for you.

“really?” you teased, glancing up at him. “because if you burn these cookies, you’re doing all the decorations this year, including the tree.”

charles chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “je vais pas brûler les cookies, don’t worry, i’m a professional.” (i won’t burn the cookies)

“uh-huh, and what if i don’t want a professional? what if i want my boyfriend making cookies with me?” you grinned, nudging him lightly.

his eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “tous les jours avec toi sont parfaits,” he whispered, as if it was the most natural thing to say. (every day with you is perfect.)

you felt your heart flutter, your smile growing. “you’re making me all mushy inside,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“c’est toi qui me rends comme ça,” he replied, his voice filled with a sweetness that made everything feel softer. (it’s you who makes me this way.) you didn't really know any french, but these sweet words he said repeatively were easy for you to pick up.

he kissed the top of your head, then took the mixing bowl from your hands, stirring the dough with a calm focus. “you know, i was never good at this... but with you, it’s different. everything feels easy.”

you watched him with affection, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at you. there was something so deeply sincere about him, as if every word, every touch, every moment together felt like a promise. “i feel the same way,” you said quietly, heart swelling with love.

he stopped for a moment, setting the bowl down and gently cupping your face, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “je t’aime tellement,” he whispered, his eyes locking with yours in that way that made everything else disappear. (i love you so much.)

“i love you too,” you replied, voice a little unsteady from how full your heart felt in that instant.

he kissed you then, slow and soft, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the kitchen, the cookies, even the christmas tree that waited in the corner of the room. it was just you and him, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” you whispered when he pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“c’est simple, mon amour,” he said with a tender smile, his voice full of that same quiet certainty. (it’s simple, my love.) “you’re everything i never knew i needed, and more.”

and in that moment, as the soft twinkle of the christmas lights reflected in his eyes, you knew—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

ʚ・lando norris

it was a chilly evening, and you and lando were driving home from christmas shopping, the car packed with bags and decorations. you were both exhausted, but there was that festive excitement in the air.

lando glanced over with a mischievous grin. “so, what’s the plan for tonight? we’ve got the tree to decorate and i might need to save you from messing it up.”

you rolled your eyes. “oh really? you think you’re the master decorator now?”

“obviously,” he replied, grinning. “i’ve got amazing taste. no one’s topping my skills this year.”

“right,” you laughed. “because last year you couldn’t even get the star on top of the tree.”

lando gasped dramatically. “hey, that was one time! and you were totally distracting me with your light-wrangling skills.”

“sure, sure,” you teased as he parked in the driveway. “let’s see how ‘amazing’ you really are this year.”

once inside, lando eagerly got the boxes of decorations, already talking about how tonight’s tree would be perfect. “first, we do the lights, then the tinsel, and finally the ornaments. it’s a science, really.”

“a science?” you grinned, grabbing a string of lights to untangle. “sounds like something you made up to sound more impressive.”

“maybe,” he laughed, “but trust me, i’ve got this. no tangles, no mess. just perfection.”

you set to work, and as you both decorated, lando made everything feel fun. his jokes and playful banter had you laughing the entire time.

“just don’t break any ornaments this year, alright?” you warned, glancing over at him as he placed a glass bauble on the tree.

“no promises,” he winked. “but trust me, it’ll look perfect when we’re done.”

you smiled, already knowing he was right. with lando, everything—even decorating a tree—was a little brighter and a lot more fun.

“you’re ridiculous,” you teased, admiring the tree.

“but i’m your ridiculous,” he said, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “and that’s all that matters.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was a warm evening, and you and oscar were sitting on the balcony, the australian summer air soft and easy. the christmas lights shimmered faintly in the dimming light, but something about it still felt a little off.

“you know, it’s just weird,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “christmas in summer. i keep waiting for snow, but it’s... hot.”

oscar glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took a sip of his drink. “yeah, i get it,” he said quietly. “it’s different. but i think it’s kind of nice, you know? christmas in the heat, just feels... relaxed.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “i just can’t get used to it. christmas is supposed to be cold. cozy, with fireplaces and snow.”

“it’s still christmas,” oscar said, his tone calm and steady. “just... a little warmer, that’s all.”

you smiled, but still felt a bit out of place. “i can’t be the only one who thinks this is strange, though. there’s no snowball fights, no cold air... just heat.”

oscar chuckled lightly, leaning back and stretching out. “yeah, i guess. but, uh... christmas on the beach is pretty great too, you know? different, but good.”

you gave him a sideways glance, still skeptical. “how do you just... accept this? i feel like i should be wearing gloves and snow boots.”

he shrugged, his gaze soft but sure. “it’s just how we do it here. doesn’t make it any less christmas. you’ll get used to it.”

you looked at him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. “maybe... but i’ll probably be dreaming of a white christmas while i’m sweating in this jumper.”

oscar’s smile widened slightly, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “if you want, we can just have our own little cozy corner. christmas is about whatever makes it feel right, yeah?”

you leaned against him, feeling more at ease. “yeah... i guess so. still feels a bit weird though.”

“you’ll get there,” he said with a calm smile. “just gotta give it time. but hey, at least we’re together, right?”

you smiled, your heart warming in the quiet evening. “yeah, you're right. it’s still perfect with you.”

“and, if it helps,” oscar added, his eyes twinkling slightly, “we can make the house feel a bit more christmasy—like, wintery christmas, if you want. i’ll help you set up whatever you need.”

your face lit up at the idea. “you’d do that? really?”

“yeah, we can hang fake snowflakes, maybe throw some fairy lights everywhere... i’ll even wear an ugly christmas sweater if it makes you feel better,” he teased, his smile soft but sincere.

“that sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the warmth of christmas already starting to settle in. with oscar by your side, maybe this summer christmas wasn’t so strange after all.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[oceandelreysworld]

Loving injuries

Vi x injured reader - pt 1.

(Fluff, tension, blood-kinda-, making out)

This is my first story, so uhh, lmk what I need to improve on or if it's good or not!

Made this a little different from the show like:

After Vi "died." Everyone went their separate ways, some better than others.

Ekko met Vi after she got out of jail, letting her stay with at the firelights hide out.

Ekko was like an older brother when you guys were little, but you haven't seen him in forever(he still has that brotherly act of protection and is still defensive over you)

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You and Vi were child hood friends and you had the biggest crush on her but then she "died". She was romeing the streets then she finds you against a building, sleeping....but she doesn't notice your hurt..

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"Y/n?" Vi shakes your shoulder to wake you. She moves you hood out of your face. "Oh my god, y/n!" You wake up and realize someone's talking to you and touching you.

"Get away, I'll hurt you." You say as you whisper, slowly grabing her wrist, using up all your energy. "Y/n it's me, Vi." You look up at her, letting go of her wrist, but you can't see her. Your visions all blurry.

"No, stop, get away from me!" You tilt your head up to try and look at her better. "Y/n..I'm right here."

She squats to your level. She's strokes her thumb on your cheek. You wince at first, but then you look up to see the comfort of her light powder blue eyes and the pink shade of her hair.

You relax, your head into her palm, and start tearing up. Trying to use your arms to sit up but end up slowly leaning back down to the ground.

"I thought you died. What happened to you?...We needed you. I- I needed you." You muttered the last part in hope that she didn't hear you.

"I know... I'm so sorry. I got arrested... I'm sorry I left the way I did."

She gets down on her knees to hug you tightly when you whimper in pain. "Ow shit shit shit!" You shift your hand to hold tighter on the side of your stomach.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

You steadily move your hand and show her. There's a large blotch of blood seeping through your shirt.

"Y/n what the hell happened?! Who did this to you..?" She shifts her hand twords the injured area. "It's fine.. I'm fine. I've been like this for a few days."

She lifts your shirt up to see the wooned. You rapped that part of your stomach in bandages, but there's still a hole lot of blood on them. Vi slowly unrapped it while looking up at your eyes ever once a while.

She takes it all off, and she sees the huge wooned. It looked infected. Yellow coloring around the area and was still parshly still open and somewhat still bleeding. She could see where you tried stitching it up.

"Y/n, this looks really bad. How long have actually been like this?"

"I-...I've been here for a week. You sigh, knowing if you lied to her, that would make her even more worked up than she already is.

"I got stabbed almost two weeks ago.." You pause to take a breath. "I dont know who did it. All I know is I was trying to... okay, well, I was trying to steal some food... L-listen, I know it's bad, but I don't have any money, and I can't get up without the risk of it opening back up again.." she looks at you with her wide, worried eyes.

"Look, I know a place where you can rest, and I'm not giving you a choice. You're coming with me. Okay? And we'll figure out how to get you up." You admit defeat and relax your muscles against the wall again.

"..okay."

She raps you back up but puts the bandage on tighter so it doesn't rip.

"Okay, ready?" She holds your face, putting her forehead against yours. Getting back into a squatting position.

"No, but that's fine." She chuckles "Okay I'll pick you up slow. Don't worry about putting your weight on me. I can handle it, I've got you."

"Okay... thank you." You mumbled.

You rap your arms around her neck. She picks you up as slowly as possible. As she stands you up, you whine in pain, tucking your head into her neck. She tapes your thigh, letting you know she wants your legs up around her. She's holding you up by your thighs. You close your eyes, resting your head on her shoulder, loosening the rest of your body against hers.

"You okay, princess?"

You froze up. You haven't heard anybody call you that in a really...really long time. She would call you that when you guys were kids, it would annoy you back then, but now? It sounds so comforting coming from her, but in truth, you start to get flustered.

Your whole body heats up, and you hide your face back into her her neck so she doesn't see you blushing.

"I- um. Yeah. Yes. I mean, I'm okay."

She noticed your body tence up and the warmth of hers against yours.

"Okay..." She lifts her eyebrow side eyeing you with a smeark on her face. She didn't think you would react like this. She laughs lightly under her breath.

________________________

You fell asleep while she walked the both of you through the sewers. She meets what seems like a dead end. She knocks a certain rhythm, allowing the door to slowly open.

As you slowly wake up, you're greeted by lots of lights. "Ahh." You shelled your eyes with your arm, trying to get used to the bright lights. "Well, good morning, sunshine." she laughs lightly.

"Hey...Vi?" Ekko says as he jogs up to Vi noticing you in her arms, not knowing it's you. Your breath chokes up hearing such a familiar yet unfamiliar voice.

"So uhh...you gunna introduce me?"

You turn your head slowly. Your eyes meet his, starting to tear up. Getting out of Vi's arms as quickly as you can, still having a hard time walking. You tried to walk to him, you lean for him almost falling if him and Vi didn't catch you. Your arms go around him as he goes around your neck.

You start sobbing immediately when he hugs back.

"I...I haven't seen- seen you in f-forever." It's hard for you to get a full sentence out, trying to catch your breath from crying as well from the pain on your side.

"H-how are you-...are you..are you real..?"

Hugging you tighter and placing his head on top of yours. Ekkos voice trying not to crack, but how could he not? You were like his little sister.

As you stay like that for a moment, he pulls away. Vi pulling you back so you can rest your weight on her chest. You stumbled a bit, but she held you with support.

His eyes widen, looking down at your stomach. "God! Your bleeding!" You lightly laugh it off, but you couldn't hold back your coughing. Sweat dripping from the side of your forehead. You grip your side tightly.

"Ekko, she needs to lay down. Now."

"I got it. Hey, we need backboard now!" Ekko yells waving his hand in a hurry.

"Guys, really, I'm fi..." Your sentence fades as you faint, leaning back on Vi, now all your weight is forced onto Vi front body.

"Shit shit now!" Vi yells, grabing under both your arms. Ekko quickly goes to you, grabing the back of your neck so you don't hurt it.

Vi, Ekko, and some of the firelights lift you onto the backboard. They lift you up, walking to the room where Vi has been staying.

Setting you down to put you on the bed slowly. Ekko asked the rest of them to leave. Vi was sitting beside the bed, keeping a close eye on your movements, while Ekko was leaning against the wall.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew where she was.." Ekko says with his head down, zoning out on the floor. "Ekko, I just found her not even two hours ago.. If I knew she was hurt.. hell, if I knew she was still alive, you think I wouldn't tell you?" Vi starts to raise her voice in defense twords him. Ekko was about to speak when they both noticed you turning your head.

"Hmm...? Oww shit." You bring your hands up to cover your face in pain, then to your side.

"Hey princess... how you feeling?" She brushes her hand along the side of your cheek. Your eyes look up at hers with such a soft glimpse.

"I'm- ow- I feel sick.." You cough a little more aggressively than early. To aggressive for Vi's comfort. She rests her hand on your head, feeling for your temp. "Cupcake, you're really hot. Drink some water." She says as she helps your head up, putting her hand on the back of your neck, and brings the cup to your mouth.

"I'm gunna go see if we have any more blankets and possibly some pillows, okay? I shouldn't be out too long." He looks past Vi, making it seem like he was only talking to you. You could feel the thickness of the tension in the room between the two.

"Okay, thank you." He walks up to you, smiling, giving you a peck on your head before walking out of the room, closing the door.

The blinds are shut, as well as the windows. It helps, but it scares you a bit to be in such an unfamiliar area. Vi can tell from your expressions that you feel uncomfortable.

"Baby, what is it? Is something the matter?" As you turn your head twords her, looking up at her, surprised at the pet name she called you. Vi gently cups your face, strokes of her thumb slowly makes your garde go down.

"Im...fine. I just don't feel good, and I'm a little... uncomfortable being here.."

"Yeah? Why is that?"

You stay silent for a moment, not knowing how to express your emotions.

"Is there anything I can do to help cupcake?" She looks at you with care in her eyes.

There she goes again. Those names... god, they sound so sweet coming from her. You can't believe you ever thought this was annoying.

You hold eye contact for a few minutes, maybe? It feels like it could be forever from how locked your eyes were set on each other.

"I.." You turn your head away, looking over, breaking eye contact. It was getting to be too much for you.

She gently turns you by your chin to look back at her. She looked at you with such soft eyes while her eyebrows frowned lightly.

"I'm okay Vi. I'll be alright, okay?"

"Okay.."

She leans twords you, resting her head against yours. As she picks her head up, she looks down at your bandages, ghosting her hand against it.

"Do you want me to restich this?"

"If you can, please...I don't want you to go out of your way, though."

"It'll never be out of my way if it's for you. Understand? When you need me, I'm there. When you call me, I'm there. Okay?" She spoke so softly yet firmly to get the point through you.

Her lips brush a slow kiss on your head.

Once she takes off the bandages fully, she takes out the old stitchs slowly, trying not to hurt you. Somewhat successful. She pulls out the alcohol. Your whole body tenses up, moving yourself over to the other side of the bed, scared of how bad it's gunna hurt.

Vi sets the bottle down and reaches for your hand, slowly trying not to scare you away. You let her hold your hand as her thumb strokes the back of your hand.

"Princess, it's badly infected, I need to clean it before it gets worse, I'll hold your hand all the way through. Please just...let me help."

You stay in the same spot in silence, hesitating to rest back on the bed, even though it hurts like hell.

"I have a feeling you're feeling this sick because it's infected." She brings your hand up to her lips, brushing kisses on the back of your hand, in hopes to comfort you. Each kiss makes you relax your body against the bed.

"Okay... just don't put it directly on it. Please."

"I wouldn't, I'll use uh... this."

She said as she looked around for cotton swabs. Finding some holding it up so you know what it is.

"Okay, just be gentle..?" You look at her with puppy eyes, not realizing what you were doing.

"Of course, princess, always." All Vi could think about is pulling your face close to hers to kiss you...

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Part two soon! Ik this is really long for my first one but I really like this plot ig😅

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

I'M (NOT) FINE!

a/n: requests are open!

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: fluff fluff fluff

summary: You absolutely loathe being sick—the sniffles, the coughs, the shivering... And Jude? He hates seeing you in that state even more. So, what's the solution? Simple: pretend you're fine. You put on your best “everything's okay” face, a face that could fool everyone... except Jude. Yikes. With his signature mix of teasing and tenderness, he refuses to let you suffer alone. He'll keep pushing, pestering, and caring for you until you finally admit you're not as fine as you want to be. And in the end, it’s his care and persistence that makes you feel a little less miserable.

You should’ve known better than to let Jude stay up so late watching Netflix with you the night before. Or maybe it was you who needed to rethink staying up until 2 a.m., curled under a blanket with a bowl of popcorn between you two as he whispered silly commentary into your ear.

Today was different, though. As the morning crept in through your bedroom window, an unusual weight seemed to settle behind your eyes. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and a tickling cough bubbled up every time you tried to swallow. But you refused to acknowledge it.

Outside, the wind rattled the windows, hinting at the kind of day that makes you want to burrow into blankets and disappear. Jude sat at the kitchen counter, scrolling absently on his phone, his focus darting to the ticking clock as he waited for you.

He hadnt miss that you’d been odd this morning—quiet and sluggish, the kind of quiet he noticed instantly. You weren’t the type to miss a chance to tease him over breakfast or steal sips of his coffee, so when you shuffled past him earlier, mumbling something about needing first a long shower, it planted a seed of worry.

He didn’t like when things felt off. Especially not with you.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and face freshly washed, you looked almost fine. Almost. Your usually bright eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, your cheeks were a bit pale and you were wrapped up in a hoodie far too big for you. One of his, of course.

Jude’s cheerful voice rang through the apartment as you shuffled into the kitchen, pulling your sleeves over your hands. “Babe, what do you want for breakfast?”

“Just toast,” you mumbled quickly. Your voice cracked on the last word, and you froze. Oh no. Jude turned to look at you, brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“Feeling all right, love?” he asked, his brow creased as he leaned back in his chair, studying you.

You smiled—quick, small, practiced. “Yeah. Fine.”

You walked straight for the kettle to pour yourself some tea, deliberately avoiding him. You could feel his gaze on you, like a silent interrogation. Your boyfriend lingered near the counter as you plopped two slices of bread into the toaster, biting the inside of his cheek like he always did when he didn’t believe you. He didn’t say anything, though—not yet.

Jude Bellingham was many things, you thought to yourself, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.

Unfortunately for you, that made this whole charade harder.

“Didn’t look like you slept well,” he said, pushing the conversation gently.

“I slept fine,” you replied too quickly, taking a sip of hot tea and keeping your eyes on the mug.

“Well, you look... I don’t know a bit tired.”

“I am tired. You made us stay up late.” You shot him a pointed look, hoping the deflection would work. It almost did. Almost. “But really, I slept fine.”

Liar. Liar.

He frowned, but before he could press further, you turned, flashing him a look that you hoped was convincing. “I promise, Jude. Don’t start getting all dramatic.”

“What? Dramatic?” He placed a hand to his chest, feigning offense, but his eyes never lost that sharp edge. “I’ll let it slide this time. But you’re not fooling me, you know. You’ve got that thing going on.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you’re trying to act normal, but you’re just a little bit too normal.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You sound insane.”

He sounded just right.

“I sound attentive,” he countered, grinning, though his voice was still soft.

You turned back to your tea, gripping the handle a little harder than necessary. In truth, you could feel the early signs of sickness creeping in—your throat tickled, your head felt heavy, and warmth pulsed at your temples like a faint drumbeat. It wasn’t bad yet, but you knew it would be soon.

And that was exactly why you couldn’t let Jude in on it.

He was attentive—almost painfully so—and you knew he’d go straight into overprotective mode the moment he suspected something was wrong. He’d fuss. He’d worry. He’d probably cancel his plans and hover over you for hours like a mother hen.

You didn’t want him to cancel his plans. And you really didn’t want to be the reason he stressed.

So, when he looked away to grab his phone, you took the opportunity to stifle the cough that clawed at your throat, turning your head quickly and clearing it in a way you hoped sounded natural. A master plan.

But when you turned back, Jude was staring. Staring into you, frowning a little and questioning you with his eyes.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That sound. Did you just cough?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “No? I don’t think so.”

His brow furrowed, lips parting slightly as if to call you out, but you were already ahead of him, changing the subject. “Are you still meeting the guys later?”

He eyed you skeptically for a beat longer, before reluctantly sighing. “Yeah. We are supposed to meet at nine.”

“Good.” You smiled sweetly, though it was mostly a distraction. “Don’t let me keep you from it.”

The shift in his expression was subtle, but you caught it anyway—something in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes lingered a second too long on you. Jude had spent enough time with you to know your tells, and he wasn’t stupid.

He let it slide, again. For now.

The hours went on, and your act grew harder to keep up.

Jude had been in and out of the living room while you lounged on the couch, buried under a blanket and claiming you just wanted to “relax.” You were also clutching a steaming cup of tea that Jude had made for you. You hadn’t even asked for it, which was a sign he was already onto you. You scrolled your phone lazily, trying to appear normal, but you could feel him watching you.

He plopped onto the couch beside you, spreading his long and fit legs across the coffee table. “You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“You’re imagining things.”

He shot you a look. “You’re wearing two hoodies, a blanket, and you’re sipping tea in 26-degree weather. It’s summer.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but then came the moment you’d been dreading. You were mid-scroll when an itch seized your throat. You tried to suppress it—tried to swallow it down and breathe through your nose—but it was no use. The cough escaped, sharp and sudden, your body shaking slightly with the force of it.

Jude whipped his head toward you so fast you thought he might get whiplash.

“Got you.”

You froze. Slowly, you looked up to see Jude next to you, arms crossed and an annoyingly smug look on his face.

“I knew it,” he said, shaking his head.

You sighed, sinking lower into the couch. “It’s just a tickle. Don’t start.”

“Don’t start? No no no. Babe, you’ve been hiding that all day, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t been hiding anything,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Alright, that’s it,” he said, scooting closer. “Let me feel your forehead.”

“No!” you blurted, immediately shrinking back into the cushions. “Don’t touch me. I—uh, I haven’t washed my face. Gross, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Like I care.”

“Jude, I swear—”

“Stop being stubborn and come here.”

You hugged the blanket tighter, as if it could protect you. “I’m not coming, Jude.”

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he shot back, though his voice was tinged with affection. “Let me feel your forehead.”

You recoiled slightly, eyes narrowing. “I don’t have a fever.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me feel your forehead,” he moved closer to you.

You squirmed away from him, practically sliding down the couch as he reached for you. He only managed to grab your ankle, pinning you in place.

“This isn’t fair! You’re bigger than me!” you yelped, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the two of you must look—him holding onto your leg while you squirmed like a fish out of water.

“I don’t care. You’re not getting away from me.”

You gasped for air as you finally gave up and collapsed back onto the sofa. Jude grinned in victory, his palm landing gently on your forehead before you could protest further. His grin faded as quickly as it appeared.

For a second, you both stared each other down, and in that moment, you realized how ridiculous this little standoff had become. He looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to be exasperated or amused, his head tilting slightly.

“Y/N, you’re burning up.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Think again then cause you are.”

“Maybe I’m just hot,” you tried to joke weakly, but he wasn’t having it. His lips set into a thin line.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” he demanded softly. His tone wasn’t angry—just disappointed. Somehow, that was worse.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your resolve wavering. “Because I don’t want you to worry.”

His expression softened instantly, and your heart sank.

“Babe,” he said, crouching down in front of you so he could look you in the eyes. “You know that’s not possible, right? I’m always going to worry about you. You’re not invincible, no matter how much you try to act like it.”

You swallowed hard, guilt and affection swirling in your chest. You didn’t want to admit it, but part of you was relieved that he’d seen through you.

“I just didn’t want you to cancel your plans,” you muttered.

Jude rolled his eyes fondly. “You think I care about plans more than you?”

You didn’t answer, because the look in his eyes told you he already knew what you were thinking.

“Come on,” he said finally, standing up and offering you his hand. “We’re taking your temperature.”

You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. “Jude—”

“You’re done arguing.”

“Jude, I don’t need the thermometer,” you grumbled, but he was already standing up, mumbling something about how he would decide that. You slumped back against the couch with a sigh, pulling the blanket higher around your face.

“Up.”

You shot him a glare, but took his hand anyway, letting him pull you off the couch. You knew you’d lost this round, but as you followed him into the kitchen, you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

And you couldn’t help but smile, too.

Ten minutes after, you both stared at the thermometer, you chewing the inside of your left cheek nervously, while Jude crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowing deeper by the second.

“38.9,” he read aloud, his tone flat but edged with concern.

“It’s not that bad,” you muttered, trying to wave it off, but the tightness in your chest and the dizziness that followed the cough made the words feel hollow.

His eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. “Not that bad? That’s literally a high fever.”

“Barely,” you quipped, attempting a half-hearted shrug, though the effort made your head feel heavier, and your limbs suddenly felt like lead. You had no choice but to lean against the counter for support.

“Y/N…”

“Jude, I’m fine,” you argued, turning to put the thermometer back on the counter like it didn’t just confirm his worst suspicions. “I don’t need a doctor, and I definitely don’t need you hovering over me.”

His lips parted, words on the tip of his tongue clearly sharp, but he held them back. Instead, he took a deep breath, his frustration melting into something softer, his gaze still filled with concern. Jude wasn’t having it. He stood up suddenly, towering over the couch where you moved and where now curled up. “That’s it. You’re going to bed.”

Your head whipped around, eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to bed.”

“Yes, you are,” he said firmly, already reaching for your hand to pull you up. “You need to lie down properly, not camp out here on the couch like you’re hiding from something.”

“Jude, no.” You tugged your hand away, shaking your head. “I’m fine here. I like the couch. It’s cozy.”

He raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “The bed is cozier.”

“I don’t want to go to bed yet,” you said stubbornly, sinking deeper into the cushions as though you could become one with the furniture.

“You’ll feel better if you rest properly,” he argued, his tone soft but insistent. “And the sooner you rest, the sooner you’ll get better. That’s logic. You can’t fight logic.”

“I’m not fighting logic. I just don’t want to go,” you insisted, pouting slightly for effect. “The bed is boring. I’ll just lay there staring at the ceiling, and then you’ll make me drink disgusting medicine. No thanks.”

Jude exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead in that way he always did when he was losing patience. You knew exactly how far you could push him, but it didn’t feel good to see that frustrated look in his eyes. You hated making him worry, but part of you didn’t want to be stuck in bed just yet, even if you could feel the exhaustion weighing you down.

“Jude, please,” you said, your tone softening, almost pleading. “I don’t want to be stuck in bed. I’ll rest here, I promise. Let’s just watch something, yeah?”

You offered him an innocent smile, though it quickly wavered when you felt another cough building. You turned away, covering your mouth as you hacked into the blanket. Jude’s hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t press the issue—at least, not yet.

When you finally caught your breath, you glanced up at him warily, half-expecting him to scoop you up and carry you to bed despite your protests. He looked like he wanted to, but instead, he sighed again and sat back down on the edge of the couch.

He sighed deeply, clearly torn. His jaw worked as he considered your plea, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease. Finally, he relented with a short nod, though his eyes still carried a hint of warning. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll sulk if I make you move.”

You flashed him a weak smile, already pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“But the second you look worse, you’re going to bed,” he added firmly.

You opened your mouth to say something, probably to complain, but another coughing fit cut you off—deep and rattling, like your body was staging a mutiny. Jude was on his feet in seconds, disappearing into the kitchen as you tried to catch your breath.

When he returned, he was holding a fresh glass of water and a bottle of cold medicine. “Here,” he said firmly, handing you the water first.

“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. But when he held out the medicine, you grimaced. “Do I have to? I mean, maybe in a couple hours this will wear off...”

“Do you want to get better, or do you want to keep hacking like a 90-year-old chain smoker?”

“You’re so mean,” you groaned, narrowing your eyes at him.

“And you have high fever. Take the damn medicine.” He was loosing his patience, but it returned every time you smiled at him.

Reluctantly, you unscrewed the cap and took the tiniest possible sip, immediately pulling a face. “This is disgusting.”

Jude snorted. “Medicine’s not supposed to taste like candy.”

“It should,” you muttered with a dramatic pout, glaring at the medicine bottle like it had personally wronged you.

Jude rolled his eyes, fighting back a grin as he took the glass from your hands. “Well, when you invent miracle medicine that tastes like chocolate, let me know. Until then, take it properly.”

You groaned but relented, though your face twisted in disgust. “I swear this stuff is just punishment in a bottle.”

“You are such a dramatic,” he countered, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms with a smug expression.

“I’ll get you back for this,” you threatened weakly, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Jude’s grin widened. “I’m counting on it.” He settled back down beside you, his hand finding its way to your back, rubbing slow circles that felt unexpectedly soothing. With a sigh, he grabbed the remote and flicked through channels, trying to find something to watch since you were clearly avoiding the idea of going to bed—much to his dismay.

The movie started playing, but you weren’t really watching it. You were fighting the drowsiness creeping in, but your body seemed to have other ideas. The fever had started to set in fully, and it made every movement feel sluggish and lethargic. You burrowed deeper into the blanket, your skin hot and clammy, and instinctively you leaned into Jude’s side, seeking the cool comfort of his presence to counter the warmth suffocating you.

He didn’t miss it. His arm immediately instinctively curled around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him, as if he could offer some comfort against the fever that seemed to consume you. You shifted, nestling your head against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. His hand gently brushed against your arm, the coolness of his skin providing a brief relief from the heat radiating off yours. You closed your eyes, too tired to keep up the act, but you could still hear the sound of the movie playing softly in the background.

He could feel your body trembling, your warmth pressing against him in a way that only made his concern grow. “Baby, you're shivering,” he murmured softly, his voice low and filled with worry. His hand moved to your forehead once again, his fingers cool against your skin as he traced the lines of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You didn’t have the energy to argue, too tired to offer your usual deflections. Instead, you let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes as the weight of your body seemed to pull you deeper into the couch. Your breath was slow but labored, each inhale a bit more shallow than the last.

Jude didn’t miss the way your body seemed to sink into him, the way you let yourself fall into his arms without resistance. The quiet, unspoken admission that you needed him, even when you refused to admit it aloud.

“And you are burning up,” he said, his voice low and gentle.

“I know, it’s okay,” you mumbled, though your teeth had begun to chatter slightly, betraying your words. You buried your face against his shirt, feeling the slight chill of his body against yours.

He shook his head, tightening his arm around your shoulders. “It’s not really okay, love,” he whispered, voice full of concern. The touch of his hand against the back of your neck, cool and soothing, sent a wave of comfort through you, but it didn’t stop the shivering.

You tried to smile up at him, but it was weak. “I’m fine here, Jude. Honestly.”

He wasn’t convinced. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and the way you were leaning into him for that extra bit of coolness only confirmed what he already knew.

He stared down at you, a mixture of tenderness and frustration swirling in his gaze. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. His hand lingered, fingers tracing the curve of your jaw with a softness that contrasted with the firm set of his jaw.

You tried to smile, but the effort was half-hearted, your lips barely lifting.

“Right. That’s enough,” he said suddenly, untangling himself from the blanket and standing up.

“Juuude,” you protested weakly, trying to clutch at the soft fabric as if it could somehow shield you from the inevitable.

“Don’t even start,” he interrupted, shaking his head with a small but stern smile. “I let you win with the couch thing before, but now? Non-negotiable.”

You glared at him half-heartedly, the fever clouding your ability to stay upset. “You’re so smug.”

“And you’re so stubborn,” he countered with a grin, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

His hands rested gently on your knees, his gaze steady as he met your eyes. “Come on, love,” he said, his voice quiet but insistent. “Let me take you to bed. You’ll sleep better, and I’ll stay with you. Okay?”

You hesitated, staring up at him through fever-fogged eyes. There was something so comforting in his touch, in the way his thumb brushed over the inside of your knee as if he could ease the discomfort from your body with just a gesture.

“Can’t we just stay here a little longer?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, vulnerable and tired. You were falling asleep in the couch.

Jude’s heart ached at the sound of it, but his resolve didn’t falter. He reached down, gently cupping the back of your head and pulling you up to your feet. “No more fighting, baby.”

Before you could protest further, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, one arm supporting your back, the other under your legs. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning against him as if your body could draw strength from his.

“Jude!” you gasped in surprise.

“Shh,” he soothed, walking you toward the bedroom with gentle steps. “You’re not getting out of this. I’m taking care of you.”

You pressed your cheek against his shoulder as he carefully laid you down on the bed, tucking you under the covers with the same tender care he always showed. As he reached for the blanket, smoothing it over your shivering form, you closed your eyes, feeling a sense of safety that you didn’t want to admit you’d needed.

“Promise me you'll rest,” he said after a long moment, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might disturb the fragile quiet between you.

He brushed his hand across your forehead, feeling how much warmer you were now that you were lying down. His fingers lingered, caressing your skin in slow, soothing motions. He let out a quiet sigh, looking down at you with a softness in his eyes.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, feeling the warmth of his hand caressing you. It felt so comforting that you couldn't resist, your body finally surrendering to the heaviness of your fatigue.

“Promise me,” he repeated softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your back.

“I promise,” you mumbled, your voice thick with the weight of exhaustion.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he replied, his voice low and tender. He leaned down and kissed your forehead lightly, the feeling of his lips against your skin almost a promise.

You felt your eyelids grow heavier, and the warmth of his presence slowly lulled you into a deep, feverish sleep. Jude stayed beside you, his hand resting protectively on your back as he settled beside you, never once breaking contact.

And as you drifted off, you felt a quiet sense of gratitude wash over you. You were sick, yes, but you were also cared for in a way that made everything feel a little more bearable. With him so close, it was hard to stay awake, and soon, your breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep.