#so i thought i could celebrate with you all

[nadvs]

the power play (part one)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

tags college au. fake dating. grumpy athlete/sunshine tutor. reader is bubbly, talkative, and passionate about literature. very slowburn. he falls first. alcohol use. suggestive moments, but no smut.

power play (noun)

an offensive tactic in a team sport; a deliberate attempt to manipulate someone.

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You hoped it wouldn’t feel the way it used to, but as you sit in the stands behind the home bench next to Lyla, it’s all the same.

You’re watching Beck zip across the ice with a painfully familiar sense of longing hammering into your chest. Falling for him always felt inevitable; you just didn’t expect that he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

When you and Lyla became friends in the ninth grade, you quickly grew close to her family, spending more time at their house than your own, tagging along to watch her twin brother’s hockey games.

The more you got to know Beck, the more you fell under his spell, charmed by his warmth, by every part of him that made him the most captivating person you’d ever met.

He stole your heart. Considering the way he treated you, you were sure you’d stolen his, too.

You spent most of last semester helping him with a class, even though you were in the same overwhelming throws of being a college freshman. Every study session in his dorm room drifted by with an undercurrent of certainty that he felt something, too.

It crushed you to realize that it’d all been in your head. A few weeks ago, you’d met him after his final exam, which he said he knew he nailed thanks to you.

You thought he was finally going to make the move that felt like it’d been hanging over you for years. But all he did was pull you into a side-hug and say, “You’re more of a friend to me than my own sister.”

Thinking about it still makes you cringe. You hate how weak you feel ruminating over this, trying to get over someone you were never even with.

It’s a Wednesday night two weeks into the spring semester, and you’re at the first home game you’ve been to in a while. Although you’ve always loved the loud, buzzing atmosphere of a hockey game, you’ve been staying far away from the campus arena and the man who hurt you.

You haven’t spoken to Beck. And he hasn’t reached out. What he did was an indirect rejection, his way of saying, It’s obvious that you like me and I need you to know once and for all that I don’t like you back.

Since then, every time your best friend has asked you to come to games or parties, you’ve told her you’ve been too busy, using your new position in a tutoring program as your excuse.

You prefer a distraction from Beck, and helping other students with a subject you’re passionate about has done the job.

But you can’t blow Lyla off forever, so now, you’re sitting with her in the stands among a small crowd of spectators.

The championship season begins in a month. Every seat will be full then. But you wish more people were around now. You welcome any noise to drown out your thoughts.

Everyone else cheers when Beck smashes the puck against the back of the net, securing the team’s first goal. You find it hard to join the celebration. Even though you’ve always thought of him as kind, you wonder if he could tell how much you liked him. If he consciously led you on.

For years, you’d watched him date other girls, hoping he’d finally realize you were the right one for him all along. You daydreamed far too much about him, imagining that he’d become your first boyfriend and take you on your first date and give you your first kiss.

The alarm blares to signal the end of the second period, pulling you out the haze you’ve fallen into a thousand times since that day in front of his exam room.

“You want to get some snacks?” Lyla asks.

“Sure,” you reply, doing your best impression of a girl with nothing weighing on her.

Once you walk up to the end of one of the arena’s concession stand lines, Lyla recognizes the people standing in front of you, greeting both girls with smiles and hugs.

Through introductions, you learn that Emma and Gabby are friends Lyla made at a party last semester. After some small talk as the line shuffles forward, Lyla points back to the rink.

“The seats next to us are empty if you want to sit with us,” she offers.

Emma and Gabby happily join you as you settle back in your seats soon after. You gaze ahead at the empty rink as they chat, the 3-1 score glaring above the ice in red neon numbers.

“No way the coach isn’t chewing them out right now,” Lyla says with a shake of her head.

“Why do you know on the team again?” Emma asks.

“My brother, Beck,” Lyla says. “You?”

Emma’s mouth twists into a tense smile.

“My ex,” she says, her voice lowering. “I wish he didn’t play, because I actually really love coming to these games.”

“Bad breakup?” you surmise.

“Brutal,” Gabby chimes in. You can tell by her expression that she’d supported her friend through the fallout.

“I just don’t want him to see me here and think it means something,” Emma sighs. “If he thinks that I want to get back together, it’ll be a disaster. We broke up a month ago and he’s still bothering me.”

You hardly know this girl, and you know her ex even less, but your reflex is to feel bad for him. You’re well acquainted with the pain that comes with caring about somebody who doesn’t want you.

“Oh, yeah,” Lyla remembers. “Rafe, right?”

Emma nods.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs.

The three girls share a knowing look, something unsaid passing through them.

You don’t know much about Rafe. On the rink, he’s a strong, aggressive defenseman, a sophomore who spends more time in the penalty box than any other player. You’ve seen him at a couple of parties, too, but never exchanged any words.

You don't understand the girls’ tense reactions to the mention of his name.

“What am I missing?” you half-whisper.

“You’d be missing nothing if you actually came to the parties I invite you to,” Lyla teases.

You can count on one hand how many parties you’ve been to since you started college. But it works for you. A party every few weeks is enough.

“I come when I can,” you reply, nudging her playfully. “Fill me in.”

“He’s a trainwreck,” Emma explains to you. “He has a million red flags that I ignored because I thought he was hot. Literally all we ever did was fight.”

“Yeah,” Lyla huffs, raising her brows. She looks at you. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing you don’t come to every party.”

You consider their words. They must have had a penchant for making a scene, shamelessly arguing in front of a crowd.

“I couldn’t take how mean and moody he was anymore. I dumped him and he won’t let it go.” Emma breathes a laugh. “It’s pathetic. He even called me crying the other night.”

Again, a confusing pang of sympathy for him hits you. It has to be your own heartbreak influencing you. You can’t imagine you’d normally feel bad for a guy described as having a million red flags.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m over it,” Emma says carelessly.

“He’s not,” Gabby murmurs.

The players storm out on the rink again moments later, blades slicing the ice. They’re all so fast and powerful, and knowing that Rafe, the most forceful one of the group, is going through a version of the pain you are is oddly comforting.

A couple of minutes in, he gets thrown into the penalty box for charging an opponent. He skates to the opposite side of the rink, Cameron stitched across the black polyester of his jersey.

He stares at the floor as he waits out his penalty, tense, still. You think that if someone who looks so big and strong can hurt just like you, maybe you’re not as weak as you think.

════════

Rafe swings open the library entrance door with a scowl, irritated as hell that he has to be here. It’s annoying that the athletic department gives this much of a shit about players’ grades. Rafe knows he’s one of the best on the hockey team. He wishes that were enough.

Freshman year was fine, but he barely made it through last semester. He just failed his first assignment in a half-term literature course that was supposed to be an easy A.

Coach wasn’t pleased, saying it could screw up his GPA and deem him ineligible to play. Rafe tried to convince him that he’d do better on the next one, but Coach set him up with a tutor, unwilling to hear him out.

He’s already hardwired into a constant state of anger. Life has always been a storm, and now more than ever, there's no refuge in sight.

He's dealing with a coach who has no hope in him, on top of a painful breakup, on top of a shitty loss last night, on top of the fact that now he’s being forced to talk to a stranger about some boring book.

He can’t catch a break.

He looks at the email on his phone again. Study Room 205. He eventually finds the open door and taps his knuckles on it to get your attention.

You lock eyes with the person you’ve been waiting on for the last ten minutes. You had no idea who was coming up to meet you – just that the athletic department set it up.

But you know him. Or of him, at least.

A second ago, you were thinking about how you’ll have to ask whoever you’re meeting to be on time for future sessions. Now, your mind is consumed by the harsh words you heard about him last night.

“Hi,” you say politely. “Are you here for Lit Arts?”

He nods tersely in confirmation, stepping in. He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs surrounding the square desk in the middle of the small room. You introduce yourself and when he sits down diagonally opposite to you, he murmurs, “Rafe.”

Discomfort swirls in your stomach. You’d heard something so personal about him at the rink, gazed at him in the penalty box from a distance, feeling like he’s a kindred spirit, and now you have to pretend like none of it happened.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” you ask.

He realizes he’s seen you before. He can’t figure out where.

“Yeah.”

“I was at the game last night. Tough loss.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically. You clear your throat, figuring it’s best to skip the small talk.

“I took this class last semester. I know exactly how the prof grades, so you’re lucky to have me in your corner.”

Rafe is many things right now. Lucky isn’t one of them.

“Do you have your laptop?” you ask.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his computer.

“You can go to the course portal,” you tell him. He lets out an exhale as he navigates to the webpage. You lean closer to make sure that the class is currently on the book you brought with you.

You pull out your copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, page edges littered with different colored sticky tabs.

“Did you get a chance to start the book?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He’s not hiding that he really doesn’t want to be here. Nonetheless, you’re determined to crack him.

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, picking up that he planned to coast through the class, not even bothering to buy and read any of the books.

“Do you like reading?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says with a grimace, as if he’s offended you’d assume that.

“You might like some of the books on the syllabus. This class is a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes with a stare that makes him look like he wants to bolt out of the door he just came through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you reply with a smile. “Your idea of fun is skating around and getting slammed into walls. I should be the one judging you.”

He gazes at you like you’re from another planet, blue eyes hard on you. It’s nothing short of amusing.

You pull his laptop closer, hovering the cursor over the ‘My Grades’ tab, and ask, “Do you mind if I check how you did on your last assignment?”

“I bombed it,” he says.

As you gaze at the screen, Rafe clues in on where he’s seen you before. With one of the team’s freshmen.

Varsity athletes who live on campus are lumped together in the same dormitory block, and he’s seen you hanging around with Beck, going in and out of his room.

He wouldn’t consider Beck a friend. He’s a teammate and at best, an acquaintance. The guy’s a kiss-ass to Coach, and does everything by the book, skipping most parties and never drinking.

It makes complete sense that a rule-follower like Beck would date a good girl like you. Who the fuck calls a class fun?

You click to see his failing grade percentage for the first assignment of the semester in bolded red.

“Did you get any feedback on where you went wrong?” you ask. You know he’s going to shake his head before he does it. He doesn’t seem to care at all. “You have a whole semester to get your grade up. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he replies stiffly.

“Well… maybe you should worry a little bit,” you say lightheartedly. “I know your coach is serious about grades.”

Rafe figures you must have heard that from your boyfriend. Maybe Beck took this class, too. It’s popular among busy student athletes because it’s supposed to be an easy way to fulfill a humanities credit.

He could just convince Beck to give him copies of his assignments. He’d have to change stuff around, but at least he’d get out of tutoring.

“Did you help Beck with this class?” he asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden reminder of him, brows knitting together, a shift in your breezy demeanor.

“You’re his girl, right?” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“No. We’re– we’re friends.” You chew on your bottom lip. Tutoring is supposed to be a distraction from Beck, not the topic of conversation. But your curiosity burns in you and there’s no chance of putting it out. “Did he talk about me or something?”

“No,” he says, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I just figured ‘cause you’re with him all the time.”

“Right,” you say. All the time. Like a lost puppy, no doubt. Embarrassment pricks at your skin. “I helped him with another class. We’re friends.”

Rafe cracks his first smirk since he walked into this stuffy little room. You said friends twice, both times with uncertainty.

“You sure?” he chides.

“What?” you say stiffly. “Yes. I am.”

You crack open the book.

“So, A Portrait is about a man named Stephen who navigates the idea of identity,” you say quickly, trying to shake off your nerves. “We should look at the discussion question.”

You shut the book abruptly, then turn your attention to the laptop.

“You need to write a 1,500-word reflection for each book,” you ramble. “You’ll do better if you find a personal connection to the text. Maybe we start there.”

Rafe watches the nervous way your eyes dart around the screen as you scroll. His joke threw you into a tense, awkward panic that he has no interest in being around.

“You can relax,” he says. “I don’t care if you like him.”

You don’t look at him. You thought you were relaxed.

“Well, I don’t.”

You scroll to the question, one word in particular striking you.

What role does Emma play in Stephen’s growth and how he defines himself?

Of course. As if you needed another reason for this to be even more awkward.

Seeing Rafe’s ex’s name makes what she’d told you about him echo through your head again. Despite his teasing, the sympathy you felt for him comes back tenfold.

You know things about him that you shouldn’t. You feel a responsibility to balance the scales, but the air is too tense, the unfamiliarity too uncomfortable.

“Did you take a look at the question?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still slouched back. At this point, his apathy is starting to get to you.

“Listen, I can tell you don’t want to be here, but could you please try to meet me in the middle?” you say.

Rafe’s lips pull into a firm line, but he relents and leans closer to look at the screen. His body goes cold when he sees her name. He’d rather not be reminded of the girl who broke his heart right now.

“Emma is Stephen’s love interest,” you begin, trying to act like you don’t know a thing about his past relationship. “He sees her as something she’s not.”

You leaf through the book, finding a note you’d written in the margin.

“She represents idealization,” you read. You look up at him again. “Stephen sees by the end that she’s just a normal person, not this perfect girl he thought she was for so many years.”

You open a blank document on his laptop.

“We can write up some notes to start us off,” you say. “This prof grades high when you relate to the text. He likes the sentimental stuff, so until you read the book, that’s what we’ll have to work on.”

You chew on your lip again, unsure if you should bring up what you heard in the stands. It feels unethical either way.

“It doesn’t have to be a person,” you say. “It could be a place or an experience. Have you ever thought something was great and then realized it wasn’t?”

Rafe’s stomach is in a knot. The thought of being tutored and having his hand held through a class was bad enough. Now he has to get into his feelings with you?

“I don’t know,” he says.

You look at the blinking cursor, your head cocked in thought.

“Maybe relating it to a person would be easier, then?” you ask.

Nothing can make this easier. Rafe rakes his hair back, gazing down at your hands stalled over his keyboard.

“I get that this is awkward,” you say. “But it doesn’t have to be anything super personal. You could even make something up if you want.”

He only purses his lips, eyes fixed on your hands, as if he hopes you’ll give in and just do his work for him.

You take a deep breath and interlace your fingers on the desk. You figure that if you’re a little vulnerable, he might be, too.

He’s unknowingly feeling the same pain you are and saying the truth out loud to someone who gets it might even be a relief. There’s a risk of it getting back to Beck, but something tells you Rafe’s not much of a gossiper anyway.

“To be honest, yes, I like Beck. I thought he felt the same, but he doesn’t. Between you and me, sometimes I think he took me for granted and led me on. I idealized a friendship and it ended up hurting me. If this were my assignment, I’d relate to the book with that.”

Rafe is thrown off by your sudden honesty. It’s actually refreshing, considering all the bullshit he’s been dealing with lately.

He looks at you wordlessly.

“It’s just an example,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I did well in this class because I found pieces of myself in every book. All you need to do is read the material, find something you can relate to, write a decent report, and you’ll get a good grade. Well, that and prepare for the midterm and the final.”

“This class was supposed to be easy,” he finally says under his breath.

“Can you let me know when you’re going to be done complaining?” you ask playfully, looking up at the clock. “It’s been five minutes and you’re still going.”

Rafe huffs an almost-laugh. He adjusts his posture again, pulling at the collar of his hoodie.

“You really don’t have to be specific,” you reassure him. You tap your fingers over the keyboard again, just light enough to not press any buttons. “If you can relate the character of Emma to someone, you don’t have to say their name.”

Your eyes stay glued to the screen, your shoulders stiff as you wait. You’re acting weird again. The way you said Emma’s name looked like it pained you.

And it dawns on him.

“Should’ve known she’d talk shit,” he realizes. “What’d she tell you?”

“What?” you say, meeting his gaze.

“What did Emma say about me?” Rafe drawls, his deep voice reverberating through you.

Your lips part, but words refuse to form. For a guy that doesn’t like to read, he’s very good at doing it to you.

Rafe leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. You can now see what makes him so intimidating on the ice. Every edge of his face is sharp now, apathy replaced with intensity.

“Nothing,” you reply. “It’s not my business.”

How did he not clue in before? If you run in the hockey team’s social circle, of course you heard about their breakup.

Emma never cared to keep things private. And you’re so willing to share your own personal stuff because you know more about him than you’re letting on. Because you pity him.

“Come on,” he scoffs, frustrated.

“I met her at the rink last night. She just mentioned you used to date.”

He shrugs impatiently, a silent request that you keep talking. You sigh. He’s stubborn.

“She said she likes coming to games, but it’s hard to because her ex is on the team.” You grimace. There’s no way you’d actually tell him all of it, all of the insults she muttered. “It’s not worth repeating, but… basically, she told me she broke things off and you won’t move on.”

Rafe nods, lips twisting. The way she’s been ignoring his texts and his calls to try to fix things stung enough. Talking to strangers to embarrass him hurts on an entirely different level.

He didn’t know Emma could be this cruel. This is mortifying. He’s done trying to make things work with her. No matter how hard the loneliness is hitting him.

You slide the book across the desk towards him, desperate to move past the tension.

“You can start reading,” you say. “And you don’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll just lend you mine. I’ll get some notes down for you to work from and you can do the personal connection part on your own.”

You start to type and immediately wonder if he’ll drop the class. You’ve never had that happen with someone you tutored before, but you wouldn’t blame him.

It must feel crappy to hear from a girl you don’t even know that your ex is saying bad things about you. A girl that you have to see every Thursday afternoon for the next three months.

Rafe cracks open the book in the middle to fan through the pages, a weight sitting on his chest. The pages are worn, words underlined, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You put this through the washing machine or something?” he murmurs.

“I’ve read it a few times,” you say simply. You keep typing.

Emma said he’d called her crying. It’s hard to imagine the man sitting next to you crying. It’s weird knowing something about someone that they wouldn't want you to know.

Rafe’s already bored with the first sentence. It’s long and confusing and completely uninteresting. His eyes drift up, absorbing the way your face softly creases in concentration as you type.

Now that you’re not talking at a thousand words a second, he can actually take you in.

You’re the type of girl he’d approach at a party. There’s no doubt about that. But once you’d start yapping about reading like you just did, about finding pieces of yourself in a book, he’d find a way out of the conversation.

Playing hockey at the college level is demanding; he likes the other things in his life to be fun and easy. Keeping up with a girl like you and pretending he’s interested in whatever you’re rambling about would be neither.

As he studies you, he doesn’t get why Beck friendzoned you. You’re pretty. And you’re the same type of person that Beck: straight-edge and so cheerful it’s annoying.

Rafe is typically one to outright say what he’s thinking, but he has the restraint to keep the idea he just had to himself. He needs to sleep on it. He’s done some crazy shit since Emma broke his heart and he’d rather not add to the tally.

You notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

“You’re not thinking of dropping the class, are you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. His eyes stay on you for another beat, then find the words on the page again.

════════

You thought Rafe came to your first session in a bad mood. Compared to how you feel right now, he was peachy.

Lyla called you on your way to the library and mentioned in passing that her brother asked about you last night. She said Beck seemed like he missed you, all sympathetic when he asked, is she doing okay?

She’s oblivious to the real reason he brought it up. And it’s irritating. Because he doesn’t even ask you himself. Because he’s right. He knows that his passive rejection left a wound.

“You’re on time,” you say in surprise when Rafe saunters into the study room.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in a lecture after you told me not to be late.”

Despite your bad mood, you crack an amused smile. You’d ended last week’s session telling him that tardiness was not only disrespectful to you, but to his own academic success. He rolled his eyes, but he clearly listened.

Rafe settles in the same chair as last time, holding your copy of the book he was supposed to read.

“Did you read it?”

“Mostly.”

“What’d you think?” you say with hope.

“Boring.”

“Fair,” you say. You gesture for his laptop. “Let’s see how far you got on the report.”

Your brows drop in disappointment when you see how much he added to the file. It’s a bunch of pasted summaries and disorganized thoughts, taking up only half the page.

You eventually reach the end of your hour-long session and have him read over the assignment one last time before submitting it. You check the syllabus to confirm what the next book is, then shut his computer.

“Try to have more for us to work with next time,” you tell him. “And you should have the next book totally read by then, too, okay?”

You hand him your copy of Pride and Prejudice and push your seat back, ignoring his frustrated sigh.

“You talk to Beck lately?” he asks after a beat.

“What?” you say, face screwing up. You’re reminded all over again of what Lyla said. “No. Why?”

“You’re still pissed at him,” he says. He’s confident, coming to the conclusion himself instead of waiting for you to admit it.

“Why are you talking about this? We had a perfectly nice hour together,” you try to joke.

Rafe finally gives a voice to what’s been swirling in his mind since last week. He’s used to being mad, to feeling spiteful, but the way his ex broke his heart has never made him want revenge more. He wants to hurt her as badly as she hurt him. He wants to make her regret leaving him.

“We should get back at them,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” you say, your chin dipping as you stare at him.

“Hear me out,” he tells you. “We’re going to keep seeing Beck and Emma around, right? We could make it look like we’re better off without them. Make them jealous.”

You squint, waiting for the details. Rafe draws in a sharp inhale.

“She said I’m not over her, right? And you said he took you for granted. If they think we moved on, I bet at least one of ‘em will realize they fucked up.”

You consider it. Admittedly, making Beck think you’re perfectly fine – no, thriving – after his rejection is enticing.

“Okay, how do we get back at them exactly?” you ask.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck. It’s the first time he seems kind of nervous to you.

“We pretend we’re together,” he says.

“You and…” You look over your shoulder, because he must be talking to somebody else who snuck into the room at some point. “You and me? Together together?”

“I know. It wouldn’t ever happen.”

You can’t even be offended. He’s right. He’s a skilled hockey player and undeniably good-looking, but that’s where the compliments end.

Two afternoons of working together and making small talk have shown you that you have nothing in common. And frankly, while you do laugh off his bad attitude, it gets on your nerves.

A relationship would never work, let alone even begin.

“But they don’t know that,” he continues. “All they’ll see is that someone they lost is happy without them.”

Your mind starts racing. The years of pining over Beck, the pain of his rejection, the frustration of him asking his sister how you’re holding up. They’ve all left cracks in your heart.

The more Rafe thinks about rubbing his happiness into Emma’s face, even if it’s bullshit, the more he hopes you’ll be on board. But you’re not saying a word.

“If you’re not in, fine,” he sighs, pushing his chair back to start to leave. He should have figured you’d be too uptight to do it. “I’m just saying I bet you wouldn’t hate making Beck sweat.”

He stands up, but you hear yourself say, “Wait.”

Then you hold out your hand.

Rafe breathes an amused chuckle, flashing the first sincere smile you’ve seen on his face, when he realizes what you’re doing.

Your hand slips into his, touching for the first time to seal the deal and shake on it.

“This is insane,” you say. “Count me in.”

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

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[fireinmoonshot]

patience, baby | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: After escaping the Red Room, Bucky Barnes became a father figure to you. He'd never approve of you dating Joaquín Torres... but you have to come clean to him about it eventually. Warnings: Mentions of the Red Room, brainwashing and killing people. Reader was brainwashed and has killed before. Word Count: 1.7k A/N: Another request from a lovely anon 💗 This was fun to write. I've missed writing Bucky. I will definitely be writing for him again once Thunderbolts comes out and my Bucky Barnes obsession is reborn... Joaquín is extra cheeky in this one as well. I adore him. This is perfectly timed to be in celebration of him being in Avengers: Doomsday!

When Bucky had first introduced you to Joaquin Torres, he hadn’t thought much of it. The kid was the new Falcon, but he was also annoying as hell. It was only because of Sam that he’d bothered to introduce the two of you in the end.

Sam had insisted on it, saying that it would be good for both you and Joaquin to get to know one another. You were similar ages and could learn from each other. “Joaquin could do with some tips from someone like her,” Sam had said, and Bucky had relented eventually. He’d assumed that, since he was like a father figure to you, that Joaquin might be like a brother to you. You never really knew your biological family, so he convinced himself that this might be good for you.

You’d been through a lot in your life, being raised in the Red Room. Once you’d gotten out, Bucky had been there to help you through it. He understood what it was like to be brainwashed, to do things and not realise you were doing them. He’d helped you the best way he knew how. 

It was exactly why he was so protective of you. The second he realised he was wrong about all that, though, he regretted ever introducing you. 

He’d seen you staring across the room at Joaquin while he was training with Sam, trying to learn a barrel kick on solid ground before trying it in the air. After the accident, Joaquin had to take time off to recover, so he’d been hitting the gym pretty regularly to get his strength back now that he was healed.

The look on your face told Bucky everything he needed to know. 

“Stop that,” Bucky had said, placing his hands on your shoulders and spinning you to face him so that you would stop watching Joaquin. “None of that, okay?”

You raised your eyebrows and shook off his grip. “None of what, Bucky?” You said, as if you didn’t know what he was talking about – the fact that you’d been caught staring at Joaquin. And who could blame you? The man was an incredible fighter and it wasn’t your fault that he’d worn a sleeveless shirt to training.

He pointed a finger over towards Sam and Joaquin. “None of that. He’s a kid, you’re an Avenger.”

“Technically he is also an Avenger…”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Don’t even start.”

Luckily, you had dropped it after that – much to Bucky’s glee (if he even had such an emotion, you thought). You’d gone back to training with Bucky and tried your best not to let your eyes wander across the gym to where Joaquin was training.

Behind his back, though… well, what Bucky didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right? 

Whenever Bucky wasn’t watching, you and Joaquin would spend time together. The more Bucky trusted you, the more lenient he was with you spending your time outside the Avengers HQ – as if you weren’t a grown adult. If he’d known you were spending that time with Joaquin, you knew he wouldn’t be so calm about it. 

It didn’t take you very long to fall for Joaquin, or for him to fall for you. Even though he knew your past, he knew the rough details about who you were and what you’d done, he didn’t seem to care. All he wanted to do was to sweep you off your feet every single day. Sometimes, quite literally.

For the first time in your life, you felt human. 

It was that fact that made you realise that you needed to tell Bucky. You couldn’t keep a secret like this from him any longer. He’d want you to be happy, you knew that. In time, he’d warm up to Joaquin, you hoped. 

Joaquin meets you in the corridor outside the gym, a cheeky grin on his face as usual. He glances around to make sure no one is watching before he sweeps you into his arms, pulling you to his chest and brushing his lips over yours.

“Be careful, baby,” you murmur against his lips. “This is not the way I want Bucky to find out about us.” 

He pulls away reluctantly, a smile on his face yet again. “Sorry, I just can barely keep my hands off of you. I haven’t seen you in three days since I’ve been away with Sam and I’ve missed the feeling of you in my arms.”

His words set butterflies off in your stomach and you can’t stop yourself from leaning in to peck his lips. His hold tightens on you as you do and he attempts to deepen the kiss into something more but you pull away, leaving him pouting.

“Patience, baby,” you hum. “You’ll get plenty of kisses later when we aren’t right outside the room where Sam and Bucky are, okay? Can you be patient for me?”

Joaquin nods his head without hesitation. It’s taking all his self control not to pull you into the nearest storage closet and show you how unwilling he is to be patient right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him away from you gently. “Let’s go and see how this is going to play out…”

He reaches down and takes your hand. Your head snaps towards him. Does he seriously think holding your hand is a good way to break the news to Bucky?

“It’s a compromise,” Joaquin explains. “You won’t let me push you against this wall and kiss you properly, so I’m holding your hand when we walk in there. I’m not accepting any argument you might be thinking up in that gorgeous head of yours.” 

Then he starts leading you into the gym, pulling you along behind him. You laugh to yourself and hurry to catch up with him so that you can walk side by side. 

Bucky and Sam are standing across the gym near the lockers, talking amongst each other. Bucky’s back is to you, meaning he thankfully can’t see the way you and Joaquin are walking towards him, hands entwined.

“So, Bucky,” you start as you reach the two of them.

He spins around, his eyes instantly falling on your hands. He stares at them for a second before his eyes meet yours. “What is this?” He asks, glancing between you and Joaquin.

“Joaquin and I are together,” you state, figuring it’s better to just rip off the bandaid and get everything out in the open straight away. That way, there’s no chance of Bucky butting in and trying to stop you from what you’re about to say.

Sam, standing just to the right of Bucky, stifles a laugh. He’d seen this coming from a mile away, but somehow Bucky hadn’t. He’s almost tempted to walk away and let Bucky handle this alone, but for the sake of Joaquin, he stays.

“You’re what?” Bucky furrows his eyebrows. “I thought I said–”

“I know what you said,” you interrupt. “I’m an Avenger and he’s just a kid. But he’s an Avenger, too. And we’ve been spending time together behind your back – that was my choice, not his – and we really like each other.”

You feel a little silly having to explain all this to Bucky. Is this what it would’ve been like if you’d lived a normal life and had to introduce your boyfriend to your dad as a teenager?

Bucky looks between you and Joaquin, a little lost for words. You’re dating someone. For the first time since Bucky has known you, you’re not entirely his responsibility. You’ve been like a daughter to him for years now… and Joaquin is apparently not like a brother to you like he’d expected.

“I don’t think-”

He’s cut off again by you interrupting him, but he can’t bring himself to be annoyed by it. You’ve learnt this from him. Not only some of your fighting techniques once you’d escaped the Red Room, but apparently some of his personality traits too.

“I’ve never been able to have a personal life, Bucky,” you state. “I’ve spent most of my life killing people without even knowing what I was doing. I’ve spent a lot of my life being brainwashed into someone else. Can’t you just let me have this?”

Your voice is soft and it’s just enough to break through Bucky’s walls. 

“Just… just go and start stretching for training,” he says gruffly. “And don’t hold hands when you’re around me. I don’t wanna see any physical contact, you hear me?”

A smile breaks out on your face and you look up at Joaquin, who is sporting a similar look on his own face. “I’ll take care of her, Bucky, I swear,” he replies.

Bucky waves his hand, dismissing you both and watching as you walk over to the sparring mats on the other side of the room to start stretching. He’s not mad, not really. Just concerned. But everything you said was right – you deserve to be able to have this, this piece of normality, and he can’t find it in himself to not let you, even if it terrifies him. 

“I don’t want him to hurt her, Sam,” Bucky murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Beside him, Sam laughs. “Buck, Joaquin wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“She’s been through enough,” Bucky continues as if he didn’t even hear Sam’s words. “The Red Room, everything that she went through there, learning to get past it all…”

Sam claps a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Joaquin isn’t going to hurt her. Couldn’t you tell that just from the way he looks at her? The kid is head over heels. He practically worships the ground she walks on, man. She’s in good hands. Loosen up a little. It wouldn’t hurt you.”

He shoots Sam a look and steps aside, forcing Sam’s hand to drop from his shoulder. He can only hope that Sam is right about that, that you’re in good hands with Joaquin and that he’ll never hurt you.

“Tell him to watch his back if he does,” Bucky calls over his shoulder as he starts to walk towards you where you’re stretching. “Torres, get to your own mat! It does not take two people to stretch out a calf muscle!"

––––

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5

[vivwritesfics]

Baby Names

"Baby, I love you," he said. "But we're not naming our baby after your celebrity crush."

celebrity crush 2.0

Lando checked his phone between interviews. Media days had become mind numbing. They had been fun, once upon a time, when his girlfriend (now wife) was there to keep him entertained.

But his wife (former girlfriend) no longer came with him to media days. She no longer came to races.

For the first four months of her pregnancy, she was happy to travel with him to races. His large hand on her not yet there bump, showing everybody the ultrasound pictures (it was hard to make out anything).

When she got further along in her pregnancy, things became uncomfortable. The bump she had to haul around, her swollen feet, the stupid, unflattering pregnancy clothes. She hated all of it.

It became easier to just not go with him. To stay home with the puppy they had adopted at the start of the 2025 season (just before they got pregnant, maybe not the best move).

So, when Lando was apart from her, he was constantly checking his phone. He took a few moments to watch the Instagram reels she sent him or to show Oscar the ridiculous memes flooding his phone. He answered her sweet messages and hearted every update on their baby.

She sent him a picture of himself as a kid. In his early karting days, looking like a little terror.

did you bite people's ankles?

Lando giggled at her message. Of course she was at home, getting sent his baby pictures by his mother.

No I didn't bite ankles.

you look like you did

There was a moment where Lando waited for the grey bubble to become a text. She typed it out a few times before hitting send.

I thought of a baby name.

???

She had given him no hints before he left for the race weekend that she was even looking at baby names yet. That was something that would come later, right? They didn't need to worry about that yet.

tell you when you get home love you

Lando texted her back, told her that he loved her. Because he really did - this was the woman he had promised to spend the rest of his life with.

***

No, she hadn't told him the baby names yet. After a good race weekend, a win, Lando couldn't wait to get home to his wife, to his baby.

It was a bit ridiculous to expect her to throw herself into his arms, kiss him all over his handsome face, and tell him her idea of a baby name. When Lando walked through the door and that didn't happen, he couldn't help but be deflated.

"Hey!" She called and waved him over to the couch.

Lando threw himself down beside her and laid his head on her stomach. "Hey baby," he whispered and kissed her stomach.

Her hands found his curls. "Congratulations, Champion," she whispered and leaned down to kiss him. Well, leaned down as best she could with her bump in the way. He wasn't World Champion yet, but soon he would be, they both knew it.

"You said something about baby names," he mumbled, comfortable against her.

She grinned down at him with an expression that hinted he should have been worried. "Hayden."

Hayden. A beautiful name for their baby. Whether they ended up having a boy or girl, Hayden Norris was a lovely name.

Lando didn't like it.

"Baby, I love you," he said. "But we're not naming our baby after your celebrity crush."

"Hayden Christensen has nothing to do with our baby!" She insisted. "It's just a pretty name. Plus, it's on theme."

Lando raised his eyebrows. "On theme?"

She scratched at his scalp. If it wasn't for the current conversation, he would have moaned. "Star Wars."

Lando pulled away from her. "No. Baby, no."

"Too bad." She folded her arms over her chest, still wearing that grin. "Your mum loves it."

[ghostieboy28]

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

one of my friends probably

2. Are you outgoing or shy?

outgoing

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?

my friends on sunday

4. Are you easy to get along with?

i'd like to think so?

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?

i think so yeah

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

kind people? idk

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

no but i wish smh

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

nobody smh #lonelycore #ihavefriendsiswear

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

depends on with who

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

my friends or my counsellor

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

‘fire sex song’

12. What are your 5 favourite songs right now?

toothache - james marriott

i dont want to live like this - james marriott

 undone (ep version) - station six

rhiannon - fleetwood mac 

i just learned the f word - SARIAH.

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?

i guess so

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

no but i believe good things can always happen

15. What good thing happened this summer?

road trip w friends

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

maybe? idk

17. Do you think there is life on other planets?

absolutely, maybe not in this galaxy but the next.

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

my first real crush yes

19. Do you like bubble baths?

absolutely

20. Do you like your neighbours?

theyre fine? idk

21. What are your bad habits?

phone usage, messy room, and being a dick.

22. Where would you like to travel?

everywhere but especially europe (italy, france, spain, england, germany) and america (for the food)

23. Do you have trust issues?

i dont think so

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

going to bed 

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?

all of them

26. What do you do when you wake up?

try to not go back to sleep

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?

no, i like my skin tone

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

my close friends

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?

no

30. Do you ever want to get married?

maybe one day if my partner wanted to, otherwise no to save money- marriage is just a title not a declaration of love.

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail?

a very small stubby one maybe

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

none of them! 😭

33. Spell your name with your chin.

jnzasx;pedrtf5

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

basketball and tennis

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

tv

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

all the time

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

‘so, the economy, huh?’

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

someone kind and funny

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

countdown and second hand shops (alone or w friends)

40. What do you want to do after high school?

not sure- maybe a drama teacher, a y1/2/kindergarten teacher or a counsellor

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

yeah absolutely

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

im never really quiet

43. Do you smile at strangers?

yeah a lot i think

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

as much as i love the ocean i'm also terrified of it so space

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?

the thought of seeing my friends

46. What are you paranoid about?

loved ones dying or being kidnapped

47. Have you ever been high?

nope

48. Have you ever been drunk?

nope

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

haven't we all?

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

grey

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

yes, a man

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

become a man

53. Favourite makeup brand?

don't have one

54. Favourite store?

didn't you ask me this before

55. Favourite blog?

dont have one

56. Favourite colour?

deep green

57. Favourite food?

butter chicken or hard shell tacos or cookies

58. Last thing you ate?

cake

59. First thing you ate this morning?

cornflakes 

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

i won a diversity award out of my year group if that counts as an award?

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?

nopee

62. Been arrested? For what?

no 😔

63. Ever been in love?

i think so

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

HAH no

65. Are you hungry right now?

always!

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

my tumblr friends basically are my real friends

67. Facebook or Twitter?

.. neither

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

tumblr

69. Are you watching tv right now?

no i'm writing these stupid answers

70. Names of your bestfriends?

all of them? no way jose

71. Craving something? What?

love

72. What colour are your towels?

lots of different colours- the one i'm using now is dark blue

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?

2!

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

yup- six of them, bacon the stingray, patches the cat, no name the sock cat, edgar the reindeer with a christmas hat (yes it is march), tsuno the sock frog, and no name the sock monkey

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

like 15 maybe scattered throughout my room? i can see 11 right now

75. Favourite animal?

elephants stingrays whales and frogs

76. What colour is your underwear?

i am NOT telling you that

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour?

cookie dough 

79. What colour shirt are you wearing?

black

80. What colour pants?

dark purpley black (pj pants okay)

81. Favourite tv show?

the rookie or tetro pink

82. Favourite movie?

heathers the musical? if a jack whitehall comedy special counts then that?

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

mean girls

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?

mean girls tf is jump street

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls?

idfk maybe karen?

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo?

dory my bbg

87. First person you talked to today?

my mum

88. Last person you talked to today?

my dad

89. Name a person you hate?

idfk hitler??? 😭

90. Name a person you love?

most people

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

no not really

92. In a fight with someone?

newp

93. How many sweatpants do you have?

2 pairs

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?

only 3, aka not enough

95. Last movie you watched?

maybe all of those voices?

96. Favourite actress?

emma stone is very good i liked her in cruella

97. Favourite actor?

dont really have one maybe ryan reynolds?

98. Do you tan a lot?

nopee

99. Have any pets?

a cat!! her name is fifi

100. How are you feeling?

like this is a waste of time

101. Do you type fast?

not really

102. Do you regret anything from your past?

lots of things- it would be weird not to itk

103. Can you spell well?

pretty well- i say after i just wrote ‘wep’ instead of well

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?

my nan

105. Ever been to a bonfire party?

new years eve one w family friends when i was like 7

106. Ever broken someone’s heart?

i hope not

107. Have you ever been on a horse?

nope

108. What should you be doing?

sleeping smh

109. Is something irritating you right now?

my arm hurts and my leg is itchy but thats it

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?

FREQUENTLY

111. Do you have trust issues?

itk you asked this before too

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?

probably my friends when watching a sad as shit movie

113. What was your childhood nickname?

i am NOT giving you that its awful

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

been to bali so yep

115. Do you play the Wii?

nope

116. Are you listening to music right now?

nah im locked in

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?

absolutely not

118. Do you like Chinese food?

some of it im a bit picky tho

119. Favourite book?

the many half lived lives of sam sylvester

120. Are you afraid of the dark?

very

121. Are you mean?

jokingly mean but mean regardless

122. Is cheating ever okay?

on a partner? no

123. Can you keep white shoes clean?

personally no but its a thing you can do

124. Do you believe in love at first sight?

hah yes

125. Do you believe in true love?

kind of?

126. Are you currently bored?

always

127. What makes you happy?

people

128. Would you change your name?

already have

129. What is your zodiac sign?

scorpio

130. Do you like subway?

LOVELOVELOVELOVELOVE

131. Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

tell her i don't like her back sorry?

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

im [pretty sure you asked this too

133. Favourite lyrics right now?

‘theyll tell you that youre special just enough to keep you boring’

134. Can you count to one million?

if i tried yeah

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?

that i can count to 1 million

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?

open dark scare

137. How tall are you?

5’11

138. Curly or Straight hair?

straight

139. Brunette or Blonde?

brunette

140. Summer or Winter?

winter

141. Night or Day?

day

142. Favourite month?

november/december

143. Are you a vegetarian?

nope

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?

milk duh i have taste

145. Tea or Coffee?

neither

146. Was today a good day?

average

147. Mars or Snickers?

snickers

148. What’s your favourite quote?

149. Do you believe in ghosts?

sometimes

150. Get the closet book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

‘He’s singing “space oddity”. billy’s favourite song.’

yes i am this bored yes i will be going to sleep now. maybe.

150 questions - You must be curious about one of these things!

[invoncible]

i loved your mark and popstar girly piece, it made me imagine the popstar girly making a song about mark but not telling anyone, but he knows because it describes his appearance and a moment he had with popstar girly perfectly. not a request just an thought i wanted to share

MARK GRAYSON & popstar! girly! reader (II) ✧˚. — this is basically a whole story at this point but no regrets

— thank u for sharing ur thoughts anon !! now you have to take responsibility for giving me brainrot cuz i fs went overboard with this one !! <3 — i hc the music career as sabrina carpenter coded, but tbh you can envision whoever u want !

being as big as you were, you liked to keep your private life under wraps. but if people listened to your music they'd be able to piece the story together.

when I talk to my friends so quietly / (who he think he is?) look at what you did to me

you and mark weren't dating yet when your debut album came out. you had finished your one year of fake school with him, amber, william, and eve. within that time, you fell for mark hard.

he was a dork, cute and funny, and he was the sweetest when he was with you. never talked about your wealth and actually treated you like a teenager instead of a spoiled daddy's girl.

you just had to write about him. your audience noticed a huge shift in the tone of your music. when you released your album, the love songs really hit because you really sounded like you were in love. they could hear the smile in your voice on the tracks.

when mark heard it, he wasn't as pleased as other fans for the exact same reason. he could tell you were feeling something for someone, and as far fetched as his hope for being with you was, he still felt some kind of way when you reminded him that you were out of his league. way out of his league.

william threw you a listening party to celebrate, and out of the corner of your eye you could see mark deflate more and more with each song.

did he hate it? you thought in a panic.

he got up abruptly to help out with 'family work,' as he called it.

"are you sure you can't stay?" you shot to your feet as he threw on his jacket.

he smiled sympathetically, a heavy sigh escaping his lungs. "m'sorry. it sounds so great so far, though. you're gonna blow up for sure. you look... uh," he cleared his throat, eyes darting back to the TV where your music video was playing. "really good, too."

heat rose to your face as you nodded minutely. "thanks." you mumbled.

he reached out to you on an impulse, his hand hanging in the air when he hesitated halfway through. he settled for awkwardly patting your shoulder.

"i'll listen to it all the way through once i'm done with work, promise." he shut the door with a swiftness.

"ughhhh, i give up. i hate him." you groaned, head in hands. william rubbed your back soothingly as you complained. "this is so embarrassing."

you thought you made it obvious that you liked him. you flirted and everything, but either he was stupidly dense or ignoring your advances.

"don't..." william exhaled tiredly, like he was close to giving up on mark himself. "don't give up. he's stupid, but he gets the point eventually."

"i must look crazy," you dig your wrists into your eyes in frustration. you hated feeling like this. your heart was swirling with affection but your head was telling you to stand up and drop him since he was obviously set on dismissing you.

"you're not crazy. i'll talk to him."

"don't do that!" you whined. "i'll look desperate..."

he raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading on his face. "you are desperate. but so is he."

i can see the stars all the way from here / can't you see the glow on the window pane? / i can feel the sun whenever you're near / every time you touch me, i just melt away

the whole world could tell you had a man when released your next few singles. the beats were bubbly and the lyrics were so sickly sweet that the only reasonable conclusion for being able to write them in the first place would be for you to be deep, deep, deep in your feelings.

with the help of william's nudging, mark finally confessed. it took a lot of encouragement, but he did it.

he stopped you from going home with a pull to your wrist, threading you along to a secluded corner of the school grounds. he looked tired, and you couldn't tell if that was a bruise or not on his cheek, but whatever he was going through did not dim the light in his eyes.

"look, um..." he took a slow breath in as if meditating. fear pounded in your chest. he was looking at you with a gravity one would expect to have when delivering bad news. was he delivering bad news?

"i like you." he blurted out.

oh.

"i like you," he repeated with a firmness, making the world stop on its axis. "and i would really like to take you out sometime. please."

you blinked at him for a moment, searing his cute determined expression to memory: the nervous pull of his brows, pouty frown, and clammy fists at his sides.

"yeah." you answered quietly but resolutely. "i'd like that."

he brightened, the tension on his face gone in an instant. poof! "really?"

his excitement was infections and rooted in your bones too, straightening up and mirroring his grin. "mhmm."

"okay." he muttered, stepping closer to you and hesitantly hugging you. you rolled your eyes and embraced him fully, circling your arms around his waist and squeezing. he smiled into your hair and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

dating mark was easy. for a time, that is.

i've never seen an ugly truth that i can't bend / to something that looks better, i'm stupid, but i'm clever / yeah, i can make a shit show look a whole lot like forever and ever

a couple months into your relationships, your audience picked up a little animosity in your lyrics towards the reoccurring 'boyfriend' figure you often sang about.

being busy was something you were familiar with—your entire life was busy. so that's why when mark was off in university and balancing a full time job (that he always described too vaguely for your liking), you understood.

but there came a time you were just sure he was cheating on you. he left to take calls, promising the person on the other end he'd 'be right there,' and disappear for weeks at a time. can someone really have five different work trips in the span of a month?

"mark," you accepted his hug with a heavy heart. you hated to do this when he just got back, but you couldn't go on without knowing.

"missed you," he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly. he pulled back, pausing at your downturned expression. he frowned. "what's wrong?"

"mark." you started, glossy lips pursed in a pout. "is there someone else?"

the mere idea of cheating made him want to punch a hole through a wall. the fact you thought he was cheating—you thought he was cheating on you? the most perfect thing in the world, the reason he worked so hard? it made his heart twist painfully.

"no!" he scoffed in disbelief, cupping your face and looking into your watery eyes. "of course not. how could you think that?"

you shrugged his hands off and stepped back. "you're always talking to someone. after you get their call, you run off. i just—it doesn't make sense—"

"it's work stuff, y/n, you know that!" he chased after you, letting his backpack fall off his shoulder with a loud thud to the floor.

"what's work?" you snapped. "you always say it's work, but what are you doing, really? that you have to be away from home for so long?"

his mouth opened, then closed. his breath caught in his chest as the thought raced through his mind: do it. you trust her, so do it.

but no matter how much he wanted to tell you the truth, he couldn't bring you into that life. he wouldn't turn you into his mother. for as happy as she was by his father's side, one wrong move, one mistake... it could cost you your life.

you had so much life in you, he couldn't bear to be the one who takes it all away.

you watched him wilt in real time, nothing but a sigh leaving his lips.

"unbelievable." you whispered. "you're not going to tell me?"

he grappled for the words, hanging his head when he came up short. "i can't."

"can't what?"

"tell you," he shot back, fists curling at his sides dangerously. "i can't tell you."

"why?" you crossed your arms and jealously and paranoia rear their ugly heads. "is there someone else?"

"no!"

"then what, mark?" you snapped.

nothing. he said nothing, standing in the entrance of your room numbly.

"fine. don't tell me." a confusing mix of heartbreak and embarrassment pulsed through your veins, mustering up whatever bravado you had left to end things. "get out."

you couldn't handle the desperation on his face as he stepped forward. you turned around to save yourself the trouble of giving in.

"y/n, it's—"

"get out."

pour my feelings in the microphone / i stay in, and when the girls come home / i want one of them to take my phone / take my phone and lose your / number, i don't wanna be tempted

there wasn't a lot of activity from you when you broke up with mark. your first real boyfriend, gone, without so much as closure. you never understood his secrecy about his job and it gnawed at your soul. could things have worked out if he was honest? or would it have wrecked your relationship even more?

"you need to get out of this house, y/n." william was gentle with you, dutifully listening to you vent and offering real advice.

"i can't." you choked, curled in blankets that hadn't been washed in weeks.

"you can."

"i don't want to." you revised, letting your heavy eyes fall shut.

william was torn. he knew everything about mark, including his secret identity, and he felt like shit withholding that information from you. but it wasn't his place to tell you as much as he wanted it to be. he was both your friend and mark's friend which made it all the more harder.

you hand him your phone. "will you... delete his number for me?"

william slumped in his seat, a deep frown on his lips. "y/n... are you sure?"

"just do it." you muttered, tossing your phone to the cushion between you and burrowing back into your cocoon of misery.

"sure." william whispered, taking your phone. his finger hovered over the block button, but...

he set your phone down and called mark instead, demanding he make things right.

[]

that's how he ended up outside your window. you were just about to sink into your fluffy sheets and doze off when you heard the faint tap tap tap at your giant bay window.

you frowned, prowling over to the glass and peering through.

"ah—!" you shrieked when mark's face popped up, looking like nightmare fuel itself hanging there in the darkness.

"shh!" his voice was muffled on the other side. he smiled sheepishly as he pointed to the window lock.

your first instinct was to rip the window open and pull him into your arms, but...

"you're ... flying..." you whispered, staring at him in disbelief. after a moment, you let him in.

he hovered outside before slipping in, touching down on your carpet. he pulled off his civilian clothes to reveal the invincible suit underneath. "this is what i didn't want to tell you." he murmured.

you just stared at him, your mind already putting together the pieces. all the times he's had to run off, all the days he's come home tired... if you weren't so busy with your own career, you'd probably have picked up on it sooner.

"i was scared that i'd put you in danger." he frowned, walking up to you and placing a gentle hand on your arm. "i didn't want to put that burden on you."

you instinctively leaned into his touch, the familiarity overwhelming your confusion.

"you don't look so good," he mumbled, cupping your face and dragging his thumb over your cheeks. dark circles had bloomed on your skin.

"yeah, well..." you sighed, trying to steady your breathing. "i missed you."

mark softened, pulling your into his chest and tucking your head under his chin as he cradled you. "i missed you too, baby. i'm so sorry. i would never cheat on you, you know that, right?"

"yeah." you exhaled, burying yourself into his chest and soaking up his warmth. it felt good to be in his arms again. then your nails dug into his back.

he hissed. "wha—"

"don't make decisions on my behalf." you began, glaring up at him. "you're so sweet for thinking of me, but i'll choose what burdens to bear."

there was an apprehension on his face, as if he thought you didn't understand the gravity of being in a relationship with a superhero entailed, but he wasn't going to push you away again.

he needed you as much as you needed him.

"okay?" you pressed for an answer.

he smiled and kissed your forehead. "yes, ma'am. i love you."

you tumbled into bed together and the rest is history.

who's the cute guy with the wide brown eyes and the big bad mm, like—

after you and mark were completely open with each other, you were so full of joy and love; of course it seeped into your music. as well as your hornier thoughts.

you and mark didn't have to go anywhere in particular to feel like you were spending time together. relaxing in bed, hanging out with his family, or visiting your studio were the most common ways you enjoyed each other's presence.

you were recording your latest album, the tracks ranging from an i love you vibe to i want to fuck you vibe.

mark was there when you were recording one of the later, lounging on the couches in the producer's box as they listened to what direction you wanted to take the track.

he was always so enraptured with your singing. however when he started clueing into the lyrics, he might as well have shut down.

the first time he heard these lyrics, he sunk into the couch and pulled his hoodie over his head. it was obvious to the crew that the song was about him and everything he did to you, but thankfully they didn't pass him any weird looks or anything. how could they, when you were smiling so brightly in the booth as you giggled over these references, ones that only two people in the world would truly understand? he kept their talent happy, and that was what mattered.

of course, he didn't mind you writing about him. he loved it. but hearing your thoughts—how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, or how you're looking at me, yeah, i know what that means, and i'm obsessed—was the best gift in the world.

after your workday ended, mark had so much pent up energy to release.

"'bed chem', huh?" a lovesick grin spread on his face as he pulled his shirt over his head. "s'that what you think we have?"

"yeah." you giggled, pulling him in and rolling on top of him. your hand trailed down his chest. "you like the song?"

"love the girl who made it," he craned his neck to peck your lips, delighting in the giggle he drew from your lips and ramping up to give you more inspiration for your next album. better to start early.

wanna try out some freaky positions? ...have you ever tried this one?

it seems he gave you too much inspiration.

it was no secret you and mark were freaky. literally, it wasn't a secret—the team at the GDA always kept tabs on the people their heroes engaged with, so of course they knew of you and what you did.

mark learned this the hard way when your album finally released. the entire world loved it, tiktok dances and trends popping up left and right. unfortunately, because of its popularity it reached guardians' HQ and the pentagon (thanks to the younger employees who enjoyed a couple coffee breaks).

rex snorted as he blasted this song from the computer. "what do you and your girl get up to for her to be making bangers like this?"

mark's lips twitched up, his skin warming as he remembered the many times he gave you reason to write these lyrics. "i mean, she's telling you, isn't she?"

rex's smile grew as the song progressed. "fuzzy pink handcuffs?"

"nothing more you need to know."

the sound of someone clearing their throat made them both whip around.

cecil stood in the landing, unimpressed that they were using government property to listen to bubblegum pop.

"didn't realize this was a recreational facility, boys." he grumbled as he walked up the stairs.

mark's cheeks reddened. cecil's frown deepened when the chorus grew close to it's end, where you sang one of me is cute, but two though?

"...please don't be having children any time soon." the director's eyes flickered up to the lyric video playing on the screen. "you and your brother are trouble enough—"

"okay, okay!" mark cut him off, embarrassed this was even a conversation. his arm reached to pause the video when the bridge neared, knowing how crazy you went when writing it.

"no, no, i wanna hear it." rex pouted, slapping his hand away from the keyboard.

"yeah, you can listen to it all you want when our boss isn't in the room."

cecil rolled his eyes, waving him off. "i've already listened to all of it. against my will, of course, y/n is very popular at the pentagon."

in that moment, mark wanted the ability to teleport.

i'm working late 'cause i'm a singer / oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger / my twisted humor make him laugh so often / my honeybee, come and get this pollen

this song was dubbed the song of the summer; it played multiple times on the radio, in grocery stores, in coffee shops... mark couldn't escape it. and that's how he liked it.

mark is your number one fan. to have such a smart, loving, funny girl write songs about him was a blessing in of itself, and sometimes he watched your performances from the front row like ... how did i bag her?

100% started crying at the end of your concert. his phone was filled with hundreds of photos and videos of you. as confetti floated down from above and the colorful lights danced over the crowd, he felt overwhelmed. he's been surviving for so long, but with you it's like he finally got to just... live. exist without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

he was allowed backstage after you signed off on another successful night. he came up behind you, pulling your back to his chest and squeezing you tight.

you squeaked, trying not to spill your mouthful of water, setting down your water bottle. you gulped and pat his arms around your abdomen. "hey, baby."

he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, uncaring as you squirmed away from him.

"mark," heat grew on your face as you laughed. "i'm sweaty and hot—"

"you are hot."

"hot, as in warm." you chuckled with a shake of your head. "lemme shower and we can cuddle?"

mark let out a small laugh against your neck, his hold on you firm but gentle. "don’t care. i just wanna be close to you."

your heart squeezed at the way he said it... so soft, so full of love. you turned in his arms, brushing damp strands of hair from your face as you looked up at him. you knew you smelled like hairspray and hours of dancing.

"you okay?" you asked, voice gentle.

he nodded, but his eyes were a little glassy. "i just… what did i do to deserve you?"

you cupped his face, pressing a tender kiss to his lips and rubbing away the lipstick sticking to the corner of his mouth. "you don't have to do anything to 'deserve' love, mark. "

he exhaled shakily, a wobbly smile breaking through.

you rested your forehead against his. "and if you give me fifteen minutes, we can cuddle properly."

he pulled away, taking off his hoodie and offering it to you. he helped you get it over your head and found it so cute when your eyes peeked out of the huge hood. he chuckled as he squished your cheeks together, kissing your pursed lips. "with this pretty outfit on, it's definitely gonna take more than fifteen minutes to take it off and shower."

you hummed, thinking. he could see the idea pop into your head.

"you can come watch, if you want?"

mark was a simple guy. of course he took you up on your offer.

but if you want my kisses / i'll be your perfect mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies

you didn't tell him about your deluxe bonus songs. he listened to them on his own as soon as he could. something about this line made him contemplate his future with you.

he immediately flew to your house.

"mark!" you exclaimed, sitting up when he shot through your window. you settled for leaving it open nowadays, with how often he sneaks in.

"you mean this?" he panted, catching his breath. he held his phone up with your voice playing out the speaker.

you recognized the verse he was referring to, a bashful heat blooming on your face. "of course i mean it. but if—"

"no." he cut you off with a swiftness.

he chucked his phone aside, ripping off his mask and jumping onto the bed. he crawled between your legs, resting his head on the fluff of your tummy. he breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering closed as his arms snaked around your waist. "i love you."

you giggle, heart squeezing as you ran your fingers through his hair. "i love you, too, baby."

"i'll make it happen."

"yeah?"

"yeah," he smiled against your skin, pressing a sweet kiss to the apex of your thigh. "anything for you."

© invoncible

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.

[maddie0101]

birthday surprise

summary: It’s your birthday, and you think dean has forgotten, but you’re completely wrong as he surprises you with a few things you’ve always dreamed about.

warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (mdni), cute surprise for the reader, dean is so thoughtful, impala sex, heavy makeout, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, semi public sex (but dean & the reader could care less), cute shit tbh.

word count: 5.6k

note: in honor of my birthday I decided to write this smutty little oneshot to celebrate! 🤭 I hope you guys enjoy! ☻

Dean forgot your birthday.

At least, that’s what it seemed like. The whole damn day had passed, and he hadn’t said a word. No offhand comment in the morning, no teasing remark over coffee, no gruff, half-assed “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

—Nothing.

And it hurt...more than you wanted to admit.

Because sure, it wasn’t like birthdays had ever been a big deal in your life. You weren’t expecting balloons or cake or some grand gesture.

But a mention? A quick acknowledgment that today wasn’t just any other day? That would’ve been nice.

But instead, Dean had spent the day being… well, Dean. Fixing the Impala, cracking jokes with Sam, arguing about dinner plans. Acting like today (or whatever the hell the date was) didn’t mean a damn thing.

By the time the sun started to set, you’d accepted it. Forced yourself to shake it off. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. He’s probably just distracted.

But then, out of nowhere his voice rings out through the bunker. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go for a ride.”

You blink at him from your spot on the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

Dean just smirks, jerking his head toward the door. “You deaf now? Let’s go. Got somethin’ to show you.”

For a second, you debate telling him to shove it. Making up some excuse to stay behind and wallow. But there’s something in his expression—something warm and teasing that makes you exhale sharply and push yourself up. “Fine.”

You don’t ask questions. You just climb into the Impala, feeling the familiar hum of the engine vibrate through your bones as Dean peels out of the parking lot. The windows are rolled down, the night air cool against your skin, and despite yourself, you feel some of the tension slip away.

Dean doesn’t talk much, just lets the radio fill the silence, his fingers tapping against the wheel as he drives. And then twenty minutes later you see it.

Your stomach flips, a mix of excitement and disbelief bubbling in your chest. The neon sign flickers in the distance, casting a warm, nostalgic glow over the lot, illuminating the rows of cars already parked and waiting. A massive screen stands against the dark sky with previews playing as people settle in with their popcorn and sodas.

Dean pulls into a spot near the back, maneuvering the Impala with ease before killing the engine. The sudden quiet makes the air feel heavier, more intimate. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at you, one arm slung over the back of the bench seat, lips twitching into a smirk. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches. And for a second, you don’t say anything, just blink at him like you’re trying to piece together how the hell you got here—how you went from sulking all day, convinced Dean had completely forgotten you, to this.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. Then, before you can find words, he reaches into the backseat.

Rustling and the sound of plastic crinkling causes your brows to furrow. What the--

A bag lands in your lap, heavy with all your favorite snacks. The ones you always pick up at gas stations when you’re on the road together. The ones you didn’t even realize he noticed.

Next comes a couple of cold drinks, condensation beading on the outside of the bottles. Then, the final touch—your favorite blanket, soft and familiar, smelling faintly of fabric softener and the Impala’s leather interior.

“I didn’t forget,” Dean says simply. “Just wanted to make it a surprise.”

A lump forms in your throat. You swallow hard, fingers curling around the blanket, trying not to let how much this means to you show too obviously on your face. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, voice shaky with something that is not sadness.

Dean grins. “You’re welcome.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head, and as if on cue, the screen changes—the opening credits of your favorite movie rolling in big, golden letters against the night sky.

Your heart stops. “You—” You whip your head toward him. “You got them to play this?”

Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Nah. Just got lucky. Guess it’s fate.”

Fate. You don’t know why that word makes something warm curl in your chest, but it does.

The movie starts, the familiar soundtrack swelling through the old, crackly speakers. The air smells like buttered popcorn and the faint trace of summer rain on asphalt, and for the first time all day, you feel seen. Like Dean knew exactly how to fix what he’d broken, like he knew exactly how much this would mean to you.

As movie plays on, the familiar scenes wash over you. Without thinking, you shift a little closer, tugging the blanket over both your legs. The cool air nips at your skin, but it’s not the chill that makes you move, not really. It’s just the way the space between you and Dean seems to stretch out, like it’s begging to be filled. You’re not sure what’s happening, but it feels like something’s been hanging in the air all night.

Dean doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even really react. He just gives you that smirk, half amused, half something else you can’t quite put your finger on, and his eyes flick to yours.

Not the teasing kind of glance you’ve gotten a thousand times, but something a little more… hungry? Something that makes your stomach tighten, that pulls your chest in with a slow, desperate pull.

You look away, pretending to focus on the screen, but it’s like you can feel him in your bones, right there next to you. The warmth of his body, the scent of leather and gasoline, the subtle hint of cologne that lingers in the air like he’s impossible to escape.

“Comfy?” His voice cuts through the stillness, and it’s deeper now, less playful.

You hum, your voice betraying you as it comes out a little softer than you intended. “Mm. Could be a little warmer.”

Dean’s laugh rumbles out low, rough around the edges, like he’s trying to hide something. It’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to press closer, see if you can crack the shell he’s been putting up around himself for years.

But you don’t. You just try to act normal, even though your pulse is racing under the weight of his arm slowly sliding over your shoulders, pulling you into him.

It’s like his touch knows exactly what you need before you even have to ask for it. Warmth. Comfort. Something more...His fingers brush against your arm, and it’s soft, like he’s not even thinking about how much it makes you feel.

But the thing is, he is definitely thinking about it. He’s been thinking about it for way too long.

Dean’s fingers linger a second longer than they should, and he knows it. But he can’t help it.

He’s wanted this for so fucking long, wanted you for so long, it aches in his chest every time he breathes.

There’s a moment where everything is too much—the heat of him close to you, the way his chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the night air feels like it’s getting thicker, like the whole world is holding its breath along with him.

And then he just… stops pretending.

He lets his hand drop down, his fingers gently cupping your shoulder. It’s not just a casual touch anymore. It’s tender. He’s treating you like you might shatter if he moves too fast, like he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold this back before he fucking loses it.

Dean’s throat tightens, the words sitting at the back of his mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he’s not sure what to do. He’s spent so long keeping his feelings locked up, pretending he doesn’t want you in ways that make his heart race, that make his skin burn.

He looks at you, his eyes soft but full of something heavier than any of the bullshit he’s used to hiding behind. God, you make him feel like he’s breathing for the first time.

“I—” Dean swallows, his voice tight. “You don’t know how much I—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing together as if he can’t get the words out.

He wants to say it. He wants to tell you how every time you smile, it feels like the world shifts in the right direction. How every time you’re near, his chest feels too tight, like it can’t hold in all the love he feels for you. How his heart aches when you laugh and the world feels like it’s finally clicking into place, but he’s scared. Scared that if he says it out loud, he’ll ruin everything.

And he can’t lose you, not when you’re so close.

Dean’s hand stays where it is, resting on your shoulder, but it feels like he’s holding you together in some way, like he’s afraid if he lets go, everything will fall apart.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. His eyes, once dark and unreadable at first, are now soft as they trace over your features. They flick from your eyes to your lips, to the curve of your jaw, the way your hair falls over your shoulder. He studies you like he’s trying to memorize every detail, trying to burn it into his mind in case the moment passes.

Dean's gaze is intense but gentle, a combination that makes your heart race in your chest, your breath coming a little quicker than usual. You try to ignore it. You try to focus on the movie, to keep your eyes glued to the screen and not let yourself feel the weight of his stare.

But you can’t. It’s like he’s pulling you in without even trying, like you’re helpless to the gravity of whatever this is between you.

Then, without realizing it, you slowly turn your head, your eyes flicking to his.

Dean’s gaze doesn’t move; it stays locked on yours, and when you look up at him, it’s like the world sharpens into focus.

He’s closer than you thought. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that every subtle shift in his expression sends a jolt through your chest.

And then, for the briefest moment, you feel it. The intense heat between you and your eyes flick down to his lips, unable to stop yourself.

Dean doesn’t miss it. His lips part and his breath catches as his eyes drop to yours. His gaze softens impossibly more, as if that is even possible. And when you look back up at him, your pupils blown wide, the space between you disappears in an instant.

Dean’s hand moves from your shoulder to your face, cupping your jaw with a surprising gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes.

And then, without a word, he leans in. There’s no hesitation in his movement, but there’s something careful in the way he does it—like he’s afraid to startle you, like he’s making sure this moment is real. The space between you disappears, and then his lips graze yours, featherlight at first, barely there. A quiet, searching touch. His breath is warm against your skin, mixing with yours in the small space between heartbeats. He lingers, as if giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can become something he can’t take back.

But you don’t.

Something in you unravels and without hesitating you instantly kiss him back. The moment you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Warmth spreads through you, deep and consuming, wrapping around your ribs like something you’ve been starved for.

His lips are warm, softer than you expected but still undeniably Dean. It's like he’s trying to memorize this, like he’s afraid it’ll slip through his fingers if he moves too fast.

But Dean presses in just a little more, deepening the kiss by fractions, like he’s testing the weight of something fragile in his hands. Like he’s terrified he’ll break it. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing reckless—just the slow, aching realization that this is happening, that neither of you are running from it this time.

A quiet sound escapes Dean, low and soft, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make your pulse stutter.

As the kiss deepens, slow at first, but then something shifts—something turning raw and urgent. Dean moves closer, his fingers twitching where they hover near your jaw, like he’s fighting the instinct to grab, to pull, to take.

Your lips part, just barely, and that’s all the invitation he needs. He presses in, the kiss turning hungry, desperate, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments this almost happened but didn’t.

His hand finally moves, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just right as he claims your mouth with something deeper, something needy.

A soft moan escapes you and fuck, it does something to him. A slow-burning fire turns into a full-blown inferno, that quiet, careful control snapping like a frayed thread. He groans against your lips, low and rough, his other hand landing on your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you feel trapped—but in the best way.

The air in the impala turns thick, charged with something electric. Your hands find him, gripping the front of his jacket, like you need something solid to hold onto, like you need him. He responds instantly, his body shifting toward yours, chest pressed against yours now, heat radiating between you.

Dean pulls back just enough to breathe, but it’s not enough distance—not when his hands are still on you, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven, and for a moment, all he does is look at you. Like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened—of what’s been happening between you for longer than either of you have admitted.

Then, almost like he can’t stop himself, the words slip out. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you.”

The confession hits the air between you like a spark to gasoline, and he doesn’t stop there. His grip tightens just slightly, and he exhales a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh, his mouth twitching like he can’t believe he’s saying this out loud.

“Jesus, I—” He shakes his head, eyes flickering between yours, searching, desperate. “I don’t even know how to say it right. It’s just—you. It’s always been you. Since day one. And I know I should’ve said something sooner, should’ve—”

You don’t let him finish. You barely even realize what you’re doing as your hand is grips the back of his neck, yanking him back toward you with a force that makes him grunt in surprise.

Your lips crash against his again, harder this time, deeper, as if the kiss is some kind of answer to everything you’ve both been holding in. The softness of his mouth against yours, the heat of his body, the way his hands immediately find your waist, pulling you closer, it all consumes you.

His breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair, tugging him closer still, and it’s no longer slow, no longer tentative. It’s frantic, desperate, like you’ve both waited your whole lives for this moment and now that it’s here, you can’t stop, can’t get close enough.

Dean’s hand moves, sliding down your side, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt like he’s not sure whether to pull it off or just hold you tighter. His lips move against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, each kiss deeper than the last, and you find yourself gasping for air between kisses, your pulse thrumming so loudly in your ears you’re sure he can hear it too.

You’re lost in him now—in the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed so close it’s like you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

Every movement, every inch of his touch ignites something inside you, building with each passing second. His hands are everywhere, pulling, guiding, needing—as if he’s desperate to make sure this is real, that you’re here with him, just like this.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, and everything else fades. You can’t breathe, can’t think, only feel.

But then you pull back, just enough to meet his eyes, breathless. “What do you really want for my birthday, Dean?”

He looks at you, eyes dark and full of a hunger that matches your own, lips swollen and red from the kiss. He hesitates, for a fraction of a second, then his thumb brushes against your jaw, his voice low and rough as he asks, “What do you want?”

You hold his gaze, your chest tight with anticipation, but you’re not going to shy away. You gather every ounce of courage, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I want you. Inside of me.”

The air between you both crackles with heat, the words hanging there for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Dean’s entire body goes still. Then something primal flares in his chest, a fire so intense it makes his breath hitch. His hands tighten on your hips, and before you can even process it, a growl rumbles low in his throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, his lips brushing against yours in a way that promises more. He slams his mouth back onto yours, pulling you in with an urgency that’s almost reckless, like he can’t get close enough.

His kiss deepens, savage, hungry—like he’s claiming you in every way that matters.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, his words a dark, dangerous promise that sends a shiver straight down your spine. “You have no idea what you just did to me.”

His hand moves lower, resting on the curve of your waist, possessive, needy. It’s a whisper of everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s been wanting for far too long. And in that moment, you know nothing else matters except him.

You don’t even notice when the movie’s credits begin to roll or when cars start pulling out of the drive-in.

All that’s in your head, all that matters, is the feeling of Dean, finally, right where you’ve wanted him for so long.

Every inch of him, every touch, every breath shared between you, it’s all that consumes you now.

Electricity pulses between you as Dean’s hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a firm grip. He guides you into his lap, your body instinctively following his lead and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper, tilting your head to give him more of you.

The kiss grows more intense, desperate, as you slowly start to move against him, your hips grinding gently against the hard bulge pressing through his jeans. Every movement ignites something inside both of you, the tension only building with each slow, roll of your hips.

Heat pools low in your stomach as Dean’s hands travel slowly down your thighs, his touch soft until they rest on the curve of your ass.

You gasp against his mouth when his large hands grip you, the sensation only making your hips move instinctively, pressing closer to him.

A soft moan escapes you as Dean nips at your bottom lip, and then, he forcefully thrusts his hips up, pressing into you, making you feel the exact effect you’re having on him.

"Fuck baby. Bet you're dripping f'me." Dean’s intense gaze locks with yours, and the heat in his eyes makes your breath catch.

A soft whimper escapes you as the feeling of him beneath you overwhelms your senses, nearly sending you spinning. It’s almost impossible to believe this is really happening, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less.

You sigh into the kiss as Dean's hands trail down your body, mapping every inch of you his fingers touch. “Dean,” you whimper, your voice barely a breath, “I need you.”

“Where, baby?” Dean teases, his voice low and rough, the words barely a breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear "Want me to fuck you? That what you want?"

"Fuck." Is all you manage to whisper, words failing you as he thrusts up into you again, sending the heat pooling in your core to an almost unbearable state.

"Use your words f'me baby." Dean teases, nipping at your ear as soft moans fall from your lips, the sensation making it hard to think clearly.

"Need you inside me, Dean." You whimper, "Need you to fuck me."

Before you can let out another sound, Dean growls low and demanding, “Get in the back.” His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and the urgency in his voice sends a rush of heat through you.

You quickly crawl over the bench seat into the back, moving with eagerly. Dean follows closely, his movements swift.

And before you can fully catch your breath, he’s on top of you, hovering for a moment, his gaze intense, almost searching before he crashes his lips onto yours with a fierce, hungry kiss.

You let out a low moan as Dean's hand started rubbing circles over your clothed core. The feeling sending electric waves through your body.

As Dean presses heated, scattered kisses from your lips down to your jaw, he finally lingers at the soft curve of your neck. A breathy moan escapes you as he finds the most sensitive spot surprisingly fast, his lips latching onto it without hesitation.

"Please, Dean-" you started to beg but let out another moan as Dean slips his fingers past your soaked panties and slips a finger inside you.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, only to be swallowed by Dean's mouth as it crashed against yours. As if one finger wasn’t enough, he slipped in a second, the steady rhythm sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Your brows knitted together, the coil in your stomach tightening, burning, desperate to unravel.

"So wet f'me." Dean groans in your mouth as you rock your hips with the motion of his fingers sliding in and out of you. "Been dreaming about this for so long. I can't wait to watch you come."

His words push you over the edge, and a loud moan echoes through the Impala as he keeps guiding you through your high. The feeling is pure euphoria as your body shakes. You’d fantasized about Dean making you come, but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely.

"That's it. S' beautiful when you come for me." Dean coaxes you on as you ride out your high.

As the haze of pleasure slowly fades, you regain control just enough to grip Dean’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you tug it upward. He lets you, his muscles flexing beneath your touch, and the second it’s over his head, his lips twist into a knowing smirk.

That cocky expression only fuels the fire burning inside you, and before he can get a word out, he’s already helping you out of your own shirt, his hands skimming over your skin with deliberate slowness.

His lips crash back onto yours, hungry and relentless, as the two of you lose yourselves in the heat of the moment. Hands roam, fingers fumble, fabric disappears between fevered kisses.

Before you even realize it, you’re left in nothing but your soaked panties, your skin burning beneath his touch, while Dean hovers over you—completely bare, his body pressed against yours, heat radiating between you.

You barely even catch your breath before the tip of his length was teasing you, causing a whimper to escape from your lips. "Dean quit teasing me." You pout, "need you inside me, now."

"God, I love it when you beg." Dean admits but doesn't give you enough time to make a sarcastic comment before he slowly thrust himself inside of you.

You instantly let out a loud moan when he bottoms out. The feeling of him inside you was better than you could've imagined and his large hands gripped the sides of your thighs. You met him each time he thrusted into you, wanting nothing more than the delicious feeling to never end.

"Fuck you're so tight." Dean groaned, snapping his hips to met yours "This pussy was made for me."

The words only spurred you on as you let out a string of curse words and moaned Dean's name over and over again like a prayer.

The only words you could manage to get through your lips was 'fuck' and 'dean'. Every other word in existence failed to cross your mind.

The coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a smoldering heat spreading through your core. The pressure builds into an almost unbearable burn, every nerve in your body igniting as pleasure coils just beneath the surface, ready to snap.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” Dean growls, his voice thick with desperation. His hips slam into yours in a frantic, uneven rhythm, the control he once had slipping away. You can feel it—he’s right there with you, teetering on the edge, barely holding on as he chases that final, shattering release.

“Dean—” his name spills from your lips in a desperate moan, the last thing you manage before the pleasure crashes over you. He drags his mouth along your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses, the sensation only intensifying the rush.

Your body trembles beneath him as the release takes hold, your walls fluttering and clenching around him, pulling him deeper into the sweet oblivion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly faded, the two of you lay there, bodies still tangled, breaths heavy and uneven. When you finally met Dean’s gaze, his green eyes were dark and hooded, a lazy smirk playing at his lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice rough yet tender. Then, that signature Dean Winchester grin appeared, teasing but warm. “And I hope you’re not too mad at me for ‘forgetting’ your birthday. Had to throw you off—I wanted to surprise you.”

“I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of warmth. A tender smile spread across your lips as your fingers gently traced the curve of his jaw, the touch barely a whisper against his skin. Your gaze lingered on the freckles scattered across his nose and dusting his cheeks, the way they caught the light, making him look even more impossibly perfect.

“And I’m not mad at you,” you continued, your voice almost a sigh. “If anything, I’m more than happy right now.” You paused, your heart swelling as you met his eyes, your smile growing. “It’s honestly the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

Dean’s gaze softens, a warmth flickering in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you for a moment, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. His hand moves to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin with a tenderness that feels both new and familiar.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are something sacred he’s only just realizing.

A rush of heat floods your face at his words, and before you can stop it, the blush blooms across your cheeks. You try to look away, but Dean catches the subtle shift in your expression, his lips curving into a teasing grin.

“Oh, there it is,” he says, his voice low, amused. “Look at you, all flushed. I’ve had you blushing this whole time, haven’t I?”

You try to brush it off, your smile turning shy as you look down, suddenly very aware of the heat spreading through you. “It’s not like that,” you mutter, but your voice betrays you, shaky and uncertain.

Dean leans in slightly, his face full of playful mischief. “Nah, it totally is,” he teases, his hand gently tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. “You’ve been blushing for me since the first damn day we met, haven’t you?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. He’s right. He’s always had this effect on you, and you’ve never known how to hide it.

Dean chuckles softly, a soft sound that makes your pulse race. “God, it’s so cute,” he continues, his thumb brushing over your cheek again. “I never realized, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about it. You’re always blushing for me.”

You feel your cheeks heat even more at his words, and you try to turn away, but Dean catches your chin again, keeping your gaze locked with his. “Hey, you’re adorable when you blush. Don’t hide it from me.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, your heart swelling with the tenderness in his words. “You’re impossible,” you whisper, trying to keep the embarrassment at bay, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

Dean’s expression softens, his thumb tracing over your cheek in a way that feels intimate and unhurried, like he’s savoring this moment. “You know that, right?” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “How much I care about you?”

Your heart races in your chest, and for a moment, you just let the words hang in the air. You’ve never been more certain of anything than you are in this moment. Dean looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, and it makes the blush on your face feel like the most natural thing in the world.

With a teasing grin, Dean adds, “But seriously, you’re way too cute when you blush. Can’t wait to see it more often.”

You shake your head, unable to suppress a smile. “You’re lucky I like you,” you mutter, your voice playful but full of affection.

Dean smiles, leaning in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m not just lucky, baby. I’m damn lucky,” he whispers, and just as the words leave his lips, the lights to the big screen flicker and die, leaving you both in darkness.

The stillness between you deepens, and before either of you can react, laughter bursts from both of you, the sound mingling with the night air.

“You know,” you say, your forehead resting against his as you both laugh, “we just totally fucked in a drive-in movie theater.”

Dean chuckles, his lips still brushing against your skin as he pulls you closer again, the heat between you both lingering. His hand rests on the small of your back, fingers gently caressing your skin.

“Yeah, and honestly, I’m not even sorry about it,” he mutters, his voice thick with amusement and desire. His lips graze your ear as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine. “Couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded with the same fire that’s still burning in both of you. A teasing grin curves on your lips as you bite your bottom lip, almost shy but too lost in the moment to care.

“Round two?” you ask, your voice breathless, the question hanging between you like an invitation.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate. His eyes darken with a mix of desire and amusement, and before you can blink, he crashes his lips onto yours again, this time with an urgency that takes your breath away.

His hands move to pull you even closer, fingers tracing over your skin, and you feel the weight of him in every touch, every press of his body against yours. The world outside the car, the drive-in, everything blurs into nothing. There’s only Dean, and there’s only you, lost in each other in the most intoxicating way.

When he pulls back, just enough to look at you, his lips are swollen, and his breath comes in heavy pants. He smiles, a slow, satisfied grin that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, his voice soft, yet laced with something deeper. “I hope this is everything you wanted.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the warmth in his gaze sending a wave of affection through you. You can’t help but smile, the kind of smile that’s full of everything you’ve felt in these past moments, and everything that’s still swirling between you.

“This was more than perfect, Dean,” you reply, your voice hoarse, but with the honesty that comes from how completely consumed you are by him. “I couldn't have asked for better.”

His smile widens, and he leans in to brush his lips against yours again, a soft, lingering kiss that says everything without needing words. He pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world fades away again.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek, the softness of the gesture at odds with the intensity of everything before. “Because you deserve a perfect birthday.”

A warm, content feeling spreads through you at his words, and you realize that, in that moment, everything feels right. Dean pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you, and you let yourself sink into him, into the warmth of his embrace.

And for once, you don’t need to think about what happens next. You’re here, with him, and that’s enough. The perfect birthday, with the most perfect man.

author’s note:

hope y’all enjoyed this one! I had a lot of fun writing it! adding more fluff into my fics slowly! It’s growing on me, hehe! also, huge thank you to @bejeweledinterludes for helping me with the plot! ILY ❤︎

if you have a req you’ve sent in I promise I’m not ignoring it! working on them as fast as I can! It’s just taking me longer since I’ve been cleaning my house and hanging out with my friends :)

— requests are open.ᐟ�� please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 (lmk if I missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

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[softtdaisy]

Ali!!! CONGRATS ON 2K *ask explodes with confetti* I'm so proud of you!!! 💖💖💖

You know I'm not too much into your guys, but I thought maybe I could give you a song and you pick the boy you want and write something for yourself? Would that be okay?

My song pick would be "Juno" from the queen herself, Sabrina. Because it gets stuck in my head time and time again and it's just SO GOOD! I played DJ, now you go pick the man candy 😉 love ya!!!

summary. you want a baby with Hotch. that's it, that's the story.

words count. 2 595

song. juno by sabrina carpenter

a/n.  hi baby i love you too!!! at first i really wanted to wait for this request and see who i want to write for depending on the other requests but the idea of writing this with hotch stayed on my mind and i had so much fun writing it 🩷

PARTICIPATE IN MY 2K CELEBRATION

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It all started with four words.

“I want a baby.”

It wasn’t the first time the thought went through your head. But this simple evening spent with Hotch and Jack just chatting and eating together like a family did something to you. These moments were precious to you. When you started dating two years ago, you feared you might never find your place in their dynamic. You didn’t want to just become the step mother; you wanted to have a real place. 

And you found it. 

Jack had gone to sleep; Hotch was on the couch finishing something on his computer, and you put on the fridge a drawing the boy did of the three of you. You were a family. But you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be to add a new member.

So you walked to Hotch and sat next to him on the couch. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he put a hand on your thigh and started caressing it softly. You loved this man. Clearly more than yesterday but less than tomorrow. It has been like that since your first date, a made-up one by JJ and Rossi, who knew each one of you and considered you would make a great match.

Sure, it hasn’t always been easy. The single-father situation, the work that put you apart more than once, or the age gap. This one wasn’t even a problem for you. But how you hated the look some people would give you when you walked together. But you worked it out. So perfectly that none of you could imagine a life without the other in. 

“Aaron,” you whispered, bringing a hand to his neck and caressing his jaw softly. He raised an eyebrow as an answer, and you realized how hard it was for him sometimes to put the boss manners away. “I want a baby.” 

He didn’t say anything at first. He simply closed his laptop, slowly, and put it away. Then he turned to you, frowning. “You want a baby?”

You shook your head with a soft smile on your face. Now that the place was free, you climbed on his lap. His eyes didn't leave you, and you saw the amused look growing on him. You always seemed to win his heart one way or another, like you didn’t have it already.

“I mean, one of me is cute, but two of me?” you said, sliding a hand under his shirt. There was something special you loved in feeling his body under your fingers, the way it told his story. From the dad bob he couldn’t fight anymore—especially because you were its biggest defender—or the scars that faded but were still there. You loved him in his entirety, and you refused the idea of giving the world another piece of Aaron Hotchner. 

“That’s your argument?” he laughed, trying to ignore the bulge growing in his pajamas. He knew you could feel it too. Oh, he knew from the very subtle way you were moving your hips. Almost imperceptible but very much real.

You started to kiss his face, starting from his cheek—giving special attention to the mole you loved so much—to his lips. “Don’t try to pretend it’s not a good one,” you whispered. Your kisses glided to his jaw and his neck, the special spot he couldn’t resist. You heard it in his whisper; you felt it in the way his hands moved on your back, sliding under your shirt.

You were right. For Hotch, the idea of taking care of another you was convincing enough. 

He had thought about this already. He simply didn’t want to be the one giving you the idea. You would be the one carrying a child; he could only support you. And as he was getting older, he didn’t know what to think about being a dad again at this age. 

But knowing you wanted it too changed the whole perspective.

As a responsible father already, because he still had one child sleeping in this apartment right now, Hotch carried you to the bedroom to start the whole Juno plan.

The thing was, he didn’t actually realize how invested you were in this project until it became a habit he had to add to his agenda. Not that he complained. Not at first. 

You started by looking for every little moment where you could try. When you went to sleep at night and sometimes when you woke up with him before he left for work. 

The shower when he came back from the bureau and you could do something quick—but this one was already a favorite before you tried for pregnancy. You couldn’t resist looking at Hotch relaxing with the water falling on him.

The problem was that trying this hard made you even more horny for him. 

You came to see him at the bureau once or twice—or thrice—to have some let’s-try-for-pregnancy brunch. Maybe this was also an answer to an unspoken fantasy of having sex with the boss; who knew?

Hotch wouldn’t admit it, but the car sex was also an idea that had been growing in his mind. So he didn’t complain when you asked him to pull over after a date at the restaurant. Neither did he when you unzipped his pants. But neither did he look for an explanation when someone from the team mentioned the fingerprints on the car window.

And then there were the few days when Jack wasn’t home, especially during weekends, when you both agreed that it was the perfect moment to try.

“I feel like a Sims that a player kept asking to woo-hoo for pregnancy,” you laughed once after Hotch just finished inside you again.

At least you were lying in bed, making it easier to cuddle against him. And that was maybe your favorite part in all this. The moment when he would just bring you against him for a hug, his arm holding you firmly. Hotch loved to close his eyes and kiss your hair during these moments, appreciating that he had everything he wanted right here with him.

“At least you’re not stuck in the pool without a ladder,” he replied with a laugh. He watched you as you turned around suddenly, your chin right in his chest, to look at him with a funny expression. 

“Did you play the Sims without me, Aaron Hotchner?” And he laughed again at your accusation—that was indeed right since he played with Jack a long time ago. “I can’t believe it.” You sighed, moving your head to rest your cheek on his skin. And he kept playing with your hair, promising that he would play with you too.

If he ever finds the time too. 

Because now all his free time seemed dedicated to giving you a baby.

“You look…exhausted.” 

Hotch didn’t realize Rossi was still in the room after everyone left.

He couldn’t deny his comment; he kept yawning during the meeting—something he hated. He had always been the first one to point out how important it was to appear concerned and that a tired member wasn’t effective to a team.

And there he was. Tired because he spent yet another evening making love to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he mumbled, collecting the paper on the table to distract Rossi. And mostly to hide his face. He could feel the heat on his cheek; of course he was blushing at the memory of your body against him. Oh, he loved how you cherished moaning his name low but right in his ear, but it made it even hard to focus on something else when he remembered it.

But one thing about David Rossi was that you could never fool him that easily.

“You’ve got dark eyes, but your eyes are glossy, and you’ve got that permanent little smile.” Rossi pointed out, walking closer to him. “You, my friend, are having a wonderful intimate life these days; am I wrong?”

Hotch sighed with a little laugh in it, because of course his friend would notice that type of stuff. He turned around, having no point in hiding anymore. “It’s inappropriate, Dave.”

“Is it wrong, Aaron?” he replied, crossing his arms and waiting for an answer.

He could have escaped this, pretending it was nothing or that he didn’t want to talk about it. Rossi would have respected that. 

But Hotch gave a look at the closed door and considered that maybe it would be nice to talk about it with someone.

“We are trying to have a baby,” he finally confessed. And Hotch had to admit it was a relief to finally tell someone. Suddenly it wasn’t just you and his wish; it became something real. A plan for the future.

He saw the sudden joy on Rossi’s face, mixed with a surprised expression. 

It was no secret that time was flying, and ever since he knew Hotch, especially since they started to work together again, he never considered that he would want another child. His friend was an amazing dad, but life hadn’t been easy on him. And starting over the whole parenting was a real challenge that didn’t seem impossible, especially not for the two of you, but not the easiest either.

“And trying is tiring?” He teased with a smile, and Hotch really considered for a second leaving him alone in the meeting room and acting like nothing happened. “Come on, I’ve been married; I know what it is.”

“It’s important for her. For me too, of course,” he corrected himself. “But that’s basically the only thing we did these past three months when we were alone. And I’m not sure I have the physical condition anymore.” Hotch couldn’t contain his smile watching Rossi having fun about the situation.

It was funny; he couldn’t deny it. Him, being close to fifty, having sex like a teenager, and not being able to follow his younger girlfriend anymore. But there was this very small part of him that was whispering something he didn’t like. 

Something that Rossi seemed to hear, no matter how low that little voice was. 

“She won’t get mad at you if you decide to have a break, you know that, right?” 

Hotch focused on his paper again—these damn papers. He couldn’t even remember what they were about because of the memory of your lips going down on him. Because he hated having this insecure feeling. “We want this baby.”

“And you will have one, somehow and someday. But do you want to have an attack before you get to meet your baby?”

This stayed with Hotch the rest of the week.

Not the attack part; he knew he was still in good health. He did some tests not long ago, and nothing was worrying.

But the fear of disappointment. That was something that Hotch always struggled with, but even worse after his divorce. Like he had no certainty that you would stay with him, even if you kept saying you would.

Hotch was surprised when he arrived at home on Friday to see your apartment had become some kind of fancy restaurant.

Well, not that surprised because that was typically the type of thing you loved to make for him.

The candles were lit, the table was dressed, and you were stunning, wearing his favorite dress. 

“Mister Hotchner,” you welcomed him, putting a kiss on his lips and leaving red lipstick stains on them. It was one of your favorite looks on your fiancé. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asked. And the look you gave him let him know that it was actually just the premise of another night of the two of you alone together here. 

And he enjoyed it. How could he not? You had made his favorite dinner; his favorite album was playing in the background, but none of you pretended it was some kind of date. You had the most casual talk, something that reminded him why he loved you so much. You could wear the fanciest dress and still talk about Jack’s latest homework. This was the life you chose together.

And this was why he didn’t think too long before speaking his mind. “I need to tell you something.”

Hotch didn’t realize he had cut you off—something he despised. But you didn’t mind. Not this time. Not when he grabbed your hand in the softest way. 

“I want this baby just as much as you do, honey, trust me. But I have to be honest, I’m getting too old for this.” If he laughed saying this, you noticed the little shame in his eyes when he looked down on your eyes. It made you sad that after all this time together, Hotch still feared disappointing you like this. When there was nothing—or at least, a very little list of things—he could do, that could be disappointing. 

“I…love having sex with you; don’t get me wrong. But I just can’t keep spending my free time doing this. I need some rest.” 

You didn’t realize what you put him through. Maybe you’ve been a little selfish in wanting this baby so bad you didn’t think about Hotch enough. You’d love to blame him that it was kind of his fault; he made you forget about your age gap so easily. But that would have been unfair.

And maybe he interpreted your frown as dissatisfaction. This explained why he was quick at adding, “I’m sorry, honey.” 

You had a small laugh. “Don’t be, Aaron,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t try to make it easier for me; I know you want this. And I want it too. But…”

“No, it’s fine, I promise,” you interrupted him. You walked to him and sat on his lap. How funny you seem to have sat on him much more these past months than during your whole relationship. He brought his hand to your back to keep you against him, and you loved how his finger was tracing an invisible line on your skin. 

Hotch always made you feel so safe; nothing could compare to that. 

“Plus,” you continued, putting a hand on his chest. “You have nine months now to rest, so we should really enjoy that time of peace and calm.”

You watched as his expression changed, slowly, as he realized what you had just said. His mouth opening, his eyes going up and down between your mouth and your stomach multiple times, and how he started to stutter before he said, “You’re pregnant?” 

Suddenly, you felt the tears growing in your eyes. So you simply nodded and approached your face to give him a kiss. “We’re having a baby,” you whispered against his lips.

You felt his arms holding you tighter against him. This almost felt unreal to him. The idea of being a father again. That he again found someone that cherished him enough to give him a babu, the results of this love.

“Well,” Hotch spoke again, bringing a hand to your face to cup your cheek. “You didn’t tire me for nothing.”

“Oh, don’t act like it was some burden to have sex,” you replied with a laugh, hitting his chest. 

“It was terrible,” he said, with a cheeky smile. “Awful,” he added, approaching his face again. “Horrendous,” he finished with a laugh before kissing you. “But I love you, so…” 

Maybe Hotch wouldn’t be ready to do all of this again in the future. But it was worth it.

Everything was worth it when it came to you and the family you were building together.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[alotofpockets]

I don't need you to fix me | Alexia Putellas x Reader

5k celebration prompt: "I don’t need you to fix me, I just need you to hold me."

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.3k

-----

Alexia was behind the wheel humming to the song that was playing in the car. Her eyes focussed on the road, as she was driving you both to the stadium. You on the other hand were quietly staring out the window, not looking forward to going whatsoever.

You had been out with an injury for the past month, and to say it had been a struggle was an understatement. The recovery time wasn’t supposed to be this long, but you had some setbacks. 

When Alexia noticed, she put her hand on your leg and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay to not feel fine all the time. You know you can talk to me right? I know what you’re going through.” You turn to her and give her a quick tight lipped smile before staring out of the window again.

You knew that Alexia was just trying to help, but while she had been injured not too long ago herself, she didn’t know what you were feeling. She didn’t know because you had not told her about what was going on inside your head every time that you would head to training together, and she would get to go onto the pitch and train with the team, while you felt left behind in the gym on your own with the trainers.

The way they would get back inside laughing together, and having big smiles upon their faces from having a fun session together. While you were inside, working your ass off to get back out there, but setback after setback kept you inside and away from the game that you loved.

You tried putting on a brave face every time your teammates were around, but with Alexia it was different. You lived together, you slept in the same bed, sometimes there was no hiding your feelings from her, no matter how hard you tried. 

She had seen you cry more than once, always offering words of comfort. Speeches about how recovery is a tricky process, but how it would pay off in the end. Reminding you of her own recovery time, and the steps she had to take. She was always trying to fix the situation and you let her go on with it even though it was not helping you. You understood Alexia’s need to want to fix things, she loved you and her words came from love. Just sometimes you wish that she would ask what you needed instead of giving you what she had needed herself.

Alexia parked the car once you got to the stadium where the girls would play in a few hours. It was a home game, so you’d be in the stands with a couple of the other girls that weren’t playing tonight. 

Your girlfriend put her arm around your shoulder after she grabbed her bags, “This should be a good game, no?” You smiled, it would be and you were glad Alexia was looking forward to it, you just really wish you could have been on the pitch with her to enjoy it. “Yeah for sure.” You tried to push away the disappointment.

“If I score tonight I will dedicate it to you.” Alexia said proudly, knowing she would give her all to get you that goal tonight. You appreciated the gesture, but in your mind all you thought was I want to be the one to score a goal. Instead of voicing that thought, you say, “That would be sweet.” Another smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes added with it.

True to her word, Alexia found you in the crowd after she scored and blew a kiss your way. It really was a cute gesture and for a moment you let yourself forget that you wanted to be on that pitch yourself, and be happy for the girls and Alexia for getting another goal, but as you sit down again and watch the girls in their celebratory huddle, the negative thoughts creep back in.

While the energy at the stadium had been high, Alexia happy and jumping around with the team after the win, the car ride back was quiet. Alexia seemingly understood that you were not in the mood for a cheery car ride. 

The second you get home, you kick your shoes off to be dealt with later. “I’m gonna head to bed.” Alexia nods, “I will join you soon.” Alexia wanted to join you, because she felt like you needed someone around, but she still had to take a shower. 

You quickly get changed, and lay down under the covers, hoping for them to give you some comfort. All you wanted was to fall asleep, so your mind could turn off for a bit. Sleep wasn’t coming for you though, no matter how tired you were.

When you heard Alexia come to the room, you quickly turned to your side and pretended like you were asleep. You loved her so much, but you could not handle another one of her speeches right now.

Alexia walked in quietly, careful to not wake you. She slid into the bed beside you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, “Goodnight cariño.” She whispered. The softness in her tone almost made you want to turn around, but you knew that if she tried making your injury feel less tonight that you would break down right then and there. 

She fell asleep quickly, but an hour later, you were still staring at the ceiling, wide awake. Finally you had enough, and carefully moved out of the bed, not wanting to wake your girlfriend. 

You don’t know how much time you spend sitting on the couch in the dimly lit room, but eventually you hear footsteps nearing. Alexia walks in and looks you over for a moment. The light from the lamp post outside shining in, casting a soft glow over your face. She can see the tiredness on your face and her heart falls seeing you like this.

“You know what helped me sleep when I was-

“I don’t need you to fix me.” You say in frustration, and Alexia’s eyes widen slightly, not having expected you to talk to her that sharply. You hadn’t meant to snap at her, but it was exactly what you knew would happen if she would try to fix it again. You continue softer this time. “I just need you to hold me.”

Alexia stood there a moment before her expression softened. Without another word, she moved towards you and sat down beside you. She gently wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into her. 

The moment your head laid against her, the tears started rolling down your cheeks. For the first time since you got injured, she didn’t try to tell you it would get better. She didn’t remind you that you were strong and would be back on the pitch in no time. No, she just held you, and let you get your feelings out, while she was rubbing her hand in a soothing motion onto your back.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered after a while. You sat up and let her wipe away your tears. “Don’t be. I know you meant every word in a good way, but it just wasn’t what I needed. But I should’ve told you that earlier.” 

Alexia shook her head, “You’re right to feel however you need to feel. But now I know what you need, and I will always be here to hold you. I promise.” With that you lean back into her side. The negative thoughts might still be running through your head, but at least they were a little more bearable with Alexia’s arms around you.

-----

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[kittygowrite]

Midwest Girl

Warnings: F!reader, hunting mention, (just in case) slight gore/blood description, extreme weather mention (tornado sirens), just self indulgent fluff

An: trying my hand at a drabble 😌 (a very long drabble… more like a poorly formatted fic) saw this post by @succubusvalentine and just needed to write Simon with a Midwest girl lol. Lil disclaimer, this is based on my own experience in the Midwest and where I live in it (omg it's huge there's so much variety in the culture)

Word count: almost 800

Simon with a Midwest girl that absolutely fascinates him.

You were always so sweet and polite, a small smile would pull at his lips every time you said “ope.”

If you were surprised, bumping into something, or remembering something, every single one would be accompanied by a little “ope!”

Or when you would walk past him, a little “let me just squeeze right past ya...” he would be fighting off a grin.

The politeness wasn't a personal thing though.

The first time a stranger started talking to him at the grocery store, he thought they were insane. When his sweet girl started chatting with the older lady who had commented on the tomatoes Simon was holding, he thought you had fallen off the deep end as well. But that's just how you were. His sweet thing, sharing your sugar with the neighbors, helping with their gardens, bringing over dinner or other comforts whenever someone fell on hard times.

Your food reminded him of what home ought to feel like, all comforting and warm. Whether it be your mother's “famous” chili, a casserole brought to a potluck to celebrate some small town holiday, or a simple pasty warming his fingers in the heart of winter, Simon could never get enough.

While there were quite a few things he hesitated to eat, shoving a bite into his mouth usually shut him up and had him devouring the rest, despite the odd name or questionable ingredients.

The weather was its own situation.

The tornado sirens are blaring, he's grabbing things to hide in the basement and wait out the weather, following the safe and logical protocol. Searching high and low for his sweet girl, just to find you lounging on the porch, a bottle of Faygo in hand, watching the sky swirl and shift with a content smile. Brushing him off when he frantically tries to usher you inside, nodding to your neighbors who are all doing the same, outside despite the sirens screaming for you to hide inside where it’s safe. (Of course, if it actually got bad, you would go inside, but it would take a while to get to that point.)

The temperature changes were intense, 20’s and freezing his fingers off one day, 60’s and driving with the windows down the next, it was enough to give him whiplash.

Not to mention the god-awful winters. He would think you were insane for wearing just a T-shirt and jeans when it's nearly in the 30s. You would just smile and wave him off, laughing when the usually stoic man would be reduced to grumbles about the cold bite.

The chill in Manchester was enough for him to be tugging on a winter coat so the colder temperatures were less than comfortable. He would be bundled up in long johns, flannel, a down coat, mittens, and a scarf wrapped over a thick woolly balaclava you had gifted him for the holidays and he would still be shivering like a wet kitten.

It’s hitting the negatives and you’re unbothered.

“It’s not so bad without the wind.” You happily tell him, as if his nose wasn’t numb and his fingers stiff from the glacial weather. He had to buy a proper pair of winter shoes, his assumption that his combat boots would be fine stomping through the snow. After a too-close dance with frostbite, he caved and bought a real pair of snow boots.

The way you interacted with wildlife never failed to amaze him either. Shooing off a raccoon or coyote that was pawing through your trash. Feeding the birds and squirrels, not batting an eye as a deer walks past.

Growing up in Manchester, he had seen his share of wildlife, but it was so different in the States. The deer were bigger, coyotes would bark and scream like banshees in the night, and don't even get him started when he saw a moose for the first time.

But Simon whose girl goes hunting or fishing? He’s whipped.

You’ve got antlers on your walls, maybe a hide or two kicking around. His eyes would nearly pop out of his head when he walked into the garage to be met with the sight of his sweet girl elbow-deep in fish guts, scaling and gutting the fish with practiced efficiency. Blood splattered on your arms and a smudge on your cheek as you smiled at him and handed him a plate of fish to bring inside.

He would laugh at first, the need for a freezer in the garage seemingly useless. But come hunting season, when it was filled with rabbit, venison, and wild turkey, he changed his mind quite quickly.

You had your quirks, but you were his. And he wouldn’t trade his sweet Midwest girl for anything.

An: I had a lot of fun writing this! Like I said, it’s based on my own experience with where I live so I’m sorry if this isn’t how you’ve experienced it! Feedback is always appreciated <3

Taglist: @pythonmoth @hattiefunny @daydreamerwoah @bi-sk8er @sweetheart4you @shinebright2000

[eeriepromis]

Caleb Drama & Hypocrisy

[I originally posted this on the official subreddit but I'm not sure if it will get approved by the mods there. The servers are currently down too. - UPDATE: It did not. Flagged as hostile and uncivil instead which it is NOT.]

I want to have a civil, constructive conversation about something that’s been bothering me and many others in the community: There’s been a lot of hate directed at Caleb & Caleb girlies (even before his official release) and it’s only getting worse now that his limited Myth is coming out. This isn’t about “not liking a character.” Everyone is entitled to that. This is about the ongoing hostility, mod bias (not reddit, if you know you know), and the double standards we’re seeing everywhere.

People are saying Caleb “stole” Sylus' wings theme or question why he already has a kiss in his myth. That’s … not how any of this works. The writers and artists literally work on all the characters. There is no such thing as one character “stealing” a theme from another. That’s like arguing over who’s allowed to wear capes in a fantasy setting.

Saying his myth kiss happened “so early” compared to the other LI's ignores the fact that Caleb and MC have a long-established relationship, unlike others who were strangers. (except Zayne who also had a kiss) Of course their development may look different. I'm not even able to enjoy that kiss since it's full of pain and despair - right before both of them literally seem to explode.

Caleb fans had to wait over a year, watching everyone else get content, CGs, story chapters, and celebrations - and yet we’re the ones being called entitled?

The hypocrisy is wild. People say “you have to watch Sylus’ Myth to understand him” (his actions) - And I agree! Sylus has a complex story. He made MC shoot him in the chest, brought her to an EVER scientist because he couldn’t resonate with her, wanted him to experiment on her which could have mutilated her Evol, and still - we are told to give him grace because his Myth explains it. And it does! He’s layered and ultimately loves MC deeply.

But you know what?

So is Caleb.

Caleb isn’t some manipulative monster. [here and here's why] He’s a character who went through trauma, experimentation, isolation, (in his CURRENT life) and still chose to sacrifice himself to survive and protect MC [db4sylus explained it here] - and even fights against a command to kill MC in the new Myth. His Myth and main story arcs are full of nuance - but most people stopped watching at his Main Story and judge him from there. How is that fair? (remember that without context it would be so easy to accuse Rafayel as a seriel k*iller, Xavier as a cheater, Zayne as rude and Sylus as a cruel kidnapper)

The same thing happens with Xavier, who gets called “boring” or “plain” - when in reality, he's anything but boring or plain - and ready to make morally gray decisions and be ruthless. [Has the Light Vanished?] (also let's not forget his *intense* freakiness. It's always the quiet ones guys)

Or Zayne, who’s called robotic, vanilla and cold, even though his Myth is (also) one of the most heartbreaking love stories in the game and used to be happy and warm - but something broke and cursed him. [Snowfall Embrace] - [Fractal Library Analysis] (whispers brat tamer)

Or Rafayel, constantly reduced to “bratty” or “dramatic,” when outside of MC he’s deeply guarded, serious, and vengeful. He’s only vulnerable with her. [Rafayel suffered a lot.] (so poetic, so incredibly deep, thoughtful and introspective.)

Sylus also is misinterpreted all the time even by his own fans as some ultra toxic red flag (I've seen some disturbing fanfics) Because there are those people who actually are into psychos and that kinda fantasies. [kiti_kiwi explained him beautifully] He is actually such a hopeless romantic and softie for MC - so very open for all her whims. (cough brat enabler cough)

Having those fantasies is alright, don't want to shame you (I don't really care tbh) - but some truly think those are canon to the characters; and that's where the issues lie.

If you’re going to hold one LI to a standard of deeper context, that should apply to all of them.

Every single love interest in this game has a duality. That’s literally the point. They are written to be flawed, complicated, and deeply in love with MC. They would never truly harm her. Everything they do - no matter how misguided (and there are truly worse fictional characters in other media) - is to protect her. That’s what they live for. (true giga simps my babies are *nods*)

So why is this fandom so divided and hostile all the time?

I love all the LIs. I started playing this game for the lore and story, not the romance. (it is my first otome and I am demi so there's that) But what I’m seeing right now (people refusing to engage with canon content, inventing toxic headcanons, and spreading hate from surface-level takes) isn’t criticism. It’s misinformation and targeted bullying that are also misleading new players.

You don’t have to like Caleb. You don’t have to main him. But please stop punishing the people who do. We waited over a year for him. And we deserve to enjoy him in peace. If you don't like others spreading misconceptions about your LI - then don't do it yourself to other LI's.

I also think some people in this fandom seriously underestimate how much Caleb girlies are actually going through - and how much hate, judgment, and bias we face daily across multiple platforms. Not just mild disagreements - I'm talking about accusations that are deeply personal and honestly crossing the line.

We’ve been called in*est apologists.

We’ve been told we love “red flags” and psychos (it's okay if you DO, but not if you are accused of it because of misconceptions)

and there must be something seriously wrong with us.

We’ve been mocked, ridiculed, tone-policed, and banned in places where every other LI Main has been allowed to thrive. It’s not just tiring - it’s isolating. (To be clear: I'm not talking about this subreddit!)

And yet - despite all of that? The Caleb channel in the Discord became a safe haven. More like a lads-general that accepts and understands Caleb but is also so very open to gush over every LI with open arms and every girlie. I’ve met Caleb fans (even Mains of other LI) who love him for wildly different reasons. Some are drawn to his protectiveness. A lot of us are the eldest daughters, so they like to be the ones to be cared for for once (to be free of all the responsibilities and expectations of others) and Caleb is so very good at caring. Some adore his teasing and flirty softness. (his VA makes it all sound SO authentic!) Some love his character design and uniform. Some see themselves. (the Millennial vibe, the responsibility, the yearning for freedom) And his cooking is always yearned for!

I'm also one of those who were worried about his portrayal in the new Main Story Arc at his release. That part was suffocating. It was hard to watch and play through. I'm not into yanderes or psychos at all. I didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t what I wanted for him at all. (I'm also not into his Colonel uniform, sorry my fellow pipsqueaks xD but I know he hates it too.) At least Sylus had the twins as comedic relief *cries internally* And guess what? That’s okay.

What mattered was that I kept reading. I followed his entire arc - his Myth, his Anecdotes, his Bond Story, his Moments. And what I found was a character who made sense. (just like all the others) Who was still trying, still loving, still fighting against the worst parts of his world and himself - for her.

But that part? The part where we explain why we do see the nuance? The part where we talk about how we don’t excuse the red flags, but understand where they come from? It gets ignored. Every time.

This isn’t about defending toxic characters. It’s about wanting the same space to enjoy complexity as every other LI community has already been granted. And being tired of having to justify our existence in a fandom that’s supposed to be about love, choice, and story.

So before you assume Caleb fans are “into red flags,” (not denying there are a few, just like some Sylus girlies too tbh) maybe talk to a few of us if you don't understand. Ask why we like him. Listen when tell our reasonings instead of just dismissing them because they don't fit your context-lacking headcanon narrative. Respect that his arc, like every other LI’s, is layered, painful, and intentional.

We aren’t asking to be everyone’s favorite. We’re asking to exist without being attacked for it.

Please, let’s stop the "he-said-she-said" hate cycle. Let people enjoy what they love. That’s what fandom is supposed to be. Love, create and evolve together. (and angst together. totally angst together.)

I don’t care if you don’t like Caleb. That’s valid. Not every LI is for everyone. But the constant policing, mockery, and moral grandstanding aimed at fans who do like him is just exhausting. It’s okay to enjoy a character with flaws. It’s okay to enjoy different kinds of romance stories. That’s literally the point of this genre.

This is a game. A beautiful, story-rich, emotional game. Let people enjoy it. Let us enjoy our LI. And please stop treating us like we’re the enemy for doing so.

Like- I'm genuily confused??? I was there during the US5 & Tokio Hotel beefs, I was there during the Team Edward and Team Jacob wars and also during the Big Time Rush and One Direction phase. None of those fandoms seemed as divided and infighting like this one. Where are these people taking all the energy to hate and the jealousy from and why are they attacking fictional pixels and fans who can't change anything about their issues instead of working together instead?

Sincerely, A tired but still standing Caleb girly (and lore nerd) (thanks for reading through my TED talk if you've made it this far)

P.S.: A random thought that I've had while writing - I'm expecting all counterpart LI to have a darker lore and more "obvious" red flags than the OG3. Maybe the 6th will even be a Phoenix. Wings could be a counterpart thing. If you've haven't noticed yet - the overview in the Café where you select your LI: The OG3 are in white clothing, while their counterparts are wearing black so far.)

Lots of love to my fellow pipsqueaks.

[fangirlmermaid]

Would you possibly be able to write something about Quinn and angst?? Like maybe he forgot an important date and y/n gets made and he makes it up to her? Tysm! 💗💗

Yes, I can!!!! I was so close to crying at the thought of Quinn being sad!

pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Warning: cursing, angst, then fluff, sad Quinn, some cringey nickname, use of (Y/N) once (I think), if you don't like Taylor Swift, then she's a warning (which is dumb).

I hope you like it! I tried my best!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quinn was so fucked

His blood went cold when he saw the time.

Quinn was an hour late for your three-year anniversary dinner; You had to celebrate a week later because Quinn had an away game on your anniversary.

How the hell did time get away from him? He wanted to get some more practice in, but only for 20 minutes' worth.

Quinn quickly went into the locker room and grabbed his phone, where he had a bunch of missed calls and messages from you.

Guilt swallowed him whole on all the days he chose to get extra practice he had to chose today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quinn broke every traffic law and almost got into three car accidents to get to you. His knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

How could he be so thoughtless? Especially when it comes to you!

You were always supportive no matter what

Was he choosing Hockey over you?

No, he had to make this right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quinn stood in front of the door of your shared apartment, trying to calm his speeding heart. Coming home to you knowing you were going to be mad and he was the cause for it was scarier than anything he had or will face in his life if he lives that long.

Quinn glanced at the bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of your favorite candy he had bought on the drive home. He’s no idiot , hoping it would soften you up.

Quinn walked into the apartment. “(Y/N)?” he first called out.

No answer.

“Lovie?...Pretty girl?”

Still no answer.

Quinn closed the door and hung up his keys. Where were you? Then, he heard a voice in the kitchen. Your voice.

Quinn walked through the living room where he saw the couch had his 

pillows and a blanket, he was really in the dog house. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quinn reached the kitchen, where he saw you cooking something. You were talking to someone with your earbuds in. Your hair was curled, and your makeup was done, but you were in pajamas…your own pajamas. 

“No, I didn’t drive down there, Bea,” you admitted, waving your spatula around. 

Quinn suddenly lost his voice, he didn’t want to have the conversation while you had access to a hot pan.

“Because if I went down there I would’ve-” you noticed Quinn standing by the island countertop looking like a little kid who just threw up. 

“Bea, I gotta go…yeah it’s him,” You told. That felt like Quinn had been stabbed in the heart. Not Lovie, no baby, not even bubbe (a nickname that he freaking hates)...Just him. Quinn has to fix this.

You ended the call, put your ear buds back in the case. “So your car didn’t die,” you muttered, turning off the stove, your back facing Quinn. He glanced at his sneakers, trying to find his voice. “I-I lost track of time,” Quinn mumbled. You faced Quinn, the rage burning in your eyes causing Quinn to stumble back. “I don’t want to hear excuses, Quinn,” You grumbled. Quinn nodded. “I-I know. I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry Lovie” Quinn mumbled handing you the flowers and the box of candy with hesitation.

You knit your eyebrows together “You come waltzing in here an hour late…and you think just because you bring flowers” you grabbed the flowers and threw them in the garbadge “and my favorite candy” You were about to throw them away but you put them in the snack cabinet because you knew you were going to want them later.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you looked back at Quinn, who was on the verge of tears. “That I would forgive you?” the hurt in your tone. “Lovie, please.” Quinn tried to hold your hand, but you yanked it out of his grip. “Don’t,” you scolded. Quinn retracted his hand quickly. Quinn felt a lump in his throat. “I know hockey is a big part of your life, and I support that,” You glared at Quinn, “but I can’t be with someone who values hockey more than our relationship.” You admitted, Quinn felt the knife twist 

You’ve been nothing but supportive of his hockey career.

You went to every home game.

You were taking care of him every time he got injured

You were always making sure he was taking care of himself

You even went into it with the refs and even a few hockey players from the opposing team if they were out of line with Quinn.

“Whatever, I’m going bed. Your dinner is on the stove,” You mumbled, storming passed him. Acting on instinct, Quinn dropped down to his knee’s, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly and shoving his face into your stomach “Quinn!” you yelled trying to shove him off your but he won’t budge “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” Quinn hoarse tone his tears falling onto your pajama shirt; he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

Every time you almost managed to escape, Quinn would pull you back in. No matter how mad you were, the urge to run your fingers through his hair was strong, but you had to resist. Quinn had you sitting here for an hour, choosing hockey over celebrating your love for one another. You couldn’t forgive him.

You finally wiggled your way to freedom. Quinn's red, puffy eyes looked up at you. “I’m going to bed,” you said in a stern tone before walking away. Quinn perked up when he saw you storming back, maybe you had a change of heart. You placed a wrapped box in front of Quinn “Happy fucking anniversary Quinn” You yelled before storming away and slamming your bedroom door closed. Leaving Quinn alone with the present and the grilled cheese you burnt to a crisp on purpose. 

Quinn sat down and brought the present into his lap. Quinn tried to collect himself as he stared at the present that was wrapped in Star Wars wrapping paper. Quinn took a couple of deep breaths and dried away his tears before he opened his present. 

The present made his eyes gloss; it was a framed word sketched photo of the two of you. The photo was the same one as his one on his phone. The two of you hugging, and Quinn was pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Quinn took a closer look at the words and realized the words were the lyrics to the song So High School by Taylor Swift, a song you said felt like it described the two of you perfectly. As if Taylor Swift wrote it for the two of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quinn tossed and turned on the couch. Guilt was eating him alive. He hates going to bed after an argument. He wanted to storm into the room and make it right, but he knew you needed to cool down first.

Quinn knew he was an idiot, he chose hockey over your special makeup dinner, a day you had to makeup because of hockey. Quinn felt his heart ripping apart at the thought of losing you. He couldn’t lose you, you were the best thing to ever happen to him. Quinn felt so complete with you in his life. He wanted a future with you.

Quinn froze at the sound of the bedroom door opening. He padded footsteps coming closer to the living room, he checked the time on his phone, why are you awake at 2 in the morning? He saw you enter the living room. You lifted his blanket and tried to squeeze yourself onto the couch. Quinn tried to give you as much personal space, remembering that you didn’t want him to touch you. 

You sighed, grabbing his wrist, making him wrap his strong arm around your waist. Quinn remained frozen, unaware of what to do. Then you shoved your head into his chest; he felt the corner of his lips twitch. A minute passed before you mumbled, “Hi”.

“Hi,” Quinn whispered, shoving his face into your hair.

“Couldn’t sleep, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I can never sleep when we fight, Lovie.”

“I’m sorry.”

Quinn cupped your cheeks, making you look up at him, tears running down your cheeks. “You're so stressed because you have so much on your plate, and I’m just over here making it worse-” “No, pretty girl. No,” Quinn cut you off, using the pad of his thumbs to wipe away your tears delicately as if you were made of glass.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the idiot who chose hockey over our special dinner. From now on, I will always choose you like I should’ve done in the first place,” Quinn mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead to seal the promise. You nodded before shoving your face back into his chest. “I don’t want to fight anymore, bubbe.” You announced, placing soft kisses on his chest. Quinn softly smiled at the nickname, he never thought he would be so happy to hear that nickname. “We’re done fighting, pretty girl. I promise,” Quinn assured, rubbing your back soothingly. 

Quinn remembered something. “I loved the gift,” Quinn whispered. You looked up, and the excitement in your eyes made Quinn’s smile widen. “Really?” You wondered. Quinn nodded. 

“Can I give you my present?” Quinn asks. You nodded. Quinn presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before getting up to retrieve a box from his hockey bag. Quinn came back and handed you the box “Happy anniversary” Quinn smiled before plopping down next to you on the couch. 

You opened the box and gasped at what you saw. It was a (color of choice) necklace with two hearts, you noticed something engraved on the two hearts. It was your names,

You placed a chaste kiss on Quinn’s lips. “I love it, Bubbe. Can you put it on me?”

“Of course, beautiful.” 

You turned your back to Quinn and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Quinn hooked the necklace on and placed delicate kisses on the back of your shoulder. You pulled Quinn into a passionate kiss, telling the both of you that the both of you are good. 

You pulled away, and Quinn chased your lips. “Take me to bed, Lovie,” you smiled, Quinn didn’t need to be told twice. Quinn picked you up, he grabbed his pillows, you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Save my flowers,” You added, causing Quinn to raise his eyebrow at you. “I can buy you more flowers,” Quinn reminded “Pleeeeaaaase” you pouted, running your fingers through his hair, knowing that it was his kryptonite.

After Quinn put your flowers in a vase, he carried you into the bedroom. Where the two of you passed out in each other's arms.

[lia-linny]

summary: Chan and his friends make a bet that Chan has to break through the hard shell of the dismissive skater

words: 3.2k

genre: fluff, highschool au,

In the far corner of the vast Cafeteria, Chan sat at his usual table, surrounded by the familiar symphony of youthful chaos, laughter, chatter, the clatter of trays, and the occasional outburst from an overly enthusiastic conversation. Yet, despite the lively atmosphere, his appetite waned, his focus drifting from the meal before him.

Then, his gaze landed on Yn. She sat apart from the others, her posture languid, one leg tucked beneath her while the other draped over the seat beside her. A notebook lay open before her, and though her pen moved lazily across the page, Chan doubted she was writing anything of significance. A half-empty energy drink rested at her side, and through the thick veil of her headphones, he could faintly hear the aggressive pulse of music, a fitting accompaniment to the impenetrable aura she exuded.

"Tell me, does she even talk to anyone?" Jeongin mused, as he noticed his gaze, leaning back in his chair, arms folded. Felix shrugged.

"Not really. Most people gave up trying a long time ago. Yn isn’t exactly… the sociable type." Jisung smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"That sounds like a challenge. Imagine if one of us actually managed to crack her." The table erupted in laughter except for Chan, whose gaze lingered on Yn.

"You mean one of us should date her?" he asked, his voice light, though curiosity laced his words.

"Not even that," Jisung replied, waving a hand dismissively.

"Just get her to open up. Make her let you in. And then? Boom. You win." He punctuated his words with a dramatic flourish, raising his brows as if daring them to take the bait.

"But let’s be real, I bet no one here could do it." Changbin scoffed. "She doesn’t talk to, let alone trust anyone." Chan leaned back, considering. He had won many bets before, sports, academics, even ridiculous dares like seeing who could push a teacher’s patience the furthest. It had always been easy. Predictable. But this? This was different.

"And what does the winner get?" he asked at last. Jeongin’s grin widened. "The respect of all of us. And free meals for a week. We’ll cover it." Jisung laughed.

"Let’s be honest, bro. You’d lose anyway." Chan arched a brow.

"Oh? And why’s that?"

"Because Yn wouldn’t fall for your usual charm tactics," Seungmin chimed in, smirking. "She’s not a fan of guys like us." That was it. The moment there was no turning back. Chan thrived on competition, on proving people wrong. There was something in him some unrelenting need to win, to rise to any challenge thrown his way, to profe himself.

"You’ll see," he said, leaning forward with a confident grin. "Give me six weeks." The boys erupted into cheers, clinking their drinks together in mock celebration. But as Chan brought his cup to his lips, his eyes once again sought out Yn. She remained in the corner, untouched by the world around her, lost in whatever thoughts occupied her mind. And deep within him, something stirred a quiet warning. This bet wasn’t right, chan new it but wanted to do it anyways.

This wasn’t going to be a simple game. And it had nothing to do with how distant she seemed.

"That’s just childish," Seungmin sighed, burying his face in his hands.

"When are you finally going to grow up?"

"Ever since you started dating that nerdy girl, you think you’re the wisest among us," Jeongin teased, nudging him playfully with an elbow. "Hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t make you any smarter, dummie."

Seungmin rolled his eyes. "Well, at least I don’t need tutoring."

"Hey, tutoring isn’t that bad. Nothing to be ashamed of," Jeongin shot back defensively.

"That’s because you are absolutly in love with your tutor, Inie," Changbin laughed, shaking his head.

~☆~

Chan was a strategist. He never entered a challenge unprepared. And so, before making a move, he studied Yn. Not in an unsettling, creepy way, but with the precision of someone determined to understand. He observed the details, the little patterns that made up her world.

It didn’t take long for him to map out her routine: She rarely spoke in class, but when she did, it was laced with sharp sarcasm. During breaks, she was never without her headphones music always loud, always aggressive. She didn’t belong to a fixed group, though sometimes she could be spotted with a few other skaters. Conversations? Minimal. Whether with teachers or classmates, she kept to herself. After school, she vanished with her skateboard, heading straight for the skate park.

Chan quickly realized that his usual tactics charming smiles, effortless small talk, well-placed compliments wouldn’t work here. Yn wasn’t like the others. She was guarded, sharp-edged, immune to the easy charisma that had always worked in his favor. If he wanted to win this challenge, he needed a different approach.

So Chan appeared at the skate park, leaning casually against the fence as though he were simply passing by, watching the skaters with an air of mild interest. Yn was in the midst of a trick session spinning, jumping, landing with seamless precision. He had to admit, she was good. No, more than good. She moved with the kind of skill that could only come from deep passion.

Grinning, he called out, "Nice move." Yn skidded to a stop, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she turned toward him, one brow arched in clear suspicion. She was undoubtedly wondering what he was doing here someone more commonly seen on the football field, in the music room, or surrounded by his (as she so fondly called them) macho friends. The skate park was not his territory. And she knew it.

"Thanks," she said flatly, then added, "Now fuck off." Chan blinked. Well. That was direct.

"Wow," he mused, crossing his arms. "Is that how you greet new people here?" Yn gave him a once-over before slowly pulling out one earbud.

"New people? No. Just people who are clearly after something." Clever. Perceptive. He liked that.

"I'm not trying to suck up," he countered, his grin unfazed. "I'm admiring." She rolled her eyes.

"Watch it, admirer. I'm not in the mood for company." And with that, she shoved her headphones back in, kicked off on her board, and disappeared into the park. Chan stood there for a moment, watching her go before letting out a quiet laugh. This is going to be harder than he thought. But giving up? That wasn’t in his nature. If anything, the challenge only intrigued him more.

The Long Game His first attempt had been an undeniable failure. But instead of retreating, Chan adjusted his strategy. No more direct approaches. No obvious staring. No ‘admiration.’ Instead, he simply made himself present. At the skate park. In the cafeteria. Leaning against the lockers outside her classroom. Always there, but never in a way that seemed intentional. Never enough to be intrusive just visible. And yet, despite all this, it took an entire week before Yn acknowledged him again.

~☆~

The first real interaction was late in the afternoon, the skate park nearly deserted, bathed in the fading golden light of the sun. Yn was practicing a new trick, but it wasn’t going well. Again and again, she landed wrong too far forward, off balance, too much force. Each failed attempt was met with a quiet curse, her frustration tightening like a coil inside her.

From a bench nearby, Chan watched. He pretended to be occupied with his phone, but his attention was on her, on the way she refused to give up, on the determination in her every movement. He admired that. After the tenth failed attempt, she let out a sharp, irritated noise and kicked her board against the ramp before dropping onto the ground, shoulders slumped in exhaustion and annoyance.

Before he could think twice, Chan was on his feet, walking toward her.

"Statistically speaking, your failure rate is at about 90%," he remarked, his voice light with amusement. "Thinking of giving up?" Yn turned her head toward him, her eyes narrowing. It was clear from her expression that she still didn’t know what to make of him. Or maybe she simply didn’t like him.

"What are you doing here again?" she asked, suspicion lacing her words.

Unbothered, Chan dropped onto the ground beside her. "Watching. Learning from the best." She grimaced.

"If you want to learn anything about skating, find an actual pro. I’m a disaster right now." The last sentence came out quieter, muttered under her breath, filled with something more than just frustration. Chan leaned back on his hands, tilting his head toward the sky as if contemplating something important.

"Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard," he mused. "Sometimes you have to let go to make it work." Yn shot him a skeptical look.

"And what do you know about skating?"

"Nothing," he admitted with an easy grin. "but I do know a thing or two about pressure. And sometimes, what helps is a distraction."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone drenched in sarcasm. "Oh, and let me guess you’re here to help me distract myself?"

Chan shrugged. "I could tell you a terrible joke. Or we could bet on whether you land your next attempt." Yn sighed, shaking her head, but something in her expression shifted. Amusement, maybe. Interest.

"And if I make it?"

Chan’s grin widened. "Then I’ll buy you a Coke. And if you don’t make it… I’ll still buy you a Coke. Because I’m nice."

A small, reluctant laugh escaped her, and she shook her head again. "You’re ridiculously persistent, you know that?"

He leaned in slightly. "You should probably get used to it." And that was the moment something changed. It was subtle just a crack in the walls she had built so carefully around herself but Chan noticed it.

Yn exhaled, got to her feet, picked up her board. With one last glance in his direction, she pushed off. And this time, this time she landed the trick perfectly.

Something shifted after that moment at the skate park. Yn was still wary, still suspicious of his presence, but she allowed it now. She didn’t know why he was suddenly everywhere, why he kept turning up at the skate park, in the cafeteria, outside her classrooms but she was getting used to it. And that, more than anything, annoyed her.

The so-called "coincidences" increased. He brought her an iced coffee because he had "accidentally" discovered her favorite summer drink. He started doing his homework at the skate park because it was "more relaxing" there. When she ignored him, he didn’t push he just stayed. Silent, but present.

Yn hated how easy it was to fall into the rhythm of his presence. She wanted him to disappear, to stop showing up, to leave her to her quiet, detached existence.

And yet, at the same time, she fought the irrational urge to talk to him first. To sit next to him. To look for him. She didn’t know which possibility scared her more that he would eventually give up. Or that he wouldn’t.

~☆~

An Evening at the Skate Park it was empty, bathed in the dim glow of the streetlights. Yn had come here to practice in peace, to lose herself in the rhythm of wheels against concrete, but fate or rather, he had other plans. She sighed as she spotted Chan making his way toward her, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, a familiar grin on his face.

"Are you stalking me?" she asked dryly.

He only grinned wider. "Pure coincidence."

"Sure." Instead of leaving, he made himself comfortable, sitting on the edge of the ramp as if he belonged there.

"So, what’s on the agenda today? Kickflip? 360?"

She eyed him, a challenge sparking in her gaze. "How about you get on the board? Or are you too scared?"

Chan chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "I have no interest in breaking my bones, thanks." The laugh deepened, and for the first time, yn noticed the dimples in his cheeks. It was distracting. Too distracting. She forced herself to look away, shaking off the thought.

"Coward." And before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed his wrist, yanking him up and shoving her board into his hands. "Come on, Mr. Perfect. Let’s see what you’ve got."

Chan stared at the board as if it were a death sentence. "This is not going to end well."

"Then you and my first trick attempt have something in common." She smirked as he reluctantly stepped onto the board, his movements stiff, awkward. He wobbled, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. And then, just as expected he toppled over, landing flat on the ground.

Yn let out a snort. "Oh my god. That was pathetic."

Chan raised an eyebrow, rubbing his elbow with a wince. "I’m a man of many talents. Skating just isn’t one of them." Still laughing, she sat down next to him. For a moment, the world felt lighter, easier. She didn’t even mind his company. Maybe even liked it. And then she felt something.

Her laughter faded when she caught the way he was looking at her not with amusement, not with his usual teasing grin, but with something else. Something softer. It made her pulse stutter.

Her voice was quieter when she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Chan didn’t look away. He simply shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Maybe I just find you interesting."

Yn swallowed. She wasn’t sure what unnerved her more the way his words sent a flicker of warmth through her, or the realization that this… this was dangerous. She was standing on thin ice. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to step away or let herself fall. But her walls were torn down by chan step by step.

~☆~

Something Had Changed The teasing remained. The playful banter, the lighthearted jabs, the sarcastic remarks they were all still there. But now, there were glances. Quiet moments stretched between them, filled with something unspoken. They stood closer than necessary, their hands sometimes brushing, their laughter lingering longer than before.

Chan didn’t know when exactly it happened when the bet stopped being a game and started feeling like something else entirely. But as the days passed, a dull weight settled in his chest, a guilt that grew heavier with every smile she gave him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have made a bet knowing that if he won, it would break her trust? That it would shatter her in ways she might never recover from?

But stopping wasn’t an option. Because at some point, Chan had stopped playing to win he just wanted her. So he searched for reasons to be near her. Excuses to see her.

He paid attention to things he never would have noticed before. He listened to her favorite bands, learned the songs that played in her headphones. He memorized the small details the way she loved the rain but hated thunderstorms, the way she bit her lip when she was deep in thought.

He knew that skating wasn’t just a hobby for her it was where she thought, where she made sense of the world. And he knew she didn’t let people in, not easily. Because letting someone in meant trusting them. And trusting them meant they had the power to leave. To betray her.

She had spent so long keeping people at a distance. Pushing them away before they had the chance to hurt her. But with Chan… it was different. And she hated that it was different. Because he wasn’t like the others at school the ones who judged her for her grades, her attitude, the way she never quite fit into the mold they wanted her to.

Chan was just there. He never asked for anything. Never demanded explanations or forced her to be anything other than herself. And slowly, against her better judgment, she let him in.

And considering all this made chan feel even more guilty.

~☆~

A Line He Couldn’t Cross The city stretched out before them, a sea of flickering lights against the darkness. It was quiet up here, away from the noise of the streets, the expectations of school, the weight of everything else.

Yn leaned back against the wall, her skateboard resting beside her, fingers idly tracing the edges of the grip tape. Chan sat next to her, arms draped over his knees, eyes fixed on the distant headlights weaving through the roads below.

And then out of nowhere she spoke. "So, what's your deal?"

Chan turned his head slightly, brows furrowing. "My deal?"

Yn exhaled, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious. "You're the perfect popular student. Everyone loves you and your weird friends. So why are you spending your time with me?"

His heart skipped. This was it. The moment he should come clean. He could still hear Jisung’s voice in his head, the laughter of his friends as they toasted to his ridiculous bet. Six weeks. The time limit was still ticking, and yet, here he was, completely lost in her. But instead of the ugly truth, Chan gave her the only other truth that mattered. He let out a quiet chuckle, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious.

"Maybe I like the way you see things." Yn studied him carefully, eyes searching for something probably the lie she assumed was hiding beneath his words. But she didn’t push. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the skyline, as if the answer didn’t matter.

A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again. "And you?" he asked, tilting his head. "Why are you letting me stay?"

She glanced at him, just for a second, then shrugged. "Maybe I just find you interesting." Her voice was casual, but there was something hesitant underneath. "It’s a nice change to chill with you. Better than always being alone."

Chan grinned, but the tightness in his chest only grew. Because it hit him then this was the exact same thing he had said to his friends at the start. That he found her "interesting" as if she was a thing he could study. That she was a challenge. He felt sick because now, he hated himself for ever having thought that way. For ever agreeing to something that would end with her getting hurt. But the truth? The whole truth? He wasn't ready to tell her that because he knew, if he told her she would leave and he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

~☆~

The thing between YN and Chan had long since become more than just a casual friendship based on a bet. They spent nearly every free moment together at night on rooftops, during skate sessions, in hidden corners of the city.

But while YN was finally beginning to trust someone, Chan was becoming increasingly aware that his feelings had never been part of the plan. They were growing stronger, more real. Yet the truth lingered in the background, and secrets never stayed hidden for long.

One afternoon after school, Chan was sitting with his friends when Jeongin suddenly grinned. "So, how’s it going with the skater rebel? Have you already won the bet, or is it still in progress?"

Chan froze. He wanted to protest, to say something anything but then he saw her. YN stood just a few feet away, her skateboard wheels still against the asphalt. She had heard everything. Her expression? A mix of disappointment and anger.

"What bet?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm. Chan opened his mouth, but no words came out. YN let out a dry laugh, shook her head, and turned away. "You know what? Just forget it."

"Wait, YN!" Chan jumped up, reaching for her wrist, but she pulled away.

"Just leave me alone, Chan." And then she walked away. This time, he didn’t know if she would come back. His friends? They laughed. Thought nothing of it.

His friends faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding in his chest. his mind scrambling for a way to fix what had just happened but there was none. The damage was already done.

"It was just a game, bro." But for Chan? It had never been just a game. Not anymore. Felix looked at him with concern the only one who wasn’t laughing.

"Hyung...?" Cautiously, the younger boy placed a hand on Chan’s shoulder. But Chan jumped to his feet and ran. Away from his friends. Away from himself. Away from the cruel things he had done not because anyone had forced him to, but simply because he had found them amusing.

He lost his appetite. He couldn’t focus in class. The places they used to go the skatepark, the rooftop felt wrong without her. It was like one of those teenage movies, the kind where the two main characters break up and are left reeling from heartbreak while melancholic music plays in the background.

The Truth, Too Late Yn was already turning. Her walls bult up higher than ever before. The music he used to listen to in the evenings sounded empty now. Every song reminded him of her her voice, her laughter, the way she had slowly started to trust him. And trust was something that, once broken, couldn’t be easily repaired. But the worst part? He had fallen in love with her. And he had lost her because of his own stupidity.

~☆~

Chan knew that an apology wouldn’t be enough. Words meant nothing if they weren’t backed by actions. She had had enough of empty promises. But Chan refused to give up. He tried everything to reach YN messages, calls, even waiting outside her house. But she ignored him, refusing to see him, let alone speak to him. And Chan couldn’t even blame her. Still, he had to talk to her. He had to prove how much she meant to him.

So, he did the only thing left: he showed her. He showed up at the skatepark, despite hating skating. Tried to stand on a board and fell. Again. And again. And again. People laughed. His knees and hands bled. But he didn’t give up. And then, he entered the next skate contest. The one YN had been planning to compete in. Without hesitation, he signed up.

Of course, YN was there. When she heard his name announced, when she saw him step onto the course, she wanted to ignore him. But when she looked into his terrified eyes, when she watched him climb onto a skateboard with trembling legs, she couldn’t help but stop and stare. He was doing this for her. And she knew it.

He pushed off and failed. Spectacularly. One fall after another. But every time, he got back up. And then, in the middle of the crowd, he saw her. She was smiling just a little. But it was enough. Enough to give him the courage to keep going.

After his final attempt, he went straight to her. No words. Just him, breathless, his hands scraped and raw.

"I didn’t do it because of the bet," he said. "Not in the end. I wanted to get to know you. And then I didn’t want to lose you."

"Show me you mean it." And with that one sentence, Chan knew: he had a second chance. But this time, he had to earn it.

Chan had learned that love wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a competition to be won. And it was certainly never a bet. But he also knew one thing: he couldn’t give up. Not when it came to YN. He couldn’t just love her he had to truely stay.

Silence. Chan turned to YN. She looked at him as if she was seeing something new in him. Something real. Slowly, she stepped closer.

"You were not bad out there, Mr. Perfect," she whispered as they inched toward each other.

He grinned. "So… do I get my second chance now?" YN didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed his shirt, pulled him closer and kissed him. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant. It was real. Full of unspoken words, of mistakes they were leaving behind, of possibilities still ahead. When she pulled away, she met his gaze, a challenge in her eyes.

"You’re not completely off the hook. But… that was a good start." Chan let out a quiet laugh, his heart pounding.

"Then let me prove that I’m always going to stay." And this time, YN knew he meant it.

[novaursa]

Hi Nova!!

Could I have a Ned Stark x reader, either mature 16+ or (if you don’t mind) 18+ where the reader is Ned’s second wife after Catelyn and is young and pretty and sweet, and he just can’t stop thinking about how good she would look pregnant with his son? Breeding kink to the max, if it doesn’t bother you! Thank you! 🙇🙇 (if this kink isn’t smth you’re interested in/comfortable with, no worries at all, please delete!!)

Beneath the Wolf's Cloak

- Summary: A story where a wolf takes a she-bear for a wife.

- Pairing: mormont!reader/Eddard Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I hope you like it. 😉

The warmth of the fire did little to ease the strange chill that clung to you despite the thickness of your cloak. Great hearths burned at each end of the Great Hall of Winterfell, casting flickering orange light across the rough-hewn stone walls and high wooden beams above. Snow still dusted the floors near the entrance, melting into dampness beneath the boots of guests just arrived. Outside, cold had not yet sunk its claws fully into the North, but the winds were sharp, and the grey skies seemed to whisper of what was coming. Inside, however, all was wine and song and firelight. A feast of celebration. Your wedding night. Your name now bore the weight of his: Stark.

You sat at the high table beside Eddard Stark, your new lord and husband, surrounded by bannermen and lords of the North. There were toasts and laughter, the clatter of trenchers, and the occasional burst of music from the minstrels near the hearth. But your eyes kept drifting sideways to him—Ned—his profile cast in soft gold by the firelight, his expression as ever unreadable, thoughtful beneath the furrow of his brow and the shadow of his beard. Yet beneath that solemn mask was a warmth he tried, and failed, to suppress whenever he looked at you. You could feel the heat of his gaze before you met it, that quiet kindling that burned brighter each time your shoulders brushed or your fingers neared on the table. He had not spoken much, but neither had he looked away from you for long.

His voice came low beside your ear, rough with wine and desire yet laced with an almost boyish shyness. “You are cold,” he said, his hand gently brushing over yours, callused and warm. “Here, take my cloak.”

You blinked, startled at the intimacy of the gesture in front of so many, and shook your head with a soft smile. “No, my lord, I am warm enough.”

He leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. “You mustn’t call me that tonight,” he murmured, voice just for you. “Not when I would rather hear my name on your lips.”

You turned your face slightly to his, cheeks flushed with more than the wine. “Ned,” you whispered, and he gave the smallest nod, as if the sound of it settled something within him.

Around you, the hall roared with life. Lyanna Mormont, your young cousin, raised her goblet high and shouted your name boldly, fierce and proud. “To my cousin, Lady Stark now, and twice the beauty of the Southron queens!”

The men laughed, many agreeing heartily. “The Lady Mormont may be small, but her tongue is sharp,” Benjen Stark quipped with a grin from further down the table.

“I should say the same of her sword,” you replied lightly, drawing more laughter. “But I thank you, Lyanna. I hope I can live up to the name I’ve taken.”

“You already have,” Ned said beside you, low but certain.

His hand found yours beneath the table, not clumsy, not bold, but firm in his touch. Protective. Possessive, perhaps. You could feel the thrum of something deeper in him, something that stirred not just at your beauty but at the idea of you belonging to him now. He drank you in, from the gentle curve of your throat to the slight shyness in your gaze. And when you turned to look at him again, your lashes catching the firelight, the flush in your cheeks from wine and warmth and perhaps the anticipation of the night to come—he saw it, clearly: you would be radiant, glowing with life, with his child growing within you.

Gods help him, the image rooted itself in his mind. You in this same chair, months from now, with a rounded belly beneath your silks, one hand resting there idly as you smiled at him with that same sweet gentleness. He would give you everything, if he could. He would fight a hundred wars to see that image come to life.

“I wonder,” he said softly, his fingers curling around yours beneath the table, “what color will the eyes of the babe be, if you were to carry my son.”

Your breath caught. You turned to look at him fully, your voice a hush, “Do you think of that already?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking of it,” he confessed. “From the moment I saw you walking down the hall to me this morning. I thought—the gods would be kind to give her a son, and kinder still to let me live to see him born.”

There was no jest in his tone. Just truth. Stark truth. And beneath it, a yearning that mirrored your own.

“I should like a daughter too,” you murmured, heart fluttering. “With your quiet eyes and my wild tongue. She would rule Bear Island with a smile and burn every ship that came too close.”

He chuckled, deep and soft. “Gods help me, I hope she does. But not tonight. Tonight, I want only you.”

The hall spun around you then—not with wine, but with want. The music swelled again, another toast was shouted, but all of it faded into a blur behind the heat in your cheeks and the weight of his hand still grasping yours beneath the table.

And when the bedding was called for and the men rose cheering, voices drunken and jests lewd, Ned stood slowly. He did not let them come to you. His hand stayed clasped in yours, and he looked down over the gathered men with a quiet steel in his voice.

“No one will touch her,” he said. “She is my bride. I will carry her to our bed myself.”

Silence settled over the table. Then, as if understanding something unspoken, they let him pass.

And he did just that. Lifted you into his arms with surprising ease, his breath warm against your neck as he whispered your name again. The Great Hall of Winterfell echoed with cheers and laughter behind you, but you heard none of it. Only the beat of his heart, steady and sure beneath your cheek, and the soft promise he made in your ear.

“Tonight, I will love you slowly. And before the year ends, we will speak of names for the child.”

The chamber was warm, lit by the soft flicker of dozens of candles and the roaring hearth at its heart. The fur rugs muffled the sound of your steps as he carried you across the threshold, cradled close to his chest like you weighed nothing at all. Outside the wind howled, Winterfell groaning against the rising frost, but inside the world was still and golden, wrapped in shadows and firelight. Ned said nothing as he set you down on the edge of the great bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he looked down at you. His gray eyes, so often solemn and heavy with duty, were softer now, tinged with something deeper—reverence, awe, and something that looked almost like longing etched with restraint.

You reached up slowly, letting your fingers brush the front of his doublet, feeling the slow thrum of his heartbeat underneath. “Will you undress me, husband?” you asked, your voice low, a hint of a teasing smile playing on your lips.

His mouth twitched, and he nodded, hands raising to the clasps of your gown with a careful grace that belied the need simmering under his skin. One by one, he unfastened them, his fingers rough and warm against the cool of your skin as the fabric loosened and slid away. He worked slowly, as if memorizing each detail—the slope of your shoulder, the softness of your belly, the faintest curve of your hips. When the gown pooled at your feet, you stood bare before him, lit only by candlelight, your breath soft and even, but your heart pounding like the drums that had played at your feast.

“You are… gods, you are beautiful,” he murmured, his voice caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief. His knuckles traced the line of your jaw, then down your throat. “If I were a younger man, I would fall to my knees.”

“You’re young enough to make me feel like I’m burning,” you whispered, stepping forward, placing his hand fully on your waist.

He kissed you then—slowly, deeply, the way a man kisses when he knows he has you, truly has you, and he means never to let go. His lips moved with aching tenderness, but his arms were firm, pulling you close, holding you tight. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his breath was warm across your lips. “I swear to you, little bear, I will love you as fiercely as any man who ever carried a sword. I will protect you. And if the gods are kind, I will see you swollen with my child, glowing, radiant, as you are now.”

You reached between you, working at the fastenings of his belt, the ties of his tunic, stripping him piece by piece as he had done for you. “You make promises easily tonight, Lord Stark,” you said, voice low and warm. “But you’ll find the women of Bear Island are not so easily tamed.”

His brow lifted slightly, the ghost of a grin returning. “I do not want to tame you.”

And it was true. You could see it in the way his eyes followed your hands, in the way he trembled slightly when you pushed his tunic off his shoulders and leaned in to kiss the hollow of his throat. You drew him down with you onto the bed, and he followed, bracing himself above you. His body was strong, broad-shouldered and scarred with battles long past, and yet he moved with the gentleness of a man who feared breaking something precious. He pressed kisses to your throat, your collarbone, the rise of your breasts, reverent and slow, as if each inch of you deserved worship.

When he sank into you at last, the world shifted. His breath caught against your skin, and you gasped softly, hands clutching at his shoulders. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt him shudder, felt the weight of everything he could not say in that moment. His pace was unhurried at first, deep and steady, as if he needed to feel every heartbeat, every breath between you.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, voice breaking with quiet intensity. “Like something I thought I’d never find again.”

You cupped his face, brushing his sweat-damp hair back from his brow. “Then let me give you more than a home,” you whispered. “Let me give you fire.”

You flipped him then, surprising him with your strength—Mormont strength, wild and unyielding. You straddled him, hair tumbling down over your shoulders, your palms firm against his chest. He stared up at you, eyes wide with something like reverence, something like surrender. You rolled your hips slowly, watching him unravel beneath you, the tension leaving his shoulders, his lips parting in a soft groan.

“You’re not the only one with vows to make, Stark,” you whispered, leaning close to him. “I will not be quiet, nor meek. I will fight beside you, bleed for you. I will bear your children, yes, but I will raise them to be wolves and bears, not caged birds.”

He reached up, cupping your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as if you were something sacred. “Then let them be wild,” he breathed. “Let them be like you.”

You rode him harder now, your rhythm fierce and unrelenting, and he held onto your hips, grounding himself in the feel of your body, your skin, your voice moaning his name. You were fire, and he was snow, and yet in this bed you melted into something molten. He surged up to meet you, his hands trailing to your thighs, your waist, your spine—everywhere he could touch, he did, as though trying to brand you into memory.

“I love you,” he gasped against your shoulder as he reached his peak, his voice breaking entirely. “I love you, gods forgive me, I never thought I’d feel this again.”

You kissed him then, fiercely, your body trembling atop his as your own release crashed through you. And when you finally collapsed beside him, wrapped in furs and each other, your skin damp and hearts pounding in tandem, he held you as if the whole world could fall away and it would not matter. His hand drifted to your belly, bare and flat now, but he kissed it gently, the promise of tomorrow on his lips.

“Sleep, little bear,” he whispered. “And when you wake, you’ll still be mine. And I—gods help me—I’ll be yours.”

[wakatoshiiss]

haikyuu boys when you're pregnant !

contains : t. kageyama, k. sugawara, t. oikawa, u. wakatoshi, m. atsumu // (all timeskip)

tags / warnings : fem reader (obvs), just little thoughts

notes : i started writing this with kageyama's in mind, so hopefully i executed this well. im rewatching haikyuu rn and im currently cringing as hinata sneaks his way into camp ugh. also im like posting a bunch meow

masterlist // requests are open

TOBIO KAGEYAMA -

when he finally understood what your surprise was, the worlds best dad! mug, he was over the moon excited. then worried. then absolutely freaked out. he asked too many times about how it would work with his schedule, and if you were going to be okay. he even offered taking a break from playing to help you.

the entire time, he was always checking up on you, either calling from hundreds of miles away, or keeping you in bed. he thought no different of you, didnt care that you honestly couldnt do anything by yourself, he loved taking care of you! he only thought of how cute you were with his child.

when the bump was completely evident now, he would play volleyball matches on his phone, and hold the speaker up to your tummy. he wanted his child to play volleyball, if they wanted to, of course. no matter if it was a boy or girl, he was gonna start training from before birth.

KOSHI SUGAWARA -

you straight up handed him the positive test, big eyes all teary and lip quivering. but honestly, he was so happy, he immediately dropped it and ran around the house. then he remembered you standing right there, then ran after you and literally threw you in the air.

he is a girl dad one thousand percent, so he wanted to know the gender as soon as possible. but no matter what, he was happy that you were the one who he had a family with. he made sure you never lifted a pinky, always scheduling your appointments, making food (yes even your odd cravings), and drove you around everywhere.

when hormones' kicked in, he tried his best to just shut up and sit down for you. he never wanted to upset you, but one time he did because he didnt cut your cucumbers a certain way. you were hysterical and unappetized, and he just stood there with a defeated face, knowing that the next two trimesters were going to be even better.

TORU OIKAWA -

he cried as well. harder than you actually, which made you freak out, which made him freak out. you two were in the bathroom crying out the 'im not ready to be a parent!'. but oikawa smacked himself in the face and held you close, trying to convince you everything was going to be okay.

he helped you when he could, but argentina was kicking his ass with camps and practice. so more often then not, hed come home completely worn out. but he still did the dishes, and prepped all your food. he more helped from a distance, and let you do what you needed.

he was dead set on having a boy in his mind, but when you two found out it was a girl, he was already shopping. showing you all the cute pinky clothes with bows and flowers. his mind definitely changed at that moment, knowing that his daughter would be just as beautiful has his mother (and him of course).

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI -

you two definitely had this planned, it was his job to carry down the bloodline. and he definitely wanted a boy to carry down his legacy. ushijima was a traditionalist, if anything. you tried to explain that you didnt need to be babied just because you had a baby, but he just shook his head and made you lay down for all almost ten months.

he cooked, cleaned, and online shopped so you could see the options too. the gender reveal was where he felt most nervous, he wanted a boy. i mean he would love them no matter what, but definitely a boy. and he felt like his prayers were answered when the ultrasound came back as a male. it was the one time he publicly celebrated anything.

so he made sure you ate nice and healthy for not only you, but him. he spent the entire last trimester baby proofing every crack of your home, softening the corners of any surface, and making sure there were no dangling cords for him to choke on. when you noticed the new child lock on the cabinets, all he did was put his hand on your stomach and kiss your head, telling you to not worry about anything other than your son.

ATSUMU MIYA -

blank face, no words, and no thought. didnt understand the two lines on the little white stick that had you jumping all over him while laughing. was honestly in denial, like that, 'we are actually having a baby? together? me and you? our kid?'. but when it clicked, he teared up and hugged you.

he immediately called osamu, making fun of how he was carrying the bloodline before he was. but in all seriousness, he was overjoyed. he was all about the publicity too, showing off his beautiful wife and her cute tummy that held his child. he tried his best to help out in the house, but was a lost cause when it came to cooking. so he ordered takeout ninety percent of the time.

definite massager, shoulders, back, feet even. he had no idea how much pain you were in, so all he could do was at least get rid of some of it. told you how pretty you were even though you had been in bed for a week and continuously growing in size, he also never saw anything different, just a better chance to give you as many compliments as he could at any given time.

----♡

[i-dared-myself]

Forgotten Promises

Requested by @lynni3x : have a request, my birthday is coming up in may(3rd), and i was wondering if you could do an angst where skz forget 9th readers birthday, and she doesnt celebrate it that much. Maybe they have a concert and stays decided to surprise reader with fan signs that say happy birthday, and stray kids feel guilty for forgetting since shes been giving them the silent treatment and she cries on stage(maybe her first time ceying on stage), but staff remembered so they bought her cake up on stage to celebrate:3

You wander downstairs, yawning. You rub at your eyes tiredly, settling on the couch. Chan reaches out to pat your shoulder, grinning widely.

You feel a flutter of excitement in your stomach. He’s about to wish you happy birthday.

After last year, when they realized that you had never really celebrated your birthday, Stray Kids had declared that they would give you the biggest party ever. You had grown very excited for whatever it was they had planned.

But he walks away to the kitchen, making himself breakfast.

You watch him go, slightly confused. Then you realize that he’s probably waiting for the rest of the group to wake up.

Yes, that’s what this is.

So you turn on the television and watch a show you had been binging, quickly losing your train of thoughts. Your birthday is forgotten as you become focused on the screen.

Minho taps your arm, drawing your attention away. You look up at him expectantly, feeling a thrill at the prospect of getting wished a happy birthday.

“Do you know where my water bottle is?” he asks, making you falter.

You blink in surprise. “Uh, have you checked the fridge yet?”

Minho walks over to the fridge, murmuring a good morning to Chan. He opens the fridge and holds up his bottle, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Thanks.”

You nod and unpause your show. They’re just waiting for the rest of the group to get up, so you shouldn’t get disappointed.

But then when the whole group is awake and bustling around the living space, you’re just staring at them all. They’re going to whip around at any moment to scream ‘Happy Birthday’ and you’re going to cry from joy.

Right now, however, you feel like you’re going to cry from hurt. 

You load into the van, everyone packed for the day. There’s a concert you’ll be giving tonight, which means you have to get to the location and prepare. 

You spend the car ride on your phone. You don’t have any messages from anyone, because your family doesn’t celebrate birthdays that much. So you pop your earbuds in and listen to music, drowning out the bustling group.

Jeongin pokes you. “Hi.”

You lower the volume of your music so you can hear him. “What’s up?”

“Is that your good shirt?” Jeongin looks down at it, rubbing the material between two fingers.

“Yeah, it is,” you respond, your voice cracking at the end. He remembered your favourite shirt, but not your birthday?

But again, it’s not like it’s important to anyone but you. Even though they promised to make this birthday special.

“Why are you wearing it?” Jeongin frowns at you. “You know they’ll change you into your concert clothes anyways.”

You fidget with your sleeve. “I dunno. Just… felt like it.”

Changbin clears his throat. “The staff mentioned something about the mid-concert event. Does anyone remember what that was supposed to be?”

“The skits, remember?” Jisung stretches out, accidentally elbowing Seungmin.

“Watch it!” Seungmin snaps, shoving Jisung. Jisung sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

The van arrives at the venue and everyone piles out, going out to see how big the stage is. You go a separate direction than the others, not wanting to be near them at the moment. You feel like it’s pathetic to be sad about this, but still…

They promised.

Felix jogs over, beaming in joy. “I saw your stage outfit! It looks really cool!”

You force a weak smile. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Felix nods enthusiastically, bouncing. It looks like he’s hyper today. “Even more than usual! I think the stylists were in a good mood.”

When you dress in the outfit, you can’t help but feel pretty. The dress is modest enough that you feel comfortable in it, but it flows and is glittery. It feels ridiculous to be excited about; but then the stylists attach fake gems to your hair.

“It’s a shame you have to work today,” one of the makeup artists remarks to you. They dust a trail of glitter over your cheekbones. “But we’ll make it up to you.”

“Wow,” Hyunjin says as he walks past you. “They really put a lot of effort in today. You look good.”

You duck your head shyly. “Ah, thanks.”

Jeongin dashes over, grinning widely. “Look! Look!” He motions to the way his hair has been styled. “Isn’t it cool?”

Hyunjin makes a sound of amazement, studying it carefully. “Wow, that’s impressive. I like the angle the part is at.”

“Doesn’t she look great today?” The makeup artist sticks their head in, smiling at you. “It’s unfortunate you have the concert today.”

“What?” Hyunjin asks as they leave. “Why today?”

“I think it’s because the weather is so good,” Jeongin remarks. “Who wants to work when it’s this warm?”

You slink off to the stage again, sitting with your legs hanging off the stage. The crowd is beginning to fill and you can hear cheers and shouts already.

“Over here!” Chan yells, waving his arms. You perk up and hurry over to him, following him backstage again.

“What is it?” you wonder, resisting the urge to spin and see how your skirts form a circle. You really like this dress.

“Just wanted to check on you before the performance.” Chan smiles, dimples forming. “You’ve seemed off today. Is everything okay?”

Well if he hasn’t figured it out by now, you aren’t about to tell him.

You could go another year without a birthday. Even if you want to cry.

When the concert actually starts, and the group makes their entrance, the audience roars. Especially when you step out, for some reason. There are signs waving and shaking, and you can see light sticks shining brightly.

Jisung lifts the microphone up to his lips to read a sign aloud. “Happy birthday… Ah, Stay, you’re so funny! It’s no one’s birthday!”

And it feels like a punch to the gut. They really did forget. 

“There’s another one here!” Minho says, pointing to another sign. Then another. And another.

It’s as if the crowd is holding its breath. Waiting for the realization. A lot of the signs have your name sprawled across them, and Seungmin’s eyes land on one of them.

“And…” His voice trails off and he winces. “Oh.”

Chan looks over to you in horror, eyes wide. He seems alarmed. “It’s…”

A cake rises up from a platform, coming from inside the stage somewhere. You watch it, tears brimming at your eyes. Your name is written on it, big and bold.

Felix covers his mouth, watching on in a mix of dismay and sadness. You see him say something, but it’s too loud to actually hear him. 

“Thank you,” you say with a shaking voice, speaking into the microphone. “Thank you, Stay, for coming here for my birthday, and thank you, staff, for the cake.”

“It’s your birthday,” Changbin says in a daze. “And we- We didn’t.”

You smile, looking to the crowd. “Thank you. It- It means a lot.”

Minho wipes one of your tears away, flicking it away. He doesn’t say anything, merely standing off to the side.

There’s no time for apologies or insults. The music begins for the first song, and everyone throws themselves into it. You feel a bit lighter now, because at least someone remembered.

But why wasn’t it your group? They had promised, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re sorry,” Chan exclaims as he trails after you. “We didn’t mean to forget, but-“

“But you did!” you sharply say. You wipe some more tears away, taking a deep breath. “You forgot. You all forgot, even though you promised to celebrate my birthday with me!”

Hyunjin hangs his head. “We did promise, but…”

“There’s no excuse,” Minho sharply cuts in. “We forgot. We’re terrible people.”

“Don’t say that,” you weakly respond, shaking your head. “I- I’m just mad. I don’t wish you dead or anything.”

“Give us two hours,” Jeongin randomly says. His expression is firm, as if he’s truly dedicated to a cause now. “In two hours, we’ll give you the celebration you deserve.”

“You- You guys don’t have to,” you whisper, because there’s no way they can get anything done in two hours. It would just disappoint you again, and you’ve had enough heartbreak for one day.

“No, we’ve got this,” Seungmin confidently declares. “Just watch us.”

“You’re already dressed for it.” Changbin waves a hand at your concert clothes. “We’ll dress fancy and everything. Just let us make this up to you, okay?”

“Please?” Felix adds. “We’ll make it unforgettable!”

“Fine,” you relent. You sigh heavily and adjust the hem of your dress. “You have two hours.”

“Wait in your room until we’re done!” Jisung shouts before sprinting away. 

So you relax in your room, excited for whatever it is they have planned now. You were planning to stay mad at them, but that quickly went out the window.

Jeongin knocks on your door before you know it, a tie knotted at his neck. “We’re ready! Come on!”

You step down the stairs carefully, aware of your high heels. It would be an even worse birthday if you fell and broke all your bones.

They’re all (Except Hyunjin) standing at the base of stairs with party hats at lopsided angles. Felix tosses confetti in the air, and a piece immediately lands in Seungmin’s eye.

“Happy birthday!” they all scream in unison. Even Seungmin, who is still fighting to remove the foreign object from his eyeball.

You bounce in joy, clapping your hands together. “This is great!”

Minho narrows his eyes at you. “We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.”

You still. “Oh. Well get to it!”

Changbin places a massive gift in front of you. The wrapped package reaches your head, and you can’t wait to open it.

“It’s for me?” you ask, double checking for some reason.

Chan ruffles your hair affectionately. “All for you. Go ahead.”

You rip into it, throwing the pieces behind you somewhere. Felix rushes around cleaning them up, putting them into a bag that Jeongin is carrying.

There’s a massive cake inside, covered in bright frosting with your name sprawled across the top. You gape at it before whipping around to the group. “How did you get this in two hours?”

Jisung presses something on his phone, and music starts playing. But it’s not the happy birthday song.

It’s… rave music?

“What?” You frown in confusion before the top of the cake fucking comes off.

Hyunjin’s head pops out, quickly followed by his torso as he stands to his full height. “Surprise!”

Then he dabs.

“First of all, wow,” you say in amazement. “Second of all, ew. Why did you dab?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I just did. Now eat the cake so I can get out.”

It takes quite a long time to free him from his dessert prison, but you eventually complete your delicious task.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @iwuberic @strawberryscentedd @lezleeferguson-120 @mbioooo0000