#trying to get through a few of these old asks

[pucksandpower]

The Interview

Max Verstappen x journalism student!Reader

Summary: when you are given an assignment to interview someone, you can’t resist asking your boyfriend to be the subject … it’s just a shame that your professor doesn’t believe the interview actually happened

The classroom smells faintly of old books and freshly printed handouts as you sit in your usual spot, third row from the front, slightly to the left. The room is slowly emptying out, the hum of post-class chatter gradually fading as students make their way out into the hallway. You’re gathering your things, sliding your notebook into your bag, when you hear Professor Carter clear his throat.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm but not loud. “Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You pause, your hand gripping the strap of your bag. His voice isn’t one that invites argument, and you’re already running through the possibilities of what this could be about. Your mind flickers to your most recent assignment — the interview with Max. The nerves you’ve been trying to suppress all week twist in your stomach.

You watch as the last few students shuffle out, closing the door behind them. Professor Carter leans back in his chair, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he flips through a stack of papers. His desk is a mess, as usual — books stacked haphazardly, coffee stains on nearly every surface, but his eyes are sharp when they finally meet yours.

“So,” he begins, tapping a finger on the paper in front of him. “Your latest assignment. The interview.”

You nod slowly, trying to gauge his mood. “Yes, sir.”

He holds up the paper, and you can see your neat handwriting sprawled across the page. “You interviewed Max Verstappen.”

It’s not a question, but you nod again anyway. “Yes.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Tell me, Y/N, how exactly did you manage that?”

Your heart skips a beat. You knew this might happen — knew that choosing Max, of all people, might raise some eyebrows. But you hadn’t expected it to be this ... confrontational. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, I’ve known Max for a while,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I asked him if he’d be willing to help me with the assignment, and he agreed.”

Professor Carter leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Known him for a while, you say?”

“Yes,” you reply, trying not to sound defensive. “We’ve been ... friends.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Friends.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you stiffen. You know what he’s implying — he doesn’t believe you. You fight the urge to fidget under his gaze, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Professor,” you start, choosing your words carefully, “I understand that it might seem unlikely, but I assure you, the interview was real. I can-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “Y/N, let’s be honest here. You’re a student at the University of Sheffield. Not exactly the kind of place where one casually befriends a Formula 1 driver.”

Your stomach twists tighter. “I’m not lying,” you say, a little more forcefully than you intended. “Max and I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He sets your paper down on the desk, his fingers drumming against the wood. “If you’re going to fabricate an interview, at least make it believable. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, you know. Students who get desperate, who think that stretching the truth — or outright inventing it — will get them the grade they want.”

You stare at him, disbelief coursing through you. “I didn’t fabricate anything,” you insist. “I really interviewed him.”

Professor Carter’s expression doesn’t change. “Then prove it.”

You blink. “Prove it?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Show me some kind of proof that this interview actually happened. Otherwise, I’m going to have to give you a zero for academic dishonesty.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A zero. That would tank your grade — maybe even your entire semester. But the worst part is that he’s asking for proof you can’t provide, not without exposing the relationship you’ve been so careful to keep private.

You hesitate, your mind racing. What do you do? Do you tell him the truth? Risk everything to save your grade? But the thought of Max — his need for privacy, the way you’ve both agreed to keep things quiet for now — weighs heavily on you. You can’t just throw that away. Not for this.

You swallow hard. “I ... I can’t.”

Professor Carter’s eyes narrow. “You can’t?”

“I mean, I can’t give you proof,” you clarify, your voice wavering slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re a smart student. You should know that in journalism, credibility is everything. Without proof, your story doesn’t hold up.”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I’m telling you the truth. I did interview him. Just because I can’t show you proof doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“And just because you say it did happen doesn’t mean it did,” he counters, his tone cool. He taps the paper again, a final, dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry, but unless you can provide evidence, I have no choice but to give you a zero.”

You’re stunned into silence, your mind reeling. You can’t believe this is happening. It feels unfair, like you’re being backed into a corner with no way out.

“Professor Carter,” you try again, your voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Please. I’m not lying. I wouldn’t risk my grade like this if it wasn’t true.”

He regards you for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might relent. But then he shakes his head, resolute. “I’m sorry, Y/N. My decision stands.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. You blink rapidly, determined not to let him see you cry. This is supposed to be a professional conversation, and you won’t let your emotions get the better of you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I understand,” you say, though your voice is tight. “Thank you for your time.”

He nods curtly, already turning his attention back to the stack of papers on his desk, dismissing you without another word. You force yourself to walk out of the classroom with your head held high, even though every step feels heavier than the last.

When you finally make it out into the hallway, the reality of the situation hits you full force. You lean against the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes, willing yourself to keep it together. You can’t believe this is happening. A zero. All because you refused to betray Max’s trust.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with trembling fingers. It’s a message from Max.

Hey, just finished training. Want to grab dinner later?

You stare at the screen, a lump forming in your throat. How do you even begin to explain this to him? Do you tell him everything? Or do you keep it to yourself, like you’ve been doing for the past year?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the words you want to say tangled up in your mind. Finally, you type a simple response.

Yeah. Let’s meet at our usual spot.

As you hit send, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You’ll figure this out. Somehow. You have to.

***

The restaurant is quieter than usual, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware blending into a muted backdrop. You sit across from Max in your usual booth by the window, the warm glow of candlelight casting soft shadows on his face.

He’s already ordered for both of you, the way he always does when he gets here before you. It’s a small thing, but it makes you smile — a reminder of how well he knows you, your likes and dislikes, the little details that make up your routine.

But tonight, the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, a knot of tension in your chest that you can’t seem to shake. Max is talking about his day — something about the latest adjustments they’ve made to the car — but the words are barely registering. You nod along, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the conversation with Professor Carter, the way he looked at you, the disbelief in his voice.

“Hey,” Max’s voice cuts through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. “You okay?”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring at your untouched glass of water for the past minute. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just ... tired.”

Max studies you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. He’s not convinced, you can tell. But he doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, he leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink. “Long day, huh?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, picking up your fork and poking at the salad in front of you. You’re not really hungry, but you force yourself to take a bite, if only to keep your hands busy. The last thing you want is for Max to start asking questions. You know him too well — he’ll find a way to make this his fault, even though it’s not. And you can’t handle that right now, not on top of everything else.

Max is still watching you, though, and you can feel the weight of his gaze. He’s always been able to read you like a book, and tonight is no different. After a few more moments of silence, he sets his glass down with a soft clink.

“You’re doing that thing,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

You glance up at him, confused. “What thing?”

“That thing where you say you’re fine, but you’re not.” His tone is gentle, but there’s a firmness underneath it. He’s not going to let this go. “Come on, what’s going on? Did something happen today?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your plate. “No, nothing happened,” you lie, trying to sound casual. “It’s just been a long week, that’s all.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, and you can feel his eyes on you, searching for cracks in the facade. “Because you’re always this quiet when nothing’s wrong.”

You sigh, pushing the lettuce around your plate. “Max, I’m fine. Really.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear him exhale softly, like he’s trying to be patient. “You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

Your stomach twists at his words, but you keep your eyes on your plate. You know he’s right — you’ve never been good at hiding things from him. But this ... this is different. You can’t just blurt it out, can’t just tell him what happened without worrying about how he’ll react. He’ll get upset, maybe even angry, and he’ll blame himself for something that isn’t his fault.

“Just ... drop it, okay?” You say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Max’s expression softens, but the concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “Y/N,” he says gently, leaning forward. “If something’s bothering you, I want to help. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

You shake your head, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Max’s hand is on yours, warm and solid, grounding you in the moment. “Let me decide that,” he says quietly. “Please.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you, but you bite down on the words that are clawing at the back of your throat. You can’t do this, not here, not now. So instead, you pull your hand away gently, offering him a small smile.

“Really, Max, it’s fine,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay?”

He hesitates, clearly torn between wanting to respect your wishes and wanting to press for answers. But eventually, he nods, though the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you change your mind ...”

“I know,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

You both lapse into silence after that, the conversation stilted and awkward. You try to focus on the food, on the comfortable routine you’ve built together, but the knot in your chest only tightens with every passing minute. You hate this — hate that you’re keeping something from him, hate that you’re letting it affect your time together. But you don’t know what else to do.

It’s Max who finally breaks the silence, setting his fork down with a sigh. “You know, I’m not very good at this.”

You look up at him, frowning. “At what?”

He gestures between the two of you. “At ... whatever this is. The whole ‘let’s pretend nothing’s wrong’ thing. It’s not really my style.”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite everything. “I know.”

“So why are we doing it?” He asks, his tone gentle but probing. “Why are you pretending that everything’s fine when it’s clearly not?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Because ... I don’t want to ruin dinner?”

Max’s lips quirk into a half-smile, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “Dinner’s already ruined if you’re not happy.”

The words hang between you, heavy and honest, and you feel the walls you’ve been trying to keep up start to crumble. You take a deep breath, feeling the tightness in your chest loosen just a fraction. Maybe ... maybe it’s time to tell him. Maybe he deserves to know.

“Okay,” you say quietly, setting your fork down. “But ... promise me you won’t get mad.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Mad? Why would I get mad?”

“Just promise.”

He sighs, nodding. “Okay. I promise.”

You take another deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s about my journalism assignment. The one where I interviewed you.”

Max nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“So ... my professor — Professor Carter — he, um ... he thinks I faked it.”

Max’s expression darkens immediately, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What? Why would he think that?”

You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because ... well, because he doesn’t believe that I actually know you. He thinks I made the whole thing up to get a good grade.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Max says, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Why would he assume that?”

“Because I’m just a student at Sheffield,” you explain, your words tumbling out faster now. “And you’re ... well, you. He doesn’t think someone like me could actually know someone like you.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. “That’s-” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “What did he say?”

“He said ... he said he’s giving me a zero for academic dishonesty unless I can prove that the interview was real.”

Max’s eyes widen in shock. “A zero?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Max sits back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s insane. You shouldn’t be penalized for telling the truth. Did you explain to him that we’re ... you know ...”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I didn’t tell him about us. I didn’t want to ... I mean, we’ve been keeping things private for a reason, right? I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

Max frowns, his frustration evident. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have to choose between protecting our privacy and your education. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t want you to feel guilty. I know you would have found a way to blame yourself for this.”

Max looks at you, his expression softening. “I don’t want you to suffer because of me,” he says quietly. “I’d rather the whole world knew about us than have you lose out on your grades.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault, Max. I made the decision to keep things quiet, too. I don’t regret it.”

“But now you’re paying the price,” he mutters, frustration lacing his tone.

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. “We both knew there would be challenges. We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just hate that this is happening to you. If I could talk to your professor-”

“No,” you cut in firmly. “I don’t want you getting involved. That would just make things worse.”

Max frowns, clearly unhappy with your decision, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb still tracing soft circles over your skin. “But what are you going to do?” He asks quietly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can talk to him again, try to convince him without bringing you into it.”

Max shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “It’s not right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to prove yourself like this.”

“I know,” you say, your voice soft but resolute. “But I don’t want to drag you into it. We’ve worked so hard to keep our relationship private, and I don’t want this to be the thing that changes that.”

Max looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he sighs, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go. “Okay. I’ll respect your decision. But if it gets worse, if he keeps pushing ...”

“I’ll let you know,” you promise, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. “But for now, let’s just try to enjoy dinner, okay?”

Max nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite ease. “Okay,” he agrees, though there’s a note of reluctance in his voice.

You both lapse into a more comfortable silence after that, the conversation slowly returning to more familiar, lighter topics. But even as you talk about other things, you can feel the weight of the situation lingering between you. Max’s concern is palpable, and you know he’s still thinking about it, even if he’s trying not to show it.

But for now, you’re both doing your best to push it aside, to focus on the time you have together. You know you’ll have to deal with the situation with Professor Carter eventually, but for tonight, you’re content to just be here with Max, to enjoy the quiet moments that are yours alone.

No matter what happens, you’ll figure it out together.

***

Professor Carter’s classroom is as stifling as ever, the air thick with the scent of old books and the faint smell of chalk dust. You’re sitting in your usual spot near the back, trying to focus on the lecture. But it’s impossible to concentrate. Every time Professor Carter glances in your direction, your stomach twists with anxiety. The weight of his accusation still hangs over you, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone in the room knows what happened, that they’re all silently judging you.

Your notebook lies open in front of you, but the words on the page blur together. You can barely pay attention to the lecture, your mind constantly drifting back to the conversation with Max. You told him you’d handle this on your own, but now, sitting here under Professor Carter’s scrutinizing gaze, you’re starting to doubt yourself. What if you can’t convince him? What if you really do end up with a zero on the assignment?

As if sensing your distress, Professor Carter pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he looks in your direction. “Miss Y/L/N, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” He asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You snap out of your thoughts, your heart racing. “No, sir,” you mumble, trying to shrink into your seat.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Then I suggest you pay attention. This material will be on the final exam, and I’d hate for you to miss out on any more important details.”

There’s a smattering of laughter from your classmates, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. You nod quickly, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Yes, sir,” you say quietly.

Professor Carter smirks, clearly pleased with himself, and turns back to the board. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. But just as you’re about to refocus on the lecture, the door to the classroom swings open.

Every head in the room turns to look at the sudden interruption, and you feel your heart stop when you see who’s standing in the doorway.

Max.

He’s dressed casually, in a black T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no mistaking who he is. The entire room goes silent, the air thick with shock and disbelief. You can see the recognition in your classmates’ eyes, the way they start whispering to each other, nudging each other and pointing in his direction.

Max strides into the room with the kind of confidence that only he possesses, his gaze scanning the room until it lands on you. His expression softens for a moment when he sees you, but then he turns his attention to Professor Carter, who is staring at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” Professor Carter asks, his voice sharp, though there’s a note of uncertainty beneath it.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, actually, you can,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “I’m here about Y/N’s assignment.”

Professor Carter’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to piece together what’s happening. “I’m sorry, but this is a private class,” he says, his tone regaining its usual authority. “If you have concerns about a student’s work, you can schedule a meeting during my office hours.”

Max crosses his arms over his chest, unfazed. “I think we can sort this out right here.”

You feel a mix of panic and gratitude welling up inside you. You didn’t want Max to get involved, but now that he’s here, you can’t deny the relief that floods through you. He’s taking a stand for you, and you can see that he’s not going to back down.

Professor Carter, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to maintain his composure, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Max Verstappen, I presume?” He says, his tone clipped.

Max nods. “That’s right. And I’m here to prove that Y/N didn’t fake her interview with me.”

There’s a collective gasp from the students, and you can feel the tension in the room spike. All eyes are on Max now, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they realize what’s happening. Professor Carter, however, doesn’t seem impressed.

“I see,” he says slowly, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before returning to Max. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Max’s expression hardens, and you can see the determination in his eyes. “Simple. I’m here, aren’t I? She couldn’t have faked an interview with me if I’m standing right here.”

The room falls silent again, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Professor Carter opens his mouth to respond, but for a moment, no words come out. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting this. He was so sure of himself, so confident that you couldn’t possibly know someone like Max Verstappen. And now, here Max is, standing in front of him, making him eat his words.

“I ... appreciate your enthusiasm,” Professor Carter finally says, though his voice lacks its usual bite. “But this doesn’t prove anything. For all I know, you could be here out of some misguided attempt to protect her.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the frustration building in his eyes. “You think I would waste my time lying for someone? If she didn’t do the interview, I wouldn’t be here.”

Professor Carter’s gaze shifts to you, and you can see the doubt still lingering in his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N, I told you that if you could provide proof, I would reconsider your grade. But this ...” He gestures to Max. “This isn’t exactly the kind of proof I had in mind.”

You feel a surge of anger rising within you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re standing up, your voice trembling but firm. “What more proof do you need? He’s here, in front of the entire class. He’s telling you the interview was real. What else do I have to do to make you believe me?”

The room falls silent again, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they watch you stand up to Professor Carter. He looks taken aback, his usual smug expression faltering as he stares at you.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then, Max steps forward, his voice calm but filled with conviction. “Look, Professor, I get that this might be hard to believe. But Y/N isn’t lying. She interviewed me, and she did a damn good job, too. If you don’t believe me, you can check with my team. They’ll confirm it.”

Professor Carter hesitates, clearly torn between maintaining his authority and acknowledging the reality in front of him. He glances around the room, seeing the way his students are hanging on every word, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

Finally, he exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Verstappen. But I expect Miss Y/L/N to submit any additional documentation that can verify this interview. Understood?”

You nod quickly, relief flooding through you. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Professor Carter waves his hand dismissively, clearly eager to move on. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to continue with the lesson.”

Max glances at you, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “I’ll wait outside,” he murmurs, and with one last look at Professor Carter, he turns and walks out of the classroom.

As the door closes behind him, you sink back into your seat, your heart still racing. The tension in the room starts to dissipate, and you can feel the curious stares of your classmates on you, but for the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel a sense of calm. Max believed in you enough to do this, to stand up for you, and that’s all that matters.

Professor Carter clears his throat, trying to regain control of the room. “Alright, everyone, back to the lesson. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

You open your notebook again, but this time, the words on the page seem clearer, more focused. You can do this. You’ve got this. And no matter what happens next, you know you’re not alone.

***

When you step out of the building, the late afternoon sun is warm on your face, but you barely notice it. The adrenaline from the confrontation in class is still coursing through your veins, and all you can think about is getting out of here, away from the stares and whispers that followed you as you left the room.

You spot him immediately.

Max is leaning against his car, casually checking his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But you can see the way his shoulders tense when he catches sight of you, the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

The sleek black car gleams in the sunlight, and you can’t help but notice the way people are staring, some pointing, others whispering to each other. Max Verstappen waiting outside a university lecture hall is not something anyone expected to see today.

You make your way over to him, trying to ignore the attention and the pounding of your heart. You had told him not to do this, told him you’d handle it on your own. And yet, here he is, right in the middle of everything, like he promised he wouldn’t be.

“Hey,” Max says casually, slipping his phone into his pocket as you approach. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he’s waiting for your reaction.

You stop in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t get involved,” you say, your voice tight.

Max raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too calm for your liking. “I said I’d respect your decision. And I did — until I realized your professor is a jerk who needed to be put in his place.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to maintain your anger, but it’s difficult when he’s standing there looking so smug, so unbothered by the situation. “That’s not the point, Max. You went behind my back.”

He tilts his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Did I, though? Because I seem to remember you didn’t explicitly tell me not to.”

You huff in frustration, knowing he’s right but refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max shrugs, unbothered by your accusation. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

You want to stay mad. You really do. But the way he’s looking at you, with that infuriating mix of confidence and affection, makes it impossible. You try to hold on to your irritation, try to keep the scowl on your face, but you can feel it slipping away.

Max must see it, too, because he steps closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. “No, you’re not.”

You look away, trying to maintain your resolve, but Max reaches out, gently turning your face back to him. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your anger melting away as quickly as it came.

“Stop trying to be cute,” you mumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

Max grins, clearly enjoying this. “I can’t help it. It’s just who I am.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that tugs at your lips betrays you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you still love me,” Max counters, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, Max leans down and presses his lips to yours, effectively cutting off any protest you might have had. The kiss is soft, gentle, but there’s an undeniable intensity behind it, a promise that he’ll always be there, even when you tell him not to be.

For a moment, you forget where you are, forget about the stares and the whispers, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. All that matters is the feel of Max’s lips on yours, the way his hand cradles the back of your head, anchoring you to him.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your heart racing for a completely different reason now. Max looks down at you, his eyes dark with affection, and you can’t help but smile up at him, any remnants of anger long gone.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, still slightly dazed from the kiss. “Maybe I’m not that mad.”

Max chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back completely. “I knew it.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real frustration behind it anymore. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I know.”

You glance around, noticing the continued stares from the students passing by. You sigh, knowing this moment of privacy is short-lived. “We should probably get out of here before someone decides to take a picture.”

Max follows your gaze, nodding in agreement. “Good idea. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide into the car, trying to ignore the curious eyes still on you. Max walks around to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the engine. As the car purrs to life, he reaches over, taking your hand in his again.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, his tone more serious now, the teasing edge gone.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for being there, even if I didn’t ask for it.”

Max smiles softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You don’t have to ask. I’ll always be there for you.”

And just like that, the tension that had been weighing on you all day finally eases. You know things aren’t completely resolved with Professor Carter, but right now, with Max beside you, it doesn’t seem as daunting. You’ll figure it out — together.

***

The classroom buzzes with the usual energy as students shuffle into their seats, chatting with friends or tapping away on their phones. It’s a typical day, but there’s a different kind of tension in the air. Today, Professor Carter is returning the results of the investigative journalism assignments, and no one is quite sure what to expect.

You settle into your usual spot near the back, trying to shake off the nerves. It’s been a few months since the whole incident with Max interrupting your class, and while things have calmed down somewhat, Professor Carter’s stern demeanor hasn’t wavered. You still catch him eyeing you from time to time, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up.

The door slams shut as Professor Carter strides in, a stack of papers in hand. The chatter in the room dies down instantly. He’s never been one for small talk or pleasantries, and today is no different. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, just dives straight into it.

“Good afternoon,” he says curtly, his voice slicing through the silence. “As you know, today I’ll be discussing the assignments you all turned in. Some of you excelled, others … less so.”

You swallow hard, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. You did everything you could to make your article stand out, but now that the moment of judgment is here, doubt begins to creep in.

Professor Carter begins pacing the front of the room, flipping through the stack of papers as he speaks. “Several of you chose topics that were predictable but handled them with enough depth to warrant commendation. For example, Miss Klein tackled the opioid crisis in rural England — an important and underreported subject.” He glances up at a blonde girl in the front row, who nods in acknowledgment, her cheeks flushing slightly at the attention.

“Then we have Mr. Patel,” Professor Carter continues, stopping briefly to peer down at a lanky guy two rows in front of you. “Your examination of government surveillance policies in urban areas was thorough, albeit a bit heavy on the technical jargon. But it’s clear you put in the work.”

You watch as Professor Carter moves on to the next paper, calling out names and offering critiques with the same detached professionalism. The topics range from environmental justice issues to the economic implications of Brexit — serious, weighty subjects that demand rigorous analysis. The longer he speaks, the more you feel the sinking sensation in your stomach. Your topic, in comparison, feels like a joke. An entertaining joke, sure, but still …

And then he pauses.

Professor Carter reaches the last paper in the stack, and his expression falters for a moment before he collects himself. He clears his throat and addresses the room, his voice taking on a more formal tone.

“And then we come to one particular assignment,” he begins, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing squarely on you. You freeze, every nerve ending on high alert. “An assignment that, while unconventional in its subject matter, demonstrated an impressive level of dedication and — dare I say — ingenuity.”

A ripple of whispers spreads through the room. You feel the heat of a dozen eyes on you but keep your gaze firmly on Professor Carter. His words are oddly measured, as if he’s trying to make sense of them himself.

He raises the paper in his hand slightly, glancing at it before looking back at the class. “Miss Y/L/N,” he addresses you directly, causing all the whispers to stop. “Your decision to investigate whether or not Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team, dyes his hair … was certainly unexpected.”

You hear a few muffled snickers, but you keep your face neutral, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“However,” Professor Carter continues, raising his voice slightly to silence the snickers, “the lengths you went to in pursuit of the truth were nothing short of remarkable. Going through Mercedes' trash? That shows initiative. Questionable ethics, perhaps, but initiative nonetheless.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room. You feel the urge to either laugh or shrink under your desk. You aren’t sure which. Instead, you nod slightly, acknowledging his words without letting the grin you’re fighting show.

Professor Carter takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “In a field where skepticism is necessary, and where finding the truth often requires unorthodox methods, your work stood out. So much so that I found myself contemplating the absurdity of the situation. Here I am, reading about a billionaire’s grooming habits as though it were a matter of national importance.”

This time, the laughter from the class isn’t stifled. It rings out freely, and you feel your own lips twitch despite yourself.

“But,” Professor Carter interjects, silencing the room once more, “that is precisely the point of investigative journalism, isn’t it? To find the story others overlook, to dig deeper, even when the subject seems trivial. Miss Y/L/N, your article was, in its own way, insightful. You followed the evidence, and you made your case with conviction.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you. “Though I must say, I’m not entirely convinced that your methods were ... strictly ethical. Dumpster diving isn’t exactly taught in this classroom.”

You finally allow yourself a small, nervous laugh, shrugging lightly in response. “All in the name of journalism, right?”

Professor Carter lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I suppose so. Regardless, your paper has made an impact — certainly more than I anticipated.”

He drops your paper onto his desk and addresses the class one last time. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Journalism isn’t always about the grand topics. Sometimes, the most interesting stories come from the strangest places. I encourage you all to think outside the box.”

With that, he begins handing back the assignments, and the classroom slowly returns to its usual rhythm. Conversations pick up again, but this time, they’re punctuated by curious glances and nods in your direction. You try to focus on the papers being passed down your row, but your thoughts are still stuck on Professor Carter’s words.

When your paper finally lands in front of you, you can’t resist flipping through it. There, scrawled in red ink at the top of the page, is your grade — a solid A. Next to it, Professor Carter has written a brief note: Keep pushing boundaries, but remember — ethics matter.

You smile to yourself, feeling a mix of relief and pride. The assignment had been a gamble, but it paid off in the end. And while the ethical considerations may have been a little murky, you can’t deny that the thrill of the chase had been worth it.

As class ends and students begin to file out, a few stop by your desk, offering congratulations or asking for details about how you managed to pull it off. You answer their questions with a grin, reliving the absurdity of your investigative methods. And though it feels surreal, you can’t help but feel a sense of validation.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Professor Carter catches your eye and nods in your direction, a rare hint of approval in his usually stern expression. You nod back, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between the two of you.

Stepping out of the classroom, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. The whispers and glances no longer bother you. Instead, they serve as a reminder that you’ve proven yourself, in your own way.

And as you walk through the corridors of the university, you can’t help but think about what Max will say when you tell him about today. Knowing him, he’ll probably tease you about your methods, but you also know he’ll be proud — just as you are.

Because sometimes, in journalism and in life, it’s the unconventional stories that make the biggest impact.

[sinofwriting]

Insane Person - Max Verstappen (I ❤️ MILFS verse)

Words: 667 Summary: Max wants to be sure he can give Pan kids. (Part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse) Note(s): Takes place during the original I ❤️ MILFS fic, before Max finds out Pan’s age. Max is insane btw, this has been a blurb idea since I wrote the original fic and finally it has been written so enjoy, lol.

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

“I’d love to give Logan a sibling or two.”

The words so soft had made his heart speed up as soon as he heard them and now thinking about them, letting them play on repeat.

It’s early in their relationship, though they haven’t yet talked about it yet, no matter how much Max is dying to do so. But Max wants to be the one that she gives Logan siblings with.

Which is why he’s sitting in front of his computer and looking at medical studies.

A lot of it is going over his head. The most schooling he sat through was the first four or five years of it. He can grasp engineering, anything to do with cars and their data, but medical terminology goes over his head.

He powers through, he doesn’t know Pan’s exact age, his mother would smack him over the head if he even thought to ask her age, but she’s got to to be mid to late thirties if not early forties considering Logan is twenty.

The studies say she’d be fine getting pregnant, shouldn’t have trouble conceiving, and his cheeks burn at the word, at the image it puts in his mind. They haven’t quite got their, but they’ve gotten close. They throw out the term geriatric pregnancy which makes him flinch because forty wasn’t old, at least not if you weren’t a driver and to see it be called something like that felt harsh, rude. Another one calls it advanced maternal age which really isn’t any better, but it’s just relieving to see that’s still possible. And then a study mentions that if people are having trouble conceiving that not only does the person birthing need to get checked, but both do and a new panic takes over his brain.

What if when it came time to try, he was the problem? It would really be his luck. Things had been going very well for the past few years, it would be his luck that he couldn’t give the woman he loves more kids.

And Logan wanted siblings, the panic grows as he remembers Logan chiming in that he’d love some siblings. Oh god, what if he failed in giving Logan siblings? He wanted the younger driver to like him, to really like him.

His fingers act quickly, wanting to know how he can know if he can have kids and the results make him blink because it couldn’t be that easy.

He just had to provide a sample in a cup?

Max’s brain struggles to compute that after just reading everything that women have to go through to get their fertility checked.

His hand goes to his phone, he rarely if ever called his doctor, but this was important.

He goes through the motions of confirming he is who he is, wondering how weird it must be for other people to do this for him before he finally gets asked why for the purpose of the appointment.

“I want to check to see if I can have kids.”

“Okay, are you and your partner having trouble conceiving?”

His cheeks burn, “We aren’t trying yet. I just want to make sure that it’s possible on my end.”

“Okay, it’s a simple procedure at our clinic and we could see you in the next three days if that works for you at any time we are open.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Alright, we’ll see you in a few days, Mr. Verstappen.”

He gets the results back five days after his appointment, an email sitting in his inbox, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before finally opening it.

There are words he doesn’t know, ones he doesn’t really want to think about, but there at the end, a note from his doctor that says everything looks great, and he shouldn’t have troubles getting someone pregnant and his fist goes in the air, a quiet but excited yes leaving him.

He could give Logan siblings and Pan more kids, thank fuck.

[cosmicdahlias]

And They Were Roommates

Logan Howlett x Reader

MINORS DNI

Your roommate, Wade Wilson, brings home an alcoholic Canadian bastard with knifes in his knuckles. After a month of putting up with him, an argument between you two goes in an unexpected direction.

tags: hard drugs mention, marijuana mention, alcohol usage, age difference, enemies to lovers, slapping, claws, hate fucking, mdom/fsub, breeding, degradation, praise kink, belt usage, choking, p in v, knifeplay (counting claw usage as knifeplay lmao), blood, creampie, possible impreg, aftercare, oral, multiple orgasms (emphasis on multiple), overstimulation

i’ve recently started watching the xcu movies after deadpool and wolverine dropped on disney+ and MY GODDDDDD have i been missing out!!! i’ve been an mcu girlie for so long (plus deadpool). the x-men movies are so fun but alsoooooo uhhhh hugh jackman as logan??? HELLO??? i need this man biblically like it’s not even funny. i have yet to watch logan (2017) but i’ve seen edits on tiktok and WHOA MAMA talk about a silver fox!!! also fun fact male wolverines bite down on the female’s neck during mating and i couldn’t resist including that in this fic. animalistic logan is THE BEST logan 👌

You were Wade Wilson’s friend turned roommate. You first knew each other through your other roommate, Althea, a blind woman who went by Al. At one point in time you were Al’s dealer before giving up that life once you got your degree and found steady employment. You never dabbled in the devil’s dandruff like Al did, as with the rest of gen Z, your drug of choice was weed. Your friends often asked why you chose an old woman and a mutant in his forties as roommates, but honestly rent was cheap and that was all you cared about.

You hadn’t seen Wade in a few days, he mysteriously disappeared during his birthday party. Neither you, nor any of his friends had any idea what had happened to him. You knew he’d kinda hit a rough’ish point in his life, giving up his assassin alter ego by the name of Deadpool for becoming a car salesman. You wondered if he had gone off on some sort of bender, but you honestly didn’t know.

You had just gotten off of work and opened the door to your apartment. Getting home took longer than expected, half of your street was cordoned off, from the damage looked like a bombing was the cause. You sat on the couch and pulled out your phone, trying to see if the local news had covered what had happened when door unlocked and swung open.

Wade walked in, sporting the iconic red suit you hadn’t seen him wear in six years. He was carrying the most… unique looking dog you’d ever seen and he was accompanied by a man with a rugged appearance who was wearing pants of similar material as Wade’s suit and nothing else. The stench of blood permeated the room.

“Al, I’m back.” Wade said.

“She’s out. Dude, where the hell have you been?” You asked.

“Oh no big deal, just saved the entire multiverse from total annihilation. I’m Marvel Jesus now.” Wade answered.

You elected to ignore his explanation. You never knew why you asked what he’d gotten up to whenever he wore that suit, none of it ever made a lick of sense to you.

“Who’s the dog?”

“Her? This four legged scrotum is Mary Puppins, or as I like to call her, Dogpool. Something… unfortunate happened to her last owner, so I’m her papà now.” Wade said cheerfully.

Knowing him, he definitely had something to do with whatever happened to her previous owner, but that wasn’t what you were asking about.

“Cute, but I was talking about the washed up Abercrombie & Fitch greeter next to you.”

The man rolled his eyes.

“Ohhhh, yeah that’s Logan. He’s gonna be crashing here for a while.”

“Wait, hold the fuck up. You disappear for days and you just show up in the suit you haven’t worn in years, reeking of blood, telling me some shirtless dude who also smells like blood is gonna live here like it’s no big deal?”

“Well funny thing is he doesn’t exactly know anyone else around here, not really his fault since I had to pull him from his universe and bring him here to save ours. May or may not have done so to a choir rendition of Madonna. You know, typical multiverse stuff and whatnot. I mean we’re Disney property now and that’s the horse they’re beating to death at the moment.” Wade answered.

Once again ignoring the exposition dump, you continued to protest.

“You can’t be serious, Wade! This is a two bed apartment. You and Al already share a room, so where the fuck are you gonna put him?”

“Isn’t that a couch you’re sitting on?” Logan scoffed.

“Oh perfect, so I can’t even use the goddam living room anymore?” You asked, growing even more irritated by Logan’s input.

“Jesus, you’re just a fuckin’ princess, aren’t you?” Logan huffed.

You glared at him before turning your attention back to Wade.

“Do I literally not get a say in this like at all? Even though I live here and pay my share of the rent?”

“Look, I promise it’s temporary. Just until he gets his footing in this universe. It won’t be so bad, I mean look him, total eye candy.” Wade said, gripping Logan’s face and turning his head to you.

Logan gave him a look that could kill. Long metal claws sprung out from just below his knuckles. Your eyes widened.

“THE FUCK ARE THOSE?” You shouted.

“Riiiiiiiight, so those are adamantium claws. They ain’t vibranium, but hey, can’t always be the number one. He’s a bonafide animal, in more ways than one, maybe you’ll find out for yourself.” Wade said, you could tell he was winking underneath his mask.

“The fuck do you mean by that?” Logan growled.

“Yeah, what?” You asked.

“Hey, I know sexual tension when I see it.” Wade retorted.

“I literally just met him.” You said.

“Yeah and with Hugh Jackman’s face and body, the time between introduction and need for face riding is a matter of seconds.” Wade said.

You gave a quick glance at Logan. Sure, he was incredibly attractive, but you sensed a sort of emotional unavailability that put you off. You had standards.

“You know my type and he’s not it, Wade.” You insisted.

“Forget type, he’s THE Wolverine. You know how many fanfics people read about this guy? Lookin’ at you, reader.” Wade said.

“Whatever, I’m not getting into a debate over my preferences for men.” You said, walking to your room and slamming the door.

“I think that went well.” Wade said.

-

A month had passed and much to your dismay, you were still being forced to share the apartment with Logan. At the very least he’d upgraded to wearing a shirt instead of walking around with his top half exposed.

After getting home from an exhausting shift at work, you opened the fridge, looking for the bottle of wine you saved for those evenings after a particularly long day. It was nowhere to be seen and you immediately knew who the culprit was.

“For fuck’s sake, Logan!” You shouted.

You headed to the living room to confront what was supposed to be your temporary roommate who sat on the couch.

“Christ, what now?” He groaned.

“Where the fuck is my wine?”

“Hm? Oh that? Yeah, it’s gone.” He answered dismissively, almost like taking time to respond or even look at you was beneath him.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your barely functional alcoholic ass away from my stuff?”

“Didn’t see your name on it.”

“I specifically told you not to touch that fucking bottle multiple times.”

“Must’ve not been able to distinguish what you said from your typical bitching, I usually just tune that shit out.” He said, still not making eye contact with you.

“Jesus you really have no respect for anyone.” You spat.

Logan stood, coming in way too close for your liking.

“Respect? That’s a really funny word coming from someone who doesn’t respect themselves enough to not wear short little skirts like the one you’re wearing, bending over all the time to show off that ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh you fuckin’ heard me. You think I don’t see what you’re doing with the clothes you wear, or when you come out in the morning in nothing but a shirt and panties because you think I’m asleep and won’t notice?”

“Back the fuck up, the hell do you mean by ‘think’ you’re asleep?”

“I barely sleep enough as it is, I’m awake the second I hear your door open. You have any idea what seeing you like that does to me?”

You blushed.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Please, you do it because you hope I’m watching you. I see the way you look at me. You can say you hate me all you fuckin’ want, but I can smell your goddam pheromones from across the room. I’ve been around for over two centuries and have more than enough experience to know when someone wants me. Especially when they’re acting like as much of a slut as y-“

You slapped him hard across the face. Logan immediately responded by pushing you up against the wall, unsheathing his claws and holding them under your chin. Neither of you said anything, the only sounds being a mix of him and you panting in anger.

Fuck, you had really grown to hate him, but something about his claws so dangerously close to you was playing into your kinks. You stole a glance down under, holy shit he was hard. You grabbed him by the face, kissing him aggressively. His claws retracted and he let his hands travel to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Mmf- fuckin’ knew it.” He said between kisses.

Logan picked you up by the underside of your thighs and carried you to your bedroom, his lips never once leaving you. He threw you down onto the bed, pulling your shirt over your head and unhooking your bra, tossing it aside. He took in the sight of your exposed chest.

“You’re such a pretty little thing, babygirl.”

His rough, calloused hand cupped your breast. He leaned down and you gave a yelp as he bit and tugged your nipple.

Logan chuckled. “Sensitive, aren’t you?”

You kissed him as you pulled his shirt off and traced your fingers along the dip between his abs. He unbuckled his belt, unzipping his jeans and slipping them off. Your eyes widened at the size of his cock, he laughed at your reaction.

“Yeah, like it don’t you?” He smirked.

“How the hell am I supposed to enjoy this if you’re gonna tear me in half?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it like that, I can tell you like it rough.”

“That’s a bold assumption to make.”

“Yeah? Keep telling yourself that.”

Logan pulled off your skirt and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, slipping them down your legs. He looked at your pussy with pure animalistic lust.

“Fuuuck babygirl, look how wet you already are for me. You got it that bad for older men, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You retorted.

“Oh I don’t have to, the way you’re dripping says more than enough.”

“Just shut up and fuck me already.”

You laid back on the bed with your head against the pillow and Logan flipped you over on your stomach, pulling you up to your hands and knees.

“No, you don’t get missionary. You act like a bitch? You’re getting fucked like one.”

Logan reached for his belt, he raised it, bringing it down sharply on your ass, making you squeal.

“This is what you get for being such a fuckin’ brat. From now on you call me ‘sir’, understand?”

“Like hell I will.“

He lashed you again.

“Keep talking back and see what happens. Now, what do you say?”

“Y- yes sir.”

“There you go. I’ll be nicer if you listen to me… maybe.”

Logan looped the belt around your neck.

“I’m keeping you on a leash in case you continue making smart comments.” He smirked.

“As if that’s gonna shut m- hrrrk!”

He pulled it tight, the leather dug into your skin and constricted your throat. The most you could get out was a strained moan.

“Got nothin’ to say to me now, huh? C’mon, tell me how much you hate me.” Logan mocked as he pulled harder.

You looked back at him and mouthed “fuck you”.

He laughed. “Oh I will.”

He pressed the tip of his cock against your slit for a fraction of a second before sharply forcing his full length deep inside you, causing you to cry out as his intimidating girth stretched you wide. He began to fuck you at a ruthless pace, the sounds of your yelps and squeaks filling the room.

“Poor thing, am I hurting you? It’s okay, I’m only fucking you senseless.” He teased.

His free hand gripped your ass, nails digging into your skin.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. It’s like your little pussy was made for my cock.” He grunted.

Logan leaned down, sucking your neck, leaving mark after mark, his hand letting the belt loosen.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all marked up by me.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you seriously giving me hickeys? Really? What are you thirtee- ngh!”

Logan pulled tight on his belt again, keeping you from finishing your snide remark.

His thrusts became more aggressive, and as much as your feelings about Logan confused you, his cock felt incredible. You moved yourself back on him and he growled in approval.

“Yeah that’s it, take this fat cock like a perfect little slut. So good for me.”

He let go of the belt, both hands moving to your hips. His pace became punishingly fast and brutal. Between his growls and the way he fucked you like a dog, he honestly seemed more animal than man.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ breed you, I don’t care if you’re on the pill or not.”

You whimpered and tightened around him at his words. He smirked.

“Oh you like that?”

You nodded.

“Yeah? You wanna get knocked up? Tell me you want it, babygirl. Lemme hear you say it.”

“I need you to cum in me, get me pregnant. Please.” You begged.

He stopped his thrusts with only his head remaining inside you. He grabbed you by the throat and pulled you up against him, pressing his chest to your back.

“Please, what?” He commanded.

“Please, sir.”

He shoved you down onto the mattress and slammed himself fully back inside you, immediately resuming his vicious pace.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

He panted like a wild animal, his claws slowly extending as he grew close.

“S- shit, sorry. Happens sometimes.” He said.

You tightened around him.

“Use them on me, hurt me, sir. Please, I need it so bad.” You whined.

“Goddam, you’re a fuckin’ freak. Aren’t ya, babygirl?”

He raked his claws down your back, you moaned obscenely loud as pearls of blood formed from the long slits he’d created. The mere sensation of it all immediately caused you to cum on his cock. The feeling of you pulsing around his shaft pushed him over the edge. He grunted as he buried himself to the hilt and leaned over, biting down hard on your neck, capillaries breaking under your skin. His cock throbbed with every rope of cum he shot into you.

“Fuuuuckin’ Christ, it’s not often I find someone that’s as into the hardcore stuff as me.” He chuckled.

Your whole body shook and you collapsed onto the mattress on your stomach. Logan removed his belt from your neck and got off the bed.

“Stay there, don’t move.” He said, pulling on his jeans and leaving the room.

He returned five or so minutes later with gauze, a roll of medical tape, and a wet hand towel.

“Had to really dig around for some of this stuff, when two out of four roommates regenerate there’s not a real demand.“

Logan got back onto the bed, sitting next to you.

“So what’s it like? To not heal immediately?” He asked as he dabbed at the blood on your back.

“I dunno, I never really thought about it. I guess you just deal with the pain for a few days, weeks, or months depending on what it is until it’s fine again.”

Logan chuckled.

“Sometimes I forget just how fragile everyone else is, until the world reminds me of it again and then…” He trailed off.

You could tell there was a heaviness to the latter half of his words, you knew why. Wade had told you that in Logan’s universe (a concept which took weeks for you to fully grasp) every single one of his fellow mutants had been murdered. You didn’t know the details, but you didn’t need to for you to understand why he was the way that he was. You looked up at him.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You said softly.

“What do you-“ his brow furrowed. “What did Wade tell you?” He growled as he covered his claw marks with gauze.

“Don’t get mad, I just- I wanted to know why you act like-“

“A dick?” He scoffed, pulling out a few inches of medical tape from the roll.

“Like someone with severe trauma.”

He went silent and looked away from your gaze as he finished adding the last line of tape to secure the gauze.

“…You’re all patched up.”

You moved to get up and dress yourself, but Logan wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you back onto the mattress.

“No, c’mere. Lay back for me.”

“Do I still have to call you ‘sir’?

“It’s alright, you can call me ‘Logan’ again. This is about making you feel good, not me. I think I owe you one for being such a good girl.”

You laid with your head against the pillow and Logan began to kiss his way down the length of your body until his head was between your thighs. His lips were so close to your pussy that you could feel the heat of his breath.

“Didn’t peg you for the kinda guy that gives head.”

“You thought wrong. I’m eating this pussy until you’re shaking for me.”

His lips met your clit, his tongue rolling and circling it. You moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair.

“Fuckin’ Christ, your scent is addictive.” He growled against you, making you shudder as the deep vibrations went straight to your clit.

You bucked your hips and he moved his hands to them, keeping you in place.

“Eeeeasy there. I know it feels good, but you can’t move around like that if I’m gonna eat you out, babygirl.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them at just the right spot to absolutely send you over the edge. Your breath shuddered as you tightened around him.

“That’s it. C’mon, be a good girl and cum for me.”

You gripped his hair harder as you came undone on his tongue, pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuuuuuck, Logan!”

Your back arched off the bed, he pressed a hand to your stomach, holding you down.

“No, I’m not done with you yet.”

He continued sucking and licking your clit, his fingers fucking you hard and fast. You shook, feeling a second orgasm build. Your head cocked back as all of the nerves in your body ignited in pleasure for a second time. You expected Logan to remove his mouth, but he kept going.

“Fuck, I can’t stop. You’re just too goddam perfect when you cum.”

You moaned loudly, your clit throbbing in his mouth as you came for a third time, cursing like a sailor and writhing against his tongue.

“You doing good there, babygirl?” Logan asked.

“Uh-huh.” You murmured.

At some point everything went hazy and you lost track of just how many times he’d made you cum. The more you had, the quicker the next one came, until it was one immediately after another. You were a shaking, stuttering mess.

“L- Logan, I ca- an’t keep going. I- it’s too m- much.”

“Shhh, you’re okay. Just one more time, I promise.”

He pumped his fingers relentlessly, his tongue working your clit at an equally vigorous pace. Every muscle in your body tensed as the most intense orgasm you had ever felt in your life rocked you to your very core and everything went white for a moment.

“Ohhhhh godddd, Logan. You’re gonna fucking kill meeee.” You groaned.

Logan moved himself to get on top of you, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry babygirl. I know I pushed you hard, but you did so well for me.” He whispered softly, holding your face in his hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He laid next to you, pulling you to him, his chest pressed against your back as your post orgasm haze finally subsided.

“Never saw you as the cuddling type.” You said.

“Depends on how I feel about whoever I’m fucking, and unfortunately for me I’m starting to actually like you.”

“And what did I do to deserve that?”

“Well, you’re still a total bitch, but you’re actually pretty sweet when you want to be. I like you that way though, makes things interesting. I’ll admit when you slapped me I got so fuckin’ hard.”

“So, you’re saying I should slap you more often?”

“I’m not saying no, but just expect to lose the ability to walk after I fuck it out of you.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

“Good. Now, there’s something you should know. Regeneration doesn’t just mean that I heal quickly.” He said, pressing the hard bulge in his jeans against you.

“Holy shit, so… we could fuck all night without stopping?”

“Exactly.”

“Then what the hell are we doing just lying here?”

Logan turned you onto your back, getting on top of you.

“Attagirl, let’s fuckin’ go.”

-

The two of you spent the whole night fucking like rabbits nonstop. When morning came you made your way to the kitchen. Logan followed, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you from behind as you made yourself a cup of coffee. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent.

“I hope you know I’m never gonna get enough of you.” He said, his hands traveling underneath your shirt to your breasts.

“I swear, you’re hornier than a dog that hasn’t had his balls chopped off.” You teased.

“Yeah and you love it.”

“There you go with the assumptions again, you’re so right though.” You purred, turning to him.

“I know I am.”

His lips met yours and he lifted you onto the counter. You laced your fingers in his hair and wrapped your legs around him. Both of you were too focused on each other to notice the sound of a door opening. Wade walked out from the room he shared with Al carrying Mary Puppins.

“Judging by the NC-17 noises I heard all night I’m guessing you two had fun.” Wade said, causing you to jump and pull away from Logan.

“For fuck’s sake, do you not know when to leave people alone?” Logan huffed.

“Oh c’mon peanut, you know boundaries aren’t my forte. It’s my toxic trait.”

Logan glared at him.

“Alright alright, I can take a hint. Just try not to get any fluids on the appliances. I certainly don’t mind a little Wolvie in my coffee, but I don’t think Al would appreciate it.” Wade said, heading back to his room.

Logan turned his attention back to you, his lips brushing against yours.

“Now, babygirl, where were we?”

[rakhalofthestars]

Trust Fall

Synopsis: Boothill loves eagles and wishes to mimic their courting ritual with you <3

Tags: Boothill x gn reader, Boothill's backstory mentioned, Pre-IPC boothill, Fluff, Humor, Light angst, Established relationship, courting rituals, Boothill is native american and latino a/n: This fic also has a bit more heavy usage of cowboy slang than all my other fics

Warnings: None !!

wc: 1 496

The people of Aeragan-Espharshel had many different beliefs, each one spread through word of mouth from parent to child. From the burning hot sun that gave life to the organisms on the planet to the tiny, hard-working ants. There were stories and legends behind each and every single thing, each having their own little tidbit of wisdom to learn from. Nothing was too small or too big for the people believed that we play our own part in the cycle of life, no matter our size or role. These beliefs reflected the tribe that inhabited the planet and the respect and love they held for the land.

Naturally, it’s no surprise that there would be stories and beliefs surrounding the eagle, which was seen as the mightiest of all birds. Its feathers symbolized that which is highest, bravest, strongest and holiest. Eagles were the symbol for a warrior.

It must be why you could find the bird all across Boothill’s person. The eagle feathers in his cowboy hat, which he had once fondly told you to have found one day with his siblings whilst running through the grassy fields. The small eagle on his left shoulder, attached to the burnt red sarape that he had managed to salvage from that fateful night. The small eagle insignia on his favorite 9mm gun, one that he had commissioned to be made from brass. The eagle on the back of his leather jacket which he had carefully painted using bleach, having even added a little cowboy hat to the bird to match him. You can easily remember how eager he had been to show you his more artistic skills, at least when it came to drawing eagles.

Boothill had always admired eagles. It was one of the few aspects of him that remained from who he was before the bombing. Before everything had quite literally turned into ashes.

Him and his fellow gunslinging friends of the past would often sit by a fire at night and yarn the hours away. Boothill would be lying on the soft grass, chewing on a piece of straw, his expression thoughtful for once as he’d stare up at the vast universe up above.

“Bee in yer bonnet, [REDACTED]?” One of them would always ask, having noticed the absence of his voice amongst the crude songs they’d have started singing by then.

“Jus’ thinkin’...”, would be his short reply, followed by one or two or the whole bunch prodding at him to spill the beans.

“Share yer wisdom, why dont’cha, O’ Great [REDACTED]”, they’d all tease and the young cowboy would laugh along good-naturedly.

“Was jus’ thinkin’ that I’d like to be one a’ them eagles up in the sky. Be as brave and courageous as them.”

“See, this is why I tell y’all to keep an eye on him. He’s an odd stick, ain’tcha [REDACTED]?”

But no matter how much his friends would tease him, Boothill’s admiration for eagles would never fade. He’d look to the great birds of the sky whenever he felt at sea. An age old habit that would stick until he fulfilled his role in the cycle of life. It’s what he did when the IPC had first arrived on his planet in their foreign and menacing spaceships, spouting off what he and countless others had thought to be taradiddles. It’s what he had done when trying his damndest to keep the corporation away from disrespecting the soil he had grown up on. It’s what Boothill does now when the weight of carrying out revenge gets too heavy for his shoulders, no matter whether they were flesh and bone or cold, hard metal.

Unsurprisingly, the man knew countless facts about these mighty birds. He had made sure to infodump about them when he took you bird-watching on planets that were similar to his home, thus housing the same or similar species of birds and the like. You were always curious and wishing to know more about your partner and his roots and who was he to deny you?

“See that one right there? That’s a bald eagle”, Boothill murmured softly one time against the shell of your ear once, pointing to the sky.

“How can you tell all the way from down here?” You asked, squinting into the binoculars that you were holding in your hands.

“Well, sugar, it’s because of that white noggin of theirs. No other eagle got that same appearance.”

“Did ya know that the eagle sound you hear in Penacony’s films ain’t actually the sound they make?”, Boothill would continue, ready to tell you the same little factoids and stories that his parents had told him.

You listened while watching the eagle. Well…you weren’t really focused on following the bird’s movements anymore. You were too focused on how the cowboy’s voice had softened its usual gruffness and laced with the aching feeling of nostalgia and homesickness.

During such moments, you usually rarely interrupted the man. It was clear as day to anyone with functioning eyes how much this meant for him.

However, your eyes caught a change in the eagle’s movements and you let out a surprised gasp when you see another bald eagle locking its talons with the one you had been following. To your horror, the birds had begun hurdling down towards the hard ground below, spinning in some form of cartwheel.

“Oh no! Are they fighting?”

Boothill looked questioningly at the sky, looking for what had caught your attention and chuckled fondly.

“Naw, don’t worry darlin’. That right there is what we call a death spiral. It’s like a courting ritual. Think of it as a type of trust fall.”

“What’s the point? Won’t they get hurt?”

*I just said it’s a trust fall, didn’t I?” An exasperated tone which quickly backtracked upon receiving a fierce glare from you.

“As I was sayin’... it’s a trust fall. That pair trusts each other to let go at the last second unless they wanna bite the dust….See?”

You had sighed with relief to see the bald eagles separating just before hitting the ground, quickly flying back up to the sky.

“Thank goodness… You still haven’t explained why they do it though?”

“It’s for courting each other. Eagles are one helluva adrenaline junkie. S’pose they want a partner who can give ‘em that rush.”

The two eagles interlocked their talons once more, spinning once more in the air as they fell. You watched in awe while Boothill watched you carefully, an idea taking root in his mind.

“Say…I reckon we should give it a shot too, sugar”, the man suggested and flashed you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely not. We’re not eagles, Boothill”, you refused almost immediately.

“Oh c’mon sugar, have some faith in yer man!”

The two of you went back and forth on the matter before eventually forgetting about it. At least, that was the case on your part. Boothill on the other hand…

–

“Your bounty is complete. How would you like to land?”

“...Good question.”

In truth, Boothill wasn’t too worried about the landing since he already could see you zooming towards him on an air-hover, ready to catch the cyborg. Oh, you were mad as a march hare alright.

“I’ve told you time and time again to have a better plan for these things!” You nag at him, your pretty face contorted with exasperation.

“Don’t get yer britches in a stir, sugar. I know what I’m doin’ “, Boothill drawls, looking too carefree for someone who was free falling through the air.

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure as hell doesn’t look like it!” You roll your eyes, following him down towards the ground on your hovercraft.

“I do, thank ya kindly. I got trust in you and mahself.”

“Take my hand then, you bag of bolts!”

“Not yet.”

It takes all your strength to not just up and leave the cowboy to fend for himself in such a situation but the thought of him potentially becoming a metal pancake stops you. You decide to trust his judgment, against your own better judgment. This wasn’t your first rodeo after all.

The two of you speed towards the ground, Boothill simply leisurely holding onto his hat while you were locked in completely, waiting for his signal.

Just a few seconds before you two would’ve crashed into the rock-hard ground below, Boothill whistles and with all your strength, you pull him onto your air-hover and promptly speed the vehicle back up into the sky once more.

“This is the last time we’re doing this”, you sigh, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Come now, lovely. Ya gots to admit that it’s fun!” Boothill grins as he wraps his strong arms around your waist and nuzzles his face against your neck. You grumble at his actions but leave him be, opting to savor his closeness instead.

“Haven’t gotten your fill yet, lil’ eagle?”

“How can I, when I trust ya’ll catch me each time?”

[lovesickhughes]

SILVER BELLS   — nico hischier x reader 

a/n: happy december! here is the first of my upcoming christmas series. i loved writing this so much and feel like it was a great way to start the holiday season! a big thank you to @hughesinthebox for helping me with the ending of this fic, it honestly made it 10x better and more adorable, i appreciate you! i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻🎄🤍🧣

tags: nico hischier x reader

warnings: mentions of pregnancy (not the reader), FLUFF TO MY CORE

word count: 2.3k

series masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Alright, just one more button and you, my little munchkin, will be all ready to go,” You heard Nico coo to your eight-month-old daughter as he buttoned up her cotton onesie that provided an extra thick layer of warmth to take on the brisk December air. As for yourself, you paced around the main room of your parent’s house, gathering all the last belongings you needed for the family outing. 

Thankfully this year, the Devils’ schedule aligned perfectly with the holidays, giving you ample time to share with your family before Nico would soon be back to his busy schedule and captain responsibilities. 

Nico and you were visiting your parents in your hometown for this week, before travelling to visit Nico’s side of the family the following week. While your family decided to stay at home and spend time watching Christmas classics, your brother and sister-in-law, as well as Nico, you and your daughter Ivy, decided to attend the city’s Christmas market and Christmas tree lighting. 

You remember as a child, experiencing the amusing sights of all the houses in your neighbourhood decorated with bright and colourful lights, so when proposing the idea to your siblings and husband, they all were more than happy to reminisce over your shared childhood. 

Nico delicately placed Ivy in the carrier, buckling her into the seat, making sure she was adjusted correctly, before grabbing his own coat to put on, picking it up from the dining room table and sliding his arms through. When you had finished packing the diaper bag to go, placing it on the table next to Ivy, you peek over at your bubbly daughter, eyes growing soft at the sight of her features, knowing they were an exact copy of Nico’s. 

You sigh in content, “my sweet girl.” You said quietly, before reaching down to place a kiss on the soft skin of her cheek. As you stood back up, you felt the hands of Nico slide to your sides, squeezing softly, causing flutters to rush through your veins. 

You turned in your stance to face him, his hands still resting on your hips. 

“Hi, you.” You say through a giggle, trying your hardest to hold back the giddy feeling that erupted through your body. 

“Hi, baby,” Nico responded, leaning down to place a quick peck on your lips, before smiling into your eyes again. Your hands lift to come to his shoulder, resting around his neck and your hands finding the nape of his neck, scratching softly. 

“Thank you for getting her ready.” You thanked, smiling as you looked back to your left at your daughter who quietly babbled to herself. 

“You don’t need to thank me.” Nico responded with a squint in his eyes. He then reached down again to meet your lips, this time holding the kiss a few seconds longer with more adoration filled between. You both pull away, smiling at each other before getting your shoes on and bidding your goodbyes to your family staying home, and exiting the house to meet your brother, Noah, and sister-in-law, Lauren, who would be driving the group to the venue. 

Nico opened the one back door of the SUV, while you walked to the far side of the car, sliding into the middle seat to help Nico attach the baby carrier with Ivy inside, into the seat of the car, making sure it was secure for the drive to the market. 

“All ready?” Your brother asked from the driver seat, turning to look back at the three of you in the back row. Nico and you gave a nod, while Ivy was preoccupied with her new stuffed animal your Mom had gifted her as a welcome gift to Grandma and Grandpa’s. 

The drive passed by quickly, but the parking situation added an extra twenty minutes to the commute before you were all stepping out of the SUV. You walked to the trunk of your brother’s car, opening the door over your head and pulling out the stroller for your daughter and setting it up, while Nico began putting on the baby carrier he agreed to wear for the day for your daughter to have a better view. 

Placing the diaper bag in the bottom part of the stroller, you then reached in the side door of the car to unbuckle Ivy from her seat, her expression lighting up when she saw your face. 

“Hi, my sweet girl!” You exclaimed, mouth falling open in excitement, earning giggles and incoherent noises from your daughter who wiggled in your grip. Her legs bounced up and down in excitement as you held her slightly above your shoulders, and you pulled her in, peppering kisses onto her soft cheek. “Ugh, mommy loves you so much.” You mumbled into the side of her head while kissing the fluffy hood that covered her head. 

You turned to face Nico who already had his gaze landed on you, a look of adoration filling his eyes. The two of you swiftly placed your daughter into the carrier, Nico adjusting the straps on his shoulders, while you made sure the contraption was snug around all areas of your daughter to keep her safe. 

Once ready, the four of you and your infant set foot towards the city’s display. There was live Christmas music playing in the distance, while the noise of bustling cars and city life filled the background. 

“I’m glad we could do this,” Lauren said, and the rest nodded in agreement, “especially getting to show little Ivy the awesome Christmas lights.” She cooed as she looked towards Nico who had his arms out in front of him to let Ivy hold onto his fingers. 

You smile at the sight, feeling a warmth run through your veins. “Me too, I appreciate you both coming with,” You smile at your brother and his wife, “It’s almost time you two bring a little one like Ivy into the group.” You joke, nudging your brother who walked beside you, pushing the stroller for you, despite the protest. 

You arrive at the street that hosted the Christmas market, white tents being set up on either side of the street, all filled with small businesses selling their products. It varied from homemade foods like flavoured dips and jars of pickles, to handmade ornaments and other decorations for the holiday season. You all perused down the street, finding little gifts to give to your family members and friends. 

A couple of hours had gone by before the sun had started setting and the thick snow clouds began to cover the night sky. The plans followed that you would attend the Christmas tree lighting in the main quad of the venue, before heading back to your parents’ house for dinner. 

Ivy had periodically napped throughout the day, and thankfully had a moment of energy, perfectly enough at the time the massive sixty-foot tree would be lit up and glisten in the snow that had just begun to fall. 

The crowd gathered around, forming a circle around the barricades as the workers hustled in preparation. Nico stood closer, wanting Ivy to have a view of the lighting, while your brother stood next to him and they chatted amongst themselves. 

Lauren and you stood behind, gazing at the pair, a warm feeling in your heart at the sight. No one would have told you even three years ago that this is where you would be, married to the Devils’ captain with a kid. 

Nico had – without a doubt – changed your life for the better. He provided you with love and a sense of security and there was never a moment where he didn’t bring you joy. And to make it even better, sharing a child with the man you loved was the biggest blessing you could have ever received. She was your lifeline and more, and you wanted nothing more than to provide with all the love you had to give in your heart. 

The countdown began, everyone chanting the numbers in anticipation, and you peered over Nico’s shoulder to see your daughter’s reaction. When the number reached one and the tree erupted in a bright, illuminating essence, the squeals from your daughter made your stomach flutter in a mother-ly instinct. You smile at her and reach your hand and place it on her small torso, rubbing up and down as you whisper sweet nothings to her. 

You look up at Nico who is already smiling down at you, a bright smile erupting across his face before he leans down to kiss you. The kiss is soft, but filled with affection and desire. 

When you pull away, you smile at your husband again, before lifting yourself on your toes to place a peck on his rosy cheek, cold to the touch from the winter air. 

“I love you,” you speak softly so only Nico can hear. He smiles at you even brighter, placing another quick kiss to your lips. 

“I love you more, honey.” He smiled back. 

When you step back behind your brother and Nico, Lauren nudges your shoulder to reach your attention. 

You turn to face her, “Y/n,” she says seriously, “with the way Nico looks at you, and how you are as the most adorable little family,” she pauses, pulling you in closer to her frame, “I can’t wait to tell Noah we’re going to have one of our own.” She says through a smile, a shocked expression falling onto your face in excitement. 

“You’re kidding, when did you find out?” You asked excitedly. 

“About a month ago, I was waiting to share the news, but I felt like you deserved to know a bit before the rest.” She spoke softly, smiling. 

You gave her a quick, but tight hug, careful not to bring attention to yourself and sister-in-law. 

“Ivy’s going to be so excited to have a little cousin.” Was all you could think now having revealed Lauren was expecting. 

–

Later that night, after Ivy was fed with her bottle, and placed in her portable bassinet, Nico and you were now getting ready for bed, sharing the bathroom that was across the hall from the spare room you were occupying at your family’s house.

Nico had already changed, so after brushing his teeth, he made his way into bed, careful to not disrupt Ivy’s peaceful state. 

You follow shortly, turning off the hallway light and quietly retreating back to the spare room, avoiding making too much noise to prevent waking any other family members up. Shutting the door behind you softly, you walk to the side of the bed you would be sleeping on, quickly stripping from your sweatpants and sweater you had been wearing while watching classic Christmas movies with your family after a delicious dinner. 

Nico, from his side of the bed, reaches on his side attempting to reach for your bare hip that was only covered by the thin layer of your black lace underwear. He manages only to snug a finger under the fabric, letting the elastic snap back against your skin with a smirk written on his face. You playfully scold him for his attempt, before quickly slipping on your pair of Christmas themed pyjama shorts and matching button-up top. 

Climbing into bed, you immediately find yourself in the embrace of Nico, his arm wrapping under your frame and around your shoulder, while his other arm meets the side of your hip, his hand lightly gripping your body. 

“How was your day, my love?” You asked as a small whisper, cautious of your sleeping daughter. Looking up at Nico, you admired his features, his moustache growing more prominent as you insisted he regrow one after the month of November, and his tired but soft eyes looking at you. 

“Amazing, Ivy’s reactions made my whole world.” He smiled with excitement as he recollected his thoughts from today’s events. 

Before you could respond, his face nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your scent, his facial hair tickling your face and earning a giggle from your lips. You lightly push away from Nico, placing a kiss on his jawline before he laid on his back and you hovered over him. 

“You can’t say anything yet, and you’ll find out soon,” you whispered, “but, Lauren’s pregnant… she told me today.” You said through a smile, having to bite your lip to prevent yourself from making any noises of excitement. 

Nico’s eyebrows raised, eyes widened and mouth slightly fell open in surprise, “no way, good for them.” He smiled before he paused for a moment, looking like he was trying to gather the words to say something else. 

“What?” You encouraged softly, giving him a slight pout. Nico’s hand reaches and meets your hip again, slipping under your shirt to run his hand up and down your back. 

“Nothing, well–” he pauses, almost looking nervous, “it can’t help but make me want to have another one.” He states, earning a shocked expression on your face in return.

“Really?” You clarify and he responds with a nod. 

“Maybe not right at this moment, but I’d love to give Ivy another sibling or two. I want nothing more than to make a family with you and now that we’ve started, why stop?” He proposed. Your heart melted hearing those words fall across his lips, so much that words could not describe how you felt. You plant a slow, intimate kiss on Nico’s lips, Nico inhaling sharply through his nose at the contact before melting under you. 

You pull away, your breathing hitched. 

“So I take that as a yes?” Nico offered through a laugh, and nothing else would be a sufficient response other than bringing your lips to his again, nodding your head in agreement at the offer. 

Oh, how the Christmas season brings an array of holiday surprises. 

[ode-to-melpomene]

Control

Part 3 of 'Stray' Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Synopsis: One bad idea snowballs out of control. Word Count: 2829 Warnings: Reader and Jason are both a little fucked up, allusions to depression and Jason's death, subtle size difference, negative self-talk from both parties, and a touch of angst.

Red Hood had to bend and scrape to get through your window. Had you not been in shock at the turn of events, you might have laughed at the sight of this broad, heavily armored man thrusting his arms in front of him and cocking his whole body at an angle to fit himself through your narrow window.

When his shoes touched down on the floor of your modest apartment he tracked snow in with him. Snow and slush, and despite knowing it would leave a mess on your old wooden floors you thought it looked like quite a pretty combination. You liked the grayish look of the rivulets that fell from his shoes as he stepped into the room.

Your heart beat faster when he finally stood to his full height. He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head from side to side, stretching the no-doubt sore muscles. He was broad and filled the entire space like the tiny interior was shaped around him. He hulked there like a wolf eyeing a rabbit. Were his jaws parted in hunger and salivating beneath his helmet?

He finally moved, one hand fiddling with the fingertips of his other glove. His shoulders slackened, curling in on himself slightly.

Your cheeks warmed as you snapped your attention away from him. This was definitely a mistake. This man was a known murderer and, from what you had heard from your associates in Crime Alley, was steadily building his own criminal network within the city. This was a horrible idea.

But you were lonely.

When was the last time you’d had company over? When was the last time you had spent more than a night in this apartment?

Jason observed you carefully from where he stood beside the window, watching you flit away from him. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth and turned your back to him, hiding that doe-eyed gaze. With your head on a swivel, you paced around your dimly lit apartment with a twitchy awkwardness that betrayed the discomfort you were trying to hide.

The apartment was messy. Jason felt less bad about dripping slush onto your wood floors when he saw the stack of dishes piled in your sink, the unopened letters and bills on the folding table in the middle of the room, and the basket of unfolded laundry on your orange couch. His brows furrowed beneath his helmet as he scanned the room from his position beside the window.

Like a moth to a flame, his piercing stare dragged back to you. You stood in the center of your kitchen watching him with that familiar nervous, flighty expression you maintained while meandering the twisting back streets of Crime Alley. Was it that same anxiety that got him caught by you weeks ago?

You held out a beckoning hand to him. Jason’s heart thudded in his chest.

You watched Red Hood, your own heart pounding as you stared at the unmoving figure shrouded in darkness. Backlit by moonlight. Blanketing the devil with a halo.

“The dishes?” you asked, your voice barely above a squeak. The man twitched as if your timidity spooked him. Red Hood lifted the dishes to his chest and stepped across your apartment in a few long strides. You flinched when he lurched to a stop in front of you, his movements clunky and intimidating. He didn’t move like a lithe panther like he had on the rooftop the first night you saw him–no, he moved like a teenager relearning his body after a growth spurt. All sharp angles and quick movements.

You avoided touching him as you took the glass baking dish and plate from his gloved hands and set it on the counter.

“Um,” you start, with no particular thought in mind as you skitter towards the fridge. You hear the sound of fabric shuffling and look over your shoulder to see his head cocked to the side slightly. He’s so close now, practically barricading you in your own kitchen. The apartment was so small, he could probably lash out and grab you before you had a chance to run away. A fox in a rabbit’s den.

How strong was he? If he were angry, could you throw you across the room? Would he even need his gun to kill you, or could he clasp his hands around your throat and squeeze? How much biting, scratching, and kicking would it take to get him off you?

If he pinned you down, would you even try to fight back?

You flushed as warmth spread through your traitorous body. Your shoulders trembled as you stood in front of the open fridge, filled to the brim with Tupperware and leftovers.

“I… do you like chicken parmesan?” you asked, your voice cracking. Your question is met with silence.

When you look over your shoulder you find the Red Hood looming in the corner of your kitchen, staring down at a picture frame. You liked the frame–silver, with pretty flower details at the corners that reminded you of spring in a place you didn’t call home anymore. The frame was empty, leering at you and your empty life.

“I don’t have anything to fill it with,” you answer his unspoken question, swallowing the lump in your throat. His helmet tilts again, jaw angled towards you–you can just make it skin in the thin space between the high collar of his compression-fit shirt and the edge of his helmet. You lick your lips.

“No family?” he asks. Your heart should have leapt into your throat at that–it was the sort of thing a serial killer would ask a victim to test the waters.

“None that would notice if I were gone,” you admit in a whisper. Red gleamed in the dim light of your kitchen, the solitary light in the corner of the living room illuminating his stiff figure. “They… had plans for me. College. Career. Things I didn’t want- not that they ever bothered to ask what I did want. It’s probably extreme, but… it was easier to disappear than tell them no.”

Or it’s easier to run and hide.

Jason tilted his helmeted head to the floor, his brows drawn together and lips pursed in a thin line. Growing up with- being raised to be a detective made it easy to parse out what you were doing. You were running. No concrete roots anywhere, ready to disappear again at a moment’s notice. You barely let yourself build a life, sequestered in this rundown apartment building for the sole purpose of dedicating yourself to something else. Anything to make you forget how lonely life had made you.

He knew that feeling.

“You were right the other night, y’know,” you said, rousing him from his thoughts. Jason lifted his head and fixed you with a cold stare. “When you said I don’t know what I’m doing? You’re right, I don’t. I don’t know why I’m here.”

You held his gaze steadily for the first time all evening, daring him to judge you. Some days you wondered if anyone would care if you disappeared–the answer always came back with a resounding no. That shook you to your core. No one wanted you, the hermit on the fifth floor with a dead-end job, no friends, no family.

But maybe if someone depended on you… maybe someone would mourn you, too. If you could give yourselves to others, bury a piece of yourself in their souls, maybe they would feel a piece of themselves break when you inevitably shattered.

It wasn’t kindness. It was survival. Desperation. A need to be remembered, held, cherished, and you clawed for it in the only way you knew how. Subservience.

Red Hood held your stare. Your gaze captivated him in a way he hadn’t felt since he watched the timer tick down to his death. His exhale came out shaky, his hands trembling at his sides because-

Because you got it. That ache that seeped deep into his bones, that desire to mean something to someone so viscerally that they would fight for you. Bruce had never done that.

Jason found that in the children who demanded he play games with them late on his patrols. He found it in the grateful mothers who thanked him for scaring dealers out of their neighborhoods. He found it in the fathers who stood beside him and fought for safer streets.

He found it in the reverence in your gaze.

“What do you want?” he asked, modulated voice breaking the tense silence. You blinked rapidly at his question, chasing away scattered thoughts.

“What?”

“You said… you said your family never asked what you wanted,” he hesitated, unease slipping into his rough voice. “What do you want?”

You hesitated for a moment. Jason’s gaze dropped to your parted lips before returning to the burgeoning hope in your eyes.

“Home,” you responded with a timid smile. Jason flexed his fist at his side.

When was the last time he had called something home? The Manor, maybe. Six months for him, nearly three for the rest of the world. Home wasn’t something he deserved when he had come back so wrong. Like a newborn fawn struggling to stand on tremulous legs, he fought to learn the body he had been reborn into that didn’t feel like his. He came back angry, volatile, wrong, wrong, wrong-

“Are you okay?”

Jason flinched. “Fine,” he answered curtly. He turned away from you and planted his hands on his countertop, fingers curling against the lip of the linoleum with a bruising grip. His chest heaved with deep breaths, huffing like a bull. Control wasn’t something that came easily anymore.

And then he felt you standing by his side. You, who seemed too sweet, a kindness he certainly didn’t deserve. You, who reminded him of the things he wanted but couldn’t- shouldn’t have.

“I’m not sure what I did, but… it’s okay to be upset,” you spoke softly, leaning beside him. “I can… I can go in the other room if you need a minute.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he answered with a huff, bringing one hand up to his helmet. What was he supposed to say to you, a literal stranger? That anger was easier for him to process than anything else? That it came naturally since his time in the Pit?

“Can I touch you?”

Jason’s heart raced. Every muscle in his body tensed, pulled taut with shock. His mouth felt dry, his tongue tacky, and sweat beaded on his brow beneath his helmet. You were asking to touch him?

When you finally did, Jason felt his heart stop. Your hand upon his upper arm, covered by his jacket, felt apprehensive. If not for every cell in his body on alert, he might not have felt the earnest touch.

Your own heart pounded. You didn’t take his silence as a no, but it certainly wasn’t a yes either. So you held still and offered a gentle touch to the soft, worn leather coat he wore over his armored figure. A vigilante, a murderer, a criminal, allowing you to touch him like it was the most natural thing in the world to both of you.

Or maybe just to you, given the way he shook under your hand. Perhaps you had misinterpreted the situation and inflated your significance. Of course, you had. What was a gnat to a hawk, if not a pest? You pulled your hand away.

Red Hood lashed out and your breath caught in your throat. His gloved hand tightened around your wrist in a harsh grip–not bruising, but firm enough to draw a whine from deep in the back of your throat. He relinquished his grip immediately, his shoulders sagging at the expression on your face.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered. Your hand remained raised between the two of you, and he wasn’t sure if it was a barrier or an offering. He twisted slightly to face you, looming over you in the shadowy kitchen. Jason hesitantly lifted his hand, the same that had gripped your wrist moments before. Slowly, he brought his open palm up and rested it against your wrist in a quelling gesture. “I scared you.”

“Only a little,” you answered with a shy smile. His stomach twisted. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to be a perfect gentleman when I invited you in here. It’s okay to be overwhelmed.”

Overwhelmed. That was a good way of putting it. Overwhelmed by the way you smelled, how you twisted your wrist to press your palm flat against his gloved hand, and the well of sadness and longing in your eyes. Overwhelmed by life, by hatred, by you.

You interlaced your fingers with his. Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. When was the last time someone had dared to touch him like that? You lowered your joined hands to rest comfortably between you and Jason’s eyes followed, wrestling with the image of your smaller hand cradled in his. It looked unnervingly natural.

“I get it. I’m not very good at talking to people either.” You offered a reassuring smile. “But you make it easier.”

Jason scowled beneath this helmet. “Why? Because you’re talking to a helmet and not a person?”

You scoffed a playful sound that brought warmth to his cheeks. “No, because I’m talking to you. You actually bother to listen.”

Jason couldn’t imagine anyone not listening to you. Your voice sounded like a melody compared to the roar of his own thoughts. Thoughts that suffocated him, made him feel less than and undeserving. That wasn’t his fault though. His past had forced him to respond with vitriol. The way you looked up at him from under your lashes with a pretty frown on your lips quieted those thoughts, even if for just a moment.

Jason turned his wrist, dragging your hand with it. He brought your joined hands up and pressed your knuckles to the edge of his helmet. It was the closest he could bring himself to a thank you, although he wasn’t sure what he was thanking you for.

Your breath stuttered. Red Hood pushed your knuckles firmly against the cold surface of his helmet, just off-center of where you assumed his mouth was. Your heart thudded in your chest, and despite the thick gloves he wore you were certain he could feel the frantic beat of your pulse on your wrist.

His grip was tight, but not demanding as it had been earlier. Your cheeks warmed, your lips parting in a silent question as you stared at the expressionless sea of red in front of you.

Warmth pooled in your belly and crept tantalizingly across your skin. Yes, he could break you… but he wouldn’t. At least, you didn’t think so. But, God, if it meant he would continue to touch you like that, you would let him break you. He cradled your hand like a lifeline, like you were the last thing keeping him rooted. The only thing that mattered in a torrential sea of emotion that you could barely stand to sail alone.

You took a step closer. You expected him to flinch, but he remained steadfast, his helmet angling down slightly to watch you closely. You tugged on his hand and he relented, allowing you to guide him as you pleased.

Red Hood let out a choked noise through his helmet when you brought his gloved knuckles to your lips. The barest touch, one that he couldn’t feel through the kevlar, and yet his heart beat wildly against his ribs. Your lips ghosted over the fabric for just a moment, barely a hint of a kiss, before you pulled away.

His free hand twitched at his side. Your gaze flicked down at the motion and the corner of your mouth quirked up in a half smile.

“You can touch me,” you offered, giving his hand a squeeze.

Jason thought he might die.

“I’d ruin you,” he answered, his voice warbling in desperation.

Loneliness, anger, fear, longing- he saw it all on your face. You felt the same weight he did, and yet you basked in it and let it guide you towards something better. Or maybe something worse, if it was guiding you towards him.

“I’m already ruined,” you said, clasping his hand between both of yours.

Jason jerked his hand away. Your hands fell limply at your sides, disappointment clear in the way your brows knit together. He took a lumbering step back, feeling like he had let you down again. That was all he was capable of, he was sure of it. He couldn’t let himself get entangled in your life without sending it all crashing down.

He was gone before you had a chance to protest. You shuddered at the blast of cold air that filled the room through the open window. Sunlight peeked over the Gotham skyline, draping the sky and your mood in a cloudy gray.

Masterlist ✴ 'Stray' Series ✴ Next Part

Tag list: @taylorgriffin, @joonunivrs, @solari0om

[delphi-shield]

— 「 BODYGUARD 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.2k summary: you're not his responsibility (not yet), but the guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't get your drunk ass home safely. content: lighter's pov, vomit, alcohol use, sappy lighter, jealous lighter beyonce's bodyguard is so him to me i can't do this anymore fellas

You call; he answers.

Some things in life are just that simple. Lighter tries to keep it that way for you.

You don’t normally call in the middle of the night, though. Lighter doesn’t mind – honest, he doesn’t. He had been tossing and turning since he laid down, passing the time by picking open old wounds, letting the regret sting the raw edges. It takes time to realize that the ringing isn’t in his ears, that he’s flat on his back in bed, not in the ring. He almost ignores the call, but when he rolls over and sees your name flickering back at him, he dives to pick up before the last ring.

You're silent on the other line, nothing but muffled talking and rustling against the microphone. All sorts of scenarios race through his head. You're stuck somewhere - trapped in a hollow, or cornered by a rival gang. His past has caught up to him, mired you in all this ick. His stomach turns.

Adrenaline works way better than caffeine and he’s known that for a while, but he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the helplessness that grips him. Lighter sits up, swings his legs over the side of his bed, poised to run to you.

It’s nothing so serious. When you finally get your phone up to your face and greet him with a (too loud, too sloppy) ‘hey!’ it becomes painfully obvious. You're drunk. That's what all of this is about.

Lighter needles the details out of you bit by bit, trying to glean information from your ramblings. Stranded out in Badger Springs. You met some guy out there for a date, he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back. You don’t laugh when he offers to deck the guy, and he can’t tell if you’re really torn up about this or if you just didn’t hear him.

Lighter pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales long and low, away from the mic. He shouldn't encourage this. Can't keep bailing you out every time you get yourself in a sticky situation. But the thought of you drunkenly stumbling around the Outer Ring, bumbling your way into real trouble, has him fumbling to get his arms through his jacket.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

Badger Springs. Seriously? Why’d you have to go so far out? What was so wrong with getting a drink in Blazewood?

Irritation pricks at him, has his hands feeling staticky even when he grips the handlebars of his bike. You probably went out there so no one would interrupt your date. What, were you trying to hide it? Did the girls know about this? No. No way. You would have called one of them to pick you up if that were the case. Right? You weren’t trying to hide it from him, not specifically.

He has a long ride ahead to stew about it, to knot the meaning of your actions into ugly shapes and then smooth them out, only to twist it all up again another mile down the road. This wouldn’t have happened - he kicks the stand down on his bike - if he’d manned up, if he’d asked you to watch the movie he’d rented. (New release, independently produced, apparently based off some old civilization tapes that had only been spoken about in a scant few records - some horror flick called Seen that you had been raving about. Not his thing, but your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He figured he could just watch you during the bloody parts.)

But he didn’t ask, and now he’s here, freezing his ass off in the middle of the night, parked outside this shithole bar, two towns over. The bar is a dump. Looks like your date couldn’t even take you anywhere nice. You’re off by yourself at the end of the bar, shoulders drawn in close, crowding over your drink. At least the regulars are leaving you alone. A quick look around tells him that there’s too many people in this place for it to be a quick fight, if it came down to that.

He strolls past tables and booths, lets his hand fall heavy on your shoulder. You jump, turning sluggishly to look up at him - eyes wide and red. C’mon - don’t tell him you’ve been crying over this prick. Your expression smooths the moment that you recognize him. 

“Lighter!” Your arms fling around his middle, squeeze him tightly.

The tide of adrenaline that he washed in on pulls back, drags his relief away. Anger shores up, quick and sudden. It soothes in another pulse of his heart; understanding. It's kind of flattering if he doesn't think about it too hard. You trusted him enough to come pick you up. Probably couldn't even think clearly - just knew you wanted to go home. Knew he would get you there, safe and sound. Not a bad prize for driving all the way out here; he tries to enshrine this moment in his memory. Later, trying to fall asleep in his room, he’ll feel like a sleaze for delighting in being your hero like this.

He pats the top of your head, takes advantage of the distraction to wave the bartender over, check if you’ve still got an open tab. He slips him a couple extra denny for the trouble, keeps you distracted and talking with carefully placed ‘oh, really?’s and ‘mhm’s.

"You're wasted, huh?"

“Not that bad.”

You sound confident. He steps back, lets you hop off the bar stool on your own. Lighter hooks a thumb in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thighs, watching you sway back and forth in front of him. Your eyes are hazy and unfocused, looking in his general direction with a dopey grin on your face.

Pride feels better than anger. He latches onto that. You make it so easy to feel when you cling onto his arm, lean into him. He keeps you close, ignores the whispers he overhears about the Red Scarf. His step quickens. He’s not getting into any trouble, not when he’s here for you.

You struggle to keep up, all uncoordinated limbs, your head probably spinning. He helps you onto the back of his bike and passes you a helmet. He’d grabbed it on his way out - figured if you were as trashed as you sounded on the phone then it was better safe than sorry. He’s glad he did.

Somewhere along the ride home, you stopped babbling. He had felt your words pressed against his back more than he had heard them. He stops just before home to check on you. Can’t have you falling asleep. He doesn’t want to hear it about riding in with you all banged up on the back - he’d never let it down. He’d never let himself live it down, more accurately, but his bike starts back up before you hear that part.

Honestly, he’s almost positive you won’t remember much past when you first called him. That doesn’t stop him from treating you gently. He helps you off his bike, keeps your hand in his to guide you around stray milk crates and cacti that just seemed to leap into your path.

It’s just a little further. He’s almost got you back to your place when he hears it. That ominous groan. Your face pallid, cold sweat breaking out against your forehead.

“Gonna throw up?” He asks, big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

You shake your head, the force of it knocking you off balance. You would have stumbled right into a cactus if he hadn’t hauled you into his side by the back of your shirt. (Like scruffing a kitten, he catches himself thinking. Cute.)

He tries to guide you to the closest trash can, but you can’t quite make it. Your legs are quaking, all the strength sapped from you while you expel that contents of your stomach into one of Old Demir’s flower pots. He gathers your hair back from your face gently, caging it all in one hand to rub your back with the other. Somewhere between gentle coos of ‘there you go’ and ‘let it all out’, he manages to make out your garbled apology. You thread it between heaves, between sobs, but he catches it all the same and shushes you for it.

“All better?” He asks when the dry heaving has stopped. You nod slowly. The tiniest whimper he’s ever heard drifts from your lips. He knows from experience that much more movement than that will hurt.

Lighter sighs. The scent of your perfume curdles with the stench of vomit. He arranges your hair back as best he can, trying to replicate the way you had done yourself up - all pretty for another man, he remembers. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and he pulls the end of his scarf free.

“No, Lighter–”

Your hands are clumsy. He dodges your attempts to stop him easily. He clicks his tongue and swipes the vomit from your chin. “Don’t worry about it. This scarf has seen worse.”

It’s about time to get it cleaned, anyway. Add that to his growing list of chores.

You’re moving slower than before. He tucks you into his side to give you some more stability. When you pause at the steps to your place, he sweeps an arm under your knees, cradles you close to him. He had expected a protest, or an apology - something in line with the rest of your behavior this evening, but you curl closer to him. 

It’s a fumble to find your keys - shifting your weight from one arm to the other until he finally finds them in your back pocket. He knows your place well enough to dodge the shoes left in the entrance way, to step around the box that sticks out into the hallway from your bedroom. He settles you into your bed, rolls you onto your side - just to be safe.

Lighter keeps watch for a few moments, making sure you’re not going to roll onto your back, pressing the back of his hand against your sweat-chilled forehead. Once he’s certain the worst has passed, he leaves to fill a glass of water for you. Your eyes are half-open when he gets back. He draws up a chair, tries to figure out how to ask if you want his help changing into something more comfortable without sounding like a creep.

You rip that idea from his head when you blindside him with a question.

“D’you think it’s my fault?”

“Course not,” Lighter answers before he can even put together what you’re asking. “Everyone has too much fun sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even gonna remember this.”

“No, I mean…” You curl tightly around your pillow. He could have sworn he heard a hitch in your voice. His heart lurches. Christ, you can’t start crying now. He can’t take it. “Why would he just leave?”

Lighter has to remind himself not to pull a face. Not what you need right now. He’s already said too much. He’s just going to wind up upsetting you more. He wants to tell you that guy is a douchebag, that none of it had been your fault. The guy just wasn’t man enough to be upfront. That was all.

“I just don’t think I’m meant for this,” you whisper. His train of thought crashes abruptly. "Like– love, and stuff.”

“You’re so much fun to be in love with,” Lighter says, and if you were sober you would clock him for just how quickly he did so, “and someday, someone’s gonna see that.”

“How do you know?”

Because my heart feels like it’s buckled into a roller coaster and I can’t figure out if I’m having fun or if I’m scared shitless. Because I’ve got eyes. Because it’s you.

He can’t say any of that. Not now, while you’re shivering and small, a little bundle of raw nerves that he rescued from some dump. Christ, you really are a kitten right now. He chucks your chin with a knuckle, his smile twisting to something bittersweet.

“C’mon. You should know not to bet against me by now.”

For the first time since he got you through the door, you smile. Barely there and flimsy, but you’re only just clinging to consciousness. Your cheek presses back against your pillow, eyes slipping shut.

“Thanks, Lighter,” you murmur.

You’re out cold within the next minute.

Lighter lingers overlong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in your room while you’re passed out like this, but he can’t bring himself to rise. His shoulders hunch, expression dropping, stomach churning. Through your window, dawn is just beginning to break. The Outer Ring is bathed in a cool blue light, the horizon tinging purple at the edges.

You have a hell of a morning ahead of you. He runs a hand down his face and forces himself to stand, to get his day started properly. Another sleepless night. Maybe the next time he finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself, he’ll call you first. Maybe he’ll do it before anyone else has a chance to.

Lighter locks your door on his way out and tucks the key under your mat. He should act. He should tell you.

He walks back to his place in silence, resisting the urge to grab his phone, to text you and say let me know if you need anything.

Maybe one day.

[scarletwinterxx]

ddaddu series #1 - choi seungcheol dadverse au

hellooo ~ i said i think a week ago i wrote a new dad fic... and yes it's w the one and the only choi seungcheol😅 he's just screaaams dad girl so here we are. this is definetely one of longest i've written in a while. I was up all night and it took a few days to finish all of this so i hope you like it! and let me know if i should make more....

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Seungcheol burst through your front door, not even bothering to knock, looking slightly frazzled and out of breath. You were sitting on the living room floor with Areum, helping her color in a princess-themed coloring book, when he made his dramatic entrance.

"What's going on?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as Areum looked up, wide-eyed at her dad's sudden arrival.

"Daddy!" Areum exclaimed, abandoning her crayons and running over to hug him. He scooped her up with a brief smile but quickly turned his attention to you.

"I need your help," he said, his voice low and urgent.

You blinked, confused by his tone. "Help with what? Are you in trouble?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, setting Areum back down and stepping closer to you. "Big trouble. The boys are trying to set me up on a blind date, and I need an alibi."

"So, let me get this straight. Your *big trouble* is a blind date?" you stared at him for a moment, your lips twitching as you try not to laugh

"It's not funny," he protested, running a hand through his hair "Jeonghan and Joshua have been hounding me about it for weeks, and now they've gone and actually arranged something. They told the girl I was available. *Available!* Can you believe that?"

"Well..." you started, unable to keep the teasing tone out of your voice. "You *are* technically available, Seungcheol. You're single, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly unamused. "That's not the point. I don't want to go."

"Then just say no?" you suggested, shrugging

"They won’t take no for an answer! They’ll guilt-trip me into going somehow. You know how they are." He sighed, flopping onto your couch like a man defeated. "That's why I need you to help me. Pretend I’m busy. Say we’ve got plans. Something—anything—to get me out of this."

"And why would I do that?" confused, you ask him

"Because..." He paused, looking genuinely desperate now. "You’re my only hope."

Before you could respond, Areum piped up, her little voice curious. "Daddy, what's a 'blind date'?"

Seungcheol winced, glancing at you for help. You smirked, not about to let him off the hook that easily. "Oh, it's when someone goes out with a stranger to see if they like each other," you explained casually. "Your dad's friends think he needs a girlfriend."

Areum's eyes went wide. "A girlfriend? But Daddy doesn't need a girlfriend. He has Mommy!"

Both you and Seungcheol froze at her innocent declaration, and then your cheeks flushed. You quickly looked away, focusing on the coloring book in front of you.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, seemed to perk up at Areum’s words.

"See?" he said, pointing at her as if she'd just made his case. "Even Areum agrees. I don’t need a girlfriend." as if his five year old's daughter is the only thing making sense right now.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

"Fine," you relented. "What exactly do you want me to say to get you out of this?"

"Anything!" he said quickly, leaning forward. "Just tell them we’re doing something together this weekend. A family thing. They'll back off if they think I'm spending time with you and Areum."

"You're so dramatic," you muttered, shaking your head. "But okay, I'll help you. This time."

"Thank you. You’re a lifesaver." he grinned, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, waving him off. "But you owe me for this."

"Deal," he said without hesitation, standing up and pulling Areum into his arms. "You hear that, princess? Daddy’s off the hook, thanks to Mommy."

Areum giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're silly, Daddy."

Seungcheol laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Yeah, I am. But don’t tell uncle Jeonghan and uncle Joshua that, okay? It’s our little secret."

As he left your apartment, looking far more relaxed than when he’d arrived, you couldn’t help but shake your head at the whole situation. Seungcheol, despite all his bravado, could be such a dork sometimes.

Still, there was a small, unexpected warmth in your chest as you watched him leave. Even after everything, he always seemed to find his way back to you. No matter what excuse he needed to make it happen.

Later that evening, Seungcheol was sitting at home, blissfully unaware that his “alibi” plan was about to backfire. He had just finished putting Areum to bed when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. Picking it up, he saw Jeonghan’s name on the screen.

He answered with a suspicious, “Hello?”

“You sneaky little liar,” Jeonghan’s voice greeted him, half-amused and half-accusing. “You could’ve just said no, you know.”

Seungcheol’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“*What am I talking about?* Oh, just the fact that we got a call from *her.*” Jeonghan’s emphasis on the word *her* was enough to make Seungcheol’s heart skip a beat.

“Her?” Seungcheol played dumb, even though he knew exactly who Jeonghan meant.

“Your lovely *ex-wife,*” Jeonghan said, clearly enjoying this. “She called to tell us you’re busy this weekend because you’re spending time with her and Areum. Ring any bells?”

Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his face. “She wasn’t supposed to actually call you! She was just supposed to tell me to tell you—”

“Well, she called anyway,” Jeonghan interrupted, snickering. “And let me just say, it was a very enlightening conversation. Joshua and I were on speakerphone with her, by the way.”

“Oh, great,” Seungcheol muttered, already dreading what was coming next

“She sounded so sweet, too,” Joshua chimed in, suddenly joining the call. “Told us you’d be having a family day. Said you were a great dad and how nice it was that you prioritized Areum.”

“I am a great dad,” Seungcheol defended, even though he knew where this was going

“And then,” Jeonghan continued, his voice dripping with mischief, “she thanked us for ‘understanding.’ Understanding *what,* Seungcheol? That you’re still hopelessly hung up on her?”

“I’m not hung up on her!” Seungcheol snapped, though his face was burning

“Oh, please,” Jeonghan said, laughing now. “You *ran* to her to avoid going on a blind date. If that doesn’t scream ‘still in love with my ex,’ I don’t know what does.”

“It’s not like that,” Seungcheol argued, even though he could hear how weak his own defense sounded

“Then what’s it like?” Joshua asked innocently, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer

Seungcheol sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I didn’t want to go on the date, and it was the only way I could think of okay? That’s all it was.”

“Sure,” Jeonghan said, drawing the word out. “And the fact that you still wear your wedding ring sometimes doesn’t mean anything either, right?”

“I don’t—” Seungcheol started to protest, but Joshua cut him off.

“And the fact that you’re always making excuses to hang out with her and Areum? Totally not suspicious.”

“Or how about how you still call her whenever something important happens?” Jeonghan added. “Like that time you got promoted, and the *first* person you told wasn’t us, but *her.*”

“Okay, enough!” Seungcheol snapped, though he couldn’t deny any of it. He slumped back on the couch, glaring at the ceiling. “You two are insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Jeonghan said, clearly enjoying this. “But we’re not wrong, are we?”

There was a long pause, and for once, Seungcheol didn’t have a quick comeback. Instead, he muttered, “I’m hanging up now,” and ended the call before they could say anything else.

As he set his phone down, Seungcheol sighed heavily. He hated how well Jeonghan and Joshua knew him. Hated how they could see right through him, even when he tried to deny it.

But most of all, he hated that they were right. Because no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, he wasn’t over you.

Not even close.

The next weekend, Seungcheol found himself being herded into a bar by Jeonghan, Joshua, and a few other friends. He hadn’t wanted to come, he’d rather be home with Areum or even by himself but Jeonghan had been persistent, and Seungcheol didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Come on, Cheol,” Jeonghan said, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they walked inside. “You’ve been way too uptight lately. A night out is exactly what you need.”

Seungcheol grunted in response, scanning the bar. It was packed with people, the music loud enough to make casual conversation impossible. He could already feel the headache forming.

“I’ll get us a table,” Joshua said, disappearing into the crowd

As they settled into a corner booth, Jeonghan smirked and gestured toward a group of women near the bar. “What about them? Think any of them would catch your eye, Cheol?”

Seungcheol shot him a glare. “Not interested.”

“Oh, come on,” Jeonghan teased. “You can’t stay hung up on—”

“I said I’m not interested,” Seungcheol interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended

Jeonghan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

But Jeonghan being Jeonghan, he didn’t let it drop. When the women eventually came over, clearly encouraged by Jeonghan and Joshua, Seungcheol’s discomfort was palpable

“Hi,” one of the women said, flashing him a bright smile. “I’m Hyejin. And you are?”

“Not interested,” Seungcheol muttered, taking a sip of his drink without meeting her gaze.

Her smile faltered, but she didn’t give up. “Oh, come on. You’re way too handsome to be sitting here brooding all night.”

Joshua tried to suppress a laugh while Jeonghan nudged him under the table, grinning like the devil himself.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Seungcheol said, still avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t mind him,” Jeonghan said, ever the instigator. “He’s just shy.”

Seungcheol glared at Jeonghan. “I’m not shy.”

“Then talk to her,” Jeonghan challenged, a mischievous glint in his eye

“I don’t want to,” Seungcheol snapped, standing up abruptly. “I’m getting some air.”

As he walked away, Jeonghan burst into laughter. “I swear, he’s worse than a teenager with a crush.”

Outside, Seungcheol leaned against the cool brick wall, letting out a heavy sigh. He didn’t know why he’d let the guys drag him out in the first place. This wasn’t his scene anymore.

He pulled out his phone and instinctively opened your messages. There was a picture you’d sent earlier that day of Areum holding up a crayon drawing of the two of you with her in the middle. She’d written “My Famly” in bright, messy letters at the top.

He smiled to himself, his thumb hovering over the call button.

Before he could make a decision, the door to the bar opened, and Joshua stepped outside, a knowing look on his face. “Thought I’d find you out here.”

“Not in the mood,” Seungcheol muttered, putting his phone away.

Joshua leaned against the wall next to him, crossing his arms. “You know, Jeonghan’s just messing with you. He knows you’re still into her.”

“I’m not—”

“Cheol.” Joshua cut him off with a pointed look. “We’ve known you for years. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re divorced. She’s moved on.”

“Has she?” Joshua asked, raising an eyebrow

That made Seungcheol pause. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not exactly going on dates, is she?” Joshua pointed out. “And last I checked, she’s still wearing your ring.”

Seungcheol frowned, his chest tightening at the thought. He’d noticed it, of course. How could he not? But he hadn’t dared to hope it meant anything.

“Look, man,” Joshua said, clapping him on the shoulder. “If you still love her and I know you do you’ve got to stop acting like it’s too late. Because if you keep sitting on the sidelines, someone else *will* come along eventually. And you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself.”

With that, Joshua turned and went back inside, leaving Seungcheol alone with his thoughts.

And for the first time in a long while, those thoughts were filled with hope.

Seungcheol sighed and adjusted his jacket as he made his way back inside. Maybe if he stayed near the bar’s edge, the persistent group would lose interest. But as soon as he returned to the booth, Hyejin, the overly determined woman, lit up like he was her jackpot.

“There you are,” she said, patting the empty seat beside her. “I thought you might’ve run off.”

Seungcheol stayed standing, crossing his arms. “Just needed air.”

“Well, now that you’re back, let’s make this night a little more fun, huh?” She reached for his arm, but he took a step back

“I’m good,” he said flatly

But Hyejin clearly wasn’t one to give up easily.

“Oh, come on. One drink. What’s the harm?”

Jeonghan and Joshua, meanwhile, were watching the scene unfold like it was the best drama of the year. Joshua even had the audacity to take a sip of his beer and mutter, “This is going to be good.”

Seungcheol shot them both a glare before turning back to Hyejin. He’d had enough of the games.

“Look,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m flattered, really. But I’m not interested. I have someone else.”

Her smile faltered. “Oh? You’re married?”

He didn’t hesitate reaching for the gold chain tucked under his shirt, there hangs his wedding ring. The date and your initials engraved on the inside. He let it dangle in the dim light, the small circle gleaming like a quiet promise.

“Divorced,” he clarified, “but that doesn’t mean I’m available.”

Hyejin blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “You’re divorced, but you’re still...?”

“I’m still in love with my ex-wife,” Seungcheol said plainly, his voice steady. “And we have a daughter together. Her name is Areum. She’s five, loves soccer, and thinks I can fix anything—even when I can’t.”

Jeonghan and Joshua exchanged wide-eyed glances, the playful smirks slipping from their faces.

“Whoa,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath. “He went there.”

Seungcheol ignored them, keeping his focus on Hyejin. “So, no offense, but I’m not looking for anything. My family is my priority. Always.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Hyejin finally nodded, clearly caught off guard. “I see. Well... good for you, I guess. It’s rare to meet someone so dedicated.”

With that, she stood up, mumbling something about grabbing another drink, and walked away.

The second she was out of earshot, Jeonghan burst into laughter. “Oh, my God. Cheol, that was...”

“I’ve never seen someone so politely crush someone’s hopes like that.” Joshua shook his head, though he was smiling

“I’m not joking,” Seungcheol said, slipping the ring and chain back under his shirt

Jeonghan grinned, leaning across the table. “We know you’re not. That’s what makes it so entertaining. You’re still head over heels for her, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol sighed, sinking into the booth. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Nope,” Jeonghan said, popping the “p.” “This is exactly the time to do it. Because you just told a complete stranger that you’re still in love with your ex-wife. Out loud. In public.”

“And in front of witnesses,” Joshua added, smirking

Seungcheol groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Why do I even hang out with you two?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can call you out on your nonsense,” Jeonghan said, patting him on the back. “And honestly, Cheol, it’s about time you stopped hiding it.”

“Stopped hiding what?” Seungcheol muttered.

“That you want her back,” Joshua said simply.

Seungcheol didn’t respond, his thoughts too tangled with the truth of their words. He didn’t need to admit it—they already knew.

And deep down, so did he.

The hum of the car engine fills the silence between you and Seungcheol. The road stretches endlessly, flanked by towering trees that seem to lean in, listening to the quiet tension between you. In the backseat, Areum is a bundle of energy, her stuffed rabbit tucked securely under one arm as she hums a made-up tune. Her legs swing back and forth, her excitement barely contained.

“Are we there yet?” she chirps for the third time in an hour

“Almost, sweetheart,” Seungcheol answers, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

You glance at him from the passenger seat, noting how his hands grip the steering wheel, veins faintly visible under his tan skin. He looks good—too good. His hair, slightly longer than when you last saw him, falls over his forehead, and his jawline is as sharp as ever.

You force yourself to look away, instead focusing on the scenery outside, even though it does little to distract you from the weight of his presence.

“You excited, Areum?” you ask

“I’m soooo excited!” she exclaims, throwing her hands into the air. “Mommy, Daddy, we’re going to have so much fun! Just like old times!”

Your heart clenches at her words. You glance at Seungcheol again, catching the way his lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t say anything, but the moment hangs heavily between you.

The cabin is perfect. Nestled by a serene lake, it’s surrounded by tall pines that sway gently in the breeze. The wooden exterior glows warmly in the afternoon sunlight, and Areum bounces with excitement as soon as you step out of the car.

“Look, Mommy! A swing!” she squeals, racing toward the porch where a rustic wooden swing creaks invitingly.

Seungcheol opens the trunk and starts unloading the bags. You hesitate for a moment before grabbing Areum’s smaller suitcase and following him inside.

Areum darts around, exploring every nook and cranny, while you and Seungcheol silently divvy up tasks. You find yourself in the kitchen, unpacking snacks and prepping a quick lunch.

The clatter of utensils is the only sound until Seungcheol walks in, his sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that shouldn’t still affect you the way they do.

“Need help?” he asks

“I’ve got it,” you reply curtly, not looking up

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans against the counter, watching you as you slice fruit. The tension is suffocating, and you’re about to tell him to either help or leave when Areum bursts in

“Daddy! Come help me unpack my toys!” she demands, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door

He follows her willingly, but not before casting one last look your way A look that lingers too long and says too much.

After dinner, Areum insists on roasting marshmallows by the firepit outside. The three of you gather under the clear night sky, the flames crackling and sending up occasional sparks. Areum’s laughter fills the air as she holds her marshmallow too close to the fire, causing it to catch alight.

“Help, Daddy!” she shrieks, holding the stick out.

Seungcheol chuckles, taking it from her and expertly blowing out the flames. “There. Perfectly charred,” he declares, handing it back to her.

You watch as he wipes a smudge of chocolate from her cheek, his expression soft and full of love. The sight twists something inside you, and you have to look away.

When your eyes meet his across the fire, his gaze is steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read your mind.

Areum’s birthday breakfast is a chaotic mix of pancakes, whipped cream, and sprinkles. She insists on wearing her birthday crown all day, and Seungcheol dutifully bows every time she walks by, calling her “Princess Areum.”

When it’s time for cake, she claps her hands excitedly as you light the candles. “Okay, sweetie, make a wish,” you say, kneeling beside her.

She closes her eyes, her expression scrunching up in concentration. Then, with a triumphant shout, she declares, “I wish for a sibling!”

Your breath catches, and you glance at Seungcheol, who looks just as stunned. Areum blows out the candles in one go, her face lighting up with joy. “Now it has to come true!” she exclaims, completely oblivious to the tension between you and her father.

The morning sun glitters on the lake’s surface, and Areum races ahead, her bright pink swimsuit standing out against the greens and blues of nature. She shrieks with delight as her toes touch the cold water, kicking up little splashes.

“Come on, Mommy! Daddy!” she calls, waving her arms.

You hesitate at the shoreline, adjusting your cover-up nervously. Seungcheol, on the other hand, wades in without hesitation, his muscular frame cutting through the water as he lifts Areum into his arms. She giggles as he spins her around, droplets flying everywhere.

“Scared of a little water?” he teases, glancing back at you with a smirk.

You roll your eyes but step in, letting the icy water creep up your legs. Areum swims over to you, her small hands grasping yours.

“Let’s play! All of us!” she exclaims.

She drags you toward Seungcheol, who’s treading water a few feet away. The three of you end up playing a makeshift game of tag, and for a moment, it feels almost normal almost like the three of you are a family again.

Later, when Areum insists on building sandcastles by the shore, you sit side by side with Seungcheol, the silence between you no longer quite as heavy.

“She really loves this,” he says, watching Areum with a fond smile.

“She’s been looking forward to it for weeks,” you admit, fiddling with a piece of grass. “She wanted it to be perfect.”

He glances at you. “I think it is.”

After Areum falls asleep, the cabin feels too quiet. You find yourself on the porch, staring out at the dark lake. The sound of footsteps behind you makes you tense, but you don’t turn around. You know it’s him.

“She really surprised us today,” Seungcheol says, leaning against the railing beside you

“That’s Areum,” you reply softly, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Always full of surprises.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “She’s a lot like you.”

You glance at him, caught off guard. His gaze is steady, filled with something you can’t quite name. “You don’t have to say that,” you mumble

“I mean it,” he says, his voice low. “You’re both stubborn, and you never give up on what you want.”

The words hang between you, and before you can think, he takes a step closer. “I know I messed up,” he says, his tone almost pleading. “But being here… it reminds me of what we had. What we could still have.”

“Cheol…” you start, but he silences you with a gentle touch on your arm.

“I’m not asking for everything right now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “But tell me… do you feel it too? Even a little?”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that feels like both a question and an answer. It’s slow, deliberate, and filled with the weight of everything left unsaid.

For the first time in years, you let yourself hope.

The kiss deepens, but it isn’t hurried. It feels more like rediscovering something familiar yet distant. Seungcheol’s hand finds the curve of your waist, grounding you, while the other gently brushes your cheek.

For a fleeting moment, the years of heartbreak, resentment, and missed chances seem to melt away, leaving just the two of you under the starlit sky.

When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, and his breath fans across your face. Neither of you says a word, and for once, the silence feels comfortable, even necessary.

“I… I should go to bed,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. It isn’t a rejection, but a plea for space, a moment to process what just happened.

Seungcheol nods, his hand lingering on your arm before he lets you go. “Goodnight,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something you can’t quite place—hope, maybe.

You retreat to your room, your heart pounding in your chest. You glance at the bed, where Areum sleeps peacefully, her little hand clutching her stuffed rabbit. Her soft breaths are a reminder of everything that matters, of why you came here in the first place.

Still, when you lie down, the memory of Seungcheol’s touch lingers, refusing to let you rest.

The next morning, it's smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes you. Padding into the kitchen, you find Seungcheol already at work, flipping pancakes while Areum sits on the counter, wearing one of his oversized shirts over her pajamas. She’s animatedly telling him a story about her dreams, waving her arms for emphasis.

“And then the dragon said, ‘Areum, you’re the bravest princess ever!’” she declares, her eyes wide. “Right, Daddy?”

“Of course,” he says with a grin, ruffling her hair. “If there’s anyone who can take down a dragon, it’s you.”

You linger in the doorway, unnoticed for a moment, watching the easy way they interact. Areum looks at him like he hung the moon, and Seungcheol, for all his faults, looks at her like she’s his whole world.

“Mommy!” Areum spots you first, her face lighting up. “Daddy’s teaching me how to flip pancakes! Look!” She holds up a spatula triumphantly

“Is he now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you step closer. “Just don’t let him burn them.”

“Hey, I’m a pro. You remember.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. It’s moments like this that make it hard to hold on to the walls you’ve built.

As the three of you sit down to breakfast, Areum chatters on about all the things she wants to do before you leave the cabin. Her energy is infectious, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax.

After lunch, Areum insists on having a tea party outside by the lake. She drags Seungcheol along, handing him a tiny pink teacup and a plastic tiara. You try not to laugh as he dutifully places it on his head, his expression serious as Areum pours invisible tea into his cup.

“Daddy, you have to hold your pinky up!” Areum scolds, demonstrating the proper way to hold a teacup.

“Like this?” he asks, holding up his pinky with exaggerated effort.

Areum giggles. “No, Daddy, you’re doing it wrong!”

“Why don’t you join us, Mommy?” Areum calls, waving you over

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “You and Daddy seem to have it under control.”

“She’s scared of your tea,” Seungcheol teases, winking at you. “Probably thinks it’s too strong.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

It's the last night at the cabin before going back to normal. After putting Areum to bed, you find Seungcheol on the porch again, leaning against the railing. The moon casts a soft glow on the lake, and the air is cool but pleasant.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks without turning around.

You step out, closing the door quietly behind you. “Something like that.”

He gestures for you to join him, and after a moment’s hesitation, you do. The two of you stand in silence, the sounds of crickets and the gentle lapping of the lake filling the void.

“She’s amazing, you know,” he says finally, his voice low. “Areum. She’s everything good about us.”

You swallow hard, nodding. “She is.”

He turns to look at you then, his gaze soft but intense. “I meant what I said last night,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose this again. I don’t want to lose you.”

Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, as they curl around yours.

“I know it will be hard,” he continues, his voice rough with emotion. “But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’ve changed.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look down, unsure of how to respond.

“Cheol…” you start, your voice trembling. “This isn’t just about us anymore. It’s about Areum.”

“I know,” he says, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “And that’s why I want to do this right. For her. For you.”

For a long moment, you say nothing, your gaze fixed on the horizon. But when you finally look up, you see the sincerity in his eyes, and the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crumble.

“Okay,” you whisper. “But this time… we take it slow.”

A smile spreads across his face, and for the first time in years, it feels like the start of something new.

The porch is quiet, save for the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Seungcheol’s hand lingers in yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, deliberate movements. The air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and emotions that neither of you can ignore anymore.

“Slow,” he repeats, his voice soft but resolute. “I can do slow.”

But the way he’s looking at you now. His gaze warm and searching, dipping from your eyes to your lips makes you doubt his resolve. Your pulse quickens as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming in a way that feels both familiar and new.

“Cheol…” you murmur, unsure whether it’s meant to be a warning or encouragement

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His free hand rises, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, lingering at your temple. “Tell me, and I will.”

You should say it. You should remind him that Areum is just inside, that this isn’t the time, that you’re still trying to figure things out. But instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your skin unraveling the last of your defenses.

He takes your silence as permission and leans down slowly, his lips brushing against yours with an achingly soft tenderness. The kiss is tentative at first, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away, but when you don’t, it deepens. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

The sensation is overwhelming, a rush of emotions you’ve tried so hard to bury. His lips are firm and insistent, and when his teeth graze your lower lip, you let out a soft gasp that seems to ignite something in him. He tilts his head, angling the kiss to deepen it further, and you feel his fingers tighten on your waist.

Your hands find their way to his chest, pressing lightly against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. It’s not a push to stop, but it makes him pause. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing uneven.

“This okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, your fingers curling into his shirt. “Yeah.”

He lets out a soft laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His confession sends a shiver through you, but before you can respond, his lips are on yours again. This time, there’s less hesitation. His hand slips under the hem of your sweater, his palm warm against the bare skin of your lower back. The touch is electric, sending sparks racing up your spine.

You can’t help the soft moan that escapes you, and Seungcheol freezes, pulling back abruptly. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I said slow, and I mean it. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You’re breathless, your cheeks flushed as you look up at him. There’s a vulnerability in his expression that makes your heart ache. “You’re not messing anything up,” you assure him, your fingers still gripping his shirt.

He exhales deeply, resting his hands on your hips but making no move to take things further. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, half-smiling as he brushes his thumb against your hipbone.

The sound of a soft thud inside the cabin breaks the moment, and both of you freeze, turning toward the door.

“Areum,” you whisper, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “Guess the universe has a way of keeping me in check.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “We should check on her.”

He nods, his expression still warm. As you turn to head back inside, he catches your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Slow,” he repeats, his eyes locking with yours. “But I’m not letting you go this time.”

You smile, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “Okay.”

Inside, Areum is fast asleep, her stuffed rabbit lying on the floor beside her bed. You tuck her back in, brushing a kiss to her forehead before slipping out of the room. As you close the door, Seungcheol is waiting in the hallway, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Goodnight,” you say softly, pausing in front of him

“Goodnight,” he replies, but his eyes linger on you a moment longer before he heads to his own room.

You retreat to your bed, your heart still racing from the night’s events. For the first time in years, you feel a flicker of hope—a possibility of rebuilding what you thought was lost. And as you drift off to sleep, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

The next morning you were woken up by the sound of Areum’s laughter as she runs through the living room, her stuffed rabbit trailing behind her. Seungcheol is chasing after her, pretending to be a monster, his deep growls making her shriek in delight.

You go down to see the duo having so much energy this early in the day, a fond smiling forming on your face

“Daddy, you’ll never catch me!” Areum taunts, darting behind the couch.

“We’ll see about that!” Seungcheol lunges dramatically, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” she squeals, though her giggles betray her delight.

“Okay, okay, you win!” she says between giggles.

He sits beside her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “That’s what I thought. Who’s the champ?”

“You are!” she says, sticking her tongue out at him before turning her attention to you. “Mommy! Come sit with us!”

You join them on the couch, Areum immediately climbing into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck. ���Did you have fun this weekend, sweetheart?” you ask, smoothing her hair

“Yes! It was the best birthday ever!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. Then, as if remembering something important, she leans back to look at both you and Seungcheol, her expression suddenly serious

“What is it, Areum?” you ask her

She takes a deep breath, her little brows furrowed in concentration. “Yesterday, when I blew out my candles, I made a wish.”

You and Seungcheol exchange a quick glance, his brow lifting in curiosity "We remember, what about it sweet girl?"

"I thought about it a lot. And since Mommy and Daddy are best friends” she pauses to give each of you a knowing look, “—I thought maybe you could make it happen.”

Seungcheol bursts into laughter, ruffling Areum’s hair. “That’s quite the request, princess.”

“But you always say you’d do anything for me!” she counters, crossing her arms in a way that makes her look far older than six.

You bite back a smile, trying to keep your tone serious. “Sweetheart, it doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“Why not?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Well,” Seungcheol jumps in, his voice warm and teasing, “it’s not something that happens overnight. It takes time and a lot of love.”

Areum seems to consider this, her little face scrunching up in thought. Then she looks at the two of you, her smile returning. “That’s okay! I can wait. As long as you promise!”

You and Seungcheol both laugh, and he reaches over to give her a hug. “We’ll see what we can do, princess. No promises, but we’ll try our best.”

“Yay!” Areum cheers, completely satisfied with that answer. She wriggles out of your lap and runs off to find her toys, leaving the two of you alone.

As soon as Areum disappears down the hall, Seungcheol turns to you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Well, that was unexpected.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She’s bold. Definitely takes after you.”

“Me?” he protests, feigning offense. “I think she takes after her mom. You’ve got a pretty bold streak yourself.”

“So, what do we tell her if she asks again?”

Seungcheol leans back, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “We tell her the truth. That we’re figuring things out, but we’ll always be a family—no matter what.”

“And hey,” he adds, his tone teasing, “if she really wants a sibling, I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

You swat his arm, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Choi Seungcheol.”

He grins, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. “No rush,” he says softly, his eyes locking with yours. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

And as you sit there, hand in hand, you can’t help but feel that, for the first time in a long while, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[lvnleah]

joys of growing up.

find the series masterlist here!

September 2030 | 6 & 2 years old 

“Do you think Els will be okay tomorrow?” Leah asked you with a sigh as she slipped her hand underneath your shirt. “I never worried this much about Finn but Els is so attached to both of us.”

You smiled as you finished washing the dishes, “Le baby, I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’s her first day of pre-school and it’s only a few hours.”

Leah leaned her chin on your shoulder,  "I know, but it feels different this time. She's still so little. She’s only two, Finley was three."

You dried your hands, turning to face her. "I get it. It's a big step, for all of us. But we went through this with Finn, and look at him now. He loves school."

Leah chuckled softly, her thumb tracing gentle circles on your hips. "Yeah, but Finn was always more independent. Ellie…she’s our little shadow. She hates being away from us, she can just about stay at my mum's without crying.”

You turned around and kissed her forehead, pulling her close. "I know, I’m worried too but we can’t keep her with us forever, Le. She’ll be okay.”

Leah smiled but her eyes still carried a look of worry. "I hope you're right. It’s just… the thought of her being somewhere without us, even for a few hours."

"You know," you said softly, "I bet by the time we pick her up, she’ll be talking nonstop about all the new things she did. And if it’s too much for her, we’ll figure it out, together."

Leah nodded, leaning into you for a moment before pulling away to stretch. "You're right. We’ll take it one day at a time." She grinned at you. "But just so you know, you’re on snack duty for the first week. I have no clue what to take for her afterwards."

You laughed, “Deal. I’ve got some ideas to make her first days sweet.”

The next morning arrived all too quickly. You and Leah stood in the kitchen, your head cuddled into Leah’s chest as she wrapped her arms around you and leaned against the kitchen side. Finley was already up and dressed, excited about seeing all of his friends. 

Ellie, on the other hand, was not as enthusiastic. She’d been a grumpball ever since you’d woken her up earlier than usual. You’d just finished breakfast and asked her to go to her bedroom and grab her backpack. 

From the bedroom, you heard her whimpering before she even came out. Leah sighed, “Here we go."

Ellie shuffled out, clutching her stuffed bunny tightly and her backpack. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. "I don’ wanna go," she sniffled, her tiny voice wobbling with emotion.

You crouched down to her level, reaching out to gently smooth her wild morning hair. "Els, baby, it’s just for a little while. Then Mumma and I will come get you!”

She shook her head furiously, tears already welling up in her eyes. "No! I don’ wanna! I wanna stay with ’ou!" Her lower lip trembled as she clung even tighter to her bunny.

Leah knelt beside you, her face soft with understanding. "I know it feels scary, bubba girl. But school is going to be fun. You’ll get to play with toys, paint, and make new friends!”

Ellie ran into Leah’s arms and buried her face into Leah’s chest, her small body trembling with sobs. "I don’ want friends! I want ‘ou and Mummy!" Her words came out muffled, but the heartbreak in her voice was clear.

Leah rubbed soothing circles on her back before standing up with her in her arms. "We don’t have to rush this," she whispered to you, “Maybe we should wait a while.”

You bit your lip. "Let’s try today, just for a few hours. If it’s too much, we can talk to her teachers about easing her in."

Finley, who had been watching quietly, stepped forward and patted Ellie’s leg before Leah knelt down. "Hey, Els, it’s not so bad, I promise." He leaned in, placing a kiss on her temple. "You’ll have so much fun! Then you can tell me all about your day like I do with mine!”

Ellie peeked out from Leah’s chest. "No… I don’ wanna go."

Leah sighed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Why don’t we get dressed first, okay? You can wear your favourite dress and bring Bunny with you!”

Ellie nodded reluctantly, though it was clear she was far from convinced. You exchanged a knowing glance with Leah as you helped your daughter get ready, both of you preparing yourselves for a tough morning ahead.

When it was time to leave, Ellie was still clinging to you, her small hand wrapped tightly around your finger. Finley skipped ahead, holding his backpack, while Leah held Ellie’s other hand. 

“Finley, don’t forget your lunchbox!” You called out, glancing over your shoulder as you tried to wrestle Ellie into her tiny pink coat.

Finley gave you a thumbs-up. “Got it, Mummy!” He said, ”I’m ready to go!”

Ellie, on the other hand, wasn’t. She stood in the middle of the living room, her small arms crossed defiantly. “I not going, Mummy,” she declared, her voice rising in protest.

Leah knelt down beside her. “Eloise don’t raise your voice to Mummy okay? That's not nice. You’ll have fun, I promise,” she said, trying her best to sound encouraging. 

“Sorry Mumma. No fun,” Ellie replied, her face scrunched up in a pout. 

“Let’s just get Finley to school first,” Leah suggested, and you nodded in agreement.

You gathered the kids up in the car before heading to Finley’s school. You said your goodbyes to him and he walked straight in with no fuss with his friends. 

Leah then drove to the preschool and as you approached, Ellie slowed her steps, her face scrunching up as she realised where you were headed. "No! I don’ wanna go in!" she cried, tugging at your hand in desperation.

You knelt down, pulling her into a hug. "Just for a little bit, Els. We’ll stay with you until you’re ready, okay?"

Ellie sobbed into your shoulder, her small body trembling. Leah bent down beside you, rubbing Ellie’s back gently. "We’ll be right outside, Bubba girl. And if it gets too scary, we’ll come get you."

The door to the preschool opened, and a kind-looking teacher stepped out with a welcoming smile. "Hi, you must be Ellie! We’ve got some toys inside and a story ready to read. Do you want to say bye to your mums and come with me?

Ellie peeked over your shoulder, her tears still flowing but her curiosity piqued just enough to look.

You whispered in her ear, “Let’s take a little peek inside together, okay? And if you don’t like it, we’ll come right back out.”

She sniffled and nodded hesitantly, still holding tightly to you and Leah as you both guided her toward the door. As soon as her little eyes saw the classroom, she bursted out crying once again and this time clung to Leah’s legs. 

Leah crouched down and scooped Ellie into her arms, "Shh, it’s okay, Bubba. We’re right here."

The teacher approached gently, bending down to Ellie’s level. “I know it’s scary, but you can bring your bunny with you, and if you want, we can sit together and draw. Do you like to draw?”

Ellie looked at her, still crying but slightly intrigued by the mention of drawing. Leah rubbed her back soothingly, "You love drawing, don’t you, Els? Why don’t you try it for a little while? Mummy and I will be back soon, just like we always are. You could draw something for Finn!”

Ellie slowly nodded as she clutched her bunny tighter. Her eyes darted between you and Leah, her little face still wet with tears. "You back soon? Promise?"

You knelt beside them both, brushing a stray tear from Ellie’s cheek. "We promise, baby. We’ll be back before you even have time to miss us."

Ellie hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded. Leah gently handed her over to the teacher, who smiled warmly as she took Ellie’s small hand. "Come on, Ellie. Let’s go see what we can draw together! You can tell me all about your big brother and what you want to draw!”

As Ellie walked inside, her hand still clutching Bunny, she glanced back at you and Leah one last time, her expression a mix of fear and trust. You both waved, forcing reassuring smiles despite the heaviness in your hearts.

Once she was sat down, you and Leah quickly made your way outside before Ellie could change her mind. "That was harder than I thought it would be." Leah sighed. 

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. "I know, I feel bad for leaving her!”

Leah nodded against your shoulder, "I just hope she’s okay in there. I hate leaving her like that."

"We’ll keep an eye on the time," you said softly. "If she’s really struggling, we’ll come back early. But she needs this.”

Leah pulled back slightly, "You’re right. What the hell do we do now with no kids?”

You laughed, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "No clue, we ain’t been kid-free in six years.”

Leah chuckled softly as you made your way to the car, "Feels weird, don’t it? Like we’re missing something.”

You smiled. "Definitely. I half expect Ellie to shout for me or you any second.”

Leah let out a long breath, squeezing your hand. "Maybe we should go grab some breakfast? Distract ourselves a little?"

You nodded, glancing at your watch. "Yeah, we’ve got a couple of hours. Let’s make the most of it."

The two of you drove to a nearby café, the air feeling lighter without the usual chaos of the kids. Sitting down at a small table by the window, you ordered coffee and breakfast, though the conversation kept circling back to Ellie.

"Do you think she's stopped crying?" Leah asked absentmindedly.

You took a sip of your tea before answering, "I hope so. But it’s her first day— it might take a little while."

Leah sighed. "She’s so sensitive, so different from Finn. He just took everything in stride. But Els…she feels everything so deeply."

You reached across the table, taking her hand. "She’ll find her way, just like Finn did. And we’ll be right there to help her if she needs us."

Leah smiled at that, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "We always are. I just hate seeing her so upset."

"I know," you said softly. "But it’s part of growing up, for her and us. It’s hard, but we’ll get through it."

Leah nodded, her gaze drifting out the window as the sun started to break through the clouds. "You’re right. Maybe by the time we pick her up, she’ll be telling us about the new friends she made or the pictures she drew."

You smiled, imagining Ellie’s little face lighting up as she shared her stories. "I bet she will. And if not, well, we’ll try again tomorrow."

Leah squeezed your hand. "Yeah. One day at a time."

“It feels so silent without the kids.” You laughed, “I keep panicking that I've lost them.”

Leah smiled, “Maybe we should have another bubba.”

You stared at Leah, momentarily caught off guard by her suggestion. "Another baby?" you repeated, your voice soft with surprise. “I don’t think I can handle pregnancy again, Le.”

Leah laughed, but there was a trace of seriousness in her eyes. "Yeah... I mean, I know we’re just now sending Ellie to preschool, but..." She paused, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "I don’t know, maybe it’s the silence today, or maybe I just miss having a little one around."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning back in your chair as you processed her words. "Are you sure you're ready to go through all of that again? The sleepless nights, the diapers, the crying?"

Leah’s eyes sparkled as she shrugged. "Well, we survived it with Finn and Ellie. Plus, we make a pretty good team. I’m more than happy to carry.”

You bit your lip, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. "It sounds kinda nice when you put it like that." You met Leah’s gaze, both of you grinning now. "It's not like we’re in a rush to decide anything today. If you’re ready to carry then I think it’ll work.”

Leah nodded thoughtfully. "No, we’re not in a rush. But it’s something to think about. Maybe... just maybe, we’ll have another little one to chase around the house soon enough." 

You smiled, feeling that familiar mixture of excitement and uncertainty. "It’s definitely something to think about."

Leah leaned forward, her eyes softening as she kissed the back of your hand. "Whatever we decide, we’ll figure it out. Just like always."

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the tension easing between you both. "So, breakfast first... and then maybe we’ll start making plans for another little Bubba?"

Leah winked at you, her grin playful. "Sounds like a plan to me."

As you finished your breakfast, the thought of having a little quiet time together felt both strange and comforting. For once, the house wouldn’t be filled with the usual noise, and you both could steal a few rare moments of peace before diving back into the whirlwind of parenting. 

But as you walked back to the car, you couldn’t help but feel a tug in your chest, wondering how Ellie was doing, hoping she was adjusting to her new world, one step at a time.

The hours seemed to crawl by, even though you and Leah tried to make the most of your rare kid-free morning. As the time to pick up Ellie finally arrived, you both drove to the preschool, both of you still worried about Ellie. 

Leah glanced over at you as you pulled into the parking lot. “Think she made it through without too much trouble?”

You shrugged, giving her a small smile. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

The two of you walked up to the door, hand in hand. As soon as Ellie spotted you from across the room, her face lit up, and she came running over with Bunny in one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other.

“Mummy! Mumma!” she called out excitedly, her earlier tears long forgotten.

Leah knelt and scooped her up into her arms. “Hey, Bubba girl! Look at you! How was your first day?”

Ellie smiled brightly, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “It was fun! I played wiv toys and drawed a picture!” She held up the paper for you to see, a colourful scribble of what looked like her, you, Leah, and Finley. “Dis is us!”

You crouched beside them, admiring her artwork. “Wow, it’s beautiful, Els. Did you have fun with your new friends?”

Ellie’s smile widened as she nodded eagerly, but then her face turned serious for a moment. “But Mummy, my most favourite part…” She paused dramatically, looking between you and Leah.

Leah raised an eyebrow, curious. “What was your favourite part, bubba?”

Ellie leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper, “It was crying.”

You blinked, sharing a surprised glance with Leah. “Crying?”

Ellie nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! I cried and cried ‘cause I missed you. I hate it here!”

Leah looked at you, eyes wide with confusion. “You cried a lot?”

Ellie nodded, completely earnest. “Lots!”

Just then, Ellie’s teacher walked over with a smile. “Well, I have to say, Ellie did so well today! No tears at all after you left. She was a little quiet at first, but once we started playing and drawing, she settled right in.”

You and Leah exchanged incredulous looks before Leah burst out laughing. “Els, you didn’t cry at all?”

Ellie frowned, looking confused. “But I wanted to cry…”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, pulling her into a hug. “You’re so funny, Els. I’m so proud of you for being brave!”

Ellie looked paused for a moment. “Well... next time I cry, okay?”

Leah kissed her cheek, still grinning. “You can cry if you need to, bubba girl. But we’re so glad you had fun!”

[honey-minded-hivemind]

In the sequel to the Dark AU (Villain Reader AU, a.k.a. The Hivemind AU), Reader comes to back at the time they were orphaned... and they run.

(Note: This is dark!!! The end contains mentions/alludes to a suicide attempt, Reader is manipulated/groomed (non-sexually) by their villain boss, and Reader blames themself for what happened in the Dark AU! You have been warned!!!)

All they have are the clothes on their back, and clutched in their hands the artifact that sent them back. They don't know what to do, where to go, who to turn to.

They can't join the X-Men, or the Brotherhood, or meet any of them. Reader believes all of this was their fault, and since it was their idea to join the teams together, they think it was their fault the bad things of the past timeline happened because of their interference. So maybe... maybe this time, if Reader just disappears, the others won't get hurt, or end up going mad from grief...

A few weeks in to being homeless, Reader gains new mutations, different from their past life? timeline?, instead of being able to turn into animals or have the others' abilities, they have claw-like stingers, full of an odd, green venom, as well as another ability they find out by accident- mind control.

They hadn't meant to, but someone was trying to hurt them, trying to kill them, and their claws? stingers? dug in, and then- then that person went still, and Reader could hear their thoughts, feel their emotions, and the person went blank amd still and was off them and-

And it was the worst experience they'd felt with these new powers. They didn't want some mind controlled slave or loyal shell of a person. They didn't want to hurt anyone, or break anything, or ruin anything else!

Yet... a strange person shows up, calls their powers a gift, asks if Reader would like like work for her... and they say yes. What else can they do? What other choice do they have? They need help, food, safety, and they have nowhere else to go...

This woman, as it turns out, is quite charismatic. A show-off, loud, dresses to impress, and always with sharp nails and sharper eyes... She's dangerous, using people like pawns, ruining lives at the drop of a hat, playing with the world like its a game... And Reader? They hate her for it. This person is awful, sweet as sugar one minute, spitting venom the next, a viper in disguise... Reader knows what she wants, a loyal pawn, so they play the part...

It only gets worse over time.

This woman calls herself, as a villain, Queen, and she wants to rule everything. Every person, every mind, every thought, she wants it, and she uses Reader's venom to get it. All it takes is one injection, one word, and then there's another loyal drone, ready to do as their Queen commands. And Reader? They're through with her.

Setting her up to fail took time, months of planning, endless nights awake, days spent in fear... but they managed to get her caught, by the same people they uses to love, to want to only make happy...

It doesn't give them much else to do, besides hide the artifact and try to find a way to set free those who fell under their control. They're paranoid, skittish, afraid of touches and yelling and anyone bigger than them- but now they're on their own...

And it hurts...

It hurts so bad...

And it's during a bad, bad time when one of their old friends from the past finds them... and all Reader can do is cry, as they're being talked down from ending it all...

@sugar-soda @thewickedweiner @ainsellshadewalker

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!

Prompts from here (but randomized)

[Read on AO3]

Day 01: Homecooked meals

Post-war AU, wc 989

It’s been a hell of a day — no, a hell of a week. No, make it a month. A lifetime, even.

John has been working non stop for weeks traveling all around the States like a mad dreidel, north, south, east, west, up and down and back and forth; everyone needs him everywhere like he’s the only reliable man left in the Army, which he knows he’s not because there’s at least one more: Gale, who of course is getting through the same living hell as he is.

It’s like their superior officers have made it their goal to keep them separated as much as possible because whenever John has two days to spend at home, of course it’s Gale who’s quickly packing a duffle bag and leaving their home on these orders or those with barely a kiss on the lips of his frustrated partner. They got to spend at least Thanksgiving together but they were visiting John’s sister who just had a baby and between the crowd of long lost relatives to entertain and the exhaustion of the past few weeks they both crashed down into bed with little more than a few tired kisses and some snuggles.

Now almost half of December has passed and their house is still empty not only of people but also of the joy of Christmas with no lights, no tree with colorful baubles, no smell of cookies wafting through the warm rooms, no cozy nights in front of the lit fireplace just the two of them, reading and listening to John’s Christmas records on their player. Everything’s cold, grey, and lifeless without the warmth of Gale’s love.

John’s driving home tonight, mood sour as much as the air inside of his car for all the cigarettes he’s been smoking nonstop to have an outlet for his fraying nerves — he’s driving to an empty fridge in an empty home, even an empty liquor cabinet because he’s been trying to drink as less as possible and he didn’t stop to buy any on the road, nothing to be happy about. Gale is in Idaho, or maybe Illinois, he forgot. He’ll be home in two days, just in time for John to leave again for a weeklong trip to Wyoming.

So when he finally parks the car outside of their house and sees through the window that the lights in their kitchen are on, John’s mind immediately goes into fight mode: someone saw an empty house, they probably kept an eye on it for the past few days when both him and Gale were away, and then decided to break in tonight of all nights. 

“Joke’s on them,” John sighs to himself walking to the door with a hand on his gun; he can’t wait to scare the living shit out of those punks who decided to make his day a little worse still. He’s so focused on that he doesn’t even notice the front door is unlocked, there’s no signs of breaking in.

“Who’s there?” He shouts coming in. “Come out with your hands clearly visible. I am a Major of the US Army and believe me, you don’t want to be on my bad side!”

There’s rummaging coming from the kitchen and John’s mind barely has the time to process the smell of warm, hearty food coming from there before a figure comes into view leaning against the doorway. “On your bad side, Major? Never,” says a familiar voice with a drawn-out southern drawl and a hint of amused affection.

John’s heart swells up three sizes. “Buck!” He exclaims, all exhaustion and anger leaving him in an instant, and walks up to the other man to hug him. Gale’s wearing one of John’s old t-shirts like he often does when he’s at home, his hair tousled and soft like he’s washed all the pomade out of them, and he smells of peppermint and gravy, of home. He relaxes in John’s hold, a pleased hum leaving his lips in a chuckle when the other man squeezes him tight against his chest. 

“Weren’t you supposed to come home in two days?” John asks him, voice muffled from where his face is buried in the curve of Gale’s neck.

Gale brushes a kiss on his temple. “Finished earlier, took the first train home. I knew you were getting here late tonight so I went and made you dinner; it didn’t occur me you’d think it was burglars, I just wanted it to be a surprise,” he adds, a bit sheepishly.

John kisses him noisily on the lips. “The best surprise in the world. What did you prepare?” He asks, mouth already watering as he tries to peek behind Gale’s shoulders into the kitchen where pots and pans are all sitting on the hot stove.

“Mashed potatoes, gravy, and some ham. A meal fit for a king,” Gale jokes disentangling himself from John’s grip to go and check on the potatoes. “No dessert though, sorry. They were out of chocolate pudding.”

“Oh, I’ll take my dessert later tonight,” John answers with an obnoxiously exaggerated wink that wins him an eye-roll from his Buck, a flush on his cheeks John’s always proud to be the cause of. 

He helps Gale set the table and then they sit together to eat, just the two of them for the first time in over a month. “I was thinking, since you have to leave in two days we could do something around the house tomorrow,” Gale suggests putting some mashed potatoes on John’s plate. “Set up the lights, at least. I know you like to have the whole house decorated but I don’t think we’ll have enough time for that.”

John grabs his hand and takes it to his mouth, placing a kiss at the center of his palm with a loving smile. “We can finish decorating on Christmas Eve. After all, Santa already granted my greatest wish tonight.”

[psychobrew]

do u think harry/ginny ever fought

Yeah, totally, all the time:

“Ted! Ted, look what Dad charmed for me.”

He glanced up at James, who hopped aboard an old-model Firebolt Harry had charmed to fly only a few feet off the floor. He leaned forward and the broom puttered along at a modest pace. 

As the broom neared her, Rose made a dramatic show of shrieking, ducking down and covering her head.

“Make him put it away,” she whined. “‘s making me feel unsafe.”

“Your mum taught you to say that,” James taunted.

“It’s my turn,” said Fabian, rising to his feet and giving James a forceful shove.

“Hey. Stop it. Stop it!” James yelled, aiming a kick at Abe and missing. “Faby!” he said in a sing-song voice, “Faby the Baby!”

“Mum said you couldn’t call me that!” said Abe.

“Mum’s not here!”

Ted rolled his eyes, resolutely bookmarking his page in Hogwarts: A History – a gift from Hermionie, since he’d start school next year.

“Knock it off,” he said, trying to project his voice in a way that sounded authoritarian, “or I’ll get Uncle Ron.”

“Daddy doesn’t scare us,” said Rose.

“I’ll get Aunt Hermione,” Teddy qualified. 

James made a show of pretending to faint off the Firebolt, falling to the floor in a dramatic heap. Abe swung his leg over the broom immediately and took off. “Oh, no,” said James, “not Aunt Hermione.”

“You cried last time Mummy told you off,” Rose piped up.

“Did not!” 

“Did too!”

“I’ve never cried in my life!”

The sound of the front door opening echoed through the chambers at Grimmauld Place. Ron’s voice carried up the stairs –

“Oh, thank god you’re back. Harry, your children are right nightmares.”

“Where are they?” asked Ginny.

“Upstairs with Teddy,” said Hermione. “Well, Lily’s in the kitchen with Hugo.”

“Finger painting,” Ron said brightly, “they made a huge mess, too.”

“I hoped they behaved,” said Ginny. “I’m in a bloody awful mood, thanks to Harry.”

Teddy’s ears perked. He scooted closer to the door to have a listen – James caught on and came bounding over.

“Mum and Dad are home!”

“Shhh.” Teddy held a finger to his lips. “They’re arguing, I think.”

Abe and Rose were standing over his shoulder now, too. James cocked his head to the side. “Arguing bout what?”

“Is Mummy mad?” asked Abe. “I hate when Mummy’s mad.”

“Oh, Merlin. What’d you do?” they heard Ron ask accusingly, presumably directed at Harry.

“He lost us the quiz, is what!” Ginny shouted. 

“Hey,” that was Harry’s voice, interjecting, “in my defense –”

“There is no defense,” said Ginny. “Do you know what he did?”

“Enlighten me,” said Ron.

“Oh, don’t,” Harry groaned.

Teddy’s heart thudded against his ribcage. He’d heard Gran talking about Aunt Cissy’s divorce, how it still wrecked her, even after all this time. 

“When you marry a person, you think that’s who you’ll be with for the rest of your life,” she’d rambled, bustling around the kitchen while Teddy worked through a stack of chocolate frog cards. “And when it doesn’t turn out that way, it's quite jarring.”

Teddy couldn’t imagine Harry and Ginny splitting up. The thought of it made him sick with worry. He glanced back at James and Abe, clambering to press their ears against the door. How might they turn out, as children of divorce? Not well. It might be worse than having no parents, even – having parents who hated each other.

He pushed them away from the door. They shouldn’t have to listen to this.

James shoved back. “I wanna hear!”

“Quit it,” Teddy snapped. “Go find your Firebolt.”

“I said I wanted a turn!” Abe yelled, and they both pounded away in search of the broom.

Rose hung behind. She looked up at him with big, worried eyes. “What are they fighting about, Teddy?”

“Shh. I’m trying to listen.” He pressed his ear to the door again, Rose standing back at a respectful distance. 

“It only made sense to me,” Harry was saying, “since they didn’t win the cup –”

“I thought you were the youngest Seeker in a century!” Ginny bellowed. “The best fucking quidditch player in the history of Hogwarts!” – Ted made a note to check for that in his book – “You can have the most points in the league and still lose the cup, you bloody idiot!”

“Sit down, Ginny,” said Hermione. To Teddy’s confusion, she seemed to be laughing. “You’ve both had a lot to drink.”

“Not enough!” Ginny yelped. “I could kill him.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try,” Harry said dryly. 

“Oh, the Chosen One card won’t save you from this one.” Ginny’s voice was low and dangerous.

“You might wanna run, mate,” said Ron, “before she sobers up.”

Teddy chanced a look behind him. Rose was watching James and Abe wrestle over the Firebolt. He figured he could leave for a moment without any of them ending up dead.

He slipped through the door onto the landing. They were two stories up from the ground floor at Grimmauld Place, and the adults’ voices carried even more out here. In the foyer below, he could see Ron holding onto Harry, who slumped over on his shoulder. Ginny also looked a bit unsteady on her feet.

“I’m only saying,” Ginny said, “you might want to think about your answers at the quiz, and how that might affect what does or doesn’t come later in the night…”

Hermione caught Teddy’s eye, and her mouth dropped open. Gently, she took Ginny’s elbow. “Gin.” 

Ginny followed her gaze, and her eyes widened. “Oh! Sorry Ted,” she yelped. 

Hermione brushed past her, and came up the stairs, apparently still trying to stifle a smile. “Hey Ted. Have you been enjoying Hogwarts: A History?” she asked him, taking him by the elbow to steer him back into the playroom with the other kids.

“Are Harry and Ginny getting a divorce?” he blurted.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, her face going blank before she broke into peals of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Harry called loudly from below. 

Hermione ignored him, kneeling down so that she was at his level. “No, Ted, they are not getting a divorce.”

“But they’re arguing,” he said.

“They’re not really arguing,” said Hermione, “more like… fake arguing. Arguing for fun.”

He scrunched his nose. “Why? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, they played the quiz at a pub in Diagon Alley,” Hermione said, “and it seems Harry got a very, er, important question wrong.”

“What was the question?”

“It was, which English quidditch team had the most points in the 1999 season?”

“And what was the answer?”

“The Holyhead Harpies, obviously.”

It clicked. Teddy’s eyes widened. “That’s Ginny’s old team!”

Hermione nodded slowly. “You can see why Ginny was a bit upset – her own husband!”

“But they’re not really angry?”

“No, they’ve just had a big night.”

At that moment, the door to the playroom burst open, and James came peeling out on the Firebolt. Abe was chasing after him, feet pounding against the hardwood, on the verge of tears. 

“You’ve had it all night, James, it’s my turn.”

“Faby the Baby!” James chanted. 

Abe began to cry.

“Faby the Baby!”

“James Sirius Potter.” Ginny’s voice was hard and crisp, and Teddy wondered how he could have mistaken her earlier tone for true anger. “What have I told you about that bloody nickname?”

[sequinsmile-x]

Pain's Like Cold Water

Emily has a migraine. Aaron, and Jack, look after her.

-x-

Hi besties,

As always, not really sure where this came from, but here is some soft Hotchniss and Jack for you this Sunday evening.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 2.6k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily wakes up to a pounding in her head.

She grimaces as she rolls onto her back and rubs the heels of her hands against her closed eyes. She opens them and winces, nausea rolling through her as she shuts them immediately, the low light in her bedroom enough to let her know this wasn’t just a headache, but a migraine. 

She’d taken one too many hits to the head over the years, had one too many concussions, and now, every now and again she’d wake up with a headache that kept her in bed all day. She’d be stuck hardly able to move, any light or loud noise prone to make nausea roll through her, and she’d curse the invention of two-by-fours as well as the criminals who wielded them as a weapon. 

She curls up into a ball, chasing her boyfriend’s scent on his pillow as she hugs it to her chest. She starts telling herself that she needs to get up to at least get some meds, to blearily walk to her bathroom and get some painkillers from the cabinet before she sinks back into her sheets, when she hears pounding again. It takes a few seconds for her to realise someone is knocking on her front door, not the sound of her brain exploding in her skull in slow motion.

She curses under her breath, wondering who was bothering her on a Saturday morning as she crawls out of bed. She sways when she stands up, her hand on the nightstand as she steadies herself, her stomach rolling again as she opens her eyes just wide enough to see where she’s going. Her phone makes her jump when it rings from her nightstand the moment she’s out of her bedroom, but she ignores it, settling on solving the mystery of who is at her door before she starts to worry about who is calling her. 

She pulls the door open without looking through the peephole, and without thinking about the fact she’s in a pair of leggings and an old shirt of her boyfriend’s, and she’s met by the sight of the man himself. He’s got his phone against his ear, his eyebrows pinched together in concern, and Jack by his side. 

“Aaron?” She asks, her voice rough as she speaks out loud for the first time since she’d woken up, but before he can respond Jack throws himself at her, his excited yell enough to make her wince. 

“Emmy!” Jack exclaims, hugging her tight, one she returns despite her unsteadiness on her feet and her pounding headache, “I’m excited for today.” 

She blinks to try and clear her head, to try to think of anything other than the pain she could feel throbbing through most of her upper body, and she looks up at Aaron, “Today?” 

Aaron’s brows furrow even further, the crease she loves to press her thumb against making an appearance and he clears his throat, his hands on Jack’s shoulders as he squeezes them, “Buddy, why don’t you see if you can go find Sergio?” 

Jack nods enthusiastically and tears through the apartment, running at full speed as he goes in search of the cat he’d become fast friends with. The moment he’s out of earshot Aaron reaches out for Emily and rests the back of his hand against her forehead. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

She nods and instantly regrets it, “Yeah, sorry. I have a headache and I only just woke up. I need to take a painkiller and then I can get ready.” 

He doesn’t believe her, and she knows it. With anyone else, she’s sure she’d be able to hide how she was actually feeling, that she’d somehow grin and bear the pain to keep him and his son happy, but he sighs and she knows she’s caught. They’d always been able to read each other like a book - even back when they were just friends. It had only been six weeks since their first date, since what she knew was both of their last first dates, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. He made her feel safe and loved, even if they hadn’t said the words to each other yet, and she knew she did the same for him. The way they loved each other was soft and gentle - the very thing they both deserved after everything they’d survived. 

“Em,” he says, his hand on her hip as she stumbles ever so slightly as she tries to walk towards her bathroom, “This is clearly more than just a headache. You look…” he drifts off as she raises an eyebrow at him, her smile teasing despite how awful she feels, and he clears his throat, “Beautiful, obviously, but you also look tired, baby,” he tucks her hair behind her ears, “You’re clearly not well. The zoo can wait-”

“No,” she says, grasping his arms when shaking her head makes nausea roll through her again, “Jack is excited. Once I take some painkillers I’ll be-”

“We can go to the zoo any time,” he says, running his knuckles down her cheek, “I saw how you winced when Jack got excited - the zoo will be full of kids that excited. We can’t have you collapsing into the tiger enclosure or something.” He smiles, the smile she was quickly learning was just for her, and she finds herself rolling her eyes at him before she leans forward. The darkness she’s met with when she closes her eyes and buries her face against his polo shirt is bliss, and she groans against him. 

“You’re right,” she says, humming when he kisses her forehead. She knew if his love was enough to take her pain away that it would, that the simple press of his lips against her skin would draw everything out of her aching head, “You two should go, I can come next time,” she mutters, and he furrows his brows as he pulls back to look at her, her eyes barely opening as they meet his, a look of confusion asking over his face, “What?” 

“If you think we’re leaving you here all by yourself whilst you feel like this, you’re crazy.” 

“It’s not nice to call your girlfriend crazy when she feels like crap,” she frowns at him, all the power pulled from it when he kisses her lower lip, “I’ll be fine, Aaron. Seriously. I’ve dealt with this kind of thing by myself for a long time.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,”  he says, kissing her again, “But my point still stands, we’ll stay here. You bought all those movies and games Jack loves so that will keep him entertained,” his smile slips into a smirk, a spark of teasing in it she would have once put money on him not being capable of, “Plus, if you think I’m bad just you wait until he finds out you’re sick.” 

She chuckles and nods, her hands squeezing his arms, “As long as you’re sure-”

“I’m always sure about you,” he says, winking at her as Jack’s thunderous footsteps tear back into the room, and Aaron’s grip on her tightens when that alone makes her wince. They both turn to look at Jack, smiling when they see Sergio lying in his arms like a baby, his purr audible from across the room, “Jack, buddy, the zoo is going to have to wait until another day. Emily’s sick.”

If Emily thought Aaron had looked concerned, Jack looked downright distressed. He walks over, his eyebrows furrowed as he walks over, Sergio still in his arms, and he tilts his head at her, “You sick, Emmy?” 

She looks up at Aaron, then at Jack and she nods, reaching out to push her fingers through his hair, “I have a really bad headache, sweetie,” she says, smiling sadly, “So, I’m going to stay home but if you want to still go-”

“No,” he says, shaking his head as he passes Sergio over to Aaron, something that makes almost matching disapproving looks pass over his father’s and the cat’s faces. He grabs Emily’s hands and starts to lead her back towards her bedroom, a determined look on his face that makes him look exactly like Aaron, “We’re going to look after you. Daddy get Emily some painkillers and some juice.” 

She looks at Aaron over her shoulder, who by now has his hands in his pockets, Sergio somewhere else in the apartment, and a look on his face that could only say I told you so. She can’t help but smile despite her migraine and the nausea still threatening to climb up her throat. Whilst she could look after herself, whilst she could go through the routine she had for years - meds every four hours, warm compress on her forehead and a lot of water - she didn’t want to do that anymore. 

She wanted to let her Hotchner boys look after her, and she wanted to do the same for them. 

“You’re very bossy, sweet boy,” she says, letting him lead her to her unmade bed and she sits on the edge of it, grateful for the low light in the room. Her smile fades a little when she sees the concern on his face, his eyebrows pinched together and his teeth sinking into his lower lip, “I’ll be okay, Jack. I promise. I just need to lay down and get some rest.”

He nods, and Aaron walks into the room, painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Why don’t you go pick a movie for you and me to watch, Jack? I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

Jack nods reluctantly and closes the gap between him and Emily. He’s much more careful when he wraps her up in a hug this time, as if he’s afraid she’ll break, and she hugs him back. She kisses the top of his head and then smiles at him as she pulls back, making sure to repeat herself before he leaves the room. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I promise.” 

She blows out a slow breath as she takes the pills offered by her boyfriend and swallows them with no argument. Guilt washes over her as she lays down when she realises he hasn’t even taken his jacket off yet, and she blows out a slow breath as he tugs the covers on her bed back over her. He leans down to kiss her before she can speak, swallowing her protest by pressing his lips against hers. 

“We’re staying,” he says, kissing her again, “Want me to stay until you fall asleep?” 

She hums, letting her eyes drift closed as she nods, letting the warmth of his hand on her back, the patterns he’s drawing there, lull her into the sleep she desperately needs, “Hi, by the way,” she says, her voice low, “I just realised I never said that.” 

He kisses her forehead, “Hi, sweetheart,” he smiles against her skin, something she feels rather than sees, “Now get some sleep. You’ll feel better for it.” 

___

She sleeps most of the day. 

He feels guilty whenever he wakes her up, her eyes bleary with pain, but he knows from personal experience it is necessary to keep on top of taking the painkillers to keep her migraine under some control. He’s able to get her to eat something in the early afternoon, a soup he’d ordered in from a place down the street she loves, and he spends most of the day going back and forth between entertaining his son and checking on Emily. 

He’d known something was wrong the moment she opened her front door. Her surprise at seeing them mixed with her barely open eyes all he needed to see. She was always ready and raring to go for a day out with him and his son, her usual distaste for mornings long gone on the rare occasions when they didn’t wake up together. He knew she’d fight it, that she’d claim she was fine and she’d try to push through, but what had surprised him was how easily she’d given in, how lacklustre her arguments had been in the first place. 

Her willingness to let him look after her was nothing short of a privilege, and it was something he’d never take for granted. He’d loved her for a lot longer than he’d admit even to himself, so the fact he could love her now was something he’d spend the rest of his life trying to prove he deserved. He hadn’t said it yet, hadn’t let the three small words slip past his lips because he was afraid. Not because he thought she didn’t feel the same way, he knew that she did, but because he’d loved and lost before. And the thought of losing her was enough for him to keep his feelings to himself, as if admitting it would somehow make it more true. 

As if the reality of losing her would hurt any less if he’d never told her she was the reason his heart beats. 

She grumbles in bed next to him, her eyes barely opening as she rolls over to look at him, “Aaron?” 

“I’m right here, Em,” he assures her, leaning down from where he’d sitting against the headboard to kiss her forehead, “It’s your Aaron,” he looks at his watch, “It’s not quite time for more meds yet, do you want something to eat?” 

She shakes her head and shifts towards him, her arm around his waist as she rests her head on his stomach, “Not hungry,” she snuggles into his side, “Where’s Jack?” 

“Jess came and picked him up,” he replies as he scratches at her scalp, “I promised I’d stay and make sure you’re okay.” 

She hums, “He’s very strict,” she smiles when she looks up at him, “Wonder where he gets that from.” 

He smiles, “It’s a mystery.” 

Her smile fades a little and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, “I’m sorry about today.” 

It makes him ache. Makes anger for her mother and anyone else who’d ever made her feel like this roll through him as he holds her closer. He looks down at her, and is met with guilt shining in her dark brown eyes, and all of a sudden every reason he’d had for not telling her how he feels disappears. 

“Em, sweetheart,” he says, his knuckles stroking her cheek, “Loving you is a privilege, not a burden,” he assures her, “And I’ll spend the rest of our lives trying to prove that to you.”

She smiles, the first full, real smile he’s seen all day, and she places her hand over his on her cheek, linking their fingers together as she turns her head to kiss his palm, “The rest of our lives, huh?” 

He nods, dragging their joint hands up to kiss her knuckles, “The rest of our lives. If that sounds good to you.” 

She hides her smile against his shirt, “That sounds great to me,” she settles against his side and encourages his hand to her forehead, sighing contentedly when his skin presses against hers, “Where the hell were you and your warm giant hands when I had all those other migraines?”

He leans down and kisses the top of her head, “Waiting for you,” he replies, smiling when she laughs at him, “But me and my giant warm hands will be here whenever you need us going forward.” 

“Good.” She hums contentedly, sinking further into him, “Aaron?” 

“Yes, Em?” 

“I love you too.”

[firstelevens]

(hi sorry for sending this 0.3 seconds after you reblogged the prompts) 54. touching cheek to cheek if you like! ❤️

54. touching cheek to cheek

By now, Bucky is used to losing track of Sam at any given social event. He was already the life of the party before he took up the shield, and now his time socializing seems to be spent equally between taking selfies and sweetly chatting with all the old ladies who look at Captain America and just see baby Sam Wilson who constantly got into shenanigans after church on Sundays.

Bucky has spent enough time in Delacroix now that people stop by and chat with him, too, so Bucky only finds Sam again after he's wrapped up a long conversation with Miss Henrietta. He makes her promise not to try and plant her vegetable garden herself, volunteering his and Sam's services in exchange for a cobbler, then scans the park for the man in question.

It takes a minute, but Bucky's had to seek out Sam in more chaos than this, and he's gotten pretty good at it over the past year and a half. When he catches sight of Sam, his back is to the crowd as he talks to a couple who Bucky hasn't seen before. Whoever they are, the conversation has Sam's shoulders stiff and tight, and Bucky instantly dislikes them for it.

Sarah must sense Bucky's hackles raising, because she furrows her eyebrows and follows his gaze across the party, her expression going pinched as she sees who Sam is talking to.

"I didn't know they'd be here," she murmurs, the corners of her mouth turning down. "I would've warned him."

"Who are they?" asks Bucky. "Old friends, or...?"

He doesn't need to say what he's hoping the answer is. If they're old friends, Bucky has to play nice regardless of how they're apparently making Sam feel. If they're something else, as far as Bucky's concerned, all forms of intimidation are fair game.

"They're old classmates, but I wouldn't call 'em friends," Sarah says darkly. "I don't know exactly what happened, but the guy--Colin--and Sam kind of have a history. I just know that Sam's head would get all turned around when he visited home from college and they'd spend all their time together, and then he showed up after graduation engaged to Ella over there, and apparently they'd been dating the whole entire time that he was away at school."

If Bucky's grunt of acknowledgment sounds more like a growl, he's not apologizing for it. "Do they live around here? I haven't seen them before."

"They live out in Texas," says Sarah. "But they come home a few times a year to visit their family and I swear Colin gets some weird enjoyment out of getting all lovey with Ella in front of Sam."

"And Sam's too polite to tell them to f- uh, back off, huh?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Perfect," says Bucky, standing up from his seat at the table. "I knew my Yankee bad manners would come in handy some day."

Sarah watches Bucky move away, her eyes narrowed. "What, exactly, are you planning to do?"

"If Miss Maybelle comes by, you tell her I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."

"Bucky?" Sarah asks again, but he's already too far to respond. Anyway, he's not sure she'd approve if he did. There are probably more mature ways to handle something like this, but Bucky's been alive long enough to know that some people are too immature to understand anything but immaturity.

He winds his way through the crowd easily enough, stopping to say a quick hello to a few of the folks he passes. He's worried it'll come off as rude when he cuts the conversation short, but anytime he tells them that he's looking for Sam, they just wave him off with indulgent smiles that Bucky is choosing not to think too hard about.

He finally makes his way over in time to hear Colin talking about summering on a yacht, and Bucky already finds this guy insufferable. He's not the best at concealing his emotions, but the sight of Sam puts enough of a smile on Bucky's face that he can inject extra cheer into his voice as he calls out, "Sammy, what are you hiding over here for? Everyone's wondering where you are."

Bucky doesn't miss the slight loosening of Sam's shoulders at the sound of his voice. "Buck!" he says brightly. "What happened, did you get tired of dancing with all the grandmas in the parish?"

"Never," says Bucky. "But I thought I'd mix it up and take you for a spin, and then I couldn't find you."

Sam's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but before he can say anything, Colin clears his throat and draws their attention again.

"Hi," he says, with a smile that might be charming if Bucky didn't already have an opinion on him. "I'm Colin and this is my wife, Ella. We went to high school with Sam."

Bucky tries to read Sam's face, but he just looks resigned at this point, and Bucky is not having it. He slings an arm around Sam to pull him close, tucking him against his side as he extends a hand for Ella and Colin to shake. "I'm Bucky," he says. "I'm Sam's partner."

He watches realization dawn on Colin's face and almost laughs at the surprise there.

"Oh," says Colin, blinking. "Sam, I didn't realize you had a--"

"We're very private people," says Bucky, cutting him off. "Sam's work is so important, and so many people think they know who he is. Sometimes it's nice to keep the important stuff close to home."

Ella, to Bucky's amusement, elbows her husband at Bucky's words. "See?" she says, giving him a look that says they've had this debate before. "Some people know there's romance in keeping things quiet. Not everything has to be travel influencer content."

"Oh," says Sam, "I think you might be--"

But Bucky squeezes his side gently, hopes that the gesture conveys 'trust me' the way they've done in the field a thousand times before.

"I mean," Sam begins again, and Bucky holds his breath, "there's probably room for both, right? A quiet home life is great, but it's nice to be shown off sometimes."

"Which is why I've been trying to dance with you all night, sugar," Bucky says. "But your adoring fans haven't been able to spare you."

Sam snorts, tipping his head back to look at Bucky and somehow ending up even closer to him in the process. "Adoring fans might be a stretch. Mrs. Palmer just came over and asked me if I was still practicing my scales. She hasn't taught me piano since 1991."

"Did you tell her how often you play our piano at home?" Bucky asks, too caught up in Sam's orbit to do anything but lean into him. "You probably would've made her day."

"I told her you're the better piano player, actually," says Sam. "She'll probably make you play her something at Christmas."

"I'll start practicing," Bucky says softly, and something in Sam's eyes goes all warm.

They're interrupted, naturally, by Colin clearing his throat. Ella looks equal parts amused by them and embarrassed by her husband, and Bucky almost feels bad for her.

"I'm so sorry," Bucky says to Colin. "You probably want to catch up with Sam and hear his exciting stories, and I'm monopolizing him. I'll shut up now; you won't even know I'm here."

If Colin recognizes this as a lie, he doesn't mention it. He just watches with raised eyebrows as Bucky shifts from having his arm around Sam's shoulders to hugging Sam from behind, arms around his waist and chin hooked over his shoulder. When Sam's hands settle on top of Bucky's, for a second he's worried that he's gone too far, but Sam just rests his hands on top of Bucky's like he's holding him there.

They're so close that Bucky can hear Sam's heartbeat pick up, so close that when Sam turns his head a little to speak to Ella, they're pressed cheek to cheek. When Bucky came up with this plan on his way over, he didn't consider that holding Sam in his arms like this would make him feel like a twitterpated seventeen year old again, but here he is.

Sam continues his conversation with Ella and Colin, and Bucky doesn't miss the glances that Colin darts at the two of them, where their temples are pressed together and where Sam's hands rest on Bucky's. He'd feel a surge of vindication, except that the second he got his arms around Sam, Bucky kind of forgot why he was here in the first place, except to hold Sam close.

Colin just seems like a distant consideration now, which makes it that much sweeter when Ella finally excuses the both of them and Sam stays where he is in Bucky's arms even though the conversation is over.

They're quiet for a long moment, watching the chaos of the party unfold, and then Sam leans into him, tipping his head back so he can whisper in Bucky's ear. "You ever gonna follow up on that dance you kept offering me, Sergeant?"

Bucky's breath catches in his throat. For a second, he forgets every word in every language he's ever known. Eventually, he remembers a few and hopes his voice doesn't sound as hoarse as it feels.

"Just say the word, Cap."

(And then he feels Sam's mouth turn up into a smile and has to remind himself that twitterpated youth or not, there's no way Sam is letting him live it down if he swoons right now. It mostly works.)

[darth-mortem]

Here is the lil fic I wrote for my Friend, in which 09 Ghost and Roach have an important mission, and Captain MacTavish disagrees with this fact. 729 words.

“Three ahead.” Ghost reported.

“Roger that.” Roach replied, and they darted off in different directions.

Riley burst into a supply room and shut the door behind him, hiding among the brooms and mops. Sanderson found himself in a more vulnerable position: he ducked into an open hall and fell behind a couch. The two soldiers sitting on it didn’t notice anything, occupied with watching the news on an old television.

“All clear.” Ghost reported a few minutes later, and they both quietly left their hiding spots and moved on.

The target for the two members of TF 141 was a specific office on the fourth floor of the building. Both had considerable experience in such covert infiltrations, so they navigated the military base and entered the building without any issues. Now, they only had to reach the stairs and ascend to the desired floor. Ghost wasn’t thrilled about it; he would have preferred to climb the building's exterior, but Roach firmly objected.

“A whole crowd ahead.” Riley hissed, and this time he and Gary found themselves in the same hideout—in a restroom near the staircase exit.

Locking the door from the inside, both operatives pressed against it, listening to what was happening outside.

“What are we going to do if his office is locked?” Roach whispered. “Are we going to pick the lock?”

“Negative.” Ghost replied. “I have a key.”

“What? Where from?!” Gary stared at the lieutenant, trying to catch a glimpse of his emotions through the eyehole of his skull-patterned balaclava.

“We'll talk about that later.” Simon said irritably. “All clear, go, go, go!”

The timing of the infiltration was spot on. At this hour, the fourth floor was empty and dark, so upon arriving, the two TF 141 members relaxed a bit and approached the door they needed without rushing. Ghost pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked it, and they both slipped inside.

“So, where’s our target?” Roach asked.

“In his desk.” Ghost replied. “Keep watch while I search.”

It didn’t take him long. Within a minute, Riley was already triumphantly waving a long, rectangular metal box in the air.

“Now let’s get the hell out of here!” Roach whispered urgently, and they hurried to leave the room, locking the door behind them.

***

Captain MacTavish was furious. He was certain he had left his cigar case with cigars in his office desk, but when he arrived there, he found nothing. Of course, he had cigarettes as well, but he didn't want those right now; he wanted to enjoy a cigar. Frustrated and lost in thought, he headed downstairs towards the living quarters, trying to remember where else he could have left his cigar case.

“Hey, MacTavish!” He heard, and turning his head, he saw Riley and Sanderson sitting on a bench in the smoking area, puffing away on cigars.

“Where th' hell did ye get those?” Soap frowned, squinting his eye.

“Roach won them in a poker game from those guys in K9.” Ghost explained flatly, pulling a cigar from Roach’s pocket. “Want one, Captain?”

They smoked in silence. Gary, casting a significant glance at Simon, soon slipped away, citing urgent matters. Ghost and Soap remained in the smoking area together, and then Johnny, shaking his head, chuckled softly.

“Ye’re quite th’ scumbag, Riley.” He said, exhaling fragrant smoke with pleasure. “Did ye pure think ah wouldn’t figure oot they wur mah bloody cigars?”

“I was hoping you would, sir.” Ghost replied cheekily, his voice devoid of respect.

MacTavish stood up and pushed the lieutenant against the wall. He squirmed but did not resist, even when the captain pulled off his balaclava, revealing his scarred face; only Simon's eyes became frightened and like cornered animal ones.

“Oh no, no need tae be scared, luv.” Johnny whispered gently, then, tilting his head, he carefully pressed his lips against Riley's. “Ye know ye could have just asked, ‘n’ I would have treated both o’ ye?”

“I know.” Ghost nodded, flicking the ash off his cigar and placing his hands on his captain’s shoulders. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as interesting, would it?” “That’s why I love ye.” MacTavish sighed, pulling Riley close and drawing him into another kiss—this time long, passionate, and sweet, with the taste of expensive Cuban cigars that were kept in the captain’s silver cigar case in his office desk.

[delusional-fantasising]

Peter Maximoff boyfriend headcanons SFW

- This man is super whipped for you and he is not a people pleaser but he hates seeing you not happy so this man will do everything for you just to have you happy

- Never ask him to cook, he will burn the house down but he will never admit it, he will go to your favourite place, order take out then put it on one of his plates acting like he cooked and plated it

- If you don't meet him in high school good luck trying to find any old pictures of himself, he will hide them all because he had a few phases in high school he's too embarrassed to show you ever. You will have better luck asking his mom for old pictures

- He lends out clothing like crazy to you, you need a shirt? He has a massive collection of band shirts. Do you need pants? The drawer is open for the picking for you. You may have to convince him to give up his prized jacket and goggles but once he sees you in it, it won't be very hard convincing him afterwards

- He loves it when you run his fingers through his hair, he just melts and has a goofy whipped smile on his face

- He will never tell you but if you ever see a claw machine and want one of the plushies, he will lead you away from the machine before making a disappearing act. One crime later and he has the plush, telling you that he is just the boss at claw machines (Total lie, he just grabbed the keys from a worker and opened the thing.)

- Understand this if you like something he will do research on it in the blink of the eye to show how much he cares about what you like. It can get a bit scary though when he knows more about your interest than you

- He had a calendar with any important information about you and he keeps track of stuff for you if you ask. Especially when he's older, despite him getting distracted easily he writes everything down because he's also forgetful