#there are definitely times when i feel like calling it a day too

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt. 6 - australia, march 15 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5

wordcount: 1735

Coming back from the lodge felt like stepping back into the real world. While you settled back in London, splitting your days between work,  catching up with friends and Dylan. Lando’s preseason schedule consumed him completely. Between testing, media obligations, and rigorous training, he barely had time to answer texts. Max was the bridge that kept everyone connected, his group chats filled with memes, updates, and occasional calls to check in.

The first race weekend arrived like a jolt of adrenaline, pulling everyone together again. The paddock was buzzing, cameras flashing, engines roaring, and an unmistakable energy in the air.

You didn’t have to look far to spot the papaya orange of McLaren’s setup. Lando’s teammate for the season, Oscar Piastri, stood just outside, chatting with a group of mechanics. He looked calm, but there was a stiffness in his posture that gave away his nerves.

“Hey, Oscar,” you greeted, stopping by. He turned, offering a polite smile.

“Hey,” he replied. “Excited to be back?”

“Definitely. Though I think you’re the one everyone’s excited for.”

Oscar laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, right?”

“You’ll do great,” you assured him. “you’ve got Lando to show you the ropes.”

At that, Oscar chuckled, glancing toward the garage. “Yeah, he’s… helpful. In his own way.”

“Translation: he’s been teasing you nonstop?”

“Pretty much,” Oscar admitted, grinning now.

Before you could continue, Lando emerged from the garage, spotting you immediately. His face lit up with a wide grin, and he jogged over.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” he said, pulling you into a quick hug, keeping his arms casually around you as the conversation continued.

“I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” you teased, putting your head back, resting it on his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I mean, as good as it gets when you’ve been stuck doing PR interviews all morning,” Lando replied, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Oscar cut in. “He loves the attention.”

Lando gasped in offense. “Betrayed by my own teammate. Unreal.”

The paddock was as much about racing as it was about the people who made it feel like a second home since the karting days.

“Finally!” Max called out, spreading his arms, walking over. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to see my twin sister grace us with her presence?”

“Max,” you said dryly, but pulling him in a tight hug. “It’s been what, a month?”

“One and a half, but who’s counting?” he shot back, pulling you into a tighter hug. 

“Feels like we never left, huh?” he smiled nostalgically.

“Speak for yourself,” you replied with a small laugh. “Some of us don’t get paid to stand around looking cool.”

Max smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it. Besides, I had to keep an eye on Lando during preseason. He’s useless without me.”

“Fewtrell,” Lando said, glaring at Max.

“You ready for qualifying?” you interrupted. 

He nodded, his usual confidence tempered by the quiet intensity in his eyes. “Yeah. It feels good to be back. Preseason was… long.” He hinted at his break-up with Magui.

“Tell me about it,” you said with a small laugh, thinking about how busy he’d been. You had barely seen him outside of a few fleeting texts and FaceTimes over the last couple of months. Max had told you not to bring up the break-up too much, but you felt bad not being there for him a lot.

As if reading your thoughts, Lando added, “It’s good to have everyone here, though. Makes it feel normal again.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Ah, there she is!”

You turned to see Christian Horner striding toward you, his usual confident grin firmly in place. Behind him, a few Red Bull team members hovered, chatting among themselves.

“Our favorite Red Bull athlete’s girlfriend,” Christian said warmly, clapping you on the shoulder. “Dylan’s been singing your praises all winter.”

Your smile froze for a second, but you recovered quickly, glancing around to find Lando and Max watching the interaction with identical expressions of barely concealed amusement.

“Well,” you started, “I’m sure Dylan exaggerates.”

Christian chuckled. “I doubt it. I heard you were quite the good luck charm last season. Don’t be a stranger around the Red Bull garage, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Christian,” Lando chimed in before you could reply. “She’s not a stranger.’’ crossing his arms.

Christian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the hostility? Feeling threatened?”

Lando grinned. “Not at all. It’s just worth mentioning—she was a McLaren fan first, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Christian shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I suppose no one’s perfect. Don’t let Zak Brown hear that, though.”

Lando smirked, stepping closer. “Zak knows where her loyalties lie. Right?”

“Careful, Norris,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t test me.”

Christian laughed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but his attention was quickly pulled away by someone calling his name from the Red Bull garage. “Alright, I’ll let you lot get back to it. But seriously, swing by later—Red Bull is where it’s at, your boyfriend knows”

As Christian walked away, you turned back to find Max and Lando watching you with matching smirks.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Favorite Red Bull girlfriend,” Max said, mimicking Christian’s voice. “Hadn’t expected my sister to become that kind of girl”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “At least she knows better than to wear a Red Bull cap in the McLaren garage.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you teased, grinning at his exaggerated look of horror.

-

He won the first race. He actually won the first race of the season. He’d been in F1 for six years but since the wins last year it had been different. You all went out, but Max had to head back early, having an early flight tomorrow for an important meeting. “Didn’t expect you were gonna win” he pestered Lando, hiding his disappointment of having to leave. The club was electric, a blur of flashing lights, pounding bass, and a sea of bodies moving in sync. You nursed your drink at the edge of the dance floor, watching Lando with cautious eyes. Max's voice rang in your head: "Keep an eye on him, alright? He’s been... off since the breakup."

At first, you’d expected to be playing crowd control, pulling Lando out of his usual post-race antics. But to your surprise, he wasn’t bouncing from girl to girl or drowning himself in shots. Instead, he stuck mostly to your side, occasionally wandering off to dance or chat, but always returning.

“You’re not going to drink me under the table tonight, are you?” you teased, leaning closer so he could hear you over the music.

Lando grinned, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the club and the alcohol in his system. “You never know.”

Lando was leaning back, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“What?” he asked, catching you staring.

You shook your head with a small smile. “Nothing.”

Lando gulped down his drink, his gaze dropping for a moment before he spoke again “So... what about Japan?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a second, you froze. It wasn’t like Lando to address these kinds of things so directly, especially not when he was tipsy, but here he was, his eyes locked on yours.

“What about it?” you asked carefully, buying yourself time. You hadn’t actually told anyone yet.

He gave you a look, his brows drawing together slightly. “You know what I mean. Are you... still thinking of going?”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Actually,” you said, leaning forward a little, “I’m not going to Japan. Not for a long time, at least.”

His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident in his expression. “Wait, what? Why?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Because I got a bigger promotion. I’m overseeing the Japan project now, which means I’ll still have to go there occasionally, but not for months at a time like we thought.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

His grin widened. “That’s amazing. I mean, for you. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You sound a little too excited, though. Think you can contain yourself?”

Lando leaned forward, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Not really, no.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned back again, his smile lingering. “I’m just glad you’re not leaving. That’s all.”

Another song started, and before you knew it, he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. You laughed, shaking your head, but didn’t resist. His energy was infectious, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself matching his rhythm, letting the music and the drinks blur the edges of the night.

As the hours wore on, Lando got bolder. His hands rested on your waist a little longer, his fingers brushing your bare skin. He leaned in to shout something in your ear, his breath warm against your neck. Normally, you’d push him away, crack a joke, or remind him to focus on something else. But tonight, you let it happen, trying to ignore the shivers his touches sent up your spine and down to somewhere else.

His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer as the music slowed. You felt his forehead rest against yours, and then his lips brushed yours—soft at first, tentative, testing.

“Lando—” you started, pulling back.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just this once.”

“C’mon, you,” you shot back, trying to laugh it off, but it came out shakier than you intended. “I’m not going to be your rebound kiss. You’re finally free to actually kiss girls at the club.”

His hands tightened slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I don’t want to kiss girls at the club,” he said, his voice steady now, the playful edge gone.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hung between you, cutting through the haze of alcohol and music.

“Lando…” you started, but he shook his head, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’m just drunk.”

You didn’t believe him for a second.

-

WN: Hope you guys still like it! Let me know! Took a bit longer this time, but will try to upload again tomorrow!

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus @motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini @acesofspadess

[pinkyqily]

lauren james request!! readers birthday is new years day and lauren surprises her for new years and her birthday with a gift she has always wanted (a pet, expensive item, a car, anything valuable really)

𝙈𝙄𝘿𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙎 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐 - Lauren james x reader

Summary : Your girlfriend surprises you with a well awaiting - well you'll need to read to find out the surprise duh, can't always be spoiling fic it ain't gifting day!.

Contains : fluff

A/n : Thank you for requesting this, I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you like reading it too. As always, feedback like ask or comments are highly appreciated if you send them 💕.

Your 24th birthday was coming up soon, and you knew your girlfriend lj has been planning something. From the hints she's been leaving you.

From getting you things on your birthday wish list, too, your recent trip to dubai. But you couldn't wrap your mind to what it could be.

So after working a really long shift, the last day of December because you wanted to take an off day for the 1st as it was your birthday. Who would want to work on their birthday, definitely not me.

Instead of witnessing the normal jersey thrown on the floor, gym bag is normally on the floor of your shared apartment with your girlfriend. Was a little too quiet and clean for your liking.

"Lauren, I'm home." You tried calling out her name serval times but was met with silence. You brought your phone and tried dialing her number but was taken straight to voice-mail, which was werid because she would pick up right after the second ring.

Not wanting to overthink the situation, you headed to the bathroom. For a very needed pampering after working a long shift. Grabbing a matching robe that you and Lj have while applying a fresh new face mask.

Your mind couldn't stop wondering where your girlfriend was. It felt like she had disappeared but not so much. Giving you hella vibes of jamais Vu or whatever the French call it.

You tried to push out the negative thoughts out, you started by cleaning your shared space, and as you, we're cleaning your closet. You found a really old photo of you and Lauren back when you first met her at the euros' finals.

The sudden feels of deja vu sent shivers up your spine. Clock was ticking, and your girlfriend was nowhere to be found. Wanting to try again, you picked up your phone from where you had placed it re-dialing Lauren number but was met with a deadline.

You couldn't remember how long you had stayed up waiting for your girlfriend, but to no avail you fell asleep due to exhaustion.

The next day, you would wake up still with no Lauren around you. Suddenly, your body is filled with panic, but before you could fully react, you heard sounds of rumbling coming from your living room.

Getting out of bed and quickly rushing with only your hairspray as a tool of self defense incase someone had broken in. To your holy surprise, your apartment had been broken into by the girlfriend you we're worried about.

"Where the heck have you been lauren you had me really worried?" You told her with hints of announcements in your voice. "I know baby things weren't going like I planned, so I had to work with what I could." She said with guilt.

"Felt like you disappeared on me." You said, tears falling from your eyes. " I'm sorry baby, I promise it won't happen again, and the surprise would definitely be worth it." You heard her say as she was wiping away the tears. "Happy birthday lovely".

After hours of reassuring from lauren and spending the day showerd with love and care. You truly found out what your big surprise was because lauren had told you to get dressed in your fancy but most comfortable dress, and you would meet her at some special cottage.

The moment you finished getting ready, there was a limo already waiting for you outside your home. Your head was really spinning to what lauren was planning.

Before you could get deep in thoughts, the driver had informed you of your arrival.

The place Lauren had book was beautiful as you entered through the halls rose petals were on the ground, pictures of you and Lauren though out the years hanged on the wall.

But the one that caught your eyes was a picture of when you guys were doing long distance and she came to surprise you from the other side of the world, when you poured your heart to her the night prior to her visit.

You finished your walk to find lj in a room fully decorated and in a suit looking most beautifully as ever. "Lauren, what going on?" You asked her as your voice laced with nervousness.

She started by saying."Since the day that I meet you at the euros was the moment I realized what being inlove meant, you made me become the woman that I am today stood by my side when the whole world was doubting me but you never gave up on us kept on fighting no matter the difficulties that we faced, but it all does matter to me and all I ask of you today is-.

She said, getting on one knee but before she could finish. You felt like you knew what she was gonna say next, didn't even let her finish her sentence before nodding your head and saying. "If you're asking me to marry you, then it is a yes." You told her suddenly, feeling her strong arms wrap around you. " Happy birthday, baby,".

Cutting her off guard by placing your lips onto hers, you we're now engaged to Lauren james, the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

[bettystonewell]

What Happened Last Night? - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After burning the Book of the Damned and escaping the Styne's, you all have a night of harmless celebrations back at the bunker. At least, it was harmless until Charlie suggested a game of Never Have I Ever, and the rest of your night became a blur. Friends to Lovers 18+ only

Word Count: 6,400

Warnings: Language, Dubious Consent (implied drunk sex), SMUT —————————————————————PREVIOUS || READ ON AO3

After some bacon, toast, painkillers, and more coffee to wash it all down with, you escaped the common area of the bunker to the confines of your room. With no white sheets, no clothes on the floor and nothing to remind you of Dean, it was a perfect, cosy haven to mull things over in.

Last night was still a blur, but his face at the table was not and the confusion and disappointment you’d seen in his eyes left you feeling less hungover and more sick. 

A lump had formed in your throat and your stomach churned as you fought your memories to remember some order of events. What was said? Who’d instigated things, and how far did you get? 

You couldn’t remember if you had slept with him or not, but it was something you’d wanted for a long time. Not just sex, but to be closer to him. And if that became a permanent arrangement, well, you wouldn’t be upset by that. 

Would you go as far as to say you wanted a relationship with him? Probably not, but then again…

Oh god. 

You had it bad. And now you’d fucked things up. 

Fuck. What if you’d fucked things up?

What if he wanted nothing more to do with you or it had all been a onetime thing? Something to let off steam because of the mark or any other crappy thing in his life. 

He had quite a lot of things…

But if it had been a one-off, and you didn’t even get to remember it? Well, that was crappy too.

Maybe you should move? Hah. That was a bit extreme. The bunker was your home too and had been for over a year. You wouldn’t move out for something like this, but maybe you could take a few days away? That’s all that was needed for the whole thing to blow over and for you to pretend nothing had happened, right?

Right?

No, you couldn’t do that. Not without talking to him first, anyway. You owed yourself that much, and you owed him that much, too. Especially after the look he’d given you and what he’d said to Charlie about sorting out your shit. 

So, after giving yourself a few hours of mulling, you decided there was no time like the present - to sort out some shit. 

You left your room and walked down the cold and sterile corridor. You stepped right up to his door square in front of it and reached your arm out to knock. But as your fist touched the wood below the brass-plated Aquarian star at the ready, you hesitated and withdrew. 

Why were you doing this again? ‘Cause it seemed like a bad idea now. His door was closed and you assumed that meant he didn’t want to be disturbed. 

Yeah. He didn’t want to be disturbed.

This could wait til later when his door was open. Later that night, or maybe tomorrow.

‘Definitely tomorrow.’

And once again, you were on the move. You spun back around on your heel in the direction you’d come from and took a step forward, just when room 11’s door clicked open and Dean called out to you. 

“What’re you doing?” 

Shit. 

You’d stood there in the hall waiting too long. Damn hunter senses. He must’ve seen your shadow under the gap between the wood and the floor. Or heard the soft thud on his door from your knuckles.

He was leaning against it with his arms folded and his legs crossed beneath him when you turned back and it took your breath away. His flannel was missing and the form under his simple, black t-shirt was solid and defined. 

“I um… Thought we could have a do-over,” you said. “Talk about last night.”

Last night…

Of all the things you recalled about last night, images of his bare chest showed up the most. Your fingers and tongue had been very up close and personal with it. Tasting the salt from his skin along with the alcohol he held on his breath.

You had it bad alright. 

He must’ve known it, too. You saw the grimace on his face turn into a smirk when he saw how your eyes roamed. “But you changed your mind?”

This was great. Just great... Although at least he was open to talking with you.

He flicked his head to the room behind him without another word and that’s how you found your way back to his bed, sitting side by side at the foot-end of it with a safe distance between you.

His room was now neat. The white sheets you’d found covering you earlier that morning were folded and tucked in over the blanket, with no creases in sight. While the floor surrounding the bed was no longer scattered with clothes.

There was no evidence whatsoever of whatever had transpired last night. All gone like the words you’d spoken to him had from your memories.

“So,” you said. 

“So?” Dean said back. 

You noticed the way he slouched his shoulders and drooped his head. A far cry from the confidence he’d just displayed in the hall. Now his arms rested on his thighs and his hands clenched into fists. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was just as uncomfortable as you were, but why?

He hadn’t woken up in your bed. He hadn’t worn your clothes. (Not that he’d fit them.) And he had forgotten nothing - apparently. Yet he looked as uncertain as you felt when he turned to look at you again.

He was waiting for you to say something and by the right you should’ve. You came to him, after all. But through all the brooding you’d done, you hadn’t decided what to say. You had been so focused on trying to remember last night’s activities that you had forgotten yet another important thing. 

Having no idea how to start, you did what you always did when you were clueless about what to do and apologised. “Ah. Sorry for bolting on you earlier,” you said. “I kind of freaked out a little when I woke up and I, well, I panicked.”

While it may not have been appropriate or the perfect solution, it seemed to work because he unclenched his fists and sat upright. “You really don’t remember?” 

“Well… Bits of it. I know we started something. I just don’t know how far we got.” 

And there it was. That disappointed look in his eyes you had seen back at the table had resurfaced, this time accompanied by regret.

What else could you say besides, “Sorry,” again? Your own screwed-up expression making an appearance.

“You think saying sorry makes it better?” he spat.

“Why are you so pissy?” you spat right back.

You knew it was the wrong thing to say, but you couldn’t help the words that spewed from your mouth. You’d apologised against your better judgement. The least he could do was say something kind in return. 

“Pissy?” He sprung off the bed and spun around to tower over you. 

Oh hell no! 

He still had a height advantage, but you weren’t going to take his attitude sitting down and you stood up too. “You’re getting all offended because I don’t remember what happened. But newsflash, I was drunk. What do you expect?”

“Newsflash. You were drunk, and we almost had sex! It was lucky you passed out before anything really started.” 

To say relief washed over you in that moment was an understatement. 

You’d almost had sex, not had. 

If that were the case, then that meant you hadn’t fucked up completely and your friendship with Dean was still salvageable (you hoped). There was also no longer any need to worry about asking awkward questions such as whether he had come inside of you or had used protection… 

Nope. You were good in that department.

You’d passed out. 

No wonder you remembered nothing. You’d been drunker than you realised and it was a wonder you’d recalled anything at all. ‘Stupid Charlie and her stupid drinking game.’ Though you knew when you saw her again, you’d be all smiles. 

Nothing could get you down except for the look that marred Dean’s face. His eyes pierced through your short-lived happiness like a pin to a balloon and as it deflated, you muttered yet another, “Sorry. I don’t normally pass out like that.”

“Would you stop saying you’re sorry? Do you think I’d wanna continue when you were that drunk? And after what you told me.”

Shit. What did you tell him?

Oh no. No, no, no. That’s it. If you’d told him you had feelings for him, then you were moving out. Whether he reciprocated them or not, the sheer embarrassment was enough of an excuse to leave for good. 

Just after you asked, “Dean. What happened last night?” 

His eyes softened and his stance relaxed. “We continued the game. Where Charlie left off… Her last turn.”

Her last turn. Your mind scrambled through its cracks and corners, pulling the face of a drunken Charlie to its forefront. Her flushed cheeks and her words, “Never have I ever gone down on a guy,” replayed over and over in your head.

That’s when Sam had had enough and called it a night. Cas had been confused and followed him while Charlie, who found the whole thing hilarious, had made the excuse to use the bathroom and never returned. 

Did you down the shot for that? Yes. Yes, you did.

And you asked Dean if he wanted to keep playing after, turning the tables on him when he’d said yes. He’d taken a swig to, “Never have I ever gone down on a girl,” and it had only gotten raunchier after that.

“It started flirty,” Dean said, confirming your memory. “But then it got more, I dunno, personal, and it stopped being a game. And then you said something about risking friendships and when I asked you what you meant, you kissed me.” 

Nuh-uh. You called bullshit. “I was on the other side of the table.”

“You came around to me,” he retorted. “Sat yourself in my lap and grinded your hips a little.” 

You didn’t miss the small pull of his lips and the flash of ardour in his eyes that betrayed his tone, yet, still you were quick to be defensive. “I did not.” 

You had it bad, but you would never just act on it like that, would you?

Though as you strained your hardest to think back, your brain brought forward an image of your legs on either side of his and a twinge between them and the pit of your stomach that you’d felt then…

And now. 

“Okay, maybe I did,” you said as you lowered your eyes, sweeping over what had been your denim seat.

Fuck. You horny little minx.

“Hey. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” Without even looking, you heard his grin. “Why do you think I offered for you to come in here with me in the first place?”

Because he’d wanted this too, you realised. And he must’ve been enjoying himself just as much as you had until you’d passed out on him.

“So, when did I pass out?” you asked.

Rather than answering, Dean walked around to the nightstand on the back wall next to his bed and picked up something small enough to fit in his hand. It crinkled under his touch, sounding more like the soft plastic of a candy bar than anything else. 

Your suspicions told you otherwise though, and when he came back around and took your hand to place the object in your palm, you didn’t need to look at it to recognise the feel and shape of a condom still inside its wrapper. 

There was the definite answer to your question about protection.

You tore your eyes away from the colourful package to see him looking uneasy. His hands were stuck deep in his pockets. “We hadn’t got that far,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle.

“I was getting prepared. I leaned over to grab that and when I came back to, you know, continue, you’d passed out… You woke up still wearing your panties, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Right. Cause we didn’t take ‘em off.”

“But you dressed me? I was wearing your shirt when I woke up.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Nothing happened, though. I uh… We didn’t get past second base. Though we were getting there… I might’ve run my hand over you, and you know, you rubbed yourself over my leg, but nothin’ more than that.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He’d painted the picture well enough, and it explained why you were struggling to remember more than you had. “Uh… Thanks,” you said, giving him a meek smile that his face screwed up over. 

“Yeah... Of course...”

Still holding the condom in your hand, you sat down on the bed, running your finger over the sharp edge and staring anywhere but at him. Embarrassment washed over you, and he appeared to share the same sentiment. Hah. The ever flirtatious Dean Winchester, confident around every other woman but you.

So why didn’t it make things easier? You were on a level playing field and yet tension still filled the air.

“So what now?” you asked. 

“What do you mean?”

Dammit. Why’d he have to answer your question with another one? 

“I dunno. We almost had sex and I can’t remember any of it, but you do… Do you wanna pretend nothing happened or…?” 

“Do you?” 

There was a definite hitch in his voice that had you raising your head to meet his eyes. “No. You might regret what almost happened, but I don’t.”

“What makes you think I regret it?”

You raised your brow and shrugged. “Look at you. You’re not exactly screaming confidence right now.”

“Doesn’t mean I regret it.” His body language still said otherwise.

“Really? Cause that’s not what I’m getting from all this.” You sighed and hung your head again. This tension. All this movement back and forth was putting a strain on your neck. It was bad enough there was one in your heart.

“Hey.” He stooped down to crouch before you and placed a hand on your knee. His touch was as soothing and gentle as his next words tried to be. “Really. I regret nothing. I just don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

Taking advantage of? “You can’t take advantage of someone if it’s what they want, Dean.” 

How could he not know it’s what you’d wanted? According to him, you’d been the one to start things off. Was that not obvious enough for him?

Of course it was. 

Which meant this wasn’t something he wanted after all, and you had embarrassed yourself more than you’d thought. Fuck. You were so fucking stupid. What had you done?

You’d said and done way too much. That’s what you’d done.

“I need to go.”

Without hesitation, you brushed his hand off your leg and picked yourself up so you could make your way to the door, but a newfound grip on your wrist held you in your tracks. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I did. And now we have,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”

But he refused.

His free hand pried the condom packet out of yours and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. He then stepped up to you, chest to chest and angled his head down to yours, watching you through an intense gaze. “What do you want, sweetheart?” 

What did you want? You wanted him. How was that not obvious by now? Did you really have to say it? 

“I…” you stuttered.

He leaned in close, captivating every piece of you. From his mouth and the warmth of his breath that escaped it to brush against your cheeks and lashes. To your beating heart that raced above a stomach that was bubbling with butterflies. 

“Don’t forget you told me things last night. You might not remember ‘em but I do and I’m pretty sure you’ve been wanting something from me for a while… Now, what do you want?” he asked again before speaking lower. “Cause maybe I want it too.”

Maybe he wanted it too?

His words were a switch, and they forced you into action.

“You, I want you,” you breathed, closing the gap between you to press your lips to his.

Your eyes closed and his hands started roaming over your body. Fingers brushed over your cheek and combed through your hair up top. While lower, they smoothed over your clothes, sending shockwaves of need to the skin beneath them.

Dean’s bicep contracted under your palm while the muscles of his stomach and chest rose and fell below the other.

What a kiss. What a delicious, indescribable kiss.

So familiar, yet oh so new.

Every touch was pleasurable. Every nip and graze was precise. His taste, his scent, the small, inaudible sounds he made. It was all there in what brief memory you had from last night and it continued to keep you entranced as you allowed yourself to experience it again for the first time. 

He placed kiss after sensuous kiss over your mouth, your neck and your collarbone, eliciting a quiet hum when he moved to that spot below your ear. Your hands raked through the tufts of his hair, from the short and spiky ones on the back of his neck, to the finer ones he kept longer at the sides. 

His grin was huge when you pulled apart to catch your breaths but he still sounded sincere when he asked, “You sure you want this?”

Did he really need to ask you that now? At this moment, when you could be doing plenty of other things?

Yes, you wanted him. You’d wanted him last night and days, weeks, months, years before that. Since the moment you’d met, it was all you ever wanted and while you knew you may regret things tomorrow or the next day, you couldn’t deny yourself from the moment because it was right in front of you now.

“Yeah.” You smiled in earnest, watching his features as your arms snaked their way around his back to press yourself into him further. His chest was hard against yours and his groin, impressive. There was a distinguishable shape beneath the layer of denim and whatever he wore underneath it. 

You couldn’t help the fresh round of warmth that spread across your cheeks and matched the yearning in the pit of your stomach below as his tongue invaded your mouth again.  Running over every crevice it could reach as his hands came to the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingers up to knead any piece of skin they could. 

With practised hands, they traced their path over the bruises from last night, gliding past your navel and manoeuvring under your bra, just as you recalled. Only this time, you felt the moment he’d unclasped it to give himself easier access to your breasts.

He pulled away from you only to remove your shirt and fully expose your chest to him. His eyes wandered over the marks below your collarbone and on the side of your hips with pride. “Never have I ever done that,” he said with a satisfied hum.

Huh?

He chuckled at your confusion. “You took charge of the clothes we lost last night, including mine.”

You groaned and buried your face in his shirt, feeling him shake against you. Fucking hell. Last-night’s-you was overzealous and needy. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s chuckle grew into a burst of laughter. His hands gripped your shoulder and forced your head to look up at him before he placed a simple kiss over your mouth. “No more sorries, alright? Never have I ever apologised during sex.”

“What?” You could see the humour in his statement, but why the fuck was he saying it like that? 

“Just playing the game.” 

He stepped back and removed his shirt in one fluid motion. 

Well, hello Dean.

Until last night, you only saw him with his shirt off when you were helping him dress a wound, and half the time he had blood all over him - that was never attractive on anyone - but now you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

“Now. You apologised. You gotta take your bra off for that.”

“So, why did you remove your shirt?”

He shrugged and his muscles rippled through the motion. “My game, my rules. Bra off.” He nodded his head at the offending item.

That was enough for you and you did as you were asked. One strap, then you had it off with the next, and the second it hit the floor, Dean pounced on you.

Wrapping one arm around your waist,  the other brought its hand up to cup your newly exposed breasts, while his head lowered so his mouth could wrap around the other, flicking his tongue over your hardening nipple and suckling with a tender pressure when it formed into a bud.

Boy, what a tongue. There was no way he’d done this last night. And If he had, you didn’t deserve to reap the rewards from it now. 

The sensations he gave you were intoxicating. 

His scent, even more so.

The gel from his hair that whisked under your nose, the motor oil on his fingers that danced over your skin and the whiskey that still seeped from his pores - vanilla and spice. It all added to the smell of gunpowder that always lingered in his room.

Releasing you with a pop, he raised his head to glance at you through half-lidded eyes. His expression had a carnal look to it and when he opened his mouth to speak again, confidence oozed from deep within him. “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever?”

He nodded.

“Ah…” You had no fucking clue what to say, but those green eyes stared at you with such anticipation that rather than taking your ‘turn,’ you flung yourself at him instead.

Your hands caressed either side of his neck and just bare of planting your lips on his own, Dean’s arms swooped around your waist and thigh to lift you off the floor. 

He carried you back to his bed with a hurried step and had you caged beneath him in the blink of an eye.

It was exactly where you wanted to be. Screw his game. Screw last night. You were sober and more than ready for him.

Arousal pooled at your entrance, separated by mere layers of fabric from his thigh. Without the heavy denim, he surely would have felt the wetness seeping through. The thick muscle pushed against you, encouraging your legs to spread further apart. 

He might not have been able to feel you, but you felt him. His length was a solid bulge against the lower part of your pelvis. 

He had to be thick. Long too. And you wondered how you managed to pass out when Dean’s ‘monster’ was well within your hand’s reach. 

They now trailed over the smooth skin of his toned back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he pulled air into his lungs. 

“You know last night you asked me to fuck you?” 

Oh god. How eloquent of you. “I’m never drinking again,” you muttered under your breath.

“But drunk-you was so fun and honest… She told me she gets jealous when I hook up with other girls I meet at the bar, and d’you know what I told her?” 

‘Hopefully to shut up.’ Drunk-you needed to learn how to filter better. As well as when to stop drinking. 

“I told her I hate watching her flirt with all the douchebags she talks to...”

And with that last sentence, he had you captivated again. His body, his face. Those green eyes watched you with reverence and shined brighter than they ever had before with you. “Cause I want her just as much as she wants me” 

Dean pulled away from you with a smirk and brought his hands to the fly of your jeans, helping you with them and the panties underneath. “I’m not just gonna fuck you, baby, I’m gonna take such good care of you too... And then when I’m done, I ain’t letting you leave this bed.”

Fuck.

It was finally happening. 

Here you were and there he was, towering above you. A knee on either side of your leg and hand over your hip, gripping the extra flesh there with a welcomed pressure. 

Dean was sex on a stick, and right at that moment, he was yours.

Before you knew it, a finger swiped through your centre and the calloused pad of another was on your clit. 

“Fuck,” you inhaled with a hiss through your teeth. 

It was finally happening.

“You’re so wet for me already. Bet you’ve been like that the entire time. Since last night? Or maybe just at my door?… I saw the way you looked at me.” 

“Don’t get so full of yourself,” you jeered, and he chuckled. The sound reverberated through his chest and travelled to his fingers and brought out such delicious sensations to your core and further beyond it. 

“You’ll be full of something soon enough,” he said with promise.

And you couldn’t wait.

Your skin was on fire. Your cunt was on fire, too. Attempting to clamp on something or draw Dean’s fingers in, and whether he knew it, that’s the next thing he did, pushing one thick digit up into you.

It curled over, skimming over the cushioned walls that lined your entrance with come hither motions.

You cried out his name when he found your sweet spot and grabbed hold of his wrist when he inserted a second finger to join it. All the while, he watched you with interest and a feverous gaze as his fingers worked you into a frenzy. 

Expectations met with reality. No one, not even you, had touched yourself in this way in such a long while and the sounds he had you making were proof enough. Dean was skilled and every rumour you’d ever heard of him was true.

“There?” he asked when your back arched off the bed.

“There.” Fuck. Right there. 

He flashed you a cocksure grin before shuffling backwards and lowering his head to join his hands. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Dean was down there and you weren’t prepared for that. You hadn’t shaved or paid particular attention to yourself to be ready for this. Drunk-you might not have cared but sober-you sure fucking did.

Your hands scrambled to pull him away from you and when that didn’t work, you attempted a retreat. 

But he gripped firmer on your hip, never faltering with the other hand that continued to work on you. “I told you I’m takin’ care of you tonight.” 

His warm breath passed over your folds and it had your legs trembling. 

“You’re so close, baby girl. So tight around my fingers… Wonder what will happen when I taste you,” he murmured.

Soon his soft, succulent lips surrounded your clit, and that’s all it took for the pressure boiling within to release. Your slicked cunt clamped on Dean’s fingers like a vice around wood as you cried out his name again.

He continued to guide you through it, even as he rose to face you. The same grin from earlier spread across his face and a newfound glisten surrounded it. 

“How’re we doing up here?” he asked.

How were you doing? You were “Fan-fucking-tastic,” and struggling to regain a regular breath. 

Your hands wrapped around his head, pulling him down to capture his lips with yours, awarding you a taste of yourself, but better still, another taste of him.

Despite being thoroughly taken care of, you still desired more. You needed to touch him, taste him and have him inside of you. So your hands trailed lower, running across his heaving chest and abdomen, to the rough denim that constrained him, palming him with one hand and attempting to move his belt with the other.

“Never have I ever gotten in here,” you said, earning you a chuckle and a swat of your hand. 

“I’m taking care of you, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do the same for you.” 

He considered you for a moment, but shook his head. “Maybe next time.” With a peck of your lips, he withdrew back, stepping off the bed to unbuckle his belt. “I wanna feel you wrapped around me now.”

You could get used to this. And you were going to hold him to that next time, but for now, how could you say no to those green eyes? 

They stared down at you, travelling the length of your body with a hungry gaze. Your own doing the same to him.

You heard the clink as his belt hit the floor and you heard the shuffle as his feet stepped out of his pants. But your eyes? You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way his erection sprang up against his stomach. It was standing unashamed.

“Like what you see?”

Fuck yeah, you did.

Genius Charlie and her genius game.

It was impressive, just as you’d thought, with a slight curve and a thick bulbous head.

You watched as he pumped himself and replied by sitting up and crawling over to him to replace his hand with yours. He was warm and heavy, and he grunted when your fingers curled around his girth to find the pressure he liked most.

‘There we go.’ You grinned when you were awarded with a soft moan and a thrust of his hips. 

“I thought I was going to take care of you?”

“So did I. But you weren’t moving fast enough.” 

Another moan escaped him - a deep growl from somewhere within his chest.

You wanted to see if he’d do that again, but his fingers pried yours away from him and he pulled you to stand with him on the floor. Your chest met his and his length met your stomach, while those same hands came round to grab your rear and pushed your pelvis into his. 

The sharp edge of the condom wrapper dug into the thick flesh of your rump and you reached around to take it.

Dean released you to step back, watching as you got down on a bent knee to see him up close. His hand took one large clump of your hair and tugged, gentle but firm.

‘Never have I ever gone down on Dean Winchester,’ you thought. But there was a first time for everything.

You played your game in earnest, unbeknownst to him, opening wide to take the now-reddened tip into your mouth with one gulp.

“Fuck,” he said above you.

Your tongue flicked over the small slit, tasting the first drops of pre cum that had collected there. Not salty, or sour, or bitter, but something you couldn’t describe. To say it was unpleasant was a lie because it was Dean, and because it was Dean. Any doubt or reserve you’d had before last night went out the window. 

And you went to town.

You sucked, licked and stroked him up, down and all over, listening to his sounds and any cues he gave you. When his hand gripped your hair tighter, you doubled your efforts of the current manoeuvre until he could take no more.

“Woah.” His hand pulled you back. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I was hoping to get past third and hit home… I don’t think I can wait another night to be inside ya.”

Neither could you, and you stood up again, handing over the small foil packages still held onto. “Then take care of me, Dean.” 

He flicked his head towards his bed and you moved without question, sitting in the middle with your legs crossed. Unsure of where else to go or how else to sit. Should you lie back? Did he want you up on your hands and knees? Would he let you ride him?

Yes, your thoughts were fleeting, but your mind was a whirlwind of anxiety.

The kind that made you feel alive. 

You were cold without his touch but heated with a need for him that only grew stronger as you watched him calm himself enough to put the rubber on.

Then his eyes met yours and he was over you within seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“Never have I ever apologised during sex?” 

He answered you with a kiss and you knew this was it. The main event that you’d been building to.

Finally.

Your hands took on a will of their own and moved to roam where they saw fit. A set of fingers traced his tattoo as you knew they’d done last night. The other moved further north, tracing over an arm and shoulder to wrap around his neck. It kept him in place for the time being, scratching fingernails through his dark blonde hair and over his scalp.

Both of his knees sat between your thighs while an arm kept you caged below him. Not that you planned on going anywhere. 

His weight stayed off of you as a hand moved below to cup you above the tuft of curls that covered your entrance. He pushed a finger between the folds beneath and stopped to grace your clit with a few small circles before dipping further into your centre.

As much as you wanted things to move further along, you appreciated him making sure you were more than ready. He was big and while you weren’t inexperienced to think he wouldn’t fit, you knew there was a satisfying stretch waiting for you.

“Dean.”

“Mmm.” He hummed into your lips. His tongue mimicking his finger below. “You want something?” he asked when he pulled away to give you his full attention.

“Yeah. You.”

Your hand reached to grip him, being careful to not shift the condom that fit him snugly, and encouraged him closer.

His head dipped to nibble at the spot he’d discovered last night by your ear as the tip of his thick length caught at your entrance. 

Your cunt fluttered in desperation, trying to clamp onto it or anything else. He was so damn close. And you hoped your impending orgasm was closer.

“Dean,” you breathed. Your body, gasping to fill the air into your lungs to calm you the fuck down.

“You think you’re ready for me huh?” He muttered against the crook of your neck. The coolness of his breath created a pleasant contrast against the heat radiating from your skin, and you bucked your hips in response. 

The man was skilled, yes, you’d already established that, but the way he hit home in one swift stride had you reeling.

There he was, in all his glory. Thick, hard, and throbbing deep inside you.

The stretch, the fullness and the completion you had not been prepared for. ‘Fuck me.’

Or rather, thank drunk-you.

Thanks to drunk-you and Charlie. Because if it hadn’t been for the copious amounts of alcohol you drank last night, you would not be here right now. High on cloud nine, with Dean Winchester between your legs.

Finally.

His fervent kisses covered your mouth, and a hand splayed over your hair, intertwining thick fingers through thicker chunks of locks. 

He still hovered over your tingling form and you had to wiggle your hips to get his attention. Your body was well adjusted, and you just needed him to move.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said as he took the hint and set a pace you so desperately tried to match.

Fuck indeed. 

Everything was right in the world. Stars aligned (and all those other fancy words you couldn’t think of in the moment happened too) as his hands wandered over your body and your legs glided up and down his. Any attempt to feel him on every part of your being, and encourage him to keep going. That was your ultimate goal. 

Dean pounded into you and you taking it like a trooper. Whispering encouraging words and praises into his ears as he continued to fill you repeatedly. 

“So good.”

“Harder.”

“Just like that.”

And of course his name. “Dean.” It came off your tongue with ease, as your own name did from him when he flipped you both over and pulled you back down.

This new angle had him deeper within you and once again, your legs trembled. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby?” he drawled. 

But you couldn’t respond. The way he did that. And then that again? Man. He told you he was going to take care of you and damn well, he was. 

The heat was rising, and you were trying to stave it off. You wanted to hold out as long as you could but it was proving difficult when a firm pressure began circling your clit.

Your head buried itself in his shoulder, attempting to distract your body and return the pleasure he was giving you but it was all too much.

“Dean,” you breathed. Shit. “Oh shit.”

Your movements stilled but your body did not. 

It shuddered over and around him. Gripping his length and attempting to draw it in further.

“So beautiful. Coming all over my cock,” he said with a snap of his hips, never relenting, not even once as he chased his own orgasm. 

He thrust again and again. Sweet, unrelenting friction that only extended your high.

And then it happened.

You felt the moment he spilled himself into the condom, the throb of his shaft, the tightening in his stomach and legs, and the groan that escaped him. “Fuck.”

Your sentiments exactly. The man was talented, and you were the luckiest girl alive to have experienced it almost last night, and again just now.

You had no regrets, and you looked into his eyes to see none from him either.

“How you doing down there?” you asked with a chortle to go along with your teasing tone. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said.

With still trembling legs and a shit-eating grin to match his, you lifted yourself up and somehow managed to bring yourself to flop onto the bed next to him. You snuggled into his side and he welcomed you with an open arm and another lingering kiss.

What happened last night? Who fucking cared. What happened after this was far more important, and you made a mental note to thank Charlie (with as little detail as possible) when you saw her later.

Nah, tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

PREVIOUS || READ ON AO3—————————————————————Thank you so much for reading! I’ll be slowly bringing my other stories over in the coming weeks 😚

Up next! - Another Notch on His Belt - 17/01 🇦🇺⏱️

(Dean’s POV - 18+ only - 1.2k words) Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night. A delve into Dean replacing intimacy with sex. If you’d like to be tagged, lmk.

[sammyluvr]

✶ out of my head — spencer reid

cw : gn!bau!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, mental exhaustion, very little dialogue, unedited, 985 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : a motel bathroom + “i can’t get you out of my head.”

the town is small, the case is hard, and the nights aren’t restful. for this week, it’s two to a seedy motel room. spencer’s your roommate this time around, which helps nothing at all. you should be used to how beautiful he looks when he’s sleepy and just woken up in the morning, but it makes your chest tighten to the point where you nearly stop breathing. it’s not as if you haven’t shared a room with him for a case before, but there’s some weird intimacy about sharing this room.

he’s in the bathroom, washing his hands, as he’s been doing often this trip. the first time you walked into the room with him, go-bags heavy after a long flight, he sprouted off some statistic regarding the cleanliness of motel rooms, or rather the lack thereof. you think he was trying to cover up how nervous it made him, and you offered to take his sheets and blanket to the laundromat you passed. the signage had told you that it’s always open late. you certainly wouldn’t mind extra clean sheets either.

he refused, though, saying he’d do it himself if he really needed to, and that you shouldn’t have to do that for him. but you don’t really think about it in terms of should or shouldn’t, more so that it makes you glad to do anything for him at all. you stay quiet though, and let this one slide. as long as he sleeps alright, it’s fine with you. 

sleeping well is a relative term, of course. it’s two in the morning right now, and you’ve just gotten back from the station. hotch sent you all to bed after a break in the case. the night shift detectives will keep working until you all get at least a bit of rest.

you drift over to the bathroom, its warm light casting spencer’s form in soft shadow. he hears your sigh before your quiet footsteps, and turns his neck to look at you. he gives you a soft smile, drying his hands on the small towel. you try not to stare; he has very pretty hands.

“hey,” he murmurs, making no move to leave the bathroom. he can tell by the way you padded over that you don’t actually need the room for anything. that, and you used it and brushed your teeth first thing after getting back. you’ve already donned your sleep clothes, too. you move forward, and he steps back, leaving room for you at the sink. the heels of your hands meet the cool ceramic of the sink as you lean against it, facing him from less than a foot away. the bathroom most definitely is not a generous size.

“hey,” you echo, voice just as soft as his. to him, you sound even more tired than usual. resigned, even. he’s trying to decide if you’ll respond decently to him asking if you’re okay. you speak again before he can decide. “spence?”

“yeah?” he wants to call you honey, but he doesn’t. but the way you say his name is begging for him to respond with equal sweetness and intimacy. or maybe honey is doubly sweet and intimate, but to him, your voice saying his nickname like that is the same as if you called him baby. he’s shy, but he wishes you’d call him that.

you look at him with sad eyes and he wishes that look would go away. i can’t get you out of my head, you want to say. “i’m tired,” is what comes out, anticlimactic and falling flat on the tile floor.

but his eyes fill with sympathy regardless and he gives a little frown on your behalf. even if you were going to say something else, the words that leave your lips are just as true. you are tired, very much so. not just from the case or the lumpy bed, but from everything, you suppose. it’s a bone deep type of exhaustion, and somehow your growing love for him is the only thing you can think about these days. it’s pressing to get out and make itself known, and now it feels heavy and oppressive.

“it’s been a long day,” spencer agrees. he knows how you feel, at least in terms of the exhaustions, and that it’s really not about just today. but he also knows that you know that, and that there’s not much to say. not right now, at least. it’s not the time for that sort of conversation, he can tell.

you swallow, suddenly nervous. you’re asking yourself why the hell you walked into this damn bathroom, put yourself so close to him without the option to actually close the distance. but you sort of just want to hug him. you want to get it off your chest, because you think it’ll make some of the exhaustion go away. though things could certainly get worse.

“i can’t get you out of my head, you know.” this time, the words slip out before you can stop them. you’re not sure if it’s the right thing to say, the right way to tell him, but you suppose the meaning is implied and that you’ve gone out and said it, finally. that makes your shoulders drop, and a relieved huff of breath leaves your lips. even if he doesn’t feel the same, at least you’ve said it.

most other days, spencer would’ve kissed you, maybe after clumsily telling you that he can’t get you out of his head either. but today, you’re sagging and tired, so he pulls you into his arms with a certain sort of ease that tells you he doesn’t mind being close to you. he likes it, even. he presses a kiss to the bare skin of your forehead, and that’s your answer. he’ll stay stuck in your head, but it will be far more bearable because he loves you back.

[gorgeys]

kingston

the day that i'd met you i started dreaming now i write 'em down if i remember in the morning time or shauna writes a journal entry about you

8/12/1996

i had another dream about her.

we were back home and i was laying on my bed.  i was focusing on the sound of rain falling outside my window when the phone rang.  when i picked it up, i could hear her whispering on the other end.  her voice was muffled, like her lips were pressed flush against the phone, but i could still hear her clearly.

i can't even remember what exactly she said, just the honey sweet sound of her voice.  i can only remember her calling my name.

"shaunaaaaa," she would taunt, dragging out the last letter.  then she giggled so quietly i had to strain to hear it.  "are you still there?"

it wasn't a wet dream by any means, but something about the way she spoke made it feel erotic.  it's the eighth dream she's appeared in since we've been here.

when i woke up this morning, i could still hear her voice echoing in my head.

"shaunaaaaa"

over and over again.  i thought it would make my ears bleed, but i learned i'd rather have her voice in my head than silence.  now my name sounds wrong leaving anyone's lips that aren't hers.

she was already awake and standing by the kitchen counter when i climbed down from the attic.  she turned when she heard my footsteps behind her.

"hi, shauna," she said with a soft smile.  "sleep well?"

hearing her say my name in real life was somehow better than the dream.  i forgot how to speak for a second.  i can't even imagine how stupid i looked staring at her, rendered speechless.

but, to answer her question, i had some of my best sleep since we got here.  i noticed i sleep better when she's in my dreams.

i try not to think about that too often.  when i do, i begin to realize the effect she has on me, and it slightly scares me.

i've barely even spoken with her, but when she looks at me from across the room, i want to give her everything and more.  it's definitely not normal, but somehow it feels natural.

"shaunaaaa" is all i've been thinking about all day.  even when i was slitting that deer's throat, all i could hear was her quiet, warm voice swallowing me whole.

i've been craving sleep just so i can hear it again.  better yet, maybe she'll say my name before then.  preferably, with her lips pressed against the shell of my ear.

a girl certainly can dream.

a/n: idk what this is guys

[yandere-wishes]

just read the latest grayson fic and him with joker and harly’s daughter 😊 it would be so good.

I think wildcard would be good because having a child grow up in the Gillian industry, they would see the fails others have had and she could use them as well so you don’t know what she knows from other villains. And oml giggles sounds like something her parents would call her as a cute nickname💜 I love that thought.

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! I actually have plans to write HC for all the batboys with their respective villain!Darlings! I'm just not sure when I'll get to it cause Uni is starting up again soon 😭😭😭

I'm not sure what the Gillian industry is (do all of Batman's villains have homes in the same neighborhood? That would make for killer domestic life fanfiction!!!💞💖💞💖) But the idea of her being a "Wildcard" and having been raised on the villains' doctrines. Given the chance to study their shortcomings is IMMACULATE!!! She'd be so overpowered, I LOVE IT!!

────────୨ৎ────────

🂠 She's not just the daughter of Batman's greatest (and scariest) villain, but also an amalgamation of all his rogues. She'd know all his weaknesses before she was even a teenager. Bonus points if she was literally raised by the Rogue's gallery to BE Batman's demise!!

🂠 Joker I feel would be a good dad (I know scandalous thought) there is a joke somewhere in all of this. That you created someone, an extension of yourself to defeat your greatest rival. That it took years of your failure to make a perfect "version of yourself". Someone stronger, smarter, better, someone who is the panicle of all you stand for and want to achieve. Although I can see him being a strict father, one who only permits social interactions with other "freaks" trying to keep her daughter safe from all the "boring sheep" of Gotham.  

🂠 Harley is such a loving (smothering at times) mother. She will definitely teach her daughter all she knows. Heck her first toy is probably going to be a mallet of some kind. Their Mother-Daughter time consists of Gymnastic training and rollerblading.

🂠 Ivy is definitely the Godmother (IDK who the Godfather would be? Riddler may be or Twoface just for the divorced aesthetic with Ivy)  and despite it not sitting well with Joker. She's going to teach the reader about seduction and how to lour in your prey.

🂠 The rest of the rouges help out too. Teach her all they know, raising her to be better than they ever were. I feel like, as the rouges grow older, they start to see the merit in having a legacy, someone to raise and "pass the torch to" kinda like Bats does with the Robins.

🂠 But the irony of all this is that Wildcard!Reader prefers to fight Nightwing as opposed to Batman. Sure it's fun family time to try all kill the bat with her mother and father. But she's honestly more interested in ripping apart the Wisecraking acrobat that somehow knows exactly where she is at all times. The black-haired menace that won't leave her alone, that hugs her a little too close and too tightly when he's cuffing her wrists. The golden boy who stole her first kiss and who shamelessly trails even more kisses down her neck. The "HERO" who haunts her nightmares even when she's home, safely tucked into her funhouse-esque bed...

🂠 Wildcard!Reader is slowly but surely starting to see just why her father is so obsessed with Batman, there is something so disgustingly saccharine about these heroes, something so bright that it crawls under your skin and festers inside you. She wants to see Nightwing dead, to ring his neck with her own fingers, to string him from the tent roof and pluck his teeth out one by one. But while Wildcard!Reader is dreaming up Nightwing's demise, the same hero is watching her through her window, tracing little hearts along the glass, fantasizing about the day she'll be in his arms forever.

────────୨ৎ────────

I think that also adds so much to the story, she was raised to kill Batman but grew obsessed with Nightwing. Legacy crashing into legacy. The one destined to destroy and the one fated to protect.

Her parents shrug it off as a "rebellious phase". Thinking that one day she'll awaken ready to commence on a warpath to Batman. But this hate-filled obsession isn't going away, it grows stronger by the day.

Harley is kinda happy that her little Giggles has found both her arch nemesis and obsession.  

Joker, on the other hand, is...conflicted, on one hand, he's happy that his enmity with the Batman/batfamily will outlive him. But on the other hand, he'd just LOVE to see his little girl finally put an end to Batsy. Albit if she did do that then Joker wouldn't have an excuse to get out of the Bahama trip he's been promising Harley.

Also, I completely forgot about Dick living in the circus, that just adds another intriguing layer to all of this!!

[prettyinpatrickzweig]

bsf! patrick zweig lives rent free in my head

all i do is fantasize about those sweltering summers on the east coast (I think he'd be filthy Kennedy rich and probably have multiple houses, his favorite being on the Cape, maybe Hyannis in true Kennedy fashion)

warnings: horny yearning, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, spitting, slapping, kinda degrading? (both parties are very much into it) come eating, sweat (it’s challengers smut…) NOT proofread.

you'd grown up together, the girl next door and his best friend since you were little

he's protective of you, sure, but there's always been a little voice in his head that was always nagging at him, wondering how easy it would be to corrupt you.

you seemed innocent enough, blushing when he would divulge in his sex life as you two got older.

sleepovers were frequent, your mom loved Patrick and his father adored you, but they didn't really care enough the way parents should about whether or not you guys were... intimate.

you weren't, but god did it annoy you how much faith your mother had in you.

and the lack of intimacy wasn't for lack of desire. fuck, you think you probably thought about Patrick with your hand down your pants on a day-to-day basis, especially in the summers when he was back from boarding school.

he was so alluring, and a tease too. he nagged you about you still being a virgin. even when you finally did lose your virginity in your senior year of high school, he cackled when you told him who it was.

really, it pissed him off that it wasn't him who got to be your first, but you weren't into him like that. his fist sufficed when was late at night and he could stop thinking about your legs or that look in your eye when you were so clearly scandalized by his sexcapades.

he had no idea just how fucking dirty you were. you felt perverted, always thinking about his cock. how pretty it probably was. if it throbbed when he was hard. how it would feel on your tongue. you desperately wanted to shove your face against his chest and inhale his musk, lick his sweat, tweak his nipples.

he had no idea.

the sleepovers were the worst. he was always so close, but you were too meek to try anything. the closest you had been was the one morning you woke up to him gently rutting into your side in his sleep. you slowly brought your hand up and pulled a tit out of your tank top, groping at yourself discreetly while you slowly rolled your hips against absolutely nothing.

when he woke up, you pretended to be asleep. you willed your face to appear as peaceful as you most definitely didn't feel and even pouted your lips a little to appear as if you were dreaming. your cunt was already gushing when he cursed under his breath, looking down at your partially exposed chest. you felt his hand wander and grasp at his bulge, a wretched groan vibrating through his throat. your heart was beating out of its chest and it was a miracle you kept your breath steady. he got up quickly and you heard the bathroom door shut and the faucet turn on.

one summer, a few years later, when you're home from college and he's on a break from tennis tournaments, you find yourself alone in your huge house and incredibly bored. the heat is getting to you, lying outside in the sun by your pool, baby hairs sticking to your forehead as you sip on a drink. your mind wanders, wondering how Patrick is doing.

you haven't seen him in a couple months, probably since Christmas break if you remember correctly. you'd spoken on the phone a few times when he got a few minutes between games and you weren't studying.

you decide to head inside and pick up the landline, calling his house. his dad picks up and immediately recognizes your voice, “I was just on my way out,” he says, but then he starts asking you all sorts of sweet questions, how was school, how's your mom, how's life treating you--checking all of the adult-question boxes. again, he always had a soft spot for you.

when he's satisfied with all of the answers, he says, "give me a minute sweetie, pat's just outside on the court, I'll tell his sorry ass to get inside," you smile at that and twirl the phone cord in your finger.

"actually, mr. zweig, is it okay if I just pop over?" you ask, all sweet. all you can think about is Patrick dripping with sweat and it's making your thighs clench together.

"sure honey."

you chirp a thank you and hang up the phone, before running upstairs to put on a tank and shorts. when you make it to his house, a short skip away, you knock once before the door is opened by one of the staff. you greet him with a hello before you stroll inside and head to the door leading outside. you hover before the glass, peering out to see Patrick in a game with who you assume is his new coach.

his arms are glistening and his chest is collecting sweat as he moves side to side on the court. he glides with ease, twirling his racket when he sends a particularly strong backhand that earns him a point. he grins as he listens to something his coach says as he packs up his bag. you take that as a perfect time to interrupt.

opening the french doors you call out his name and his head whips around to see you, standing there in all your glory. the sun beats down on his shoulders as his face splits into a grin. dropping his bag, he takes large strides over to you on the balcony as you make your way down the stairs. when you meet, he pulls you into a hug and you feel the slick of sweat coating his skin press into the cotton of your top, sticking to his chest and peeling away as he pulls off of you. it takes everything in you not to lick the droplet of sweat hanging off his nose.

one of your straps falls, his eyes trail across your chest and shoulder, and his fingers glide over to pull it back up. he smooths it down against your warm skin, before looking back at you. his touch lingers a moment before he takes his hand off, smiling a crooked smile and mumbling a, "hey."

you smile back at him, swallowing suddenly as your throat has conveniently dried and you find yourself unable to speak as you take in the sheer fucking sexiness that is your best friend.

and the rest of the summer is like that. hot. and sticky. and sexy. and you're fucking drooling every time you even glance at Patrick who is conveniently always shirtless.

somehow he is unaware of your oogling, or so you think.

the day you finally break, you’re by the pool. it’s late, finally cooling off from the sticky day time. you’ve had a couple of drinks but nothing crazy, just a little tequila to loosen you up.

you’re laughing about something, probably how love sick art is with his new girlfriend (he came around a few summers ago and always looked like a lost puppy which you found adorable) or even your moms new boyfriend who’s somehow even richer than her last husband. and somehow, you two keep inching closer and closer until you’re playing footsie with him as you rant about your college experience and how lame everyone is there.

“not as exciting as me?” Patrick says with a quirk of his head, a small smirk playing on his face. you slap him in tease, but your hand lingers on his chest and you both look down at it as the seconds stretch and its still there. your cheeks heat up even though there’s a breeze in the air and maybe it’s the tequila but suddenly you can’t figure out why you never even kissed your best friend. your nails slightly dig into the pink skin and you feel his breathing hitch. when you look up you see his tongue dart out and you just can’t help yourself when your fingers trail to one of his nipples and you give it a pinch, smiling as you do so.

his mouth drops and he slaps your hand away before pushing you into the lounge chair you’ve been sitting in. his arms sit beside your head as he dips his head closer to yours, one of his legs finding its place between yours. you can feel his cock straining against his trunks (which are unbelievably short—SLUT). his nose nudges yours but when you go to kiss him finally, he pulls away, cruel smile splitting his face.

“how long have you wanted this?” he whispers, his voice gravelly. his eyes dissect your face, picking up on the way you keep looking down at his hips, rhythmically rolling against you to relieve some tension.

“fuck you patrick you’re such a tease” you snarl, slapping his chest again. this makes him laugh.

“and apparently you’re into that, baby” butterflies erupt in your stomach and you feel yourself pooling in your bikini.

“answer me,” he tries again, softer this time, as he begins running his nose along your neck, tracing to your ear.

“forever. god you’re so stupid,” you whine. he smiles as he pulls his head up again before finally closing the distance and kissing you.

it’s messy and mean and there’s so much tongue, but it’s so unbelievably Patrick. it’s better than anything you ever imagined. your hips begin rolling to meet his, your hands slithering up his torso and gripping his hair. he groans when you pull on it, so you pull again.

he grabs your face and pulls away, his grip tight and holding you in place. “please say you want to fuck me, god I need to hear you say it”

you’re breathless for a second, you never realized how desperate he was.

“fuck me, patrick. Jesus, please I need it so bad.” his head sagged as he groaned again, his hand coming down to fumble his waistband under his cock before he untied the sides of your bikini, pulling the bottoms off and pushing your leg up to your chest.

you feel very exposed out on his patio, but suddenly you can’t find it in you to care as he uses his thumb to spread your lips, admiring.

“Jesus, fuck— prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen.”

“patrick,” you squirmed. he looked up at you, his mouth open and his eyes half lidded, the look of pure sex and he hadnt even so much as slipped in yet.

“sorry, baby,” he says as he aligns himself and thrusts in. all at once you feel him, every inch as he stretches you out on the scratchy lounge chair. a moan is ripped from you and your fingers find his hair again, yanking on his curls harder now. he moans with you, his mouth resting in the crook of your neck and shoulder, biting at the skin as his hand snakes over your stomach and pulls your bikini top down, groping your tits.

you whine in his ear and he thrusts into you harder in response. balls slapping against your ass, he grunts, “so fucking good, fuck— wanted this for so long. always thought you were too good for me.”

he begins whimpering softly in time with his thrusts. your other hand reaches around his around your throat and you squeeze it harder, panting.

“oh god, you were fucking made for me, I swear. so fucking good. so good. so—“ he cuts himself off with a groan as you yank on his hair harder.

“you dont ever shut up do you?” you say as his head pulls up in time with another yank at his hair. his eyes are closed but he smiles which makes you laugh.

“you’re so mean,” he says, giving another thrust in mockery. “fuck, slap me. slap me please.”

your eyes are trained on him from below. his thrusts haven’t slowed down and it’s hard for you to think straight when the hand from your neck reaches below to start circling your clit. you throw your head back before you can fully grasp what he’s asking you.

“please, baby. need you to slap me. be mean to me, you’re so good at it,” he rasps in your ear before nibbling on the lobe.

you yank his hair again to pull his head up before winding your other hand up and slapping him so his head turns from the force. his next thrust is so hard you can feel it in your stomach as you bring your other leg up and lock it around his back, pushing him in deeper.

“ohhhh god. yes. fuck baby you’re perfect.”

you grab his face and lick a stripe up his cheek, tasting the sweat that’s begun to glisten on his skin.

his fingers work faster on your clit and your chest begins to rise and fall faster than before. sliding your fingers back to the nape of his neck, you grip him hard as the pressure reaches its peak.

“patrick please. please-“

“what is it baby,” he says, lowering his head to suck on your nipple. his eyes locked with yours, your mouth hung open, you let out a loud groan.

“gonna come, make me come, please pat,” you cry out, clenching around him.

“gonna get you there. fuck you’re so good for me. so fucking dirty. fucking pervert too, should’ve known all a long,” he spits on your chest and you throw your head back, releasing as your body jolts with pleasure. he ruts into you faster, still rubbing your clit while chasing his high.

they get sloppy right before he pulls out and comes on your stomach, head thrown back and chest heaving. his fist pumping slowly, milking himself and covering your skin. when he’s done he looks down at you, analyzing the situation. he lowers his body, lapping up the mess before meeting your lips. he pushes it into your mouth and you groan, accepting it greedily.

when you swallow you show him and he smiles all proud.

“fuck you’re just as disgusting as me,” he says with a chuckle. you blush and look away. he reaches for your jaw and pulls you back to him.

“I fucking love it,” he says as he kisses you again, slower and deeper this time.

…

[lookingfts]

Dialogue Game - Prompts #7 and #8

#7 – "I can't swim." (fitrahgolden)

“I can’t swim.”

She winces as she says it. One of those stupid little things that children are taught, and everyone insists she has to know, but Kate has never seen the point in rushing to learn. She doesn’t need to know as long as she just…doesn’t go into deep water.

“Really?” Anthony’s face is teasing, but only a little. There’s more of that soft look on his face when she’s said something that endears him. It happens astonishingly often.

“Shut up,” Kate says, poking his shoulder even as heat rushes to her cheeks. “We’ll just stay in the shallows.”

It feels wonderful in there anyway. The water is just cool enough to whisk away the warmth on her skin, lapping gently against her waist. Her feet are firmly on the sand, and she likes it that way.

But Anthony pulls her into his arms, and she already knows he’s about to try and convince her of something. “Do you trust me?”

“Usually.”

“Then just hold on to me. We won’t go too deep, I promise,” he says genuinely, and Kate finds herself nodding. She jokes, but she trusts him implicitly. With her body, with her heart, even with her life, if the situation calls for it.

Kate tenses as they move further into the waves, the water rising to her shoulders. It’s scary, overwhelming, but Anthony is embracing her so tightly that she knows he’ll never let her go.

“Just kick your feet. You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

Her toes lift off the sand and she inhales sharply, but she’s floating for a moment, Anthony’s hands firm on her waist. Kate laughs as she wraps herself around him, legs twined over his hips, and buries her face in his neck. “That was terrifying.”

“But you did so good,” he praises, slowly moving them back to solid ground. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

She shakes her head, smiles. “With you?” she says breathlessly. “Nothing’s that bad.”

#8 – “Happy anniversary baby. Open your present” “Anthony we’ve been dating for a week” (Anonymous)

“Happy anniversary, baby.” He tugs the wrapped box from behind his back, and presents it to her with a flourish. “Open your present.”

Kate looks between him and the box, her mouth parted in surprise, and then she bursts into laughter. “Anthony,” she says with a fond sort of exasperation. “We’ve been dating for a week. What is this?”

He shrugs, holding the box out to her. Maybe there was a time that he would have retreated back into self-doubt at her reaction, convinced himself that he was overwhelming her. But it’s been the best week of his life, and Kate has never been spoiled like she should be. So maybe they both need this. “We kissed a year ago,” he points out.

Her face scrunches up. It was neither of their finest moments; a slightly drunken kiss in the courtyard at one of Colin’s parties, followed by fifty-one weeks of lying to themselves and to each other. But now they’re making a proper go of it, so he doesn’t see why it shouldn’t count.

“Are you going to make an anniversary out of every one of our terrible decisions?”

“If the mood strikes.”

Kate rolls her eyes, but her expression is amused, not irritated. She takes off the blue wrapping paper so delicately that it’s barely torn, as gentle and meticulous as she is in everything.

Setting the paper aside, she opens the box, the delighted smirk dropping when she sees the delicate chain holding a gold teardrop pendant. “Anthony,” she says, but that’s as far as she gets.

“I just saw it and I thought of you. It wasn’t wildly expensive, I promise.” A one-week anniversary gift is a big enough swing. One day, he’ll buy her something truly extravagant, if only to show her that she’s worth it. But he can wait awhile.

“Our definitions of expensive might be different.”

“Pretend I got it out of a claw machine if that makes it easier to accept it.”

Her laugh is thick as she turns her back to him and sweeps her hair aside. Anthony clasps the chain around her neck, and she runs her fingers over the pendant. “Happy anniversary of the best terrible decision I ever made,” Kate murmurs.

He kisses her shoulder, smiling into her skin. “Likewise.”

[leonastarry]

Hellloooo! I love your work it’s soooo gooooddd!!!!!❤️❤️

Could I request sung Jin woo with an a previous e rank now s ranker like him. Someone who’s already been by his side when he was e rank and level up like he did to s rank.

[ Req 9 ] By your side. ✧. ┊    s.jinwoo x reader

You have been by Jinwoo's side ever since he became a hunter. At first, it was probably due to sympathy since you were both E-rank, but gradually you two became close and inseparable.

The two of you faced the Double Dungeon incident, systematically, and grew stronger together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The training grounds were quiet, save for the faint hum of mana crackling in the air. Sung Jinwoo stood at the center, his shadows coiled tightly around him, waiting for a signal. Across from him, you adjusted your grip on the twin blades in your hands, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t hold back,” you called out.

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your laugh echoed through the space. “You’d have to catch me first.”

Jinwoo’s gray eyes gleamed. “Alright. Don’t regret this.”

In an instant, he moved, a blur of darkness and power. Shadows erupted from the ground, reaching for you like inky tendrils. But you were faster. A flash of light burst from your blades, slicing through the shadows with ease. You danced around his attacks, your movements fluid and precise, a stark contrast to the clumsy stumbles he remembered from years ago.

Back then, you were just like him—weak, underestimated, struggling to survive. The two of you had clung to each other in those days, finding solace in shared determination. He remembered the long nights you spent sparring, bruised and battered but laughing through the pain.

Now, as he watched you effortlessly deflect his strongest attacks, Jinwoo couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

“Not bad,” he admitted, stepping back to catch his breath.

You smirked, flipping your blade with a flourish. “Not bad? Jinwoo, I’m wiping the floor with you.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Even Beru, watching from the sidelines, buzzed nervously, clearly impressed by your strength.

“Alright,” Jinwoo said, shadows swirling around him once more. “Let’s see how you handle this.”

He summoned Igris, the towering knight stepping forward with his sword drawn. But instead of panicking, you grinned, meeting the knight’s attack head-on. Your mana surged, a radiant shield bursting forth to block the blow before you retaliated with a strike that sent Igris stumbling.

“Still think I need your protection?” you teased, flicking your blade against Jinwoo’s armor just hard enough to make him flinch.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No. But I’ll admit, it’s a little weird. You used to struggle just to keep up during training.”

“And you too. Times change,” you said, stepping closer. “But some things don’t. Like the fact that you still try to take everything on by yourself.”

He looked at you, startled by the soft edge to your voice.

“You don’t have to do that anymore,” you said quietly. “I’m here, Jinwoo. Just like I’ve always been. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The weight of his journey had been heavy, but knowing you were by his side made it feel a little lighter.

“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice low.

You smiled, reaching out to flick his forehead lightly. “Don’t mention it. Now, are we done, or do I need to keep proving I’m stronger than you?”

He grinned, a competitive gleam in his eyes. “Oh, we’re far from done.”

And with that, the two of you dove back into the fight, laughter mingling with the clash of blades and the hum of mana.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Later, the whole world knew about this S-rank duo. If Jinwoo is there, you will be there, wherever you go, Jinwoo will accompany you. The two of you will continue to roam freely, making the world stunned and in awe.

And no matter what happens in the future, you two will definitely always be together, never to be separated.

Thanks for loving my story.

Hope this can make you happy 💗

[batmanlovesnirvana]

| BATTINSON HEADCANONS ! 🦇

A/N : old post from two years ago, but I’ve changed and added a few things since then

my boy is awkward as hell, but somehow, not at all—it really just depends on who he’s with and the vibe of the moment

sassy when he feels like it, but most of the time? he’s a total nonverbal enigma—half the time, all you’re getting are grunts and the occasional raised eyebrow

specially if you’re still just a stranger to him, or even just a friend

he’s ridiculously stubborn—dug-in-heels, won’t-budge-an-inch stubborn. and, of course, he inherited every ounce of it from his darling mama...

had a Star Wars phase when he was 9

he could’ve talked to you all day back then if you’d asked—about every character, every layer they had, his favorite, and why

I think his fave would’ve prob be Luke

but secretly, he’d have a soft spot for Darth Vader too—not for the evil he represents, but for the complexity of his character

he was definitely spoiled—lived the life of a prince, no doubt about it. but his parents made sure to keep him grounded, always lecturing him to be thankful for what he had and to value everything, no matter how small

he’s the last person to complain about anything, especially when it comes to material stuff

If your apartment’s not exactly perfect or if you don’t have all the fancy things, don’t feel embarrassed—he couldn’t care less about that

Bruce isn’t the type to judge people for their circumstances

what matters to him is who you are, not what you have

he traveled a lot and saw poverty up close. he didn’t just witness it; he experienced it and used it as a way to train and push himself

so I think he’d insist that you don’t let his wealth define you or make you feel small. he’d want you to focus on who you are, not what he has

but he’s still a billionaire

and sometimes it shows

Like if he takes you somewhere, he might be like,

“That place wasn’t good, not what I wanted for you, their steak was too dry”

or “The service was way below expectations.”

it’s not that he’s trying to flex, but his standards have been shaped by a life of luxury and privilege.

even if he doesn’t mean to, it can come off like he’s out of touch with the more everyday experiences.

listen, I’m pretty sure he was that kid in middle school—the one everyone liked. Popular, friendly, Shy, and effortlessly cool, he had a ton of friends and was the kind of person people just gravitated toward

but deep down, he was still an introvert at heart. No matter how many friends he had or how much people loved being around him, he always cherished his alone time—it was his way of recharging

probably teacher favorite

after his parents were murdered, he retreated into himself, becoming a loner—a shadow of the person he once was. the bright, sociable kid who could light up a room disappeared, leaving behind a quiet, guarded shell

he shut everyone out—his friends, his teachers, anyone who tried to reach him.

communication felt impossible, like talking to a wall ready to crumble at the slightest touch. he became volatile, quick to anger and prone to violent outbursts.

the smallest thing could set him off and it was clear he was battling demons far too heavy for a child to carry

he was always getting into fights at school, over the most ridiculous things—someone looking at him the wrong way, a comment that barely made sense, or a passing remark. it didn’t matter how trivial; he’d snap.

it was like he was itching for a reason to lash out, just to feel something other than the numbness that haunted him

alfred was absolutely fed up every time the school would call. It was the same routine—another fight, another complaint.

his patience was wearing thin but he never showed it.

he’d just sigh, straighten his tie, and head to pick Bruce up, trying to stay calm while his mind was racing with how much things had changed

alfred probably thought about quitting a dozen times, especially during those rough moments. he was already carrying the weight of guilt over Thomas and Martha’s deaths, feeling like he’d failed them in some way.

but even through his exhaustion, he couldn’t walk away.

he simply couldn’t abandon Bruce, not when his parents had entrusted him with their son’s care, not when the boy was falling apart.

bc alfred knew that no matter how hard it got, he had to stay—because Bruce needed him, even if he didn’t always show it.

it’s pretty clear that Bruce really doesn’t have time for small talk.

that man goes straight to the point, no beating around the bush. sometimes, it’s like he forgets there’s a filter between his brain and his mouth—so he comes off way too blunt.

but, honestly, he just doesn’t see the need to waste time on unnecessary pleasantries.

if he’s got something to say, he’s saying it, no fluff.

Bruce absolutely loves car races (it's actually canon in the prequel book)

he’s got that need for speed, and nothing gets his adrenaline pumping like watching or being part of a high-stakes race.

it’s not just about the cars; it’s the whole atmosphere, the precision, the thrill of it all.

you can tell he’s got a real passion for it—just one of those things he doesn’t talk about much bc he rarely even talks that is

and so, naturally, he’s got a huge interest in F1

He’s got a serious passion for mechanics too—like, borderline obsession

favorite car is, without a doubt, his grandfather's Corvette (the one that makes an appearance in that iconic funeral scene)

another phase he went through during his late teens—but never really left—was his obsession with Nirvana

It hit him so hard that he even picked up an electric guitar because of it.

spending hours alone in his room trying to replicate their sound, teaching himself riffs from songs like “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Lithium.”

it became an outlet for him, a way to channel his emotions without having to say a word

he wasn’t looking to impress anyone or form a band—it was just for him, a way to lose himself in the music. over time, he got pretty good at it, though he’d never admit it

and I think music became another refuge for him, a way to escape the chaos in his head

overall, though, he was a massive fan of Nirvana and Kurt Cobain

did date as a teenager, but it was never anything too serious

his heart was always more focused on Gotham—on his plans, his ambitions, and the legacy he was determined to create

relationships were never a priority for him back then; it was always about the bigger picture, the city that needed saving, the work that needed to be done.

gotham was always at the forefront of his mind, and nothing, not even the most charming date, could truly distract him from his ultimate goal

honestly, I don’t think he’s even a virgin. or maybe he is—who knows? but the prequel book did mention he knew his way around women, so it’s safe to say he’s no stranger to that side of things

was a straight-A student without even breaking a sweat. it just came naturally to him

fave subject was chemistry

he looks a lot like his mother but you could definitely see his father in him too—kind of a perfect mix of both, like a living blend of their best features

he inherited his mother jawline and hair

and his father eyes and nose

was really close to his paternal grandparents

they passed away when he was only seven, so his memories of them are more like faint impressions. but looking at the pictures on the fireplace, you can tell just how much they meant to him

according to Alfred, it was his grandparents who chose his name

never really knew anything about his maternal grandparents, except that they were long gone before he was even born. it was just one of those things he never thought to ask about, something his mother never spoke much about. it was as if they were just figures in the past, distant and forgotten, not even a whisper of a memory for him to cling to

he’s got a ton of distant cousins, most of them living over in Europe, but honestly he doesn’t talk to a single one of them. it’s not like he cares to, either.

that's another reason why Alfred ended up with custody. with all those distant relatives, none of them really stepped up and Bruce wasn’t exactly close to them anyway.

alfred was the one who had always been there, so it just made sense

didn’t mind being an only son, but deep down, he used to beg his mom for a sibling

comfort smell? It’s his mom’s perfume—lavender mixed with a hint of lemon

and Alfred cookies ofc

Bruce’s go-to comfort clothing is his dad’s old Harvard sweater—it’s just cozy and familiar.

as a kid, he’d call his mom "Mummy" or "Mama" and his dad "Papa."

most of his suits? Hand-me-downs from his dad. He’s only got a few of his own.His favorite sport is soccer—don’t ask why; it just makes sense.

Bruce has always been fascinated by his family’s history.

his dad used to tell him all these stories about their ancestors, and Bruce would listen so intently, always begging for more.

sure, the library had books on it, but hearing the stories from his dad just hit different. his dad’s voice made it all feel personal and alive.

oh, and he’s canonically descended from English royalty

his mom was really into gardening.

she loved her plants, especially lilies of the valley and Bethlehem stars.

Lily of the valley: sweetness and purity of heart.

Bethlehem star: hope and happiness.

she used to say they reminded her of his dad and Bruce.

Martha was also super into art and fashion.

she painted and was basically a Gotham fashion icon

because of her, Bruce was always dressed to impress as a kid

his dad, though, was the total opposite. Thomas Wayne’s tie was always crooked, and he had zero fashion sense

Bruce remembers how every morning, his mom would fix his dad’s tie and scold him about it, but Thomas would just kiss her to shut her up

at work, his dad was all about scrubs, and at home, it was pajamas and a robe

Bruce sometimes wears his dad’s robe now—it’s comforting

when it comes to fashion, Bruce is totally his dad’s son

if Alfred didn’t step in, he’d probably look a mess.

his dad loved photography and books

Bruce remembers how his dad used to take photos of his mom and him all the time

the library is packed with pictures of his family—mostly his mom and little Bruce

his parents’ love for each other was something else, and Bruce secretly dreams of having something like that one day

and deep down, he’s a total romantic. he gets that from his dad

he’s already decided that if he ever gets married, he’ll propose with his mom’s ring

a diamond blue sapphire ring

Alfred used to sneak him sweets before dinner (classic Alfred move)

they played chess a lot, though Bruce never actually won

Dory, his mom’s maid, was one of the midwives when Bruce was born

she’s also the one who taught him how to cook, and yeah, Bruce knows how to cook ( the essential at least )

everyone says he’s a cat person, but honestly, I feel he's more like a dog person. It just fits.

part 2 ?

or should I do dating headcanons ?

[fleurriee]

Hello dear!!!

I loved your az of Aemond, my heart was a little touched if I'm being honest uwu.

What do you think the az of modern!Aemond would be like?

Please don't feel obligated to answer, it was just a little idea I came up with. 💕

here it is!!! i know this ask was sent in ages ago & apologies for the wait, but i saw this & couldn’t resist, so have fun!! <3

please also feel free to request anything for aemond!! i'm really in the mood to write some drabbles for him!!

affection — how affectionate are they? do they show affection?

aemond is vvv affectionate in private.

i’m talking always wanting to be around you, always wanting to be doing the same thing as you, always wanting to be near.

if you’re in the living room, he’ll be in there with you, wanting to watch a movie with you.

if you’re in the kitchen, he’ll suddenly want to start cooking with you.

he loves to keep his hands on you, he honestly doesn’t care where. shoulders, waist, arm, you name it.

bye — what do they do when they need to leave? how are they feeling?

when aemond leaves, he always has to make sure he tells you he loves you.

it’s a really important thing for him, he simply cannot leave if he doesn’t do it, it just feels wrong to him.

aemond’s okay leaving as long as it isn’t for too long. if it ends up going over a few days, he’s automatically not looking forward to it.

he’s not clingy, but he’s gotta make sure he’s messaging you whenever possible.

cuddles — do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

he’s big on cuddling.

if the two of you are sitting down to watch a movie, he’ll have you cuddled right into his side, as close as possible, legs intertwined and arm over your shoulder.

it makes him feel so unbelievably loved in these situations.

9 times out of 10, all he’ll want to do is cuddle you.

domestic — how domestic are they? do they want to settle down?

i can imagine aemond’s original plan is to not have any kids, mainly because his family is big enough as it is and he’s never imagined himself as a father.

the most he’ll do is get dogs, and that’s why he ends up with vhagar.

he has fatherly mannerisms around vhagar and husband mannerisms around you and that’s all you can ask for.

i can see the two of you having children one day, but it would probably be further down the line and possibly even an accident, but a happy one nonetheless!!

equal — how much effort do they put into the relationship?

aemond puts his entire body and soul into your relationship.

he knows that if he only does things in halves when you’re putting everything into it, there’s no point.

he’s constantly trying to make you smile, make you laugh, make you happy.

if you’re not one these things 99.9% of the time, he feels like he’s doing something wrong.

fiancé — how are they in an engagement?

honestly, not much changes.

like i said, aemond is already full of his husband mannerisms, so getting engaged just means you’re one step closer to having his last name.

of course, the happiness grows tenfold, and he’s more of a gentleman than ever.

now he can finally call you his fiancé when introducing you to people and it makes his heart swell.

gentle — how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

when i think of modern aemond, i think of him being shy and reserved. the trauma from his childhood when he’d lost his eye definitely equates to that, so he’s as gentle as they ever come.

he’s mainly just worried he’ll do something that makes you uncomfortable, so he’s always very careful about whether his hands are too calloused and such.

it takes you purposefully telling him that you know you’d never hurt him for him to roughen up even just a little bit.

hugs — do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

hugger!!!

in every goddamn position this man can think of.

his favourites are the two of you facing one another, your arms around his neck and his around your waist as you face snuggles further into his neck, and his other favourite is hugging you from behind, keeping you tucked beneath him.

he’ll also find any excuse to hug you— you could be in the kitchen, and he’s suddenly wrapping you up in his arms.

i love you — how fast do they say the words?

i can see aemond taking his time to say the words. he’s vv thoughtful and introspective, so he waits until he's absolutely sure about his feelings. again, he’s not quite sure how to act around someone who he cares so much about so it’s definitely a big step for him.

when he does finally say it, i can imagine it being during a quiet & intimate moment between just the two of you, maybe you’re having a lazy day watching shitty movies. he looks over at you when you laugh during a stupid scene he just knows it for what it truly is then and there.

the sincerity in his eyes when he says i love you is definitely worth the wait.

jealousy — how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

the jealousy definitely hits aemond despite claiming he never feels that way. and he can handle it perfectly; you’d never know that he was silently brewing in the corner when he noticed someone else eyeing you up because you looked so beautifully ravishing.

aemond sticks to him usual calm exterior, keeping all his thoughts to himself as he tries to bat away his anxieties and insecurities when he comes to the idea of losing you.

there can be times when he feels the need to intervene, sheepishly sliding his way into whatever conversation you were having and keeping his hand somewhere on you body, both as a reassurance to him and a warning to anyone else.

but once you’re home alone again, the more attentive and protective side of him makes an appearance, and you’re ashamed to admit that you do find it attractive.

there’s nothing more the two of you love than when aemond shows you how much you mean to him—kissing you passionately and worshipping your body.

of course, you make sure to talk and reassure him afterwards, because you know it’ll still be playing through his mind even after all of that.

kisses — what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

his kisses are always so gentle and soft, deliberate. he’s savouring every single moment your mouth is on his. you’re on his mind constantly — how can he not?

aemond loves to kiss you on your forehead, bending down to reach your height, and the scrunched expression you pull out of pure happiness makes his heart leap.

he’s also a gentleman and kisses the back of your hand. he’ll hold it ever so gently and bring it to his lips, an action that is so second-hand to him now that he doesn’t realise he’s doing it most times.

oh, boy, does aemond love it when you kiss him on the neck. it sends shivers up his spine and causes his hands to curl in anticipation. his cheeks, too, especially on his scar, ever so softly. that’s one of the things you can do that makes him know for certain how much you truly care for him.

little ones — how are they around children? how many do they want?

it might be surprising to some, but aemond is surprisingly good with children. most people would take one look at him and think he must struggle around them, either because he doesn’t know what to do or because they’re scared of him.

it’s the opposite, trust me.

of course, he still has his moments when he’s initially a bit awkward and not entirely sure why they like him so much, but after having so many younger kids popping up in his family, he had no choice but to get used to them.

aemond with two kids!!! i imagine the first one being a boy, and then around 3 or so years later you have a girl <3333

he’s so very protective over your kids after the childhood he endured with the accident of losing his eye, but not to the point where it’s overbearing.

morning — how are mornings spent with them?

aemond’s a morning run type of guy. he’ll get up really early in the morning, making sure he’s not to loud to wake you.

majority of the time, when he comes home, you’ll still be dead asleep in bed. in a non-creepy way, he loves to admire the way you look, so peaceful and at ease.

you’ll want him to crawl straight back in with you but he always refuses, claiming that he needs to shower, and more often than not, you’ll join him in there.

after that, the two of you start the morning slowly, making breakfast and conversing in your tired voices.

on the off-chance aemond doesn’t do his morning run, it’s an every slower morning. you’ll be so unbelievably happy when your eyes crack open to look at the time and find him still behind you. you’ll snuggle further into his side, curling up with him and stay there for hours more.

night — how are nights spent with them?

somehow they’re even more cozy and tranquil than your mornings.

i picture the two of you either lying in your bed or on the couch, depending on your mood, you’re cocooned into his side watching tv quietly, his arm over your shoulder as he reads a book.

the quiet, intimidate moments between you are the ones you both cherish the most, the silence is always so comforting, especially if either of you have had a rough day.

open — when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait to reveal things slowly?

he’s still a gradual guy, preferring to not overload his whole entire life story at once, especially with all the bad things he’d have to get through.

aemond’s such a private person, it’s an honour if he tells you something personal to him, because you know it means he holds you in such high regards, he trusts you wholly.

he remembers the first time he’d told you something quite harrowing, expecting you to be completely shocked and not want to talk to him again. but, when it turned out to be the opposite, he’d felt such a relief, and realised from then on that he knew he could tell you anything without any judgement.

patience — how easily angered are they?

in most situations, he’s generally quite a patient guy. if something pisses him off, he’ll let it stew within himself and wait until it’s just the two of you to tell you how much it annoyed him. you’ll always listen to whatever he has to say, agreeing that the guy in question was an idiot, too.

when it comes to full-blown disrespect, however?? low tolerance for that shit.

that’s what pushes him to his limit, especially when it comes to you. someone says something completely rude to you, or even behind your back, he’s gonna have to say something.

there’s been vvv few instances where he’s not afraid to throw a punch, too, but he doesn’t like to do that.

quizzes — how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or forget everything?

oh, this man remembers every little thing about you — he’s the observer type, the listener type. your favourite movie; your favourite book; your favourite restaurant, he can name them all.

he somehow manages to remember even the little things — you’d once told him a story where you’d just briefly mentioned about how you loved to spend christmas there when you were younger; he slots that little piece of information into his mind ready to surprise you later in the year.

whenever he brings up something you mentioned (no matter how big or small), it never fails to make you feel so cherished and seen. aemond’s the only one who truly understands you like this, and it makes your heart ache every time.

remember — what is their favourite memory of you relationship?

when you met his dog, vhager, for the first time, for sure!!!

she’s absolutely precious to him, having gotten her at such a young age and growing up with her for so many years, it’s so important that the two of you get along.

so, when he saw the way she rested her head in your lap the second you got comfortable on the sofa, his heart practically exploded.

just seeing the way the two of you interacted together made him aware of how much he wanted you to be a part of his life permanently.

security — how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

this man always keeps his eye on you in public. it’s not that he can’t trust you, he just worries and overthinks a lot of things, he doesn’t trust everyone else around you.

it can be slightly worse if your somewhere completely new to the two of you, an unfamiliar situation.

he knows and trusts you to handle yourself if you’re ever in an uncomfortable position someone has put you in, but he’ll always be ready to step in if you need him to.

aemond loves it when you get protective over his well-being. there can be days where his eye pains him so much, he feels like the entire world is against him, and the way you care for him has his heart feeling so full.

you make sure the lights are off, the curtains are closed so it’s as dark as possible, there isn’t too much noise happening around him. you make sure he’s as fed as he can be with how much he’s feeling, and you’ll always lie with him, his head snuggled into your neck as you stroke his hair.

try — how much effort do they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts?

aemond is a meticulous planner, and makes sure to think each and every tiny detail out for whatever special occasion is happening — dates, anniversaries, gifts, you name it.

each plan consists of something meaningful to the two of you, a reminder of a special time you spent together. it could be from when you first met, to when you first said the words I love you, to your first anniversary together.

it’s one of his favourite things when he surprises you with some random, thoughtful gesture. your smile is so bright, your eyes shining. aemond will truly do anything to see that expression of yours as many times as he can.

ugly — what are some bad habits of theirs?

aemond’s private — like, too private.

whenever he’s feeling something strong, something emotional, he keeps it to himself. he’ll avoid voicing those thoughts, bottling them up, and eventually, all that built-up energy is just teeming to explode. and that can lead to regretful remarks.

he might attempt to let you know what’s going on in his head, muttering quietly under his breath, hoping you’ll hear and understand what he’s trying to tell you. that doesn’t always work though, because more often than not, he’s purposely being quiet so you can’t hear him.

it’s an up-hill battle with aemond, but you find that you’re slowly starting to get through to him as each day passes together.

vanity — how concerned are they with their looks?

even as reserved as aemond is, he’s still concerned about how everyone around perceives him, about what they think in terms of his appearance.

the scar on his eye feels as though it stands out like a bright yellow beacon. so, he’ll take great care about the rest of himself so it doesn’t feel as obvious.

he’ll make sure his clothes are well-tailored, sleek but subtle — think dark turtlenecks and fitted coats, clean boots.

there may been a time where he wants to leave the eyepatch, try out sunglasses or something similar, but he’ll always go back to feeling safe.

as long as he knows that you don’t judge him for wearing it, the others won’t matter to him.

whole — would they feel incomplete without you?

you’re the one person aemond can truly be himself around — whether that’s with his feelings or not wearing his eyepatch. when you’re not around, it feels as though he’s missing something within himself.

he’s always been very selective about he lets into his life due to be so reserved, and the moment he deems you worthy of his true self, that’s pretty much the only version you’ll see of him from then on.

you’re irreplaceable to him. still, he wouldn’t outright say it, but his actions would always be enough for you — he’d grow slightly restless after too long, message you with little updates about his day and wanting to know about yours, letting his walls down whenever you’re around.

losing you would leave him feeling stranded, knowing that he’d forever struggle to find someone who understands him completely the way you do.

xtra — a random headcannon for them!!

aemond finds comfort in solitary hobbies, especially writing — poetry, journal entries, short stories.

he likes to use his words to process the emotions he finds difficult to express aloud, filled with his vulnerabilities he’ll only really show to you.

his journal is kept safely tucked away in one of his drawers & you know when you truly have him, because he’ll slowly start to share pages with you.

every now and again, it might be a poem he wrote randomly, telling you he was inspired when he saw you one morning.

even though you’ll definitely be flustered by this romantic side of him, he’s just as embarrassed about it, too.

yuck — what are some things they wouldn’t like, in general or in a partner?

in general, aemond doesn’t like loud and chaotic environments (same).

they always make him feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable.

he’ll always do his best to get out of a situation like that, but sometimes he might not be able to help it — birthday parties on either side of the families or get togethers with friends are, unfortunately for him, something that happens every now and again.

you know he won’t exactly enjoy these situations, but he’ll put up him them for you, and that makes you appreciate and love him all the more.

there’s a lot aemond wouldn’t like in partner — he’s got his standards.

similarly, aemond would struggle with anyone who likes to seek attention or thrives off of creator unnecessary drama.

he wouldn’t have any patience for dishonesty, either, finding someone lacking in basic manners.

he wouldn’t tolerate anyone who tried to push him or force him to open up more — he likes to be ready on his own terms, knowing he can trust you before he takes that next step.

and, he doesn’t like sloppiness — i can see aemond being quite particular in his appreciativeness of effort and order, whether around a space or in a person.

zzz — what are their sleep habits?

aemond can struggle to sleep. he’s to type of person who has a busy mind that’s constantly racing with thoughts and overanalysing every little thing.

so, more often than note, he might stay up reading or watching a documentary he thought might interest him.

when he eventually does manage to get to sleep, though, he’s 1000% a light sleeper. the slightly of noises will wake this man up — a creak in the house, wind against the window, you making a small sound in your sleep.

but, he would find comfort in your presence, and that’s something that does help him fall asleep, too.

unconsciously, he’d pull you closer to his body whenever he’s restless, finding your touch helps ground him, and before he knows it, he’s back to sleep again.

[riflesniper]

spent enough time cooking up this guy behind the scenes and now i feel like i can toss him out here now. this big boy is aegis :3 a sapient mech that ran from his makers to a resistance militia, who plopped a gay little pilot (green) into his hands. more details below the cut

patreon | commissions

his storyline takes place a few centuries in the future, where a small-scale war has kicked up between a newly socialist canada and a dystopian oligarchical US. aegis comes from a particularly powerful corporation called valkyrie machines, who definitely pioneered sapient AI tech some hundred years prior and definitely didn't just steal the tech from somewhere else before stealthily bribing the actual inventors into a silence or death deal

on the other side of the border is the canadian shield alliance, though most people just call it the alliance or the shield. they've played a lot of roles since their inception that was also some hundred years prior, notably aid programs, disaster assistance, fighting for land back/secure human rights/immigrant protections, scaring corporations into NOT being shitty, better economic policies, etc.

unfortunately the US did NOT like any of that. when canada's economic system is officially changed from mixed to socialist, the oligarchs of the states kick off a race to try and see who can annex it the fastest. fortunately, the shield doesn't give them an inch.

aegis is one of valkyrie's newer warden models; nimble, fleet-footed mechs with sapient AI cores to enhance battle prowess. valkyrie is Very strict about what their mechs and pilots do and don't know, and are not above both executing pilots who try to rebel and wiping AIs whose thoughts stray too far. aegis and his last pilot were able to keep sneaky about their plans to escape, but said pilot was disposed of before it could be carried out, aegis made a break for it on his own, racing from the montana base he was stationed at to the albertan border.

despite broadcasting a plea for the shield to find him, he didn't get out unharmed; valkyrie's air fighters were eventually able to catch up to him before he scaled the wall. they plucked at him for a couple hundred kliks until the shield managed to find him near a small town. a skirmish broke out to claim him, ending with one shield mech being non-fatally damaged and all of the valkyrie fighters being shot down.

aegis, battered from the run, was hoisted to a shield base near calgary for major repairs before being shipped to the edmonton for external repairs and retrofitting. it's here that he's assigned a new pilot; green reinhart, a skilled, kind man with a underlying justice-driven rage to match the heart on his sleeve. a man who would not be killed so easily, not with the transhuman tech that's available. it's here that aegis would actually get his name, and so much more that he never would have had back in the states.

the world was opening up to him now. his pilot wasn't the only one talking to him like he was a person anymore. green gets him a proxy frame to explore with. the two of them spend hours together, on and off the field; perhaps this is the best thing that's could've happened for either of them.

(first image is when they've already been partners for a long while; green's organic body does eventually get killed in a battle, and his transhuman body is activated. im still kinda fleshing out the details, unsure if i'll get much deeper into the socio-political-economic shitshow behind the worldbuilding, since i originally made this guy to just have a gay mech/pilot thing w/ green, but its kinda feeding off the current shitshow of the US wanting to annex canada in this day and age. i gotta focus more of that energy on makin characters WAUGH

if anyones got suggestions for like. videos or audiobooks that Could help add onto the worldbuilding though, im all ears. just keep in mind that i struggle with text only stuff, so audiovisual is heavily preferred)

[livesincerely]

there’s no escape (i can’t wait) - ch. 1

Rated E, A/B/O. The next entry in my burning up variations series (see tag below).

Also on ao3

00000

Later, Eddie will think that he knew, somehow, before he actually knew.

He’s finishing up in the locker room, about to head into a 24-hour shift, when a rush of… something sweeps over him. There’s a prickle of anticipation at the nape of his neck, goosebumps sprouting all over his arms, and he glances up, nose twitching, right as Buck comes shuffling in.

“Hey,” Buck greets him in a low, gravelly voice, tossing his duffle down onto the bench. 

On any other day, Eddie would worry that he’d had a bad night. Today, he knows the exact reason for that rough rasp, and it sends a thrill of heat sparking up his spine.

“H-hey,” Eddie manages, blinking rapidly. “Uh, aren’t you supposed to be on leave?”

”Bobby called,” Buck explains, tugging off his t-shirt and rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

There’s a soft, gorgeous flush to his skin—his cheeks, neck, and chest painted a perfect, rosy shade of pink—and as he starts to shrug into his uniform there’s the faintest whiff of something delicious.

Something mouthwatering.

Eddie’s heart stutters traitorously against his ribs, and he forces himself to look away before Buck catches him staring. 

“Whittler’s partner went into labor last night,” Buck continues, oblivious to his plight. “This morning? Whichever, and Ginsburg’s still in Cabo until Tuesday.”

“That sucks,” Eddie says, in what he hopes is a nice, even, totally normal tone. “You gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Buck assures him. “I was gonna use today to prep and get ahead on laundry, but one last shift won’t kill me. My ruts tend to be pretty tame for the most part, but I’ve got extra blockers and scent neutralizing spray in my bag just in case.”

Tame? There’s not a damn thing tame about Eddie’s sudden need to plaster himself against Buck’s front and swirl his tongue around the hollow of his throat, but maybe that’s just him.

Mine, his instincts purr. All mine, and that’s Eddie’s cue to make a strategic retreat.

He jolts to his feet. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually,” Buck calls out before he can make it more than a couple steps, sounding a touch sheepish. “Would you mind…?”

And he ducks his chin and tips his head to the side, exposing the long line of his throat.

Eddie’s mouth goes dry. 

“You want me to scent mark you?” he asks, voice tight. 

It probably shouldn’t come as such a surprise. Buck’s about as tactile as they come, and the two of them spend so much time together that they constantly smell at least a little of each other—a fact that definitely doesn’t make Eddie want to preen like a possessive peacock, thank you very much.

But a proper, deliberate scenting, right on the cusp of Buck’s rut? 

That feels different. 

Feels special. 

Mine, his hindbrain insists once again.

Naturally, Buck chooses this exact second to finally notice Eddie’s reaction to his… everything. 

“Um, yeah?” he says, brow furrowed and nostrils flaring as he takes him in. “Why, what’s…”

He takes in a deep inhale, then his expression clears all at once.

”Oh. Oh, you… Wait, really?”

Eddie’s cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

“I… Did I know this already?” Buck marvels, a smug sort of delight starting to curl over his lips. But just beneath it there’s a softer, more earnest sort of elation—like he’s just been offered a dream come true on a silver platter. “Because this feels like the sort of thing I should’ve been made aware of. Edmundo Diaz, have you been holding out on me?”

“Shut up,” Eddie huffs again, but there’s no real feeling behind it. He’s too busy fighting a smile, hope lighting him up inside like the best kind of vertigo. “It’s not like I can really keep anything from you when you keep sniffing me out like a fucking bloodhound. If it’s taken you this long to notice, that’s on you.”

“Actually, did you know that an alpha’s olfactory senses can become up to eighty percent stronger in the three days leading up to their rut?” Buck tells him cheerfully. “To help them stay in tune with the needs of their pack, and especially their mate, throughout their cycle.”

Of course, this fun fact does nothing to disguise the fact that he’s closing in on Eddie like a predator stalking its prey, swaggering towards him with his shoulders rolled back and his thumbs tucked into his belt, the cocky, beautiful bastard.

Eddie holds his ground, lets Buck approach until they’re standing toe to toe, chest to chest.

“Is that so? And what are you picking up from my scent, then, alpha?” he murmurs, meeting the challenge with one of his own. He can almost see the way the word lands, the way Buck’s spine straightens like he’s got something to prove. “Any interesting insights?”

Buck gives him a long, considering once-over.

“That’s definitely not something I can get into without causing a workplace incident,” he eventually admits, gazing at him from under his lashes.

Oh, fuck.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to cause a workplace incident,” Eddie warns him, swaying closer despite himself.

“To be perfectly honest, Eds, that’s really not much of a deterrent.”

“This is going to be a long fucking shift if you don’t reel it in,” Eddie says wryly, fond exasperation and bone-deep desire inextricably twined. “A long, frustrating shift.”

“Or, a very, very short one,” Buck counters, because he’s never found a line he’s not willing to toe. “God, you smell good.”

Eddie flicks him on the nose. 

“Stop it, he orders.

They’re standing close enough together that Eddie can see the way Buck’s pupils dilate, his gaze turning half-lidded and hungry.

“I’ll behave,” he promises, but it sounds more like a threat. Eddie valiantly resists a shiver

The moment lingers—a static charge that only needs a touch of friction to burst into flame—then slowly dissipates; no, is carefully set aside to be explored later. 

Eddie reaches up to squeeze Buck’s shoulder, then lets his hand trail higher to cup around the back of his neck.

“You still gunning for that scent mark? Or is it going to make things worse?” 

Strong, warm hands land on either side of his waist, fingers splayed wide enough to cover the small of his back.

”I want it,” Buck insists, which isn’t exactly an answer, but Eddie doesn’t have it in him to deny him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, reeling him in.

Buck melts into the touch like he’d just been waiting for permission, nuzzling in to rub his face against Eddie’s throat. He lets out a quiet, contented noise, wrapping himself around him like he’s planning to make a home in the curve of his neck, his chest rumbling all the while.

Eddie chuffs back instinctively, threading his fingers through the curls at the nape of Buck’s neck. He pulls him closer, craning up on his toes and tucking his nose into the space behind Buck’s ear before he can stop himself. 

He just smells so good: all toasty and golden and a little sweet, like freshly baked sunshine drizzled in honey, with just a slight undertone of sharp-ember-smoke to indicate his approaching rut.

Eddie wants to wallow in that scent, wants to lick the taste of it right out of Buck’s mouth, wants to just bare his teeth and bite, sink his teeth in so deep that no one would dare to doubt his claim—

The bell ringing overhead stops him before he can do anything that might cost him his job, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. There’s still another twenty or so minutes before their shift so this call isn’t their problem, thank god, because Eddie’s brain is too busy chanting Buck, Buck, yes, mine, Buck, alpha, mine, to be responsible for anyone’s health and wellbeing.

They slowly peel apart, both a little dazed.

“How’s that?” Eddie asks, brushing a piece of hair out of his face to give himself something to do with his hands that’s not sticking them down Buck’s pants. “Better?”

”Better,” Buck says. “Thanks, Eds.”

”Don’t mention it,” Eddie says, not really thinking about it, and Buck immediately frowns.

”But, we will, right? Talk about it, I mean,” he asks quietly, taking Eddie’s hand gently in his own and lacing their fingers together. “I know we can’t really get into it right now, but I don’t want this to be one of those things we just… brush past and not talk about. Because I want us. I want you. And I’m tired of pretending like I don’t.”

Eddie hadn’t realized he was still holding onto some worry until the last of it finally bleeds away. Of course they’re on the same page about this, about them, about the twinkling, wondrous inevitability of Buck-and-Eddie. Of course they’re in this together.

Aren’t they always, when it comes to the important things?

”Let’s get through this shift,” Eddie says. “After that, I’m all yours.”

It comes out more honest than he means it to, a wealth of emotion embedded within his words. With anyone else, he’d think it was too much. But he’s not sure there’s any such thing when it comes to Buck.

”I’ll hold you to that,” Buck replies, and he lifts their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss first to Eddie’s knuckles, and then to the fluttering pulse point on the inside of his wrist, never once dropping his gaze from his own. “And, uh, fair warning? Once I’ve got you, I’m not planning on letting you go.”

Eddie flushes from head to toe.

“You— I told you to stop looking at me like that,” he hisses as he snatches his hand back, distinctly hot under the collar. 

Buck just laughs: low and raspy. “I make no promises.”

”Por dios,” Eddie mutters under his breath, begging anyone listening for strength.

He’s already in completely over his head and there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

”Later,” he reminds them both.

”Later,” Buck agrees.

On the way to their first call, Buck ends up in the middle seat, sandwiched between Eddie on one side and Hen on the other, and is visibly delighted to be there.

Eddie watches fondly as he adds to his collection of scent marks, wheedling a hair ruffle out of Hen and a pat on the back from Chimney. He even gets a friendly nudge from Ravi, who then rolls his eyes and makes a face when Buck uses the opening to lock their ankles together like a pair of middle schoolers kicking each other under the table in the cafeteria, grinning from ear to ear.

Though, Eddie can’t help but notice that, while full of affection, the touches stay light—fleeting, even. Besides that side hug from Bobby before they loaded out, not a single one lingers longer than a second or two, and none of them come anywhere close to the length of Eddie’s.

Good, that little voice purrs smugly. Mine.

They arrive on scene—a grassy, fenced-in playground teeming with children and families—and are immediately met by a frantic young woman.

“Oh, thank god,” she says, a huge diaper bag thrown over one shoulder and her arms filled with screaming toddler. “I swear, I looked away for, like, two seconds, Jaime was crying and I couldn’t figure out where their mom packed the juice boxes and when I looked back, she was halfway up—“

“What’s her name?” Bobby interrupts.

“Harper,” she says. “She’s right over here—“

And sure enough, there in the far corner of the playground is a tall oak tree, and about twenty feet up that tree is a little girl. She’s maybe seven or eight at the most and clinging tightly to a branch, her face streaked with tears.

“Hey, Harper,” Bobby calls, calm and steady. “What’re you doing up there?”

“I’m stuck!” she wails. 

“I can see that,” Bobby says. “Are you hurt at all?”

“‘M okay,” she sniffles. “But it’s too far, I can’t get down!”

“Hey, that’s alright, we’re gonna send someone up to come get you. You just sit tight and keep holding on, okay?” Bobby tells her. “We’ll get you down from there in no time.”

“No way we get the ladder in here,” Chim observes, pulling off his sunglasses. “We’re fenced in on all sides and the trees are too close together to get a good angle from the curb.”

“How’d she even get up there?” Ravi wonders, squinting up at her. “No way she’s tall enough to make the jump up to that first branch. I’m not tall enough to make that jump.”

“Never underestimate the ingenuity of a determined elementary schooler,” Hen says wisely.

“I can climb up to her,” Eddie volunteers. 

He moves closer to the trunk, knocking against the bark to check for soft spots, but it seems simple enough, as far as he can tell. It’s a healthy tree with lots of thick, sturdy branches—plenty big enough to hold steady beneath his weight

“You sure?” Bobby asks.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, I got it. I just need a— a boost or a chair or something to get started, but I’ll be fine after that. Then she can hold on to me while I climb back down.” 

He glances around, searching.

“Maybe we can drag that picnic table over and—“

“Here,” Buck says, stepping up behind him. 

He fits his hands around Eddie’s hips, a long line of heat against his back.

“What are you—?”

Eddie’s feet leave the ground and all thoughts leave his head. 

Buck lifts him like it’s not even hard, like he could do this all day, not a hint of strain in those massive biceps. Eddie fumbles clumsily for the branch, all the blood in his body rushing south so quickly he almost goes dizzy with it. 

“Eddie?” Buck prompts, lifting him just a little higher—like maybe the problem is that Eddie can’t quite reach. Jesus, he doesn’t even sound winded.

“Right,” Eddie mutters, pulling himself the rest of the way up. “Uh huh, yep.”

Once he gets his head in the game, the rest of the rescue goes smoothly. He has Harper clamber onto his back, then together, they carefully make their way back down. 

It’s when they’re standing on that lowest branch that they run into a snag. The ground around the tree is uneven enough that attempting the jump down is just asking for a sprained ankle, and that’s not even accounting for Harper’s extra weight.

They’re going to have to lower her down somehow, Eddie realizes. Either, lower her down or convince her to—

“It’s okay, you can jump now,” Buck tells her in a gentle, encouraging voice, already on the same page, his arms outstretched. “I’m gonna catch you.”

Harper shakes her little head, pigtails flying. “I’m gonna fall!”

“You won’t fall,” Buck assures her, and he’s so earnest about it that it’s impossible not to believe him. “I’ll catch you.”

Harper looks from Buck to Eddie then back again, her lip wobbling.

“You promise?” she asks.

Buck’s expression turns incredibly soft. “I promise. Big jump on three, okay? One, two—“

Harper jumps. Buck catches her—of course he fucking does—tucking her protectively into that broad chest.

“Great job!” he cheers. He runs a soothing hand down her back, then swings her up in a careful arc over his head and sets her down on her feet, earning a watery giggle. “I know that was really scary, thank you for being so brave.”

“I didn’t feel very brave,” Harper tells him, wiping at her face.

“Well, that’s the best part,” Buck replies, couching down to meet her at her level. “You don’t have to feel brave to be brave. But, uh, maybe next time we only climb trees when there’s a grown up watching to make sure we’re staying safe, alright?”

Harper gives a shy nod, looking up at Buck with teary, trusting eyes, and Jesus, it’s so easy to imagine Buck having a similar conversation with another little girl. Maybe one with dark, curly hair and a wide, toothy grin, a kiss of pink haloing one of her doe brown eyes—

“—ddie? Eddie!”

Eddie checks back in to find Buck grinning up at him expectantly, Harper having toddled off at some point during his daydream to get checked over by Hen. 

He holds out his arms and calls, “Sometime today, Diaz!”

Oh, this asshole.

“What, are you gonna catch me too?” Eddie snarks.

Buck’s grin only grows.

“Sure,” he says confidently. “Why, you got a better idea?”

Eddie’s stomach flutters, but not with nerves.

“You are not gonna catch me,” he insists, but he’s already shifting into position, bracing to jump. “Buck—“

“Of course, I am,” Buck says, and his tone stays light but his eyes turn serious as he holds Eddie’s gaze—like doing anything else, anything less, is simply unfathomable. “On three, yeah?”

And what can Eddie do, except listen? It’s Buck.

“One, two—“

There’s a split-second on weightlessness, then he’s in Buck’s arms. His legs lock around his waist and his arms circle his neck, all of his limbs sliding into place so naturally that it’s almost as though they already knew the way, as perfectly in-sync as they always are. 

Buck doesn’t so much as flinch, taking Eddie’s weight with a spine-tingling, toe-curling kind of ease. 

An arm around his back. An arm cradled under his ass.

The bluest eyes imaginable.

“Told you I’d catch you,” Buck rumbles.

“Never had a doubt,” Eddie breathes back.

Their lips are only inches apart.

“The rituals,” Chimney announces, loudly, from somewhere not nearly far enough away. “They are intricate.”

The moment pops like a soap bubble. Eddie rears back, startled, but Buck’s grip only tightens, a hint of that cinnamon-sunshine scent tickling at his nose.

“You— Buck!” he hisses, starting to squirm. “Put me down!”

“Bossy,” Buck teases, but obliges without fanfare.

And if it takes Eddie a couple tries to find his footing, enjoying the feeling of Buck’s body squeezed between his thighs for a second longer, that’s between him and god.

Bobby’s still talking with the babysitter and Hen’s coaxing a smile out of Harper as she tends to her scrapes, so it’s just Chim and Ravi left behind to witness Eddie’s horny circle of hell, which is two people too many.

Ravi mutters something that sounds like “…owes me twenty bucks,” then pulls an abrupt about-face and speed walks away when Eddie gives him a pointed look.

Chimney—distinctly harder to intimidate, god damn it—pops his gum, his eyes wide with glee.

“Shut up,” Eddie grouses, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels, stalking back towards the ladder truck. “Not a word.”

“Not even one? I think I deserve at least one.”

“I know where you sleep,” Eddie threatens, and walks faster. 

“LAFD, make a hole,” Bobby says, shouting to be heard over the music.

The crowd of thirty-or-so sorority sisters can barely stop gawking long enough to part, whispering and giggling amongst themselves with half-finished mimosas in-hand.

“Where is he?”

“Right over here,” the young woman they’re following tells them, pointing clumsily—tipsily—towards the pool.

There’s another college-aged kid kicking and splashing in the water, his arm stuck all the way to the shoulder inside the narrow opening that leads to the filter. 

“Please, get me out of this thing,” he gasps out as they approach. He’s in the deepest end and is clearly struggling to keep his head above the water, though whether that’s due to exhaustion, injury, or inexperience is hard to say. “I’ve been treading water for, like, ever.”

“Buck, in the pool,” Bobby says. “Hen, Chim, crack open that cover. Ravi, get them to power down the system if they haven’t already.”

“Shoulder is still in the socket but there’s a lot of strain on the joint,” Hen determines, peering down into the filter from the opening embedded into the pool deck itself. “And I’m really not liking the look of his wrist.”

“Let’s get him floating on his back, but keep him nice and still,” Chim decides. “And keep as much weight off the arm as possible.”

Buck finishes kicking out of his boots and dives in. He positions himself behind the victim—Jordan, he tells them, between flailing, heaving breaths—and scoops him up in an almost bridal carry, the kid’s head and shoulders resting against one arm and his legs hooked over the other. Then Buck carefully inches forward until he can grab onto the lip of the pool with his hands, keeping them steady and in-place.

“Oh my god,” Jordan squeaks, tucked snuggly in the cradle of two huge biceps and a broad expanse of chest. Same, kid.

“Just relax, I’ve got you,” Buck assures him, perfectly competent and perfectly oblivious. “How’s that, guys?”

“That’s great, Buck, can you raise him up just a little— Right there, stop.”

“There’s some kind of chain jammed in the mechanism,” Eddie calls, angling his flashlight for a better look. “Looks like a piece of jewelry he was wearing got caught, then his hand got trapped against the sidewall when it pulled him in.”

“Can you see the clasp? Is it accessible?”

“There isn’t a clasp,” Jordan tells them. “It’s welded on.”

The team turns to stare at him as one.

“You have a chain permanently welded around your wrist?” Hen asks, incredulous.

“I’ve got three of them, actually.”

“What?” Chim exclaims. “Why?”

“My alpha got them for me,” Jordan informs them. “They’re forever bracelets. It’s like an engagement ring, but for mating instead of marriage.”

Eddie pauses, schooling his expression into something less judgmental. “Your alpha made you weld a bunch of jewelry around your wrist?”

“He didn’t make me. They were a gift.”

“And does he wear a bunch of chains around his wrist, too?” Hen asks, in her most patient, most pointed mom-voice.

Jordan flushes—though admittedly, it’s a little hard to tell, given that he’s probably cold from being in the pool for so long.

“Don’t say it like that,” he complains. “It's supposed to be romantic.”

“Uh,” Buck starts, looking perplexed. “Um, but… What if you break up? Or, like, need to take it off for work or something?”

Jordan stares at him like he’s the crazy one for asking. “Did you miss the part where it’s called a forever bracelet?”

Bobby sighs. It’s a deep one.  

“Ravi, pliers.”

“On it.”

Ten minutes of careful clipping and cutting, and they finally get Jordan extracted from the filter, arm intact. He’s more sore and exhausted than injured—and adamant about refusing a ride to the hospital—so Chim gets him fixed up with a sling and strict instructions to follow up at an urgent care as soon as possible.

Still, the kid looks a little miserable where he’s sitting off to the side, wet and shivering, with a towel someone found for him tucked over his shoulders, and Eddie finds himself wandering over to check on him.

“Hey, Jordan, right?” he calls out as he approaches. “You all set? Someone gonna give you a ride?”

“Yeah,” Jordan mumbles, pulling his towel tighter around himself. “My roommate's gonna take me when she gets back from class. And, um, thanks, again, for getting me out of there.”

“It’s what we’re here for,” Eddie says lightly, sitting down next to him. “But, uh, listen. I’ve never met the guy, and maybe it’s none of my business but, my two cents, one omega to another? It’s never a good sign if the person you’re dating is asking something of you that they’re not willing to do themselves. No matter what their designation is.”

Jordan deflates. 

“I think I knew that, somewhere in the back of my mind,” he admits. “Becca—my roommate—she’s been telling me for weeks that I can do better, but… I don’t know. I feel like I’m supposed to have things figured out by now. Find The One, start a life together, all that jazz…”

“Kid, no one your age has it figured out,” Eddie tells him with a laugh. “And I hate to break it to you, but no one ever has it all figured out. Anyone who seems like they do is just better at faking it.”

“Joy,” Jordan mutters. “Just what I wanted to hear: a lifetime of aimless, existential dread.”

“It’s a big world out there,” Eddie tells him. “You’ll find your person. Maybe you won’t even realize you’ve found them at first, but you’ll know they’re the one because they’ll make the bad times less lonely and the good times better than they’ve ever been, just by being there with you. And they won’t be perfect— They won’t know what the hell they’re doing any more than you do, but you’ll be in it together, and that will make it all worth it. Don’t settle for less.”

Jordan levels him with an extremely skeptical look, which, okay, fair enough. 

Eddie has a hard time believing it himself most days, even with the evidence to the contrary standing shoulder to shoulder with him, humming tunelessly to the radio, leaving his socks between his couch cushions, eating the last of the cereal, and replacing his laundry detergent with a fancy, ‘for sensitive skin’ variety because I know lavender makes you sneeze, Eddie, literally why would you lie about that? And! This one’s way better for the environment, so it’s a win either way. I was actually doing some research last night and did you know that Procter and Gamble is personally responsible for massive amounts of deforestation in vulnerable rainforest ecosystems around the world? What’s Procter and— Eddie! They’re the company that makes Tide!

He’s been there, is all he’s saying.

“Yeah?” Jordan scoffs. “And is this mystical unicorn of a person going to pop out of the ground or…?

As if summoned by the Greek god of Taking Your Cue, here comes Buck, walking past like a literal wet dream. He’s still dripping from the pool, his curls plastered to his forehead and the fabric of his uniform clinging to every delicious inch of him. He’s hauling a bunch of gear back to the engine so he doesn’t stop to talk, but he does flash one of those megawatt grins in their direction, wiggling the halligan at them in lieu of a wave, the fucking dweebus. 

Eddie adores him.

“Nevermind,” Jordan breathes, gaze transfixed on Buck’s retreating back. “I think I found him.”

“Put your eyes back in your head, kid,” Eddie says, chuckling. “He’s not on the market.”

Jordan heaves a massive sigh, grumbling, “Of course he isn’t. And I bet his omega’s absolutely gorgeous, too.”

“Eh.” Eddie gives a casual shrug, his mouth twitching around the start of a smile. “I’m alright, I guess.”

“You two are…?” Jordan lets out a low whistle. “Damn, nice job, man. How long have you been together?”

“Either seven years, or about four hours, depending on how you want to count it,” Eddie tells him, and he laughs again when the kid’s mouth falls open. “It’s a long story.”

“But, he’s your person?”

“That man would do anything for me,” Eddie says, and that’s a truth that lives deep in the heart of him, tucked between his lungs and carved into his skeleton, an intrinsic part of his being. “He’d follow me through hell and back, because he wouldn’t want me to go there alone. He’s my best friend. He’s the love of my life.”

“Dude,” Jordan says, eyes wide. “You’re kinda, like… making me believe in true love again or some shit.”

“Eddie!” Bobby calls over suddenly, one arm raised to catch his eye. “We’re about to roll out, let’s go.”

“That’s me, then,” Eddie says, pushing himself to his feet. “Good luck with the shoulder. And the boyfriend.”

“Thanks. Good luck with yours.”

“Nah, man,” Eddie corrects with just a hint of smirk. “He’s gonna be my husband.”

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Husband! & Dad! Arthur Morgan headcanons 🥰 idk about this but some people seemed to love the one where reader is pregnant so 👉🏼👈🏼 thank you!!! <3

no warnings, just fluff, mentions of Christianity, f! Reader

from the way he talked to the bath girls, it seems like he’s someone who’d talk to you about how hard his day has been :( he secretly likes to be babied fr!!!

might not be used to having someone listen to him yap at first with his “alright, I’ll shut up now.” But you INSIST on hearing his crazy stories and he smiles, tries to keep going even though he feels bad.

that was the beginning of the relationship. Now he goes straight home to you all, “honey, you would never believe-” and you could tell the gossip is gonna be juicy.

Arthur “loyal” Morgan getting blackout drunk and rejecting you because he’s married. I need him desperately.

“You must have a feller,” he smirks, eyes half lidded and his ‘r’s all slurred.

“Mhm, I do. A very handsome one too,” you played along.

“I got a beautiful wife m’self,” he smiles wide, leaning forward and almost falling. “I’d marry you if I didn’t.”

though you aren’t religious, you tell Arthur that you end up quite lucky in life because you were christened as a baby. You asked him if your baby could go through christening as well, wanting them to have a good start in life with protection from God.

he was still paying off his bounties at the time. Seeing his fate in the past, he decided to agree.

“What the hell, why not,” he said, surprising you. “As long as it ain’t done by Swanson.” He needs all the luck he could get.

HIM AS A GIRL DAD OUGHHHH

I feel like he gets these spontaneous outbursts sometimes? He can be a lil grumpy but his baby daughter would definitely soften that.

imagine him suddenly getting angry at something she did and she starts crying :( it would ABSOLUTELY break his heart and he’d panic every time :(((

“I’m sorry alright? I’m sorry baby girl..” “y’know I didn’t mean that right?” “Please stop crying darlin’ :(”

might also make her cry from his awful, terrible teasing and his stupid “oh c’mon, I’m just messin’ with ya!” He’s so mean sometimes booo

speaking of mean, I just know he’d be the sassiest, judgiest, snarkiest man when his daughter brings home a partner. Imagine the Kieran treatment…………

maybe not if it’s a girlfriend. If it’s a boyfriend? Poor guy will have to prove himself good enough for Arthur’s baby!!!

don’t worry, he’ll soften up when he remembers how he used to be treated by Mary’s dad HAHA

the Morgan house probably has lots of pets! I don’t think he would mind the strays that you and the kids just randomly bring home.

he’d just call them “girl” or “boy” (boah!) and you’d have to fix him or all of them comes over at the same time.

he probably draws his family a lot or takes pictures!!! All of his family’s photos on the walls, by his bedside table, in his journal for when he travels :(((((((

he would only travel when he needs to! Gets very anxious and worried and tries to go home as quick as possible even if it means not sleeping :(

he can sleep later in your arms for as long as you’d let him anyway!!! (Secretly a small spoon sometimes, deal with it)

the biggest sigh of relief when he hears his family welcoming him, when he sees them running to him, when he feels them hugging him (I’m sobbing)

from how the girls at camp make him take them somewhere or get them things, you can tell he’s probably gonna be such a pushover for his little family omg

you can ask him to do the craziest things you could think of (he’s done much worse anyway!!!) but this time his payment is just one “please?” And he would do just about anything for his family :(

he’d never admit it — not even to himself — but your smiles are more rewarding than any money he’s ever received <3

my masterlist

Thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 pet name bullshit rookanis enjoy 🪶

For a Crow that her Talon puts so much faith in, even before what happened with the Antaam, she takes surprisingly long to notice him staring at her over their dinner plates.

"What?" She barely finishes swallowing before speaking.

"You called me querido. In Arlathan. With Strife and Irelin and Bellara." Rook shrugs as she reaches for her cup.

"You've taken to the pet names first."

Lucanis shakes his head, puts aside his fork. Bad idea, what does he do with his hands now? He picks it back up.

"Not in Trade. We don't speak Trade when we're alone." He draws circles into the air with his fork, signaling that they're not speaking Trade right now, either.

"Are you trying to put me on the spot? It's not like we're a secret. You are Querido." An impulse makes her smile so wide her lips touch her ears.

"Oh, no. Don't give me mischief, Rook."

"Or would you rather I called you sugarplum in front of our friends?"

"Did I pour rum in your coffee instead of creamer?" He sniffs at her cup. Spite disagrees. "Too much wine in the sauce?"

Even so, he doesn't resist when she wraps her hand around his face and squishes his lips with her fingers on his cheeks.

"My honeybunch Lucanis, mi chico bonito querido. Putting the ass in assassin killer ring boss cheesepie-"

She looks. At US. Of course she looks. She likes! What she sees! How do you know that? I KNOW.

"Please, stop." The pasta is getting cold, and we haven't eaten today.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself." A breath, as she pierces pasta-tomato-pasta onto her fork.

"Querido's just.. I look at you, and it fits. Yes, you're chico bonito, and mi amor, and lover, and sometimes you're sugarplum or ass, but querido just feels.. right. Every time. You're never not my querido." Rook's honest. We wouldn't be. Chico Bonito. If she didn't like. What she sees.

Lucanis supposes that's a fair assumption.

Another pause, pierce-pierce-pierce-dunk.

"Unless you'd rather I didn't call you by something other than your name. If it makes you uncomfortable-"

"No, no. It's not that. I was just - curious, I suppose." Not that he could ask her to stop now, after that explanation. He leans over and kisses her.

Definitely too much wine, considering how heavy the taste is on her tongue, and especially considering how little she'd eaten recently.

"You may call me whatever you like."

He can feel the way her lips make way for her teeth, smiling against him.

"Even sugarplum?"

"If you must." Her breath is loud and sudden on his face. She's snorting.

He's glad she still finds causes for laughter. He's glad it's him, making her laugh so hard she can no longer control the way it erupts from her.

MINE! ME! NICKNAME FOR ME.

"Spite says he wants to be sugarplum."

Rook leans away from Lucanis, laughing. To him, it almost looks like she's leaning the crown of her head into Spite. Spite grows surprisingly quiet, rubbing her bare arm and staring down at her. OURS. His touch seems to soothe the goosebumps on her skin.

"Spite, nooo- I'll find one that fits for you. Give me a little time?"

Plums are purple. I am purple. Same thing. Fits same name.

Rook must sense something, because from where Lucanis is onlooking, she opens her eyes and stares straight into Spite's.

"He says they're the same color."

"Oh, sugarplums aren't fruits."

"He knows that."

"Sometimes they're green, or yellow, or red. I don't know that candygreen is your color, Spite."

Give me. NAME.

One day, Rook will ask him why it is she can sometimes hear Spite directly and sometimes not, and he will have no answer. He assumes it's to do with them sitting inside of the Fade right now, and the constant struggle for domination in his subconscious, though it's getting a little less straining every day.

He knows she will hate that. But it's all he will have to offer her.

Right now, she looks in his eyes and past himself at the same time, the way she does when addressing Spite directly.

The only prolonged, intense eye contact Lucanis can tolerate.

Because it's her looking for both of them.

"Give me a little time, all right? I'll look at you and know what fits, too." Rook leans back up and into him. She only barely misses her plate with her elbow. "I didn't walk out of your mind and instantly call you querido."

That placates Spite (For Now!), and Lucanis kisses her yet again.

"Thank you, for humoring him."

Her fork clatters against the rim of the plate when he moves away, and she pulls him closer again.

"Gimme another."

"Eat, Rook. You're losing weight. Don't make me worry about you."

She complies.

He gets up to refill their plates twice more.

-

From the next day on, she starts to call him sugarplum when she's exasperated with him.

🪶

This is Spite:

i think this is shorter than my usual stuff, but that's okay. <3

[~rina]

[aquatic-armageddons]

How the mercs would react to Y/N who listens to screamo

A/N: I've decided to make it so that Y/N can also sing screamo as well, but only for Scout and Demo. I've also put down (what I think) their opinion of screamo would be.

SCOUT:

I strike him as the type to also listen to a little screamo, so he'd be kinda pleased to meet another fan, though he'd be a little surprised at first. And even more so if Y/N can scream as well.

Y/N had just walked into the base's training gym to blow off some steam, as the team had lost a battle that day. Everyone was understandably disappointed and on edge, so after the team was asleep, they snuck into the gym to play some Whitechapel. The music played on a mini speaker that could echo throughout the entire gym, but not disturb the others' sleep.

Scout also had the same idea of sneaking into the gym (but to work out), and was shocked to see Y/N headbanging and screaming along to the song. He never expected this of Y/N, but he was definitely not gonna complain.

"Well this is surely somethin' different, short-stuff!" Scout exclaimed.

"What the hell, Scout?! How long were you standing there??" Y/N sputtered.

"Not too long, but damn, I didn't think you'd be into all that. And being good at it too!" Scout beamed, poking them on the cheek.

Y/N and him would spend awhile blasting screamo and singing along, at least until Spy would drag them both out by their ear for causing too much noise xD

SOLDIER

I can imagine Solly being familiar with screamo, though I doubt he would listen to it very much.

It was getting close to sundown, and he and Y/N offered to go out on a supply run for the team. While out getting said supplies, Y/N's phone began to ring, playing Lamb of God on full blast.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry about that!"

"Dear God, I never expected that of you!" Solly chuckled as Y/N scrambled to shut their phone off, dropping it in the process.

He'd find their behavior cute, but he wouldn't bring it back up unless Y/N wanted to talk about it.

But he'd ask Y/N to ease him into the genre, and it would take some time, but eventually he'd enjoy it.

PYRO

I would think their music taste varies, as there are so many other things we don't know about them (and probably never will).

Y/N was unable to attend a battle as they were down with a nasty cold (I know Medic could probably use his gun here but whatever haha). After the team got back, Pyro decided to whip up some soup for Y/N and the rest of the team.

Pyro was about to knock on the door when they heard Y/N playing some Lorna Shore in the background. They waited until the song was over before they actually knocked, causing Y/N to slightly yelp.

"Come in!" Y/N called. Pyro opened the door with their head tilted, as if to ask about the music.

"I've liked this kind of music for a long time now. Wanna listen with me?"

The two of them would spend some time shuffling through Y/N's playlist, completely forgetting about the soup (they later heat it back up so it wouldn't be wasted haha).

DEMOMAN

I'm convinced Demo would be open to listen to any kind of music, and screamo is no exception. He'd enjoy it even more while drunk (it's actually quite funny to watch).

One day he and Y/N decide to go out drinking at a karaoke bar nearby (it was Demo's birthday present). They both are pretty tipsy by the time it's their turn to sing.

Demo sings his part (and is predictably terrible at it but who cares xD). But when Y/N selected a screamo song and began singing, the bar grew silent.

"Go on, lass! Sing yer hear out!!!" Demo slurred, headbanging to the loud song.

The two ended up being escorted off the stage, since hardly anybody else was interested in listening to another second of the song. Once outside, Demo sobered up a little at the feel of the cool air hitting his drunken face.

"I'm so sorry, Demo. I ruined your birthday night out-" Y/N started before they were cut off.

" It's alright, hon. Let's head back so you can do some more screamin'~" He got even closer to Y/N's face.

"And I ain't talkin' about the music anymore..."

HEAVY

Not exactly a fan at first, but would be open to listen to a few recommendations.

Y/N was feeling quite lonely, so they decided to pop in with Heavy, who was busy cleaning Sasha for the ntheenth time that day. He didn't mind having some company, only if Y/N didn't make too much noise.

Y/N decided to listen to some Cannibal Corpse while Heavy worked. They must not have connected their Bluetooth headphones to their phone properly, because their phone played the song on full blast, nearly scaring the daylights out of Heavy.

"Матерь божья!" He exclaimed, dropping the rag from his hand. Y/N quickly shut their phone off, completely red in the face.

"I-I'm so sorry about that, Misha! I thought my headphones were connected..." Their words trailed off as Heavy stared at them in mild disbelief.

Heavy couldn't help but chuckle. "Heavy didn't know you liked this music!" He ruffled the top of Y/N's head playfully.

"Let Heavy finish cleaning Sasha, then we listen to some more later."

ENGINEER

Same with Heavy: not a big fan in the beginning. But if given a few songs, then he would give it a try.

It happened to be the team's day off, and Y/N decided to lounge around in one of their favorite T shirts. They just grabbed a random one, as their dresser wasn't exactly the best organized.

Engie happened to be in the breakroom when Y/N walked in for a small snack. His eyes lit up slightly when he saw them, and even more so when he read their T shirt.

"So you listen to 5FDP too, dear?" Y/N whipped their head around to look at Engie in shock.

"Oh, since high school. They're my favorite!" Y/N beamed excitedly.

"I can play a few of their songs on my 6 string. Interested in a listen, sweetie?"

Y/N couldn't help but gush at the fact that they met another fan, but also with the sudden pet names.

'Let's see where this goes...'

MEDIC

I see him as a closet fan. He'd let on that he's a rock fan, but not the full extent. Like he wouldn't mention that he liked bands like Linkin Park and Metallica.

But he'd act quite excited if he discovered that Y/N was also a fan.

Medic and Y/N happened to get into a conversation about said music genre. "Vhat sort of music do you listen to in your spare time, Schatz?"

Y/N was hesitant to answer. The last thing they wanted was being put on the spot like that. "You'd hate the kind of music I like, Medic."

He scoffed lightly. "I highly doubt zhat, Schatz! It can't be zhat bad, can it?"

Y/N fought back the urge to roll their eyes. "Okay, I like screamo. Like the heaviest of heavy metal." They averted their eye contact with doctor, not wanting to see his disapproving face.

"Really?!" Medic practically shouted, making Y/N flinch a little. "Zhat's amazing! It's so nice to finally meet another fan like me!" He couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.

Y/N was not expecting that kind of reaction from him, but at least they didn't feel that nervous anymore (even with the slight ear damage lol).

SNIPER

He's definitely the kind of man to like classic rock, like Eric Clapton and Lynyrd Skynyrd. He'd know of screamo, but wouldn't be too big a fan.

He and Y/N had become quite close over the past few weeks, and at one point he finally decided to allow them to accompany him to his tower.

Y/N decided to bring their earbuds along, but they didn't realize how loud their music was (it was enough for Sniper to tell what it was).

"You like that, Sheila? Never strike you as that kind of person." Sniper spoke with his eyebrow raised.

"Oh snap, I didn't think my music was that loud. Sorry about that, Mundy." Y/N apologized while rubbing their neck nervously.

"It's alright, love. Just keep it down a little, 'kay?" He smirked while gently squeezing their shoulder in reassurance.

SPY

Not a fan whatsoever. He's tried to get into it, but he just couldn't do it.

Y/N was a decent judge of character, so it didn't take a rocket scientist to know he didn't like that kind of music.

Months passed by since Y/N joined RED/BLU. And in that time, Spy has made them his personal protege. One day, Y/N happened to be scrolling through a website (on their phone) that sells their favorite band's merch.

Spy happened to take a little peek other their shoulder, a smirk creeping on his face.

"So that's what you like, Mon chéri?" Y/N nearly jumped out of their skin as he spoke right next to their ear. "You never cease to amaze me. I'm always finding out new things about you."

"Spy! Ever hear of personal space??" Y/N hissed while blushing furiously.

Spy let out a hearty laugh. "No need to act all feisty, honey. Besides, at least now I know what to get you for your birthday."