#best thing to come home to after a long day of work

[stellamarielu]

soft

jack abbot x female reader

summary: jack gets injured on his shift and you’re there to help him get stitched up, making it impossible for him to ignore the soft side you bring out in him— especially when it makes his heart rate jump alarmingly high.

content: just a whole lot of fluff, reader is a resident on robby’s shift and jack has a capital c crush, i’m talking down astronomically bad, cursing, lots of cheesy banter between robby and jack bc i couldn’t help myself, reader is described to be upbeat and positive, very sunshine x grump coded, also the reader wears bright colors and patterns from time to time [sorry if that’s not your jam it just has to be that way for the plot, you get it], mentions of a brief altercation, mentions of blood and stitches, bad medical terminology [don’t yell at me i tried my best]

word count: 3.5k

author’s note: ok so hi this is my submission for the A DOCTOR A DAY event! but it's also a request from the lovely and talented @letsgobarbs so I thought I'd put them together and make this bad boy. thank you loops for the extraordinary idea, and thank you to my lovely babies, @clubsoft @ananonymousaffair and @letsgobarbs for putting on such an incredible little event! very very excited to see all the entires! my assigned dialogue was, “nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft.” and the color i got was green!

A reoccurring psych patient, and an elbow straight to the eye, landed Jack a seat in his own emergency department.

“I’m fine,” his voice came out with a twinge of annoyance, and a profusion of frustration as he side-eyed Robby from across the room.

But he was indeed, not fine. He was annoyed— borderline livid— at the current situation.

He should be on his way home, not sitting in an open treatment room with blood trickling down the side of his face.

It was completely unintentional, just an unstable patient throwing limbs in an effort to avoid an IV. What he thought would be his last case of the day, was now the reason for his friend making jokes at his expense, while Jack waited to get his brow sutured up so he could finally go home. 

“Yeah Okay. Whatever you wanna tell yourself.” Robby’s voice filled the room as he gathered supplies for the simple procedure.

“If Gloria found out you got a work related injury and walked out of those doors without somebody clearing you— on my shift? She’d have my neck.”

“Whatever, just make it fast.” 

All Jack could think about was how last night’s shift felt like the longest one he’d worked in a while. Taking a hit straight to the face was just the cherry on top of a dreadful night. The comfort of his bed was starting to look unbelievably far away as his presence at the hospital persisted long after it was supposed to.

“What’s the rush? You got a hot date I don’t know about?” Robby’s expression was a little too amused for Jack’s taste, as he placed a pulse oximeter on his finger.

“Yeah actually, her name is a breakfast bagel from Cal’s and 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep.” Jack stared down at the contraption sitting on his pointer finger, almost chuckling to himself at Robby’s commitment to care.

“A pulse ox? You’re really serious about this whole Gloria thing huh?”

“Yeah she’s been on my ass lately. Plus you got hit pretty hard, gotta make sure you don’t go down on us. Your risk for a heart attack is only going up with your age.” The smug curl of Robby’s lips as he pulled at the latex of his glove, made Jack instinctively roll his eyes.

Before Robby could start stitching, Dana’s voice carried into the room as she passed by the open door, “Robby, we’ve got a motorcyclist coming in. Multiple open fractures, severe blood loss with trauma to the head, and a possible pneumothorax, about 3 minutes out.” 

Robby shot Jack a knowing look as if to say, sorry buddy, duty calls.

“Oh c’mon, you’ve got this in three minutes.” Jack was desperate to get out of the hospital and on his way home. He was right, they both knew Robby was more than capable of lacing up two or three quick stitches before he was needed on the incoming trauma.

“As much as I would love to sit here and miss potentially the best case of my day to be ridiculed by you, I’m gonna have to make your fucked up eyebrow somebody else’s problem. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you in good hands.”

The sudden smirk Robby shot his way, had confusion clouding Jack’s mind. It wasn’t until the smug attending was calling out your name, that Jack understood the motive behind Robby’s words.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.” The murmured annoyance from Jack’s lips sent Robby chuckling.

The laugh was no doubt caused by the memory of a shared confession over a couple of beers not more than three weeks ago.

Jack and Robby went out for drinks on their day off. It was a regular occurrence, but that specific night was a little different, because that night, Jack let it slip that he thought you were pretty. 

The men were sat side by side at the bar, recounting some of their best cases of the week, when Robby brought up your impressive intubation record.

Jack’s comment on your abilities had Robby stunned into a quick moment of silence.

“Pretty and she knows how to clear an airway.”

It was a subconscious declaration of affection from Jack, spoken into his glass as he took a sip of beer. 

A meek confession that Robby clung to, because he’d always noticed it— the way Jack’s stare lingered a little too long on you in those fleeting minutes when your shifts overlapped.

It was impossible for him to miss his friend’s not-so-subtle flirting when you were around. He’d been patient, waiting for Jack to bring it up first.

“Just your type.”

Robby’s words met Jack in the same way, stumbling off his lips and into his glass before taking a swig.

You were one of Robby’s residents. One of his favorites actually. A phenomenal doctor, always one step ahead of everyone else and charting your own course without having to be told what to do, it made Robby’s life a whole lot easier. What didn’t make Robby’s life easier? Watching his best friend dance around his undeniable attraction to you. He knew better than anyone that Jack had been out of the game for a while.

In fact, he hadn’t seen him show interest in anyone until you came along. Over the three months of shy smiles and round-about compliments paid to each other in passing, you and Jack's interactions had become impossible for Robby to ignore. He'd even tried bringing them up multiple times to see if Jack would admit to having a crush on you, only for him to jokingly brush it off every time.

“You could ask her out, you know?” Robby kept nursing his drink, trying to look nonchalant because the moment he put too much attention on the topic, he knew Jack would shut it down. 

“Yeah, we’re not doing this.”

And there it was, right on cue. Shut it down, and brush it off, like he did every time.

“Oh come on Jack. She’s great, you’re great, I see the way your demeanor changes when she's around.”

“Oh does it now?” Deciding to indulge in Robby’s incessant need to meddle in his lovelife, Jack fed into his friend’s accusation with raised brows and chuckle on his lips. 

“Yeah you get a little softer.”

“And, what makes you think I’m not just tired after a long night of people griping at me.”

Robby let a brief blanket of silence fall over the two of them before adding one final thought to the conversation.

“Nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft.” Robby smiled as he said it. He knew Jack would give him a hard time for saying something so introspectively cheesy, but he also knew it would resonate with him whether Jack chose to admit it or not. 

“I’m sorry?” Jack nearly choked on his IPA at the abnormally poetic words leaving Robby’s mouth. 

“Did you just pull that right out of your ass or what?” He was giving Robby a hard time, but couldn’t deny the truth hiding in the statement. 

That night he went home and lost more sleep than usual thinking about you— playing out past conversations over and over again in his mind, just to hear you say his name, or to see the captivating curve of your lips. The visions kept him up, even if it was just glimpses of you in his memory.

Robby didn't bring up Jack's comment about you after that night.

A few lingering stares and silent chuckles slipped from him when he watched the two of you interact, but he decided against bringing up that specific conversation. He knew Jack would just dismiss him, and keep to his stubborn reservations when it came to you, so he didn't push. 

This was the first time Robby took a chance, venturing into the territory of Jack’s confessed feelings. The timing was impeccable, with him needing to find someone else to do Jack’s sutures. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to force the two of you to be alone in a room together. 

“What can I say? I like watching you squirm,” a low giggle remained on his lips as Robby aimed his words at Jack, just before you appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

Soothing with a gentle glimmer of energy, your voice flooded the room in mellow twilight and shimmering stars, hitting Jack’s ears in a way that instantly made his face heat up.

“Dr. Abbot here, took an elbow straight to the face first thing this morning. I was gonna stitch it up, but they need me on the incoming trauma.” Robby barely looked your direction as he spoke, but Jack couldn’t take his eyes off you, only a few feet from him, watching from the doorframe.

“Think you can handle it?” Robby glanced over at you as he joked, a grin stretching across his face.

“I’ve got it covered, boss.” You matched his playful tone, and the whimsical change of your voice made Jack’s eyes divert to the ceiling because— fuck Robby for doing this to him. 

“Make sure to keep an eye on his vitals, he took a pretty hard hit.” Robby’s voice carried from down the hall as he walked out of the room, leaving you and Jack alone.

You took to the space in front of Jack. 

Your body slid so effortlessly next to him, that he had to fight not to adjust his position under the sudden nervousness of having you so close. 

Drawing a quiet breath at the feeling of your thigh resting next to his, he sat still on the edge of the cot. You were on his right side, your left leg gently pressed against him as you leaned closer toward his body to get a good look at his face.

“Damn that’s bad. Someone really had it out for you this morning, huh?” Your fingertips barely touched his temple as you examined his forehead. An audible swallow pushed down his throat at the contact.

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing, his body’s immediate response to your touch, or the fact that he’d nearly been taken out by a patient, and you were the one witnessing him in such a vulnerable position. 

“Yeah well, he had a really effective defense response. I'll give him that.”

Thank god his voice didn’t betray him. His words came out clear and concise, despite the fluttering in his chest at your body right next to his.

Then you laughed. 

He really loved your laugh. In fact, he went out of his way to make jokes just to hear it. It was soft, but rich. The kind of distinctive, infectious sound you could hear in a crowded room ten years later and know exactly who it belonged to. 

“Well, I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it.”

The laughter fizzled from your voice and was replaced with genuine concern as you cleaned his brow. The gentle passes of gauze against his forehead made his mouth go dry, only because he knew it was your fingertips behind the motion.

“Somebody’s gotta take one for the team.” His response was quick as he focused on the words leaving his mouth, trying not to think about the way your hands were working so carefully to take care of him.

Your presence made him nervous enough, but your touch? He couldn’t get a handle on the distraction of your fingers on his skin, even if there was a veil of latex and gauze in between.

You bent further forward into his body, the warmth of your thigh pressing harder against his as your hands carefully angled his head where you needed it, fingertips underneath his jaw, and at his temple. He forced his stare to the floor out of fear that looking into your eyes would send him straight into cardiac arrest.

Looking down at your shoes, he memorized the pattern of your laces to keep himself from thinking about the mildly intoxicating scent radiating from your body. He’d never been this close to you before— close enough to get a whiff of something fresh and so distinctively you.

Maybe it was your shampoo, or laundry detergent? Perfume perhaps?

Shoes. Back to your shoes. It was the same pair of white sneakers you wore most days, but the green socks peeking out at your ankles made him grin. A subtle smile that he was sure you wouldn’t notice as you prepared a needle at your fingertips. 

You always wore a pop of color, something to bring your own personal style into the doldrum of the ER.

It was something he shouldn’t have noticed; the patterned shirts you sometimes wore under your scrub top, the red hair tie you left on your wrist every so often, the memorable collection of colorful socks you constantly sported with your tennis shoes…

The subtle excitement of your accessories matched the bright charisma you brought into the building every time you walked through the doors. You appeared every morning like his own personal ray of sunshine, equipped with an irresistible laugh, sweet smile, and lime green socks. 

“Are you feeling okay?” His sock induced trance was broken at the sound of your voice— abrupt and concerned.

“Yeah, I’m good.” His eyes peered up only to notice your stare fixed on the pulse ox resting on his finger.

He almost forgot about it entirely, busy with the distraction of your proximity taking over his entire being.

“Your heart rate is just really high.” 

Of course it was. 

His heart was nearly beating out of his chest from the moment Robby called out your name earlier. 

“I’m fine.” He tried to move his hand further from your view, hoping to brush it under the rug, and get a move on with the mortifying interaction. 

“Are you sure? If he hit you hard enough to break skin maybe-”

“I promise. I’m fine.” He pulled out a tone in his voice that people usually didn’t argue with. It was a deep, commanding timbre that he had perfected over the years. It came in handy when he had an especially combative patient, or in this case an extremely beautiful woman hounding him for an incredibly humiliating confession as to why he couldn’t get a grip on his bodily reaction to her presence. 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Abbot.” Finally giving up the fight, you let a spirited air back into your words. Jokingly dismissing your concern, and trading it in for weary trust as you let him convince you that he was okay despite his alarmingly high heart rate. 

“But if you go AFib on me…” 

“I won’t,” his voice still held the same robust sound as he looked you straight in the eyes.

“Just stress.” He looked at you as he spoke, and the desperation in his eyes contradicting the tone of his voice.

His stare was tender, and almost pleading while his words spread through the room, sturdy and sure. 

“Or adrenaline or something… I’ll be fine.” He didn’t look away as he continued explaining the reason for his quickening pulse. You found it slightly unnerving, and undeniably endearing as he kept his eyes fixed on yours for far too long. His words began to trail quietly, slowly losing their robust momentum. 

Jack was in a complete daze. He made the mistake of looking up into your eyes, and now he was stuck, getting lost in the all too familiar color, illuminated by the concentration in your gentle stare. He was enamored.

“Well I’ll be quick so you can get out of here.” You reached down to grab some supplies before bringing your hands back up to Jack’s face, finally starting to suture his brow. 

“Although I’m sure Robby would’ve been done by now.” Your eyes zoned in on his injury, while Jack’s stare stayed trained on your face. 

“Eh, I’m glad you’re here and not him.” His voice was amiable and subdued, dripping with a delicate sound you’d never heard from him before. 

“Why’s that?” Still watching the careful work of the needle threading at his forehead, your eyes narrowed in focus, as the question formed on your lips.

“I’d have to deal with his smartass jokes. Plus, he’s too perky in the mornings.”

“And I’m not?”

He wanted to laugh at your question. Of course you weren’t too perky in the mornings. You weren’t too anything. You were perfect. 

“I don’t mind it when you are.” Your movements paused for a split second when the words left his mouth in that same strange, fragile tone.

You could feel his eyes watching- peering up, as you tried your best to keep your attention on your hands.

He felt you stop, internally panicking that he’d said something wrong, he kept talking. 

“I just- you’re different.” The words stumbled out, losing a bit of their fragility as they tripped over each other in an effort to reassure you. 

Your brows furrowed slightly at the word and Jack was convinced he’d just dug a deeper hole to bury himself in. 

“Different?” The one word question left your lips as they struggled to withhold a smile. 

You were amused at the way Jack was fumbling over his words.

It was rare to catch him in such a flustered state. You chalked it up to the fresh wound he’d just received, and his abnormally high heart rate that he really should be paying more attention to. 

“Pleasant.” 

Then you stopped. Longer this time. It must’ve been at least 30 seconds that your fingers paused their threading, as you glanced down at the pulse ox between sutures. Sure enough his heart was racing again.

110 bpm.

You would be concerned about his inevitable descent into a questionable cardiac rhythm if it weren’t for the way his eyes were fixed on yours. His stare was so deliberate, you could feel your own pulse quickening underneath the growing heat of your skin. 

“Pleasant? How so?”

112 bpm.

“You just have this way of making everyone happy. It’s subtle. You’re always smiling and positive, but it’s never performative, it’s just who you are.”

A warmth spreads through your body at the compliment, rolling like waves as each of his words washed over you, completely enveloping you in a state of coy flattery. 

“You’re just easy to be around.” 

The heat threatened to reach your face, as he continued talking. His words were nearly a whisper with his voice floating up to you, low and smooth. 

“I like being around you.” 

115 bpm.

You open your mouth before you’ve even decided how you want to respond to Jack’s innocent confession, then unexpectedly, a voice that’s not yours fills the room.

“Still not done in here?” Robby came barreling into the room. His presence was loud and boisterous compared to the sheepish exchange taking place between you and Jack.

He stopped a few feet into the room. Seeing your body so close to Jack’s, with your hands still working at the injury on his forehead, and your eyes locked on each other, seemed to make him apprehensive about continuing into the room, like he was interrupting something.

“Jesus, let the man go home.” His chuckle echoed around you as he decided to come closer, inspecting your work. 

“That was fast. What happened to that being the best case of your day?” Jack piped up from underneath your touch. He was careful not to move his head as he aimed his question at Robby, eyes averting to the man standing next to you. 

“Yeah, it went south pretty quick.” Robby’s voice finally found a level close to silence, as he watched in concentration while you tied off the last stitch. 

“You need some help there? I could send in one of the medical students-” He joked looking over at you. He knew you were quick. The way you were taking your time, being overly methodical with Jack, was out of character for you. 

“Very funny. I’m done.” You softly glared over at Robby as you took a step back, pulling your gloves off.

“See what I mean about the smartass jokes?” Jack’s eyes were on you, still holding a lingering softness from your unfinished conversation just moments prior. 

“Oh so I leave you two alone for a few minutes and you just use it to talk bad about me?” Pretending to be offended, Robby scoffed at the notion of you two discussing his comedic timing, watching as you and Jack just stared at one another.

“Something like that.”

Your response was hidden behind a smile while you and Jack stayed submerged in a brief moment of smitten eye contact and unquestionable curiosity, before you made your way to the open door.

“I’m gonna get back out there. Try not to take anymore elbows to the face Dr. Abbot,” You joked before taking a single step into the hallway, turning your back for a split second to look at him one last time.

“and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

With that, you were already halfway down the hall, onto the next patient.

Robby stared at Jack with a goofy smile forming on his mouth as your absence left the room silent.

“Don’t.”

The single word snapped from Jack as he brushed past Robby, leaving the room before he could be hit with his friend’s smug confrontation.

He left for the day, but not before stopping by the triage desk on his way out, purposefully walking past you just to get one last glimpse of your smile for the day.

the pitt masterlist

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 0: prologue✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 2k SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his. <vs> You're proud of being self-sufficient: moving alone to New York, supporting yourself with a stable job, balancing a social life with your friends... until Wade brings Logan into your life. Someone who, unbeknownst to you, will crack the very foundations of your identity, for better or for worse. WARNINGS/TAGS: SMUT MDNI, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult, friends to lovers, crushes, swearing, anus jokes, wade wilson (he's a warning), fingering, 1 (one) mention of "good girl", slight personification for reader AUTHOR'S NOTE: nobody asked for this series but i hope you like reading it as much as i liked writing it. more chapters to come <3

“How’d you meet your roommate?”

A common question you get asked these days. You just moved into a new place, and you aren’t alone. If that isn’t a surprise, little else is.

“Oh, he’s a friend,” you’d say with a smile.

Is he? A little voice whispers.

You’ve only known Logan for a little over three months now.

When your neighbor Hurricane Wilson brought a handsome but tired-looking older man from “the greatest 137 minutes of cinematic bromance”, you were confused. You were at his birthday party. Clearly he went missing for longer than that.

Everybody was confused, really. Until Wade, in his signature verbosity, outlined the sequence of events. How in the third act, Deadpool and his “honey badger” Logan—the handsome but tired-looking older man—with the help of badass outcasts, took down a bald villainess who was this close to ripping the entire multiverse apart. He also mentioned an organization called the Time Variance Authority allowing Logan to make this timeline his new home to replace an “anchor being”…

In any case, it was extremely complicated and hard to wrap your head around. But you managed to get the gist. A skill you picked up working in corporate.

Some things in corporate made less sense than the concept of a metaphysical junkyard at the end of Time. 

How you got into this superheroic social circle is best described as a coincidence. A weird series of coincidences, rather.

You’d planned on moving to Manhattan to break away from life’s crushing monotony, despite your loved ones’ concerns. The city has seen more than extraterrestrial attacks, for god’s sake. And yet, New York City’s pulsing energy and vibrant lights make you feel alive and excited, a rare emotion, despite seemingly being a huge neon sign that says ‘INVADE HERE’ to aliens.

So when that desire for more tipped to an unbearable edge, you took that job offer and packed your bags. 

And now you live in the same building as Deadpool.

The two of you quickly got on talking terms after you shot him a dry remark at the laundromat, eyeing the pile of bloody clothes in his hamper.

“Use cold water and hydrogen peroxide,” you said then, not even sparing a second glance. He thought you had to be a little crazy to strike up a conversation with someone who could be a killer. And let’s be honest, he is a killer. 

He asked if you’re in the business—of being mercenary, he meant. You told him you were in the business of bleeding between your legs every month since you were thirteen. He laughed.

Wade doesn’t need a long time to figure out the kind of person you are.

“You’re a straight arrow,” he once told you, and he wasn’t referring to your sexuality. Doesn’t take an observant pair of eyes to understand that, despite your authenticity, you like to keep your distance in the beginning of things.

Which is why getting you to warm up to him was a delicate matter, one he treaded carefully. Instead of throwing you into a deep end of intimate dinners and movie nights with his friends, who can be a lot, his approach was a lot more discreet. As discreet as Wade Wilson can be, at least.

Borrowing your Tupperwares. Begging for sugar and baking soda. Asking questions about taxes or advice for his ‘career switch’. Things you gladly helped him out with, bless your heart.

Little by little, you grew closer to the merc. Consoled him when the Avengers rejected his application. Watched sad movies with him when he and Vanessa fell apart. You offered support in your own way: no grand speeches to try and get him to win her back, but quiet gestures to make sure he didn’t give up his own happiness, whether that involves romantic love or otherwise.

Then and only then, he slowly and joyfully inserted you into his larger social circle, like a rectal suppository. And before he knew it, it worked. Smooth as butter—also like a rectal suppository. A pleasurable feat he finds triumph in.

“My little people-pleaser,” he often calls you. An affectionate nickname within the group. You’d laugh wryly in response. He’s right, but the two of you knew that you never were just trying to be accommodating. You care deeper than you let on.

So yes, as of today, you are the most normal person in that precious universe-saving polaroid, now framed in Wade’s living room. Well, maybe you and Peter.

Although between the two of you, he has a red skin-tight superhero suit in his closet, and you don’t.

Then again, you gave a potential murderer advice on how to get rid of bloodstains, so are you really normal?

It’s only been three months since Logan first saw you, but it feels like a long time. Maybe because so much has happened in those three months, stretching it into something infinite.

A lifetime has passed since—because the life he’s living now is not at all the life he had before. 

Twelve weeks into this new universe, here are some of the things he’s done so far:

Accidentally discovered Weird Al’s coke stash twice—there were more than one. Got one too many whiffs of Wade’s damp socks and soiled boxers. Bought a second-hand phone from Dopinder. Found a contract-based job in a construction company that’s flexible enough for him to heed the TVA’s calls when needed.

Moved out of Wade’s place to move in with you.

He first saw you in the Void. You were once just a face in a photograph, one of the few people that made up Wade’s entire world. Your features weren’t rendered clearly thanks to the lighting, but even then Logan thought you looked sweet. Perhaps a little tired, as well, but that didn’t seem to dim your smile.

When he met you, though, it was different.

His perfect vision allowed him to take in every inch of you as you walked through the apartment door, carrying a Trader Joe’s bag filled with snacks as your tribute to movie night. The blurry image of the polaroid became clear, and there was a second where he had to collect himself. 

Pretty, he thought. Especially in that button-down shirt that revealed just the right amount of collarbone and a flattering pair of slacks. You just got out of the office. 

Real pretty. And young. Almost enough to make him scold himself for being attracted to you. The guilt didn’t lessen even when he learned you were well into your twenties.

For all your initial politeness when meeting someone new, he discovers that you have your own brand of charm. Not like Yukio’s pep, or Nega-something’s cool demeanor, or Vanessa’s allure. 

It’s your curiosity and kindness. Something he learns while watching you interact with others, and from interacting with you. There’s a reason why you were at Wade’s birthday party—that manchild may be nine-circles-of-Hell-unhinged, but he doesn’t misjudge character.

You’re an amazing listener, and as a result, a great conversation partner without being as wordy as Wade. Always quick to offer a helping hand, too. He’s seen you quietly slip into the kitchen to clean some dishes when you think no one’s looking. Offer drinks. Bring up details of your friends’ lives that make them go “oh, you remembered?”

When Laura came along, the two of you became fast friends. That was another signal to him.

A dangerous one that spells trouble for his beat-up heart.

One fateful day, you drop by Wade’s place—and his—and Al’s, but she was out for poker—with a box of Krispy Kremes, confessing your troubles while you all munched on donuts.

Both men were all ears. 

You don’t often go into detail when sharing your problems with others, so when you did, it felt like you were quietly telling them you needed help. You spoke in measured, calm sentences. Issues with your current landlord, which they knew from before, were no longer manageable. Coupled with the fact that your lease was ending soon, you admitted to thinking of moving out.

“Where?” he grunted almost instinctively in response, ahead of Wade who was undoubtedly going to protest about having to source his own baking soda.

“A building just a couple blocks away,” you answer, “there’s this corner unit, much better sunlight. Good neighborhood. The landlord seems really nice.”

They peered into your phone screen as you flicked through the photos. It looked great. Just the right amount of space with plenty of natural light, like you said. And then there was silence, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You bit your cheek.

“It’s… a little too expensive for me.” 

“Really? I know it’s much better than my love shack, but with Marvel scriptwriters constantly fucking over this city with world-ending threats, rent can’t be the Ritz!” Wade scoffed in disbelief.

“It’s a two-bedder,” you replied, shrugging. “I’ve negotiated, but with two bedrooms, there’s no way that unit’s going to cost the same as my current one.”

“You need help dealing with your shitty landlord instead?” Logan offered, eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t mean to sound overprotective, but thankfully you shook your head instead of pointing that out.

“Logan, I appreciate it, but it’s not worth it. Don’t want to get you in trouble.” You said with a sheepish smile, leaning down to pet Mary Puppins who greeted you with a rough lick on your leg. “I just need to get a roommate. It only makes sense.”

Wade’s eyes quickly glanced at Logan. The solution was standing right next to him.

As much as he’d hate not waking up to the sight of Logan’s crotch splayed on his couch, he’d love to gain some semblance of privacy back in his life. Or as much as he can get with Althea around, at least. Wouldn’t hurt. He could finally bring Vanessa over, play that George Michael record and woo her properly…

Okay, okay. Maybe he saw the way the two of you danced around each other one too many times. Clearly there was something going on, potent enough to propel someone on Tumblr to write a series with the two of them as the central characters. Friends to lovers, that kind of bullshit. 

He wanted to see where this fic goes.

And Logan, that motherfucker’s got a job now! Truly a cause for celebration in this economy. From what Wade knows, the salary is not bad at all. Perks of being a self-healing mutant who can risk a limb doing the more dangerous parts of construction.

“You know, peanut, your snores are getting a little too loud these days—”

That basically explains how Logan Howlett ended up as your roommate.

But that doesn’t really explain how you find yourself trapped underneath his solid body, in your room, on your bed.

Doesn’t explain your t-shirt in his fist as he yanks it low enough to latch his lips onto your exposed collarbone. Body between your legs forcing them to part to accommodate his frame. One big hand pinning your wrists together above your head, the other on the apex of your thighs, pushing your panties aside as a finger toys with you. Your hips buck.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he whispers, lips moving right next to your ear. A shiver racks your spine at the low timbre of his voice, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment at just how worked up you are, evidence of it effortlessly coating the rough pad of his finger.

Doesn’t explain why he takes off your top in one smooth movement, hand releasing your wrists in favor of cupping your jaw when he crashes his lips into yours like a desperate man.

And he is, though you sound just as desperate���if not more—when he slowly, easily plunges his middle finger into your wet cunt, your strangled moan against his mouth.

Doesn’t explain the glazed look in his darkened eyes when he pulls away, only a breath apart, just to stare at the face you’re making. Eyes as dark as his, a little hazy, a little surprised. But nothing about you is fighting this.

His blood sings.

“Be a good girl and let me take care of you,” he rasps before thrusting a second finger in, then curling them deep inside of you.

“A-ah—”

So how did you get here?

The answer isn’t nearly as complicated as Wade’s multiversal adventure. 

You just need to outline the sequence of events in your head.

dividers by evansyhelp and cafekitsune

[rosenclaws]

sorry if you did this one already, but showering with versions of logan headcanons?

Oo i have not!

Origins Logan -

Showering with him is a very intimate thing and its always after a long day of work. He’s all dirty and dusty from chopping trees and so he always takes a shower when he gets home. When you get to join him it's all cuddles and and sweet talking. His hands wandering and begging you to let him wash you because well, he had a long day and all he wants is to get to help clean his honey. It is just an excuse to feel you up but hey, you don't mind. Trying to get dressed after the shower with him around is another story. You have to send him out of the bathroom so you can put your clothes back on or else he's gonna be whining and pouting in the mirror. You do tend to steal his already worn flannels though because they smell like him and he loves it.

Trilogy Logan -

He is a fucking menace. Absolute fucking menace oh my god you are getting nothing done in that shower. It starts innocent enough. You come back from an exhausting mission and you really need to shower and sleep and Logan is right behind you trailing like a dog. Following you all the way to your bathroom and begging to shower with you with those big hazel eyes. You just roll your eyes and start to strip and he follows suit. He cannot keep his hands off you. He wants to do everything. Wash your hair, wash your body, push you against the wall and make out. You know, typical shower things. When you tell him you actually want to be clean he gets sooo pouty. You're literally standing here naked and wet and soapy and you expect him NOT to do something about it?? You quite literally use up all the hot water by spending way too much time in the shower. His fault and he'll admit it. Once you get out it takes some convincing but he does get you to just go to bed without getting into pajamas which he'll take.

DOFP Logan -

Look they're all fucking menaces alright and though this Logan is older and a little wiser he's just as pervy when it comes to you. He's the guy to hear you start the shower from like 3 floors down and hurry up the stairs so he can slip in and join you. One minute your scrubbing your body and the next Logan has taken the loofa out of your hand and replaced it with his own two hands. Doesn't matter what time or when he will jump in the shower with you. It's really cute but sometimes you are in a hurry and Logan adds about 20 minutes to your shower. Sometimes if you really need to make it quick you tell him to stay out and he gets all huffy. The best showers are the ones where he can really take his time. Kissing you and spending all the time in the world just loving on you. He promises to keep you warm when the water gets cold and makes good on it when he presses you against the glass with his very warm body.

Old Man Logan -

Showering with him is much more intimate than with any of the other Logans. He's very vulnerable at this point, exposing all his scars and tired worn down body to you. He knows he doesn't look like he used to and sometimes it gets to him. The shower is the moment you get to show each other how much you really love him. Washing each other and being close and just getting to be with him. His rough hands do their best to be gentle. It's just really sweet. Plus...Logan is still really hot so.

Worst Logan -

The shower is kind of the only place the two of you can get any peace and even then Logan has to barricade the door so Wade can't just show up unannounced. Like he's done before. Multiple times. He's flirty and also kinda pervy. His hands slipping every where and he's taking advantage of having you all to himself. Totally picks you up and presses you against the wall with the hot water running down his back and he's kissing you everywhere he can and he's mumbling about how that asshole can't interrupt him now. Safe to say you don't come out of the bathroom for a while.

[sidemari]

• Bun in the oven •

Some texts about you telling them that you’re pregnant and some headcanons about how they’re during the pregnancy. 

Characters included: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Keegan P. Russ, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König, Nikto and Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader 

TW: Mild angst, mentions of abortion and insecurities, implied smut. But everything works out in the end. 

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You call him from the corner of the room, that nervous smile on your face. Soap knows right away that something big is coming — he feels it, like he senses danger on the field… But this time, it’s something different. Something good.

“Johnny… Do you remember the night you came back home after being away for so long due to that mission?” You tested the waters by avoiding telling the truth right away.

“Yeah… How could I forget that night?” He smiled warmly, his mind flashing with the images of that day. “What about it, hon?” 

“Well… You know we got carried away and…”

“And…?”

“We’re having a baby.” You finally share your secret. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. His usual playful smile disappears for a second, replaced by a stunned look, as if he’s trying to decode what he’s just heard.

“Are… are you serious?” You nod, and he… explodes with joy. He literally lifts you into the air with a surprised cry, almost laughing and crying at the same time.

“Oh my God! We’re going to be parents?! Aye, fuck, baby, is this really real?”

He kisses your forehead, then your belly, even though it hasn’t even changed yet. He murmurs a bunch of sweet things in that warm accent — promises, plans, dreams. And then he whispers very softly, just for you to hear:

“I swear I will be the best father in the world… to our baby. And the best man to you. Always.”

When the morning sickness starts, he becomes your personal bodyguard against any suspicious smells: “What the hell is that in the air?! It smells like poison, honey. Close that window!”

He researches everything about pregnancy and becomes the most emotional “expert” on the planet. He sends you messages like: “Did you know that the baby already has little fingers today? LITTLE FINGERS, BABY!”

He talks to your belly every day, telling them about his missions, his friends on the team, and asking if the baby prefers soccer or rugby: “If you kick now, it’ll be rugby, okay?”

He starts to become obsessed with photos. He takes a thousand selfies with you and your belly, even while you’re sleeping. 

He refuses to let you carry anything, literally: “Not even the bag. Not even the remote. Let me carry it, honey.”

He massages your feet every night, and even develops a ‘military relaxation technique’ just so you can sleep better.

He has a hospital bag ready with 30 unnecessary things, like three types of chocolate, a teddy bear, and a mini speaker to play Scottish music for the baby.

He’s always reminding you how beautiful you are, even when you feel uncomfortable and insecure. “No matter how big your belly is, you’ve always been the love of my life, and now you’re carrying our little miracle. And no, I don’t give a single fuck about those stretchmarks. You’re nurturing a life inside your womb and your body is adapting itself because of it. I still think you look damn hot and I’m forever thankful that those pregnancy hormones shifted you into a little insatiable thing.”

He gets touchy-feely, sometimes hugging you in the middle of the night just to say thank you. 

He makes up nicknames for the baby while he’s still in the womb, like “Little Soap”. 

He gets really emotional during the first ultrasound. He holds your hand tightly and tries not to cry… but fails miserably.

He makes special playlists with soft Scottish music, movie soundtracks and even records himself talking so the baby can hear at night.

He buys miniature army clothes, but also absurdly cute ones, like animal costumes, because “he needs to have style in the nursery”.

One day he shows up with a crib set up in the middle of the living room just because “he wanted to see if it would look nice in natural light”.

He learns to cook your favorite foods (even if it turns out to be a disaster) just so you can eat what you want safely.

He keeps notes with the dates of the first times: first kick, first time their heartbeat was heard, first photo of your belly. He’s creating a secret “dossier” of love.

He swears he’s going to be the most present father in the world. No matter how much life changes, he will always be there for you two. 

It was a quiet night at home. The sky was clear, with a million stars shining through the open window. You were sitting on the couch, with a cup of hot tea in your hands, and Soap was lying next to you, with his head on your lap, apparently tired from the intense mission of the day. The conversation was calm, but you knew it was time to tell him the news. He was so focused on caressing your stomach as you played with his hair, that he didn't notice how nervous you were.

"Did you know you're going to be the best dad in the world?" You said softly, feeling your heart race. Soap looked at you with a crooked smile, his eyes shining with evident affection.

"I have no doubt about that, love. But what do you mean, best dad? If I'm not, who will be, huh?" You laughed, but you were feeling overflowing with happiness. Suddenly, the moment was there, and it was as if time had slowed down just so he could hear your words.

"Well… I can't say who's going to be the best father, but you're the best for me, and… Our daughter is going to be very lucky." There was a pause. Soap stood up quickly, looking at you, confused, as if he hadn't quite understood. His eyes were curious, but his smile stubbornly wouldn't leave his face. 

"Wait… What?" He asked, his eyes shining even brighter. You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your face. 

"I… we're expecting a little girl." Soap's eyes widened for a moment and he was silent, processing the information. When it finally sunk in, he leaned forward, with a dazzling smile.

"A little girl?" he repeated, his voice full of disbelief. 

"Yes, a little girl," You said, your heart almost jumping out of your chest. "You're going to be the father of a little girl." And then, he simply laughed. A genuine, happy laugh, one of those laughs that seemed so honest that you felt your soul warm. He stood up from the couch, holding your hands tightly before he jumped close to you, not caring about the teacup that almost fell to the floor.

"Are you sure about this? A real little girl?" He asked again, his eyes shining with happiness.

You laughed then, finally, the feeling of nervousness disappearing. He was more excited than ever, and his happiness was contagious.

"I'm sure!" You answered, laughing along with him, the two of you hugging each other tightly. "We're going to have a daughter, Soap." He ran his hand over your belly, still not fully believing it, but with a sparkle in his eyes that didn't fade. 

"I promise that I'm going to be the best dad in the world. It's going to be a pleasure to watch our little girl grow up." You leaned back against the couch, feeling your heart beat faster. 

"I know you will." And as he continued to rub your belly, smiling like a fool and in that moment, you were more certain than ever that he was the kind of father who would do anything for her. 

Keegan P. Russ 

You hadn’t planned to tell him like this. You wanted something elaborate, symbolic… maybe a candlelit dinner, a note written in your nervous handwriting. But there, sitting on the couch, with his hand resting on your thigh and his eyes intently watching a movie, you felt the right moment — a comfortable, intimate silence, just the two of you.

“Keegan…” You began, your voice low, almost as if you were keeping a precious secret between your lips. He turned his face to you right away. He always did that — when you spoke, he listened. With his eyes, with his whole body. It was a habit of his to offer you his total presence.

“Is something wrong?” He asked immediately, already with that protective look that always came when you hesitated.

“No… it’s just...” You took his hand and brought it to your belly, as if that would be enough. Maybe it was. For a moment, he didn’t understand. He looked back at your face, at your eyes filled with unshed tears, at his hand under your still flat stomach, but which held a secret growing in silence.

“Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but his eyes said it all. You nodded, with a shy, uncertain, but hopeful smile. The air between you changed. He didn’t say anything for a second too long — but you saw it. His shoulders relaxed as if he had been waiting for this news without knowing. His eyes watered, and his mouth opened slowly, a whisper coming out between his lips:

“Are we becoming a family...?” The way he hugged you that night was different. It was a protective, reverent grip. As if you were made of porcelain. As if the most important miracle of his life was inside you — and it was.

The focused, meticulous soldier appeared in a new form: in nutrition spreadsheets, reminders on his phone with alarms for his snacks, vitamins, and appointments. He went with you to all of them—even when he was exhausted, even when he had just returned from a mission the day before. He sat next to you, held your hand, and listened intently to every word the obstetrician said.

Keegan was the type of person who didn’t say much, but showed it all through his actions. He learned to cook healthy meals even though he didn’t know how to cut a tomato properly at first. He would run his hands over his belly before bed every night, with a caress that felt like a silent prayer.

And when the symptoms got tough — the nausea, the aches, the bloating — Keegan didn’t run away. He showed up with tea (and if you refused to drink them, he’d force you to, saying it was for the good of the baby you were nurturing), warm blankets, and concerned eyes. He sat on the floor beside your bed when you didn’t want to talk. He was just there and it was enough. 

Sometimes, during the night, he would wake up just to check if you were still sleeping well. He would run his hand over your forehead, carefully adjusting your position, as if he could protect you even from nightmares.

Keegan, during your pregnancy, was as firm as steel and as gentle as a cozy blanket. He became your safe haven, your silent and constant guardian. He slept with his hand on your belly, talked to the baby when he thought you couldn’t hear, promised he would be there, always, that he would take care of you, that no one would ever hurt you both. 

You found him in the kitchen, cooking your latest craving: berry pie.

“Baby,” You called, leaning against the door frame. He looked up immediately, a small smile forming when he saw you there.

You walked over to him slowly, your heart racing, and pulled out the small pair of blue booties you had bought that morning.

“For when he gets here.” You said, placing the booties in his hands. A cheesy way to reveal the gender of your baby, yes, but those booties were just too cute for you to ignore. 

Keegan frowned, confused at first — until understanding dawned on him. He blinked a few times, in disbelief.

“A little boy?” He asked, almost in a choked whisper.

You nodded with an excited smile. He laughed softly, shaking his head as if he was still processing it. Then he pulled you slowly closer, resting his forehead against yours before spinning you around slowly and carefully to not make you nauseous.

“My little boy… Our little boy!” He murmured, his voice cracking with joy.

When the time arrives, Keegan is incredibly calm on the outside, but inside he is a whirlwind of emotions. He has never been so scared and so happy at the same time. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering “You can do it,” “I’m here,” “It’s going to be okay” like a mantra — as if his voice could protect you from the pain. When he heard the baby cry for the first time, his eyes filled with tears instantly. He tried to hide it, but the emotion overflowed in his eyes and in the way he smiled at you and when he held his son for the first time. He was completely mesmerized: his big fingers touched the little body with the greatest delicacy in the world, as if he was afraid of hurting his own son. 

Keegan refuses to sleep while you rest. He sits in an armchair with the baby on his lap, just observing every little detail of the newborn. When the medical team came back and found him with the baby sleeping on his chest, and you sleeping in bed, they said it looked like a scene from a movie. 

He talks to the baby even though he knows he doesn't understand: "You have your mother's eyes... And you'll be strong like her too." 

Takes pictures of the tiny feet, of the baby grabbing your finger, of you breastfeeding him, bathing him and sleeping with him and keeps them all in a folder that only he has access to.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

You realized something was wrong when you woke up with an upset stomach for two days in a row — and without having eaten anything heavy. The smell of the breakfast you loved started to make you nauseous… and that was the first warning sign. Kyle even jokingly commented: “Are you abandoning me in our sacred coffee ritual?” — and you forced a smile, pretending you weren’t worried. A few days later, you realized your period was late. A week. Then ten days. And then fifteen. And then, sweet fear hit deep in your chest.

You bought the test by yourself, on a quick trip to the pharmacy, and hid it in your purse as if it were a state secret. On a cold, slow morning, you took the test while Kyle was still sleeping. The silence in the bathroom was almost deafening as you waited the five minutes that the package indicated. Two lines. Two lines that changed everything. You stood still for long minutes, in the same position, holding the test with shaking hands and teary eyes. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You did both. The first thing you thought was: "How am I going to tell him?" — and right after: "Will he want this with me?" 

You tried to plan a cute way to tell him. A special dinner, a little box with the test and a note. But anxiety got the best of you. You told him in a simple way, on a normal afternoon, when it was just the two of you, sitting together. He noticed something different about you, and when you shared the secret you were carrying alone, time seemed to stop.

He was sitting on the couch, his eyes softly focused on you as you walked slowly toward him, your hands clasped in front of you, as if trying to contain your racing heart. He could tell right away — you were nervous.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, his voice low, full of affection.

You nodded, but your throat was dry. You took a deep breath, then walked over and sat down next to him. His hand came naturally to yours, his warm, firm fingers wrapping around yours as if to say ‘I’m here, talk to me.’

“Kyle…” Your gaze met his, and there was so much tenderness there it almost hurt. “I’m pregnant.” For a moment, the world seemed suspended. His smile froze mid-smile, his eyes wide with surprise. You saw the emotion building there — first confusion, then a wet gleam in his eyes, as if he’d just heard something sacred.

“Are you… pregnant?” He repeated in a whisper, as if he was afraid to break the moment.

You nodded, with a small smile. His answer came in the form of a soft, almost breathless laugh, before he pulled you into a hug full of warmth and reverence. He held you as if you were made of glass, but at the same time with such intensity that your heart seemed to fit into his.

“We’re going to have a baby… Fuck’s sake!, that’s so amazing...” He whispered against your neck, as if he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Kyle… No swearing around the baby.”

“Copy that.” He smiled. “I'll be here. Every step, every beat of this little heart… I want to live it all with you.” After that, he placed his hand lovingly on your lower belly, as if he could already feel the new life you had started together. And in that moment, between soft smiles and slow kisses, the whole world seemed to fit between his arms.

He became obsessed with learning everything: he read medical articles, downloaded three different pregnancy apps, and asked the internet if certain strange food cravings were normal. 

He created a ritual: every night, he would lie with his head on her belly and whisper stories, just to “familiarize the baby with his father’s voice.” He would always say proudly: “Our baby will be born hearing the most beautiful accent in the world, honey.” 

He was so protective, but in a sweet way —  accompanying you to every appointment, carrying healthy snacks in his bag, and talking to doctors like you were a secret agent on a mission. 

When your belly started to grow, he bought funny “Loading… Baby 50%” T-shirts and forced you to wear them just to see your grumpy little face. No need to tell him they look awful, he’s already taking pictures of you. 

One day, he found you crying watching a random video of a stray dog being adopted and he just sat down with you, hugging you tightly, and getting emotional too, without even knowing why. 

He insisted on putting the crib together with his own hands. He made several mistakes, got his fingers stuck, and cursed the manual — but in the end, the crib was perfect.

When the contractions started, he went into military mode in 0.1 seconds. He grabbed the hospital bag, checked the checklist, warned everyone and took you to the hospital as if he was on a mission.

During the birth, he held your hand the whole time, letting you crush his fingers without complaining as he kept murmuring something along the lines of “Breathe with me. I’m with you.”

When the baby was born and cried for the first time, he cried too — the kind of silent, emotional cry that comes from deep in the chest.

He was paralyzed for a few seconds when he saw the baby in his arms, with teary eyes, whispering: “We did it. Look… we did it.”

You waited to find out the baby’s sex until the birth. It was a huge shock when the obstetrician said that a little boy had been born: “Hell yeah!”, he celebrated. “My little boy,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Our son...”

König

He finally returned from that mission that seemed to have no end. 

You call him by name with that soft voice that makes him feel weak to his knees. He notices something in your tone. The blue eyes fixed on yours with attention… and a hint of anxiety. “Was ist passiert, mein Schatz?” (“What happened, my love?”)

You take a deep breath, smiling with a nervousness that he immediately picks up on — and you finally say three words that change everything: 

“I am pregnant.” For a moment, he freezes. Not with rejection. Not with anger. But as if the world had gone silent. His eyes widen slightly, he takes a step back as if he’s been shocked, only to then approach you again with visible hesitation in his hands. The mask covers half of his reaction, but his eyes say it all. Pure vulnerability. The doubt of whether he deserves this. The desire to believe he still deserves to be happy. 

“Is it… mine?” He asks, his voice lower than ever.

“Of course it is, König!” 

When you say that — of course he knew it was his — König lets out a shaky sigh and puts his hands on his head, walking a few steps as if he doesn’t know what to do with his own body. Then he stops and he comes back to you. He kneels and he hugs your still-flat belly, pressing it against his face with an almost religious reverence.

“Mein Gott (My god)… you gave me a new life.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse and muffled.

Then he looks down at you, with teary eyes — the intimidating giant now looking like a lost, happy boy — and says something you would never forget:

“I never thought I would have something so precious. I will take care of you. The both of you. Even if the world falls apart… you will be safe.” 

In the first few months, König is on constant alert. Every moment of nausea, every different expression on your face, makes him stop everything to check if you are okay. 

He obsessively researches pregnancy in silence, on his cell phone, reading scientific articles, forums, and even mothers' groups — all in secret, with his eyes fixed on the screen as if he were studying military tactics. 

He tries to cook for you (with… variable results), just because he read that certain foods help with morning sickness. 

When your belly starts to grow, König starts talking to you when he thinks you are sleeping. He lies down next to you, his head resting gently on your belly, murmuring in German with a sweetness that seems unthinkable for such a huge man. "Dein Vater liebt dich sehr, mein kleines Wunder..." ("Your father loves you very much, my little miracle...") 

He starts to accompany you to every medical appointment as if they were a mission, paying attention to every comment from the doctors and nurses as if his life depended on it. 

When your belly is already heavy and your steps are slower, König starts carrying you to any place that involves stairs. Literally. He doesn't even ask. He just picks you up with the greatest care in the world, as if you were made of glass. 

When you start having false contractions, he goes into a state of absolute focus—the hospital bag has been packed for weeks, the routes have been planned, the emergency numbers are posted on the fridge. But despite this, he is always kind, always calm with you, even though he is seething with nerves inside.

He has internal crises of insecurity, but he never burdens you with them. He writes everything down in a hidden notebook, as a way of letting off steam. 

You find him on the balcony, the sky tinged with gold by the sunset. König’s back is turned, still, silent, as he usually does when he’s thinking too much. His large hands are resting on the railing, his broad body almost blocking the light. He turns when he hears your footsteps, and his soft gaze immediately lands on your belly with an almost reverent affection.

You smile, and he responds with that shy little smile at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still seeming to search for more signs that you’re okay.

“What did the doctor say?” He asks in a low voice, waiting for each word as if they were sacred.

You walk towards him, slowly, feeling your heart beat faster — not from nervousness, but from excitement. Then you take one of his hands and guide it to your belly.

“She’s fine,” You begin, looking into his eyes. “And yes... I said she.”

König’s eyes blink, as if it took him a second to process.

“She...?” He whispers, almost in disbelief. You nod, smiling even wider.

“We’re having a little girl.” His breath catches for a moment. His blue eyes — usually so restrained, so trained not to show too much — shine with immediate moisture. He kneels, letting his forehead touch yours while his hands wrap around your belly with a delicacy that doesn’t match its size.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling him snuggle closer, his arms around your waist as if he wanted to protect the two of you from the entire world.

“She’s already so loved, König. By me… and by you.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready. But I’ll give everything. Everything. For both of you.”

“You’re already everything she needs. And everything I need too.” 

Nikto

The truth is that you found out you were carrying his child only in the third month of pregnancy. The missions, your dangerous job, the obligations, plans and goals, your own complex relationship with Nikto… all of this was too much for you to handle. The days became weeks and the weeks became months as you just ignored the symptoms, thinking that the nausea and exhaustion would pass. But they remained very present, and your suspicion only increased.

You took a pregnancy test, which came back positive. And to be sure, you also took a blood test some days after and then, an ultrasound, which finally revealed the baby's gender: a little boy was coming into the world. You did all this without saying a word to Nikto, fearing that he would hate the news. You weren't stupid, you knew he would soon realize something was out of place. Your body was changing, your symptoms were still present, and you even avoided exposing yourself to any kind of risk, as much as possible, unlike before.

He suspected the possible reason why this was happening, but he never forced you to admit anything. Not until you were ready.

When you told him the news, at first he reacted with silence and a hard look, trying to process the information. He’s not the type to show emotion easily, so you thought he was angry or indifferent… But inside, he would be conflicted. Part of him would feel vulnerable — the idea of ​​having created a new life would hit him harder than he expected. Another part would be on edge, worried for your safety and that of the baby, since his world is too violent for something so innocent.

But he wouldn’t shy away from responsibility. He just wouldn’t know how to show he cares in the traditional way. You’d see him more protective, more present, but also more silent. His love would be shown in actions, not words.

The base was silent that night—just the hum of the generators and the occasional sound of boots echoing in the hallway. He was sitting at the table, cleaning his weapon with the meticulous precision of always, his mask pushed up to his forehead, revealing those hard eyes… but that always softened when they landed on you. You walked in slowly, your fingers intertwined in front of you, your heart beating fast.

He noticed it instantly. He dropped the metal piece on the table and watched you silently. Not like a soldier, but like a man. Your man.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, standing up immediately, his tone low but attentive.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s not that. But… I need to tell you something. And it’s important.”

His eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms, his body firm as steel, but his gaze… almost nervous.

“I’m pregnant, Nikto.”

The silence that followed was as thick as the darkness outside. He didn’t answer. He just stood there, motionless, as if time had frozen. What did you expect? A scream? A sigh? A “how did that happen?”?

None of that came.

He walked towards you, slowly, as if he were stepping on unknown land. He stopped so close that you could feel the heat of his body. His gloved hand rose to your face — it hesitated in the air for a second — and then landed with a delicacy that no one would ever imagine that man was capable of.

“My son?” He murmured, his voice so low that it seemed like a secret between you and the universe.

Son… And he even had guessed the baby gender right.

You nodded, tears in your eyes, but smiling.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, there was something there. It wasn’t fear. Or anger. It was… instinct. A raw kind of love — unconditional, protective.

"How do you…" You hugged him, and that took him by surprise. It took Nikto a few seconds to hug you back, but when he did, he stroked your hair with affection. "How do you know it's a boy?"

"Is it?"

"I mean… yeah."

"Perhaps it was just my intuition." He kissed the top of your head, wanting to protect you from the world.

“You will not leave my sight.” His voice had returned to its firm tone. “I will take care of you both. From now on.” And then, for the first time since you met him, Nikto knelt down, making himself vulnerable before you. Lifting your shirt, he pressed his lips to your slightly swollen belly, so gently that it barely seemed real. But it was. It was his promise. No pretty words. Just presence. Just surrender.

Nikto was already a controlling person by nature, but from the moment he found out about your pregnancy, he became a constant shadow by your side. He checks safe routes before you go out, monitors the environment where you sleep, and leaves discreet trackers on everything you wear “just in case.” He doesn’t say, “I’m afraid something will happen,” he just acts—as if he could take on the whole world for you and the baby.

He’s not the type to say, “You look so beautiful carrying my son” but out of nowhere you find a soft blanket on the couch, hot tea on the table, or maternity clothes in your size neatly folded on the bed. When you ask him if that was his doing, he just answers curtly, “Maybe.” But if you insist, he might say, “I like to see you comfortable.” (And he looks down, because that was the most vulnerability he could show that day.)

If you’re lying down and you let out a whimper of pain or discomfort, within seconds he’ll be there, kneeling beside the bed, pressing his hands firmly against your back. He never comments anything, he just keeps going until he feels you’ve relaxed. When you say a weak “thank you” he’ll give you a quick nod and maybe — just maybe — press a kiss against your forehead before leaving the room.

At night, when you are dozing on the couch or in bed, he will slowly come over and, if he is comfortable doing so, he will rub your belly while speaking to the baby in Russian. They are short, almost military phrases, but sweet in his own way: "Your mother is stronger than anyone. You will get this from her." Or even: "You will not know war. I swear."

Even with all his confidence, he sometimes stays silent for long periods, staring at you from afar. When you ask him, he ends up saying something like: “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I only know how to fight.” It’s at this moment that you see his most human side. He’s not afraid of war, but he is afraid of failing you. And when you hold his hand and tell him he’s already doing more than enough, he doesn’t respond. He just squeezes your hand tightly — and doesn’t let go.

Simon “Ghost” Riley 

Hot and intense nights became common when the pressure of the world became great enough to suffocate you both.

You sought refuge in sex, night after night indulging your most primitive and sinful desires as a relatively effective, but twisted, way of enduring the horrendous reality of serving the country.

Even though you knew that being careful was relatively far from being part of your routine, you felt the world fall apart when the first symptoms began.

Nausea, fatigue and insecurity had become part of your essence and the fear of the future permeated your soul.

You tried to hide your pregnancy for as long as possible, not wanting to tell Simon, much less your team members.

Bringing an innocent life into the hell you lived was a senseless act. Then why did you feel so much love for someone who hadn't even been born yet?

You were almost four months pregnant when, during a mission, you fainted for no apparent reason. You weren't taking care of yourself enough — eating little, sleeping little and keeping so many secrets to yourself... It came as no surprise to anyone when your body couldn't handle all of that.

"Stay with me... Hey! She needs medical help!" Ghost shouted, looking around desperately, protecting your body as if you were the most fragile thing in the world at that moment.

Your consciousness slowly returned, and you realized that you were being carried by him to a safer place.

"I'm sorry." You stammered, feeling guilty for having interrupted the gathering of such important information.

"Don't apologize. I've never seen you so pale and weak like this, not even on worse missions." You were finally in a calmer place, still alone with him, and before other people entered the room to check on you, you decided it was time to tell him the truth.

"Simon, I..." You hesitated, wondering for a moment if being honest with him was really what you wanted.

"You...?" He encouraged you, squeezing your thigh affectionately, as usual.

"I... I'm pregnant." His eyes widened, and his grip on your thigh tightened, almost hurting you.

"What...?" He mumbled to himself, slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle together and everything made sense — your extreme sensitivity to the tastes and smells that you usually liked, your endless naps, your hurried and unannounced trips to the bathroom, your lack of complaints about cramps, almost as if you hadn't had your period that month... It all made sense, and his head almost exploded.

"How did I not notice?" He whispered, pulling you close, hugging you tightly as if he wanted to protect you from all the evil in the world. "How far along are you?"

"Almost four months." You mumbled against his chest as he stroked your hair lovingly. "I think it was on your birthday..." 

That night... That fateful night.

"How are you feeling about this?"

"I... I don't know what to think..." Your hands involuntarily went down your body, caressing the slightly swollen belly due to the life that was developing there. "But I love them so much already..."

He smiled against your hair, hugging you tighter, a genuine happiness slowly forming inside his heart.

"I'm scared, Si." You admitted. "I'm scared of bringing them into this world only to suffer and see horrible things like the two of us."

"Hey, don't say that. Even in hell I found you. I found someone worth fighting for and waking up to everyday. Life isn't all bad, you taught me that yourself." You didn't answer, but he understood what you meant.

"Regardless of your decision — whether you’re keeping them or not — I will support you and stay by your side. Until my last breath." And he kissed the top of your head.

You couldn't muster the courage to abort that life. They were the fruit of the love between you and Simon and they were the best thing you had.

So you decided to keep it, to face the consequences of your acts, to carry the responsibility of bringing a life into this world. 

Months passed without you wanting to know the baby's sex, until Simon convinced you to investigate it.

"Guess." You murmured against his lips, your hands cupping his cheeks.

"Hmm, I have a feeling it's a girl." He secretly longed for one. You guided his hand so he could feel the baby moving, kicking you weakly every now and then.

"It's a girl! We're having a little girl, Si!" His heart fluttered with joy.

"Bloody hell, love... Fuck, I love her so much already. I can't wait to finally meet her."

He has a habit of murmuring sweet nothings your swollen stomach as his fingertips caresses the skin of your belly.

He doesn't let you lift a finger to do almost anything and he even asked captain Price not to allow you to leave the base for any more missions. He couldn't bait to lose both of you.

He helps you with your craving and pregnancy pains —  his massages are divine and melt away any tension you may be feeling.

Close to delivery, when you can no longer bear the weight of your very own stomach, he holds your belly gently with both hands, slowly freeing you from the weight of your little girl for a few seconds — seconds that relieve you absurdly.

Actually cries when he sees his baby for the first time — she's just so tiny, all wrapped around a blanket and her baby clothes, her foot is barely the size of his thumb and she's a little carbon copy of him in appearance. He's utterly glad you decided to keep her over five months ago. He couldn't imagine a world where you three didn't exist anymore.

He is completely disarmed by his daughter. He can face any enemy without hesitation, but if she cries in the morning or asks for something with that look in her eyes, he simply melts.

Protection is his second name. He checks locks, cameras, and sleeps lightly, as if he was still in the field. But the truth is that he just wants to make sure that nothing will hurt the two people he loves most in the world.

As your husband (fucking finally, right?), Simon is silent… but constant. He doesn't need big words; he shows it with actions. Coffee ready, blanket pulled up in the middle of the night, arm around waist without saying anything. He is simply perfect.

[lilhughesy]

Can I request something with Will Smith? Maybe with the reader being a friend of Macklin

B.C. Tour Guides | Will Smith x Fem!Reader

warnings! none just fluff!

a/n: thankyou for your request! this was my first time writing for will and mack, so hopefully it’s ok! i hope you like it🫶

Macklin was ecstatic when he found out that the Sharks were going to be in Vancouver two days before their game against the Canucks. Meaning, he had time to visit his family and friends — more importantly, being able to show Will a bit of where he grew up.

Will and Mack got their kicks out of taking a quick stroll through Queen Elizabeth Park to visiting the local shops downtown.

“Okay, so I think we should get dinner at The Shed tonight.” Mack said to his best friend as they settled back into their hotel room after practice.

Will shrugged, “Sure, Mack. It’s your city, so whatever you wanna do.”

Mack grinned at the blonde, “Plus I think I might be able to get us a discount on dinner.”

The two Sharks got dressed into street attire not too long after before heading out to grab a coffee and people watch. One of their favourite pastimes, plus Will got to admire the Canadian city and enjoy the kind people that greeted them as they walked by.

Mack led Will into the resturant where they waited to be seated, Will watched Mack mumble something to the hostess who responded with an eager nod. She quickly led the two of them to the patio where it gave them the perfect view of the sun set over the beautiful city.

“Your waitress will be here soon with some waters!” The hostess said to the two of them while handing them their menus.

Mack explained to Will the different things he’s tried in the past, what he liked or didn’t.

“Hi welcome to The Shed, my name is Y/N-” She started before glancing up from her little notepad, she looked back down before doing an immediate double take, “Mack?!”

Mack grinned at the girl, watching her entire face light up, “Hey stranger!” He pushed himself out of his chair and pulled her into a tight embrace, “How are you?”

She laughed with disbelief evident in her tone, she squeezed her arms around his middle, “What are you doing here?! Don’t tell me you got booted out of the NHL already!”

He rolled his eyes, ruffling her hair slightly as they pulled away from each other, “Oh shut up, we’re here for a game against the Canucks tomorrow night.”

Y/N beamed, “That is so cool! Why didn’t you text me that you were coming back home?”

“I wanted to surprise you!” He exclaimed, still smiling before noticing Will patiently sitting in his seat still, “Y/N, this is my friend Will Smith. Will, this is my best friend Y/N- She got me through biology in school.”

She turned to look at the blonde, her hands wiping against the front of her pants, “Hi, Will Smith! Are you by any chance a famous actor?” She teased, giving the boy a sweet smile.

He looked up at her, completely entranced by the way the fairy lights sparkled behind her like a halo, and how her eyes shined and her smile was nothing like he’d ever seen before. Will never believed in love at first sight, however at this moment, he swore that he just experienced it.

“Unfortunately not,” Will finally replied, snapping out of his trance and pulling himself together, “Just a hockey player.”

“This is his first time in Vancouver too, so I’ve just been showing him around.” Mack added, nudging his friend with his elbow lightly.

“Well, welcome to beautiful British Columbia, I hope you enjoy your stay! Also, a hockey player in the national hockey league is just as cool as an actor in my opinion.” She said to him with a wink, “Okay wait, I am in fact working so let me take your orders, at least for drinks, so I can keep my job.”

The boys chuckled, as each gave her their order which she scribbled down on her notepad before whisking away to her other tables.

“So, that’s my friend!” Mack told Will, “She’s great, super fun to be around!”

Will nodded, his eyes still following you as you moved around the restaurant with the same smile on your face, “Dude, you’ve got to give me her number,” He begged his friend, “Please don’t tell me she’s in some long committed relationship.”

Mack’s eyes widened before he started to laugh, “Oh man, you’ve got it bad!”

Will shot him a warning look, “I just think she’s cool! Plus I want to be friends with your friends, y’know?”

Mack rolled his eyes playfully, clearly amused by the situation as he pulled out his phone and sent Will her contact information. Will’s face lit up as he received Mack’s message and immediately started typing, “What do I say to her?”

“Dude!”

[bruisedboys]

congressman!bucky x shy!reader

bucky flirts with his shy secretary (fem!reader)

“You look busy.”

You jump and look up from your computer to find Bucky standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there — you haven’t looked up from your screen in what’s felt like hours.

“Don’t scare me like that,” you say, hand to your racing heart. You’re not sure if it’s racing because he’s startled you, or just because of him in general.

Bucky laughs. You’d be offended, but his smile is so fond you can’t find it in you.

“Sorry, doll, I didn’t mean to,” he says.

He pushes himself off the doorframe and starts to move towards your desk. When he reaches you, he leans over your desk, knuckles pressed to the wooden surface. You try not to look at his arms, where his shirt sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms. His vibranium art glints at you, like its asking to be looked at.

“What’re you so busy working on?” He asks smoothly, leaning towards you a bit.

You feel the tips of your ears go red hot. He’s almost intrusively tall, and broad. To have him in your space like this scares you, but in a good way. If that’s even possible.

“I, um. I’m just editing that transcript you sent me,” you say lamely.

His brow creases. “I thought I told you it could wait til next week?”

Warmth creeps up your neck and threatens to engulf your whole face. He did, in fact, tell you to wait until next week to start editing it. You ignored his request, because you like doing things for him and you know he’s got a lot on his plate these days. Whatever you can do to help, you’ll do it. You are his secretary, after all.

“I know,” you say, with as much defensiveness as you can muster, which isn’t much. “I thought I’d get a head start.”

Bucky frowns at you, “You don’t need to do that. You’re working yourself to the bone, honey.”

You go hot all over. He says honey like he doesn’t mean to, as if it just slips out like it’s meant for you.

”Sorry,” you manage to reply weakly.

Bucky leans back and out of your space, but he still towers over you, still takes up all the space in your mind. His arms flex as he crosses them over his chest.

“That’s okay,” he says kindly. “Save the rest for next week, alright? You’ve got enough to do already.”

It’s not true. You don't have much to do at all. It’s Friday afternoon, and you’ve all but finished your tasks for the day. You’d have gone home, but you like being around Bucky too much. Not that you’d ever admit that to him.

Still, you nod. “Okay,” you agree, mostly because he’s impossible to say no to.

Bucky grins, “Good girl.”

Your brain short circuits. You wonder for a second if you’re dreaming. But no, you can feel the pinch of your nails in the palm of your hand as you clench your fist in your lap.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s moving around your desk like he has no idea the effect his words have just had on you. You’re pretty sure he has a bit of an idea, at least. You’re not very good at hiding how you feel.

“Hey, do you want to take a break?“ He asks, moving to stand over you, his hand coming to rest over the back of your chair. “Get lunch with me?”

You feel frozen in place. Somehow you manage to get your limbs to move, though they feel heavy as rocks. You twist in your chair so you can look up at him. He’s so close, his hand on the back of your chair as he smiles down at you expectantly, all sorts of handsome. You try your best to ignore the muscle of his arm so near your face.

“I— um, yeah, okay,” you say, breathless. You’ve no idea how you’re going to survive lunch with him if you’re already this far gone, but you can’t back out now.

Bucky’s grin widens. “Okay. What do you feel like eating? We can get whatever you want, doll.”

What you want is for him to kiss you, or maybe hold your face in his big, warm hand. You settle for Chinese.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[sparrows4bats]

So I saw another edit of Jondami and Would you Fall in Love with Me Again from EPIC the Musical and I have gone down the rabbit hole and may never resurface. (I am obsessed with musicals and world mythos, and this is hitting all of my special interests at once) I know other people have done their versions of this, so this is mine.

What if when Jon goes to space, there isn't a dimensional time difference? What if each second of those six years of absence is felt by those who love him?

They all search for Superboy, tirelessly, relentlessly, but they can't find him. The Justice League, the Green Lantern Corp, and every ally they have ever made across space and time look for a child lost in the stars. And they all fail.

Clark never stops searching even though they all beg him to.

Lois mourns but still prepares for her son's return.

Konner and Kara pick up what is left behind because the world didn't stop needing their help when Jonathan Kent dissappears, but they ache in their grief.

Damian just stops.

After six months go by with no news, he gets desperate, studies magic and science for a way to bring his best friend home. It never works, and every empty lead and false hope breaks him.

So Damian searches and waits.

He joins Clark on his search in any way he is able, defying his father. He stays with Lois when Superman travels too far for him to follow. He sits in Jons kitchen and eats at his table consumed with longing.

When Clark comes home empty-handed each time, Damian holds them both as they cry in his too small arms. Lois and Clark thank him every time. Look at Damian and see a boy who believes just as much as they do that Jon lives still, that he will be back, that misses him.

All three hope.

Jon didn't plan to be gone long, didn't leave purposefully, or give any of them momentos. Everything he ever owned looks as he left it, ready for when he returns. His books, his clothes, his unmade bed.

Damian doesn't try to return to normalcy without Jon at his side.

Even when his father threatens to take Robin from him if he does not return to Gotham, Damian just rips the symbol from his chest and leaves the cave. What is the point of being a hero without Jon beside him? They promised they would do that together, and Damian would not betray him.

The rest of the batfamily try to encourage him to take a new name, a new team, or make new friends, but Damian refuses every attempt. He will do those things with Jon when he returns, not a second sooner.

When Bruce tells him he is waiting on a ghost, Damian feels his heart break, and he leaves permanently. Jon wouldn't be welcome in Gotham, anyway. Not with the no meta rule.

Lois and Clark take him in. So Lois is never alone, and they can wait together.

Clark refuses to give Damian back to Bruce. Damian asked to stay, and Clark will be damned if ever lets a child leave again if they dont want to. Bruce loses his temper and accuses him of using Damian to replace his dead son. Batman and Superman don't speak to each other again for a long time.

Talia, surprisingly, gives them temporary custody. She understands Damians longing and will never forsake any part of him he inherited from her.

Nightwing and the others visit the Kent house weekly and accept that Damian will not leave. They learn to be a better sort of family, loving their brother and starting to hope again for his sake. All of the bats, besides Bruce, have dinner with Lois and Clark twice a month. The seat beside Damian is always left empty.

Damians pets join him at Kent Farm, and Damian can't help but greive because this is the future he and Jon used to joke about under their covers during sleepovers. They used to imagine living together with as many animals as they wanted and building somewhere safe to come home to.

At least Damian can have one of Jons dreams waiting for him.

He never mentions how Jon used to joke about marrying him one day, a childish proposal sealed in a pinky promise while Damian rolled his eyes. He remembers the way Jon pecked his lips afterwards. The memories burn now.

Damian realised long ago that he is in love with Jon. He will tell him one day.

After some time, Lois encourages him to go back to school. When she sees how bored he is, she gets him placement tests, and when he tests out, she sets him up at an online university. He accomplishes degree after degree and starts to help Lois with her research. They take down several corrupt labs and corporations together.

Damian goes to med school after seeing how many die without proper care while working with Lois. Damian hopes that Jon will be proud of him for still saving people, even if it's different without him.

They all still search. They all still cry when they find nothing. They all still wait.

Then one day, Jonathan Kent returns.

The Watchtower picks him up, and Dick calls them as soon as it happens. Lois and Damian are home at the time and rush to the Zeta tube with a desperate speed.

Clark is already waiting for them when they arrive.

They walk, the three of them, on shaky legs, holding their breath.

When Damian opens the door, he can't believe his eyes.

"Jon."

The man turns, and Damian freezes, beside him Lois sobs.

He is taller, Damian, despite his growth spurt still has to look up at him. His hair is longer, his black curls almost in his eyes. He has lost his baby fat and instead grown broader and more defined. There is a scar on his jaw and Damian dreads to think how he got it. His eyes, though, are the same bright blue, tired and heavy as they look.

Clark and Lois embrace their son falling to their knees, but Damian stays back until they are done.

Jon hugs his parents tightly, and when they come back to reality, Lois whispers in his ear too softly for Damian to hear, but Clark smiles at them and turns to look at Damian.

Then, Jon breaks the hug and walks towards him.

"Damian." He says as he reaches for him, voice so full of emotion that Damian wants to cry.

"Is it you? Is it really you, habibi?"

"I'm not the same as I was, I don't think I could ever be. With everything I've seen and everything I've done." Jon starts hesitantly.

"I killed, I hurt people, I tricked, I manipulated, I did everything I could to come back home, to come back to you." He admits. Jon looks away in shame, and Damian can't bear it. "I'm not what you were expecting."

He closes the distance and grabs Jons face.

"I don't care!"

"But-"

"No, you remember what you promised me?!" Damian demands.

"Of course! That we'd be heroes together."

"And?"

Jon blushes. "And that I'd build you a farm, give you a safe place to come home to." He swallows nervously, "That I would marry you one day."

Damian smiles so wide, uncaring of the tears running down his face. "I have waited for six years in your house, on our farm for my future husband."

Jon gasps, but Damian continues.

"I love you, Jonathan Kent, I don't care what you have done or will do. I don't care if you're different, grown, or anything else. You are mine."

Damian takes a breath and stares into his eyes. "In this life and the next, I will always wait for you. I dont care how long or what you had to do. You came back to me, and that is all that is important."

Jonathan closes the distance between them and kisses him, pouring passion, desperation, and astonishing love into it.

When he draws back, he whispers against his lips desperately, "Always, my love. I love you, I love you so much. I will do anything to bring me back to you, oh god. Damian."

Damian feels something unwind in his chest and pulls Jon closer still. They'd never let go of each other again. Here, in Jon's arms, Damian felt whole for the first time in years.

"I missed you every moment," Jon says finally.

"Me too."

[clovermoters]

hii clove i love your account 💞💞. i’m in a such a lando phase at the moment and i was wondering if you could write something with lando and roommate!reader. maybe where readers had feelings for lan for a while but thinks he’s too focused on other girls to think he feels the same way (he’s not. he’s whipped). one night he’s feeling clingy so he goes into her room and asks to sleep in her bed. some cuddling ensues and eventually leads to a hesitant confession of feelings and maybe some smut at the end (if that’s something you’re comfortable with). sorry if this is too specific 😭 thank you!!

-🌌

salt lamps & some love - ln4 x roommate!reader

summary - lando was tired of hiding his feelings from you..one night, he let his feelings boil over.

warnings - kisses, fluff & some horrendous writing

wc - 1.8k

authors note - the ending is so rushed and i apologize for taking YEARS to get to this but here she is!! hope u lot enjoy, as always likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!! lots of love, clove!

“I'm home!” 

You waltz into your apartment, toeing your shoes off at the door. You hear the small clammer of pots and pans coming from the kitchen and you can only assume that your roommate Lando is attempting to burn your building down. 

You swiftly make your way to the kitchen, finding Lando with his headphones on, completely oblivious to your entrance. He was shirtless, clad in nothing other than grey sweatpants and socks. His hair was slightly damp, his curls look refreshed from what you can only assume was a shower. 

You admire him for a moment, watching him navigate his way through the kitchen. The evening sun shining through the windows casting a golden hue that hit his bronze skin perfectly. You couldn't help but blush at the domesticity of it all. 

You had known Lando for years, meeting in the height of covid while you started a media internship at mclaren, you met in the parking lot when he almost ran you over accidentally, the boy awkwardly laughing his way through an apology. 

You became friends after that, stealing lunches together when you were both working long days in woking, chatting at the stairs before Zak would come to find lando for an urgently important meeting that lando needed to attend, the brunette would playfully roll his eyes at the man, causing you to giggle before you say your goodbyes. 

That led you to today, you now share an apartment with this boy you called your best friend. 

How you felt about him was a loaded question 

You weren't sure when your feelings for lando developed, they showed up one day out of the blue. You tried to ignore the electricity that sparked when your hands would brush while making coffee, or the way your knees would weaken when he came in from a morning run, his hair stuck to his forehead and his toned body glistening with sweat in the morning sun. 

“Jesus!” Lando shrieked, shattering your thought process before he let out a huff, sending a hand through his curls “ I didn't know you were here.” he giggled before giving you a gentle hug that felt like home 

Your thoughts still lingering behind your eyes, you wrap your arms around his middle. Squeezing lightly before mumbling “yeah, just got here” into his shoulder. 

“Well good thing because i don't think i could have cooked this all by myself” he pulls away, turning back to the countertop that was surrounded by a number of ingredients. You notice he was attempting to make your signature fettuccine alfredo, the one you always made for him after a tough race weekend. 

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he sees you realize what he was doing, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. 

“I uh-I was just missing your alfredo.” he says quietly, looking to the floor as you watch him. You smile softly before bringing your hand up to punch him lightly in the arm. 

“You dummy! I would've made it if you had just asked.” you tease. Moving to stand beside him as you begin your routine of creating this dish. Lando stood quietly, watching you effortlessly chop vegetables, mixing them into your mothers homemade sauce. 

Lando loved observing you while you cooked, while you helped him with his simulator, even while you were working at keeping his reputation in good standing. Learning the small details in your mannerisms was his favourite pastime. Ever since that morning in the mclaren parking lot he had been studying everything you. 

And had that been any other parking lot, your relationship could’ve been much different. Maybe you’d have a ring on your finger by this point. Hell, maybe even there'd be a little baby sitting in a highchair across the kitchen island from you two babbling while their parents giggled at their fathers inability to cook. 

But it had to have been mclaren. 

The day he met you, he hoped– prayed even, that you were just visiting the MTC for the day. That afterwards he’d get to um- and uh- his way into getting your number so he could take you on a date. 

When the head media director at mclaren came up to you while you were chatting with him, offering his hand with a we are so happy to welcome you to the team, lando felt his heart sink to the floor. 

He knew that if he were to pursue you, your chances at promotions would be slim to none.

So for years he pushed his feelings for you down, shoving the ache in his heart into the pit of his stomach. Out of sight while he continued to be your friend, supporting you climbing to your job as social media director. 

He threw himself at any girl he could, fucking a random girl in a random city to keep his mind off of you. It never worked, you'd always be the girl he saw underneath him as he finished, as he snuck out in the midst of the night, he’d always think of you. 

– 

You were quietly reading in your room, the salt lamp on your bedside casted a sunset glow throughout the room. 

The clock read 11:44pm as the door to your room creaked open, revealing an exhausted looking Lando, changed from his sweatpants to his black and orange flannel pajama pants. He looked hesitant to speak, like something would come crashing down if he spoke. 

“I can't sleep, can I come hang out here?” he asked softly, he shuffled further into the room, almost as if he knew you pulled your comforter back, offering him a small nod. A warm smile drawn on your face as he made his way into your bed, placing his head of curls on the white fluffy pillow conveniently close to your lap. 

This wasn't the first time he’d found his way into your bed, and it certainly wasn't the last. But something about tonight felt heavier, like the weight of something unspoken lingered in the bedsheets. 

Lando lied face down, his arms hugging the pillow beneath him as you continued to read in his presence, his leg lightly brushing yours under the sheet, causing shivers to run down your whole body.  

 he let out a huff of air, which made you finally put your book down and turn to him, bringing a hand to softly run through his curls, he let out a low groan as your fingers made contact with his scalp. 

“What's up? you seem clingy” you ask, pulling back the blanket of tension that’s been thrown over you two since you’ve met it feels. 

the boy lifts his head to rest on his hand, his gaze falling over your face for a moment, tracing every freckle before he spoke up. 

“ ‘m just thinkin’” he says softly, almost like a whisper. 

“elaborate” 

your eyes never leave him as you watch the gears in his brain turn, he was always so calm and calculated on a track. but when it came to you, it was like someone scrambled his brain, working overtime to click into place.

“i can’t pretend anymore” he says, voice hoarse and quiet as you feel your brain kick into overdrive, your book forgotten having fallen to the floor.

You eyes lock onto his, ocean eyes pouring into yours while your brain struggles to keep up with what landos just said. 

“W-what?” you choke out, the two of you sitting up slightly. The bedsheets pooling around your waists.

“I can't do it anymore” he says, desperate, like the words are tumbling out of his mouth at a rate he can no longer control. “I love you, I’ve loved you since I met you and I’m sick of pretending.-” he pauses, catching his breath. “-I can't breathe without you.” 

You were silent for a moment, leading Lando to panic. The boy's eyes bulged out their sockets as his brain seemed to have caught up to his mouth.  

“Oh god-” he breathes “I don't know why I just said that- it just came flying out of my face” you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face as he continued to ramble, somehow sprinkling more "I love yous " without even realizing. 

Deciding you’ve had enough listening to him send himself into a spiral, you grabbed the collar of his shirt. Pulling the brunette into an earth shattering kiss.

The world stopped, your lips moving in sync as Lando brought a hand to cup your cheek. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were his first breath of fresh air. Pouring years of unspoken feelings into a mess of tongues clashing against one another. 

Your hands went to his curls, tugging them softly at the base of his neck. Lando groaned into your mouth at the feeling. 

Once you pulled away for air, Lando couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. Breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. His hands are holding you close by your waist. 

“That was…” “Yeah..”

You smiled at him, giggling as he pecked kisses all over your face. He kissed your nose, your cheek, the little space between your eyebrows– as if he was communicating through his kisses, sending wavelengths to your brain that say we will be okay.

“I want this, i don't care what anyone at work has to say about it” he says, taking your hands into his. “We can talk to Andrea, Zak, even- fuckin’ Chloe from the coffee cart-” your laugh filters through the air causing him to join into your fit of giggles, the sound was like a melody lando could listen to forever.  

Once you both calm down, he continues “-the point is, I love you and nobody's opinion can or will change the way i feel for you, and I'm willing to fight for this” 

he holds your hands close to his heart, warmth radiating off them as you don't even hesitate to answer. 

“I love you too, I want to fight for us.” you assure him, watching his smile somehow grow wider than it already was.  

He lunges for you, his curls tickling your neck as he shoves his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck. Mumbling incoherent affirmations before placing kisses across your jawline. 

You stayed like that for a while, stealing kisses under the soft glow of the night. Cuddled up to one another like your souls had officially been tied together, the two of you were a mess of tangled limbs and ruffled blankets.

The two of you spent that night in each other's arms discussing the future, what it meant when the world found out what you had been to blind to see for years. 

You knew whatever happened, you and Lando would be okay. Because you had each other.   

[farfromharry]

Summary: On your way home from the library you were almost robbed, good thing your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman was there to save you.

w/c 2129

Spiderman!OscarPiastri x Reader

a/n - my first blurb of this au!! these parts won’t be posted in order, they’ll probably just come randomly :)

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

London wasn’t the safest city in the world, that was pretty common knowledge. During the day it was crowded, busy, and chaotic. At night it was downright dangerous. So you had no idea what went through your mind to think it was okay to walk home from the library by yourself after it went dark.

Your friend had tried to talk you out of it, but you assured them you would be fine.

Lando sighed as you packed up your stuff. “Y/N, come on. Just wait like, 15 more minutes and I’ll come with you.” He only had a couple more paragraphs left to write. He didn’t understand why you were in such a rush.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m going far.”

It was roughly a 10 minute walk back to your flat from here, but a lot could happen in that amount of time. He thought you were being silly. Why risk your safety just to go to bed 15 minutes earlier? Lando was practically sweating. His best friend would kill him if he let anything happen to you. Oscar wasn’t here right now to make sure you got home safe, so the responsibility fell to him. But god were you stubborn.

He ran his hands over his face, sighing deeply. He was sort of hoping you would see his distress over this and take pity on him. You didn’t.

You set your hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, stop worrying so much. I’ll text you when I’m home.” You smiled at him and he quickly realised there was no convincing you. He was just going to have to hope and pray that everything went smoothly.

You threw your bag over your shoulder and said your goodbyes. He watched with a horrible gut feeling as you left the library.

The dark didn’t bother you all that much. Lando was just being dramatic. You had lived in London for years while doing your degree and so far nothing bad had happened, night or day. You had no reason to believe it would now. If anything since the appearance of Spiderman a few years ago, the city had never been safer. There was always the chance something could happen though. Tonight it looked like it was going to be your turn.

You heard the footsteps, the clinking of a littered beer bottle being kicked down the pavement. Your grip on your bag tightened and your breathing quickened. It felt like your heart was almost pounding out of your chest.

Maybe you were being dramatic. London was a busy place. There was a high chance it was just some stranger also making their way home. They might take the same route.

You chanced a glance over your shoulder; a bad idea. He saw you, locked eyes with you. That was your mistake.

From then, the footsteps grew faster, closer. Your own footsteps picked up the pace out of pure fear.

There was no escaping it when he grabbed you, or more specifically, grabbed the strap of your bag. You gasped, whipping around with pleading eyes that would do nothing for you.

“Give me the bag.”

You frowned, trying to keep it close to you in the hopes he might grow bored and give up. He didn’t need to know what was in it, that your laptop was there. You needed that laptop more than anything else in there. He could take all the money from your purse for all you cared, as long as he left that.

“No, please, I need it.”

Obviously the man didn’t care. “Give me the fucking bag!” You stood there, tears lining your ears as you handed your bag over. All your work was going to be gone. Everything you’d been working on for so long. You didn’t even care that much about the cost of replacing the laptop, but the essays and the work on it was priceless. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do without it.

Luckily for you, your saviour had arrived.

There were flashes of red and blue, ones that you couldn’t make out until you heard a voice.

“I think you should give the lady back her bag.”

He finally landed on his feet just in front of you and you felt your jaw drop. You were pretty sure your robber was just as amazed as you were. Though you couldn’t imagine he was about to have a good experience with the infamous superhero. No one moved for a moment, just staring at him in shock. He glanced between you both. “What, is it something I said?”

You watched as he shot 2 webs in the direction of the robber, effectively pinning both his hands to the nearby wall. Then he shot a 3rd one at his torso just to be safe. The man never stood a chance. You watched as he searched the man’s pockets, pulling out a beaten up old phone. He promptly dialed 999.

“Yeah, hi, this is Spiderman, I’d like to report an attempted robbery.”

You couldn’t even imagine what the operator on the other side of the phone was thinking. After informing the police of your current whereabouts and how the man had tried to steal your stuff, but was now otherwise… tied up, he placed the phone back in his pocket.

Spiderman then grabbed your bag. “I’ll be taking that back, thank you.” He turned to face you, not even giving a second glance to the man he’d just immobilised. He was secure, he couldn’t bother you now, he was confident in that. “I believe this is yours.”

Your hands were shaking as you took your stuff from his outstretched hand. How was this real? You couldn’t wait to tell Oscar about this.

“Thank you so much.”

He put his hands on his hips. “It’s no problem, Miss. Maybe don’t walk alone in the dark next time. Get a friend to come with you.” He couldn’t be there to save you every time something happened, that was what he was implying. This time around was lucky.

You nodded. It wasn’t like you were going to ignore a literal superhero’s advice. What kind of idiot would you be to do that? You would probably do anything he told you to. “Yeah, of course.”

He shot a web up to the top of a neighbouring building. You felt your heart sink a little at the idea of your saviour disappearing so soon. On a whim you stepped forward, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t quite leave just yet. The eyes of his suit grew bigger and you assumed his eyes were widening. It was actually quite cute.

“Thank you again. Is there someone I can repay you?” Giving Spiderman money probably wasn’t something a lot of people did. You felt like you owed him though.

He laughed, a laugh that sounded oddly familiar. You didn’t question it though, it was probably just the adrenaline of the moment messing with your head. “That’s okay, it’s what I do. Stay safe.” And with that he disappeared, swinging through the rooftops of the city with a joyous yell.

You laughed. “What the fuck just happened?”

The man that had tried to rob you in the first place, still stuck to the wall with webs, spoke up. “You’re telling me.” You would have been more afraid of him getting to you had you not heard the sirens that were echoing around the place.

He groaned and you smiled, glad he was getting what he deserved. “You have fun with that.”

The rest of your walk home was pretty peaceful. Though when you finally made it inside your flat, you did let out a big sigh of relief. Once the door was locked and you were safe, you felt a weight lifted off of your shoulders. No one could get you here. Everything was fine and Oscar would be home soon enough. After shooting a quick text to Lando to let him know you were home, missing out the part where things had gone sideways, you could finally relax.

You flicked on the TV, skimming past the news for any mention of Spiderman tonight.

At the sound of keys in the door, you perked up, quickly changing the channel. Oscar was home. That was arguably your favourite part of the day. You beamed at him as he walked through the door and the smile was quickly returned. He didn’t know if he would ever get over the feeling of coming home to you. He wandered right over to you.

“Hi,” you greeted, kissing him just like you would any other day when he got home. He looked a little sweaty, disheveled, but you didn’t mention it.

He slipped off his backpack and his coat, tossing his bag by the couch and hanging up his coat in its respective spot. “How was the library? Lando okay?”

You shifted shyly, like there was something you weren’t telling him. “Good, yeah. Something happened on the way home, but I’m fine, I swear.” Those words did nothing to stop his worrying. “Just don’t freak out.”

He sat beside you, taking your hands in his and resting them in his lap. “Talk to me.”

You sighed. “A guy tried to steal my laptop,” His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but you carried on talking before he could interrupt. “No, don’t worry ‘cause Spiderman was there and he stopped him. Got it back for me and webbed him up too. It was so cool.” Admittedly it had been terrifying at first, but realising you were in the presence of a literal superhero was breathtaking.

“Spiderman?”

You nodded. “Yep. I know it sounds insane, but I swear it happened.”

You seemed so excited about it. “I believe you, it just worried me, baby.” The thought of anyone trying to hurt you for any reason broke his heart. Whether there had been someone there to save you or not, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. “Why didn’t Lando walk with you?”

“I told him I was fine.”

Oscar sighed. He loved that you were brave and independent, but sometimes he thought you were dying to give him a heart attack. “Well, next time, don’t walk alone in the dark.”

Where had you heard that before?

“Just want you to be safe,” he muttered, placing his hand on your cheek and stroking the skin softly. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. He wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you. You were everything and more to him. “Love you.”

You pressed your lips to his, a slow, tender kiss that showcased just how much you truly did love one another. The first one to pull away was you. You rested your forehead against his, just enjoying the closeness. Sometimes you didn’t need to talk or anything, you just needed to be close to him, to feel him. His presence was grounding, comforting.

“Time for bed?”

The exhaustion hit you as he posed the question. “Time for bed.”

He picked up his bag and let you lead the way, following behind you to your shared bedroom. He basically launched himself onto the bed, more than ready to tuck himself under the covers after a long day. You wandered into the bathroom to take off your makeup, brush your teeth, etc. “How was your day?”

“It was good, had some awkward customers at work but-“ His heart dropped at the sight of the red material peeking out of his backpack. His eyes darted to the bathroom where your voice was coming from and he took his chance. He shot a web towards the zipper, tugging it until it closed and hid the mask he was terrified of you finding. There was only seconds between him retracting the web and you coming out of the bathroom. His heart was pounding.

“But?” You saw the nervous look on his face. It must have had something to do with why he stopped talking mid sentence. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just got distracted. It was a pretty good day, not as good as yours though apparently.”

With a smile you climbed into bed beside him and tucked yourself into his side. He winced slightly, hoping you didn’t notice, but you did. You noticed everything when it came to him, well, almost. “What happened, are you in pain?”

“Just sore from work, lifted a box that was a little too heavy for me I guess. I’m okay.”

You nodded. “Good.”

With one last glance towards his backpack, just to check everything looked normal, he reached for the lamp beside his side of the bed and switched it off. “Goodnight, baby.” He kissed your head.

“Goodnight, Osc.”

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

[pythonmoth]

cw: a bit self-indulgent. implied age gap. as a reminder, reader is in her early 30s. briefly suggestive price x simon. military inaccuracies. author cannot stand alejandro’s spanglish so they don’t even try. author is mexican. mexican mafia. slightly explicit descriptions of death and remains (a mafia special, if i may)

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141

wc: 5.1k

First | Last | Next

Things have been rough. That’s probably the best way to put it. 

Back when you were still home and Simon took a few extra days to assure you they were okay after a mission, you’ve gotten so worried you couldn’t keep yourself from reaching out —truthfully, your suspicions were right, but that was it: worry. But now? To see Johnny coming back with a fucked arm, to see Gaz so exhausted and knowing that Simon’s helmet was the only thing that saved him from a bullet through his brain… it puts you back in perspective. It’s a painful reminder. War is real. Your missions are real. You all can die.

Deep down, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, your body knows you lost part of yourself these past months, and it’s impossible to get it back. Being sheltered at home for months made you forget, in a way, that this isn’t just waiting for a text. You thought you’d never forget all the bullets you’ve taken, all the times you’ve seen your friends and comrades nearly die in the battlefield —or those who didn’t make it, but you got too comfortable. You lied to yourself, and now you’re left with nothing but fear and regret.

In a way, you’ve already accepted Price wasn’t wrong when he said you should’ve changed teams, but you’re still pissed at him for encouraging you to do so. Who is he to even insinuate you’re too damaged to be with them, when it’s because of him that you are? He’s the one who didn’t believe you, the one who didn’t even try to ask you and just assumed that nearly ten years of working with them meant nothing to you.

Somehow, you get it. You are the new addition, from nine years ago. Even though you know now that he followed orders and tried his best to understand what was going on, who can blame you for resenting him? Even if just a little.

Simon shifting in his sleep has you snapping out of your thoughts, the blooming anger slowly diminishing as his arm curls around you. His breathing is slow, too controlled, and it pulls a soft huff from deep in your chest. “Why are you awake? It’s like three in the morning.”

“I can hear you thinking,” he mumbles, lips brushing your bare shoulder. “Why are you awake?” Simon’s strong arm tightens, guiding you onto your side so he can look at you. With the little light in the room, his eyes look like those of an attentive cat; if he had a tail, you’re sure he would be curling it behind him —stalking. The image is forever sealed in your mind just thinking of it and it makes your lips twitch in amusement. Despite everything that happened, Simon hasn’t changed. He’s a good lover, and an even better friend to those around him. “Hm?”

“Nothing. Come on, let’s just sleep.” Your hand pushes on his shoulder, gently forcing him to shift until he’s facing the door. Not wasting a single moment, your arms wrap around his middle, your cold nose buried deep in his warm back, inhaling the faint traces of his body wash there. “Perfect.”

Simon’s chest rumbles with a low chuckle, fingers interlocking with yours as your hands rest right over his stomach. He’s soft and warm, and it feels perfect to be the one holding him; Simon’s the one who’s presenting himself to you like this —like a puppy on his back, belly up and vulnerable. The trust you two used to share is slowly building up, but the days he spent at your home helping you and simply being there filled your heart, making you comfortable enough to accept him back into your life.

You’re not sure when you actually fall asleep, but Price’s long gone from your mind by the time you’re awaken by the alarm in the morning. Simon’s half-ready before you get up from the bed, eyes alert and ready for the day. The bed is warm and cozy, limbs begging you to take another five minutes, but you’re used to this, so it takes you little to no effort to leave the comfortable bedsheets.

Training. So. Much. Training.

It’s not a surprise that the world doesn’t stop while Kate is getting things ready, but it’s a little jarring not to be out there helping Alejandro already. Being forced to wait has never been your strongest quality. For now, training will have to do; training, and more training. Bags are almost always at the ready, so there’s not much to do but to wait for Kate to be back and take you all with her.

Gaz and Johnny are nowhere to be seen, so you spend most of the day laying on the training mat, Simon’s weight is heavy on you as he reminds you how easy it is to lose to his strength. You’ve always put up a good fight, but he’s still too strong for you, too heavy. Truth be told, you’ve taken soldiers heavier than him, than the whole team, but it’s the adrenaline of the battle. With the boys, before, it was just… trust. Your body couldn’t force itself to pretend you were genuinely in danger, because you were sure they wouldn’t hurt you. Now, with him holding you down like this? You’re not sure. A little bug in your mind tells you you’re scared he’s being serious, that he genuinely wants to hurt you again, but you only push it away.

It’s been months since you last seriously trained, so Simon takes it upon himself to make sure your reflexes are good for what’s to come. The sicarios will definitely shoot on sight, but it’s always a good thing to know how to physically restrain them if put on the spot.

Your legs bounce on the mat everytime Simon manages to make you trip, his clear eyes mischievous and observant behind the mask. He’s walking in circles around you even before you stand back up, making sure you can’t read him properly —and it’s getting on your nerves. It’s hard to focus, the dragging of his feet on the rough mat and your harsh panting keeping your mind on edge.

Despite your gaze being firm on his face, you’re too aware of his feet, the flexing of his fingers, and the ridiculous tilt of his head. Johnny pointed it out once, and you’ve never forgotten. Neither of you told Simon you noticed it, because he would’ve gone out of his way to correct his little habit, but it’s there, clear as day. 

Tilt to the left, he’s moving right. Tilt to the right, he’s moving left. He’s cocky with it, too. Simon doesn’t even notice, but it’s pretty much useless, anyway. Doesn’t really matter you can prepare a moment before, when you end up falling on the mat not even ten seconds later.

Only when your arms and legs are sore and shaking like jelly, does Simon lift his hand, signaling you it’s time for a break. He sits next to you as you nearly choke on your water. “Not bad. Nearly a minute before I beat you this last time.”

With a huff, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Worst is, you can tell he means it, and isn’t just teasing. Simon is worried you won’t be able to defend yourself and only rely on your knives —even if they do work—, so you take it. Still, you steal his bottle, standing up. “You’ll bite the dust next time. For now, I really need a shower.”

As soon as you leave his sight, Simon quickly grabs his phone, expecting a complete mess from his chat with Garrick and Johnny.

He’s been planning this since he knew you’d be back on duty by the time your birthday came around, and couldn’t leave the rest out, so he decided to be unwise and let them help. Even though there are urgent things they have to take care of, Simon would be damned if he didn’t at least get you a cake for your day. He’s been keeping your mind off the fact that it’s your birthday, going as far as to delete the notification from both your phone and his, and ordered everyone to not even mention it.

Really, it isn’t so hard, since Garrick and Johnny are busy baking and they aren’t here to fuck it up for him. Now, he’s fully aware they should be training properly and getting ready to depart, but it’s you, and he knows that even Price is avoiding you like the plague because Simon will not have you thinking they forgot if the Captain can’t hold the secret in. He finds it ridiculous; Price can commit war crimes without batting an eye, keep major secrets from the military and even give orders he doesn’t like, but Gods forbid he has to keep his mouth shut around you.

Of course, the only real problem is that Simon doesn’t trust Garrick in the kitchen, and Johnny… he loves Johnny, but that man’s walking danger if he’s near the stove. There’s a reason why him and Price are the only ones allowed to cook if they have the luxury to choose —you don’t suck that much, but it’s easier for them to cook anyway; so, he isn’t surprised to see so many texts and pictures from Johnny. 

Garrick messed up the food coloring, and now the frosting of your cake is mold green for whatever reason, and somehow they got the wrong flavor and it’s gonna be a bloody carrot cake instead of vanilla. Simon knows there’s no time and they will have to work with that, so he only tells Johnny to hurry up and go to the common area.

Usually, if this were anybody else, they would’ve probably gotten some beers and cake in the room and called it a day, but the lasses refused to make it so simple, so Simon let them do whatever they wanted with the common area. He’s gonna have clean it up anyway and they know what they’re doing, so he’s not gonna be a dickhead about it. Besides, the lasses made sure to remind them that they use 3n1 shampoos, own two t-shirts each, and know nothing about decoration. 

Fair, Simon thinks. He doesn’t understand what the 3n1 shampoos have to do with it, because they just work, but he’s not going to question that. “I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be fine”, is all he thinks to himself.

Not even two minutes later, Simon’s in the common area, and things go south thanks to Garrick.

The cake is already mess enough, but when Garrick tries to connect his phone to the speaker to surprise you with your favorite songs, music ends up blasting through the entire base. The girliest pop Simon’s ever listened to suddenly makes his ears hurt, though he only grimaces under his mask. Even the lasses flinch as Garrick tries his absolute best to stop the music, his phone slipping from his fingers in embarrassment and only turning the volume up by mistake —because of course he does. What Simon isn’t expecting is that you suddenly walk over, hair still damp over your shoulders. Everybody freezes, wide eyes looking in your direction. Garrick manages to stop the song, pursing his lips as he stares up at you with big puppy eyes.

“Was that Twice?” 

“Likey is a bop” Johnny quickly retorts on the other side of the couch. The rest, mostly Simon, can only stare as you walk to the middle of the room, half of the balloons on the floor and confetti bags on the table.

“Knock Knock is better, but you’re not ready for that conversation. And… What the hell is this?” You raise an eyebrow, head tilting. Before anybody can say a word, you yelp, looking scandalized. “Shit, whose birthday is it? It’s not Price’s, is it? I didn’t get him anything.”

Deep down in his mind, Simon is incredibly worried you don’t remember your own birthday, but the way your eyes light up when it finally clicks for you, makes the entire day worth it. Hell, he doesn’t even think you’ll mind the ugly mud cake the two idiots set up for you, nor the fact that the beer isn’t cold anymore. Garrick beats them all, grabbing you in his arms and nearly judo flipping you in a loud, smacking kiss.

“Harry birthday, darling.”

Price arrives a few minutes later after Simon sends him a thumbs up on the phone, arms packed with gifts; a new sleeping bag, a box of tampons wrapped with a little ribbon, face masks, and an otter plush that reaches down below his knees. It takes no time for Johnny to let everybody know he got the big stuffed otter for you, and Simon’s heart mends itself the moment your arms wrap around the sergeant’s neck so suddenly that he stumbles back to the table. Johnny’s entire palm makes contact with the cake in his haste to hold you both up and, even if Garrick yells at him for fucking up their hard work, you’re laughing. 

It’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and he doesn’t care the party he was planning pretty much got ruined. If you’re laughing, if you’re happy, that’s all he genuinely cares about.

And, for a while, nothing else matters. Simon has you on his side, Johnny still licking his fingers clean instead of washing his hands like a normal person, and Price and Garrick are deep in conversation. He can’t really tell what they’re talking about, but Simon’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline under the mask when Garrick grins and pats Price’s thigh, leaving his hand there. 

Well, then.

Despite you being next to Simon, your full attention is on the lasses, your voices drowning out his thoughts, but he doesn’t feel like talking anyway —not when he finally feels like his life is coming back to what it used to be. You no longer flinch around him, or Johnny, and even if he can tell you two aren’t exactly back together, the bond seems to be growing back. He’s willing to cling to anything he can at this point.

The thing is, Simon is happy. And he’s absolutely terrified because of it.

The thought of you being in danger, of him fucking up and making you panic and rightfully hate him again keeps in on edge, petrified. There’s little he can do to keep you from freaking out, except whatever he can control directly, but there’s no way to tell if they’ll somehow make you so upset it sends you into spiraling down the hole. They dug it up themselves, that’s true, but he’s really trying so, so hard to fill it and make it up to you in ways you can see and feel. Mostly, he’s putting effort in becoming a better version of himself for you, for Johnny and the team. And for himself, too.

Following orders is something he always keeps in mind —his body reacts to a direct order without a second thought sometimes, he can’t change that, and fuck, Simon did try that day. He really did. Despite that, he’s been considering retiring so he can stop that configuration in his brain. He’s not so far from being able to do so anyway, and if it doesn’t work, well… He can just accidentally step on a bomb, or fall on his knife with his knee a few times.

Simon doesn’t think you’ll follow him, but maybe, deep down, he is hoping you would be willing. Never in his life did he consider asking you to step down, but taking you away from all of this, safely, is an idea that’s been clouding his mind for a while now. The problem is, Johnny, Gaz and Price are here too. It’s not just him you care about, and even if he tried to deny it for years, he has killed and would die for everyone in the team. 

The lasses love making fun of him, and have never been scared of his reactions. Simon finds it ridiculously amusing, and he likes them; they’re the little sisters he never had. Distantly, he makes a mental note of spending more time with them at some point, because they’re usually at base, or out /committing war crimes/ in secret missions, and they barely speak. All he knows is that two of them are dating, and that Johnny got slapped by one of them once.

Simon gets so lost in his thoughts that he only realizes you’re talking to him when you gently pat his knee, meeting his eyes. The lasses are sitting on the couch, all surrounding Gaz; they seem to be adding songs to the playlist, and he wishes he could zone out again. Johnny and Price are sitting on the table, eating the smashed cake with plastic forks.

And you? You’re raising an eyebrow at him, cuddled up against him with your hand still on his knee. Simon doesn’t know what you said and he doesn’t hide it, only staring at you with all the love he’s been reining in for the past months. Whatever little retort was about to leave your lips dies in your throat when he leans forward, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead over his mask, too lazy to move more than that.

“Hm?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“No.”

Your pretty hand slides from his knee to his thigh, face completely calm. He keeps very still, only raising an eyebrow —there’s no way you’re about to do that in public, and he knows it—, but then your fingers squeeze his thigh, making him curl up on himself, leg jumping. The yelp that leaves Simon’s chest is so unlike him that everybody fucking turns to the two of you as you tickle him.

“You little shit.” Simon’s not fast enough, and doesn’t manage to grip your wrist as you spring up from the chair, running over to Johnny to seek protection from him.

The sergeant doesn’t disappoint, all too content with letting you sink in his arms, one of his big legs covering yours so you’re in a little cocoon, only your forehead visible over his biceps. Simon’s heart trembles, meeting Johnny’s eyes. He looks relieved, satisfied and smug at the same time —it’s been really a long time since he saw Johnny so content. Price chuckles next to them, still munching on the ruined, muddy cake. 

As Simon leans down, grabbing some of the mold green frosting with his finger —the intention of wiping it across your forehead just to make you squeal forming in his mind—, another person joins them. The music comes to a stop and Price is on his feet in just a second. The newcomer has her eyes firm on Price, shoulders tense. The lasses stare at each other, hesitating for a moment before they grab their stuff, nodding at Laswell as they silently move to leave the common area. Part of him wishes he could tell them to stay, trying to delay this.

Kate walks in, giving the lasses a nod as they walk past her, and then places a big, heavy file in Price’s hands. Her expression is so severe that Simon’s gut fills with dread, his instinct screaming at him not to go. “Everything’s ready. You leave at dawn.”

“Do we have a name for the other cartel yet?” Price questions her as the rest of the team gets closer. “Alejandro only mentioned Las Sombras.”

“Las Sombras is a faction of El Cartel de Sonora,” Kate explains. The rest stand around Price, staring at the big file in his hands as he slowly checks through the pages. Simon’s eyes are on Laswell’s, encouraging her to continue. “They have inside problems, which is not unusual. Factions are common.”

“Too many people. It gets stuffy,” Gaz huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Johnny nods next to him, the tension in his shoulders and his jaw painfully obvious. As Kate continues talking, they all pay attention to her.

Las Sombras have been killing and making members of Los Menéndez, another faction of the Cartel, disappear —definitely dead already, too. They’re clearing the border, monopolizing the secret entries to the U.S and shooting the immigrants who come with the coyotes who refuse to work with them. Over two hundred deaths within the cartel in a single week, not counting the innocent citizens getting caught in the crossfire.

Considering the corruption, Alejandro’s only real choice is getting in contact with the U.S, but they all know better than that. After that time with Valeria in Las Almas and Graves, he wants nothing to do with the U.S if he can help it; though the orders aren’t always what they all want to hear. Still, he decided to contact them directly, so Simon is ready to assist.

Apparently, from what Alejandro gathered thanks to the people he has inside, the leader of Los Menéndez, Raúl Menéndez, isn’t in bad terms with the Mexican Special Forces, cooperating in many things, but there are traitors everywhere and they’ve been an easy target with some of the soldiers pointing fingers to save their own heads. It’s been a massacre; firepits filled with human remains found deep in the desert, semi-public executions every other day and a lot of shootings within the towns. People have been fleeting their homes, rushing to get to safety. The U.S government even decided to open its doors to mexican citizens who seek refuge from the situation, though they’re only allowed in a specific town.

Capture and secure the leader of Las Sombras, and leave. That’s all Alejandro is asking from them, and they’d be damned if they didn’t respond.

Needless to say, the celebration is cut short. 

Since the day didn’t go as planned and the lasses couldn’t decorate as they wanted at first, Simon makes a quick work of cleaning up. He turns down offered help, sending the rest to finish packing as he tries to distract himself.

The anxiety is killing him. There’s a ball of pure fear in his throat and he can’t seem to swallow it down. Even if his fingers are careful taking down the balloons to make sure there’s no tape on the walls, his mind is racing, stumbling with the possibilities. He could fuck up. Johnny could fuck up, or Gaz, or Price. His mask could be a problem. Maybe it’s better now, because you control when the skull mask is over his face, but in the middle of the battlefield… There’s no telling. And so, Simon makes a decision. 

Back in his room, finding you asleep on his bed, he takes the skull mask out of his backpack, folding it and stuffing it to the back of his drawers with the rest of the old clothes he never wears. He won’t risk it, and if he can help by bringing just a plain black mask instead of the one that gives you goosebumps, he will do it. Simon has no plans on putting it back on, even if he’s gotten used to your little help. Your distress is just not worth it.

Content with his decision, Simon joins you in bed, one of his arms wrapping around you, his left hand tucked between your body and the mattress. He makes sure the hour of his alarm is correct at least five times before he’s satisfied and buries his face in your back, hoping the anxiety eases like this. 

Against all of his expectations, it isn’t the alarm waking him up, but your hand on his shoulder. Simon jumps up from the bed, disoriented and sweat rolling down his nape. “What time is it?”

“We’ve time. I woke up a bit earlier than the alarm,” you chuckle, running your gentle fingers through his blonde hair. You decide not to tell him, but he has pillow wrinkles all over his cheek, and he’s left to just stare at you in confusion at the softness in your eyes. “We leave in twenty.”

Sleep hangs heavy on him, rooting him in place despite himself. His anxiety is growing deeper, panic setting in his bones, and it doesn’t matter how hard he tries, it doesn’t stop. There’s no logical explanation, but his head’s been in full alert, overthinking ever since the day Laswell came to tell them about the mission, even if Simon didn’t share his worries with the rest.

He doesn’t share them as they get on the plane, all of them looking grim.

He doesn’t share them when he ends up between you and Johnny, both of you passing out on his shoulders. They’re all used to the snoring, and they have a long flight to go, so nobody says anything, focusing on their own things.

He doesn’t share it twelve hours later as they walk out of the plane.

Nor does he share it when Price personally comes over, hand firm on his shoulder as the rest walk to the vehicles. They go way back, so Simon isn’t at all surprised the Captain is the first one to ask about his silent anxiety. “It shouldn’t take long. Are you worried?” 

“I’m fine.” Simon’s hand is trembling, but he manages to hide it by adjusting his mask over his face, fidgeting. Price nods, patting his back —he doesn’t believe him at all, and Simon’s aware, but he doesn’t explain himself, knowing the Captain understands him regardless.

“Care to join me tonight?”

Tempted, Simon considers it. You did mention you’d be staying with Gaz and Johnny for the night, so why not? He turns to Price and nods, humming. There’s little in Simon’s life that’s easy, but his relationship with Price is; he’s safe and comforting, both in the battlefield and the warmth of his bedsheets. He doesn’t think he can pinpoint the moment it started, the little flirting, lingering touches that changed one night, but Simon does remember Price gave him one of his best.

Hell, the Captain had his legs shaking —not that he’s ever gonna admit that if asked. 

Price did know, of course. He had been so smug the next morning that the bastard didn’t even bother putting on clothes after getting out of the shower, smirking behind his coffee mug. Simon did try to keep his groans to himself, but Price had to help him get up.

From then on, it just kept going, and it didn’t change even when you came into the picture, already aware of the little tension in the team —and so, he would end up showing up at Price’s door more often than not. 

Now, nine years later, everything aches, so they had to adjust, but he likes it that way. Even if things change, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. 

In the morning, both of them wake up with the beeping of John’s alarm, taking a small moment to sigh before they get up from the bed. Simon realizes just then that the anxiety hasn’t left but it’s easier to breathe now, and the panic that was so stubbornly settled in his throat has disappeared. John made sure to make him talk last night, to let go of whatever was happening in his mind, and then took it away from his body like it was nothing. 

There’s no need for ‘thank you’ between them, not when it comes to this. Simon rarely seeks physical comfort from the rest, usually content with being everybody’s comforting shoulder, but John really is just that person for him. It’s not that he’s better than you, or than Johnny, he’s just different, and it works for him, and for everybody.

And so, the flight to the north of México doesn’t take long; Johnny has less than an extra hour of good snoring before they start getting ready to descend. 

The base is just like Simon remembered: big and scorching hot. The sun is so harsh it has the entire team grimacing, but Alejandro greets them with a bright smile, hugging them all tightly. He doesn’t seem one bit bothered. 

“Welcome back, brothers.” Alejandro’s smile is bright when he hugs you, his hand less rough when he pats your head. “A sight for sore eyes, preciosa. Come on, let’s get moving.”

You’ve never been to México before, but the sweat rolling down your spine doesn’t make you all too happy. The moment you saw trucks packed with armed people in the back, you instinctively reach for the gun, only to be stopped by Gaz’ hand. “It’s normal here.”

“Guns on the street are jurisdiction of the police,” Alejandro calls from the front seat, his eyes twinkling. Price lets out a soft chuckle from where he sits next to him at the front, as if that was funny for some reason.

“So where’s the police?” you ask, letting go of your gun, not minding when Gaz interlocks your fingers, smirking down at you. They all seem all too calm about this, and it’s creeping you out a bit.

“Hard to say,” Alejandro shrugs, reaching out to adjust the mirror so he can look directly into your eyes for a moment. “If they’re not corrupted, dead on a ditch.”

“What about the military then?” You frown, completely confused as to why they all look amused at your questions, but nobody interrupts you both.

“We’re all well trained, so many are recruited by the narcos,” Alejandro explains calmly. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that. It hasn’t changed since I was a kid, and it probably won’t change even when we’re all dead.” 

The conversation comes to an end when he turns left, leaving town. It’s quiet for a while, Alejandro and Price talking among themselves. It gives you some time to look out of the window, taking in the amount of cacti and big mezquites running along the path. As Alejandro drives, another five Ocelots join, informing the Colonel of the leader of Las Sombras; he was seen arriving to the town they’re driving to a few hours ago, no more movement after that. 

Only when you meet Simon’s eyes, who’s sitting in front of you, all of your loved ones holding rifles tightly, prepared for battle, does it hit you. Again.

If you don’t make it, if you screw anything up, they’ll die.

And it’s gonna be your fault.

There’s no coming back.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

all information written above is fictional and/or of public knowledge. 

toda la información escrita anteriormente es ficción y/o de conocimiento público.

just in case y'all didn't see my post, we have two chapters to go :) im honestly excited!

buy me a coffee

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[sourbites]

I saw you write for dc comics! Can I get a Jason Todd smut! Like they are enemies and Jason has caught her

Pairing: Jason Todd (The Red Hood) / Female Reader Word count: 6,758 Contents: violence, threats, sarcasm, smut, shitty pacing im sorry, messy not-even breakup, oral sex/cunnilingus, penetrative sex Summary: He works for himself. You're in cahoots with Black Mask. He's not your boss exactly, but you're close enough that Jason comes back to you for your in-the-know experience with a particular deal. Notes: You have no idea how excited I was for this, I'm sorry it took so long — hopefully it's worth the wait! I omitted the "caught her" part of the request, because it was tripping me up, I hope that's okay. Anyway, to preface: Jason does not follow recent canon comics. (Batman 159 Hush 2 ver of Jason... what are we doing?)

Pulling Teeth

Your gait is slanted. Not even the wall can hold up the weeks of bone-heavy exhaustion. Fuck, you want out. Now more than ever. The cool concrete of a random parking lot pillar pushes against your spine, unyielding. Sucking in a breath from your clenched teeth, you set your tired glare on the misleadingly small shadow a good few yards away.

"Why did you wait until tonight to make yourself known? Getting shy?" You watch with amusement as his vague figure shoots up to that normal, behemoth size.

You hadn't expected him to come crawling back this quick. Not for weeks, actually. Of course, news travels impossibly fast in Gotham, so you'd anticipated a visit from the Red Hood himself. But you imagined he'd hold off crawling back to you just a little longer. He's prideful like that. Smug, reckless, stupid...

"Only so we can have longer moments like this together." Jason lazily pads out of the shadows. Though he's still armoured with some fuzzier shadows— the parking lot isn't very well-illuminated, like most places in Gotham. One big, prime area for muggings. Either way, you're not impressed with that red helmet and too-big leather jacket. You cross your arms, standing upright against the pillar. In a perfect world, you'd be halfway home already. Fucking Jason and his timing. You're half-sure he's doing it on purpose: picking the busiest, most draining day to become a bother.

You scoff, his trademark sarcasm not producing the desired reaction. "Get on with it, or I'm getting in my car and running you over on my way out."

He straightens himself up, mirroring you. Did he double in size with his shoulders back? Jerk.

"Need help on a case," His tone is unsettlingly serious, even if it's a little artificial with his voice modulator. You wonder if that's his paranoia to install a fucking voice modulator, or Bruce's rubbed off on him more than he'd like to admit. "You know I wouldn't come t' you if it wasn't important."

There it is. If your phone wasn't on three percent, you'd whip it out and make him say it again after you hit record. But you'll settle for the next best thing. You gesture to one of your ears with a finger, "What was that?'

"Seriously?" He tilts his head. You don't waver— and neither does that infuriating grin that he wants you to lose, like, yesterday. Jason lets out a long-winded sigh, ever the dramatic.

"_____, I am here, bothering you with my vile presence, to humbly ask f' your help on a case." He's at a loss for what else he could possibly say. Should he have prepared an elaborate apology basket, too? You haven't seriously swung for Black Mask's cause, have you?

You nod, unbearably smug. The corner of your mouth lifted, as well as your spirits. Wow, does Jason's grovelling - sarcastic as it may be - cheer you up. "Thought so."

⸻

You tried your hardest to be at least civil with him. Maybe after all the time apart, you'd reinvented your memories to make him meaner. Or he's just too nice now. Whatever the truth may be, your truth is that you don't despise working with him— a fact you wouldn't even acknowledge in your diary. You were both bitter over how everything ended - well, it wasn't much of an ending, just screaming at each other and your hairdryer getting flung across the room - but maybe this is what you both needed. One last job - one last good memory - so you can get the closure you know you've been aching for.

The first step of the plan split into a second, a fourth, and a sixth— until there were too many loose ends and too many outstanding blank spots. Time and time again, you'd tell Jason that you're probably not the best person for the job. (As much as you want to knock Sionis down a few pegs.)

Tonight, the taste of another cup of coffee will make you throw up on the spot. So, you and Jason - an unmasked Jason - are curled around tall milkshake glasses. Sucking the cream-thick mixture through the straw proves to be a Sisyphean task, so they're not touched too often. The stolen paperwork and grainy, printed photos are too headache-inducing to invest in at such a late hour. The seedy diner is nearly empty. The faded, once candy-red booths are worryingly sticky (you're not sure they've ever been washed in the thirty-ish years they've been in use), but the radio over the dingy speakers is playing good music, so there's that.

It’s surprising, how quickly conversation can flow from the Gotham dock shipments to normal-person talk. Jason and you are doing anything but work. If you hear the word ‘smuggling’ again tonight, you’d be morally obligated to roll your eyes into oblivion.

“Y'know— I had a busted lip f' weeks after that hairdryer.” Jason’s the one to address it: the elephant in the room. You and he have done remarkable so far, skirting around the incident talk. The first feeling that peeks out from within you is pride. Then guilt - double the guilt, actually: one for hurting him, and one for briefly being proud of that - bites down, hard, at your conscience.

One of your fingertips absentmindedly presses against the cold glass, wetting your skin with condensation. It pools around on the table in a ring. “I suppose I should apologise for that. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have hurt you. Sorry.”

Like blood in the water, he senses a taste of guilt in your mumbling tone. “It even hurt t' smile, yanno that?”

Your gaze flicks up from the puddle on the laminate table to him. He’s smirking; the corners of his pink lips are upturned, cheeks dimpled. At least he’s not pissed at you. “Alright, you’re laying it on a bit thick.” Your tone is ruthlessly flat, but it certainly makes you look like a hypocrite, considering you’re mirroring his smile.

You'd only just realised that Jason was thinking about it, too. It's probably time to bury the hatchet if you and he are working together to steal half of Sionis' incoming weaponry. The way your smile recedes tells Jason it's time. You've both been running from it - until it finds you on mildly sunny days - the kind that ties strings around ribcages and follows you for when you need a bit of sun. The kind of memory that you've turned to pulp, tumbled into mush in your washing-machine mind.

"Look, ____, the way things—" Your knee juts out to bump into Jason's leg. It doesn't take much movement, considering you're both crammed in a Barbie-Dreamhouse-sized booth. He pauses - just like you intended - and scowls at you. You might be willing to bury the hatchet, but you're not up for dissecting it like a frog.

"Let's just... move on. We can be civil about stuff, can't we?" You squint at him. It's not a question; Jason knows you well enough to tell. As much as you'd despise to admit it, he can read you without trying. It's something innate in him, the same way birds read skies and bears read food-rumoured river currents.

A ripple of discomfort rolls around Jason's expression, but it's gone as soon as it appears. If you were brave and steel-hearted enough, you'd regress and whisper against his forehead that he doesn't have to box it away. He can undress in front of you, strip his mind bare and you'd trace his thoughts that beg to manifest. But it's not summertime any more, and it feels like a thousand wretched suns have spoiled, rotten between then and now.

⸻

Just because he's died once, he thinks he's immortal. As much as you want to gloat: 'told you so', you don't want to be down a partner-in-organised-crime. You narrow your eyes at Jason as you watch him laze his way to your meeting spot. You cross your arms, brows furrowed together. You're shivering, cold Gotham air wracking through you; scratching at your bones. Your hair wisps around, lashing at your stiff cheeks.

"You took too long. You might not have any self-preservation left, but I do— fuck, you could've gotten us both killed." You can't resist lecturing him— just a pinch.

He wordlessly reaches behind him and whips out a flimsy, plastic blue folder. The pages within whip around from the wind. "I got it, didn't I?"

The smugness is oozing from his voice. You don't need to see his face to tell he's proud, holding onto the folder like it's a trophy. You wilt against the side of the car, running on empty. It was probably a fucking trauma response to forget how reckless he is. That, or he has some Scarecrow-level forgetting serum he's slipped into one of your drinks when you weren't looking.

You inspect him, bottom to top. He's resting more weight on his right leg. You decide not to pursue it further when you're out in the open like this. The water spray kicks up against the concrete flooring.

"Let's just get out of here." You're pushing off the car, pulling it open with your momentum.

Jason's safehouse is exactly how you remember it. Tiny kitchen, entirely hardwood floors. His back is still rigid with adrenaline, elbows resting on his knees. A gloved finger stabs at the printed paper, facing you. "Who's that? My informants mention that name."

You lean over to read the paper. Scheduled shifts for a driver of some hijacked cargo ship. Fucking grown men with aliases like Blackbeard. You lean back in the wooden chair, racking your brain to piece together any memory of a Blackbeard. Jason paws at his helmet until it's off.

"All I know is that he's related to Sionis. Sorry it's not much help." You press your lips together, sympathetic. Jason did risk a lot going in there— even if you didn't tell him to. It gets too much sometimes, looking over your shoulder. Home never feels safe enough. You want to be done with it. You don't want to end up the victim of some drive-by. But the more you dig into this, the more you feel like you're digging your grave. And for what, because Jason asked you to?

He laughs - quiet little huffs - smirking with bright-white teeth, shaking his head. "Y' have no idea how much that helps."

Oookay. A little cryptic, but reassuring. Your brows raise, with a dull pulse of warmth flaring within your chest. "I'm just happy you didn't get killed back there."

"I'm jus' happy we're not fighting." He replies, watching you with winter-blue eyes, twinkling like dreams on the edge of consciousness. He's said that - or something similar - before to you.

Back when you were a criminal chauffeur for hire. You didn't want to drive Jason anywhere. He smelled of chaos: gunsmoke and gasoline, leather. Too loud, too attention-grabbing in a red helmet. In his usual Jason fashion - as you'd come to recognise it - he twisted your arm with an offer of enough money for you to end your night early. You could still feel it: that restrained wonder at the first time you saw him in person. Your gaze was split between him and the neon-sign-illuminated roads. It was back when everything was exciting. You'd told him back then, You haven't paid me, when he climbed out of the car, still facing you. It was like you were magnets— faces pulling together, poles always oddly close. Haven't I? He held up your wallet between two gloved fingers, tossing it through your rolled-down window. It was a manual car, some shitty '98 Ford Escort. You'd set aside the impressed thought, replacing it with a scowl you sent his way. You remember glaring at him, uttering something about privacy, even though Jason merely shrugged. But we're not fighting, are we? I'd bet it has something t' do with that gift in your wallet. You replayed every second of that interaction, swearing you'd never drive him again. You'd say that to yourself every time you picked him up.

You feel like you've just come out of a coma. Mileage, gasoline, the speedometer arrow; it all feels like cotton in your throat. Those days are long, long gone— but you can recall them in such vivid technicolour. Your eyes glance over Jason's shoulder, to the microwave that still has its plastic wrapping.

"Well, we're not really the fighting type." You hear your own voice chiming in, the cadence unlike you. Sombre. Your mouth has moved on its own accord.

You watch Jason's head bob as he nods, pushing the papers up the table, away from him. "No," He agrees, his tone a near-clone of yours. Absent of all the passion that colours his voice— even if it's rage or cockiness. "Nah, was just th' one time..."

Your head shakes, eyes on his. Pinning his train of thought, you dismantled the tracks it was running on. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't surrender from this conversation permanently. Months and months of memories that he's aching to address press from within your skull. It disturbs the ear-ringing, murderous silence of the kitchen. Even the mismatched clock on the wall has stopped ticking, hands held in limbo, hanging in suspense.

Undeterred, Jason holds up a hand. "Let me finish." He's firm with you. A lick of anger reveals itself within you. There's so much you don't want to say, and yet so much you do. Your shoulders square, bracing yourself.

"I don't like how things ended, _____. I wasn't fair to you; I knew that back then, too, but I was stupid. I knew you felt somethin' more— it was a dick move, reacting the way I did. I just... I wanted you mad, I wanted to push you away. I'm sorry for treating you like crap." Jason says. His voice reaches you— and there's no escape. And far, far too sincerely for his or your liking, he whispers, "I'm sorry f' everything."

"Is this some sort of step in your program?" Your brows furrow. Then, softer, you add, "We agreed no feelings, I should've expected it."

You'll probably never get the taste of him out of your mouth— the grime and the softness that lingers beneath, like drying blood that gets tacky, sticking on everything that's touched. You're tired - bone-heavy and weary - of climbing into your usual, lonely bed. Jason gave with no seeming end. Warmth, safety, laughter, and it's all over. Nothing real between you even really began, and yet you cling to those memories each night you're on your own. You'd savoured each memory where your nails raked against the grain of the baby hairs at the nape of Jason's neck. You'd both pass out, curled nose-to-nose, and he'd lay sloppy and wet kisses on your skin. It was so easy to believe it meant something. Pathetic as it may be, your avoidance of talking about how it all fell apart before it could be built is your way of preserving the innocence— the tenderness and the potential it held. But now, when you try to find solace in the usual jewellery box of memories, the only thing you can see in the usual vivid, picturesque display is the repeated: over, over, over, over.

Jason flinched. Somewhere on the other side of this wide fever dream of months, you know you would've read his thoughts without needing to detangle them. But here and now, sitting at the table in the tucked-away kitchen, you and Jason watch each other like you're strangers. Like you're both starved animals, wearily stone-faced, waiting for the other to pounce. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip before he scrapes up the courage and the right words to engage in your response, "I'm apologising f'... everything. Everything. I'm sorry I was a hypocrite, and I was too— too fuckin' scared and pathetic to level with you back then."

You feel like your entrails have been scattered along the Gotham highways, abandoned to rot with any good feelings Jason had ever left you with. You want to collapse in on yourself and sob— find some Etsy witch to curse his bloodline for generations to come. "You felt the same, didn't you?"

You scoff, scowling, and without waiting for whatever ridiculous response he can come up with, you continue. "You threw everything away because you couldn't stand that we could've had something good. And the worst part is— even if you were too scared to have something real, you still strung me along, and I was a fucking idiot to let you."

Jason sputtered on his answer, all his rehearsed replies feeling like a ball of yarn bunched up in his throat. Of course, he's sat there, pulling at the dregs of his thoughts to come up with some worthwhile reply, because of course he can't keep his head straight when it comes to you. That's the whole problem.

He squirms in his seat. "I know what I did— Believe me, I know I deserve shit f' it. I just missed you, okay? I don't get why I can't spend time with my friend." You know he wants to get up and walk around, ramble with animated gestures. Your heart feels like it weighs a thousand tonnes. Anger has already covered half your reason, luring you to just scream and beat at his chest with your fists.

Stiff and rigid with anger, you press your spine into the hardwood chair. "We've kissed - done more than that, actually - you've been there for me when no one else has. I've fucking washed you when you couldn't even raise your arms. Am I seriously just your friend? Is that all I am to you, Jason?"

Your throat feels sore with unshed tears— acid climbing up your throat. Emotionally strained, you want to beat Jason to it, blasting out of your seat with your palms flat on the table.

Jason stares up the barrel of your furious gaze. In a rush he says, "Of course you're fuckin' not! That's why I'm here, pretending I need help stealing from Sionis. Fuck, ______, can't you see how much I care about you? That's the whole reason we fell out in the first place— the second I let you into this - into my world - you'll have a target on your back f' the rest of your life!"

Your mind shifts and turns and blurs. It's always something with this guy. Both you and Jason are standing up, gazes locked on the other. At any second, a tumbleweed could just roll past you in the distance like in those corny westerns. You'd whip out your gun and then what? You couldn't bring yourself to shoot him - even if you want to, sometimes.

"I'm already in your world, Jason. I'm already in enough danger to make me look behind my shoulder every day. We're both living on borrowed time!" You wrench yourself away from the table, hands braced at the kitchen counter at your sides. You need to cool down by the window before you burst a blood vessel. Gulping down a shaky breath, you add, "Life is so short. Why are we wasting it playing these games? Wouldn't you rather we spend the precious time we have actually building something together?"

You literally don't have the emotional capacity to acknowledge the fact that Jason basically invented a case just to get you to spend time with him. It's equal parts romantic and weird. The perfect Jason fashion, you suppose. It's taking every iota of control you have not to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into that thick skull of his. You're sick of having this fight, you're sick of living in this open-air 'what are we?', like you're in some TV show.

He can't help but be pulled toward you. No matter how hard he fights it, or tells himself it's not happening, you have a rope around his neck like he's fucking leashed— he's always coming back to you.

At first, you feel the warmth that comes with him. Then comes the sensation of his hands on you; just cupping your arms. There's no point in roaring or screaming at you. Jason rasps, "I don't ever want you thinking - even for a second - that I don't want you. That I don't love you."

You feel like you're choking. Your eyes squeeze shut; tears already skulking down your cheeks. Starving, you lean in and manage to bump your forehead against his. Jason's leaning down a whole lot so you can reach. "I want this. I'm all in— but you've gotta get over this fear."

Truth is, there's not a thing Jason wouldn't do if it meant keeping you happy and safe. He's reached his limit worrying about what will happen to you if things are official— if they're real. It's a shot in the dark, being an item. A darkness that he's afraid of losing you to - but a shot he's willing to take. Maybe the less ambiguity and distance between the two of you, the better. That means he can keep a real eye on you. So would Bruce, and Dick on occasion. It might not be so terrifying to let you in.

"I know, sweetheart," Jason utters against your temple, whispering so molasses-sweetly that it feels like silky ribbons across your skin. The pull to hold you grows too great to even think about resisting, and Jason is helpless to it as he cradles the back of your head. "I want this, too. I'd do anything— everything f' you. You've gotta know that, alright?"

You huff out a laugh, cheeks wet. "You're so..." The words die on your tongue, as your palms scrape up his arms. You had forgotten how delicious his arms were. It puts a bittersweet smile on your face. He's back, letting your hands explore him again, but there was a gap wedged between the two of you. A hurt like that isn't soothed the instant you two make up.

Jason's breath is hot as he soaks up the scent of your hair. His thumb strokes the side of your neck in languid swipes. He's silent for a moment - telling himself over and over that this is real - before he asks, "So what?"

"Smug. Pompous..." You pause, gingerly squeezing his well-muscled shoulders. You can't resist the magnetic pull of him. You suck in a breath, before adding, "Bratty."

Jason chuckles. He's missed this banter that the two of you have. He's not even offended— how could he be? If anything, you insulting him just makes him more attracted to you. His warm palms scoop your cheeks, feeling the damp skin from your tears. Jason's parted lips sweep across yours, his hair brushing against your forehead. You feel your body going slack— the crushing pressure on your heart immediately banished. This is all you've wanted: to be kissed stupid like he'd done to you many, many moons ago. It's amazing how you and he can physically just pick up from where you've left off. Even his breath is hot and sexy, exhaling against your mouth, the far-away taste of cigarette smoke smouldering into your tongue. Your eyes just... flutter... closed, like you're relishing in every millisecond. This is how it's supposed to be. Even the once-awkward, tiny kitchenette feels right now. It's a space with established intimacy— you touch, with your hands, what he will put in his mouth to eat.

He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, tugging lightly and rolling the flesh between his incisors. He releases your mouth to speak, "What's next on your list?"

You've got that brightness to your eyes that he loves. "Condescending," You whisper smugly against his mouth.

Jason leans forward, boxing you in with his hulking frame. Chuckling into your lips, he nips at your jawbone. His half-lidded eyes roam over you, watching you as if he's witnessing something he's been praying for. Your every atom lures him in, like a siren to a sailor. He'd happily be your victim. He'd throw himself into murderous waters, offer his neck for you to eat and succumb to the inky waves with a smile on his face. "Any other words of praise? Or would you like t' be able t' walk tomorrow?" He murmurs - already hard - already half-blind with lust. You make him so hard so easily.

Your eyes are like saucers - beaming despite the very real threat. How dirty. A willing participant in your demise, you put on your most seductive face and purr into his neck, "So arrogant, you know that?"

His fingers bite into your hips before he hauls you on top of the table. You slide up against the surface, while he guides your legs apart to fit himself between them. Your stomach flips, your body immediately on that knife's edge like it always is when he's in close proximity to you. Jason lays kiss after kiss onto your mouth: nipping and sucking and too much of those hungering teeth. "Me, arrogant? Never."

Desire is a cup - a foreign object - lodged deep within your body, and it's overflowing; pouring into your flesh. Jason's hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, his skin warming yours. One hand wanders up to your bra clasp, and the other cups your sides - your ribs - gingerly brushing his fingers over your skin, tracing bones and veins and everything you're made of. He digs his rock-hard bulge into your belly, bucking in response to the breathy moan that flutters out from your mouth.

You're not really Jason's girlfriend, and he's not your boyfriend— but Jason makes you an item - makes you his - with how he handles you. He jams his hips into yours, biting back an evil little grin as the rough denim of his jeans scrape across your abdomen. Taking two greedy handfuls of your shirt, he lifts it up and off of you, groaning at the picture of you.

His nose mashes into your neck, a low hum rumbling from him. "What d'you want, baby?" His voice muffles into the hollow of your trembling throat. Those delicious hands of his cup both your thighs, grabbing at you with such an insistence that it makes you dizzy. Your body recognises this routine. Even subconsciously, you know what comes next, because you know him. You're instantly shifting your hips, panties wet.

Sucking in a breath, you scramble to answer him, "Just want you. Jus' you, Jason." You've already chugged his love potion. Thinking is impossible, especially when Jason's so warm and touchy. After his soul-stealing kiss and panty-dropping show, you've gone to putty on the tabletop. The air burns - and you fight with it - as your world shrinks away until there's a spotlight on him.

He's shrugging your jeans down. They hit the floor with a heavy whuff. His hands are already creeping up your legs, appreciative, angling your knees over his shoulders and tugging you towards him. He's hungry tonight, shoving his face between your legs like you're an antidote to the poison he's gulped down. Oxygen melts, and you're quick to follow. Jason smushes his face into your sopping panties and groans - deep and bassy from his throat - a low, "Beautiful."

With the pad of his thumb, he grinds into your clit, burning the fabric of your underwear into your brimming-with-nerves flesh. He's not stopping there. He kisses his way down your stomach; open-mouthed and starving. Both arms curl under and then over your splayed open thighs, pawing at your panties and tugging, fingers hooked, until he rips— them open—!

"Fuck!" You're immediately reacting, squeaking. Holy fuck, your hands brace themselves on the convex edges of the table. "Jason, you can't just...!" You can't even finish your sentence, brain flickering in and out. In the middle of all your surprised and half-baked protests, Jason is chuckling something rich and low from within his chest.

"No?" Jason wets his fingers - slightly - while using his thumbs to spread your pussy open. He leaves a big, wet kiss on your clit. "Can't I?" He grins, watching you from beneath his eyelashes— so thick and dark, you've always been jealous of them. He suctions his mouth around your sex. All that smug energy bursts back into the room like lightning pounding the earth. You hate it. (You love it.)

The room ached with sex, and he's all over you. Your heels scramble up and down the broad plane of Jason's back. His body is fever-hot. His tongue flattens, laving up the valley of your cunt in one long, drooling swipe. You're obscenely wet — even more so now his spit is mingling with slick, stringy arousal. You scrub a hand over your face, trying to swallow the high, shrill noise that rests in your throat. It lacks the usual restraint Jason used to reserve for fear of falling too hard for you. No, now he's shameless (and it shows), and starved for the taste of your pussy that never fails to get him hard.

His nose grinds into your mound - snuffling against your sweat-tacky skin - and his stubbled face strokes your sensitive skin. It rubs your inner thighs, your clenching-around-air cunt, forcing tingles and shudders into your skin. Fuck. Fuck, you missed this so much. He sucks a fold into his mouth, all tender with pursed lips. You feel like you've fused to the tabletop. Jason stares up at you like you're a four-course meal; his eyes hungry and dark. Just deep blue and dolly-thick eyelashes.

Every wave of your moans, each savouring lap of his tongue has Jason fisting his too-tight, suffocating bulge. He's groaning into your glossy cunt, one-handedly working at his belt, the stiff button on his jeans. Trying to give as well as you get, your hand snakes down to palm his erection. The sound he lets out into your pussy could bring you to your knees. He comes off of you with a pornographically wet pop, his face falling against the surface of your honey-soft thigh.

"Take it out." Jason grins, nodding towards you. Your heart stops. You push down the drool in your mouth with a swallow. Hesitantly, your fingers curl around his waistband and guide it down Jason's waist.

You joke, "Are you always this lazy?" In an attempt to distract yourself from the very real, very visceral heat simmering in your entire body. It's not a regular, 'get the ice cream out', heat, but a rapturous: 'holy hell. Holy fucking God,' kind of heat.

Jason chuckles, just as his cock springs free and his head bumps against his abdomen. Great, he's still fucking huge. "Jus' with you, sweets. I know how independent you like t' be."

Without a moment's notice, he's leaning forward, slicking his cockhead through your sex, catching his tip on the notch of your perky clit. You squeal, jerking a leg up that he guides around his hip. His hand appreciates your ass, yanking you down until you're hanging over the table. Two thick fingers pulse deep in your pussy; which blooms around the base of his heavy, bruised knuckles. Each pump of his fingers elicits crude, squelching sounds from you. Cheeks burning red, you watch with obvious interest, lips parted. Even you are scandalised by him.

You're only strong enough to pull your gaze from his hand to his face for a brief moment to ask, "D'you ever shut up?"

At your remark, he twists his fingers, thumbing at your clit again. "You know the answer to that." He simpers sarcastically, his brows caught in a furrow as he watches your gorgeous sex flutter around his fingers. He wants to get his cock in there - in you - but this pocket of intermittent, sweet slowness is a good change of pace for now.

Jason sinks forward, palm flat as he braces some of his weight onto the table beside your body. His warmth rolls around against you. Dazed, your hands reach up to take his shirt off. You almost sigh like some wistful schoolgirl once you see him shirtless. Your head tips up so you can press your face into his neck. It's gorgeous— all those gentle dips, his bobbing Adam's apple, the delicate span of his collarbones. You whisper into his boiling hot skin, voice coloured with intimacy, "Jason?"

His breath heaves, a patchy blush climbing up his chest and neck; even the tips of his ears. The sizzling heat of his huge palm scoops up your hip, gingerly squeezing it in his hand. He tucks your earlobe between his teeth. You swallow a moan. As composedly as he can muster, he answers you with a cool, "Whassup, baby?"

"Can't wait any longer," You murmur, a little coyly. You've never once wanted him this terribly before. You want the tender intimacy to soothe you. Jason sucks in a rattling breath. Romantic. It's so, fucking, romantic. On fucking fire, Jason sinks his mouth onto yours - deepening the kiss until it hurt - teeth clashing and lips feeling liver-bruised and hot to the touch. His hand sweeps to the base of your skull, holding you there like it kept him tethered to this world.

His mouth only rips off of yours to savour the taste of you on his fingers, licking them clean with suggestive swipes of his tongue. Evil little fucker. He holds your gaze as he does so, brows raising boyishly. Then, he's laying a kiss on your clammy forehead - wisps of hair stuck to your skin - and he whispers, "Then don't."

You're split in two with one lazy, indulgent pump of his hips. His cock is nestled deep within you - you almost feel it against your lungs when you breathe. Jason grins as he watches you writhe, bucking your hips up like you're about to be slaughtered. It feels that way, with how you're impaled on his dick. If this were any other time, Jason would just go wild. You know he would; your face down and ass up as you're drilled into nothingness. But this is his chance to prove he well and truly wants you.

Your greedy hand dips down, feeling the velvet of your sexes, tracing where he's got your cunt pulled open. You could plot the way the light bends on the curves of his abs well enough to paint, you could taste the earthy-saltiness of his skin on your tongue. All you know is Jason, Jason, Jason.

He takes your hand, thumb playing over your knuckles reverently, and guides it to thread with his inky black hair. The startlingly white streak is mussed, hair all over the place from your exploratory fingers. He hums, tipping his head back just enough to display his throat, like he's waiting for you to model some marble from the dips between tight tendons; from his fluttering pulse.

A wild, wanton part of you wonders why you ever stopped this— why you ever gave him up. He's too good, too precious. You don't care that people look at him and see wolf teeth and gunmetal. There are stars in his eyes, and they are lit because you are the someone that needs them, to look up into the skies of his eyes and navigate around the world. Inside your pussy, he's making room for himself, stroking the length of your thigh each time you squeeze him, tight as a fist with your chest heaving. It's like he gets bigger each time you have him.

Your other hand splays over his taut pelvis - skin against his happy trail - bracing yourself. Your eyes roll back, mewling lewdly once Jason eases himself back, tip still inside, and wholly rolls his hips until his cock fills the channel of your slick sex. Your nails bite into his skull, tufts of hair poking from between your clenched fingers. Jason groans, filling you with that perfect outlaw cock.

"Oh my God," You nearly cry, eyelids heavy. Heat creeps up your neck. Your leg joints lock into place, hiked up Jason's swinging hips. His heart gives a pathetic flutter as he cups your head and shoves his face into your neck. It's wonderful how things have managed to fall into place— but you suppose Jason did invent an elaborate heist with your kind-of-boss as the victim just to get you talking to him again, so how much of this was left up to fate?

"I know, baby." His voice oozes something sounding fond, releasing butterflies in your too-warm belly. Sticky heat rushes between your legs. Just all wet from him - from his fingers and tongue and cock— God you can't breathe! Jason drives into you with a mean force, punching air from your lungs in fast, hard, eager snaps of his hips against yours. Something is definitely going to bruise.

"Juiciest - fucking - pussy." Jason swoons, each word suspiciously timed with each kiss of his aching cockhead to your softened cervix. His hand - the one on your hip - lifts your leg up until it's canted across his shoulder. The back of your knee fits perfectly against the scalding muscle of his broad shoulder. Tears collect around your waterline, wetting the base of your eyelashes once you squeeze your eyes closed. Your hand climbs, nails digging into the delicious muscle of his taut bicep, the other fisting at his hair.

The whole world hums with cosmic, dizzying harmony that you only manage to hear when you're like this: fucked stupid on Jason's gloriously hot dick. You can't hear your own moans through your heart beating in your head like you've got an ear pressed to a heavy metal drum, cymbals crashing and all. Your back arches, feeling yourself sway limply with each jarring plunge of his filling cock stuffing you full and then some.

He's leveraging his weight on the table - it skids up the tile floor with a squeak that almost makes you cringe - his cock dumbing you into a state of loved-up bliss. Every drag of his cock forces your overwhelmed pussy to pulse around him. The harsh, prickly sounds of slapping explode across the four wallpapered walls of the compressed kitchen. With every nasty curl to his hips, you taste the same violence of a whack he'd bestow upon some guy. All while Jason's tilted forward, just trying to engulf you, consume you and love you. God, he loves you.

Bursts of shock and absolute awe shoot down your spine. Your heart is aching within your chest. Jason feels it too, considering his fingers dig into your hip while his other hand bites so rigidly into the table's edge that you hear a worrying crack of wood. Your whole body is sent into shudders - going tighter and tighter around him - until he's half-sure you've cut off his blood flow. His eyes gleam with pure, carnal delight. He hisses out a well-intentioned, "Oh, baby," as his cock spits thick rivulets of steaming cum into your pliant sex.

You feel like you're choking around nothing - maybe just your hitched breath. Your head is on fire, and the skin going down your back feels like it's melted to the wood of the table. Your thighs hang open and Jason watches, slack-jawed and gawking, as your stuffed-too-full cunt drips with pearlescent cum. With a shaking hand, you smoothe the base of your palm down his shoulder. There are nasty-looking marks in maraschino-red where your fingernails were hooked into his skin.

Satisfied and truly exhausted, Jason sweeps his mouth across yours for one of the most fairytale-esque, sweetest kisses in recorded history. His breath ghosts across your burning face, cooling your skin a little, as he brushes the welded-on baby hairs out from your face. His pink, bite-plumped lips split into a lopsided grin, and you just know he's got some cheesy quip coming.

Right on schedule, he hums out a teasing, "Are you done being mad at me now?"

Your stupid smile mirrors his. You quip back: "You'll have to make it up to me again."

[mmochammoss]

Big Baby

Kirishima had always been a romantic.

Always wanting to do the brave and manly thing of never trying to suppress his feelings about something and follow his heart. So when he fell for you, it was all in. Every bit of him, heart and soul.

You were his best friend first. Then his girlfriend. Then, after a heartfelt proposal during a late-night walk on the beach where he almost tripped over the ring box, his fiancée. And now, his wife.

Being married to you was everything he hoped it would be. Absolute perfection. Full of laughter and romance and soft mornings tangled up in each other. Your natural closeness, even when you two were just friends, always made your relationship feel so perfect to him.

How could he not fall in love with you? You knew everything about one another, you practically finished each other’s sentences. Even when you were both busy, him with hero work, you with your own schedule, coming home to each other made every long patrol and media interview worth it.

And then came the next step.

You’d taken the test on a whim after feeling weirdly nauseous three mornings in a row. You didn’t even wait to check it alone, he sat on the bathroom floor with you, both of you staring at the little pink plus sign like it was a bomb about to go off.

You cried first. Then he did. And then you were both laughing and hugging and somehow crying again. It was perfect.

The first few days after the news were surreal. Kirishima floated through work like he was made of helium, grinning like an idiot whenever anyone asked why he was glowing.

Then your symptoms started.

At first, it was just a little fatigue. You’d come home after a short shift and fall asleep on the couch mid-conversation. Then came the queasiness, the smell aversions, the craving for pickles dipped in Nutella (which, yes, he tried out of solidarity and immediately regretted). You swore your back was already hurting, even though it was barely week six.

And through it all, he doted on you. Rubbing your feet. Holding your hair back when the nausea got bad. Buying heating pads in bulk. Reading every baby app and prenatal forum he could find.

But what he didn’t expect… was to start feeling a little different too.

At first, it just felt like stress. He chalked it up to nerves, to excitement over becoming a dad. But then his appetite went weird. His moods started shifting. He would cry at random videos and got more and more forgetful over things of varying importance. He even felt a little bloated from time to time.

But he didn’t want to scare you too, so he kept it to himself.

But every time he watched you groan from the couch or gag when someone cooked fish on TV, he felt it too.

He swore he was just being dramatic. He was known to get in his head a little, overthink things, and spiral a bit when it came to people he cared about, especially you. Maybe he was just really, really in tune with you. I mean, he loved you more than anything so that made sense, right?

But then came the dreams. Not bad ones, necessarily, just intense. Vivid. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, clutching his stomach or holding his chest, sweating and confused. One morning, he woke up crying and couldn’t even remember why. You had kissed his forehead and chalked it up to nerves. He let you. He didn’t want to worry you.

You already had enough on your plate, growing a whole human and all.

So he doubled down. Tried to muscle through it. When he got emotional at weird times, he blamed it on dehydration. When he craved chocolate milk at 10:30 a.m., he told himself he was just low on protein. When you curled up on the couch, groaning about your back, he told himself the reason his back hurt, too, was because he’d pulled something at the gym, not because his body was mirroring your pregnancy like some kind of hormonal sponge.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it… It was just so freaky.

He’d been feeling like this for weeks now. And the symptoms just kept persisting. He began to worry, trying to make sense of whatever was happening to him without alerting or alarming you. Maybe he was overworking. Maybe it was stress. You were only a few months into the pregnancy, after all, so maybe the idea of being someone’s dad was still sinking in.

But it didn’t explain why he cried with you during a romcom meltdown or why he’d devoured an entire jar of pickles in one sitting when you said you were craving them. He didn’t even like pickles!

He reached his breaking point over something stupid. Like, really stupid.

Kaminari had just walked into the agency kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes, when he spotted Kirishima standing by the fridge looking vaguely miserable and clutching a bottle of orange juice like it had personally offended him.

“Yo, morning!” Kaminari greeted, voice light. “Why do you look like you just lost a push-up contest, dude? Y’feeling okay?”

Kirishima barely looked at him.

“Don’t start.”

Kaminari blinked. “What? I’m just saying, you look kinda rough, man-”

“I said, don’t start!” Kirishima snapped, voice sharp enough to cut the air between them. “Can you please just stop talking for once?!”

The kitchen went dead silent.

Kaminari recoiled a little, blinking. “Whoa. Okay.”

Kirishima froze like he didn’t even realize he’d raised his voice. He sighed immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit. Sorry. That wasn’t…I didn’t mean that.”

But Kaminari was already backing off, holding up his hands. “No, no, it’s fine. Totally fine. I’ll just… leave you to your juice-based crisis.”

He left the kitchen quietly, and ten minutes later, the rest of the squad knew.

They gathered in Mina’s office, discussing their favorite dad-to-be’s not-so-graceful fall from grace.

“I’m telling you, it was weird,” Kaminari said, arms crossed. “Like, yeah, I joke with him all the time, but I’ve never seen him snap like that. Not at me.”

“It’s not just you,” Mina agreed. “He’s been off for weeks. He forgot my birthday dinner. Mine. He never forgets that kind of thing.”

“He started to cry a bit during our last patrol together when some kid went past us crying in a stroller,” Sero added, sipping his drink. “Like, actual tears. The kid wasn't even crying that hard.”

They all turned to Bakugo.

“…He tried to hug me after training a few days back,” Bakugo muttered like it physically pained him. “I know that he can be an emotional dumbass sometimes but that was…different.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Okay. Yeah. That’s not just stress.”

“Exactly,” Kaminari said. “So what do we do?”

“We sit his ass down,” Bakugo said plainly. “Before he combusts.”

“Or gives birth,” Sero joked under his breath.

They all groaned.

But the decision was unanimous.

Bakugo’s office was the last place Kirishima expected to get ambushed. But the second he stepped inside, summoned under the vague pretense of “team coordination”, he knew something was up.

Sero was lounging in one of the chairs with his arms crossed. Mina sat on the edge of Bakugo’s desk, legs swinging. Kaminari was trying to appear casual and failing. And Bakugo was behind his desk, arms folded, staring Kirishima down like he was about to jump down the redhead's throat.

“…Hey?” Kirishima offered.

“Sit,” Bakugo barked.

Kirishima blinked. “What is this?”

“A wellness check,” Mina said sweetly. “For you.”

Kirishima hesitated, then sat slowly in the empty chair across from Bakugo’s desk. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

“You tell us, man,” Sero said, leaning forward. “You’ve been off. Are you guys fighting or something? Or is the baby stressing you out?”

“No, no,” Kirishima said quickly, hands raised, “we’re good! She’s amazing, really. I’m just… I don’t know, man. I’ve been off.”

Bakugo scowled. “You keep getting worked up over the dumbest shit. You don’t wanna eat at lunch or you’re only snacking on stuff. You gettin’ sick or somethin’?”

“No!” Kirishima says, looking at the floor, feeling a bit embarrassed that he’s been so obvious this whole time.

“You skipped out on my birthday dinner last week,” Mina added, “and then you bit Denki’s head off in the kitchen this morning. Which, like… I get. It's Denki. But still.”

Kaminari held up a hand. “I deserved it. But that’s not the point.”

“The point is,” Bakugo said, voice low but firm, “you’ve been acting weird for weeks, and you’re obviously not fine. So either you start talking, or we start guessing.”

Kirishima groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’ve just… I don’t know what’s going on with me lately, okay?”

He looked up at them, brows furrowed in frustration.

“I’m tired all the time. I’m either starving or just straight up nauseous. I’ve been forgetting shit. I keep feeling all self conscious about how I look and stuff. I’ll get these like, random body aches and pains. I keep having the weirdest, craziest dreams. And one minute I feel like I’m on top of the world and the next it’s like I’m having a depressive episode or something?”

He ran his hands down his face as he continued, “I cried during a cereal commercial yesterday, guys. A commercial. For cereal. And I thought maybe it was stress or not sleeping right or whatever, but it’s been weeks. I didn’t want to dump it all on her while she’s already dealing with so much, but…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“One minute I feel fine,” Kirishima said. “But then the next minute I feel like absolute shit and I just dont know how to get myself under control!”

The room went quiet.

Then Kaminari whispered, “...Bro. Are you pregnant?”

Sero snorted. “Dude, you caught it. Your wife’s pregnant actually got on you.”

The two of them laughed while Kirishima slouched back in his chair, pouting a bit.

Mina blinked. “Wait. I think I’ve heard about this? Sympathy pregnancy is a real thing, right?”

Within seconds, she had a WebMD article open.

“Boom,” she said, holding up her phone. “Couvade syndrome. Also known as a sympathy pregnancy. Happens to expectant fathers—nausea, mood swings, food cravings, weight gain... oh my god, Eijiro, you are pregnant.”

He stared at the screen in horror.

“No way,” he muttered. “This is... real?! I thought I was just going soft or something.”

“You are going soft, idiot,” Bakugo growled, “but luckily there's no baby growing in you.”

Kirishima groaned, “Great. I can’t even support her properly without turning into some… hormonal time bomb.”

Kaminari patted him on the back. “Nah, man. That’s peak husband behavior. You’re literally feeling her pain. That’s the most Kirishima thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Still,” Sero added, “you might wanna tell her. Like soon. Before you start lactating or something.”

“What?!”

That night, Kirishima took the long way home.

His friends had told him to talk to you. Not in a teasing, “dude you’re gonna sprout boobs” kind of way, though yes, that had happened, but in a genuinely concerned, “you need to let her in” kind of way. And they were right.

You deserved to know what was going on. What he’d been feeling. What he’d been trying to hide.

He just didn’t want to worry you. You were the one actually going through it, actually growing a whole new human with your body. He didn’t want to turn the spotlight on himself or make it seem like he was somehow stealing your thunder.

But when he stepped inside the apartment and saw you curled up on the couch, a heating pad tucked behind your lower back and an open bag of dried mango slices resting on your bump, all those reasons melted away.

He couldn’t keep this from you. He never liked keeping anything from you, he loved you. So he had to be honest with you, no matter how crazy he sounded.

You looked up at him and smiled like you always did when he came home. “Hey, baby.”

His chest tightened.

He dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room in just a few strides. You didn’t even get the chance to sit up before he was kneeling in front of you, arms wrapping around your waist, face buried in your belly like he was trying to hide himself from you.

“Whoa,” you said, laughing softly as you pet his hair. “Hey, what’s all this all about? Rough day at work?”

He exhaled shakily, then looked up at you, eyes glassy and red around the edges.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Your smile faded a little at all this sudden emotion. “What for?”

“For being weird lately. For snapping at people. For not telling you what’s going on.”

You blinked, concerned now. “What’s going on, Eiji?”

“I think I’m having… a sympathy pregnancy,” he admitted, cringing a little. “Apparently, it’s a real thing. And I didn’t even know it was a thing until the guys sat me down and showed me an article about it but… I think I might have it….”

You stared at him for a second, processing.

Then your face split into a wide grin. “Wait…you’ve been having pregnancy symptoms?!”

He groaned. “Please don’t laugh.”

“I’m not! I swear!” But your shoulders were already shaking. “Is that why you cried during that diaper commercial last week?”

“Yes,” he mumbled into your belly. “And why I bought six tubs of mint chocolate chip ice cream I didn’t even want.”

You tried not to giggle. “And why you yelled at a pigeon for looking at you funny during our last walk?”

“Well no, that one was personal,” he said flatly, and you lost it.

He let you laugh it out, and even cracked a smile himself when you kissed his forehead between hiccups.

“But seriously,” he said softly, pulling back enough to meet your eyes. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. You’re already doing so much, and I didn’t want to make it seem like I was trying to steal focus or—”

You stopped him with a gentle kiss.

“You’re not stealing anything,” you said, brushing his hair back. “You’re just sharing it with me. That’s the sweetest thing in the world, Eiji.”

“But I’m not the pregnant one,” he said.

“Yeah, but apparently your body didn’t get the memo.” You cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “You’re allowed to be overwhelmed. To feel things. To take up space. Especially with me.”

He leaned into your touch with a soft noise of relief.

“Besides,” you added with a smirk, “if I have to push this thing out in a few months, it’s only fair that you feel a little uncomfortable too.”

He laughed, chest shaking as he wrapped his arms around you again, this time careful not to squish your belly.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” you giggled. Running your hands through his hair.

“My perfect pregnant husband.”

[the-ragbros-are-okay]

RAGBROS CODED SONGS

under the cut bc it’s a long post

Ribs by Lorde - this song has such a longing for the childhood and/or past

“you’re the only friend i need; sharing beds like little kids; we’ll laugh until our ribs get tired”

it makes me think of them staying up past their bedtime and telling stories under a blanket

Shots by Imagine Dragons - there are lyrics about reminiscence and places you used to go with someone

and then of course the obvious “i shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that i loved”

i’d say this song is more Diluc-centric for sure, focusing around him realizing “oh God, I fucked EVERYTHING up didn’t i?”

and maybe that realization hits him after he returns to Mondstadt and sees how different Kaeya is

Brother by Madds Buckley - this song was written for Touya and Shoto from BNHA, but it goes along with ragbros as well i think

“i left you alone, in a house and not a home”

“Brother, i watched the sky burn; and all i learned was smoke fills the lungs like a disease”

i want to CRY every single time i hear this song

What’s Wrong by half•alive - just the lyrics “time’s always right to fix what’s wrong”

and maybe both of them think “i should talk to him” every time they see each other but they don’t because they’re scared

also these lyrics are SO kaeya omg

had to take pics bc i wasn’t about to type out ALL of this:

Burning Down by Alex Warren - this ENTIRE song feels like diluc’s internal monologue right after kaeya told him the truth about his origins

once again, way too many lyrics to type out bc i would just be typing the entire song

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths - to me, this song feels like people talking to Kaeya after Diluc left

kind of asking for him to come back to them, bc even though he’s an expert at masking his emotions, i KNOW people like Jean and Adelinde would be able to tell that smth was wrong

Oysters in my Pocket by Royal Otis - when you’re young you think you have all the time in the world, and you think things will stay the same

you think you’ll always be with your childhood friends eating popsicles on the back porch and you don’t want to think about the future

and i think that’s what ragbros felt, they thought they would be best friends for the rest of their lives

Nobody’s Soldier by Hozier - both of them broke away from smth they were previously a part of: Kaeya with K’hanriah (probably spelled that wrong idc) and Diluc with the Knights

they’re forging their own paths from what their parents expected of them

Evelyn Evelyn by Evelyn Evelyn - this song is about two conjoined twins (Eve and Lyn) and how close they are, and then how they want to get away from each other

how one wants to separate and the other doesn’t know what they would do if separated

“We grew up so very close”

Harpy Hare by Yaelokre - just watch this:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP86yYPpJ/

crepus wanting to keep his kids safe and then everything happens on That Night :(

Wires by The Neighborhood - honestly i feel like this song can go both ways

either diluc about kaeya after his return, or kaeya about diluc after his return

Two Birds by Regina Spektor- this song just speaks for itself tbh

a lot of people use this for ragbros animatics and it 100% fits them

Seventeen by MARINA - just the lyrics “could never tell you what happened the day i turned seventeen”

(yes ik diluc was 18)

bc it seems so impossible for them to talk about, such a HUGE topic to tackle and they’re scared of it. scared of talking about it and everything going wrong

but anyway. diluc’s 18th bday is when their worlds crumbled around them. how are they supposed to explain that to anyone else but each other?

The Fall by half•alive - “it’s like sharing a dream with someone, once you say it out loud it can’t be undone. i cant trust the fall”

they would trust each other, but they can’t anymore

diluc thought they would always be brothers

kaeya didn’t know things would fall apart like that

they trust each other when it comes to things like work and keeping Mondstadt safe, but when it comes to each other? it’s just so hard

Traitor by Daughtry - another song that speaks for itself

“the only thing worse than a hater, is a traitor”

definitely diluc talking about kaeya here, probably in those years he was away

My Alcoholic Friends by The Dresden Dolls - kaeya. this song is kaeya. 100%, through and through, kaeya.

after diluc left, he feels lost. he’s trying to figure out what to do with his life now that the person he shared it with is gone

i know you guys have sent songs in my asks and i’ll def be looking through them!! i just moved back from uni and have been INSANELY busy unpacking and everything

[gothicfied]

It's summer love, baby - Jude Bellingham Oneshot

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Summary: Seeing you with another guy at a backyard party, Jude knew he had to confess his feelings for you. Quickly.

Warnings: Mentions of drinking alcohol, other than that it's just fluff, best friends to lovers, reader wants Jude badly (who doesn't?), 23/24 Jude, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: kinda hate everything at the moment, school's been stressful, but here you go. Haven't written anything in a while ngl I hope this doesn't suck

Jude Bellingham. Everytime that name left your lips, you could feel your heart skip a beat. What kind of pathetic weirdo are you that you can't even think about him without becoming all giggly and kick your feet. You are best friends. At least, you're supposed to be. But something, ever since he moved to Spain and started playing for Real Madrid, changed between you guys.

You'd say growing up with him being your neighbor was one of the best things about your childhood. Jude and you went to the same kindergarten together, the same elementary school and even secondary school and so on. You used to do track, right next to the big field of grass that his team would train on. Wherever you were, he was there too. Wherever he went, he took you with him. It was like an unwritten rule Jude and you had put up the second you shyly asked each other if you're 'best friends'. That was in second grade.

The player had been home for a couple of days now, and after the loss against the spanish national team in the Euro's, there's nothing that consult him. The wound of it was still fresh, burning with disappointment in himself — It had cut Jude deep, especially because he out of everyone in the team thought they were going to bring it home this time. At least that's what he told you.

You two were sitting in his, very nice, car, driving to one of your mutual friends' house. Since all Jude did was sulk at home, your friendgroup decided to at least throw a summer party, before he left England again for vacation.

"God, it's been so long since we went out together, huh?" Jude flashed you a smile, his stupidly perfect white teeth grazing his lower lip. Oh, how much you missed him smiling at you in real life, Face Time was just not cutting it anymore. It quite literally punched all the air out your lungs as it took you a moment to regain your thoughts. "Well.. yeah, you could've flown me out to you more, you know?" You replied back, returning a smile.

Coming to a halt at a red light, Jude whipped his head to the side to face you, raising his eyebrows like he couldn't believe you: "What? What do you mean? I've asked plenty of times—!" He was cut off by you laughing, waving him off like he wasn't telling the truth.

He was, but sadly life often got in the way of you two. You, and only you, had visited him once or twice down in Spain, but you're obviously also an adult with adult responsibilities and adult things to do.. like pay taxes. Or go to uni. Or get the oil of your car changed. You hadn't quite figured this out yet, and Jude always took the opportunity to make fun of you for it.

"You know damn well it would've worked out better if you wouldn't always procrastinate all your assignments until the last day available.." Jude mumbled as he pulled into the driveway of Danny's house, but you pretended like you didn't hear him.

Danny was actually also a long time friend of his. You only knew him through Jude, regarding him as an acquaintance, nothing more. Sadly, he doesn't accept that — The countless of times Danny had texted you, called you, tried to invite you on a date were actually tiring. He was a nice enough guy, but he just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

While you checked your purse if you had brought everything with you, Jude had already gotten out of the car and made a beeline to your side, opening the car door for you like always. "M'lady.." He said in that stupid flirty tone that always got you. Even if you rolled your eyes, even if you pretended like this was the worst thing ever, you always took his hand that he offered and let him help you out of the drivers seat.

"You're a charmer."

"I know I am."

Danny, while being real annoying, had one of the biggest backyards you've ever seen. The party was already at it's peak with people everywhere, just no one you recognized. Jude still held your hand, dragging you closer to him: "Stay close to me, okay?" he had leaned down to talk directly in your ear, "Danny tends to let.. kind of everyone in. I don't want you to be the victim of some creep." You squeezed his hand as a small sign of gratitude and before you could even say something, the other man suddenly started to approach you two, almost like he was summoned as soon as Jude spoke about him.

"Didn't think you'd actually show!" The redhead, yes he's a redhead, yelled over the music, dabbing Jude up. While they held small talk, all you could do is awkwardly stand next to them, inching closer to the english player everytime Danny's eyes lingered on you for too long.

"Real glad you brought her here with you, too. I was kinda startin' to miss ya! How come you never text back?" Due to Danny's scouser accent and the music and all the talking around you, you could barely make up what he was saying, but judging by the way Jude put an arm around you in an instant, it must've been something... weird.

"Bro, you gotta let it go man. You know she doesn't want you like that." Jude laughed at his own words and gave Danny a firm pat on the shoulder, before turning both of you away from him in an attempt to get out of the situation.

He wasn't your boyfriend, you knew that. He didn't like you in that way, you knew that. He's your best friend, you knew that. But, you weren't stupid. His reaction everytime you brought up a boy who's been bothering you was the same since late middleschool: jealous. Right? Yeah.. yeah, jealous. Definitely. You hoped it wasn't just your huge crush on him making you imagine things.

...

After an hour or two, the music had gotten louder, more people kept swarming in like moths to a flame and the taste of alcohol lingered on your tongue. You had promised yourself not to get too drunk, but the fact that you seemed to attract every toxic gym bro or incel nice guy at this party made you wanna down some more tequila shots. You and Jude had gotten seperated about half an hour ago, as some blonde girl swept him away when she realized who he was. That had already kinda ruined your mood for the night, but the guy that has been talking to you for the past ten minutes and who won't leave you alone made it a hundred times worse.

You were leaning against a tree, which was prettily decorated with fairy lights, idly sipping at your drink as you pretended to listen to the man in front of you. He was talking about cars or whatever, something that definitely did nit interest you in the slightest. But, at least from here you had a good view on where Jude was. He was sitting on one of those outdoor sofas, legs spread with his shirt half unbuttoned, talking to that pretty blonde girl from... wherever she came from. You bit down on your cheek everytime you saw her touch his arm or his hand or laugh at his stupid jokes just a tad bit too loud. Come on, he isn't even that funny, what the hell.

You didn't even realize you were staring, not until Jude made eye contact with you, giving you a look of 'Is everything okay?'. So, you snapped out of it, giving him a half-smile and looked back at the person in front of you. Seriously this guy has been talking to basically himself for like 15 minutes now and he's still going.

Now Jude was alerted of your situation, seeing from even afar that you were uncomfortable, felt awkward.. Having caught your eyes linger on him for so long made him forget about his conversation as a whole. If he was being honest, he was probably just talking to this girl to distract himself from you. He felt so stupid, so pathetic that apparently, he could do anything but try to make a move on you.

Why couldn't this just be like in movie or in books? Where you just knew how much he wanted you and kissed him. Because he would, for sure, not be the one to pull back first.

"Excuse me." He promptly cut off the blonde girl, getting up from the sofa. You were so focused on not focusing on Jude the entire time, that you didn't even notice him approaching.

"So, you know, the guy that rammed into me didn't even want to pay for the dama—"

"Heyyyy... sorry it took me so long, ready to go now, babe?" Jude slid beside you, snaking an arm around your waist. Your eyes immediately lit up the second you felt his presence next to you, feeling your heart drop in an instant. You tried your best to go along: "Oh, yeah, no worries," you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, "it was really nice talking to you, Tobi!"

Tobi, the guy, took a good look at you two. First at Jude, then at you, then back again at Jude, who was just grinning with pride, basically whisking you away. All you heard was: "Wait, your boyfriend is THE Jude Bellingham???"

...

With a click, you opened the door of the passenger seat of Jude's car. "You really have to stop entertaining guys for nothing." He said, tone more serious than it was before. While the two of you quickly walked out of there, you joked around, poking fun at him for thinking he was some great hero now.

"Dudeee, it was literally whatever. Poor guy, he probably feels so stupid now."

"For what? Flirting with the girlfriend of the best midfielder in the world?"

"Didn't you bring home a silver medal just last week?"

"Didn't I bring you the literal Champions League Trophy?"

Jude came to a stop right in front of you, crossing his arms in front of his chest while trying his very best not to snicker or laugh. You just raised your eyebrow: "I'm not even your girlfriend."

His eyes were probably the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. While gazing up at them in that moment, you didn't even register what had just left your mouth and the kind of reaction he showed to your words.

Yes, you were convinced, Jude Bellingham is a work of art. Everything about him was perfect. The way he delicately cupped your cheek and looked at you like you were the only important thing in his life, the way he smiled at you while moving his face closer to yours and especially the way his lips fit and moved so perfectly against yours, like he was made for you.

He kissed you with passion, pouring years of love and yearning into it, regreting all the times he didn't do this sooner when he realized how sweet you tasted. You kissed him back, telling him all the feelings you had for him in that small moment through the action, but it seemed enough.

And Jude didn't dare to break the kiss first.

[lacydaydream]

Letters To My Baby Girl

cw: nothing! just dean being a sweet n sentimental girl dad

estelle yaps: dean my beloved. this is a collection of letters dean would write to his daughter on her birthday! i got this idea from the amazing book Beach Read by emily henry. read it, it will change your life.

wc: 1.3K

Dear baby girl,

Today is the day you made me the happiest man in the world. You’ve got ten tiny toes, two bright eyes, ten perfect fingers, and the cutest little nose I’ve ever seen. And even if you didn’t- even if you had none of those things- you’d still be the most perfect girl to ever exist. No contest.

You fit right in the palm of my hand. When I held you for the first time, when I felt how small and breakable and precious you were, I cried. Didn’t stand a chance.

I knew you were coming. I knew it for months. Uncle Sam and I spent weeks working on your nursery. We had no idea we were signing up for the most important job of our lives- building a space that made your mama smile and still felt cool enough to be ours. So yeah, that’s why you’ve got both Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals and a Zeppelin record hanging on your wall. You’ll understand someday. Or maybe you won’t- but that’s okay, too.

Still, it didn’t feel real until they handed you to me. Not after the long hours of labor. Not after all the words that flew out of your mama’s mouth when things got tough. It was you- pink and new and naked to the world and all its ugliness- that made it hit me. You were something to protect. Someone to protect.

You’re a someone. You’re going to grow into a someone. That blows my mind.

Today is the day you made me a father. Today is the start of the long road where I get to watch you grow into the woman I already know you’ll become. Even now, as I’m writing this and watching you and your mama nap together, it brings me more joy than I know what to do with.

Right now, I know everything about you. You don’t know a thing about me. So I’m writing this for you- a way for you to know who I was before I was just “Dad.”

Hi, I’m Dean Winchester. Your dad. Not that you’ll ever call me anything else.

It’s November 3rd. And today? Today is the best damn day of my life.

・・・・・

My girl,

You’re a year old today.

I’m sitting here thinking about all the adventures we’ve had this year. The hours we spent figuring out what your mama calls “tummy time.” The late nights you and I stayed up, learning the words to the greatest songs ever written. The times you had my back and peed on your uncle- by the way, kid, that was awesome. And your first steps. Your first “Da.”

And all the times I had to leave to fight the monsters in the world.

That part broke my heart. Every single time.

It feels like I missed so much. If I count it up, it’s probably only a month out of your first year. Doesn’t matter. Feels like too much. Feels like I blinked and lost something I can’t get back.

You and your mama are the best gifts this life’s ever handed me. And even though I hate leaving, I take pride in knowing that when I do, it’s to make the world just a little safer for my girls. That’s what keeps me going. That’s what gets me home.

You’ve got my eyes, kid- those big green ones that make me hand over ice cream when your mama’s not looking, and let you babble your way out of naps. But you’ve got her smile. The brightest damn smile I’ve ever seen. Brighter than the sun, no contest. Right now, your hair’s this sandy blonde. Everyone’s betting it’ll turn brown, but me? I kind of hope it stays just like this.

Who am I today?

I’m the hands that help you climb those weird jungle gym contraptions at the park down the road. I’m the guy trying (and probably failing) to get you to eat peas for the first time.

・・・・・

Happy second birthday, kiddo!

You’re getting so tall. And your hair’s darkened up since last year. Your mama says you look like her sister, but me? I think you look like my mother.

I just know she would’ve loved you.

Someday, when you’re older, we’ll take over the kitchen together. We’ll roll up our sleeves and try to make the cherry pie she used to bake for me. Maybe we’ll nail it. Maybe we’ll make a mess of the whole thing. Either way, it’ll be ours.

・・・・・

Today you’re four.

Cas brought you a kitten. Do you remember what you named that white ball of fluff? Lady. Because you and your mama have been watching that Disney movie with the fancy cats-The Aristocats, I think. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re growing into your own little person, figuring out how you see the world.

You love pie. You think your mama’s the most beautiful woman on the planet (I agree). You think Uncle Sam should get a haircut (I definitely agree).

And kid, you share better than most grown-ups I know. If we’re sneaking cookies late at night, you’ll march straight down the bunker hall waking everyone up to ask if they want one too. You don’t stand for crap, either. We were at the park this week- some kid was being mean to his little brother, and you walked right over and gave him a piece of your mind. Like a true Winchester.

I’m so damn proud of you. Every single day.

My dad never told me that growing up. So I make sure I tell you every chance I get.

・・・・・

My little princess,

I raised my voice at you for the first time this year. And I’m so damn sorry.

See, that’s what I grew up with. Your granddad- the guy you see in those old pictures- he was a tough man. Ran a tight ship. If me or your uncle messed up, he’d yell loud enough to shake the walls. For hours sometimes.

I promised myself I’d never do that to you. And I broke that promise.

Truth is, kiddo, I was scared out of my mind. Somehow- we’re still not sure how- you got your hands on one of my guns. The second I saw you holding it, my heart just dropped. I’d never felt fear like that before.

I yelled. You dropped it. Nothing bad happened, thank God.

But that night, I cried. Right there in your mama’s arms. We both did.

She told me something I won’t ever forget- kids don’t come with manuals. You get dropped into our lives, and we’re just supposed to figure it out as we go. We make mistakes- sometimes big ones. But we learn, and we get better.

Now every single weapon, even the knives I once thought were fine, is locked up tight. Where they always should’ve been.

I’m here to protect you, kiddo. Always. That’ll never change.

・・・・・

10 years old.

Kid, I can’t believe it. Ten whole years.

Every day you’re growing, learning, testing the limits. You used to fit in the palm of my hand- tucked right against my side in what we used to call the Dean Cave. Guess it’s the Dad Cave now.

I’m sitting here, just thinking about how far we’ve come. You’ve been in my life for a decade. Ten years of the best damn moments I’ve ever had. Ten years of watching you figure this crazy world out- piece by piece, question by question.

You amaze me every single day. The way you think. The way you stand up for what’s right. The way you don’t back down, even when it’s hard. You’ve got more guts and heart than most people twice your size.

I feel like I never say it enough. But, I’m so proud of you kiddo. Always.

Love,

Dad.

divider by muruffin

[huckleberrykai]

⋆౨ৎ˚ tomorrow x together masterlist ⟡˖ ࣪

by huckleberrykai :3

last updated: 11.5.25 requests? open! 🎀 = authors' favs!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ot5 headcannons + minifics <3

➵ crush crush crush ~ [what are they like when they have a crush on you?]

➵ our song ~ [mini scenarios based on taylor swift lyrics!]

➵ let's dance the night away ~ [prom with our fav boys!]

➵ call me baby ~ [nicknames you give them!]

➵ there's food at home ~ [txt as dads!]

➵ why's it spicy? ~ [txt vs your plumping lip gloss]

➵ squish ~ [txt reacting to their chubby gf in a tight outfit]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 choi yeonjun (๑>◡<๑)

➵ lost ~ [when yeonjun finds a lost child in the park while trying to clear his head, he goes on a quest to find her mom.]

➵ found ~ [after that day in the park, yeonjun decides he wants to keep you both around for a long time. - part 2 to lost!]

➵ i did something bad ~ [if you're on opposite sides, then why does it feel so good to be with him? - mafia au]

➵ dance with me ~ [trying to confess to your dance class partner on valentines day is more overwhelming than you originally thought.]

➵ are you still watching? ~ [after a long tour away from his baby, yeonjun doesn't wanna pay attention to the netflix show you were watching. - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

➵ picturesque ~ [you go on a cute date with your boyfriend, who just so happened to bring his new camera.]

➵ 🎀 never been kissed ~ [your new boyfriend just wants some smooches, but you aren't sure how to tell him you've never been kissed.]

➵ comfy cozy ~ [yeonjun gets a little handsy when you surprise him with an early autumn cozy getaway for his birthday. - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 choi soobin (..◜ᴗ◝..)

➵ sacrifice ~ [you spill a drink on a very pretty man in a club ~ inspired by sacrifice by bebe rexha]

➵ superstar ~ [when soobin gets the opportunity to work with you, he can't help but feel nervous.]

➵ birthday bunny ~ [just two tired horny lovers messily helping each other out. - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

➵ 🎀 fight for you ~ [on your 21st birthday coronation day, you finally get to meet the knight you've been admiring for so long.]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 choi beomgyu (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

➵ 🎀 not so secret ~ [secretly dating someone in a house of six people isn't easy - especially when you wander out of his bedroom wearing nothing but his shirt.]

➵ call it what you want ~ [when you and beomgyu start dating, you aren't sure how to tell your brother soobin.]

➵ i wouldn't ask you to take care of me ~ [after returning from your honeymoon, you already have to put your vows to the test.]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 kang taehyun (˶˃⤙˂˶)

➵ 🎀 tae-tok [when your boyfriend is always touring or busy, you settle for the next best thing. tiktok boyfriend edits that his fans make.]

➵ the virtue's in the verse ~ [you become a secret admirer to the boy who never responds to your flirts]

➵ missing you ~ [taehyun wanted to surprise you by coming home early, but it turns out he got home just in time. - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 huening kai (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

➵ here's to teenage memories ~ [you meet a cute boy on vacation ~ inspired by kiss me kiss me by 5SOS <3]

➵ i thought we were in love already? ~ [kai tries to think of ways to get you to like him, unbeknownst to him you've been in love with him the whole time.]

➵ you smell nice ~ [kai notices his hoodies going missing, and it isn't until he visits your apartment to stay for the weekend that he realises where they all went.]

➵ 🎀 toaster strudel ~ [kai wants to frost his favourite pastry before he eats it <3 - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

➵ pizza lover ~ [sick of playing cat and dog, kai gives you a little push to cross the barrier of best friends to more <3]

➵ can't keep my hands to myself ~ [your first time with your sweet boyfriend who can't help but think about your pretty hands - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

➵ cat and dog ~ [despite being so different, your friends think your black cat and golden retriever dynamic with your boyfriend is adorable.]

➵ memories ~ [of course being best friends with your boyfriend's sister means premium access to his childhood videos.]

➵ video games ~ [gamer bf!kai x sanrio gf!reader ~ headcanons and texts]

➵ all mine ~ [kai never considered himself the jealous type. not until he met you.]

➵ 🎀 laundry basket ~ [when kai finds his sweet precious girl with his dirty shirt in her face and her hand down her pants he has to teach her a lesson. - SMUT 18+ ONLY !]

send an ask if you'd like to join my taglist! pls specify sfw/nsfw or both! :3