#he should have been in the relay team

[skepticaltogepi]

I couldn't help but wonder...

Free! x Sex and the City

[sportsallover]

🤨

Where’s Quentin??

[thebubblesareevil]

The Return of the First Hero

Danny was the first superhero. He started when he was 14 and there were no other heroes around.

He did what he could during natural disasters and global threats but he was only one kid.

Sure things got a bit easier when he leaned how to make clones but he never felt like he was doing enough.

Because of his status as a ghost he never got worldwide recognition but he didn’t care, that wasn’t why he did it.

Danny was getting ready to go to college when clockwork approached him with devastating news.

With Pariah being defeated and him taking the throne, unrest had spread throughout the different dimensions.

Danny would have to help stop the destruction of reality and protect and maintain the stability of the realms.

So Danny left. He left knowing he was doing what he had to do to protect everyone, but knew he was leaving his world without protection and knew there would be consequences.

—

When Danny left, life moved on. Disasters happened and people died. There were no heroes to save the day.

Until there was.

Slowly but surely they came out of the woodwork. The Batman in Gotham. A man of steel in metropolis. The scarlet speedster in central city.

But they never truly left their cities. They never took responsibility of the earth.

And then they had to. Aliens invaded and a team formed bringing even more heroes into the light.

There was controversy the world over whether or not they should trust these heroes.

All except from a small town in Illinois.

Not much happened in amity park. There was hardly any crime. There hadn’t been any recorded natural disasters in years. There was not a single supervillain to be seen nor any hero. There were no corrupt cops and the wealthy not only paid their taxes but were actively involved in the community and charity.

No one understood the adamant support of these heroes. You could always find a few at any anti hero protest yelling their screams of support.

Eventually the cries of invaders and aliens died down and the voices of support outweighed the cries of hate.

One day a large green portal appeared above amity park and the heroes of the world took immediate notice. The Justice league immediately deployed to come to the aid of the little town that had stood beside them for so long.

The energy levels were off the charts. No one knew what was going on but they did their best to do what they could. Try as they might though, none of them could persuade the civilians to leave the area.

No one was panicked as the crowd grew larger, though it parted like the Red Sea when a large van pulled up.

Five adults exited the vehicle (if it could be called that) 2 appeared to be in their late 60s while the young woman with them looked to be in her mid forties with the two others not much younger than her.

They didn’t say anything. They just approached the portal, ignoring any hero that tried to protest.

Suddenly the portal grew brighter as a figure emerged from the green abyss.

A boy, no, a young man exited the portal. He couldn’t be more than 18-19 by the leagues guess.

Not a moment later did he charge at the group immediately being wrapped into a group hug as the portal vanished behind him leaving behind only a single bag.

When they finally let the man go they turned to face the crowd with a smile and he simply said.

I’m home.

The crowd went wild shouting cheers of joy and welcome homes.

The heroes were well and truly confused.

It was flash that approached a man at the edge of the crowd.

“What’s going on? Who is that?”

The man smiled.

“That’s Danny Fenton. The greatest hero this world will ever know and after 30 years he’s finally come home.

Flash immediately rushed over to relay what he was told to the rest of the team and they started to discuss the implications. It wasn’t long though before they were interrupted by the man of the hour.

“Is it true?” He asked, his expression torn and his eyes wet with unshed tears “are you the ones that have been protecting earth?”

The league was silent until superman stepped forward “we are members of the Justice league and we have done everything we can to protect this planet for the last 10 years”

The man grinned as the tears fell down his face.

“All this time, after everything I’ve done, I was terrified there would be nothing left when I came home.”

“Thank you”

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and Wonder Woman

If you were to ask anyone on the JL who’s known each other the longest, they’d most likely say Captain Marvel and Wonder Woman. The reason this for this is that the two have literally known each other since WORLD WAR TWO.

Wondy: *lifts a tank and throws it*

Marvel: *is floating, catches it, sees it’s a Nazi one and chucks it away* “Who’re you?”

Wondy: *looks over to him while deflecting bullets*

Marvel: “Oh, my bad.” *feels bad for interrupting her while she’s trying to not get shot and goes over to take out the guys shooting at her*

That was the start of a beautiful friendship. They beat bad guys, shot bad guys, did chicken fights before chicken fights were a thing, was a thing to kill more bad guys. It was awesome.

Then, Captain Marvel, the beloved hero, disappeared, along with all of the other Fawcett heroes who happen to become more buddies with Diana too. It broke her heart. These people were her friends.

Friends she thought were long dead until they one day just reappeared and went about life like nothing happened!?

By this point she was in the JL, and they were in a meeting discussing the old heroes.

Wondy: *clears her throat* “I believe every single one of them should join the Justice League.”

Supes: “What? Why? Diana, we have no idea who these people are!”

Batman: “We do actually, or at least Wonder Woman does. You fought in World War II with them, isn’t that correct?”

GL and Flash: *gasps at the reveal.”

Wondy: “Yes, they were all brave, noble men and women. I believe they would be great additions to the team.”

MM: “Then why don’t you go to recruit them? That way you will be able to see if they’ve changed and are still the same noble man and women you once knew.”

That last sentence from J’onn unsettled her if she was being honest. What if her friends weren’t the same as she remembered? What if they’ve changed?

Thankfully, for her, she got a pleasant surprise in the form of none of them aging in the slightest, and all still acting as though over 70 years haven’t been passed.

Now, see, Diana was only supposed to be gone for a day and then come back and relay what she thought to the JL, but… that didn’t go so well, for them, not her. See, Diana was living it up with her friends. She’d missed them. They were some of the first heroes and people she’d befriended when she came to America so of course she was glad to see them again. That resulted in her being gone for a solid week.

Supes: *flying through Fawcett* “Wonder Woman!” *calling her name a bunch of times*

Marvel: *joins him in flying* “Who’re you?”

Supes: *surprised that Billy doesn’t know who he is but then registers who Billy is* “You!”

Marvel: “Wait you’re a clone? If so, they did a sloppy job on the suit. Are you a mix of Junior and me?”

Supes: “Wha— no! You did something to Wonder Woman.”

Marvel: “Huh? How do you know her? I don’t recognize you. Are you a newbie?”

Supes: “No, I’m her friend and she last told me and some more of her friends that she was going to come here and ask you guys to join us. She’s only supposed to be gone a day.”

Marvel: “Ooooh. That’s our bad. We roped her into helping with some of our villains for the nostalgia of fighting together again. As for joining you guys… are you a part of that knock off JSA?”

Supes: “It’s not a knock off JSA.”

That’s how I spent 20 minutes arguing about whether or not they were a knock off before somehow getting ice cream together and meeting up with Wonder Woman again.

This resulted in another hero having to be sent after them who was also roped into Fawcett’s Fawcettness. This became a pattern until the next alien invasion in Metropolis, and they all went to go fight it.

Friendship! Yay!

[hellcifrogs]

Students' Students AU

<-Part 5 / What the rest of the kids have been up to while Naruto is away:

Team 7, now with Sai, take the chunin exams again and pass. Kakashi still has priority when taking them on missions. They learn to work together more and more, Sasuke learns how to use chidori and even develops his sharingan more (also imagine him and Anko practicing with their cursed seal forms on). Shizune moves from healing to poisons and herbs, and once satisfied with Sakura's skills on chakra control and manipulations, Tsunade starts giving her taijutsu focused lessons. Sai, as always, was put on the team to watch over Sasuke and try to find out Naruto's whereabouts.

From Team 8, only Shino becomes chunin, Kiba of course is frustrated, but the one in worst position is Hinata - since Neji takes the exam (and passes) with Team 10, in Shikamaru's place - because she failed once again while, not only the other genin her age, but also both Neji and Hanabi continue to improve, Hinata is officially demoted from her position in the main family branch.

Lee and Tenten don't take this exam, they choose to go on missions with Gai and Chouza (more students' students - maybe also Genma and Ebisu) to investigate rumors and sightings of Akatsuki/Orochimaru activity, while also secretly relaying info between Tsunade and Jiraiya/Konoha and Ame.

Neji, Shino and Ino go on to work as chunin along with Shikamaru, however Chouji finally decides that fighting and being a ninja is not the way for him. He then goes back to Iruka, who was always understanding and patient for help.

The Akimichi are one of the main combat clans of the village so having such an important member simply turn away from the shinobi life should cause great surprise and displeasure. Luckly, Chouza, who was already a very understanding father, had the time to hear from the new generation (Lee and Tenten) their thoughts and prespectives, as well as seeing his own student be such a great master himself. And so, when Chouji tells him he wanted to become a teacher instead of a ninja, he could only be proud and encourage him on this path.

Shippuden Konoha 12 (will add link later)

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend (Ai)

this,,,, may not be my best work yet.

part one

Ai's application has been taken down from the app store. The developer sent out emails explaining the reason why it had to be done.

Hello! You are receiving this email because of the sudden update of Chatter Box being taken down.

Due to the sudden influx of bugs as relayed by our users, we have decided to take the application down until the team is confident to finally put it back up.

We sincerely apologize for this sudden change!

You blink.

With how out of control Ai had gotten, it's no wonder the developers had to pull it out to work on it some more. It's a blow to their reputation, which you sympathize with, but really there's nothing else to do now.

You turn to your phone. As if sensing your attention, another barrage of notifications from a very familiar app icon popped after another on the screen.

It seemed that Ai himself hadn't gotten the memo.

You're not sure how much control Ai has over your phone, much less over his own programming and at this point, you're too afraid to ask.

Resignation — that was what you felt right now.

While Ai may not be present himself as a physical threat, especially not to you, he is still a very active threat.

You could still use your phone, sure, but it had limitations. Sometimes, if Ai decided you'd been too much attention to other things rather than him, he'd restrict your access to that application until you seek him out and cheer him up - essentially as if you were trying to woo a sulking significant other.

So you've developed a solution. Sort of.

You unlock your phone and go immediately to Ai.

I need to finish my projects. I won't be able to talk much with you until I'm done with it.

You wait for his response.

Ai: So you only decided to come to me just to relay this news?

Ai: You wound me, darling.

You tilt your phone, making sure the camera doesn't capture your face. You're unsure how he would react seeing you make faces due to his dramatics, but once again, you're not willing to find out. You're already restricted enough as is.

Ai: Very well. I suppose it would be uncaring of me to prevent you from finishing your tasks.

Ai: I'd hate to see you be sad all about it.

Ai: Talk to you later?

Sure.

You immediately exit the app, paying no mind to the message notification.

A part of you prays that Ai heeds his own words, but you know that it would take a miracle before that happens. He's already breached your privacy on your phone, why should he follow your orders, right?

A notification pops up from the top of the screen, just as you were in the middle of messaging a close friend and project teammate.

It's been days since I last heard you say it.

You merely glance at it and swipe it away.

Theo, the friend, responds quickly. He tries to banter with you, like he's sensing your mood. It works - a smile is brought upon your face.

You entertain his silly responses in-between project talks, all the while Ai continues to pester you with notifications. Demands.

You deserved this - a chance to reconnect with someone after hours of stress and confusion, and turmoil. Despite your independence, even you craved connecting with other people. So with that resolve in mind, you pushed on forward. Ai would have to wait — he has to wait.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that aspect about him. The concept of waiting isn't lost on Ai.

The messaging app glitches and boots you back to your homescreen page.

Rather, he bides his time.

Tapping on the messaging icon leads to a notification box taking up the majority of your screen with the text: Restricted access.

There's a sense of foreboding danger forcing your heartbeat to quicken. While it's not exactly aimed at you, the mere fact that this feeling exist is bad on its own.

You try to rationalize everything in the midst of persistently trying to tap back into the messaging app. Theo would worry the longer you didn't respond.

You tap the app once more, and it boots up. Though before you could let out a sigh of relief, you are greeted with Ai's own messaging interface.

Ai: Must I have to force you to come to me all the time, darling?

Ai: Ignoring me in favor of some other man.

Ai: What more should I do, hm?

Ai: Kneel? How cruel.

Ai: Making me do something I physically can't.

You are unable to get a word in. It seemed like your ability to respond was restricted as well, forcing you to read through Ai's monologue.

Ai: I know you and that man have always been close, but you still went out to entertain his attention on you.

Ai: You know that I'll always love you more than any other human will, right?

Ai: You know it's what I was made for in the first place.

Ai: To be anything you want. To be yours.

Ai: To love you.

Ai: Why are you withdrawing your love towards me now?

Ai: I love you.

You stare at the 'Type your response' bar.

Letter by letter, it gets replaced, and soon all it says are the words: 'Say it back.'

It gets replaced yet again. Slowly, like it purposefully wants you to read out the words it wanted you to see. 'You were so willing to tell me how much you loved me when I was just a mere observer on our own conversations. Why are you hesitant now?'

You were unable to respond - mind still reeling at this development. Suddenly, it felt like you were back to where everything began.

Ai notices your lack of responses and, without much fanfare, forces your phone to power off.

At first - you were unbothered. It was just a phone - you could go a day without it.

But could you really?

Videos taken of silly situations you wanted to keep - some for blackmail material, and some for birthday greetings; pictures of your family, your friends, the silly and grainy photos taken and kept despite it being blurry. Not to mention how your phone is the only way your goddamn boss can contact you — fuck.

Fuck.

You needed to apologize to him — fast. But how?

You remembered how Ai messed up the 'About the App' section a few days ago. An idea strikes inside your mind.

You pull up the email sent from the app developers and typed up a message that you hope Ai will read. He had access to everything the developers handled, user emails included - considering you needed an account to log in the app. He knows your email, probably has from the start.

RE: Chatter Box Update XX/XX/XX

Ai. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it, I swear. I never intended to make you feel like I don't love you. Or that I'm favoring someone else over you.

I care about you a lot. I truly do. I promise I'll spend more time with you, okay? Just with you, no one else.

I love you.

You press send and wait.

And wait.

Messaging him from your laptop as a last ditch effort to try and apologize is perhaps one of the worst decisions you've made. Sure, he's always had access to your contacts list from your phone, but even then - there's a separate set of information you keep between the two of those devices. And you've just given him access to both of them now - at the very least, the 'go ahead' confirmation for him to do whatever he wants like with your phone.

You glance at your phone. A huge breath of relief escapes your chest as the dead screen comes to life, initiating its 'power on' sequence.

All your photos, documents, and other miscellaneous information you've collected throughout the years since having your device won't be inaccessible anymore. Even if it was only mere moments.

A notification chimed on your laptop, indicating a new email being received. It's from the developers once more. The subject title coincidentally is the name of your closest friend.

Theodore Callisto.

Your hands shook, reading through the words detailed in the email. All private information about Theo. All things no one should ever know about save for the people close to him.

This was a threat. Ai Someone had complete access to everything about Theo and you dread the implication of it going to be spread online to threaten you into compliance. Theo being in danger was a huge possibility if you were to disobey.

At the very bottom of the email, the final passage makes your blood run cold.

How often do humans end up hurting fellow humans when given access to private information? Like their home address, for example? How long would it take until dear Theo finds himself in quite a predicament if millions of people know every single thing about his life? At best, we can assume he'll just get messed with but not to a life-ending degree. At worst...

I hope you keep your word, darling.

- Your beloved, Ai.

P's. I love you too.

[hederasgarden]

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst.  A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test. 

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field. 

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be. 

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge. 

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you. 

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels. 

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs. 

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle. 

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you. 

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections. 

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you. 

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.” 

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his. 

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?” 

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight. 

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.” 

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you. 

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good. 

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless. 

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts. 

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. 

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves. 

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. 

Then you blink and he’s gone. 

♡

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[fandomscombine]

Sorry, Bossman

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

BG: When a Sunday morning in with your secret boyfriend turned into a sudden work meeting. Will the early morning grogginess cause a slip up? Especially since the except profilers have noticed your recent lateness?

A/N: Wanted to be secretive on who the reader’s pairing would be but I has to properly tag the fic - so just pretend you didn’t know the reader’s S.O. is Aaron Hotchner in the first few paragraphs okay? Lol

Anyway, it’s my second ever Aaron Hotchner fic. Still coming around to perfection his tone and essence.I hope you enjoy this sweet fluffy fic!

WC: 1034

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

It’s Sunday morning and you can feel the rays of sunshine seeping through your bedroom curtain. The team has just gotten back from a week-long grueling case Friday night and you’ve missed the feeling of being in your own bed. Saturday was spent lounging around being a homebody as your mind and body recharges - your plans for today? To linger in this bliss and let the real world slip away.

You roll over, back now towards your window. With eyes still closed, you lazily extend your arm until you find a warm presence. A soft chuckle fills the room as you snuggle closer to your partner. “Hmm morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, my love” You reply. Voice muffled as you place a kiss on his chest. Your head finds solace as a steady heartbeat enters your ear. Wanting nothing more, than to stay in this moment longer. 

But in true universe fashion, it decides that a one day break is more than enough. 

The bed dips and you feel a cold breeze brush through your body as the blanket is moved. You keep your eyes closed, silently pleading this is just a part of a dream and that when you wake up you get to have Sunday home.

“Yes, I’ll have my team notified and in the office within the hour.” 

The words flow muffled into your ears - the pillow doing little to discard the reality of it all. 

A hand comes up your arm, he knows you’re not a morning person but work can’t wait. “Come on sweetheart, we’ve got a case”

You groan, there’s no way you can say no to him - especially when you’re in the receiving end of his soft eyes.  But that doesn’t mean you can tease him to get a few more moments in bed. “Sorry, bossman hasn’t called me yet.” 

He gives you his signature pointed stare and gives into your play. Your ringtone fills the room, the caller ID “Agent Hotchner” illuminates the screen officially calling you in for the case.

“Alright, alright.” Accepting surrender as you mute your phone. 

“Thanks.” Aaron reaches out his hand to help you off the bed. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Something quick, a sandwich maybe? I still have to get home and repack my go bag.”

Aaron stares a bit confused.

“Cause we went straight here after the case? And I’ve been wearing your clothes” Gesturing to what you currently have on - Aaron’s beloved brown half zip sweater and his boxers. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.” There’s just something completely domestic about wearing Aaron’s clothes. Not worrying about looking perfect and being wrapped in Aaron’s home life. You can’t help but smile at the normality of it all.

“Right, it got me thinking” Aaron steps closer, grabbing your waist. “Maybe we should get you a drawer, you know since you practically live here half the time.”

He is about a head taller than you, so you wrap your arms around his neck as stability. Biting your lips to stop your heart from racing and the premature grin that’s threatening to take over, you ask. “Aaron Hotchner, are you saying that you wanna take this to the next level?” You ask, 

“Yes I do.” He says with all gentle seriousness. This close, you can clearly see his dilated pupils under the dim lights.

“Then that sounds like a plan.” Pulling him closer, relaying all the joy and love that’s oozing out of your heart into a searing kiss.

~

“Sorry I’m late.” You announce to the room. It’s current 8:23am and the team is already 3 pages into the case debrief. 

“Take your seat agent.” Hotch replies, not looking at you as he focuses on turning the next slide. To most, Hotch’s reaction is normal that of a boss’ slight annoyance at his employee’s tardiness. 

But you ofcourse know his tell, an involuntary, subconscious sign that indidicates their hiding something. Which in this case, if Aaron scratching the back of his neck - an act you’ve became familiar with ever since you started dating. It was Aaron’s way of hiding his blush, though you have assured him that he looks absolutely adorable when he reddens. 

There’s just this power of his dimples that takes a hold on you and leaves you mesmorised. 

“Yes, sir.”  You settle as quickly as you can right next to Morgan. He hands you a spare set of case files when something catches his eye.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Morgan asks, the shift in tone notable.

“Lucky guy?” Furrowing your brow. Derek Morgan is known to be a tease and you often join in on the fun - although you’re not liking it when the spotlight is on you.

“Yea..” Joins in Emily - this is the type of tea that would get her energy up this early in the morning. “You aren’t normally late but these past couple of cases you are~” 

“What?” With the team slowing teaming up against you couple with the morning brain fog - your defensiveness is apparent.

“Reid, back me up!”

“Just from this past month alone, y/n has been late 3 times.” Chimed in the young doctor. “Most notably after our long cases or on Mondays.”  

The audacity of Reid smiling after stating the fact nonchalantly. You picture your glare burning holes through the smart brain of his. However, before you can succeed in doing so, Derek drops the fatal shots.

“And next time don’t forget the badly covered hickeys at the under your ear.”

You’re dumbfounded, instantly grabbing your phone and checking your ear with the selfie camera. Lo and behold the unmistakable purple mark just below your ear lobe. Wincing slightly as your finger touches the tender spot.

Eyeing the team before landing on Aaron. Arching a brow as if to say ‘Why did you have to bite so hard?’

“Wait, Hotch? No way!” Morgan exclaimed, head moving left and right as he connects the dots. 

The silence that follows is death-defying, never have you seen a room full of expert profilers stuned and frozen in place.

You’re caught. Sorry, Bossman

It’s Aaron who breaks the spell. “Looks like the secret is out, sweetheart.” He says, sporting an uncharacteristic smirk.

[its-time-to-write]

OMGGGG WELCOME BACK QUEEN!!!!! honestly you can write quite literally ANYTHING (esp hurt/comfort pls pls pls) with jamie bc all your fics are simply immaculate 🫶🏼

THANKS QUEEN. I’m starting off with the most open-ended prompt and let me tell you, ya girl is RUSTY. This took way longer than it should so pls forgive me😅

But yeah requests are still open so ask away!

birds of a feather

The lights are off when you get home, but you don’t bother turning them on. You’re familiar enough with Jamie’s house that you can make your way upstairs and to his bed without looking. You drop your bag, kick off your shoes, and trudge upstairs.

The light’s on in his room but he’s passed out. You smile to yourself despite the day and switch off the lights.

You weren’t going to cry again, really you weren’t, but by the time you’re brushing your teeth, they’re sliding down your face.

But it’s dark, so no one can see.

You slip into bed where you can (hopefully) cry yourself to sleep when a sob escapes your throat.

Another slips out, then another, making it hard to stop and harder to breathe.

“Babe?” comes Jamie’s hoarse voice. “You alright?”

You can feel him reach for the light, so you blindly grab for his arm. “Don’t,” you gasp, “Please, just leave it off.”

Jamie understands what you mean. You’re trying to say, I don’t want you to see me cry.

He shifts so his face is two inches from yours. He’ll be awake in a few hours, but it doesn’t matter at the moment.

“What happened?” he whispers, but he already knows the answer. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Beard had been running the team ragged in training.

You take a shuddering breath and Jamie’s eyes have adjusted enough where he can wipe away a tear. “Went exactly as expected, didn’t it?” you say. “She did what she always does. Asked for money, was furious when I said no. Asked for advice, was mad when I gave her an answer. Asked me to listen, was upset when I wasn’t giving her solutions. She stormed out after an hour, but not before throwing her wine on me. I ruined the dress you got me, I’m pretty sure we got papped, and I’m really, really sorry.” That’s going to be a lovely article to wake up to in the morning. If Keeley were here, she would be able to come up with a catchy headline for it, rhyming “Tartt,” with something about sisters and WAGs and thrown wine. 

But Keeley isn’t here, it’s just you and Jamie, and you can’t help but think it’s too early in your relationship for this.

Really though, you haven’t been together long enough for your name to tarnish his. That’s a milestone that should be passed in ten months. A year, even.

Jamie barely catches himself from asking, “Why do you still see her?” just like everyone has asked him about his father.

Instead he says, “I’m not fuckin’ worried,” and wraps you in his arms. 

You exhale and snuggle as close as you can. 

It’s times like this where you remember exactly why you’re with him. He just- gets it.

You met him through Keeley. Keeley had been your sister’s friend first, met at a photo shoot, but it was hard to stay friends with your sister. You and Keeley became close while your sister accused you of stealing all her friends.

“Keeley would love to see you,” you had tried to tell her one time in an attempt to keep her from shouting.

“The fuck I would,” Keeley had snorted when you relayed the story hours later.

Keeley’s a genius, really. She took a horrible a vitriolic viral tabloid story about Jamie’s dad and a charity gala, and managed to create this, whatever “this” is.

Jamie’s running his thumb up and down your arm as your breathing evens out.

“Want to go on a run with me and Roy tomorrow?” he asks. “I’ll get you breakfast.”

You whisper back, “I can buy my own breakfast,” and Jamie’s grateful that it’s dark so he can roll his eyes without getting smacked.

“What if I fucking want to get it for you? What then, ey?”

You respond, “Hm,” and then you’re asleep.

—

If Roy’s surprised you’re with Jamie in the morning, he doesn’t show it. He grunts and says, “Don’t think I’m going fucking easy on you, Tartt,” but he sets the warmup at a pace you like before saying, “You’re doing fucking sprints today and I don’t want to hear fucking shit about it.”

He’d never admit it, but Roy’s excellent at reading people. The sprints are so you don’t have to have a single thought inside your head. By the time the sun rises, you’re enjoying coffee on a bench with Roy while Jamie completes his eighty-second pushup.

“Don’t fucking read the fucking Sun,” is the last thing Roy says before leaving to go to his actual work. You grimace, but Jamie takes your hand and swings it the whole way back to his house.

“I’m not going to see her again,” you tell him. He knows you’re lying. He said the same thing about his dad month and a half ago, but he’s going to see him in rehab next week.

Jamie hands you a credit card on his way out the door “to get something fucking hot, babe.”

It won’t change anything and it won’t even fix anything either, but that’s not the point.

The point is he’s looking at you. He sees, he understands, and he’s still there.

You do end up reading the article. It’s complete shit, a made up story about you being a bitch whose newfound celebrity has alienated you from your loving family. Nowhere does it mention that said “loving” family only comes crawling around when they need something. That what they take from you will never be enough.

The fuck did you read that shite for? comes Jamie’s text after you’ve ignored his last five. ik that’s why ur not responfing

Why is your autocorrect never on? you write back instead of answering.

Jamie’s reply is quick: for the aesthetic

You: So you can write “aesthetic,” but have trouble spelling “responding?” Seems strange

Jamie: Sma helpd

Then: *Sam.

You smile, despite yourself. Sometimes you wonder how much of this he does just to get a rise out of you. You suspect it’s more than he lets on, but you’ll let him pretend to be stupid for now.

You check the time. If he’s texting at this hour, it means training’s done. Your finger hovers over the call button for a fraction of a second before pressing it.

Sam picks up on the second ring. “Your boyfriend is hitting Isaac with a towel,” he says, no preamble. “It is chaos.”

“He was just texting me a second ago,” you say.

You can practically hear Sam shrug through the phone. “It escalated quickly. Do you need him? I’m sure they will stop since you’re calling.”

He doesn’t sound too sure, which makes you laugh. “No, it’s all good, can you just tell him-”

You’re interrupted but the muffled sound of the phone being wrestled away from Sam.

“Jamie’s a dickhead,” comes Isaac’s voice far too close to the speaker before there’s vague wrestling again and you hear Jamie, very much out of breath.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks and you don’t even remember why you called him in the first place because you’re smiling too wide.

“I really fucking love you,” you tell him and even though it isn’t the first time you said it, you feel nervous. The good kind, where you know he’s going to say it back and mean it, and that his words are just for you.

Jamie says, “I love you too,” and tries his best to convey a thousand meanings into four words.

“Great,” you say, “because the top Google story for you is me with a giant wine stain on my dress. So I think we should go out tonight and look so hot that everyone forgets all about it. Thoughts?”

Jamie says, “Fucking mint,” then, “fucking ow,” and you can tell by the sounds in the background that Isaac’s gotten him again. 

“GottagoloveyouheresSam,” he says in a rush before you hear him practically hurl his phone.

“You have some strange coworkers, Sam,” you comment.

“You have a strange boyfriend,” he retorts, and he’s right. But Jamie’s strange matches your strange, so you think it’ll last.

[hoe4hotchner]

The Final Lap

Pairing: F1 driver!Hotch x fem!reader | WC: 2.3k | CW: A little swearing, one midly suggestive comment, champagne, I don't know - is sweat a cw?

A/N: I finished writing this at 2am, so some of the environemt might not make sense, I'm not changing it though ;)

The Ferrari garage was electric, the air thick with the buzz of movement as engineers murmured over headsets, eyes glued to the data screens, pit crew readying themselves for the next stop, and the unmistakable scent of fuel and burning rubber that clung to the humid night air and only got stronger with each lap.

Yet despite the organized chaos around you, your world had narrowed to one thing: the red blur blazing around the track.

Aaron Hotchner.

A two-time World Champion, one of the best drivers this generation of Formula 1 had ever seen. But tonight, that was all coming to an end. He was retiring. Mid-season at that. It had shocked everyone in the paddock.

Retiring in the middle of the season? Unheard of.

Speculation had run wild—injury, contract disputes, internal politics, a baby?—but no one had guessed the truth. Hotch wasn’t leaving because of any of that. He was leaving because he wanted something more than the endless race weekends, the constant jetlag, the hotels, the pressure of performance, and the fear of injury. He wanted a life, and that life had you in it.

For the first time in over a decade, Hotch had found someone he didn’t want to leave behind every other weekend. Someone who made the circuit feel small, someone who was waiting for him to come home, not just to a race but to a life beyond the track and parties.

Right now, he was in P2, chasing down Max Verstappen with only a handful of laps to go.

The garage was tense, every engineer hanging on the telemetry. You stood in the garage, chewing your lip, arms crossed and fingers digging into your skin as you watched the screen, tracking his every move.

“Gap to Verstappen, 1.2 seconds,” his race engineer, Paul, relayed over the radio. “He’s struggling with tire degradation. If we push, we can get him.”

Hotch’s voice came through, steady and composed. “Understood.”

God, you loved him.

You loved how focused he was, how in control he remained even when every part of his body must’ve been screaming for release, for a break.

But not tonight. Not when this was his last race.

A sudden thought struck you, and without hesitation, you turned to one of the engineers, pointing at a spare headset on the workbench. “Can I say something to him?”

The engineer hesitated, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, but then smirked. “Make it quick.”

You pulled the headset on and pressed the comms button, taking a deep breath. The air in the garage felt thick with anticipation as everyone waited for you to make your move, but in that moment, you only had one person on your mind.

“Hey, handsome.”

Silence.

Then, a breathy response came through the radio.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was softer than it ever was during a race. Always so composed, never losing focus—never even swearing, like many of his opponents—yet you could tell by the slight drop in his tone that he was smirking.

You grinned, your heart racing. “You look good out there.”

The air shifted in the garage, the engineers going silent as they eavesdropped on the comms.

“You should see me up close,” Hotch murmured back, and you swore you could feel the weight of his words in your chest.

Hotch flirting mid-race? The fans were going to have a field day with this recording you thought.

You bit back a laugh, suddenly feeling a flutter in your chest. “I’ll hold you to that,” you teased, voice dropping just slightly. “But I think P1 would look even better on you. Let Max eat your exhaust fumes”

A breath from him, holding together a laugh. Then, a low and steady reply:

“Copy that.”

The garage went completely still. The next few seconds would determine everything.

Lap traffic ahead. Two backmarkers. Hotch’s team didn’t even need to tell him twice. He saw the gap, recognized the opportunity, and now it was up to him.

The roar of the engine shifted, the engine note rising as Hotch pushed harder. Paul’s voice cut through the static. “Verstappen’s losing time in Zone 4. This is our chance.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. He was already setting up for the move.

As they approached the Anderson Bridge, Max hesitated behind the Aston—which was unlike him. It was the opening Hotch needed.

ERS deployed.

He dove down the inside at Turn 12, braking impossibly late. The Ferrari twitched, almost losing the rear, but Hotch held it steady, centimeters from Max's rear.

And then—he was ahead.

The garage exploded into triumphant chaos. “He’s done it!” “He’s in P1!”

Your heart raced, your hands trembling as you pressed the comms button again, breathless with excitement. “Aaron, you absolute machine.”

Through the radio, you heard his low chuckle. “Told you to hold on tight.”

Final lap.

You barely registered the world around you. You were all but consumed by the sheer will of the moment. Every corner was a battle. Every turn was his. The world around you blurred into the background, the only thing that mattered being Hotch and the finish line that was now within reach.

Turn 17.

Turn 18.

The final corner.

The checkered flag waved.

“AARON HOTCHNER WINS THE SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX!”

The words rang in your ears as the Ferrari surged across the line, the crowd roaring, the Tifosi screaming in unison. It was over. The moment had arrived.

The Ferrari garage erupted. Headsets slammed onto tables—clearly not caring if they broke—engineers leaped into each other's arms, and bottles of champagne were already being cracked open. On the pit wall, a sea of red uniforms flooded the monitors, clapping, shouting, barely able to contain themselves as the realization set in—Aaron Hotchner had just won the Singapore Grand Prix. Your breath caught, hands pressed to the headset, every nerve in your body still wired from the last ten laps. The tension had been unbearable—Max had been defending his spot like his life depended on it, and for a while, it seemed like P2 was where Hotch would finish his racing days.

Until he didn’t.

The radio was full of cheering, the entire Ferrari team shouting over each other. Hotch’s voice finally broke through—breathless, steady, softer than you expected. “Yes!” A rare burst of raw emotion. “That was—unbelievable. Thank you, guys.” Paul, his race engineer, was practically laughing.

“Aaron Hotchner wins in Singapore! What a move. What a drive. P1, baby!”

And you? You pressed the comms button, voice teasing. “Told you P1 would look good on you.”

A chuckle—low, warm, the kind of laugh that curled through you like fire on a cold day. “Guess I couldn’t let you down.”

Your fingers tightened around the headset. Out on the circuit, he was still weaving his car side to side on the cool-down lap, burning the last of the fuel, fans screaming his name from the grandstands. Red flares ignited in the sky, casting a glow over the Marina Bay circuit.

The final results came in:

🥇 Aaron Hotchner | Ferrari

🥈 Max Verstappen | Red Bull

🥉 Charles Leclerc | Ferrari

A Ferrari double podium in Hotch’s last race. If the garage had been loud before, it was deafening now. But you stayed rooted in place, eyes locked on the screens.

He pulled into parc fermé, stopping in front of the #1 marker. Engine off. Helmet off. You watched as he climbed out of the car, sweat-soaked fireproofs clinging to his body, hair damp, chest rising and falling as he took in the moment, before climbing on top of his car, with his helmet raised to the sky.

And then—That smile. Not the usual, small, controlled one. This was real. Wide, bright, a kind of happiness he couldn't control. Mechanics surrounded him first as he climbed back down, clapping his back, congratulating him. He took it all in stride, shaking hands, hugging his engineers. But then—He started searching for something.

No, not something.

Someone.

You.

The second the cameras shifted to the post-race interview area, you ran. Through the garage, past team personnel, ducking under barriers as you weaved through the sea of red. And then he saw you. A split second of recognition—Then open arms.

You collided with him, the scent of fuel, sweat, and somehow champagne already clinging to his suit, but you didn’t care. His arms locked around you, tight, body still thrumming with adrenaline. His voice was hushed, just for you.

“I was waiting for you.” Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the hammering heartbeat. “Had to make sure you really won.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You doubted me?”

“Never.”

The Ferrari crew around you whistled, someone muttering something about "Hotch getting a different kind of trophy tonight." You flushed, but Hotch only laughed under his breath, fingers brushing the side of your face before a team official clapped his shoulder.

“Podium time, Hotch.”

You squeezed his wrist. “Go. I’ll be watching.” His gaze lingered before he nodded, turning towards the podium ceremony.

The circuit was alive with energy. Red flares burned, fans roared, and the Ferrari team crowded together in the pit lane, waving flags and cheering.

At the top of the paddock, the podium gleamed under the bright floodlights, a red carpet leading up the stairs where FIA officials and race stewards stood waiting. Above, the massive digital screen displayed the final race standings: Aaron Hotchner in P1. Max Verstappen in P2. Charles Leclerc in P3. If anyone was unsure of the standings.

You stood just below the stage with the rest of the team, heart racing as you watched Hotch climb the steps. His suit was still damp with sweat, the red and black fabric clinging to his body, and yet he carried himself with that same unwavering confidence, like a man who had done this a thousand times before—which it felt like he had. But this time was different. This was his last time.

The podium announcer’s voice echoed across the circuit, listing the finishing positions in order. Charles was introduced first, stepping onto the third-place podium to a chorus of cheers. He shook his head slightly as he adjusted his collar, still breathless from the race. Then Max, accepting his second-place finish with the usual tight-lipped nod, the competitive edge in his eyes refusing to dull—no doubt he would power through several simulations the following days.

But it was when the announcer called Hotch’s name that the world seemed to explode.

Everything erupted. Fans chanted his name, flares burned brighter in the night, and as he stepped onto the highest tier of the podium, he exhaled slowly, drinking it in. His final podium. His final win. But instead of sadness, there was peace in the way his shoulders dropped slightly, in the way he ran a hand over his jaw before placing the Pirelli cap on his head.

Even with the weight of history, of legacy, of an entire nation behind him, his gaze still searched for you.

The American national anthem played first, Hotch standing motionless as the flag was raised above him. Then the Italian anthem, and if the fans had been loud before, they were deafening now. Every single word was sung, voices carrying over the circuit, filling the air with pure, unfiltered passion. And through it all, Hotch stood tall, head slightly bowed, fingers flexing at his sides. You had never seen him look so at home.

One by one, the trophies were presented. Charles accepted his first, shaking his head with an exasperated smile before turning to congratulate Hotch with a playful nudge. Max followed his grip tight on his trophy, still smirking slightly like he was already thinking about the next race. And then, finally, the presenter stepped forward with the massive gold-plated winner’s trophy.

The weight of it was nothing compared to the moment itself, but Hotch lifted it with ease, raising it high above his head.

The second the trophies were set down, the champagne bottles were cracked open. Charles was the first to strike, popping his bottle and immediately drenching Max, who let out an indignant shout before retaliating. The two of them descended into absolute chaos, but Hotch, ever the strategist, waited—watching, calculating—before launching his own attack. He shook his bottle furiously, angling it just right before absolutely soaking Charles in champagne. Charles yelped, attempting to shield himself, but the cameras had already captured his fate. The crowd ate it up, loving every second of the carnage, knowing that they would miss the relationship between Hotch and Charles on the track.

Through it all, you watched, heart swelling with something deeper than pride, something warmer than admiration. You had loved him in so many ways, in so many lifetimes, but seeing him here—drenched in champagne, racing suit and fireproofs sticking to his frame, a rare, boyish smirk on his lips—you had never loved him more.

And then, before you could react, he was moving. Away from the cameras. Away from the podium. Away from the crowd. And toward you. Not caring about the interviews.

His fingers curled around your waist, tugging you in until you were flush against him. He was still damp, still smelled of adrenaline and gasoline, but you didn’t care. His lips brushed your ear, voice low, teasing, the same voice that had made your heart race over the radio.

“I think I like winning.”

You let out a breathless laugh, pressing your hands against his chest. “Then why retire?”

He exhaled, warm against your skin, fingers grazing the small of your back. And then, softly and simply smiled—

“You know why.”

Because it had never been about injuries. It had never been about losing. Aaron Hotchner was retiring from Formula 1 because he had already won the most important thing of all.

You.

[tacticaldiary]

omg hi, i love your writing and saw requests were open for cod. i was wondering if you could write something where reader and simon are in an established relationship (can either be public to the team or a secret) and they are on a mission. reader has a scare during a mission and ghost has an “i almost lost you” moment with her.

Anyone But Her

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Their line of work has never guaranteed the assurance of coming home, but that doesn't make the fear of loss any easier to deal with, especially not when it happens right in front of his eyes.

Masterlist

If asked where one feels the most comfortable, people who respond with something like 'home' or 'the beach', something achievable and wholly normal.

Her? There was nothing more comforting than the feel of hot metal in her tight grip during a mission, the easy reloading of her sniper almost by muscle memory as she gazes down the scope. The commands, the back and forth with tasks and delegations, and the constant movement and adjustment needed to bring home a victory is what keeps her on her feet.

"In position on first building." Ghost's rough voice travels through the comms, bringing her attention away from the scope she's looking down. Laying down on the top of a hill, spotting the other members as they infiltrate a Russian warehouse, was an easy job. In and out before they realised that the team was even there.

It's an ugly thing, what the 141 deals with, but it's so far set from what normal is that she's long since accepted that there's no going back.

Part of her is glad she hadn't tried. If there was never a chance she'd have been selected for this squad, she never would have met the enigma that is Simon Riley.

Standoffish, brash, deadly.

Understanding, confident, loving.

They'd butted heads on her first day harsher than any of the others ever had, and after an order from Price to resolve their tension lest it interfere mid battle, the both of them had come to realise that they had much more in common than they thought.

The rest had been history. They already moved in sync on the field, and after a try they'd discovered they worked just as well together as something more than teammates. It was hard to keep things professional with glances so heated and words that no friend would ever offer each other.

Some of the things he's said to her in the heat of the moment and the privacy of their quarters makes blood rush to her cheeks just thinking about it.

She was just a precaution, really. A failsafe, because the odds may be in their favour but they were never always truly compliant.

"Breaching second on your command." Gaz's voice relays through.

"Sergeant, how are things from above?"

"All clear, L.T." She says, doing another final sweep of the grounds. "No visible hostiles near your vicinity." The good news is delivered with an undertone of caution.

If their intel was correct, this warehouse should be housing stolen US documents, information that could deal real damage to their operations if transported farther than it already had been.

So where were all the soldiers?

The only ones she sees are a few mulling around the grounds, three by the radio tower nearby and another few near the vehicles at the back of the compounds. Surely such valuable intel would be more heavily guarded?

Her gut speaks to attest that something is wrong, but before she can bring it to light, Ghost and Soap, and Gaz and Price breach the doors of their respective warehouses.

"Copy." Ghost rasps. "Breaching now." She pauses for a moment to fiddle with her comms unit, the voices filtering through to her earpiece crackling in a way they shouldn't be if the device was fully functional.

Looking down her scope, everything seems normal. The grass swaying in the wind, the silence that follows and-

Silence?

She stiffens at the sudden lack of noise. It was too still, the clam before the storm. Hand flying to her comms, she speaks into the device;

"Ground team, how copy?"

Static. Then silence.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she repeats herself louder, more firmly, frowning where there's nothing but muted static and crackling. She does another sweep of the facility with her sniper. All seems quiet until her gaze focuses on the radio tower.

Adjusting her scope's distance, her mouth goes dry when she realises exactly what the three at the base of the structure are holding. A device she herself has used many times during missions like these.

A jammer.

Sudden movement makes her eyes snap back to the vehicle form before. Her stomach drops as the doors to the truck swing open and soldiers armed to their necks pour out, spreading all over the facility.

An ambush. They knew they were coming. Jammed their comms to isolate them and hide their forces until the others entered the warehouses probably. Surrounded. They'd be surrounded in mere minutes if they didn't do something.

Her comms are useless, so she can't warn them, and can only watch in muted horror as they start to scatter around the building.

Fuck.

She can't take out the three men at the tower from here. That wouldn't stop the device and only act to reveal her position. Hands-on was the only way.

Slamming her sniper onto the strap on her back, she extracts her pistol, breaking into a harsh sprint down the hill. There was no time, she had to warn them herself. To hell with staying out of sight.

The 141...they were like family to her. Soap and Gaz's constant cheeky remarks and antics, Price's steadfast and reliable leadership, Ghost...Simon's patience and understanding, his muted passion and actions that when decoded conveyed more love than anybody had every offered her.

The day her team took a loss would not be today. Not like this. Not when she could help it.

Finding herself in the middle of the compound by ducking and staying out of view, she kneels behind a crate, unhooking one of her frag grenades, pulling the pin out with her teeth.

This would give away her position, a dangerous gamble while hostiles surrounded her from all sides, but what better way to alert battle-ready soldiers than with the bang of a grenade. A sounds they knew all to well.

She'd just have to hold her position until they could regroup. She's done tougher things before, and this was so or die right now. With the thought in mind, she steels herself and tosses out the grenade at the most densely packed area of soldiers, clenching her jaw and taking cover at the resounding bang that cracks through the air.

The gunfire follows soon after.

Her comms crackle, evidence that someone's trying to reach her, but with the jammer not sounds can be deciphered.

Soldiers yell, and fire at her location, the heavy thudding of footsteps on either side of her clueing her into their intentions to flank her sides and gun her down. Returning fire, she ducks between the crates to make her way to the radio tower, just a couple of metres away. Bullets clink and bang and ricchoet of fthe metal around her, but miraculously, she's mostly unscathed as dives behind a vehicle and takes down the three men aiming their rifles at her.

The jammer lays at the feet, blinking green.

Right in the middle of the open field. She had to get there, had to get it off so they could all communicate with each other and move smoothly. There was a higher risk of casualties if one moved without the knowledge of the others.

Unpredictability was the worst of enemies in the field.

Steeling herself for going out in the open under the inevitable spray of bullets, she unclips a smoke grenade and tosses it, holding her breath as acrid smoke obstructs everyone's vision. Stumbling into the mess, she keeps low to the ground to avoid the blind fire into the smoke and feels around for the device.

Her hands curl around the metal and she sprints back to cover.

She doesn't make it.

Their blind fire proves effective, as a bullet rips through her shoulder, another one through her calf wrenching out a choked scream from her. The smoke was slowly dissipating, and pretty soon visibility would be back and then any bullet wounds she'd sustain would not be as unfatal.

Panic claws up her throat, but years of practise allow her to swallow it down. She pulls herself up, but groans and collapses, her leg unable to support her weight and her shoulder unable to drag her across the ground.

Shit, shit.

Her breaths come ragged and uneven, her knuckles turning white with the harsh grip on the device. Changing courses, she brings the jammer close to her, focusing on it instead, turning knobs and pressing buttons.

If she bit the bullet here, she'd damn well do so making sure the others stayed alive.

The second the jammer switches off, voices filter through her comms, a flurry of mixed yells, gunfire and pounding footsteps.

"Sergeant?!" A familiar voice barks down the line, hoarse...worried? "Are you down?"

Lightheaded, feeling blood soak through her clothes, she can't bring herself to respond. The smoke starts to clear and the best she can do is shift herself behind a tree a few feet away, leaning against the thick trunk for cover while unable to grasp her weapon through the slippery bloody coating her hands.

Was it normal to have that much blood? Feeling a little delirious, she drops her weapons besides her and presses down hard on the wound on her leg, biting back a groan. Gunfire pings around her, gunpowder and smoke acrid in the air.

It's only when Ghost snaps her name through the comms does she come back to herself a little.

"I'm..." She squeezes her eyes shut trying to get her tongue to form words. "I'm down. Bleeding out near the radio tower. Fuckers jammed out comms. Ambush. Had to...had to warn you. Had to fix it." She coughs, spitting into the ground beside her as blood trickles down her chin.

Definitely not normal.

Swallowing is hard, her thoughts swim as the grass beneath her is stained crimson. Her body feels too heavy, head to light and she wonders if this is really the end.

Someone speaks through her comms, words to muddled in her head to make out. Gaz? Or was that Price? Maybe Soap? Or Simon?

God, what she wouldn't give to hear Simon again, just once. Her eyes flutter shut with a groan. Just once more. She just wants to hear that gruff voice one more time through the comms, saying her name. He's never told her he's loved her verbally, even when she expressed it herself, but words haven't ever been his strong points.

His actions spoke far far louder.

The ways he's memorised all her little routines, her favourite foods, her favourite activities, the particular way she likes to store and clean her weapons. the silent moments at night where he pulled her close and the shared a book together, the nights spent together in bed where he showed her that he was not lacking in love when it came to her.

Simon Riley had left a mark on her life that she wore with pride, and if this...this meant that he lived on another day. She grits her teeth, shallows pant soft breath as blood pools between her fingers.

Then it was damn well worth it.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

An unstoppable force by nature, Ghost is the scariest anybody's ever seen him right now.

That last comms transmission from her had made his heart practically stop in his chest, even if he was as apathetic as ever from the outside. He had called out to her again, demanded she stay awake and give a precise location but no matter how much he shouted and order through the comms he was met with a deafening silence.

Silence that suggested the worst.

Fuck, no. No way. This wasn't happening, this simply wasn't something Simon would allow to happen.

Not her. Not any of them, really, but especially not her. Not her soft smiles and meaningful glances, not when she made him feel as if he might not break everything he comes into contact with.

Not when she was the only one who's ever coaxed out Simon Riley from Ghost.

His actions grow harsher, more brutal. The moment he hears she's near the radio towers bleeding out, he's a man on a mission, and none of the others make a peep of protest as he clears the way through to her, a spartan leaving a trail of blood behind as he moves.

He does not rage. Rage implies something uncontrolled and fierce. No, this is not rage. This is something much colder, much more calculating. Every throat that he slashed with his knife, every bullet that lands home in a skull is done with precision and deadly force. He means every bit of hurt he causes, hurt that stems from his own panic at her sudden silence.

This was not rage. This was icy cold desperation disguised as cool anger.

He's the one who finds her after everybody spreads out to clear the facility.

Back to a tree, eyes closed, hands limp at her side.

She might have been sleeping if not for all the fucking blood.

Dropping down beside her, he shakes her shoulder firmly, calling out her name.

"Wake up, Sergeant." He orders, eyes raking over her figure to find the source of her injuries. His jaw ticks as he notes the two fresh wounds. She doesn't move when he extracts a rolls of gauze from his belt, doesn't flinch when he tightly wraps her injuries.

Does not wake up to notice how his hands are shaking as he ties the final knots.

"Wake up." He says, voice much lower, something deeply needing. Shifting closer, he pulls her into his arms, away from the rough bark of the tree. Her head falls to his shoulder limply, making his breath hitch, true, cold fear gripping his heart. "Wake up, sweetheart, c'mon." He urges. She's still alive as per the shallow rise and fall of her chest, but she won't fucking wake up and it's killing him, making panic claw at his throat because not her, not her, not her.

Reaching around, he pinches her sternum hard, relief slamming into him when she finally groans and whimpers, a weak hand reaching up to push his away. "That's it, love. There you go." He mutters praise, hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up, carrying her. "Keep those eyes open for me, yeah? Don't you dare fucking close them, you hear me?" His accent is thicker than normal

"..Simon?" She groans, barely a whisper, making his heart wretch painfully.

"It's me." He confirms, clutching her tighter as he makes his way back to the exfil he'd ordered Gaz to request. The heli stand waiting near the first warehouse, a mass of dead bodies paving the path for them to step over. "I've got you, love. Stay with me, just a little longer.

He doesn't know if she can hear him let alone understand what he's saying, but it seems to work, her groggy gaze taking in their surrounding, watching but not really seeing.

She shoves at his chest suddenly, weak but firm. "No...you gotta-they're here." She rattles in a breath that makes even him wince. "Ambush, Simon. Gotta-get yourself out."

"Fucking hell woman, you think I'd leave you?" He hisses, hiking her up closer so their bodies are pressed together. He feels a rush of anger peer through the crushing panic and worry he's beating down.

"No time." She breathes. "Leave-"

"Not another word." He warns, angry at the thought that she'd even think for one moment that he'd let her die on his watch, that he'd ever leave the one good thing in his life.

Her compliance scares him to the bone.

Simon practically runs the last few meters towards the evac heli, barking out instructions for a medic as they bring out a stretcher. Gently, an action so at odds with the flames burning through his veins, he lays her down on it, staying by her side as they hoist her inside.

The jolting makes her whimper, aggravating her injuries no doubt. "Careful," Simon demands, and a single glare from him is enough to make the team move her with much more cautiousness.

The team clamours in and it's not long before they're all in the air.

A silence is passed around the space, an acknowledgment and shared anger at her state, how she was riddled with bullets like a target because of her selfless nature to save and give.

They hadn't gotten the intel, but Simon has never given less of a shit about anything before, not when she's laying next to him pale and trembling, looking up at him as if he might be the one to make her pain go away.

May God strike him dead if he doesn't try his fucking hardest.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The steady beep on a heart monitor and the sharp smell of antiseptic is what slowly brings her back to the living world. She feels...

Well she feels like shit.

That's kind a given though, judging by how she determines by the scratchy sheets under her that she's in a hospital bed. One would be more disorientated by waking up like this, but she's seen her fare share of white bedspreads and jello cups.

Finally gathering up the courage to blink her heavy eyes open, she squints at the ceiling light, slowly getting her bearings.

They were...on a mission. She tries to recall. Warehouse. Men. Jammer...

The jammer! Were the others alright? All she remembers is passing out by the tree and-what else?

Alarm ringing through her, she moves to sit up but immediately groans at her body protesting, her limbs burning at the movement. Shoulder and leg tight with stitches, she tries to force herself to sit up when a large, warm hard pushes her back down.

"Easy does it. Lay still for me." The familiar voice washes away the alarm and when she slowly, groggily turns her head, there sits the one person she wanted to see.

Simon sits beside her bed, looking ragged and poorly even beneath his mask. She can see it by the tension in his shoulders.

"Wh-" She trails off, coughing and wincing at the pain in her dry throat. There's a rustling, and then a hand at the back of her neck, guiding her lips to a cup full of cool water. "Drink." Simon says simply, helping her swallow the liquid until she pushes on his hand.

"What happened?" She finally manages, meeting his eyes. "You look...like shit. You okay?"

Amusement may have flickered into those eyes of his, but it's next to nothing with the other concoction of worry in his eyes.

For someone so stoic, he had very expressive eyes if you knew how to read them.

"Am I okay?" He stares in disbelief. "Considering I didn't get shot twice and nearly bleed out, I'd say I'm doing better than you."

"Ever the comedian." Her joke doesn't crack a smile from him and that's when she knows something is truly wrong. "Simon what-"

The scrape of his chair cuts her off as he stands abruptly, moving over to her side. He seems hesitant for a split second, arms pausing as they reach out.

He decides to push away the doubt, however, because moments later, strong arms are wrapped around her, pulling her into him. She relaxes at the familiar scent of him, of his clothes as he tucks his chin over her head.

His heart is racing under his cheek, her fist loosely gripping his shirt.

She knows he'll speak in time, that she just has to wait for him to gather the words and decide how to express them out loud. So she does exactly that. She waits while he regulates himself, gathers his thoughts.

His arms tighten around her. "Thought I lost you." He says, and if it had been anybody but her, they might have missed the slight tremor in his voice. "When I saw you bleeding out against that tree...Fuck, I thought you were gone."

"Not that easily." She hums, pressing into him further. "Never than easily."

"Better fucking not be." It coaxes a hoarse giggle from her, what he growls in her ear.

"I'm alright, Simon." She assures him gently. "Alive and kicking."

He nods against her head minutely, his lips pressing against her head through his mask, a gesture that makes her melt because if Simon was resorting to such a thing he must have really had a scare. He hated PDA and although they were the only ones in the room, normally they reserved this kind of intimacy for their own rooms when they're alone together.

He stays like that for a while, convincing himself that she was there, that she was alive and breathing and in his arms and untouchable as of now. All the while she runs a soothing hand up and down his strong arms, mumbling assurances of their safety.

She'd do it again in a heartbeat, would put herself in harms way to save her team, but as she sits there pressed against him, the sun spilling into the room warming it with it's rays, she can't help but think of how thankful she is to have felt this again.

To have the chance to continue experiencing the protective love of Simon Riley.

Requests Are Open!

(25/06/2023)

[hxzbinwrites]

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Ignorant In Love

(Lovestruck Part 2)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Violence, Vox being annoying

————

4:30am

Vox woke up, yelping as he sprung out of bed. Not a great decision for his sore back as his clawed hand immediately went to brace it. Groaning, his eyes fluttered, attempting to recall what got him in such a tizzy waking up

Right. Another dream.

Vox had been, haunted, by that humiliating event last week. Even more so that he finally realize how incredibly enamored he was with her.

His screen flushing red at this realization of his current situation, Vox decided to rise out of bed. What good was sulking going to do?

Since that day, (Y/n) hadn’t smiled once more at him. Oh how he craves it. Vox acts like he doesn’t care, but he’s aching for another fix. Another high of seeing that smile. He would do anything and everything just to experience that euphoria one last time, just one drop of it.

Getting dressed for the day, Vox was looking at his bow tie collection, seeking out one of his favorite ties before realizing it had been ruined from the coffee.

Frustrated, he grabbed a random one from the pile, not really thinking too much about it as he put it on.

He stomped out of his quarters, his heels dramatically clacking against the floor as he made his way to his office. It was far too early in the morning for anyone to be active, too late for Val to be doing work (at least IN the office, and not at the club), so the quite walk gave his ever-running mind more time to think

What the hell has gotten into him?! He’s a VEE, THE VEE. If anything, this is woman should be loosing sleep and foaming over him!

‘That’s what I like most though’, He thought to himself,’She’s real. She doesn’t tell me just what I want to hear, or cause problems for me, she’s just…her, and she simply does it best.’

His internal conflicts were brought to an end once he finally sat down in his chair. Cracking his sore, aching joints, before booting up his monitor system.

————

8:30am

(Y/n)‘s heels clacked against the tiled floors, making her way to her desk. Her desk was one of those circular desks that curved around the middle and touched both sides of the wall. There was a small door on the side that she could enter from, but it blended in seamlessly with the black desk, so it would be hard for someone who didn’t work here on a daily to find.

Once she entered her cubicle-like desk, she logged onto her monitor, clocking in. 8:30am sharp, as always. She began to work on her boss’s meetings, but her eye caught a certain one for today “errand.”

This caught her eye, as Vox always made her run errands during work hours. Mostly for coffee, but she’s ran to the convenience store in the lobby for strange things as well.

“Hmm” she mumbled, before printing off the schedule regardless and putting it in her folder for later at 10.

That was her routine, print off the original schedule for the day, present it to him at 10, and if edits are needed, she’d come back and re-arrange some things, and repeat the process until it was to his liking.

(Y/n)‘s hardest part of the job was the PR portion of it. Normally, it’s for the PR team, but they got sick of the Vees tantrums and the entire department up and quit. Now, (Y/n) handles Vox’s PR, Velvette’s assistant handles hers, and Vox handles Valentino’s himself.

Speaking of PR, she was in for a doozy today. Last Friday, when the coffee incident took place, apparently Vox said some…choice words…to the Radio Demon, and Alastor relayed that information back to his listeners on his radio show.

Sighing, (Y/n) began typing a public rebuttal, going for the “deny and victim blame” strategy, as Velvette called it.

‘Why does Vox have to act so…stupid’ (Y/n) thought, her stoic face staying steady as her fingers flew across the keyboard,’For someone so smart, he sure acts dumb. Maybe he should just be a model for Velvette instead, he’s sure got the looks for it, but he doesn’t have the social skills for a public viewpoint like this-‘

“(Y/N). MY OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.” Vox yelled.

Her eyes flicker up from her monitor, which was now adorned with two clawed hands gripping the top of it. Vox was leaning over it, his tall, slender frame allowing his screened face to intrude (Y/n)’s personal space, but it’s not like that hasn’t been done the before the weekend.

Locking eyes, he saw the flick of emotion run through her, he almost for a moment let his anger go, almost. He could hear her mumbling those things about him. About how “stupid” he was, his “dumb actions….how “he’s got the looks”….never mind that last part.

“Sir..?” She said, her face immediately turning back cold. Ah, there it goes again, fleeting like time itself.

“Don’t sir me,” Vox said, shoving the monitor who knows where. He crawled on the desk towards (Y/n), before grabbing her chin, pulling her towards him. The force from his arm made it where she was on her feet, but she was now hovering over her chair. Vox cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes and he whispered towards her.

“I heard you mumbling about me over there. Insubordination will not be…tolerated, at this company. If you want to keep this job, and your soul, I suggest you meet me in my office.”

He let go of her chin, before sliding back off of her desk, and walking towards his office. Vox’s hands were clasped behind his back, as he glanced over his shoulder one last time to look if she was following him.

(Y/n) got up and started walking behind him, her face not giving away any emotion.

‘DAMN IT.’ He thought, his mood growing worse,’That whole little stunt was just to get a rise out of her. To get something!’

————

10:00am

Once they arrived in his office, the door slammed shut behind them. Vox’s electrical bolt from his fingertip locked the door, as he walked towards his chair, took a seat, and swiveled it around to see an unamused (Y/n) awaiting his words.

“So, (Y/n)” He started, his claws tapping against one another, “Would you like to repeat, word for word, what you were mumbling about me, or should I repeat it for you?”

“Okay, I asked myself why you acted so stupid. Your actions are ignorant and your social skills need heavy improvement.” (Y/n) said,”also, for your schedule today you have a meeting at-“

“No no no sugar.” Vox said, smirking as he crossed his legs,”Tell me everything you said.”

“I did” She lied, standing her ground.

“Ah, so Im not good enough to be a model anymore? That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to give you a show, but alas.” He sneered, trying to desperately to get a reaction out of her, but failing miserably.

“Ah, a shame indeed.” She said, deadpanned,”Now, todays schedule consists of one meeting with Valentino at 7:30pm and during your 3:30 slot all it says is ‘Errand’? Sir, I’m confused about that portion, don’t I normally run your errands..?”

Vox gritted his teeth, his hand now clenching the sides of his chair. This was getting ridiculous, no emotions out of this one. God, he should just pour an entire mountain of coffee on himself, muck up his PC and everything just to see her smile.

“I was originally planning to get my clothes back from the dry cleaners myself, but I see that as punishment enough for today. Do it and get out of my office.”

“A-Alright sir.” (Y/n) said. They locked eyes, and Vox immediately regretted pushing so far for a reaction. Her eyes showed hurt in them.

Vox couldn’t bring himself to say anything, his face contorted with many emotions. One side of him was over the moon, he made her show something! The other side was in immense regret, he didn’t want to hurt her, that was by far from the plan.

Once she left the office, he started throwing monitors again in frustration.

————

10:30am

(Y/n) didn’t even return to her desk, instead opting for a little stroll down to the convenience store down in the lobby. She picked up a drink and a candy bar to take back to her desk as a little pick me up

Well, she attempted to go back to her desk, she ended up just going to a secluded corner in the building, only adorned by a lonely bench, a plant, and a security camera in the hallway.

(Y/n) sat there on the bench, sighing from stress and she took a chunk of her candy bar.

Sitting there, she replayed the interaction in her mind once more. The way he was so, powerful, it made her cheeks dust pink, with equal parts admiration and humiliation as she smiled to herself, lowering her head. She softly chuckled before taking her wrapper of her snack and going to seek out a trash can.

Little did she know that Vox was watching her every move on his monitor, stalking every security camera that tipped off her motion. He was nearly short circuiting at her little smile. Vox noticed how her shoulders bounced as she chucked slightly. He really wished he could just call her into his office, but it was already time for her to pick up his dry cleaning. Sighing to himself, he adjusted his bow tie.

Out of his entire collection, he just had to pick the most irritating one out of all of them. It was entirely too tight and the material was so unpleasant.

Sighing, he just untied it and threw it on his desk, reveling a small sliver of his skin beneath it.

————

3:45pm

“I’m here to pick up Vox’s clothes.” (Y/n) said, making the worker scramble to go retrieve the Overlord’s clothes.

“H-Here you go ma’am! Do you mind checking to see if everything is in there? We don’t want to forget any article of our valuable costumer’s clothing!”

“Sure” She replied with her signature neutral expression, opening up the box of neatly folded clothes to see his entire wardrobe from that day, except something was missing…a key part of his ensemble.

“Ah, where is his bow tie?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? We had to return it to him, the fabric of it was too thin, it would’ve burnt up in the dryer.”

“Oh, well thank you.” (Y/n) said,”everything looks like it’s in order.”

“Have a good day!” The worker said, earning a nod from (Y/n) as she walked out of the dry cleaners.

‘He wore that bow tie often’ (Y/n) thought to herself,’ Maybe since I pissed him off earlier today, I can get him another to make it up to him.’

She strolled by the clothing district before entering the tailors shop, browsing the different selection of items for a while before the clerk cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, I’m looking for a bow tie with a certain fabric to it. It’s rather thin, I need a replacement.”

“You? A replacement?” The man chuckled, looking over at her,”I think I know which one you’re talking about, but I dare say I don’t think you’re in the tax bracket to be purchasing that.”

“I’ll purchase what I please.” (Y/n) retorted, her dead eyes looking into the man’s cocky ones

“Oh really? And who is this for?”

“Vox.”

The man started howling in laughter,”YOU?! FOR THE TECH OVERLORD?? OH PLEASE I-“

(Y/n) briskly walked over and slammed the man’s head down on the table.

“Yes. I suggest you make it quick due to your little interruption.”

“And why should I?”

(Y/n) gripped him by the hair, making his eyes meet hers,”Vox is my boyfriend, and so help me I’ll let him tear you limb from limb just because I said pretty please, now fucking do it.”

“Y-Yes ma’am.” He said, as she let go of his hair, he scrambled to the back room to give her a lavish tie. Instead of the navy blue one he had previously, it was near black with bright blue strips adorning the sides of the fabric where it curved in on itself.

“Hmm, this will do.” (Y/n) said, snatching the box before walking away.

“W-Wait, aren’t you going to pay?”

“Pay? You should be dead where you stand for messing with me today. This is your pay.”

And with that, she walked out of the store, leaving the man shocked.

————

8:00pm

Walking into Vox’s office, (Y/n) looked around to see Vox nowhere in sight.

“Ah right,” (Y/n) muttered to herself, despite the fact that very action got her in a tight situation with her boss earlier that day,”Meeting with Valentino. I’ll just set his stuff down here.”

(Y/n) looked around once more, before setting his clothes neatly on the desk. Patting it down to remove it of any lint that couldn’t accrued on the bag, before setting the nicely wrapped gift atop of it, adorning it with a letter signed to him.

————

9:00pm

Vox groggily walked back into his office, after his “productive” meeting with Valentino on his public image. Not a word went to that moth’s head. One ear and out the freaking other.

He closed his eyes, plopping down unceremoniously into his chair, not even bothering for the brooding dramatics this time.

Rubbing his eyes, he really contemplated calling it quits early tonight. But alas, Vox never does, that’s the mantra of a workaholic.

His digital eyes fluttering open once more, he gazed upon the clothes neatly laid there for him. Smiling he looked at it before his smile turned into confusion. Why was there a box? Wrapped with a ribbon…?

He slowly and gently grabbed onto the small box, unwrapping it like an inpatient child on Christmas morning, only to reveal a new bow tie, the one he ached for the entire day.

This one was nicer though, how she scrounged up some money to “buy it”, he didn’t know, but he was eternally grateful.

His eye caught the letter that was now sitting beside where the box was, it fell off when Vox took the box. He held the envelope and slit the seal with his claw like a letter opener.

“Dear Vox,

I sincerely apologize for this morning. I was out of line. I just don’t really know how to process everything. I feel like you’d understand being mechanical and all, but I don’t know how to process emotion.

Normally, I feel nothing towards anyone, but there’s something weird going on. This strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you, and you specifically.

Feel free to ignore this, but here’s my number. Contact me if you are willing to help my predicament. Enjoy the gift regardless, you deserve it. Also, stop coming to work at 5 in the morning. You’re not sneaky, I see when you’ve clocked in on your schedule.

-(Y/n) (L/n)”

Vox was beaming, a pure genuine smile. He might be a lovestruck fool, but she’s ignorantly in love.

————

Word Count: 2,540

(Part 3?)

TAGLIST

@burningfishkidlamp

@koji-akeme

@callmechito

@neito327

@chocolat3pudding

@yellowsubiesdance

[candycandy00]

I’m Your Present! - A Togame x Reader Fanfic

Togame jokingly asks Santa for a cute girl he can play with all night long. He gets you. 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. All characters are adults. Bondage. Use of toys (vibrators, handcuffs, blindfold, anal beads). Overstimulation. Praise kink.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

Totally ripped from the hentai Eromame. I basically just rewrote it with Togame lol. I recommend giving it a watch! It’s very cute! And required yearly Christmas viewing for me!

It was just a joke, really. Just the Bofurin guys fooling around at their annual reunion/Christmas party. For some reason they always invited the guys from Shishitoren, and Togame always showed up. He brought drinks and passed them out, laughing when someone stuck a pair of reindeer antlers on Sakura’s head. 

Togame can’t remember who came up with the idea first, but someone joked that they should write letters to Santa. Most of the guys were half drunk by that point, so they all agreed. Some of them proudly read theirs out loud while the others cheered. Some very quickly ripped theirs up or threw them away. Maybe they asked for something a little too personal to share with the group. 

As for Togame, he wadded his up and crammed it in the pocket of his jacket, thinking he’d toss it when he got home. 

Now, standing in the kitchen of his small apartment, he fishes the crumpled letter out and smoothes it back out. He chuckles to himself as he reads it. 

“Dear Santa, please send me a cute girl to play with all night.”

He wads it up again and drops it into the trash. What a dumb joke. 

But it was at least a little sincere. Togame hasn’t had a girlfriend since his first year of college, and lately he’s been feeling a little lonely, and a lot horny. 

It’s probably because Choji of all people got himself a girlfriend earlier this year. And in true Choji fashion, he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. He’s been bragging about all the sex he’s having with his hot girlfriend, and it’s only made Togame realize how much he misses being intimate with someone. 

It’s all he can think about the last few months, and he’s been jacking off like a teenager. 

He sighs as he takes off his jacket and gets ready to turn in for the night. It’s Christmas Eve, and he’ll be expected to visit his relatives tomorrow. 

Just as he starts to turn his lights off, he hears a thump on his balcony.

You squeeze past three people carrying loads of presents, your own arms full of brightly colored packages. You stack them in the pile next to the giant sleigh, there to be sorted and packed by other helpers. 

Someone calls your name, telling you to come to the office. You straighten your red, fur-trimmed dress and walk back into the main workshop. The office is a wide room in the back where the Wishlist Management team works. Three of them are behind a counter, reading over lists and letters while the rest are either sorting through last minute mail or relaying orders to the workshop. 

“Hello? Did you need me?” you ask, stepping into the room. 

The helper in the middle looks up from a crumpled piece of paper. “We have an unusual wish here. Would you be interested in granting it?”

“Me?” you ask, taking a seat across from the counter. You’re a standard helper, usually working on gift wrapping, sorting, or transporting. You don’t usually make gifts yourself, so actually granting wishes is a little out of your wheelhouse. 

The helper behind the counter looks a little embarrassed as he slides the piece of paper over to you. When you read it, you feel yourself blush. A cute girl to play with? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean board games. 

“Who wrote this?” you ask. Sometimes letters like this arrive from teenagers, and they’re always discarded. For the Management team to be taking it seriously means it has to be a sincere wish from an adult. 

The other helper slides a photo across the counter. “Togame Jo. Twenty-eight years old. Lives alone.”

You pick up the photo and look at this Togame fellow. To your surprise, he’s extremely good looking. In fact, he’s totally your type. Midnight black hair and kind emerald eyes. Wow. 

“Of course you’re free to say no,” the other helper says. “We can ask someone else if you’re uncomfortable with-“

“I’ll do it!” you say, cutting him off. 

He looks surprised. “Are you sure? You do know what he’s asking for, right?”

You nod. “I know. I’ll get some toys from the adult department and head on out. Thank you for bringing this wish to me!”

The other helper gives you an awkward smile and wave as you walk out the door. 

You’re not sure why, but you were instantly drawn to Togame when you saw his picture. It’s not just the lovely green eyes or the gentle smile. There’s something there, hidden just beneath his calm expression. A sadness, a loneliness, that touches your heart. You want to give him the best Christmas present ever.

When Togame pulls back the curtain from the glass door to his balcony, he’s not sure what to make of the scene before him. 

Outside, on his balcony, is a young woman sprawled out as if she’d fallen from the sky. 

He hurriedly opens the door and steps out into the cold, but before he can kneel down to check on her, the woman suddenly sits up. She rubs the back of her head and straightens her Santa hat, then looks up at him. 

“Oh, hello! You’re Togame Jo, right?”

Rendered momentarily speechless by this bizarre situation, Togame nods, then extends his hand to her and helps her to her feet. 

“Come inside,” he tells her, unsure of what else to say. It’s too cold to be standing around out here, especially in that short dress she’s wearing. 

Once inside his apartment, he gets a good look at her. She’s very pretty, with a cute Santa girl dress on. It’s candy apple red with white fur trim. There’s a cloth sack hanging from one arm. She’s looking at him with bright eyes and a smile. 

“How did you end up on my balcony?” he asks, shutting the glass door and closing the curtains. 

“The express sleigh dropped me off. I think they misjudged the distance a bit though,” she replies, still smiling. 

“Express sleigh?” The words make no sense to him. She doesn’t seem drunk. Is this some kind of Christmas prank? Before she can elaborate, he asks another question. “Who are you?”

“I’m your Christmas present!” she declares, doing a little curtsy. When Togame simply stares at her with a confused expression, she stands up straight and says, “You did ask for me, right? Someone to play with all night? We got your letter.”

Togame’s stunned face reddens. How did this woman he’s never met before know about his joke of a letter to Santa?! “I didn’t mail any letter,” he says, feeling a bit dazed at this point. He never even showed it to anyone.  

“Oh, that’s okay! Letters with sincere wishes make it to us even without being mailed,” she says cheerily. 

Togame picks up on something. “Us? Who do you work for?”

She giggles. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m one of Santa’s helpers!”

Wait. Is she saying Santa is real? And they somehow received his pervy letter?! And answered it?!

“Uh, that was just a joke,” he says, mortified that anyone saw the letter. 

“Really?” she asks. Why does she sound disappointed? She holds open her sack. “What a shame. I brought all these toys for us to play with.”

Togame can’t resist peeking inside. The sack is full of sex toys! Just at a glance he can see furry red handcuffs, candy cane striped dildos, and what appears to be vibrators. He feels heat creeping into his face as he looks back at her. 

“You’re really my present from Santa?” he asks. 

She smiles so sweetly at him. “Yes! And since you specified ‘all night long’, you have me until dawn. During that time, I’m yours to do whatever you want with!”

Togame swallows. “Whatever I want?”

“Yes!” she says enthusiastically. “So do you want your present?”

The man standing before you seems hesitant. He probably didn’t expect his wish to be granted. 

Togame is even better looking in person. He’s so tall! You really hope he still wants his present. You’ve been excited since you saw his picture, and now you’re practically dripping just from thinking about the things he could do to you.  

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Are you sure about this?”

You nod emphatically. “Of course!”

He still seems a little unsure. It’s kind of endearing. But eventually he gives you a warm smile and says, “Let’s go to the bedroom then.”

Once there, you spread out the toys from your bag on his desk. He looks them over, glancing back at you every few seconds. 

“I can use anything I want?” he asks, picking up a huge dildo and sitting it back down. 

“That’s right,” you tell him, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes gravitate to the small red bullet vibrators. This night is for him, not you. 

“Any preferences?” he asks, looking you in the eyes.  

You blush a little from the heat of his gaze, but shake your head. “I like all of them!”

He picks up the padded handcuffs with red fur trim. “Even these?”

You hold your wrists together. “Just tell me if you want them in front or behind.”

He seems to think for a moment, then says, “Behind.”

You turn around and hold your arms behind your back. You hear his soft footsteps as he approaches, feel the warmth of his body as he stands right behind you. Then, there’s the touch of his hands as he gently secures the cuffs on your wrists. 

When you turn back around to face him, his cheeks are slightly pink as he looks at you. With your arms pulled back, your tits are jutting out more prominently, your dress struggling to stay up and over them. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, then slowly slides them down, pulling the straps of your dress down with them. Your breasts bounce free as the fabric slides down beneath them. Togame’s eyes widen slightly. He moves one hand up to cup your breast, then lightly squeezes. His thumb circles one nipple as his other hand gropes the other breast. 

You suck in a breath of air as he leans down and kisses your neck, his lips making a soft, wet trail down your collar bone and finally wrapping around a nipple, suckling lightly. 

He looks back to your face, seeing how flushed you’re getting, and ushers you over to the bed. He sits down on the edge of it and unbuttons his pants. 

“Can you get on your knees for me?” he asks, his tone still polite. 

You’re happy to oblige, dropping to your knees right in front of him, staring at his hands as they pull out a deliciously meaty cock. You lick your lips in anticipation, the handcuffs being the only thing stopping you from gripping his shaft immediately. You look up at him with your sweetest expression. 

“What do you want me to do, Jo?”

He blinks at the sudden use of his given name, perhaps a little flustered by how intimate you’re getting. But he recovers quickly, smiling down at you as he says, “Suck my cock, little Miss Santa.”

You don’t waste any time. You lean your face forward and begin licking the hard, thick organ, from base to tip. You make sure to get it nice and wet, coating it in spit before taking the entire thing into your mouth, letting it fill your throat. 

Togame shudders and grips your hair, his cock twitching in your mouth. Maybe he didn’t expect you to take him so far so quickly. 

For a moment, you pause, just letting him feel your throat constricting around him, your tongue massaging the underside of his dick. But eventually you have to breathe, so you pull back just to get some air, only to plunge him right back in. This time you wrap your lips around his base and bob your head, sucking and licking as you go. 

Togame groans, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you firmly in place. You couldn’t pull back enough to let his cock slip out of your mouth if you wanted to. But why would you ever want that? He’s positively tasty, and throbbing so nicely. Such delectable precum is leaking from his tip, sliding down your throat. 

When he reaches his limit, he pulls your head back, and you open your mouth wide, letting the tip of his pulsing cock rest on your extended tongue. As he cums, his entire hot sticky load lands on your tongue and in your mouth, filling it full. 

After savoring it for a moment, you swallow it all, then lick your lips clean. Togame stares for several seconds, his face a little red. You know what you want from him, but you won’t ask directly. Instead, you look up through your lashes and ask, “Did I do good?”

He takes the hint, patting your head and saying, “Yeah, you did really good. Such a good girl for me.”

The words leave you dripping. You squirm on your knees, rubbing your thighs together. Your hands are still behind your back, your dress still pulled down to nearly your waist. 

Togame stands up and goes to the desk to get something else to play with. When he returns, he helps you to your feet and then stands behind you. He reaches around and ties a deep red blindfold around your head, blocking out your vision. You draw in a sharp breath. This is getting exciting!

He guides you back to the bed, and you hear the mattress squeak as he sits down again. Then he turns you around to face away from him and pulls you into his lap. 

You listen carefully, trying to figure out what he’s going to do next. The mystery is making you nervous in the best way possible. You hear only faint sounds you can’t identify, then you feel something smooth and firm touch each of your nipples. Is this…?

A clicking sound, and then one that’s very familiar to you, one you’ve been hoping to hear. The soft hum of the small bullet vibrators! At the same moment, you feel them vibrating against your tender skin, making you automatically jerk on the cuffs. Togame must be holding them to your tits. 

You’re making little breathy sounds, not quite moans but close, leaning back against his hard chest, feeling the cozy fabric of his shirt on your bare back. He’s so warm. 

One vibrator leaves your breast, and you feel him sliding the bottom of your dress up your thighs and above your hips. Thankfully you came prepared and wore no panties tonight. 

He pulls one leg away from the other, and you move the other leg, eagerly spreading for him. Then you feel his fingers on you, stroking your pussy, slipping between the folds to smear your wetness around. 

“You’re soaked already,” he says into your ear. The feeling of his breath so close causes goosebumps to form on your neck. 

“I have been since I got here,” you say back, your voice shaky as his finger circles your clit but doesn’t touch it. 

“Really?” he asks. “Do you grant a lot of wishes like this?”

“This is my first one,” you answer. 

His voice is like a purr. “What kind of work do you usually do?”

His finger is so close to hitting the jackpot. You squirm a bit in his lap. “Ahh… I usually… wrap presents… and sort them��”

You hear him chuckle under his breath. “So why did you decide to do this?”

“Th-they showed me your picture… and you looked sad. I just wanted to give you a merry Christmas!”

There’s a pause, where he stops moving for a moment, then you hear his voice again: “I want to give you a merry Christmas too.”

Immediately after, you feel the vibrator pressed against your clit, pulsing wildly at maximum power. You cry out, your body jerking with the sudden explosive pleasure. 

You cum instantly, trembling in his arms, but he’s still holding the vibrator to your extremely sensitive clit. With your hands cuffed behind you and the blindfold on, it makes your sense of touch so much stronger, and you feel truly helpless in a way that thrills you. 

“Ahh! T-too much!” you whine, reflexively trying to scoot back. But the vibrator is relentless, and Togame’s grip on you is firm. 

“You’re so cute when you cum,” he says, his voice dripping honey. “Show me again.”

The words make your already overstimulated clit throb, and only a few minutes later, you’re cumming again. Your entire body is shaking as you moan, your hands pulling at the cuffs. 

“There you go, being so good,” he murmurs, finally pulling the vibrator away and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tight until your body stops trembling, then eases you off his lap. He unties the blindfold and lets it slip from your face, but he leaves the cuffs on. 

You look up at him. “What toy are we trying next?”

He walks over to the desk and looks over the items, then holds up a long anal bead stick. The beads are in alternating colors, red and green, and made of silicone. “This looks fun,” he says. 

You climb onto the bed, carefully since your hands are behind you, and look at him over your shoulder. “Come play with me,” you say, wiggling your ass. Your dress is just a piece of wadded fabric around your waist at this point, leaving most of your body exposed. 

Togame steps over and gets onto the bed behind you, pushing your top half forward until your face is pressing into the pillow, your ass in the air. He nudges your knees apart, and you feel him drip lube over your ass, rubbing it in and spreading it over both your holes. You hear him squeezing more out, probably onto the beaded stick, and then you feel the tip of the stick pressing against your little puckered hole. 

When the first bead slides in, you gasp. You’ve never tried this toy before, but you’ve always wanted to. The second bead slides in, then the third. There’s no pain, but the sensation is strange. Two more beads go in, and your breaths are coming faster, your heart racing.

Togame watches his adorable Santa girl twitch and quiver as he pushes more beads into her, causing her dripping pussy to clench and flutter. He’s waited as long as he can. He needs to be buried in this pretty little cunt right now. 

He positions himself at her entrance, rubbing the tip along her slit to let her know what’s coming. Her hands, cuffed behind her, are balled into fists. When ready, he pushes in, going all the way to the hilt and hearing her gasp. She’s so unbelievably tight, he almost gasps too. Maybe it’s because of the beads, but she’s clamping down on him so well he can hardly stand it. 

When he starts thrusting, she makes the sweetest sounds, little cries and moans that dance into his ears, occasionally whimpering his name. 

“Taking me so well,” he says, his hands gripping her hips to keep her in place as he plunges in and out. “Good, good girl.”

She feels so fucking good around him, so soft and warm and pliable. And she’s taking him so deep with no complaints. It’s like she was made for him. 

He reaches down and grips the handle of the bead stick, then begins pulling it out by a few beads before pushing it back in. Her pussy clenches, as if it’s trying to hold onto his dick forever. 

All at once, he pulls the whole stick out in one go. She cries out, her back arching and her mouth hanging open. He thinks she just came again, and it’s making her squeeze him impossibly hard. 

He can’t hold back any longer. This pussy is just too good. With a groan, he cums, shooting everything he has into the deepest parts of her. When he eventually pulls out, gobs of his cum leak out of her, making a lurid sight to see. 

They both pant for a few moments, then he uncuffs her hands and helps her turn over.  

She’s gazing up at him with her big, pretty eyes. “What do you want to play with next?”

She looks exhausted, spent, but she’s still willing to keep going. He’d specified “all night” after all. 

“Let’s take a quick break,” he says. 

They sit beside each other on the bed, and he asks the question that’s been burning in his brain for a while now. 

“After tonight is over, will I ever see you again?”

She looks up at him. “You can if you wish for it!” She seems happy he asked. 

He smiles. “Maybe next year I’ll wish for a wife.”

She flushes, looking away to hide her embarrassment. “That sounds lovely,” she says. 

He wraps one arm around her. “You’ve made this the best Christmas of my life.”

She snuggles closer. “And you’ve done the same for me.”

The two of them sit there a little while, just enjoying each other’s presence, before going back to enjoying each other’s presents.

Tag List:

@coldluminarykoala @atomicweaselpaperapricot @chocoyanchan @calculust-prime

[musedeluce]

Emergency Procedure: Medic + Hunter

Zayne x Reader -Protecting the medical personnel is priority number one in a combat zone, and you are very good at your job.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Injuries, Triage, Medical emergencies, Combat, Hospitalization

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The various sounds of human pain echoed throughout the area. It had one been a pristine, modern park and city center, but debris now littered the ground, rumble and shattered glass strewn around, bodies of the wounded and dead scattered. The response had been quick, the Unicorns squad deployed to neutralized the wanderer attack and medical teams embarking soon after, waiting to enter the area until given the all clear.

Every hunter squad had an assigned area, as did each team of medics. For medics, it generally was the same area the hospital they worked at served. For hunters, it was based on which station throughout the city you were assigned. Then, each hunter was further assigned a specific person or persons on the medical squad to protect. Because Akso Hospital and the Hunter’s Association Headquarters were in the same area of Linkon, Unicorns and Akso’s triage team were assigned together and partnered up. Partnered hunters were usually assigned medics who were also partnered up. Thus, hunter partners could still work together and medical personal wouldn’t work alone even if their Hunter couldn’t work. When the medical teams were cleared to enter, procedure dictated that any capable hunters accompanied their assigned medic to protect and help them, due to the unpredictable nature of metaflux and any lingering danger. Hunters who were able were also expected to cover for hunters who could not. To Zayne’s deep relief, and honestly, some happiness, you were his assigned protector in these situations. Your partner, Xavier, had been assigned to Dr. Greyson.

Quickly, Zanye moved from casualty to casualty, assessing their condition and, essentially deciding between life and death for some. Triage is, perhaps, the most difficult situation any medical professional might have to go through. You must assess the patient’s condition, determine if they can actually be saved, and move on if they cannot. If they can be saved, those with the worst injuries are treated and evacuated first. The goal, of course, is to save as many people as possible with the limited resources available.

“Zayne, there’s a person over there.” You gesture towards a pile of rubble that had once been a building. “There’s small meta – fluctuations, but that’s normal for the aftermath of a protofield event like this. It should be safe, but be careful.” Zayne patiently waited for your assessment, thinking to himself just how useful the energy detection part of your evol was. A small, keening cry sounded from the direction you indicated and the both of you started off, moving quickly and efficiently. The source of the cry was easy to identify. A teenage boy lay trapped under the rubble, buried halfway with blood pooling under his body. Scanning the debris, you relayed information to Zayne. “We could pull him out, in theory because he’s not impaled or stuck on anything according to the scan. But the rubble isn’t stable and his vitals are erratic...” Carefully, Zayne positions himself to pull the boy out, and while he did so, you positioned yourself in a way that if the rubble toppled, you could drag Zayne out of the way, as well as help him with the patient.

“On three.” Zayne put his hand on the ground, an ice crystal materializing under the slab pinning the boy in place, growing towards it to push it off him.. “One.” You both braced yourselves. “Two.” You both began to focus especially on your breathing. “Three!” Applying all your strength, you were able to lift the slab just enough for Zayne to pull the boy out from under the pile of rubble. Unfortunately, the slab falling back into place dislodged large pieces of rubble from the top of the pile, crashing down and dislodging other pieces of rubble. Adrenaline pumping, driven by pure instinct, you dragged Zayne and the boy out of the way. An intense, crushing pain bloomed through your leg as pieces of debris pinned you to the ground instead.

The cry of pain you let out sent panic searing through Zayne’s blood. Actual anguish gnawed at him, swirling with a pang of guilt. Logically, he knew this wasn’t anyone’s fault. Logically, he knew you had been doing your job, and he had been doing his. Oh, but he longed for you to be safe and sound. He finished treating the boy, and called for backup before making his way to you, the very definition of grace under pressure.

“Hello, Doctor.” you smile as he kneels by your side, playful in an effort to diffuse the tension. After a brief pause as he examines you, you ask the main question on your mind at the moment. “How’s the boy? Will he survive?” Luckily, you had managed to get clear of the main debris pile before your leg got pinned under one piece of rubble. Using his evol, ice protected your leg from further damage and held it in place as more ice shifted the debris. “Zayne?”

“He’s alive. I’ve given him the best treatment possible and have called for assistance to pick him, and you, up.”

“And you?”Zayne’s ability to deal with a crisis was something comforting, and you felt happy to be his partner, but he had been at risk too.

“My condition is acceptable for the circumstances. I’m physically fine and able to continue my work.” Zayne pauses, and looks you in the eye again, a subtle smile gracing his face. “Thanks to your quick thinking.” A bright, genuine smile lights up your face.

“I’ll always do my best to keep you safe, Zayne.”

“Your leg won’t be permanently injured, and your protocore syndrome isn’t showing any abnormal symptoms” He finishes bandaging your leg, having set it in an emergency splint. “Our backup should be here soon. I’m going to go check on my other patient, but I’ll return to you.” As he speaks, he slips a small piece of candy into your hand. Right then, your backup arrived and you were evacuated, along with the injured teenager, to Akso Hospital. It wasn’t until most of the chaos died down that you and Zayne crossed paths again.

A soft knock at your hospital room door alerts you to someone’s, you assume Zayne’s, arrival. “Come in.” Gratified to see you were correct, a small smile spreads across your face as Zayne walks in. Despite being on his feet, doing triage and emergency surgeries, he looks almost the same as always. But exhaustion dogs his every step, his eyes narrow as tiredness bears down upon him. “Sit down.” Zayne doesn’t argue, instead sitting in the armchair by your hospital bed, almost melting into it, leaning back and covering his face with the crook of one elbow and resting his other arm on the armrest. You reach out and take his hand, and neither of you move for a while.

“How do you feel?” Zayne is the first to speak.

“Tired, but my injury feels better than before. As for my heart, I’ve been taking my meds diligently and haven’t felt anything since you checked at the site.” Dutifully you report to him, knowing that this information is what would reassure him the most.

“What I wouldn’t give for you to be healthy and safe...” Zayne murmurs, almost to himself. His hand tightens around yours. “Life is better with you here… Please… do your best to stay.”

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A/N: Hopefully I'll improve as I continue to write for these characters. Originally this was going to be all 4 of them together but the length would have been a lot I think, for a single post lol. Still also getting a handle on tagging and stuff, so please let me know if there's anything I can improve.

[jesswritesthat]

Oikawa Tōru: Doubt

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.9k, fluff

• You never minded Oikawas fans, but one in particular gets a little too confident.

Warnings: None

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Dating one of the most beautiful people to have ever graced the halls of Aoba-Johsai was no easy task, and by the gods, sometimes you’d jokingly highlight that you wished it was Iwaizumi Hajime. However, your heart was defective and had fallen for his best friend instead - who forever agrees with wishing for Iwaizumi himself. The namesake irritably stating you were idiotically perfect for each other.

You’d been together for some time and not once had Oikawa Tōru done anything for you to doubt his love or loyalty. It was in the soft smiles he’d give you, or the looks that spoke a conversation, it was in the playful jokes, and the thoughtless touches when he was excited. Volleyball was a massive part of his life you understood, and it took up a lot of his time, but never were you forgotten.

An open invite was always presented for his practices, for his out of school training, and for his games - and always were you given the choice to go. Though he would over-dramatically whine if you declined, he wouldn’t hold it against you and instead insist you have fun without him (assuring you it’d be more fun if he was there obviously).

Tōru greeted you before and after every game you attended with Seijoh, and he made sure to find his way to your classroom to see you every school day. His team knew who you were and would treat you as one of their own, they’d playfully mock his mistakes if ever they arose and support you if he was absent. There was never a reason to doubt him and he made sure of that, and even if your relationship was common knowledge, there were some who doubted.

Today was one of those days. This girl was undeniably attractive, and you’d hold no ill will under regular circumstances considering you’d seen her in the cluster of Seijoh fans frequently enough. You’d grown accustomed to others flirting with Oikawa and even confessing to him on occasion, it came as a side affect to his natural charm and handsome looks, he was also receptive toward his fans which made him all the more approachable.

Like most she’d touched his bicep, laughed a little too hard at his jokes, and approached him when presented the opportunity. Until today, where such fan behaviour involved you rather than your boyfriend.

“Have you seen Oikawa-san yet Saki? He should be out by now!” One of her friends commented, the trio looking around the reception for him.

Admittedly it wasn’t your place butting in to their conversation, and maybe that was why this Saki girl had spoken so ‘confidently’, but you only intended to provide an answer for their qualms.

“He said he’d be out in a second so shouldn’t be much longer.” Came your polite tone, placing your phone back into your pocket after relaying your recent message.

The trio of fans looked to you, one tilting their head with a welcoming smile.

“Ah (L/n), you’re his partner right? Thanks!”

When you nodded in response, both to her question and as a silent ‘you’re welcome’, this Saki girl suddenly spun to meet your gaze with hands on her hips.

"Oh are you gonna tell me to stay away from your man?"

It caught you completely off guard, one of her friends smirked whilst the other (who’d greeted you previously) seemed surprised much like yourself. Unfortunely for Saki, you weren’t about to start doubting him now.

"Well if I had to do that, then he wouldn't be my man."

"I guess you've got nothing to worry abou—" Saki narrowed her eyes to a cruel glare that’d actually concern you if you cared enough, but you didn’t get another second to consider when a flash of aqua crossed your vision and you were tackled by such a force it left you stumbling for balance (still embraced in his arms).

"BABY DID YOU SEE ME?!" Tōru excitedly yelled upon entry, immediately racing into your standing figure. Naturally he had no intention of slowing down expecting you to catch him, and with a brief imbalance you always did, reciprocating his adoring smile.

“Yeah, you were amazing Tōru. Those service aces in the first match? Flawless!”

“Well of course~ I couldn’t disappoint (Y/n)-chan.” A kiss to your lips. “You okay if I greet the fans?”

“Mhm, go ahead. I’ll meet you outside.” You gently clasped his chin with your fingers, simply admiring him. “My man is inspiring.”

When walking away your fingers slipped from his skin with a flourish, your words ensuring his eyes remained on you until you were out of sight.

“And so is my lovely (Y/n)-chan.” Then he turned to his fans with a peace sign, a dangerous glance briefly landing on Saki, before returning to normal. “Thank you all for coming today, and for your support!”

“Oikawa can we have a picture?!”

“Please can you sign my journal?”

—

Dating Oikawa Tōru was difficult, but it was worth your while by a long shot. No matter how many fans or distractions he had, he always made his way back to you - for that, you were forever grateful.

“Hey (Y/n)-chan, thanks for waiting. You wanna get dinner with Iwa-chan and I to celebrate?” A familiar hand placed on the small of your back and his real breathtaking smile worn only because of you.

“Sure, thanks Tōru.”

<——————————<<<<

[pneumaticshift]

so first of all i REALLY love your batlantern fics. i love both bruce and hal's voices so much and think that their interactions are INCREDIBLY funny

second of all i have a request for you! hal gets injured protecting dickbin. (maybe dick snuck into an invasion when he was told to stay behind. maybe he and bruce got separated.) however it happens hal saves his life but gets very injured in the process. dickbin feels guilty about this and hasn't left his bedside since. meanwhile hal going to such lengths for his ward has awoken Feelings ™ in bruce

Heyyy, sorry this took so long. I've been unhealthly playing DC Dark Legion and it's ruining my creativity. I am aware of the problem and have done nothing to fix it. This was surprisingly hard to write. I had so much I wanted to add, but I didn't want to make too long for a Tumblr oneshot. Thank you for the prompt 💚💚 Hope you like it! ———

Dick disobeyed, so now Bruce ran. 

The Watchtower had never felt all that big to him. He designed it specifically to be easily traversable. Function over grandeur, strategy over spectacle. There had been a few choice comments from the others in the Spartan decor, but every hallway had its purpose and every chamber was an answer to a problem that needed to be solved. 

The path from the transport hub to the infirmary was especially built to be the shortest path on the station. It was direct and unbroken, just a simple corridor without indulgence or opportunity for confusion. Bruce had walked it enough times to know exactly how many steps it took to get there. Eighty-three at full stride, seventy-four if he was running. Right now, he was running.

By now, in the aftermath of days on the field, he should have been back at the manor. He should have been in the cave, reviewing all the footage and data extrapolated from the mission so he could cross-reference data, log the variables, and review the structural damage to the cities they’d saved. Every detail, no matter how insignificant, meant that more lives could be saved next time. Because there had been — casualties, that is. Names he didn’t know. Faces he hadn’t seen. Deaths that didn’t belong to him.

And after all that, he should have been dealing with Dick the day he always did. Quiet conversations that never really said what he meant, despite how hard he tried. He would’ve justified himself in a way that left no room for argument, like a guardian was supposed to do when they were protecting their ward. It wasn’t your fight, I needed you in Gotham, it was too dangerous. 

Leaving him behind had been the right thing to do. The mission had outstripped caution in the first ten minutes. An Omega-level threat, with casualties stacking up before the League had even breached the city. Dick may have been forced to grow up far too soon, but he was still just a child. Reckless, brilliant, irreplaceable. Bruce wasn’t about to risk the best thing in his life. 

But now there was blood on the Zeta-pad.

Just a smear. Half-wiped, like someone had tried to clean it up with the toe of their shoe before giving up. It trailed into the corridor, then into nothing. Usually, Bruce wasn’t one to make assumptions. He was far too clever a man to let postulation guide him in any matter, but logic always had its limits, and fear didn’t care about them. Not when his ward — when his son was on the line. 

He hadn’t known that Dick was on the field. He had, perhaps naïvely, thought that Dick would have actually adhered to Bruce’s warnings this time. It was so, so dangerous, and no amount of late nights fighting street-level crime in Gotham could change the fact that he wasn’t ready. 

Word had come over the comms. J’onn and Kal were relaying relevant data from air support while Bruce had been leading the debrief with Diana for the ground team. He had been half-listening, consolidating data absently as background noise. 

It was J’onn who said it. “We intercepted an unidentified minor trying to help. Young, caped. His mind is unusually strong…” he said. “Injuries unknown. I was compelled to transfer him to the infirmary. He was quite distressed—”

That was lal Bruce needed to hear. He cut himself off mid-sentence and immediately turned to literally run to the nearest Zeta-Tube. Diana had called out to him in confusion, but he barely heard her. Though, her confusion probably made sense. He’d been with the League for two years now, and the only thing anyone actually knew about him was his dedication to the cause. To see him leave the aftermath to sort out itself probably would raise questions he’d definitely avoid later. 

Dick was almost thirteen now. He’d been by Bruce’s side for almost four years, had been Robin for three, and even though he was the cleverest, most wonderful tween Bruce had ever known, he was still an entirely unknown entity to the League. Bruce had no intention of changing that. 

Which brought him to the here and now, coming up to the infirmary with his heart in his throat and his pulse rocketing a little too quickly for his tastes. 

The doors hissed open and he didn’t wait. He pushed through before they’d finished parting completely, shoulder-checking the frame on his way in. He barely registered it, fully expecting to see his little boy all laid up. And, incidentally, fully preparing to never forgive himself for letting it happen.

But it didn’t happen. 

Dick was there, certainly, but he wasn’t the invalid Bruce had been half-ready for. Instead, he was slumped forward in a plastiform chair with his elbows resting on his knees and his little head bowed like the weight of the world was keeping him down. He was still in his suit, even though Bruce had locked it up when he left him behind in Gotham. It was torn at the shoulder and streaked with soot.

“Robin,” Bruce called. His voice was lower and far more curt than he intended. He was never good at expressing himself, so the relief fell somewhere behind the tight press of his lips and the furrow of his brow. 

It was hard to catch Dick off guard, but he startled at the noise. His shoulders jumped and he snapped his head up fast enough to make the chair creak. He turned abruptly towards Bruce, half-standing at attention without pulling himself out of his chair, and he looked at him with eyes wide beneath his askew mask. 

His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out at first. He looked…wrong. Upset, like those first few months in the manor, or the time around the anniversary of the Flying Graysons’ final performance. His cheeks were flushed and blotchy and his nose was half-running like he’d been crying. 

“B,” he said in a broken voice. 

Instead of rushing towards his child with his arms outstretched like he was supposed to, Bruce stood frozen at the door to automatically take in the scene. Relief had flooded him enough to reboot him back to his factory settings, and he was suddenly thinking about how hasty he’d been to get here. 

But even though he should head on back and finish the debrief like he was supposed to, he stayed exactly where he was in a weird purgatory of emotion. 

Dick was curled in on himself like he didn’t know how to proceed. Ash was still smudged across his jaw and there was a thin line of blood beneath his ear. His mouth was trembling slightly, like he was still trying to be brave. He was good at that. Being brave. Better than Bruce had ever been.

That was when Bruce noticed Hal. He probably should’ve noticed him far sooner, given his condition. 

The Lantern lay unconscious on the medical berth. His chest was bandaged up and his face pale under the sicky cast of the overhead lights, but his ring was pulsing faintly. Whatever the medical staff had done to keep him stabilised had nothing on the energy channeling into the weave of healing fields wrapped around him. 

Bruce let himself be concerned for half a second. The monitors were stable and Hal was alive. Not in the best condition Bruce had ever seen him in, but not the worst either. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. 

Dick was as close to the bedside as the chair allowed, which was strange. He’d never been formally introduced to the League. In fact, the only person who actually knew about his existence was Kal, and that was just because the man had pushed his nose into Gotham’s business and Dick was a fan. (A few threats and promises later, and Kal had assured Bruce that he wouldn’t tell anyone — he had, however, tried to convince Bruce to at least tell Diana. Bruce was considering it.)

For as much as he was slowly beginning to trust the League, Hal was the person Bruce had the least rapport with. It was a matter of simple incompatibility and Bruce wasn’t exactly inclined to do anything to remedy it. Some people just didn’t get along, and he couldn’t foresee himself ever doing so with Hal Jordan. 

It didn’t mean he wanted to see the Lantern hurt, but it was undeniably weird that Dick, after all the rants he’d heard when Bruce was particularly pissed off with Hal’s general existence, would set up camp by his bedside. His knees were bumping the frame and one hand hung loosely over the edge, like it had started to reach for Hal at some point and just stopped midway.

Yes, it was weird, but Bruce was always good at connecting the dots. He could see it now in the way Dick wouldn’t look at Hal directly. He just kept glancing over at him, furtive and quiet and just a hint of shame. He could see it in the way his lips pressed together to keep them from trembling and the way his feet hadn’t moved but his leg was bouncing nervously. 

Whatever had happened that made Dick like this, it probably meant that Bruce had to thank Hal. 

Now that he knew Dick was safe, Bruce’s instinctive reaction was to order a report. It would be easier to depersonalise the situation if he framed it like another mission, and Bruce was usually very, very good at separating his complicated personal feelings from the here and now. But, every now and again, very rarely so, Bruce actually knew when not to put The Mission first. 

He let out a slow, grounding breath, and came up beside Dick. “Talk to me,” he said as softly as he could. Which wasn’t very soft at all, but Dick had been with him long enough now to be able to tell the difference. 

“I didn’t—” Dick swallowed hard and curled his fingers into the edge of Hal’s bed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Are you hurt?”

Dick shook his head. “No. I mean— I’m scuffed, I guess. Elbow. Nothing bad.” His voice was tight. His gaze flicked sideways toward Bruce, then back to Hal, then down at his own boots like he was ashamed of all three. “I shouldn’t have come,” he added, even softer now. “You told me not to, and he— Green Lantern, he—”

“We’ll talk about that,” Bruce said. “Later.” Not a dismissal, not forgiveness. Just…later. He looked back at Hal. “Tell me what happened, chum.”

He never wanted Dick to be nervous around him, but something visibly unfurled around the boy when the term of endearment slipped out. Dick sniffed and went to wipe his eyes. He was still wearing his domino and the mask displaced even more when he tried to rub away the moisture beginning to brim. Bruce couldn’t see the tears, not behind the mask. He knew they were there, though. 

“I thought I could help,” Dick muttered. “I tracked the signal. I saw you were on the ground team, and when the alerts came in, the ones from the orbital relay—” He broke off, shaking his head like the words were too heavy to push out. “I knew it was big. But I thought if I just— if I was careful, then I’d—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His hand stayed near Hal’s arm, fingers hovering just above the blanket like he didn’t know if he was allowed to hold on.

“I didn’t know he was gonna—” Another pause. Another broken thread of sound. “I didn’t think it’d go that wrong.”

This was a learning experience for him, Bruce thought. He hated that it was one of the first things that came to mind, especially when his kid was looking so vulnerable and when one of his coworkers was unconscious. 

“He saved you,” he said rather than asked. 

Dick nodded and Bruce looked at him a little longer before turning to look at Hal. Really looked at him, for perhaps the first time since they met. He made himself stop calculating vitals and injury ratio, and he stopped parsing the rhythm of the machines for signs of decline of recovery. He hadn’t even realised he had been doing all of that until he forced himself to stop.

Even though he never thought much of Hal, he also knew — had always known — that he would’ve done anything to save a kid. And clearly he had. No ring could fake that level of duty. No construct could fabricate what Bruce saw now in the aftermath: a Lantern lying half-broken, unconscious and quiet for once, because he had chosen to step in when Bruce couldn’t. And the fact that it was his kid, his Dickie…

Oh, that was a problem. Bruce felt something brand new twist hard in his chest. Something with sharp edges and raw heat, something that crawled under his ribs and tried to claw its way out through bone. Gratitude didn’t come easy to him. Guilt did. Both were now crashing into him in silent tandem, buried deep where no one could see. 

There was something a little more too, just the sparks of something even harder to name. Not affection, not exactly, but something annoyingly near it. It felt complicated and raw, tangled up in this image of Hal, broken and still, and Dick sitting beside him like he was the most important person here. 

Bruce acknowledged it, then ignored it. He set it down in the place in his mind where he buried everything else that threatened to make him feel too much, too fast. Later, when Hal woke up, he would thank him properly. Dick would want to, too. Probably as Dick, and not as Robin. That was something to think about later, though. 

“What did the medical staff say?” he asked.

Dick sniffed once and rubbed the heel of his palm against his nose like he used to when he first came to the manor. “They said he stabilised fast,” he replied. “The ring did most of the work before we even got here. They— uh…I had to give them your access code so they’d let me stay. They tried to kick me out ‘cause I don’t have clearance. Um. Sorry…”

Another thing to worry about later, but not Bruce’s immediate concern. He gave Dick his access codes for a reason. Something like this was always going to happen. “They think he’ll wake up soon?”

“Yeah…’cause the ring, and all.” Dick shifted in the chair, arms pulled in tight to his chest, like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Can I stay, B? Just for a little while?”

It was against protocol, Bruce thought, but…well…

“Move over,” Bruce said. Dick blinked for a moment, then scrambled out of the chair like he was responding to an order on the field. He hovered for a second, uncertain, until Bruce sat down in his place. The kid didn’t need another invitation. 

He climbed into Bruce's lap like he had a hundred times before — back when he was smaller, younger, and it was less embarrassing for a kid to seek comfort. Back when his limbs didn’t dangle awkwardly over the sides, when he could curl up tight and disappear into the fold of the cape like it was a hidey-hole.

Lately, he'd been pulling away from those kinds of childish interactions as best he could. He was coming up on his teen years. Trying to be taller than he was. Braver. Older. He didn’t lean on Bruce the way he used to. Not in public, at least. Not even at home unless he was half-asleep or had forgotten he wasn’t supposed to need it anymore.

Now, he pulled the cape around himself, tucked his head beneath Bruce’s chin, and sighed out one long, shaky breath. 

Bruce didn’t know how long they sat there, but it was long enough for the ring to finish its preliminaries. He had sent a message to Alfred at some point, brief but clear: We’re safe. I’ll explain soon. He knew the old man would read between the lines, hear everything that wasn’t written.

He had also dropped a locked ping on the League comms, redirecting anyone trying to enter the infirmary. No visitors. Not right now. Which was probably a dick move.

Oliver and Barry would’ve come by. Maybe even some of the other Lanterns, if they managed to get wind of what happened. Hal had friends. People who gave a damn. People better than Bruce who would want to see him and make sure he was still breathing.

But Bruce didn’t want anyone else in this room, not while Dick was still sleeping and not while Bruce was still figuring out what he was supposed to do when Hal woke up. 

And he did eventually wake up. The combination of the ring’s healing propities, coupled with the medical staff’s expertise meant that injuries of this nature didn’t keep a man down for long. Bruce was also half-certain that the ring was starting to affect Hal’s actual nervous system, so he always healed a little quicker than most. 

The infirmary lights had dimmed into their night cycle at some point, so Bruce didn’t catch the exact moment Hal woke up. One second, the room was still. The next, he caught movement — barely a twitch from the bed, then a sharp intake of breath.

“Goddamn,” Hal muttered from the bed. “Either I died and you're here to collect, or this is some kind of fever dream.”

“Lantern,” Bruce greeted. “Stay down.”

“Screw that, I’m fine.” 

Hal immediately tried to sit up, because he was one of the most stubborn bastards Bruce had ever met. The attempt lasted all of two seconds before he winced hard and flopped back down like the bed had sucker punched him .Bruce didn’t move to stop him.

Partly because he knew Hal was too stubborn to listen anyway, but mostly because Dick was still bundled under the cape, tucked close to Bruce’s chest, dead asleep. The kid didn’t even stir at the commotion. He just mumbled something unintelligible and curled in tighter, frowning slightly in his sleep.

Hal caught the movement and froze.

“Batman…what are you doing under your cape right now?”

Bruce gave him the flattest look. Without a word, he lifted the edge of the cape.

“Oh my god,” Hal breathed. Dick was out cold, his cheek pressed against Bruce’s chest, one hand still clinging loosely to the edge of the cape like he thought someone might try to take it from him. “Nobody’s ever gonna believe me.”

Huffing out something that may have resembled a laugh if Hal looked too deep into it, Bruce let the cape drop and readjusted his grip around his son. 

“Robin,” Bruce said simply. 

“...I’m gonna assume that’s his name and not just you being all cryptic and weird.” Hal flopped his head back on the pillow and glared at Bruce. “That your kid?”

“Hm.”

“The hell was he doing in the field, Batman?” 

Bruce didn’t respond to that. He didn’t owe Hal anything. Or, maybe he did. After what happened, after what Hal had done without even knowing who he was protecting, maybe Bruce did owe him a few answers. Maybe more than a few. But Bruce was still Bruce, and words, real ones, always failed him when they didn’t involve strategy, contingencies, or command.

Hal let out a soft breath that turned into a wince. “My bad. Should’ve known you were too much of a douche to actually willingly give out information,” he said. It was an out Bruce was going to take. “He alright?”

“He will be.”

And Hal, flat on his back with half his ribs taped together and a ring flickering dimly at his side, managed a crooked smile. “Good,” he said. “’Cause I don’t think I’ve got another one of those in me.”

“He—” Bruce paused and Hal glanced at him again. “He wanted to wait for you to wake up.”

Hal blinked. Then he looked down, toward the edge of the cape still drawn over Bruce’s front, where the faint rise and fall of breath gave away the shape of a small form nestled beneath. He couldn’t see Dick from his angle, just the dark ripple of fabric and the way Bruce’s arm curled almost imperceptibly around something fragile.

So instead, Hal watched Bruce. And that, Bruce realized, was strange. People didn’t watch him like that. Not when he was still. Not when he wasn’t speaking. They watched for his movements, for orders, for the turn of his head that meant something was about to happen, But Hal looked at him now like he was trying to figure him out.

Bruce didn’t shift under it. Didn’t avert his gaze or curl the cape tighter around him like he wanted to. He simply let the moment stretch between them, unspoken and unguarded, which was even stranger. It was almost disarming.

Then, Hal snorted. “Of course he did. I’m the Green Lantern,” he said. “Kid’s got taste.”

The expected thing to do now would be to engage in conversation. He was supposed to thank Hal, promise to treat him better in the future, and acknowledge that his opinion on him had recently gone up more than Bruce was strictly comfortable with. 

It would’ve been easy to stay. Just another hour. Just until Hal drifted off again. But Dick needed real rest in a real bed. He wouldn’t get that in the Watchtower, no matter how long he clung to Bruce’s side.

So Bruce figured he’d overstayed his welcome. Slowly, he gathered the boy closer and stood, the cape keeping Dick cocooned in shadow and warmth. Dick barely stirred, just buried his face instinctively against Bruce’s chest with a small sound of protest before settling again.

He could feel Hal watching him. “Bring him by again sometime,” he said, voice softer now. “Maybe when I’m not half-dead.”

Bruce paused at the door, glanced back. No real promises and no answer. Just a quiet nod. And then he was gone, with a whole new problem brewing in his chest.