#so here is something where they are happy

[misswynters]

𓏲 ˖. ♡ Ekko as your bf

having the boy who shattered time as your bf

warnings. none, just all fluff (truly need it after act iii)

How You Got Together.

• It started with a deep friendship. You were someone who always stuck by him through thick and thin, whether it was sneaking into Zaun’s alleys to watch him race or sitting on rooftops together while he talked about his plans to make Zaun a better place.

• Ekko didn’t realize his feelings right away, but every time he saw you cheering him on or patching up his wounds after another risky stunt, something in his chest warmed.

• One day, during a quiet moment after a long day of running with the Firelights, he blurted it out. “You know, you’re the only person who keeps me sane around here. I think I’m in love with you.”

• You were stunned for a second, but when you smiled and told him you felt the same way, he grinned so wide his face hurt. “Guess we’re stuck with each other, huh, Firefly?”

Nicknames He Gives You.

• Firefly — His favorite. You’re his little spark of light in Zaun’s darkness.

• Shorty/Tallie — Depending on your height, he’ll playfully tease you about it.

• Gearhead — If you have any interest in tinkering or helping him fix things, this becomes a fond nickname.

• Starling — For when he’s feeling extra soft and poetic.

• Babe — When he’s feeling casual or playful.

Love Languages.

• Acts of Service: Ekko loves taking care of you in small, thoughtful ways: tinkering with gadgets to make your life easier, fixing anything you need, or walking you home to make sure you’re safe.

• Physical Touch: He’s touch-starved, and it shows. He thrives on hand-holding, cuddling, and casual touches like ruffling your hair or resting his hand on your knee during meetings.

• Quality Time: Ekko values the moments when it’s just the two of you. Whether you’re hanging out in the hideout or watching the stars from the rooftops, he treasures your company.

How He Shows Affection.

• He has this way of looking at you like you’re his entire world, especially when you’re laughing or talking about something you’re passionate about.

• He’s a sucker for forehead kisses: quick, soft, and full of love.

• Ekko likes to surprise you with little gifts he makes himself, like a glowing trinket to wear or a gadget that makes your life easier.

• When he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll pull you close by the waist and murmur something sweet in your ear just to see you blush.

What He’s Like in a Relationship.

• He’s fiercely loyal and protective, always making sure you’re safe and cared for.

• Ekko is a mix of playful and serious. he’ll joke around to make you laugh, but when it comes to your happiness or well-being, he’s all locked in.

• He listens to you like it’s the most important thing in the world, always giving you his full attention. He’s like completely mesmerized with the way you speak to him. like it could literally be you just yapping about the stupidest thing and you will still have his full attention. Ekko would be all smiley and smitten he just loves hearing you talk about your interests.

Dates with Him.

• Rooftop stargazing is one of his favorites. He’ll bring a blanket and snacks, and you’ll spend hours lying side by side, talking about anything and everything.

• Late-night walks through Zaun, where he shows you hidden spots he loves, like graffiti walls he painted or quiet corners with the best views of the Undercity lights.

• He loves taking you everywhere with him. Anywhere, that would allow him to proudly show you off to his crew.

• Sometimes, dates are simple. Fixing things together, cooking (well, attempting to), or dancing to music in the hideout.

• Taking you to do inventions. Whether it’s with heimerdinger or not he will not mind having you around while he does his nerdy stuff. Encourages you while you try to do something while failing miserably.

What He Loves About You the Most.

• Your unwavering support. He’s always carrying the weight of Zaun’s struggles, and you’re the one person who makes him feel like it’s okay to lean on someone else for a while.

• Your laughter. It’s his favorite sound, and he’ll do anything to hear it.

• Your determination. Whether you’re helping him with the Firelights or pursuing your own goals, he admires your drive and tenacity.

• The way you care for others. It reminds him of why he fights so hard to protect Zaun.

Arguments with Him.

• Ekko HATES arguing, especially with you. He’ll try to keep his cool, but sometimes his frustration slips out.

• He’s quick to apologize if he’s in the wrong. He doesn’t like going to bed angry, so he’ll do whatever it takes to make things right before the night ends.

• If you’re upset, he’ll give you space if you need it, but he’ll always check in to make sure you’re okay. “Look, I’m sorry. I just… I hate fighting with you. Can we talk about this?”

• Arguments never last long because both of you care too much to stay mad.

Little Things He Does for You.

• He always checks in on you, whether it’s through quick messages or showing up to see you in person.

• He’ll steal your snacks but always makes sure to bring extras so you don’t actually lose out.

• Ekko loves playing with your hair, whether it’s braiding it, twirling it around his finger, or just running his hands through it absentmindedly.

• When you’re stressed, he’ll pull you into a hug and whisper, “You got this, Firefly. I believe in you.”

• If he notices you shivering, he’ll shrug off his jacket and wrap it around you without a second thought.

Moments That Make Him Soft.

• When you fall asleep on his shoulder after a long day. He’ll sit perfectly still so he doesn’t wake you, his heart melting at how peaceful you look.

• The way you light up when you see him, like he’s the only person in the world that matters.

• When you cheer him on during one of his missions. Your belief in him gives him strength like nothing else.

• Watching you interact with Scraps or other animals. He loves seeing your gentle, caring side.

Overall in my opinion.

Ekko as your boyfriend is a mix of excitement, warmth, and unwavering devotion. He’s someone who will always have your back, someone who will fight for you and with you, and someone who will treasure every moment you spend together. With him, life in Zaun feels a little brighter, a little safer, and a whole lot more full of love.

note. just my opinion :3

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @annybah @niredsw @stqrlxght @kriss-w @marilovz @blkmystery @multiverse-fandoms-2001 @turquoizxe @mishellii @kor-0suu @feelya @theamazingmilli @multim00n @m00nd0v3 @sodavrr @maialublmere @radtragedyarcade @spiderhook @night-fall-moon

banner. @anitalenia

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[lilacxquartz]

a touch apart;

mr. crawling x f!reader

plot: allowing mr. crawling to get closer, he tries his best to make you happy, trying all sorts of things — themes: oral (receiving), touching, smut, limited dialogue as i tried to keep it how it is in the game — w.c: 0.9k

masterlist • ao3

On the rare occasion that bedrest wouldn’t help you recover, Mr. Crawling would grow equally restless along with you, although more so just confused. In his mind, it would be his fault for not being safe enough for you. He watched over you as you rested, and kept his height to a minimum to ensure your comfort, and yet, you could never relax fully in this place.

In recent times however, you had been allowing him to get closer than usual—more than ever before, in fact. No longer did you react to his spontaneous hugs and head pats by pushing him away, and instead allowed for him to close whatever brief distance you both had. No longer did you also feel surprised to see him there all of the time, doting on you and waiting for you—instead rather, expecting him to be there.

So, when you again, didn’t quite turn him away, he crept closer towards you with a different sort of intention in mind.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he knew that he wanted to be closer to you, any other sort of reaction was almost unacceptable in his mind.

He reeled you in close, feeling your frame mould to his own like the missing part of a puzzle that he never knew he was missing, finding solace in completing each other.

You sat on the bed, watching as he crawled towards you, stopping right where you sat. His hands wrapped around your legs in a needy hug, resting his head against your thighs. In return, you tried to offer a head pat back, offering soft and soothing languid gestures over his silky black hair.

Mr Crawling’s touches weren’t immediately invasive right away, although his touch dabbled on something slightly beyond just explorative, reaching further beyond than he perhaps meant to go. His ghostly palms slid over your thighs, brushing milky-smooth languid touches along your supple skin. However, immediately retracting his caressing from the moment you tensed up, fearing that he had done something wrong.

In a curious tone, he tried to assess the situation, “Pain here?”

You shook your head, hoping to shake off the creeping blush that settled over your complexion too. You weren’t entirely opposed to him exploring your body in that way, but you also wanted him to understand what he was doing.

Mr. Crawling then paused for a moment before returning his hands to the area once more, intently studying your reaction as he went along. As if mentally logging that your state was flustered, he seemed to register a certain thought in mind, his expression changing from cautious to curious.

“Happy?” he asked instead, his voice very soft.

Stifling your need, you nodded while chewing on your bottom lip.

Understanding the memo, Mr. Crawling carefully slipped his fingers just below your concealed sex, poking a finger inside to study your potential reactions. He seemed to successfully register that touching certain parts of your body meant for unique reactions, which made him feel excited in return, so this was a reaction that he definitely wanted to explore.

Moving forward with a tentative touch, he eventually let you wiggle out of your underwear, dropping the pair to gather right at your ankles. He then moved his fingers a little closer on one hand, using his other palm to spread your legs further apart with an idea in mind.

Slowly, he moved his head forward, propping his tongue out and licking where his fingers parted away at the folded area of your heat, seeking out the area where you were the most responsive. Your clit tingled as he successfully connected to it, biting back a barely contained whimper. Mr. Crawling took note of your flushed state, understanding that this must have been your body’s happy zone, before lapping at it in all sorts of various ways, only repeating the motions that seemed to gather the strongest response.

Such feelings were greatly reciprocated by you as you involuntarily anchored your hand over his raven locks, clawing—grappling tight against his hair—reeling in whatever you could in a fit of feverish need. Mr. Crawling all the while continued to flick his tongue against your sensitive bud, letting your pleasure rise to an almost burning peak—yet only teasingly so. Mr. Crawling, unbeknownst to his fleeting spurs of your own received pleasure, kept pulling back to catch glimpses of your flustered state.

Slowly but surely, you grew closer to your anticipated end, which he seemed to catch onto. Changing things up slightly to keep up with you, Mr. Crawling sped up the motions towards an almost hectic fervour, wanting nothing more than to give you as much of his ‘help’ as he possibly could physically accomplish.

Your thighs soon tightened and clamped shut from such searing anticipation; your fingernails clawing against his scalp as the rolling bliss finally mounted, until at last, the coiling warmth from within the confines of your stomach had at last constricted beyond the point of no return, uncoiling radiating sweeps of pooling pleasure flooded your core, so desperately pent-up, coming undone at long, long last.

Noticing such a reaction, Mr. Crawling appeared to be both happy and confused at your ruffled state, bringing you closer towards him right away, sitting you on the ground with his arms wrapped right around you in a tight hug. He seemed to understand that you greatly enjoyed such a thing but remained confused as to why you looked so distressed—so agitated, almost.

“Happy?” he asked again, his chin resting atop your head.

You breathlessly nodded, leaning into his chest, taking note of his obvious arousal now evidently pressing against you.

A thought entered your mind as you slowly caught your breath again.

Maybe you should return the favour?

[gayweeddaddy69420]

A passage from Life of Pi, on the perception of the ethics of zoos:

Well-meaning but misinformed people think animals in the wild are “happy” because they are “free”. These people usually have a large, handsome predator in mind…The life of the wild animal is simple, noble and meaningful, they imagine. Then it is captured by wicked men and thrown into tiny jails. Its “happiness” is dashed. It yearns mightily for “freedom” and does all it can to escape. Being denied its “freedom” for too long, the animal becomes a shadow of itself, its spirit broken. So some people imagine.

This is not the way it is.

Animals in the wild lead lives of compulsion and necessity within an unforgiving social hierarchy in an environment where the supply of fear is high and the supply of food is low and where territory must constantly be defended and parasites forever endured…The smallest changes can upset them. They want things to be just so, day after day, month after month. Surprises are highly disagreeable to them…In the wild, animals stick to the same paths for the same pressing reasons, season after season. In a zoo, if an animal is not in its normal place in its regular posture at the usual hour, it means something…a reason to inspect the dung, to cross-examine the keeper, to summon the vet. All this because a stork is not standing where it usually stands!

But let me pursue for a moment only one aspect of the question.

If you went to a home, kicked down the front door, chased the people who lived there out into the street and said, “Go! You are free! Free as a bird! Go! Go!”-do you think they would shout and dance for joy? They wouldn’t. Birds are not free. The people you’ve just evicted would sputter, “With what right do you throw us out? This is our home. We own it. We have lived here for years. We’re calling the police, you scoundrel.”

…Animals are territorial. That is the key to their minds. Only a familiar territory will allow them to fulfill the two relentless imperatives of the wild: the avoidance of enemies and the getting of food and water. A biologically sound zoo enclosure-whether cage, pit, moated island, corral, terrarium, aviary or aquarium- is just another territory, peculiar only in its size and in its proximity to human territory…Territories in the wild are large not as a matter of taste but of necessity. In a zoo, we do for animals what we have done for ourselves with houses: we bring together in a small space what in the wild is spread out. Whereas before for us the cave was here, the river over there, the hunting grounds a mile that way, the lookout next to it, the berries somewhere else- all of them infested with lions, snakes, ants, leeches and poison ivy- now the river flows through taps at hand’s reach and we can wash next to where we sleep, we can eat where we have cooked, and we can surround the whole with a protective wall and keep it clean and warm. A house is a compressed territory where our basic needs can be fulfilled close by and safely. A sound zoo enclosure is the equivalent for an animal…Finding within it all places it needs- a lookout, a place for resting, for eating and drinking, for bathing, for grooming, etc.- and finding that there is no need to go hunting, food preparing six days a week…an animal will take possession of its zoo space in the same way it would lay claim to a new space in the wild, exploring it and marking it out in the normal ways of its species, with sprays of urine perhaps. Once this moving-in ritual is done and the animal has settled, it will not feel like a nervous tenant, and even less like a prisoner, but rather like a landholder…defending tooth and nail should it be invaded. Such an enclosure is subjectively neither better nor worse for an animal than its condition in the wild; so long as it fulfills the animals needs, a territory, natural or constructed…One might even argue that if an animal could choose with intelligence, it would opt for living in a zoo, since the major differences between a zoo and the wild is the absence of parasites and enemies and the abundance of food in the first, and their respective abundance and scarcity in the second. Think about it yourself. Would you rather be put up at the Ritz with free room service and unlimited access to a doctor or be homeless without a soul to care for you?...Within the limits of their nature, they [animals] make do with what they have.

But I don’t insist. I don’t mean to defend zoos. Close them all down if you want (and let us hope that what wildlife remains can survive in what is left of the natural world). I know zoos are no longer in people’s good graces. Religion faces the same problem. Certain illusions about freedom plague them both.”

I just think that 'animals are living intelligent creatures that have feelings and deserve to be respected' and 'when done properly farming is beneficial to both people and animals and there's nothing wrong with raising and killing animals for food, clothing, and other products' are concepts that very much can and should coexist

[hitomisuzuya]

hi again suzu !!! could you do like really mean and harsh smut with obsessed scaramouche who kidnaps reader; and reader is actually obsessed with him aswell; if that makes sense 😞

you can make it kinky too; but that’s completely your choice!

- 🎧

yandere!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. obsessive/possessive behavior. kidnap. drugging. blowjob. harsh degradation. degrading praise. creampie. mean!scara. if any of these themes make you uncomfortable, DNI.

scara really enjoys himself in this 😳

today was the day. scaramouche knew today was the day. the world was encroaching too much, too fast around you. because you are so strong, it would be too much for you. that's exactly why you need him to protect you.

life wasn't going to dig it's hideous claws into you like it had done to him. he absolutely wasn't going to let that happen.

he has everything all prepared, even a new bed with a soft mattress and softer pillows. various things that would make you happy and comfortable. it was easy for him to acquire the sedative he would use, which is also something he considered carefully. something mellow and soft that would make you instantly drowsy and fall right to sleep. you wouldn't feel a thing.

scaramouche knew your schedule inside and out. you didn't have any idea he was following right behind you the entire time, having made promises to meet up for a date later. you, being so easily trusting of him, would walk right into his plans.

you are just way too kind. way too naive. far too sweet. all too much for your own good. but that is okay. he is here now.

absolutely nothing would go wrong. he would successfully retrieve you, and snatch you up away from the world. keep you hidden and at his side. where you belong. after all, you already look at him with such devotion, love and adoration.

he swooped in the moment you inevitably stopped walking to check your phone. you'd been keeping such an eye on the weather all day.

your breath hitched in your throat, startled as scaramouche came up behind you. "ssh, it's okay," he cooed, gently cupping a hand over your mouth, "you won't feel a thing, i promise. this is for your own good," your eyes widened a little feeling the pin prick on your neck, but you didn't panic. you'd heard the sound of scaramouche's voice, that let you know not to be scared.

he shivered seeing your body relax even before he sedated you. you trusted him that much that he didn't scare you. you really are amazing. he picked up as you slumped against him.

that was how you ended up on your knees, naked in front him, his hand stroking your hair lovingly before grasping it firmly. "go on, slut. use that pretty mouth of yours to tell me what you told me shortly after you woke up," he narrowed his eyes in a glare down at you, sending a shiver straight to your throbbing clit.

he brought your mouth close to his cock. you look up at him so sweetly, your soft little tongue darting out to kitten lick the head of his leaking cock. "you are all i ever think about, scara," he groaned softly as your tongue danced on the precum gathering in his slit.

incidentally, scaramouche only asked you to repeat yourself. it was you who insisted on sucking and licking his cock while you elaborated. it made his ego stretch as much as his cock aches. "i love you. my heart only ever belonged to you. i didn't want to give it to anyone else but you," you continued, wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping your hand as you scooped his cock head into your mouth to suck on.

scaramouche moaned, his cock pulsing on your velvety warm tongue. he pushed your mouth down onto his cock. "good girl, you know your place. on your knees. sucking my cock like a fucking slut," you muffled a moan on his cock, sucking obediently as pumped his thick length in and out of your mouth.

fuck you look so breathtaking, drool pooling from the corners of your mouth while he ruined your throat. "you look adorable with my cock stuffed in your mouth. i can fucking feel your throat enjoying me," his hand tightened on your hair, holding your head in place.

he let out a loud, husky moan as he pushed his cock into your throat. you coughed, your throat convulsing and spasming in a heavenly way on his cock. "as good as using your throat feels, it would be such a shame to not cum inside you first," he took your mouth off his cock, enjoying the way you were submitting and letting him essentially manhandle you.

the look in your eyes only deepened with further adoration for him.

"on the bed, and spread your legs," he commanded, his cock straining harder watching you spread your legs, your little fingers parting your folds for him. he feasted his eyes on your creamy cunt, all his for the taking.

crawling on top of you, scaramouche wasted no time putting his cock between your drooling folds. he slowly grinded his cock over your clit, hissing in pleasure feeling your juices soak his length.

you mewled, your legs shaking and your hips rocking up to grind back against him. "please, i am begging you to stretch me apart," you pleaded, spreading your legs more.

"needy, pathetic whore," he hissed, adruptly bullying his cock inside of you. "you are all mine," he bottomed out all at once, tearing the sweetest cry of pleasure from you. "do you understand?" his cock was shiny with your slick as he pulled halfway out of you.

he wanted to fuck his cock back inside of you at the exact moment you said you understood.

"i'm all yours, scara!" you cried out, your hips jerking up to help him fuck his cock deep back inside of you. your walls clenched tight from his harsh degradation, your cheeks flushed as you squirmed with need.

need that was all for him.

scaramouche lost control then.

he possessively held you down, his hips smacking into yours. his grip was bruising on your thighs as he held them apart. you could barely keep up with the intense pleasure of his cock driving into your sweet spot. your fingers shook as you reached down to rub your throbbing clit, your ministrations tinging your shameless moans with whimpers.

"what a whore. what a good girl," he groaned, his cock on the cusps of emptying inside of you. the wet warmth of your pussy sucking him in was almost too much for him. "fall apart faster for me," his eyes followed the motion of your hand on your clit.

you shook underneath him, your orgasm washing over you in dizzying proportions. scaramouche couldn't get enough of your cries of pleasure while you creamed on his cock.

"keep crying just like that for me," his cock squelched wetter in and out of your pussy, ribboning ropes of cum inside of you. you wrapped a leg around him, happy to let him fuck his cock deeper into you as he chased his high.

[alotofpockets]

Finding comfort | Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Where you're always very timid, but open up to Katie

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

You had never been great at new environments. It always takes a long time before you are able to warm up to people you don’t know. So, being called up to Arsenal’s senior team and being surrounded by a whole new team definitely wasn’t an easy task.

The first few weeks had flown by, but you hadn’t really spoken to any of your teammates, besides giving short answers to their questions.No one seemed to mind that you were so timid, never pushing you. 

Behind your back they had spoken about it, not in a bad way, more so that they were worried that you weren’t comfortable here. They tried in different ways to make you feel more included, hoping you would start opening up more, but despite their best efforts not much changed. However, your teammates were patient with you, and you were grateful that they weren’t pushing.

“Good morning, are you ready for training?” Kim said as she sat down besides you in the locker room. You smiled timidly and nodded. Your team captain smiled and quietly got ready besides you. Around you the room was buzzing with the chatter of the rest of your teammates.

Training today was a gym session. You enjoyed gym days because for the biggest part of it, you were working individually. While yes football was a team sport, so that part was very important, the individual work made you feel more comfortable with the new environment.

You started with biking, as that was usually the equipment that everyone liked the least, so you would have the space to yourself. After a few minutes of cycling, Katie walked up. “Hey Kid, mind if I join you?” In response you nod. She sits down on the bike beside you and starts cycling with you.

After a few minutes of silence, Katie turns her head your way with a serious expression. “I’ve got an important question for you.” You turn to her, worried about what she might ask. Katie McCabe wasn’t known for being serious, so this must be something big or important.

“Do you think cereal is a soup?” You look at her in disbelief, definitely not having expected that question at all. “That’s your important question?” Your lips curl up slightly. “Yes, I need to know where you stand on the matter.” She says just as seriously as she started.

This time your smile breaks out and you start laughing. Katie smiles proudly before she joins in on your laughter. “So,” She says when the laughter dies down. “Is it soup?” You shake your head. “Definitely not and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Katie gasped, her face filled with shock. “Not soup? Unbelievable. I thought you had better judgement, Kid.” You felt the walls you had up crumble bit by bit every time she joked around. 

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of a few of your teammates in the gym. They looked at the intersection between you and Katie with smiles on their faces. Who would have thought that Katie would’ve been the one to get you to open up more?

“I will let you off the hook this time. Everyone is allowed one wrong opinion, and you have just used yours.” You shake your head with a chuckle. “Good to know.”

The two of you continued chatting throughout your bike session. The team occasionally looks over, happy to see that you are feeling more at home. Wondering what kind of magic Katie used to get through to you. 

“Do you maybe want to join me and toss the ball around?” Katie is quick to say yes, happy that you want to continue opening up to her. “Right behind you.” She says as she gets stopped by Leah on the way.

“I’ve never seen her like this. How did you get her to open up?” The blonde asks full of wonder. Katie shrugs, “I told you that I am funnier than the rest of you.” She walks off proudly, leaving Leah standing there dumbfounded.  

You had picked out the weight that you wanted to use right as Katie walked up. “Alright, show me what you got, Kid.” She stood a few steps in front of you and got ready to catch the ball. You held it at chest height as you squatted down and in your movement up, you threw the ball her way. She did the same movement before tossing the ball your way again.

Just like on bikes, the two of you were chatting. It seemed like you were getting really comfortable with Katie, and there was just one thought on the older players' mind. “Why me?” She asked out loud before thinking.

“I eh, I mean you’re opening up to me and I was wondering what made you do so with me?” She threw the ball back your way. You catch it with ease and as you squat down you answer her question. 

“You just made me feel safe.” You toss the ball back but Katie is so caught by surprise with your answer that it just falls to the ground in front of her. “I win.” You say with a proud smirk.

“Yeah yeah, well done, Kid.” Katie tries to shrug off the loss, but ultimately she’s feeling very good, because she had created a safe space for you without even realising it. Growing up with younger siblings had unintentionally prepared her for youngsters joining the team.

“I want a revance on this next training.” You shake her reached out hand. “Deal, but don’t be upset if I beat you again.” Laughter erupts in the room. Your cheeks turn a bright red when you realise everyone was looking at you. 

Katie notices and puts her arm around your shoulder. “Get used to it Kid, that humour will get you far with these girls.”

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[creamflix]

cw: mentions of sex & reader menstruating, nothing detailed or explicit [for nsfw].

read part one here

three years.

three whole years of loving each other in your own chaotic way.

but when the anniversary actually rolled around, you felt like someone had hit the reset button on your social skills. standing in the kitchen that morning, you blurted out, “it’s our anniversary. we’ve been together for a long time,” as if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.

sukuna blinked at you from where he was tying his tie, raising an eyebrow like he couldn’t believe what just came out of your mouth.

“no shit,” he deadpanned, though his lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk.

you huffed, crossing your arms. “i’m just saying. it’s... a big deal, y’know?”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, brushing past you to grab his keys, but you caught the way his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual.

truthfully, neither of you were handling it well. anniversaries weren’t exactly your forte. it wasn’t like you didn’t say “i love you” to each other, but those words carried weight between the two of you — too much to just toss around casually.

and now, faced with the unspoken expectation to do something, both of you were stumbling like teenagers on a first date.

sukuna spent the entire morning at work distracted, fidgeting with his pen and snapping at his coworkers more than usual.

am i supposed to plan something? he thought. i was the one who proposed, does that mean it’s my job? the pressure was getting to him.

finally, he decided to keep it simple: your favorite takeout from university, a nostalgic callback to the start of everything.

meanwhile, you spent your day spiraling in a completely different direction. romantic gestures weren’t exactly your specialty, but the thought of doing nothing felt worse.

so, you left work early and dove into something utterly out of character — a full-on romantic dinner, complete with candles, music, and a dish you’d only ever made once before.

by the time the evening rolled around, both of you were a mess. sukuna trudged through the door first, looking disheveled in his wrinkled work clothes, seven plastic bags in hand, each one stuffed with takeout containers. he didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before stepping into the living room.

“yo, i got —” he started, but froze mid-sentence when he saw you.

you were standing by the dining table, decked out in an outfit that screamed special occasion, with your hair done and everything. the table was set like something out of a movie: a full spread of homemade dishes, soft lighting from the candles, and an awkward tension hanging in the air because, honestly, what the hell were the two of you doing?

“...what the fuck,” sukuna finally said, his voice soft with something you couldn’t quite place.

you shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “i figured... i’d try something different.”

he stared at you for a beat, then down at the bags in his hands, then back at you. “you made all this?”

“yeah.” you shifted on your feet. “thought it’d be nice. but uh, if you don’t wanna eat it, we can always —”

“shut up,” he cut you off, a grin breaking across his face. “you’re insane, you know that?”

“takes one to know one,” you shot back, but your cheeks were burning.

he dropped the bags unceremoniously on the counter and crossed the room in a few quick strides. before you could say anything else, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug that was somehow both firm and gentle.

“you’re ridiculous,” he mumbled against your hair. “but you’re my ridiculous.”

you rolled your eyes but melted into his embrace. “yeah, yeah. happy anniversary, jerk.”

he laughed, low and genuine, and for a moment, the awkwardness faded. the food didn’t matter. the plans didn’t matter. just being here, in this little apartment you called home, with him holding you like the world didn’t exist outside these walls — that was enough.

even after three years together, the idea of using the typical, sugary nicknames made you both cringe harder than nails on a chalkboard. no “babe,” no “sweetheart,” no “love.” for some reason, it just didn’t fit.

instead, you’d toss out things like “dude,” “bro,” or, on particularly annoying days, “boy,” just to get under his skin. the way sukuna’s eye would twitch every time you called him that? priceless.

but sukuna wasn’t innocent, either. his repertoire of names for you was a mix of creative insults and borderline threats, delivered with just enough affection to remind you that he didn’t actually mean them.

“woman,” “brat,” “shit for brains” — those were the classics. and when he was in an especially foul mood? let’s just say the creativity really started flowing.

the funniest part? even in public, neither of you switched it up. at restaurants, when a waiter would ask for your order, you’d say, “he’ll have the steak,” and sukuna would fire back with, “she’ll take the fish,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

no “my love” or “my darling.” just “he” and “she,” like a couple of reluctant coworkers at a team lunch.

the one time you tried something different, it didn’t end well.

“what’ll it be, babe?” you’d asked one night, trying to suppress a grin as you glanced at him over the menu.

sukuna lowered his menu just enough to shoot you a look so disgusted you swore you could taste lemons in the air. “what the hell did you just call me?”

“babe,” you repeated, forcing the word out like it physically pained you.

he grimaced, his nose wrinkling. “don’t ever do that again.”

you’d burst out laughing, and from that moment on, the unwritten rule was solidified: no “cute” nicknames. not unless you wanted to ruin the meal for both of you.

and yet, despite all of that, there were moments when the truth slipped through. when you were out with friends, you’d proudly call him “my man,” as if daring anyone to challenge the claim.

and sukuna wasn’t any better — he’d talk about you to his buddies like you were the most important person in the world, casually dropping “my lady” into conversations like it was nothing.

but back home? it was business as usual. “yo, dude,” you’d yell from the kitchen. “did you put the laundry in the dryer?”

“hell nah, woman,” he’d yell back. “do it yourself.”

sure, it wasn’t the most conventional display of affection, but it was yours. no sickly sweet terms of endearment, no over-the-top romantic gestures — just you and sukuna, trading insults and sharing a love that, in its own weird way, felt perfect. would you trade it?

absolutely not.

you and sukuna had never been the type to ooze affection. no heartfelt “good lucks” or mushy “come home soon” texts.

instead, your love language was passive-aggressive threats with just enough bite to keep things interesting.

“don’t fuck it up,” he’d said before your job interview, leaning casually against the counter with a smirk that hid the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than usual.

“look who’s talking,” you shot back, adjusting your jacket in the mirror. “aren’t you the guy who choked on his coffee before his last one?”

“watch it, brat,” he muttered, grabbing his keys, but his lips twitched.

underneath the snark, though, there was always something unspoken. a silent, shared understanding that you were rooting for each other, even if neither of you would ever outright say it. and during that waiting period — the nerve-wracking limbo between interviews and callbacks — the usual jabs quieted.

it wasn’t a truce, exactly, but you both found yourself going easier on each other. sukuna would make sure you had coffee in the mornings, leaving it on the counter without a word. and you’d restock his energy drinks without him asking, slipping them into the fridge while he wasn’t looking.

when the calls finally came, first for you and then for him, the celebration was as understated as your relationship. no grand hugs or squeals of excitement — just a knowing look exchanged from across the room, a rare, genuine smile curving both your lips.

“guess you didn’t screw it up,” he teased as you set your phone down, but his voice was softer than usual, the edges rounded out by pride.

“guess you didn’t either,” you replied, tossing the comment back at him with a grin.

and maybe — just maybe — there was a fleeting kiss in the mix. something quick and almost shy, as if lingering too long might make the moment too heavy.

“don’t think this means you’re off the hook,” he muttered afterward, trying to play it cool, though his hand rested on your waist a beat longer than necessary.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” you quipped, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze.

this was just the start, the first step in what would be your new life together. and even if it wasn’t wrapped up in the typical trappings of romance, it felt right. because with sukuna, love was never about the obvious.

it was in the things left unsaid, the quiet gestures, and the stubborn refusal to admit just how much you cared — though, deep down, you both knew the truth.

you still remembered the first time sukuna kissed you.

it wasn’t some grand romantic setup or a scene out of a cheesy romance flick — it was just… sukuna. blunt, stubborn, and perfectly him.

it was after graduation, a so-called “first date,” though neither of you called it that. he had taken you to the same drive-in you’d always gone to during halloween, the one with the faded screen and popcorn that tasted more like cardboard than butter.

but this time, they weren’t showing the usual campy horror flicks you two loved to make fun of. no, this time it was la la land.

you’d raised an eyebrow when he mentioned it. “really? la la land?”

“what? you’re too good for musicals now?” he shot back, pulling into the lot like he wasn’t questioning himself at all. but you caught the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a bit, like he was bracing for you to laugh at him.

“no, just didn’t know you had a thing for jazz hands,” you teased, grinning when his scowl deepened.

the movie started, but naturally, the two of you barely made it through the first twenty minutes without bickering. the popcorn bag was snatched back and forth between you, each accusing the other of hogging all the caramel-coated pieces.

“you’re eating all the good ones!” you snapped, clutching the bag protectively.

“you’re imagining shit, woman,” sukuna retorted, leaning over to yank it back.

in the heat of the squabble, with your faces inches apart and insults ready to fly, he kissed you. just leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, all sharp and sudden, like he had decided there was no other way to shut you up.

you froze, your brain short-circuiting for half a second, before he pulled away with a smirk that made your blood boil and your heart race all at once.

“what the hell was that?” you demanded, staring at him.

“you were being annoying,” he said, like that was the most logical explanation in the world. but his smug expression faltered just a little when you glared at him, lips parted like you were about to really let him have it.

“you don’t just kiss someone and then pull away like that, you asshole,” you huffed. and before he could reply, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him back, pouring every bit of your irritation — and maybe a little something else — into it.

the second kiss was different. softer, slower, and entirely mutual. neither of you pulled back this time, and when you finally did, both of you were slightly breathless.

“still annoying,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“still an asshole,” you shot back, crossing your arms, though your cheeks burned so hot you were glad for the darkness of the car.

after that, there wasn’t much attention paid to the movie. there was a lot more kissing, though, a lot more bantering between each one. and while neither of you would ever admit it, kissing him made you feel like a stupid, giddy teenager. like you wanted to kick your feet in the air and giggle, even if the thought made you cringe internally.

it was ridiculous, it was messy, and it was entirely the two of you. just the way you liked it.

your relationship with sukuna had always been a clash of opposites.

back in your college days, he was infamous for his revolving door of women — never the same face twice, always someone new on his arm. sukuna, the loud, reckless heartthrob who could charm his way into anyone’s bed.

and then there was you: exclusive, reserved, someone who didn’t let just anyone close enough to even try. while sukuna’s name was tossed around in gossip, yours carried a quiet weight, a mix of intrigue and admiration.

it wasn’t that you were some saint — far from it. you weren’t a stranger to sex, but you didn’t hand it out like candy at a parade. your friends teased you about your “dry spells,” but you’d always brushed it off. you had standards, that was all.

meanwhile, sukuna? standards weren’t exactly his thing, or so it seemed.

so, when the two of you somehow transitioned from bickering frenemies to a full-fledged couple, there was an unspoken tension between your histories. you knew who he was, what he’d done, and he knew exactly how tightly you held your walls up. still, you worked together, two stubborn halves of something that somehow clicked.

until one night, when things heated up unexpectedly.

it started innocent enough — if “innocent” was a word that could ever describe sukuna. a clumsy makeout session in his dimly lit apartment, his hands tangled in your hair, your breath mingling with his as he pressed you against the couch. it wasn’t your first kiss, far from it, but this one was different. there was a weight to it, a hunger neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“you’re terrible at this,” you muttered against his lips, though your shaky breath betrayed you.

“yeah?” he shot back, his voice low, teasing. “seems like you’re still here, so what does that say about you?”

you rolled your eyes, but before you could quip back, he kissed you again, harder this time. his hands moved to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

it escalated quickly, too quickly. his mouth moved to your neck, and you felt the scrape of his teeth against your skin. a shiver ran through you, your hands gripping his shirt to ground yourself. this was sukuna — your sukuna — and yet, this was a side of him you hadn’t faced before.

you froze slightly when his hands wandered lower, testing the waters. for a split second, you weren’t sure what to do.

your mind raced with contradictions: the part of you that wanted to pull him closer, to let yourself get lost in him, and the other part that wanted to smack his hand away and call him out for moving too fast.

“seriously?” you blurted, breaking the kiss and glaring at him. “do you ever not act like a horndog?”

he smirked, cocky as ever, though his hands eased up. “what? you didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”

“maybe because i was too distracted by your terrible kissing technique,” you shot back, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“you’re full of shit,” he said, leaning back with an exaggerated groan. but there was something softer in his gaze, a flicker of hesitation that wasn’t usually there.

“look, if you’re not into it, just say so. i’m not gonna —”

“shut up, sukuna,” you interrupted, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him back down. your lips crashed against his, and this time, there was no hesitation.

it was messy, passionate, a clash of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless. every time you thought you’d had enough, he’d kiss you in a way that made your head spin, and you’d find yourself pulling him closer all over again.

maybe you’d slap him later for being an overconfident ass, but for now? for now, you let yourself get lost in him, in the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world he’d ever want. and, as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t regret a second of it.

sex with sukuna was its own breed of unique — a stark contrast to the wild stories he carried in his history. where you once expected a whirlwind of dominance and filthy words, what you got was something raw and unexpectedly tender, the kind of connection that made your chest ache in the best way. it wasn’t the slow, candlelit romance people wrote songs about, and it wasn’t some grand kink-fueled adventure. it was quiet, comfortable, and somehow, so deeply you two.

sukuna had his reputation, sure. tattoos, a sharp tongue, and an aura that practically screamed i don’t care about your feelings. in his youth, you imagined he’d been the kind of guy who thrived on power plays in the bedroom, leaving women weak-kneed and breathless for all the wrong reasons. hell, he probably relished in it, back in the day.

but that wasn’t what you got.

instead, he was gruff, but not in the way you’d expect. it was the kind of gruffness that came with holding back, with trying to temper himself into someone who could make you feel safe and seen. when he leaned over you, his usual arrogance was softened by something quieter, something he didn’t say out loud but you could feel in the way his hands traced over your skin.

“this okay?” he’d grumble, his voice low, trying to sound nonchalant, but you caught the way his eyes searched your face for any hesitation.

you’d nod, a little too bashful to form words, and he’d pause, eyebrows raising just slightly. “i asked if it was fine, not if you could sit there like a scared rabbit.”

“sukuna,” you’d groan, slapping his shoulder. but your face would heat up anyway, and he’d smirk like the cocky ass he was, though his hands stayed steady, patient.

if you didn’t answer quickly enough, he’d ask again, his actions slowing to a near halt. “hey,” he’d say, leaning down just enough so his lips brushed your ear, “you gonna tell me, or do I have to stop?”

“don’t stop,” you’d finally mutter, voice barely above a whisper, and he’d let out the most obnoxious chuckle, something halfway between pride and amusement.

“thought so,” he’d say smugly, resuming his movements — but gentler than his tone suggested, always so much gentler. it wasn’t about control or ego, though you knew he liked to push you just enough to make you squirm. no, it was about making sure you were there with him every step of the way.

it was new, this side of him that catered to you, the way he’d catch your gaze when he thought you were feeling shy or uncertain. sometimes, you wanted to throttle him for the way he’d tease you, like it was a sport. other times, you wanted to melt into him for the way his hands would guide you, steady and secure, like he had all the time in the world for you and no one else.

but your favorite part? it was always the aftercare.

where sukuna usually thrived on chaos and crudeness, after sex, he was different. softer, quieter, almost dazed. he’d hold you like he was afraid you’d slip away, his arms wrapped around you a little tighter than usual.

“you good?” he’d ask, his voice gruff but quiet.

you’d nod, and he’d huff, pressing his chin to your head. “drink some water,” he’d grumble, even as he was already reaching for the glass on the nightstand.

he wouldn’t joke as much, at least not in the way that made you want to kick him. instead, he’d run his fingers absentmindedly through your hair, muttering about how you’d better not go passing out on him. he’d press lazy, almost featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach without moving too much.

and if you curled closer to him, burying your face in his chest, he wouldn’t say anything. he’d just hold you tighter, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back, grounding both of you in the moment.

sometimes, you’d laugh to yourself, thinking about how this man — this loud, sharp-edged, unapologetically rough man — had turned into a vanilla sap just for you. and other times, you’d bite your lip and blush at the thought that he was yours. completely and utterly yours.

you’d never admit it out loud, but the way he took care of you? the way he toned down all the bravado and just was with you? it made you love him more than words could ever say.

the first real fight wasn’t the playful sparring you and sukuna usually indulged in. it wasn’t the sarcastic quips or half-serious insults that usually left both of you laughing by the end. this time, it was different.

the argument started small, something inconsequential, but quickly spiraled into a storm of raised voices and sharp words. sukuna’s tone was harsh, and your stubbornness was just as sharp. you were used to challenging each other, but this felt heavier, like neither of you was willing to back down.

“you’re not even listening to me!” you snapped, your voice breaking in frustration.

“yeah? and you’re so damn perfect at communicating?” sukuna shot back, his words biting.

the tension was suffocating, the air in your shared apartment thick with unresolved emotions.

and then it happened — he grabbed his jacket, slammed the door, and left.

the sound of the door shutting echoed in your ears, and you froze, your chest tight. sukuna didn’t just leave. not like this.

he left home.

it wasn’t just an apartment. it was the place where you built something together, where you shared quiet mornings and loud, chaotic evenings. it was the place that held laughter, tears, and everything in between.

and now it felt unbearably empty.

you wanted to scream, to throw something, to lash out at the ache in your chest. but you knew that chasing him down with your usual fire would only pour gasoline on the flames. so you swallowed your pride, slipped on your fuzzy slippers, and bolted out the door.

you spotted him a few blocks down, his tall figure unmistakable even under the dim streetlights. his pace was fast, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. he looked pissed, but there was something about the way his shoulders hunched slightly that made your heart clench.

“sukuna!” you called, your voice louder than you intended.

he didn’t stop.

“dammit, will you stop walking for one second?” you yelled again, jogging to catch up to him.

when he finally turned around, his expression was a mixture of anger and surprise. “what the hell are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “it’s late.”

“yeah, and whose fault is that?” you shot back, before taking a deep breath. no, not this time. no more yelling.

“look,” you started, your voice softer now, though your chest was still heaving from the sprint.

“i’m sorry. i mean it. not the sarcastic, biting kind of sorry. a real one. i shouldn’t have — ” you paused, struggling to find the right words. “i shouldn’t have made it about winning. i was wrong.”

sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. the silence stretched, and you felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes.

“...dammit,” he muttered, his shoulders dropping. “i was a dick too.”

you blinked, surprised. sukuna rarely apologized, and when he did, it was never straightforward.

“yeah, you were,” you replied, a small, tentative smile creeping onto your face.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you don’t make this easy, you know that?”

“neither do you,” you shot back, stepping closer.

he sighed, his hands leaving his pockets to pull you into a hug that was as awkward as it was comforting. “you’re lucky i didn’t get too far,” he grumbled into your hair.

“you’re lucky i chased after you,” you countered, though you clung to him just as tightly.

and just like that, the tension broke. it wasn’t perfect — there were still things to talk about, wounds to mend — but in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms on a dimly lit street, you both knew this was home.

sukuna would never say it outright — hell, he’d rather swallow nails than admit it — but he had your back when it came to that time of the month.

he tracked your cycle like a tactical mission, not because he was obsessed with you or anything (his words), but because it was easier to prepare than to deal with the aftermath of being caught off guard.

“what, you think i like listening to you whine about not having your stupid chocolate?” he’d grumble, dumping a bag of your favorite snacks onto the counter with an air of exaggerated suffering. but there was no mistaking the care behind the gesture, no matter how much he tried to play it off.

medicines? stocked. pads and tampons? stocked. heating pads? ready to go. hell, he even had a backup stash of painkillers tucked into his drawer at work in case you ran out at home.

he wasn’t perfect, of course. sukuna had zero patience when you were in one of your mood swings, snapping at him for breathing too loudly or sitting “wrong.” but he’d weather it, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.

“you done yelling at me, or you wanna go another round?” he’d ask, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

but the moment you started crying — whether it was over a sad commercial or pure frustration — his entire demeanor shifted.

“hey, hey, cut that out,” he’d say, pulling you into his chest despite his grumbling. “you’re not allowed to cry over dumb shit while i’m around, alright? i’ll give you something real to cry about.”

when you were touch-starved, he’d let you cling to him, even if it meant sitting through a three-hour movie you’d already watched ten times. when you were touch-repulsed, he’d keep his distance but stay close enough to hand you water or make sure you were comfortable.

and when you were too tired to shower, he’d step in without hesitation, grumbling all the while. “can’t believe i’m doing this,” he’d mutter as he adjusted the water temperature and gently washed your hair. “you owe me a massage or something after this.”

he’d change the bedsheets without complaint, tossing you one of his oversized shirts afterward. “don’t stretch it out, or i’ll kick your ass,” he’d say, but you both knew he didn’t mean it. he even kept a corner of his closet stocked with clothes he didn’t mind you ruining — shirts and sweatpants that were practically yours at this point, though he’d never admit it.

“don’t get used to this,” he’d say, watching as you shuffled into the living room in his clothes, burritoed in a blanket. but the way his gaze softened as you curled up on the couch, finally comfortable, betrayed him.

for all his rough edges, sukuna handled you with a quiet kind of love — grumbling, sarcastic, but steady. he might call it “dealing with your bullshit,” but deep down, you both knew better.

it wasn’t a night you’d easily forget — not because of the celebration itself, but because of what came out of your mouth when you were deep into a rum-induced haze.

the bar was alive with the thrum of music and the clang of glasses, laughter and shouting merging into a chaotic symphony that somehow suited you and sukuna. the two of you had ridden in on bikes, looking like a mismatched pair of rebels — him towering, tatted, and menacing, and you just as fierce but smaller, less overtly intimidating.

"you know," sukuna drawled, leaning against the bar with a lazy grin that had been charming women for years, “if you weren’t already mine, i’d be trying to pick you up right now.”

you rolled your eyes, though your own grin betrayed how much you enjoyed the rare moment of his playful charm. “you’re an idiot,” you shot back, taking another shot and wincing as it burned down your throat.

but then, in the lull between his next teasing remark, you blurted it out. “i love you.”

the words landed like a hammer.

sukuna froze, the smirk slipping from his face. the rowdy atmosphere of the bar seemed to fade into static as he stared at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was trying to gauge whether or not he’d heard you correctly.

"what?" he asked, voice lower than usual, his usual bravado stripped away.

you blinked at him, too tipsy to care about the weight of what you just said. “i love you, stupid. don’t make me say it again.”

and just like that, it was as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. sukuna, the guy who had once been a whirlwind of hookups and no-strings-attached chaos, was sober in an instant. not because he didn’t like what he heard — no, it was the opposite. it was because those words had been lodged somewhere deep inside him, waiting for the right moment to claw their way out, even if he refused to admit it to himself.

he didn’t say anything right away. instead, he paid the tab, his movements oddly methodical, and threw his leather jacket over your shoulders.

“c’mon,” he muttered, voice gruff as he guided you to the door.

“what’s the rush?” you slurred, stumbling slightly as he helped you onto the bike.

“the rush is you’re drunk and saying shit you don’t mean,” he snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

you didn’t protest after that, leaning into him as he drove the two of you home. by the time you reached the apartment, he was practically hauling you inside, grumbling about how you were a lightweight.

as he set you down on the couch and pulled a blanket over you, the words escaped him, unbidden and softer than he’d have liked.

“i love you too, idiot.”

he thought you were out cold, your breathing slow and even. but the faintest smile tugged at your lips, and a quiet mumble escaped you:

“heard that.”

he froze, a flush creeping up his neck. “shut up and go to sleep,” he barked, but the gentleness with which he tucked you in betrayed him.

you didn’t say anything else, and neither did he, but the air between you felt lighter, warmer. it wasn’t perfect or grand, but it was yours — messy, stubborn, and just enough.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[buf309]

Whatsy, my beloved beta and buddy-buddy 💕 I don't know where I would be without you 🥰 most likely getting lost somewhere in grammar hell 😂 One of the most friendly and wonderful people in this SxF fandom. It's always my honour to be your friend 💕

On the sidenote...

It seems that many people were confused about why Yor reacted so strongly to his touch in the 5th panel 😅 One person asked me directly, and I've answered in the comment section below. But, I guess I will just copy it here, easier to read and all that.

Well, first of all, this was Post-reveal!TwiYor, they were wearing rings, it was kind of hard to see because those rings were small, but they were there.

In the 1st panel, you can see, Loid was feeling restless in his sleep, so Yor tried to wake him up.

In 3rd panel, when she asked him about it, he didn't want to answer, and chose to deflect the question by teasing her instead.

That's why she was irritated and threatened to wack him with her magazine in the 5th panel 😄

The rest was just him being apologetic and telling her something sappy like he feeling safe and sound with her there, etc. etc. and they happily cuddled 😌 Happy end ��

Also, this was meant to be Whatsy's version of TwiYor, so, no icha-icha actions for papa and mama while the baby was sleeping on top of them; quiet cuddle was fine though 😂

TL;DR: she was annoyed at his refusal to tell her what troubled him in his sleep, not at his touch.

I hope it clear things up for all of you?

This is a gift of pure fluff for @whateversawesome, inspired by her wonderful Twiyor fanfics.

Thank you for being a good friend and beta to me for a whole long year, my pal 🤗 I hope our friendship will continue for as long as possible in the future too.

[milktiicup]

Helloooo! I love your writing so much! I read it all day every time you post, especially your homicipher ones 🥹🫶 I hope you're doing great today btw!

If it isn't too much to ask, can you write the homicipher cast's reactions about the baby of Mr. Crawling and Mc? 👀

I imagine some would be very funny 😭

Have a lovely dayyy! Mwamwa!

little hands, dark hearts!

homicipher cast meeting you and mr crawling's baby! > scarletella, silvair, chopped, hood, machete mr crawling baby saga! chapter 1 chapter 2

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ i think you can tell i have favs by the amount of length and detail some of these have dkjfhkdhdgj

warnings. lol just pure angst in mr. scarletella's

MR. SCARLETELLA

He stares. And he stares. And he stares.

The silence is suffocating, weighing heavier than the shadows beneath his feet. Dull, grey eyes bore into yours, searching for answers that you couldn’t give. 

Of course, he brought you here to be with him. You gave him all these lovely offerings, shedding beautiful blood in his name, stared directly into his eyes as he enveloped you, taking you to his domain- but you wouldn’t give him your name. You stand there, swinging your crowbar, defiance burning in your eyes. It’s not fear he sees, not submission, but anger- a raw, searing thing that slices through the quiet like a blade. And it confuses him. No, it infuriates him.

His grip on his umbrella tightens, the knuckles whitening. His lips twist into a scowl, but behind it, something softer flickers- an ache he doesn’t know how to name. He’s used to taking. Claiming. But you… you’re not like the others. You’re still standing. Still staring. Still resisting.

And it only makes him want you more.

But then there’s him.

That thing. That crawling, pathetic thing that dares to share the space you once offered to him.

What does that creature have that he doesn’t? What pull does it hold over you, to make you look at it like that? Mr. Scarletella hates him. Oh, how he hates him. He hates your baby. Hates the way its small hands grasp at you, the way you cradle it against your chest as if it’s the most precious thing in your world. He hates the way your smile softens when you whisper to it, the way you laugh when it coos.

You look so happy. How could he take that away from you? And yet- how could you do this to him? You like him. He likes you. Why did you pick him?

The resentment pools in his chest like ink, sticky and dark. He wants to scream, to tear down this fragile illusion of happiness you’ve built, to drag you back into his arms where you belong. And yet, his hands tremble. His scowl falters.

You look so happy.

And the thought guts him. How could he take that away from you?

His lips twitch, caught between a sneer and a sigh, as he looks away. For the first time, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to take what he wants.

Mr. Scarletella’s chest rises and falls, his breath unsteady. His umbrella clatters to the ground, forgotten as his hands flex and curl into fists at his sides. He steps closer, the air around him rippling with suppressed fury.

“Why?” The question tears from his throat, jagged and raw, barely above a whisper. His crimson eyes gleam with something between desperation and rage. “Why?”

He’s staring at you again, but this time, there’s no pretense of control. Just pain, naked and wild, burning in the shadows of his gaze.

You don’t answer. How could you?

So, he waits. And he stares. And he waits.

MR. SILVAIR

Mr. Silvair holds your baby, careful and learning. His bandage gaze peers into the little eyes, baby babbling and cooing and reaching for his hair. He smiles, soft and curious. 

His infatuation with your child is endless. How was it possible for you two to procreate? To create something from something undead, a ghost, a monster- and a perfectly normal human. Questions that he will never have answers for- questions he doesn’t dare act upon. The baby is fragile, soft, and defenseless. He couldn’t take it apart and put it back together- he can’t break something that could never be fixed.

And the question eggs him at the back of his mind- what if it could?

His hands steady yet soft, as though he’s cradling the most fragile thing in existence. The baby babbles, tiny fists reaching for the loose strands of his silver hair, and when their fingers catch hold of it, she giggles with pure delight.

“Them like,” he observes, his voice unusually tender.

You stifle a laugh. “Of course she does. It’s shiny. Babies love shiny things.”

His head tilts slightly, silver hair brushing against the baby’s chubby cheeks as they continue their determined mission to grab at more strands. “Shiny good?” he asks, his curiosity genuine, as if this is just another puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Very good,” you assure him, stepping closer to watch the two of them. “She’s clearly a fan.”

The baby lets out a happy squeal, wriggling in his grasp. Silvair’s gaze flickers down to her, and though his eyes are hidden, there’s something warm in his expression. “Strong grip,” he notes, “Healthy.”

You smile softly, leaning against the counter. “She’s got her father’s energy, that’s for sure.”

Mr. Silvair doesn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on the baby as they try- and fail- to stuff one of his fingers into their tiny mouth. He gently redirects their hands, careful and patient. “Small,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Important.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him. “Important?”

He looks up, tilting his head. “From you. Important. Interested in them.”

The simplicity of his statement warms something in your chest, even if he was purely fascinated with your child out of sheer scientific interest. You’re not sure if he fully understands the weight of his words, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. You’ll take the softness of the moment. 

The baby lets out another squeal, this one more demanding, and Mr. Silvair bounces them slightly in his arms, an action so natural it makes you blink in surprise. The baby quiets immediately, snuggling into his chest with a content sigh.

“Good,” he says, more to the baby than to you. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “She likes you,” you comment with a shuffled laugh. Of all the monsters here, your child just has to like the one who tears you apart. 

Mr. Silvair tilts his head again, his smile returning faintly as he glances down at the now-sleepy baby. “Me like them.”

“Cute?”

“Cute.”

MR. CHOPPED

“Want carry them,” Mr. Chopped pouts, cheeks puffed. “Them cute.”

“She’s so cute, isn’t she?” you chuckle.

The baby giggles, a toothless, gummy smile as bright as the sun. He frowned, his eyes narrowing in a mix of frustration and wistful longing. “Me carry. Want carry,” he repeated, his tone almost petulant.

“You’d need arms for that,” you tease, bouncing the baby lightly on your hip. The baby squeals, her laugh infectious, and you couldn’t help but grin down at her. “She’s so happy to see you, though. Look, she’s waving!” You guide her tiny hand in a slow wave toward Mr. Chopped.

His face lit up with exaggerated enthusiasm, his head tilting as he “leans” closer, as if proximity would help convey his affection. “Cute,” he said with deep conviction. “Many cute. Little human.”

The baby gurgles in response, her toothless smile lighting up her face. She reaches out as though she wants to grab him, her tiny fingers opening and closing in that delightful way babies do.

“See?” you laugh. “She wants to hold you!”

Mr. Chopped’s pout deepens dramatically. “Unfair. No arms. No hold. No carry. Me sad.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re fine, Mr. Chopped. She can’t even hold her own head up for long; I’m sure she’s not judging you for not having arms.”

“Baby not judge,” he said solemnly, his voice tender. “Baby happy.”

“She likes you,” you reassure him with a smile. “You’ve got that big, friendly face, and you’re always talking to her like she’s the most fascinating thing in the world.”

“Them are,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone so earnest it made you laugh again.

“Well, maybe one day we��ll rig up some kind of… carrier for you,” you offered jokingly. “So you can hold her. Or at least let her sit in your lap- if you had one.”

Mr. Chopped perked up at that, his cheeks puffing out again with excitement this time. “Yes! Make lap. Make arms. Then carry. Hug!”

“She’d probably love that,” you said, kissing the baby’s soft head. She giggled again, her tiny hands reaching out toward Mr. Chopped, her eyes bright and full of wonder.

MR. HOOD

“Not understand,” Mr. Hood repeats.

You sigh. “You have to support the back of her head,” you say, guiding his ghostly arm to the baby’s nape. “Gentle. She’s fragile.”

“Weak,” he observes. “Much small.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “so we have to protect her.”

Mr. Hood’s form shifts as he processes your instructions, the faintest hint of curiosity flickering through his voice. “Protect... small weak thing.” His hand hovers near the baby’s head. It trembles slightly, not from lack of strength but from hesitation- like a predator trying to handle something delicate for the first time.

You place your hands over his, guiding him with care. “That’s right. Support her head. Babies can’t hold their heads up yet.”

He tilts slightly, as though trying to look closer, though his featureless head offers no expression to read. The baby gurgles softly, her tiny fingers curling around one of his. The textureless appendage seems to surprise her, and she coos in delight, kicking her chubby legs.

“Why small thing hold?” Mr. Hood asks, his voice edged with wonder.

“She’s curious,” you explain, smiling at the sight. “She doesn’t know what you are, but she wants to hold on to you.”

“Not wise.” His tone is flat, but there’s no malice in it. He shifts slightly, his massive frame dwarfing her. “Me danger. Not afraid?”

“She doesn’t know fear yet,” you say softly. “She only knows what feels safe.”

His hand rests under the baby’s head and back now, cradling her with surprising gentleness. The contrast is almost surreal- his immense strength and amorphous form against the fragility of a newborn. The baby giggles again, wiggling in his hold.

“Small thing… trust,” he murmurs, his tone almost contemplative.

“She does,” you say, watching them with a warmth blooming in your chest. “And that’s why we protect her.”

“Protect,” he repeats, as if testing the word. His grip shifts slightly, more confident. “Protect small thing. Understand.”

It’s strange, seeing someone- or something- like Mr. Hood in this role, but in the quiet moment, his usual air of detachment seems to melt away. The baby yawns, her tiny body sinking deeper into his hold, completely at ease.

MR. GAP

“Give little thing,” Mr. Gap says from the vent, his voice more curious than menacing. You freeze, hand still cradling your baby close to your chest as his long, dark arm stretches out, holding something soft and fluffy- a teddy bear.

Your baby, who has been cooing and kicking her legs happily in your arms, notices the movement. Her bright eyes widen, and she reaches out toward the stuffed bear with an eager little giggle.

“Give them?” It’s such an innocent request. He’s just offering the bear, his dark figure so out of place in the light of the room, but there’s something almost endearing about it.

You laugh softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, she’d love that,” you say. “She’s been really into cuddly things lately.”

The baby coos again, her tiny hands reaching for the bear, almost as if she recognizes the gesture as a gift. She touches it gently, then pulls it closer to her chest in a little snuggle, her face lighting up with joy.

“See? She likes it!” you say, glancing at Mr. Gap, your voice teasing. “Thanks to you.”

Mr. Gap pulls back slightly, his hand retreating into the vent, but you catch a glimpse of a subtle shift in his posture- a pleased air about him, as if he’s satisfied with the outcome.

“Them happy?” he asks.

You smile warmly, watching the baby continue to clutch the teddy bear like it’s her new best friend. “Yeah, she’s happy. And that makes me happy.”

A soft, quiet chuckle seems to come from the vent, and you can almost imagine a small, pleased grin behind the shadows. “Good,” Mr. Gap says, his voice full of pride. “Me good.”

The bear is now in the baby’s tiny hands, and her sleepy eyes begin to flutter shut, the soft comfort of the stuffed toy pulling her into a drowsy stupor. You gently rock her back and forth, watching as she drifts off to sleep, clutching the bear to her chest like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Thank you, Mr. Gap,” you say softly, though he’s long disappeared back into his shadowy realm. You’re not sure if he heard, but you still find yourself whispering it anyway.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels a little bit lighter.

MR. MACHETE

“What… that?” he asks, a finger lazily pointing at your baby nestled in your arms.

“It’s my baby!” you reply, pridefully, and cradle her for exaggeration. Within a second, your face falls firm, and you sternly say, “No fighting little thing.”

“Not fight?” Mr. Machete’s jagged smile turns into a comical looking frown. He scowls, and turns away. “Not interested.”

“Mr. Macheteee,” you whine, “Just look at her! Isn’t she just so cute?”

Mr. Machete pauses mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing at your words. He lets out a huff, loud and exaggerated, before reluctantly glancing over his shoulder. “Cute?” he echoes, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. His tone is skeptical, almost offended. His machete falls to his side, an ear-scratching ‘clang!’ that disturbs you more than your baby.

The baby coos, her tiny hands waving aimlessly in the air. Her bright, gummy smile beams up at him, and for a moment, Mr. Machete looks genuinely stumped. 

“Them small. Shape wrong,” he notes, leaning in closer. His massive frame looms over her, but he makes no move to get too close. “Weak. No teeth. Cannot hold attack tool.”

He stares at the baby a moment longer, his scowl softening ever so slightly as the baby giggles, a bright, happy sound that cuts through his rough demeanor like a blade. She reaches toward him, her tiny fingers grabbing at the air, and for reasons you don’t quite understand, he doesn’t immediately pull away.

The baby’s determination seems to intrigue him. He tilts his head and extends a single finger- not a threatening move, but cautious, almost testing. Her tiny hand catches his finger, and she grips it tightly, her toothless grin growing impossibly wider.

“Them strong,” he finally admits, his voice low but tinged with what could almost be considered respect. “When little thing big, fight.”

You roll your eyes. Well, at least he gave your baby some attention.

[dadbodbuck]

could it shine down here with you?

Rating: G | WC: 1.7k | Pairing: BuckTommy

Loosely based on this post by @loulovingho!

Summary:

Tommy doesn't realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

Read it here on Ao3 or continue below!

Tommy is five, or maybe six, and he doesn’t like Thanksgiving. His dad is screaming at his mom because the turkey isn’t thawed. He’s calling her a lot of words that Tommy thinks are really mean. Tommy’s dad yells a lot, but it’s rarely this bad. Tommy’s mom usually waits for it to blow over, but this time, Tommy watches from the living room entry as her face crumbles and she shoulders past Tommy’s dad, breezes by Tommy, and flees into their bedroom.

Tommy wants to follow her, but his dad grabs his arm, too-tight, and tugs Tommy away towards where the half-thawed turkey is laying on the ground, cold and slimy. When they get there, Tommy’s dad hands him a garbage bag and a roll of paper towels and says “Your mom needs some time alone to think about what she’s done. Clean up this mess.”

It’s okay, because later his mom comes out of the bedroom and kneels down, her eyes red and puffy, and she tells him, “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey. You did a good job cleaning the kitchen. It’s okay, we can still have dinner, even if I messed up the turkey,” and she makes Stovetop stuffing, and takes cranberry sauce out of a can, dishing them up on a plastic plate for Tommy, and a glass plate for her.

Tommy’s not sure where his dad went, but he’s glad it’s just him and his mom for a little while.

Tommy is twelve, and he hates Thanksgiving. He hates most holidays centered around football, actually. It’s a double-edged sword—his dad gets drunk, and his dad gets riled up, and he’s either too loud and happy, or too loud and mad. The Superbowl is Tommy’s least favorite time of the year. Especially when the Rams are playing.

The Rams aren’t playing this year, but that doesn’t mean Tommy’s off the hook. Tommy brings his dad beers when his dad calls for them, doesn’t say a word to his old man, carefully doesn’t flinch when his dad yells angrily at the screen.

For the most part, Tommy sits alone in his room and looks at the picture of his mom. It’s her high school graduation, she’s gleaming in her cap and gown. Tommy misses her.

Tommy knows that his family isn’t normal. That it’s fucked up. But he also knows how to deal with his dad, especially now that his mom isn’t around to instigate anymore. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen if he gets sent to foster care. He doesn’t want to know.

Tommy also knows, somewhere, that it’s partially his own fault. Maybe if he was a better kid—someone his dad could be proud of, this wouldn’t happen. He was always doing something to incur his father’s wrath. Plus, it���s not like his dad doesn’t love him, in his own way. Tommy loves his dad, too.

Tommy makes his own Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce from a can. His dad doesn’t eat it, but Tommy doesn’t care, because at least he survived Thanksgiving without any more bruises.

Tommy is eighteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one. Thanksgiving is in a shitty barracks at the base, a tiny studio in downtown LA, and the 118 firehouse. It’s spent wolfing down an MRE, trying to figure out how to get his horrible stove to work, and eating Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce and praying that the alarm doesn’t go off. There are the other soldiers, and Tommy’s rescue cat Teddy, and Howie.

The MRE is as it always is. You get used to the weird textures and instant coffee and chemical heat smell of the food warmer. The funny thing about Iraq, the thing that will keep Tommy awake for years and years, is that it gets cold during the winter. Tommy knew before he shipped out that he didn’t know what much about the country, but now that he’s here, he’s stuck with sick realization after sick realization. The people here are scared, and the Army isn’t helping. Tommy looks at the other soldiers in a way he shouldn’t. Civilians are dying. War is messy in a way that allows people to excuse inexcusable violence. Tommy cannot speak the language, of either the Iraqi citizens or the people he was told would be his brothers. Iraq gets cold during the winter.

Teddy is an orange beauty, with long fluffy fur and a penchant for mischief. Tommy didn’t ask for Thanksgiving off, but it’s a holiday at the Academy, apparently. So, he’s here, listening to the click of the gas range as it tries to light. Teddy watches from the tiny countertop with uncharacteristic judgment in his eyes. When the flame finally catches, Tommy laughs victoriously, and gets to work making stuffing and cranberry sauce for the first time in years. It’s not gourmet by any means, just the Stovetop and the canned stuff, but it feels like his mom. It feels like he’s talking to her again. Tommy wonders if there’s a universe out there where his mom got help before it was too late. He eats his food in the camp chair that furnishes his pathetic living room, with Teddy invading his personal space and trying to sneak a bite for himself.

Tommy keeps the tradition of making himself Stovetop and canned cranberry sauce. He keeps it the year Howie shows up at the 118 and immediately proves himself braver and stronger than Tommy ever could be. While everyone else is busy whining about missing their grandma’s mashed potatoes, Tommy scrapes together his sacred traditional Thanksgiving feast. While Tommy’s not looking, Howie steals half of it.

“Mm!” Howie sighs, “That childhood nostalgia fakeness.”

“Hey! That was mine,” Tommy says, without any real heat. He hasn’t been able to muster anything beyond mild irritation for Howie since he saved his life.

“Oh, because you were going to eat all of that in one sitting,” Howie scoffs, “I’ll pay you back your dollar for my half if you really want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tommy huffs, scraping out the other half for his own portion. They sit at the table and eat together, and it’s the closest Tommy’s ever had to spending Thanksgiving with someone.

It’s not until they finish eating and the bell rings that Tommy realizes Howie’s the only one who hasn’t asked Tommy if he’s sad he’s missing out on the holidays.

For the most part, his Thanksgivings after the 118 are spent much the same way, but at Harbor, and alone. He gets to put his leftovers in the fridge and eat off them for a few days. Thanksgiving (save for deep fried turkey incidents) is a relatively tame holiday. No fireworks, at least.

Then, Evan.

A lot of things change for Tommy when Evan crashes into his life, all legs and a blinding smile. Evan is a whirlwind and the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen. Evan is kind of everything.

When Tommy realizes he’s falling in love, it makes him sick to his stomach. He remembers loving his dad enough to excuse his anger, loving his mom enough to let her slip away, loving a country enough to enact its violence, loving the sense of belonging at the 118 enough to allow the kindest people he’s ever met to suffer. Tommy doesn’t love right. He can’t let Evan get tired of him and leave. He can’t poison Evan until he turns into something cruel. So Tommy breaks up with him. Evan asks him to move in, and he can feel the iron jaws of a bear trap closing around his throat, so he breaks up with him.

Tommy doesn’t realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

(Thanksgiving came up between them for the first time when Evan asked if he wanted to do their own thing or go over to the grand 118 Thanksgiving Feast.

“I don’t know,” Evan has shrugged, “I mean, I want to spend it with you. I don’t want to pressure you into a big thing if you don’t want to, or if—if you’re used to smaller Thanksgivings. What does your family do for Thanksgiving?”

“Um,” Tommy had said, a little caught off-guard like he was every time they brushed up against the topic of family, “We didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. I usually just get a box of Stovetop stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce and call it a day.”

Evan had scoffed, mock-offended. “Well! In that case, we’re going. Mark your calendar. You’re going to cream your pants when you try Bobby’s turkey.”

Tommy had smiled and thought maybe. Maybe this will be the year.)

Tommy sighs and opens the box of Stovetop stuffing. His water and butter are already boiling, so he pours the mix in and watches it saturate. He stirs it and takes it off the heat to sit. A strange, painful sadness claws at the inside of his throat. It hurts. It hurts worse than it usually does.

He doesn’t think about Evan and Bobby’s allegedly orgasm-worthy turkey and Howie introducing Tommy to Jee-yun and how close they had all seemed at the hospital for Denny. He walks over to the mantle above his fireplace, with a small, framed pawprint inside, and Teddy 2021 written underneath.

Five minutes passes slowly without anyone to distract him. Tommy tries and fails not to think about every holiday he’s spent alone, or wishing he was alone. This is the first holiday he’s wished for someone in particular who wasn’t his mom or Teddy.

Tommy eats stuffing and canned cranberry sauce at his kitchen table. Somewhere, Evan is in a house warm with love. Somewhere, Evan is loved, wholly and unconditionally. Tommy’s glad people love him. He deserves to be loved.

Tommy doesn’t like watching football on Thanksgiving, so instead he puts on Mean Girls. After his stomach settles, he’s too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep until his shift in the morning.

When Tommy gets to work, he’s surprised when Lucy says, “Delivery for you in the fridge, Kinard, you better eat it before I can get my hands on it.”

Inside the fridge is a glass Tupperware container wrapped in a plastic Chinese takeout bag. There’s a sticky note attached to it that says Bobby’s turkey is even better the next day.

Tommy texts Evan and asks about it. Evan doesn’t say anything back.

But he does get a text from Howie, and the timing is too quick to be coincidence. When you’re reheating it, remember to put half a teaspoon of water in the dish so it doesn’t dry everything out in the microwave.

[corroded-hellfire]

Food, Football, and Friends - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: With so many people coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, it's no surprise things get a little chaotic.

Note: Happy Thanksgiving!

Warnings: chaos that is typical of this family, Eddie's breeding kink doesn't take a holiday off, Dustin is married to someone that is not Suzy sorry

Words: 3.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Not bothering to knock, Steve opens the front door to the Munson household and pops his head inside.

“This looks like a nice house,” he says as he pushes the door all the way open. “Might be able to steal something nice.”

A huff comes from behind him and Mia pushes in the house past her father. The six-year-old scowls as she leans down to unbuckle her shiny Mary Janes.

“We’re not thieves!” Her voice carries throughout the house, summoning the little person who has been waiting all day to see her.

“Miaaaaaa!” Eliza’s heavy tread thumps down the hallway as she runs into the living room at full speed. The friction of her white tights against the carpet halts her when she reaches her destination. 

Before Mia can answer, Steve crouches down in front of the youngest Munson. He frowns and tilts his head, a few chestnut locks falling in his eyes.

“What about me? Am I chop liver?” 

Your toddler giggles and leaps into her uncle’s arms. She wraps her arms around his neck for a hug, but before she can pull away, Steve stands up, hoisting her over his shoulder in an attempt to keep her from her best friend.

“Noooo!” Eliza whines, her little legs kicking. 

“Oh, fine,” Steve sighs as he lets her down.

Eliza straightens her black and white dress before looking up to see Wayne walk in the door right behind Nancy.

“Grandpa!”

“There’s my girl!”

Wayne scoops her up and peppers kisses all over her face. The small girl giggles and tries to push his face away, his scruff tickling her.

“Where’s Daddy?” Wayne asks.

“Dunno,” Eliza answers with a shrug.

“He’s outside,” Luke says as he strolls into the room.

Nancy can’t help but notice how her youngest’s face lights up when the twelve-year-old Munson walks into the room. She clamps her lips together, trying not to giggle at Mia’s adorable crush on Luke, acting like she doesn’t notice the hearts in the young redhead’s eyes.

“Should we lock him out?” Steve asks about your husband.

Wayne sighs. “Eh, he’s scrappy, he’ll find a way back in,” he says as he sets Eliza back down. 

The moment her feet hit the ground, the toddler runs over to Mia and throws her arms around the girl’s sparkly silver dress. Concentration on Luke broken, Mia laughs and falls to the ground with Eliza, giving her a hug in return. 

“Yeah,” Steve says as he watches the girls. “I think the little munchkin would let him in.” He nods towards Eliza.

“She can’t reach the door,” Danny points out to his dad.

“Eliza finds a way to do anything,” Luke says, his tone conveying all the experience he’s had in that regard.

Before anyone else can add to the conversation, the sound of clinking and clanging pots and pans rings out from the kitchen. Automatically, everyone's heads turn in that direction. 

“Shit!” Your voice echoes out into the living room.

Immediately, Nancy brushes past her husband, patting him on the chest as she goes by.

“Play nice,” she tells him as she continues into the kitchen. The sight before Nancy has her biting her lip to keep in a grin for the second time in a matter of minutes. There you stand, holding a pot lid in one hand, holding the top of your head in the other. Your friend cocks an eyebrow at you. “Everything okay in here?”

Lamely, you raise the pot lid and give her a small wave with it.

“Gave myself a concussion looking for this so the mashed potatoes better taste damn near perfect.”

“I’m sure they will,” Nancy assures you, coming closer to take the lid out of your hand. She gently sets it on the pot simmering on the stove and turns back to you. “Anything I can do to help?”

Steve’s voice booms out from the living room before you can respond.

“You’re on, Munson!”

Eyes rolling skyward, you heave a sigh and shake your head.

“Keep our husbands from injuring themselves before dinner?” you ask.

“I’m afraid not.” Nancy winces. It’s an impossible task, you both know that.

As you open the refrigerator to grab the milk, Luke runs into the room–never one for just walking–with a grin on his face. 

“We’re going to play football!” he announces.

You raise an eyebrow as you measure out the cup of milk to add to the mashed potatoes.

“Who exactly is ‘we?” you ask.

“Me, Ryan, Theo, Danny, Uncle Steve, Grandpa, Daddy…and uh, maybe Natalie.”

The mention of your husband has you turning to give your son your full attention, letting the measuring glass of milk clank down on the counter.

“Your father is going to play football?”

“He’s gonna try,” Luke says with a mischievous snicker. You completely agree with your sports-loving son’s disbelieving and amused tone. You’re not even sure Eddie knows what the different positions in football are called.

“Is that what he and Steve were bickering about?” Nancy crosses her arms over her chest and rests her hip against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Mia is gonna stay in the living room with Liza.”

“Luke, come on!” Theo calls out.

“My daughter is a little mother hen,” Nancy says with a smile as Luke runs out to join his new team. Mia may be the youngest sibling in her family, but that means she takes the responsibility of having a toddler best friend very seriously. 

Noise clatters from your backyard and you take a few steps to look out the large window over the kitchen sink. Through it, you can see Steve and Eddie standing next to each other, pointing at the mass of children that are in front of them—all of them except Ryan and Natalie.

“Come on, it will be fun,” Ryan says from the next room just as you’re wondering about him.

The unmistakable sigh of a teenage girl is heard before Natalie agrees, “Fine.”

Their footsteps fade out the door and Nancy raises her brow at you.

“I’m impressed,” she says. “No one can get Natalie to do anything anymore.”

“Hormones?” you ask, turning back to the stove as some boiled water sloshes over the side of a pot. The steam hisses and floats off into the air.

“Oh, yeah. Having a teenage daughter is great.”

“Oof, I do not miss being a teenager,” you say.

“What, you stopped, like, last year?” 

You spin around to see Nancy smirking at you, and you whip your kitchen towel at her in an attempt to wipe the shit eating grin off her face. She laughs and swats the rag away, affectionately wrapping an arm around your waist as she comes to stand beside you.

“Come on, now let me help you,” she chides.

“Fine,” you relent. “Want to chop those carrots?”

“No problem.”

Loud footfalls stampede towards the kitchen, but they’re not quite as heavy as Eliza’s usually are, so you’re not surprised when Mia comes racing into the kitchen. One of these times these running children are going to hurt themselves.

“Auntieeee?” she asks you as she comes to a stop.

“Miaaaaaa?”

“Eliza is hungry,” she tells you. “Can I get her a snack?”

“Sure thing, cutie.” You wipe your hands off on the towel and walk over to the pantry. The Cheerio box is right at eyelevel as you reach for it and hand it to Mia. “Just make sure she doesn’t eat too many, okay?”

“Okay!” she calls over her shoulder as she runs out with the box.

Just as you’re about to reach for a knife, the doorbell rings. You head out to the living room, smiling when you see Eliza and Mia sitting in front of the television, sharing Cheerios and watching the rerun of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. The big Snoopy balloon passes by as you grab the doorknob. There stand Lucas and Max with their daughter Tiffany, and Dustin with his wife Anne and their baby girl, Molly. The moment she sees you, Tiffany launches herself forward with a squeal. She wraps her arms around your hips and hugs herself against your body.

“Well, hello there,” you greet her. To allow everyone else into the house, you pick up the six-year-old and take a few steps back from the door. “You wanna join Eliza and Mia?” When she nods, you let Tiffany down to go join the other girls.

The moment your arms are free, you’re being pulled into more hugs with everyone and wishes for a happy Thanksgiving. Last but not least, you pluck Molly from her mother’s arms and give her a big kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t believe how big she is!” you coo. Now well over a year old, the last time you saw the youngest Henderson was when she was nine months. 

Dustin grabs her walker from the car, since she’s still new to the whole walking thing and not the steadiest. He sets it down in the living room and you plop her down in the Minnie Mouse themed rover. She instantly takes off in the direction of the television, as if knowing she wants to be a part of this little girl gang.

“Eliza?” you call. “Do you want to come say hi?”

It takes her a second, but finally, Eliza finishes the Cheerio that’s in her hand and pushes herself up on to her feet. She toddles over, smiling when she sees her Aunt Max—who is arguably her favorite person who is not a Munson or Harrington. Her aunt gives her a big hug. Then, Eliza stops in front of Dustin. Saying nothing, she just stares up at him, her big brown eyes blinking a few times.

“Hi, Eliza!” When your daughter doesn’t answer, Dustin kneels down to be at her level. “Remember me? Uncle Dustin?”

She just keeps staring.

Lucas laughs at the little girl’s nonreaction and snatches her up into his own arms. “Mwah!” he presses a kiss to her cheek. Instantly, Eliza grins and wraps her arms around his neck for a hug.

Dustin pouts up at the scene before him, lower lip jutting out dramatically as he stands back up.

“Hey! I’m the cool uncle!” he protests. And it’s true; if the other kids were in the house right now, they’d all be climbing over Dustin until the poor man gets lost in a sea of children.

“Guess not anymore,” Lucas says with a shrug.

“It’s gotta be because I live further away,” Dustin argues. “She sees me less.”

“Sure,” Lucas says, his tone far from sincere.

Max rolls her eyes at the two men’s bickering, presumably tired of it after hearing it for almost a decade and a half. The redhead takes Eliza from her husband’s arms and turns to face Dustin’s wife.

“These stilly boys,” Max says to Eliza. “Say hi to your Aunt Anne?”

Your daughter gives a small wave, but it’s clear from the blank look on her face that she just wants to be put down to go back to Mia. Sensing this as well, Max grants her wish.

“Where’s Ed?” Dustin asks.

“In the backyard,” you say. “Playing football.”

“Football?” Dustin almost chokes on his own spit out of shock.

“I know,” you say.

“I have to see this,” Lucas says, looking towards the back door and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

He and Dustin go to join the game in the backyard while Max and Anne follow you into the kitchen. Nancy greets the new arrivals while you take up your previous position at the stove. As you lift the lid off the pot on the back burner, you listen to the women behind you talking and laughing. It brings a smile to your face to be surrounded by women friends. Besides a two-year-old, the only others in the house are guys. And as much as you love them, it’s not the same as having other ladies around.

Two sets of running feet zoom past the kitchen and the sound of the squeaky hinges on the backdoor let you know the two six-year-olds have gone to join the fun outside. You peek back out the window and chuckle to yourself when you see Mia and Tiffany cheering on the sidelines. Unsurprisingly, they seem to be cheering for the team that Luke is on. Mia’s idea, no doubt.

There are only a few more potatoes to add to the pot in front of you, so once those are in you go out into the living room to check on the younger girls. A gasp strangles out of you when you first see the two. Then as your brain has a moment to adjust and see that everything is okay, you break out into laughter.

“What did you do, little girl?” you ask your daughter. You shake your head in amusement as you walk over to the two of them, both covered in Cheerios that are also scattered around the living room floor.

Eliza grins up at you, small pieces of Cheerios still sticking to her baby teeth.

“Molly hungry!” she tells you.

“Oh, okay,” you say with a nod. “So, you thought to give her a snack like Mia did for you?”

“Mhmm!” She sounds quite proud of herself, and it makes your heart melt.

“Well, that was very thoughtful of you.”

Laughter erupts from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see Max walking into the room. She takes in the mess before her and looks between the two babies.

“What’re you troublemakers doing?” she asks as she comes up beside you. 

A timer in the kitchen drags your attention away from the conversation and Max waves you on in that direction.

“Go ahead, take care of that. I’ll clean this up, then take these two outside. They can be the referees.”

“Thank you.” You give Max’s shoulder an appreciative squeeze as you walk past her.

Back in the kitchen, you turn off the timer and pull the green bean casserole out of the oven. 

Cheers ring in from the backyard, bringing a smile to your face. Anne steps up to look out the window at everyone.

“I think I’m going to go make sure no one is doing anything stupid,” she says.

“Nurse is never off duty, huh?” Nancy asks with a smile.

When Anne steps out of the room, you turn to Nancy and raise an eyebrow. 

“She wants to make sure no one is doing anything stupid?” you ask. “She clearly doesn’t know that is most of what our husbands do.”

Nancy laughs and nods her head in agreement.

“We should keep her here as an on-call nurse.”

“She’d be busier here than in the ER,” you joke. 

You and Nancy work silently side by side for a little while, before Nancy notices you starting to buzz around the kitchen more, a hectic mood settling over you. She licks over her lips before looking in your direction.

“Is something burning?” she asks.

“What?”

You whip your head around to stare at her before looking at the stove. 

“Smell it?” she asks, grabbing a paper towel to wipe her hands off on.

You take a few deep inhales, and a frown pinches your face.

“No,” you admit.

“That’s because there’s nothing burning,” Nancy says, taking a few steps closer to you. She rests her hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eye. “But it got you to take some deep breaths. Take a few more, okay?”

Catching on to her scheme, you narrow your eyes at her as you do indeed take a few more deep breaths.

“You’re sneaky,” you tell her.

“I have to be with four kids,” she replies. 

It’s not long before the game outside comes to an end and people start coming back into the house in waves. Eddie finally comes in and your heart stutters in your chest when you see him. His face is flushed from the exertion, his breathing a little labored for the same reason. His hair is frizzier than usual and when he comes closer to you, you can feel the chill coming off of him. It’s only confirmed when you put your hands on his cheeks and feel how cool they are to the touch. His smile makes you dizzy, not even registering how cold his lips are against yours when he leans in for a kiss.

“Everything smells good,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Did you win?” you ask, reluctantly going to check on the turkey.

His sigh tells you the answer before his words do.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbles.

Both you and Nancy share a chuckle as he sulks out of the room. Ryan pops in right after, going over to the sink to wash his hands. His face is flushed like his father’s, but his hair is faring far better. Wayne, Theo, and Danny come in behind your son and Wayne goes into the fridge to grab water bottles for all the boys.

“Can I help?” Ryan asks you as he dries his hands.

“Of course, sweetheart.” You press a kiss to his head as you slip by him to grab the salt. “Do you want to get started on the stuffing?”

“Sure.”

Danny wrinkles up his nose as he takes a sip of his water.

“Cooking is for girls,” the eight-year-old declares.

“Danny!” Nancy immediately snaps. 

“Hey,” Wayne says, nudging the boy on the shoulder. “I was a cook in the army. That don’t sound girly, does it?”

Danny shakes his head, looking cowed.

“No,” he says softly.

“What do you say?” Nancy asks.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan ruffles the boy’s hair before pretending to spill the bowl of breadcrumbs he’s carrying all over him. Danny laughs and runs away before Ryan can actually make a mess of him.

“Hey, all available squirts!” Eddie calls from the next room.

“I’m not available,” Ryan mumbles, obviously not keen on whatever his father has planned.

Luke trails into the kitchen and looks around, confused like he hasn’t lived there for years.

“Uh, I’m supposed to set the table. Where’s the stuffs?” he asks.

“By yourself?” you ask, showing him where you already have the cookery and cutlery out and ready to go.

“Nope.” 

Luke lets out a small chuckle but before you can ask what’s so funny, Mia follows in behind him. It’s clear she volunteered to be your son’s assistant.

“I’m here to help!” she announces. 

Carefully, you load up both kids with as much as you think they’re able to handle. Luckily, a parade of other small humans comes in to finish the job.

“Quite the operation you’ve got going here,” you say to your husband as you step into the dining room. “Putting the kids to work.”

“They’re my elves,” he says with a shrug. 

You giggle and press a kiss to his cheek before walking back into the kitchen.

Ryan and Natalie amble in, neither looking too happy. Eddie doesn’t ask why; he knows they’ll tell him.

“I don’t want to sit at the kids’ table,” Ryan whines. For a fourteen-year-old, Eddie thinks Ryan gripes more than his literal baby sister.

Natalie looks at the adult table, then at the kids’ table. There are nine chairs seated at each and she’s clearly trying to figure out how two can be added to the larger table.

“Me neither,” she says while mentally calculating. 

Lucas steps into the room behind the teens and Eddie sees a great opportunity. 

“Okay, you guys can sit with us,” he tells them. “As long as you contribute to the conversation.”

“Really?” Natalie asks, instantly perking up. It amazes Eddie how quickly she goes from looking like Wednesday Addams to Pippi Longstocking.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He looks over at his former Hellfire Club member and nods at him. “By the way Lucas, did you see that the DOW is down three points today?”

Lucas doesn’t miss a beat.

“Huh,” he muses. “You know, I was just talking to my broker about that over a rousing game of golf. He suggested I take another look at my portfolio.”

“Ugh fine, we’ll sit at the kids’ table,” Ryan groans.

The two of them slink off to the other side of the room as Eddie and Lucas share a quiet laugh.

“Don’t even know if I got all the terms right,” Lucas admits.

Eddie, Ryan, Nancy, and Max all help you take the food out to the table—well, tables. Eliza watches it all as Wayne settles her in her highchair at the kids’ table. She’s practically salivating as her chocolate eyes move from dish to dish. Even Mia taking the seat between her and Luke doesn’t take her attention from her dinner. 

Annie settles Molly into her own highchair—Eliza’s old one that she outgrew. When Eddie had gotten it out of the garage both of you got a little misty-eyed that your daughter is getting so big.

The turkey is placed at the head of the table, right in front of Eddie’s seat. He picks up the large carving knife and Luke over-dramatically gasps from his place at the kids’ table. You finish scooping some mashed potatoes onto Eliza’s plate and playfully tug on one of Luke’s curls.

Eddie glances up from time to time, watching as you make sure each kid has a little bit of everything on the plate in front of them. 

“You’re gonna lose a finger, boy,” Wayne warns. The older man smiles though, at the way his nephew looks at his wife. 

Eddie sets the knife down and discreetly pops the wishbone out of the bird. If he doesn’t set it aside now all the kids will be arguing over it and Eddie isn’t sure there’s enough wine in the house to deal with that. This way, Eddie can show the kids the carved-up turkey and point to where the wishbone “should be” and shrug, telling them they’re out of luck. He looks forward to using it with you after the kids go to bed. 

You giggle as Molly reaches up and puts a dab of cranberry sauce on your nose. Eddie grins as he watches you. He had thought that seeing you with a baby wouldn’t hit him in quite the same way after Eliza was born, but it hasn’t quelled the yearning. 

Taking advantage of the kids grabbing the rolls in a frenzy, he slips the wishbone into his pocket. He already knows what his wish will be.

[sapphiresaphics]

I don’t know how people keep coming up with the worst takes on things, but here we are.

You wanna be logical about this? Okay fine.

Jinx locked her in the cell. She can’t get out. Even if she thinks she’s going to commit suicide, there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s locked in the cell. We don’t know how long it is before Caitlyn shows up. Could’ve been hours. There’s a war about to happen. No amount of hunting for Jinx is going to stop that. She doesn’t know where Jinx’s hideout is anyway. The chances of her FINDING her sister is slim to none now. Also, this is a prison. There are guards everywhere. Even if Jinx tries to leave, she’s likely going to get caught again and just thrown back into another cell. And even if she escapes, the possibilities are extremely low Vi will ever be able to find her and… need I remind you… a war is on the way. She’s got maybe a few hours at best before it gets here and kills everyone. She’s betrayed Caitlyn’s trust and lost her sister and she’s stuck in the cell. There’s nothing left for her.

So when Caitlyn comes in and tells her she expected to find her there and informs her that no, actually, she let her sister go and didn’t try to kill her or lock her back up and is letting go of the anger Jinx has had on her mind and that it’s okay that she tried to free her sister, Vi snaps. Because in that moment the ONLY person she has left is Caitlyn. And Caitlyn, the woman who’s been trying to kill her sister and broke up with her because Vi wouldn’t kill her sister, just informed her that she’s letting her sister go free. Which at the end of the day is all Vi really wanted.

And frankly I don’t think Vi really understands how devastated Jinx is. She comes in begging her sister to join up and fight and using her explosive potential to help out in the upcoming battle. She’s thinking of how this fight is going to get hundreds of people killed and she’s trying to build her sister up. From her point of view Jinx just needs a hug and to be told she’s special, because no matter how hard vi tries she’s always going to see Jinx as Powder. And while she has good intentions, this is NOT what Jinx needs to hear right now. Jinx is grieving and Vi is begging her to blow more shit up.

I am SO FUCKING DONE with people like you going “oh logically why wouldn’t she be trying to stop her sister from committing suicide? Why would she just fuck in a cell?! It’s such awkward timing! What bad writing!” Because you guys never stop and think about the character’s motivations.

YOU know jinx is suicidal. YOU know she is not doing well. But Vi doesn’t. Vi is blinded by Powder. She still doesn’t see Jinx or understand what Jinx has gone through. The idea that her sister is suicidal doesn’t even cross her mind. That fight in the tomb? Just her being crazy again. Jinx being theatrical again. Nothing new.

Fucking hell… that’s WHY Jinx locks her in the cell. Because even after everything they’ve gone through, she still sees her as powder. The “you’re never going to give up on me are you?” line is Jinx realizing that Vi will never truly see her as Jinx. That’s WHY she locks Vi in the cell. Because Jinx needs to leave this endless cycle and let Vi be able to move on. That’s why she tells her she doesn’t need to worry about her anymore or feel guilty and that she deserves to be happy with Caitlyn.

So yeah, they fuck in the cell because in that moment, Vi has lost everything. She doesn’t know if Jinx is alive or dead, she doesn’t know if she can find her before the war hits and potentially kills everyone and herself, and she’s gone behind Caitlyn’s back to release Jinx. She’s at her lowest point, with no time to do anything productive, and the girl of her dreams just informed her that it’s okay she betrayed her because she’s so god damn predictable and that’s something she loves about Vi, and that she’s letting her hatred of Jinx go. This is Caitlyn confirming to Vi that is was okay for her to love her sister that much. The one thing Vi has been repeatedly told by everyone around her she can’t do.

So this is VI’s emotions EXPLODING at the thought she still has one thing good left in her life. And she is going to take it NOW because this tension has been building and building for such a long time it NEEDS RELEASE. In that moment there’s no logic. No thought to the real world or what could be. It is pure emotional INSTINCT. Caitlyn has offered herself up on a silver platter and she is going to EAT.

The amount of effort you guys put into trying to misunderstand the characters, the scenes, and the intention behind the dialogue is ASTOUNDING. You should be awarded a medal for being so mind numbingly REDUCTIVE in your “criticisms.”

saw these comments on an edit on tt and they really made me stop and rethink for a second, especially the second comment ...

[justagalwhowrites]

Fucksgiving 2k24: Growing Family

You and Joel try to patch things up with your father while starting a family of your own. A Thanksgiving oneshot in the Stranger in a Bar universe.

^This is how I pictured this Joel as I was writing, with his lil tie on. Sorry not sorry.

Pairing: DBF!Joel x Female Reader (from Stranger in a Bar)

Length: 3.8k

CW: BREEDING KINK. Unprotected P in V for obvious reasons. Planning for pregnancy. Age gap (Joel is 20 years older, reader is 35 and Joel is 55.) Reader's dad is kind of a dick. No outbreak AU. Can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that Joel was reader's dad's bestie and he and reader are living together after dating years prior. No use of Y/N, minors DNI 18+ only.

A/N: Here's something to read while you navigate your own Thanksgiving dinner situations which are, hopefully, less awkward than this one. Happy Thanksgiving!!

“I mean it,” you said, clutching the casserole dish of mashed potatoes tightly to your stomach. “Best. Behavior.” 

“When am I ever not on my best behavior?” Joel asked, his hand on the small of your back possessively. 

You stopped in the middle of the drive on the mercifully long walk to your parents’ front door to stare at him, incredulous. 

“When are you?” You asked, brows raised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you behave yourself, not once, especially not where my dad is involved…” 

“Alright,” he chuckled good naturedly. “I’ll do my best.” 

“You’d better,” you said. “He’s just coming around to this, OK? I’d rather not blow it.” 

“I know, baby,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ll be good. Promise.” 

“Thank you,” you said, continuing up to the front door.

“Your dad needs to behave too, though,” Joel said, sticking close to you. “Because I’m not gonna just let him say the same shit he always does, I don’t care.” 

“Please try,” you said, ringing the doorbell. “If you do, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Really?” He asked, his voice husky. “Dyin’ to know what you mean by that.” 

“I mean,” you said, keeping your voice low. “Given how much I want to fuck your brains out, I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating and I can think of all kinds of ways you can try to knock me up - hey Mom!” 

“Hey, honey!” Your mom opened the door and pulled you in for a hug. You just caught Joel’s expression out of the corner of your eye, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, too,” you gave her a squeeze, carefully angling the casserole dish away from her before stepping back. “We come bearing potatoes.” 

“So you do!” She said, taking the dish before turning to your boyfriend and taking a deep breath. “Joel. Always good to see you.” 

You looked to Joel and saw him collect himself for half a second before smiling to your mom. 

“Good to see you, too,” he said. “Been a while.” 

“Yeah,” she smiled a little bigger and reached out to give his arm a squeeze. “It has.” 

You gave Joel an encouraging smile as the two of you followed your mother into a kitchen that was overflowing with dishes. 

“Can I help?” You asked, laughing a little as you looked around. 

“Oh…” she sighed, looking around before she laughed, too. “Yes, yes please. Your father has been utterly useless, just wandering around, muttering to himself. Not that he’s the most helpful in the kitchen but he’s not completely incompetent…”

“He’s good on the grill,” you said. “Kitchen… eh.” 

“Well, yes,” she giggled conspiratorially. “But I try to give him credit where it’s due. Usually I’m not on my own for a holiday but this year he’s been… something.” 

You just hummed in agreement and started in on the green beans because you were pretty sure you knew the reason why your dad was acting strange and that reason was currently asking your mom how she wanted the cucumber cut for the salad. 

Joel and your father had barely spoken in the six months since you’d moved back to Austin and gotten back together with Joel. 

Not that you were too surprised about that. He was, after all, one of your dad’s closest friends and was much closer to his age than your own. You hadn’t exactly expected the news of your relationship to go over well but it had been even worse than you’d anticipated. 

You’d arranged to talk to your parents in public when you decided to tell them. Neutral ground, as it were. Plus, you were pretty sure your father would be less likely to punch Joel in the face if you were in public. 

It ended up not making much of a difference. 

“You’re what!” Your father stood up so fast that his chair fell over, the sharp clatter of the wood on the tile restaurant floor and violence of his tone plunging the once bustling room into silence. 

“Dad,” you said gently. “It’s not a big deal…” 

“The hell it’s not!” He yelled, looking between the two of you. “When the fuck did this start, hm? When the hell did you start fucking my daughter!” 

“Why don’t you sit down and…” Joel began, but your dad didn’t let him finish. 

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do,” he put his finger inches from Joel’s face. “She is a child!” 

“I’m 35!” You gaped at him. “Dad, you’re being ridiculous!” 

“You’re already in hot water,” he snapped at you. “So keep your damn mouth shut while…” 

“Don’t talk to her that way,” Joel said, standing up with too much force, his voice hot. “You got a problem with me, handle it with me, don’t take it out on her.” 

“Don’t you tell me how to treat my own fucking kid!” Your dad yelled. “I’ll handle her however I damn well please!” 

You weren’t sure who threw the first punch but it devolved quickly then, your mother pulling your father away while you dragged Joel back, both men bloody and panting for breath. 

You kept your distance from your father after that. You talked to your mom regularly - she was smart enough to give up on trying to talk you out of your relationship quickly and, eventually, was even happy for you - but your father took some time. 

After a while, he was willing to talk to you. Your mother must have given him strict rules - he didn’t try to talk you out of your relationship or question Joel’s integrity - but it was stiff and awkward. 

Thanksgiving had been your mom’s idea. Joel was hesitant but - after you conspired with Sarah (you and Joel’s daughter becoming fast friends once you moved past the awkwardness of your closeness in age) so she would stay in Dallas to go to have dinner with her boyfriend’s family - he’d agreed eventually. 

“If this don’t prove how much I love you, woman,” he’d grumbled as he tied his tie that morning. 

“You? Love me?” You asked, adjusting the knot under his chin. “News to me…” 

“Uh huh,” he smiled a little, just enough to make his cheek dimple. 

“Never said it,” you had to fight to hold your smirk back. “Definitely not 20 times while you were inside me last night…” 

“That don’t sound like me at all,” he teased back before going to kiss your cheek. “You look beautiful, baby.” 

“Well, I do have a hot date.” 

“Really? When’s he showing up?” 

You glared at him and he laughed before giving you another kiss. 

“Let’s go before I lose my damn nerve,” he said. “Gonna be the most awkward Thanksgiving ever.” 

For a little while, there in the kitchen with just Joel and your mother, you almost forgot how awkward this was supposed to be. 

You and Joel moved around each other in tandem now. You’d been living together for months and you’d fallen into sync so fast it was almost strange when you stopped to think about it. When you’d moved in with your ex, it took what felt like a small eternity to really understand the flow of his life, to subconsciously recognize where he was going in the kitchen when you were cooking side by side, to remember to consider him when making decisions big and small. With Joel, it was almost instantaneous. There had been no odd fumbling around each other as you went through your lives under one roof, no putting one brand of peanut butter back to pick up the one you suddenly remembered he preferred, no confusion or frustration when you came home from the office to find him not back yet. It all clicked, like you’d been built to do this alongside each other all along. Even in the unfamiliar space of your parents’ kitchen, his hand found the small of your back as he moved behind you to get a serving bowl and you just knew which knife to pass him from the block beside you when he went to reach for it. 

Things shifted when your sister showed up about an hour and a half before dinner, her arrival finally coaxing your father out from wherever he’d been hiding since you and Joel had gotten there. 

“Hey Dad,” you smiled at him after he finished greeting your sister and he stood, hovering awkwardly in the kitchen. “Good to see you.” 

“Good to see you, too, princess,” he said pulling you in for a quick hug. 

He turned his attention to Joel then, looking him up and down like he would an adversary. 

“Joel,” he said, nodding once. 

“Hey man,” Joel said, holding his hand out. Your father’s jaw twitched but he shook Joel’s hand all the same. “Good to see you.” 

Your father just grunted before going to the fridge and getting out a beer. Joel followed him and you and your mother exchanged worried glances. 

“Think the Cowboys are gonna pull out a win this year?” Joel asked. 

Your dad held his beer for a moment, looking like he was considering just not responding but then seemed to think better of it. 

“We’ll see,” he said. “With their record, I’d settle for not getting our asses handed to us.” 

Things were easier after that. Your father and Joel disappeared to the living room and you heard the telltale sounds of football follow immediately after.

“I still can’t believe you’re fucking Dad’s weirdly hot friend!” Your sister said, just quiet enough that your mother was out of earshot. “Or that you were for years, forever ago! Seriously, there are rules about holding back to your sister like that.” 

“You don’t need to know everything I do, you know,” you said. 

“No but I need to know everyone you do,” she said. You snorted. “So… you think it’s going to last?” 

“Well, we’re trying for kids,” you said, putting the last of the shredded cheese on the mac and cheese. “So it’d better.” 

“What!” She yelped. 

“What?” Your mom ran over. “Everyone OK? Did you burn yourself?” 

“We’re good,” you smiled. “Just catching up. Sister shit, you know.” 

“Yeah,” your sister said. “Sister shit.” 

Your mother went back to the other side of the kitchen and your sister mouthed oh my God at you and you fought the urge to laugh. Your dad might hate your boyfriend but at least you could count on your sister to be your sister. 

Eventually, the rest of the family came over, too, and everyone settled around the overly full dining room table, Joel sitting beside you with a reassuring hand on your knee as he made small talk with one of your uncles. 

Dinner went surprisingly well, at least until everyone was a few glasses of wine deep and your father decided to pick a fight. 

“So, Joel,” he said, setting his wine glass down with a little too much force. “Not sure if I should thank you for getting my daughter to move back home or if I should blame you for her obsession with being a failed musician for a living.” 

“Dad!” Your sister gaped at him. “What the fuck!” 

“Language, please!” Your mother said. 

“Just seems to be real clear to me now,” he said. “Doubt she’d be so stuck on playing that damn guitar all the time if it weren’t for your bad influence.” 

“Bad influence?” You laughed. “Dad, I’m almost middle aged, I’m not some impressionable teenager. I love my work, I don’t consider myself to be a failure just because I do music therapy instead of being a rock star, I…” 

“You could have actually done something with yourself, you know,” he cut you off. “Instead, you decided to drive your life into the ground with this man and some bullshit career path…” 

“Watch it,” Joel said sharply. “Not gonna let you talk to her that way. You will treat her with respect or I will make you treat her with respect.” 

“Respect?” Your dad asked, his eyebrows raised. “You’re gonna sit there, in my house, at my table and lecture me about respect when you decided to take up with my daughter?” 

“Stop it!” You shoved your chair back, throwing your napkin on your gravy smeared plate. “Both of you! Dad, stop acting like your my keeper and that I don’t have any goddamn agency because you raised me! Joel, stop acting like I need you to defend my honor! Just… fucking stop it!” 

“Baby,” Joel said but you ignored him, stalking off to the guest room at the back of your parents’ house, needing some space from everyone. 

You let yourself cry for a minute, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at an old family photo of you with your parents and sister, back when you were just 10 years old. Your hand drifted to your lower stomach. You weren’t pregnant yet - at least, not that you knew - but you couldn’t imagine your child doing anything that would make you as mad at them as your father seemed to be at you loving Joel. 

There was a soft knock at the door and you wiped your eyes on the backs of your wrists. 

“Yeah?” 

“S’me,” Joel said quietly. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffed. 

He came in, closing the door gently behind him before sitting next to you. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

“I will be,” you sniffed again. 

“I’m sorry baby,” he said, reaching out and cupping your face, his thumb tracing the arch of your cheekbone. “Know I promised to be on my best behavior but… Look, him being a dick to me is fine, I can handle that. I just can’t watch him say that shit to you. But that don’t mean I should get… aggressive and…” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said. “I’d do the same thing if I were you, I can’t really blame you for it. And I appreciate that you care about me…” 

“I love you,” he smiled a little. “More than just about anything else. But that means I need to take care of you in the way you want me to, not just the way I want to do it.” 

You smiled tightly before leaning in to kiss him. Joel kissed you back, gentle at first but, before long, something shifted, the kiss becoming hot and needy. 

“Baby,” Joel said, his voice low. “Should… should probably get back out there…” 

“They can wait,” you said, panting a little. “I want you.” 

He groaned, nipping at your lower lip but still hesitating. 

“Please, Joel,” you breathed, pressing yourself closer to him. “I need you. Let’s make a baby.” 

“Fuck,” he said, his tone shifting, and then he was on you. His tongue plunged into your mouth as he lay you back on the bed. 

He didn’t bother taking your panties off, just tucking them to the side and tugging the low v-neck of your sweater down to expose your cleavage. 

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he groaned, cupping your sex with one hand and tugging your breasts free of your bra with the other. He mouthed at your nipple, licking and sucking over your breasts as he ground his palm against your clit, one thick finger slipping inside your seam to your already dripping entrance. “Don’t deserve you, baby.” 

“Yes you do,” you whispered. “You deserve the world.” 

He just moaned in response, kissing you again, one large hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple. 

It wasn’t long before he shoved his pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock and he jerked himself a few times with the hand that had become coated in your wetness. He notched himself at your entrance, his head thick and large and swollen, and pressed inside, a moment of resistance before your channel stretched over him and he buried himself within you. 

He pulled his lips from yours, his head falling to the bed over your shoulder as he panted for breath. 

“Goddamn you feel good,” he said, voice tight and hot in your ear. You rolled your hips up against him, making him moan. 

“Good,” you said. “Love making you feel good, sometimes that’s all I want to do.” 

“Fuck, you think your daddy hates me now,” he said. “If he knew what you do to me he’d shoot me.” 

He started to fuck into you then, keeping his chest pressed tight to yours while his cock worked you hard and fast inside, his head finding that soft and tender place within you that built your orgasm fast with every stroke. He ground his cock against you there, his hips on your clit, making every ounce of need inside yourself gather tight and low. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted. “I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, I…” 

“Good,” he growled. “Come for me, come while I get you pregnant, c’mon baby and come all over me.” 

You had to bury your face in his shoulder to keep quiet, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast, your center fluttering over his thick length as he held himself inside you. 

“Oh you like hearin’ that, huh?” He asked, breathless, starting to move again, already building your next orgasm as he did. “Like hearing how I’m gonna put a baby in my baby, that it?” 

“Yes,” you groaned, your second climax growing quickly. “Yes, please, please, please, please…” 

“You don’t gotta beg for it baby,” he said, pulling back from you enough to look you in the eyes as he spoke. “I’ll give you everything, as many babies as you want, fuck, gonna give you my baby right now, gonna make you pregnant, fuck!” 

He buried his face in your neck and pressed himself so deep inside you as he came, the heat of him spilling into you in thick, heavy pulses. 

“Fuck,” he said after he finished, kissing your neck before pulling back from you to kiss your lips, too. “Didn’t mean to come that quick, wanted to get you off one more time first.” 

“It’s OK,” you said, panting, even though it was kind of a lie. You’d been so close to coming again that you felt tight inside your skin, an energy rippling over you that you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake until you came again once you got home. 

“No, it’s not,” he said, sitting up and slowly, carefully pulling his softening cock from you. “Got you all worked up, not taking care of you the way you deserve if I don’t finish the job.” 

You felt some of his come slip out of you but he caught it with the tip of his cock, pressing it back inside before tucking himself away in his underwear and cupping your swollen, aching sex. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly. “Take care of you the rest of my life.” 

He worked your clit, slow and gentle circles at first before his touch grew firmer, drawing your orgasm back to the surface in the way that only Joel seemed to know how to do. You came to his touch, feeling his thick come inside you as you did, like your body was trying to pull him even deeper inside. 

“There you go,” he said, his eyes locked on your dripping pussy. “Fuck, so pretty, every damn inch of you.” 

You panted for breath, relaxing down into the bed before suddenly remembering that your entire family was down the hall. 

“Fuck,” you sighed. “We should get back.” 

“We should,” Joel said, tugging your panties back in place and helping you cover your chest again before chuckling. “Think your daddy really might shoot me if he found us like this.” 

You laughed and sat up, looking at Joel for a moment. You trailed your fingers through his hair and he smiled a little, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Really not sure why you think I’m worth all this trouble,” he said. “But I sure am thankful I have you.” 

You smiled back. 

“I’m thankful for you, too.” 

You kissed him and he helped make sure your hair and makeup didn’t look like you just got fucked within an inch of your life before you emerged, the party having moved to the living room, your mom and aunts on one side of the room, your dad and uncles on the other, an uncomfortable silence falling when the two of you walked in. 

“Joel,” your dad said, getting up and walking over with a sigh. “Look… not sure I’ll ever really be OK with this but… my daughter could do worse than a man seems to adore her and is willing to stand up for her.” 

“I do adore her,” Joel said. “I love her. I want to do everything I can for here as long as she’ll let me.” 

Your dad nodded slowly. 

“Think I can live with that,” he said. “But you hurt her? I will kill you.” 

Joel laughed a little. 

“I expect nothing less.” 

Joel and your dad seemed a little more like the friends they’d started out as after that, laughing and talking and watching football. When the two of you left for home, your father and mother walked you out, containers of leftovers in hand. 

“It was so good to see you both,” your mom smiled, giving you a squeeze. “We’ll have to do this again. Soon.” 

“We will,” you kissed her cheek before turning to your dad. “It’ll be nice.” 

“It will,” he said before looking to Joel and holding out his hand. “Welcome to the family.” 

Joel smiled a little, taking his hand and shaking it. 

“Thanks for letting me in it.” 

You smiled the whole drive home, Joel’s hand on your knee. 

“So,” he said, looking at you conspiratorially as he pulled into the drive way. “Think the family will be even bigger next Thanksgiving?” 

“I sure hope so,” you smiled. “But I think we’ll have fun trying either way.” 

“Think we should try again now?” He asked, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “Because, you know… if you’re ovulating, should probably do it again. Seems like the smart move.” 

You laughed, already adding pregnancy tests to your mental shopping list.

“Well we can’t start out our lives as parents doing the dumb thing,” you said and he laughed before the two of you went inside to try again to grow your family.

[warmilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 12

______________________________

Present

"is that a ferry?" I ask, the hippocampus got closer and we saw something that said "Princess Andromeda", and the figurehead is a wooden woman tied to it

Princess Andromeda... Who?

Ah..

The wife of Perseus son of Zeus, she was to be sacrificed to Poseidon but Perseus saved her

How weird of her to have a ship, you personally, certainly won't step foot into the ocean after you were about to be sacrificed to it

A middle aged man scolds his three kids for jumping in the pool and points at a sign, a dog that looks somewhat human that looks like it belongs in the deepest pits of hell is in line for the buffet

You freeze up, is that an empousa?? A monster playing poker with a mortal human?

You look around and see variations of monsters and humans, seemingly happy in the cruise

What is this? Monster human united nations?

Don't get me wrong, you're not racist, it's just that monsters typically eat humans, so it's okay that you find it weird that a snake haired monster with poison blood is gambling with Jeff

(not Medusa, but gorgons)

"Is this a trap? A knockoff Lotus Hotel & Casino?" Percy scoffs

Annabeth holds your hand in a tight grip "Could be... But we don't know what it does, no one eat anything here"

"Lotus Hotel...?" You ask

Percy looks at you "Yeah... It's some magic hotel where time passes really slowly, like so slow, it's different for everyone, I met a guy there from the 70's and when I asked he said he'd only been there for two days, we felt we were only there for a couple of hours but it's actually been five days"

Oh shit.

"is... Is this hotel in Vegas?" You look nervous, Annabeth furrowed her brows "Yes, have you encountered it? It's dangerous and normal people wouldn't know how to get out"

"oh fuck... I may have been, no definitely, I should be older than I am right now, when my family and I were on a mi- vacation, I went inside this hotel, I was only there for like 20 minutes but they claimed I was gone for two years... I- holy shit. I was stuck in a hotel for two years" you exclaim

"how did you not know that was a trap? Have you not read the Odyssey? The lotus island and the lotus eaters?? I thought you were a fan of Greek mythology?" Annabeth asked

You roll your eyes "Well I'm sorry I didn't think a hotel was going to be related to a magical lotus island"

Tyson's face got sad "that scary... How you got out?"

"I don't know... All I remember was a pageant in the hotel, it was an event and- Oh." You stop

______________________________

Past

"Wow... This place is actually kind of nice" you look around the glistening chandeliers and observe the clamoring people

A servant smiles at you, seemingly ignoring your vigilante costume "Would you like a lotus flower? They're complementary"

It won't hurt you to take one right?

So you did.

"hey.. um where's the way out?" You ask

The smile on the servant's face doesn't drop "Miss it's so late out at night, you should return to your room"

"but I don't have a room-" you feel a key card in your pocket, you did have a room

So you go there, you enter the gigantic room, it was like for royalty, the sheets were so silky, the pillows were so soft, you opened the cabinet to find a set of clothes

Your suit is beginning to feel itchy anyways, you take a shower and put on the clothes, you find on the night stand a platinum card

What were you here for again?

You get out of the room, you hear people laughing

"you should go down there young lady! There is a pageant! There is this beautiful maiden, more beautiful compared to the others!" A man says, he was wearing clothing so old fashioned you'd thought he was from the regency era

Well, a pageant sounds fun!

In the hotel ballroom people were staring... Not at the contestants, well, yes the contestants, but one, one special lady

"Good evening LA!" She laughs

How captivating... , you think

She turns and sees you, she stops smiling "(Name)? What? What are you doing here?"

Did she just call you?

Oh gosh she just said your name!

"you're not supposed to be here!" She floats, yup floats and you're shocked, she grabs your hand and she walks you to the entrance of the hotel, the servants who were eager to help everyone was avoiding her gaze and now staying far from you

At the entrance she gestures you get out of the hotel, so you did

A bunch of guys approach you, you don't know who they are

A few minutes pass by

"guys what happened to the mission?" You ask

______________________________

Annabeth: why didn't you know the hotel was magic?

You: idk maybe because in the book it was an island?!

______________________________

@yunloyal @sirenetheblogger @00hellohello00 @spqce-bun @casspen-starlight @eyeless-kun @ghostdoodlen @ratchetprime211 @delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar

[pickingupmymercedes]

White Fireproof - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities

Wrap it before you tap it.

wordcount: +2k

a/n: White fireproof tribute (the 2019 one, the one that actually had aura)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

I’m not one to get distracted easily.

Really, I’m not.

But there’s something about the way Lewis moves when he’s in his element that just…scrambles my brain.

And right then, standing in front of me, adjusting the collar of this brand-new, snow-white fireproofs like he’s trying on his newest Dior collection instead of his race driver uniform.

“Do you think this watch pops enough against the white?” he asks, flicking his wrist in my direction.

I hum in response, my eyes glued to the line of his shoulders, the fit of the material across his chest, and the way it clings to his hips like it’s got a personal vendetta against me.

I mean I’ve seen him in fireproofs a hundred times, but this shade of white? This specific white? Sinful.

Lewis keeps talking, oblivious to my descent into thirsty nostalgia. “I think it’ll works for the shots. Clean, sleek. What do you think, babe?”

“Mmhm,” I mutter, my mind decidedly not in the present.

Here’s the thing: Lewis like this, all crisp and sharp, unlocked a memory I had neatly tucked away.

Abu Dhabi, 2019. Last race of the season.

Last time he wore a fireproof this white at a race. And the first of many times we did something reckless—but oh-so worth it.

Lewis, bless his heart, keeps chatting. Rambling on about how the watch’s black dial contrasts with the white fabric, and I’m sitting here pretending to listen while my brain serves up a reel of that night.

“And then they said we might try another angle where the light hits the watch just right—”

Oh, I’ll tell you about angles, sir.

Like the one I had to work at to get around the time frame on that fireproof while making good on a promise that was half a joke, half a long-standing fantasy.

He finally looks at me, his brows pulling together slightly. “You good? You’re quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave a hand, crossing my legs to try and focus. “Just thinking about…stuff.”

Smooth, Y/n. Really smooth.

I didn’t think I’d actually do it.

A tipsy promise made over tequila shots months ago doesn’t usually hold much weight. But then again, I’m not dating just anyone.

I’m dating Lewis Hamilton, one of the most competitive guys I’ve met, fresh off winning the last race of the season and securing a Grand Chelem after achieving his 6th championship two races back.

And who am I to back out now, when he’s standing in front of me, soaked in champagne, grinning like he’s on top of the world?

He barely gets two steps into the driver’s room before I’m on him. I press him against the door, his laugh vibrating against my lips as I kiss him like we’ve got all the time in the world, even though we don’t.

“Someone’s happy” he teases between kisses, his hands settling on my hips.

“You’ve got no idea,” I murmur, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling back slightly. His gaze, dark and shining, flicking between my eyes and my lips.

I let my fingers toy with the zipper of his race suit, tugging it down just enough to reveal the long sleeve underneath. “Remember the bet?” I ask, my voice low, playful.

He blinks, clearly taking a second to process, and then his brows shoot up. “You’re serious?”

“Very serious.” I grin, dragging the zipper down the rest of the way. “We got fifteen minutes, champ.”

He swallows hard, the heat in his eyes unmistakable now. “Yes ma’am” he mutters, no resisting as I guide him toward the small sofa tucked in the corner of the room, giving him a gentle push.

He obeys, leaning back slightly, his legs spread just enough to make my mouth water.

I settle between his knees, my hands gliding over the champagne-soaked fireproofs. The fabric clings to his skin, warm and damp beneath my fingers, exuding that sharp, fizzy scent of victory—sweet and metallic, a heady mix of adrenaline and success.

His gaze doesn’t waver, intense and unblinking, like he’s trying to commit every second of this to memory.

I can hear the quickening rhythm of his breath, and the barely-there hitch that makes me shiver. His chest rises and falls beneath my hands, steady but heavy, the pulse in his neck beating fast enough for me to notice, almost in sync with my own racing heartbeat.

“You with me?” I ask, smirking as I press a kiss to his hand that is hovering mine. His silence is answer enough.

His breath hitches audibly as my fingers hook into the waistband of his fireproofs, the sound low and raspy like it’s caught in his throat.

The soft rustle of fabric against his skin fills the air as I tug them down, revealing smooth, sweat-slicked skin that glistens faintly under the dim lights. The faintest trace of cologne—woody, clean—lingers where his body heat mingles with the champagne.

 It’s intoxicating, almost dizzying, and I can’t help but lean in, my nose brushing just above his waistband to drink it in.

The bulge in his briefs is impossible to ignore, and I let my fingers trail over it lightly, earning a soft groan from him.

“You know” I say, leaning in close, my lips brushing against the fabric “if you walk into that debrief with this situation still going on, it might be a little awkward.”

He chuckles, though it’s strained. “Help me then.”

“Maybe I should” I reply, pulling his briefs down just enough to free him.

He’s already hard, the tip glistening with precum.

I start slow, my tongue flicking out to taste him, and the salty but fruity tang spurring me. I drag my tongue along the length of him, spreading the slickness as I go.

His breath is uneven, and I can feel his restraint slipping.

When I finally take him into my mouth, I go as far as my throat allows, the coolness of my lips contrasting with his heat. I pull back with a soft pop, flicking my eyes up to meet his.

His gaze is locked on me, intense and unwavering.

I wrap both hands around his length, stroking him slowly, deliberately, while maintaining eye contact. His lips part slightly, and when I hear the first low moan escape, I can’t help but grin.

“Enjoying yourself?” I tease, my voice raspy.

His only response is a shaky exhale, and I take that as my cue to dive back in, my mouth working with my hands. His hips twitch slightly, his self-control barely there anymore.

The sounds he makes—soft groans, sharp inhales, and the occasional whispered curse—are like music.

His thighs tense under my palms, firm and unyielding, as if bracing for what’s next. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the heady mix of sweat and lingering champagne heightening every inhale I take.

His body is alive beneath me, each twitch, each gasp, syncing with my rhythm of hands and mouth.

When I glance up again, his head is tipped back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He’s completely lost in the moment, lost in me.

I pull back, letting him slip from my mouth as I sit back on my heels and his eyes snap open, dark and desperate, as if I’ve just yanked him back to earth.

“Problem?” I ask innocently, tilting my head, pretending like I’m done.

His jaw clenches. “Babe” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, his eyes narrowing in that way that makes my stomach flip.

I raise a brow, waiting. He knows what I want. He exhales heavily, his hand reaching out to rest on the back of my head.

With the gentlest pressure, he guides me back down. “Don’t stop,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my jaw.

I smirk before taking him in again, my lips wrapping around him, picking up right where I left off.

His hands stay on me, not pushing, just there, grounding himself. I can feel his thighs tense beneath my palms, his body teetering on the edge.

And then—footsteps. A knock on the door.

“Oi, hurry up, you two!” Angela’s voice cuts through from the other side. “Five minutes left”

Lewis freezes, his entire body going rigid. His eyes shoot to the door and I freeze right with him, unmoved, my tongue teasing him lightly just to test his resolve.

Angela’s steps fade down the hall, and I finally lift my head just enough to whisper, “She’s gone.”

His shoulders sag, and he lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re gonna kill me” he mutters.

“Not before I finish what I started.”

Without missing a beat, I shift my focus, letting my hand drift lower to gently cup his balls. I massage them with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, all while my mouth works him steadily.

His hips twitch, and I know I’ve got him.

“Shit,” he breathes, his head falling back.

It doesn’t take long before his hands move again, this time pulling gently at my head, trying to stop me. “Babe,” he rasps, his voice strained. “I’m gonna—”

I hum in response, doubling down, taking him deeper. His grip tightens, his hips jerking slightly as he tries to warn me again, but I’m not stopping.

Not this time.

His body tenses, and then I feel it—hot and thick, spilling down my throat.

I swallow every drop, my eyes locked on his, watching as his features twist in pure bliss. His mouth falls open, and the quietest, most wrecked groan escapes him as he collapses back against the sofa. Spent.

I give him a few more gentle strokes, making sure I’ve got everything, before finally pulling back, letting my lips trail one last time over the sensitive tip.

His hands fall to his sides, useless, as he tries to catch his breath.

I rise slowly, crawling up his body until I’m face to face with him. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with satisfaction, but they don’t leave mine.

I press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips, like I hadn’t just sucked him dry moments before.

“Thanks for the trophy,” I whisper against his mouth, grinning.

I’m still half-lost in my own mind when Lewis’s voice breaks through the haze. “Love, you good?”

I blink, snapping back to the present. He’s standing in front of me, white fireproofs hugging every muscle, his brow slightly raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, waving a hand dismissively, even as my cheeks burn. He doesn’t need to know how far down memory lane I just went. “Just... admiring the view.”

His smirk deepens. “Uh-huh.” He steps closer, leaning in slightly. “You’ve been staring at me like that since I put this on. Something on your mind?”

Oh, you sweet, oblivious man.

I clear my throat, standing up from the couch and brushing past him to inspect his fireproofs more closely. “All I’ll say it’s,” I start, my fingers tracing the fabric near his shoulder, “It’s not as good as the 2019 one.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “I thought you liked the all-white look.”

“I did,” I admit, turning to face him fully, my hands on my hips. “But these little dot patterns?” I point at the subtle textured details near his ribs. “They’re throwing me off”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course.”

“Hey,” I retort, poking him lightly in the chest, “I’m only pointing out the obvious. The 2019 ones were iconic. These? Meh.” I scrunch my nose for dramatic effect.

“Meh?” he repeats, incredulous. “Okay, little miss fashionista”

I grin. “And yet, here you are, still putting up with me.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to that soft, teasing tone that always gets me. “You’ve got strong opinions for someone who couldn’t keep her hands off me in the old ones.”

Touché.

“Fair point” I concede, stepping back just enough to keep things playful. “But let’s not forget who really benefited from that moment in history.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he adjusts the sleeves of his fireproofs. “You know,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine, “I don’t remember much from that race. But those ten minutes? Burned into my memory forever.”

I bite my lip, warmth blooming in my chest. “Good” I reply, my voice softening. “I like knowing I leave an impression.”

He reaches for my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You always do.”

The knock on the door snaps us both out of the moment. “Lewis, waiting for you!”

Lewis sighs, giving my hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “ I’ll be right back”

As he heads for the door, I can’t resist one last parting shot. “Tell the photographers to focus on your face” I call out. “It’s the real moneymaker.”

With one final smirk, he disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the satisfaction of knowing I’ll never look at white fireproofs the same way again.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend @unlikelystay

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[pitchsidestories]

aurora II Mapi León x Reader

masterlist | word count: 1190

summary: Mapi and reader getting engaged under the northern lights.

author's note: dear readers, this cute oneshot was requested and we hope you'll like it as much as we did writing the story. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

„Oh, Mapi, you know you didn’t need to.”, you began, your voice full of emotions.  

In your slightly shaky hands, you held the opened envelope in which there was an invitation to see the Northern lights. A childhood dream was laying in your palms.

It was coming true, and you were going to see that natural wonder with no other than the person you loved the most. A single tear ran down your cheek as an incredible feeling of gratitude spread through you.

The Spaniard pressed a featherlight kiss to the place where your cheek was still a bit wet.  “But I wanted to. I know you always wanted to do that, and you deserve it after the year you’ve had.”

For a brief moment, your face darkened; the last few months of the 2024/25 football season had been really tough for you. While Mapi and Irene were fit enough to play in the starting eleven again, you were demoted to the substitutes' bench again, after having grown in the role of defender and been indispensable to the team for many months.

Obviously, you were happy for the two, yet it hurt to be only considered the second choice once more.

“Thank you, amor.”, you whispered gratefully.

“You’re welcome.”, she replied.

“I simply can’t wait for that.”, you hummed excitedly. Something magical at the end of the year was just what you needed, a small winter miracle.

“Luckily, you don’t have to wait for long.”, Mapi reminded you softly.

‘But you're going to be so cold!’ you realised, and there was a hint of a guilty conscience in your voice.

“You can keep me warm.”, the defender responded with an amused smile on her lips.

“I promise I’ll.”, you grinned at your girlfriend.

“Also I already bought us matching sweaters.”,Mapi confessed sheepishly

“You did?”, you asked her touched by such a thoughtful and admittable, cheesy gesture.

“I did.”, she confirmed smirking.

“Maria Pilar, you’re the softest human with tattoos I’ve ever met, I swear.”, you said.

“My tattoos have nothing to do with that.”, the fellow football player laughed.

The weeks had flown by.

Still, it felt to you like a dream when Mapi and you were looking up to the night sky in the northern parts of Scandinavia. The northern lights above your heads.

“Yes.”, she agreed solemnly. With curious eyes the defender turned her head to look at you.  “Is it just like you imagined?”

“No, it’s even better.”, you admitted.

“It’s?”, Mapi questioned happily.

You quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek: “Yes, because you’re here with me.“

“You’re so sweet.“, your girlfriend smiled, her cheeks red from the cold.

“Also this feels so good right now. We’re only half way through the season but it’s already been an exhausting one for sure.“

“I know. And that’s why you’re not supposed to think about football here.“, Mapi reminded you gently.

You nodded gingerly. Of course she was right, this was not the time or place to think about football when you finally got to see this remarkable light display with your own eyes. “Sorry.“

Silently, you both watched on for a moment, taking everything in. You still couldn’t believe this was all real. It was almost verging on overwhelming.

“Y/n?”, Mapi said suddenly into the night.

“Hm?”, you replied without taking your eyes off the sky.

“I need to ask you something.“

Finally you turned towards her and what you saw, made the northern lights pale in comparison. There was no way to top this, yet Mapi found away.

The defender kneeled in front of you, holding a delicate golden ring in a little box.

“Oh my god!”, you whispered, incapable of stringing more words together.

“I haven’t asked yet.“, Mapi chuckled.

You shook your head in disbelief: “Well, you already got down on one knee in the freezing cold and pulled out a ring from your jacket so this is pretty self-explanatory!”

“So… Can I get an answer then?”

“Without asking? Hm…“, you teased her.

Mapi shot you a look: “You just said I didn’t have to.“

“It’s a yes, amor.“, you finally answered. You couldn’t contain the smile spreading across your face when you pulled Mapi up from the snowy ground and kissed her.

“You will be my wife?”, she asked as if she needed confirmation that you knew what you had just agreed to.

“Yes, and you’ll be mine.“

She beamed at you happily: “I will be. Even in the cold… Can we go inside now?”

“Of course, I can’t let my fiancée freeze any longer.“, you nodded with a laugh and led her inside your rented cabin.

“Thank you.“, your fiancée said, rubbing her hands together to warm them back up once she was inside.

“You’re welcome. Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate?”, you suggested once you saw how badly Mapi was shivering.

“Yes, please.“

While she took off her boots and winter jacket, you disappeared into the small rustic kitchen only to return with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate a few minutes later. You had even added mini marshmallows. Carefully, you handed Mapi a mug and watched her take a sip.

“Better?”

“A lot.“

“Good.“, you sighed relieved.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”, the defender realized gratefully.  

“A hot chocolate under the northern lights?”, you asked her amused.

“With my future wife.”, she added proudly. Her words made you feel suddenly very hot, so you had to pull off the scarf.

Despite the rather chaotic proposal you heard yourself saying. “Feels like a dream.”

“It does, huh?”

“Yes, I don’t want to wake up from it yet.”, you confessed.

The fireplace crackled in the background.

“You don’t have to. That’s our life right now.”, Mapi reassured you, the Spaniard gently touched your chin and turned it towards her so that you could look into her hungry eyes.

They and her waiting lips were the invitation you needed, both of your mouths touching in perfect unison, the kiss was perfect, bittersweet, you could still taste the hot chocolate in it.

Then she leant her forehead against yours, her sentence sounded full of promise. “Love you, future wifey.”

“Te amo.”, you whispered gently in your fiancées mother tongue.

“I know.”, Mapi chuckled, her lips escaping a protesting sound once you got up to light some candles and turned out the big lights, so it was even cozier than before.

“Isn’t this perfect.”, the Spaniard admired.

“It’s plus we can see the northern lights from our beds.”, you pointed excitedly to the glass ceiling which gave a picturesque view of the night sky above your heads.

“Nice, right?”, she grinned, as you both laid down on the soft mattress.

“Yes, it’s an amazing place to make..”, you started blushing.

“Love?”, Mapi finished the sentence for you with a teasing look on her face.

“Yes.”, you bit your lips while your fiancée began to leave small kisses all over your body.

Aurora, the blush of dawn would be here soon, but you two had only eyes for each other as you made love under the most beautiful sky you’ve ever seen.

if you enjoyed this story reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated !