#mak talks back

[princema-k]

i would actually love to hear your thoughts on when layton would emote the ways you've drawn him! if you want! no pressure if not!

OH B OY HERE WE GO!!!!! again take everything with a grain of salt bc i Forgor bits of the series

BLANKET SPOILER FOR UNWOUND FUTURE/MIRACLE MASK MAYBE??/AZRAN LEGACY

(for reference we are talking abt this post)

SURPRISE: As we know in the PL series, it's very very hard to catch the professor off-guard in any way. Most of the things you would think would surprise him, he's already known for a long time and was just keeping quiet about it so that he could use that information at the right time.

With that being said, the times where he does seem to get somewhat surprised (or taken aback. he's so goddamn emotionally constipated) seem to be when the shocker in question has personal relation to him. Though in the series proper, none of the shocking personal factoids are ever presented in a way to make him jump. So theoretically, if any twists like Claire or Descole's reveal were presented much more aggressively, he might emote like how I've drawn him (though I kinda doubt it). Or just jumpscare him lmao

SADNESS: Obviously we know that Layton can feel sadness and cry, though even at the end of Unwound Future it's clear that he's still holding back with his crying. I'd wager that it's because he's out in public and around an impressionable individual (Luke) that he's not letting himself fully express his grief. After all, a true gentleman never makes a scene in public.

I'd say, if he were to cry like the way I've drawn him (that is, bawling his eyes out), it'd probably be at the end of UF when Luke leaves for America, and he'd have to be alone. And I mean completely alone. He'd be very careful about having anyone even remotely near him before he breaks down sobbing; he'd wait for Luke to go home, and wait a while to make sure that he hears no other footsteps around who could potentially walk in on him, before crying. And even then, he'd still repress it - trying to choke back sobs to make sure he isn't heard, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes and covering his eyes with his hand, the works. Because sadness/crying is weakness to him, and a true gentleman can never show weakness.

ANGER: Frankly, I feel like this is one of the emotions I've drawn that I actually could see him showing in the series proper. We've seen him in Unwound Future just barely holding back his anger at Clive when he endangered Flora/started wrecking havoc on London (obviously still restrained- yadda yadda yadda "true gentleman" blah blah blah).

To get him to unrestrain it, I'd say you would have to put a lot of people he cares about (particularly his wards - Luke and Flora would likely be excellent choices) in direct danger, as well as taunt him to a personal degree enough times. Because even the Professor has limits to how much mental strain he can take, and all limits can be broken. It's just a matter of pushing the right (or wrong!) buttons on him.

FEAR: This one's tough I think. As an adult who's seen a lot (including his own death), it's pretty hard to find something that would really scare him to that degree. Throughout the series the most he seems to show in terms of fear is either: a) surprise that he quickly recovers from, or b) the end of Unwound Future when he realizes that Claire can't stay with him.

I say that theoretically (and REALLY emphasize on the "theoretically"), you might be able to get him to emote the way I've drawn him... if you subject him to anything akin to his recently unrepressed memories of his childhood, and he's rendered helpless to do anything to help but watch. But like I said, only theoretically. I'd wager that he'd probably just be angry too.

LAUGHTER: ...I honestly have no good clue to how or when he'd emote like this. For him to laugh so heartily, he'd have to be in a state of extreme emotional vulnerability, which isn't often.

I'd say it'd be at a time where he's feeling very relieved, or elated (and they'd both have to be situations that connect to him personally too; outside events won't phase him). How he'd laugh to such an extent I'm not actually sure, BUT I could paint a bit of a scenario: It's the end of UF, but Claire could actually stay without dying, and she makes a sort of lighthearted joke in light of the events. Would he laugh wholeheartedly? I dunno. But judging on what we've seen of him, it's a maybe.

It's a shame we never get to see him emote so colourfully in the hexalogy proper, but as I've stated before in another long-winded half-legible ramble character analysis, he's SEVERELY repressing his emotions due to Claire's last words/"gentleman" values/positive reinforcements from his peers and environments for successfully hiding his emotions. Poor guy.

[bleue-flora]

i dont think tommy said the nuke wasnt canon, he seemed to be talking about how he canonically didnt lose a life to the nuke because in the 2022 ending, no nuke killed anyone

I guess?... I don't know. It doesn't really make sense since basically Jack is pretty insistent that he did blow everything up, and yet all the buildings remain, so... and the reasoning he gives for not dying in the nuke is that he can't die, which is part of his lore. Tommy doesn't really answer how he and Tubbo are alive, except to say that the nuke wasn't canon (presumably as in canon death is what he means) and he was left with 1 life when everyone left. In response to Jack's comment about not being able to actually die, Tommy responds "Not that either of us would know anything about that" but since he fought a monster in between his Tubbo comment and Jack's, he may have meant that as a response to his above statement about logistics... so if Jack blew everything up, but everything is still standing, then the most reasonable explanation is that the Incident did happen and eventually he gained his memories back and visits Techno's house from time to time... (which people said including anons in my inbox)

So people are wrong, it is not a retcon but an extension, the end of season 2, whatever that was... even so what's funny is that innitors are more happy with this ending versus a restart even when it's down right depressing. Tommy is alone. He hasn't seen anyone besides Tubbo in a long time and lives very far away from the main dsmp area. But take it from me, the quiet is nice, living alone is nice, but being utterly alone is miserable. To live alone with no outside interaction besides one person is really sad to me, and the fact that the area is still so triggering for him is also a testament that he hasn't healed, and living alone won't heal him. Especially not when part of his trauma revolves around him feeling alone in Exile. So really, it's a very depressing ending. Tommy just wanted to have fun with his friends and in the end, he has no one but Tubbo and his sheep and a cabin in the arctic he stares at for hours. He didn't mend his relationships with people, even still bringing up Jack exploding his hotel after it's been years since then. He did literally move but he didn't heal, he didn't grow, he wasn't able to form better relationships or claim what he yearned for. And that to me is a sadder ending.

As as aside, I've talked about before how all the ghosts have sheep, so an interesting theory would be that he is actually a ghost haunting the land... have another au free of charge I guess lol... do we think the sheep is colored? maybe it's red...

[damagecompilation]

..

[buckyswintersoldiermask]

Been working on Daddy’s back 👀

[mostly-imagines]

Damian was unwilling to even consider accepting your presence. He’d been sure that you were a passing source of entertainment for his older brother, who couldn’t possibly hold positive regard towards anyone other than himself.

Jason had brought you to the manor with him while he dropped in to discuss some things with the old man. You’d told him you’d be fine to hang out with Damian until he was done, to which he scoffed and wished you luck.

So you approach the couch tentatively and smile despite the lack of attention on you, “Hi Damian.”

He merely side eyes you and says nothing.

Having expected this from him, you continue, “What are you watching?”

“The Discovery channel.” He says shortly.

You frown, furrowing your eyebrows.

He glances at you, unamused. “What?”

“Why are you watching the Discovery channel?” you ask him.

“It’s educational.” He tells you, like it’s obvious.

You nod slowly, “Yes, but…what else do you watch?”

“The Discovery channel has many different series’,” he tells you with discernable disinterest.

You tilt your head at him, “Don’t you watch shows for kids?”

He glowers hearing that, “Why would I do that?”

“…Because you’re a kid.”

He shakes his head, basically waving you off. “I wouldn’t waste my time.”

You’re not really sure why Damian is the way he is just yet. You know he only came to live with Bruce relatively recently and before that lived with his mother somewhere far. Jason’s mentioned in passing that his upbringing was a bit unorthodox and his mother is a sore subject. You don’t know Bruce well but you can take a guess that his parenting priorities don’t necessarily lie with letting kids be kids.

You shake your head, “It’s not a waste of time. Not if you enjoy it.” You pause. “It’s okay for you to be a kid, Damian.”

He looks at you like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

You sit up more, turning to face him completely. “I can’t imagine pushing yourself so hard all the time is good for your brain. Or your body.”

That gets his attention. “…What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath, “I mean a part of normal human development involves fostering happiness through recreation and leisure. Entertainment like that functions as a stress reliever which is necessary for you to operate at your highest capacity. It’s like recharging your body and it’s important to do, especially when you’re young and can burn out quickly.”

He frowns deeply, furrowing his eyebrows, “Oh.”

You nod, thinking. “I can’t imagine your diet is any different than your dads, then.”

His posture straightens, “I eat to make me stronger. That is good for my body.” He says it like it has to be.

Your brow furrows at that as you nod, “Yeah, it is, but do you like it?”

He grimaces, “What does that matter?”

You pull back a bit, blinking at him. “Do you eat snacks, Damian?”

“Snacks are for—” he cuts himself off. “No I do not.”

“What if we watched a movie and made popcorn or something?”

He considers this with an obvious great hesitance, looking you up and down like he’s expecting you to pull out a knife any second.

“You could be wrong,” he says eventually, quiet.

You nod for a moment. “But what if I’m not?”

He eyes the rug on the floor, chin still held up. “What…do you suggest?”

You pucker your lower lip and shake your head, grabbing the remote. “Anything you want,” You flip the screen to the children’s movies, scrolling through the options. “You might like The Rescuers. Or Robin Hood. It’s about someone who steals from the rich and gives the money to the poor.”

You hand him the remote and he slowly moves through the list. You watch him look over the selection, eyes slightly wider than usual.

“What about “Bambi”? It has small animals in the picture.” He points to the little icon on the left of the screen displaying the baby deer and friends.

Your movements stutter. “Oh, uh…I don’t think that’s the movie for you.”

He tilts his head at you, “Why not?”

You take a deep breath and turn your head over your shoulder towards the kitchen. “I’m going to make popcorn, yeah?”

“Okay.”

You smile and nod encouragingly and stand before making your way to the kitchen.

Damian watches you go before thoughtlessly standing himself and trailing slowly after you. By the time he gets to the kitchen door frame you’ve already opened up a packet and are placing it into the microwave. You don’t stop at that, opening up the fridge to pour out a small glass of coke.

The popcorn is nearly done when Jason approaches from the hall, stopping next to Damian and peering into the doorway to see what’s so interesting.

He’s surprised to find that the thing Damian had been staring wide-eyed at was you, making snacks.

He looks again at his little brother, heeding how his gaze was somehow closer to fear than skepticism. But he’d seen that look before, when he’d first come to live at the manor it was the only expression he conveyed for at least two months. That look of shock that he was being treated so kindly, with such thought behind it. Jason hadn’t seen that look in a while, but couldn’t find it in him to be surprised that it was you who brought it back out.

For someone as trained as he is, it takes Damian an embarrassingly long time to register his brother's presence. He tries to play it off as though he’d always known, adjusting his posture to stand taller, chin up. He turns to face Jason, suddenly somber. “She is an adequate choice of a partner.”

Jason’s face contorts, looking him up and down, “…Thanks?”

[roosterforme]

Sneak Peek | Hangman x Reader

Summary: You spent so much time around the boys, they counted you as one of them. You were firmly stuck in the friend zone with Jake, so it was time to move on with a guy who could see past your flight suits. It's not immediately obvious to either of you that cranky Jake is actually jealous Jake.

Warnings: Fluff, language, mentioned smut, 18+

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Happy birthday @beyondthesefourwalls!

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"It's my turn to buy a round," you said, standing up from the table and grabbing the empty beer bottles before turning toward Jimmy and Penny at the bar.

"Thanks, Rodeo," Jake murmured, and you turned back briefly and smiled softly at him. His gaze slid down your body the same way it would with any other woman, the only difference was that he had started to notice just how many other guys were regularly checking you out, too. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that fact.

When you squeezed yourself between two stools at the bar to order four more beers, Bradley asked, "Who are you staring at, Hangman? Rodeo?"

Mickey laughed as Jake quickly shook his head and turned his attention back to his friends. "I just wanted to make sure she can manage carrying everything."

"I'm sure she's fine," Bradley replied with a laugh of his own. "I got a little nervous for a second there."

"Why?" Jake asked, his eyes slowly drifting back to you, watching as you slipped your credit card into the back pocket of your jeans. 

"Because first of all," Bradley said as he smashed open a peanut on the table, "Rodeo is practically one of the guys. And second," he added, popping the peanut into his mouth and chewing, "it would be weird if you start looking at her like you do all the other random pieces of ass you take home with you. Even though she is cute."

"She's cute, for sure," Mickey piped in. "But once you've seen a girl throw up in the parking lot after a drunken karaoke night, the appeal kind of wears off."

Jake smiled as you headed back toward the table, because the drunken karaoke night was when he got to drive you home and carry you to your bed while you repeatedly tried to tell��him you could walk by yourself. 

"Oh, you know who else is cute?" Bradley asked just as you set four new beers on the table. "That redhead with the huge tits at the dartboard."

"Damn," Mickey groaned, and now you were looking in that direction, too. But Jake kept his eyes on you. 

"Do we have to talk about this in front of Rodeo?" he asked, sipping his fresh beer and starting to wish Bradley and Mickey would wander off. "In front of a lady?"

Bradley snorted so hard, Jake was surprised his beer didn't shoot out of his nose. "A lady?" he asked as he looked at you and cuffed you on the arm. "Nice try, Hangman, but Rodeo doesn't count."

"Well, you don't count either," you told him, and Bradley tapped the neck of his bottle to yours. "And neither do the two of you." Your gaze met Mickey's before settling on Jake. "You know I don't mind when you guys talk about girls. I get it. You're all hot."

But your knee was rubbing against Jake's thigh at the tiny table, and for a brief flash, he thought maybe he wanted to count in your mind as a guy you could be into.

--------------------------

It was a strange dynamic, working with mostly a bunch of men all the time. They saw you in a flight suit once, and they never looked at you like you were a female ever again. And that was fine. It made your job easier in a lot of ways. There were fewer distractions, and you knew for a fact that they liked you for your personality. They wouldn't invite you to hang out all the time if they didn't.

But on nights like this, it did sting a little bit to watch the three of them tripping over themselves to go talk to the redhead who was clearly eating up the attention. You were essentially wearing the same outfit she was: jeans and a black shirt. And you thought you looked cute. And what exactly was wrong with your boobs? You looked down at your body and kind of shrugged. You didn't get it. 

Natasha handed you a pool cue, and you sank a shot. You made up the excuse that you wanted to play so the guys wouldn't feel bad about abandoning you to go talk to girls, but Jake had been hesitant at first, so you shoved him along. That was a mistake, because you were reminded of how solid and muscular he was under his soft shirt. 

The first few times you glanced his way, he was already looking back at you. If he were any other guy, you would have just asked him out by now, but you were so firmly in the friend zone with all of them that it was embarrassing. The rejection would be laughable. 

So you put your head down and focused on the game and the chit chat around you. But after a while you got curious, and when you looked up again, Bradley and Mickey were walking back toward the table where your empty beer bottle sat. Jake had won. The redhead was running her fingernails through his hair. It was all over for the night. 

You weren't jealous. You weren't. You just didn't understand why it couldn't be you. As you sank the eight ball, you said, "I'm beat. I'm going to head home."

"Me too. Want a lift?" Mickey asked, and you nodded, not sparing a single glance back at Jake. 

Maybe you were the problem. Maybe you weren't sexy. You spent most of Sunday scrutinizing yourself in your bedroom mirror and going through all of your clothing. There really wasn't much of it since your closet was lined with uniforms and flight suits. And when you looked in the mirror, it wasn't like you could even tell what the problem was. You were just you, but it was starting to feel like you'd been playing around in this male-dominated world for so long, you were just blending in there. 

"Fuck it," you muttered reaching for your phone. There was a text from Bradley detailing the pricing for tickets to a Padres game, which you desperately wanted to go to. It sounded fun. Then you realized the beer drinking and peanut eating would simply be moved to a different venue in which the guys would be looking at all the other women around you. Suddenly it didn't sound so fun.

There were also a handful of texts from Jake. He must have kicked his guest out early if he was asking how you were doing this morning. You sent back a short message before finding the app on your screen that had been dormant since you got stationed in San Diego last summer. Tinder. It was right there. 

Nervously, you entered your login information, terrified that you'd just end up with a bunch of guys you saw on base as your best options. They would undoubtedly take one look at you and have the same reaction your male friends did. But you spent the rest of the day thinking about it. You looked, but you didn't sample. You found some guys who were surprisingly not in the Navy, but you didn't swipe. And maybe part of the reason you didn't was because Jake kept texting you all day long.

Monday was your tipping point. You were all ready to fly in your boots and flight suit when you ended up surrounded by the guys in the hangar. "We getting Padres tickets, Rodeo?" Bradley asked. "Day drinking at Petco Park?"

You nodded at him. "Sounds fun."

Then Mickey cut in as Jake walked over. "Hey, Hangman. How was our little redheaded friend?" he asked with a smirk, but Jake's expression stayed the same as his eyes met yours. 

"Wouldn't know."

"Oof," Bradley said with a goading laugh. "What, you kicked her out without even talking to her afterwards?"

You swallowed and looked down at your boots as you thought about the guys on the dating app. Maybe a little change of scenery wouldn't hurt anything after all.

-----------------------------

"Can you just knock it the fuck off?" Jake snapped. "I didn't even spend the night with her." He watched you put your helmet on as you walked toward your jet. "And I don't like talking about this shit around Rodeo anymore."

"Alright," Bradley replied with a tiny smirk. "No need to get mad about it."

When Jake took to the air, you were all business, as usual. You and he flew well together, like you always did. But back on the ground at lunchtime, you barely spared a glance in his direction in the cafeteria. Instead, you were completely absorbed in something on your phone as you picked at your food.

"What's wrong?" he eventually asked, and you looked up at him like you were surprised he was still there. 

"Nothing," you murmured, taking a drink before returning your attention to your phone. "Just working on something."

"On what?" he asked, voice almost as snippy as it had been earlier. He found he didn't like it when your attention wasn't focused on him, which was absolutely infuriating, because it's not like the two of you were anything. 

"My Tinder profile," you replied smoothly as you licked your lips, and Jake thought he must have misheard. Since when were you looking for a guy?

"Tinder?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed. "I'm just trying to sort out which photo to use, because I like this one where I'm in my flight suit, but guys don't really tend to go for that sort of thing."

You turned your phone to show him, and Jake swallowed hard. It was a photo he had taken a few months ago. He remembered that day. Your sunglasses were hooked on the top of your suit, and your helmet was tucked under your arm, and your smile was infectious. 

"I like that one," he told you softly. 

But you just rolled your eyes and groaned. "But you don't count, now do you?"

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Why are you on Tinder anyway?"

Now you laughed as you set your phone down. "Why do you think?"

He didn't want to think about it, even though he knew why. You were looking to hookup with someone. Or maybe it was even worse. Maybe you were looking for an actual boyfriend. Someone to spend all your time with. You'd be at the Hard Deck after work less frequently. You'd be going to the Padres game with some faceless idiot, and he'd be the one carrying you home after you overdid it at karaoke night. Worse yet, you could have your pick of any guy on that app who caught your eye, but Jake knew for a fact none of them were good enough for you. 

"Rodeo," he grunted, unsure how to voice his concerns. You just tapped your screen a few times and then smiled at him as his heart clenched a little bit.

"I went with the photo from Reuben's wedding instead."

Jake ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't even have to ask. He also knew that photo well too. His voice was soft as he said, "Blue dress. Holding a martini. Hand on your hip." He didn't like the idea of a bunch of guys he didn't even know looking at you wearing something so pretty.

"That's the one! And now my bio is live on the app," you said as you tapped your screen one last time. "Wish me luck."

You stood with your tray and Jake told himself he would do no such thing.

---------------------------

"That photo must have done the trick," you mumbled the following day in the rec room on base as Natasha helped you sort through your matches.

"I'm sure it did," she replied in awe. "You look hot in it."

You wanted to believe her, but it didn't even matter right now, because the two of you were staring at a photo of a hot guy who had sent you a message. You gasped. "Is this for real?"

"Looks like it," she replied. "If you don't fuck him, I will. Happily."

"What are the two of you over here whispering about?" You looked up into Jake's smiling eyes and gave him a grin of your own.

"Rodeo is getting all the Tinder hotties," Natasha replied, and suddenly Jake's smile vanished. "Let me know if he sends you a dick pic."

"He better fucking not!" Jake growled as he tried to reach for your phone. "Show me what this asshole looks like so I know who to pound to dust if he sends you one." You rolled your eyes and held up your phone so he could see. "His name is Tony? And he's a dentist?"

"What's wrong with that?" you asked quickly.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. "If you have to ask, then you don't want to know."

You scoffed and opened your messages. "You're being dramatic. And I don't get on you about who you decide to hook up with."

"So you're just trying to hook up with this asshole?" he asked, his lips curling in disgust.

Honestly, you weren't really sure. But he sounded nice in the messages he sent. "Would it really be so bad if I was?"

Jake scrutinized your face like he was in pain, and you had the craziest thought flash through your mind that perhaps he was jealous. But then the pinched lines on his forehead vanished, and his voice was completely calm as he said, "You do what you want, Rodeo. But don't come crying to me about it later."

"Fine," you told him as he walked away. And that's what spurred you to reply to Tony's message with a more flirtatious one of your own. You were allowed to hook up with him. You were allowed to go out on a date. Maybe you'd even eventually request a dick pic. Jake wasn't in charge of your Tinder profile or dating agenda.

A few short exchanges back and forth was all it took, and suddenly you had plans for Saturday night that didn't involve hanging with the guys at the Hard Deck for once. Tony was going to take you out to dinner, and you were already excited.

----------------------

"Where the hell is Rodeo?" Bradley asked as he returned to the table with three bottles of beer instead of four. "She's usually here by seven."

Jake rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "She's not coming. She's on a date with some smug looking asshole named Tony."

"Good for her," Mickey piped up, earning a glare from Jake. "I hope she gets laid. You wanna grab Javy and play pool?"

With a groan, Jake dragged himself out of his seat and forced his body through the motions. He hit the cue ball with perfect precision, but meanwhile, all he could think about was some other guy's hands all over your body while he shoved his tongue down your throat. "Fuck," he growled, trying to fight the urge to text you. If you wanted him, you knew how to reach him. 

Between shots, he glanced around the bar at all the other women, but he couldn't find a single one as pretty as you. He spent the rest of his night barely conversing with his friends while he hoped that your date was a complete flop. And when he left to head home alone, he caved and texted you to make sure you got back to your place safely. 

That was over twelve hours ago. Jake still hadn't heard back from you. It was damn near noon on Sunday, and he was left assuming that you spent the night with Tinder Tony. When you finally texted him back, the response made him toss his phone aside. 

Sorry, just seeing this now. Yes, I made it home safely. See you tomorrow.

Monday was worse. You were glued to your phone at every opportunity you got, and Jake could tell by the little smile on your face that you must be talking to that asshole. 

"Rodeo, how was your hot date?" Bradley asked, bumping your helmet with his while he winked at Jake. 

"Pretty good," you replied with a little laugh. 

"You get laid?" Mickey asked obnoxiously, and you rolled your eyes before glancing at Jake. He was dying to know the answer to the question, but also terrified to hear it. 

"Wouldn't you like to know," you replied, returning your attention to your phone. "Put it this way... I'm going out with him again for dinner on Wednesday."

"Who goes to dinner on a Wednesday?" Jake scoffed. "That's when we usually go to the bar! And what did you and Tinder Tommy even talk about the whole time? Dentures? Teeth?"

"No," you snapped at him. "He told me how pretty he thinks I am, and that he was nervous to meet me in person. And his name is Tony, not Tommy. So don't be rude when we stop by the bar after dinner on Wednesday."

"Can't wait to meet him," Jake grumbled, highly disappointed that your date had been even somewhat successful. And he still wasn't sure if you'd gone home with Tony. Or worse... if he'd gone home with you. 

Jake had crashed in your bed with you once a few months ago when you hosted game night. Mickey, Nat and Bradley all passed out in your living room, so you'd taken him by the hand to your bed. Every time he thought about it, he could practically feel the warmth of your body next to his and your foot hooked over his ankle. The idea of someone else there engaging in pillowtalk or fucking you just right was way too much for him to handle, because he was starting to feel like he wanted to be that person.

------------------------

Okay, so Tony was a little boring. A lot boring, actually. And on Wednesday night at dinner, he actually did mention dentures, and you could practically hear Jake scoffing from the Hard Deck. But Tony was hot and nice and he paid for dinner. Could you really hope for more than that?

"So, you mentioned stopping at a Navy bar?" he asked as you walked back to his car. "I keep forgetting you're even in the Navy. It just doesn't seem like you."

Maybe you should have used the other photo for your dating profile since you'd had to remind him twice already that there were a lot of women in the military now. "Yeah. It's called the Hard Deck. I usually hang out there on Wednesdays, and I thought maybe my friends could meet you?"

"Sure," he replied, and he even played boring music on the way there. But when he walked you inside, he kissed your cheek, and that felt kind of nice until Jake was looking. You felt embarrassed and a little guilty when he scowled at you from the pool table, so you eased yourself away from Tony and took him by the hand instead. 

"Hey, guys," you said cautiously as you approached the pool table. "This is Tony." 

Jake's jaw was clenched tight as he reached out to shake hands with your date in a death grip, and you cringed as he said, "Nice to meet you, Tommy." 

And it all went downhill from there. You had to correct him three times, even though you were sure he knew Tony's name. And even the other guys didn't really seem to mesh well with Tony. Bradley looked scandalized when he told them he didn't like beer or playing pool, and Mickey tried to make a dentist joke that just didn't land. 

You wanted to crawl into your bed and not come back out for a week. You also kind of wanted to ask Jake what his problem was. Tony was a nice guy. His hand on your back felt nice, and his goodnight kiss at your front door was nice. There was even some tongue, and you didn't stop his roaming fingers. Maybe another date or two and you'd ask him to come in.

"Would you like to get dinner on Saturday night?" he asked as his lips grazed your neck. "At the Boathouse?"

You closed your eyes and leaned back, and the image of Jake took over. His lips were on your earlobe, and he was whispering your name as you led him to your room. His hands were settling on your hips and squeezing gently as you melted into his touch.

"What do you think?" Tony asked, and you were jarred back to reality by his voice.

You swallowed hard and nodded as you opened your door. "Saturday night sounds good," you said as you ducked inside. "See you then."

You couldn't have Jake. You just needed to get it through your head that he didn't want you like that.

------------------------------

Jake knew he was behaving poorly even as he was doing it. Tony looked annoyed by him, and you looked embarrassed, but he just kept calling him the wrong name and standing off to the side like a dick. He was actually the asshole. Not Tony. And he needed to apologize to you at work the next day. 

He found you in the hangar, pacing back and forth as you played with the strap on your helmet. When you turned, he started to say, "Hey, Rodeo, I'm really-"

"I need your help," you blurted out when you saw him heading your way. "I need you to come shopping with me tomorrow after work, because I wore my only two dresses already, and everything else in my closet is ridiculous. And Tony is taking me to the Boathouse on Saturday, so I can't just throw something together and call it a day."

Jake ground his back teeth together. The Boathouse was nice. As in, he could think of at least three people he knew who got engaged there. How much money did dentists make anyway? He was full blown jealous now. He knew that. But you'd asked him for help, so of course he was going to do whatever you wanted. Your eager eyes were enough to make him agree on the spot.

"Where are we going shopping?" he asked softly. 

You looked so relieved as you said, "The mall. I don't think it will take too long, and I can treat you to dinner as a thank you."

"No," he replied. "You don't owe me anything, Rodeo."

"Thanks, Jake," you whispered as you threw one arm around his neck and pulled him in for a hug. "I know I can trust you to tell me what looks good. Because you're a guy, and you know what guys like. I've been in such a rut, and I don't even know what looks nice on me anymore. But I trust your opinion."

He wrapped his arm around your waist and held you a little closer. If you trusted him, he wouldn't let you down. He never wanted to let you down. He would take you to the mall and tell you which outfits looked nice on you, even though he knew it would be all of them, and he would be cool about you dating Tony. "Sure, Rodeo. Anything you want."

When the time came, he was miserable. You seemed excited, bouncing on your feet in your jeans and sneakers as you collected dresses and cute little outfits to try on, but he knew none of this was really for him. You'd just be giving him a little sneak peak of what Tony would have his hands all over. 

"How about this one?" you asked, holding up a red mini dress that made Jake's mouth dry up. Then you moved it in front of your body and looked down. "It's probably too much for me."

He wanted to tell you that you couldn't pull it off, but he knew the fucking thing was made for you. "Try it on and see," he said softly, so you added it to your pile. Then he followed you like a puppy dog to the fitting room, holding half of the dresses for you to try on. When you passed the lingerie section, Jake had to watch you grab a few lacy items. "Have you slept with Tinder Tommy yet?" he snapped when you picked up a black bra and added it to your arms. 

You looked up at him with a soft pout. "Well, no. That's why I'm trying to buy some sexy stuff, you know? Just in case I want to take it there."

Jake had seen you in your bathing suit many, many times. You didn't need to be wearing anything made out of lace and silk to look sexy, but the sight of you in half of this shit would probably give Tony a damn heart attack. Then he realized as you led him along that he himself might not make it out of the fitting room alive.

"Just stand out here, okay?" you said softly, guiding him against the wall. He grunted in response and watched you line up everything you wanted to try on inside the fitting room before closing yourself inside. You kicked your shoes off, and then he watched you push your jeans down to your feet through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. You stepped out of them, and his imagination started to supply the rest. 

You were completely naked now, he was sure of that fact, and you were only a few feet away from him, separated by a flimsy door. His head tipped back against the wall as his breathing grew a little deeper. Your toenails were painted bright green, and you were talking quietly to yourself as you stepped into a black dress and started to guide it up your legs. 

"This isn't too bad," you muttered, and a few seconds later you were unlatching the door and pulling it open with an apprehensive look on your face. Jake's jaw dropped open as you stepped right up to him and asked, "What do you think?"

"Rodeo," he grunted, fisting his hands at his sides to keep them from touching you as you spun slowly in front of him. "Looks good."

You frowned a little more. "I was hoping for better than good," you replied, twirling away from him and back into the fitting room.

Jake's body was thrumming with desire as he watched that black fabric pool at your feet under the door. "It was better than good, Rodeo," he said, nearly choking on the words as you stepped to the side and bent to pick it up. 

"I'll try the red one," you informed him, and he had to press his lips together, knowing what was coming next. This time it took you a little longer, and he watched your feet under the door as you turned in front of the mirror. "It's really short," you finally said as you opened the door again. 

"Jesus Christ," Jake moaned softly. The thing fit you like a damn glove. Every curve and soft dip of your body was right there, begging to be touched. His palms were sweaty as he wiped them on his jeans, and then you spun, ending up just inches away from him again. 

He couldn't speak, and maybe you took that as a bad sign. "It's too much," you said with a little laugh. "I know it's too much, but it was fun to try it on anyway. It made me feel sexy," you said with a little shrug, barely able to meet his eyes. "I think the black one might be better for dinner at the Boathouse? Or do you think this one?"

Jake snapped out of his daze and remembered why he was here, suddenly pissed that this little fashion show wasn't just for his own benefit. "Come on, Rodeo. Tinder Tommy? Really? You think he deserves this?" When you just kind of shrugged at him, he said, "Get the red one if you're just looking to get laid."

"Okay," you replied, your little pout back on your pretty lips. 

He pushed away from the wall until he was nearly touching you. Practically snarling, he said, "Are you just looking to get laid?"

"Maybe," you said softly, looking at his neck. "He's actually into me, so maybe. I don't know, Jake. It's been a long time since a guy chose me, you know?" He opened his mouth to tell you that any guy in the world would choose you when you said, "I have one more dress."

Then he had to stand there and watch the red fabric hit your feet before you guided the tiniest little green dress up your calves. He was jealous. He was so jealous. And the fact that he'd had a whole fucking year to ask you out instead of fucking wasting his time was crashing down on him right now. You were going to wear one of these dresses to the Boathouse tomorrow, and Tony was going to take it off you. He was going to fuck you, and then someday you'd probably get married. Jake would be at your wedding sitting between Mickey and Bradley and making himself sick over this whole thing. 

The door opened. You were stunning. You didn't even leave the fitting room doorway this time in that green dress that was hugging your tits and your waist and showing off so much leg that Jake thought he was going to black out. "I can tell by your face that it's not good," you said with a wince. "It's a little too low cut, so I couldn't imagine wearing it in front of Tony."

His voice came out low and rough as he said, "You're wearing it in front of me just fine."

"But I don't count, remember?" You closed and locked the door, and Jake was immediately leaning against it. Literally each dress was hotter than the one before it, and Jake didn't know how to articulate what he was feeling right now. How on earth did he end up so far in the friend zone that he couldn't claw his way out if he tried? What the fuck made Tinder Tony so special? Why were you looking around on the app anyway? He couldn't even pinpoint when it had happened, but you were never going to take him seriously, even if he knew he could be what you wanted.

The rustling of fabric and the sound of the zipper had him resting his forehead on the door. "Rodeo, Baby, you can't...buy one of these dresses. Not for Tony. Okay? Come on. He's not good enough for you."

"Oh." That was all you said. You just replied with one word, and Jake's blood was boiling. He wanted to dismantle the entire fitting room and take you back home and tell you that you could do a hell of a lot better than some lame ass dentist who didn't like beer or playing pool. But you'd just muttered one word, and he was dying to know if he could ever stand a chance at making you happy. 

"Rodeo?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You unlocked the door and he stepped back a few inches so you could open it, expecting to see you in your jeans once again with the dress of your choosing in your hands. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, his heart hammering in his chest. "Absolutely not!"

Jake pushed you back further into the fitting room and managed to wrench his broad shoulders through the doorway before kicking the door closed. You were biting your lip, your eyes wide as his hands came to rest on your lace covered hips. 

"Jake," you whispered as he shook his head at the sight of you in a lacy black bra and tiny underwear. 

"What the hell are you thinking?" he groaned, fingers digging gently into your warm body as he listened to the little sound you made. "You're killing me here." Your hands came up to his wrists before you slid them up along his arms, and Jake took a step closer until his jeans were brushing against your bare belly. He would need to be removed from the mall in a body bag at this rate. 

Then you whispered, "I like you. And maybe there's a chance that you like me, too? And maybe that's part of the reason I asked you to come here with me."

Jake swallowed hard as he leaned in, dizzy from the way you smelled so sweet and felt so perfect in his hands. "Dump him. Dump Tony." You whimpered at his words as he slid one hand down further, teasing the lace covering your ass at the same time his other hand went up to tug at the side of the bra. "Because this? This should be for me."

"Jake." Your voice was a needy whine as you scraped your fingernails along his shoulders and chest, trying to pull him closer. But he shook his head as he pushed you back harder against the wall, lips hovering over yours as you whispered his name.

He knew what he wanted. He'd known for a while, really, but now he was ready to take it. "I want to kiss you. But if I do, I'm not going to be able to go back, okay?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "I won't go back to being Rodeo and Hangman, just friends. I will not do that. Not with you. Not when you count more than anyone else."

Your lips crashed against his, and Jake sighed in relief as he held you in his arms the way he'd been dying to for so long. The lingerie and all the little dresses were only for him. Your kisses and your smile and your fingers in his hair were for him, not Tony. He ran his hands down to your ass as you giggled and nipped at his lips. 

"Pick a dress, Baby," he muttered between kisses. "And we'll get the lingerie, too."

"Okay," you replied with a smile before you took his bottom lip between yours, making him moan. 

"Tomorrow night, I will take you out, and you can show me this little getup again if you want to."

You looked up at him with the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. "I want to."

---------------------------

You nudged Bradley with your elbow. "Hey, she's cute," you said, nodding toward the brunette across the aisle. "You guys should go talk to her." He and Mickey both leaned forward to look without any subtlety whatsoever, and you laughed. 

"Maybe at the end of the inning," Bradley replied, manspreading so much in his seat at the Padres game that he kept bumping your leg and nudging your shoulder. But he was grinning, and you could already tell that he and Mickey were about to turn it into a competition to see who could get her phone number first. 

But there was one key player missing from their game now, and you smiled as you saw Jake apologetically climbing over everyone else in your row before plopping down into the seat next to you and kissing your cheek with a smile. "The line was long as hell for your favorite beer," he said as he handed it to you. "Did I miss anything?"

You shook your head as Bradley said, "You're just in time to watch the real show, Hangman. Rodeo, I want you to time how long it takes before I get her number." 

But you weren't really listening as Bradley and Mickey started to argue, and neither was Jake as he kissed your cheek again. You didn't feel like you were simply blending in, and you didn't feel like you were just one of the guys anymore. You were grinning and sipping your beer as Jake's lips met your ear and he asked, "Are you wearing that black set right now?"

"I'll let you find out later.

---------------------------

@blahehblah

Happy birthday, Alli! I hope you enjoyed the blonde one! Big thanks to @mak-32 @thedroneranger and @sylviebell for all your help!

Read Bradley's version in Whole Lotta Love

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[manariee]

SUGAR TALK

﹙糖 ﹚───── You plus me, yeah, that moment when we are together A to Z, yeah, you can't hide it

𝒮 엔하이픈 & fem!reader wc: 175 - 265 cw: super wholesome

𝓜 anas notes: REPOST SINCE BLR TOOK IT DOWN

HEESEUNG

Random serenades: He'll literally pull out a guitar or hum a tune while you're cooking or simply just brushing your hair. And when you look at him like ''really?'' he just smiles and goes ''What? My muse is in the room.''

Subtle matching: You two don't match by having full-blown matching couple outfits from head to toe. You two match by matching accessories that Heeseung loves to buy. Like the same beanie, or matching phone cases. He likes the quiet kind of matching only you two notice - or others which just makes him just extra proud.

Tease, but gentle: He's playful, but in a way that's gentle and affectionate. He loves teasing you but it's always lighthearted and meant to mak you laugh, never to hurt your feelings. If he sees you start getting flustered, he'll just wrap his arms around you and hold you tight while cracking jokes just make you even more flustered.

JAY

Cooking together? He won't let you lift a finger: Jay lives for cooking with you. That is only if you simply do the easy things or not do anything at all. You're standing near the stove? He'll usher you to the side. Holding a knife? He'll act as if you're five. It's not that he's worried you'll ruin his dish. He's just overly worried over you getting the slightest of hurt.

Fixes things for you without being asked: Broken zipper? He fixed it. Charger acting weird? Already replaced. It gets to a point you're scared that he'll buy you a whole new phone if it gets damaged. You don't even have to say anything - Jay just notices, and brushes it off as if it's nothing. ''You don't need to worry about stuff like that love.'' Yeah well there goes your heart.

Loves pampering you: After a long day, Jay loves to pamper you. He'll run you a warm bath with soothing scents, massage your shoulders when you're in the middle of working or just simply hold you.

JAKE

Constant giggles: Jake's energy is infectious, this man knows always how to make you laugh even when you're at your lowest. You two could literally be in the middle of doing serious work till it's interrupted by a giggle. ''What?'' Another giggle. ''That ring is cute.'' You huff out a laugh. ''Jake you literally gifted that to me'' you reply. He'll just shrug, pulling you closer. ''I know.''

Silliest late night voice notes: Jake has made it a habit to update everything to you. Buying a coffee? Voice note sent. Took a step out of the house? Another voice note send. It's cute honestly. Like a high school girl with a crush. But the silliest ones are when he sends them in the middle of the night before sleeping. This man will literally be figthing to keep his eyes open, voice slurred as if he had way too many drinks, and mouth close to the phone. ''Mm.. Today was fun.. Me and the boys ate at a nice place.. M'gonna take you there next time..'' Morning cuddles champion: The moment you get up, correction, try to get up, Jake pulls you back into bed “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, but it’s never just five. He hooks a leg over yours, buries his face in your neck, and sighs like it’s the best place in the world. And if he wakes up before you? Soft, sleepy morning kisses on your nose, cheeks, forehead - Jake lives for them. If you groan and tell him to let you sleep, he’ll giggle and snuggle into your side like “Okay but five more kisses please.”

SUNGHOON

Obsessed with taking your photos: He acts like it’s no big deal but you catch him snapping pics of you when you’re not looking. When you ask why, he shrugs and says “You look really pretty like that.” His gallery is full of you because apparently you look really pretty all the time. Yes even in that sleeping picture he took to tease you but put it in his ''favorites'' folder.

Carries your stuff without asking: Heavy bag? He’s got it. Groceries? Already in his hands. Sunghoon doesn’t even say anything, he just gently takes it from you like it’s his mission in life to make yours easier. Even if it's your own light purse that has nothing more than your phone and a lipgloss. He'll take it from you. ''It's good, now others will know that this pretty girl is all mine.''

Wants to grow together: He’ll talk about the future with you in soft tones—“Where do you wanna live someday?”, “What kind of place should we get?” Not in a rushing way, but in that quiet, sincere way that shows he really sees forever with you.

SUNOO

Hyper compliments when you're least expecting it: You’ll be brushing your teeth in pajamas and he’ll gasp like, “Wait—you look so pretty. Like super super pretty.” Cue you choking on toothpaste while blushing.

Has a 100-photo album of you just being weird, cute according to him: Not posed. Not filtered. Just you laughing, eating, sleeping - even yawning. He’ll scroll through it sometimes when he misses you and get all soft like, ''Damn, that's my girlfriend.''

Adorable acts of service: Sunoo shows his love through small, thoughtful acts. Whether it’s waking up early to make you breakfast or stopping by your favorite café to grab you a treat, he always thinks of ways to make you feel good. ''You know you're the only person I sacrifice my beauty sleep for.''

JUNGWON

Gentle scolding = pure love: When you forget to eat or don’t get enough sleep, Jungwon gets this softly stern voice and he’ll be like, “You need to take care of yourself, okay? I can’t relax if you’re not okay.” Then he makes you soup and tucks you in.

Loves forehead kisses and soft nose boops: He finds your face so adorable that he can’t resist. He’ll kiss your forehead before leaving the house, before bed, whenever. And randomly - boop - he’ll poke your nose and smile like a kid.

Always remembers the tiniest things you say: You once mentioned liking a specific flower months ago? Boom - he brings it to you after work. You liked a drink from one café? It’s your go-to now. Jungwon listens with his heart.

NI-KI

Playfights turn into cuddles: You two start with playful bickering—like fighting over the TV remote or who gets the last snack—and somehow it ends with him tackling you onto the bed, both of you laughing, and him refusing to let go. “You lost. This is your punishment.”

Surprise hugs: Ni-ki’s signature move is sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you in the tightest, most surprising hug. The suddenness of it always catches you off guard, but it leaves you laughing and feeling safe in his embrace. His hugs are warm and filled with affection. ''Can't resist you pretty, you're just too warm.''

Gets flustered when you compliment him: He’ll laugh it off and be like “Shut up,” but his ears turn red and he'll look away because he’s secretly thriving. Whether he’s learning a dance or trying something new, he always shows it to you first. And give you that shy smile when you compliment him. He loves your praise more than he’ll ever admit.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @fleurhoons @rikifever

[gothicfied]

Bf!Nam-gyu / Player 124 Headcanons

Pairing: Boyfriend!Nam-gyu x fem!reader (No Squid Game AU)

Warnings: Mention of drug use/withdrawal, other than that it's just fluff (maybe a teeny tiny bit of angst), not proof read (english isn't my first language)

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who you met at the club he worked at during a night out with your friends. He took one look at you and knew he was in love immediately — Your makeup, your dress, your hair, that you spent hours trying to style it, just everything about you was perfect. He genuinely had to stop what he was doing for a second to get his thoughts straight.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who just couldn't help but give you drinks on the house, trying to make small talk with you. The music was loud, blaring out of the speakers not far away from the bar, but he didn't need to hear you. For him, it was enough to see you up close, to see you smile and laugh at his cheesy attempts at pick-up lines. He laughed along, trying to overplay his nervousness, which didn't quite work.

જ⁀➴ It wouldn't have been the first time that Boyfriend!Nam-gyu took a girl back home with him that he met at his work, but you were different. He wasn't staring at your body, looking down your cleavage when talking to him, no, he was actually interested in getting to know you. During your short conversation, he could just tell how kind and lighthearted you were. After all, not every girl would entertain his flirting.

જ⁀➴ After a few times seeing you around the club again, Boyfriend!Nam-gyu had secured your phone number, which you wrote down on his hand with a little heart next to it. You couldn't exactly tell why you liked him this much, hut he was weirdly charming and appreciated the fact that he wanted to take you out on a proper date some time. He was cute, you couldn't deny that, so you took up on his offer.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who stayed true to his word and texted you right after his shift, setting up a date and time for a meeting outside his workplace. He already had everything thought out in his head, perhaps even imagining little scenarios about you before falling asleep.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who could now actually introduce himself as your boyfriend after a couple of dates, long phone calls and deep talks late at night when you'd stay over at his place. The two of you had developed a strong bond in no time, finding out that you had more in common than you first thought. And, in your opinion, he was the best partner you could wish for. Nam-gyu was attentive, always noticed if you felt bad and cheered you up, funny.. what wasn't there to love about him?

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who you helped get clean and also get a better job. The first few weeks of withdrawal weren't the easiest on him nor your relationship, but you absolutely made it work. You'd comfort him during a breakdown, wiping his tears away for him and hold him against your chest. Your nails would scrape the back of his neck, making him let out a shaky sigh.

"I'm.. sorry about that, baby-" Nam-gyu sniffled, taking a deep breath before looking up at you. "There's nothing you have to apologize for," you replied back, a bit shocked about the fact that he would think he needed to say sorry for crying. "I'm here for you, okay? I love you, don't forget that."

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who would frequently buy you your favorite flowers. You'd always ask him what the occasion was and he'd always just shrug, claiming that he didn't need an occasion or a reason to maks you happy.

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who would try to help you while baking something, but would mess everything up he was involved with. Cookies came out burnt, brownies didn't fully bake through.. whatever it was, it just didn't work out. But, you two had fun while doing it and that was all that mattered. Well, not all the time maybe (you reaaaaally wanted those chocolate chip cookies).

જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Nam-gyu.. who kisses you awake every morning, even if you could sleep in. Whenever he has to wake up before you, he'd pepper kisses all over your face, partially to also annoy you.

You slowly opened your eyes at the feeling of Nam-gyu's lips against your, turning your head away from him. He laughed and tried to lean over to give you another, but you weren't having it. "Leave me alone!" you blurted out, eyes still closed and all.

"Jesus, can't I kiss my girlfriend goodbye anymore?"

"No."

"Why? What did I do?"

"I hate you."

"Good morning to you too, princess."

[monamipencil]

— baby fever | c.sc

tw; talks of pregnancy and mentions of seahorses, slight suggestive.

“baby, i can only know what's wrong if you tell me.” seungcheol is kneeled in front of you, softly caressing your knees with his calloused hands.

worry laces his warm, brown eyes as he stares at you. you stay silent, but the pout on your lips speaks a thousand words. he rakes a hand through his hair, mentally rewinding all the things he did and didn't.

but it's the same conclusion as before, he cannot remember what could've upset you. he sighs but doesn't lose his cool. you observe him, quietly. guilt wraps around your heart but you cannot bring yourself to say why you're upset.

“baby,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

“hmm?”

“baby.”

“yes?”

“no. baby,” you make a gesture with your hands, as if you're holding a baby.

worry fades into horror beneath his irises and you see his face morph into multiple emotions. he rubs his face, and looks at you, wide-eyed. you cut him off before he could say anything.

“i'm not pregnant.”

“i.. baby.”

seungcheol doesn't need any more words to comprehend your thoughts. he breaks out into a big smile and gets off the floor to take you into his arms.

you snuggle into his neck, enjoying the silent understanding between you two. he chuckles when he feels you pout against his skin and whine. his gentle hand cards through your locks, and the other pats your lower back.

“not now, honey.” his big hand caresses your tummy and he sneaks a kiss to your neck.

“i have to work hard, then build a home and get married with you. then, we can have as many kids as you want.” he finishes with a smile.

“as many as i want?” you raise your eyebrow, a habit you picked up from him.

“mhm.”

“ok, i want thirteen kids.” you chuckle as he tries not to show his surprise and visibly tenses. he goes into deep thought while you admire him, tracing his features with your finger.

“thirteen .. is a lot. but we can do it.” it's your turn to be flabbergasted and you pull away from his embrace.

“i can't birth thirteen babies,” you wince, clutching your stomach. he laughs at you with a look that says 'you asked for it.'

“well, don't you think we should practice? practice mak—” you cut him off by flinging a pillow to his face and jet off. you giggle, seeing his face but it's short-lived when he runs after you.

you try to outrun him but it's in vain as he back hugs you and brings you back to the bed. and it seems that the sudden adrenaline rush has you thinking the same.

“maybe, we should.” you're breathless underneath him, hair tousled and eyes holding a new hunger. he groans, begging you not to egg him on.

seungcheol holds you close, whining into your neck. he complains with a pout about how you bewitched him and that he has a baby fever now as well.

“i've decided. i'm gonna work really hard to provide for our 15-member family.”

you laugh but he insists that he's being serious despite the lovesick smile on his face. he switches positions with you, now holding you between his arms.

“we can. in another life time, when we're both reincarnated as seahorses.” you hug him, enjoying the warmth radiating off him.

“i wish we were seahorses.” he sighs, dramatically and shakes his head. you giggle, hitting his chest.

“do you think i'd look good pregnant?” he asks, deep in his thoughts.

“seungcheol!”

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be on the taglist!)

[princema-k]

Happy holidays ^^ Flora for you

AAAAAAAA TYSM!!!!!! A SWEET GAL :D

happy holidays!!!! and a merry shitscram

[joeloverture]

morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance. 

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven. 

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

[no-144444]

prison, not a promise- l.norris

summary: lando proposes and it doesn't go as planned...

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

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He genuinely thought you would’ve been the woman he married. He believed that the moment he got down on one knee, you would’ve burst into tears in front of him and said yes. 

He’d never expected that. 

People (understandably) thought you were fucking crazy. Who would say no to Lando Norris? Who would give up the chance to be rich and famous forever, to have one of the most sought-after men on the planet forever? 

Well, those people didn’t know what it meant to be ‘loved’ by Lando Norris. They didn’t see the constant fights and beratings. They wouldn’t know about the fact that you hadn’t felt like yourself for an entire year. They didn’t know about the sleepless nights, sitting there and wondering, hoping that you were enough. They didn’t know that an engagement ring would've been a prison, not a promise. 

You both walked into his apartment, silent. You hadn’t said ‘no’, saying ‘yes’ while in public just to keep up appearances,  but Lando knew, the second you two got in the car, you weren't happy. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to lean into him one last time, be his one last time. That was the Lando you fell for. The one that hugged and kissed you like no one else would ever matter to him, the one that looked at you like you held up the stars just for him. You never expected the honeymoon stage to last forever, but these fights weren’t normal. He ripped apart your character, your appearance, anything, just to make you feel as upset as him. You\’d been together for 4 years, and the problems started when he became Max’s rival.

“Lando, we’re not happy,” you started, feeling his hands drop from your waist. You turned around to face him. “At least, I’m not. I do everything you ask of me. I cook and clean, I dress up nice, I follow you around the fucking world and I gave up my dreams so that you could always have me at races. Now, all we do is fight. I’m fucking sick of it, alright? I’m tired of the fact that you either don’t love me anymore, or you don’t respect me, and I’d like to thank you for the 3 wonderful years we had before this year, and give you back your ring. You deserve someone less ambitious. You deserve someone paper-cut to be a WAG, Lando. I’m not that girl,” you sighed tearily. “When you find her, I suggest you tell her that you can be mean, you can be selfish, and you can be forgetful, but the trade for that is the sweetest man on the planet once the anger wears off. I’ve been around angry men my entire life, and I will not marry one. I’ll grab my things tomorrow. Goodbye Lando,” you brushed back at him, placing the golden engagement ring in his hand as you passed him by. 

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You left Monaco with all of your belongings, and went back home. You bought an apartment, and started your new job as a college professor. Before Lando you had been the best mathematician in the world. You had offers from every college from every college, but you chose the one closest to home. You didn’t think about Lando for months. You focused all of you attention on your students, all of your life was spent around numbers. You were finally happy. For the first time in a long time, you felt appreciated, you felt beautiful, and you felt happy. 

“Y/n,” the British accent you knew so well made you physically cringe. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is it a mathematical problem?” you asked, not turning around as you sorted through papers. 

“Not really?” he chuckled. “Please just look at me.”

You slowly turned around and looked at him. He looked like shit. 

“I won,” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. “I’m the Champion of the World.”

You held out your hand to shake his. “Congratulations.”

He took it with a frown. “I’m quitting F1.”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that. “Why?”

“I did something really fucking stupid two years ago, and i need to make it right,” he admitted. “Y/n, I’m sorry. There’s no one else for me. You’re it. You’re my person, you make me feel so alive, so happy, so free, and I couldn’t even imagine what life would be like without you. Then I lived it. And it sucked. I know I’m an asshole, and I know you’re probably much better off without me, but I’m begging you, just let me back in your life, please? I’m falling apart without you baby.”

You stared at him. “Lando, I’m not asking you to stop racing because of me-”

“I did,” he smiled. 

“I’m not taking you back,” you insisted. “You made me feel like a shell of my actual self for a year, and I held on because I knew you needed a punching bag so that you wouldn’t take it out on the people around you. I don’t miss you. I don’t love you. I don’t want to see you.”

His face fell and he was quiet for a moment. “So I’ve really fucked it up?”

“Yeah, now get the fuck out of my lab.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅ A few months went by and the 2026 season started, and Landow as still on the grid, shocker. You didn’t care, he was a fucking asshole who didn’t deserve your time or companionship. You hoped he would choke every race start (which he did), get outperformed by Oscar (which he did), and loose to the WDC to Oscar (which he did). Karma.

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navigation for my blog :)

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[unhinged-bratty-boy]

Dabi - sad headcanons

This is my first time writing anything, be gentle with me 🙏🏻

It wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just a bored glance while killing time in the a convenience store as he waited for his contact to show. But then you walked in.

At first, he didn’t think much of it - just another face in the endless sea of strangers. But something about you made him pause. The way you casually brushed hair from your face while scanning shelves, the soft hum of a song under your breath, completely unaware of the world around you. You were normal. Unshattered. Alive.

His sharp, turquoise eyes narrowed, lingering longer than they should’ve. He blamed it on curiosity. Something about you felt warm in a way he hadn’t experienced in years - like standing too close to a hearth after a lifetime of cold. It made him uncomfortable. Made him angry.

He should’ve walked away. He didn’t.

Dabi followed you out of the store without even realizing it. At first, it was instinct - silent footsteps slipping through the dark alleys like a shadow as he followed. He told himself he just wanted to see where you lived. Just a quick glance, nothing more.

This one time turned into a shady routine for him. He had to know more.

Within days, he knew your routine - when you left for work, when you returned, where you shopped. He mapped out the weakest points of your flat with practiced efficiency - windows that didn’t lock quite right, a back door that stuck if you didn’t shove it hard enough. Old habits. Necessary. Just in case.

At night, he watched the soft glow of your apartment lights from across the street, imagining what your life must be like on the inside. Warm, ordinary, safe. He hated how much he wanted it.

One day, when he saw you struggling with heavy grocery bags, the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He shoved his hands deep into his material pants pockets, masking the nervous twitch of his fingers.

"Need a hand?" His voice was rough, casual - but there was something too sharp in his gaze, too focused.

You hesitated for just a moment before offering a grateful smile that hit him like a punch to the chest.

"Thank you! These bags are killing me."

He took them without another word, pretending the weight didn’t bother him. He could feel your eyes on him, curious, a little suspicious but not wary - not yet.

As you walked together, you talked - about nothing, really. The weather, the annoying store line, small, inconsequential things. But every word out of your mouth felt like oxygen to a man used to suffocating.

When you unlocked your door and turned back to him, smiling that same soft, trusting smile, he swore he felt his ruined heart stutter.

"Thanks again... um...?" you prompted, clearly expecting a name.

For a split second, he considered giving his real name - Touya - but killed the thought immediately. Too dangerous. Too personal.

"Dabi," he said instead, voice low, almost daring you to question it.

"Weird name," you said playfully, completely unfazed. How sweet you didn't recognise his villain name. "But thanks, Dabi. I really appreciate it."

Dabi always got what he wanted. He was ruthless, cunning, relentless. He should’ve burned this weakness out of himself the moment he realized what was happening. But he couldn't. He wanted you. All of you. And he was about to make you his.

This was how you two started seeing each other.

Dabi never calls your flat a home. The word sticks in his throat like ash. Home was burned away years ago, leaving only the cold, empty shell of survival. The apartment he crushes in from time to time is just a place where he exists, not where he belongs.

He lives in your home like a visitor overstaying his welcome. His clothes stay packed in a small, battered duffel bag shoved under the bed. “It’s just easier this way,” he mutters when you ask why he never uses the closet.

No matter how much he scrubs his skin, the faint scent of burning flesh never fades. He can see you notice but pretends he doesn’t. It makes him feel disgusted with his own self. It makes him feel guilty because you deserve much better. When you light scented candles or spray room freshener, he flinches inwardly, convinced you’re trying to mask the stench of him.

Every time he touches you, it feels like a silent goodbye. His hands are scarred and trembling, his grip tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. When he holds you, it’s never soft - it’s desperate, bruising, clinging. He needs the reminder that you’re real, that he’s still here, that he hasn’t burned you away yet.

He doesn’t say “I love you” because he thinks it’s a lie. People like him can’t love - not properly. Not in ways that don’t hurt. But sometimes, late at night when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll trace your features with the lightest touch, memorizing every line like he’s carving you into his memory - for when you’re gone.

He expects you to leave. He knows you will, eventually. Everyone does. He can’t stop his sharp tongue or bitter jabs when he feels too close - it’s his defense mechanism. If you get too close, you might see him for what he really is - broken, twisted, beyond saving. Better that you leave on your terms than pity him.

Dabi barely sleeps. On good nights, he dozes fitfully beside you, waking at every small noise like he’s still being hunted. On bad nights, he sits by the window until dawn, smoking one cigarette after another, eyes fixed on your soft, relaxed features as you're deep in your slumber.

Late at night, when the world is still, you often find him standing at the window, his eyes tired, staring into the endless dark. His cigarette burns low between scarred fingers, ash scattering unnoticed, staining your floor. "Touya, come back to bed," you ask, improving your silky nightgown around yourself. He doesn’t turn around. His voice is rough, distant, "Tsk. Don't call me Touya. He is long dead."

On his worst days, he believes he deserves the pain. He’ll disappear without a word, returning with fresh burns hidden beneath his sleeves, the acrid smell of charred skin lingering around him. You know better than to ask where he’s been - his hollow eyes tell you everything you need to know.

Dabi doesn’t believe in a future - not for himself. The idea of living a long, peaceful life feels like a cruel joke. He talks about “when” he has to leave, never “if.” He’s already made peace with the fact that whatever this is - you and him - won’t last. Nothing ever does.

He keeps insignificant things - crumbled notes you left on the fridge, your old scarf that still smells faintly of your perfume, a broken hairclip. He stashes them in a small, dented box under his bed in the LOV hideout. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he pulls the box out and runs his fingers over the keepsakes, pretending, for a few minutes, that he’s someone worth remembering.

When you fight, Dabi lashes out like a wounded animal, sharp and cruel. His words are designed to hurt because he expects you to leave anyway - better to make you hate him than to watch you drift away. But afterward, he’s consumed by guilt, curling into himself like a burned-out ember.

He can’t say sorry - not with words at least. But after a fight, you’ll find your favorite snacks mysteriously restocked, the blanket you love folded neatly on the couch, a worn apology scrawled on a crumpled scrap of paper left where you can find it. He’s trying - in the only ways he knows how.

Dabi isn’t someone meant for love - but God, how he wants it. He knows he’ll never deserve you, that this life he’s stumbled into is a borrowed dream destined to shatter. But for now - for however long this fragile, imperfect thing lasts - he’ll hold on with both hands, knowing that in the end, he’ll be the one left burning.

[o0sleepingdead0o]

Prepared for Anything

Part 2, MasterPost

Danny stared at the ceiling, bored, as the creepy clown laughed manically at a camera. Danny hadn’t been in this dimension for two minutes, (he’d portalled directly into Joker’s hideout) before he was promptly tied to a chair. He could get out of it easily.

Thing was, there were others here, restrained more thoroughly than Danny. They wore colourful, armoured suits and were obviously the vigilantes/heroes of this. . .place—Gotham? Danny’d heard the name mentioned a few times now—This Freakshow wannabe was obviously one of their villains. 

Danny had been hoping someone would show up without having to draw attention to himself. What was this dimension’s stance on halfas? Or ghosts?

But no one had come yet, it had been an hour, and he was getting stiff from sitting here so long without being able to move his limbs.

Danny heaved a loud, exasperated sigh-groan at the ceiling. The guy, face-painted like a toddler who’d gotten into their parent’s make-up, suddenly stopped monologuing. 

Good. It was getting annoying.

“Are you done yet?” Danny complained much like the impatient teenager he was. “I’ve got crap to do, wrap it up, would you?”

Danny came here to explore. He was not exploring. He should be exploring and it was all this dude’s fault.

Danny supposed he could go all ghost on him and bounce, but he came all this way. It wasn’t much of hassle, but still. Danny was stubborn. He knew this.

The warehouse was silent. The creepo wasn’t talking, anymore, he wasn’t doing anything, and Danny deigned to lift his head from where it’d been thrown back on the chair.

The costumed people were looking at him in horror.

Danny wasn’t sure why.

The walking fashion disaster began to cackle with condescending amusement.

Yeah, okay, whatever.

Danny ignored the man’s delve into something about Danny’s impending doom, or threatening him with pain, and something, something, something. Something about broken this, burning that, yada, yada yada, when Danny got an idea.

Behind the chair where his hands were bound, knowing no one was behind him, he quietly broke the ropes on his wrists. The vigilantes—a red one with bandoliers crossing over his chest and one who wore a largely grey and black suit with an R emblem on the left side of his chest—were valiantly trying to dissuade the psycho to leave Danny alone, who now realized the said psycho was coming towards him, carrying a crowbar.

How original.

The Joker, as Danny heard someone call him at some point, he’s not sure when, leaned in close. His breath stank. 

Danny made a disgusted face. “Do you not brush your teeth at all? Gross, dude.”

“You won’t be mak—“

Danny punched him in the jaw. The guy went down pretty easily. 

Danny made an annoyed noise as he bent down to untie his ankles from the chair legs. He muttered to himself. “Stupid villains, always gotta get in the way, why can’t I just have one nice vacation, huh?”

“How did you do that?” 

Danny looked up at the red one. “Do what?” He asked, standing and stretching with satisfying pops.

“Get free.”

“Oh. . .” Danny reached into his hoodie sleeve and pulled out a small hand saw. He guessed he coulda used a knife, but it was the first thing he'd thought of.

The guy spluttered. “You just keep a saw in your sleeve?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the P. No need for them to know he can make portals. As tiny as needed. “You guys want help out of those, or what?” Danny gestured to the chains keeping the two bound on the floor.

“No, Joker’s goons outside probably has the keys, we have back-up. . . .coming. . . .where did you get that?”

Danny didn’t miss a beat as he crouched to get a grip on the chain with the large pair of bolt cutters. “Ah, ya know, never leave home without a good pair of bolt cutters.” He offered. The room they were in was pretty bare, saying he found it “lying around” wouldn’t work. It’d be pretty obvious.

“That is absurd.” The younger one said. “Where did they come from?”

Danny snapped the red one free and moved onto the angry eyebrows one. How did they still emote so well through those masks? “Just had it on hand.”

“But wh—“

“Oh look! There ya go! I gotta go, nice being held hostage with y'all.” Danny ignored their calls for him, climbing out of the nearest window and disappearing.

[mariasont]

I'm so glad you love writing for bimbo reader x Hotch because i love READING them so much 💕

What about reader getting jealous a witness or unsub is flirting with Hotch? Kinda like how the prostitutes are always flirting with Reid but this time it's Hotch getting all awkward and reader misreading it and thinking he's interested back?

Love your stuff!

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY - A.H

a/n: hi so im so glad you love bimbo reader 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 that literally makes me so happy, thank you sm for requesting i hope you like that <3

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: reader being jelly, kind of out of character for bimbo reader honestly, she’s also a little flustered in this fic which also feels out of character but i kind of like it idk lmk what yall think

wc: 1.2k

The space between her hand and Hotch's bicep was dangerously narrow. She was saying something--something that was way flirtier than the situation required. Matter of fact than any situation required. Your pink nails, the same shade as your favorite bubblegum lip gloss, dug into the flesh of your palm, your lips forming a tight line as you fought the green jealousy that bubbled up like champagne.

It was fine. You were fine.

Until it wasn't.

She flashed a smile at Hotch, one that was undeniably pretty which only served to make your blood boil a degree hotter.

She was stunning, black hair, red lips, perfect skin. You loved yourself, obviously, but it was not in your character to deny that this woman was gorgeous by nature and she was edgeding her chair closer to him.

"Thank you so much for your help today, Agent Hotchner." Her voice had climbed a few pitches in comparison than when she was talking privately with you. "Is it okay if I give you my number, just in case I think of anything else?"

"Of course." Hotch was smiling-- no beaming--at the woman, reaching into his pocket to grab his business card.

Your lashes fluttered up and down is disbelief, jealously rolling off of you in category nine waves. You folded your hands on top of your skirt, cleaning and unclenching until you started to lose feeling in your fingertips.

You're fine, just take a deep breath. Hotch was simply being polite. That's it. But the rationalized thoughts in your head did not match the quicksand feeling in your stomach.

Unfortunately for you, showing and expressing your feelings in an appropriate manner had always been a struggle. Articulating when things were bothering you was a foreign language to you. The other side to this was you had no logical reason to feel the way you did. He was your boss, and you were his assistant. He wasn't your boyfriend. But that fine distinction did nothing to dampen the primal impulse to reach across the desk and drag the woman by her hair. 

That was dramatic, really. It was unfair to project your ugly feelings onto her when in all honestly, in her position, you’d be doing the exact same.

As much as you loved your job and adored your boss, sometimes you wished you didn’t work for him so you could push the boundaries just a little bit when it came to flirting with him.

Thankfully, for the sake of your career, the woman gone before your rash instincts could manifest into action. You needed to get a grip and possibly go reapply your lipstick.

You spent the majority of the day, from that point, avoiding Hotch like the plague. You weren't quite equipped to sift through the emotional chaos brewing inside you, especially when your focus needed to be on getting your tasks done, not on who Hotch might be interested in. It didn't matter if he liked that woman. You could cope. Maybe.

When you did have to come into contact with him, you found yourself acting like a wounded animal. The sight of his face only served to replay that stupid smile he flashed at her. He was probably already in love, daydreaming about their shared life ahead. Their three kids, the white picket fence, maybe even a dog.

You flipped open your makeup mirror, dabbing powder on to your nose and forehead while mentally reminding yourself to pull it together and behave like the grown-up you were supposed to be.

No sooner had you left the bathroom had you crashed into something, legs betraying you as you lurched forward, nearly spiraling to the floor. Your hands shot out, closing around the nearest object which felt to be the lapels of a suit. 

Your gaze snapped into sharp focus. Yes, definitely the lapels of a suit, and not just any suit--It was Hotch's.

Fantastic.

You quickly retracted your hands, letting them hang limply by your sides as you took a cautious step backward.

His brows furrowed, lips tipping downward as he absently adjusted his watch. "You okay?"

"Peachy!”

That was too much.

You attempted to sidestep him, but he anticipated the move. His arm reached out with surprising speed, fastening around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Hey." It was funny how a single word in that deep voice of his was enough to make your heart beat a little faster. "You've been avoiding me all day. I don't want to pry, but if there's something I've done to upset you, I'd like to know so we can clear the air."

"What?" you responded too quickly, avoiding his gaze as your hand went to your neck. "Oh, no, no, it's not you, sir. I just... I think I might be catching a cold or something. Just feeling a bit woozy."

You were definitely coming down with something—it was a green, nasty disease that had your judgement in a clouded haze.

He smiled, making your heart go into overdrive. "You're a terrible liar."

"No idea what you mean." Your voice went up an octave too high. "But, um, there's a bunch of witnesses I need to follow up with. There's this one who was... really eager. Maybe she'd respond better to you?"

There was a pause before Hotch spoke, his voice low and certain. "I've seen many reactions from you, but jealousy? Is that what's happening here?"

You blinked rapidly, heat rising to your cheeks. "Jealous? That's... that's ridiculous."

"I'd like to think I know you better than that." He gave you a deadpan look. "You've been avoiding eye contact, you've been unusually quiet, and I didn't necessarily miss that look you gave her."

You swallowed hard, proving him right and looking anywhere but him as you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. 

"It's not... it's just, you know... I don't know, the smile you gave her, it seemed a bit unprofessional to me."

Your words tumbled out in a flustered rush, not capable of taking them back as you realized the absurdity of it all.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Unprofessional? Did it look like I was flirting? Because that would be a first."

"No, I don't think you were flirting, not exactly." You should stop yourself while you're ahead. "But she was, and you didn't exactly shut it down."

Hotch's face was unreadable. "Honestly, I didn't even realize she was flirting with me. Even so, I'm curious—why would that bother you?"

"Well, I mean, I... It doesn't, not really. I just think we should all be focused, that's all," you managed, voice faltering as you tried to be convincing.

"I assure you, my focus is on all the right places," Hotch said, taking a step closer that almost felt invasive. His gaze dropped to your lips momentarily before snapping back up to your eyes.

"O-okay."

The closeness of him was sending your body into overdrive, the room suddenly feeling too small, his presence way too intense.

"And just for the record," Hotch said over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "If I were to flirt, trust me, it would be with someone who already had all my attention."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

[hsnlv]

unexpectedly yours. | p.sh

req!: I would love a fic about Sunghoon falling in love with the most unexpected person ever…. (the rest is here!)

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: sunghoon always thought he’d fall for someone quiet and delicate, but meeting you—wild curls, sun-kissed skin, and unmatched chaos—changes everything. as he falls deeper, he learns love isn’t what he expected; it’s better.

wc: 1.09k

a/n: this one, to me, IS VERY ADORBSSSS (especially towards the end🤭). and im sorry if what the request-er (?)wanted is not delivered as perfectly :( but i still love this and i hope you do too!! feedbacks and comments are highly appreciated (through inbox or comments idm!)💗 happy reading lovelies!!🎀 here’s my masterlist!

park sunghoon wasn’t the type to attend parties. but here he was, leaning against a kitchen counter, sipping a drink he didn’t like, wondering for the millionth time why he had let jake drag him here.

“you’re too cool for your own good,” jake had teased earlier. “seriously, hoon. maybe you’ll meet someone who makes you loosen up a little.”

sunghoon wasn’t in the mood to “loosen up.” parties weren’t his thing, and meeting people definitely wasn’t on his to-do list.

but then, he saw you.

you were hard to miss.

standing in the middle of the living room, you were laughing so hard your shoulders shook, a carefree sound that rose above the music. your skin glowed under the warm party lights—a rich, sun-kissed tone that made you look like summer incarnate.

your outfit wasn’t what anyone would call stylish, with your mismatched patterns and wild curly hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. but somehow, you looked radiant. untamed. completely, unapologetically yourself.

his gaze lingered longer than it should have. your body wasn’t what most people called “perfect”—soft in places he wasn’t used to seeing celebrated, your curves wrapped in confidence. you weren’t quiet or shy or delicate, the way he always thought his “type” would be.

and yet, you were magnetic.

he was so caught up in the way you threw your head back to laugh again, your curls bouncing wildly, that he didn’t notice jake sidling up beside him.

“she’s something, huh?” jake asked, smirking.

sunghoon blinked. “who?”

“don’t play dumb. the girl you’ve been staring at for, like, five minutes.”

“i wasn’t staring,” sunghoon said, looking away too quickly to be convincing.

“uh-huh. you should go talk to her.”

“she’s not my type.”

jake rolled his eyes. “your type is boring. she’s fun. go.”

sunghoon didn’t know why he listened. but before he could second-guess himself, his feet were already moving toward you.

you turned as he approached, your eyes wide and curious, and smiled like you were greeting an old friend.

hi,” she said, her voice light and playful. “you’re…” she tilted her head, studying him. “jake’s friend, right?”

“yeah. i’m sunghoon.”

she smiled, bright and unfiltered. “nice to meet you, sunghoon. i’m (y/n).”

he hesitated, then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “you… like dancing?”

y/n squinted at him, as if trying to gauge if he was serious. “no, i hate it. that’s why i’ve been embarrassing myself for the past hour.”

sunghoon blinked, caught off guard by her sarcasm.

“you don’t talk much, do you?” she teased, leaning against the wall, her curly hair brushing her shoulders.

“i talk,” he said defensively.

“yeah? then say something interesting.”

he frowned, and she laughed again, clearly amused by his discomfort.

and just like that, she’d effortlessly disarmed him.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

weeks later

it didn’t take long for you to become a constant in sunghoon’s life.

you were a whirlwind of chaos and confidence, with your mismatched outfits, endless jokes, and unpredictable energy. where he was quiet, you were loud. where he was composed, you were messy.

and yet, he couldn’t imagine a day without you.

you made fun of his obsession with monochromatic outfits, teased him for being “too cool,” and somehow, you always knew how to make him laugh—even when he didn’t want to.

“so, what do you think?” you asked one day, holding up a floral skirt and a neon sweater.

sunghoon frowned. “i think i need a pair of sunglasses just to look at it.”

you gasped dramatically, clutching the clothes to your chest. “you wound me, park sunghoon.”

he smirked, throwing a pillow at you.

but beneath your teasing and chaotic energy, you had a way of grounding him.

it hit him hardest one night at a party, when someone made a rude comment about your body. before you could react, sunghoon was in front of you, his icy glare fixed on the guy.

“say that again,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

the guy stammered, trying to backtrack, but sunghoon didn’t let him off easy.

as soon as the guy walked away, you touched his arm gently. “hoon, you didn’t have to do that.”

he turned to you, his gaze softening instantly. “yes, i did.”

later that night, as you sat beside him on your couch, he turned to you. “don’t ever let anyone make you feel less than perfect.”

your eyes softened, and for once, you didn’t have a teasing reply.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

it was late, and the two of you were lying on the living room floor, staring at the ceiling.

“hoon?”

“hm?”

“you’re staring at me again.”

he blinked, realizing he’d been caught.

“you just… you’re hard to look away from,” he said softly.

you snorted. “was that supposed to be smooth?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m being serious.”

“oh, okay. carry on.”

he sighed, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you properly. “you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“yeah, we’ve established that. i’m chaotic and messy and all kinds of amazing.”

“you are,” he said, his voice quieter now. “you make me feel things i didn’t think i could feel. like… like it’s okay to be a little messy. like it’s okay to not have everything figured out.”

your eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, suddenly shy.

“you make me laugh, even when i don’t want to. you make me want to try things i’d never do otherwise. and you’re…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“hoon,” you interrupted, sitting up. “i’m dumb. please just say it.”

he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are. confessing your undying love for me.”

he smiled, soft and fond. “yeah, i guess i am.”

you grinned, leaning closer. “so say it properly.”

sunghoon reached out, tucking a curl behind your ear. his fingers lingered against your cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“i’m in love with you,” he said, the words carrying more weight than you expected. “every chaotic, mismatched, unpredictable part of you. i don’t want to imagine my life without you in it.”

you blinked, your heart skipping a beat.

“see?” you finally said, your voice wobbly but teasing. “was that so hard?”

he laughed softly, pulling you into his arms. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“i know,” you murmured against his chest, your smile wide.

and for the first time, park sunghoon felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

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