#and that he and Tails have matching jackets

[falloutjuli]

Okay so before I keep rewriting and reediting and going mental, I will just post it on here, knowing a lot of people like me are desperate for some Sparrow content. Dont worry, I got even more cooking, but I fear I need more time on my longer ones. Anyways, for now, enjoy some established relationship fluff (and ignore my rule bending for the apex games lore) ta taaaa

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Sparrow | Enea Davide Guarino x Reader - Spoil and Be Spoiled Wordcount: 2,4k Short summary: Enea loves spoiling his partner — and the feeling’s mutual. Here’s a peek into two moments where they take turns caring for each other, with plenty of softness, sass, and stolen kisses along the way. Warnings:NONE - Reader is a wee bit grumpy, Author has only vibes and maybe half a brain cell when it comes to Apex lore (especially the whole respawn mechanic—don’t @ me). So please suspend your disbelief, grab a snack, and embrace the cheese. We soft. We dramatic.

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You knew long before he even had the chance to say anything.

Though you were currently barred from participating in the Apex Games - your personal doctor refusing to clear you due to an injury - you still kept up with them. It felt natural to have the matches playing on a second monitor while you typed away at the endless stream of paperwork.

Thanks to that live feed, you got to watch - painfully and in crisp 4K - how Sparrow and his squad were eliminated in a frustrating, tilt-inducing fashion. You caught a glimpse of his face as he brushed past post-game interviews, and oh, he looked like a storm barely contained. Disappointed. Angry. Exhausted from giving his all and still coming up short.

The door hissed open just as the game highlights played on the aftershow - hosted, predictably, by some B-list commentators. Artemis was quick to move from her spot beside you, tail wagging as she padded over to greet her owner. You heard him speak softly to her in Italian - his voice gentler, but not as bright as usual. Even when talking to Artemis, you could tell: the loss was still weighing on him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t need to. He was sharp enough to know you were here.

Sure enough, it took barely ten seconds.

“Tesoro?” he called out.

You hummed in reply as he stepped fully into the room. His clothes looked rumpled, his hair a mess, and there were still a few faint stains on his skin - dust, sweat, maybe a little blood.

“Have you seen the- ”

“I have,” you interrupted, already closing your laptop and walking over to him. “They really had you in a bad spot. Nothing you, Newcastle, or Catalyst could’ve done.”

You could see how it gnawed at him - how much he hated that there was nothing more he could do. His jaw worked as he chewed at his lower lip, eyes flicking away from yours. You reached up and gently held his face, coaxing him to meet your gaze.

“There was nothing to be done. You came third. That’s still a solid standing, my little bird.”

He let out a huff but didn’t argue. He knew better by now.

“You’re too kind to me,” he murmured into your hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Too good.”

“This is just how I am. Now go...take off your gear and wash off the grime. I laid out your favorite sweats already.”

A crooked smile tugged at Enea’s lips as he watched you return to your desk. Bit by bit, he peeled away the day, setting aside his bow, his quiver, his gloves, his jacket - shedding Sparrow until only Enea remained. Eventually, he slipped into the bathroom to shower off the weight of defeat.

Just like you said, his favorite cat-patterned sweatpants and a soft shirt were already waiting on the edge of the sink, folded and ready. When he emerged, warm and clean, he was no longer the agile competitor - just Enea, wrapped in comfort, and home.

He could have never imagined a domesticity like this - coming home to be surprised by a partner who doted on him like he was something precious.

He knew you'd smack him if he ever dared say that out loud, especially if it came with one of his usual self-deprecating jabs. You didn’t tolerate that kind of talk - not from him.

Enea still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to score someone like you: a respected Legend in the Games, and an even sweeter partner who listened to him like every word out of his mouth mattered. But one thing he was sure of? He appreciated you more than words could ever really say - especially when you did thoughtful things like laying out his casual clothes after a rough match.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, he realized your plans for the evening weren’t over yet. You hadn’t moved from your seat - still typing away on your laptop - but the table in front of the couch looked different. All his favorite snacks and drinks were neatly arranged there, and he was certain they hadn’t been there earlier.

Because of course, you’d thought of him. You always did.

Artemis still rested comfortably beside you, basking in the occasional absent-minded pet you gave her. When you finally glanced up from your screen, you smiled.

“I sure hope you didn’t think I’d just do the bare minimum,” you teased, watching as he made his way over and sank down beside you.

“All of this for me, amore?”

“All for you.”

You set your laptop aside and shifted your posture, just in time for Enea to lie down with his head in your lap. “I think I can die happy now,” he murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

“Sure,” you replied dryly, “and what about winning the Games and finally making your family love you again?”

Still with his eyes closed, he raised a hand and mimed a shushing motion.

Knowing exactly what was missing to complete the moment, you picked up the remote and queued up his beloved soap opera. As the dramatic opening theme began to play, you gently ran your fingers through his hair, combing through the dyed tips.

Artemis, ever the opportunist, took that moment to reposition herself, climbing onto Enea’s chest and curling up there with a pleased purr. He chuckled softly and let one hand drift to her side, carding through her fur as you continued to pet his hair.

And just like that, the weight of the day started to melt away.

As the soap opera’s characters launched into yet another dramatic shouting match, Enea surprised you by catching your hand in his.

“You do know how much I love and appreciate you, right?” he asked, voice soft. “Doing all of this for me... I wish I could sing your praises, but I fear my voice would give out.” He trailed off into Italian with a reverent murmur, “Mi dolce metà.” before turning your hand palm-up and pressing a tender kiss to it.

You watched him, expression flat. Mostly because your mouth was full of waffle you'd just stolen from the snack table.

“You’re missing the engagement fight, Enea.” you deadpanned.

“Ey, I’m being sweet and this is what I get? Che crudeltà!”

You laughed, letting him have his dramatic moment before answering. “It’s because I don’t need you to say it. I already know. And I know you’d do the same for me. So quit the yapping... and just let me adore you.”

He smiled - soft, real, a little stunned - and gave a small nod before turning his gaze back to the screen.

Under the flicker of the TV and the weight of Artemis still purring on his chest, he squeezed your hand once more and murmured, “Then I’ll consider myself the luckiest man alive.”

 - 

It didn’t take long for Sparrow to return the favor of being spoiled - though not in the way either of you would’ve preferred.

Despite repeatedly downplaying your recovery and ignoring your doctor’s firm “no,” you reentered the Games anyway. And, well… hindsight was cruel.

Sparrow hadn’t even known you were hurt again until after his squad came out on top. He was still riding the high of victory when Octane rushed over, quick in his retelling. 

“Hermano, hey - just so you don’t freak or whatever - but Y/N got caught up in some mess.”

That stopped him cold.

“Fuse dropped his missile thing right into enemy cover - big boom, crazy fireworks, ten outta ten - but the platform Y/N was on? Not exactly up to code anymore. Whole thing gave out under 'em.”

Sparrow’s heart started racing. “Are they - ?”

“Not dead!” Octane added quickly, seeing the panic flare behind his goggles, “Nothing life-threatening! Rescue crew got there fast. Broken leg, sprained wrist, lil’ bruised ego - todo bien!”

Sparrow didn’t respond. That didn’t sound “all good” to anyone, especially not to him, but then again, measuring severity by Octane standards was a dangerous game.

“They’re not gonna be happy about this,” he muttered.

“Nope! They hate being sidelined.” Octane bounced in place like he’d mainlined three energy drinks. Which, knowing him, he probably had. “Anyway - I did my job! Now I gotta go do a flaming trident stunt live. ¡Vamos! AHAHA - ”

And just like that, he was gone, a blur of motion and dust in his wake.

Sparrow shook his head and pushed into the medbay, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst. Fortunately - or unfortunately - you were already there. In a wheelchair. Right leg in a full cast, left wrist bandaged and resting on a cold pack, with other spots of damage scattered like bruised paint across your arms and neck.

He would have worried more if not for the signature scowl on your face as your doctor scolded you with the patience of someone who had clearly reached the end of their rope.

“I told you not to reenter the Games yet!”

“And I got bombed standing on bad scaffolding, cleared or not, that would’ve happened anyway,” you snapped back, irritation practically radiating off you - until you finally spotted him.

Your expression faltered. Not softened, exactly, but flickered with something warmer.

The doctor sighed and looked at Sparrow like he was a godsend and a nuisance all at once. “Take them. I’m done arguing for today.”

“Will do!” he chirped, already making his way to your side. He gently took the wheelchair handles and began wheeling you out, careful not to jostle you too much.

You stayed quiet, but he could feel the storm brewing in your silence.

“Does it hurt, tesoro?” he asked softly.

“Physically? Yeah, a bit. But mostly?” You exhaled sharply through your nose. “My pride’s in absolute shambles.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door with his hip. “Yeah, I figured.”

There was a pause.

“…They didn’t even let me finish the match.”

He grinned. “Tragic. We’ll add it to the long list of crimes against your honor.”

You let out a weak laugh, and for now, that was enough. He'd get you food later. Maybe a trophy that said "Best at Almost Dying Dramatically."

You’d hate it and secretly treasure it in the same breath.

Back at home, Enea insisted on carrying you - bridal style, no arguments. You'd barely gotten a word in before you were already swept up into his arms, wheelchair abandoned at the front door like an afterthought.

"You're ridiculous," you muttered into his shoulder.

"You're injured," he countered. "Let me be ridiculous."

He was unusually quiet as he moved through the apartment, as if each step needed care to balance the gravity in his chest. Guilt, worry, relief - they all played silently across his features.

He laid you gently down on the bed and immediately got to work.

Blankets - your favorite, of course. Pillows fluffed. Game consoles brought to you. Snacks lined up neatly on the side table like offerings to royalty. A straw in your drink so you didn’t have to move yourself too much. He even remembered to grab that ridiculous cat-shaped plush he gifted to you back when you first started seeing each other. (He calls it Artemis less demanding cousin)

You watched him bustle around, brows raised.

“…You don’t have to do all this.”

Enea just looked at you like you’d suggested the sky didn’t need to be blue.

“You did it for me,” he said, placing a kiss on your temple as he tucked the blanket around you. “Let me do it for you.”

Then he disappeared into the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards, taking mental stock of what you had and what he could turn into something comforting. You could hear him moving around, humming quietly to himself, the soft clatter of pans and the occasional muttered, “Dove cavolo hai messo il sale…”

It took a while, but eventually, he returned with a warm plate of pasta - steaming, rich with sauce, and smelling like something pulled from a cozy trattoria rather than your modest kitchen. He placed it in front of you with a little flourish, proud as ever.

“Et voilà!” he beamed. “Made with love…and slight panic.”

You took one bite and groaned.

Of course, it was perfect. Perfectly seasoned, the pasta al dente, the sauce a perfect balance of comfort and richness. You looked up at him, incredulous.

“Okay, what the hell. How are you this good at everything?”

He grinned, already sliding onto the couch beside you. “Nonna made me learn all the family recipes until I could cook them blindfolded. Said I’d never seduce anyone with my looks alone.”

You raised a brow. “She was wrong.”

“Grazie, amore,” he said with a wink, stealing a forkful off your plate even though he’d already made a bowl for himself.

You let him, of course. He’d earned it.

You two ate and he kept pressing teasing kisses to your cheek and dramatic sighs about your “terrible taste in structural integrity.” You rolled your eyes, but let him do, you knew there was no real way of stopping him.

Later, as the soap opera he'd preemptively queued up began to play, he settled down beside you - careful, but close. His arm found its way around your shoulders while your head leaned against his chest. His fingers slipped easily into your hair, stroking in gentle patterns.

“You’re spoiling me,” you murmured sleepily.

“I plan to do much worse once you’re healed,” he teased, voice low and fond. “But for now, this is just penance.”

“Penance?”

“For back when you doted on me, after my tragic third place.”

You turned your face into his neck, pressing a kiss against his pulse. “As if you'd need to repent for that.”

Sparrow leaned down and whispered against your skin:

“Mi cuore. You don’t ever have to lift a finger. Not while I’m here.”

And true to his word, he stayed beside you the whole night—fussing over your comfort like it was his full-time job, stealing kisses between fluffing your pillows, and loving every second of it.

That is, until morning came and he bolted upright with a gasp, suddenly remembering Artemis.

“Oh no, she's gonna turn my coffee table into mulch if I don't feed her, subito!”

He kissed your forehead in a flurry and sprinted out the door like his life depended on it, leaving behind a warm blanket where he’d been, and the lingering scent of his cologne.

Even in his absence, it still felt like he was doting on you. And you knew he would soon return, unable to stay away for long.

[mangocatastrophe]

All bundled up n’ cozy

[mars-ax]

MARS. POST THE DOODLE OF SCOTT AND CLEO CUDDLING AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

so I don't usually post doodles because I'm very self-conscious about their quality, but just for you harper

So that doodle was actually in a series of other doodles all in the theme of "literal sleeping together" because that's one of my favorite things ever, so I might as well put them all here then

[arttsuka]

lupin the third...

...but merman AU

He'd steal the pearls and then use the 🐚 as these mermaid bras

[hexescore]

hey, hey, let's match!

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, sevika, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: little snippets of matching items with (character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader.

❀ ◞ author note: this is my first time writing for the arcane characters, so i hope i wrote them well! please enjoy!

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

bracelet or ring

The silver band was wrapped perfectly around Caitlyn's wrist, catching the light as she pulled her hair back into a high pony tail. She had come home later than usual and despite claiming she'd do better and work/life balance, she picked up right where she left off at work.

"Cait?" You call, peaking your head into her little workspace, seeing she's hung up a few new leads on her bulletin board. "Dinner's done," You walk further into the space, glancing around. It looked different than the last time you'd been in there, messier.

"Mmhm, I'll be there in a minute," She murmurs, "Just got a few more things to take care of..." You nod in acknowledgment, but don't leave. Instead you glance around the room some more, inspecting random but meticulously put together files and pictures.

Finally, you've made your way to where she sits in her leather desk chair, your hand gently touching her shoulder. She tenses at the sudden contact, but almost as quickly melts into your touch. She tilts her head just enough to press a kiss to your hand- her eyes catching the matching silver bracelet you wore. Despite it being subtle, the fact you two are matching causes her to grin, little butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "It's your favorite," You refer back to the dinner you mentioned, "Let's eat together."

Blue eyes trail from the silver band up to your eyes, and she bites her cheek to hold back from cooing at how much she adores you. "Alright," She sighs, pressing another kiss to your hand before packing up her work. She'll have time to do it later.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

EKKO

small couple trinket set.

The smooth, wooden surface of the little cat trinket in Ekko's jacket calms his mind long enough for him to find his footing. It's not often, but when the responsibilities and fear of failing start piling up, Ekko's anxiety reaches peak. When his thumb runs over the cool wood of the trinket though he's able to calm his mind and remember back to a better moment.

"Isn't it cute? It looks like you, don't you think?" You tease as you hold the pouty looking cat trinket up to his face. You almost choke on a laugh at the way his expression matches the cat so perfectly. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at your antics as he spots the matching trinket. He picks up the other cat and smirks, holding up the cat to your face.

"Now that's a match." He says, and when you peak at the cat it's got a rather confused and dumbfounded look on it's face. You scoff, grumbling that you do not look like that. He chuckles as you set the cat down in defeat, moving on to the next stall. As you're distracted, he picks up the matching trinket set and buys them to surprise you with later.

He'll never forget the way you lit up as he handed you the cat that apparently "looked like him." Your giddy, child-like smile as you accepted it and proudly declared you named it 'Ekko Jr.' before informing him you'll 'treasure it forever and ever.' He then promptly showed you the matching piece, which you rolled your eyes at but ever so graciously allowed him to keep. Yeah, a better moment to remember.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

outfits.

"You two truly are disgusting." Viktor commented, with no malice, as you and Jayce entered the lab. Jayce just held a grin akin to a child in a candy store on his face as he looked over your outfit again- which matched his perfectly. It was surprising how many outfits Jayce coordinated in order to match you in some way or another.

"You're just jealous." Jayce held his head high with pride, turning to press a kiss to your cheek. "I'll pick you up later, okay?" You smile, leaning into the kiss and soaking up what warmth you could from him. Anyone who saw you two would surely get a tummy ache at how sweet the moment was.

"I'll be the one in the matching outfit." You chuckle, your laughter only growing at Viktor's faux vomiting. You decide to leave willingly before you were forced out, but not before giving Jayce quick peck on the lips. You run away as you hear a playful argument rise between the two.

"Seriously, how many outfits can you possibly match together?" Viktor sighs, shaking his head as he turns to continue his work.

"All of them." Jayce says earnestly, almost too prideful to not have a single article of clothing that doesn't have a matching counterpart to yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JINX

nail polish.

It was easy to be captivated by Jinx, her voice like the lure of a siren, as she chats away about her day to you. She only gets this way because she trusts you, which in turns makes your own walls come down. Your eyes closed as you relax in her presence. Last time she had convinced you to match nail polish with her, a subtle way to claim you as hers to those in Zaun who eye you, thus you lay with your hand in hers.

Eventually she runs out of things to say and begins to just hum random tunes as the brush of the nail polish runs along your fingernails in a precise motion- as if she was painting on her newest creations. "Pink, blue, pink, blue~" When she's done she blows on them to help dry them faster.

"Jiiinx, that tickles," you whine, causing her to eye you with a mischievous smirk. At the quiet, you peak an eye open, which you regret as that's when Jinx pounces, straddling your lap and tickling you with a menacing laughter escaping her lips. "N- No! St- Stop! Please! I c- can't!" You squeak between laughing, thrashing around as she continues her attack- eventually you manage to get her off, but she looks ready to lunge at you any time.

"If you keep it up I won't let you finish my nails-" You lightly threaten, which causes her to hesitate, but she ultimately decides that maybe you could pull off a one-handed nail polish thing before attacking you again.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

MEL MEDARDA

stationery (pen).

It was a beautiful fountain pen with gold accents, and along the side in beautiful calligraphy was engraved 'forever.' It was by far Mel's favorite pen, it wrote smoothly, was beautiful to look at, but even more than that, it was a reminder of why she did what she did. For at home there was a matching counterpart to this pen, engraved with 'and always,' that always had her thinking about you.

Late nights had long since become a part of her routine, but the pen weighed heavy, like a message for her to wrap up her work before it got too late, and head home into the loving arms of you. So that's what she did. Mel wrapped up the last of her paperwork for the day before leaving, the commute home quiet as she fiddles with the pen, thinking of what you did throughout the day.

She smiled as she thought about how you'd greet her home, wrap your arms around her, kiss her. You'd pull her into the dining room and tell her about your day, chatting over dinner. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice when the carriage pulled up outside her estate.

It wasn't until your head peaked out the door that she was pulled out of her daydream, tucking the pen safely into her purse. She exited the carriage, her tired and weary body carrying her towards you until she was inside, ready to finally relax after a long, hard day.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SEVIKA

whiskey glasses.

Idiots. She swore everyone she had to work with were idiots and purposely made her work harder to do. Sevika was much too ready to return home, and upon doing so, pulled out the matching whiskey glasses. You entered the room, sitting yourself on to the kitchen counters.

"That bad, huh?" You ask, accepting her offer and taking the whiskey glass. She sighs, shaking her head. She didn't even know where to begin, but she decided on pouring herself a glass was a good start. You listen to her complaints, your finger outlining the simple design on the glass. Yours and Sevika's initials engraved into the glass- a gift from a friend.

Sevika downs the rest of her drink after she finishes telling you about her day, and you decide to bring over the bottle as you sit with her on the couch. "Whatever, I don't want to think about it anymore." She grumbles, taking the bottle and taking a swig from it. She wraps her mechanical arm around you, pulling you in closer to her.

"Tell me about your day instead," She insists, watching the way you try to mimic her in taking a swig of your drink- it goes down less smoothly than Sevika made it out to be. She chuckles at the way you cough a little, and then at the way you throw her a glare. She's quiet though, when you finally tell her about your day. It's these small moments that have her thinking about just how lucky she is.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

keychain.

"Vik, look at this!" You call him over, holding up the matching keychains for him to see. They were in the shape of puzzle pieces, and when they got close, they connected with a magnet. "Aren't these cute?" You hand them over to him and he looks over them inquisitively.

"Very," He says, before looking up at you with a small smile. "Should we get them?" He asks, though he already knew the answer. You try to act nonchalant, shrugging your shoulders and saying if 'he wanted to you two could get'em' but it was obviously all an act.

"I don't think we could leave without them." Viktor chuckles, because if there was anything Viktor loved more than his work it was indulging your whimsy. Thus the keychains were promptly bought and put to use. It was the only "fun" keychain on Viktor's, which only made it all the more special to you.

"Wait, but now we have to separate them," You realize, feeling a little guilty for forcing the two puzzle pieces to be away from each other. Viktor sighs, holding his half of the puzzle piece up for you to connect.

"It matters not the time they spend apart, as they're made for each other, and will inevitably always meet in the end."

Did he not realize he just said the most romantic thing to you? And now he's shocked you're tearing up? smh

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VI

boxing gloves.

"One, two, one, two," Hitting the striking pads, Vi stood sturdy despite you putting your full force into each hit. Breathless, sweaty, and pretty tired, Vi decides a break is well in order for you both. You thank whatever god took mercy on you and take off your boxing gloves as you search for your water.

"Hey, babe..." Vi is rummaging around in her duffle bag, the crease between her brown deepening as what she searches for continues to evade her. "Did you take my gloves?" You look up at her, before looking down at the gloves. Inside on the label, written in sharpy, is the name 'VI' clearly written.

Sheepishly you hand them back to her, "Sorry, I thought they were mine," You say, now wondering where you last put the matching boxing gloves Vi had gotten you last year. In retrospect, Vi realizes that maybe getting you the exact same pair would inevitably lead to this situation.

"Nah, it's fine. I like when you wear my stuff anyways." She teases, enjoying the way you grow flustered at her words. She always had to say something in order to mess with you, and sadly for you, it always worked.

[4m0r1m]

Closed Doors

SUMMARY: everyone thinks House and the sweet, gentle doctor hate each other—but behind closed doors, they’re far more than colleagues. when Wilson accidentally catches them in a heated moment, the secret they’ve been hiding threatens to unravel.

WORD COUNT: 1,116 words

PAIRING: greg house x reader

WARNINGS: a little heated moment but nothing too bad.

The corridor buzzed with the low hum of activity—nurses ferrying charts, pagers beeping intermittently, and hushed discussions about patient vitals. Amid it all, one thing remained a constant: Gregory House limping through the hallway like a tornado in tweed, cane tapping rhythmically, sarcasm trailing in his wake.

This morning was no exception.

“Foreman, try not to kill the patient with your god complex before I get a proper look at his scan,” House barked, brushing past his team without so much as slowing down.

“Good morning to you too,” murmured the woman trailing behind them, her voice soft enough to be overlooked—but with a hint of dry amusement that rarely went unnoticed by House.

She was the anomaly of the hospital. The type of doctor who remembered birthdays, lent pens, and somehow always had a stash of calming tea in her drawer. To patients and colleagues alike, she was the kind face of Princeton-Plainsboro—except, of course, to House, who made a daily ritual of riling her up with snide remarks and questionable nicknames.

“She’s got the bedside manner of a fairy godmother and the IQ of a well-trained golden retriever,” he’d said once. Loudly. In front of Cuddy.

She’d smiled sweetly and replied, “You’re just mad I’ve never let you borrow a pen.”

What no one knew—what absolutely no one could guess—was that behind the sarcasm, the sideways glances, the deliberately loud arguments… House was very much involved with her.

Behind closed doors.

And she, for all her angelic exterior, could match him wit for wit when no one was around to witness it.

It had started six months ago. A late-night consult, an empty hallway, and an unexpected kiss that left them both stunned and more than a little breathless.

Since then, they’d perfected the art of secrecy. The stolen moments in diagnostics. The lingering touches disguised as accidental. The occasional post-lunch escape to House’s office under the guise of “arguing about lab results”.

To the rest of the hospital, especially Wilson, their dynamic was obvious: House was being House, and she, poor thing, was just the latest target of his relentless teasing.

Wilson had once even said, “Honestly, mate, I don’t know how she hasn’t stabbed you with a scalpel by now.”

House had only shrugged and replied, “Maybe she’s saving it for Christmas.”

It was Tuesday afternoon when Wilson started to suspect something wasn’t quite right.

He’d passed House’s office and caught the tail end of laughter—her laughter, rich and warm, the kind no one else at the hospital ever seemed to coax out of her. Curious, Wilson lingered near the door. The blinds were drawn, but he could hear movement. A low chuckle. Muffled voices.

And then silence.

Frowning, he knocked.

“House?” he called out.

No response.

He tried the door.

It was unlocked.

The scene that greeted him upon entry froze him mid-step.

House, jacket discarded and shirt rumpled, sat on the edge of his desk, locked in a very enthusiastic embrace with the very doctor Wilson had been certain loathed him. Her hands were tangled in House’s hair, his cane discarded somewhere near the filing cabinet, and their lips—

“Oh, God,” Wilson muttered, instantly averting his gaze and turning on his heel. “I—Nope. I did not see that. I did not see that.”

House, entirely unbothered, detached his mouth long enough to smirk, “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

She, however, buried her face in House’s shoulder and let out an embarrassed groan. “We’re going to have to kill him, aren’t we?”

“Tempting,” House murmured, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “But I need him to cover for clinic duty.”

Later that evening, after the drama had settled and the blinds were open once more, Wilson sat across from House, arms folded.

“You’ve been sleeping with her?”

House leaned back, tossing a rubber ball against the wall. “Only in the literal sense about fifty percent of the time.”

“Does she know you’re emotionally stunted?”

“Shockingly, yes. Turns out sarcasm and emotional repression are her love languages.”

Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face. “I genuinely thought you hated each other.”

“Technically we do,” House replied, ever smug. “But we hate everyone else more. It’s romantic.”

The next day, whispers trickled through the hospital. Nothing concrete, just vague observations. The way House had taken his coffee from her hand without comment. The way she’d rolled her eyes, but not with annoyance—with familiarity.

Someone even claimed they’d seen her leaving his office with a tie in her hand.

Of course, nothing was confirmed. Nothing could be.

House still insulted her in front of patients.

She still told him to sod off when he pushed her buttons in diagnostics.

But if you looked closely—really closely—you’d catch the smallest things.

The way her eyes lingered a moment too long.

The way his smirk softened when he thought no one was watching.

And the way she always knocked twice before entering his office.

Even though it was never locked.

A/N: I guys i hope you like this one!! I actually had it in my drafts and just didin't post it. This is a little different for what I usually write but i still hope people from other fandoms like it!!

[nekonaps0]

You are NAUGHTY!! Pt3

✦part1 part2

✦ characters: first years

✦ gn!reader

✦ dirty jokes

✦ their partner suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

Ace Trappola

“Ace, if I said I was craving something sweet, would you let me eat you tonight?”

Ace does a triple take.

He was smug 0.3 seconds ago, probably teasing you then you dropped that. Now he’s choking on air, smacking his chest like the world just betrayed him.

“W-Wait, WHAT?!! You can’t just say stuff like that!!”

He's red all the way up to his ears and can’t stop laughing nervously. He tries to match your energy but flubs it completely:

“I mean—well, I do so… you know, maybe just—NO WAIT, FORGET I SAID THAT—!!”

You’ve destroyed him. He’s flustered, embarrassed, and very, very interested.

Good job.

Deuce Spade

“Deuce, you can call yourself a delinquent all you want, but the only law you’re breaking is how damn hot you look shirtless.”

He explodes into sputters. A man of justice? Gone. Rule-follower? Obliterated. He’s trying SO HARD to maintain composure but his brain is screaming in all caps.

“T-That’s totally… y-you shouldn’t say—w-what if someone heard you?!”

His face is beet red. His hands are shaking. He literally doesn’t know where to look.

Later, after he calms down. He pulls you aside, all serious, red-faced:

“U-Um… I’m not mad. I just… no one’s ever said something like that to me before.”

And then he smiles, sweet and embarrassed and maybe flexes just a little next time he takes off his jacket.

Jack Howl

“Jack, you’re always telling me to train with you… is that an invitation to get sweaty together?”

Jack stops. Just… freezes.

He blinks. Turns to you slowly. You see a deep blush start at his cheeks and work its way down his neck.

“...Did you just make that kind of joke with a straight face?”

He wants to scold you, but your smirk has his heartbeat skipping. He crosses his arms, flustered but trying to stay cool.

“You’re seriously dangerous when you talk like that.”

Then, he looks away but you definitely see the tail wagging.

Epel Felmier

“Epel, you may look cute, but I bet you could ruin me if you try hard enough.”

He CHOKES on his apple.

Epel wants to be seen as strong and manly, so when you hit him with that unexpected filth?? He blushes so hard he almost combusts.

“Y-You—You can’t just SAY THAT kind of thing!”

He waves his hands, his voice cracking, clearly trying to look cool but absolutely unraveling.

Then you watch as the gears turn… and suddenly he’s smirking.

“Heh… maybe I should prove it then.”

Now he’s teasing you.

Careful—country boys have bite.

Sebek Zigvolt

“Sebek, you guard Malleus so well… would you protect me like that in bed too?”

Sebek.exe has short-circuited.

“WHAAAAAAT?! H-H-HOW DARE—! I-I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS—”

He goes into full-blown panic mode. He’s flailing. His volume triples. His face goes bright red and he’s SHOUTING over his own thoughts.

“T-This is highly improper!! WHAT IF MALLEUS-SAMA HEARD?!”

But here’s the thing: he’s not actually mad. He’s mortified… and very, very aware that maybe he likes it?

Later, once he’s calmed down, he gets super formal and serious:

“You mustn’t speak so freely… unless you intend to make good on your promises.”

Wait, did he just… flirt back?! Sebek?!

..............................................................................................................................

[buckyalpine]

Wrote in a rush and this was meant to be a fluffy drabble (lo behold is now much longer) but give me Bucky who finds the littlest ball of orange fluff on the side of the road, picking her up and tucking her into his leather jacket to take care of her. He can't leave behind that trembling baby behind on the streets which is exactly why she's scooped away without protest and snuck right into the tower and straight to his room, doors locked behind him immediately.

His biggest concern isn't the fact that he's currently housing a stray kitten in his room. It's not that he was breaking the no pets policy which he was already given an exception for. Once.

No.

His biggest concern is currently staring daggers at him with blue eyes that match his and an irritated swishing tail.

"C'mon Alp" Bucky tried to reason with his stubborn cat only to be met with the bat of a paw to his cheek, "You gotta be nice to your new baby sister, she needs a home"

Alpine isn’t having any of it. He saunters away and curls up high on the cat tree Bucky installed, turning away to ignore the new visitor.

"That could have gone....worse" Bucky mumbles to himself, knowing a grumpy Alpine was as good as it was going to get.

Now, he didn't exactly think any of this through when he picked the kitten up. He forgot how sharp those tiny claws are and he definitely forgot orange cats were a different breed. Still, he manages pretty well, playing with her and feeding her.

It's great until there's an attack on the compound the security system is breached. It's more of an inconvenience than actual threat which is why Bucky grumbles while rubbing sleep from his eyes when he hears the sound of a scuffle down the hall near his room. He's out of bed and grabbing his gear, the handle of his room jangling before being kicked down by the intruders, weapons in hand.

Alpine jumps up to his spot high in his cat tree waiting for daddy to handle business. Bucky is about to take down whoever entered his room until he feels soft fur brush his ankles, his tiny orange furbaby leisurely strutting over and sitting in front of the first gunman without a care in the world. She licks her paw and just before Bucky could react-

"What's this tiny piece of shit-OHFUCK-FU-

*Silence*

"What the hell..." Bucky's jaw is on the floor and his eyes are frozen on the spot where the intruder stood now empty. Because he is in his baby's belly. His tiny kitty just unhinged her jaw and a bunch of tentacles for a tongue grabbed the man whole and swallowed him like a Friskies snack.

"Meow" She purrs and comes to nuzzle against his leg, her tail swishing and curling around his ankle as she looks at him with all the love in the world. She goes back to licking her paw like nothing happened and Bucky stays rooted in place.

A Flerken. The tiny kitty he rescued was a whole ass Flerken.

Fuck.

After that night, imagine every time Bucky joins the team for dinner or training he has a new scratch somewhere or the other. The longer he hides his secret, the worse his excuses get but how can he tell them it's just his baby Peaches. Little Peaches the orange kitten who was also apparently a Flerken.

"I-I nicked myself while shaving"

"On your arm, Buck? Really?"

"It's just a papercut!"

"Why the fuck is it on your chin"

"Broke a cup, must've been the glass"

"....across your nose. The broken cup got you across the nose..."

"Yep"

"What are you, training with Alpine in your room?"

"...something like that"

Now at some point he does get caught because all you hear from his room is “awww-ow, fuck-shit-aren’t you the cutest”as he continues to coo, rubbing Peaches' furry tummy, her little paws reaching to bat the long strands of his hair. Everyone know he definitely can't be talking to his sassy white fur baby so who could it be-

"Really Bucky?" You stood at the door with an incredulous expression your face while he's in the middle of his cuddle session. You knew your boyfriend was hiding something all this time. Honestly, no one is really surprised given how much of a "secret" softie Bucky can be.

Still, no one really gets why he had to keep her a secret for this long, it's just a cat, what was the problem....

Now, I’d absolutely love for him to sneak her on a mission, a small lump rumbling in his jacket and Sam and Steve can only assume it's some type of weapon though for some reason Bucky keeps petting it. Eventually they get to their location and instead of reaching for his gun, he pulls out Peaches, holding her out like a rifle.

Before anyone can bombard him with a flurry of questions as to why in the FUCK would he bring a kitten to a mission, she eats off 4 of the bad people with one swallow and a content meow.

“That’s my baby” kisses her head before stuffing her back into his leather jacket where she purrs against his chest.

"Barnes what the fuck-"

"You guys can get what you came for" Bucky says with a shrug while scratching her behind the ear, a now stunned Sam and Steve slowly backing away to retrieve whatever they came for.

Bucky couldn't be prouder. The only mission he's still working on is getting trying to get Alpine to not plot to kill them both and it's going great.

[aastroopheel]

Chaos Theory

summary: you and cook bump into each other on a rainy day after being way for some years. SO YEAH TIMESKIP COOK.

It’s raining in Bristol again.

You don’t have an umbrella, of course. You never do. The weather here is more of a permanent mood than a temporary inconvenience, and today it feels like it’s matching you beat for beat.

You duck into the corner shop mostly for shelter, but also for something sweet—comfort, distraction, whatever. You're rummaging through a pack of Haribos when you hear the door chime behind you and in comes James fucking Cook, loud as ever, soaked to the bone, and grinning like he just won the lottery. He looks older, more miserable,  than the last time you saw him a few months ago. 

"Oi, look who it is," he says, eyes locking on you like he's just spotted the best kind of trouble. His eyes trailing your soaking body as if nothing had happened between you two and things were the same as in college. "Fancy seeing you here. You stalking me, yeah?"

You roll your eyes. "Obviously. Been tailing you for days. Real MI5 shit."

He laughs, that deep, reckless sound that makes people turn their heads and that, sadly, you had missed.  "Knew it. I’m irresistible."

There’s a second of silence before he closes the distance between you two. His jacket smells like wet cotton and smoke, and his energy crackles in the air around him—feral, unfiltered, alive. You look away from him, biting your inner cheek as when you feel something forming in your stomach as memories of you two from a few years ago come to your mind. 

"You alright?" he asks, serious now, which is somehow more disarming than all the bravado. "You look a bit... I dunno. Like the world kicked you in the teeth."

You shrug, trying not to flinch at how accurate that feels. "Guess I'm just tired." Tired of being so fucking alone, you think looking at the new wound on his left eyebrow. 

Cook nods, then grabs a bottle of orange Lucozade and tosses it to you. "Energy boost. On me. Doctor Cook's orders."

You catch it without thinking. He always does that—makes you forget the weight you're carrying for a second.

"What are you even doing here?" you ask, watching him dig through his pockets for loose change. "Shouldn’t you be off causing chaos somewhere?"

He grins again, wolfish this time. "What makes you think I'm not?" And then he adds, lower, almost as an afterthought  "Maybe I’m here ‘cause I knew you would be."

Your chest does something stupid at that. You look away again before he can see it on your face.

But he already knows. Of course he does. He knew you too well. Your words, your expressions, your tears, your moans. Everything. 

You laugh, sharp and short, almost bitter. “Right. You just knew I’d be in this random corner shop at the exact moment you felt like popping in.”

Cook raises an eyebrow. “What, you think I’m lying?”

You shrug, twisting the cap off the Lucozade. “I think you lie for fun. Or maybe just out of habit.” You glared at him.

He doesn’t respond right away. That grin of his falters, just slightly. Enough to make you realize you’ve hit a nerve—which is rare. Cook wears his chaos like armor, but you know the weak points.

“You’ve got that look,” he says quietly.

“What look?”

“That one where you’re building walls in your head. Like you’re pushing me out before I’ve even had the chance to say anything real.”

You meet his gaze. “Maybe I just don’t buy the whole ‘suddenly interested’ act. Not from you. Not after everything with Effy.”

There it is. You said it. Effy and him were something you simply couldn’t ignore. They were one for so long even if they pretended not to, even if Freddie was between them you could see in their eyes everytime the other was in the same room. Even if you were the one holding his hand. His eyes were always on her and her messy blue eyes. 

His eyes flicker—regret, maybe, or just annoyance that the past always finds its way into the present. He exhales, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “That’s what this is about? Effy?”

“No, it’s about me randomly having trust issues with blokes who flirt with everyone and mean it with no one,” you snap. “Of course it’s about her, James. You were obsessed with her. You’d have burned down the world if she asked you to.”

“I wouldn’t’ve needed asking,” he mutters, more to himself than you. Then louder: “But that was different.”

“Was it?” You don’t mean to sound so small when you say it. You hate that you do.

Cook steps closer, voice low. Not cocky this time—raw. “She never looked at me the way you do.”

You look away, not because you don’t believe him, but because part of you does and that’s worse. You remember perfectly her eyes looking at him. The pain and the lust and how she would unconsciously lick her lips. And how then regret would appear as she looked at you, because she was your friend and it hurted her to be such a bad friend to someone so nice and kind as you who had helped her so much. She apologised so many times and you would forgive her every time. You couldn’t stand seeing her sad, you just couldn’t.  But Cook was something different. He could have stopped it. He could have talked to her and told her that he loved you as much as he told you every time he kissed you before falling asleep between your arms. But he never did. 

He leans against the snack rack beside you, his shoulder just brushing yours. “You think I’m still that version of me,” he says. “Maybe I am. Maybe I always will be. But you make me want to be someone else. Someone better.”

You sip the Lucozade to avoid answering. The sugar hits your tongue, but it doesn’t wash anything down.“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” you murmur.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?,” he replies. And for once, there’s no smirk. No bravado. Just Cook—messy, complicated, and maybe… just maybe, telling the truth.

But trust isn’t something you give for free. 

“There’s a party tonight? Will I see you there?” he asks you, his fingers grabbing one lock of your hair. 

You move away. His touch burns and you already spent too much money on ice to calm your burns. “Maybe” He smiles at you before you leave with nothing left to say. 

—----- —

The music is too loud, the lights too dim, and everything smells like cheap vodka and damp clothes. Someone’s already passed out on the stairs, and some couple is snogging hard enough in the kitchen to make you consider sobriety as a permanent lifestyle.

You didn’t come here for fun. You came because it was better than staying in. And maybe of him. 

You're halfway through your drink when you see him. Cook. He’s standing near the back doors, smoke curling from the cigarette tucked between his fingers. His eyes scan the room like he’s not really seeing anyone—until they land on you.

And just like that, you want to run.

You slip into the hallway instead, where the music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat. A breath. Then another.

And then he’s there, behind you. Like always.

"You’re avoiding me." his accent it’s a little bit raspier because of the alcohol on his throat. 

You don’t turn around. "I didn’t realize I owed you my time."

"Don’t owe me anything," he says, voice low. "But you left without saying anything the other day. Thought we were past that."

You scoff, finally facing him. "Past what, Cook? Past the part where you mess people up and pretend it’s love? Or past the part where I pretend I’m not one of them?" Maybe you shouldn’t have accepted that spliff from a random pretty girl that had her shirt too low for your brain to actually connect two and two. But you did accept it and now your tongue was a little bit too loose. 

His face hardens. "You think I’m pretending?"

“I think you don’t know what you want.”

He takes a step forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I do. I know exactly what I want.”

“No,” you say, heart pounding. “You just don’t like being alone.”

That lands like a punch. 

He looks away for a second, jaw clenched. And then, softer, he says, “You think Effy was love?” Silence stretches between you. He steps closer. “That wasn’t love,” he says. “That was me trying to feel something. Anything. And her letting me because she needed someone to break.”

His voice cracks—not much, just a fracture—but it’s enough.

You want to say something. Maybe to soften the blow. Maybe to dig it in deeper. Maybe to just make him stop talking and kiss you hard against the wall like he used to. 

But he keeps going.

“I wake up some mornings and I feel like I’m drowning. Not ‘cause of her. Not anymore. But because I keep thinking about you. And how I’ll fuck it up. Like I fuck up everything.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging.You always cried easily. You were always so fucking sensitive and you fucking hated it.  “You don’t get to dump all this on me like it’s some twisted love letter.”

“I’m not trying to win you,” he says. “I’m just trying to tell you.” And then, quieter: “I don’t want to be that kid anymore. I want to be someone you can trust to not disappear, or lie, or break you down to build myself up.”

You swallow, hard. “And what if I don’t believe you?”

Cook looks at you like you’re the last thing keeping him standing. “Then I’ll keep showing up until you do.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not some sweeping confession that fixes everything. It’s two broken kids in a stranger’s house, trying to find a reason to be better.

And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

You don’t say anything. For a while, neither of you does.

The silence hangs heavy, the kind that doesn't ask to be filled. Just lived through.

Cook leans back against the wall, sliding down to the floor like the weight of his own words finally hit him. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots like he’s trying to hold himself together. If you ignore his short beard, he would look just like in college. Broken, mad. 

You stay standing. Because if you sit, you might not be able to get back up.

“I scare myself, you know,” he says eventually, voice barely above the hum of the music, but loud enough for you to hear him.  “I don’t say that out loud. Not to anyone.’’ He laughs, hollow. “I thought if I was loud enough, mad enough, if I did enough stupid shit, then the pain wouldn’t catch me. But it always does. Always bloody does.”

You look down at him. His head is tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, like he’s waiting to be hit.

“I’m not your salvation,” you say quietly. His eyes open. “I’m not here to fix you, James.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice breaks for real this time. “That’s why it hurts more.”

Your throat tightens.

“I wanted to be good for you,” he says. “Still do. But every time I get close to something real, I fuck it. Like I’m hardwired for destruction.”

He looks at you, and there’s no mask left. No bravado. No ‘Oi, babe’ smile. Just James Cook. A boy trying not to drown in himself.

“You make me feel like there’s a version of me I haven’t met yet,” he whispers. “One that’s worth something. One that could actually love someone right.”

You sit. Slowly. Carefully. The floor is cold against your thighs. You sit close, but not touching. He notices. The space between you is bigger than the closeness, abstractly because you can actually feel his baggy trousers against your naked leg. But not his skin, you can’t feel his skin and maybe it's better that way. 

“You know I wanted her,” you say, voice steady. “Not just Effy. Everyone liked her. All the broken girls that boys like you chased ‘cause they were beautiful in a way that didn’t last.”

You look at him now, and he doesn’t look away.

“But I’m not Effy. I won’t burn myself to keep someone warm. And if you come near me, bleeding, expecting me to patch you up, you better know I’ll bleed too. And I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”

He swallows hard. “Then don’t give. Just… stay. Let me do something right for once.”

It’s not a promise. It’s not a vow. It’s a plea.

You’re both just trying not to fall apart, lit by the flicker of bad decisions and better intentions. You want to tell him you believe him.

But instead, you reach out and take his hand.

Not tightly. Just enough.

His fingers twitch like he’s afraid even this will slip through.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

You don’t know how long you sit there—your hand in his, the music echoing like a heartbeat that belongs to someone else. The hallway smells like damp coats and something spilled long ago. The longer you stay, the more the walls press in.

You stand first.

He follows without a word.

The back garden’s half-dead, rain-soaked and ugly under the yellow glow of a porch light. Someone’s dropped a bottle in the grass. There’s a discarded shoe by the bins. This place was never meant to be pretty. But it’s quieter. Honest.

Cook lights a cigarette with shaking hands. Offers you one. You shake your head. You’ve been trying to quit, you tell him. He laughs. 

You lean against the brick wall, arms crossed, watching your breath fog in the air.

“You’re freezing,” he says, shrugging off his jacket before you can protest.

You let him drape it over your shoulders. It smells like him—smoke, sweat, something wild you can’t name. You hate how much comfort you take from it.

“I keep thinking,” he says between drags, “about how many people I’ve hurt just by being near them.”

You look at him. “And you think being near me is gonna be different?”

He exhales smoke through his nose. “I want it to be.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He nods. Doesn’t argue. That’s how you know he means it. When he is silent, when he isn’t loud and when he just breathes in and keeps his words inside his mouth. 

You both stand there, the sky spitting rain again, soaking into your hair. And maybe that’s what does it—something in the cold, or the silence, or the fact that you’re both just tired of pretending.

“I’m scared,” you say. The words fall out like teeth.

He turns to you, eyebrows knit. “Of me?”

You laugh, bitter. “Of myself. Of believing you. Of what happens if I do.”

Cook doesn’t answer. He just moves closer, slow and cautious like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

His hand brushes yours again. Not a grab. A question.

You answer it.

You look at him with your head slightly tilted. He rests his forehead on your shoulder first, and then he kisses it and his kisses climb to your neck and you jaw making you sigh before he kisses your soft wet lips. 

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s hesitant and clumsy, all teeth and tension and the taste of smoke. It’s not romantic, not really. But it’s real. It’s two people trying to meet in the middle of the wreckage.

You pull away first, forehead pressed against his.

“I don’t want to be someone’s second choice,” you whisper. “Not again, Cookie.” He smiles at the nickname.

“You’re not,” he says. “You never were.”

You close your eyes.

You want to believe him. God, you do.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to.

[mashtatosworld]

i'll be there

summary: jiyong goes on a work trip but then your baby gets sick...

Packing should have been simple.

It was only two days.

But Jiyong was good at stalling.

You were folding one of his shirts while he lay sprawled across the floor, halfheartedly tossing things into his suitcase like a petulant child being forced to do chores.

Diva, ever his little shadow, stood beside him, clutching one of his headscarves in her tiny hands.

“Give that to Appa,” you encouraged her, nodding towards the soft silk.

She gripped the fabric tight before proudly handing it over.

Jiyong gently took it, thanking her, before dramatically tossing it into the suitcase like it physically pained him.

Diva watched this carefully.

So, when you handed her one of his hats next, she did the same - aiming for the suitcase but missing completely.

Jiyong sat up. “See? She doesn’t want me to go. It’s a sign.”

You rolled your eyes, picking the hat up off the floor. “No, she’s just copying you, as always.”

“Exactly. And if I don’t want to go, she doesn’t want me to go.”

Diva gave a little nod, though she definitely didn’t understand what was happening.

Jiyong gave you a smug look.

You ignored him, instead pulling out another jacket. “Do you want to take this one?”

He barely glanced at it before his eyes drifted to the open closet.

And there, hanging neatly beside both of yours -

Was Diva’s tiny, pink dressing gown.

Jiyong immediately groaned, falling back to the floor again. “I can’t go.”

“Jiyong.”

“I can’t!”

You sighed, shoving the jacket into the suitcase yourself. “I’ll finish packing for you, since I know neither of you are going to be any real help.”

Diva, now fully siding with her Appa, sat on his stomach watching you as you moved around the room.

He stared up at the ceiling of your room. “I hate this.”

You laughed. “You’ll be gone for two nights.”

“Two nights too many.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

He was late.

His flight was in an hour, and he was standing in the doorway, hugging you both like he was about to be exiled forever.

“I don’t wanna go,” he murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you and Diva.

“I know.”

He pulled back with Diva perched on his hip in her little matching Chanel outfit - because of course she had one. She stared up at him, blinking slowly, her little hands clutching his shirt.

Jiyong sighed and pressed his lips to her head. “I was supposed to take my baby with me.”

“She’s been a little off these past few days,” you reminded him gently. “I think it’s better if she stays home.”

This would be the first time he was separated from her overnight since... well she was born. When you two were younger and touring the world for your careers, you had been torn apart many times. But since having your baby, the three of you travelled together everywhere.

The plan had been for Diva to accompany Jiyong whilst you went to rehearsal's but for the past couple days she hadn't been sleeping through the night and was turning her nose up at any food placed in front of her.

You smiled, squeezing his arm. “You're going to miss this your flight again.”

“They can move it.”

You sighed. “Jiyong.”

He huffed, pouting, and cupped Diva’s little face in his hand. “You promise to be good for Eomma?”

She nodded, her little spiky pony-tail bobbing. He carefully handed her to you, hands lingering.

He kissed her forehead. Then kissed you. Twice. Then Diva again.

You rolled your eyes. “Ji, you’re going to miss your flight.”

“Then I’ll have an excuse to stay.”

“Go.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Go.”

He finally, finally stepped back, dragging his feet toward the car.

You didn’t tell him that you watched from the window as he lingered outside, checking his phone like he was hoping you’d text him to come back.

You didn’t tell him that Diva started calling for him when he got in the car, her little hand pressed against the window.

And you definitely didn’t tell him that later that day, something happened.

Something that would make him turn the plane around.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Diva loved rehearsals.

Normally, she’d sit with her Appa, tucked under his arm, sipping her juice while watching you dance.

But today, she was too quiet.

You glanced over, expecting to see her watching, but she was barely paying attention - just sitting cross-legged with her iPad in her lap.

You frowned, crouching beside her, brushing her hair back. “You okay, baby?”

She gave a tiny nod, but she looked… off.

Maybe she just missed her Appa.

To cheer her up, you handed her some juice.

And that’s when it happened.

She gagged.

Your eyes widened.

And then -

She started throwing up.

“Oh, my angel,” you gasped, immediately scooping her up, holding her close as she whimpered into your chest.

Rehearsal was over.

You didn’t care.

By the time you got home, she was still fussy, clinging to you, barely drinking anything.

You bathed her, changed her into soft pyjamas, and rocked her to sleep in your arms.

She felt so small.

Jiyong FaceTimed the second he landed, still on the plane.

“Where are my girls?” he grinned, expecting to see Diva running around behind you.

Instead, you flipped the camera, showing her tiny form snuggled under a blanket.

“She just fell asleep,” you whispered.

His smile softened. “My baby.”

You didn’t tell him she had been sick.

No need to panic him.

She’d be fine by morning.

Right?

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

She wasn’t fine.

She cried through the night, throwing up a couple more times until you were concerned enough to bring her to bed with you.

Both of you slept terribly and had matching messy buns as you watched a show on the tv, much in need of a quiet morning.

She was sat propped up against Jiyong’s pillow, holding onto his glasses that he’d left behind.

Your chest ached.

You pulled out your phone.

He answered immediately.

His face lit up. "Jagi!"

You could tell he was in the middle of something - a fashion show, probably. There were cameras around him, producers talking in the background. But the second he saw you, nothing else mattered.

He grinned, turning his phone around. “Look, everyone! My babies!”

The people around him smiled and waved, some even cooing at the screen.

Meanwhile, you tried to stay out of frame, knowing full well you looked a mess.

“Ji,” you hissed, “don’t show me!”

He pouted. “Why not? You’re so beautiful.”

He wouldn't share with you then how he'd been in the middle of sharing some of his favourite photos of you two for the camera for his show. You'd see it anyway when the fans reposted that particular photo of you holding your baby girl after she'd just covered your face in ice cream. One of his many screensavers.

You rolled your eyes but felt warm all the same.

But the second he saw Diva in her little pink dressing gown, his expression softened into something warm and longing.

“You miss Appa?” he murmured.

She didn't say much but held up his glasses.

Jiyong whined. “Shall I just come home?”

You chuckled. “No, no. We just wanted to see you.”

"I know you're busy with rehearsal today but can you call me when you two have lunch? I'll eat with you," He says, even though he was a few hours behind.

"Um, sure." You nod, but you knew you were staying home today and weren't sure if your baby would be willing to eat. You didn't want to panic him, knowing full well he'd cancel everything and come home if he caught wind that she was even just a little bit under the weather.

He kissed his phone and you handed yours to Diva so they could say their own goodbyes.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

She didn't eat.

She couldn't keep anything down - not even water.

That’s when you started panicking.

You called everyone.

Your husband's mom.

Your mom.

Hyorin.

“She’s probably just got a stomach bug.”

“Just keep her hydrated, she’ll be fine.”

“If you’re really worried, take her in.”

And you were worried.

So you went to the hospital.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

"It's a typical case of norovirus," the doctor explained. "She'll be okay but we'll keep her overnight since she's dehydrated."

You nearly burst into tears.

Overnight?

Your baby, in a hospital bed with an IV in her tiny hand?

The guilt pierced through your calm bubble and that’s when you finally called Jiyong.

And that’s when he lost it.

“She’s what?!”

“She’s going to be okay, but - ”

“I’M COMING HOME.”

“Ji - ”

“I’M COMING HOME.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong moved heaven and earth to get back.

Left everything behind - his team, his manager, his luggage.

He didn’t wait for a private flight.

He didn’t care that he was flying commercial, stuck in economy with no security or leg room.

He didn’t even care that fans were taking pictures of him wiping his eyes with his hoodie sleeve.

All he cared about was getting to his family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

When he arrived at the hospital, he burst into the room, breathless, hoodie pulled low over his eyes, but they were still red-rimmed and teary.

His gaze immediately locked onto the tiny form in the bed.

Diva, pale and sleepy, her IV-covered hand resting on her chest.

He kneeled on the bed, leaning over her.

“Baby,” he choked, brushing her hair back.

She stirred, blinking up at him with a small, sleepy smile.

“Appa…”

That was all it took.

Jiyong broke.

Tears slipped down his cheek as he leaned in, pressing a thousand kisses to her forehead, her hands, her little cheeks.

“I’m here, princess,” he whispered. “Appa’s here.”

You ran a hand down his back. “Ji, don’t cry.”

But you were crying too.

He pulled you close, both of you climbing onto the bed with her, wrapped up in each other.

And when it was finally time to sleep, Jiyong refused to leave her side.

His voice was barely a whisper:

“I’m never leaving again.”

And you knew he meant it.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a lovely request! i actually had norovirus recently and it was brutal. poor diva ;(

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

[the-s1lly-corner]

Wearing their merch (FNAF SB) (part 1/2)

Huuuuuge brain blast while I was writing a fic for sun oooough I am about to get so silly!! Split this into two posts because I don't have the mental strength to make long long posts

Characters: freddy, chica, roxy, monty

Notes: reader is gn, human reader, short post because admin is still not used to writing the glamrocks <3 im more of a DCA writer TToTT

CWs: none

FREDDY

he doesnt let it get to him... or at least he tries not to! but when you clock into your shift ricking lightning earrings hes going to feel a certain way! its almost a prideful feeling!

and they look so nice on you! hes going to let you know that they suit you well!

neither hurt or upset if you only wear them every now and then, its your choice after all!

may get matching earrings! or or or GASP! You give him one of yours and you keep the other! something about it makes him feel soft inside!

CHICA

you cannot tell me that they wouldnt market her bow or leg warmers- or hell even her earrings! but... freddy already for the earring thing... so leg warmers it is!

you clock into work wearing them on a colder day and shes immediately at your side, telling you how stylish you look! you... cant tell if shes being sincere or teasing you... maybe both?

even if they dont fully match with your uniform shes going to be pleased! will think about it for a while... may giggle to herself when shes alone in her room long after youve left to go home

you bought something themed around her and wore it, how can she not?

MONTY

they sell his sunglasses in the shops! so you go ahead and snag yourself a pair to wear during your shift! its... not the best idea to wear shades inside and you kind of look like a douche to some people... but damnit is it not fun!

half hearted vaguely amused snort from his nose when he sees you, tells you you look good in them... but why wear fakes if you can have the real thing?

lets you wear his own shades just to try them... theyre... only slightly more durable and higher quality, but you keep that part to yourself

if youre going to mimic him you better be able to emulate his attitude, this is more of a side headcanon but hes definitely going to try to get you to act tougher if youre a bit softer....

ROXY

a headband with her wolf ears on them! she thinks it looks a little tacky but you get a pass.... for now...! will let you know that there are better options- perhaps a jacket or... oh youre deadset on the headband...

snaps her jaws shut when you tell her you picked the ears specifically because you think theyre cute- you... think her ears are cute by extension, right?

just know her tail is swaying behind her as she tells you that you made a good pick choosing her merch!

....even if she tries to act like its not that big of a deal... i mean dozens of people come in wearing something roxy themed but she tooooooootally doesnt think about it later

[miirohs]

world burning [c.l]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader wc: 1.4k cw: someone is literally shot, charles kisses reader a bit forcefully an: to the anon who said they'd sell me their soul my cashapp is @bestfanficwriterever (jk jk, i hope that anon sees this tho). Real reminder to you all, again, that non of this stuff is to be encouraged irl and this is all meant as a fictional scenario!

“Charlie?”

You could hear him softly cursing in French on the other line, whispering as the bed creaked in the background. It was obvious he had just woken up, and you felt terrible for waking him as well, knowing the day he probably had.

“Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, tu ferais mieux d'avoir une bonne raison de me réveiller (what's the matter, you'd better have a good reason for waking me up)-”

“Charles, I've been arrested, I need someone to come get me.” 

The muttering stopped, grogginess disappearing from his voice almost instantly. “Y/n? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé bon sang chéri (y/n? what the hell happened darling)?”

“Charles, not now please,” You chastised softly, looking to the door as the guards quietly conversed among themselves outside the room, “I have no idea why this is happening and what they’re gonna do to me.” “How did you even manage to get arrested… Nevermind that, I just hope you haven’t answered anything they've asked of you.” He groaned, heavy thumping over the phone as you looked nervously at the door for any indication they’d been listening to your conversation.

“I’m not that dull,” You said quietly, looking down at your lap, “and it couldn't have been anything i did, all they did was seize the car from me in the lot and bring me here.”

He paused for a moment, silent over the line. You pressed the phone against your ear, straining for any sounds on the other side of the line.

“Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you fumbled, tripping over your words in a hurry to get them out.

“Char, what are you planning on doing?”

He laughed humorlessly over the phone, the sound of keys jingling and door slamming making you jump back from the phone as if it’d grown a head.

“Exactly what I said I'm going to do, come and pick you up.”

You swallowed the thick ball that’d formed in your throat.

“You know what- never mind, send someone else in your place, maybe Carlos?” You bargained, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Pas de souci, mon amour. Je ne fais que commencer (no worries, my love. I'm just getting started). They should’ve learned not to fuck with the wrong person. I’ll be there in another 20 minutes, you won’t need to call anyone else.”

You shivered as the line went dead, looking at the now opened door, all the cops watching you with a suspicious look.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

All you could do was shake your head.

Not even a grand total of 15 minutes later, a shouting match erupted, followed by loud bangs.

There was a single person you could think of who was capable of this level of chaos, and you could have swore you’d heard him threatening the cops right now.

“Where is she?”

“Sir-”

“Don’t sir me, where the hell is she? Don’t tell me I have to blow another head off just for you to tell me.”

Everything seemed to fall silent for a couple moments, only a few voices daring to make a sound.

“Char?” You called out, a couple beats of silence weighing you down.

The sound of footsteps only got louder, stopping in front of the room you were in.

Keys jangled, the door slamming open as Charles walked in, a couple of police tailing him timidly to the outside of the door.

There were dark stains on his otherwise clean shirt, an indication of what happened visible in the peeved look on his face. Your eyes slowly trailed to his hand, a gun held tightly in his grip, smoking oh so slightly.

Noticing how your attention had drifted to the weapon, he put it down on the other side of the table as he approached you, shrugging off his jacket as he approached you.

“Tu vas bien maintenant (you're all right now),” He said quietly, running his fingers through your hair as he pulled you to him, “Come on, we’re going home.” 

You clutched his arm as he stood you up, eyes glued to the floor as you walked next to him.

You could hear their disappointed exhales, tinged with a bit of surprise as Charles kept a firm grip on your back, guiding you through the long hall to the main office.

As you continued to walk, he gently stopped you, turning around in the middle of the room as someone called for him.

“Fucks sake,” He sighed, turning around.

“Sir, i believe there has been a mistake-”

“What sort of mistake do you think you’ve made?” He snarled, his hand running down to your hand, lacing his fingers into yours.

“You see, the car we identified was yours and we thought that perhaps she’d stole it-”

“And you didn’t think to call me so I could deal with them myself?” He chuckled humorlessly, pulling you to his side. You held your breath, completely aware of what was about to happen.

“Charles, no-”

He shook his head at you, basically telling you to not interfere. You obliged, eyebrows creasing as you watch the poor man who had tried to explain himself get shoved to his knees.

“First off, you interrupt my very precious time, and then you have the audacity to say that you’ve made a mistake?” He stands back, waving at someone behind him to step forward to his side with a gun. “Do you know who she is?”

The man stumbled over his words, trying to plead for his life, but you already knew it was too late.

“Since you don’t seem to know, let me tell you. She’s the last face you’ll be seeing but since she’s here, I've decided to spare the rest of you for the time being. If I ever hear of anything happening to her again, anyone in this room will not be spared like they were today.” He remarked bemusedly, turning to you with the widest grin you’d ever seen from him.

“Chéri, close your eyes, and cover your ears as well.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The second you did, there was a bang, followed by a thumping sound.

Something warm was on your face, but you didn’t dare open your eyes, shaky hands coming off your ears to touch your face.

“Don’t.” He was closer than you thought, causing you to jump as he rubbed what you assumed was a handkerchief against your face . “Don’t say anything, don’t look, just follow me.” 

You cracked open an eye, briefly wandering to the pool of blood a couple of feet away from you.

“What did I just tell you?” He remarked, barking at the rest in rapid french as he grabbed your hand and pulled you out the doors of the station.

There was an awkward silence as you lumbered into the passenger side seat, pressing yourself against the seat as he pulled out and onto the road.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” He muttered, hand reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

“I thought you’d be upset with me.” You looked down, noticing the dried blood on his hands, not that it made much of a difference to you anymore. Less than two years ago, you would have been horrified at the idea of blood within six feet of you, but you had come to accept it as a part of him you could never erase.

“No-” He punched the brakes, eyes slightly apologetic as you jumped from the sudden shock of stopping.

“No, no, Y/n, look at me,” His hand left your thigh, fingers curling around your chin and pulling your face to his, “You are not responsible for any of that, i gave you the car, remember? You are not to blame yourself because I would gladly do anything for you.”

“Char-” You whined, muffled slightly by the pressure of his fingers against your cheeks.

“I would give you the world to see you happy, so shut up and take it.” He pressed his lips harshly against yours, almost needy in the way he nipped at your bottom. Warmth seemed to stir inside you as he let you go, your own mind racing at a million miles per hour as he returned to the wheel as if nothing had happened.

However, under his breath, he muttered something that even escaped you as your thoughts drifted off elsewhere. “Le monde brûlera, si tu le veux ma chérie, je te le promets (the world will burn, if you want it to my darling, I promise).”

[twstfanblog]

Omg requests are open 🥺 okay okay so last week I had this dream that I was at a party and some random little wizard man cursed me with a spell and all of a sudden I was in just my underwear in the middle of the dance floor?? So like How would the twst cast - mainly scarabia and savanaclaw - react to that happening to their partner? Especially if their partner had a lot of scars or stretch marks and was really insecure about everyone seeing them :(

You absolutely do not have to do this ofc I just thought it was an interesting idea - no pressure!

I really really love your blog I’ve been following for agesss 🥺💛

Boys React to Lover Being Stripped

Leona

Lowkey, I don't think the spell is hitting anyway. Leona's got mad points in defense spells. So if he's standing near you and a spell is coming, he deflecting that shit.

But, if by some horrible design the spell actually hit, you're basically in his vest and halfway out of the room before you even realize what just happened. He's concerned, checking you over to make sure you're not hurt, and that's when he notices how shy you are about your marks, so he goes to get you clothing to cover up.

Now, while you're resting together, he'll just like, use his tail to play with your shirt hem. He wants to look at your body closely. Scars are a sign of pride and considered beautiful in the Sunset Savanna. He also just thinks the stretch marks are sexy. Literal tiger stripes as far as he's concerned.

Ruggie

Freaks out once he sees what the spell did. His shirt is off and on you while he's hunting in the crowd for the fucker who just stripped his lover from across the room. He gives up pretty quickly to usher you out of the room. He barely even registers the marks because he's honestly no stranger to random scars.

Afterwards, he's now more comfortable shirtless in front of you. It helps you get more comfortable seeing that he has his own scars. And better fed he is, you can still see a rib or two. He's got fucking hyena spots on his hips, your strech marks aren't even anything weird to him. Another who equates scars with something to be proud of.

Jack

Nearly kills someone. At least everyone thinks he is from how loud he growled while picking you up in his arms. He's basically covering you like that; his biceps are all the clothing you need at the moment. He's leaving immediately and you're coming with him. The next day, he's a man on a mission to figure out who did the spell because he's going to just...break someone's arm real fast.

Jack has stretch marks, I'm calling it. The boy is 16, 6'2" and ripped as hell. He's got stretch marks just from growing the way he has. Mostly understands your insecurity about them as he has his own issues with his growth spurt in middle school. But, he also starts showing his stretch marks more, just so you know he has them too. Can't talk bad about your marks without talking bad about his.

Kalim

Yelling the second he sees your bra. Blushing, taking his jacket off to cover you and calling for Jamil. Ushers you out of the room, ends the party right then and there. Yes, it is a literal investigation about what happened at the party. Yes, someone will be put to death for the crime of making you cry at one of Kalim's parties.

Doesn't really understand that you're more upset at the mark becoming public knowledge than the fact you were stripped. He's been around all of his mom's, he's seen stretch marks and thinks they're pretty, like tiger stripes. Lowkey, didn't even think people came without them after a certain age. Offers to find a way to cover the marks if they bother you. You could get tattoos like his, then you can match!

Jamil

You barely realize what's happened because Jamil's already got you covered up and halfway out of the room. He's glaring in the crowd, having anticipated something happening at the party, but didn't think it was going to be this. He thought someone was going to make an attempt on Kalim’s life.

A little peeved when it turns out you're more upset about 'flashing the crowd' than the action of being stripped. But he can pick up on the insecurity of your marks. He does tell you it's all natural with growing, that scars are a sign of strength to plenty of people in Twist. But, if you really dislike them, he will offer up some lotion that the Asim's use to stay buttery soft and smooth. It will at the very least help soften and fade the marks.

[vantelover07]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚yan!biker!Jungkook x vet!reader⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Just an idea I've had for a while, sorry for all the grammatical and structural errors, english is not my first language. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ I think it would be such a cute grumpy x sunshine trope, but like he is a grouch around everyone else, but turns soft and loving only with the reader. And he's whipped. And I mean really, really whipped like he will do anything and everything for you, and I mean it. He's a yandere after all.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He's definitely the type of guy who lives by the words "I would let the world burn for her" and "she's the ray of sunshine in my life", while the reader, on the other hand, is a cutesy, cheerful, animal lover. You work in a vet clinic, and that's how you guys met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook came in with his Doberman for a check-up. Immediately, he was drawn to your presence, your smile, and the soft way you handled Bam. He's smitten with the way you talked, walked, well, with your whole existence basically. He felt as though he was under some spell, as if the whole world stopped moving the moment you met.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Later that day, when he came home with a dopey smile on, he couldn't think of anything else but you. He decided then and there that you were his true soulmate and he had to make you his.  

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ By pure coincidence, you guys met again at the park that he visits with Bam for walks. You were sitting on a bench on a particularly sunny and beautiful day, wearing a cute white dress with little pink flowers on it and a baby pink cardigan to match. You were reading a book when suddenly a familiar Doberman approached you with a wagging tail. Right behind him was a jogging Jungkook who couldn't believe his eyes. It's you in your cute, coquettish little outfit with that dazzling smile and warm, glowing aura. He made a mental note to buy Bam extra treats for being such a good boy by finding you for his dad.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He was all smiles with you, despite looking so rugged and dangerous with all the tattoos and piercings, he acted so soft and gentle with you, as if afraid that you'd run away. You guys exchanged numbers, and he made you promise that you would go out soon.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You guys text, finally set the time and place, and he picks you up in his car for the dinner date. You wore a long red dress, and he wondered how he would last all night without touching you when you looked this divine.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ You two had an amazing time together, you laughed, got to know each other more, and by the time the date was over and he drove you back home, you parted with him with a sweet kiss. Jungkook swore he'd heard wedding bells in his head and felt drunk despite not drinking anything.

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ With how inpatient and invested Jungkook is, you guys start dating not long after (probably around the third date).

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is all in in this relationship and I mean ALL IN as in getting you two custom helmets and jackets for his bike, visiting you at your lunch breaks at the clinic and either coming with a homemade lunch or taking you out, having you over at his place and letting you wear only his clothes there, texting you good morning and goodnight which makes him the first and last person you message everyday, buying you a cute pink set to go to the gym with him when in fact it's mostly either you watching him work out or him helping you with the exercises (honestly just looking for excuses to touch you), etc. 

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Jungkook is very big on pda, and he absolutely has to touch you in some way at all times. He loves to kiss you, and he's baffled how he could survive without you before. He swears he's never felt this much love for anyone in his entire life. He loves spooning you in bed, kissing your neck and breathing you in, or having you lie down on his chest completely, feeling your weight on him being the best reminder that you are here with him, safe in his arms and utterly and completely his.  

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ He is very protective and easily triggered if anyone even dares to look your way for too long. He believes that only he gets to admire you and look at you freely (even tho he knows you're a beauty and unfortunately for him others see that too). He might or might not have threatened or beaten up a couple of guys who (by his standard) acted disrespectfully towards his relationship, but in his eyes, it's fine, as long as you'll never get to know. You would probably worry and get worked up, and he doesn't want that. Jungkook just wants to keep you safe, and what's safer than being with him?

ㅤ⋆˚♡⋆˚ Despite his jealousy and possessiveness, he's the most caring, loving boyfriend ever, and he would probably rather cut himself open than let anyone or anything hurt you. Jungkook treats you like a princess, and whatever you ask of him, he's ready to deliver. You're hungry? Baby, a three-course meal is already on the table. You're feeling stressed and insecure? Let him cuddle you and pepper your face with kisses, telling you every little thing he loves about you. You're feeling sick? He's there to take care of you, cooking you soup and making sure you take your medicine. You wanna go shopping? He's already on his bike, ready to go with you, see you model all the clothes, and buy you whatever you like. You're the love of his life, his soulmate, future wife, and mother of his children and he would be damned if he ever let you slip through his fingers. You're it for him today, tomorrow, and forever.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

Let me know if u guys liked this headcanon with yandere biker! JK and if you want more! Till next time, then!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 21: So That's How

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: y/n heads back to the villa while jenna and angelo pack the stuff up at the cabin

warnings: 18+! enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption, insane man, stabbing, animal abuse and cruelty, attempted murder, neglecting personal health, murder

AN: blehhhhhhhhh

word count: 3k

You should’ve been able to sleep.

The cabin was quiet. Safe. Familiar, even - despite everything. Despite the blood still crusted under your fingernails and the faint, haunting echo of Cam’s scream before his body hit the forest floor. The sheets were warm. Jenna was beside you, her breathing soft and slow, and Angelo lay curled between your legs, belly up like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But you couldn’t sleep.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, thoughts looping without pause. Your side throbbed where the bullet had torn through you, but you barely felt it compared to the pressure in your chest. Something gnawed at you - something beyond exhaustion, beyond adrenaline. A need to see him again. Not to honour him. Not to relive it. Just… to make sure.

Just to know that he was still there. Still dead.

You slipped out of bed quietly, brushing your fingers along Jenna’s arm before moving away. She murmured something wordless in her sleep, and you paused to smile at her - then scribbled a note on the back of a foraged flyer and placed it on her nightstand:

Be right back! Making sure the bastard’s still dead. <3 kisses 💋💋💋

Angelo shifted but didn’t wake, his tail twitching once as you pulled on your jacket and machete. The early morning air outside was crisp, the forest still cloaked in a soft grey mist. You didn’t rush. You let your feet carry you over the uneven path, boots crunching faintly against the pine needles, the familiar trail soothing in a way you hadn’t expected.

You found him where you left him - slumped against the base of a tree, head lolled back, mouth open to the sky. Flies already circled him in lazy spirals. His skin had gone pale, veiny, like wet paper stretched too thin.

But what stopped you wasn’t the smell or the sight of him.

It was the keys.

His jacket pocket was bulky. You reached in and pulled out a jangling mess - some you recognised. Others? Not at all. At least ten unmarked keys, some tagged, some rusty. All of them heavy with implication.

And then you found the photos.

About twenty Polaroids, all shoved into a crumpled ziplock bag near his hip.

You didn’t mean to look. Truly. But the first one slid out into your palm, and your breath caught.

A selfie. Cam grinning in the foreground, eyes wild with something almost euphoric. Behind him: a woman tied to a radiator. Barely conscious. Blood on her chest. The timestamp - February 3rd - predated the outbreak.

You swallowed thickly, flipping through the rest.

Men. Women. A teenager. Some with duct tape across their mouths. All of them half-conscious, mangled. All of them posed, like trophies. Some dated before the world ended. A full twelve taken after it fell.

You stared at the final one for a long moment. Cam’s eyes weren’t wild in that one. They were calm. Peaceful, even. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, and was proud of it.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

You dug a hole.

Hands shaking, you dropped the Polaroids in and covered them with damp earth, pressing your palm flat against the mound. You weren’t going to let him take those memories into the afterlife. He didn’t deserve to be remembered for anything except what you’d done to him.

Your fingers found something else then - your car keys.

You caught a glimpse of his shin as you stood, where his jeans had torn. A bite mark. It looked fresh.

That explained the turning. That explained the chase. The monster he was in life was now matched by the monster he became in death.

“Rot in hell,” you muttered.

The walk back felt longer than it should’ve. You checked your surroundings constantly, listening for birdsong or wind - anything to tell you you were still safe.

Inside the cabin, Jenna hadn’t stirred. Angelo had taken your place on the bed, paws twitching in his sleep. You pressed a soft kiss to Jenna’s forehead, lingering for a moment, then tapped Angelo’s belly gently. He grumbled but stayed flopped like a prince.

You weren’t tired.

The cabin wasn’t clean.

So you got to work.

You disinfected the floors. Scrubbed away dried blood from the doorframe. Reorganised the cupboards. Replaced every pillow and blanket that had been kicked over or bled on or tainted by memory. You opened windows, aired the place out. You even refolded the spare towels.

It was 6:15 AM when you stopped. The light was golden now, pouring through the trees in slow streaks.

You should’ve sat down.

You didn’t.

You grabbed your fishing rod, stepped outside, and made your way to the dock.

The lake greeted you with glassy silence. You cast your line and sat, letting your feet hang over the edge. It was peaceful. Real.

Two hours passed. You caught a few trout, a few small bass, and a couple you couldn’t name. Not bad. Enough.

Angelo emerged at last, blinking sleep from his eyes, stretching dramatically before padding over. You tossed him a bait fish. He caught it like a pro and wagged his tail.

The worst was behind you now.

You had to believe that.

-

You heard her before you saw her.

A sleepy thud of bare feet on wood, followed by the cutest little yawn. Angelo perked up immediately - tail going berserk, the fish long forgotten in his mouth as he bolted back towards the cabin.

"Ugh, your breath reeks of fish, buddy," Jenna’s voice called out, groggy but amused.

You turned just in time to see her shuffle out, hoodie tugged on lazily, hair in a messy halo that made your chest ache in the best way. She squinted into the sun, and her face lit up when she spotted you on the dock.

Angelo launched himself at her with full-bodied excitement, tongue flopping, tail wagging like a propeller as she crouched to greet him with both arms. "You’re such a menace," she murmured, pressing her face to the top of his head.

You watched from your spot at the edge of the dock, your lips already curving into a smile you didn’t try to hide. She padded toward you with a little sway to her step, eyelids still heavy with sleep, and kissed you hello without saying a word.

It was soft. Lingering.

Your arms came around her waist instinctively, tugging her close against you. Her hoodie smelled faintly like woodsmoke and leftover rain. Her skin was warm from sleep. You tucked your face into the space between her neck and shoulder and exhaled, letting yourself melt into the moment.

“You looked so cute like that, angel,” you mumbled into the fabric.

“Oh, stop,” she giggled, voice still hoarse with sleep.

You swayed together like that for a while, the lake lapping gently below, Angelo settling near your feet with a satisfied huff. You didn’t think about the apocalypse. Or Cam. Or the bags you’d eventually need to pack. You just breathed.

Jenna shifted her hands, brushing against your side-

You flinched.

A sharp hiss slipped between your teeth, involuntary. The pressure was fast and bright where her hand had landed on the bullet wound.

“Shit- sorry!” she said quickly, pulling away.

But you tightened your arms around her.

“No- no- I’m okay. I need this, angel.”

You felt her hesitate, then her weight eased back into yours. She let her hands rest on the safer parts of you, the unbroken skin. Her fingers were cold, but familiar.

You could feel her eyes roll. Not in frustration. Not anymore. But in that fond, quiet way that said you’re impossible.

You hummed, a deep sound that vibrated between you. Then breathed in - her skin, her warmth, the faint smell of toothpaste and campfire.

“Mm. Okay. I have caught us a bunch of fish. Angelo has already taste-tested a few and says they’re adequate,” you teased, finally letting her go just enough to move.

She raised a brow, amused. “Only adequate?”

“He’s a tough critic,” you said, flashing a wink.

You bent down to the net tied to the dock post, awkward with your side still sore, and pulled out four of the best fish. decent size, still fresh and glistening. “I’m thinking: breakfast of champions.”

Jenna grinned. “Survivors, you mean.”

You looked at her. “Same thing.”

-

The scent of fish and teriyaki hit your nose before you even sat down. You’d filleted and cleaned the trout on the dock with Jenna watching - eyes still puffy from sleep, chin propped on her knee. Now the pieces were sizzling on the camp stove with a splash of what was definitely expired sauce, but neither of you cared. Not after everything.

You stirred the pan gently, making sure nothing stuck, while Jenna stood a few paces back, looking over the map she’d scratched into the back of a cereal box the day before. She’d marked the villa, the cabin, the lake, and a few vague trails to the gated community you’d found on your last walk.

Angelo, ever hopeful, sat between you both - tail sweeping across the floorboards in rhythmic optimism. You tossed him a crisped fish fin and he caught it mid-air, chewing with dramatic satisfaction.

“Alright,” you said, spooning the stir fry onto two dented tin plates. “Breakfast of survivors. As promised.”

Jenna took hers with a soft thanks and sat on the porch step. You sat beside her, plates on your laps, legs stretching into the sun. For a while, there was only the sound of eating - the crunch of charred fish skin, the distant call of a bird overhead, the rustle of Angelo settling in your shadow.

Then: “I found the keys on him.”

Jenna looked up mid-bite. “What?”

“To the car,” you clarified. “Cam had them in his jacket pocket. Same little keychain you always complained about - the green plastic one that squeaks.”

Her expression shifted - something between relief and exhaustion. She nodded slowly.

“I think it’s at the villa,” you continued. “Didn’t see it wrecked nearby. If I go now, I can be back by noon. Maybe one, if the trail’s messy.”

Jenna hesitated. “I could come with-”

“No.” You cut her off gently. “You’re still healing. And honestly? I’d feel better if you stayed here. With Angelo. Just for today.”

She chewed her lip, clearly torn.

“I’ll take the crossbow. And the machete. And I’ll go quietly. The roads should be safe.”

Jenna gave a slow nod. “And I’ll pack up the cabin?”

“Yeah. Everything useful. Food, fishing gear, the extra blankets. Whatever we can load fast.”

“And if something happens?”

“It won’t,” you said, perhaps too quickly. Then softer: “But if it does - I’ll leave a trail. I’ll come back. Always.”

She reached for your hand then, and you let her take it. Her grip was firm despite the tension in her shoulders. You didn’t say more - just sat there, hand in hand, finishing your stir fry in the golden light.

It was a moment of quiet resolve. No panic. No dread. Just a plan. Finally.

By the time the plates were scraped clean and rinsed in the bucket, the sun was higher, and your pack was already loaded. You strapped the machete to your side, slung the crossbow over your shoulder, and clipped a small first aid kit to your belt.

Jenna wrapped her arms around you and very unsubtly snuck a packet of pistachios in your back pants pocket. You smiled and kissed her. “I’ll be back in a few, gorgeous.” She smirked and smacked your ass softly “You better hurry.”

You quickly stole another kiss before you turned and headed down the path - heart steady, breath calm - toward the villa.

-

The walk back to the villa was quiet in a way that left your skin crawling. Birds chirped somewhere high above in the treetops. The wind whispered through the canopy. But there were no groans. No dragging footsteps. No signs of life, or unlife. Just the rustle of your own movement, and the occasional throb in your side where the bullet wound had stiffened overnight.

Your breath felt sharp in your chest by the time the treeline thinned and the sloping roof of the villa reappeared ahead. The garden was flattened. The house looked bruised, violated. The car was still there in the driveway.

And the front door hung wide open.

You approached slowly, machete gripped in one hand, the other hovering near your belt where you'd strapped a pocket of disinfectant and gauze- just in case. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Bullet casings glinted on the ground near the front steps. The car’s passenger-side window was shattered, the glove box torn open and hanging. Something- someone- had torn through it in a frenzy.

Heart pounding, you circled cautiously around to the driver’s side. The door was ajar, like an invitation.

You bent to inspect it - only for a sudden snap of movement to blur in the corner of your eye.

Pain exploded in your ankle. Your leg was yanked violently out from under you.

You slammed into the driveway with a grunt, scraping your elbow raw as your vision swam. Your hands reached out instinctively - your machete flying from your grip and skidding several feet out of reach.

“FUCK!” you gasped, twisting to see what had grabbed you.

There was a woman - no, a thing, a crawler - half-pinned under the car, throat ripped out and long black hair tangled in the undercarriage like a warning. Her eyes locked on yours with feral, vacant hunger. Chains rattled where they tangled around her midsection - whoever chained her there had done so deliberately.

Your ankle was still in her grip. She dragged herself closer.

“Shit- SHIT!” you screamed, kicking with your free leg, scrambling backwards - her nails slashed at your boot, ripping it clean off, and catching your shin.

Your fingers clawed at the gravel, trying to reach your machete.

But it was just out of reach.

Of course it was.

.

It had been over an hour since Y/N left, maybe two. Jenna wasn’t sure. The clock on the wall didn’t work, and she hadn’t checked her watch. She didn’t want to. Not because she was afraid, but because it would make the minutes real - each one dragging by without a sign of Y/N’s return.

So instead, she stayed busy.

Angelo had been her shadow the whole time, padding behind her with his usual heavy paws, tail wagging like he had no idea the world had fallen apart. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe that was the beauty of him.

“Come on, stinky,” she said with a little grunt, lifting the folded sleeping bags into the trolley. “We’ve got work to do.”

He woofed lightly and followed her to the kitchen, sniffing the opened bag of kibble and letting out a huff of protest when she sealed it shut again. Jenna chuckled and scratched behind his ears. “Not until we’re done.”

They worked together like a unit. Jenna humming as she moved through each room, packing what was useful and ignoring what wasn’t. The tools Y/N had left out. The half-used medical kit. The spare socks that actually fit comfortably. Cans that looked new enough. Fishing line. Lighter fluid. Maps. Even the plastic container where they kept the garden seeds they'd collected over the last few weeks - zucchini, pumpkin, peppers, lettuce, tomato. Life, preserved in packets.

The morning’s fish stir fry had been left on the counter, still covered. She uncovered it, took a bite with her fingers, and nodded. Cold, but edible. They’d finish it before leaving. Maybe on the road. Maybe sitting on the bumper.

Jenna tried not to think about where they were going next. About the fact that they had to go somewhere again.

She forced her body to stay light, voice melodic, every action carefully chosen to avoid spiralling. “Alright, my boy,” she said to Angelo as she sealed up the last of the dry goods. “Anything to keep our minds off the obvious, right?”

He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, then barked once when she started singing. Loudly. Badly. She picked the most annoying song she could remember from childhood - some pop hit with a chorus that refused to die - and he howled along with every drawn-out note. Not quite in tune, but he gave it heart.

“Attaboy,” she grinned, ruffling his fur. “We should start a band.”

When the singing was done, the packing followed. Suitcases were filled with the remainder of their supplies and stacked on the porch, ready to be loaded when Y/N returned. Blankets were folded and tucked into the corners. Bottled water was lined up neatly near the steps. Weapons - carefully counted, cleaned, and placed in a padded case. Even the little luxuries were packed: spare socks, clean shirts, a half-melted chocolate bar she found in the back of a drawer.

She left the bed as it was - just in case.

Every so often, she’d glance up at the treeline. No car. No movement. The forest, for all its threats and secrets, looked peaceful again.

But she hated the way the silence could turn on her. One minute it was calm, the next it felt like holding your breath.

Still, Jenna didn’t let herself worry.

She just kept saying it out loud. “When she gets back.”

Not if.

Never if.

She scratched Angelo’s chin, kissed his nose, and whispered it again.

“When she gets back.”

And when she did - she’d better be hungry. Jenna was saving the last bite of stir fry for her.

—//—

[spookypete-94]

Dark Horse- Breath

PriceXFem!reader

Start of a mini series. Reader is a single mother, working double shifts at a restaurant. Father of the child starts to become a problem while reader is at work and Price offers a solution. Non-con mentioned but not described. Slight age gap between reader around 25 and Price around 35.

Hard work was never something that had bothered you. Entering the work force at the ripe age of 14, you had learned many things the hard way. Like how what you thought was your "Highschool Sweetheart" was the love of your life.. Until he took advantage of you, in a time where you had too much to drink at a graduation celebration caused by him egging you on. Ultimately, the cost of his choice forcing you to become pregnant. You did not know how ever, that you were carrying his child when you broke it off with him, upset he had pulled such a stunt on you. Again, learning the hard way- you became forever tied to him, but would never settle with him.

Even for such a hardship to happen at a young age, you were blessed with the best gift. A piece of you. The entire pregnancy, you prepared yourself for the baby to come out like your ex. A reminder of what happened to you, but would care for nonetheless. But to your surprise, your baby boy came out with your color hair and orbs that matched your own. Literally the apple from your tree which quickly became the center of your eye.

Naming him Abel, meaning breath. He would be your fresh air. A man you would try to raise better for this world.

Locking the door behind you, you turned down to look at your little one. He was always so bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning, donning his school backpack.

"We got everything?"

"Yup." Abel said popping the p, reaching for your hand to hold it as you walked him to his school. He rather liked school for his age, making friends with ease. Watching as he skipped next to you, and listening to what he thought was going to happen at school today. These moments were what you loved most, feeling truly connected with Abel.

Infront of the school doors, kneeling down to speak with him face to face and fiddle with his jacket.

"Dad will pick you up today." You said smoothing his hair.

"Oh.." Abel said quietly. Abel knew how hard having split custody with his dad was for you. Your ex may be terrible to you, but he was a good father to Abel. Making getting full custody of Abel hard and the fact due to your funds coming from a restaurant. Of course the boy who took advantage of you turned into a man that became successful. Many times he would bait you ,"If you just came back to me." A smug smirk on his face almost telling you he'd knew you would come running back. Instead, you planted firmly, took root and grew. Getting a job at a local restaurant and quickly becoming it's best worker. Making enough to make ends meet, living pay check to pay check but still taking care of your son.

"It'll be alright momma, I'll see you later tonight." His arms coming around his neck and pulling you into him. Nearly teetering on falling over, but instead pulling him into you closer to lean on him. A perfect explanation of your relationship with Abel.

Watching him run into school you waited for him to slip inside, and walked to work. Hoping for a busy day to help with distraction making it go quick until you can see Abel again.

It for sure started off with a bang, like someone had fired a starter gun. Table after table, coffee turning into soda signifying the change from breakfast into lunch. Answering the phone of what you thought was going to be a to go order. was actually a phone call from your son's school. He had forgot his lunch. Thinking about how you had locked the door after asking, but then realizing his lunch box was on the counter still at home. Sighing, feeling further rushed, your boss Kate, could tell something was off and you explained what had happened.

"Well take him lunch," she said matter-of-factly like she couldn't understand why you were so stressed about it. "I got your tables for now." You were quick about it, asking your line cook for a cheeseburger and fry explaining the situation. Thankfully just pulling one he had just started for a customer and giving it you, you rushed out the front door.

Sudden surprise struck you, as you turned the corner and collided with a regular patron with your shoulder.

"Oh!" you said turning to look at the man with gentle blue eyes and brown mutton chops. "Sorry John." He would come in periodically, sometimes almost every day for 2 weeks and then would up and disappear for a month. Figuring it was military related, you always tried to be nice to him as he always left a generous tip.

"Careful love," he grumbled a name he said to you often ,"where you off to?"

"Abel forgot his lunch," you said showing him the bag, before starting to walk again.

"Silly boy," he said watching you walk away, hand resting on the door handle of the building. You grinned before sprinting off again in the direction of his school.

Finding him in the lunch room, you dropped he bag off in front of him.

"Sorry momma," he said at your winded state.

"Its fine, we just gotta clear out your lunchbox when we get home." Kissing the top of his head and quickly ruffling his hair. "Love you, see you later." Waving as you left heading back to work- this time at a stiff walking pace, too winded from running prior.

Back at the restaurant, the lunch rush starting to slow down as you approached Kate behind the counter, tying your apron back on again. "Thank you," you said whispering to her.

"It's fine," with a warm smile, her eyes peering up at you from the counter. "Your regular is still here."

Rolling your eyes, you gave her the same grin you had shown John earlier. "Not my regular. Maybe he is your regular."

"He didn't use to come every day like he does until you started."

"He doesn't come everyday."

"You know what I mean," she chirped back. "And he only ever tips you like that." Shaking your head, you started bussing tables, wiping down, and restocking preparing for the dinner rush.

In the mean time of waiting, you tried to make small talk with John.

"Want cherry pie? Fresh one was made this morning."

"Sure," he said sliding his coffee forward for a refill. Filling it, and turning to the kitchen to grab the slice of pie.

"Cherry pie?? That's your way of flirting?" Kate asked leaning against a kitchen counter, the cook giving a small snort and smile listening to your banter.

"Fuck off, I'm making you profit." causing her to cackle loudly.

Pie on the plate, you slipped through the saloon style doors and back into the dining room.

"Told a funny joke 'aye?" he asked.

Staring blankly, for a second you realized he heard Kate cackling. "Oh! That, no, just bullshitting with Kate."

The feeling of nervousness returning seeing his eyes peer up at you locking with yours before cutting into his pie, watching him poke some into his mouth on his fork. There must be a God however, because a table walking in is what broke your gridlock with him, grabbing your pad and paper. Ready to get back to work.

The entire dinner shift was a blur. John still there at the counter moving to a more private booth with 3 other men. Like he had been waiting for a meeting.

In the mode, your nervousness and anxiety left you, taking the order and trying to offer the best service you can. The mode finally being broke when 2 little arms snuck around your waist and hugged you from behind.

"Momma!" he yelled into the back of your apron. Kneeling down and turning around you hugged him around his shoulders. "Hey love bug."

"I missed you!! but..." and you could tell the next part he did not want to say.

"What's the matter..." You asked lowly and quietly.

"Dad's outside, he wants to talk to you." Your eyes leering up, seeing him outside leaning against his car, arms crossed.

"Ok, go tell Kate to give you some pie." You said ushering her to his direction. Eyes connected with Kate's speaking with a face that told her you were going outside as you untied your apron and placed it back behind the counter. She leaned to the side to see who it was you were meeting and once she did, the eye roll she gave back to you from the burning hatred she has for him.

Taking a deep breath in, closing your eyes to focus.

That's what you told yourself. Breath. Breathe. Abel, breathe for Abel. Little did you know, the booth all the way in the back, 4 pairs of eyes watching you. John's sending a glare in the direction, like he knew what was happening and the distress you were under.

The air outside humid from the impending summer that was approaching. The night sky starting to turn dark and street lights coming on. You refused to acknowledge him, instead standing in front of him with your arms crossed.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"Our son told me you forgot to send him with lunch today."

"I did- but then I ran some to him." You said defensively knowing all to well your son did not say it in a manner to throw you under the bus.

"If its that hard for you to make sure he has what he needs, you should come back so I can do that for you both."

"No. You know that's never going to happen." Tone almost feral, tired of being beat with the idea.

"Fine," he huffed out almost nonchalantly, "Then here is this." He said presenting a packet of documents rather aggressively.

Looking on the front page, you saw it was a petition from him filling for full custody. He was trying to take Abel from you.

"Are you fucking kidding me??" Your tone hot.

"Don't think I won't win it. A mother working at a restaurant as her main source of income?? Unable to make sure he has lunch at school. Who knows what else you are failing at," his tone smug like he had full custody already. "Cat in the bag, Abel will be with me. And you can either join, or be miserable. Your choice." He said leaning down over you, laughing at your slack jaw look at him.

"You can't take him from me, I'm his mother."

"I'm his father with a full time job, money saved. I will do as a please. As I always do." He said darkly, hissing into your ear referring what had happened in the past.

Realizing how close he was, the reek of his pride burning your nose and eyes caused you to shove him back from you. He laughed, finding your attempt weak, seeing he got under your skin.

The scene could be seen from inside the restaurant, thankfully it was almost empty, John's table being the last one. Abel had his back turned from it and Kate stood inside distracting him from what was going on outside. Everyone couldn't help but notice John standing up however, long strides in his gait trying to get to you quickly. The other 3 with him standing up and following.

To your ex's mercy, he got into his car, still laughing before the group got outside the doors.

John continued outside, the other 3 standing inside, lax now. Hot tears stung your eyes and you did not want to present yourself to Abel yet.

"Love," John said quietly approaching you.

Turning to look at him over your shoulder, you quickly wiped your eyes, trying to look normal not wanting to bleed on him emotionally, but it didn't work.

"Love, what happened?" he asked approaching finally seeing your state. Unable to answer him, you hand him the packet of papers. Looking down on them he could see the intent behind it.

"I can't afford a lawyer," you choked to him. An arm coming around your shoulders pulling you into him. You never realized he smelled of pine and tobacco until now.

He let you sob into him. Heavy cries you tried to smother into his chest. John took in a large breath before finally uttering, "Marry me."

"What?" you asked thinking you misheard him.

"Marry me," he repeated, firmer this time.

You looked up at him wild look in your eyes. "Marry you??" you repeated.

"I'm British military. My benefits would be your benefits. Meaning you would have a lawyer." Your eyes bounced back and forth between the glaciers above you. Uncertainty filling you... but a spark of hope igniting. Had your conundrum really been solved this easily? You would do anything for your son.

Finally finding your voice, you muttered an "Ok." to him.

Strong arms wrapped back around you, pulling you into his chest and resting his head on top of yours. The shock of everything that had just happened, all you could do was lean into it. Breathing him in. A Breath in, Breath out.

"What jus' happened?" The one with the mohawk asked, leaning over to the one in the blue hat still watching through the windows. The blue hat answered "I think Cap'n is gettin' married."

Next

Dark Horse Masterlist

Captain John Price Masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist