#takes one of the angsty prompts and turns it into fluff? more likely than you think!

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi, Sorry for bothering you but I just read your stories, and they are wonderful. Do you mind me asking if you post these on any of the reading websites? Like Archive or Wattpad. Also I have a prompt for you if you would mind to please write a story on this at your convenience. Its Max with his daughter Eloise (I just created this name here) and well if you could write angst, anything like but a bit angsty. If you cant then no problems at all. I have a fluff one as well, Lando being a young father hiding his daughter till his first win in 2024. He got his daughter at an young age like in 2020. And he is a single father.

I hope you didnt offend by any of my words, and if I did I am sorry. It was unintentional. Hope you have a nice day. ✨

Lando's daughter?!

Lando never thought his life would change so drastically at twenty-one. One day, he was a rising star in Formula 1—barely an adult, living his dream, and surrounded by fans who hung on to his every word. The next, he was holding a squirming, pink-faced newborn in his arms, her tiny fingers curled around one of his. His daughter. Yn.

He still remembered the weight of that moment. The sheer panic flooding his veins when he first read the letter the mother left behind, explaining that she couldn't do it. Couldn't raise their child. She hadn't even wanted to meet his eyes when she handed him the baby carrier. And then she was gone, leaving him with a helpless infant and a heart full of confusion.

At first, Lando doubted himself. How could he, a twenty-one-year-old who could barely keep houseplants alive, take care of a baby? His career demanded everything from him. He had no time for diaper changes, midnight feedings, or learning how to soothe a crying baby. But then he looked down at her. Yn. With her soft, dark curls and big, curious eyes. And in that instant, his hesitation melted away.

He was her dad. She was his world. There was no turning back.

The first year was chaos. Sleep deprivation became his new normal. His apartment was overrun with baby supplies. His friends barely recognized the version of Lando who spent more time researching baby formulas than playing video games. But none of that mattered when Yn gave him her first smile, or when she clung to him like he was the safest place in the world.

Only a select few knew about her. His family, of course. His best friend Max Fewtrell, who had been there since day one with jokes, support, and emergency diaper runs. His team at McLaren, who adjusted travel schedules and provided quiet rooms for Yn during race weekends when necessary. And then there was Dolores.

Dolores had been an unexpected blessing. She lived across the hall, a warm-hearted Colombian woman in her sixties with a booming laugh and a soft spot for babies. The first time she found Lando on his doorstep, frantically bouncing a wailing Yn at six in the morning, she took charge without hesitation. “Ay, mijo, give her here,” she'd said, scooping Yn into her arms with the confidence of someone who had raised three children herself. “You need to sleep before you pass out. I’ll take care of her.”

From that night on, Dolores became Yn’s second family. When Lando had to travel for races, Yn stayed with her. She taught Yn Spanish nursery rhymes, cooked meals that filled Lando's apartment with mouth-watering aromas, and spoiled Yn with the kind of love only a grandmother could provide. Yn adored her.

And through it all, Lando kept his daughter a secret from the public. He didn’t want her life overshadowed by his fame. Yn deserved a childhood untouched by paparazzi or invasive fans.

Which was why, four years later, no one batted an eye when Dolores and a bright-eyed little girl took their seats in McLaren's VIP section during the Miami Grand Prix.

Yn's curly brown hair was pulled into two lopsided pigtails, and her big, curious eyes scanned the bustling scene below. She swung her legs back and forth, the tiny McLaren hoodie she wore swallowing her frame.

"Dolores! Did you see Daddy's car?" Yn gasped, her voice bubbling with excitement. "It's so fast today!"

Dolores chuckled softly beside her, her wrinkled hands folding neatly in her lap. "Of course, mija. Your daddy is very fast. But today, I think he is also a little bit magic, no?"

Yn giggled, leaning against the older woman. She loved Dolores like a grandmother. The warm smell of her lavender lotion always made Yn feel safe, even when Daddy was away.

"He's gonna win," Yn declared confidently. "I just know it."

"I hope so, mi corazón," Dolores said, brushing a stray curl from Yn's forehead. "He works very hard. And I know he wants to make you proud."

Yn nodded vigorously, as if there was no question at all. To her, Lando was already the best. He gave the best hugs, made the silliest pancake faces, and always kissed her forehead before bed, even when he was tired. Winning a race? That was just another thing he could do.

A few rows away, Max Fewtrell leaned casually against the railing, his sunglasses shielding his eyes as he scanned the crowd. He was there to support Lando, of course, but also to keep an eye on Yn and Dolores. It wasn’t that he thought they needed babysitting — Yn was a handful, sure, but Dolores had handled far worse in her years — but Lando had made one thing clear: protect his daughter. Always.

The world didn’t know about Yn. Not really. To the public, Lando was the cheeky, carefree McLaren driver who loved gaming and laughing with his friends. No one knew about the nights he stayed up with a teething baby or the mornings he tiptoed through his apartment to avoid waking Yn before breakfast. And that was how he wanted it.

She deserved normal. And as long as Lando had a say, she would get it.

The race was a blur. Yn squealed and cheered every time she caught a glimpse of the papaya-colored car speeding down the straights. Her tiny fingers clutched a homemade sign that said "Go Daddy Go!" in wobbly, marker-scrawled letters.

When the checkered flag waved and Lando crossed the line first, the entire McLaren garage erupted into chaos. Mechanics cheered, hugging each other as the engineers pounded their fists against the monitors. Dolores clapped softly, a proud smile spreading across her face.

Yn, however, had no such composure.

"He won!" she shrieked, jumping up and down. "Dolores, he did it! Daddy won!"

Dolores laughed as Yn pulled at her hand. "Sí, sí, mija. Calm down or you will fly away."

Yn didn't care. Her heart pounded with joy. She wanted to see him — needed to see him. Daddy always told her winning was special, but it wasn’t everything. But to her, this moment felt like everything.

Lando stood on the top step of the podium, heart hammering in his chest as the British national anthem blared around him. The weight of the winner's trophy felt surreal in his hands. He’d dreamed of this day for years.

But only one thought consumed his mind.

Yn.

As soon as the celebrations wrapped up, he bolted from the podium. He barely registered the cheers from the crowd or the flashes of cameras. His legs burned, but he didn’t stop. He needed to get to her.

The McLaren VIP section was quiet compared to the chaos outside, but when Lando pushed open the door, Yn was already rushing toward him.

"Daddy!"

The sound of her voice hit him like a lightning bolt. He dropped to his knees just in time for Yn to throw herself into his arms. She clung to him tightly, her little face buried against his neck.

"You did it! You won!" Yn said, her voice muffled but filled with pride.

Lando squeezed her tighter, pressing kisses to her temple. "I did, baby. I did it for you."

Dolores, watching the reunion with quiet warmth, stood back respectfully. She had known from the moment Lando took his daughter into his arms for the first time that this boy — no matter how young or unprepared he might have been — was meant to be a father.

Lando pulled back just enough to cup Yn's face in his hands. "Did you watch the whole race?"

Yn nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Every lap. You were so fast!"

His heart melted. "I wanted to make you proud."

"I am proud," Yn whispered. "Always."

He laughed softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "I love you so much, you know that?"

"I love you too, Daddy."

For a moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist. It was just the two of them, and the love that bound them together.

But outside the VIP section, murmurs began to ripple through the paddock.

"Did that kid just call him Daddy?"

"Wait, does Lando have a kid?"

"Since when?"

Lando didn’t care. He had spent four years protecting Yn from the spotlight. He wasn’t about to let a few rumors take away the joy of this moment.

Max slipped into the room, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Told you she'd be your lucky charm."

Yn turned in Lando's arms, spotting Max. "Uncle Max! Did you see? Daddy won!"

Max laughed, crouching down to their level. "I saw, mini. You must be magic or something."

Yn giggled, and Lando shook his head fondly. "Thanks for keeping an eye on them," he murmured.

"Always," Max said quietly. "But hey, maybe next time warn me when you're about to blow your own cover."

Lando snorted, standing up with Yn still perched on his hip. "It was worth it."

And as Yn snuggled against his shoulder, her soft breath warm against his neck, Lando knew with every fiber of his being that no trophy would ever mean more than being her dad.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoy this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💙🦋

[always-just-red]

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, okay? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d’you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, okay?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you okay?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, okay? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.  

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, okay?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

[zepskies]

Hey could I request angsty and fluffy headcanons for Dean having a crush on reader but he thinks she has a crush on Sam but she actually has a crush on Dean back

Hey lovely!

So I kiiiind of already did this type of prompt with "Dean gives you an impossible choice" and its sequel, "Choosing Him."

But I'll do another imagine in this vein for you! ❤️

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst(ish), fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Dean reads you wrong.

When Dean falls for someone, it's "slow and steady wins the race."

But the spark. That spark is instant.

He feels it with you.

Your pretty smile. Your "get it done" attitude that mirrors his. The way you know all of his references, whether it's movies or TV or music — you grew up learning how to tell time from what was on TV, just like him.

It's the way you laugh with him, share quiet moments of contemplation with him, and even moments of grief with him. Even when it's his grief, you always come. Whether it's to sit beside him, or share a drink with him, or make him something you know he likes, or get him to take a drive with you.

But realistically, you have more in common with Sam.

Both of you are bookish (nerds). You two get into heated discussions about Dante's Inferno and proper Latin translations. (You always accuse Sam of his pronunciations being off, while Sam argues, "At least I remember the whole exorcism. You think the damn demon cares if my vowels are off?")

You and Sam bicker. You playfully tease him, bring smiles to his face just as often as you bring them to Dean's. You're comfortable with him, playfully jabbing his arm or his chest when you mess with him.

Sam takes it with a smile, or a slight roll of his eyes, but always with fondness.

Dean can't help the churning in his stomach. Every time he thinks he has a read on you. Every time he thinks it's safe to maybe, one day, after a hunt, after an episode of Dr. Sexy, after you get out of the shower, after he's made you a home-cooked meal, after you sit with him and talk about everything and nothing while he works on his car — he thinks he might have a shot if he asked you out.

But he always falters, because he just can't fucking tell. He thinks you and Sam have something.

And Dean...he likes you. A lot.

More than he's ever willingly expressed.

But despite his reputation with women, he's never, and will never, step on his brother's toes.

Until he can't help himself.

It's your birthday. Sam got you a series of books he recommended to you last month. (Again, fucking nerds.) Dean got the booze and made the food to celebrate.

But you're surprised, and even a little teary when he brings out the cake he bought at an honest-to-God bakery. He even stood in line, waited 30 minutes to have them write your name on it, with little balloons. The frosting letters are drawn in your favorite color.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart," Dean tells you. His tone is a little too soft. It's because he sees your unshed tears, and his heart clenches.

It's just a fucking cake.

Does it really matter that much to you?

But he still feels a well of warmth and pride in his chest. He turns to his brother with a smirk. "I win."

It's meant to be playful, but he kind of means it. Sam just eyes him knowingly.

"Sure," Sam laughs.

What the hell does that mean? Dean nearly frowns. But he's soon distracted — by you leaning in close to kiss him on the cheek.

He turns just in time (with slightly wider eyes) to see you blush.

That smile tells him something.

"Thanks, guys," you say to both of them. But your hand lingers on Dean's wrist, squeezing a bit.

At the end of the night, Sam turns in early. You stick around to help Dean clean up.

"Aw, stop. You're the birthday girl. I got this," Dean says, waving you off. You join him at the kitchen counter and lay a hand on his arm.

"Dean," you say softly. It earns his attention. You look a little nervous, your eyes falling from his, then meeting them again.

"What's the matter?" he asks. His brows furrow. He's thinking of your lips on his cheek. Unconsciously he glances down at your pretty mouth.

"Was wondering if you could help me with a birthday wish," you said.

A smile begins to tug at your lips, and Dean can't help but smile back. Intrigue, and a small tremor of something triggers up his spine.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" he asks.

You bite your lip. "Okay...I'm going to ask you this once. Yes or no. And if it's no...then we won't talk about it ever again and you'll have to wipe it out of your memory, because I don't want to make things weird or make you uncomfortable and I don't want to have to do something drastic, like leave the Bunker—"

Dean's smile falls as his brows raise in slight alarm. He also raises placating hands to stop your verbal flapping.

"Whoa, hey. What? What the hell kinda birthday question is this?"

You close your eyes and take a breath. "Okay."

Your eyes open, and as what happens far too often, Dean's captured by them.

"Close your eyes for me," you request.

"My eyes need to be closed to answer a damn question?"

"Damn it, Dean. Just do it, please!"

He lets out a slightly peeved breath, but he obliges you, shutting his lids. He really doesn't know what the hell is going on...until you lay a bracing hand on his chest and press a soft kiss to his lips.

For a moment, he freezes.

He inhales deeply through his nose as the surprise fades.

Relief floods in its wake.

A smile reaches his face.

But soon enough, before you can pull away, he grasps your upper arms to hold you in place. He dips his head down to kiss you in earnest. His lips find yours, gentle at first, and then gaining in passion.

He learns quickly the pattern of your lips, and the heady feeling of that knowing travels straight to his brain, stronger than the whiskey he drank earlier.

It's like you two were made to move together. To end up just like this.

You both are breathless by the time your eyes slide open and meet one another.

Dean's lips curve into a smirk. "How's that answer for ya?"

Your smile is beaming bright.

"Yeah, that works."

Chuckling, he pulls you in closer and tugs a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your blush-warmed cheek.

And he answers you again.

AN: Ugh, I'm sappy as hell. 😂 Hope you liked this! Let me know what you think. 😉

Read Sam’s version: “Sam reads you wrong.”

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[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers! Please can I request some angsty fluff with Fox and a female reader with this prompt - 24: “Who hurt you?”

Maybe reader got attacked and he found her and tends to her wounds which leads to some feelings being shared? Thanks if you do 😊 I love your work

Medical Feelings 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 1.8k

prompts:

• “Who hurt you?”

Plot: After a risky mission that left you injured, Commander Fox helps nurse you back to health.

Warnings: Safe for work, hurt whump, idiots in love, Reader scared of droids momentarily, needle mention, slightly injured reader, minor blood mention.

Authors note: Sorry for the wait 🩵

“How are you holding up?”

You blink, trying to focus as the voice cuts through the haze in your head. But your vision blurs and swims, the light above stabbing behind your eyes like a viroblade.

“Like someone who’s been hit in the head,” you groan, wincing as you sit up on the medbay cot. The room tilts for a moment and you feel like you may be sick but luckily it settles, and your eyes finally set on the figure perched nearby. Thire.

The mission hadn’t gone as planned. What should have been a straightforward retrieval of intel left you caught in the crossfire. You weren’t a soldier so when the fighting started, you’d been forced to rely on pure luck and very minimal training. Clearly, neither had been enough.

Your memory of the incident was weak as all you could recall was a sharp pain to your head followed by the sight of clankers looming over you before everything went dark.

“You took quite a hit,” Thire says, his voice lighter than the situation warrants as he pulls up a stool to sit beside you.

“I noticed,” you mutter, rubbing gingerly at your temple that felt sticky and as you pull your hand back, a splodge of blood painted your fingertips. A dull ache radiates from where the blow landed, and your entire body feels stiff and battered.

Recovery is going to take a while.

“You know the Commander’s going to want to see you.”

The comment makes you freeze for a beat before you force a painful shrug, hoping to look unaffected. “He’s busy. I doubt he even noticed.”

Thire snickers. “Not too busy for his favourite girl.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting letting him sit down. “Oh don’t start with all that.”

But Thire doesn’t let up, grinning like a loth-cat who’s cornered its prey. “Come on. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. If Fox stares any harder, his visor’s going to fog up.”

“Shut up, Thire,” you grumble, though a reluctant chuckle escapes before you can stop it. The movement makes your ribs ache, and you hiss softly in pain. “And no, I haven’t seen the way he looks at me. It's you lot putting that notion in my head.”

Instantly, Thire’s grin fades, replaced by concern as he notices your pain. “Should I call a med droid?”

“No!” you blurt, a little too quickly. Thire raises a brow, clearly catching on.

“Not a fan of droids, huh?”

You cross your arms, or at least try to; the motion is stiff and awkward. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—”

“Who hurt you?”

The sudden voice freezes you mid-sentence. Both you and Thire turn toward the door at the same time, and your heart stops.

Commander Fox. The visor of his helmet glints under the overhead lights as he strides toward you, exuding that no-nonsense authority he’s known for.

Thire shoots you a smug, told-you-so glance before rising to his feet. “This one took a blow to the head, sir. She has a possible concussion.”

Fox’s attention shifts to the datapad in Thire’s hand. “Why wasn’t this reported to me immediately?”

“I figured you had more pressing matters,” Thire replies smoothly, clearly unfazed by the irritation in Fox’s tone.

Fox huffs, the sound sharp and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder. His gaze snaps back to the datapad, scanning the details. “And why hasn’t a med droid been dispatched?”

You groan, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m right here, you know. Maybe someone could ask me what I want instead of talking like I’m invisible.”

Both men turn toward you at the same time. Thire’s expression is sheepish, though it doesn’t quite mask the amusement in his eyes. Fox, however, is unreadable as always, his emotions hidden behind the stoic facade of his helmet.

Thire clears his throat, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, leave you with the Commander.” He’s gone before you can protest, disappearing through the door with a suspiciously quick pace.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. Fox stands rigidly near the cot, his arms folded across his chest. You can hear the faint tap of his boot against the durasteel floor as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, regretting it immediately when the movement sends another sharp ache down your spine. “I’ve been better.”

His head tilts slightly, a gesture that might be concern. “You should’ve reported your injuries sooner.”

“You think I wanted to end up in here?” you counter, the bite in your voice softened by exhaustion.

Fox doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his broad frame almost casting a shadow over you. For a moment, you think he might argue. But his next words surprise you.

“You’re lucky,” he says almost quietly. “It could’ve been worse.”

There’s something in his tone—a rare softness that catches you off guard, even if it is for a moment. You both seem to snap out of whatever the hold that ensnared you both and you close your eyes, leaning back with a soft agreement of his words.

Fox pauses for a moment, then steps away. You crack one eye open, expecting him to be halfway out the door, but to your surprise, he returns moments later with a medical droid trailing behind.

You suddenly sit up straighter, tension rippling through you as the AZI droid glides closer, a stim injector held in one of its arms.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a droid to see me,” you declare quickly, glancing between the droid and Fox with what you hope is a convincing look of confidence. But Fox is already standing there, arms crossed, and his helmet tilts slightly in a way that screams ‘you’re not fine’.

“The patient requires an injection to reduce inflammation and prevent complications,” the droid announces, already grating on your nerves.

Your heart skips as the droid raises the injector, the gleam of the stim making your stomach twist. You instinctively lean back, trying to put more space between you and the advancing machine.

“No. I don’t want it,” you snap, panic slipping into your voice despite your best efforts.

Fox’s gaze shifts to you, then to the droid. He holds up a hand, “Stop.”

The droid halts mid-motion. “Commander, the patient requires—”

“I’ll handle it,” Fox says firmly.

Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward and plucks the stim from the droid’s arm.

“What are you doing?” you ask apprehensively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead inspecting the stim injector with almost practiced ease. “You need this,” he says finally, his tone calm but resolute under the modulator. “If you don’t want the droid to do it, I will.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you as he pulls a stool closer and sits beside the cot. He’s quiet, efficient, and unbothered by your flustered state as he rolls up the sleeve of your tunic. His gloved fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the injection.

“This will only take a second,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “Just relax.”

You nod stiffly, your pulse racing as he steadies your arm. The sharp pinch of the needle is over in a heartbeat, but the warmth of his proximity lingers far longer.

“There. All done.”

You exhale, tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended.

But Fox doesn’t get up. Instead, his gaze shifts to your temple, where the bruising from the blow to your head.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You look at him, eyes wide. “It’s fine—”

“Sit up,” he interrupts, standing and motioning for you to move to the edge of the cot.

Reluctantly, you scoot forward, your legs dangling over the side as he steps closer.

Much closer.

He stands between your knees, his hands are surprisingly gentle as they cradle your face, tilting it slightly so he can get a better look at your wound.

The proximity makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly you’re begging he can’t hear it. His touch is careful, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as he examines the cut near your temple.

“This should’ve been cleaned properly,” he mutters under his breath “You clones are always too stubborn for your own good.”

“But i’m not a clone,” you mumble, your voice embarrassingly shaky even though his comment amused you.

“No,” he replies, glancing down at you for a moment. “But you’re just as stubborn.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat when he dips his head slightly, focusing on your injury with laser precision behind his visor. His presence is overwhelming, the sharp, clean scent of his armour mixing with something distinctly him.

“This might sting,” he warns, holding up a sterilising wipe.

You barely register the faint sting as he cleans the wound, too distracted by the way his hands move so deliberately, so gently. His thumbs brush against your skin again, steadying your head as he works, and you find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to.

“There,” he says after a moment, stepping back just enough to toss the used wipe onto the nearby tray. His hands linger on your jaw for a second longer before he finally lets go. “That should help.”

You glance up at him, your cheeks warm, and manage a small, “Thanks.”

He straightens, his imposing frame still far too close. “You need rest,” he says firmly, though his voice is softer than before. “No arguments.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Got it. Rest. Sure.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the charged silence stretching between you.

For a moment, you don’t think about your actions. Perhaps it was the blow to your head that made you act in a certain way. As he was about to turn and leave, you reach out and grasp his wrist.

He looks back, his helmet adorably titling to the side as you gesture him to come back by pulling his arm. And he does.

“Thank you, Commander. You’ve… you have always been kind to me.”

Then, you lean up and rest your forehead to his, eyes closed. His visor made it a little difficult but you heard his shallow gasp pop through his modulator.

But, he doesn’t move back. He lets it happen and only moves when you finally break away, a soft and nervous smile on your lips.

“Thank you.”

“G-Get some rest.” Then, with a curt nod, Fox finally steps back, his presence still lingering long after he’s gone.

And as you lie back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, you can’t decide what’s more distracting: the ache in your head or the memory of his hands on your skin.

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[n0tamused]

Welt nerding out about his little special interests and his tv show he likes and whatnot... Dr.Ratio going on and on about all his bath soaps and bath salts and whatever he has... Sunday snuggles and sleeping after a long and heavy day of work....

A/n: Sorry for taking so long pookie I hope you like these little imagines :( <3 mwah, ty for requesting <3

Contents: gn reader, separate drabbles for Sunday, Dr. Ratio and Welt, a bit angsty in Sunday's part, fluff otherwise

Gloved fingers held around the black stylus pen as it glided over the digital screen in a few precise strokes. The character on screen is becoming more and more alive, and looking over his shoulder you can see the several other frames that lay finished, resembling only the start of this little project you managed to convince Welt to partake in. 

“I take it you like it, right?” you ask, tiptoeing playfully around the direct question, prompting the man to laugh heartily, mirth seeping into the crinkles in his face. Leaning back in the chair he takes a small break from the lineart, adjusting his glasses before he look up at you where you stood at his side. 

“You’re spoiling me, you know?” he begins, his eyes mellow with a childlike wonder and joy that isn’t too often seen on his person these days. “Yes, I do like it, a lot. This tablet is even more advanced than the ones I was used to using back in my day. I mean, it holds so many functions, and the program itself has many great features to assist with the process - whether it be just one piece of art or a whole animation” His eyes gleam as he looks back at the screen, his eyes flickering over the corners of the canvas, the little icons and frames and the low opacity sketch of the animation.  

“That is a relief, and I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying it so much. You do deserve it, Mr. Yang” cooing at him softly you pat his shoulder and give him a light squeeze before taking note of what’s on screen. It’s a simple set of characters, and in a more cartoonish style - chibis, is what you heard them call this style. But the characters are oddly familiar to the crew itself.

“Huh..? Is that.. us?”

“Yes… Since this gift was from you, and also the crew has left its mark on this old heart, I thought that my first project on the tablet should be something special too.. Uh, wait..” He fumbles a bit with the frames and animation, brief images flickering of different character - Dan Heng surrounded with books, March 7th’s chibi showing a worried face as she stands next to a pot of Himeko’s coffee and Himeko looking pleased as she drinks from her mug, and there’s PomPom next to the Express, but what  gets your attention is the chibi version of yourself at the very start of the frame set. You’re sitting at a round table with a few chubby stars above you.

“Starting with you, I am first making an introduction to each character..”

“But where are you?”

“Hm?”

“I saw everyone in these, but not yourself? This crew is incomplete without you, Welt.. You should put us together in one frame. I mean, we can be drinking tea at the table together, right?"

Welt looks at you, then at the frame, noting the vacant left side of the big table. 

“You’re right…”

“Sunday..” sleepy mutters fall from your lips as you push yourself to sit on the big bed, the covers pooling at your hips. Your hand is lifted up to shield your eyes from the golden light that spilled from the hall. 

“Apologies... I'll turn the light off now.." comes a reply from the figure shrouded in darkness, but by silhouette alone you could tell him apart from another. His wings droop underneath his ears, showing that even the lightest parts of him felt the heaviness of today’s work. He swiftly but quietly slips into the hallway to turn the lights off, before his footsteps mark his return to the bedroom. Now you can only listen to him shuffle about, the heavy breathing making your heart throb from concern, but you know asking him about it wouldn’t grant you an answer.

So you wait until he lifts the bedsheets and until his palm searches for you across the vast expanse of the mattress. Taking his hand in yours you lead him to where you are, laying on your back and feeling the bed dip and move underneath you until Sunday has settled himself with his head on your chest. Sighing the biggest breath you heard from him so far, you tighten your hold on him, arms circling around his shoulders.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he had you both sinking further into the bed, desperate to feel your warmth, hear your peace and feel it rub off on him too. “I missed you…” he confessed, leaving a chaste kiss on your collarbone before his ear pressed above your heart, listening to the trapped drumming within. 

“I missed you too..” you reply, combing your fingers through his hair, feeling the wings around his waist stretch out for arguably the first time today, one wing shorter than the other, feathers cut halfway. 

“Rest now..” you prompt, kissing the top of his head and he hums into you, wanting nothing more than to dream of you and freedom with you.

"I told you to be a little more careful with which shampoos you purchased.." you heard him say when you pointed out how a particular shampoo on the shelf made your hair damaged the last time you used it. You sighed, in agreement with him, but as he plucked the bottle from the shelf you looked over the other products on the shelves, taking a hair mask container and putting it in your cart.

“See, this is why this shampoo didn’t sit well with you” Veritas says, looking over the ingredient list after catching sight of the logo of the producer, a sneer already on his face as he never had good experiences with this company’s products. 

You look over at him, holding onto the shopping cart with one hand as you peer at the bottle in his hand. “Oh, yeah- that one did have my hair feeling like hay.. ugh” you frown a little but as Veritas looks further down the ingredients list, you let your eyes wander over the shelves in search for a possible alternative - one that won’t leave your hair feeling dry and ready to snap. 

“Hmm…” Veritas looks up, his coral eyes looking over at you after he had returned the bottle onto the shelf. “Let me see..” he muttered, already reaching out to grasp a lock of your hair in between his fingers, twirling it for a moment before thinking hard about it. Then his eyes return to the vast selection of shampoos, reaching for a green bottle on a higher shelf. “Ah, this one would go well for your hair type. And it will regenerate whatever damage that other bottle left you with”

“Oh, let me smell it-” you whisper with soft excitement, forcing a huffed chuckle from Veritas as it seemed you cared more about the smell than what the shampoo actually had to offer. He shakes his head as he pops the lid open and brings it to your nose. 

“Does it smell good enough for you?” he asked, teasing laced in his words, but despite that he brought the bottle to his nose as well to inhale the light green apple smell. He relishes in the scent, imagining the way our hair would smell the same if you purchased this. 

“Ohh.. oh definitely, it smells so good. Give it here” you smile up at him and take the bottle to put in the cart. “I should ask you more often on this guru advice, Veritas, you’re more help than I gave you credit for” you playfully jab at him as you walk a few steps forward, looking at another section where bath salts and bath bombs lay. “Oh! Look at this!” you gleam as you pluck a round bath bomb colored blue. 

“Lavender?” Veritas asked as he came up next to you, choosing to ignore your initial jab. 

“Yeah. Lavender suits you, and it is a relaxing scent over all. Didn’t you run out of those bath salts too? We should get some new ones” you throw the bath bomb into the cart before he can reject it, but you make space for him to look over the other products, smiling up at him coyly as he gives you a daring look, yet you knew he meant no malice, he was being playful. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[pilotingdreammsss]

hello!! was wondering if you could do a Black Forest cookie or red velvet cookie x witch!player, possibly? Like, the player being the size of a human

Was thinking of it being going from what the cookies think is them being sacrificed to "the gods", but then start receiving affection from the player :3 both of them deserve many head kisses and to be held gentle like hamburger,,,

Like,, angsty, scared, turned to fluff, if that makes sense!

If you aren't comfortable writing that, i understand!! :0

Bwaah!! Of course of course! Nothing uncomfortable here, you're all good!

I love writing for Black Forest Cookie! Strange woman she is... I wrote short little snippets for both, if you don't mind...

I went down the more... unwilling sacrifice route with Red Velv but it still follows your prompt,, mostly ^^;

Sweet sacrifice.

Warnings: None really- mild angst turned to fluff.

Premise: A 'sacrifice' to the witches - after the other cookies of darkness fled, Red Velvet stayed behind to aid some cake hounds that had been lead astray. He did not expect the witches to be so.. loving?

Premise 2: Sacrificial bride... it's what she's always wanted! Oh, it's... it comes with an extra bout of witch affection?

Reader is gender neutral. No appearance described, though they are human. Like the witches.

He had not thought so clearly.

Snooping around witch quarters wasn't the brightest of ideas, but to aid his peers, and to further his own interests, Red Velvet Cookie engaged with the idea.

The twists and turns, however, and your sudden emergence had left him increasingly vulnerable. You, taller than any cookie or dragon in existence. More powerful, too, able to shift the very ground he stood on. Anything he throws at you seems increasingly pathetic.

And so, downed and lacking aid, it's hard for him to admit, he almost conceded. He had fight in him, sure, but such a large being could crumble him, turn him into particles in the wind. Where were his friends? They had been here a while ago, he'd called out to them not so long ago...

He'd shuffle, frantic in movement, under what he thought was your unrelenting, angry gaze.

He couldn't actually see your eyes, actually, but being so frantic, he could only assume. You found this panick-y nature rather amusing, though pitied the poor thing. How he braced for impact when your hand left your side.

Oh this was it! He was crumbs, and so was his cake army!

But he was not. Only then he was lifted. Maybe he was being out into a sacrificial contraption? Your finger was actually prodding him a little; awaiting for him to finally stop these dramatics.

"Red Velvet Cookie?"

You addressed him by name. Only then would he open his eyes up once more. Though still petrified. Admittedly, being so much taller than him limited any means of calming him down.

Holding him gently is enough, you think, though affectionately prod and coo at him until he loosens up enough to accept it. It's easy to flatter him - his dough turns redder - and he eventually concedes to these affections, not quite embracing them, but certainly not pushing you away. Maybe you'll sneak in a peck or two. It's hard to kiss a cookie!

"This wasn't... what I thought they'd be like."

Ver 2: Black Forest Cookie.

She was prepared to meet them. So prepared! Beings so otherworldly and feared, too! She was prepared to do whatever it takes.

Though upon the events unfolding, she expected a dash of pain, and then nothing. Hence followed a deep confusion when neither of the sensations followed through.

"Oh, what a cute cookie!"

Perhaps she'd gotten a peppier witch to attend her sacrifice.

You're initially flattered by her devotion to the witches. A marriage? Certainly not something you thought you'd hear. You think it's adorable, coaxing her to perhaps clamber onto your hand. You're so tall to her, you worry you may suddenly break her in two...

She's not defiant however, you're the divine! The creator of cookies! Or atleast one of them. You don't quite listen to her blabber properly.

It's some worship-y stuff, you're much too focused on giving her feather-light kisses. Careful not to chip away at her icing or dough.

She gets comfortable enough that she settles on your hand, gloating to herself on how she'd fulfilled her wish... or something... you're gently giving her head-pats now, however. Sometimes, she leans in a little.

This isn't what she'd expected, but it's welcome... She doesn't even want to go back to the Order anymore! She's content with staying with you for now. Like a personal cookie companion - they probably think she's dead anyway.

A/N: I'm sorry if these aren't what you wanted!! I've never gotten a prompt like this before, so I probably messed up somewhere ^^;... I do hope it's sufficient, though! Sorry for the lack of dialogue too, I'm not so good at RV's character, so I didn't want to mischaracterise him much haha!!

[justaparsec94]

Sleep

Author's Note: For @thecoffeelorian . Written for the prompt: Falling asleep in each others arms. This turned out a bit more angsty than I was originally intending but I hope you like it! I always find it a challenge to find the right amount of fluff for Cross.

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,617

****************

Crosshair shot up in bed, throat constricting painfully as he tried to bring a full breath of air into his lungs. His chest heaved as he looked wildly around the darkened room, pulse racing beneath his skin. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, to realize that he wasn’t in that tiny grey cell on Tantiss anymore. He wasn’t strapped to some examination table in a lab. He was fine, he was safe. He was on Pabu. He was home. 

He groaned softly, his entire body still on high alert from his nightmare as he kicked his legs over the side of the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees before letting his head fall into his hands. The cool metal of his cybernetic hand was both a relief against his fevered skin and a horrible reminder of everything he’d been through. Crosshair remained still for a long moment as he waited for his heart rate to return to a reasonable level, for his thoughts to stop racing on the same panicked loop. He shivered slightly as the cool breeze from the open window whispered across his skin that had been dampened by a cold sweat. 

It was the same nightmare he had had hundreds of times before. But no matter how often the same visions flashed across his mind, he always woke up the same way. Panicked, angry, scared. Kamino, Tantiss, Hunter, Wrecker, Omega, Desix, Echo, Mayday, Tech. Over and over the scenes played in his sleep, each time he watched everything crumble and burn, watched everyone he cared about die by his hands. It always felt so real. 

Crosshair finally straightened once his shoulders were no longer heaving with effort to breathe and his ears were no longer ringing. He turned slowly to look over his shoulder at the bed, trying not to make any sound or shift the mattress as he did so. Everything inside of him instantly softened at the sight of you. You were still sleeping peacefully, thankfully undistributed by his own nighttime troubles. He let out a gentle sigh, grateful that you were oblivious to him at that moment, though it wouldn’t have been the first time one of his nightmares had woken you up. 

He watched you for a long moment, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. You looked so peaceful when you slept, content. Most days, he still couldn’t quite believe that you were there, with him. After everything that had happened, sleeping in your shared bed, looking like there was nowhere else in the galaxy that you would rather be. 

The room was silent except for the soft sound of the waves coming in through the open window and your even, gentle breaths. He watched your chest rise and fall for another moment, wanting to be certain he hadn’t disturbed you. He sighed again, knowing that if he tried to go back to sleep he would just spend the rest of the night tossing and turning. He didn’t need the guilt of waking you added on top of everything else. So he stood, slowly so as to not move the bed. He paused though once he’d reached his full height, turning back around to look at you once more. Before he could stop himself he stooped over the bed, hand reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair that had blown into your face from the breeze coming in through the open window. He tucked the stay piece behind your ear, taking a moment to marvel at the softness of your skin. You let out a soft sigh as he pulled his hand away, nuzzling further into your pillow. He felt as if his heart was being carved from his chest at the sight, you meant everything to him. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. He’d do everything in his power to protect you, even if that meant protecting you from himself. With another sight he straightened, slipping silently out of the room and down the stairs.  

The small house was completely still and quiet as he made his way towards the kitchen. Omega and his brothers were likely all fast asleep, as they should be, at this time of night. As always, his eyes were drawn to the pictures lining the walls as he made his way through the house. An enthusiastic Omega and Wrecker, and a skeptical but pliable Hunter had taken it upon themselves to decorate their small home. Their place had very quickly filled up with anything and everything Omega and his brothers seemed to like, the walls filled with their finds. Before, what he would have considered clutter would have bothered him, but now he found he actually liked it. Not that he would admit that to anyone though. But after spending all of their lives with nothing it was still strange but nice to have something that was completely theirs. And now that you were here it felt more like a home than ever before. 

At first, back when things between the two of you had still been strained, you had stayed in Phee’s home anytime you came to the island. But that had slowly changed over time until one day he’d found himself cleaning out a drawer in his room for you. Since the fall of The Republic you’d been working with Rex, then Echo, helping them in any way you could with the clone rebellion. You hadn’t said anything and he wasn’t about to point it out but he had noticed that your journeys off Pabu had grown fewer and farther between lately. If he had things his way you’d never leave again, you were his, and he wanted you with him always. But he also wasn’t about to come between you and doing what you felt you needed to, what was right. No matter how much he might want to keep you with him every moment of every day. 

Crosshair stalked quietly across the kitchen before he stopped in front of the sink, grabbing a glass off the counter and filling it with water. His throat felt incredibly dry, as though he’d been crying out in his sleep. He knew he likely hadn't been if you were still asleep, but he had done so in the past. No matter how much he tried to convince himself he was over everything that had happened, he couldn’t seem to shake the nightmares. 

He gazed out the open window as he sipped slowly on his water, the gentle breeze sending a slight shiver down his spine. It was a warm summer night, but the sweat on his skin left him with a chill. The island was as silent as the house, peaceful, calm, safe. Now if only he could make himself believe he wasn’t in any danger, not anymore. 

Crosshair tensed at the sudden sound of soft footsteps overhead, he'd recognize your light tread anywhere. Guilt washed through him as he listened to you make your way down the stairs, obviously, he'd woken you up after all. He didn’t even so much as turn from his spot, simply continued to watch the waves crash against the shore down below as your footsteps drew nearer. It wasn’t until you crossed the threshold of the kitchen that he spoke, but his eyes remained focused on the quiet world outside the window. 

“Go back to bed,” He hissed, his tone more hostile than he intended but he couldn’t seem to stop the shame that was suddenly crawling up his throat. There was still a part of him that hated to be seen in these moments when he felt so weak. The other part felt so guilty for pulling you into this, how could he possibly make you happy when all he seemed to do was mess things up?

Despite his words, your footsteps didn’t even falter, and before he could even think of anything else to try and say your arms wrapped around his waist, your body pressing tightly up against his back. That part of him, that angry, writhing part, wanted to push away from you. To turn and demand you leave him but he knew you wouldn’t listen even if he did. Instead, he was helpless, melting into your embrace as he felt your cheek rest in the space between his shoulder blades. 

You were quiet for a moment before speaking softly, “You should know by now that it’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

The anger that it seemed he had spent all of his life trying to control suddenly rose up in him again, inexplicably. He wanted to snap, to point out that you had left him once before but the words got stuck in his throat. He knew that wouldn’t be fair to you. He had been the one who had made it impossible for you to stay, after all. And even after everything that had happened, after everything that he’d done, you had still come back to him. You didn’t deserve his anger. 

He let out a deep sigh, hands moving away from the counter to rest over the top of yours. As always, his anger and frustration seemed to melt away as you held onto him tightly. After a long, silent moment he turned in your arms, lifting his hands to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in close so that your head rested on his chest. You squeezed his waist tighter in response, melting further into him. He closed his eyes for a moment as he rested his chin on the top of your head. 

The two of you held each other silently, the turmoil inside of him settling with each passing moment. It was moments like those, where the two of you were wrapped so tightly together it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended, that he wished would never end. There was a time, not that long ago, when he would have balked at being held like this, at being so vulnerable, even with you. But now no matter how much his mind might war with him sometimes, he couldn’t get enough of you. You’d crawled into his heart, wedged yourself right up beneath his rib cage, and yet he still wanted more. You were his. 

Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke again, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” He snapped before he could even stop himself. A knee-jerk reaction brought on by a lifetime of avoiding his feelings. He pulled back slightly, enough that he could look at your face but still within arms reach. Your hands moved from his waist to his arms, grasping his forearms firmly, as though you were ready to stop him should he decide to bolt. There wasn’t any judgment in your expression as you looked up at him though, just the same kindness and understanding as always. It made him sigh, guilt turning his stomach once more, for trying to shut you out when you deserved, more than anyone, to be let in. 

“It was just the same things as always,” He finally said, after another long, silent moment. He turned his head slightly, unable to fully meet your gaze after such an admission.

“Cross…” You said softly, tugging his arm gently until he felt as if he had no choice but to meet your gaze once more. You took a step closer to him as your eyes met, tipping your head back as your bodies brushed against each other. 

“There is nothing that you could tell me that would make me think of you any differently, or care for you any less,” You continued gently as you lifted a hand to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. His skin burned beneath your touch, his heart racing as your fingers bunched in the fabric of his sleep shirt, “I love you. Nothing will ever change that. But it kills me to see you suffering. I want to help you, in any way I can. But I can't do that if you don’t let me in.” 

“I’m supposed to be the one that looks after you,” he hissed, his grip on your waist tightening as shame bubbled in his throat once more. He was a soldier, his entire purpose had been to serve and protect. His entire life he’d been defective but still effective, but now with a missing hand and fragile mind what good was he? How could he possibly be enough for you? 

“It’s not a one-way hyperspace lane Cross, we help each other,” You answered gently, “If you’re not ready to share then that’s ok, but I hope you know you can tell me these things. Anytime. I’m here for you. Sharing doesn’t make you weak or defective, and neither does having feelings in the first place,” you continued as if reading his very thoughts. You’d always been able to see him better than anyone else ever could.

He sighed, taking a step closer to you without thought as if you were the sun his planet orbited around. His heart constricted painfully in his chest, the back of his neck prickled with a cold sweat, the words grated against his throat as he spoke, “It all the things I’ve ruined, the terrible things I’ve done, all of the people I’ve hurt. All those moments when I should have been there but wasn’t. It just won’t stop.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze, turning his head slightly away from you as the shame rolled in his stomach once more. He’d been built to withstand wars, it didn’t make sense to him why he was crumbling now, after everything. 

“Cross,” You said gently as your hand lifted to his face, cradling his jaw and applying just enough pressure until he couldn’t resist meeting your gaze again, “What you’re feeling is normal, it doesn’t make you weak. You’ve been through something so terrible, and yes, you made some mistakes, we all have, but you can't change the past. All we have control over is what we do next, how we move forward.” 

He turned his head away once more, the guilt and anger, at himself, at everything, bubbling in his veins like toxic black sludge, "You should just leave me,” He hissed, body tensing as his heart raced, “Go back to bed.”   

The hand that was still resting on his chest bunched further in the fabric of his shirt, drawing his attention back to you, “I’m not leaving you like this, I love you Crosshair. You’re stuck with me,” You said gently. 

He let out a loud breath of air, one he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as his eyes scanned your face. As always there was nothing but openness in your face, you meant every word you had said to him. 

When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything you continued, “I know you think you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life, but you don’t. And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”  

He bristled for a moment, on instinct, the desire to push you away, to demand you just leave him alone was almost overwhelming but only for a moment. It faded nearly as fast as it had come. He was so used to everyone leaving him alone when he told them off, but you’d always stayed. Truthfully, he didn’t want you to go. He wanted you to stay, always. 

There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment, emotions he didn’t even begin to know what to do with bubbling in his throat. What came out instead was his typical snark, “You’re a pest.”  

The brilliant smile you flashed him was worth every pain he’d ever experienced in his short life, “Yes, but I’m a lovable pest,” you replied as you pulled him back in closer to you. 

“Hmm,” he grunted softly, unable to stop the smirk that was growing on his face before he wrapped one arm around your shoulders. He lifted the other hand to your jaw, tipping your face up to his own before he closed the distance between the two of you. 

He felt you smile against his lips for a moment before you deepened the kiss, raising up on your tip toes to be closer to him. He moaned softly, his thumb stroking the soft skin of your jaw as he nipped gently at your lower lip. Much too soon for his liking, you pulled away from him, a gentle smile on your face as you looked up at him. He simply frowned, eyes narrowing at the sudden distance between the two of you. He was once again overwhelmed with the feeling of never being able to get enough of you. 

“Come back to bed, my love,” You said softly, hands trailing down his arms until your fingers interlocked with his. You gave him a gentle tug and he followed without hesitation, all of his previous worries forgotten for the moment. At that moment, there was only you. And he was powerless against you, he always had been, and truthfully he didn’t mind. He would do anything to make you happy. Even if that meant having to confront his own fears. He could do it, with you, for you. 

You were both silent as you made your way back up to your bedroom, trying to not wake anyone else. Once the bedroom door closed behind him you turned back towards him, his hand still clasped in your own. You smiled softly at him as you backed up towards the bed, pulling him along with you. You sat once your knees hit the back of the bed, looking up at him expectantly. He didn’t waste another moment, moving swiftly he wrapped his arms around you, smirking at the giggle that escaped you as he rolled the two of you over onto the bed until you were a tangle of limbs. He tightened his hold on you as you snuggled into him, your head pillowed on his chest, right over his racing heart. This time though, it was racing for a completely different reason, not one of fear. 

Neither of you said anything for a long moment, the only sound was your combined breaths and the waves of the ocean floating in through the open window. It was peaceful, and being here with you was really the only place he ever wanted to be. He just wished so desperately that his thoughts would stop tormenting him in his sleep and ruining the peace he’d found with you. 

As if sensing his sudden uptick in anxiety you spoke, head still resting on his chest while your free hand traced gentle patterns across his abdomen, “What’s one thing you can hear?”

Crosshair knew what you were doing. He recognized the tactic instantly, but usually, you used it on the nights when his dreams were so bad it woke you both up. When his system was completely in fight-or-flight mode. But even though he was relatively calm now, he still felt his heart rate slow as he focused on your words. His nightmare from earlier began to fade away into the furthest corners of his mind.   

“The ocean,” He answered quietly as he let his hand trail down the line of your body: arm, rib cage, waist, hip, thigh, knee. Back and forth, focusing entirely on the feeling of being with you. The softness of your skin was grounding, confirmation that he was here, that he was safe. 

“Something you can smell?” You continued your voice a gentle whisper that he felt rather than heard.  

“Your hair,” Clean, something warm, like sunshine, and fresh like the spray of the ocean.  

You chuckled softly, as your hand stilled on his abdomen, fisting once more in the fabric of his shirt, "Something you can feel?” 

“You.” 

His answers were usually always the same. Because when you were around you were all he could think of. Even when you weren’t physically with him he could still feel you, in his very soul, as though you’d become a part of him. In his darkest moments, you were always there. It was as if something clicked in that moment, maybe with you by his side, he could make it through. Maybe the future didn’t have to be as dark as his past. 

His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy as he listened to the sound of your breathing, as he focused on the lines of your body pressed into his own. He let his head tilt down to rest against you, his nose pressed into your hair, breathing in the familiar and calming scent of you. 

“I’ve got you Crosshair,” You said softly, “We can get through this together.”

For the first time in a long time, he felt a very small spark of hope. Maybe he could learn to let you in, to let you help him in those moments when he felt weak instead of running. As he drifted off to sleep he wrapped his arms tighter around you, unwilling to ever let you go. He felt your own arms tighten in response as your breathing began to even out. The last coherent thought he had before he drifted off to sleep was that you were right, you were in this together. 

This time the nightmares didn’t find him in his sleep. And when he woke up in the morning you were still wrapped in each other’s arms. Exactly where you had always belonged. 

[guiltyasdave]

jana hi me again 🫣 could i have the prompt 28 "No one ever cared about me like you."

with either javi p or joel 🫠❤️🤎

take my hand, wreck my plans

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: 557

summary: Javi seeks out your company after a rough day.

tags/warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, mention of food, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, idiots in love because of who i am as a person (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: i have once again been possessed by angsty thoughts and somehow, this came out of it. i hope you like this eden @reddedmiller and i’m sorry that it took three months lol. thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading 🫶🏻

dividers by @saradika-graphics as always because they’re the best <3

find my full masterlist here & follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates :)

He knocks on your door at 2 in the morning, all but collapses into your arms as soon as you swing it open, tired eyes and heavy limbs that melt into your embrace.

Your colleagues had warned you when he started coming over to your desk, inviting you out for lunch, about how he would chew you up and spit you out, like he did with half of the female staff at the embassy. You hadn’t listened, waving them off and going out with him anyway. First for a quick lunch break, then for after work drinks, then for dinner.

It was fun, a distraction, something to do and someone to know in this city where everything was foreign to you and where you felt more alone than ever before in your life.

It’s more, now. It doesn’t have a definition exactly, but you both know it. You’re the person he turns to when he needs somebody, and you’ll gladly be that for him.

“Do you have something to drink?” His face is sullen as he slumps down on your couch, like the weight of the world crushed him today. You furrow your brow.

“When was the last time you ate something, Javi?”

“‘M not hungry,” he grumbles, confirming your suspicion that he most likely survived the day solely on cigarettes and coffee.

You lean over the couch, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders from behind. His head falls back against you like he can’t help himself.

“I’m gonna make you a sandwich and get you some whiskey, okay?” Inching closer, you press a gentle kiss against his neck, just below his ear.

He sits up a little straighter and turns to you, reluctance in his eyes.

“Querida, it’s the middle of the night, you don’t have to-”

You shake your head and kiss him again, on his cheek this time. “It’s okay. I want to.”

He leans back hesitantly but doesn’t seem to have the energy to fight you on it, so your lips find his face once more before you head for the kitchen.

Watching him all but devour the food has you hiding your smile behind your own glass of whiskey. He already looks a little better.

“Not hungry, huh?” you tease, your voice light.

“Shut up,” comes his short reply, but his lips are twitching.

He has half a mind to stumble out of your flat again afterwards, but you convince him to stay, that it’s really no problem.

He takes a quick shower, mumbling about washing the day away, and you wait in bed, the warm light from your bedside lamp illuminating the room, until he slips under the covers beside you.

You wrap your arms around him again and hold him close, your fingers drawing shapes on his chest. He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly.

“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles, his voice low in the darkness.

“Of course, Javi.” He tends to get like that, struggling to receive any kind of affection or care when he feels like he has nothing to give back.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No, seriously. No one ever cared about me like you. I- thank you.”

You sigh and pull him tighter into you, your face buried in his hair. You’ll care for him as long as he lets you.

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make me really happy 🤍

[nincompoopydoo]

hi i have a req for your vday celebration for this line 'have you no compassion for my poor nerves? ’ for theseus scamander!! going on a trip with newt looking for some new mythical creature to draw and you somehow get injured and theseus gets worried so like angst + fluff pls

IN SEARCH OF A GRECIAN BEAST

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x Reader WORD COUNT: 1.1k SUMMARY: As you, Theseus, and Newt find yourselves on a secluded Grecian beach along the Aegean Sea, an endeavor unfolds to seek out a Hippocampus. However, plans don't turn out as expected. A/N: An angsty yet light-hearted fic in a way. Hope you guys love this lil Theseus one-shot~ WARNINGS: near drowning. angst. Newt literally has no compassion when he’s excited about his beasts lol. PROMPT: “Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“Pray, Theseus, allow yourself a respite! Quit moaning and come with us,” you whine with an exaggerated, sarcastic tone as you trudge down the rocky slope that leads to a stretch of golden sand. Newt is way ahead, feet already on the sand as he scuttles across the rugged coastline that looks upon the Aegean Sea.

Theseus huffs at your words, watching the way your linen top billows in the sea breeze, gleaming under the scorching summer sun. He decides he has no other choice than to follow begrudgingly. He stumbles on his feet, shells crunching at contact, and sees you looking back at him, eyes bright. The curve of your smile goes unnoticeable.

“I thought we were meant to be on holiday,” he calls out to you and his brother.

You merely laugh, and Newt responds without turning back, “Nobody mentioned a holiday, Theseus.”

Theseus scoffs, “Well, I presumed it was, considering you invited me to Greece. Of all places!”

Without warning, you abruptly halt, swiftly turning to face him.

“We find ourselves on this beautiful, secluded Grecian beach, and you're complaining?” You gesture to your surroundings in big movements, arms moving in sweeping motions.

You’re right, he’s being dramatic. Perhaps he finds himself a little sceptical towards your shenanigans with Newt. How you were always closer to his brother than him, even though he never dared admit it to himself that he wished it was the other way around.

Theseus is silent when you fix him with a stern gaze, nearing him. “All I’m saying is, you should loosen up a little.”

There it is. That glint in your stare. It’s hopeful.

Theseus realised long ago that he would do anything for you and be anything you wanted him to be.

“I am loose. I can be loose.”

Your laugh comes off more like a scoff. You don’t believe him one bit. “Right.”

Then, your fist connects with his arm. It’s playful, just like old times. Theseus winces, his palm instinctively rubbing his bicep as he shoots you a maddened look. Despite the irritation etched on his face, the subtle curve on his lips betrays it.

You laugh again. It’s light and sends his heart thrumming faster than ever. 

“Come on –”

"Look!" newt exclaims, his voice ringing out excitedly. “Over there.” He points toward the shore with the widest grin Theseus has ever seen.

You immediately grip Theseus’ wrist, pulling him along as you dash towards Newt.

“Hippocamps,” you breathe out, merely a whisper, eyes trained on the clear waters beyond.

Theseus turns to you and clocks on your wide-eyed gaze. Your mouth hangs slightly agape in utter awe as you take in the scene unravelling before you. Glints of deep blue swirl under the crystal waters, their scales glistening like scattered glitter under the Grecian sun.

Then, you release your hold on his hand. 

“I’m going in.”

The brothers snap their heads to you, “What?”

You turn to Theseus, “I know these creatures better than anyone. You know that.” Then, your gaze shifts to Newt, “Even more than you, Newt.”

A beat. He sees that you’re now looking at him expectantly as if you need his assurance. That he trusts you. He really doesn’t know why you need it.

“Just… be careful.”

You purse your lips and nod. “I will.”

The waves lap rhythmically as you approach the waters cautiously, gentling wading through and towards the Hippocampi. The water rises to your waist. You catch a hint of a tail under the sunlight, iridescent and reflecting the ocean's blue and green hues.

You take a deep breath – the key is to be calm. Extremely calm. You extend your palm, luminous kelp in your grasp, hoping to lure the creature.

Then, its head emerges from the waters, a horse for a head. The creature curiously eyes the kelp in your hand as you watch in controlled excitement as the others drift closer. You cannot help but smile.

Yet, something beneath you rumbles. It’s so slight that you almost miss it. But it sends a rippling uneasiness to your surroundings that it alarms the creatures. The air shifts, and before you know it, the Hippocampi sense an unseen threat and quickly disappear into the ocean.

Your smile drops.

You see it, a sleek form of green drifting in the depths beneath you. It glides through the water with stealth.

Ashore, Theseus senses your concern. “Something’s wrong.”

Then, he sees you turn to them with panicked eyes.

Abruptly, the water erupts with a powerful surge, and a beast rises from the depths and leaps into the air. Its mane of waterweed cascades with its movement.

It’s a Kelpie.

Newt and Theseus watch in stunned silence.

As the Kelpie vanishes beneath the waves, you’re gone.

Theseus’ heart drops.

Instinctively, Theseus calls your name, charging towards the place you stood moments before. In his sprint, he throws a quick, urgent glance over his shoulder at Newt, who scrambles closely behind, his expression etched with mirrored exasperation.

“Why in Godric’s name is a Kelpie doing here?!”

“That’s a good question –”

Theseus isn’t listening anymore. He can’t think right now, his heart pounding fiercely. Each step intensifies the knot in his stomach.

He finds himself slicing through the waves and propelled beneath the surface. His vision goes blur momentarily; elusive silhouettes move around him like drifting shadows. But as his eyes begin to take focus, he sees Newt, a feet away, seemingly going after the Kelpie.

Theseus whirls around, eyes scanning his surroundings.

He sees you, conscious. You’re looking at him with wide eyes, struggling to stay afloat.

Theseus closes in, and he reaches out, arms enveloping you. With a forceful pull, you are brought to the surface, head heavy against his chest. Your sharp gasp pierces the air, it resonates loudly, but it settles a sense of relief in Theseus.

As you’re pulled to shore, you’re induced into a coughing fit, water forcefully expelling from your lips. Theseus hovers above you, his hand on the back of your head, lifting it from the ground in an attempt to ease your choking. His other palm rests against your cheek firmly.

He says your name, his voice laced with reassurance, yet his gaze lingers with a perpetual panic as he hovers above you, the sunlight casting a halo through his tousled hair. Theseus looks truly distressed.

“Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?!” he exclaims, exasperated in all his dramatic and uptight glory.

“Just… trying to keep you on your… toes, that’s all,” you manage to croak out.

Theseus's laugh passes off as an exhale and grins, shaking his head. Quickly, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You instantly feel your cheeks start to burn.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

You just smile. “No promises.”

Then, laughter echoes in the distance. Both of you turn to find Newt emerging from the shore, eyes bright.

"That was incredible!"

[thenightwolf51]

So i originally had this idea when i reblogged this post by @saphushia but i wanna just seperate it out as its own little prompt.

A quick context is that Danny seems to be roaming around Gotham like some homeless cryptid, kinda Bus to Nowhere style but with more vigilante interaction and casual offerings of first aid. And the batkids are keeping their adoption bait First Aid Cryptid(tm) secret from Batman.

One set of tags in the reblogs from @little-pondhead caught my attention

I came up with both funny answers and an angsty answer for that "#why?" but here's the angsty one (though i promice i actually envision it to be more hurt/comfort with a lot of family fluff)

Actual Prompt⬇️⬇️

Something happens, maybe a reveal gone wrong, maybe he got capture by the GIW, maybe he lost Jazz and his parents somehow.

Whatever it is, it leaves Danny with a need to escaped to a new dimension which just so happens to end up being the DCU. He winds up in Gotham and is just trying to start over, easier said than done but at there's plenty of heros around so he doesn't need to go ghost and he can still patch up the local vigilantes to feed his obsession. He's just not up to being Phantom yet and he's still recovering from whatever happened in Amity, whether it be mentally or physically.

Plus these vigilantes are kinda fun to mess with. Danny can practically see the gears turning as they try to put together and make sense of his little "lore drops", that Red Robin almost reminds him of Wes in a way.

Its not like he really needs to hide anyways. There's no GIW here, no Anti-Ecto Acts, if it really comes down to it he could probably pass as meta and fall under those protection laws. Judging by Signal, Danny's pretty sure Batman's bluffing on the whole "hating metas" thing anyways.

It takes awhile before Danny actually does meet the big bat himself and the reaction he gets is nothing anyone was expecting.

You see theres one little detail danny couldn't have been warned about, and its that there just so happens to be a version of Jazz here.

Except this Jazz lost her Danny when they were in high school, as in full on dead and gone Danny, no halfas here, the portal simply did not work and it was just regular ole lethal electrocution that hit her little brother.

What if she grew up with a young Bruce somehow, whether it be because CPS took her from the Fentons after her Danny's death or Amity Park simply doesn't exist in the DCU making Gotham the city with the thinnest veil and thus where the Fenton's chose to settle down.

This Jazz is an adult in her 40s but was once a kid smart enough to go to Gotham Academy on scholarship (or maybe the Fenton's had enough money from patents?). A kid who took one look at young Bruce's grumpy little face and decided he needed a honest friend, one that wasn't after status or money.

This Jazz grew up being a secondary voice of reason for Bruce, ganging up with Alfred in their own crusade to enforce healthy habits on him in between their weekly tea sessions.

This Jazz lost her brother and could not only understand Bruce's resoning on a minor level but encouraged his planned "journey of self discovery and healing". (Though the bat costume he made when he came back was unexpected and she gave him a look to rival Alfred for it)

This Jazz grew up to be a social worker because if anyone had cared enough to take her away from the Fenton's sooner then her brother might've still been alive

This Jazz being the one Bruce calls when he first gets Dick because holy shit he has no idea what hes doing and "Jazz, i just became a father, help!"

This Jazz being a sort of aunt to all the Batkids and is a major influence that has led to their dynamics being similar to Wayne Family Adventures

Bruce goes pale and later calls Jazz after he finally gets a glimps/meets the so called "First Aid Cryptid" his kids have been obsessed with. Because this kid that he's looking at with the barely visible lichtenberg scars... that's a face he hasn't seen in little over 20 years, that's his old friend's long dead baby brother.

Bruce sees danny and his mind rapidly jumps to all sorts of possibilities. Is this a clone? Is this a trap? Are the Lazarus pits involved somehow? Time travel? He does consider a ghost but this kid is too solid and they're nowhere near the old dilapidated Fenton Works building

Eventually, down the line when they get the full story of Danny being from an alternate dimension, Jazz might try to adopt him. Which has potential to be unhealthy but i fully believe Jazz would be aware enough not to project her decades old grief on this Danny, who is so similar but so different to her brother.

(Because I think a Gotham raised Danny would've been similar to a young Jason in street smarts so this Amity raised Danny is noticeably different)

Danny on the other hand... not sure if i could say the same, especially if he just lost his Jazz before winding up in the DCU. But again, this is an adult Jazz in her late 40s with professional experience dealing with traumatized kids, and she'll do her best to help him through it

Im imagining Jazz and Bruce to have a more platonic friendship, maybe even see each other as family, but you could go with Parent Syndrome if you want

(And because i love to see other peoples ideas and opinions, @omnicrafts @ailithnight @atiyasnake @hdgnj @nelkcats @nerdpoe @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @dcxdpdabbles. Sorry i tag you guys so much but i like your writing, im eager to offer ideas, and your posts have been major sources of joy while ive been hyperfixating on DPxDC)

[toasecretsanta]

Percy Jackson and the Herald of Destruction

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Apollo, Percy, Estelle A visit to the Jackson-Blofis household brings Apollo face-to-face with one Estelle Jackson-Blofis once more, and her doting big brother. A toasecretsanta submission from @tsarinatorment for Melonyan [AO3], using the prompt "Apollo, Percy Jackson and Estelle Bloufis-Jackson inspired, something sweet maybe a little angsty!" I have shamelessly used aeithalian's Estelle theory in this fic, which can be found detailed here. It's been a while since I last wrote Apollo pov, and I barely ever write Percy, so this was a bit of an adventure to put together. It's certainly closer to fluff than angst, I think, but I still hope you like it, Melonyan!

As a general rule, gods did not knock on the doors of mortal homes.  Nor did they ring intercoms and wait patiently to be let in.  Why would they?  They were gods, and bound by neither mortal social niceties, nor the limitations of mortal entrances.  It was perfectly possible – and normal – for a god to simply materialise in the best chair in the abode (opinions on what constituted the best varied drastically).

And yet, there Apollo was, pressing the button for the intercom for the Jackson-Blofis household.

Belatedly, he realised that the occupants were unlikely to be expecting him to take the mortal entrance, not now he was a fully fledged god again, rather than a vulnerable mortal body that couldn’t do useful tricks like light-teleportation, but the button had already been pressed, and Apollo was not about to do a knock-and-run.  Besides, he’d been invited, yes, but generally even invited guests were expected to use the front door.

There was also probably no harm in allowing Percy control over who entered his home – and how they entered.  Olympus knew they’d taken enough control from the demigod over the past few years.

Really, it was a wonder the boy – almost adult now, closer to young man than boy – was willing to tolerate Apollo’s invasion of his home again.

The intercom connected with a buzz.

“Who is it?” Percy’s voice demanded, crackling slightly through the technology.  Modern technology and demigods didn’t always mix well, although they persevered remarkably as society kept advancing and their choice was to keep up or turn luddite.

Apollo cleared his throat, an unnecessary action but one that helped announce his presence – and a long ingrained habit that Apollo wasn’t in any real hurry to shake.  He liked the way it brought everyone’s attention to him before he started speaking.

“It’s me,” he announced, the words falling away into a silence that Percy didn’t break, and after a few awkward moments, Apollo remembered that Percy couldn’t actually see him from his apartment.  “Apollo,” he added on belatedly, and a little awkwardly.

Percy’s silent judgement was impressive, given they were several floors apart and couldn’t actually see each other.  Clearly to the son of Poseidon that was a minor inconvenience that was easily ignored.

He also, more pressingly, wasn’t letting Apollo in.

“Paul invited me?”  The words weren’t supposed to come out as a question, because there was no question about it.  Paul Blofis had certainly invited Apollo into the humble Jackson-Blofis abode.  Although, one could argue that the question was actually asking whether or not Percy had been informed by his step father that Paul had invited a god over for an afternoon.

Those seemed to be the magic words, however, as with a put-upon sigh that made Percy’s thoughts on the matter of Apollo’s presence in his home crystal clear, he finally, finally pressed the button to open the front door of the apartment block and gave Apollo entry into the building.  Apollo did not waste the invitation, slipping in immediately and following the familiar route to Percy Jackson’s apartment – familiar, because while Lester’s memories as Apollo had been more full of holes than one of Britomartis’ nets, Apollo could recall everything he had experienced as Lester in pin-sharp clarity.  Many of those things he would rather forget, admittedly, but traipsing towards the front door of the Jackson-Blofis apartment had not been, inherently, full of uncomfortable trauma.

In fact, Sally Jackson had been incredibly welcoming to poor, unfortunate Lester, and Apollo was not afraid to admit that he was hoping to find some of her seven layer dip waiting for him – or some of her blue cookies, he supposed, but between the two it was the seven layer dip that had captured his heart.  Its inclusion of his cabin number certainly didn’t hurt.

He was not greeted by a seven layer dip, tragically.  Nor was he greeted by a plate of blue cookies, or Sally Jackson at all.  Paul Blofis was also summarily absent, which seemed a little rude given Apollo was here on the man’s invitation.

No, instead he was greeted by his demigod cousin, who looked no more pleased to see him now than he had been to see a mortal, beaten-up Lester and trash-covered street urchin Meg in the middle of one chilly January.  Percy was not alone, however.  Clinging to him, but staring out at Apollo with wide sea-green eyes that almost identically matched those of her big brother, was young Estelle.

There were not many things that unnerved Apollo – well, maybe there were a few, but most did not apply to this situation, or indeed most situations that he allowed himself to enter nowadays – but one Estelle Jackson-Blofis managed to do exactly that.  It was nothing the young girl had done – at scarcely a year old, there was very little she was capable of doing, beyond apparently chewing on her big brother’s hoodie string, which Percy had either given up discouraging, or hadn’t even noticed she was doing.  Indeed, to look at her, there was nothing untoward.

True, she had the exact same eye colour as her demigod brother, who had inherited Poseidon’s preferred appearance, which raised a few questions about her origins although Apollo could detect nothing as strong as demigodliness about her.  Strains of a distant legacy?  Yes, but the same strains ran through Sally Jackson, so that was to be expected.  Estelle was no demigod.

She was simply a young, mortal child, who coincidentally had the same eye colour as Apollo’s uncle, and his dark hair, too, but Paul also had the same dark hair, and Apollo had no difficulty in recognising her as being his biological daughter.

He almost, almost, wouldn’t have known any different than what he saw now.  Indeed, if he hadn’t seen her as a much younger child, before her original baby-fluff on the top of her head thinned away and grew back strong and dark, Apollo would have been as clueless as his father was – hoped his father was, and the lack of any world-ending lightning storms suggested that so far the king of the gods remained ignorant.

If he hadn’t seen the greys threading through her dark hair, salt-and-pepper, almost but not quite the same patterning as Griscelli syndrome, during his last visit as Lester, he would never have known that the girl was a ticking time bomb, a catalyst that could ignite at any moment.

The signal for Zeus to end the current age of humanity.  And Zeus will destroy this race of mortal men also when they come to have grey hair on the temples at their birth, Hesiod had written millennia ago.

The Fates had made an interesting choice, choosing the younger sister of one Perseus Jackson to be the herald, Apollo thought.  The loyalty of Percy to those he clung to – his loved ones, family and closest friends – was not something Apollo would’ve chosen to pit against the fall of humanity at the hands of his father, but he was not one of the Fates himself, and understood their workings only when they chose to reveal them.

Needless to say, they had not chosen to reveal their machinations surrounding Estelle to Apollo.  If anything, she was hiding in plain sight – nothing about her was Concealed from his sight.  If he Looked he could see the spiderweb of her lifetimes, the possibilities glimmering in the sun like gossamer spun silk stretching out towards infinity, the same as any other mortal.  The only reason Apollo knew what he was seeing was incomplete was because he’d seen the grey at her temples as a young baby; without that knowledge, he would never have noticed that not all the threads that should be there were there – and he knew his father did not see the threads the way he did.

If Apollo could not see any of her Fates where his father learned of her existence and chose to act upon it, then his father would not see them, either.

“I suppose you’d better come in,” Percy said, disrupting his musings and taking his active attention away from the young, innocent herald of destruction and onto her older brother instead.  He still didn’t sound happy to see Apollo, and certainly wasn’t eager to invite him into his home, but his irreverence for the gods didn’t seem to quite extend to slamming doors in their faces.  “Mom and Paul will be back soon, they had to go out for a few minutes…”  He trailed off, but Apollo could read the judgement in his face just fine: Did you have to pick when they were gone to arrive?

Somewhat embarrassingly, it hadn’t occurred to Apollo to check that his inviter was home when he’d arrived, although in his defence Paul Blofis had specified the afternoon in question, so surely it was common sense to assume that he would be around.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, stepping over the threshold now that he had the invitation and breezing into the apartment.  It certainly wasn’t the neatest place he had ever set foot in – nor was it the neatest he had ever seen this particular apartment, either.  Apollo’s eyes slid over to Estelle again, who still had the end of Percy’s hoodie string in her mouth and was now gripping at the rest of it with her chubby little fists, too.  Percy seemed to have finally realised what was happening to his clothes and was trying to get her to let go whilst kicking the front door shut with his foot.

Herald of destruction, indeed.  There was no doubt that most of the mess was the fault of young Estelle, given it was mostly a minefield of various age-appropriate toys scattered across the floor in a child-friendly version of caltrops.  At least Estelle had not yet been deemed old enough to be introduced to Lego; scattered Lego bricks were far more lethal than caltrops, even to the soles of godly feet.

As it was, combined with the tipped-over container hanging off the edge of a low table, Apollo got the impression the toys were freshly-scattered, just in time for his arrival.  There was the faintest tint of red in the tips of Percy’s ears as he looked away from Estelle and realised Apollo had noticed the mess.

“Uh, sorry about all that,” he said, before trying harder to reclaim the knotted end of the hoodie string from his sister’s mouth with no success.  It appeared that Estelle’s stubbornness easily rivalled that of her older brother – Apollo felt a flash of sympathy for Sally Jackson.  One headstrong child was already a lot of work.  Two of them…

He ignored the small thought that pointed out that both of them had been born with heavy destinies hanging over their heads, like thunderbolt-shaped guillotines.

“It’s fine.”  Apollo waved his hand dismissively.  “You have not seen Ares’ weapon collection.”  Admittedly that was a little misleading – Ares loved his weapons and would never leave his spears, swords or shields littered around like this.  However, Apollo’s first comparative thought had been caltrops for a reason.

“Can’t say I’m planning on seeing it, either,” Percy scoffed, which was a wise stance for any demigod to take.  Perhaps Ares’ own children might enjoy the experience, but most would find it to be not-so-pleasant.  For Percy, who did not get on with Ares in the slightest, it would no doubt be more frustrating than anything.  “Estelle, no.  Don’t eat that.”

The chubby little bundle that heralded the possible destruction of mankind giggled – not an innocent giggle, no.  The giggle of a mischievous child who knew they were misbehaving, and also knew no-one was going to do anything about it.  From Percy’s sigh and slumping shoulders, he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it.

Apollo gestured at the floor.  “Did you want a hand?” he offered, knowing better than to offer to hold the child herself – and not wanting to, not wanting to do anything that might get Zeus’ eyes on her more than they already would be by virtue of being related to Percy Jackson – but more than willing to help a long suffering older brother clean up his younger sibling’s mess.

It was a position he’d found himself in more than once, although his younger half-siblings tended to create messes of far more epic proportions than a single disrupted crate of children’s toys, and attempts to do anything about it were heavily dissuaded on Olympus.  Still, he’d cleaned up a few of Artemis’ messes over the years…

“Sure,” Percy said distractedly, perching on the edge of a couch so that his sister was now in his lap and not supported by his arm, thereby leaving him with twice the hands available to try and get Estelle’s destructive tendencies redirected towards something that wasn’t his clothes.  Apollo sincerely wished him luck with that endeavour.

For his part, with Percy’s permission granted, he knelt down and began to gather up Estelle’s impressive collection of toys, ruining their aspirations of being deadly caltrops by plucking them off the rug one by one and depositing them back in the crate, which he remembered to put upright after the first couple of toys spilled back out again.  Her collection truly betrayed her status as the beloved baby of the family – Apollo didn’t think he’d seen a child so young with quite so many toys, before.

All the better to cause chaos with, he supposed as he dropped a plushie satyr with one of his horns half torn off into the crate.

Millennia of being the centre of attention told Apollo when he was being watched, and the same prickle of awareness had him glancing back at Percy and Estelle, both of whom were staring at him with their identical sea-green eyes.  Estelle had yet to relinquish her hoodie-string snack, but Percy seemed to have forgotten that he was attempting to rescue it from her maw.

Apollo raised an eyebrow.  “Is… there something on my face?” he asked hesitantly, before a thought occurred to him and he craned his head around further.  “Or my back?  I swear, if Artemis put another of those kick me signs…”

“No!” Percy said, a little abruptly, before shaking his head.  “No, there’s nothing on your face.  Or your back..?”  He said the last bit like a question itself, as though it hadn’t occurred to him that some typical sibling shenanigans didn’t also occur to gods, even when the gods in question also happened to be twins.  “I just… didn’t expect you to clean up like that.”

Apollo sat back on his haunches, a well-chewed and still slightly damp hellhound plushie in one hand – oh the irony – and a slightly disturbing squishy skeleton in the other, and centred his attention more directly on Percy.  “Like what?” he asked.

“Like that,” Percy repeated, one hand abandoning the hoodie string rescue mission – not that it had been working on that quest for the past thirty seconds anyway – to gesture broadly at Apollo and the toys still to be cleared away.  “Instead of, I don’t know, just snapping your fingers or something?”

Apollo blinked, and looked back at Soggy-Hellhound and Squishy-Skelly.  He wanted to say that the thought hadn’t occurred to him, and it was true that it had barely occurred to him, a flicker of a thought dismissed before it could fully form, but in reality it boiled down to Estelle, again.  Bursts of godly power in the Jackson-Blofis apartment ran the risk of drawing his father’s eye, and Apollo was reasonably determined to minimise Zeus’ reasons for looking in their direction.

As it was, he was technically causing a risk by being there at all, but if he wasn’t being all godly while he was there, maybe Zeus wouldn’t look too closely.

There were some truths that were best off unspoken, though, and Apollo had no desire to speak into the world the danger that Estelle posed, to herself and humanity at large.  Percy would take it badly, no doubt, and Zeus would not miss such a declaration.

“I suppose some of my Lester habits haven’t quite left yet,” he said instead, which was true in its own way.  “Why, did you want me to?”  It was a dangerous question, because if Percy said yes…

But the son of Poseidon was already shaking his head, as Apollo had suspected he would.  “No, it’s fine,” he said.  “Maybe if she sees that it’s effort to clean up, even for a god, she’ll stop doing it.”  The look he sent his little sister was stern, but it was the sort of sternness that didn’t hold up to scrutiny and Apollo could easily see the bemusement behind the fake frown.

Privately, he thought the herald of destruction lurking behind the angelic face thrived on seeing others suffer through chores such as trying to stop her doing what she wanted, knowing they were doomed to fail.  The concept of hard work no doubt seemed fun to her, still safely in the stage of youth where everything she wanted fell neatly into place and only other people had to do boring and tedious things like cleaning up her messes.  Her tune would only change once it was her responsibility to clean up her own mess.

In Apollo’s experience – and he had a considerable amount of it, given the number of children he had had over the years, even if most of them he had been unable to pick up strewn toys for – most young children Estelle’s age enjoyed watching others clear up their trails of destruction.  He had no doubts that an infant Perseus Jackson had been the exact same way.

Still, he saw no reason to disillusion Percy on the topic.  Deep down, he suspected that Percy already knew the truth and was simply denying it for his own sanity, but in the short term it didn’t matter.  Estelle was still too young to tidy up after herself, and as she had a loving big brother wrapped around her little finger, Apollo knew it would be some time before she truly had to start finding her own feet and responsibilities in the world.

He didn’t envy her that.  If anything, he celebrated it.  Every day that Estelle was able to act like a loved baby sister with a doting family was a day that her existence went unacknowledged by Zeus, and if that could last her entire mortal lifetime, then Apollo would be ecstatic.

Soggy-Hellhound and Squishy-Skelly found themselves deposited in the crate on top of Torn-Horn-Satyr, and Apollo resumed tidying up, listening to the sounds of Percy renewing his attempts at rescuing his hoodie string with little success, and finding a smile creeping across his own lips.

It was, in the end, in the hands of the Fates, he knew, but that wasn’t going to stop Apollo doing everything in his own power to keep Estelle safe, too – even if that took the form of picking her toys up by hand.

[randomness-is-my-order]

my shikanaru fics: a masterlist

listen, shikanaru was, is and will probably always be my otp so i’m just gonna start the long and tedious task of documenting my fic links for this ship. (fml but i NEED to wrangle everything into some form of organised chaos so bear with me). i’ve apparently written seventeen stories with them, which is both a smaller number than i’d thought and yet genuinely a baffling amount. note that while this ship features abundantly in my work, the primary focus of the story is not always on the development of their relationship.

i will mark my personal favourites with a “🖤” because yes, i do not love all my babies equally. i discriminate. some are just more dear to me, okay?

note: shikanaru is the default main/primary ship in these stories. the other ships mentioned are automatically the side-ships or the shared-spotlight pairings.

from oldest to newest ↓

1. twist in time: surprise surprise, it is a time travel fic. hokage naruto goes back into his younger body. changes everything. my first fic ever. if you tell me to sell this to you, i will probably lovingly insult the writing instead. still, it’s got pre-relationship shikanaru and they just mostly banter (naruto banters alot in general) | 91k words | complete | 40/40 | sequel is on hiatus | bamf!naruto, canon divergence, sasusaku | rated T |

🖤 2. swiggles: a quintessential sealmaster naruto fic where i’ve quite frankly gone a bit wild with the lore and the plentiful doodles. naruto makes friends, makes seals, makes some more friends. shikamaru is basically his best friend, along with sakura. obito returns to the village in this au but only after naruto’s already in the academy. speaking of, this fic, as of the last chapter, has only just reached graduation so it’s heavy on the pre-canon storyline. personally, developing the friend group in this, as well as the sweet, almost childish yet meaningful bond between shikanaru was very enjoyable for me | 83k words | incomplete, on hiatus | 19/? | eventual fuuinjutsu master!naruto, slow burn, fluff + humor, sakuino | rated T |

3. feelings? what are those?: just a short, silly oneshot about my favourite throuple, shikasasunaru. wrote this as a giftfic while twist in time was still a wip. it’s about naruto forcing shikamaru and sasuke to not be emotionally opaque peanuts | 4.7k words | non-oblivious!naruto, idiots in love | rated M |

4. the words tattooed on my soul: this is a fanpoetry fic. one poem from shikamaru’s pov who apparently writes plenty of these and stores them in a shoebox which he, ofcourse, hides under his bed | 172 words | poet!shikamaru | rated T |

5. the dance of destiny: platonic soulmates sasunaru and best friends shikasaku. sakura and shika leave the village to train with tsunade and years later, return so that sakura can become the hokage—she’s a champion of the civilians, basically. meanwhile, naruto has thoughts and feelings about this, given his own dream of taking the kage mantle. these four meet and their destinies (hah!) intermingle, much like an off-tempo waltz on the dancefloor (hah! again). shikamaru apparently has an asshole dad—shikaku—in this because that was what the muse wanted | 7.4k words | 2/? | incomplete | bamf!everyone | sasusaku | rated M |

🖤 6. colors of you: a lighthearted oneshot about shikamaru discovering that the village vandal painting konoha in all sorts of ridiculous murals is, infact, naruto and joining him on one of his escapades. this was written for a prompt challenge hosted on r/fanfiction actually. had a fun time writing this story. i really like how their dynamic turned out | ~4k words | pov shikamaru | rated M |

7. all in good time: another time travel fic about a burnt-out twenty-year old naruto finding himself back as an academy student after becoming estranged with konoha 12 in the og timeline following a failed jounin exam in which he ended up being the cause for shikamaru getting injured and scarred. this one’s more angsty, with a gentler naruto who’s a little sick of his life as a chunin. i really want to write and complete this story one day, because the storyboarding for the plot is a bit different than my usual fare | 13k words | 3/? | incomplete | alternate universe + time travel, slow burn | rated M |

🖤 8. the stories we never shared: a fic wherein naruto leaves konoha the night before graduation and years later, tsunade assembles a mission squad of seven to go after him, to protect him and offer him refuge, as a response to their knowledge about akatsuki and their plans to target jinchiruukis. this is also a shikasasunaru poly fic. it’s much slower and extremely interpersonal. i’m trying to develop and juggle different relationships and friendships with due regard. this fic also possibly has one of my favourite versions of naruto i’ve ever written. shikamaru is the mission leader and he shares a mutually contentious relationship with sasuke | 27k words | 4/? | incomplete | bamf!naruto, threeway povs, slowburn | rated M |

🖤 9. being known: a 5+1 fic about naruto and shikamaru sharing various conversations as they grow up and how their friendships ends up becoming something much much more. i’ve probably re-read this work the most because this is how i imagine shikanaru at their most grounded. they’re alike in so many ways beyond the superficial differences and it’s always a fun task to coax those commonalties out. it’s also non-linear | 18k words | 6/6 | complete | getting together, pov!shikamaru, pov!naruto.

10. blood of the covenant; water of the womb: my take on the arranged marriage trope. shikamaru is heir of the nara clan that resides in suna. shikaku is kazekage. naruto is heir of the uzumaki clan which is the closest thing to royalty in the shinobi world. to stop the prolonged conflict between konoha and suna, their marriage is proposed as a means for amicable ceasefire | 4k words | 1/? | incomplete | bamf!shikanaru, enemies to friends to lovers, politics | rated M |

🖤 11. naruto’s very eminent, very influential babysitters: naruto is raised communally amongst all the clans of konoha, on shikaku’s suggestion. mostly a humorous and fluffy fic and has the least amount of shikanaru, tbh. since they are, you know, babies. as of the last chapter, though, shikamaru has begun to have certain sorts of awakening. naruto is an absolute gremlin child here, chaos-maker extraordinaire. features interpersonal clan lore and many many side characters | 25k words | 5/7 | incomplete | fluff + humor, pre-canon, crack treated seriously | rated T |

12. the triad hypothesis: yet another poly shikasasunaru fic. they’re rogue ninjas together, trying to bind together resources and manpower to oppose danzo who has taken over konoha as hokage | 3k words | 1/? | incomplete | bamf!shikasasunaru, pov multiple, rebellion, politics | rated M |

🖤 13. twelfth guardian: naruto is sent to the daimyo’s mansion for his “safety”. shikamaru arrives there after becoming jounin, as one of the twelve ninja guardians. plot ensues in the background (conspiracy against the hokage, betrayals, etc.) while they fall in love after getting to know each other. this is my recent darling fic. i’ve drawn some art for it which is not just shitty doodling, i swear. i just have to sit and complete the third part so i can mark it as finished. it’s one fic where i’ve dug deep into shikamaru’s psyche and really enjoyed it | 20k words | 2/3 | incomplete | bamf!naruto, bamf!shika, multiple ocs, pov shikamaru | rated M |

🖤 14. if you shall permit it, i’d like to smooch your brain: another 5+1 crack treated seriously fic in which a raging sapiosexual shikamaru finds naruto irresistible because he’s sort of an unconventional genius. it’s majorly a fic about boys of konoha 12 hanging out together, gallivanting. also non-linear and imo, quite funny | 21k words | 6/6 | complete | pov!shikamaru, smart!naruto, crack treated seriously | rated T |

15. मैं और तुम (me and you): my first ever hindi fanfic about shikamaru and naruto spending some time together. that’s it, lol. my capacity to write longform hindi stuff is extremely limited | 557 words | complete | shayar!naruto | rated G |

16. anbu’s infamous throuple: as the name suggests, this is, obviously, another shikasasunaru poly fic in which they’re all anbu members. it is an epistolary fic and also sort of crackish. sasuke and shikamaru are friends but naruto has a hate-your-guts mutually antagonistic dynamic with sasuke while he gets along quite well with shikamaru. naruto is a squad captain, sasuke is his liaison officer which is totally a real position and not something i created for plot purposes. shikamaru is a communications specialist | 1.8k words | 1/5 | incomplete | bamf!everyone, anbu!shikasasunaru, epistolary fic | rated M |

that concludes the list. the seventeeth fic is actually the sequel to twist in time. i will regularly update this masterlist, as and when new updates/fics are put up!

if any of this sounds like your cup of tea, read on and enjoy! <3

made on: 16/03/25

last updated: 18/03/25

[yxtubers]

𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐬

chris sturniolo x reader (angst/fluff)

summary: chris says something that makes the reader doubt their growing relationship

warnings/notes: chris kind of being an idiot for like a second, profanity, corny confession, happy ending, not proof read😭

requested?: yes! ↴

- can you do a Chris fic where he confesses his feelings in the rain and they kiss? Ik it’s corny but I think I’d be cute lol

- could i maybe ask for an angsty chris x reader with “A showing up at B’s doorstep, soaking from the rain” and “you’re shaking” from your prompt list?

- can I request the action prompt 20 with chris? “A showing up at B’s doorstep, soaking from the rain”

> > >

“Dude no way. I would never date her.”

The words rang through your head continuously.

Never.

He would never date you. Not “oh we’re just friends” or “I don’t like her like that” - no. He could never even imagine being with you.

The words struck you like a baseball bat to the head, and your face fell. Sure you knew there was a chance that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, but you never thought it would ever be confirmed so bluntly - much less while recording a car video with the triplets.

While filming the Q+A, somebody had sent in a question asking about you and Chris’ relationship. Chris shut it down really fast, and really harshly.

“Jesus dude, relax,” Matt laughed beside him.

“It’s true, right Y/N?” asked Chris as he turned his head to look at you in the back seat.

You swallowed, although it was incredibly difficult with how dry your throat had become. You didn’t even know if you would be able to speak right now.

“Mhm,” you said, nodding your head.

If Chris noticed your discomfort, he mentioned nothing about it, turning back to the camera and changing the topic as quick as it came.

“I would never date her.”

It kept playing over and over in your head on the drive home. You were supposed to be going to their house for a sleepover, but you had decided that you didn’t feel well and asked Matt to drive you home. Nick made a mental note of your body language, pulling out his phone and texting you immediately.

- - -

nick:

“why the sudden change? you okay?”

you:

“i just feel sick”

- - -

And that was that. He decided to not press any further as he sat in silence the whole car ride.

You let the conversation flow right over your head; you didn’t need to make matters worse by letting your emotions get the best of you. It was best to just not contribute - if you did, they would notice how little interest you had in even being there.

Taking off your seatbelt, you thanked Matt for dropping you off. Nick hugged you swiftly, squeezing you before letting you hop out of the car.

You said goodbye to Matt, you said goodbye to Nick, yet when Chris bid you a good night you simply ignored him and closed the door.

You didn’t want to deal with him right now.

For the past few weeks Chris had been more affectionate than usual. He’d text you good morning, constantly send you videos of him and his brothers, he’d face-time you, compliment you. One night he had even walked you home from a party that you had been to together, hugging you before watching you safely return to your house.

At the time you thought there might have been something there. Not anymore.

You remembered what he said to you that night he walked you home. There was even a moment where you thought he might kiss you, but he didn’t.

He simply stood there in silence, staring at you under the moonlight.

“You looked beautiful tonight.”

But now you just felt stupid for believing it could have been something more. It was just Chris being Chris - of course he didn’t like you that way.

You were aware of his commitment problems, but you never thought he would play you like that.

Maybe it was your fault for jumping to conclusions. He was probably just being nice. After all, you had been friends for a long time; affection was nothing to new to you both.

Sighing, you flopped down onto your bed before begrudgingly plugging your phone in.

Not even scrolling on your phone could cheer you up. Plus you weren’t in the mood to answer Nick’s increasing messages asking you about what happened tonight.

However, you inevitably had to. Your phone had been blowing up with notifications ever since you had walked into your room.

- - -

nick:

“talk to me. is it what chris said?”

- - -

You sighed. You could never hide from Nick, he pretty much knew you inside and out. He could read you like a book - and he also knew about your massive crush on his brother.

- - -

you:

“i guess”

nick:

“you know he didn’t mean it”

you:

“well he said it. it doesn’t matter i just wanna sleep”

nick:

“you know how he is. he was just saying it for the camera”

you:

“yeah well it still hurt.”

“thanks for texting, but i’m really tired tbh”

- - -

Locking your phone, you set it on your nightstand. You just felt like a complete idiot right now. And you were embarrassed. He had said it not only in front of both of your best friends (and his brothers), but to literally the entire audience that were about to watch the video.

You contemplated asking Nick to cut it out of the video completely.

Changing into your sleeping clothes, you climbed into bed. No matter how much you rolled around and switched positions, nothing could get you to fall asleep.

Just as you got into a comfortable spot, your phone started ringing.

“Can I not have one moment of peace?” You thought as you grabbed it off your nightstand to check the caller ID.

Of course it was the one person you didn’t want to speak to.

Chris.

Clicking on the decline button, you laid back down rather harshly onto the bed, springs squeaking under the sudden weight.

What could he possibly want right now? To rub into your face just how much he didn’t want to date you? How he constantly made you believe that he had somewhat of an interest in you just to rip it all away in less than 10 words?

You groaned into your pillow as you slapped it onto your face. Why did feelings have to be so complicated?

Your phone rang again so you reached your hand over and declined. Again. Upon the third time that it rang you decided to bite the bullet and answer.

“What do you want, Chris?”

You could hear wind blowing in the background, and the shuffle of shoes. Chris’ teeth chattered slightly over the receiver.

“Can you please open the door? I’m freezing,” he said, his breath shaky as he breathed out.

Fuck. Now you actually had no choice but to talk to him.

Making your way downstairs, you took a deep breath before reaching the door. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it was not a soaking wet Chris shivering on your doorstep.

“Oh my god. Chris, you’re shaking!” you said, trying to usher him inside.

Sure you were upset but you didn’t want him to get frostbite. Chris backed away from the door, resisting your encouragement for him to come in.

“No, just listen. Please,” he pleaded.

You eyed him up, noticing his wet shirt sticking to his skin, his hair flat and straight on his head, dripping down onto his face. Did he walk? Was this kid insane?

“How did you get here - actually I dont wanna know. Just come in please,” you said, holding out your hand.

Chris shook his head.

“No. Just hear me out.”

You rubbed at your face, sighing. If he wasn’t coming inside then you would just have to meet him halfway. Grabbing a pair of shoes, you slipped them on and closed the door behind you as you joined him in the rain.

He was about to protest but once he saw your silent glare he closed his mouth. He was in no position to scold you right now.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you stared at him.

“I’m listening.”

Chris stuttered a bit, trying to find the right words. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, his breath pluming in the cold air as he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he started, eyes meeting up to look at you.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it I just - I got freaked out that people were noticing stuff and I- I don’t know. I guess I was scared.”

You looked away from him as you tried to collect your thoughts. You understood where he was coming from, but that didn’t ease your pain any less. The doubt that had clouded your mind since those words left his mouth was something you couldn’t get rid of.

“I thought we had something going,” you said shyly. You felt so silly saying it, but it was true.

Your eyes were trained on the tips of your shoes, too ashamed to look at him.

“We did. We do,” he corrected, “I just don’t want people attacking you for being with me. I’ve seen the way some people act online and I would hate myself if I ever put you through that.”

“You know I don’t care about that,” you said as you looked up.

Chris stepped forward, his hands clasping yours. His breath created clouds of white around you, his shivering hands squeezing you with every inch of strength he had.

“But I do. I can’t watch you get hurt.”

You shook your head at him, closing your eyes for a moment as you let the rain fall atop your face.

“As soon as I saw your face I knew I messed up. I know I can’t undo it, but I want to make it up to you - because I really, really like you,” he said, his brows furrowing as he stared into your eyes.

“I meant everything I’ve said for these past few weeks. You’re not just a friend to me; and I tried showing you that, but I guess I just fucked it up today,” he continued.

Your hand left his to cup his cheek.

Hearing him explain himself made you feel sort of guilty. You knew he had trouble with commitment, and you knew how much he was afraid of being public with his relationships. However, you were glad he was here to reassure you now.

“You didn’t fuck anything up, Chris. I know why you said it - I just wish you would’ve talked to me before. If you don’t want people knowing that’s okay, but I want us to be open with each other, yeah?”

He nodded, eyes closing as he leaned his head into your hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice breaking.

You rubbed your thumb across his cheek. “It’s okay,” you whispered.

His blue eyes opened once more, but this time they were on your lips instead. Breath uneven, he let the air out of his lungs shakily.

“I really want to kiss you,” he said.

At this point you didn’t even feel the icy raindrops on your skin. His body heat radiated off of him as he stepped closer to you, his palm resting atop the hand that was cupping his face.

“What’s stopping you?”

That was all it took for him to finally close the gap between you. His hair dripped water along your cheeks, falling into your shirt and causing you to shiver. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was Chris, and the way his lips moved in-sync with yours.

Pulling away, he rested his head on your forehead.

His hands were on your lower back, hugging you close to him. Even so, it didn’t help him with the cold that was running through his veins.

“Let’s get you inside,” you said upon noticing his frozen state.

Chris let you guide him by the hand, letting you pull him upstairs as you brought him to the bathroom to get him a change of clothes and a towel. He was grateful for the warmth, but he left your side hesitantly, wanting to still be close to you.

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” you said as you peeled him away from your waist before closing the bathroom door to let him do his thing.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you walked back to your room, not a care in the world.

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be annoyed that you had gotten your entire carpet and hallway wet with puddles of water.

All that mattered was that you had Chris, and he had you.

- - -

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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@dwntwn-strnlo

@gracietaylorsversions

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[musingmeaninglessly]

'You And I' - Neteyam/Lo'ak x Human! Reader

Lil angsty, but plenty of fluff too. Fem reader. No names mentioned, so you can imagine you and either of the brothers. Based on 'You And I' by PVRIS. Enjoy 💜

⭐️

"Y/N? Is that you, my love?"

Stood at the mouth of the isolated cave you'd found, you turn in a heartbeat. After finding the spot, far away from the centre of Awa'atlu, you'd asked him to meet him here.

His amber eyes glimmer with promise, burning into yours against the violet-tinged night sky. His expression morphs from delight to dubiety when he gazes down at your face.

"My Y/N, what is it?"

As he cups your exopack-covered face, you're reminded once more why you've bought him here. Why you need to talk about your relationship, about how unrealistic it's become.

It all began after hearing Aonung and his cronies discussing the two of you. You've grown used to most of the Metkayina kids calling you a freak, but their verbal jabs at your relationship stung more than any physical wound could.

And that's when you saw it all. The complications, the disapproving stares, and not-so-thinly-veiled judgements. He deserved better, better than what you could offer.

"...We...we need to talk..."

It comes out quieter than you anticipate, the lump in your throat silencing you. His face, in turn, falters, eyes flickering all over your face for a sign that he's misunderstood.

"About what, ma yawne?"

"About...us...about me..."

A gentle tilt of his head prompts you to continue.

"I can't be what they want, I can't be what you need..."

The revelation hardens his gaze, and he knows well enough that this thought isn't entirely your own. That there's outside corroboration at play here. After a moment of contemplation, he softly speaks into the small space between you.

"Y/N...you feel safe with me, yes?"

"Yes..."

"You enjoy spending time with me?"

"Of course!"

"And...you know I love you? And that I see you?"

That last one gets you, and all you can manage is a soft nod. As your lips purse and your eyes screw shut, he bundles you against him, the top of your head only just reaching the bottom of his ribcage.

"My love...please don't cry..."

You can't quite fulfil that request, but you do crane your neck to look up at him through your fogged-up exopack as you pour out your heart.

"I want to be with you for the rest of my life. No one, on Earth or Pandora, has ever made me feel like you do..."

Bringing one large blue hand to cup the back of your head, his own eyes begin to brim with tears.

"So why throw all of this away, yawntutsyìp?"

You lean into his touch as if it might be the last time you ever experience it.

"Because I don't want to weigh you down. With a Na'vi woman, you could go on all the fun adventures I hold you back from. Experience Tsaheylu, start a family..."

Tears trickled down your face as you finally succumbed to your sobs, throwing your face back against his torso, his blue skin drowning out the world. He tenderly laces his fingers through your hair, trying to keep his own cries at bay. For you.

"But, my Y/N, don't you see?"

"See what?"

You peer back up at him inquisitively, and even in his melancholic mood, your cute expression makes him chuckle.

"My love, you forget that I could never find so many things with anyone other than you. You teach me about your world and I let you into mine. You have an empathy and kindness that no Na'vi has ever shown me outside of my own family. And, if it weren't obvious, you're the most beautiful being I've laid my eyes on...ever."

You sniffle in disbelief, but know better than to challenge him on that one right now.

"I love protecting your little human self," he chuckles lightly, "and sneaking back to the lab after eclipse just so I can feel your lips against mine. I love our differences, no matter what anyone else thinks. We can keep our love alive...if you trust in it."

And that's all it takes for you to see how right he's been all along. A love like yours can't be replicated, and riding the waves of others' opinions is more than worth it.

At that realisation, your gaze returns to his. Kneeling down so that he's at your eye level, he presses his forehead against the glass of your mask.

"You shine brighter than the star you call home, my love. Remember that..."

You nod, too choked up to say anything except a soft,

"I see you...and I love you..."

A smile dances on his lips as he returns the sentiment;

"Nga yawne lu oer, my little love..."

⭐️

[cariantha]

Sweet December

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 (post-attack) Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Category: Fluff, Christmas Word count: 1K Summary: Ethan eavesdrops on a conversation between Sawyer and her best friend. A/N: This fic was inspired by this Instagram reel and a little “Caption This” fun with a friend. It was meant to be an angsty fic, but then I listened to Sweet December by Brett Eldridge and Kelly Clarkson and changed directions. Merry Christmas!🎄

Events/Prompts: Participating in Winter Holidays 2024 hosted by @choicesholidays | Cuddling by the fireplace

With plans to spend their day off together, Ethan insisted that Sawyer come to his after her late-night shift at the hospital. The apartment was dark except for the glow of his bedside lamps, drawing attention away from the living room and the surprise he had set up for his girl. 

The tactic worked. An exhausted Sawyer entered the quiet apartment well after midnight and headed straight for the bedroom like a moth to the flame. After a quick kiss and a much-needed shower, she draped herself over Ethan’s body like a blanket and passed out within minutes. 

It was mid-morning when Sawyer padded into the kitchen, still a little groggy, with her phone pressed to her ear. Finding no evidence of Ethan's morning coffee, she assumed he was still at the gym, which was his usual weekend routine. 

“That sounds like so much fun. I’ve always wanted to visit New York during Christmas time…” Sawyer told the person on the other end of the line. “Maybe next year.”

When she put the phone on speaker so she could start the coffee, her best friend’s voice filled the room. 

“What about you? Are you going home to Arizona for Christmas?” Christian asked. 

“No. I love my family and know they are concerned, but they have been so overbearing that I’ve started dodging their calls,” she confessed. 

“Oof.” 

“I know,” Sawyer grimaced guiltily, “and I know they mean well, but I just need time to process things on my own. I can’t take any more time off, anyway. I just got back to work and need to catch up on my clinic hours. Besides, I’m looking forward to experiencing a Christmas like in the movies. You know, someplace cold enough that it snows, and you can cozy up by the fire and drink hot chocolate."

“Will you spend Christmas with Ethan, then?”   

From the living room, Ethan watched as Sawyer shrugged her shoulders. He’d been listening to their conversation while he lounged in front of the fireplace, waiting for her to turn around and notice him. 

"I don't want to assume, but I hope so," Sawyer answered softly, then sighed deeply. "God, Christian, I know it sounds so corny, but when I start feeling all upside down, he turns me right around."

"Awww..."

Ethan continued to watch and listen as she tinkered with the coffee machine. 

"We’re both working on Christmas, but a wintery night cuddling by the fire like we had at Dagger Mountain would be amazing. As for anything else, I think Ethan’s more the ‘spirit of Christmas’ type than the ‘holiday spirit’ type. Last year, when I came over to help with Naveen's case, I brought him one of those potted tabletop trees from the hospital gift shop because he didn't have a tree or a wreath or anything. It made me sad for him."  

Ethan raised his brows in surprise, then looked to the corner of the room where, the night before, he set a five-foot balsam fir into a tree stand. Boxes of ornaments and garland that the doorman helped carry into the apartment sat on the floor nearby.  

Christian chuckled. “You sound like Cindy Lou Who talking about the Grinch. Girl, he's been a bachelor for a long time. Guys don't care about that shit. Sam wouldn't bother either if it weren't for the boys."

"Yeah, I guess you’re right." 

A loud pop from the living room made Sawyer jump. She quickly spun around to find Ethan reclined in front of the fireplace. Christian’s voice faded into the background as Sawyer's senses awakened with the warmth of the roaring fire. The smell of fresh pine needles. The twinkling of white lights in the corner. The soft crooning of Bing Crosby’s “Silver Bells.” The taste of creamy chocolate and peppermint from the cup that Ethan walked over and offered her. 

“Sawyer? Hellooo… did I lose you?” 

Reaching for her phone, she apologized to her friend. “Sorry about that, um, Ethan just surprised me… Can I call you back later?” 

“Of course! I should go anyway. I think Sam and the boys are ready to leave for the ice rink.”

“Have fun and send me pics. Love you.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

Sawyer ended the call and set her phone aside. “Hi,” she greeted, standing on her tiptoes. 

“Morning,” Ethan answered, bending down to meet her halfway for a tender kiss. 

Gesturing to the living room, “What’s all this?”

“Since you're not going home for Christmas, I thought we could celebrate together. Here.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he confirmed with a peck to her lips.

“I’d love that...” she blushed with embarrassment, “as you probably heard.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and looked at the glowing tree. “You bought a real tree?”

“Given your family’s Christmas tree business, I knew anything else would be considered sacrilege.”

She smiled up at him. “You remembered that?” 

“When it comes to you, I remember everything.”

Pressing herself tighter against him, Sawyer rested her cheek on his chest. “It’s so cozy in here. And look! It’s snowing outside.” Sawyer moved to sit on the sofa, tugging the sleeve of Ethan’s robe to get him to follow. “Come cuddle with me.”

Ethan sat, draping an arm over her shoulder, tucking her into his side. But just as they got comfortable, Ethan moved to stand up. 

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot,” he started, “I bought one of those big fluffy blankets you said I needed for cuddling on the couch. It’s in the hall closet.”

Sawyer smiled so big. “You are so sweet sometimes.”

“Sweet?! Uh-oh, my reputation for being a Grinch is in jeopardy.”

Reminded again that he heard every word of her conversation, she scowled at him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to eavesdrop? You could have cleared your throat or something.”

Ethan winked, letting her know there was nothing to worry about. “Let me grab the blanket.”

“No,” she demanded, catching his hand before he walked away. Lying back, she pulled him down and on top of her. “A blanket’s good, but you’re even better.”

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose  @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction 

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[dollyup]

Miscommunication

Giyuu Tomioka x gn!reader

I will be doing this for the other pillars (except it'll be platonic for Muichiro cause baby)

This is a "wait, don't leave me" kinda prompt so it's slightly angsty but ends in fluff

Fighting never really occurred between the two of you. It’s usually one-sided as he never raises his voice at you. However, tonight is a night where he had ignored you for days up until his mission and left without saying anything much less a goodbye. You were heartbroken at the thought that he may not return and the last thing that happened between you guys wasn’t a warm embrace and a kiss goodbye. He promised he’d never leave you like that and it truly hurt you inside. 

You were sitting in the engawa of your home eyes staring off into the distance with a blank expression. It had been three weeks of not hearing anything from Giyuu and that thought alone made you sick to your stomach. Why did he have to be so infuriating? Did he not love you anymore and that’s why he avoided you before leaving for his mission? You could feel the tears build up in your eyes. Before one could fall you hear a familiar caw of Giyuu’s crow as it lands next to you. “Giyuu is in the butterfly estate! CAW! Many injuries! CAW!” Your eyes widen at the news and you immediately throw on your shoes and run to the butterfly estate. 

Stumbling into the estate and going through the halls to where you know they kept the pillars. You paused outside the door, unsure if you should open it. Would he even want to see you? From how he left, it didn’t seem like you were important enough to him anymore. Before you could turn back to your own home, the door opened to Shinobu standing there with a soft smile, “Ara ara~ You came all this way in such a pretty yukata, (N/N)-san.” You try to stutter something out when she softly raises her hand, “He’s awake and waiting for you to take him home. He’s not going to say it, but he may need some help walking.” You nod softly and add a small “Thank you, Nobu-san.” She pats your head as she walks past you, leaving you standing in front of the now-open door. You looked down at your hands before taking a deep breath and looking up at Giyuu sitting up in his bed. Eyes already glued to your form. You step closer and hesitantly reach your hand out to him, afraid he won’t take it as you try not to let your words tremble, “Let’s get you home,” as you offer a soft smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. He grabs your hand firmly before standing up and taking the lead toward his estate. You watch as he limps slightly and every now and then grips your hand in pain. Even though it didn’t end well between you two recently, he seems to be acting like things never happened. You were worried at the obvious, well obvious to you, pain that he’s in. The small changes in his face show that this isn’t some measly injury. 

“You could lean on me a bit if you need to Tomioka-san,” he cringes at the use of his last name, “I know it must hurt-” “I’m fine. We're almost at the estate anyways.” You sigh at being cut off and pull away from his loosened grip. He side-eyes you seeing you look at the ground. He wanted to hold your hand again, but before he could reach out, you crossed your arms around your chest with your eyes downcast. There was a pang in his heart at how sad you looked. You’ve been on his mind every day for the past few weeks and wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up by you and have your home cooking. Why do you seem so distant all of a sudden? He was about to open his mouth when you stopped walking, making him stop as well. You were both standing in front of his estate and looking at the house, then down at you. “Well, I saw you to your estate. I hope you have a speedy recovery Tomioka-san.” He grunted at the name you used again. “My estate? Tomioka?” you look up at him with sad eyes, “Since when has it stopped being our estate? When have I become Tomioka to you?” He asked softly looking into your eyes brimming with tears. With anger rising in you at his clear obliviousness you couldn’t help the rise in your voice as the tears fell down your face. “Since you avoided me for days before you left for a mission, that I had no idea about!” you yell as you put your finger into his chest, “You treated me as if I were some ghost in our-... your home. You didn’t even say goodbye!” You pushed his chest slightly, making him take a step back with widened eyes. “Y-You made a promise to never leave me like that! If you didn’t want me around anymore you could’ve just said something!” “(Y/N)-” “No! You don’t get to just leave me scared about whether we’re still together, then disappear without even as much as a goodbye! I was scared that the next thing I’d hear from you was your crow telling me you died!!” You’re practically heaving from the built-up agony and rage from the past few weeks. 

Giyuu looks down at the ground feeling nothing but dread. He didn’t notice that he was distancing himself before the mission, and he was so distracted by the importance of this one because it was in your hometown. He needed to make sure everyone was safe there so that he could return to you and let you know your family was taken care of. He came back to his senses hearing the muffled sobs coming from you and he went to reach out to your shaking form only for you to rush past him in the direction of your own estate. The panic had finally set in within him as he saw your retreating figure. Injury be damned, he can’t lose you. Especially not like this. Even with his leg searing in pain, he ran after you and thankfully caught up to you quickly. His arms wrapped around you tightly with his hands grabbing your wrists as you try to struggle out of his grip. His face immediately goes into the crook of your neck trying to think of what he could say to fix things. You were finally the one good thing in his life that he managed to have, he didn’t want to lose you over his inability to communicate. “Let me go. Let me go,” you sob. “Never,” he said loud enough to make you stop struggling. “I’m never letting you go. Not like this. You can’t leave me alone like this, please,” you’re sniffling as you listen to him. He’s sure now you aren’t going to run away again, he carefully turns you to face him. You refuse to look him in the eyes as puts a finger under your chin to make you face him. You heave a sigh as you look into his eyes making your tired, puffy eyes widen slightly at the serene gaze and gentle smile on his lips. “(Y/N), I have to give you a genuine apology, but first I want to explain myself. I was given the details of a mission that had distracted me. I was worried and trying to think of a plan to execute this one as it was in your hometown,” your breath hitches as your hands go up to his chest and scrunch the material with your fingers. You were about to ask about your family but were stopped by his next words, “I was there in time, to save your family. As well as many others. I was worried I wouldn’t get to them in time, but I didn’t want to worry you about it before I went as you would have worried even more.” He took a pause as he noticed you melting into him and he finally cupped your face, wiping the tears from your face. “Then why did you not say goodbye? You promised you’d never leave without saying goodbye,” you whispered softly. He smiled gently and lifted your forehead up to his lips before placing a soft peck that had you wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. “I have always kept that promise. Did you not see the note I left, my pearl? I know you were in deep sleep when you didn’t even flinch at the kiss I left you,” his tone became teasing at the end as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You stiffen in his hold before pulling back with tears in your eyes again. “N-Note?” you stuttered out, feeling flustered and embarrassed at missing it. “I would never leave you like that. I’m sorry you ever thought I would do such a thing,” he said softly as he rested his forehead against yours before taking a deep breath, just happy to have you in his arms. You savor the moment, feeling whole again before remembering he’s injured and probably hungry. Pulling back you grab his hands guiding him back to his estate, “Let’s get you home. You need rest and I’ll make your favorite to make up for today,” you smile sheepishly. “Our home?” he asked with hope in his eyes. You step closer to him, putting your hand against his cheek, and watching him lean into it with a small sigh. “Our home,” you smile.