#but i just got hit with the ick at my own writing

[blossoms-phan]

guys can someone reassure me that you want to read phan smut

[aliaology]

NOW THAT WE DONT TALK

summary: jack realizes yns music is quite literally a call out, directed towards him, and his brothers egg it on. pt.3

series masterlist

“i called my mom, she said ‘that it was for the best!’ remind myself the more i gave, you’d want me less”

jack could’ve hit his head against the counter ten more times and the song would still be ringing through his ears like a splinter that wouldn’t come out of his hand.

quinns hand made contact with the back of jacks head. “knock it off, jack.”

jack groaned, shoving his head into his arms. he groaned again, this time the noise being muffled due to the his arm. “she wrote a song about me, quinn.”

quinn rolled his eyes. “you don’t know its about you” he told.

jack scoffed, head shooting up. “she literally called me out. the parties, that stupid red sea reference, even the chorus. its so obviously me. and then her newer single that dropped thirty minutes ago?’

quinn shrugged, “could be about trevor”

jack rolled his eyes, “no way in hell, quinn. they never hooked up and her newer one is about some guy hooking up with her later on—“

“you sound obsessed, jack.” quinn told. jack looked down, embarrassed.

“whats jack obsessed with?” trevor asked, walking inside the kitchen. he stole a grape from jack and popped it into his mouth.

“y/n’s song” quinn spoke.

trevor scoffed, “why are you so hung up on it? its just music.” trevor shrugged.

“hes upset because hes getting called out.”

jack groaned again, head hitting the counter.

quinn rolled his eyes again. “you’ve gotta stop doing that dude. listen— she probably made these ages ago and just now got to releasing them.”

trevor popped another grape in his mouth. “not too sure about that, but i know she started writing them when you two broke up.”

luke slowly walks in. “seriously? you guys are torturing the man talking about his ex.”

jack nods, signifying lukes words to be true.. luke goes into the cupboard to grab a plate. “just ignore it.” he shrugged.

trevor snorted. jack sent the boy a glare, causing his laughter to abruptly stop. “how can i just ignore it? shes getting big and her music is everywhere already.” he asked.

quinn gave him a look. “then face it, jack. you can’t keep putting yourself in denial for something you caused.”

jack let out an exasperated groan for the 100th time. “gee, thanks quinn. way to make me feel better.”

“dont start giving him shit, jack.” luke spoke.

jack rolled his eyes. “whatever, im going to my room.” he got up and went for the stairs.

all three boys looked around at each other. silence fell through the room. suddenly, the sliding door opens. “whats going on?” cole asked.

“quinn picked his side of the argument.” trevor spoke, slightly glaring at quinn.

quinn gave one back, “dont act innocent, trevor. you screwed her over too. you and jack need to own up to it and stop cowering like little kids. you are both in your twenties for fucks sake. grow up.”

quinn went off to his room, leaving a wide eyed group of boys behind.

jacks brows furrowed as he listened to the song in his earbuds. his girlfriend napped next to him as he sat up on the bed. he hates to admit it, but he kinda deserved this.

“lets fast forward to three hundred awkward blind dates later. if shes got blue eyes, i will surmise that you’ll probably date her. you dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor, you search in every model—“

he stopped the song, taking his earbuds out and tossing them to the floor. he cheated, and now was dating the girl he cheated with. it was sad, really.

fiona, she was a woman who loved money. jack, was a man who loved attention. maybe that’s why they were together. but she wasn’t horrible like people said, right?

quietly, he went to tik tok and made a fake account, that way she knew he didn’t stalk her profile. i mean— she has no idea he even uses it still.

jack searched fionas name up, ultimately clicking on her profile. she had one video up. he clicked on it.

ick ick ick ick

she was lip syncing that really terrible audio that went ‘he chose me, he dont want you. he chose me’ and honestly, jack was appalled.

but before he could open the comments, she started to wake up. he swiped out of the app and deleted it, tossing his phone to the side afterwards.

“hey baby.” he smiled.

now that we dont talk!

tags! @honethatty12 (if u want tags, just ask <3)

[shreddeddescent]

ugh i do have one more drama bomb for the worst case scenario that is the thing that will actually piss everyone off more than anything else, like the final ick, and thats all to do with like.....ok i said no one is coping well at all right. everyones having trauma sex dreams? about the worst fucking shit in the world? nobodies coped with that well.

this will give everyone an actual ick. and im genuinely really sorry. but if i talk about this and youre still okay and nobody eats me alive, then maybe this whole dumb thing could just be posted and ill just be like "HERE its fine and im sorry"

I’m hoping by now we can understand the nuances of this situation. that this is only happening because the characters have been through the most horrible thing imaginable together. please try to be understanding of that.

cw in general for the usual shit. seriously. dont traumatize yourself to read this. and def dont read it if youre not aware of the rest of this timeline. the nuances are important.

leo and raph have just done something stupid to cope. something thats their choice as a one time thing to get the trauma of the assault and loss of bodily autonomy out of their heads. they do something they consent to. its not a choice they made lightly, its something theyre really ashamed thinking is a good idea. but they decided 'hey. i think I need to choose to be stupid, and i think you have the same idea, cuz at least we can both choose to be stupid together. stupid fucking teenagers who can regret their own choices instead of his, and dad has no say in it. and if he has no say he has no power over us, he doesn’t control us, and i can look at you without thinking of him.'

and then it literally does turn their nightmares around. and they can literally laugh in his nightmare face about it.

and then they go to therapy about it. to make sure theyre okay about it, and they actually seem to be. and i think they actually are. thats why its extra fucked up that they now know big mama took advantage of them. because they thought maybe it was okay after speaking to her and now they have no idea. and theyre pretty ashamed, leo in particular. but also like... it did actually get the cage dreams to stop for them. but that’s why leo got so high, cuz he thinks he finally felt ok and THEN he was proven right when they learn about the egg napping. and now he thinks he’s fucked everything up worse by ever thinking what they did was okay.

thats when the fucking kids show up to talk.

is everybody.... hhhhhhhh is everybody okay with that. cuz this is genuinely the final missing piece I’m overly censoring the snippets I’m posting about because its happened in the background. but I’m genuinely hoping that since this whole thing is fucked enough already that these little nuances can be respected. its not a thing they're ever doing again. its a thing they did to feel like fucking dumbass teenagers instead of mindless fucking traumatized animals who are trying to raise their little brothers on their own right now.

its not something id post the specifics of. but the before and after of how that happened and how theyre handling it. because its part of the reason they need help.

please dont throw pitchforks, im really just trying to be honest about the effects of this heinous shit. its all coming from a very serious raw place so i hope you can understand. its not something that was added lightly.

and if you understand and respect that, maybe i can just post the story and say fuck it. cuz its a really fucking.... ugh. like this is obviously the 'ive lost my marbles i need a diagnosis' story. i dont need to say that anymore, but maybe some of you need to read a story like this as much as i needed to write it. i dont mean that in a presumptuous way, but more like... i think maybe im hitting a nerve.

im sorry.

[just-absolutely-super]

And Beast Wars is DONE

I'm glad I got over my initial ick of the animation because the series itself is so fun and charming. Even the animation got easier to watch the longer it went on

Writing-wise, I do have some criticisms

The Vok subplot had a very rushed conclusion, with them coming back into the narrative feeling almost like an afterthought (from what I read, the decision to continue the story in the Beast Machines cartoon is what led the quick wrap-up so I shouldn't judge too harshly)

The decision to take Tigatron and Airazor out of the story and then bringing them back as the combined Tigerhawk, only to kill him off literally an episode later was also disappointing to me. Like, these characters could have contributed so much to the story and we instead had to put them on ice for a full season, only for their comeback to not even last. It's such a shame, these two are so cool in their own right. And we couldn't even give them a proper romantic arc, the two confirm their feelings and then BAM! ABDUCTION! It feels like such a waste...

Then there was that really weird love triangle nonsense Cheetor tried pulling with the sudden infatuation with Blackarachnia. Even though it stopped and was thankfully dropped by episode 8 of S3, it still felt like it went on for too long because it was so unnecessary. And it made Cheetor look like a prick for trying to take his friend's girl and I hated that. You were doing my boy so dirty with this, if you wanted him to have a love interest JUST MAKE A NEW CHARACTER YOU COWARDS!

Otherwise, the story itself is solid. I love these characters and their dynamics. The humor hit really well, and even if the animation is dated, it managed to make some really good gags. It was almost Looney Tune level and I ended up having so much fun with it

I hope Hasbro decides to bring the Maximals and Predacons back for a future installment. ROTB seemed like a step in that direction, but so far I haven't seen anything else that reintroduces Primal and his gang. Maybe someday we can get a new continuity for Beast Wars

[bluepeachstudios]

im attempting to watch 2003, for ghost, i am. but oh ky god im on the first episode, and i just find everything so ugly?? just like its a major ick for me i cant watch shows with art styles or colours i dislike??? im sorry?? and its just hitting me this is writtrn by millennials… it gets better right? also why is their home so ugly and bland?

honestly no hate against 2003, i havent liked any tmnt except rise, so its probably my fault and my tastes, is this to due to autism)???

This was the 2000s where everyone was going Dark and Gritty style-wise. It becomes more bright and colorful for Fast Forward and Back to the Sewers. They definitely let up on the black shadows as the series progresses.

The first episode, their home just got destroyed. The one they've been living in their whole lives. They're can't back there anymore. :') they've gotta find a new home, and yeah it's a mess when they do find it. They haven't put their own touches into it yet!

As for the writing, I believe almost everyone agrees that 2003 has some of the best plots in the TMNT franchise. If you watch 2003 you'll even see how many little things Rise got from it! (Lookin at you Ninja Tribunal.) Which. Imo Rise did the mystic powers thing way better, but Season 5 was a mess in its own right. Unfortunately Season 5 was supposed to be a finale, but it got short and they were given two more seasons to make Fast Forward, then they said "actually no Fast Forward season 2 we're sending them back to where they were but keep it super high tech" and it just got to be a mess.

But! You only have to watch up through most of season 3 to see what Ghost himself lived through. (Hun on the Run is the last episode Ghost lived, basically.) If you want some more secrets, I'd watch all the way through season 5. Fast Forward and Back to the Sewers aren't as important.

There is a moment in Back to the Sewers when you see what Donny gets like when he's lost someone important to him. It's a good way to see how Ghost was after he'd first fallen into the Rise universe. But otherwise, vibe.

Also like!! If you don't want to watch the show that's perfectly fine too! I think you can honestly get by without watching 2003. Having 2003 as context just makes it hurt a lil worse. :')

[milly1111]

Blindly Trapped Prt 2

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Everything. (+18 only.) This one gets a lil wild. As we all know Beetlejuice is a perv..sex, swearing, domestic abuse, gore etc.

(NO minor should be on my tumblr anyways, sorry kids. Byeeeee.)

“Lydia!” Josh scooped her up in his arms as he gave her a tight hug. She grunted to the suffocating hug, and immediately tried to pull away, by pushing back on his chest. Josh laughed and pulled back slightly, “Now how is my favorite woman doing?” He asked, looking at her face. He noticed how messy her hair was. Just barely up in a bun, her eyeliner was smudged. Her shoulders sagged carrying a heavy weight of tiredness. Her eyes that are swollen, puffy ringed with red, noting there was some emotional turmoil she didn’t speak about. Then the layer of the dark bags under her eyes revealing her sleepless nights. 

She pulled her sleeves of her black oversized hoodie over her hands as she crossed her arms growing uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Which didn’t last long, he pulled away going to grab the pizza he had put down on the ground and presented it to his girlfriend. “Let’s eat!” Ignoring how awful she looked, he moved past her hitting her shoulder as he walked by heading straight for the living room, practically making himself at home. As usual making her feel invisible. “Oh!! And the movie we both really wanted to see is out streaming! I’ll put it on while we eat.” He said, as he put the pizza box down, moving to the kitchen to get plates for them. 

Lydia sat down on the couch, crossing her legs. Beetlejuice appeared in the living room flashing Lydia a charming grin. He opened the pizza box snagging two pieces of pizza layering one on top of the other. He flopped down on the other side of the couch from Lydia. He spread his legs out wide, leaning back, getting comfortable as he devoured his pieces rather quickly belching loudly. Beej wasn’t going anywhere, he was keeping Lyds in his radar especially now that Josh was here. “It betta be horror, not some cheese ball bullshit…Can’t believe I’m third wheelin’ with my own future wife.” Beetlejuice snorted. 

Lydia shot him a glare before Josh came back with the plates. Josh paused, Lydia’s heart began to race in fear that he may be able to see Beetlejuice just from the expression on his face. “Damn Lydia, I didn’t know I was dating a vacuum cleaner. Couldn’t wait five seconds to scoff down TWO slices of pizza? How the hell did you eat it that fast? Save some for me, animal.” Lydia’s expression grew cold from Josh’s insults. At this point she didn’t really care what Josh thought. She vaguely remembers the first time they went out to eat and she got wings instead of a salad. To Josh it was a big ICK to him. Once they had left the restaurant, she didn’t hear the end of it on their ride home. He went on and on saying that women shouldn’t eat wings while out in public, that it was an embarrassment to be seen with her. That she should have gotten a salad like a ‘real’ woman would eat in public. So those insults really meant nothing to her. She’s grown used to it, like many other things that came with this relationship.

Beetlejuice held a hard glare after Josh insulted his future wife like that, his cold gaze and the shaking of anger coursing through his dead body. No one fucks with the juice, especially not insulting HIS Lydia like that. A man disrespecting his wife, is like a man disrespecting him. He gripped the side of the couch to the point his knuckles were turning white. The way he wanted to choke this boy out..His self restraint was being tested. “Lydia, are ya seriously gonna let this asshole talk to ya like that? Give me the word, I’ll knock em out. I’ll scare him so bad he’ll never sleep again. Fuck– I’ll even take off his fucking dick, shove it down his goddamn–”

“Well, what can I say.. I was starving. You were taking your sweet time getting the plates. So… I made a pizza sandwich. It was delicious.” Lydia said quickly, not wanting to hear Beetlejuice’s tantrum. She didn’t need to hear more of that, she was well aware of what she was getting herself into. Bad enough she already heard enough of this crap from her family members and roommates. She didn’t need to hear it from Beetlejuice too.

Josh scrunched his nose up in disgust as he handed her a plate slowly. When Lydia reached to take the plate, his grip tightened as he tugged on it not letting her have it just yet, “Now, Now sweetheart, don’t eat the plate too..I know, I know, you’re a starved pig most would say-” Josh’s grip loosened, Lydia slowly took the plate from him, shrugging her shoulders.

“That’s fuckin’ it! This fucker is DEAD!” Beetlejuice snapped slamming both his hands down, his glare blazing hot as he started to pull himself up. This prick had pulled his last straw. However Lydia quickly intervened as Beetlejuice was about to go over and beat Josh to death. Lydia was inches from his face as she glared at him grabbing a slice of pizza. The closeness catching Beetlejuice off guard slowly his anger faded just a little as he felt her hot breath hitting his face, and he leaned back on the couch keeping his legs spread. Lydia then sighed, sitting back onto the couch crossing her legs as Josh grabbed the remote to put on the movie as she ate in silence.

Beetlejuice scoffs, “Oh.. For fucks sake’. Really? A chic flick? I know this motherfucker picked this one out. Babes, ya don’t even like shit like this. Ever heard of horror, does this piece of shit not like that?” 

Beej then looks over when Lydia puts her plate down on the side table after eating her slice. His blood boiling as Josh leans forward pulling Lydia down closer to him on the couch. Josh wraps his arm around her waist, which she quickly pushes it off of her. Josh seemed unbothered by this as she rested her head on his shoulder. 

Lydia was now struggling, even though she can’t actually sleep within the same vicinity of this man doesn’t mean her body won’t try. She dozed off, but her body jerked her awake immediately,  this happened a couple of times. Josh noticed this and he rolled his eyes when her eyes fluttered closed again. He suddenly harshly nudged her, almost elbowing her in the face, “Come on Lydia!! Don’t fall asleep. I hate when you do this shit. The movie has just started, woman. Don’t be one of those.” The anger in Josh’s voice annoyed her the most. She pulled away from him and now leaned her back against the couch as she turned her attention to the movie. God.. This movie was already horrible. It’s the perfect movie to sleep to if Josh wasn’t here.

“Babes, you need ta sleep.. Lemme get him the outta here. Before I blow a blood vessel. You know I wouldn’t push ya off. C’mere, all this is yours lemme make ya comfy.” At this point he was begging. He couldn't stand third wheeling, especially when he's third wheeling with an asshole. It was hard for him to just sit back and watch. Unfortunately for him, Lydia ignored him. She didn't even look over at the poltergeist. 

The movie played for a while and Lydia's head was resting on the back of the couch, which was starting to feel like a cloud. Beetlejuice just watched her open and close her eyes the whole time. She even went as far as pulling her eyelids back to stay awake, which made Beetlejuice snort amused by her dedication. Meanwhile, Josh was mindlessly scrolling on his phone and partially watching the movie. Every time he saw her almost dozing off, he kicked her leg, or nudged her with his elbow. Beetlejuice's fingers wrapped in a death grip tugging at the ends of his jacket. He was very fidgety; he wanted nothing more than to cause harm to her so-called boyfriend. But he was trying his best to respect Lydia's wishes, for now.

As time went on they were about half way through the movie and then Lydia got nauseous. She wasn't sure if it was from the pizza, or the lack of sleep. But whatever it was, it didn’t agree with her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the color from her face suddenly flushed. She tucked her sweaty hands in-between her crossed legs trying to ignore the urge. Josh's focus was nowhere on Lydia as he was eating pizza that made her stomach turn more, and was on his phone even though he was purposely keeping her awake. Beetlejuice noticed as soon as her energy was off and he was now staring at her noticing how her face suddenly went pale and how her body tensed. 

She watched Josh bite his slice of pizza and grease from the cheese rolled down his chin, a chunk of tomato plopping down on his plate causing Lydia to gag. Josh paused mid-chew as he watched his girlfriend shoot up from her spot on the couch, her hand over her mouth as she ran into the bathroom slamming the door shut.

“Wow, am I that nasty to look at?!” Josh yelled, shaking his head, he tossed his phone down on the couch now looking back up at the movie scowling. Beetlejuice just sat back, arms crossed waiting not so patiently for Lydia to return. His focus entirely on the hall she ran down, his patience just kept slipping the longer she took to return.

Lydia in the meantime, she spent time in the bathroom fighting off her wave of feeling nauseous. Josh knew one of Lydia’s fears was vomiting and had a slight case of emetophobia, yet he stayed where he was watching the movie without her. 

She rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for tums or just anything to soothe her stomach. “Damn.. Do they not have any?” Lydia grumbled under her breath, disappointed in both her father and Delia. 

To find an alternative solution, she decided to get into the shower, hoping the hot steam might alleviate her nausea. She quickly removed her clothing, letting it drop to the floor, and crawled into the shower. Lydia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The hot steam filled the bathroom, and the burning hot droplets dripping down her skin felt nice for a moment. Unfortunately, it wasn’t helping her turning stomach. Giving up hope that the hot shower would help, she turned the water off. She reached out for the towel rack, freezing when she realized… there was no towel in here. Her eyes widened in shock, feeling helpless, cold, and still nauseous, she was desperate. This led her to do something she would never normally do. She picked up her cell phone and dialed Josh’s number.

Josh’s phone began to vibrate on the couch’s cushion. Out of curiosity, Beetlejuice leaned to the side looking at the caller ID seeing that it was Lydia. He then looked over at Josh, glaring at him, waiting for this fucker to pick up the damn phone. Josh finally reached over and looked at his phone, but after seeing it was Lydia, he scoffed and tossed his phone down again. Lydia tried calling him a few more times, but he kept his eyes on the movie, unmoving. A low growl and steam puffed out of the poltergeist’s nostrils; he was furious. “Are ya really gonna ignore her?! Ya really are a piece of shit!” With that, Beetlejuice teleported out of the living room and appeared right into the bathroom where he knew Lydia was.

[twistedwonderlandobsession]

Hello!! Could I request a match up? :)

I am non binary and use she/they pronouns; I am about 1,65 meters tall (I believe that’s 5‘5 feet?) with long, layered blond hair, very pale skin (like seriously, I am very close to paper white) and greyish-blueish eyes (like a stereotypical German hahaha)

Personality wise, I am ambivert; I absolutely adore Partys, especially village party’s, they hit different, and to hang out with friends a lot, but need an equal amount of alone time to recharge! I tend to usually have a lot of energy, despite always being really tired, and can get easily exited about the littlest things (like seeing a cat, or a store having my favourite snack in shop!) but I’ll admit that I’ll cry just as easily, even over stuff like a sad Poem or seeing a character, even if I don’t necessarily like them, suffer even in the slightest. I try to be the best version of myself that I can be, but I live by two very specific rules: treat others how you want to be treated, and treat others how they treat you. I will treat everybody with kindness and respect when first meeting, if they don’t return the favor, I’ll treat them exactly how they treat me (this includes teachers and old people). I am also very ambitious, I already have my future planned, and do my best to be good in school! I’m not the best with written exams but I always have an A for anything oral :)

I do have depression, because of which I struggle to properly take care of myself, and have days were I cannot even leave my bed, and it makes it hard for me to stay on top of things; my room is almost always a mess and I often have to do homework and similar last minute to avoid my grates falling. It’s not that I enjoy my room being a mess, in fact I hate it, but I am genuinely physically unable to clean it. Because of that, there are days where I’ll cancel last minute or I’ll act down the whole time, because of an especially bad episode; i also have trouble texting people first in fear of annoying them. I almost forgot, I also have insomnia because of it :,)

I also have highly suspected autism(can’t get diagnosed at the moment :[) so I’m very peculiar about my interests and the way stuff is; I hate doing group works because I already have a whole plan in my head on how I wanna do it. While I understand basic sarcasm and jokes, if I’m jokingly insulted or the sarcasm isn’t really obvious, I’ll take it seriously and to heart, and it can make me cry and/or avoid that person. This also means that I can go for hours talking about my interest, but the moment something doesn’t necessarily interest me and I don’t view it as important (like my Spanish lessons) i will just zone out

Hobby’s wise I’m a very creative person! I do paint occasionally, but it isn’t necessarily my hobby of choice;

I love to write! I currently have two books I’m working on, both thriller, that I’ll tell anyone that will listen about

I love acting and dancing: I’ve been apart of a musical group for quite a while now and ADORE it, especially acting!! Can’t say I’m much of a singer tho

Fashion design, I love designing and sewing my own clothes! So far I only know the basics but I am actively trying to learn more!!

Later in life I do want to do one of these full time; wether it is being an actress, an author or a designer doesn’t matter to me.

For icks, I cannot for the live of me be with someone who smokes; I have sensory issues and am sensitive to smells, not to mention I have already lost multiple people to smoking, so it’s an absolute deal breaker. I’m ok with drinking, I drink too, just not excessively

I need someone who is openly affectionate with me, wether through touch or words, and is okay with me being physically affectionate!

Also, please no Lillia, that man is a father figure to me haha

I think that’s it- thanks in advance and sorry for how long this got!!

I match you with Cater Diamond

The First Impression:

Honestly, Carter thought that you were cute your general enthusiasm about even the smallest of things made you super enjoyable.

Why He Fell:

Cater didn't fall for a while, trust, no matter how open or friendly this ginger may appear, there was always a distance he put between everyone. Even the closest of friends weren't all that close to him, knowing next to nothing about his childhood or upbringing. Though you had somehow managed to get beyond all that.

It was your kindness and respect for his boundaries that caused him to fall. Seriously. All of his life, the people around him (aka his sisters) have always forced their interests, likes, lifestyle and more onto him, pushing his boundaries and forcing him to do stuff he didn't want to do so to meet someone who one of their main goals was specifically respecting people was....nice

The Relationship:

When Cater had asked you out he had presented it in a playful lighthearted joking way to mask his way too deep feelings for you- after all how embarrassing would that be if he gave you his heart and soul aka actually expressed his feelings and you said no.

...but apparently you had said yes.

So now here you were, and Cater made sure to make it enjoyable. Constantly sending you magicgram videos of cute couple activities, ans surprisingly, he actually took you to places and did activities with you. The eye color bracelet trend, making cute little pottery together, painting, taking you to the latest trendiest restaurants and cafes on dates, study dates, movie nights, self care nights all the cute couple stuff. He totally gets it when your depression starts acting up and dose his best to help, having self care nights were he will convince you to take a bath with the cutest bath bombs ge you a change of clothes and a towl before gently shoving you into the bathroom and locking the door refusing to let you out till you shower or bathe. Don't think he was just sitting around waiting- oh no. He was cleaning your room for you hoping that it would help you feel better when you get out. Once you came out till fully dressed he sat you down drying your hair and doing your whole skincare routine for you. If you ever are feeling down and don't care for yourself properly cay-cay has you covered.

He loves all your hobbies and would love it if you allow him to watch or do it with you. He is also very encouraging of whatever you want to do as a hobby or a career-

In the beginning of the relationship, he treated it very casually in the "may as well enjoy it while it lasts before they eventually leave" but the further it went and the more time you spent together he was slowly becoming more hopeful and open at the idea of this being a permanent arrangement.

[miss-dollette]

Your fandom rants and icks... finally someone said it. I've been thinking about this lately and couldn't put it into words but you hit the nail on the head. There have been so many things that have recently been in the fandom and/or fanfics that have driven me absolutely insane. I'm never one to be a debbie downer or shit on anyones fun but some things have just made me incredibly uncomfortable recently that I've actively had to go through and block/mute tags or blogs because it's overwhelmed the COD tag. It makes me so sad because it's basically stopped me from engaging in anything at all in relation to COD because I feel bombarded and it's not enjoyable. The biggest thing recently that's bothered me is stories being written that are completely out of character for the COD guys. Like I get that it's fanfiction but seeing stuff written that clearly doesn't match the individual(s) written about feels weird and at that point it's not even the original character anymore so whats the point?? I know some people probably strongly disagree but at a certain point it almost feels disrespectful to the original characters and their stories. It also feels like a way for some weird shit to be fleshed out and, again, to each their own and it's fiction blah blah blah, but for fucks sake. Like literally for. fucks. sake. Like you said, It's like people writing stuff about Ghost that would be completely out of character for someone like him, with all of the trauma and experience that is literally canon to him as a character. Maybe it's because I have a degree in psychology and know people who have been through things that are written/portrayed in COD that it all just doesn't sit right with me... Let's not even get started on having a degree in psychology and seeing things like pedo shit practically glorified, let alone being written about. Holy. Fucking. Shit. There are a few writers that I think truly understand certain characters and write about them in such a beautiful way that it makes me so upset that it gets overshadowed and bogged down by absolutely horrendous things in the tags. I'm so sorry this is so long. I didn't intended to write a whole ass dissertation on this but I'm so happy to see someone else is feeling this way.

Everyone is on my ass for what I said. But to be honest, I don't careeeee. I don't. I really don't. They're real mad but I'm just laughing. I'm just expressing my feelings and having fun doing it. It's funny, cause my post got 100 likes in a day. That's telling something.

You should see the messages im receiving. I don't mind, I love trolling a little.

I said the hard truth, and they can't handle it.

'Preciate your message. Great minds think alike.

If you wanna laugh, check out my responses to these messages. I had fun.

[stranger-rants]

In all honesty, I am kinda exhausted young folks try to make us feel guilty or try to kick us out every fandom because we are older than 25. It is like we can't enjoy or do anything anymore 'cuz it gives them the ick and the need to point out we are "too old for that". As if adults can't have fun or... Have hobbies. GASP.

To the person who wrote the anon about 35+ people writing fanfiction about two teenage boys having sex. You know what we, adults, are tired of? Dumb drama. If you feel scandalized about that, shouldn't you be calling out Suzanne Collins for writing THG? Stephen King for writing IT? Or... I don't know, poor Alice Oseman for writing Heartstopper?

I'm being spiteful now, guys, but I seriously can't wait these people turn 30 and have younger folks telling them they are just too old for anything.

This has been happening quite a lot for the past ten or twenty or maybe more years.

Fans above a certain age, especially women, are alienated even though they've been in fandom since they were young. I've been in fandoms for 20+ years, because I've had access to the internet and fandoms since I was like 10.

Something doesn't magically change when you hit 30 where all fandom content becomes meaningless to you, and a lot of the criticisms especially female fans receive are based on the belief that they should be having families right now - also ridiculous to assume that adults can't have children and maintain fandom interests at the same time.

Who do you think makes the majority of fandom content? Who do you think built up your fandoms? Who do you think writes all the best meta? It's not all young fans, I can tell you that.

Hell, my friend owns a business selling fandom gear and other nerdy crafts and she's got two kids. We were just at a convention last weekend and she sold out of her stuff. These same adults are keeping fandoms alive.

[2frosty4you]

Scorched | Chapter 4

| Ao3 | Wattpad | Masterlist | Fic-Masterlist |

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Pairing: Tf2 x Female Reader Words: 1406

Warnings/notes: I write accents, mentions of scars on you, you're being operated on but you arent awake for it, medic tf2.

Chapter 4 | My room

(Y/n) looked at the doctor like he was a madman, and based on the appearance of the room she was in he definitely was one. 

“Huh?” Was the only word she got out before he dramatically drew back curtains to reveal a surgery table, with a large piece of machinery hooked up on the ceiling pointing down at the center of the table. 

“So I can do ze surgery?” He said like she was stupid, and (Y/n) still just looked at the table in disbelief. “Ohh” She nodded like she understood this and looked at him. 

“Wait, like topless?” 

“Ja, I need to access your heart for ze surgery” He then went to the other side of the room to open the cabinet and take out objects and a large blue container. (Y/n) awkwardly stood there and stepped slightly to the side towards the table. ‘okayyy..’ she thought. 

“I can azure you zhat you would have nothing I haven't seen before,” He said, humming to himself and adjusting his glasses. She nodded to his words, her skin was scarred, but she wasn't uncomfortable having them on show. But having to be topless for surgery, she was basically forced to have to stay alive? That gave her many icks. 

“Do I need to be topless?” She asked, Medic now had all his instruments, and he pulled closer to him and placed all those basic things on there, with the addition of a large bone saw. 

“Anyzhing you need on you can keep. Again I need to access zour heart”, (Y/n) hooked her hands under her shirt and took it off, grumbling to herself as she neatly folded it and placed it on the surgery table. Then she hopped up onto it. 

“Vell? Lay down frau” He flicked a switch on the machinery she was looking at before making her look at it in confusion. Medic saw her face and laughed, lightly hitting the machine. 

“Zhis is the Medi Gun, it will keep you alive in battle and keep you living here” He seemed proud to have someone interested in his machinery and the mechanics that keep the team alive. 

“Aight.” (Y/n) mumbled under their breath, she laid down on the cold table. Picking at the scarred skin on their stomach as the medic hummed along a small tune while picking up a small bottle and a needle. (Y/n) tightened their jaw, looking at it. 

“Now, zhankfully for you, we have somezhing so you aren't avake during zhe procedure” He plunged the needle into the bottle’s top and drew out some of the liquid. 

“It's of my own creation, so it’ll vork perfectly” He grinned, placing the bottle down and tapping the side of the needle, letting some of the liquid out to ensure no air bubbles. He grabbed (Y/n)’s arm with more gentleness than she expected from the man. And lifted her forearm closer to him. Pressing down onto the skin, he carefully pressed the needle into her skin, (Y/n) sucked in air at the needle’s intrusion.

 As the drug entered their body (Y/n), they felt a sudden weightlessness and saw a soft red beam connected to her body, soothing the feeling of the needle leaving her skin. She looked at it, slowly blinking as she was fuzzy in her head. The machine make it feel like there was a soft crackling in her ears as she hummed softly, shutting her eyes and falling asleep.

- 

(Y/n) woke slowly, still tired even if she had just been in a medically induced sleep. She rose onto her elbows. Blinking and looking around the room. The red curtains surrounding the table had been drawn shut, and she was now resting on a bed instead of the surgery table. They were about to fall back to sleep before Medic dramatically opened the curtains. 

“Ah! You're avake!” He exclaimed, clapping and walking to the side of the bed. 

“Are you feeling alright? No pain?” 

“Aughh, let me sleep” She raised a hand, waving it in his face, though it didnt make contact as he chuckled at her behaviour. 

“Zhe drug does have a chance to do that to you”, (Y/n) pulled the blanket over her eyes. 

“I'm Sleeping”

“Ja Ja Frau, but you should sleep in zour own bed” She groaned at those words, peaking her eyes out of the blanket. 

“That's too far for me” She muttered, turning away from the German doctor, who shook his head at her actions.

 “Jou really are like Pyro” , He mumbled under his breath, but she clearly heard him. Slowly turning over on the bed to face him, she sat up. He crashed her carefree mood, ruining whatever relaxation she had around him.

 “I, I’m going to my room” She revered her answer and (Y/n) pushed away the blanket. Apparently, he had put her shirt on while also moving her to this other bed.

She moved past him. She didn't want to be compared to this other person, they were dead. What good is that going to get them if people start to compare her with a dead person? What if this person before them was one of those weird people, and she was being compared to them, and they were doing the same things? 

She pushed the door of the room open. The dry air fills her nose and face as the climate between the Medic’s room, and the outside area(What she assumes to be the rest of the base) is dryer and warmer. Just how she likes it. Walking down the same hallway, she came through before this ‘surgery’ and to the dreaded lounge area. But now no one was there. 

No one was at the table, but  only a single piece of paper lay on the table's edge. Clearly, this was meant for her to take.

They walked closer to it, seeing the word written on the top. 

‘(Y/n)’

‘Weird.’ She mumbled, picking up the note.

It was on those really light and flimsy pieces of lined paper. Clearly ripped out of a journal or notebook as the left edge was all torn and messy, it was folded, so the third holding her name was at the top, and the note was securely folded underneath it. (Y/n) looked down at it, then flipped the top piece up and the bottom folded down. The writing was horrible. Almost all of the words were misspelt, and the writing was clearly crooked. Whoever wrote this couldn't do basic English, and neither could they write between the lines.

(Y/n) furrowed her eyebrows and refolded the letter, not reading too far except for a few words of ‘Welcome’, ‘Better not be insane’ and ‘fireproof’. 

Gripping it she walked away, holding it tight enough for it to crease. Now before ‘her’ door, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door. 

’Time to sleep on a skinless mattress.’ She thought, giving a little sarcastic ‘ yayyy’ , until her eyes fell on the room, her bed. It was HER BED . No one's old bed. It was the one from her home. She smiled with glee, and next to the door to her left was a table, not hers, but she'll accept it. 

(Y/n) stepped into the room and looked around. The walls had been repainted a nice cream colour, her bed in the same spot as the older one and her wardrobe in the opposite corner in a nook in the wall clearly for her wardrobe, but next to it was a door she didn't see before. Walking to it she opened it and peered in. 

A BATHROOM??? HER OWN PRIVATE BATHROOM??? 

She was feeling a little better now, knowing she wouldn't have to use the same bathroom as eight other men. She smiled and turned around to see her backpack on the floor. A nice (f/c) backpack that she used to hold all her fireworks and fire starters. (Y/n) clapped in excitement and knelt down, and opened it up. All her babies were in there, the classic firecracker and a few of her own creations. She pulled out blueprints she had been working on before and placed them on the table above the backpack. She zipped it up and stood to her feet. 

She was feeling better, and not even another man could ruin her day. 

Knock, Knock , Knock

‘Fuck’

[thetriggeredhappy]

Was wondering, over here -- what's your favorite type of Scout characterization(s)? I've been in this fandom for almost a decade, and (imo) everyone's got a slightly different spin on him, ranging from "category 5 annoyance, cartoonishly egocentric" to "earnest but afflicted with Early 20s Brain" to anything anywhere in between or beyond that. Got any specific hallmarks you're fond of? Stuff you tend to disregard?

hrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

alright so naturally i’m always the type to drift towards characters who, even as you’re reading them, you can kinda see the lenticular way they can be interpreted. you can tell by the author’s tone how the character interprets themselves, and how they’re interpreted by the viewer, and how they’re interpreted by whoever they’re talking to—three-dimensional, in shortform. with grey areas. sort of taking them outside of their trope and giving them the leeway of, at times, even assuming that the media itself is biased regarding them.

which is how i approach tf2, as well—the medium they exist in is, by virtue of being an absurdist comedy, an unreliable narrator.

so when you posit the stances “scout is like if gaston was wicked annoying and 150 pounds max but didn’t notice” vs “earnest, flawed early 20s dude without a ton of perspective on his life”, as if they’re two ends of the spectrum, my answer is, they don’t have to be.

i’m not a huge stickler on interpretations of characters, to be honest, but i do have a few icks with some interpretations of scout. any interpretation that implies he’s one of those dudes who says things for shock value or for a reaction really irritate me, mostly because there’s nothing in the text of canon that would even remotely imply that. scout wouldn’t say some weird shit about a girl going to make him a sandwich or whatever, he’d draw a picture of spy getting hit by a car and then hand it to spy because they don’t get along. giving scout these weird greasy traits just because at a glance you might characterize him that way in the netflix live-action remake, it just comes across as like. like maybe you don’t know what you’re talking about actually. like, the cheapest easiest possible characterization. the wish dot com characterization.

and i know it might seem a little bit like the pot and kettle on this one since i do take such heavy liberties with the characters, but here’s the thing—my argument isn’t that changing the characters in your fanwork is Bad. that’s all fanwork. that’s all interpretation. my argument is that making tf2 characters weirdly bigoted and filling in weird shock value stuff for no reason is fuckin’ lazy.

it’s much harder, and much more vulnerable, and takes way more time and effort, to try to write these characters with good jokes, or with human personalities, or with actual motivations and thought into their behavior, etc etc. and going “scout says [insert alphabetical list of homophobic slurs], because it’s the 70s lol they hate gay ppl” just tells me you’re not capable of writing well.

that’s not to say i even want scout to necessarily be a good person. i think it’s actually kind of funny that he decided to like, learn manners and etiquette and put on a prom for miss pauling, because having a dude who kills people for money do some cute shit like that is weirdly sweet, in a roundabout way. i think the canon of the text would imply that scout tf2 is kind of a sweet dude. but like, y’know. obviously nobody on the team is mentally or emotionally well. mentally and emotionally sound people don’t die and murder for money. writing scout as particularly egocentric, overly concerned with his own life (either in an anxious way or a narcissistic way), loud mouthed, temperamental, a sore loser, unsportsmanlike, those are all takes i’ve seen that have been really interesting spins of his character.

my favorite traits in him are probably things like him being a hugely impulsive talker, way exaggerative of positive emotions (like whenever he or someone else does some cool shit), maybe a little overdramatic and whiny about the small things, him being dude who will see his friend punch someone across the bar and will sprint over to punch them too, a real ride-or-die guy, kinda stubborn. maybe a little catty sometimes, earnest in a weirdly brave sort of way, clumsy or bad luck or both. dude with a weirdly nonexistent sense of shame or embarrassment except about, like, if he finds out he was wearing his shirt backwards when talking to Miss Pauling or something silly like that. and not even necessarily all of these at once! i just like these characterizations in general, and scout tends to get these ones.

this went on longer than i meant it to, sorry. anyways. scout teamfortress my beloathed

[espithewarlock]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

@duquesademiel making me do words on Tumblr instead of writing fic (love you!!! 😘)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 30 posted, 1 complete in drafts, and [redacted] anonymous 😈

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 

according to the stats page, 440k! (but the one I have in drafts will get me over 500k and I'm thinking about doing a giveaway when I hit that milestone?)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Formula 1 RPF!!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I’ve Got a Feeling That I’m Not Complete Anymore, Take Me With You, The Boy With the Storm-Colored Eyes, Another Deep Dive All The Way Down, Croissants in Aub Dhabi

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Very very rarely. I use comments as a metric and adding my own makes it feel like I'm artificially increasing the count. Plus, if I start thanking one person I feel like I have to thank them all and then that spirals out of control. (Not to mention I have so much anxiety over reading comments and sometimes the brain just goes eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I tend to prefer 'angst with a happy ending', but probably Another Window To Break Out from my 1016 week fics.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably With You Around Me It’s Just So Easy To Be In Love. This whole series is just fluff. Everything else tends to have some angst along the way, though I think the series A Nymph's Heart also has a stupidly happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yeah, I got some on I’ve Got a Feeling That I’m Not Complete Anymore, but it's also my most-kudos'd (at least, until I get 3 more on Take Me With You) so I kind-of assume those were anomalies? It definitely sucks that I can't go back and read those comments since I haven't (and won't) delete the bad ones and I know there are lovely people who left me nice comments.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. The sort of smut that has too much exposition, plenty of aftercare, and frequently bondage. There has to be feelings involved with my smut and, in my opinion, that's the best part of the smut.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! (I hope...)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Well...technically there's one in-progress but my co-conspirators are too busy and have too many other projects so it's on the back-burner and I'm too shy to ask them if it's ever going to get done but I'm sure it will someday and I'm patient and I don't want to bother them about it and I'm perfectly happy posting my own stuff and...

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

That is so difficult to answer. In F1 RPF it's easily Piarles. I used to read a fuck-ton of Drarry but Harry Potter anything gives me the ick these days, even fanfiction. If I had to pick an All-Time favorite, it's probably SuzaLulu from Code Geass. (Honestly I haven't touched the fandom in years but I might go check what's on AO3 these days hmmmm.....)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm good about finishing my WIPs...eventually. The good thing for anyone who likes reading my stuff is that I do not post unless it's finished so you'll never have an unfinished work from me!

(That being said, I was writing some [redacted]!Charles and it was hitting a little too close to home so I might not go back to that one...)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Fantasy worldbuilding. I love the setup and introducing a strange new place. Actually probably worldbuilding in general, fantasy or not.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Resolutions. I often *hand wave* over an ending and it's just...yep! everything's good here! all done!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I am hopelessly monolingual so I will not. I will use commonly-known endearments (Calamar, mon amour, schatz, etc.) but no actual dialogue.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

You will have to pry that information from my cold, dead hands.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Bittersweet, That Glitter and it's not even fucking close. It's just...everything to me. The world, the characters, the story...it's so fucking good.

I have exactly zero clue who else has answered this already so @golden-fairylights, @hrhgeorgerussell, and @your-littlesecret if y'all haven't and want to play along??

[puppetmasteronastring]

Yes', no's and maybe so's of fic requests

I've already received some questions about possible fic requests. So here is a list of things that i can and cannot do(mostly the things i can't or won't do)

If your specific thought isn't something on these lists, please don't be scared to still hit me up; it's just impossible for me to think about every single scenario right now.

I only write for Bojan/Käärijä, other ships can be mentioned on the side but these two are The Thing™ for me so. Yeah.

YES

fluff. Always and forever. Give it to me

smut. I don't mind getting quite graphic, and i can get into some freaky shit(read the NO list for further guidance)

hurt/comfort. honestly this is my jam, this is how i originally got into fanfiction so give me the ideas for sickfics, or other sorts of bodily harm(again, consult the NO list for more specifics)

NO

minors. as in in i will NOT, under any circumstances, write any character, specially in a sexual context, as a minor. this also covers age-play

water sports. no k!nkshaming here, in the least. just not my jam. this also covers any kind of diaper play or things of that sort

animal cruelty. idk why this would even come up but just in case

major character death. just no. only happy endings here. sorry.

gore. nothing super graphic. Some blood or descriptions of pain etc are fine but i will not write graphic descriptions on gore

x reader/ y/n. again, to each their own, no shame. just not my jam

I refrain the right to alter this list and refuse requests if they happen to hit an ick for me.

Go ham. The askbox is open.

[khodorkovskaya]

30.05.23

i hurt all over after yesterday's workout and the whole day ive been feeling very unmotivated and sluggish. it was the last day of class today, as in the last day ever before graduating. and it made me think about my last day of high school 4 years ago.

i remember feeling like it was all leading up to something. as if, if my life were a novel, this would be the satisfactory yet intriguing conclusion to the story. like "ahh, this is so bitter sweet, our beloved heroine graduated high school, i wonder what's next for her". i remember walking to meet B at a cafe, telling myself that i have to take in and register every moment of this day so that if i do write a novel one day, i can remember every detail.

the weather was weird that day. it varied between light rain and sunshine. it felt heavy. i remember crossing the road next to my house and smelling the flowers.

the reason why i remember that day so clearly is also because of B unfortunately. here's how i wrote about it on here:

he ignored me for three days straight, wouldn't return my calls or answer my messages. i was trying to understand why he was so angry at me and what i had done that was so wrong, but he wouldn't talk. for three days i couldn't contact him and it was unbearably painful. why couldn't he just explain what had made him so angry? i had to somehow figure it out on my own with little to no clues.

did he think that i cheated on him with his friend? did his friend do something that i didn't know about? was it my tone of voice? the way i said it? what had i done that was deserving of a three day punishment?

i couldn't figure out why he didn't want to have a conversation with me. it could have been resolved with a "hey, i didn't like the way you said this because of this and that" and a "sorry" on my end and that's it. but this fucking 30 year old man was too proud to straight up tell me what had hurt his feelings so much. and frankly even now i still don't get it.

so on my last day of high school i went to meet him at a cafe to talk things over and hopefully make up. i was over the moon that i was finally done with high school. but he didn't care of course. he greeted me with a snark face and when i told him how happy i was about being done with high school, he asked if i wanted to talk about what i had done. it brought tears to my eyes and i started appologising, still unable to understand what i was appologising for. "but you have to promise me that you will never ignore me again because it really hurt me," i told him. but spoiler! this wasn't going to be the last time he'd done it. no, it wasn't even the worst time lol. (the worst time was when i was depressed two years later and it made me want to die 😃. he ignored me because he almost got hit by a car and i didn't care enough about it. that's as far as i understood it bc he never explained to me what actually happened.)

so yeah... and i was thinking about that today and it really gave me the ick.

anyway, i surprised my uni bestie with coffee and a pain au chocolat this morning! 🥰

[baronessvonglitter]

I'm gonna admit, I rarely read warnings because few things ick me out, but when I saw this I had a big ol' grin on my face

Dry humping and coming in the pants.

A callback to one of their earliest encounters 🩷 and Dave is such a put-together guy that it would be a huge fantasy to make him do that and ruin his freshly pressed pants 😊

Also, no particular notes on this, but you write action really really well! I've said it before but it's like watching a movie 🙌🏻

“This is not a negotiation. This is not just a rescue mission. This is war, one I intend to win. Are we clear on the mission objectives?” Dave’s expressionless face masked the turmoil within.

good lord, I am crazy for this man. if I'm ever in trouble I hope it'd be Dave who comes to my rescue.

Pulling the pistol from the holster, he held it up toward you. “Do you know how to use one of these?” “C-conceptually,” you stuttered, teeth chattering from the frigid air. Dave nodded. “I’ll give you the basics.” He provided a few instructions on where the safety was and how to hold the weapon. “Just point and shoot. Got it?” You nodded, feeling the weight of the pistol in your hand as he passed it over.

I heard somewhere that when a man gives a woman a gun for her self-protection or teaches her to shoot it's sexually symbolic and typically foreshadows that they're gonna be romantically involved, i.e. That's already happened in this fic, I just like pointing it out lol.

Describing how it was to be locked in the trunk made my claustrophobia go crazy. Really well written!

You thought of the girls. Alice’s laughter. Molly’s tiny arms wrapping around you before bed. They already lost their mom. And yours was a piss poor substitute during the brief time she was pretend married to their father. You were the closest thing they had to a mom again. Would they think you left them? That you abandoned them – No. No, you couldn’t think like that.

Ok this is the sweetest and saddest thing 💔

Your thoughts shifted to Dave. His handsome, clean-shaven face and neatly styled hair. You wondered what he’d look like with a little scruff along his jaw and upper lip. How he’d look if he let his hair grow a little – would it curl at the ends?

I am fully certain that Dave with some facial hair would be just like Marcus Pike "undercover" 🥰

Dave fired first. The shot shattered the rusted guardrail where McCall had been. There was a blur of movement, and McCall rolled just in time, avoiding the impact before retaliating with a shot of his own.

A beat of silence, then two. At the third beat, both men raised their weapons, and the world exploded in gunfire, even though only two shots were fired. The first shot hit McCall in the upper left chest.

The deteriorated wooden planks beneath his feet snapped, and McCall fell with a frustrated shout. The stormy sea swallowed him whole, a flash of red blooming in the waves before being swept away by the raging tide.

This series is ruining me in the best way and I can't believe there's actually more to come, you are absolutely spoiling us, Lauri!

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Thirteen

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 7344 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. Secret spy shit is not so secret anymore. Angst. Being held captive. Violence. Murder. Vengeful Dave. Rescue. Desperation. Dry humping and coming in the pants.

Series Masterlist

The frantic search for you took a day and a half. In that time, Dave hadn’t slept. Had barely eaten. Time blurred into a feverish cycle of tracking leads, chasing cold trails, and battling the gnawing fear that he was already too late.

Mac had been so careful – almost too careful. Every trace of you vanished the second he stole you away from the safe house. They had nothing until that old, grainy gas station video of you was discovered. Dave’s tenacity paid off – he wasn’t going to give up until he found you.

During that day and a half, Dave had Resnik digging through every bit of footage from satellites to doorbell cameras, Kovac calling in every favor the group had left, and Ari – furiously sidelined but stable in a private hospital room – tracing Mac’s digital footprint for the past ten years. Sprinkled in there, Dave made frantic calls to the emergency vet to check on Ranger’s status. He needed that dog to be okay, just like he needed you to be.

Every dead end fueled Dave until his desperation to find you warred with the urge to rip the skin from Mac’s bones.

That grainy gas station footage changed everything. He knew McCall would slip up somewhere along the way. And involving your traitorous mother in his plans was a huge slip-up for McCall.

While you watched in horror as McCall snapped your mother’s neck, Dave and the boys raced to the docks to find you, Susan Plummer and her team of reinforcements not far behind. The weather turned fast as they neared your suspected location, the wind whipping, rain thundering down on the SUV’s windshield so hard the wipers could barely keep up.

“The temperature’s dropping, boss,” Kovac said, eyeing the readout on his military-grade watch. “We’re gonna need the GORE-TEX over our Kevlar.”

Dave slowed the vehicle to a crawl as they entered the empty dockyard, tires splashing through the building puddles. Killing the engine, the team moved fast to distribute their gear. The men looked like the lethal strike team they were – quiet, efficient, and deadly in their black gear.

Dave spoke before they turned to scour the dockyard, his voice barely louder than the driving rain but no less clear.

“This is not a negotiation. This is not just a rescue mission. This is war, one I intend to win. Are we clear on the mission objectives?” Dave’s expressionless face masked the turmoil within.

“Crystal.” Kovac and Resnik replied simultaneously. With a simple nod from Dave, the team moved like shadows, spreading out with weapons drawn, senses honed from years of training.

The nor’easter tore through the dockyard, turning the world into a violent blur of rain, wind, and crashing waves. The cold air smelled of sea salt and pungent metal as it whipped through rusted shipping containers and old boats, making them groan and creak like dying beasts. Puddles turned into small rivers, water rushing between cracked concrete slabs and through exposed soil beneath their boots as they moved, rifles raised, senses sharp.

Lightning flashed overhead, casting eerie shadows over the towering cargo stacks and boat masts.

“Clear,” Kovac’s voice crackled through the radio once he entered the lone building on the property, a dilapidated structure that once served as the dockyard office. Now, the roof had caved in with age, and nothing remained inside except one small room with a single chair and…

“Lisa’s dead,” Resnik added grimly, having followed close behind Kovac. “McCall took her out.”

“He’s not leaving any loose ends behind,” Kovac muttered as Dave stepped into the room beside him. He bent down to check for a pulse despite the obvious signs of lifelessness.

Dave barely registered the words. Lisa was already a ghost to him – collateral damage in a war she had no business starting. You were the priority, his only priority.

He assessed the rest of the room for clues, eyes settling on a pile of rope on the grimy floor. “There’s a rope over there. He must’ve had her tied to that chair.” Dave could picture you restrained, eyes wide with fear as tears rolled down the soft skin of your beautiful face.

What had Mac put you through?

Dave prayed you were in one piece when he found you. Part of him even hoped you gave his former commander hell.

“Come on, York. Let’s search the grounds. We’ll find her.” Resnik led the way out of the poor excuse for a building to search the abandoned cargo containers and boats scattered about the dockyard.

The men split up, Dave taking the northern approach. His eyes scanned every shadow, head on a swivel as he searched for any signs of you and Mac. The downpour made it impossible to track footprints in the quickly flooding ground, and the howling wind masked all sounds except for the occasional creaking of the aged containers.

But there was no hiding the dark blue sedan, visible from the corner of his eye as he stepped out between two empty cargo containers. Dave’s head snapped toward it, and his gut twisted. Parked haphazardly near the water’s edge, it rocked slightly from the wind.

Dave knew. He just knew.

He sprinted toward it, barely feeling the icy rain slicing against his face. Strong fingers curled around the trunk handle, yanking it open as he heard the faint, rhythmic thump coming from inside.

You.

A sight for sore eyes, as they say. Bound, gagged. Cold. Shaking.

But most importantly, alive.

Your wrists were bound with zip ties, delicate skin chafed and bloody from struggling against the restraints. Your lips trembled from the chill with nothing more than your lounging clothes and a ratty blanket covering you. Dave lost his breath as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glassy in the dim glow of the trunk light.

Rain had seeped into the trunk, leaving your clothes and the blanket damp, your body curled tight as if you were trying to disappear into yourself. He had to get you out of there.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dave breathed, reaching for you with shaking hands. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

His gloved hand brushed a lock of damp hair from your face. You were exhausted, shivering from the cold, and crying as he pulled the knife from his ankle to cut the zip ties. You whimpered as he undid the bindings, and he eyed the raw wounds on your wrists. With slow, gentle movements, Dave placed careful kisses on the torn skin before ripping the gag from your mouth.

“Dave,” you croaked, throat too dry to do much more. Your hands, stiff from the cold and lack of proper circulation, clutched his jacket as if making sure he was really there and not just a figment of your imagination.

He pulled you from the trunk, wrapping his arms tight around you and wishing he had the time to warm your body with his and tend to your wounds. Before your feet even touched the ground, a shot rang out, the crack echoing across the abandoned dockyard.

The bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into the metal of the open trunk with a deafening echo. It missed him by an inch.

Fuck!

He whipped around, shielding you instinctively as another shot hit the pavement just inches from his foot.

“Sniper!” Kovac’s voice roared over the radio.

Dave swore under his breath, his mind flipping into tactical mode. The storm made it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. McCall could be anywhere – hidden on what little remained of the rooftop, perched inside a container or in a tree, waiting for the next clean shot. It’s what Dave would have done in his shoes.

Mac wasn’t hiding, wasn’t running.

The asshole was hunting.

And this? This was his kill box.

Double fuck!

Dave kept a soft grip on your arm, careful not to be too rough after everything you’d been through, pulling you further down behind the car as another bullet ricocheted off the trunk. He knew McCall’s playbook. Knew exactly how he liked to set his traps.

Unfortunately, this time, Dave was the one inside it.

He yanked off his coat, wrapping it around your shaking frame. He tugged the hood over your head, tightening the strings and adjusting so you could see. Once you wormed your arms into the oversized sleeves and were all zipped up, he gripped your arm tightly, forcing you to focus on him.

“Stay down, kitten. Please,” he ordered, his brow pinched. Pulling the pistol from the holster, he held it up toward you. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

“C-conceptually,” you stuttered, teeth chattering from the frigid air.

Dave nodded. “I’ll give you the basics.”

He provided a few instructions on where the safety was and how to hold the weapon. “Just point and shoot. Got it?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the pistol in your hand as he passed it over. You demonstrated the movements once, and Dave’s lips curved into an almost smile.

“Remember: stay low. Stay out of sight. Only use it if you need to.” Dave leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was tender yet overwhelming, saying everything that neither of you could say out loud, given that you were being hunted and there just wasn’t time for loving proclamations. “I promise this will be over soon.”

Your fingers curled around the weapon as you nodded, but your expression was pure fear. “Dave—”

“Do not move until I come back for you.” His tone left no room for argument though your lips parted as if to try. Rainwater clung to your lashes as you nodded.

Then, he moved. Darting behind cargo crates, Dave used the storm as cover as he began his own hunt. His breath was steady, his hands were calm.

McCall was good. But Dave York?

Dave York was better.

Nothing tested your mental fitness like being bound and gagged in a dark trunk during a nor’easter. It was an entirely humbling experience.

The first thing you noticed was the cold. Not just from the frigid winter air seeping through the gaps in the metal but also from the way it had settled into your bones. Your adrenaline and fear had spiked and settled a dozen times already, leaving your exhausted body more susceptible to the cold.

You had been here too fucking long. Hope was almost starting to dwindle now that the storm was in full swing.

Your wrists burned from the zip ties cutting into your skin, fingers tingling from hours of restricted circulation and movement, half numb from how tightly they were bound. Your ankles the same, though at least they were free now. Fat lot of good that did you – it’s not like you could break out and run away. You already tried everything you could think of - kicking out the taillights, kicking at the backseat, feeling around for an emergency pull tab. Needless to say, you failed. It was impossible to see anything in the dark.

Every breath felt shallow, muffled against the fabric of the gag knotted at the back of your head. The edges of the material were damp from the tears you couldn’t stop shedding.

The trunk was too small, the barely covered metal pressing in on you from every angle. Your knees were curled to your chest, your body forced into an awkward, suffocating position in the limited space. Your limbs – scratch that, your whole body – ached, the stiffness turning into something so sharp and relentless that it became a part of you, something you barely felt anymore as all you knew now was discomfort. And fear.

That was all you could feel.

It ebbed and flowed, swelling and cresting like the storm-churned waves crashing over the sea wall outside.

This fear didn’t just sit in your chest or take up space in your mind. No, it wrapped itself around your throat, coiled in your stomach like a sickness that refused to leave. It stole the breath from your already depleted lungs and frayed your already frazzled nerves. Every moment, it threatened to shatter the lingering hope in your heart that Dave was coming.

He promised he would always come back for you.

Blinking hard against the very idea that Dave would not fight to find you and keep you safe, you tried to focus on the here and now. What good would that do, though?

You had no idea how long you’d been in here, been gone from the safe house.

Hours? Days?

A fucking lifetime?

You had no way of knowing – you never wore a watch and had been stripped of your phone even before you were dragged from the place you were told would be safe.

The place where you watched a madman stab your sweet dog as he tried to protect you. God, you hoped Ranger was still alive, and Ari too. That they got help in time, you couldn’t bear the thought of the alternative…

No.

You couldn’t let your mind go there.

Time blurred together when you were left alone with nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat thudding too fast in your ears. It echoed in your head like the drumbeat of a marching band.

And even worse than that?

The waiting.

It was a lesson in futility, waiting for time to pass.

You waited hours for the SUV to stop when McCall first took you.

At some point, you must have passed out from the adrenaline crash, as you woke up in the trunk of a car instead of the SUV an unknown amount of time later.

Then you waited for the car to stop.

The interminable time spent waiting for the trunk to open.

Waiting to find out if that was it – if McCall had finally decided you were no longer worth the effort of keeping alive.

At first, you screamed. You fought, hard, thrashing against your restraints until your wrists ached, your muffled cries swallowed by the sound of the engine, the wind, the gag, the sheer indifference of the world around you.

McCall had been silent all that time. He hadn’t said a word until he had you tied to that rusted chair in the broken-down building. Only he and a God you no longer believed in knew where you were then. You thought for sure that was it, the end.

But no, McCall had a plan. His silence had been intentional. His goal to spook you, to keep you on edge.

It worked.

You were shaken to the core when your mother revealed herself, and her role in this horror film come to life. Shaken further still when he ended her life right before your eyes.

McCall never hit you or hurt you – the current cuts at your wrists were your own fault from struggling to free yourself.

You finally understood why - why he physically hurt the others instead of you.

Because your torture was psychological.

He let the cold do the work. The exhaustion. The fear.

Sure, he taunted you in that building, tried to make you doubt Dave’s intentions. But he knew, just as you now did, that the real damage was being done here, in this trunk.

Hours in the trunk turned into a prison sentence inside your own head.

You thought of the girls. Alice’s laughter. Molly’s tiny arms wrapping around you before bed.

They already lost their mom. And yours was a piss poor substitute during the brief time she was pretend married to their father. You were the closest thing they had to a mom again.

Would they think you left them? That you abandoned them –

No.

No, you couldn’t think like that.

Your thoughts shifted to Dave.

His handsome, clean-shaven face and neatly styled hair. You wondered what he’d look like with a little scruff along his jaw and upper lip. How he’d look if he let his hair grow a little – would it curl at the ends?

You loved him just as he was, every bit of him, but wondering about things like that kept your mind occupied, distracting you from the horrifying reality. You longed to run your hands through his hair. To kiss his mouth, neck, down every inch of his strong chest. You ached to just see him again.

What would he find first, you wondered?

Your body?

Or just the empty shell of you, hollowed out by whatever else McCall had planned.

What if Dave wasn’t even looking for you?

Your mind was doing it again. McCall tried planting that seed back in that room long before he threw you in here. It didn’t work then. It wouldn’t work now.

Dave was coming.

You hoped.

Hoping was fucking exhausting though.

Nuzzling further into the ratty blanket to shield against the unending cold, you fought another rising wave of panic. You needed to get out of this trunk, away from this terrifying man, and back to Dave and the life you yearned for, now that you knew you could have it for real.

You tried again, in vain, to find an emergency cord or something to free you from the trunk. You feebly kicked at the taillights again to no avail. Crying out in frustration, you beat at the metal trunk just for something to do.

Suddenly, it was light. Blindingly so. After so long in the dark, you flinched, curling away from it and whoever was standing above you.

Then…

Warm hands. Strong arms. A familiar voice.

You cracked your eyes open, half afraid you were hallucinating. There he was.

Dave.

The storm raged around the dockyard, rain hammering against the rusted metal of the cargo containers, the wind howling like a living thing. Lightning cracked across the sky, momentarily illuminating the abandoned dockyard.

Dave moved silently, a ghost slipping between shadows, using the rain and wind to mask his approach.

Mac was perched somewhere high – Dave knew it. The vantage point, the angles. This was a sniper’s playground. And Mac had the advantage.

Except he didn’t.

Dave had years of insight into how the man’s tactical mind worked. He knew how McCall planned his kills, his missions. And right now?

Right now, he knew McCall was waiting for him to make the wrong move. To step out from cover. To make a run for it.

Dave knew all this, so he gave Mac nothing. No sound. No silhouette against the lightning. No desperate charge into the line of fire. Instead, he did what Mac wouldn’t expect.

Dave waited. Listened.

And like clockwork, there was a shift in the wind. A faint movement. The slightest creak of metal above the wind.

There.

Dave swung his rifle up, aiming toward the source of the sound – an abandoned crane platform above the dockyard.

Dave fired first. The shot shattered the rusted guardrail where McCall had been. There was a blur of movement, and McCall rolled just in time, avoiding the impact before retaliating with a shot of his own.

The bullet whizzed past Dave’s head.

The shot was rushed and sloppy. Dave grinned despite the situation. Mac was rattled.

McCall moved, abandoning the sniper’s perch, realizing too late that Dave had already predicted his next play. He needed to reposition. Unfortunately, that allowed Dave to move as well.

Dave’s forward pressure kept him on the defensive, herding him down from his high ground. Cutting off his exits.

This was not good.

His plan was unraveling before his eyes, leaving McCall spiraling. He had always been an apex predator, a master tactician with meticulous planning skills. But Dave York had been trained to kill apex predators, that training reinforced by Mac during the years under his command.

The roles had reversed. The student became the teacher.

For the first time – McCall was the prey, and he didn’t like that one damned bit.

You watched from behind the sedan, your breathing uneven, pulse pounding in your ears. Your hands were still shaky from the adrenaline and cold. But you weren’t scared anymore, not with Dave and the guys here.

No. Now, you were fucking pissed. A complete 180 from how you felt while trapped in the trunk of that damned car. Your mind rehashed the events of the past couple days with a new perspective.

Your mother had been complicit in all this. She set you up. She betrayed Dave.

You knew she could be a royal bitch, had experienced her wrath first-hand your whole life, but this was next level. She handed you over to a madman, getting rid of you so she could have Dave, even after he told her he was not the least bit interested in her.

McCall used you as a pawn in this charade. He tried to break you in his efforts to get to Dave. He killed your mother right in front of you like she was just another sacrificial piece on his chessboard. And, yeah, that was fucking traumatizing, but it pissed you off even more.

Because what was the point of all this?

It seemed like revenge or something, but you didn’t quite understand. You didn’t have the full picture. You didn’t need it, though. All you needed to know was that Dave came for you. He was out there fighting for you, trying to take out the man who kidnapped you.

The man who underestimated you.

Peeking over the hood of the sedan, your eyes searched the grounds. Through the haze of rain, wind, and gunpowder, you saw him.

Dave’s movements, flanked by the guys, forced McCall into a position where the man’s back was exposed to you.

Functioning on pure instinct and rage, you moved. Ignoring the searing ache in your limbs from being tied up and tossed around, shoved in a trunk for hours. Your fingers curled around the pistol grip, the metal ice cold but solid in your hand. Recalling the limited instructions provided by Dave, you held the weapon with both hands, thumb flicking off the safety as you stepped silently, stealthily through the puddles.

A flicker of movement to the left caught your eye – Resnik was moving forward in time with you. A glance to the right showed Kovac doing the same. The men were some distance away, but you all had the same target in your sights.

Suddenly, you spotted Dave step out in front of McCall, his dark, angry eyes locking with yours over the older man’s shoulder for a short beat before focusing on the man at the center of it all.

Dave had moved through the storm like a predator, rifle raised, every muscle coiled. McCall was leading him somewhere. Dave knew it, and still, he followed.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the dockyard for a fraction of a second. It was just enough to see where the man was heading. McCall shifted, backing down an old, half-rotten dock, waves crashing against the beams with such force that the entire structure groaned under the pressure.

Dave didn’t hesitate.

Neither did you or the guys.

Dave stepped onto the dock, the wooden planks slick beneath his boots, the storm wrapping around the two men like a cage.

You and the others stayed along the seawall, close enough to hear their shouts above the wind.

“It doesn’t have to end this way, Mac,” Dave called, voice carrying in the wind as it blew towards the shore.

McCall let out a breath, almost amused. “You really believe that?” His posture was relaxed – too relaxed – weapon hanging loosely in his grip. “I’m already dead, York. I died years ago in that bombing. The difference this time – I get to take you out with me.”

Dave shook his head. That would not be happening. “You have another choice. Walk away.”

McCall’s lips curled at the edges, dark eyes squinting against the driving rain. “Like you did?”

The words hit harder than Dave expected, and he thought of you, standing back on the seawall. He didn’t have to think too hard about what was coming – McCall was going to air all of Dave’s dirty laundry for you to hear. What would you think of Dave after that?

McCall let out a breath, shifting his stance. “You and I, we’re the same.”

“No, Mac,” Dave refuted, shaking his head. “We’re not.”

McCall studied him for a long moment before glancing past him back to the shore. Dave knew Mac was staring right at you, and he couldn’t help but turn his head to look at you over his shoulder. He needed to see your face when the truth about his past deeds was revealed.

“Tell me, York,” McCall shouted. “Does she know? About all those contracts you took. Murder for hire to the highest bidder. Does she know she’s in love with a contract killer?”

Despite being barely visible through the wind-driven rain, Dave saw your mouth drop open in surprise, your eyes shooting to meet his in question. He stared back at your stricken gaze, imploring you to reserve judgment for now, and mouthed, “I’m sorry. I’ll explain later.” He hoped you understood.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Good luck explaining all that now.” The older man laughed when Dave turned to face him once again, studying him with an assessing gaze. Satisfied with whatever he saw play across Dave’s face, McCall spat his parting shot. “Like I said, you and me, we’re the same. And if you pull that trigger, York, you prove me right.”

A beat of silence, then two. At the third beat, both men raised their weapons, and the world exploded in gunfire, even though only two shots were fired.

The first shot hit McCall in the upper left chest.

The second hit Dave’s left bicep, pain flaring hot and sharp as the bullet sliced through the protective layers into his flesh.

McCall staggered backward a step, his lips parted and body swaying. His dark gaze met Dave’s with something that might have been resignation. Rifle still in hand, he reached up as if to fire another round in Dave’s direction but…

The deteriorated wooden planks beneath his feet snapped, and McCall fell with a frustrated shout. The stormy sea swallowed him whole, a flash of red blooming in the waves before being swept away by the raging tide.

Dave stood there stunned, chest heaving, blood dripping from the bullet wound in his left arm.

The wind howled. The waves crashed. Robert McCall was gone. Dave collapsed on the wooden planks as the storm surge washed over the dock.

No one moved until your scream pierced the air. Then, it was chaos.

You were barely aware of the gun being removed from your clenched grip, the hands grasping your arms gently, the huge, warm body guiding you away from the scene toward an awaiting SUV. The storm had worsened during the showdown, and the gunfire had long since faded, yet your ears still rang.

You felt outside of yourself, like a ghost watching over the scene. Nothing seemed real.

Strangers in tactical gear moved around you, calling out orders and questions. The arms supporting you helped you into the backseat, heat on full blast, and a rugged face with a thick, grizzly beard hovered in front of your line of sight.

Kovac.

An older woman appeared beside him, badge on her hip and phone to her ear. “Target is down, confirmed. What about the asset?”

Her eyes met yours, her face a mask. Your heart stopped.

“No,” you whispered, stomach lurching. It looked like a wound to the arm from where you’d been standing. Surely, he didn’t… he wasn’t… Your vision began to blur at the thought of losing Dave after all of this.

The woman turned away, dropping the phone to her side with a grim smile. Confused, you followed her gaze, and you saw him.

Racing toward you through the storm, blood spreading through the field bandage hastily wrapped around his wound. His face was pinched with pain, but he was alive. His eyes met yours, and you cracked.

“Dave.”

He caught you in one arm as you fell out of the truck, his name a sharp cry, clutching him to you like a lifeline. Wet hair matted to his head, blood-soaked and exhausted from days of stress, and still, he never looked more beautiful to your eyes.

“I’m here,” he rasped, voice rough. “I got you. We’re safe now.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. Dave was alive. He saved you. The nightmare was over.

“Susan,” Dave rumbled a few minutes later as you fretted over his wound. “Thanks for the backup.”

The older woman nodded. “Good to see you alive, York. We’ll debrief after you get that checked out,” she replied, gesturing towards the gunshot wound. “But we got the others in custody and recovered the intelligence data. Mission’s over.”

Dave merely nodded. You stared up at him as Susan walked away after gently patting his right shoulder, searching his face for a reaction to the news. He stared back at you with warmth in his eyes, his forehead falling forward against yours. “It’s over.”

The storm waned then, the downpour slowing to a drizzle over the dockyard. The wind still howled, but its fury had died along with the villain. You weren’t thinking about any of it, though.

All you could see was Dave. Your Dave.

His handsome face was pale, arm slick with blood still oozing from the wound, his movements slower than usual as he let Resnik step closer to wrap a new bandage around his arm. The sight of it made your stomach twist, panic clawing its way up your throat despite the relief of having him alive.

You stripped off the soaked jacket and gently tugged Dave with you as you slid into the backseat of the SUV once again. “Dave.”

His tired eyes flickered to you once you were both settled. You reached for him, hands trembling as you embraced his right side, your fingers pressing into the solid warmth of his skin where his layers had been torn away, as if anchoring yourself to reality. “You’re bleeding,” you whispered, the breathy tone rough with emotion.

Dave exhaled, something between a chuckle and a sigh. “Yeah, kitten. I noticed.”

Your eyes burned with a mix of relief and frustration as you gaped at him. “This isn’t time for jokes, baby. You need stitches. A hospital.”

He shook his head. “I’ll live.”

“That’s not the point!” Your voice broke, and suddenly you weren’t just worried over him. You were frantic, the emotional toll of the past few days finally coming to a head. “You keep getting hurt, and one day you may not—"

Your throat closed up, the words refusing to come out. Dave saw it. He felt it. Without hesitation, he cupped your face in his good hand, his thumb brushing away the tears trailing down your cheek. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice quieter now as Kovac and Resnik climbed into their seats. “I’m right here.”

You let out a shaky breath, laying your head on his shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me. This entire thing scared the shit outta me,” you admitted. “I’m gonna need counseling after this.”

Dave’s lips quirked at the edges. “You and me both, Firecracker.”

A broken laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. Then, just as quickly, the panic slammed back into your chest.

“Ranger!” you choked out, pulling back suddenly. “Where—is he okay?”

Resnik turned in his seat to look back at the two of you as Kovac drove toward the nearest hospital, his expression uncharacteristically soothing. “He’s back at the house with Ari. They’re both milking their injuries for all they’re worth, getting all the treats they deserve.

Your stomach clenched, the relief almost knocking you flat. Dave’s fingers curled around yours, grounding you. “He’s tough,” he said softly. “Just like you. He’ll make a full recovery and be back to being your shadow in no time.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding, but part of you still wouldn’t breathe properly until you saw Ranger and Ari with your own eyes. And then, as if your heart wasn’t stretched thin enough, another thought slammed into you with full force.

“The girls. Are they okay?”

Dave’s hand squeezed yours. “They’re safe,” he reassured you. “Enjoying their time with their grandparents in the Poconos. They don’t know anything.”

Your chest ached. You needed to see them. To hug them. You weren’t alone in that.

Dave’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes as he watched you. He needed them too, just as much if not more.

Hours later, after a visit to the emergency room and a debrief with his DIA team, you and Dave were finally home. The house was eerily quiet without the girls. Ranger laid on his bed near the fireplace, midsection wrapped in a large bandage and a cone of shame around his neck, tongue lolling out of his mouth, a little out of it from the vet's medication.

The storm had passed, the mission was over, and you were freshly showered, layered in warm sweats, and relieved to be home. And yet – the air wasn’t entirely clear.

You stood near the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over your chest to both keep warm and protect yourself. Your mind was a mess of emotions you weren’t sure how to untangle, yet you ached for him, to be with him. You and Dave needed to have one more important conversation before things could finally settle.

Dave sat on the couch, his injured arm resting in a sling, the bandages still fresh from having the bullet removed. He watched you, waiting, his face unreadable, except for the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows.

He knew what was coming. He knew you heard every word McCall said out there on that dock, through the roar of the wind and crashing waves.

“Tell me, York! Does she know? About all those contracts you took. Murder for hire to the highest bidder. Does she know she’s in love with a contract killer?”

He knew the words had stuck. Burrowed under your skin like a splinter you couldn’t pull free. He only hoped that you’d let him explain, try to understand. He couldn’t lose you after all you’d just gone through, not over something like this.

You took a slow breath, the question burning on your tongue as you slid next to him on the couch. “What did he mean? About murder for hire? And please, don’t lie to me. I deserve the truth, now more than ever.”

His eyes softened, his brows pulled in and up, making him look like a sad puppy, yet his body still carried the weight of a heavy burden that had been buried for too long. He leaned forward, resting his right elbow on his knee as he faced you.

“I won’t lie to you ever again,” he started. With a visible gulp, Dave continued. “It’s true, what Mac said. It’s not something I’m proud of by any means, but it is the truth.”

You stayed quiet, listening with an open heart and an equally open mind as he explained how he’d been injured in the explosion they all thought killed McCall, how their team had been dismantled, leaving money tight and options limited. He went to work for the agency, but the pay just didn’t cut it. There had been secret contracts for off-book operations. People with names and targets and high price tags attached.

He looked at you with such guilt in his raw, unfiltered gaze. “So, I took the jobs.”

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you tried to make sense of it all. “You—”

“Did things,” he finished for you in a flat voice. “Killed people who needed killing. Some were threats to national security. Some weren’t.”

Your chest tightened, your heart aching for this dichotomous man sitting before you. “Murder for hire,” you murmured, McCall’s words echoing in your mind.

Dave’s jaw ticked as he looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see the blood of others still staining them. “I told myself it was just work. Just another mission. A way to make money to support my family. That it wasn’t personal.” He swallowed. “Until it was.”

Your brows furrowed at that. “What do you mean?”

His hand curled into a loose fist against his knee, and you reached over, prying it open to tangle your fingers with his. Dave’s eyes met yours again, the burnt umber filled with such remorse your heart hurt.

“The last job I ever took – it wasn’t for the agency. It was private.” His throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing beneath the smooth skin. “A man approached me and the boys with an offer we couldn’t refuse. The money was just too good to turn away. I had just found out about Carol’s cancer, and my cut would have been enough to pay for her treatment in full and still have plenty left over.”

You could barely breathe as you waited for him to continue.

“We found out too late that it was blood money and came at a cost I wasn’t willing to pay.”

“What happened?” you questioned, squeezing his hand gently, urging him to continue.

A long silence stretched between you. The only sound was the faint creak of the house settling, the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

“The target turned out to be a DIA asset. We didn’t find out until after we did the deed. That woman at the dockyard? Susan Plummer. She’s a fellow agent and was assigned to investigate the hit. It made the news. She called me in to assist. It was a fucking mess. The client demanded that we eliminate her, but I just…”

 You’d never seen Dave like this – physically injured and so emotionally broken – it tore at your heart. “You don’t have to continue, Dave. I understand. I mean it.”

He shook his head adamantly, avoiding your gaze as he rasped out a sharp, “No. I need to tell you this.” Dave took a few breaths before carrying on. “You need to know everything before you decide whether or not you still want to be with me.”

“I couldn’t do it. She was a colleague, a friend, who did nothing wrong. She didn’t deserve to die for doing her job, trying to uncover the truth,” he explained. “The guys supported me in that decision, and we went after the client instead. Eliminated him and any evidence of a connection back to us. Somehow, Mac found out what we did.”

Everything began to come together in your head – why Dave wanted out of the DIA, how he was connected to McCall, why they were at odds, what the man was getting at on that dock.

“I’d already decided to give up the extracurricular work before he showed up at my door like a dead man walking. I thought that’d be the end of it. I was wrong.”

Your arms tightened around him as Dave shook his head, his voice low, regretful. “I’m sorry about all of it. I never wanted that part of my life to touch you or the girls. I thought I could just leave it behind. I’m sorry about your mom, too. She didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, tilting his head against the cushion to avoid meeting your gaze. “You must think I’m a monster.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Dave’s head snapped up at that, dark eyes studying you carefully. “Then what do you think?”

You swallowed, searching for the right words.

“I think…” You hesitated and started over. “I think you’re a complicated, many-layered man who did what you had to do to support your family. I think you hated it, hated having to do it, but you were good at it and got the job done. You provided the means for a beautiful life for your family. The girls want for nothing because of what you sacrificed. I think you are a great father and an amazing partner. I hope to someday discover how great a husband you are, too.”

His throat worked as his eyes darted back and forth between yours, searching for any hint of falsehood in your words. He came up empty, and those dark orbs began to water.

“I love you,” he whispered, unbelieving that you could be so understanding, supportive of a man who used to kill for money.

Nodding, you sank back into his side, cuddling against his warmth to reaffirm your love for him. “I see you,” you whispered against the salty skin of his neck. “The whole you. Not just the parts you let me see. And I’m still here. I’ll always be right here.”

Dave exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening, his shoulders sagging in relief.

“And for what it’s worth, my mom totally got what she deserved. She fucked around and she found out. Part of me is sad because she was my mom, but she was never a good person. And she would have let that man kill me if given the chance.”

A low, dark chuckle sounded in your ear. Perhaps there was a dark part hidden inside you that matched Dave’s inner darkness. Perhaps you were both complicated, flawed people who happened to be perfect matches for each other. You really liked the thought of that.

Sitting up, you gazed at Dave, taking in his strong features. The jut of his brow, the cut of his nose, those perfect cupid’s bow lips. The patchy scruff along his jaw from a few days without shaving. The sparkle in his eyes as he watched you catalogue him. The urge to kiss him, be with him became too much, and you slowly, carefully eased your body into his lap, straddling his slim hips.

You were too exhausted to really do anything sexual, but the desire, the heat, the need was too great to do nothing about it. After such traumatizing events, you needed to feel normal again. Feel wanted. Feel fucking alive.

Eyes wide open and watching each other’s every move, you leant forward and kissed Dave. It started soft and slow before quickly morphing into a frenzy of lips and tongues, teething clashing and nipping. Your fingers weaved through his hair, nails gliding along his scalp as your hips pressed down. Dave’s cock stirred, hardening quickly under the weight of you against him.

Hindered by the injured arm, Dave steadied you with his right hand as it grasped desperately at your tit, thick fingers pinching the nipple in time with the roll of your hips. You moved against each other, fully clothed, mouths feasting on one another, and gazes never wavering.

The tension built quickly – too quickly – after days of separation and stress, and you came in Dave’s lap, the friction of grinding against him hitting your clit most divinely. He swallowed your mewls, pulling you closer to him as his hips jerked upwards once, twice, thrice, and Dave came in his pants with a guttural growl. You could feel his cock pulsing beneath the layers of clothing separating you and you sunk against him in exhaustion.

The moment reminded you of that first time on the couch in your basement suite, when you dry humped until you both made a mess of yourselves. Back then, the moment was rushed, hidden away in a secret relationship. Now, you were on the couch in the sitting room, relationship no longer a secret, no further lies to keep hidden.

“Let’s get you to bed, my little Firecracker,” Dave murmured as he peppered tender kisses along your neck and face. “I’m sure we could both sleep for the next day or two.”

For posterity, you both slept in your basement bedroom.

tbc

Chapter Fourteen

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[deanscroissant]

Chris Knight headcanon #1

“I saw your recent post about headcanons for Chris Knight, and I adore Real Genius! It's a funny movie movie, I love it. Would you be up to the idea of how Chris would be when you and him are studying together?” ~ Anon

A/N: so sorry it took a while to write. life happened lol. pls be gentle with me because this is my first headcanon. i also kind of went a little overboard so i hope this is okay. thanks for the request! if anyone else want to request then shoot me an ask. tyyyy 😁

okay Chris is an absolute sweetheart

he’ll make sure you have everything you need before studying: water, snacks, sharpened pencils, pens, highlighters, etc.

you do not play when it comes to studying and he knows it, so if he even just so move a muscle to pick up one of those gadgets he’s made then you’ll kick him out of his own dorm

but when he can tell you’re overworking yourself he’ll tell you to stop and take a break

when you would ace a test he’ll throw you a party each time

and when you would do bad on one (the worst you’ve ever gotten was a C) he still throws you a party and pamper you because, as he would say, “to my knowledge, there is no ‘c’ in failure. but i do know ‘Kent’ and ‘failure’ both have an ‘e’.”

you loved how he would cheer you up by just cracking jokes

before finals week approached, chris surprises you by taking you out on a weekend getaway to a concert of your favorite band

“are you kidding me?! these must have cost a fortune!” you gasped as you stared at the tickets in your hand.

“they weren’t when i threatened the guy who i brought them from.”

you giggled and jumped in his arms, “thank you, baby.”

“of course.” he said, smiling as he pulled you closer into him.

he loved making you happy just to see your beautiful smile + you deserved to be happy

you were hit with reality when you got back on campus Sunday night

you were scared as hell for your first final tomorrow and started to regret going on that weekend trip

“chris, do you think it was a good idea to go on that trip when we could have been studying?”

“yeah i think so. we’d probably have fried brains at this point if we did, don’t you think?”

you shrugged, “i guess so.”

“don’t worry, y/n. you got this. if you doubt yourself then you’ll do terrible on the test.”

“that’s what i always do, huh? doubting myself.” you said melancholy as you sat on your bed.

“yeah and you over think.” he squats down to your level, lifting your head up by your chin to look at him. he gently caresses your chin with his thumb. “i took you on the trip for that reason. believe in yourself, y/n…because i believe in you. can you promise me that?”

his viridian-colored eyes stared back into yours waiting for an answer. a moment went by before you smiled at him, “i think that can happen, captain.”

chris jumped up, threw his hand in the air, and yelled a cheerful, “Hell yeah!” before picking you up from the bed—bridal style— spinning you around as you let out a fit of laughter

you were passing your exams left and right all week, and when it came friday for your last exam, you passed that one as well!

when chris heard the news he was so happy for you. and you were happy for him of course, even though you knew he would ace all of his in one day

chris decided to go out to dinner to celebrate finishing the semester with you, along with mitch, jordan, ick, and lazlo.

then you guys went to a carnival and when chris would win anything from a game he would give it to you

“babe, no you deserved this. that was a really hard game.” you told him as you handed it back to him, but only for him to push your hand away.

“no, it’s for you. now come on! i got to win you one more prize for the last exam you passed.” he faked groaned and playfully rolled his eyes before taking your hand in his, smiling cheekily when he heard you laughing behind him.

so yeah even though chris graduates and you have one year left, he’s still gunna be your study buddy and cheering you on until then.