#and the way he says good boy at the end???!!!

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Zero Gravity

Things Justice League knows about Danny Phantom:

He's dead (why, how, and for how long is unclear)

He's generally on the 'good' side (but contingency plans have been set up in case of 'future evil self' resurfacing, by Danny's own suggestion)

He's a figure of authority among other dead/neverborn/otherworldly/eldritch/magical beings (however, it's unclear to what kind of authority he holds and why)

He's dating one of the Bats (unclear to who, but none of them confirmed nor denied the fact, which is a confirmation on its own)

He absolutely hates only two things: toast and Christmas (neither of them explained)

His powerset is so wide that he can't even fully recount it (unclear if it's because he doesn't remember all his abilities or if he can't keep track of the new ones popping up spontaneously)

He's hot [whoever added this, you're not wrong, but I'm watching you - O.]

He has a grudge against Flash (unclear to why, but Flash seems to know the reason and won't budge regardless)

Of course, there are many more things to know about Danny Phantom, but they are mostly suspicions, rumors, and speculations. Like how sometimes the boy seems distracted and bored as if he is only going through a pre-written script; a sign of repeatedly going through the same day a few times too many, as the other time-travellers say. Or like how sometimes he knows too much - the boy is an expert in Kryptonian biology, to Clark's great surprise, and is more knowledgeable about Olympus politics than Diana herself.

There are also little things that are hard to notice and even harder to ignore once you do. How he never talks about family but likes listening to others talk about it. How he pointedly stays away from the medbay and any kind of medical staff. How he stops every time he passes one of the giant windows on the main floor of the Watchtower, smiling dreamily at the sight of vast, open space beyond it.

And then, there's The Thing that no one addresses.

When Danny Phantom doesn't pay attention, he unknowingly nullifies gravity.

The first time it happened, Bruce thought the Watchtower's artificial gravity collapsed. However, he very quickly realized that it was a local occurrence - only a few rooms and a hallway were affected - and, right in the center of it, was Danny, reading a book he borrowed (stolen) from the Wayne manor library.

The boy himself never noticed it. Which made sense, given that he defied gravity all on his own, always floating in the air above the floor.

But the others never acknowledged it either, treating the sudden absence of gravity as a sign of one, Danny appearing somewhere around, and two, him being in a good, if a bit absent, mood.

All in all, it's not the strangest thing that happens at the Watchtower on a daily basis.

And, besides, it's kind of fun.

¤¤¤

Danny, floating in the middle of the game room at Wayne manor, deeply engrossed in a video game: Eat this, sucker!

Tim, using his toes and knees to keep himself from floating up from the couch, not wanting to distract Danny from their match: Oh, you're going down.

Titus in the background:

¤¤¤

Bart, in the middle of a conversation with Kon:

Kon: ...

Bart, looking down at the cup on the floor: ... I guess he left?..

Kon: He literally went through a giant glowing portal two minutes ago, five feet away from you, but that's how you figure it out?

Bart: I have a short attention span, anyway-

¤¤¤

Barry, opening a bag of chips just for all the contents and himself as well to start floating: I swear he does this on purpose, I fucking swear.

¤¤¤

Red Tornado, coming into the training hall of Mount Justice: ...

Young Justice:

Red Tornado: I take it Danny is visiting. I'll leave you to it, then.

¤¤¤

Bruce, walking out of the conference room at the Watchtower to see this on the other end of the hallway, internally: He may be coming this way, I should warn the others in the room.

Bruce, a second later, because he is a little shit deep inside: On the other hand, it's a great surroundings awareness drill, so maybe I shouldn't.

[goldsbitch]

Kiss with a fist

To his twins, the world is ending. To Lando, it’s another exhausting reminder that parenting might actually be harder than racing.

or - No boys allowed near the girls from now on, especially not his rivals' son.

warning: dad! Lando, none, fun, domestic 3k word count stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

//

There is a loud crying sound coming from the room the seven year olds share and Lando has never felt so old in his bones. He'd just come back from an exhausting race and those don't exactly get easier with age. In times like these, he longs for the days when he was in his first years in F1, blissfully unaware of just how capable and seamless his body was. Anyway. No time to sulk in. One of his daughters is in distress and the day he does not respond to that will be the day he willingly puts himself up in jail.

He gets up from the couch and rushes over to the kids room. The crying is not stopping and when he enters it somehow starts clicking all in. He kneels down and hugs Maya, who looks like is determined to cry her eyes out. Meanwhile, Olivia is sitting on her bed, exceptionally quiet and has never looked more suspicious in her life, ever.

"We need to keep a closer eye on Liv, I think she's teasing Maya too much these days" he recalls Y/N saying over the phone one late evening. It was an early morning call for him, due to the timezones, but he remembers it clearly. He brushed it off, telling his wife that it's getting late over back home and that she should go and get some sleep while she can. But right now, assessing the current situation, he is not so sure about his previous judgement. Long gone is the time he was scared of being a bad parent, of fucking up. He's come to realization that he will inevitably fuck up - not in the same way as his parents, but in a completely new and original way. The fact they were blessed with twins making it that more likely to happen. He's hugging and caressing one daughter, while eyeing the other. Olivia has this look in her face and his stomach sinks down deeply, because he has seen this look before. In the mirror, many times. He was what most would consider a peaceful quiet child. Unless it was him and his sister alone. He'd tease her mercilessly, wait for her to start crying and then play innocent. His parents fell for that so easily.

And now, he's looking at his own daughter, who stares right back at him, and they both know. He shakes his head, making sure Maya does not see and while it does make him mad, it makes him less mad that it should. Because ultimately, he knows that him and his sisters grew up just fine and this teasing eventually stopped. Still, his other daughter is wallowing in his arms and he can't ignore that.

Maya is the first one to speak. "Daddy...I don't want to have a baby," she leans back from his embrace and pouts at him in a way only seven year old know how. So raw, honest and unfiltered.

Lando must have misheard her. “Come again, sweetheart?”

He brushes few tears away. At least she’s not sobbing anymore and is focused on trying to get the words out. “I don’t want to have a baby, I’m too young for that”.

It’s hard not to agree with that. She is seven years old.

He smiles gently, trying to somehow untangle this. "Why would you have a baby?" Another stream of tears and cries follows and she wraps herself in his arms again. He sighs, as it is does not get easier with time to hear your little daughter cry and he looks up to Olivia, who's still sitting on her bed. He's not mad per say, but he's silently asking her to help him find an answer to this all. This is the first time that Liv's expression shakes up and cracks away, hinting on either guilt or at least a sorrow she feels at the sight of her own twin crying. Good, Lando thinks. He tries as much as he can to avoid automatically blaming her for anything without having enough information about the situation. But, his it's hard to ignore his intuition.

He turns to Maya again. "Sweetie, why would you have a baby? You're so young?"

Maya's voice trips over her own sobs, but she finally speaks again. "I...I kissed a boy today."

Now - hold on. First of all, why is his seven year old daughter kissing some boys? He feels himself tense up. Of course he knew this days would come, but he was silently hoping for ten more years of keeping his little angels as they were. Just young, tiny kids running around playing tag. Not kissing boys, girls or whomever. "Who did you kiss?" he can't stop himself from asking, silently hoping he does not know the parent of said boy, because there is no way of preventing himself from making the "concerned parent phone call". Monte Carlo is small, there is only few nursery schools around here. It's an everyone sort of knows everyone kind of situation. "Maya, don't worry - you're not in trouble," he adds, trying to make sure he keeps up on having his daughter willing to tell him stuff like that. She is not in trouble - the boy is. Lando used to be a boy. He knows what's up.

Maya's lip is trembling and her eyes are wet. He can't bear that sight. "Sweetheart, you're not pregnant. I'm sure of that," he consoles her and after few moments of deep thought, she seems to believe him. She ask once more for confirmation. His answered is interrupted by his other daughter, who now looks equally concerned as Maya was just a minute ago.

"But she is pregnant. That's how it works. Boys at the playground said so," she speaks, oh-so-sure of her claims. He face is serious and has a sense of fatality around it. He begins to understand how other children would fall so deeply under this spell.

Ah, Lando thinks and the penny drops. He runs his hands through his hair and has to chuckle just a bit. He doesn't want Maya to think he’s making fun of her, but the absurdity of the situation is too much. He leans back on his heels, looking between his two daughters. Maya’s face is still flushed from crying, and Olivia is sitting with her arms crossed, looking like a pint-sized prophet of doom.

He clears his throat, trying to sound as serious as possible. "Okay, let's get something straight out of the way. Kissing someone is not how you get pregnant," he speaks and his mind briefly flashes to the panic he and Y/N felt the moment they found out she was pregnant with the twins. It's been a long time ago and enlightening journey since, but he can somewhat understand the sentiment. He tries to ground his children down some more. "Look at me and Mommy. We kiss all the time and she is not pregnant, right?"

Olivia seems intrigued. "So, how do you get pregnant?" He looks at her and curses himself for walking right into that one. It's clear in her face and maneurism that she is going to be a very difficult teenager one day. "Ask Mommy when she comes back," he blurts out, not at all prepared for that talk. He's also already mentally ordering apology bouquet for his dear wife for throwing her under a bus like that. He turns to Maya again. "Anyway, you don't worry. You're not pregnant," he caresses her cheek and once she really does seem more calm, he asks. "Now - who kissed you?"

Maya glances at Olivia, and Lando notices his other daughter watching with laser focus. Olivia’s lips are pressed tightly together, her expression that of someone who knows something and is dying to spill it.

“Do you want me to tell him?” Olivia asks suddenly, looking unable to contain herself any longer.

“Liv,” Lando says with a sigh, shooting her a warning look.

“What? I already know who it was,” Olivia says, folding her arms across her chest with a dramatic flair that only a seven-year-old can pull off. He averts his gaze to Maya, who looks like is ready to fess up.

"You're not in trouble," he says and hopes he can keep up on his promise.

She tenses up and something tells Lando he actually does not want to know. "It was Lucas." Too late. “Lucas,” he repeats, his voice carefully neutral.

Maya nods slowly, her cheeks flushing pink. “Lucas Verstappen,” she specifies. Lando feels his stomach drop. Max Verstappen’s son. Of all the boys in the world, it had to be Lucas, the mini version of the Verstappen gang and what one would call a true heir of their infamous blunt approach to life. If this is true, it marks the beginning of a lifetime of headaches. His poor, sweet little daughter - one he'll have to protect until forever.

"And she kissed him too!" Olivia nearly screams out, letting her opinion on this known by the judgy tone.

Lando eyes grow wide and he silently thankful for Olivia spilling it like it is. Maya's guilt ridden face gives it away all. "Maya, honey, aren't you a little young to be kissing boys?" he asks rhetorically, because of course - his little angel should definitely not be doing that.

"I would never kiss a boy! They are gross and annoying," Olivia blurts out, ever-so-competitive. He's not sure what scares him more, Maya who's running around kissing boys or Olivia, who reminds him of himself more each passing day. Let's see about that, Liv, when in ten years I'm warding off boys from your window, he thinks, but does not say it out loud.

"He kissed me first!" Maya defends herself and snuggles into Lando's embrace more. He sighs. It's not been the quiet chill down he expected to return to.

"Okay, ladies. Let's all calm down. How about some ice-cream?" he offers, hoping that cheap bribing will buy him some time to think. The sudden cheers confirm it and he's adding another five flowers to the bouquet for Y/N, knowing she won't condone this.

//

He's watching his daughters munch on the impromptu ice-cream sundae, both of them sitting silently on the kitchen counter, apparently dead set on destroying their pajamas with colorful stains.

The name Verstappen still rings in his ears. They're suppose to have a little family get together tomorrow and for some reason, that's starting to increasingly bother him.

He excused himself for a moment and goes to the balcony, making what he fears is one of the first distressed "my daughter kissed someone" call in his life - and not the last one. Headache. That's what it is.

The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his voice sounding tired and politely annoyed.

“Lando. What’s up, mate? Is it urgent, I'm kind of dead tonight.”

Lando takes a deep breath, trying to sound calm. Oh, you and your son will be dead very soon.

"Hi Max, yeah, it sort of is," he murmurs, trying to think his strategy through. "We have to cancel tomorrow, something came up." Genius. That's who he is. Now, he just has to move his family away from Monte Carlo and make sure Maya never meets Lucas Verstappen ever again. Problem solved.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. "Cancel? What do you mean cancel? Lucas has been talking about seeing the girls all week." Of course he has. Lando groans internally. Of course Lucas has been excited. This wasn’t just any hangout. This was apparently the next chapter in their little playground romance.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, mate," Lando insists, leaning on the balcony railing, running a hand through his hair, overlooking at his dearest angels, who will need his infinite protection. "We can’t do it. Something came up. Okay, bye."

Max is quick enough to speak before he manages to hang up. "Wait, what? If it's a problem for you and Y/N, we can just take care of the kids, no problem."

Is it the whole Verstappen family that wants to take his precious daughters? Lando knows he might be overreacting, but he is a tired man with a resposibility over two seven year old. Cut him some slack.

"No. Canceled. Bye," he says and kills the call. There, all sorted. He immediately goes on figuring out some back up activity for the family, something that will sound so exciting that they will all forget about the Verstappens.

Max calls him right back and he does not pick it up.

The young father goes on putting the girls down, everyone is now calm and there are no more pregnancy scares. He is good at this. Everything is great. Just as the girls are tucked into bed, eyelids drooping and calm finally restored, Lando’s phone buzzes once more. He glances over at it, expecting Max to be trying again. Instead, he sees Y/N’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hi, love,” Lando answers, trying to sound casual. He winks at his daughters, who are always excited when Mommy's around. “How’s dinner?”

“It’s nice,” Y/N replies, but her tone has an edge, the one where he knows she’s about to interrogate him. “How’s everything at home? The girls okay?”

“They’re fine,” Lando says quickly and decides to leave the kids bedroom, so that he can pace around, as he always does when Y/N sounds like that. “All good here. No problems.”

There’s a beat of silence. He can feel her narrowing her eyes through the phone. He can hear the rush of the restaurant she's at, so her calling him must have a pretty good reason.

"Mm hm. So why did you cancel tomorrow’s hangout with Max and his family?"

Lando rolls his eyes, his brain scrambling for an answer while cursing Max mentally. Ugh. “Uh… something came up?”

"What "something," exactly?" Y/N presses, her voice filled with wonder.

"Just… things," Lando says vaguely, mentally kicking himself.

"Things," Y/N repeats flatly. "Lando, Max is suspicious. He just called me, distressed, asking what was going on, and now he thinks you’re mad at him."

This fires him up again. "Well, I am mad at him! So he got that right." Saying this makes him feel like the child in this scenario. Headache. Again.

Y/N sighs. "Did something happen on the track?" he asks patiently.

"What?" he asks, confused. He shakes his head. "No, no, it's um...The girls don't want to meet Lucas tomorrow, that's all."

Even he can't believe his tone.

"The same girls that spent the whole of yesterday excited about the bouncy castle they have at home?" she speaks with almost annoyed tone now. Lando groans, resting his forehead on the cool countertop. He does not have an answer. Just as he's about to fill her in on the whole kissing debacle, he continues. "Look, unless they're sick or something, can you please call Max and talk this out? I'm at the dinner and I can't just spend it all on the phone with my husband and his friend. Call him and talk it out."

Why is life so hard on him? "Do I have to? Can’t we just-"

"Lando," Y/N interrupts firmly. "You canceled without an explanation. You absolutely have to."

"Fine," he says, defeated. "Have a nice dinner, honey. I miss you," he concludes genuinely.

"Me too," Y/N says, her tone softening slightly. "I’ll check in when I’m on my way home. Love you."

"Love you too," Lando mutters, hanging up. He stares at his phone for a moment, then reluctantly dials Max’s number again.

It rings twice before Max answers, his voice dripping with faux innocence.

"Hey man. What the fuck?" Verstappens - always the pleasure.

"Max," Lando starts, rubbing his temple. "How are you? All good?" he asks politely, like the Brit he used to be once.

"What the fuck do you mean, how am I. You cancel out of nowhere and now Lucas won't talk to me, so yeah, great night off for me," he hears unfiltered tone coming through the speaker. He can't say it does not please him a bit.

"Well, it's late, he should be sleeping anyway," Lando let's out of his mouth before he thinks that through, ragging Max even further.

"You stop giving me instructions on how to raise my child and act like an adult for a moment, would you?"

"If someone should act more adult, it's Lucas," Yeah, Lando. Great comeback. Wow. The eight year old should act more like an adult.

Max manages to brush over that. "Did he do something to the twins? You need to tell me these things, how am I suppose to fix it if I don't know what happened? Or if something has even happened?"

It's hard to fight that logic. Especially after the evening Lando has had today. Lando sighs. There’s no way out of this, so he decides to just rip off the band-aid. "Maya told me… that Lucas kissed her. The silence on the other end is deafening. "And she kissed him back," Lando adds, cringing.

Max’s response is immediate: he bursts into laughter. "Oh, my God," Max wheezes. "Lucas and Maya? That’s amazing."

"It's anything but amazing, Max,” Lando snaps, pacing around again. "She thought she was pregnant because of something the kids on the playground told her! Do you know how much emotional damage I’ve endured in the past hour?"

Max is still laughing, clearly delighted. "Mate, you’re overreacting. They’re small. It’s harmless."

"This is the first boy she’s kissed, Max!" Lando argues. "Your son is now part of her origin story!"

"Oh, please," Max says, still chuckling. "What do you think is going to happen? They’ll run away together? They’re kids, Lando. Relax. It's normal for the to do this."

"I can’t relax," Lando grumbles. "And what’s worse, Olivia is now convinced she’s never falling in love because, and I quote, "boys are gross.""

Max cackles again. "Honestly, that’s probably for the best. Liv’s smart."

Lando's cup of patience, small one to begin with, is truly overflowing.

"Alright, alright," Max says, finally calming down and sensing that teasing Lando is not the way to go about it tonight. "Look, Lucas is a good kid. He probably just thought Maya looked pretty and didn’t know how else to say it. I’ll talk to him, alright? But you don’t need to cancel tomorrow over this."

Lando hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He knows they would all team up against him anyway. He lost this one. "You’re sure he won’t try anything else?"

Max snorts. "What, like propose? No, Lando, I don’t think so. He’s seven."

Fine.

//

The sound of children’s laughter fills the Verstappens’ backyard, the air warm and bright with sunlight. Like it's all mocking Lando specifically. The infamous bouncy castle stands in all its glory. Lando leans against a chair at the patio table, his arms crossed as he surveys the scene with the intensity of investors watching their car getting overtaken on track.

Maya and Lucas are bouncing together, grinning ear to ear like they’ve completely forgotten the events of yesterday. Meanwhile, Olivia stands off to the side, arms crossed and nose wrinkled in distaste, looking like she’s silently judging the entire scenery. She’s probably drafting her manifesto on why boys are, indeed, “gross.” Lando feels proud. At least one of his daughters is strong enough not to fall for cheap boy's tricks. Not even Y/N seems to understand the gravity of the situation. No matter how long Lando spent trying to explain it to her. Cute, that's what she called it. He hopes this is not a precedent. For now, he stands alone.

"You’re watching them like a prison guard," Y/N comments, nudging Lando gently as she sits down beside him.

"And for good reason," Lando replies, narrowing his eyes at Lucas, who’s apparently successfull at making Maya laugh. "He’s already made a move once. I’m not letting it happen again." He will sit happily sit in every playground they happen to encounter each other at.

Y/N hides her smile behind her coffee cup. "I think we’re safe for now. They’re just kids, Lando. You don’t have to treat Lucas like he’s some F1 rival trying to steal pole position from you."

"He is trying to steal something," Lando grumbles under his breath. Max strolls over, holding a plate of snacks, like the responsible dad he pretends to play, and looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Enjoying the show?"

Lando gives him a side-eye glare. "You think this is funny, don’t you?" Max smirks, popping a grape into his mouth and just nods.

"Your son traumatized my daughters yesterday," Lando fires away.

Max rolls his eyes. "And now they’re bouncing around like best friends again. Kids bounce back back. In this case, literally." Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

As if on cue, Lucas lands a little too close to Maya, sending both of them tumbling onto the floor of the bouncy castle in a fit of giggles. Lando tenses, halfway out of his seat before Y/N grabs his arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "It's fine." "For now," Lando protests, settling back reluctantly. From across the yard, Lucas suddenly stands up and calls out: "Mr. Norris!" Lando freezes, his eyes narrowing as the devil child approaches him. "What?" Lucas grins, holding up a flower he’s picked from the garden. He's rushing over to his and hands it to Lando, eyes filled with expectation and anticipation. "This is for Maya!" Speechless Lando accepts the flower, albeit confused as to why he's handing the flower to him and not to Maya, if she's the supposent recipient. Lucas flashes one look towards his father and in the corner of the eye, Lando can see Max nod approvingly. They really have all teamed up against him. Everyone is watching them and waiting for something exiting to happen. Olivia, the only one having Lando's back, lets out an audible groan loud enough to be heard across the yard.

"Oh, come on," she says, throwing her hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. I’m never falling in love. Ever!”

Y/N snorts into her coffee, Max doubles over laughing, and Lando buries his face in his hands. Meanwhile, happy Lucas runs back to the bouncing castle.

"Why is my life like this?" he wonders, looking up the sky for answers. None come. Y/N pats his shoulder affectionately. "Because you’re the dad of two amazing girls. And one of them might have a little crush. It’s not the end of the world."

"It’s the beginning of the end," Lando mumbles dramatically. Max grins, leaning closer. "You know, if Lucas and Maya end up together, we’ll officially be family. Imagine that, Lando," he pauses dramatically. "Maya Verstappen."

Lando's stomach turns upside down, he groans and turns to Y/N. "We're moving to another continent."

The domestic afternoon continues, adults laughing and talking - apart form Lando, who sits in his observant position, regularly sighing, back leaning and forth in his chair. It’s going to be a long, chaotic road ahead. And it looks like he's the only sane person around - in his opinion exclusively.

----------------------- note: fire up them ideas for this pseudo series!!! love you all

[joeyfranchise]

clouds in my coffee

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: everyone says joe is cocky, arrogant, self-centered… why do you keep letting him take you home?

warnings: explicit sexual content 18+, MDNI. mentions of alcohol/drinking.

word count: 2.2k. (much like general grievous, this fic was shorter than i expected.)

note: omg it’s been a while since i posted a joe fic… but i’m so back. i miss you guys and love you ♥️

every head in the building turned to watch joe burrow stroll through the door. you’d seen it happen many times, any time you wound up at the same event he was at, his natural gravitational pull drew all eyes and all attention.

he waded through the bodies with an effortless confidence, his aura hung heavy over the room like a fresh blanket of fog rolling in. his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose and you could’ve sworn you saw him eyeing himself in one of the windows he passed - but could you blame him?

any man who looked that good, had that physique, that confidence… joe deserved to feel good about himself. the stats didn’t lie, despite the difficult seasons he’d unfortunately endured the past few years, he was the best in the league. nobody could really argue that he wasn’t, and anyone who did spewed baseless nonsense in defense of their own sub-par quarterback.

his friends flanked his sides as he continued to roam farther into the party, they were all poised just like joe, their heads were held high.

you knew all the girls here dreamt of being his partner, those who surrounded him at every gathering hung on to his every word… but you also had the strange satisfaction of knowing that at every shared event you both attended, he’d end up taking you home.

despite his big reputation, you liked joe. there was just something about him that drew you in.

at some point in the night he’d make his way over to you and buy you a drink, or lean in and whisper in your ear seductively - and sometimes he didn’t have to say a word to you. he’d glance over his shoulder toward the door and you would follow him wordlessly out to his car.

this time would be no different, but you intended to play coy. you sat alone at the bar, your presence innocuous as the party raged on around you. you were hyper-aware that joe had already seen you, and you could feel his gaze burning into your back as your body was faced in the opposite direction.

you ordered a rum and coke, something fairly light, and you didn’t plan on finishing it. you took a few sips as you listened to the chatter of conversations around you, and you took out your phone to lazily check your notifications.

the girl next to you droned on to her friend about the boy problems she was having and you forced back a giggle as you saw her friend roll her eyes for what seemed like the fiftieth time. you scrolled through your text notifications and your instagram feed as you waited for joe to approach you, just like you knew he would.

after waiting for what felt like forever, you turned your head to see if you could find joe somewhere in the crowd, and you did. he sat at a round table with his friends. a few girls sat close to them, but they weren’t necessarily on top of the group. as if he could feel you looking, joe’s eyes met yours and he raised an eyebrow playfully. you jokingly rolled your eyes at him before turning back to your phone and taking a sip of your drink.

seconds later you could feel his dominating aura behind you, and the girls next to you suddenly went quiet. joe picked up your drink and took a swig, slightly grimacing at the rum as it burned his throat.

you bit back a laugh as you eyed him up and down. “you look good,” you told him, a careful attempt at complimenting him without stroking his ego. “mhm,” he agreed, leaning into you, “so do you.”

the girls next to you were now completely enthralled with the scene playing out before them, their eyes wide with bewilderment. joe’s breath fanned over your face as he continued to lean in, all the way down until his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “wanna leave?” he teased, his teeth grazing over your earlobe.

“what if i don’t wanna go with you tonight?” you countered, much to his surprise. he pulled back, wide eyes searching yours as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you… don’t want to come with me?” he asked, pointing back and forth between the two of you. you giggled at him before hopping off your stool and grabbing your things. you extended your hand toward his and he took it, eyeing you up and down.

“take me home, hot-shot,” you winked.

he didn’t need any further coercing. joe led you out of the crowded party and immediately to his car, opening the door for you so you could slide in just as you had many times before.

you weren’t sure what spurred it, what always kept you naturally drawn to each other like this — but you weren’t complaining. he quickly backed the car out and pulled into the road, heading straight for his house.

his hand found purchase on your thigh, his long calloused fingers squeezing over the flesh as his other hand white-knuckled the steering wheel. had your attempt at a joke pissed him off? you weren’t sure.

you kept your eyes trained on the road as your breathing started to quicken, all due to joe’s hand slowly sliding up your leg and closer to your throbbing core. you gasped as you approached a red light and joe finally turned his gaze toward you, the apples of his cheeks burning red as he dipped his fingers into your panties and scooped up some of your wetness before he traced the calloused pads over your clit.

that was why he was gripping the steering wheel so hard… it wasn’t that he was angry, he was just ridiculously horny. maybe it had been the alcohol he consumed, maybe it was knowing he’d get to take you home and fuck you silly… maybe it was all that wrapped up together.

the light turned green but joe didn’t notice, his focus was on the soft gasps he was pulling from your mouth as his fingertips continued to work over your sensitive nub. you’d begun to spread your legs wider for him, arching your back against the seat as he quickly worked you up to your high.

but then, a car behind you beeped their horn rapidly. joe pulled his fingers from your heat and gripped the wheel again, his foot pressing down on the gas hard to accelerate the car. you weren’t far from his house, and you silently pleaded not to hit any more red lights, you needed him bad.

joe continued to speed all the way home and quickly whipped his car into the driveway, barely putting it in park before he was jumping out and running over to your side and opening your door. you stepped out too, walking the short distance to the stairs and following him up.

joe quickly unlocked the door and pulled you inside, his hands finding your hips immediately as he pushed your back against the wall in the entryway. he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours, his tongue immediately sliding into your mouth as his knee slipped between your legs. he moved it up, slightly bumping it against your clit and you whined into his mouth. he pulled back from you and smirked at your already disheveled looks.

you gave him a wide-eyed gaze and he laughed before gesturing down the hallway. “you know where my room is, go ahead. i’ll be there in a sec.”

you furrowed your brow at him before following his command and heading to his room. once inside you slipped off your shoes before sitting gingerly on the edge of his bed, your hands resting on your knees.

he strolled in moments later and your mouth gaped open as you noticed he was already shirtless. “not in the mood for games tonight, i take it?” you asked him, looking him up and down.

“i’m not,” he shrugged, walking over and closing the distance between you. his hands reached around you until the found the zipper of your dress and he pulled it down as far as he could while you were sitting.

you stood from the bed and shrugged it off unceremoniously — you’d been with joe too many times to care about something so trivial. your clothes would end up on the floor each time anyway, so who cared about looking sexy while taking them off?

joe smirked at you and looked you up and down again, appreciating the navy blue lingerie set you had worn underneath your dress.

he slid his finger under the strap of your bra, pulling it forward and letting it go so that it smacked back against your shoulder with a loud pop. “this one’s pretty, baby,” he teased, walking you backwards until your body met the bed again, “too bad it won’t be on much longer.”

joe lifted you and sat you on top of the bed before reconnecting his lips to yours. his hands skillfully undid the clasp of your bra and he tossed it aside before attacking the column of your neck and shoulders with kisses and nips. when his lips finally wrapped around one of your pert nipples your body shuddered, and he laughed.

he used his thumb and forefinger to roll and pinch the nipple that wasn’t in his mouth, leaving you a whiny mess already beneath his touch. your hands tangled into his hair and you pull him off your breast with a loud pop to look him directly in the eyes.

“i’m not in the mood for games either, okay?” you challenged, a weak attempt at letting him know you meant business. he let out another low laugh. you could see he was already rock hard, it was evident by the very large tent in his pants, and you could feel how sticky wet you were with every shift of your panties against your core.

joe knew you wanted it and you were ready, the ball was in his court now. he pulled away from you to shuck off his pants and boxers and you used the opportunity to move up toward the pillows, encasing yourself with his scent as you waited for him to please you.

he crawled on top of you and pressed soft kisses to your stomach as he slid your panties down your legs, adding them to the pile of clothing that was accumulating on his bedroom floor. before he could continue to press any more kisses to your body you grabbed him, hauling him up toward you and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“no games, please. i need you, i need this. fuck me,” you pleaded… and who would he be to deny you of that? he pressed your legs to your chest and held them there with one arm as his other hand gripped his cock, pumping it a few times before slowly sliding into you. the pleasure was immediate, the feeling of being stuffed full took over your senses as joe pushed all the way into you and rested there.

you barely waited any time before you were scratching your nails down his forearm, signaling for him to move. he started with slow shallow thrusts and you let a few soft moans fall from your lips. joe let go of your legs so you could spread wider for him and pressed his chest to yours.

his hands were now holding a bruising grip on your hips and he dug his fingers into your skin as he began to thrust harder. the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and laboured breathing, and soft moans that fell from both of your lips.

joe’s fingers skillfully found your clit again and he began rubbing tight circles into you. your climax was approaching fast but you didn’t care, you knew you’d end up going a few more rounds before the night was over, that’s how it always worked.

joe knew the ins-and-outs of the exchange too, so when you warned him you were close and he said he was too, you knew he wouldn’t bother pulling out to cum. he knew very well that you were on birth control, he’d been in this situation with you far too many times to count.

he continued pistoning his hips into yours and the force kept driving you up the bed, so much so that you had to press a hand to the headboard to keep your head from smacking against it. joe was determined to get you both there quickly and with one more particularly hard thrust you were knocked over the edge, enveloped into toe curling pleasure.

you took deep breaths as joe worked you through it, he came just as you did. both of you were sweaty and needed a moment to catch your breath. he rolled off you quickly and gathered all of your clothes, throwing them into a bin next to his dresser.

you sat up and watched as he trudged toward the door, most likely headed to get some water. you admired your lovely partner’s ass and the way his back muscles rippled as he reached out for the door handle.

“babe?” you called, waiting for his response. your boyfriend then turned to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he answered. “yeah?” he said, laughing as he saw you waddling toward the bathroom.

“next time we do this role-play shit, i’m picking you up from the bar,” you giggle, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

he laughs too, then answers. “better not ever tell me you aren’t coming home with me again, then.”

photos and dividers used are not mine. cred to owners.

taglist: @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @bengals-barnesbabe @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @slimshiesty @yelenasbraid

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm curious how do you think Quinn would handle a breakup? Maybe one where he's being broken up with?

Boy, was this one hard to write... 90% of this is based on my last breakup, so... it's pretty... painful. SO ENJOY my misery! (I gave you a better ending than I had IRL, so you're welcome for that at least.)

"I loved you, I really did."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Quinn begged. "I still love you, Y|N."

"But you don't show it, Quinn. I've been so alone for so long and I just can't put myself through this anymore." Tears had been streaming down your face for several minutes now, since this whole spiraling conversation had started, yet you never broke eye contact with him. You wanted him to know how much this was hurting you to say and just how long you had been carrying the weight of it all.

"I tried to tell myself it would pass. It was this excuse, and that excuse, but nothing ever changed. I just don't think you can handle a relationship and your career right now. I'm tired of lying to myself. I'm tired of acting like tomorrow will magically be better. It's never better."

"Y|N I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you are, and so am I, but I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

Quinn said nothing, his eyes dropped from your face while he stood there looking completely lost.

"You always say I don't deserve to feel the way I do when I'm down, because you've caused me to feel that way, but that's as far as it goes. Nothing ever changes. It's the same stuff over and over."

"I know, that's on me," he choked out, throat tight with anxiety. "I never intended to hurt you. I didn't think things were as bad as they were. I didn't realize I was hurting you."

You just shook your head in disbelief at hearing him say he hadn't noticed what he was doing to you. "You know, maybe I just asked too much from you. Maybe I demanded too much and you had no choice but to push back. I just don't know."

Quinn's eyes flick back to you immediately, "You were never too much, and I meant that every time I told you -- every time I tried to reassure you. You have always been there for me."

"And what about you? Where were you when I needed you the most? Distant, closed off, out with the guys? Even when you were beside me, you weren't really there. I begged you to do stuff with me and you'd say sure, but something would always come up. It was like you wanted an excuse to be away from me. I understood in the beginning, but fuck! I wouldn't hear from you until the next day. 'Sorry, I fell asleep. I left my phone at the hotel.' How could I not be suspicious?"

"I never cheated on you!" Quinn cried out.

"But, Quinn, the goddamn panic attacks you caused me! That hurt me!" Your voice was so much louder now, straining to remain below a yell. He was a blur in your eyes, with the tears obstructing your vision. "I begged you for the smallest of things! Christ, I'd say, 'good night, I love', and it was like you'd just ignore what I said. You never said anything the next morning! You say you love me, but you're horrible at showing it."

Quinn's voice, on the other hand, was growing smaller each time he had to plead his case. "I never fell out of love with you, Y|N, it's just like we drifted apart. I love how you treat me. I just wasn't used to being treated that way. I'm sorry if it came off like I was pushing you away."

"It was months though, Quinn. Months of feeling like I was the third wheel or just another friend. I don't like feeling so alone in a relationship. It's horrible."

"I don't know what else to say, but I'm sorry. Can I do anything to make this better?"

You were biting your bottom lip so hard when you heard his half-assed apology you tasted blood shortly after. "No, I don't think so. Too much has happened. I never thought we'd come to this. I thought you were going to be the last guy I had to open up to; the last guy I'd have to explain my past to. I wanted you to be my last, Quinn."

"I know, and I'm sorry I hurt you like this. I just got too comfortable and never checked in with how you were feeling. It was selfish of me. I'm not proud of any of this."

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, too. Sorry I had to bring this up out of the blue, but I've just reached my breaking point one too many times."

Even through all of your anger and sadness, you wanted to walk over to him and give him one last hug, but you had to stand your ground or all of these revelations would be for nothing. Too many times before you had talked yourself out of telling him how you had felt, but there would be no going backwards now.

"I've got to put myself first for one," you finally brought yourself to say. "I'll get my stuff out of here while you're on the road."

"Y|N--," he mumbled, his eyes so sorrowful hearing you say your goodbyes, so finite and decided.

"I hope everything works out for you, Quinn. I really do. I hope you find the person that's right for you. Someone who can handle your life and schedule. Again, I'm sorry but that doesn't appear to be me."

That was it. You had said everything you had argued with yourself over for months, in a matter of minutes, and now you were leaving his apartment. You'd linger on your decision for a moment once the door closed behind you, but you had to force yourself to go forward though your heart was begging you to go back.

On the other side of the door, you wouldn't hear him finally break down; his cries unheard and his heart shattered.

You'd reach the parking garage and get in your car but you didn't leave immediately -- almost like you were wanting to see if Quinn was just behind you, but the elevator door never opened. It was for the best. What would you have done if he had? Run back over to him? Say you were sorry? It was best not to think about the what-ifs.

It would hit you, as you rolled onto the street, that the next time you returned it would be to get your things, and likely the last time you'd ever be at his apartment. That apartment held so many memories, both good and bad. It felt more like home than your own did.

You'd find yourself in a silent argument the whole drive home until one song, on your shuffled playlist, catches your ear. It was Venice Bitch, by Lana del Rey, a song you loved until, for the first time, you noticed how much it aligned with your emotions.

"Fresh out of fucks forever, trying to be stronger for you. Ice cream, ice queen... oh god, miss you on my lips. It's me, your little Venice bitch...on the stoop with the neighborhood kids, calling out bang-bang kiss-kiss...and as the summer fades away, nothing gold can stay...you're right, I told you we'd make it work, you're beautiful and I'm insane...we're American made...give me Hallmark: one dream, one life, one lover...paint me happy and blue."

The music swells, as your tears run off your jawline. You loved Quinn so much! He had been the prince you had dreamed of, wished for and what had you done?

"Oh god, love him on my lips...touch me with your fingertips...it's me your little Venice bitch."

You'd pull in your driveway, your forehead resting against the steering wheel while you screamed out in agony at your broken heart. Your body hurt from crying for so long, throat sore from such loud emotions, and chest heavy with anxiety. Eventually, you'd exit your car and drag yourself to your front door. You couldn't just crawl into bed after all of that, you would need help in crying yourself to sleep. So, in the kitchen, you'd go through two glasses of wine while you convinced yourself you were such an idiot. Realizing you had thrown away the best thing to ever happen to you, you would being crying to loudly, it was like you were screaming. It was any wonder you hadn't awoken your sleeping neighbors next door. There was no fixing this now. What was done, was done.

All you wanted was some comfort but there would be no one to give you any. Not now. You felt you didn't deserve it anyway.

Leaving the glass and open bottle on the island, you forced yourself to the bathroom to wash your face. Seeing yourself in the mirror --how broken you looked-- had you been any weaker, you would have thrown something at it to erase the image from your mind. If only it would have been that easy to erase Quinn's sad eyes pleading for you not to leave. You wish you would have just left the light off.

In your bedroom, either out of habit or for comfort you grabbed a shirt to sleep in, which had been one of Quinn's. It hadn't taken long for the slight buzz to affect you but you felt no lighter or less phased by your actions. You wondered if you ever would.

As you figured you would, you'd cry into your pillow until flat exhaustion would pull you into sleep. That was until the buzzing of your phone would wake you from the light slumber. On the screen, "Huggy Bear" illuminated the room in bold, white letters. You ended the call, but no sooner had the phone screen gone black, it was flashing again. Like the first one, you swiped the red button and the ringing finally ceased. The next time the phone would buzz would be from a text notification. The words would send butterflies pulling your heart in one hundred different directions.

"I'm outside. Please, may I talk to you?"

Torn between leaving him out there in the cold, and actually giving him a moment to say what he needed to, you laid there for a few minutes before throwing the blankets aside and stumbling down the hall to the living room. Wiping your cheeks, you unlocked the door to find him standing there, his hoodie pulled up around his messy curls and his eyes bloodshot and wet.

You lean against the doorframe for support; arms crossed in an attempt to hide your deeper emotions.

"Y|N, I don't want things to be this way. I don't want things to end like this."

It was so hard, but you stood your ground, no matter how hard you wanted to fall into his body and tell him you were sorry.

"I'll try harder. I shouldn't have taken you for granted like I did."

Finally, you say something to him with a slight shaking of your head," This wasn't all on you. I asked too much. I'm sorry."

Your stifled cries can't be held back for long, and shortly after apologizing, you cover your face with your hands to hide your crying. Your whimpers stab Quinn in the heart all over again, still feeling he's the sole reason you're feeling this way. He steps forward, and wraps his arms around you. He's so warm against the cold night air, which causes your nails to dig into his back, allowing yourself to return his embrace.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" You cried out, holding on to him like a lifeline.

"So am I," Quinn whispered in to your ear, trying to keep you from a panic attack. "C'mon, let's get you back inside. Is that okay?"

You'd allow him to guide you back into the warmth of the your house. He would be the one to shut and lock the door, and through all of that, he'd still keep you pressed against his chest.

"I never wanted to make you cry," he confessed, never realizing how much he could miss the feeling of you in his arms.

"I can't believe I hurt you like that, Quinn," you replied, hiding your face from his.

"Don't apologize, please." he said, nearly on the brink of tears himself. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much that we even got to this point in the first place."

The fact that he had even wanted to see you, to drive outside of the city to get to you, and above all else, not telling you how much of a horrible person you had been, spoke volumes of Quinn's willingness to be better for you. He wrapped both arms around you tighter than he ever had before. You were shivering, wearing nothing but that oversized t-shirt, but you didn't care; being cold wasn't going to take away whatever this moment was with Quinn.

"Are you okay?" He asked, running a hand up and down your spine. "You're shaking."

"I don't know."

"Come on, pretty girl, let's get you back to bed, hm? If you'll let me."

You nod, but were still reluctant to let go of him. Now you were forced to face him and it felt terrible to still see him looking so heartbroken. His cheeks were still wet with fresh tears, as he had apparently been silently crying while he had been holding you. You touched his face and his eyes closed against your touch.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes would open again, and he would try to smile for you. "I'm sorry, too."

Without another world, Quinn would guide you back down the hall to your bedroom, rather familiar with where everything was in the house. The light was off, your phone lay in the middle of the bed with the screen on. Your wallpaper was a picture of Quinn and yourself at last year's Stanley Cup playoffs, and it was the only light in the room. Quinn would click on one of the bedside lamps before reaching for your phone.

"I always loved that photo," he said, lingering on the photo for a moment before shutting off the screen and laying it next to the lamp.

You'd crawl into the bed and he would move to tuck you in, "I don't want you to hate me, Quinn."

He'd stop moving to return his eyes to your face. "I don't, sweetheart. I don't think I could...ever. It hasn't crossed my mind."

"But--"

"I'm not upset with you, baby. This is on me. What you said was true: I should have paid more attention.

You gasped through the beginnings of another crying fit, "I don't deserve it!"

"Shh, shh," Quinn leaned forward to cradle your face with his hand. "I needed to hear it, baby. The truth hurts sometimes. I'll be okay once you are."

"Will you-- will you stay tonight?" You asked, terrified he could possibly deny your request, trying to stop crying.

"Of course," he managed to actually smile. "I'd love to."

"Quinn, I'm so--"

"It's okay, it's okay. We've both said it enough."

You'd sniffle with an added nod as he pulled back the covers to get in next to you. He'd turn off the lamp before you found your place against his chest.

"I'll be right here when you get up, okay?" He assured.

"Promise?" You mumbled.

"I promise. I also promise not to make you feel like this again."

You didn't know what to say. It was like he had completely forgiven you for everything. "I don't want to lose you."

"You haven't sweetheart. I'm right here," he said, running a hand through your hair. "I love you."

Quinn's admission made you cry again, "I love you, too, baby."

"Shh, shh, you don't need to cry. I'm right here. I'm yours as long as you want me."

[hjvi]

𝙋𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙮 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙮 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

Pairing: Hockey!Chris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Chris promised no more fights, but when a cocky opponent crosses the line and touches you, he can’t hold back.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Violence. Make-up sex, fingering, oral, all that good stuff.

Word Count: 7k

The arena hums with anticipation, the sound of skates slicing across the ice filling the space, mingling with the roar of the crowd. You pull your hoodie tighter around you, your breath visible in the chilly air as you glance down at the rink. Chris stands at center ice, his stick resting on his gloved hands, his dark brown hair tucked beneath his helmet but still somehow messy and perfectly him. His blue eyes dart toward you for a fleeting second, and even from this distance, you can see the unspoken promise in them—a reminder of the one he made to you last night.

“No more fights,” you had said firmly, clutching his bruised hands in yours. His knuckles were still raw from his last outburst on the ice, and you couldn’t bear to see him like that again. “You’re getting hurt, Chris. You’ve got to stop. For me.”

He’d hesitated, his jaw tightening, the stubborn defiance you knew so well flashing in his eyes. But then, as always, he softened under your gaze. “M’kay,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere. “I’ll try, for real. No more fights. Promise.”

And now, as you sit on the cold bench near the glass, watching him skate with that effortless confidence, you hope he’ll keep his word. He’s always had a temper, quick to boil over when someone crosses a line, and hockey only seems to amplify it. But tonight, you just want him to play. To stay out of trouble.

The game begins, and Chris is electric, weaving in and out of defenders like they’re nothing. He’s fast, almost too fast, and you can tell he’s showing off a little, especially when he scores the first goal and immediately glances toward you, a smirk tugging at his lips. You can’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with pride and affection.

But as the game wears on, your focus is drawn away from the ice.

It starts innocently enough—a guy from the opposing team, number 27, walking past during a break and tossing you a casual, “Hey, you’re way too pretty to be sitting here alone.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat. “Not alone. My boyfriend’s playing.”

He laughs, a cocky sound that grates on your nerves. “Oh, the bad boy on your team? Figures. Bet he doesn’t treat you half as good as I would.”

You glance toward the rink, where Chris is waiting for the puck to drop, his posture tense. He must have seen the interaction because his jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed as they flicker between you and number 27.

“Just leave me alone,” you say firmly, turning your attention back to the game.

But the guy doesn’t take the hint. Between plays, he keeps finding excuses to walk by, flashing you a grin or making some snide comment. Each time, you can feel Chris’s gaze burning into you, his grip on his stick tightening. He’s trying to hold back, you can tell, but the strain is visible in every line of his body.

When the second period ends, the guy takes it a step further.

He walks over to your bench, leaning casually against the barrier like he owns the place.

“So, what do you say? One date? I’ll even let your boyfriend keep his teeth—if he behaves.”

You stand up, your hands curling into fists. “I said no. Now get lost.”

But instead of backing off, he steps closer. His tone darkens, his words dripping with venom.

“You know, I think you’re the type who likes it rough. Does he even know what to do with you? I’d bet anything you’d be screaming for me in minutes.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying to sound firm, but your voice trembles.

He grabs your wrist, pulling you closer, his grip tight and unrelenting. “Don’t act like you don’t like the attention. Your boyfriend’s too busy trying to show off to even notice.”

“Let go of me,” you say, your voice rising in panic.

But instead of releasing you, he shoves you against the cold plexiglass. One hand pins your wrists above your head, his breath hot and sickening on your cheek. “You scream, and I’ll just make it worse,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with malice.

Tears sting your eyes as you struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong. The cold air bites at your exposed skin as his free hand yanks your hoodie upward, exposing your chest. The chill makes you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the humiliation burning in your chest.

“See? That’s better,” he sneers, his eyes roaming over you. “Betcha Chris love these titties.”

“Stop it!” you cry, your voice breaking, but he presses a hand over your mouth.

“We’ll save that screaming for later,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against your cheek.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice trembling, but he only presses closer.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice sickly sweet. “I just want a little peek.”

You thrash against him, but his hold is too strong. Red circles form on your wrists from his crushing grip.

“Get off me!” you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The sound of someone shouting your name cuts through your panic, and suddenly, the weight is gone.

Chris’s teammate, Ryan, shoves the guy off you, yelling, “What the hell are you doing, man?!” Another teammate quickly steps in, throwing his jacket over your shoulders to shield you from view as you collapse to the bench, shaking.

Chris, meanwhile, is oblivious, focused entirely on the game. He scores again and turns toward you, expecting your usual wink of encouragement. But instead, his eyes land on the commotion.

His face pales.

One glance at you, disheveled and trembling, and at the guy being restrained by his teammates, is all it takes for Chris to understand.

Chris throws off his helmet and skates full speed toward the bench. He leaps over the boards in one fluid motion, his entire body radiating fury.

“Chris, no—” Ryan starts, but it’s too late.

Chris grabs the guy by the collar, yanking him to his feet. “You sick piece of shit,” he growls, his voice low and menacing.

Before the guy can respond, Chris’s fist connects with his jaw, sending him staggering.

The sound of the punch echoes through the arena, silencing the remaining murmurs of the crowd. The guy stumbles back, his smirk replaced by a look of shock as he tries to regain his balance. Chris doesn’t give him the chance. He grabs the guy’s jersey, yanking him forward, and lands another punch—this one to the cheekbone.

“You think you can put your hands on her?” Chris snarls, shoving him against the boards. “You think that’s okay?”

The guy smirks through the pain, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “What are you gonna do about it, lover boy? Hit me again?”

Chris obliges, landing another punch square in the guy’s face. Blood sprays from his nose, and he lets out a pained grunt, but Chris doesn’t stop.

“Chris, stop it!” you cry, but he’s too far gone.

His teammates try to intervene, trying to pull Chris back, but he shoves them off with a force that surprises everyone. His focus locked on the man before him. “You’re gonna learn real quick that you don’t mess with her,” he growls, landing another punch.

The guy struggles, trying to shove Chris off, but it’s like trying to stop a storm. Chris delivers a series of blows, each one harder than the last, the sound of bone meeting bone echoing in the arena.

“You don’t touch her!” Chris yells, his voice hoarse. His knuckles are split open now, blood staining his gloves and smearing across the guy’s face. “You don’t fucking look at her!”

The guy finally fights back, swinging a weak punch that barely grazes Chris’s shoulder. Chris laughs darkly, his eyes wild. “That all you got? Hit me, you coward! Come on, hit me!”

When the guy hesitates, Chris slaps him hard across the face, leaving a visible handprint on his cheek. “What’s the matter? Scared? Hit me!” he yells, his voice echoing through the arena.

The guy takes a shaky swing, but Chris dodges easily, retaliating with a brutal uppercut that sends him crumpling to the ground.

“Hit me back, you pussy!” Chris roars, slapping his own cheek hard enough to leave a red mark. “Come on! Hit me! Show me what kind of man you think you are!”

The guy tries to crawl away, his hands raised in surrender, but Chris grabs him by the collar and lifts him off the ground. “You were so confident before,” Chris spits, his face inches from the guy’s. “Where’s all that big talk now?”

“Chris, stop!” you scream, your voice breaking through the chaos.

But Chris doesn’t stop. He slams the guy against the boards, the plexiglass rattling with the force. The guy’s head snaps back, his eyes dazed, but Chris isn’t done. He raises his fist again, his knuckles raw and bleeding, ready to deliver another blow.

Chris looms over him, his chest heaving, his knuckles split open and bleeding. His jersey is torn, and a bruise is already forming on his cheekbone. He looks more animal than man, his rage consuming him entirely.

“Chris!” you cry again, louder this time, tears streaming down your face.

This time, he hears you. He freezes, his fist hovering in the air, his chest heaving as he glares down at the guy. Slowly, he lowers his hand, his fingers trembling.

The refs finally manage to pull him away, but Chris doesn’t resist. His gaze shifts to you, and the fury in his eyes softens, replaced by something else—guilt.

He starts toward you, his steps unsteady, his face a mess of bruises and blood.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice raw.

But you’re not okay. You’re shaking, your wrists throbbing from the earlier assault, tears streaming down your face. “Why didn’t you listen to me?” you sob, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear.

Chris steps toward you, his hands outstretched, You flinch as he reaches for you, the memory of his violent outburst too fresh.

The reaction cuts him deeper than any punch ever could.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. You clutch the jacket tighter around you, your wrists still aching where the guy had pinned them.

Chris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to explode again. But then he takes a step back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I should’ve been paying attention,” he mutters. “I should’ve—”

“You promised me,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. “You promised no more fights.”

“He fucking deserved it!” Chris shouts, the anger bubbling back to the surface. “You think I’m just gonna stand there while some asshole puts his hands on you?���

“You didn’t have to beat him like that!” you shout, your voice rising. “You didn’t have to lose control!”

“I lost control because of him!” Chris snaps, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see him touching you, hurting you?”

“I told you I could handle it!” you yell, your voice echoing in the now-quiet arena.

“Handle it? He had his hands all over you!” Chris fires back, his voice rising. “Do you even understand what that looked like? What he was doing?”

“You think I don’t know?” you snap, tears streaming down your face. “You think I wasn’t terrified? But you losing control doesn’t make it better, Chris! It just makes it worse!

Chris stares at you, his chest heaving, his face a mixture of anger and anguish. “I can’t just stand by,” he says finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I can’t. Not when it’s you.”

“I didn’t need you to protect me like that!” you yell, your tears coming harder now. “I needed you to be the person you promised me you’d be!”

Chris looks away, his jaw tightening. “You don’t understand,” he mutters.

“No, you don’t understand!” you fire back, your voice shaking with emotion. “Every time you do this, every time you let your anger get the better of you, you hurt yourself—and you hurt me! Do you even see what you’ve done to yourself?”

Chris glances down at his hands, his knuckles bloody and swollen, his jersey smeared with blood that isn’t entirely his. For a moment, he looks lost, like a boy caught doing something he knows is wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

But it’s not enough. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Chris,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry doesn’t undo the promises you’ve broken.”

His shoulders slump, and for a moment, he looks like he might cry. But then his stubbornness flares up again. “You’re mad at me for protecting you?” he asks, his voice rising. “For doing what he deserved?”

“I’m mad at you for not listening to me!” you shout. “For putting yourself in danger and making me watch you destroy yourself!”

“I don’t care about me!” Chris yells, his voice raw. “I care about you! I care about making sure no one ever touches you like that again!”

“That’s not your choice to make!” you scream, your voice breaking completely. “You don’t get to decide how to protect me, Chris. That’s my choice. Not yours.”

Chris stares at you, his chest heaving, his face a mess of emotions—anger, guilt, pain. Slowly, he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides.

“I don’t know how to be what you want me to be,” he says softly, his voice barely audible. “I’m trying, but… I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches at his words, but you can’t let yourself soften—not yet. “Figure it out, Chris,” you say, your voice trembling. “Because I can’t do this anymore.”

Chris flinches like you’ve struck him, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“I can’t lose you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t lose me by letting me fight my own battles,” you say, your voice trembling. “You lose me by breaking your promises. By scaring me.”

The words hit him like a blow, and for the first time, Chris looks truly defeated. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping, and turns away, leaving you standing there with tears in your eyes and your heart aching in your chest.

Leaving the rink felt like walking through a fog of tension so thick it pressed against your chest. Chris followed closely behind you, his skates swapped for sneakers, his bruised and bloodied face a painful reminder of the chaos earlier.

“Just get in the car,” he said, his voice hoarse but soft as if he was scared of pushing you further away.

You hesitated by the passenger door, your fingers twitching on the handle but unable to pull it open.

“I can’t,” you muttered, refusing to look at him. The sight of his swollen knuckles and the cut on his cheek only deepened the ache in your chest. “I can’t sit there and look at you right now, Chris.”

The words hit him visibly, his shoulders sagging. He stepped back, giving you space, but his hand hovered by the door handle of the driver’s side.

“I’ll park nearby. We don’t… we don’t have to talk about it yet. I just need to get you home safe.”

Reluctantly, you climbed into the passenger seat, folding into yourself as far away from him as you could manage. The silence in the car was suffocating, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional, barely audible hiss of Chris’s sharp inhales every time he moved his bruised body.

You sat stiffly, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, refusing to look his way. Chris’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they turned white, though it was hard to tell under the dried blood. His lip was split, the swelling on his cheekbone casting a shadow over his face.

At a red light, you finally spoke. “Pull over.”

Chris’s head whipped toward you. “What? Why?”

“Just do it, Chris. Please.” Your voice was steady, but the tremor underneath was unmistakable.

He obeyed without another word, pulling into an empty lot. You got out, slamming the door behind you, the sound reverberating through the quiet night. Chris followed, watching as you rummaged through the trunk and pulled out a first-aid kit you always kept there—ironically, because of him.

“Sit,” you ordered, pointing to the curb.

He hesitated but sat down, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the ground. You crouched in front of him, your hands trembling as you opened the kit. The sight of his face up close made your stomach twist. His bruises were angry and purple, a stark contrast against his pale skin. Dried blood clung stubbornly to his knuckles.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly as you opened his hockey bag and fished out a small first-aid kit.

“I don’t want to,” you replied sharply, your hands trembling as you grabbed antiseptic wipes and gauze. “But someone has to, because you clearly don’t care what happens to you.”

The sting in your words made him flinch, but he didn’t argue. He let you dab at the cuts on his face, wincing now and then but staying still. Your hands shook the entire time, a mix of anger and worry making your chest feel tight.

You cleaned his knuckles with practiced care, though your hands shook so much that you nearly dropped the alcohol wipes.

“You promised me, Chris,” you whispered, the words heavy with hurt. “And look at you now.”

His blue eyes, usually so confident, were full of guilt as he looked at you. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make it right, but I’m sorry.”

Chris’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I…couldn’t… I saw him…”

“Stop.” You cut him off, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “Just stop. I can’t hear it right now.”

He nodded, biting down on his lower lip so hard you worried he’d split it further. The silence between you stretched thin, filled only by the faint rustle of bandages and the distant hum of traffic.

When you finished, you stood abruptly, stuffing the used wipes back into the kit. “Let’s go.”

The drive home was no better. You stared out the window, your arms crossed, while Chris kept stealing glances at you, his jaw tight. As soon as you reached the house, you were out of the car and inside before he could say a word. You slammed the bedroom door behind you, locking it for good measure.

Chris knocked once, twice, but you ignored him, curling up on the bed with tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

Hours passed. The silence in the house was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the floorboards as Chris paced the living room. You lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your chest tight and your eyes burning from unshed tears. When a soft knock came at your door, you didn’t answer, expecting him to give up again. But instead, his voice broke the silence.

“Hey,” Chris’s voice was muffled through the door. “Can I… Can we talk? Please?”

You didn’t respond. He sighed, the sound heavy with guilt.

“I was thinking… maybe we could go get McDonald’s fries. You love those, right? It’ll… it’ll help. Please. Just let me do something for you.”

Your stomach churned, torn between your anger and the small, stubborn part of you that missed him—that wanted to believe he could fix this. Finally, you got up and unlocked the door. Chris stood there, looking more broken than ever.

Chris standing there, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. His face was even more bruised now, the swelling setting in, and you hated the pang of concern it caused.

Wordlessly, you grabbed your jacket and followed him to the car. The drive to McDonald’s was silent, but less tense than before. When Chris ordered, he only got fries for you and a drink for himself.

“You’re not eating?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

He shook his head. “My stomach…” His leg bounced nervously as he added, “I’m just… not hungry right now.”

When the food came, you barely touched it. You sipped on your Pepsi while Chris picked at the fries, holding one up to you.

“You should eat something,” he said softly.

“I’m not hungry either,” you replied, looking out the window.

“Eat,” he urged gently.

“No,” you said firmly, turning your head away.

His hand faltered, You noticed then that his hands looked different—bare.

“You… took off your rings?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes lingered on his bruised knuckles.

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel, his fingers tightening on it briefly before relaxing. “Yeah,” he said, almost a whisper. “They have cracks in them now. And… I know little things like that can… trigger stuff. I just…” He trailed off, his leg bouncing erratically. “I didn’t want to make it worse. Even seeing me like this…” His voice cracked, his words faltering as he turned to you, raw and exposed. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. You turned to look at him fully, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the bruises, and the raw guilt etched into every line of his face. Without thinking, you leaned across the console and kissed him.

The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, almost frantic, a collision of emotions you’d both been holding back for too long. Chris responded immediately, a quiet, surprised sound escaping him as he slid a hand to your jaw, his rough thumb brushing against your cheek. The other hand tangled in your hair, anchoring you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

His lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a passion that left no room for doubt. He kissed you like he was trying to pour every ounce of remorse, every unspoken word, every promise of love into you. Your fingers gripped his hoodie tightly, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solidity of him, the proof that he was here and not slipping away.

You didn’t realize you’d climbed into his lap until you felt the firm press of his thighs beneath you, your knees brushing the worn fabric of the seat. The steering wheel was digging into your back slightly, but it didn’t matter. You needed this closeness, this raw, unfiltered connection.

Chris’s hands slid down your sides, pausing at your waist as if he was afraid to hold on too tightly. His breath hitched when your thumb brushed over the bruise on his cheek, and he winced slightly but didn’t pull back. Instead, he kissed you harder, his teeth grazing your lower lip in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but Chris didn’t let you go far. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your lips, his voice shaky. He kissed you again, harder this time, his fingers slipping under your shirt to rest against your bare skin.

You gasped at the contact, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the rough texture of his bruised knuckles. It sent a shiver through you, making you grip his hoodie tightly.

“Chris,” you breathed between kisses, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours with every word. “I’m here, and I’m so sorry.”

His hand moved slowly, reverently, tracing small circles on your skin. The tenderness in his touch was almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of his kisses. You could feel the faint cuts on his fingers, each one a reminder of the night’s events, but it didn’t make you pull away. If anything, it made you kiss him harder, needing to feel connected to him in a way that words couldn’t achieve.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

When you finally pulled back for air, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his. His breath was warm against your lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound the faint hum of the engine and the soft rain tapping against the windows.

Your gaze drifted downward, and that’s when you noticed the faint discoloration peeking out from the neckline of his hoodie. Your fingers reached out instinctively, brushing against the bruise on his collarbone. Chris flinched, a quiet hiss escaping him, but he didn’t stop you.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly, your voice trembling with concern.

“A little,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced down at your hand, his gaze following the slow movement of your thumb over the bruise.

You felt the faintest tremor in his body, and then his leg started bouncing beneath you again. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your hips, moved hesitantly. He began playing with your fingers, his rough, calloused hands dwarfing yours as he twirled them gently, almost absentmindedly.

Your breath caught as you noticed the details of his hands—the rawness of his knuckles, the faint streaks of dried blood around the small cuts, the way his nails were uneven from nervous chewing or a hasty attempt to clean them. His hands had always been rough, worn from years of work and fights, and yet they moved over your fingers so delicately, as if afraid they might break.

“Chris,” you said softly, tilting your head to look at him. His leg stilled for a moment before starting up again.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but insistent.

He hesitated, his jaw working as he avoided your gaze. His hands tightened slightly around yours, his thumbs tracing circles on the backs of your palms. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost shy. “M’so sensitive,” he murmured, his accent thicker than usual. His eyes flickered up to meet yours for a fleeting second before dropping again. “Can I… make you feel better?”

Mere moments had passed before you were both clamoring into the back of the van, limbs bumping into limbs, soft laughter echoing inside the vehicle as Chris reached over your middle to pull the door shut. As soon as the door had shut, your lips were on his, your hands blindly fumbling with the front of his jeans.

You'd just gotten the button undone when his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them back as he pulled away from your kiss. You were left pouting, the sight adorable and pitiful enough to pull a laugh from Chris as he set your hands down in your lap.

Elated laughter bubbled in your chest as his hands slid up and underneath your skirt, the fabric bunching up around your hips. You helped him with a gentle lift of your hips, allowing him to hook his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, before slinking the fabric down your legs.

"You're going to cum on my tongue." He stated, tone full of nonchalance as he tossed your underwear toward the front of the car. "And, I want you over me when you do."

"You want me to sit on your face?" You asked, lips quirking up into a smile as you bit back laughter, truly believing he was joking. "Is that what you're asking me?"

Chris only nodded, and only then did the realization of his request register in your mind. Heat prickled at the nape of your neck, spreading forward until it encompassed your chest in a deep blush. Sensing your nerves, Chris's thumbs rubbed gentle circles above your hip bones, his head ducking down to meet your avoidant gaze.

"Hey," he whispered. " Nothin' I haven't seen before. It'll feel good, doll, promise."

So, you allowed him to help you into a position that didn't have both of you groaning in discomfort. Maneuvering into a position where you straddled his shoulders, in the back of an already narrow car, wasn't exactly the easiest to accomplish. Somehow, you both managed, mostly thanks to Chris's hands keeping you steady as you moved over him.

The chill of his scarred fingers bit into your thighs, keeping you sunk in the present, hovered over him as he looked up at you from below. There was nothing other than pure, unadulterated lust pouring from his eyes, pupils blown so heavily there was only a crescent of color visible. His fingers tapped, once and then again, a nonverbal request for you to lower yourself.

So you did.

He met you halfway, tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt, delving between your folds to collect your essence against his tastebuds. He wanted to savor you, that much was readily apparent by his hardened grasp on your thighs, all but cementing you atop his face. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as a plethora of broken-off moans tumbled past your lips.

You begged for him, murmuring his name between praises lost on your ears, but not his. Each word, no matter how garbled by pleasure, left his hips rutting up into the air as he circled his tongue around your clit. Your hips moved in synchrony with his tongue, adjacent swirls, and he let you. He had always favored dominance, being in control of the situation, but having you atop him had him praising every divine figure he could conjure in his lust-riddled mind.

“Chris-“ You crooned, the noise so sweet it pulled a moan from his chest, the vibration left directly against your aching cunt. You smiled, a mixture of a laugh and moan leaving you as your hands raked through his hair, tugging at the short strands. “So good, Baby.”

With an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, he pulled away. It was for a fraction of a second, needed to slip his right hand between your thighs, but you were left whining and pouting. He tutted from between your thighs, lips, and chin glistening with your cum.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispered as his middle and ring fingers pushed inside of you, delicately curling to brush against a spot that had your thighs clamping down around him. “It'll feel good, I promise.”

His left hand squeezed your hip, guiding you just as he would if you were riding him. You unconsciously followed his guidance, sliding down onto his fingers, before raising yourself, only to repeat the motion over, and over. Lewd squelches sounded from between your thighs, your cunt dripping a mixture of cum and saliva down onto his palm.

“See?” He asked through a breathy laugh, quickly resuming his position between your thighs. “Told ‘ya I’d make you feel better.”

You wanted to berate him for his cockiness, you truly did, but the feeling of his lips encircling your clit left you breathless. If anything, any ridicule would’ve turned into a garbled mess of his name.

A groan of a laugh reverberated in Chris’s chest, yet he never pulled away. His tongue lapped at your clit, intervals of swirls and sucks following each grunt he managed to sound out. The sounds were carnal, stoking the steadily building flame in your lower stomach. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, pulling him closer, yourself closer. In truth, you weren’t sure if he could breathe, but neither of you moved from where you were.

“That’s it, Baby.” He rasped, words hardly audible, muffled from your cunt. You managed a sighed moan in response, your hips rolling, sliding your cunt against his tongue. His fingers thrusted into you, mimicking the tempo of his eager tongue, each lap and circle of the muscle pushing you closer to the edge.

The uptake of an octave, your head rolling back as your eyes squeezed shut; Chris knew each instinctual move of your body by heart. His eyes stayed locked on you, memorizing the sight of you coming undone above him, riding his face like a woman starved. His free hand lifted from your hip, curving around the plush of your ass, knowing he needed a tight hold on you to keep you steady.

“Chri-“

There it was, the familiar beckon of his name. His cock strained against the confines of his boxers, tip leaking precum, smearing against the now dampened fabric. His thighs tensed as his hips rolled, desperately seeking some form of reprieve as your cunt twitched around his fingers. Instead of verbalizing his reply, he squeezed the swell of your ass, wordlessly urging you to cum.

White-hot pleasure seared your veins, unconsciously twitching your limbs, tightening your hold on his hair. Your cunt spasmed, clit throbbing against his circling tongue. You cursed under your breath, eyes squeezed shut, mind solely focused on the ecstasy overtaking your body. Chris grounded you with slow brushes of his hand along your thigh, fingers still inside of you, lips placing gentle kisses on your oversensitive clit.

“Alright?” He asked, tone rough enough to pull a surprised laugh from you. You nodded, threading your fingers through his hair.

“More than alright.” You replied. “Way more.”

Instead of hovering over his face for another second with wobbly legs, you moved yourself back, giving Chris enough time to situate himself upright. His hands found your hips quickly after, gently guiding you back to his lap.

In an almost instinctive move, you lowered yourself to place your lips on his. His hands slid around your back, fingers absentmindedly grabbing at the fabric of your hoodie as his lips moved with yours.

You braced yourself against the rear windshield, the slick condensation gathering in the palm of your hands, smearing your fingerprints down the pane as your lips moved against his. If anyone had passed by, anyone at all, they would've gathered what you both had gotten up to.

Neither of you could bring yourself to care, not when Chris slipped his hands underneath the back of your shirt, his fingernails scraping along the curve of your back to have you closer as he sucked your tongue.

Your lips curved into a smile at the move, the lucrative, nearly addictive slide of his tongue against your own. He knew you, knew your body and how to make it tick. Your hips rocked against his lap, causing his already hard cock to twitch and pulse against the confines of his jeans.

"You're still hard," you rasped into the kiss, "I can make you feel good, too."

He groaned, his eyebrows knitting together as his hips bucked up into you. You bit at your bottom lip as you moved your hands from the rear windshield, letting your now cool skin slide down his front, keeping your eyes locked with his as you unzipped his jeans.

His lips parted in a silent moan as your hand slipped underneath the hem of his boxers, your fingers curling around the thick base of his cock. You could feel each twitch of his cock beneath your palm, the skin slick and warm, coated in his precum. You slid your hand up, leisurely pumping him, the act enough to have him grunting out your name.

You savored each lecherous moan that fell from his lips. With a shift of your hips, you centered yourself over his thigh, rolling your hips down in tandem with each stroke of his cock. You knew you were dampening the denim, soiling it, yet all you saw reflected in Chris's eyes was the same debauchery you held heavy in your mind.

“Fuck me.” You begged, tired of the hassle, of denying yourself the most innate of pleasures. He relented with a lift of your body, allowing his hard cock to slide along your folds, catching against you. You watched as he lowered you onto him, his cock sliding into you deliciously slow.

Thin, red lines followed his nails as they dragged up the skin of your thighs, coming to a halt at your hips where he steadied you. You could feel his cock pulse inside of you, twitching just before your cervix. You watched him with bated breath, allowing him to guide each movement of your hips, and he did so with precision.

"So tight," he murmured, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of pure lust and concentration, as though the mere sight of you atop him would undo him if he gave into it. "So fuckin' good."

All you could muster was a moan in response, your hips rolling forward, each forward motion brushing your clit against his lower stomach. Your thighs strained, muscles burning, yet you paid them no mind in favor of the persistent push of Chris's cock, the way his tip brushed against your g-spot with each shift of his hips.

His eyes flitted, sight torn between your breasts and the needy, desperate look in your eyes. He shifted beneath you, planting his feet against the floorboard, giving himself enough stability to thrust upward, pushing himself deeper than before.

The shift in position forced the air from your lungs, a pitiful, broken-off mess of a moan passing your parted lips as you grasped his shoulders. He whispered something to you, but whatever it was had been lost on your muddled mind in favor of the budding feeling of ecstasy coiling in your lower stomach.

"Chris-" You whined, the urgency in your call not lost on him. He nodded, wetting his lips as he rolled his hips upward. You could feel your arousal dripping between your thighs, smearing along your skin as well as his, coating his lower stomach in your cum.

"That's it, doll." He whispered, his left hand moving between your thighs to circle his thumb around your clit, rhythm syncing with each pump of his hips. "C'mon, cum for me."

Ecstasy coiled tight in your stomach, and with each swirl of his thumb and pump of his cock, you felt it twist tighter and tighter. Your hands moved from his shoulders, fingers threading through the back of his hair where you pulled. His mouth fell open, eyebrows lifting as an expression of shock-induced euphoria crossed his face.

So, you pulled harder, the harshness of your hold mirrored in the desperate way you fucked yourself on his cock, movements so frenzied you felt your muscles burning beneath your skin.

A deep, almost sinful moan rumbled in his chest. You swallowed it with a kiss to his lips, hands moving to his jaw as your tongue moved with his. His thumb was slick against your clit, and with a gasp of his name, your cunt spasmed around his cock.

"Fuck, that's it." He groaned, words strained as he teetered on the edge of his orgasm. "Let it out, doll."

Your lips moved from his, kisses trailing down his cheek, onto his jaw, before you settled your cheek to his shoulder, simply choosing to give yourself over to the onslaught of pleasure Chris had you wrapped up in. Chris's hold on your hip tightened as his head fell back, his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched as his cock twitched inside of you, each pulse filling you with his cum.

You both shared the blissful silence that came afterward, the only noises being the occasional breath and whispered praise, the brush of his hands against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, words muffled by the press of his lips against your throat. "I'm sorry."

You nodded, leaning into his touch, his lips, with a thread of your fingers through his hair. He continued murmuring into your skin, you drank in each word, heart slowing in your chest, calming with the promises he spoke only to you.

His hand moved from your hip, thumb, and forefinger resting against your chin, tipping your head up to meet his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed together, skin coated in a thin veneer of sweat. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, yet his eyes never left yours.

"You're my girl." He whispered, and you nodded. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

You placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb, the sincerity in his words causing you to smile. He smiled in return, fingers splaying against your cheek where he held you gently.

"It won't happen again, alright?"

His voice was gentle, his eyes reflecting the same tenderness. You leaned in, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and pressing your face into the crook of it. As your head rested there, the faint bruise on his skin seemed to fade under the warmth of your touch. He pulled you closer, his arms encircling your waist, and his hands softly brushing between your shoulder blades, meeting your embrace with a soothing comfort.

"Good apology, been workin' on it for a while?" You joked, placing a kiss on his jaw with a soft bout of laughter. You felt him laugh, the vibration of his chest against yours.

"Nope." He admitted, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "You're worth a genuine apology."

"Sap." You teased, but your tone gave way to your true feelings, how much you appreciated his honesty, his words. He caught on, but never made it known, instead choosing to reply with another kiss to your skin.

"Yeah, guess I am."

A/N: I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to post a fic about Chris playing hockey. The idea of him being so competitive, passionate, and, let’s face it, a little too quick to throw punches has been living rent-free in my mind forever. Thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me that you took the time to dive into this story any interactions are appreciated 😊

tags- tags - : @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44

[twistedpink]

RAHHHH!!! I loved your hypeman Jamil post!!! Kindly requesting the same thing but with my sweetheart maidenless loser Idia <33

He is SO maidenless

Being Idia’s cheerleader is much easier than some of your friends would say- Sure, he’s a little self deprecating, but god he’s cocky. It’s any support’s dream for their “construction project” to have that sliver of confidence, and boy does he get overconfident when he competes!

Boyfriend!Idia that’s adapted to “summoning” you for raids,, He’s convinced you’re his good luck charm. After all, he burns that much brighter when you’re around! Idia even hooks you up with your own accounts on the simpler rpgs that he plays, so you can live your dream of being a bubbly support character. (“YEAH, uh, if you want to ig..”) His duo loves you, and calls you a “special kind of keeper” (Lilia vs Idia x Reader anyone??)

Being the supportive!Reader is really rewarding with Idia. All he’s ever wanted is someone to take his side and not regret it, you give him that <3 If anyone’s his “ideal type”, it’s you. He doesn’t even get embarrassed when you do it in public anymore! So long as you stay quiet, whisper him those sweet nothings, it’s a massive buff!!

omg Idia getting you a set of his headphones so you can sit in on his “shoot em’ ups”,, He can only dream of you trashtalking the other team with the passion that you hype him up, but it’s not the end of the world, he’s snide enough for two :) Whenever someone decides it’s a good idea to pull moves on you in vc he’s got an obnoxiously long list of insults to through. You’ll always feel protected from internet creeps! What more could you ask for?

Idia’s grown to really like taking a compliment (even from his skeezy classmates, pick your poison), but not so much with giving them.. He’s just comfortable, not spoiled!! With enough time and patience he’ll learn to hype you up in return without exploding. There’s no way he can leave you now- it’d be a waste of his training montage! <3

[charmedimsure]

Hi i like to make an request for an Nam-gyu x fem player oneshot or headcanons whatever works better with you to write with - for reader join their team cause she was once a background dancer during one of thanos shows and is loyal to him but falling for the more brutal (cinnamon roll!) Nam-gyu slowly during the games?

Shadow of Loyalty || Nam-gyu

pairing: Nam-gyu x f!reader

summary: You get dragged onto the team of a rapper you used to dance for, but you can't complain when another team member keeps giving you that cute smile.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: guns, death, drugs, blood, squid game stuff

A/N: i've been wanting to write for nam-gyu but couldn't think of anything so ty 🙏 if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

"Hey," a voice says behind you. You turn, seeing a girl with short hair standing there. She wears a choker, as well as a nose ring and lip ring. "Do you have a team yet?"

You smile at her, shaking your head. "No."

"We should team up," she says. "I'm Se-mi. What's your name?"

As you're about to tell her, you see a familiar head of purple hair in the crowd. The same head you've been avoiding for the past day.

You lower your face, bringing your hand up to shield yourself. "Oh, crap."

"Señorita, excuse me."

Se-mi turns around, as she hears the voice, staring at Thanos.

"Let's play the game together."

You shrink a bit, positioning yourself so Se-mi is blocking you from Thanos' view.

"Well, why should I?"

"Don't you know who he is?" one of the boys at his side asks. "He's Thanos, the rapper. I'm gonna kill half of humanity with my raps."

You turn your back to them, trying as hard as you can to keep the rapper from noticing you.

The other boy speaks up. "Hang on, a girl? We don't know what the game is."

"I, Thanos the great, will protect you."

Se-mi breathes out a laugh. "Right, Thanos. So have you got all the infinity stones?"

"Of course." You roll your eyes, knowing he's showing off his dumb nail polish. "I'm going to destroy anyone who gets in my way. Just stick with me and you'll be safe. Okay?"

"But I already asked someone to join me," Se-mi says. Your heart picks up.

"No problem. Who is it?"

Se-mi moves to the side and you turn, giving the rapper a tight-lipped smile and small wave.

"No way," Thanos says, a wide smile on his face. He comes up to you, throwing his arms around you. "Señorita! I can't believe you're here!"

"Woah!" the boy to the right of Thanos says, eyes wide. "You were one of his dancers, right?"

You nod, not quite making eye contact with the boy. You look up at the other one and find that he's staring at you, mouth parted slightly.

Both of Thanos' hands grab onto your shoulders, squeezing them. "This is gonna be awesome."

You look at Se-mi, seeing her give you an apologetic look. You just shrug. At least you have a team.

<>

"Please decide players for each mini-game."

You lean forward, looking at your team on both sides from your spot in the middle of the line. "I can do Jegi. I was good at it as a kid."

"I'm doing Jegi," Thanos says. "You do Spinning Top."

You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath. "I'm not good at Spinning Top."

"I can do Spinning Top," the boy between you and Thanos says.

You nod at him, a silent thank you. "I'll do Gong-gi."

"I can do Flying Stones," Se-mi says.

You nod and look past her to the boy sitting on the end. "Are you alright doing Ddakji?"

He nods, a smile on his face. "I was going to volunteer for it anyway."

You smile. "Great. We got this, guys."

<>

"The following players have been eliminated. Players 016, 045, 178, 189, 198, 254, 286, 341, 396, and 416."

A man on the other side of the room stands up. "We should have left! We're all going to die now! We're all going to die because of those who voted to continue!"

Another man stands. "What are you going to do now?! You think you can survive?! Look at them!"

You feel movement to the left of you and turn to see the boy next to you leaning toward Thanos.

"Can you... can you please give me one of those?"

Thanos eyes him up. "'Those'?"

"The thing you took. You're keeping them inside your cross."

You sigh. You're well aware of what Thanos keeps in his cross. He's tried to get you to take them a few times while you were working together. Thankfully, you always said no, not letting him persuade you into anything.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"If I get nervous and lose the game, we'll all die," The boy's voice shakes. "My hands are shaking like crazy."

Thanos sighs. "Nam-su."

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right. Nam-gyu." Thanos unzips his jacket, taking out his cross. "Do you know what this is?"

You lean closer, curious. Thanos never told you what they were, part of the reason you turned them down every time.

"Ecstasy? Ketamine?"

Thanos shakes his head. "It's a new kind. It's fucking crazy, man. You can't handle it."

"Hey." Nam-gyu rolls up his sleeve, showing Thanos the inside of his elbow. "I did all kinds of stuff when I was working at the club. I even brought you some when you came to the club."

Thanos opens his cross, taking out one of his pills. "You junkie." He hands it to Nam-gyu, who quickly pops it in his mouth. Thanos looks over Nam-gyu's shoulder, seeing you watching them. "Want one, Señorita?"

You shake your head. "I'll pass."

Nam-gyu looks at you, face falling as you give him a look of disapproval.

<>

The rounds kept going until it was your turn. The boy on the end, who you found out is named Gyeong-su, was able to flip the Ddakji on his second try, and Se-mi hit the stone perfectly on her first attempt.

You walk to the next mini-game, the one you're doing. You take the pieces off the table, crouching as the guard puts the table on the floor. You scatter the pieces onto the table.

Blue. Green. Yellow. Red. Purple. Good.

Purple. Yellow and green. Red and blue...

You deflate as the blue piece falls out of your grasp and onto the track.

"Seriously?!" Thanos yells. "Pick it up and do it right this time!"

You shoot a glare at him. He might not realize it, but his demeaning comments are certainly not helping.

Nam-gyu picks up the fallen piece, handing it to you. "You were so close, you can do it."

You take the piece and nod, once again focusing back on the game.

Red. Yellow. Blue. Green. Purple. Good.

Green. Yellow and blue. Red and purple. Good.

Yellow. Red, blue, purple. Green. Good.

Purple. Green, blue, red, yellow. Good.

Back of hand. Good.

You take a deep breath before tossing the pieces up, quickly grabbing them out of the air.

The pink guard puts their arms up in a circle.

"Pass."

You smile as Nam-gyu shakes you in happiness. The guard takes the small table away from you and you advance to the next mini-game.

The pink guard hands Nam-gyu the top and the string. You watch as he wraps the string. You had been nervous when he took Thanos' pill, but you have to give it to him, his control over the string is flawless.

He pulls his hand back and throws it. You smile as it spins in front of you.

"Pass."

You all celebrate before moving to the final mini-game. Thanos takes the Jegi, pushing the guard out of the way. He throws it into the air.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks.

The Jegi falls to the ground.

You huff as Thanos picks it up and throws it again.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks.

The toy hits the ground once again.

You can't help but roll your eyes. You would have gotten it by now had he let you play Jegi. Your high score as a kid was 27 kicks in a row. You look at the clock. You still have a minute left. Good.

Thanos lets out a yell of frustration, picking up the Jegi and throwing it.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks. Five kicks.

"Pass."

Your team jumps up and down in celebration before regaining composure. You cross the finish line with 29 seconds to spare.

You and Se-mi turn to each other, hugging as you all celebrate. You turn to Nam-gyu, who is already smiling down at you. You smile back and high-five him. At the end of the line, Thanos jumps up and down, nearly knocking you all over.

You put your arms out to steady Nam-gyu and he thanks you as the guards come over to remove the bindings from your ankles.

<>

You watch as five more people walk into the room.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you and turn to see Nam-gyu. "How many do you think are left?"

You take a quick look around. "Maybe 200?"

"Shit," he sighs. "That's way too many."

You shrug. "I like that there's more people here." Nam-gyu gives you a confused look. "There's safety in numbers."

Thanos raises both of his arms. "Stop talking." He points at you. "How old are you again?"

You roll your eyes. "28."

"So you were born in 1996," he turns to Gyeong-su. "How old are you?"

"Born in 1998."

He turns to Se-mi. "You?"

"Born in 1996."

He thinks for a moment. "It's settled. Gyeong-su is the youngest, and the girls are the oldest." He turns to Nam-gyu. "Nam-su, you were born in 1997, right?"

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right, Nam-gyu. Is that right?"

Nam-gyu nods.

Thanos points at you while still looking at Nam-gyu. "Hey, call her noona since she's older."

Nam-gyu chuckles. You feel a small smile pull on your lips at the sound.

Soon, the pink guards come into the room, announcing that 110 players had been eliminated in the second game. They bring out the machine for voting and everyone moves to the center.

"You're voting to stay, right noona?" Nam-gyu asks you.

You breathe out a laugh. "Yeah, but this is probably the last time." You smile at him, lightly hitting his shoulder. "And don't call me noona. I'm younger than you, just don't tell Thanos, Nam-su."

He frowns when you call him the wrong name, opening his mouth to correct you but stopping when he sees the teasing smirk on your face. He chuckles again, nodding his head.

<>

Nam-gyu watches as Thanos opens his cross, taking out a pill and popping it into his mouth. He takes a step in his direction, about to ask for one. He stops when he sees you out of the corner of his eye talking to Se-mi, laughing at something the girl is saying. With a sigh, Nam-gyu turns away from Thanos, instead moving to Gyeong-su.

You're all brought into a new room. There are doors lining the walls and a big platform in the middle of the room that looks like a carousel without any horses.

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

"Hey," Thanos says, clearly high off his ass. He turns to your group. "We'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?"

You all get onto the platform and it begins spinning, a children's song playing over the speakers. The first round is ten, and you find another group of five players, getting into the room safely with ten seconds to spare.

You come out again, once again getting onto the platform. The music stops and the voice calls out four.

Thanos looks between you, Se-mi, and Gyeong-su before stopping on the last one.

"Please," the boy pleads.

"Gyeong-su, you're out!" Thanos kicks the boy to the ground. "Let's go!"

Nam-gyu stands there for a moment staring at Gyeong-su before he feels someone grab a hold of his sleeve, tugging him along after the group. He gets in the room and the door locks, you letting go of him. Nam-gyu tries to look out the slot for Gyeong-su but you pull him away. It's best if he doesn't see it.

"Wait!" Thanos holds his arms up. He points toward all of you. "Where did you leave my boy Gyeong-su?"

You give him an incredulous look, jumping when the sounds of gunfire starts.

Thanos brings his hands to his head before running towards the door and looking out the slot. "Fuck! Gyeong-su!"

You and Se-mi look at each other, both of you thinking the same thing. Thanos would have done that to any of you. He can't be trusted. Especially when he's high.

You're released and you go back to the platform. When the music stops this time, the voice announces three people to a room.

Thanos stands and looks between you and Se-mi. "Who should we take? Rock, paper, scissors!"

Se-mi turns to you, holding her hand out. "Come with me."

You nod, taking her hand. "We'll find one more, you guys do the same."

Nam-gyu nods, grabbing Thanos by his jacket and pulling him along.

Se-mi and you manage to find one more person and get into a room on time. When you come out, you look around for the boys. You see the familiar head of purple hair and smile when you spot Nam-gyu next to him.

They run up to you. You smile at Nam-gyu. "Glad you made it."

He smiles back. "Me too."

The next round is six, so you find two other players and make it to a room. When you're let out, it is announced that this will be the final round.

"Two."

Se-mi goes to reach for you, but she's pulled away by Thanos as he sprints toward one of the rooms. Nam-gyu watches as Thanos runs away, a look of betrayal adorning his face.

You quickly turn, grabbing Nam-gyu's hand and taking off toward a green door. You're able to get there before anyone else and close the door behind you, pushing your weight against it to keep anyone else from getting in.

The lock clicks and you sigh in relief, moving away from the door. You turn to Nam-gyu. "Are you alright?"

"He left me," he says, a faraway look on his face. "I've been nothing but loyal to him, and he just left me there."

You sigh, walking to him and rubbing his arm. "Nam-gyu, Thanos isn't a good person. He can't even remember your name. A person like that doesn't deserve the loyalty you're showing him."

He keeps looking at the door as the gunshots go off. He turns to you, looking at you for a few moments before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. "Thank you. Thank you for not leaving me."

You hug him back. "I'm not gonna leave you, Nam-gyu."

He sniffles. "I won't leave you either."

You pull back and see his smile. You can't help but think it's kind of cute, making you smile back at the boy, a warm feeling in your face.

Squid Game Tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy @l5byrinth @come-as-you-are-111 @starkeyszn @learninglinesintherainn @galactict3a @sawlover353 @jspidey5

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

[girlwhorizzed]

your whole life you'd been celibate, at least that's what you've told everyone your whole life.

it'd started when you entered middle school, being an early bloomer n'all you had what most girls didn't— boobs and an ass. you’d been cautious since then, especially once the attention of guys in your grade began to grow, and so had the teasing. but that doesn't mean you wanted them. the baggy clothes you wore to cover up yourself represented that— you didn't fit the shoes of someone who took pride in showing themselves off.

you’d grown to dread the look in their eyes, how they looked you up and down but especially when they’d let their gaze linger on your chest and ass before looking back up to your face. it made you feel objectified, no less of a person and just a pretty doll to take their lust out on, nothing more than their own personal toy.

that was till you met jj.

you’d seen him around the island in a faded black hoodie always wearing that stupid cap and a joint perched between his lips, all you knew of him was that he was blunt, a smartass who wouldn’t sugarcoat anything to save your feelings— he spoke to people like an equal — and it intrigued you. safe to say that year in ninth grade you made it your personal mission to get to know him, although you'd went to elementary and middle school, you never really got to know him.

you'd expected nonetheless for him to be alike to all the others boys in your grade, but with jj it was different, something about him felt so real to you. he was attractive, and not in that pretty boy look-at-me kind of way that the boys were; with his messy unkempt hair, that you assumed he'd cut himself— the permanent scowl on his face and the scruff on his chin like he never bothered putting effort into his appearance.

you’d never thought you’d even find yourself being with him, at first it was just because he was the one guy who caused trouble any chance he got, looking like the typical bad boy that every parent warns their child about, and that you should definitely steer clear of. he certainly did catch your eye, though. every time he’d be sitting on his own outside smoking, his hands fiddling with the lighter, you’d find your eyes drifting towards him during lunch, only to snap yourself out of it.

your sucked back into reality by jj, he’s kissing against the sensitive skin of your neck before his lips move higher to your ear, nipping at your lobe before letting go to speak, that voice of his all sultry and deep sending chills to your stomach. he's applying sloppy kisses to your cheek now, the sweat created within the two of you becoming slippery and it's a struggle to keep close.

you’re on your back, legs wrapped like a bow around jj's waist as he works to satisfy you— his hair is getting longer and messy, strands sticking together from the sweat and it’s hanging over his face, the ends tickling over yours whenever it gets close enough and it’s absolutely wrecking your brain and you can’t get enough of it; the sight and the touch, his face, all of it.

you can't keep the moans contained much longer— it all becomes to much. he’s pressing his thumb onto your bottom lip to stop your moans from getting too loud. “shh, shh..” he mumbles, and you’re trying your best to hold them back but you can’t really help it when everything feels like that and it’s so hard to keep quiet. “you gotta stay quiet.” his voice is so gentle, and you manage a whimper as you nod, feeling him smile against your skin.

“mnghh. oh — oh fuuucck, right —” the way he’d groan low like that, the sound coming from deep within his chest — like he was in need, like you somehow felt too good to handle. both his hands were gripping the underside of your thighs, anchoring you to him, keeping you close, keeping you in place. you’re panting heavily, mouth open in ecstasy as you whine out his name — it was embarrassing, it made you feel so vulnerable in his arms. you’re desperate — for release, for him, you’re squeezing around him.

you look like you’re in bliss, head dropped back in ecstasy, letting loose all the sinful moans that you know drive him absolutely feral. his fingers grip the undersides of your thighs, holding you down on the pillow while his mouth sucks and bites at the skin of your neck, teeth leaving behind an imprint of his possession. the sounds of your whines and whimpers bouncing off the walls, adding fuel to the fire that’s burning away deep inside him that drives him forwards, craving your pleas and gasps as they spill out through your perfect pink lips.

he’s swearing, breath coming out in huffs, eyes almost screwed shut — as though taking in every last single feeling, and he’s looking down at you, looking at the way you’re writhing under him — mouth hanging open in a constant string of moans, eyes glossy, hair messy and sticking to your forehead.

he thinks to himself that you look almost pornographic, the thought makes you suddenly feel so exposed, he’s looking at you with such adoration, and his pace is steady but firm — but you feel so bare under him, it’s starting to become a little overwhelming — almost too good, too intimate — overstimulating. it’s too much, and you suddenly start to squirm, as if trying to get away almost — but you don’t go far. he’s too in-control — he always is — even in such intense circumstances, he holds you in place, keeping you on his bed as he murmurs lowly, keeping his voice even and smooth. ”c’mon, don’t start doing that now. be a good girl." he coaches you, giving you a rough pat to your side.

the praise alone nearly makes you start to whine again, his voice is commanding you, soothing you, it’s sending heat through you straight to your core — and it’s only then that he notices your trembling. "jayj! it's— too much!" your legs struggling against him, nails digging into his scalp and back, squirming all around like a cat getting a bath.

”oh, baby..” a pause. he starts to speak, the tone more loving than before. “is it too much, honey?” he lets his voice go soft as he asks tenderly, and you’re suddenly feeling so spoiled by him, feeling so loved and full, he lets go of one of your thighs to check on you.

you feel sensitive, overwhelmed. a little shaken up if you were to be honest, but with the way he was treating you like fine china in this moment, you were beginning to feel better. it was hard to form any words, you’re trying to even your breathing, hands coming to rest on his shoulders — you’re holding on to him, needing to feel his strength as you calm yourself down. you just needed him, always did. you nodded sweetly, flashing him a cheeky reassuring smile— "uh-huh jayj m' okay!"

his eyes almost gleam when he sees that beautiful smile of yours, and he’s letting out a slow exhale as he takes in your blissed out expression, taking in everything there is to see — he’s starting to calm down too, feeling satisfied, but it all comes to a stop as he hears the tone of your voice. "you’re such a good girl, you know that?” he murmurs, and you feel so safe in his arms, feeling like his own personal teddy bear in the moment — something to keep close, to adore.

as it’s your first time, it was expected to be overwhelming — you’d never felt so full in your life — so vulnerable. his touch was so gentle as he kept going, making sure you were okay. it’s intense, but his constant caresses and praises keep you calm and reassured. it’s a lot but it’s good and there was no one you’d rather be with to take that first step. "i love you."

“god, you’re a lil angel, ain’t you.” he murmurs, his tone all velvety, you think you would’ve melted right then and there if you weren’t already a puddle under him. he takes your hands from his shoulders and pins them back next to your head now, using his hands as leverage to hold you down and keep you in place.

it’s only a month into your weird situationship and he’s got you completely entranced — and he can see that. you like to pretend you’re not clingy, that you weren’t absolutely enamoured with him, the pining look in your eyes betrayed you. he’s never been the “exclusive” type but having you constantly coming around and begging for his attention all the time was starting to warm his heart, in a way that he wasn’t used to. it felt nice.

you bat your eyelashes at him, taking his time and being patient with you, making sure everything is perfect and you feel good— even made sure you felt comfortable on your back, propped up stuffed animals although that's bare minimum, you still appreciated the effort he put into your first experience, it turns you on more then ever, you know he's ticking not to go rough on you. "y'could go rough y'know."

he’s scoffing, shaking his head a bit, his hands are rubbing your wrists now — rubbing light soothing circles on the sensitive skin. “don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, i don’t wantcha hurtin’ yourself.” he speaks softly, keeping his tone gentle and light. protective almost, like you were a delicate little bird he didn’t dare scare away.

“please.” you murmur, voice pleading, hands clawing into his shoulders. “just a lil harder? i want it, i can handle it.” he bites his tongue, jaw muscles clenching — he hesitates just for a moment, eyes flicking between you and the headboard as he weighs up his options. he knows if he does what you ask it’s over for him, all his self-control is gone when you’ve got him so soft.

“you don’t know what you’re on about. just — just trust me, okay? i’m not gonna hurt you. i need you to trust me.” his hands are rubbing your thighs again, trying to soothe you before his tone turns almost stern. "y-yes, i trust you. just..” you pause for a moment, taking in his intense gaze, his hands still resting on your thighs, holding you on the bed as he looks down at you, struggling to defend your own honor.

“ “please? i can take it. i just —” you began to ramble, noticing when j went silent you cut yourself off, suddenly embarrassed, suddenly feeling so small under his gaze.

’m i understood?” he looks at you pointedly, waiting for an answer. he can be so authoritative sometimes, it’s a bit surprising when he's the goofy one in the relationship.

you want to argue with him on it but you can't bring yourself to do so, he's still inside you after all and you can feel his movement even if it's fatal. but it does things to you, you can’t lie, making you feel all warm and fuzzy. it makes it hard to argue back at him, especially in this vulnerable position — he still hasn’t broken eye contact with you, waiting with that firm look on his face for your response. for the little time he knows you, he grew to adapt to the fact that your silence speaks louder than your words.

it’s only a few moments but it feels like forever before he looks away, sighing out as he turns his head, breaking the intense eye contact. he’s still continuing his gentle ministrations as he starts to speak again. “i’m just looking out for you, okay? you’re new t’this and i don’t want things getting any rougher than the basics for your first time, yeah?”

just as your about to let it go, forget it and confide into him— your hit with something you can't find to put into words. it happened accidentally because the position you were in began to cause an ache in your back, you shifted more frontal up and back to fast. it all happened so fast, your head goes fuzzy from the unexpected feeling. it’s like electricity is coursing through your spine, heat and pleasure spreading through every nerve in your body. “oh — oh! fu-” it’s so intense and a part of you wants more, but another part of you panics at just how good it felt, it feels like too much but yet you find yourself clenching tighter around him as he keeps you pinned, like your body is betraying you to feel more of that feeling.

she’s completely embarrassed, feeling so flustered at the loud moan that escaped her. it didn’t make it any better with the way he grinned a smug smug grin that made his handsome features all the more striking. it’s almost condescending when he speaks again, tone cocky. “aww, my baby got her first milestone, squirting!” he says in a voice that should be used for a school graduation, but instead it's for you, because you had an orgasm.

it makes her heart pound, even more so when he brings one of his hands up to her face again to caress her cheek in a reassuring motion. “i was only teasin’ yuh, darlin’.” he chuckles lightly, “you’re doin’ just fine, okay? you’ll know what y’can take and what you can’t, all you needa do it tell me.” his voice is caring, and gentle. he was always so caring of her, always so gentle, so tender like she was fine crystal and he didn’t want to break her.

before you could even acknowledge what had happened, he’s already pulling out, sitting back down against the headboard of the bed before you lay against him. he pulls the blankets up around you, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulders and pulling you close. “did so good, honey..” he murmurs as he runs his fingers through your hair tenderly, you can feel the rumble in his chest against your ear, his low voice soothing.

you just smile, accepting the praise and his love— a little irritated that your left to wipe up the liquid you'd oozed out, still a little surprised all that came out of something so— little.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi can you do a fic where y/n buckys fiancé who is also a winter soldier but has telepathic powers and teleportation abilities gets kidnapped and reprogrammed again and they have to fight her to snap her out of it and it ends with smut and y/n finding out she is pregnant with twins a boy and girl?

Forever After » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Fiancée/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Fiancée/Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are supposed to be planning a wedding, but you get kidnapped and reprogrammed again. Not too long after Bucky gets you back, you two find out you’re pregnant with twins.

Warning: Fluff, little bit of Angst, Smut (18+), language, Winter Soldier!reader, pregnant!reader, enhanced!reader, HYDRA, kidnapping, sweet/dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Hey. Have any of you seen Y/N?” Bucky asks as he walks in the lounge room.

“Not since this morning. Why?” Steve says.

“Her and I are supposed to go over more details of our wedding, but she’s not answering any of my calls or texts.” He says.

“Her phone probably died or something.” Natasha says.

“Probably. I hope that’s all it is.” He says.

Meanwhile, you regained consciousness in the lab where you first developed your telepathic powers and teleportation abilities. You already know this couldn’t be good. HYDRA is the ones who tested those powers and abilities on you. Since you can’t call or text Bucky with your phone, you decided to try to send a signal to him by using your telepathic powers. You took a deep breath and gave it a try.

“Bucky, I’m in trouble. HYDRA found me and kidnapped me. Please hurry.” You said.

Bucky stopped in his tracks when he felt something. It was the signal from you, telling him that HYDRA kidnapped you and you need help. Bucky’s heart dropped and his eyes widened. He quickly changed into his mission suit and got his gun and knife.

“I’m on my way, doll.” Bucky says to himself.

You were tugging at the restrains to get free, but it was no use. They were too tight and there was no way you were getting out of them any time soon.

“You’re awake!” A familiar voice said.

You looked up to see the HYDRA scientist who tested on you. Your eyes widened.

“What do you want from me?” You asked.

“To reprogram you.” He answers. “I see you haven’t been using your powers and abilities to how I programed you.” He says.

“I’m not using my powers and abilities to do your dirty work anymore.” You say, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Not yet, but you will.” He replies. “Starting with your fiancée, Sergeant James Barnes who’s also known as the Winter Soldier.” He says.

“No. Please don’t make me do that!” You begged.

“Too bad. You don’t have a choice.” He says.

He sat down at the table across from you, opening up your file. Your eyes widened. You tugged at the restrains again.

“There’s no use in tugging at the restrains. You’re strapped down good.” He says.

You groaned and huffed in frustration, tilting your head back. The only thing on your mind is if Bucky is on his way to you.

Your head shot back up when the HYDRA scientist started reading the trigger words that turns you into the person you aren’t anymore… the Winter Soldier. You’re not the same Winter Soldier as Bucky was. You’re a Winter Soldier with powers and abilities.

“No!” You shouted as he continued reading the trigger words. “Please!” You begged.

You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your hands into fists. No matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t get out of this. After he read all of the trigger words, your eyes glowed blue. The scientist smiles in satisfaction.

“It’s nice to know that those words still work on you.” He grins.

The scientist pushed your file aside and stood up, grabbing a piece of paper and the key to the restrains. He unlocked the restrains and took them off of your arms and legs. You slowly stood up in front of him.

“Ready to comply.” You said obediently.

“This man is your mission.” The scientist says, showing you a picture of Bucky.

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute. I’m assuming you contacted him with your telepathic powers earlier.” He says.

You nodded your head.

“You know what to do when he gets here.” He says.

As if it were on cue, Bucky busted down the door. He felt relieved to see you. He immediately walked to you, stopping in his tracks when he saw your eyes glow blue and your signature grin form on your face. His eyes widened. He hasn’t seen that grin in a while and you haven’t used your powers and abilities in a while either. Bucky grabbed the scientist by his white lab coat and slammed him up against the wall.

“What the hell did you do to my fiancée?!” Bucky growls.

“Reprogrammed her for what she’s meant to do.” The scientist says, grinning evilly.

Bucky growls again and knocked him out with a punch to his face. He dropped him on the floor and turned his attention to you.

“Doll…” Bucky’s voice sounded calm and cautious. “You don’t need to do this.” He says softly.

“Don’t do what?” You asked, tilting your head a bit.

Bucky already knew this wasn’t going to end good.

“Doll, please.” He pleads softly.

“Doll isn’t here anymore. The Winter Soldier is though and she’ll like to have a little talk.” You say.

Bucky’s breathing got shaky for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Please don’t make me fight you.” He pleads.

“Too bad you don’t get a choice, Soldat.” You say, walking towards him.

Bucky cringes when you called him Soldat. He hasn’t been called that in a long time.

“You look scared, Soldat.” You say, playfully pouting at him.

“I’m not scared.” Bucky says.

“So if I read your mind, you won’t be lying?” You asked.

“No. I have nothing to hide from you.” He says honestly.

“Oh yea?” You raised your eyebrows. “What about a certain mission you did in 1991?” You asked.

Bucky gulped and his jaw clenched when you said that. You rose your hand up to his head so you could read his mind, but he grabbed your arm before you could.

“Stop it.” Bucky almost whispers. “I don’t want to fight you.” He says.

“Why? Are you scared you’re gonna lose?” You tauntingly asked.

“I don’t lose.” He says confidently.

“Then fight me.” You say.

“No.” He says.

You chuckled lowly before throwing a punch at him, hitting his jaw and catching him off guard.

“C’mon, Soldat. It’ll be fun.” You say.

“I’m not fighting you.” He says again.

“Ok then.” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

You opened a teleportation portal and stepped in it, turning around and waving at Bucky. The portal took you to a different room in the base. Bucky jumped in the portal before it closed, tackling you to the groan. You groaned when you hit the ground. He pinned your arms to the floor above your head so you didn’t try anything.

Bucky knows if he keeps denying you, you’ll keep provoking him into fighting you. He doesn’t want to fight you, but he has no choice. He thinks if he fights you, he might be able to break through the programming and get your normal self back. He might as well give it his all.

“You wanna fight, doll? Let’s fight.” Bucky finally says.

“That’s more like it.” You say with a grin.

You kneed him in his stomach to get him off of you. You stood you as Bucky groaned in pain. He stood up a few seconds after you did. You approached Bucky, tilting your head slightly.

“I know what you fear.” You whispered.

“I don’t fear anything.” Bucky says.

“Oh really?” You asked, putting your hand against his forehead to read his mind. “You fear that if you don’t get me to break through the programming, you’ll lose your fiancée forever and you won’t get you forever after with her.” You say, reading his mind.

Bucky growls and smacked your hand away.

“Stop it.” Bucky growls, gritting his teeth.

“Loosing your fiancée is your worst nightmare and you’ll slip back into your old ways as the Winter Soldier.” You say.

Bucky’s jaw clenched when you said that. He grabbed you, slammed you against the wall. You yelped in surprise.

“Shut up!” He shouts. “Never fucking say that again.” He says.

Loosing you is his worst nightmare, but he wouldn’t slip back into his old ways as the Winter Soldier.

“Did I touch a nerve?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

Bucky put his vibranium hand around your throat, but didn’t squeeze. He just stared in your eyes, searching for any sign of your normal self. His hand let go of your throat. What he did next surprised himself. He kicked your feet out from under you to the ground, his eyes widening when you hit your head on the wall. You didn’t go unconscious so that’s a good sign, but you did have a confused look on your face. He didn’t want to do that to you. He just wanted the taunting to stop and for you to break through the programming.

“Doll, I-I-I didn’t mean to do that.” Bucky stutters, crouching down next to you.

“I-I’m fine.” You said softly, followed by a small whimper. “Can you take me home please?” You asked.

“Of course.” He murmurs, picking you up bridal style.

Later that day after you and Bucky got back to the Avengers compound, you two took a shower and put comfortable clothes on.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized in a whisper.

“You don’t need to apologize, doll.” Bucky says softly.

“Yes I do. I tried to use your worst nightmare against you and I brought up that one mission.” You say.

“It’s completely fine, doll. I understand. You weren’t your normal self.” He says.

Your eyes flickered down to Bucky’s lips. You leaned toward him, kissing him softly and passionately. Bucky’s right hand caressed your cheek gently. Your hands grasped onto his shoulders. He gently laid you back on the bed and hovered over you. His vibranium hand went underneath your -his- shirt. You shivered, feeling the cool vibranium against your skin.

“Bucky…” You say breathlessly.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky asks, moving his lips down to your neck.

“I want you.” You tell him.

Bucky pulled away from your neck to take off your -his- shirt, revealing your braless breast to him. He dipped his head back down, kissing your neck again. His teeth nipped at your skin, marking you up. He repeated those same actions as he moved his lips down your body.

Bucky’s hands gently caressed your curves. His lips pressed soft kisses down your body, stopping just above the waistband of your sleep shorts. Bucky hooked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your hips so he could pull them down, pulling down your panties and shorts down in one go.

“My doll is so gorgeous.” Bucky murmurs softly, making you blush.

Bucky stood up, taking off his clothes. His cock is hard and leaking with precum. You voluntarily spread your legs. He got in between them, his hands gently rubbing the top of your thighs. Bucky leaned down, kissing you passionately.

Bucky reached a hand down in between the two of you, wrapping his hand around his cock. He stroked it a few times before lining it at your wet entrance. He slowly slid his cock in your pussy. Soft and satisfied moans left yours and his lips.

Bucky put his forearms against the bed on either side of your head, caging you in between his strong arms. You reached your hands up to hold his. You intertwined your fingers with his.

His thrusts were soft and loving. Your head rolled back against the pillows, enjoying the feeling of your fiancée’s cock inside of you. Soft moans of his name left your lips.

Bucky dipped his head down and kissed along the column of your throat, not leaving any part of your skin not kissed. A soft satisfied hum left your lips when his stubble scratched your skin. That’s one of your favorite feelings from Bucky.

“Bucky…” You say more in a whine.

“I got you, doll.” Bucky whispers softly.

“More please.” You begged softly.

Bucky increased the pace of his thrusts. His thrusts are still loving. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together against his back. Your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the pleasure you were receiving from your fiancée.

“I love you so much, Bucky.” You said breathlessly.

“I love you so much to, babydoll.” Bucky whispers.

You managed to get your hands out from Bucky’s hands and gently grabbed his face, pulling him down for a passionate and hungry kiss. You two moaned against each other’s lips. Your hands found their way to his head, carding your fingers through his soft dark brown hair. Bucky moans against your lips. He loves it when you play with his hair in any way. Your fingers tugging on his hair urged him on. Bucky thrusted faster, his cock immediately finding that one spot inside of you.

“Fuck, Bucky!” You moaned.

Your moans are like music to Bucky’s ears. You tucked your face against the crook of Bucky’s neck. You kissed his neck and nipped at his skin, marking him up.

Bucky wrapped his right arm around your waist while his vibranium hand held the sheets tightly. He increased the speed of his thrusts once more. That made you want him even more. Your hands grasped onto his biceps, digging your nails in his skin and the vibranium.

“Fuck, doll…” Bucky moans. “Such a good girl.” He praises softly.

You moaned at his praise. You love it when he praises you.

Bucky’s right arm left your waist and went in between the two of you. Your hips jolted against his hips and his hand when you felt his fingers on your clit. His fingers rubbed your clit in circles.

“Oh god, yes, Bucky!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the pillows.

Your orgasm began to build up faster than you liked. So did Bucky’s. His thrusts became sloppy, but he regained rhythm.

“I can feel you getting close, doll.” Bucky said breathlessly. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks.

“You hummed and nodded your head in response.

“Cum for me, babydoll. I’m close too.” He pants, rubbing your clit a bit faster.

The coil inside of you snapped. You moaned Bucky’s name loudly as you came. Bucky gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm.

“That’s a good girl.” Bucky pants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He moans.

Bucky came inside of you after a few more thrusts. His thrusts came to a stop and he pulled out of you, laying down next to you. You moved closer to him, laying your head on his chest and putting your thigh on top of his. Bucky’s vibranium hand held onto your knee, rubbing his vibranium thumb against your skin.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” You murmured softly, caressing his stubbly cheek.

“I can’t wait to marry you too, doll.” Bucky says softly, kissing your hand.

———

You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at a pregnancy test that has two pink lines on it. You and Bucky have been married for a few months and you’re finding out you’re pregnant with yours and his first child.

“Holy shit…” You mumbled in shock, staring at a positive pregnancy test. “Bucky, babe! Come here!” You shouted.

Bucky ran to the bathroom as fast as he could, almost tripping over his own feet.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” Bucky asks frantically.

You didn’t say anything. You smiled widely and showed him the positive pregnancy test.

“Holy shit…” He mumbles in shock. “You’re pregnant? We’re having a baby? We’re going to be parents?” He asks.

“Yes!” You confirmed.

Bucky picked you up, hugging you tightly.

“We’re going to be parents!” He said happily. “Let’s go tell everyone!” He says.

Bucky held your hand as you two walked to the lounge room where all of the Avengers are.

“We have amazing news.” Bucky says with a huge smile on his face.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to you and Bucky, waiting for you guys to tell them what the amazing news is.

“I’m pregnant!” You tell them, holding up the positive pregnancy test.

Everyone cheered and congratulated you two, giving you two hugs.

———

“Would you two like to know the genders of your babies?” The doctor asks, looking from you to Bucky.

“Babies?” You and Bucky say in union and surprise.

“You’re having twins!” She smiles.

Yours and Bucky’s eyes teared up. Bucky leaned down, kissing your lips softly. Bucky looks in your eyes and nods at you, wanting to know the genders of yours and his twin babies.

“Yes, we would like to know the genders of our babies.” You tell her.

“Twin A is a boy and twin B is a girl.” She tells you two. “Congratulations!” She smiles, giving you and Bucky the ultrasound pictures.

You and Bucky had smiles on your faces the whole car ride to the compound. You two were so excited and happy that you guys had to tell everyone.

“Hey! How was the doctor’s appointment?” Steve asks.

“We’re having twins!” Bucky tells everyone, holding up the ultrasound pictures. “Twin A is a boy and twin B is a girl!” He says excitedly.

Everyone stared at you and Bucky in surprise and gave you two hugs, congratulating you two.

“Can I tell Steve the other amazing news?” You asked, whispering to Bucky.

“Go ahead, doll.” Bucky smiles.

Steve looks from Bucky to you, waiting for the other amazing news.

“Me and Bucky have been talking about it and we want you to be the godfather to our twins.” You tell him.

“Wh-What?” Steve asks, making sure he heard you right.

“You’re the godfather of our babies, punk.” Bucky tells him, patting his shoulder.

“I’m honored to your babies’ godfather.” Steve says, hugging both of you.

Later that day, you and Bucky went home and spent the rest of the night trying to come up with baby names for yours and his twins.

“I feel like the names we’re coming up with are too basic.” Bucky says.

“Yea.” You agree. “What about we name our son after you and our daughter after your sister?” You suggested, tapping your fingers against your pregnant belly.

“You want to name our babies after me and my sister?” He asks, tearing up.

You smiled and nodded your head yes.

“I would love nothing more than to name our babies James Jr and Rebecca.” He says, smiling widely.

“It’s settled! James Jr and Rebecca will be our babies names!” You say happily.

Bucky kisses you passionately. You two smiled against each other’s lips.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky whispers against your lips.

“I love you too, sweetie.” You whispered back.

Bucky leaned his forehead against yours, looking in your eyes with the look of adoration in his eyes. You two finally have your forever after.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[leifyposting]

i'm absorbing this into my diluc characterization as we speak. diluc as a character makes no sense to me ever but. this makes sense

i think he Does play into the most popular bachelor in town role to navigate situations and perhaps cope with all that mental issues he's got.

my boy can have some unhealthy coping mechanisms. as a treat.

i also think about like how the social climbers are always throwing their daughters at him, and how he probably has to do some flirting to maintain those business relationships. and how he's probably good at it given that his wine empire hasn't toppled yet

they're so opposites of each other that at the end they end up as the same person.

yeah this is a really good way of putting it actually!! they foil each other so hard that they end up coming full circle

this also helps clarify something for me, bc i always say that what bothers me about diluc is that he doesn't foil kaeya as well as i want him to, but in this framework it makes sense because he and kaeya are starting from two different points but ending up kind of in the same place - their narrative arcs are equal but opposite

if you read between the lines he's actually a good little boy.

baby. baby boy.

(it's "revenge" but is revenge not personal pleasure?)

SO REAL ACTUALLY

let's quote rosaria here

i. forgot she said this about him. rslc real?

kaeya flirts to keep a facade and diluc keeps a facade to flirt or whatever.

perfect summary thank you. i'm absorbing this into my understanding of the genshin canon and will wake up one day years from now wondering which artifact set i got this from

i’m currently going mildly viral on twitter for this tweet:

and it’s really making it clear to me that some of y’all are not playing the same game as i am because like:

my buddy kaeya? my close personal friend kaeya alberich?

like this was a half-baked thought i tweeted out in 30 seconds so you don’t have to agree with the characterization (i’m not even sure i agree with the characterization)

but if y’all are looking me in the eye and telling me that kaeya is unironically a ladies’ man and a player then i’m gonna need you to go back to every single event he’s been in and look at how his shell of facile charm has been ruthlessly and systematically dismantled by the game itself

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Coming Down;

Pairing; fem!reader x old lover!Nishimura Riki also fame hunger!Nishimura Riki Synopsis; You battle the lingering pain of your first love and heartbreak, only to face the unexpected return of the man who once shattered you. As past wounds resurface and kisses are shared, you are torn between the ghost of him and reality. Genre; Angst and slightly suggestive; Warnings; Mentions of smoking cigarettes; mention of God and the Devil; heartbreak; make-out session; Words; 1k — Based on the song "coming down" by Halsey. MASTERLIST;

A/N: I cant seem to write the fucking requests for some FUCKING reason. So here's something else while I make myself write them! I hope you enjoy getting your heart broken!

You find yourself reminiscing about him again, your eyes fixed on the star-filled sky as the night settles, its dark embrace comforting you better than anyone ever could—anyone but him, your first true love, your first true heartbreak.

As you take a long drag from the cigarette between your fingers, you close your eyes and imagine him beside you. His tall frame looms over yours, his addictive yet playful cologne wraps around you, and his deep voice urges you to put the cigarette down. And you would—if he asked.

Your heart aches at the thought of him, a pain so sharp and heavy it momentarily takes your breath away. You miss the way his cold fingers gently held your hand, the way his hair fell into his face, soft and wild. His blonde roots and brown tips made him recognizable no matter where he was.

You exhale a cloud of smoke as his name echoes in your mind, a name deeply tattooed on your heart: Nishimura Riki. The nice guy who grew shy in your presence, the nonchalant guy who couldn’t resist kissing you in front of everyone.

To you, he was almost God. His warm heart and endless patience made you want to surrender to him—not in a bad way. He was the good boy who made you want to be good too. You knew he hated that you smoked, so you tried to stop. He hated when you self-isolated, so you tried to share your feelings before you spiraled too far.

But he was also your Devil. His intoxicating lips left you craving him constantly, despite his aggressive words. His insatiable hunger for fame consumed everything. He knew your dreams were small—you only wanted to escape your abusive parents—yet he tried to push his need for something bigger into you.

You lay back against the roof, tears prick your eyes as you recall the last time you saw him. No more Oreo hair. No playful cologne. No love. The hotel room had felt like an endless corridor, and the closer you tried to get to him, the further away he seemed. The more you spoke, the more he avoided your gaze. The more the corridor stretched.

His sweet smile, the one that once absolved all your sins, was gone. Ni-ki didn’t even glance your way as he left, slamming the door behind him.

Your voice wouldn’t leave your throat as you screamed, clutching your shirt because the ache in your chest was unbearable, as if your heart was being torn in half. And it was. He took it with him, like a broken amulet, a reminder of you.

The cigarette burns down to its end and after that, you crush it against the rooftop and toss it away. He always comes to mind when you smoke. Maybe you should quit, so his ghost will finally leave you alone.

Climbing off the roof and into your tiny studio, your sanctuary offers solace once more, and Ni-ki fades away. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and take a deep breath. Today is the day you stop smoking.

You grab the last pack, step outside, and toss it into the bin by the staircase. A faint smile touches your lips as you imagine his lingering presence leaving with it. But the relief doesn’t last.

“I’m glad you’re quitting,” a familiar deep voice says behind you.

You freeze, closing your eyes and muttering a curse under your breath. Why does your mind insist on playing tricks? When you turn around, ready to see his image vanish, he doesn’t.

Riki stands before you, tall and real, with flushed cheeks and eyes stained red. Your hands tremble, your heart races, and you swear you’re imagining things. But then his strong, cold arms wrap around you, and his familiar cologne pulls you under, back to him.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing here?” you whisper, your voice fragile.  Your hands instinctively reach for his familiar face.

“I failed and came back to you,” he replies with indifference, before leaning in to capture your plump lips in a bittersweet kiss.

Your lips meet his reluctantly, but soon your hesitation fades away as you're completely consumed in his presence. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips mold perfectly against yours. Just like they used to.

With a stable hand on your lower back, Ni-ki guides you both inside your studio, taking slow steps, so your lips can remain connected. You briefly parted to close the door behind you, a small smile forming on your sore, wet lips while gazing at your handsome lover.

Ni-ki sits on your bed and pats his leg, inviting you to sit on his lap. Shyly, you avert your gaze as you walk toward him, settling yourself atop him. Your head is spinning as you do, your heart jumping eagerly to the sigh of your lover.

Riki wastes no time—his delicate lips chase yours, hungry and impatient. You let him devour you whole, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, evoking the touch you missed so much.

Your hands weave into his soft hair as Ni-ki breaks away, lowering his lips to your sweet neck. You tilt your head back, giving him access, and his skilled mouth begins to leave wet marks on your soft skin. The sensation sends shivers down your spine.

You close your eyes and savor the moment. His delicate hands grip your waist tighter as your hips begin to move weakly against his, not being able to resist his tempting touch. When Ni-ki lifts his head from your neck to moan softly near your ear, he whispers, “I love you, Y/N…”

Suddenly, you wake up cold and alone in your empty roof. The night breeze brushes against your short hair as you sit up, disoriented.

The cigarette in your hand is almost finished, but extinguished and completely chilled. Did you just fall asleep on the roof? Did any of that really happen?

Quickly, you climb down and return to your small studio. The only light comes from the TV flickering in the living room. Your eyes scan the space, and you soon realize no one is there.

It was all a dream.

Tears well up in your eyes as you throw yourself onto the bed, taking a deep, shaky breath. It all comes down to you quickly; Ni-ki won't ever come back to you. It's too late now; you are paying the price for loving him.

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things @nxzz-skz @saphiranishimurashan @ikeupups @yangjungwonnie @xiiaobaoo @itsuen @laylasbunbunny @mellowgalaxystrawberry @firstclassjaylee @questionsdearreader @greeyjre @en-doll @riqomi @lovingvoidgoatee @mitmit01 @miuwonis @aureliaaaa555 @han-to-my-minho @heeweenie @vixensss @ro-diares @hoonvinx @immelissaaa @jiryunn @quilevyt @vrusha01 @kkamismom12 @skzenhalove If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[dutchs-paisley-vest]

Been thinking about Hosea a lot as I write this analysis on Dutch and Micah.

Maybe I’ll eventually whip something up about him, but for now I’m left with thoughts about knowing that not only is Hosea just as guilty as Dutch when it comes to how their boys were brought up (and continued to be treated through adulthood and ultimately up to their deaths), but also the way the two irreparably damaged John and Arthur’s entire lives beyond even their own comprehension. FURTHERMORE, they set forth a viscous cycle of familial violence and neglect that maintained momentum into the next generation. (See: John and Jack.)

The way Hosea’s action, but more importantly his inaction had in part led to… well, [gestures vaguely to RDR1 + RDR2].

Hosea might have been gentler than Dutch on the surface, but he saw it all, and at times both implicitly and explicitly encouraged it through the meticulous timing of his decisions to remain a “silent watcher.”

Yes, refusal to mitigate the violence makes him complicit, but the matter of the fact is… Hosea can’t even feign partial innocence as a third-party bystander because of how calculated he is in nature.

Additionally, there is no “third party.” Dutch and Hosea are a single unit. They occupy the same space even as two separate individuals in John and Arthur’s lives.

The deliberate nature of Hosea’s inaction puts him in the same position as the “perpetrator” because he isn’t just a watcher, he corroborates directly with Dutch and agrees with what he is doing on principle. He reenforces it in perhaps more subtle ways, but that doesn’t make him any less responsible for the outcome.

The only difference between the two is that while they’re dealing different cards, they are playing the exact same game.

[parker-artio]

The idea of Steph being a med student cracks me up. Because this girl stays up all night beating people up, gets maybe two hours of sleep before she’s getting up for her 7am class on human anatomy.

She starts working in Gotham’s City’s ER as a volunteer student so she doesn’t have to take an extra class and can just take the test at the end of the year for the credit. One day she shows up and sees her patient is a thug she bullied last night while kicking his ass.

She might never show her face in his room again.

When she barely passes a test with a C- she wants to cry when Alfred asks how her test went, but Alfred reassures her, saying it’s good, and that she still passed. But Bruce always catches a stray or two when her major gets brought up. No way he wouldn’t.

Alfred: Congratulations Miss Stephanie, it might only be a C but it is still passing!

Steph: Thanks alfred but I feel like I could be doing better

Alfred: At least you’re sure you want to be a doctor. You haven’t dropped out and you’re passing your classes. That’s what matters.

Bruce at Wayne Enterprises in the middle of a board meeting, feeling a chill go down his spine: something just happened…

Plus there’s the added joke of her being called dumb, lazy, ect from Damian (he insults her so much I can’t remember them all rn)

Damian: What’s that Brown? Can’t shake your head in fear your brain will rattle around in there?

Steph thinking about her biology test tomorrow she got maybe 10 minutes of studying in for since it was announced last month: Shut the fuck up.

Thugs would hate to see her. Like genuinely HATE seeing her during finals season. They don’t know anything about these bats, but they all agree if it’s final season and you see a blonde haired bat in purple- you’re fucked. Run as fast as you can unless you want a concussion and her to ask where all your pain is.

None of the super villains in Gotham ever remember mentioning they have any kind of health issues, yet somehow she always knows. The purple bat who goes by too many names, just KNOWS.

Riddler about to pull the lever for something dramatic: Well you failed to answer my riddle so-

Steph cutting him off: Your skeleton

Riddler: wrong it’s-

Steph cutting him off yet again with a heavy sigh: Listen Nigma, you have to calm down for once. Your blood pressure hates you, slow down on the salty and fatty foods. Do you smoke? Because if you do, slow down on that too. Or just quit. And the actual answer is bare-bones. But synonyms of the answer should work too.

Riddler who’s doctor told him he was at risk for high blood pressure but ignored it: I- no… I don’t smoke.

Steph: …

Riddler: I quit years ago!

Plus she’d totally access Alfred’s medical records to learn little things about the others to annoy them with. She’d be elbow deep and learn that Dick’s left ankle was injured at 12 and is prone to injuries because it never proper medical attention because he avoided Alfred when he first got hurt.

She’d bring it up in conversation too.

Steph, after Dick pisses her off and she’s walking away: What your step, Boy Wonder, it’d be a shame if your left ankle got broke because of its fragility…

Dick unsure where she learned that: …what

The whole concept of her as a med student makes me laugh and I wish more people looked at it and thought about the humor and jokes that can go with her being one.

It’s peak comedy to me, I need more fics of her just being a broke college student who’s tired of thugs attacking her when she’s trying to study for her test on patrol. She’s sitting on top of W.E. Reading her anatomy book for her first class at 7:30 while her four other books are underneath. Why she has a test in all of her classes on the same day, she doesn’t know. Will she pass them? Who the fuck knows. But if that bat signal goes off again tonight she might break into the police precinct and give them a piece of her mind.

[lostintransist]

The Boys' Home | Part 5

Part 1 | AO3

The suit, respirator, goggles, gloves combo had you sweating like the devil in church. This wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, except your in-ear headphones were overheating and not responding to your taps to change the song. Somehow you had been stuck on the same song for damn near forty minutes. It was a good song, don’t get it twisted, but if it didn’t require leaving the house and pulling off all the gear to change the song you would have done it on the third repeat.

With the last of the lathe and plaster removed and swept from the room, you detach the chute from the window. Carefully you strip off the protective gear, clothes soaked with sweat beneath them. The next thing you do is pull your headphones out and pause your music. Sliding between the layers of plastic keeping the dust from invading the house you make your way outside to breathe fresh air.

The boys were all at Lydia Fisher’s house as her grandchildren had finally arrived for the summer stay. You had already confirmed with Lydia that the pizza delivery you were paying for would arrive at five and she would send the boys home at seven. They would absolutely all need a bath before bed.

When you open the front door all of your focus is on laying out the gear to dry over the porch railing. The respirator and the goggles go down easily, the suit gives a wet sound when you snap it to straighten out all the wrinkles. That done you look up and nearly have a heart attack.

“Jesus and a chicken!” Your hand ends up on your chest as you heave in breaths.

Where you had expected empty space stood three of your neighbors, all watching you with various expressions of quandary.

“Why a chicken?” Kyle asked as he shoved one hand into his pocket.

Your brows pull together. “I don’t know, that is what came out of my mouth in a moment of shock.”

He gives a look of acknowledgment and glances at his counterparts.

“Did you guys need something? I’ve been upstairs stripping a bedroom to get insulation and new walls put up.” You brush your hands down your shirt, now quite aware that even in the moist heat your pits, under boob, and groin had yet to dry.

“Wanted to see if there were any neighborhood events we should be aware of,” Johnny spoke up, moseying up to the porch railing and hanging over it to talk to you.

You leaned against the main post, folding your arms as you thought.

“Nothing formal, but every third weekend a few families get together over at my place and we grill and let the kids run wild.” You direct your answers to the group but look mostly at Johnny.

Simon and Kyle step closer, like wolves you had watched on nature documentaries. When they close in you snap your gaze to Kyle and then to Simon. It gets trapped on Simon, the dark pitch of his eyes pulling you in like tar that swallowed ice-age animals whole.

“You need anything, bonnie?”

The hum of question you give is distracted. Turning your face away from Simon, it takes extra effort to drag your gaze to Johnny. Blinking a few times to clear your mind you process what you heard.

“Mmm, don’t think so. Unless you guys can sheet rock and mud a bedroom in under a day?”

Johnny grinned and Kyle chuckled, Simon let out a small huff that could be construed as a laugh.

“Can’t say we know how yet, but we will by the time we are done fixing up our own house,” Kyle smirks up at you.

“Been meaning to ask you about that. Are you all together or just really good friends?” They share a look and you go on, bulldozing past any awkwardness creeping up your body like kudzu. “I only ask because folks around here will talk and if I can head off the rumors your time here will be easier. Lord only knows why I’m their favorite subject.”

“Na, we work together. Military stuff and we find it easier to feel safe when we know there is someone who can watch our back as we rest,” Johnny gives a small smile to the gaps between the porch slats.

Nodding as if you understand, you most assuredly do not, you tuck that information away for your next run-in with any of the town gossips, Cherrie and Marline. They would be after you like hens after a chick when they found out you were now living next door two four presumably eligible, and decidedly, attractive bachelors.

‘What about your everlasting soul? Living so close to such men might tempt you into sin.’ They would always whisper the word sin as if one woman’s boy hadn’t been born out of wedlock and the other hadn’t been caught having an affair ten years back. One of these days you would remind the two of them of what Jesus actually called a sin, and it wasn’t ‘treating your neighbor as yourself’.

“Where are your boys today?” Simon speaks up now, everyone turning to look at him as he stares straight at you.

“They are at the Fisher’s. Lydia’s grandchildren have arrived and we have a standing agreement to timeshare the children until school starts back up,” you grin wide thinking about your boys. “I don’t know if you’ve met them yet, they live in the opposite direction from my house.”

Your former pastor had commented on it once. You didn’t go to church anymore, for too many damn reasons to recall or recount but Pastor Harry had been a good man and reminded you that there were people in the world who practiced what they preached.

“I know you never wanted to be a mom, but those boys? I can see the love you have for them written all over your face when you talk about them. I’m real proud of you for taking them in and fighting for them,” he laid a hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

The quiet comfort and confidence Pastor Harry had given you that day had fueled you for weeks and helped you swat away the nastier comments lobbed your way from parents of your students, the administration, and even the cashier at the local stop and rob.

Looking back to the men standing in the heat of the day you make a decision.

“Why don’t y’all take a seat and I’ll grab us all some sweet tea and ice pops.” Turning around without waiting for an answer you let the screen door slam shut behind you.

When you return the only seat available is next to Simon on the porch swing. Passing each man a refreshment you settle into the cushion and try to toe the swing into motion. When nothing happens you glance at Simon who is staring at your nice glass with something akin to mistrust in his eyes.

“You don’t have to drink it but can you at least lift your feet so I can rock the swing?” The single brow lift seems to do the trick.

“This is delicious!” Johnny cries as he stares down at his glass. “Never got the appeal of hot tea but this? I will miss this when we go back to work.”

The swing begins a soft back-and-forth movement. Glancing down you see Simon’s boot flat on the porch; his thigh bunches and releases in time with the movement.

“What do you think Kyle?” Sipping at your own tea you watch him for an answer.

“Might need this recipe for my mum, to be frank.” He looks down at his glass with a mixture of pleased concern written across his face.

“Be happy to send you with a recipe card.” You can’t wipe the smile from your face. Your front porch didn’t get as much use as you would like, they were the first visitors to use it this year.

Kyle and Johnny chat with you for nearly a half hour before by the winding down of the conversation the men stand in tandem. They all trail into the house to deposit their glasses in the sink before saying their goodbyes and rounding the house for the trail that would lead them back to their own home.

Placing your cup in the sink next to theirs you are surprised to see three empty glasses and a bone-dry sink. Seems the quiet man had sipped at his drink after all.

You would need to be sure to offer it again. Best to be sure if he liked it or if his mother had taught him it would be rude to reject an offer of a refreshment. Neither said anything bad about a person but it would help future interactions to know what your neighbors liked.

Boys Masterlist | Masterlist

@leahnicole1219 @harperstyles @sigynxlokiwifelover @fluffysmiko

[deeplyshalllow]

I will agree with you that Fiyero is woefully underused in the musical, so we do have to use what we have to decipher what information we do have about him. Either way is headcanon.

However, this is what we get from act 1:

1) He is good at lying to people about who he is, all while being able to make himself likable

2) He is secretly unhappy and has been thinking about the day with the Lion Cub a lot

3) He takes the initiative to save Animals and help Elphaba, but in a way that doesn't immediately get them caught

With this in mind, along with his bitching in Thank Goodness and the fact that he immediately turns on the Wizard and runs off with Elphaba the moment he has a chance, I think it’s a much more plausible headcanon that he has always been working as a double agent than your headcanon that he’s decided instead to randomly embrace being a fascist.

“You're basing your interpretation of his character on speculation — because it is somewhat difficult, in some ways, to reconcile the compassionate boy we saw in the woods with the fascist commander he's become by Act II — but I'm basing my reading on sheer text; on the actions and statements on the page.”

Oh honey, you are so close!!! Maybe it’s hard to “reconcile the compassionate boy we saw in the woods with a fascist commander” because he isn’t one? Maybe if you “read by sheer text; on the actions and statements on the page” you’d realise that his actions in act one don’t make sense in act two if you read him as part of the regime? Are you sure you’re not “basing your interpretation of his character on speculation” because you don’t like Fiyeraba?

“Saying you'd totally join the Gestapo instead of the Resistance if given the chance — because of "resources and information" — is not the winning argument you think it is, I'm sorry, lol.”

Oh sorry, Fiyero should have just gone down to the resistance job shop and got a top post there! The resistance that, as far as we know, basically doesn’t exist, as it doesn’t seem like Elphaba has got much help either (we know there’s rebel Animals that shelter her, but she’s also at the point where she tries to beg her father for help and seriously considers just giving up and joining the Wizard). It is probably endlessly easier for Fiyero, especially with his connection to Glinda to get into the Gale Force.

You also completely ignored my second part of the argument. Someone has to do this job, if it’s not Fiyero it’s someone a lot worse. We know Fiyero has compassion for Animals, we know Fiyero wants to protect Elphaba (we literally see him doing so three times in act 2). If Fiyero places himself in command, however grim it might be, he now has some degree of control over Oz’s army and how much damage they can do to the Animals and Elphaba.

“None of which was REMOTELY planned, or even likely.”

It wasn’t planned that he’d meet her in the throne room, no, but it certainly was planned and relatively likely that, by putting himself as the head of the search for the Witch, that if she was found in a dangerous situation he could get her out of it. He manages to get all his guards away and for her to escape safely, he couldn’t have done this if he’d been in any other position.

If you’re talking about the wider context, no obviously Glinda taking over wasn’t planned from this. But you told me him being in the Gale Force achieved nothing, it saved Elphaba’s life and allowed the ending to happen.

“Yes, she was literally forced into that, lol. Claiming she wasn't forced into her position when she was literally captured and molded into an asset of the regime — and then moralizing about her trying to make the best out of her literal enslavement — whilst somehow insisting that Fiyero going out of his way to enlist as an armed servant of the regime wasn't "endorsing the regime", is actually absurd.”

Oh don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you patronise Glinda by saying she didn’t have a choice. Don’t you ignore those quotes I gave you showing how she enjoyed it. Even her sad verse in Thank Goodness imply she joined because she wanted it (and only later found out it wasn’t quite how she planned). No one was going to imprison her, (you think my headcanons are wild lol), in the movie she literally only went to follow Elphaba because Morrible told her to, in the play she was given a little more agency, but she still made it very clear she was going to “get her back”, there’s literally no reason at all to enslave her, even in their eyes she’s done nothing wrong.

But ok, let’s take your “enslavement” fantasy scenario. Fiyero is literally the next candidate for Morrible to “enslave”, she knows he and Elphaba were at least tentative friends, she might even have realised he was also absent after the day with the Lion Cub, he’s dating Glinda and his royal connections and fame and likeability make him a useful asset. If Morrible really is blackmailing people to join her on trumped up charges, it would be very easy for her to either use the Lion Cub situation to blackmail into it, or threaten to hurt Glinda if he does not.

Sounds far-fetched? Yeah, you’re right. He joined willingly. Like Glinda.

“He acted on spontaneous desire, as he always does, and is a nihilist who never gave a shit about any of the things (or people) he cast to the wind to begin with. "He lost everything" — and you expect me to find that brave and romantic, I take it? I don't. Throwing caution and care aside to run off and have a passionate night with the object of his affects isn't WRONG — and I've never said that it is — it's foolish and selfish and impulsive.”

This is headcanon.

This is canon: he pointed a gun at the Wizard to help Elphaba escape. He had to escape too. (Did they have to have sex in the woods? Obviously not, but that’s kind of not really here or there, the egg was already broken, might as well make an omelette).

“He doesn't think about the potential consequences of abandoning Glinda; for never cared about either his own safety or hers,”

I’m sorry, are you really blaming Glinda telling Morrible and the Wizard to spread a rumour about hurting Nessa on Fiyero? Talk about fucking victim blaming.

I’d argue he cares a lot about Glinda’s safety actually, it’s pretty telling that all three times he saved Elphaba in act 2 (funny, you haven’t mentioned that in your reply) he leaves Glinda in a place where she not only is safe but can’t possibly be seen as and arrested for supporting Elphaba. As for his own safety? Well he secures it in the throne room, by the cornfield scene he’s sort of out of options – so he gets his girls to safety and sacrifices himself – that’s not not knowing the consequences, it’s deciding he is ok with them.

“When he makes "plans", they're all very ad hoc and making resourceful use of situations that he absolutely did not (and could not) have planned for.”

Not the Elphaba faking her own death plan! That must have taken days as the scarecrow. And careful manoeuvring of everything involved!

“I think it's a bit sad that he behaves that way tbh: because it speaks to his pretty hollow existence, as Elphaba herself identified.”

Well I have happy news for you! He no longer has a hollow existence! That’s literally what act two is trying to tell us!

Elphaba: Fiyero, you frightened me. I thought, I though you might have changed.

Fiyero: I have... changed.

*

You’ve got me seeing through different eyes

Somehow I’ve fallen under your spell

and somehow I’m feeling it’s up that I fell

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.