#and realised he liked having something to do with his hands

[pixie-felix]

a/n: this fic has nothing to do with food.

why yes I did make these GIFs especially for this fic thank you for noticing

Something to read while we're waiting for the results of the no thoughts/hard thoughts poll. If you want a soundtrack, Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) by Usher fits pretty well (no daddy kink in the fic though).

Smut under the cut, minors dni.

comfort eating.

You’d been staring at this damn code for so long you might’ve burned it into your eyeballs. Somewhere, in the distance, you’re vaguely aware of the apartment door opening and closing, and someone calling out that they're home.

But by now you’re so obsessed with trying to find whatever formatting fuck up you made, that even the metallic jingle of keys falling into the “let’s-not-lose-this-shit” bowl doesn’t bring you back into the real world.

It’s not until your laptop physically moves out of your hands that you realise. Chan is home.

Sitting on his heels in front of you, he gently picks the computer up off your lap, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. One workaholic recognises another.

“Is everything backed up?” He too knows the pain of a well meaning friend trying to help by tidying up, and accidentally erasing hours of hard work.

“Cloud and hard drive. And external hard drive. Possibly tattooed on my retinas also." He nods and carefully sets it on the side table, snorting quietly when you get to the part about your eyeballs. The little crease between his brows remains though.

“You told me you were going to take today off…”

You'd only meant to do a few lines of code, just to check for errors and maybe add a function or two. And yet here you are, sitting in the exact same spot from this morning, neck and shoulders aching from being hunched over your laptop for…

7 hours.

Chan rests his chin on your knees, head tilted to the side as he looks up at you like a lost puppy.

“Baby…”

No. Wait. Puppies don't sound like that. Or look at you like that. Or rub soothing, promising circles with their thumbs on the bare skin of your calves.

You're suddenly very aware still in your pajamas. If you can call it that. Really it's just one of Chan's old t-shirts, the fabric worn soft, always smelling like him even though you slept in it- and not much else.

Yeah, Chan's definitely not giving you puppy eyes.

The wolf is here tonight.

And he wants to play. You can tell from the subtle smirk that quirks the corner of his mouth when you audibly swallow.

“How… how was work?��

“Long. Busy. Tiring.” He punctuates his sentences with slow kisses on your knees, the closed mouth kind that still manage to feel anything but chaste. “Jisung dyed his hair blue. Felix's is no longer blond. Hyunjin cut all his hair off. Someone said something about a kiwi fruit and now the stylists are all freaking out.”

His tone is light, almost absent minded, but his touch has progressed from soothing circles to something a little firmer, a little more… demanding. And as his hands slowly creep up your legs, you're fairly certain you know what he wants.

“Chan…”

“Yes, baby?” His lips stretch into something that could almost pass for an innocent smile, if it wasn't for the fact his fingers have worked their way up to the hem of his t-shirt, slowly teasing the fabric further up your legs.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Well…” his fingers sweep under the fabric, inching closer and closer to where arousal is bubbling in your belly, still carefully punctuating his words with kisses on your skin, “I figured, since we're both so... stressed…” his fingers finally brush against your panties and you shiver. “I could help you relax a little.”

“Wh-what a-about you?”

He’s tracing, teasing along the edges of your underwear, watching you bite your lip to keep your cool. He likes it when you try to stay quiet. It makes it so much more satisfying when you start crying his name like it's the only word you know.

And then the bastard licks up your thigh, tugging your panties down and saying the magic words:

“I thought I'd indulge in a little comfort eating.”

You didn't make it to the bedroom. You barely made it off the sofa. Instead, Chan just yanked you forward, laid back on the rug, and now you're riding his face in the middle of the living room. Making the kinds of noises you thought only existed in hardcore porn.

His arms are locked around your legs, holding you in place as he grinds you up and down on his tongue. Your hands are twisted into his hair, partly for balance, partly as an anchor… but mostly because when you tug on it Chan moans into your cunt and that feels so good.

He's already tongued you through one orgasm, licking you out like you are his favourite candy. He's so drunk on your pussy that he's murmuring the kind of filth that would usually make him blush -m’ baby tastes so GOOD, w’nna drown in thi’s pussy- though his words are almost completely obscured by the wet, sloppy sounds of him giving you the messiest head you've had in months.

It is amazing, and it's incredible, and Chan is clearly having the time of his life as another orgasm coils in your belly, ready to spring. But he's playing games with you now, teasing you with the gentlest flicks of his tongue, keeping that high juuuust out of reach.

Really, it's his fault that you can't help but yank his hair a little harder, grind down on his face harder, and then you're out of control, jerking your hips back and forth on his face until it hits.

And oh boy how it hits, gushing all over Chan's face, ripping all your dignity away as you buck your hips into his tongue, chasing the high rushing through you from your head to your toes.

You don't always squirt, but Chan loves it when you do.

His moans almost drown out yours, so loud he's practically shouting, definitely disturbing the neighbours with the string of enthusiastic cuss words and filth pouring off his tongue (that's right baby, cum on my face, fucking drown me in your cunt, jesus fucking christ-)

It takes you a minute to come back to yourself, Chan still desperately eating you out, working his tongue all over you like he's trying to lick you clean.

But the more he uses his tongue the wetter you get, the more your hips shake, and the closer you are to another orgasm.

One you're not sure you can handle.

You try to lift up a little, give him space to breathe, and your man straight up growls at you, yanking you back down on his face and sucking on you harsh enough to make you yelp. Reminding you who is in charge, he grazes your clit with just the gentlest scrape of his teeth...

And that orgasm you weren't ready for? Hits you like a railway train. You're aching and overstimulated and absolutely powerless to do anything other than thrash around and cry as Chan keeps sucking on your goddamned clit like the devil himself couldn't stop him.

You might've blacked out for a second. Or three.

It's only when you finally come to a gasping, shuddering stop that Chan finally gives you the two gentle taps on your ass that mean you can get off his face now (safewords aren't really an option when your mouth is full).

Except you're so worn out from relentless overstimulation that it's less of a dismount and more just you collapsing in a graceless heap, legs shaking and thighs aching from being held apart for so long.

Boneless and pliant, it's no effort at all for Chan to scoop you up into his arms and carry you princess style to your shared bedroom. You're barely awake as he tucks you into bed and crawls in beside you, nuzzling your hair as you curl up into his chest.

You've almost asleep when a Very Important Thought occurs

“Channie…”

“Yeah baby?”

“You didn't get to cum. Don't you need to cum? Y’wanna blowjob or sumthin’?”

Chan huffs a quiet laugh into your hair. You're so cute when your words are all sleep slurred.

“I already got what I wanted.”

You’re mumbling something about not playin' fair and don't w’nna be selfish, but you're practically unconscious anyway so he just kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer into his chest.

“You can make it up to me in the morning, if it bothers you so much.”

*It turns out that you will in fact, not be making it up to Chan in the morning. Because when he finds all the carpet burn on your knees, he has a minor breakdown and refuses to let you do anything all day.

Urgh, I feel like this is way, way too short, too rushed, and just generally had the potential to be so much better 😂😭 But I wanted to get it it out of my drafts before it gets lost in the poll fics. I wrote this on my phone, so it's probably riddled with spelling and formatting errors 😂 please forgive me. It's hard to write when the house is full and privacy is limited. Just 3 more days until the No Thoughts/Hard Thoughts closes 👀 thank you to everyone that's voted or shown interest, I hope my writing doesn't let you down.

p.s. I was gonna start this fic with the following GIF but not everyone wants a giggle with their word🍤 so that wouldn't have been very cash money of me.

m.list

hard thoughts poll

tagslist is open

[multipleoccupancy]

He sensed their topic was helping her too and so Theo was comfortable in staying with it for the time being. Not realising the path he was sending Samantha down as she started to express her thoughts. She started talking about how she had been recruited and Theo paused to watch her, silent and still, worried that a single movement or too loud a breath might startle her from speaking. She never mentioned it and he later learned that it was not something that should be asked or really revealed to others.

Her story sounded harrowing though! She was almost sacrificed to hybrids? He might have never known her, she could had died and he'd have been none the wiser. He caught that disguised sob, he knew her too well now and stopped what he was doing with the net to cross the space between them and pull Samantha into a tight and protective hug.

"I'm sorry that happened to you, but I am so glad you made it out of there." He was sure to say very clearly but there was a short and quiet rasp to his voice as he was sure to hold back his tears and his horror. "We can help this guy, we'll do all we can. It's going to be ok and we'll make sure this never happens to anyone else again." He promised, or at least thought he could without the sense to remember that there was a big wide world out there with cultists lurking and waiting.

Unaware he was doing very little to settle Violet's nerves around his counterpart, Sloane kept up the act comfortably, smiling politely to the man as Violet thanked him too and then to her, still so tired and polite as she gave her own response. Oh she was very good! He'd have to tell her when they got out of ear shot!

The man returned with the key to the dorm and Sloane's ID card. "Here you go Professor Parry, Miss Parry," he said as kindly as he could, clearly trying to do his best to seem professional in the moment. In truth, Sloane thought they now had the perfect set up for him to leave unannounced in a few days, of course he would have to look after dear cold and tired little Astrid.

"Ah! Thank you," Sloane was quick to say but he took the key and card calm and polite, "You hold onto the key for me?" He offered to Violet, holding out the little door key for her to take. "Don't lose it now, be sure to hold on tight to it," he encouraged as perhaps a tired father might, not quite able to see his daughter as fifteen yet, still young and in need of encouragement. "I'll just put this back in here," he explained as he pretended to fumble around with his wallet again to put the card back in, seemingly getting frustrated and jamming it in half way before closing the wallet again.

"You've been our saviour tonight," Sloane praised the man, putting his hand back on Violet's shoulder. "I'll be sure to tell Stacey how helpful you've been, I can't thank you enough." He even let a little bit of tears flood his eyelashes without actually letting them fall. "What a nice man," he told Violet with a small smile, "let's get you set up in the room and settled in, we can take the sleeping bag from my car, it'll be like when we used to go camping, just without the mosquitoes," He gave a tired laugh and started to head back towards the door to leave. Thrilled with their performance.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Focusing on a possible solution helped Samantha, too. It kept her mind away from the plan, from her being bait. "Yes, you're right. It was probably a ritual or something of the sort. Maybe we can force him to do the reverse ritual if there's one." Oh, right. Violet had seen a woman turned into a monster. "Maybe he's hiding a monster somewhere, yes. Or maybe he's using some monster poison? Injecting it in the student's veins?"

She paused, her fingers resting on the rope. "I don't know if it works the same way, but... I saw things. Similar things. It's how I got recruited. I don't talk about it because..." Samantha looked down at the net. "It was horrible. Someone died." Her lip quivered. "It was a fertility clinic. They were making... hybrids? I don't really know. Half-monsters, half-babies. I worked there as an intern, and I had no idea this was happening. I thought it was a normal clinic. But one day, they tried to sacrifice me and another intern. They wanted to feed us to the monsters. I managed to escape, but..." The other intern was not so lucky. "I couldn't save him."

Samantha disguised a sob behind an awkward cough. "There was no turning them back, these creatures. They had never been fully human in the first place, anyway."

Violet was really very impressed by Sloane, how easily he played his part. But it was a little bit scary, too. Like with the flick of a switch, he had turned into a single dad, worried about his daughter. No wonder she always got tricked by the Sloane she knew. He didn't just disguise himself, he transformed himself.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered just as low when he offered her his lunchbox. He was expertly making their situation seem even more heartbreaking to the man behind the desk. And it worked, too, because here he was, offering them a room -the room Sloane told her would be ideal.

This little charade reminded her of how much she missed her dad and her home in New York. When her eyes got just a little bit shinier, she wasn't playing. She did feel like crying.

"Thank you so much, sir," she was sure to say with a grateful smile. And when he disappeared into the office and Sloane suggested they get McDonald's the next day, she followed his example and continued with her own part -the tired daughter. "Really? I'd like that a lot," she replied, careful not to sound too excited -this was supposed to be a consolation prize after all.

[miedei]

lol I imagine spencer picking reader up after her first girl's night with the BAU ladies and he's all 'why did you let her get so drunk' but he's so in loveeeeee will let her climb him like a koala and take her home and take off her makeup for her bc she'd forget </3333

omgg anon you read my mind!!

1k, you're drunk and love spencer (he loves you too)

mystery girl!au

He shows up to the bar, calling you, but in your drunken stupor you seem to be struggling to pick up the phone. Elle, much more sober than the others, guides him over to the booth that you've crammed yourselves into. JJ and Garcia are leaned on your shoulders from either side, voices overlapping as they speak incoherently. Spencer can't help but chuckle at the complete 180 your expression makes, however.

Before you catch sight of him, you're frowning down at your phone, your jabbing finger missing the buttons every time you try. Nodding absently at whatever's being said around you, you can't tear your eyes away from it, your knitted brows making affection swell up in Spencer's heart.

But when you do see him?? It's like the clouds have parted. Your eyes light up, straightening up in your seat as you wave happily, not caring that you're jostling JJ and Garcia as you do.

"Spence! You're here! I was trying- trying to call you but," You frown again, "my phone is being weird." The frown can't stay for long, though, as you climb haphazardly over JJ's lap in order to stand in front of Spencer, lauching yourself at him with a giggle.

He can barely keep his balance, widening his stance a little before running a hand up and down your back with an indulgent smile.

"How much have you had, angel?" He stares pointedly at Elle as he speaks to you, who raises her palms in a repentant gesture. You mutter something into his shirt, words muffled as you don't seem willing to take your face out of his chest just yet.

"What was that?" "I dunno, Spence. Can we kiss?"

He flushes, and no matter how drunk they are, JJ and Garcia can always pick up on an instance where they can tease him. They giggle behind their hands, unsubtly whispering about how they've got to tell Morgan about this. Spencer can't bring himself to care, though, not when he's got you in his arms, your chin propped up against his chest as you look up at him pleadingly.

He can't help himself, bending down painfully at the neck to plant a kiss on your lips.

After making sure Elle is alright shepherding the other two home, he sweeps you out of the bar, bundling you up in his cardigan before putting you in the passenger seat of his tiny car. He's not a huge driver, so he has less of his attention on you than he'd like, but you don't seem to notice, chattering away mindlessly in the passenger seat about how the music was sooo good tonight and your friends are so cool spence i might steal them (you have).

Once you make it back to your apartment complex, he half-drags you into the lobby before giving up and hoisting you onto his back piggy-back style. It's surprisingly effective, not only to get you moving faster, but the sight of his brown hair right in front of your face shuts you up real quick.

He doesn't really realise why until he catches a glimpse of you in the elevator mirror, and the view of your eyes trained fixedly on his hair, clumsy hands trying to be gentle as you braid some of it, has his eyes practically turning into hearts.

Once he finally gets the two of you into the apartment, he makes sure you're holding on tight as he undoes your strappy shoes, placing them in the shoe rack overflowing with mismatched pairs. After toeing off his converse with nowhere near as much care, he maneuvers the two of you into the bathroom, depositing you on the bathroom counter. You whine softly at the loss of his hair in your hands, but his tolerant smile has you melting, looking up at him with a dopey smile.

Your adoration nearly has you forgetting to process what he's doing. He's darting around the messy bathroom, grabbing bottle after bottle until his arms are full.

"Spence, what are you doing?" The drinks have clouded your processing skills, and all you want to do his hold him and go to sleep.

He shoots you a small smile, depositing the stuff on the counter next to you before approaching you, cotton pad in hand.

"I've gotta take off your makeup, you know you'll feel uncomfortable tomorrow if you go to sleep with it on," Your eyes are glassy, looking up at him as he swipes at your face with the utmost of care. All the emotions that you harbour for him seem to bubble up inside you, until you can't take it any more.

If you were more lucid, you'd write him a poem. Maybe organise a fireworks show, or buy him a star. But, you're still held in the throes of alcohol, so it's all you can do to blurt out: "You're so so pretty Spence, I love you."

Despite the gesture not being nearly as extravagant as he deserves, blood rushes to his face, and he ducks his head a little as he kisses your forehead wordlessly. He continues to wipe at your face, much gentler than you would, revelling in the feeling of your soft skin under his hand, calloused from his gun.

Finally, once he's done, he helps you out of your dress, handing you one of your pyjama pants and a shirt of his to wear to bed.

As soon as you're dressed, looking achingly cozy perched on the counter, hair mussed and clothes draping over your form, he helps you down to your feet with hands firmly on your waist. He wraps his arms around you from behind, waddling the two of you to the bedroom and tucking you into the covers.

At long last, he slides into bed next to you, giving you some space in case you're overheating still. You can't have that, though, and shuffle along the mattress until you're tucked into his side. Falling asleep almost instantly, you push your head into the crook of his neck, and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering into the darkness,

"I love you too"

[poguelandiarafe]

broken promises 3 | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x female reader

warnings - angst, mature language, mentions of infidelity

summary - rafe finds you on the beach and begs for forgiveness but your pain is too raw to think about forgiving him. he's promising to do better for you and the baby but you reject his apologies, leaving him alone in the sand.

(sorry the last two chapters are so short, i'm trying to figure out which direction to take the series in. please please please (hey sabrina) message me or comment your thoughts and ideas!)

not a one-shot, read part one and part two here <3

masterlist

————

“leave me alone, rafe. i don’t want to talk to you.”

you're impressed with yourself, nearly expecting your arms to automatically open wide and accept him back just like that. but they don't, they stay firmly wrapped around yourself and as much as it pains you to realise, you don't want them around him anymore.

rafe runs a hand over his head, a frustrated sigh falling past his lips. he's been driving for hours and you won't even give him the time of day. taking cautious steps, he slowly approaches you until he's standing in front of you.

when you don't react, he kneels down in front of you and places a hesitant hand on your hip. his fingers barely graze your skin before you're quick to grab his hand and throw it off you. the feeling of his skin on yours is too much for you to handle. though your heart and body yearns to be wrapped up in his arms again, your mind is just about strong enough to not allow it to happen.

"let me explain, baby, please." he begs, his voice cracking.

"i said leave me alone," you sigh, yet you can feel your anger bubbling just beneath the surface, "there's nothing to explain."

you already know what he'll say - pathetic excuses and apologies about how much he messed up and that he regrets it. words you can't let yourself be fooled by.

rafe's shoulders sag as the words reach his ears. his hand slowly raises to grab your hip before he drops it back to his side in defeat. he's never felt so helpless before and he hates it. having you so close yet completely out of reach makes his heart ache in a way he never thought possible.

"you don't mean that, we can't end it like this," he whispers, voice thick with emotion as he looks up at you through wet lashes, "there must be something i can do. i'll do anything. i'll wait for you, i'll give you space. i'll do it for you and for our baby. i promise, y/n."

you refuse to look at him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on the ocean, willing yourself not to cry. his stare is burning into your skin and the faintest trace of forgiveness he's looking for from you is nowhere to be seen.

rafe stays kneeling in front of you, never taking his eyes off your face, searching for a crack in your amour. he's trying to maintain his composure, but his breathing is laboured and he's desperately blinking away the tears that blur his vision.

"no. i mean it, rafe. i need you to leave me alone." you say firmly, the words sharp, "i don't want you to wait. i won't stop you from being involved with the baby, but i don't want you to wait for me because i can't be with you anymore. i can't forgive you."

every part of you screams to walk away and never look back, to let him face the consequences of his actions alone. however, your feet remain rooted to the spot, as if a part of you is silently willing rafe to beg harder to fix this, even though you know it wouldn't change anything.

"you don't mean that," he says softly, "you still love me, i know you do. please, just tell me what to do to fix this."

"you shouldn't have to ask me how to fix this. and i do still love you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, "but i don't trust you, rafe. you've made your bed. now, lie in it."

for a split second, you think he's going to argue. his lips part to say something but the words never make it past them. so, before you can change your mind, you turn on your heel and quickly walk over to your car, each step feeling heavier than the last. you don't look back, even when you hear him choke out a broken plea. behind you, rafe stays kneeling in the sand, watching as you walk further and further out of his life.

once you reach the car, you let out a trembling breath and attempt to compose yourself. sliding into the driver's seat, the jagged edges of your keys dig into your palm and you squeeze them tighter, as if turning your emotional pain into physical pain will somehow help. for a moment, you just sit and stare, the weight of the day's events crashing down on you.

a few minutes pass before you start the car, and the last thing you see before driving off is rafe sitting in the sand with his head in his hands and knees pulled up to his chest. the thought of going back crosses your mind and you force yourself to look away, to focus on the road instead. you don't know where you're going, only that you can't go home.

taglist: @hellothere7 @faephoria @xcinnamonmalfoyx @samwinchesterisawhore @alyisdead @maybankslover @vdotcom @kundaquarius @lil-sparklqueen @flvredcas @esquivelbianca @pillowprincess4him @mariadu2 @suyqa @sexy123s-s @inmyowndefender @dreamygirli3 @aesthetic-lyss @gorgeouscgirl

[tldrthor]

things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result. 

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her. 

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it. 

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come. 

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it. 

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities. 

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip. 

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile. 

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team. 

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.” 

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow. 

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?” 

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air. 

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield. 

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him. 

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues. 

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents. 

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound. 

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.  

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit. 

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.” 

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward. 

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away. 

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly. 

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

================================================

part two: promises we intend to keep

Would you like to join my general taglist, or specific character taglist? Do so here! (Takes you to a google form)

[shallow-between-stars]

When I grew up I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparent's home in Victoria.

It was an old, brown two-storey that's since been demolished and subdivided because that is the way of things. After Pop died there wasn't much call for a house with that much space in a gentrifying suburb and it made more sense to knock the whole thing down than try and sell land with a two storey with a separate toilet, a garden, a detatched garage and another garden after that all on it.

Hey, something something property prices.

(Something something buying land in the 1950s and selling it in 2023.)

But next door to my grandfather lived a pair of 'brothers' and their 'live-in best friend.' By the time I came into this world only one of the three was still alive - Al. He was from Germany, I think his name was Alphonse? But to everyone he was just Al. His 'brother' was Hans, I don't know what their 'friend's' name was. I remember that Al's eyes used to go dark and distant if I ever asked him about Germany, and that I learnt to stop asking.

He used to say that he and his 'brother' and their 'friend' were Australian, in a German accent so thick I could only half-understand him, and as a child I did not understand the way I do now.

The thing is, up until the day Al died, he was one of my grandfather's best mates. Pop was around there nearly every day sharing the newspaper, sharing the spoils of the gardens, chatting and fixing electronics and generally just being great friends with this guy.

This had been going on for years. My mum tells stories of Al treating her and her siblings with the same love and kindness that he treated my brother and I with. He was a gorgeous, generous, dapper man with a thick accent and the ability to slip his neighbour's grandkids their bodyweight in chocolate when their parents weren't looking.

And apparently his 'brother' and their 'live-in best friend' were much the same.

Al never told Pop that his 'best friend' and his 'brother' were not his best friend and his brother. Mum clocked it, I have a feeling most of her generation did. I never did until a long time later, but Al was the last to leave us and even he left before I was old enough to realise that the photo on his dining room table that I flipped up once of the three of them with their heads pressed together and bliss on their faces meant what it meant. I never understood the kind way in which he took my hands away and pressed the photo back down.

I don't know if he kept it face down or if it was only down like that when people were visiting. I like to think that in his privacy he would flip the photo up, but I also understand as an adult that hearts sometimes do not heal from grief.

I don't know if Pop was letting him keep a polite fiction. I do know that Pop stopped talking to Cousin Louis when Cousin Louis brought his first 'close friend' home and Pop caught them kissing in the back garden. (He didn't disown Louis, with 27 of us grandkids running around, the only one of us who was left something was my brother and that was for the sole reason that my brother was the Favourite. Everything else was given to the eight children. So none of us grandkids were really in a place to be disowned.)

I do know when I was fifteen and reading terrible yaoi manga on the couch, Pop picked up the next volume I had next to me, flipped to an unfortunate page and told me, brandishing the picture of two anime men kissing, that he wouldn't allow this filth in his house.

I do know that every single family member (including Nanna) who knew that the three men living next door were not brothers and a friend never, ever mentioned that to Pop.

And I wonder sometimes how this story would have played out differently if Al had decided he wasn't going to keep the lie.

I do know that it would not have been kind.

We, in many ways, are moving slowly into a kinder world.

But we cannot forget that the world we come from didn't use to be the way it is now.

Every now and then some discourse pops up around a queer ship consisting of a pair of fictional characters who are not blood related, but refer to themselves as "brothers" or "sisters," or are in some way, according to the fandom, "sibling-coded."

Every time I see that discourse, all I can think about are the very real queer men I once knew, who, before their deaths, lived their lives posing as "stepbrothers." The only way to avoid suspicion for being two older unmarried men living together in a rural conservative area was to pretend they were from the same family, even though the truth was that they were lovers.

They were never out in life. Their relationship was a strict secret to nearly everyone. They never knew that I knew, and sometimes it fucks me up inside that they never got to come out to me. It fucks me up that they had to hide behind a fake "brotherly" relationship for their own safety. It fucks me up to look at a gravestone that reads "beloved brother" and know what it really means, and what it could have said if they'd lived under different circumstances.

In another world, they could have been husbands, but they never had the opportunity. The world will remember them as brothers, because, even in death, that is what was safest.

The freedom to declare queer love openly is something that not everyone has. And I think more people could stand to remember that.

[haikyu-mp4]

Call me maybe

“did you hear about suna? he likes osamu’s coworker and he’s always in onigiri miya to see her, but i’m not judging or anything!” – @cosmiicdust for my Gossip Event.

word count; 709 – gn!reader

“You know, I really appreciate you comin’ around more often, Suna. It’s nice-”

Bla bla bla, said the voice in Suna’s head while Osamu talked. He was resting his chin on his hand as he leaned on the counter in front of his friend, but his eyes only watched you, bopping your head to the low music on the little radio beside you.

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” Osamu suddenly asked and turned around, sounding slightly more annoyed than his previous bla bla.

Uh oh, Suna thought. Time to make something up.

“This.” Suna pointed to the pen cup beside the registry, which could be considered in the same line of sight as you were to him. “Why do you have an MSBY pen? I need to get you an EJP one.”

Osamu made a face that Suna immediately tried to take a picture of. Unfortunately, he corrected it again before he had the chance. Thankfully, he didn’t have any drinks in his mouth when Osamu spoke his mind. “Be honest, do ya have a crush on me Suna?”

“What?” Suna practically yelled, by his standards, until Osamu shooed him aside for the new customer to order. The volleyball player stood to the side, completely bewildered by his friend’s question until he heard a little giggle. It was you, looking at him over your shoulder with a humorous grin.

Suna squinted playfully, lifting his middle finger to pretend he was scratching his eye and subtly flipping you off. You gasped soundlessly, then lifted the closest kitchen knife as if a threat. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and he shunned himself mentally while all you saw was a goofy smile. He’s so whipped.

Next time he’s in Onigiri Miya, Suna couldn’t shake off Komori on the way. The two took their usual table that wasn’t nearly close enough to the register for Suna to watch you, and Komori was yapping away so much that he didn’t have the chance to hear you either.

The gods must have heard his prayers, and his god for the day was Osamu Miya. Osamu sent you out into the restaurant to wipe the tables, and Suna nearly got whiplash turning to see you lean over the first table.

Unfortunately, any connection to a possible god left the chat when Suna’s mind started wandering. He couldn’t help it when you leaned over the bigger tables, making sweet little sounds of complaint when you struggled with certain stains. Suna wondered if he could make you louder than that. Actually, he knows he could. And his hands would fit so perfectly on your-

“Suna! What the hell man?” Komori poked Suna with the third pair of chopsticks, which he had accidentally grabbed earlier. His teammate hissed in pain and clutched his chest, looking at Komori in betrayal.

The sound of Suna’s complaints alerted you to their presence, and Suna let out a less-than-manly squeal when you were suddenly right beside him. “Chest pains?” you asked, eyeing where he was now clutching his heart.

Komori had to physically hold back his laughter while Suna looked up at you with a huff. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I thought you might need something, seeing as you were staring me down earlier.” The teasing glint in your eye only made you look like an angel to him.

Finally recovering at the realisation that you caught him staring, he decided he liked you way too much to back down now. He held up his phone, screen towards you and accidentally showed off his stupid background of some old meme with Washio’s face plastered on it. “No one has better access to Osamu blackmail than you. Let’s be friends, yeah?”

You raised an eyebrow, fairly appreciative of him starting with friends even though you suspected he liked you in the same way you liked him. “I did hear about your crush on the boss. What’s in it for me?”

Suna chuckled, pearly whites sharp like a fox. “My number.”

Your cheeks flushed red, holding a hand out for his phone and entering your number after he unlocked it, and it felt better than a kill block ever could.

This marked the beginning of a wonderful partnership, in every sense of the word.

masterlist

[sports-on-sundays]

McLaren hat / OP81

Summary: Oscar x girlfriend!reader - You never realised how much pressure would come from simply being a Formula 1 WAG, and start to go a little bonkers with all the PR.

Warnings: I don't remember if Abu Dhabi was hot this season (probably like wasn't at all) but just pretend it was okay?, stress, kind of low self image, anxiety, taking great lengths just to feel accepted

Requested?: No

"Hey Y/n- whoa." As soon as Oscar looks up from his phone at you, his eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up.

You watch as he looks you over, and immediately say, "Does it look alright?"

"Does it look alright?!" Oscar asks, standing up right away to be in front of you. "Y/n, you look gorgeous." He steps closer, taking your hands, looking at your tight, short black dress, leather boots, and (of course) the McLaren hat upon your head.

"You sure?"

"What do you mean, 'you sure?'?! Of course I'm sure!" he says with a little smile, his eyes returning back to your gaze. "But what made you decide to dress like a model today, anyway?"

You smile softly, glancing away, feeling comforted by his validation, before saying with a little shrug, "I don't know. Just felt like it." Most of the time, you just wear casual clothes: a McLaren shirt and hat, white jeans, and maybe sunglasses. So you can get how Oscar would be so shocked. You suppose you just weren't expecting this much of a reaction.

He brushes your cheek, saying, "You did your makeup differently, too, didn't you?"

"Yeah... is it too much?"

"Not at all. It's bold, but I like it."

You nod with a little relieved sigh. "You sure?"

He nods confidently. "Positive."

"Oh, good," another little smile creeps up on your face. "That's good to hear. Well, I guess I should leave you to your duties now, Oscar. See you later!" you begin to turn around to leave, but he suddenly grabs your hand to pull you back.

He gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and mutters, "Have fun, beautiful," before letting go of your hand again and letting you walk off.

"Oh! Oscar! Don't you think I would look pretty in this...?" you ask excitedly, tugging his hand, holding up a top on a clothes hanger. It's been two hours already of you dragging Oscar from store to store, buying and trying on clothes, simply because you wanted to apparently 'get more nice clothes to wear to F1 races,' and Oscar hasn't had the heart yet to suggest finishing up.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I think you would..." he says, a bit distant, before snapping back into it and saying, "But red's not really your color. Not that you don't look good in it. You look good in everything you wear. I'm just saying-"

"No, no, I get it... I just remember Alex wearing something like this..."

"Alex?" Oscar asks, confused. "Alex who?"

"Oh, you know. Alexandra," when he just proceeds to look even more confused, you add, "Charles's girlfriend?"

"Oh..." Oscar nods as he realizes who you're even talking about, and shrugs, before saying after a few seconds, a bit confused, "Well, of course she'd be wearing red. She's Ferrari."

You crinkle your nose. "Do you really expect me to wear bright orange, Oscar?"

He snorts and says, "No. All I'm saying is that maybe she just wears red for Ferrari. I don't know, I'm not paying attention to her. I only pay attention to you, and though I think you look beautiful in red or not, either way, all I'm saying is that it's just not your color. Besides, you told me to be honest at the beginning of all this. I'm just trying to do what you want me to do. But in then end, I don't really care what you wear; you look amazing either way."

You frown, and suddenly groan, "I wish I looked good in red!"

Oscar smiles, still a bit confused at this complaint. "Why?" he asks earnestly.

You shrug, glancing back down at the shirt. "I dunno. Because Alex looks so good in red."

Oscar cocks his head a bit, apparently still not really understanding. "Who cares what Alexandra looks good in? Because I certainly don't."

You sigh, getting a bit exasperated. "I don't know! I guess I'm just trying to look pretty on the paddock, but I look sucky in all the lovely styles that everyone else always wears!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Oscar says, his hand immediately going to your shoulder. "First of all, you never, ever look sucky, no matter what you're wearing. Second of all, in my opinion, you're always the prettiest in the paddock, no matter who's there. And third of all, who says you have to wear the styles everybody else is wearing? I think your current style is perfectly lovely and fine and beautiful, but even if you do want to change it up, you can find your own. Or invent your own. You don't have to copy Alexandra, or whoever else."

But you only hear half of what he's really saying, and register nearly none of it, and the moment he stops talking, you hold up yet another red top (that honestly doesn't really look that different to Oscar), and say, "How about this one? It's a different shade," holding it up to yourself.

Realizing that this really isn't a battle he's going to win, Oscar just sighs, smiles, and nods, saying, "Actually, yeah. I like the fit would be good. And this color suits you a bit more, too." To him, it looks like the exact same color.

You grin, seeming much more pleased, "Oh, good! Can I go try it on?"

Oscar sigh a bit, smiling and shaking his head, murmuring, "M-hm, sounds good. Can't wait to see it on you, beautiful."

As you walk off to the changing room, Oscar thinks he hears you murmur something about how 'maybe you should just go more for Carmen's style.' Oscar's eyebrows just scrunch together at that, and as he sits down outside the changing rooms to wait for you to come show him, all he can think is, Maybe that's just the way girls are, and I really don't understand them after all.

The excitement of having some of the prettiest girls in the paddock complimenting your outfits is almost too much. The girls that you admire so much.

The ones that handle the fame and attention so well.

You feel like you're already doing better with all that stuff. Once you're convinced you look good, which usually takes at least a half hour of switching outfits, at least twenty reassurances from Oscar, and at least one outside person complimenting your appearance, you feel like a different person.

Like you could conquer the world!

Well, Oscar's not a very sensitive person, nor overly perceptive. It doesn't bother him that you seem to be a bit preoccupied. Not really. Sure, there are some times he wishes you were around when you're not, like you used to be, but he doesn't take it personally. He wants the best for you. And if the best of you is to distance yourself a bit in order to find yourself, or whatever you're doing, he trusts you. As long as you keep saying there's nothing wrong, and you're all good, he'll keep being the first person to believe it.

He just keeps sort of ignoring his intuition telling him that something is just off. Because you're not just growing. It's almost as if you're changing into a new person. Not the girl he asked out years ago. Not the girl he's fallen in love with. On the outside, on the paddock, in public, with all the cameras on you, you seem like the bubbly, friendly perfect type of girl with everything all right. You've never really been that type. Of course, you've always been happy, and to him, you're just perfect. But you've never been so camera hungry and extroverted like you seem to be now. You seem so confident in yourself, it almost seems fake. Though Oscar would never dare consider that thought anymore. It's just that in private, you seem to be the polar opposite of that: tired, quiet, let down. It's like the balanced girl he knew that was consistent nearly all the time has just switched to opposite extremes in different situations. And, well, Oscar has no idea why. He'd be lying if he were to say he wasn't concerned.

But he also can't see any way it'd be right to bring it up.

He just kind of misses the way it used to be. The way you used to be.

"Oscar!" his thoughts are suddenly interrupted by your voice and your footsteps entering the room. It's the early morning before he has to head to the paddock to begin the last race weekend of the season, and he's been laying in bed on his phone for a few minutes, waiting for you to get out of the hotel bathroom so he can have a quick shower.

"Yes?" Oscar asks, setting his phone down as you enter the room. You enter the room to show him your clothes, feeling slightly nervous, and unsure, like countless times before.

You twirl in your outfit, which consists of a white strapless top, dress pants, and black high heels. "How do I look?"

This has been going on for months, now. Probably about half the season. And in that moment, it just kind of snaps in Oscar's brain, and without thinking, and without being supportive like he always is, he decides that today, he's going to be honest. "Well, you look gorgeous. As always, of course, Y/n." He sits up and slips off the bed, before continuing practically, "But how thick are those pants? It's supposed to be killer hot today, and I'd hate for you to cook in those. I mean, they do make you look killer hot. They do look nice. And the high heels are lovely, but you always talk about how much your feet hurt after wearing those. Especially out on the paddock? And," he adds, reaching you, so he's nice and close to you, before picking up his McLaren cap off the hotel nightstand and sticking it on your head, "When did you stop wearing this hat, hm? I always thought you looked adorable in it."

You stare at each other for a few seconds, as if neither of you were expecting all that to come out of Oscar's mouth.

But what happens next is about the last thing Oscar would expect.

You take the hat off your head, throw it at his feet, turn on your heel, and walk straight out of that hotel room.

It all happens so fast, Oscar doesn't even have a moment to register what just happened and call you back before the door shuts behind you.

Ten unread messages from Oscar, and you don't even know why you're so mad, but the last thing you want to do right now is see him.

The first thing you want to do is think through it. Convince yourself he's wrong, and you're right.

He wants me to be a certain way for some reason, and it bothers him that I'm becoming who I want to be? So he just likes an ordinary girl with ordinary looks and ordinary fashion and an ordinary personality?

The truth is, you have no idea why he'd want that more than what you're trying to be.

Maybe he's just controlling? He just wants control over what you wear and how you act? But for the years you've dated him, he's never displayed qualities like those.

Then what is it? your brain screams, and for some reason, tears begin to fill your eyes.

And that's when a whisper of a thought dares to say, Doesn't Oscar want the best for you?

Is doing all this really the best for you?

But all the PR and popularity with fans it's brought you... it's so... validating.

But also so exhausting.

And when you come home at the end of the day, don't you want nothing more than to just take that mask off and destroy it?

You know how fake it is. It's like you work every day to make your mask become your face, but that will never happen, and that's painful.

You were happier before, but your outward 'success' was, like, close to nothing.

Do you really want this?

Can you even give up now?

With all the validation from the fans and media?

Maybe Oscar was a bit much today in the hotel. He was. But maybe he had a point, too...

It's like you can't stop. You keep it up for the rest of the weekend, even to Oscar, now, pretending everything is okay, and it's too much.

But you can't stop.

At the end of the weekend, though, after it's all said and done and you've had enough and all you want is to go to sleep and let your dreams sweep you away, everything in you wants to break down.

You need to be alone.

You need to be alone so you can finally be real.

And, of course, when you walk into the hotel room, there Oscar is, sitting by the window.

Just looking out of it.

"What are you doing?" you demand in slight confusion.

You see him look at you in the reflection of the glass. He doesn't even turn around.

Is this all I am now? Merely a reflection in the glass of the person I was to him?

"Looking out the window, and you?"

"That's all?"

He nods, before finally glancing back at you. Showing you his real, handsome face.

It's late, so late.

He just won his driver's championship, and all you want to do is fall apart.

Why isn't he more happy?

Probably just tired.

And here you are, with your nerve, saying, "Oscar, would you mind leaving?"

You see his eyes flash in confusion in the glass. Fear, even, maybe for just a second. He stands up and faces you, his hands going to your shoulders. "Leaving?"

"Just for... a bit."

"Why?" he demands.

"I need some alone time."

He stares, his eyes softening further, before murmuring, "Since when have you ever asked me for that? How many times have we been alone together?"

"Aren't I allowed some privacy, Oscar?"

"Isn't your whole life privacy, by now, Y/n?" It's not an accusation. It's a desperate question, that you have no answer to.

Because you don't want to say yes, but you can't say no. "Please, Osc..." you murmur, trying to keep it together. "I need this time."

"Darling..." he whispers, like a silent prayer.

Your stomach lurches. Why is he calling me that?

Doesn't he only talk like that when he needs me?

"Oscar, listen..."

"Please..." he whispers. "Let it go. At least for me. Don't you see this isn't good for you?"

"Oscar, I-" your voice cracks.

He sighs. "We don't have to talk. We don't have to lay together, or sit together, or be next to each other. We could be on completely opposite sides of the room as each other." He gulps, before adding, "Just let us be alone together. Like we used to always be, when it hurt, and we needed alone time, but we knew we'd both always be there when the other needed it. It's starting to feel so lonely out here without you, darling..." he stroke your cheek gently.

You gulp, fighting back tears.

"Take off those shoes, go put on your pajamas. Just relax, beautiful. Let your cover fall. I don't ever want to forget the you you are without it."

"Do you want me to cry?"

"Never."

"Then why-"

"Because I'd rather you cry if you need to than hold it in and let it rot the inside of you, love."

Love.

"That's the first time you've ever called me that..." you murmur as you slowly lean against the bed to slip off your shoes.

He smiles softly, which surprises you.

You quickly slip on pajamas, before crawling into bed, and murmuring, despite yourself, "Can you come over?"

And in seconds, Oscar's crawling into bed next to you, tucking the two of you in.

"Hold me."

"It's my pleasure," he responds softly, gently pulling you into his chest.

You lay there like that for a while, before whispering, your voice so weak, "Oh, God, Oscar... I'm so, so tired."

"I know you are, darling. I know." He kisses the tops of your head.

Your voice cracks a bit, and this time, you let the tear fall. "I just... I just felt like maybe I should've... been more like them. I'll admit it, I got jealous."

Oscar strokes your hair.

You swallow. More tears fall. "I just guess I felt like I wasn't good enough, but they all were."

"Good enough for what?"

You stare, the question lingering like a germ in the air. "For the media. For the fans. For every single person watching me every single race weekend."

He kisses your nose. "Pressure got to you. Did you ever feel like you weren't good enough for yourself?"

You swallow, shrugging. Nod a bit.

He sighs softly, nodding. Takes your hand and begins whispering, "I want you to know. You're worthy of every single kiss, every single hug, every single sigh, every single tear. You're worthy of every single star in the sky, every single drop in the ocean. You're worthy of laughter and sunshine and so, so much love. You're worthy of..." Oscar trails off, suddenly feeling an unexpected wave of emotion hit himself, before he gains his grip once more again and continues with, in merely a soft whisper, "You're worthy of all the joy and goodness in with world. And you'd know that if you knew how much joy and goodness you project into the world, without even trying, without even thinking about it." He swallows to keep his voice from cracking, and finishes with, "Please know, no matter what happens, or whatever anyone says, I'll always love you for who you are. I'll always be here to be your home. I want you for everything you are, and nothing that you feel you've ought to be. Because to me, you're perfect just the way you are. That is the kind of worth you have, and I wish you could see that, too."

The moment the last beautiful whisper of a word exits his mouth, you break down, fall into him, and cry. And he whispers about wiping away every single one of your tears, because you deserve none of the pain you're going through.

The fact that you've done all this, and brought it on yourself, and hurt him, and he stills says this.

Once your tears have subsided, Oscar smiles a bit, looking into your eyes like you're the most beautiful sunrise, or sparkling dew fresh in the morning, or the glimmer of the sun on the ocean, or any other beautiful thing that could fascinate even the coldest of people. And he whispers, wiping away the last of your stray tears, "Dress for no one but yourself, love. Be who you are. Because whatever you want to wear, you'll stun me. And I love you for exactly the person you are, nt the person you feel you ought to be. Whether you're in an evening gown with the most beautifully done makeup, or in your pajamas with tangled up hair, to me, you'll always, no matter what, be the most gorgeous, amazing, beautiful, perfect woman I have ever set my eyes upon."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Oscar, you..." You're utterly speechless.

He holds you close, and for the first time in months, you feel a certain peace envelop you.

You feel like you're home again.

Maybe all you needed was a good cry and the most perfect boyfriend any girl could ask for.

As your exhausted body gives itself away to slumber you hear Oscar murmur after gently kissing your scalp, "Can't wait to see you in my McLaren hat again, darling."

And you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I just found this https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGdk8Quhj/ and it’s so Jason Todd core

Would it be possible for you to write something about this 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻with a plus sized reader 🙏🏻

Thanks so much if you do 🫶🫶🩷✨

When you first started dating Jason he came across as someone who was independent and self reliant, however this illusion is quickly shattered the longer it continues and now you’ve come to realise one thing about Jason Todd; he has major separation anxiety -or so he claims- and the only known cure is to be within the same room as you, yes that even include the bathroom when your showering.

‘Jaybirdie?’

‘Yes sweetheart?’

‘…do you have to be so close to me when I’m trying to make us breakfast?’ You looked over at Jason who was basically pressed up against your back, his hands were locked on your waist, and his head was resting upon your shoulder as he looks at what you were doing with sleep ridden eyes.

Jason looks at you with those same sleep ridden eyes as he pouts. He loves being this close to you as it meant getting to caresses and knead your plush flesh as though he was a kitten, it was something he had become obsessed with when you first started dating, and even went as far as calling you his human body pillow with how perfect you were with your cute tummy he often used as a pillow and thighs that he’d gladly suffocate and die in if you let him.

‘I have separation anxiety chipmunk, you know this.’ He says and you couldn’t help but laugh at how unintentionally cute he was being.

‘I understand that but wouldn’t being in the same room be enough to calm your anxiety?’ You look at him with a raised brow but a knowing smile stretched across your face.

Jason shrugs. ‘Fuck if I know but being in the same room as you isn’t enough,’ he whines as he tightened his hold on you and sighing in content as he borrowed his hands under your shirt to caress your tummy. ‘I need to hold you like this specifically and have my hands under your shirt to cure it.’ He adds as he pressed a series of kisses against your neck and shoulders to his hearts content.

‘Sure that’s the case, I believe you.’ You said through a series of giggles as you felt his kisses tickle those sensitive spots upon your neck before having to push your hand against his face to get him to stop, much to Jason’s dismay as he whines and tries to bite your fingers, making you pull away from his mouth as quickly as you could to save your fingers from being bitten. ‘Quit it!’

‘No.’ Jason chuckled as he squeezed you further against him, finally managing to burry his head in your neck once more.

‘I can’t make dinner if you’re unwilling to let me go!’ You exclaimed but it didn’t seem to mean much to Jason as you could feel him shrug his shoulders.

‘Then let me help my sweet marshmallow from further stress over breakfast.’ Jason said without hesitation as his hands moved from under your shirt, under your pits and towards the stove you were hunching over, keeping you pressed between it and him. It was a sight so humorous that you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the two of you must look from an outside perspective, with Jason tempting to make breakfast from behind you, all the while you watched him fail to prod at some eggs with a spatula.

‘You’re ridiculous jaybirdie.’ You say to him as he only looks at you with mischief in his eyes before taking a playful nibble on your cheeks, making you playfully swat him, ‘what was that for? For telling the truth?’ You then add as you tried to keep up with the amount of surprise affection he had been giving you all day.

‘I just needed to make sure my marshmallow was still as sweet as possible given how sassy and mean they’re being to me today.’ Jason retorts as he takes yet another nibble of your cheek. ‘Yep still sweet and soft, just how I love them.’ He adds softly into your ear as you lean against him to kiss his cheek in return.

‘And I just needed to make sure that you were still my jaybirdie.’ You tell him as you found yourself melting into his touch as his hands were back under your shirt, lovingly caressing and kneeling your tummy with worship and more adoration than you ever thought was possible, but then again it’s Jason he was a man was full of love and he loved every aspect of you wholeheartedly and unconditionally. ‘What’s the verdict?’ Jason asks you and you kissed him on the lips briefly.

‘Yep, still my jaybirdie.’ You say with a smile, happy to have Jason however you could, even if you were subjected to his bouts of separation anxiety that has him clinging onto you, acting like an overgrown puppy; He was still your Jason after all.

[thef1diary]

I need ghost!max to start haunting my place…. Please… I’ll pay good money… bake ghost cookies… 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

BUT DI, that is giving freeuse kink and you know who’ll love that ? 👀 yeah yeah…. Dirtbag!daniel….

hear me out, when he realises that maybe there’s something more that triggers the jealousy and all, he’s looking for a way to have you all to himself for some time (you’d obv been fucking regularly but it’s not like you live at his place) AND WHAT BETTER EXCUSE than that??? Y’know…. You’ll NEED to spend the whole week at his place for him to use you like he wants to… AND HE DOES 👀👀

-🐱

— “bake ghost cookies” nonnie you make me laughhh 😭 but mhm dirtbag!danny would loveee free use kink 👀 it wouldn’t be hard to convince you at all, I mean a full week with the hottest guy, giving him the full authority to use you as he wishes? Hell yeah, where do I sign up? 18+ content below

It started with you coming over, a casual plan for the evening. But the moment you stepped through the door, Daniel had you pinned to the wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming like he couldn’t wait another second.

The plan to stay for a single night turned into two. Three. Then a full week. Neither of you could get enough of each other, so why would you leave? He wanted all of you, at any time of the day he desired, and you eagerly complied.

Your clothes? Gone. Tossed somewhere and never given back. At best, he let you wear one of his shirts—oversized and smelling like him, but with nothing underneath. Any time you walked through the house, he’d pull you into his lap, his hand sliding up your bare thighs with a smug grin.

“Gave in so quickly, hm?” He said one afternoon as you stood in the kitchen. “Why do you put up a facade for the world when you’re desperate to be my personal slut? Mine to use whenever I want, however I want.”

His grip tightened on your waist as he stood behind you, his words ticking your ear. “You’re here for me to use, sweetheart, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second.”

He made good on his word. Mornings started in various ways each day. Face down, ass up, your teeth buried in a pillow as he pounded into your wet pussy, groaning about how tight you were, how you were made for him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his hand fisting in your hair to pull you up slightly. “So fucking perfect like this. You’ll never want anyone else after me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

Or he’d have you on your knees, his cock heavy in your mouth as his hand guided your movements, controlling every inch you took. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his head falling back. “Taking me so fucking well. You like this, don’t you? Letting me ruin you before breakfast.”

Afternoons were no reprieve. He found any excuse to touch you, to take you. The couch, the counter, even the floor—every surface in his house bore witness to the way he unraveled you.

He dropped to his knees in the living room one day, devouring you like a man starving, his beard leaving marks on your thighs. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groaned, his tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers worked you open. “Could spend every damn day buried here.”

By the time night fell, you were spent—but he wasn’t done. He’d pull you into bed, his body flush against yours, guiding your hips to sink down on his cock. “Just stay like this,” he murmured, his hands trailing up your sides. “Keep me warm for the night, maybe I’ll wake you up by fucking you, exactly how you like it.”

One hand lazily gripped your waist as the other toyed with you—pinching your nipples or rubbing slow, maddening circles over your clit while you were stretched around him.

By the end of the week, you were a wreck. Your body ached, your throat was hoarse, and your mind was a blur of pleasure and submission.

When he finally let you rest, he pulled you against his chest with a rare softness. “Don’t wanna hear about anyone else, got it? You’re mine. Always,” he murmured.

And lying there, his hand stroking lazily over your back, you realized you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You were happy to be his personal slut, just like he said.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[ilovekittycats2]

High Maintenance

Jake Seresin x reader

(use of y/n)

In which,

Hangman keeps breaking his jet, and you’re not sure if fixing it or dealing with him is more exhausting

or,

one act of recklessness makes you realise that there may be more to Jake Seresin than meets the eye.

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

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was good at a lot of things—flying jets, making cocky comebacks, and driving people absolutely insane. Unfortunately for you, as the Navy’s top mechanic, his messes always landed squarely on your plate. “You fly like you’re trying to piss me off, Seresin,” you snapped, tossing a grease-streaked rag onto the workbench. 

Hangman leaned against the side of his F/A-18 with his signature smirk. “I fly like I’m the best, sweetheart. It’s not my fault if your tools can’t keep up.” Sweetheart. That nickname alone was enough to make your blood boil. “If you’re the best, why do you spend so much time breaking your jet?” His grin widened. “Because I know you’ll fix it.”

This was your dynamic—a constant battle of wits with an undercurrent of tension neither of you acknowledged. Hangman was insufferable, arrogant, and way too charming for his own good. Worse, you hated how your pulse raced when he leaned a little too close or shot you that lopsided grin. 

Keep it together, Y/n.

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

The call came through like a punch to the gut: Jake Seresin’s bird was in trouble. You’d been elbow-deep in another jet’s maintenance when the commotion started, and the urgency in the tower’s tone made your stomach knot. Hangman might have been the cockiest pilot in the squadron, but he was still one of yours—and whether you admitted it or not, that mattered.

You ran to the runway just as his F/A-18 skidded to a stop in a haze of smoke and screeching metal. The landing gear barely held, and the right engine let out a sickening hiss as flames licked at the exhaust. When the canopy opened, Jake climbed out slower than usual, his movements careful, deliberate. For the first time, he looked... human.

“You okay?” you barked as you closed the distance between you.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Engine failure. It cut out at altitude, but I managed to bring her in.” His voice was steady, but his hands betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly.

You studied him for a beat longer than necessary, searching for any cracks in the façade. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “Let me worry about your jet,” you said, pulling your gaze away. “Just... don’t touch anything.”

The hours that followed were grueling. You stayed on your feet, wrench in hand, sweat dripping down your temple as you fought to diagnose the failure. Jake didn’t leave, hovering just outside your workspace like a restless ghost. He wasn’t offering quips or trying to charm his way into a response this time; he was just there, quiet and watchful.

“Why are you still here?” you asked finally, not looking up from the engine bay.

He hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Didn’t feel right leaving her—and you—like this.” The confession made you pause. For a moment, you just stared at the mess of wires and metal in front of you, trying to ignore the strange warmth curling in your chest. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, “if you’re staying, make yourself useful. Hand me the wrench.”

To your surprise, he did.

When the jet finally roared back to life in the early hours of the morning, you stepped back, exhaustion tugging at every muscle. Jake, who had barely moved from his spot all night, let out a breath of relief that mirrored your own. “Thanks for saving my ass,” he said, and this time, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.

You turned to him, wiping grease off your hands onto a rag. “Don’t get used to it,” you said, but the sharp edge in your voice was missing.

Jake smiled—small, tentative, and not at all like the cocky grins he usually threw your way. As he walked off into the dawn light, you found yourself watching him longer than you should have, wondering what it meant that Jake Seresin, for once, wasn’t acting like Jake Seresin.

And why it made your chest feel so strange.

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

hey guysssss once again sorry this is bad but i really wanted to write so idk....... lmk if you want a part 2 and send reqs!!!! pls!!!

[frostbitten-writer]

Secret

Pairing: Ekko x gn!Firefly!reader

Tags: Not established relationship; no specific details abt R, only that they’re shorter than Ekko; mention of Shimmer as drugs; FLUFF

A/n: Another cute idea for a one-shot, enjoy 🫶🏻🤭 Plus, so many new Snowflakes joined, so in general welcome 💖❄️

The air was thick with tension, all of the fighters at the Tree were together in Ekko’s office, a massive map laid out on his desk, which, for this occasion, was put in the middle of the whole room. It was already past midnight, children and other people sound asleep while the group was having a heated argument. Everyone was tired, but the adrenaline rush that was palpable was keeping them awake. The arguments started to get louder, the debate about where Silco’s gang is going to show up the next time starting and finishing without a single, normal, or logical outcome.

The situation with shimmer was worse than ever, more people came to the tree, especially children that either escaped from child labour at the plants or from losing their parents. More people were drugged and laid on the streets, begging for a single coin that was definitely going to be invested into the radioactive, purple goo. The air was stiff and dry, the wooden floor almost invisible due to the different papers scattered all around it, or the different utensils they used while coordinating Silco’s next move, like a pair of dividers or a ruler.

Ekko felt like he was ready to rip his hair out. What do you mean he couldn’t find out where Silco was? What do you mean, he couldn’t magically figure it out?

His whole attire was messy, shirt dirty from the spilled coffee and face paint smudged from him rubbing his face in frustration. It was definitely not his best day, and he was not happy with how the meet-up was going. Everyone was already slumped in their seats, absolutely defeated and ready to give up. At that sight, Ekko grumbled and knocked some useless papers off the table.

“Are you guys even listening?! We are having a crisis right now! Look at the stats! We are running out of spaces and rooms, and yet the people still keep coming! Are you even getting what this means?!” He yelled out, the multiple oil lamps illuminating his glare. As Ekko continued his monologue, the sound of the door creaking open echoed through the room. Ekko was still too devoted to his speech that he didn’t turn around to the door behind his back. His stance was broad, hands gripping the sides of the table tightly, so that his back and shoulder muscles tensed and flexed under his tank top. That’s only when he realised that something was wrong, since everyone's eyes weren’t fixed on him but on something behind him.

“What?! Did I grow wings or what!” He called out, before turning around and dropping his jaw.

There were you, bare feet touching one of the maps and a towel over your shoulders, as if you had only, only now left the shower. Your form was looking warm and cozy, a pair of black night shorts on and a white tank top that looked familiar.. with a jacket that looked a bit too familiar.. and an unmistakable.. orange infinity scarf around your neck. Ekko’s eye started to twitch. Didn’t you both agree on keeping the relationship secret?!

Before you could even say anything, Ekko tugged on your hand and out of the room, his face and ears cartoonishly red while the guys suddenly didn’t feel as tired as they were before seeing the amazing Ekko run around like a preschooler.

While you were laughing, he quickly pushed you against the wall, glaring, no, more like pouting down at you as you smiled sheepishly.

“What..?” You giggled quietly, feeling your knees buckling slightly and you slipping down the wall. Ekko quickly caught you up, sliding you up so you were making eye contact, feet and toes freely dangling down as he held you with a suppressed smile.

“What was this about?” He tried his best to do an intimidating glare, but you could see it right through him by the way he would bite his lower lip.

“What was about..?” You asked innocently, feeling like a little child. 

“You know perfectly well what I mean, that was anything but undercover…” He chided you, the only thing that was missing was his finger shaking in disapproval.

“I was cold, plus, the only thing that I found were your clothes..” You murmured quietly, avoiding eye contact, and before he could say anything, you interrupted him in his thought. 

“You know that they’re a lot more comfortable than mine!”

He let out a long sigh, both from tiredness and you, even though he would take being annoyed by you over Silco on any day. 

“You do know that I have a meeting..?” 

Nod.

“And you know that they are waiting..?”

Another nod.

“And you know that they will definitely ask questions..?”

This time you didn’t do anything but just stared into his eyes, pleading for understanding.

“You know-“ 

The door creaked open and Scar looked over to both of you, a knowing smile on his features.

“Um, so, whatever this is.. can it wait until after we discuss Silco and his plan?” He murmured, lazily stuffing his hands in his pockets as he watched Ekko’s face fall once again in shame.

“Yeah- yeah.. of course..” He murmured and quickly let you down to your feet. Not knowing what to do and how to act around another pair of eyes watching you, he chastely pecked your cheek before entering the room again, and if you’re not wrong, you think you heard Scar laughing and Ekko cursing him out under his breath…

[capquinn]

I was just thinking about bf!Quinn meeting your parents for the first time and being nervous about it beforehand lmao

god idk about you guys but my parents are neurotic so he’d be right to be a wreck 😅😭 ANYWAY nervous quinny coming right up

Quinn had been pacing the living room for nearly fifteen minutes, the soles of his shoes scuffing softly against the floor as he moved in restless, looping strides. His hands couldn’t seem to settle anywhere — shoving into his pockets, tugging at the collar of his button-up, dragging through his hair so often that a few strands were starting to stick up stubbornly. The brand new button up, the nice jeans, even the shoes you picked out for him were all perfect. But judging by the way he kept adjusting and pulling at them, they felt anything but. He looked like he was gearing up to take the ice in overtime during Playoffs, except this wasn’t about hockey. It was about meeting your parents for the first time.

And he was nervous. Really nervous.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the living room.

He stopped mid-step like he’d only just realised what he was doing, like he'd remembered he wasn't alone. His gaze flicked toward you, wide and a little uncertain, and for a second, he looked almost boyish, like a kid caught red-handed.

“I just...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. His fingers tugged at his collar next, as though it had suddenly shrunk two sizes. “What if they don’t like me?” he finally said, the words quiet but heavy, like he’d been carrying them around for a while.

You stepped toward him, closing the space with a softness you knew he needed right now. “Quinn, they’re going to love you,” you said, smoothing your hands over the front of his shirt. Your touch lingered on his chest, steady and grounding.

He shook his head slightly, looking unconvinced, the crease between his brows deepening. “What if I say something stupid? Or they think I’m boring? Or—”

“Or they realise how lucky I am to have you and try to steal you away?” you interrupted gently, a small smile playing on your lips.

His brows furrowed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “I’m serious,” he said, though the nervous energy in his voice softened just a little.

“And so am I,” you countered, your tone warm and steady. “You’re sweet, thoughtful and incredibly kind. They're going to see all of that and love you for it."

He exhaled a slow breath, some of the tension in his shoulders melting as he leaned into your touch. “I just really want to make a good impression,” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest.

“And you will,” you promised, rising up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just be yourself. That’s more than enough.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken, like he was trying to anchor himself in your confidence. Your fingers found the ends of his hair, curling around them playfully, his shoulders sagging slightly, the tension easing a little more, and then he let out a quiet laugh — the kind that felt more like a release than amusement. It was progress, but you could still see the storm of thoughts swirling behind his eyes, his brows furrowing as another worry surfaced.

“But what if I run out of things to say?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, almost sheepish, like he already knew how you’d react but couldn’t stop himself from asking. There was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was bracing for you to tease him.

You didn’t disappoint. The laugh that bubbled out of you was soft, affectionate, and just a little exasperated. “You? Run out of things to say?” you repeated, your head tilting as you gave him a pointed look, the kind that always made him squirm in the most endearing way. “Not possible,” you said, your voice light but full of certainty.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile breaking through, but he still managed to look unconvinced. “It’s different, though,” he murmured, his gaze dropping briefly before flicking back to yours. “Talking to your parents isn’t the same as talking to you or the guys. I can’t just…say whatever.”

“You’re overthinking it,” you said gently, your fingers slipping from his hair to brush over his shoulders soothingly, like you could knead the tension out of him. "I mean it, baby. Just be yourself. That’s all they’re going to want. And trust me — once my dad gets going on golf or my mom starts asking you a million questions, you won’t even have to try.”

He let out a slow breath, the kind that made you feel like he was letting go of some of that tension. “Okay,” he said, nodding slightly. But then he paused, tilting his head at you with a faintly teasing glint in his eye. “And if I do run out of things to say?”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose before pulling back with a soft laugh. “Then you smile, nod, and let them do all the talking.”

He laughed again, this time louder and easier, his hands settling on your waist as he looked at you like you’d just handed him the answer to every problem in the world. “Alright,” he said, a little steadier now. “I can do that.”

So when you arrive at your parent's house, Quinn’s still a little stiff, shaking your dad’s hand with a firm grip and offering your mom a bouquet of flowers, his voice polite and quiet. You can see him trying, making the effort to seem calm, but the way his shoulders creep up toward his ears tells you otherwise.

It doesn’t take long for the ice to break, though. Your dad starts talking about golf — just as you predicted — and Quinn leans into the conversation, his face lighting up as they swap stories about their best (and worst) games. There’s a genuine ease in the way they laugh together, and you can tell Quinn’s nerves start to melt away with each passing moment. Your mom, meanwhile, peppers him with questions. Everything from his family, to his favourite meals, to what it’s like playing in the NHL, and even down to how he likes his coffee. Though he stumbles over a few answers, glancing at you for reassurance more than once, he’s so earnest and thoughtful in his responses that she’s absolutely beaming by the time dinner is served, like she’s already planning the next time he’ll be invited over.

By the end of the night, Quinn’s walking out with your mom’s Tupperware full of leftovers balanced carefully in his hands and your dad clapping him on the shoulder as he glances your way with a hearty, “good kid, this one.” The approval in his tone is unmistakable, and when you look over at Quinn, his cheeks are tinged pink, his eyes bright with a mix of relief and quiet pride, his lips curved in that boyish smile you love so much.

“Told you they’d love you,” you tease once you’re in the car, nudging him lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, his tone aiming for dismissive but falling short, the warmth in his eyes betraying him. He shifts slightly, leaning back into the seat, his fingers reaching out to find yours, threading together as he exhales a long, steady breath. You can feel the tension leaving his body, the last remnants of his nerves melting away. “Thanks for… you know, making it easier.”

You grin, squeezing his hand as you lean over, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. “You didn’t need my help,” you murmur, your voice warm and sure. “You’re a natural.”

[honeyedfate]

backstage confessions | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x fem!reader + feat. enhypen

genre. fluff (+ crack? im just a comedian really)

a/n. my first fic on this sideblog!! enjoy x

“what are you looking at?” jay’s teasing voice comes from beside you, effectively snapping you out of your daze.

you turn to him hesitantly, feeling like you just got caught doing something sinful. “mm?”

jay holds your gaze, clearly unimpressed by your pretence while taking a bite from his banana. he chews like he has all the time in the world and for a moment you wonder if he had spoken at all. then, he swallows and his lips curve into a smile. the kind you wear when you’ve already stolen someone’s wallet and are now humouring them.

“you were staring,” he eventually says. “at jake.”

“well, damn.” you laugh awkwardly. “don’t make it sound like a crime. and i wasn’t—“

“yea, no.” he shakes his head. “don’t even try. you were locked in for, like, the past 10 minutes. it was serious for you.”

“i have my reasons,” you sputter defensively, hoping those reasons will materialise inside your head right now. then the rest of his words catch up to you and you pull a face. “you’ve been looking at me for 10 minutes?”

“you would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy doing the same thing to someone else.” jay snorts quietly. “besides, there are no reasons. or there’s only one, really. i don’t know if you know what it is, but i do. i know that look.”

you arch your brows. “you sound confident.”

he nods, tossing the peel of his banana into the nearest bin. “i’m not a gambling man but i would bet on it.”

“enlighten me then.”

jay squints his eyes, giving you a look that almost rudely says right. as if you’re ready to hear the truth. and you probably aren’t, but you’re fatally curious and the thought of someone knowing you better than yourself feels both touching and offensive.

“enlighten you about what?” another curious voice cuts in and the two of you swivel around, coming face to face with none other than jake. he tilts his head to the side, big black eyes innocently meeting yours as a strand of curled hair falls down his forehead and oh. oh, you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that.

jay clears his throat, glancing at you as if to check if you’re drooling. “erm, just you know…” he helplessly flails his hands around, gesturing at everything and nothing at all. “stuff.”

you stare up at him.

“smooth,” you mumble under your breath and he elbows your side. jake’s gaze darts between you two.

“you want him to enlighten you about… stuff.” he repeats flatly and you swear you hear jay wince beside you. yes, this is extremely painful and it’s your fault, you hiss at him telepathically, hoping he could hear it. sadly, absolutely nothing comes to mind to eradicate the situation, so you just smile back nervously.

jake eventually bites his lip and forces an awkward laugh, taking a step back while his eyes shine with something you can’t place. “sorry, didn’t mean to pry. if you guys have secrets, that’s none of my business, erm, i’ll just go see what the others are doing.” with an even more awkward wave, he leaves the room.

you round on jay. “what was that?”

he retreats with his palms up, laughing sheepishly. “that was close, wasn’t it?”

“you think?” you say bitterly, flopping down on the cluttered couch, pulling out someone’s charger from beneath you. you haven’t even realised how fast your heart was pumping, but you suppose that seems like an adequate reaction seeing how the boy you’ve been stupidly in love with for months might’ve overheard how you were staring at him yearningly like an idiot. or a creep. god, maybe it’s an heart attack.

“you know,” says jay as he sits down on the opposite couch, speaking at a normal volume now that everyone has left the waiting room. “one day, you will have to tell him. does it really make that much of a difference if you do it today or next week?”

you shoot him an incredulous look. “park jongseong, you’re funny if you believe i was planning on telling him a damn thing. hilarious, actually, for thinking i’d do it next week as if i’d saved it in my calendar.”

“jake probably has.” jay shrugs, smiling fondly. “he probably has an alarm set too. he’s such a J.”

“you’re a J,” says heeseung the moment he strolls into the room, door falling shut behind him. “hey, y/n.”

you flash him a smile over your shoulder. “hi, hee.”

he takes a seat on your left and offers you an open bag of peanuts. you take some and he extends the courtesy to jay who stares at him blankly.

“trying to kill me again?”

“what? you’re not allergic to peanuts.” heeseung frowns, glancing at you. “right?”

“leave me out of it,” you say. “i’m feeling murderous today so if he is, those nuts should not be anywhere near me.”

he studies your face as though to see if you’re serious. “okay then,” heeseung mutters to himself before turning back to his friend. “well, are you?”

jay’s brows furrow. “no, i was just kidding. but you should know if i’m allergic or not, man. peanut allergies are not a joke. we’ve known each other for years, what the hell?”

heeseung stares at him in bewilderment. “you’re not even allergic.”

“i could’ve been, you a—“

“what’s going on?” jungwon cuts him off as he walks in. the others shuffle in behind him, looking at jay and heeseung curiously. “why are you fighting?”

neither of them reply while everyone else makes themselves comfortable on the couch. it’s a whirlwind of movements and things being shoved aside and someone saying “you’re sitting on my hand, riki.” and before you know it, heeseung and jake are sat on either side of you.

sunghoon looks around expectantly. “so? what are we fighting about? might as well join.”

heeseung huffs and pours some more peanuts into your palm, nearly emptying the whole thing. “nothing, he’s just being weird,” he grunts and you grin at jay while he pouts and looks away. apparently, that seems to be a good enough response for everyone and they fall into mindless chatter and doomscrolling on their phones.

you’re in the middle of talking to sunoo about a drama you started last night when you suddenly feel a hand gently wrapping around your left wrist. jake grins at your startled reaction and pulls it towards him to pick some peanuts from your palm. “sorry,” he says with way too much amusement for it to be remotely genuine.

“s’alright,” you reply, not able to stop yourself from smiling shyly when you realise how close you’ve been sitting. you’re close enough to count his lashes if you wanted to, especially when he reaches up to remove a piece of lint from your hair and lets you blow it away.

“oh, wait, i wanted to show you something.” he fishes out his phone and lets his other arm fall on his thigh. since his leg is pressed up against yours, his hand is lying on your thigh and you really don’t want to think too much about it because you might squeal and pass away from embarrassment.

before you can ponder the possibility of that happening, he moves his arm behind your back and pulls you into his side. you are so proud of yourself for masking your surprise and biting back a yelp. the whiff of his perfume and something that smells so undeniably like him drifts to your nose as jake leans closer to show you his screen. you’re looking at the pepe the king prawn trend on tiktok where people share their traumatic experiences, and this one in particular has you in stitches in less than four seconds.

“i knew you’d like this one.” he beams at you with a hint of pride in this voice.

“you were blowing up my phone with these last week.” you move back a little after the last slide, the last remnants of a good laugh hanging in the air between you.

“because i know you’d find them funny,” he says with a shrug like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you hum at the memory. “i had to turn off my phone because i was in the studio and wouldn’t have gotten any work done if your name had kept popping up.”

“oh?” jake looks pleased to hear that. he leans in closer, lowering his voice to a teasing murmur. “why? can’t resist?”

you playfully narrow your eyes at him. “shut up, you know how curious i get.” you look down at your hands. “besides, you stopped sending them, so i figured… i don’t know what i figured.”

a beat of silence follows in which you regret what you said. you didn’t mean to sound so needy.

“the only reason why i stopped was because i knew i’d see you today and i wanted to see your reaction.” jake’s voice is sincere and reassuring. “i saved so many for you, d’you want to see?”

ignoring how your heart flutters uncontrollably, you bite your lip to keep from smiling too much like an idiot. his eyes drift down, lingering there before he blinks rapidly, giving you a lopsided smile and opening the app again to a collection on tiktok that was named after you. no need to overthink that one, right? right.

madonna’s 'like a prayer' gets dramatically louder with each slide and you’re fully immersed, laughing at jake’s commentary and anticipating how it could possibly end when he suddenly stops swiping although there was only one sentence to read, and you’d be mildly offended if he believed you to be that slow of a reader. quizzically, you look at him only to find his eyes already on you. the effect is diabolical.

he’s really just smiling at you—something he’s done a million times even though you wish he hadn’t because you are so sure you could get drunk on it—but this one is painfully gentle and inviting. as if you had just told him you save baby animals in your free time and this was his secret show of tender gratitude. it’s all very confusing.

“you’re so pretty,” says jake, quietly as though it wasn’t even meant for your ears to hear.

his eyes hold so much softness and plain adoration—yes, adoration. even you can see that clear as day—that you immediately feel your mouth go dry and your chest squeeze around your heart. because what is happening right now? jay was right. you are, in fact, not ready to face the truth.

it is ni-ki who has you both crashing back to earth with the call of jake’s name. you tear your eyes away and blink at your lap.

“jay asked if you have anything planned next week.”

still out of it, he glances at you for some reason before settling his puzzled gaze on jay. “we have schedules every day next week, bro. we looked at it earlier in the car. you were there.”

“oh, i know.” jay grins and slides his eyes to you, mischief glinting in them. “so whatever it is you want to do, you should probably do it now. if you’re going to do it anyway.”

it’s like the entire room falls silent, prompting you to eye them suspiciously. “okay,” says jake slowly, clearly not getting the hint. you’re not sure you get it either.

“god,” you hear sunoo mutter under his breath, making ni-ki snort.

“i know,” jungwon sighs. “they’re idiots.”

[inmyheaddd]

✦ steered your way — leo valdez x reader

wc: 2.0k summary: you and your friends have just finished a little quest and are heading back to camp, and you and leo are the only ones awake in the dark of the night. a/n: first leo fic... my baby he's so cute

you weren’t sure how you’d ended up alone with leo. again. not that you minded, but it was becoming something you couldn’t not take notice of. every time the group split up, it always seemed to be you and him. you didn’t think too much of it—at least, not until now.

yes, you'd come best friends as a result of just always being around each other, but now that its been a few months, you started to feel more than just platonic feelings.

now, you two were the only ones on your little quest with your friends taking the night watch. it was the freezing months of winter, but leo being leo, barely even felt the cold. 

you had suggested setting up a fire because your fingertips felt like they were literally about to fall off, and his brows furrowed momentarily like he was confused on why you would suggest that, then realisation hit him. 

“oh,” he said, his hand scratching the back of his neck, “right, yeah, of course— the cold, you're cold. i'll get a fire started!” he grinned, and 5 seconds later, there was a little campfire that you and leo were sitting by, your friends in their tents just a few feet away. 

“we’re heading home tomorrow, right?” you hated being away from camp for so long— it had become a home for you quicker than any place ever has. you finished your quest, but everyone was just so tired, you needed a few hours to just rest.

''yeah,'' he muttered lowly. he was tinkering with some scrap metal he brought with him that he'd been working on every moment of his free time, his knee bouncing as he worked. ''we'll head back first thing tomorrow, maybe get some food along the way.'' his voice was steady, clearly having all his focus on whatever he was doing with that object in his hands.

you liked moments like this with him, the oddly calm and quiet ones, where you could simply just admire him being him, doing the things he loved.

it was a new moon, so the sky was fully dark, save for a few stars and smaller constellations. the campfire cast a soft orange glow on his face, and for a second, you forgot what you were even planning to say.

“you okay over there?” he asked, not even looking up, the teasing back in his voice like he suddenly remembered how he had once declared it was his 'official job to annoy you at all times' a few months ago.

“yeah,” you said quickly, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. you took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way your heart raced. “actually, uh, i wanted to talk to you about something.”

that got his attention. his hands stilled, the little gadget he was working on shoved into his jackets' pocket carefully as he finally looked up. “what’s up?”

you hesitated, your pulse thrumming in your ears. this was fine. it was leo. it was just leo. except it wasn’t just leo, and that was kind of the problem.

“okay, so, um,” you started, stumbling over your words. “i like you.”

silence.

he blinked at you, his head tilting slightly. "what?"

"i like you," you repeated, your voice softer now, but the words felt no less terrifying.

his brow furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between confused and wary. 

"i don't understand," he said slowly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

you frowned, your confidence slipping.

"what’s there to understand? i just said i like you, leo." you tried to act casual about it, but your heart seemed to have missed the message and was beating like you had just sprinted at speed of a million miles per hour. 

for a second, he didn’t say anything. he just blinked at you, his expression unreadable. and then he laughed—a quick, nervous sound, like he didn’t quite believe you. “what, like, as a friend?”

“no, leo,” you said, your voice wavering slightly, looking him straight in the eyes for a moment. “like, like-like you.”

his mouth opened, then closed, like he didn’t know what to say. 

his eyes darted away from yours, and he shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. “i mean, a—are you sure?” he asked, and for all his usual cockiness, his voice sounded uncertain now. 

you frowned, leaning forward slightly. “yeah, leo. i’d say i’m pretty sure,” you said with a small chuckle, ”why wouldn’t i be sure?”

he let out a shaky laugh, his gaze still fixed on the gadget in his hands. “i don’t know, ‘cause like, you— we—” he started, then cut himself off with a sigh, “never mind mind, forget it.” 

you noticed the tension in his brows, the way his fingers kept tapping against his thigh, like he would do when he had a million thoughts running through his mind.

“leo,” you said, wanting to do nothing more than kiss the slight frown off his face. why was this so hard for him to believe?

"you're the guy who makes me laugh even when i don't want to. you’re the guy who makes up weird nicknames for me that i pretend to hate, you’re the guy who pretends to be annoyed when i break something, but then spends the whole day fixing it without me even asking. and you’re the guy who..." you trailed off, biting the inside of your cheek to stop your smile. "the guy who's way too hard not to like." 

he finally looked up at you, his brown eyes narrow and searching, like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him. “you really mean that?”

you couldn’t even hide the stupid smile on your face, “of course i do.” 

for a moment, he just stared at you, his expression soft. then, slowly, that grin that you loved started to spread across his face. “well, uh,” he said, his voice lighter now, “good, ’cause, y’know, i kinda like you too.” he said, “like-like you.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away. “yeah?” you laughed, “that’s good to know, valdez.”

“yeah, well,” he said, his grin turning into a smirk, and you noticed his hands were no longer fidgeting around. “don’t go getting all mushy on me now. i’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“right, your reputation as a total dork?”

“exactly,” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer. “but, uh, thanks. for, y’know, liking me anyway.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “sure,” you giggled, “anytime.”

he stared at you for a second, then broke into a wide, lopsided grin that made your stomach do another stupid flip. he cocked his head his head to the side beckoning you closer. you happily obliged, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you.

he was unusually silent, so you leaned back from his hold and looked up at him, in question.

''what?'' you asked, and he was biting back a smile like he always did when he was debating if he should saying something stupid. “nothing, i just knew the valdez charm would come through one day.”

you pushed his shoulder, “oh my gods, leo” you stifled a laugh, “nevermind, i take it all back.” 

“wait, wait, wait, i was just kidding!” he reached his arms back out, and it took a lot of self control you didn’t even realize you had to not fall back right into them.

“please come back, i’m sorry.” he said, his voice low and half teasing, and you shook your head as you laughed a little yourself.

“you’re so not funny.”  you mumbled into his chest, the cold air not being a problem anymore.

''yeah, yeah.'' you heard the smile in his voice as his arm moved up and down your shoulder. ''you say that a lot.''

''wait, but,'' he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as he leant back a little, his arm sliding off. “didn’t you just say that i make you laugh even when you don’t want to? i'd say that means i'm pretty funny. "

''i lied.''

''right. did you lie about the rest too?'' he said sarcastically.

you huffed, biting back a smile as you thought back on that ramble-confession of yours.

''... no.'' you murmured quietly, not even bothering to make a remark as you looked at your hands.

when you looked up, leo had that one grin on his face that was more sweet than teasing. ''would you look at that?'' he said, ''you being all nice and sappy, seriously, i don't deserve it.''

''seriously, stop it,'' you grumbled, and he put his arm back around you. it wasn't unusual because even when you were simply friends, being physical wasn't a rare occurrence.

what was a new occurrence, though, was leo pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you pressed your lips together to hide your smile, but you couldn't do anything to stop the reddening of your face.

''you know, uh, speaking of charm...'' leo suddenly said, removing his arm from around you and digging into his pocket. ''this was what i was working on earlier, its uh, its a charm.'' he started, ''i made you a bracelet to go with, but its back at camp, so...''

he pulled out a tiny object and held it in between his thumb and pointer fingers. you looked up from his hands to his face, ''can i?" you whispered, like anything louder would ruin the moment.

he mumbled a small, low, ''of course,'' his eyes trained on you as he placed the tiny object in your hands, his fingers brushing over your palm slightly.

he had made you a charm.

despite all of the weaponry and larger scale items he forged, he managed to design the daintiest little thing, about the size of your thumbnail. it was a bronze circular compass, gold edges, with a tiny ruby in the centre.

he watched your reaction, silently hoping that you'd love it. he'd been aiming to finish it before the quest, and give it to you just before you all left to start it off on a good note, but of course, with his luck, he accidentally broke a piece when it was halfway done, and had to restart the whole thing. he really hoped it was worth the wait.

''oh my gods, leo, its so beautiful. i can't believe you made this,'' you muttered, rambling other words of affection in awe as you fully took in the compass and turned it over in your hands.

''yeah, uh the pointer thing, it always points you to wherever you believe home is.''

he mentioned that fact so casually, as if the items importance didn't just increase a million times more in your mind. you looked at him in awe this time, amazement written over your features. he smiled a little awkwardly, and it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen.

with this new fact about the compass, you looked back down at it once more.

you wondered if it was pointing at camp, and you thought about all the times you had, midnight group rendezvous— meeting by the beach and laughing all night, leo persuading you to do karaoke with him which slowly turned into the whole group singing (and almost getting caught), and successfully sneaking back into your cabin and going to bed with a smile on your face.

the pointer seemed to flicker between your friends tents, which made you smile, because your friends really were your home. then you realised, home wasn't the place, but it was rather the people who took up that place.

you really hoped he didn't notice the way the pointer pointed directly at him now.

''i love it, thank you so much,'' you told leo, eyes flickering between his features, before carefully hooking the charm onto your camp necklace temporarily to keep it safe.

''i'm actually... i'm at a loss for words, leo.'' you said with a half hearted chuckle, shaking your head slightly.

he smiled sheepishly, like he didn't know how to respond to the compliment. his eyes flickered down to the charm for a moment, and his face seemed to flush.

''hey, its no problem.'' he grinned at you, ''i can talk enough for the both of us.'' he nudged your shoulder, then held his arm out once again, inviting you in for a side hug.

you nuzzled a little closer into leo's side, and you thought: maybe sitting by this fire, leo's arms around you while all your friends slept was worth the loss of sleep before your journey back home. you snuck another look at the compass, and you smiled a little. yeah— still pointing right at leo.

taglist: @lovethornes @littlemissmentallyunstable @midiosaamor @maybxlle @imaseabear @sheisntyou @off-to-the-r4ces @anintellectualintellectual @wish-i-were-heather @hxress23 @hermesenthusiast @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

[ghostmoon1]

Hello again !! May I request a Roach and Ghost x Reader who's experiencing period cramps,?

(The type that pain meds won't help, like- no matter the strength, they'll always just, do nothing. I have those and I feel like I'm getting scammed ngl/lh)

-Spidey anon

Decided to switch the name up a bit to feel less edgy😔😔😔

Hello again my lovely Spidey Anon!!

Great to see you back hehe! And seriously, I feel you there bc I get it bad like that too :( I've found meds made for targeting that pain that personally help me sometimes (Wish it was all the time but nothing is that perfect I'm afraid) and yeah, shit SUCKS. I hope you feel better soon and I hope these help!!

I might have done a wee bit... more for you to enjoy??

Ghost and Roach dealing with your period pain!

Ghost is well… he’s not very sure of how to help, but he's gonna do anything he can to make you feel better.

You wake up sometime during the night, eyes flickering over to the microwave, the blurring numbers telling you it's either 2 or 7 am. The way the streets were shrouded in darkness told you it was the first option. You were slightly hunched over, one hand holding your belly in a sorry attempt to help the pain that wouldn't stop punching your guts, the other clinging desperately to the small throw blanket that you had dragged off the bed for comfort. You padded across the room, although it made no difference once you opened the cupboards for a cup, your hand slightly preoccupied with the pain relief you had grabbed from the bathroom in hopes it might help even the tiniest bit. A clash and clatter echo across the room as multiple cups pour from the cupboards, landing all over the counter and floor.

You stood there in silence, staring at the kitchen's mess. This was not something that you wanted to deal with in the middle of the night, nor at any time right now. A small and strangled whine escaped your lips as you tried to keep the tears from spilling, staring at the cups on the ground still. It didn't take long for the warm tears to start to roll down your flushed cheeks, the weight of every small thing finally getting to you. The pain was too much, making you want to curl into a ball and never get back up, your lunch was cold in the middle even after trying to warm it up multiple times, you had spilt your coffee this morning, and to top it off, you just made a mess of the kitchen. Nothing had gone right today, and all you could do was cry.

It didn’t take long for footsteps to echo from the hall, and a very worried Simon Riley to appear in the doorway. “Luv? What are you doing out here at this time of the night?” he murmurs, swiftly making his way to your side to pull you into his chest.

“I needed something to help. But nothing helps,” you manage to sob into his chest between small hiccups, even a bit of drool now staining his shirt.

“Help…? What…?” he trails off as he realises what the date was, pulling you closer as he whispers and coos sweet praises into your ears. “Oh luvie… you’re okay,” 

He stands almost awkwardly as he holds you, wanting nothing more than to help but being unsure of what he can do to help. He takes his time as he sits you on the counter, cleaning up the mess of cups on the floor. He mutters to himself as he picks up a cup for you to use, frowning. “You have a… favourite cup, luv?” he mutters, smiling to himself as he earns a small giggle from you. He grabs you a glass of water and helps you take the pills, knowing they probably won't do much to help but he wishes for them to take the edge off. 

He takes you back to bed right after, telling you that you need your beauty sleep and that it’ll help, although he's slightly unsure if it really will. 

The next morning you wake to the smell of your favourite breakfast wafting through the house, dragging you up from the warmth and comfort of the blankets. Once you step foot into the kitchen, you're greeted with kisses being peppering along your cheek, jawline and neck. “Morning, Luv. Sleep well?” he’ll murmur into your ear, his hands moving along your waist to gently paw at your belly. He places a mug of coffee into your hands and one last kiss to the cheek before he returns to cooking you an amazing breakfast. 

“You wanna’ see if the pills will help at all luvie? I put them on the table,” 

And sure enough, when you turn around there's the pills on the table, ready just for you. But the table is also decorated with a vase of your favourite flowers, chocolates and a new plushie, all of which he must’ve got during the early hours of the morning. “Oh, and the kettle is boiled so if you want a hot water bottle, just tell me, yeah luv?”

He may be a little unsure at times when its that time of the month, but he hates seeing you in pain. So of course he’s going to treat his special girl the best he possibly can.

Roach is the type to be the biggest cuddle monster you’ve ever known.

You lay curled up in bed, the pack of pain relief and a glass of water thrown onto the bedside taunting you as you desperately clung to the hot water bottle for even an ounce of relief from the pain. They were horrible this time around, pain throbbing through your belly and this time not even rolling yourself into a ball could help. Nothing could help, besides curling up in bed and praying for the pain to go away.

Your desperate attempts to feel the pain away were interrupted by a soft knock on the door and the slow creak of it opening. Roach popped his head into the bedroom, his soft features becoming even softer as he witnessed your struggle with the pain. He was silent as he padded across the room to your side, kneeling down and placing his hand on your shoulder. 

“Oh baby… you don’t look too well. Have you had the pain relief?” he asks quietly, his fingers tracing slow circles on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. His frown deepens as you nod and he notices the packet of pills on your bedside. “Oh no baby, they aren’t working for you huh?” 

He watches how your features scrunch up in pain for a moment before not waiting any longer nor asking before he slips into the bed behind you. His chest presses against your back, one hand slipping underneath the hot water bottle and gently massaging your stomach and the other coming up to play with your hair, cooing and whispering sweet praises. His legs tangled with yours as he tried his best to comfort you and to take your mind off the pain, lulling you to sleep. He stays with you the entire time, his hand gently massaging your stomach in an attempt to rid the pain, trapping the warmth from his body and the hot water bottle under the blanket with you. 

Whenever you wake, grumbling softly with his body still slumped over yours you’ll find him fast asleep as well. With a weak push he wakes, mumbling softly in your ear and pecking small kisses against your shoulder, whispering “Sleep okay baby?” and “Does it hurt? What can I do?”

If you ask, he’ll carefully untangle himself from your embrace ti fix some pills and water up for you in hopes they might help even a tiny bit, or if you ask for food he’ll either cook you up whatever you’d like, or order via the phone so you won’t have to move an inch. Don’t worry, he’ll look after you, he just wants you to relax and let him help.