#you don’t have to hide in anons i like having conversations

[kitkatscabinet]

POSSESSIVE KISSES

PAIRING: Tim Drake x gn! reader

REQUESTED: by anon as part of dc drabbles event

You were smiling, laughing at something Garth had said to you, smacking him playfully on the arm. You, laughing, with Garth. Garth, who was like the world's unfunniest dude.

I mean, what could the two of you even be talking about that was so much better than anything you could discuss with him?

“Damn bro, you know Conner's the one with heat vision? Though, with how hard you're glaring at poor Garth over there, I reckon you might actually manifest superpowers.” Tim threw a quick, unimpressed look at a grinning Bart before his laser-focused gaze settled back on you. 

“Do you not trust them?” Bart eyes him judgmentally, “You know they don’t have eyes for anyone but you.” 

“It’s everyone else I don’t trust,” Tim grumbled. Why would he? Tim knew he was punching well above his weight when you had somehow agreed to go on a date with him. When that one date had turned into many more over the following months, Tim felt like the luckiest guy alive. He still did. You were, without a doubt, the greatest thing to ever happen to him. 

You’d never cheat on him; he trusted you implicitly, but that didn’t mean he had to like the way Garth was looking at you. 

Bart tries to hide an amused snort at Tim’s behaviour, and it's his final straw. He stands, the chair scraping obnoxiously against the floor as he rapidly closes the distance. You hear his approach, turning to smile at him, only to gasp when he slips a firm hand around your waist as he pulls you in and kisses you.

His free hand cups your face gently, directly opposing how he kisses you: hard, passionate, possessive.  

You gasped against his mouth, surprised, but a second later, you melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hero suit. Your conversation with Garth is long forgotten, the world narrowing down to your boyfriend’s lips on yours and his strong hands gripping you tightly. 

Tim rarely does this—rarely lets his emotions leak through the cracks. But the kiss he presses to your mouth is anything but careful. It’s intense, searing, like he needs to remind you, and everyone else watching, that you’re his. 

You feel his fingers tighten slightly at your waist, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor you. To claim you as his for the audience watching, whom you can’t find it in yourself to care about.

Garth clears his throat awkwardly from a few feet away, but Tim doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t break the kiss until he absolutely has to, and even then, he leans in just enough that his forehead rests against yours, his breath brushing your lips.

“You okay?” you whisper in amusement, eyes searching his as you try to distinguish what brought on this sudden behaviour.

“I’m fine,” he replies, voice low and a little hoarse. “Just... didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You glance past him at Bart, who is poorly disguising his laughter behind a hand. “He wasn’t the only one looking,” you murmur teasingly.

Tim groans softly, but the corner of his mouth quirks. “I’m not sorry.”

You reach up and toy with his collar. “Good. I kinda liked it.”

Tim hums, eyes dipping to your lips again, possessive jealousy simmering into quiet affection. “Let ‘em look,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over your jaw. "Let them know who you belong to."

[cultkinkcoven]

are we just gonna ignore how jewish ppl said not to mess with lilith and that u used a racist ass font or

Ignore? No. Understand and take into account? Definitely.

I’ve already made a very long post about the topic of Lilith being closed to Judaism, so I won’t waste your time with an explanation I’ve already provided and you’ve probably already read. If you haven’t read it and you want to know more, here are a few posts where I talk about her in more detail:

If you are Jewish and/or know of a Jewish person who feels offended by my personal practice then I’d be more than happy to hear them/or you out. But if you aren’t jewish, and you don’t have real world examples of these “jewish people who said not to mess with Lilith”, (Jew witches? Or people of the Jewish religion? Because Jews wouldn’t encourage anyone to work with Lilith… or Astaroth… or Azazel… or Stolas… because they are demons - according to that religion - and… not God. So… yes, they probably would tell me not to “mess” with Lilith… because that would be a sin ???)

-then I’m not entirely sure why you feel comfortable speaking on the behalf of Jewish people.

and idk what you’re referring to when you say a “racist ass font” I have no context for this.

[jayparked]

im gonna refrain from being in ur inbox i feel like I made u uncomfortable and I didn't mean to. I'm new to ur blog so I didn't know u felt that way. I apologize.

-🍒

i know it wasn’t your intention which is why i reiterated my boundary. even if you’re new to my blog it’s pretty clear what my stance is on that stuff with the amount of times i’ve talked about it and it’s in my about me. i only answer soft asks about riki and even though my fake texts for him can be suggestive he’s ALWAYS shutting it down etc. so i have a hard time believing you didn’t know i felt this way

this is just a slap on the wrist you’re not banished from my inbox or my blog. i accept your apology and now you understand that i’m very firm about this boundary

EDITED: normalize being okay with changing your mind 🫶🏻

[changbinniescurlyhair]

Talk Dirty to Me (In Korean) (Bang Chan)

Synopsis. You’ve been secretly learning Korean for months, and tonight, you decide to surprise Chan at a party. Casual conversations with Hyunjin and I.N in fluent Korean leave them stunned, but when Chan catches on, he’s not amused. Instead, he’s possessive and determined to remind you who you really belong to — and he’s going to do it in the language you’ve just mastered. Pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader Warnings: Sexual content (Minors DNI), jealous sex, p in v (unprotected, don't do it), Chan switches from English to Korean and it's hot. A/N: Requested by @true-queen-of-mischief. Thank you so much for the request and being respectful/polite. I wish every anon/user was like you! Taglist is open. Requests Masterlist

The music thumps around you, bass deep in your chest, lights low and shifting. Drinks are flowing, everyone’s loose and laughing — one of those rare nights where all of Stray Kids can just chill together. You’re tucked comfortably on the couch, a little warm from your second cocktail, cheeks flushed, heart buzzing with anticipation.

You’ve been planning this moment for weeks.

“...잠깐만요, 정말 그렇게 말했나요? (Wait, did he really say that?)” The words slide off your tongue effortlessly, and you watch Hyunjin’s eyes go wide like you just flipped his world upside down.

I.N nearly spits out his drink. “Wait—wait, what?! Since when do you speak Korean?”

You just giggle, swirling the ice in your glass like this is no big deal. “그게 중요한가요?” (Does it really matter?) you tease, voice lilting.

They lose it — both of them tossing out shocked praise and excited compliments in rapid-fire Korean, and you soak it all up with a proud little smile. Every late-night study session, every secret Duolingo lesson behind Chan’s back, every embarrassing moment practicing tongue twisters in the mirror… it was so worth it.

But across the room, something shifts.

You catch Chan in your peripheral vision — standing frozen mid-conversation, eyes locked on you.

There’s a moment. Like a record scratch. His expression flickers from confusion to disbelief to something darker, unreadable.

He walks toward you, slow and deliberate, his expression somewhere between a smirk and a scowl.

“Babe,” he says when he finally reaches you. His voice is calm, but tight — too calm. “Can we talk?”

You feel Hyunjin and I.N exchange a knowing glance behind you as you slide off the couch and follow Chan into the hallway, just far enough from the party for privacy.

He turns to face you, arms crossed, his body blocking your exit like he planned it.

“Since when do you speak Korean?” he asks, low and clipped.

You blink up at him with faux innocence. “Since… now?”

“Y/N—no.” His tone drops, low and dangerous, and your stomach does a slow, delicious flip. “You’re not getting out of this. How long have you been hiding it?”

You try to bite back your grin. “A few months. Maybe. I wanted to surprise you.”

“A few months?”

His voice lowers even more, that gravelly edge creeping in. You see it in the way his jaw ticks, how his eyes darken — not angry. Oh no, it’s so much worse than angry.

It’s personal now.

He leans in, and you instinctively back up, spine meeting the wall behind you. You can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne, feel that static electricity in the air between you.

“So let me get this straight,” he murmurs. “You’ve been secretly learning Korean, didn’t tell me, and now you’re using it to flirt with my members?”

You blink. “Flirt? I was just talking…”

“Oh, no, sweetheart.” His voice is syrupy now — sweet, slow, dangerous. “You don’t get to play innocent. You wanna be cute? Speak my language? Keep secrets and make me watch you bat your lashes at Hyunjin and Jeongin?”

He steps in closer, and your breath catches when his mouth brushes just beside your ear.

“Guess I’ll have to remind you who you really belong to,” he whispers — in Korean this time.

You shiver. Not from fear. Oh no. This is something else entirely.

You’re so down bad for this man and he knows it.

He pulls back just enough to see the heat rise in your cheeks, the way your lips part. His hand comes up to tilt your chin, his thumb brushing along your jaw.

“You understood that, didn’t you, jagiya?” he says, gaze burning into yours.

You roll your eyes just to be difficult, but your voice betrays you — breathless, soft. “...안타깝게도 (Unfortunately).”

His grin is slow, wicked.

“Oh, good,” he hums, brushing a kiss just beneath your jaw. “Because I’ve got plenty more Korean to teach you.”

~~~~

The door to Chan's room clicks shut behind you, and everything shifts. The air feels heavier, charged — like something's about to snap.

Chan doesn't say a word. He just stands there, gaze fixed on you. His eyes are dark, intense — glittering with something unreadable, something dangerous. The silence stretches. You can almost hear his heartbeat through the stillness.

And then, without warning, he's on you.

You barely register the movement before your back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his mouth crashes into yours. It's not sweet. It's hungry. Desperate. All teeth and tongue, tasting, claiming. His hands grip your waist tightly, fingers digging into your sides like he's afraid you'll slip through his grasp if he lets go. The groan he lets out — low and deep from his chest — vibrates straight through you, and your knees nearly give out.

"당신은 나를 미치게 합니다 (You drive me crazy),"he growls against your lips, his breath hot as it ghosts down the curve of your neck. His mouth follows — open, insistent — trailing slow, maddening kisses along your skin. "Walking around speaking Korean like that... acting like you don't know exactly what you're doing to me."

Your breath catches as his lips graze your collarbone, and you tangle your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, tugging. "Maybe that was the idea."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide with something primal, something possessive. His gaze roams your face like he's memorizing it — etching the heat, the flush, the need in your expression deep into his memory.

"Oh, you planned this?"

You open your mouth to respond, but you don't get the chance.

Chan lifts you effortlessly, one hand slipping beneath your thighs, the other braced at your back. He carries you like you weigh nothing — like you're already his, and always have been. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and your lips find the curve of his jaw, tasting the tension there.

When he lays you down on the bed, it's with purpose. His touch is reverent, but firm — like he's placing you exactly where you belong.

And then he slows down. Purposefully. Torturously.

His hands explore first — gliding beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming over every inch of exposed skin like it's sacred. Fingertips drag across your ribs, your hips, your thighs. Every touch lights another fuse in your veins. His mouth follows, brushing trails of heat along your body: collarbone, sternum, stomach, lower. Each kiss is slower than the last. Measured. Intentional. Worship.

"그 느낌이 느껴지십니까?" he murmurs against the shell of your ear, voice deep, laced with a heat that makes your stomach clench. "Can you feel that?"

You nod, breathless, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

He smirks, his teeth grazing the skin just below your ear. "You're burning up for me."

And he's right.

You are.

Every part of you is aching for him — for more. And when he starts whispering in Korean again, low and deliberate, you can't take it. You moan his name, breathy and wrecked.

But not in English.

You say it in his language.

Chan freezes.

Just for a second.

Like the air's been knocked out of him.

Then his eyes meet yours, and they're blazing.

"Say it again," he growls. "Say my name like that."

You do.

Again. And again. Watching his control fray with every breathy syllable.

And when he finally gives in — when he settles over you, skin to skin, body to body — it's not just lust. It's a need. A promise.

He moves with purpose, every roll of his hips deep and consuming. His hard length presses against your inner thigh, hot and throbbing. You can feel the slickness between your legs, how ready you are for him. With a groan, he reaches down and guides himself to your entrance.

As he pushes inside, you feel yourself stretching to accommodate his considerable size. He feels huge like this, filling you completely. He sinks in to the hilt with a low groan. You feel impossibly full, almost to the point of pain, but it's perfect. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.

Then he starts to move, slowly at first. Every thrust feels deeper than the last, like he's claiming you from the inside out. His hands stay on your skin, stroking, grounding you both. His lips find yours over and over, whispering your name like a mantra between kisses, never quite breaking contact — as if he needs to feel you at all times to stay sane.

And through it all, he keeps murmuring to you — sweet, filthy words in Korean, soft praise laced with heat. You don't need a translation. You feel what he means in the way he touches you, the way he moves inside you, the way he holds your face when your body starts to shake beneath his.

You're not sure what language you're speaking anymore, only that it's his, and that you're calling out for him like he's the only thing that matters.

Because in that moment, he is.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, somehow going even deeper. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your orgasm building. He's relentless, pounding into you now, chasing his own pleasure. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fill the room, mingling with your breathy moans and his guttural groans.

Suddenly, your climax crashes over you without warning. It's intense, all-consuming. You cry out his name as you fall apart beneath him, your nails digging into his back. He follows a moment later with a deep groan, his hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you.

When it's over — when both of you are spent and trembling, tangled together beneath the sheets, skin slick with heat and breath still uneven — he reaches for your hand beneath the blanket, twining your fingers with his.

"I'm never letting you keep secrets like that again," he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You laugh softly, cheeks still flushed, heart still racing. "Guess I'll just have to find new ways to surprise you."

He turns to you, brushing his thumb across your lower lip with a look that says he's far from finished.

"Oh, jagi," he whispers. "You will."

Taglist: @jehhskz

***My works are not allowed for translation or reposting as your own without my permission***

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS JEALOUSY HCS ── .✦

a/n: I just ate which like now my stomach hurts because I ate this spicy burger (10/10) and my stomach is hurting so let’s hope i don’t die from a burger😭 also request from anon (here) tysm!

(Tags: batboys when jealous of crush!reader)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Internally Brooding, Externally Stoic: Bruce keeps a calm, composed exterior, but inside? Full-on brooding mode. He watches every move, his jaw clenching just slightly whenever the other guy laughs a little too much.

Passive-Aggressive Moves: Bruce subtly but effectively tries to interrupt. Maybe he’ll walk by and offer you something he never does, like coffee or water, just to make his presence known. “You looked thirsty,” he’ll say, while the guy looks confused.

Petty Rich Guy Move: He’ll ‘accidentally’ mention something about Wayne Enterprises, as if to remind everyone just how wealthy and powerful he is. “Funny, we were discussing corporate acquisitions the other day,” he’ll drop casually, as if it relates. (Let’s hope he doesn’t drain his bank 😞🙏)

The Comedy: When Alfred catches him glaring, he’ll dryly say, “Master Wayne, perhaps you should try blinking before you permanently furrow your brow.” Bruce will immediately deny he’s bothered, even as he side-eyes you again.

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Charm Dial Up to 100: Dick doesn’t even try to hide his jealousy. He’ll swoop into the conversation, throwing in his most dazzling smile. “Hey, I didn’t realize we were letting random guys have all the fun,” he’ll say with a teasing grin, while subtly nudging the guy aside.

Over-the-Top Compliments: He’ll suddenly become your biggest hype-man. “You know, she’s literally the smartest, funniest, and most beautiful person in the room, right? No offense to you, man.” The other guy feels awkward, and you just laugh while Dick grins smugly.

Puppy Dog Eyes: If you keep talking to the other guy, Dick’s smile might falter just a little, and he’ll stand in the background, clearly pouting. It’s so obvious that even you can’t help but laugh.

The Comedy: He’ll mutter, “Didn’t even know jealousy could feel this personal,” under his breath while side-eyeing the guy like it’s a soap opera.

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy But Trying to Play it Cool: Jason’s jealousy is obvious in how stiff and silent he gets. He leans against the nearest wall, arms crossed, glaring like the other guy just insulted his whole family.

Blunt Interruptions: He doesn’t have the patience to be subtle. He’ll walk up and ask, “So, who’s this?” in the least friendly tone possible, with a fake smile that could curdle milk.

Accidental Intimidation: Jason’s sheer presence is intimidating, so the poor guy talking to you will probably start feeling uncomfortable as Jason looms over, cracking his knuckles or adjusting his jacket dramatically.

The Comedy: If you don’t notice, Jason will mutter sarcastically, “Oh sure, talk to Captain Chit-Chat over there. Not like I’m standing right here or anything.” Roy, nearby, might add, “Jason, you’re doing that ‘death stare’ thing again,” and Jason will growl, “I’m not jealous.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Awkward and Overthinking Everything: Tim doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, it’s a mess. He watches from a distance, wringing his hands, thinking, Should I interrupt? Maybe she likes him? Maybe I’m reading too much into it…

Accidental Sulking: He tries to focus on something else, but his mind keeps wandering. He sits down nearby, pretending to work on his laptop, typing nonsense just so he can stay close without being obvious. “Haha, yeah���no big deal…” deletes everything he just typed.

Passive Observing: Tim eventually tries to casually stroll by, acting like he just happened to be there. “Oh, hey… didn’t see you there. Weird, right?” He’s so awkward it’s endearing.

The Comedy: If Kon or Bart sees him sulking, they’ll tease him mercilessly. “Dude, go talk to her.” Tim panics, “I can’t. She’s busy… laughing… with him…” Kon: “You’re hopeless.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Silent Judgment Mode: Damian watches with narrowed eyes, judging every aspect of the guy talking to you. He might even mutter things under his breath like, “He stands like a fool,” or “He can’t even articulate properly.”

Direct Interruption: Damian doesn’t have time for subtlety. He’ll walk up and flatly say, “Are you finished with this conversation? It’s becoming unbearable.” The other guy is usually too shocked to respond.

Unintentional Comedy: He’ll start critiquing the guy’s conversation topics. “She doesn’t care about your opinions on sports,” he’ll state matter-of-factly, as you try not to laugh.

The Comedy: If you ask if he’s jealous, he’ll scoff. “Jealous? Of that imbecile? Hardly.” But the tips of his ears are turning red, and you know he’s lying.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Talk About A Celebration | Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: Fans are endeared by your relationship with Franco. Although, it doesn’t take long to discover that his announcement to F1 had more exciting results for the long-term couple

Warnings: Fluff. Pregnancy. Suggesitve comments. Had to adjust the timeline slightly to make this work 

Requested: Yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

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AUG 2024

williamsracing just posted

liked by francolapinto, f1 and others

williamsracing franco colapinto to race for the reminder of the 2024 season, alongside alex albon

20,234 comments

its_yn if anyone can hear screaming, yes, that is me

user1 i cannot wait for everyone to finally understand how great y/n is 

→ user2 i can. i fear we need to gatekeep franco and y/n

francolapinto thank you so much for this opportunity 

→ its_yn don’t pretend to be calm. you’re going to meet THE lewis hamilton. i know you’re freaking out inside

→ user3 who is this and why is she all over the post 

→ user4 oh dear. we have to deal with the f1 girlies not knowing who y/n is 

alex_albon welcome to the team! 

user5 where have williams been hiding him?! 

user6 oh, well hello there

officialmpmotorsport they’re your problem now

→ user7 what does this mean?

→ its_yn rude 

user8 i was upset when i heard logan was being replaced but i think i might be able to forgive this

lilymhe @/its_yn i cannot wait to have another williams girl to gossip with 

→ its_yn i can’t wait to have a conversation with someone that isn’t about tyres

→ francolapinto you said you loved my tyre talk :(

user9 quick update for those who don’t follow f2. y/n is franco’s girlfriend. has been since they were 15. no, she’s not a gold digger. no, she’s not with him because he’s an f1 driver. and the biggest no, he will not date you because he is down bad for his girl

its_yn just posted

liked by alex_albon, olliebearman and others

its_yn my baby is finally an f1 driver! i’m so proud of you, franco. this is everything you’ve dreamed of 🩵

9,789 comments

francolapinto i love you so much cariño

francolapinto i can’t wait to celebrate with you later ;) 

→ williamsracing we’re going to have to media train you, aren’t we?

→ user10 no! don’t take him away from us 

user11 not her posting the most boyfriend coded pics of him

dennis_hauger i’m just so glad it means i escape having pics of me taken whilst i nap

→ its_yn oh, hun. i will literally see you in monza

→ dennis_hauger crap

user12 i acc can’t wait to watch y/n terrorise the f1 grid like she did the f2 grid 

→ its_yn i didn’t terrorise anyone. i was making friends

olliebearman i thought i was getting rid of you! why are you following me

→ francolapinto don’t be like that. i know you missed me

→ user13 i’ve seen enough. get this man a seat for 2025

alex_albon i’m not sure i want you in the garage anymore. it sounds like you terrorise teammates

→ lilymhe i’m so excited! 

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SEP 2024

williamsracing just posted

liked by francolapinto, charles_leclerc and others

williamsracing scored his first ever points in formula 1, in only his second race. ladies and gentleman, franco colapinto

13,432 comments

user1 okay but the way he kissed y/n and spun her around after he come out of parc ferme

user2 franco has been serving this weekend. both with boyfriend material and points

→ user3 yes! the way he’s had a hand on y/n all weekend? we love a protective boyfriend 

its_yn what an amazing day for our williams boys! 

→ lilymhe my ears are still ringing from your screams

→ its_yn don’t act like you weren’t jumping up and down with me

→ francolapinto you were jumping?! you promised to rest

user4 i had my doubts but this little flirt has blown me away

user5 i’ve seen enough. franco colapinto for wdc 2025 liked by its_yn

alex_albon i’m still deeply hurt that you won’t come out and celebrate with us

→ francolapinto yes, but y/n won’t be drinking tonight so we wouldn’t be much fun

→ its_yn oh yeah, blame me. i’m the fun sucker 

→ user6 i bet she’ll be sucking something tonight liked by francolapinto

user7 franco is so unhinged and i love him for it

user8 i can’t believe franco isn’t able to celebrate his points because his gf said so 

→ user9 actually, i don’t think she’s very well and franco is taking care of her, like a caring boyfriend does

→ user10 yeah apparently she was throwing up before the race 

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JAN 2025

its_yn just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt and others

its_yn baby colapinto coming to a paddock near you in may 2025 

10,234 comments

user1 she is so iconic haha 

user2 omg she’s pregnant?! i just died 

user3 literal mother

williamsracing congratulations, you two! putting in a request for baby headphones right now

user4 every time these two post, i’m reminded of how chronically single i am

→ user5 because imagine falling in love at 15 and then being with that one person for life 

→ user6 poor girl has never had another dick

→ francolapinto and she never will! 

lilymhe this post has been up for two minutes and i’ve already bought 5 baby things

→ alex_albon she’s not joking

→ user7 alex and lily taking uncle/aunt role seriously 

user8 wait, if she’s due in may, that means she’s currently 5 months pregnant

→ user8 which means she got pregnant in august. what happened in august? colapinto’s f1 seat was announced! 

→ user9 aha it’s a celebration baby 

→ its_yn @/francolapinto i told you they’d figure it out. they put it together when kevin got pole 

user10 omg! franco is gonna be a dilf 

→ francolapinto @/its_yn pay up

→ its_yn you’re not hot enough to be a dilf

→ francolapinto that’s not what you said when i was getting you pregnant 

→ williamsracing you know, now that you’re with us for the 2025 season, we’re going to have to media train you

francolapinto just posted

liked by logansargeant, kimi.antonelli and others

francolapinto not long now 

17,436 comments

alex_albon can’t believe it’s a boy. poor y/n has to deal with two of you 

→ francolapinto if it isn’t broken, no need to fix it 

officialmpmotorsport what do you mean williams get to enjoy baby colapinto and we don’t? give him back! 

user1 the kiss with the blue background? cinematic masterpiece

→ its_yn thank you. i’ve been training him since he was 15. he’s still a work in progress though

→ francolapinto oi! 

user2 y/n gives off such boy mom vibes

→ its_yn that’s because i’ve been trying to talk franco out of danger for years 

williamsracing cake? you’re supposed to be staying in shape! 

→ francolapinto i’ve been doing a lot of cardio 

→ user3 yeah, we all know what that means, sir

its_yn i’m still mad at you for scooping your cake out faster than i did

→ francolapinto i’m sorry! i got too excited and i moved as soon as you said go

→ user4 oh bless him. his super fast reaction time got him into trouble

→ its_yn his lack of super fast reaction time is what got me pregnant 

→ williamsracing we saw that! media training for you too

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its_yn just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, dennis_hauger and others

its_yn matias william colapinto

10,034 comments

alex_albon oh wow. are you sure that baby is half franco? he’s too cute 

→ its_yn well, i did all the work

user5 did franco pick his middle name?

→ its_yn yes -_-

→ williamsracing we approve

→ francolapinto come on, they are the reason we have the baby

user6 milf y/n! 

→ its_yn finally! 

lewishamilton congratulations mum and dad. he’s adorable

→ its_yn @/francolapinto i heard you scream from the other side of the house

→ user7 i love how he’s been on the grid for months now and become a father but still hasn’t gotten over his awe for lewis 

user8 i sense a franco colapinto maiden win coming this year with his new lucky charm

→ user9 and with it another baby haha

→ its_yn no, thank you

→ francolapinto yes, please

user10 franco about to make his own f1 grid liked by francolapinto

→ its_yn franco! stop liking all these posts about more babies! 

→ francolapinto can we practice at least? 

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[butyoudidthis4what]

Would You Believe Me If...

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

3.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CWs: mentions of alcohol; reference to sex; mental health issues; reader is not having a great time; reader doesn't like beer; depression; being sad for no articulable reason; self-hate; ass grab; kissing with tongue; little to no editing/proofreading; Jack being the BEST; hurt/comfort type situation (reader's brain is the hurt, Jack is the comfort)

Summary: Jack sees the sadness you're hiding from everyone and pulls you aside to talk and love on you.

AN: I was sent this ask and inspired to write whatever this is!!!! A short little fluffy comfort fic! I very much agree with that anon that Jack is very much an "On purpose. On purpose I am going to care about you" and "I never loved you on accident?" man. He would see all of you, good and bad, and still love you. I tried to give him that kind of vibe in You're Okay too and we see it here again (I hope, I don't really know what I'm doing anymore). I have absolutely zero fucking clue what the end is or where that came from but here we are friends. ALSO there is a very small Star Wars nod in here since I’m posting on May 4th! Thank you for reading!!

Jack’s eyes find you the second he hears you laugh. 

Quite literally a second because he’s always keeping an eye on you when you’re out together, not controlling or because he cares who you’re with. He just always wants to know where you are relative to him, just in case something happens and he needs to get to you. Military training, he supposes.

His eyes find you because he knows that laugh. It’s not your real laugh. It’s fake, the one you put on when you’re not super present and are hiding your sadness. To anyone else it’s very convincing, they don’t blink at it. 

He narrows his eyes a little to watch you better as you chat with McKay, Samira and Parker. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and he can see your leg bouncing under the picnic table, can see the way you chew on the side of your cheek every so often. 

“You gonna pay attention to this conversation or just stare at your girl all day?” Robby asks Jack. Most of the crew is at a local park for a picnic celebrating Dana’s birthday.

“I’ve been paying attention and heard everything you said. Unlike you I can multitask.” Jack finally lets his eyes leave you as he turns to look back at Robby. Shen and Whitaker stifle laughs. Everyone knows it’s not true and just Jack giving Robby shit. You have to be able to multitask to be a good emergentologist, and Robby is one of the best, Jack’s told him that many times. 

“I agree though,” Jack nods at Robby. “The patient satisfaction scores are bullshit. They should automatically be a ten or whatever the highest thing on the fucking form is if they’re brough in via ambulance and survive.”

“People come in by ambulance for really stupid things that don’t really require us saving them,” Whitaker observes. 

“And people walk in with injuries they really should have come in an ambulance for,” Robby shrugs. “It would even itself out.” 

“Exactly,” Jack nods. He looks back over at you for a second and then stands up. “I’ll be back.”

“Sure you will,” Robby drawls, smirking. 

Jack ignores him as he starts walking over to you. “Hey,” he says to the group as he reaches you, sets his hands on your shoulders from behind and squeezes. You feel a little better already, just from being closer to him. The rest of the group continues chatting as he leans down to speak just to you. “Take a walk with me for a few minutes?”

You furrow your brows, tilt your head and look back a little to see him. “Um, sure. Is there a reason why? Are you sure? It seemed like you guys were having a good conversation.” You flick your head towards Robby, Shen and Whitaker. 

“I’m sure. And does there need to be a reason why I want to take a walk with my girl?” He turns his head a little more and places a soft kiss just below your ear. 

My girl. Even though you’ve been together for a while now it still makes you a little dizzy to hear. 

“No, I guess not.” You give him one of those fake smiles and he knows it’s not because you’re trying to fool him, not really, deep down you know better than to even try by this point, but because you’re in public. Have to keep up appearances. 

“Well I know not, so.” He leans back up and moves his hands from your shoulders. “I’m stealing her for a minute.” He nods at the group. It pulls some smirks but nobody says anything, they all just nod. As you get up Jack finishes off the little bit of cider left in the bottle you were nursing. 

Once you’re up Jack laces his hand with yours and leads you over to the park’s path, walks down it a ways with you in silence before pulling you off it. He walks with you on the grass until you come to a spot where the ground starts to slope down, the top of a little hill that provides a nice view of the sun setting over the city. You’re more than far away enough that nobody can hear or see you.

“What’s up?” You titter a little, clearly a bit nervous. 

Jack nods at the ground and you both sit, feet out in front of you, grass and soil dry from the heat of the day. “You were totally spaced out and not really there.” He eyes you carefully. “You’re back now, for the most part, but I wanted to see what’s up away from everyone.” 

You push your bottom lip out a little and shrug, shake your head. “I’m f-” Jack gives you a look. “I don’t even know why I bother trying,” you mutter. 

“Neither do I. But I get it. Wanting to hide it and not let me see because you know I don’t like seeing you upset. I feel the same.” He squeezes your leg gently and doesn’t press when you’re quiet for a bit as you think of what you want to say. 

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” you murmur. You already know the answer but you’re using the question as an answer itself.

“Yeah.” Jack pauses and cocks his head at you, catches your eyes and holds your gaze as he speaks. “Would you believe me if I told you it was okay not to know?” He already knows the answer but he’s using the question to tell you it’s okay. 

You let out a breath through your nose and shake your head a little as you look away from him and out at the city, Jack doing the same. “I know it is. Rationally. But the irrational side of my brain doesn’t.”

You see Jack nod out of the corner of your eye. He gives you space to think, sits in the background buzz of the park with you, hand running up and down your thigh to ground you, remind you he’s here. 

“I’m just sad.” You shrug. You aren’t teary, don’t even have the urge to cry at the moment. It’s a hollow sadness. One that just vaguely aches and makes you tired. “There’s no reason for it. Just am.” 

“Would you believe me if I told you that’s okay too?” Again, he knows the answer but uses the question to make the point. 

“Is it though Jack?” You reply quickly. It surprises him, catches him off guard. 

He turns back to study your face, see if he can read what this is from your profile. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. 

“It doesn’t feel okay,” you continue. “Not even for me, but for you. It’s not fair to you. For me to just randomly be sad sometimes and unable to explain why. Because fuck Jack, I just want to sit here and be sad. I just want to sit here and be sad and maybe cry if I can get past whatever fucking emotional brick it is that’s stopping me from doing so. But what I don’t want is for you to have to sit here with me in it.” 

Jack lets your words hang in the air for a few seconds so that you know he’s really listening and taking them in, but not so long that it feels like he’s having to think of a response.

“It is okay. I promise you it is.” As much as he loves eye contact he knows it would be a little too much for you right now so he doesn’t push you to look at him or try to catch your gaze. “And it’s okay for us to just sit here. We can just sit in the sad. I hate seeing you be sad and struggle, yes. But sometimes you just need to sit here and feel it. And I want to be there next to you when you do. You don’t have to be okay and happy all of the time. You’re allowed to just sit here and be sad or whatever emotion you want to be. You don’t constantly have to be working towards being better when you get sad like this. We can stay here for a bit. I’m not going to let you or us unpack and move here, but we can visit sometimes. You can feel whatever it is you need to feel in front of me and with me. I want you to.”  

You let out a shaky breath. You know that what he’s saying is true. At least part of you does. But it’s so hard to accept. 

“And there are very few things in life that I have to do anymore, sweetheart.” He gives your leg a little squeeze before resuming running his hand up and down it. “You’re not holding me hostage or keeping me here against my will. I know I don’t have to sit here with you while you’re sad and don’t know why. I don’t feel like I have to. I choose to. I choose to sit next to you here in the sadness the way you do for me when I want to sit and be sad and not know why. I choose you.” 

“You should choose better.” It’s whispered. “You deserve better.” 

Jack starts shaking his head before you even finish the word better. 

“Yes, Jack, you do,” you say before he can get anything out. “Because you’ve been through so much already. You deserve to be with someone better. Someone easier to love who isn’t constantly putting you through shit like this. I know you love me, Jack, I promise. I never doubt that. But sometimes I don’t understand why you love me. Why you love me when I can be so fucking awful and all over the place and sad randomly for no reason. Do you see that Jack? Do you really see me? What you put yourself through by loving me?” 

Jack’s hand stills and squeezes your thigh again, longer this time, but still at the perfect pressure. He hurts, physically, his heart hurts seeing you like this, hearing your voice and knowing how much you mean what you’re saying. He hates it. He wishes he could take away your pain. But he can’t. All he can do is try to help and try to make you feel a little better and at the very least not let you be alone in it. 

He adjusts his position so that he’s turned toward you a bit more, the side of one of your legs and one of his pressed together. 

“Darling, the way you see and feel about yourself is not the way I see or feel about you. Just like the way I see myself and feel about myself is not the way you see or feel about me. We’re our own worst critics, as fucking cliché as that shit is. And I love you and mean this with all the love in the world, but you’re right. You can be awful at times. But the only person you’re ever awful to is yourself. Like you are right now.” You can feel tears start to form behind your eyes at that. Not because it’s mean and his words have hurt you. Because he’s right and you know it. 

He takes in a deep breath and looks out at the city for a moment before his gaze returns to you. “I don’t put myself through anything by loving you. I’m not burdened by loving you. And of course I see you, I always have,” he says with a heavy conviction. “You think I fell in love with you by accident? Or blindly? With my eyes closed?” 

You swallow thickly, can feel his eyes on you. “No.” Tears sting at your eyes now. “But still. You shouldn’t have to do this with me. I shouldn’t be work. But I am.”  

“Oh honey,” Jack breathes out softly. He takes a second and then shifts, sits a bit further up and grabs your legs, pulls them diagonal a bit and you a little closer so they can rest on top of his and you can look at each other better.   

“I need you to listen to me, yeah? Really listen.” Jack holds your face with his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones for a second while he looks you in the eyes. “Loving you is not the chore that your past has made you think it is.” He squeezes your face a little. “It’s not a chore at all. It’s a fucking privilege.” 

That gets a few tears to slide down your face and Jack’s thumbs are quick to wipe them away.

“And I know you can’t see that, and that you might never be able to see that. But it’s okay, because I do. And I will tell you it over and over and over and over until you understand why Robby tells me nicely to shut the fuck up sometimes.” He gives you the smallest knowing smirk.

You laugh at that, and it’s watery, and through your tears, but it’s real. You love the way he does that. Knows when to instill just enough lightness into this serious of a conversation to keep you grounded and from getting completely overwhelmed, but also knows when it’s not appropriate in a serious conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper through some tears and shrug at him. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jack whispers back. He leans in and kisses your forehead, lets his lips linger there before pulling them away and resting his forehead against yours.

“You have to repeat this speech a lot.”

“I know.” He says it so matter of fact as he pulls his forehead from yours to look at you better. His hands leave your face and take yours in his, fingers tangling together.

“It makes me feel really bad. Like it’s going to push you away. Or like you’re going to think I don’t trust you or your love or-”

“I don’t think that, nor will I. I understand, baby. I really do. Because I feel the same way sometimes. I don’t care that you need reassurance at times. It doesn’t make me feel like you’re questioning me, or my love, or our love. It doesn’t make me feel like I’m the problem or somehow doing something wrong or not doing enough or anything else. It makes me feel like sometimes your brain’s chemicals get a little fucked up. And you know what? So do mine. I think we’ve had this conversation at least a time or two with the roles reversed. I think you have to repeat a version of the speech I’m giving you right now a lot. And do you care?”

You shake your head gently. “No. I would give you it every day if you needed me to.” 

“Guess what?” he whispers.

“So would you?” You give him a little pout and big doe eyes that show how much you love him and it’s so adorable he has to smile a little.

“Yeah. So would I.”  

He leans back in but this time he gives you a kiss on the lips, lingers just long enough before he breaks it and nuzzles his nose against yours. You keep your eyes closed as he pulls away, a little smile on your face. You open your eyes just in time to see the nearly beaming smile it pulls from Jack. 

The two of you sit there for a few more minutes before you finally turn to look at him. “We should go back.” 

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “We can stay longer.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m ready.” Jack nods, gently moves your legs off his and stands up before holding both hands out to help you up. 

Instead of taking your hand and starting to walk back though he slips his arms around you, slides his hands in your back pockets and pulls you right up against him by your ass. He raises his eyebrows and smirks a little, a slight bobble of his head when it makes you gasp in surprise. 

His hands leave your pockets and slide up so that they’re wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. You rest your hands on his chest, look up at him knowing he wants your eye contact. Jack smiles when you give it to him. 

“I see you. I see all of you. Even the parts you don’t want me to see. The parts you’ll never show anyone else. And I did before I fell in love with you. And I still chose to jump head fucking first into being in love with you and even right now, sitting here in the sad with you, I’d make the same choice without a second thought.” One of his hands comes to hold your jaw, thumb on one side of your chin, his other four fingers on the other side, index finger right in front of your ear and the other three just below your ear and on your neck. “I choose you. All of you. Not just the you that you like and think is good enough. I choose all of you because I love all of you and I know that all of you is more than good enough. I choose you and I will always choose you and I know I’m lucky to get to make that choice. I love you.”

Jack kisses you then, hand tightening just a little to hold you still for him. They’re chaste at first but turn deeper, his tongue running over one of your lips, a silent question. You let your hands run up his chest and over his shoulders before sliding your fingers into his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck and open your mouth for him in silent answer, just enough for him to slip his tongue in and taste you, let you taste him. The taste of you pulls a groan from deep in Jack’s chest and you shiver. You only pull back when you’re desperate for air and Jack chases your lips with his. It makes you giggle.

You can feel him smile against your lips as he rests his forehead against yours again.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “And I choose you too. I love you.”

“I know.” You feel him smile a little wider against your lips before he gives you another kiss. 

You bite your lip as he pulls away, let your eyes open back up slowly to his grin. Jack grabs your hand and leads you back towards the path.

It hits you a few steps in. “You taste like cider.”

“Yeah,” Jack nods.

“You don’t like cider. You don’t drink it.”

“Yeah,” Jack shrugs slightly. “But I was drinking beer and you hate the taste of beer. And I knew I was going to kiss you like that so when you got up from the table I finished off your cider so you wouldn’t taste the beer on me.”

You beam up at him and he just smiles, can feel your happiness. He knows it hasn’t made it all better, that you might still be sad overall, that it might linger for a while.

You walk in a comfortable silence for a minute until you break it. 

“They’re going to think we fucked, probably.” You smirk a little at Jack. 

“You wanna play into it?” He’s so unfazed and stoic about it. So Jack. “I can go grab some little twigs to put in your hair, a leaf, some grass.” 

You burst out laughing. Properly. Fully. Real.

“Twigs?!” For some reason him saying the word twigs is hysterical to you. 

“There’s my favorite sound,” Jack laughs with you. “Well, one of them, anyway.” 

“Oh?” You glance up at him as your laughter trails off. 

“You would have been making another one of my favorite sounds if we had in fact fucked,” he says nonchalantly, swinging your hands a little.

“Oh,” you breathe. You can feel the smirk radiating off him. “Do you have more favorite sounds?”

“Course.” You see him nod out of the corner of your eye. “You saying my name. You saying you love me.” He squeezes your hand. “And the sound of your heartbeat when I rest my head on your chest.” 

You bite your lip at that. It’s so sweet it almost makes your heart ache. “Awwwww!” You squeeze his hand and lean into him. “You’re such a romantic, pookie.” 

“Ha!” The pet name catches him by surprise. “No.” Jack shakes his head at it, but his smile gives him away.

“Pookie is cute!”

“Do you understand the actual level of shit I would get from Robby if he ever heard you call me pookie? I’d have to get a new best friend and a new job.” You giggle at him. “You’re laughing but I’m serious.” 

“I’ll go into work with you one day this week and conspire with Myrna to come up with an even better nickname than fruitcake for Robby if you’ll let me call you pookie sometimes.”

Jack stops walking and looks down at you, pretends to eye you up for a second before giving you a little smirk. “Come up with something really good that’ll drive him up a wall and I’ll consider it.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so sorry but the thought of hearing him say twig just sent me at the time I wrote this. I have no idea why. Anyway, I hope this was okay and you enjoyed and thank you so much for reading!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are closed while I catch up, but apparently if you just send in an ask with your thoughts about Jack I may be inspired and write something! I love chatting with you guys and likes/reblogs/replies are super appreciated and motivating!

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[darkmatilda]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're going through a tough time after being forced to kill someone for the first time, and spencer decides to talk to you about it. the problem is, he approaches it in the most wrong way possible—driving you to fury.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, argument (omg you have no idea how much i love writing fight scenes), mention that the reader shot an unsub during the case, reader copes by working a lot

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

Spencer reached for his coat, but before he could throw it over his shoulders and head for the exit, someone’s hand tapped him playfully on the arm.

“Hey, man,” Morgan greeted him.

Well, greeted might not have been the most accurate term. After all, they’d spent almost the entire day together, working on a case that fortunately ended successfully, and now, on this early Friday evening, they were both heading for the door in pretty good spirits. So, it would’ve been more fitting to say he stopped him. He stopped him with a slight grin on his face and his hands casually placed in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He stopped him because, most likely, he had something to ask— a question, or a suggestion, a request, or an offer, maybe even all of the above in one.

To clarify, it wasn’t like Morgan only started a conversation when he wanted something. Of course not, they were friends after all. It was just that his posture in that particular moment suggested he was about to speak to him with some specific intent.

Spencer shook his head. After spending the entire day deeply focused on analyzing every tiny detail of the case and interrogating people, his mind was working on such efficient gears that he couldn’t shake himself out of that state.

“Hi,” he replied simply, tossing his purple scarf around his neck.

"Any plans for the evening? Got anything interesting planned?"

"Actually, yes," Spencer replied, unable to hide the hint of excitement that crept into his voice. Derek raised his eyebrows, showing interest as he waited for what Spencer was about to say. He adjusted his scarf, tucking the loose end under his coat. "I’m planning to watch an online conference I missed on the use of iPS cells in treating neurodegenerative diseases."

His friend simply nodded, accepting the answer. Some might have thought it was a joke, but Derek had long since gotten used to it.

"Being friends with you, Reid, I constantly have to remind myself that we all have different definitions of the word interesting," he muttered, without malice or sarcasm in his voice. Slowly, they both headed toward the elevator, waiting for it to stop at their floor. "Have fun, then. But if you happen to be in the mood for something else, join us. Just a regular night out at the bar, nothing fancy, but at least with good company." 

Normally, he wouldn’t have given the offer a second thought. I mean, he might have considered it for a fraction of a second, then immediately rejected it, simply because he’d prefer to spend the evening doing something else. However, for some reason, Morgan’s words stayed with him for much longer than just a fraction of a second.

“In good company,” he repeated, before he could bite his tongue. The elevator doors opened in front of them, and they both stepped inside. “You mean our team?”

“Yeah. As I said, nothing fancy.”

“I know, it’s just... no one else? Like Will, Kevin, other friends...?”

Morgan’s eyes widened, just like his mouth, which curved into an amused grin. He pointed a finger at him.

“I know what you're getting at.”

Spencer exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just asked.”

“Sure. Oh, come on, Reid. Be a big boy and just ask directly.”

“I don’t have anything to ask directly, and, furthermore, I have no idea what you’re even talking about—”

“Dear Derek,” Morgan started, putting in embarrassingly little effort to mimic Spencer’s voice, which made him sound more like Penelope after inhaling a helium balloon. “Would you be so kind as to tell me if your dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend will be joining you guys as well? Because if so, I might change my mind.”

His mouth opened when something came out of it that he would never have said, and it wasn’t even his original intention! He just wanted to start a conversation and learn more about his friends' plans, that’s all. Whether Morgan’s dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend was going to be there or not didn’t interest him at all. And it definitely wouldn’t change his mind.

After the initial shock, which only caused Derek even more amusement, he let out an exaggerated snort. His friend always liked to make up things and suggest that he was head over heels for every attractive woman who crossed his path, just to embarrass him. Spencer seriously hated it and had no idea how to correct him, didn’t even think it was possible.

So, he just rolled his eyes, as if deeply exhausted by how irritating his conversation partner was.

“If you think I’d skip the conference for her, you’re deeply mistaken,” he stated briefly, in a defensive tone.

Morgan stared at him silently for a moment, piercingly. For all the mysteries of the universe, why was this elevator moving so slowly...

“Well, let’s say I believe you,” he began slowly. “But in any case, that’s not a choice for you tonight. Because she won’t be there. She was still in the lab when I went to invite her, and there was no sign she was planning to leave early. Again.”

The last word again was said with a slight sigh. Spencer felt his shoulders stiffen slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked at Derek in confusion.

“Still in the lab at this hour? She?”

The impression he always had of her was that she maintained almost perfect balance at work between her duties, rest, and fun. She did her job excellently but never arrived early or stayed later than required. Well, the only exception was when they were working on something truly urgent, but Spencer didn’t know anything about a situation like that. 

“I mean, she didn’t want to go out with us recently either,” Morgan explained. “Which is worrying when it comes to her. You know, Reid, maybe you could talk to her.”

He glanced over his shoulder, as if someone named Reid were standing behind him. There wasn’t. But the request seemed almost ridiculous to Spencer.

“Why me?” he asked “I’d like to remind you that she’s your friend. And you’re the one who’s worried about her.”

“And you’re not?”

“I—” Spencer stopped, because the whole conversation and its course didn’t make much sense in his head.

Before he could respond or find a way to dodge answering a question he honestly couldn’t answer, Morgan beat him to it.

“I just thought you might reach her somehow, because I couldn’t. And if not, maybe at least you’ll annoy her enough that she’ll leave the lab on her own, not wanting to spend another second there with you. As they say, no way is the right way, but the result…” 

The elevator finally stopped. Morgan was the first to step out, giving Spencer a nod as a farewell.

“I don’t think anyone says that,” Spencer mumbled, still not moving from his spot.

“Have a good evening, Reid.”

He didn’t know what drove him, but the thought of the conference he’d been so eager to watch seemed to have vanished. Or maybe it was still there, but not strong enough to stop him from pressing the elevator button with the intention of heading to the lab, not knowing yet what he was even doing. 

*

She was there when he stopped right in the doorway, but bent over a microscope and some scattered papers, she didn’t even notice his arrival.

That, however, gave him the chance to look at her.

Well, when Spencer decided to come here, he expected her to look…noticeably worse.

Although he hadn’t mentioned it to Morgan, he had a pretty good idea of what might’ve caused her sudden withdrawal from social life, along with the way she’d started taking on more and more work. Those were fairly common ways in which trauma quietly echoed through someone’s life.

Though, if he asked her, she probably wouldn’t even call it trauma. She likely felt she had no right to feel bad about killing a man who had planned to do something far, far worse. She knew she had done the right thing— which was exactly why her own emotional response, the guilt that didn’t quite make sense, probably created a whirlwind of confusion in her mind.

At least, that was the assumption he’d built in his head back in the elevator—before he saw her. Once he did, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because, as he had just observed, she looked… exactly the same.

Spencer didn’t know what he had expected—maybe dark circles under her eyes, a tired face, messier hair, clothes that didn’t quite match. Something that would clash with who she usually was, some outward sign that something inside her wasn’t right.

But he found nothing like that.

“Admiring the view?” she asked, without even lifting her head or pausing what she was doing.

Because of the strange tone in her voice, he wasn’t sure for a second what she’d actually said. It was stripped of its usual bite, its usual rhythm. Not weak, not quiet—just…drained of something.

“You’re still here?” he stepped closer to her workstation, positioning himself across from her, though still keeping a fair amount of distance—one that only shrank when she leaned forward over whatever she was working on.

She didn’t rush to respond, but it wasn’t like she was deliberately delaying either.

“As you can see,” she replied.

He often claimed to absolutely hate the fact that she always had to have a sharp—really sharp—comeback ready for everything he said, but in that moment, he would’ve loved to hear one from her.

“You’re being nice, and it’s… concerning.”

“I’m being nice?”

“For you, yeah. I expected something more like, Well, if you still have to ask even though I’m sitting right in front of you, maybe invest in some glasses, because clearly your eyesight isn’t doing great. And then you’d add something like…”

“Wow,” she scoffed. “You really think highly of me.”

“That was pretty passive-aggressive.”

“Which, as we all know, is usually your territory, so don’t be a hypocrite and call me out on it. Do you want something? Need something?” She straightened up in her seat, resting her elbows on the desk and finally fixing her gaze on him—barely blinking. “Because I really don’t have time right now to argue with you over basically nothing. So if it’s nothing important, just do me a favor and leave.”

For a moment, they locked eyes in silence—she was clearly waiting for a response or a move, like him walking out. But when he didn’t budge, she only let out an irritated sigh and returned to her work, apparently deciding to just ignore his presence.

Reid cleared his throat, clearly not intending to grant her that wish.

“That’s a lot,” he noted, glancing at what she was working on. “And you’re planning to do it all by yourself? I mean, you have your team too. Why aren’t they…”

“Because I sent them home,” she cut in. “And besides—my team, not your business.”

“You sent them home,” he repeated, keeping his voice even, not letting it sound even slightly annoyed. And that calmness, in turn, seemed to irritate her. But that was the truth. He wasn’t annoyed with her—not since he started to suspect what might be behind her behavior. In fact, it felt like the angrier she got with him, the more honest she was willing to be. And he really hoped he was right about that. He really didn’t want to end up with something acidic thrown in his face.

He pushed the image out of his mind and kept going, following his theory.

“...right when there’s this much work. What’s the logic in that?”

She rolled her eyes, like it should’ve been obvious.

“The logic is that sometimes, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Or maybe the logic is that taking all this work on yourself is the perfect excuse to isolate without having to explain it to anyone.”

He felt the weight of his words hit like a quiet bomb—its blast radius making her go completely still for a moment. Her whole body froze. Just for a second—a very short one.

Spencer had to pull in a breath before he could keep going.

“Because no one really questions it when you just say you don’t have time. Or maybe it’s an excuse for yourself, too—because the more work you pile on, the less time, and eventually the less energy, you have left to think about…”

“Stop.” She cut him off sharply, pulling her hand off the desk.

He still caught the way it clenched into a fist.

“Oh, so I’m wrong?” he asked, not really waiting for her answer.

Still, he eased up a little, softened his tone—figuring he’d already pushed her far enough.

“Listen, I get what this is about. Morgan told me today you’ve been acting a little off—or, well, not like you. Not going out with the others…”

“Wow, God forbid a woman wants to spend her time doing something other than parties and nights out…”

“We both know this isn't about what you suddenly decided you wanted to do,” he sighed, unable to suppress the frustration that caused another crack in his calm exterior. This time, though, he didn’t give himself a moment to breathe before continuing. “It’s about what happened, the unsub you shot, and that you weren’t ready for how much it would affect you…”

“What are you trying to achieve here, Reid?” she asked, suddenly rising from her seat. Her arms crossed over her body, not in a casual posture, but almost in a defensive, distancing gesture. The question wasn’t laced with a scoff, only a subtle irritation, which, however, still made it sound like the calmest thing she’d said to him all day. “You came here to what? To push me until, for some of your sick satisfaction I admit yes, fuck yes, it was hard for me, shooting someone in the head? Fine, I said it! So, now what?” She spread both arms wide, a questioning gesture.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, even began shaking his head, wanting to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to pressure her. But then, he realized—well, he was. But not to make her feel bad, or, as she’d said, for some sick satisfaction. He just needed her to admit it to herself. And it seemed like that’s exactly what happened, because suddenly, she fell silent too, her gaze dropping. He noticed the irregular rhythm of her breath rising and falling.

“Do you really...do you really think I’m doing this for my sick satisfaction?” he asked incredulously, watching closely as she shrugged at his question. “Did it ever occur to you that I might, I don’t know, want to help you?”

“Oh, look, here comes the savior,” she scoffed, suddenly bursting into sarcastic laughter, gently shaking her head from side to side. “Well, you’ve really nailed it, haven’t you? So empathetic and understanding…”

“If I were trying to be empathetic and understanding, you wouldn’t even look at me, still buried in those papers, pretending like you don’t care what I’m talking about,” Reid pointed out, forcing himself to fully believe in the rightness of what he had done. Because when he saw her reaction, some doubts crossed his mind. Had he really approached this in the worst possible way? He exhaled, shaking off the thought. “Or you’d laugh at me, because that’s what you usually do. So stop pretending like I’ve hurt you so badly, because we both know that’s not true.”

She must have realized the truth in his words, as she only pressed her lips tighter instead of immediately firing back with a response. Spencer only then realized that the lab was completely silent. Before, he had felt like he was in the middle of a crowded office, where hundreds of voices were shouting over each other, and around them, there was a tense, almost buzzing atmosphere.

"Actually, yes. I think you're doing this for your sick satisfaction," she admitted after a prolonged moment of silence. Very quietly, and very sharply. As if it had been brewing inside her for a long time and was now finally spilling out with its sharpness.

Spencer couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, wanting to say that he already explained it, and there was no point in continuing this line of discussion. She, however, felt differently.

"Isn't that what your job is all about, huh, Mr. Profiler? You all get off on these psychological games. Bursting into someone's head when they don't want you there, trying to psychoanalyze them when they never asked for it," she began, listing off the points with a vacant stare locked onto him. Her expression remained the same—cold, unchanging. Only by the last few words did her voice slightly tremble, something she immediately swallowed down. "You can play those games with serial killers, fine, you might even be of use to all of us in doing so. But don't think for a second that I'm going to let you try anything like that with me."

After her last words settled, she held their gaze for a moment before breaking it with a certain dignity, beginning to gather all her papers into a tight stack, which she then grasped firmly. Spencer watched her movements, his words lingering, but he remained silent.

Why had he even come here? Was he fooling himself into thinking he could help her? Or had he known from the beginning that she didn’t need his help, but showed up anyway, driven by some kind of guilt because it was in his defense that she shot that man? Maybe, at first, there had been some concern. But now, he felt none of that.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he only then realized she was looking at him expectantly.

“It would be nice if you left,” she said, nodding toward the exit. “I need to lock up the lab.”

Spencer had always considered heightened politeness to be a form of ultimate anger. The kind that strikes directly at the shield it’s aimed at, double-edged and precise.

It was the kind of tone that only made him nod curtly and do exactly what she asked—leave.

post-reading author’s note: my personal headcanon, which you can accept or not, is that she left the lab and went to meet her friends 😆 so derek was right, and spencer did manage to annoy her enough that she left the lab on her own so kinda a win lol

[crowborn666-writes]

Hi, I have a request if you don’t mind :3

How would Azul, Jamil, Silver, and Rook react to reader who can’t stop staring because they think they’re just so ethereal in their eyes?

Like they’re talking and reader’s just resting their head on their hand/arm with that lovesick gaze while they demonstrate/explain something but whenever they catch reader staring they get all flustered and try to hide their face/self

I thought it was pretty cute, if you don’t want to you have to but if you do accept thank you in advance!

(also I’ve got more ideas so if it’s not taken can I be 🌒 anon?)

(Absolutely you can! Sorry this took a while. Jamil gave me so much trouble omggg i dont know him well yet)

Lovestruck

Characters: Azul, Jamil, Silver, and Rook

Genre: Fluff, Romantic

Summary: They have no clue how pretty they can be, do they?

Started this then found the song La Vie En Rose. :3

~~~~~~

Azul

Nothing melts you more than seeing Azul’s gears turning as he conducts a deal. The way his eyes light up with an idea upon seeing an opportunity. You’ve seen him do it more times than you can count, usually making a deal with Grim to get him to behave for longer than five minutes. You usually have to look away before he can meet your eye, distracting yourself from the way your heart sings by looking at anything else.

You even frequent the Mostro Lounge often, getting your usual most times, but are happy to try out any new dishes Jade mentions. Whenever you do, you always pass by Azul with your honest opinion, and like always, you hurry to pay and leave. If only to avoid gushing over how dreamy he looks when he smiles his thanks.

Little did you know he’s caught sight of your lovestruck face plenty of times, and behind the scenes he’s carefully calculating the right moment to give his confession.

Jamil

You fell from the moment he went out of his way to help you in the communal kitchen at NRC. You had been whipping up dinner for you and Grim, since of course Ramshackle's stove didn't work (Thanks Crowley), when Jamil stepped up beside you with a polite offer to help. There wasn't anything in it for him really, you had only gotten enough ingredients to make enough for you and Grim, yet Jamil was there, offering tips and aid for your apparent struggle.

So of course, when your pupils got big and your smile turned a touch too warm, he knew.

But he didn't say anything, secretly finding your "subtle" gazes flattering. Whenever he had a spare moment, he found himself aiding you in whatever you could need. Need help reaching a book on a high shelf? Need more tips on what spices would go good together? Jamil's got you, and perhaps you have his heart in return.

Silver

He takes the longest to notice, usually being asleep when you take your chances. He always wakes up with the lingering feeling of being watched, and just as it starts to unnerve him, he catches you.

You hadn't noticed this time when he woke up. You sit across the courtyard, Ace and Deuce's conversation going in one ear and out the other as you gaze over at him. Your chin rests in your hand, and you're only snapped from your lovesick gaze when Ace shakes your shoulder.

Silver stares back through lidded eyes, staying still so he can feign sleeping. You may not have the eyesight to see his eyes open from that distance, but he's grateful when Ace drags your group away. He could feel his cheeks beginning to heat up at the realization you liked him too.

Rook

You’d be a fool to think this man doesn’t notice your longing, lovestruck gazes. Yet here you stand, distracted in class as you watch Rook from across the room. Is he aware of how you think the tables have turned? The hunter being the one watched instead of doing the watching?

He absolutely is. Especially when he catches your eye in potionology with a knowing look, causing you to jump and turn away. His timing is impeccable, somehow startling you back into focus just in time to finish this round of stirring. At least, Professor Crewel won't bite at you for messing up this assignment (hopefully).

Rook almost laughs when you go to many lengths to hide your flustered face whenever he catches you. Actually no, he does laugh. To himself. He ignores the odd looks sent his way. He lets this game of visual cat and mouse run for a while, pondering over what poem to praise you with when the time is right.

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello lovely <3

Can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad run in with infected on a patrol and then when Joel comes home to find her all panicked he comforts her, gets her cleaned up and into bed .etc. ??

Thank you🥰

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

contains non-explicit nudity

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary After a brush with death while on patrol, Joel assures you and himself that you're still here as you wind down for the night [outbreak, fluff, 3.3k]

A/N Thank you so much for this amazing request, anon! This is my first fic of 2025, and I appreciate your patience as I took a little break to transition into the new year. I’ve decided to make this fic a part of the From Here on Out universe. I hope you guys enjoy! 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Chatter and swells of laughter rest at a minimum amid the Tipsy Bison. Only half the usual Friday night patrons have trickled in so far, peppered around the establishment with drinks in hand. The air is thick with the scent of sharp spirits and stale beer. String lights cast everything in a dim, warm glow. 

Beneath the clunk of Joel’s booted footsteps, the floor is sticky. A few nods are directed his way as he saunters towards the bar, which he returns with a tip of his cowboy hat. In the ten months since he arrived in Jackson, he’d built up a reputation for himself. One that was revered and feared all the same. Fading into the background wasn’t an option anymore. 

If folks still didn’t know his name, they undoubtedly recognized him when he walked into the room. That easy, measured stride. Those brows oftentimes furrowed in thought. Those dark, knowing eyes that were humble enough to know he had a lot more to learn. 

The older man wiping down the counter tosses the rag over his shoulder as Joel approaches. Old stains are splotched down the front of his white shirt. But he’s happy to see Joel. A quiet, jazzy piano melody flows from the billiard room. 

“Howdy Clyde,” Joel drawls as he sits. A few barstools down, a pair of friends talk over beer. “You hiding Duke Ellington back there?” 

The man snorts with a shake of his head. “Good ol’ Dennis. Does this a few times a year,” he says. “Comes in, drinks, plays like it’s paying.” 

Joel gazes through the archway to where a couple people shoot pool. Dennis and the piano are just within sight.

“He ain’t too shabby,” Joel says. 

“Not at all,” Clyde agrees. “‘scuse me for a second.” 

Joel listens to the piano as Clyde goes to refill beers. 

He knows you’d appreciate Dennis’ playing. You were drawn to live music like a moth to a flame. Joel realizes then that he misses you. It’s a peculiar feeling that always seems to compound by the end of the day after being apart. You patrolled together when you could, but he’d been on the roster to volunteer at the community stables today. 

It was good, honest work. Peaceful too. There was no need to be on guard, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone unless someone was particularly keen on striking up a conversation. Being with the animals did a lot more for him than he’d ever expressed out loud. 

Back in front of Joel, Clyde braces his thick weathered hands on the counter, “So how’s Alamo? Came bearing good news for me, I hope.” An attentive furrow has formed between his bushy brows. 

Alamo, Cldye’s Stallion, was recovering from what the veterinarians diagnosed as a mild case of the flu. 

“He’s doing much better,” Joel assures. “Got him to eat and drink more than yesterday. He let me lead him around the corral for a couple laps.” 

Clyde’s eyes are grateful. “Thank God. I don’t know how you do it, man.” Joel smiles at the man’s relief.  “What can I get you?” He quirks his thumb to the wall of bottles behind himself. 

There’s a decent selection. Moonshine, applejack, mead—whiskey, which always sounds particularly good these days. 

Joel purses his lips in brief consideration before saying, “I’m okay tonight. Gotta get home to my lady.” 

Clyde hums in understanding. “Smart man,” he says. “I’ll catch you later.”

Outside, it’s cold enough for Joel to see the frost of his breath. People bundled in coats, hats, and scarves mill around because, despite the chill, it’s just another evening in Jackson. Snow still covers the ground from last week’s snowfall, and more is due any day now. The sky is white with promise as the last of the sun’s light lingers near the horizon amid dustings of pink. 

The community center buzzes with life as he passes by. A few people talk outside, and multiple heads can be seen through the windows. Just as he’s about to avert his gaze and continue on his way, his brother bursts through the doors. 

Tommy lifts his hand to signal him to wait even though Joel doesn’t intend to keep walking away. Relief is etched all across his face. 

“There you are,” he claps his gloved hand onto Joel’s shoulder. “You’re a hard man to find when you wanna be.” The slightly frazzled tone of his voice contrasts the casualness of his words. 

Worry stirs within Joel as he meets his brother’s gaze. “Hey. What going on?” 

Tommy wets his lips as he considers how to phrase the news. “Before you freak out, everybody’s alright,” he starts. “Just a bit shaken up.” 

Joel swallows the lump in his throat. He already knows it’s about you. He wishes he were wrong, but wishing never changed what his gut already knew was cemented in time. 

“Your girl and her patrol partner had a run in with some Clickers earlier this evening while they were out,” Tommy continues, and Joel’s jaw tricks. “No bites, thank God. And they managed to take ‘em all down.” 

An avalanche of guilty, frustrated, and relieved thoughts crash onto Joel all at once. Tommy loosely follows after him as he takes a few composing steps away to run a hand down his beard. Heat has risen in his face to the point where it almost doesn’t feel cold anymore. He can hear his heart in his ears.

“Where is she?” Joel finally asks. It almost sounds like there’s a small ball of cotton stuck in his throat. 

“At your place with Ellie. Her uncle Nate dropped by too,” he says. “She was askin’ for you, and I told ‘em you were on the way.”

It’s days like this that make Joel wish you hadn’t rejoined the patrolling rotation. With or without him. 

He’s is about to walk away, when Tommy adds, “She handled herself mighty fine out there. Both of  ‘em did.” 

•••

Death was no stranger to anyone in Jackson, but you’d never stared so directly into the face of a being that embodied such a definite, unyielding sense of finality. Never seen fungal decay so intimately that it made your skin crawl from the inside out. 

There had been four Clickers earlier that evening. Three taken out by your partner, Langdon, and the final one by you after tumbling to the ground. 

In your struggle, chunks of snow had crept into your jacket and dusted across your face. The bitter chill hardly registered from the moment your back hit the ground. Neither did the sound of your pistol firing as the hulking, distorted figure begin to crawl overtop of you. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat like a heavy tribal drum in your ears. Endure, survive, endure, survive. 

Only after Langdon drug you from beneath the limp Clicker, and hauled you to your feet, did you realize you were releasing frantic sob-like whines with every exhale. 

The entire scene won’t stop playing in your head. Electricity still hums beneath your skin. 

“Joel should be here soon,” Ellie assures again, in part for herself. 

He was always better in situations like these. Always knew what to say because he’d lived these same horrors himself, not a handful of times like she had, but countless since 2003. When it came to providing comfort, she always felt as though she was blindly grasping for the next right thing to say or do. 

But you were grateful to have her here all the same. If nothing else, she knew how to sit and be present. And after being asked to share an account of what happened by countless members of the patrol board, being with her as you wait for Joel is the peace you need. 

When you notice the worried way she’s chewing on her lower lip, you reach out for the glass of water she’d sat on the coffee table for you. You take one shaky sip and realize you’re a lot thirstier than you though you were. You drain it in a few big gulps. Ellie straightens up with a sense of having something right. 

“I’ll go get some more,” she says, taking the cup from you. 

Creaks arise on the porch soon after she heads to the kitchen. Then comes the faint jingling of keys. Joel pushes through the front door with a concerned furrow between his brows. It smooths when his eyes fall on you sitting in the living room. 

You look as small as you feel.

Aside from the absence of the sparkle that usually shone in your eyes, you seem as alright as you can be. Which is a much better than the image he’d conjured up in his head, despite Tommy insisting you’d made it back in one piece. 

“Hey,” he greets, carefully, like he’s talking to animal seconds away from curling in on itself. Like that’s all the bass he can muster into his voice.

“Hi,” you murmur, eyes tracking him as he shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it up. His hair is curled at his ears and a little disheveled when he takes his hat off. 

The floor creaks under his footsteps as he walks to occupy Ellie’s former place. Without uttering a single word, he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You press your nose into his shirt like there’s no other place it belongs. He smells faintly of sweat, but mostly of the outdoors. Like air and earth. Breath and constance. Life. So warm, you forget all about the chill that has crept into the room. 

Ellie’s relieved to walk back in to the sight of Joel sitting with you. Your eyes have fluttered closed, so you only hear the sound of the refilled glass being set on the table. Joel meets the girl’s gaze with an appreciative nod. Thanks, kid. You did good. 

“I’m supposed to volunteer at craft night, but I can stay,” she offers. 

You peek up from Joel’s chest. “It’s okay.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks, and you nod. 

“Thank you,” you say honestly. 

“I’ll make you something cool,” she promises. 

When the door clicks shut behind her, silence settles between you and Joel as you rest in his arms. You focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the faint, steady beating of his heart. It says he’s here, you’re here. 

Even with your body cradled in his arms, the thought of losing you haunts his consciousness. Makes tension root through his shoulders, until he takes one long inhale and lets it out. As if shedding the remnants of fear, and dispelling it from his being. 

You can feel him letting his anxiety go, only for it to manifest as guilt within your own chest. 

“We were being careful,” you say, then swallow because the next words are harder to get out,  “They—they came out of nowhere.” 

Apology plagues your tone, and he knows he’s the reason why.  

On more than one occasion, perhaps to his own fault, Joel expressed that he’d rather you not patrol. There were countless volunteer opportunities around the commune, but after meeting him, you expressed your desire to start going out again. 

For the first couple months, you were only ever partnered with Joel because he insisted. It became something you did together, getting to protect the people you love and absorb the beauty of Jackson beyond the commune limits. 

Slowly, he came around to the idea of you being partnered with different people as he picked up other volunteer work.  

Now that you’d had your first close call, you can’t help but consider the possibility that Joel had seen a certain weakness within you all along. Maybe you aren't as vigilant as you thought, or a skilled shooter, or truly capable of holding your own. If it had been Joel, the Clickers probably wouldn’t even of made it within a thirty yard radius before they were shot down—

“Sweetheart? Hey, look at me,” he pulls away so he knows he has your attention. Except, he hasn’t exactly pieced together what he wants to say. 

After releasing a breath, he meets your gaze with an apologetic look of his own. 

“I know you were careful.” His tone is warm with sincerity. “You ain’t gotta justify anything to me.” When you don’t say anything, he keeps talking, “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” His dark eyes are earnest, hopeful as they flit across your face. 

You nod, and he wants to believe you’ve let his words sink in. 

“There ain’t a single person in this commune who knows what’s gonna happen when they step outside those gates,” he says. “Best thing anyone can be is prepared, and that’s exactly what you were out there today.”

Joel’s not expecting a response, but he can tell he’s finally gotten through. 

He takes your hand in his and presses soft kisses over your knuckles. After letting go, he eases off the couch to kneel at your feet. You admire the slight hunch of his shoulders as he moves to untie your boots, the delicate way he handles the laces as if they’re somehow a fragile extension of you. 

When he’s done, you angle your feet to make it easier for him to pull the boots off. Even then, he doesn’t stand up. He stays on his knees so you’re eye to eye. 

“How’s a shower sound?” He gently squeezes your knee and waits to follow your lead. 

It’s an illusion of control he’s offering for your sake. Really, it’s all him. After everything today, all you want to do is let go. Follow someone you know you can trust. Someone who always knows how to lead the way.

•••

Joel gets the shower started and, before long, both of you have stripped to your undergarments. He watches as you begin to pull your sports bra over your head, and helps you on the tail end because the strong elastic won’t set you free. 

You don’t meet his gaze again until after you’ve stepped out of your panties. Joel’s eyes rove over you with a quiet, fond attentiveness, and you realize he’s looking for bruises or any sign you’re in pain. 

“I’m okay,” you manage a small smile. 

“Okay,” he says, then runs a hand through his hair as if he still hasn’t quite accepted that you are. His bicep flexes as he does. The expanse of his chest is broad, dusted with dark hair. 

“I promise.” 

Finally, he nods like he believes you. “Go ahead and get in. See you shivering.” The bathroom hasn’t quite warmed up yet, and the window is drafty. Joel makes a mental note to get it resealed. 

You waist no time doing just that. A deep hum escapes you as the water meets your skin. 

From behind the curtain, you can make out the outline of Joel’s figure as he pushes his boxers down his legs. Over the sound of the running water, you can just barely hear him gathering your clothes to go put them in the hamper. 

When he joins you, there’s a gentleness to the way he lathers your body with soap. A diligence. The steam lifting around you carries the light, earthy scent of lemon balm. You let him run the bath sponge along your arms as the warm spray of the shower patters onto your back. 

When he’s done, you wrap your arms around him so the front of your bodies are pressed together. Without pause, he graces the sponge across your shoulderblades before gliding it down your back. He continues all the way down the curve of your backside. You pucker your lips against the front of his shoulder in a pert kiss. He kisses your forehead in return. 

It’s a miracle your legs have held you up thus far. If you were to let yourself go limp, a small part of you likes to believe you’d somehow float. That’s how relaxed you feel. But you have half a mind not to test the theory. The thought makes you chuckle, and Joel peeks down at you with a budding smile of his own. 

“What?” he asks lightly, but you shake your head and close your eyes. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

“‘M’not,” you murmur. 

Joel hums in feigned disbelief.  “That doesn’t sound very convincing.” He puts a hand on your hip in a silent request for you to turn around. 

When you do, he snakes an arm around your waist. Behind you, he’s a promise. All muscle, warmth, and wet skin. He runs the sponge over your breasts before dipping down to gently run along the undersides.

Your eyes flutter closed again, just as he presses his soft lips to the pulse beating beneath your ear. The shiver that tumbles down your spine makes you lean back into him, and he’s right there holding you up, getting you clean, weaving you so surely into the fabric of the present. 

He lets you do the same for him. Allows himself to relish the gentleness of your touch. 

Touching his forehead to yours, his voice is thick as he whispers, “Glad you’re okay.” 

The two of you stay in the shower long after you’re clean. 

Until the water runs cold. 

•••

The mattress dips as Joel crawls into his side of the bed. Per your request, candles burn on both of your nightstands, bright enough to provide a glow to see each other’s faces. His warmth is behind you before long, chest to your back as he drapes an arm over your waist. It’s a reminder that he’ll never let go. 

The room is quiet aside from your breaths and the occasional creaks of the walls. You rest a hand over Joel’s to run your thumb over his skin and along the bumps of his knuckles. 

“I’m terrible,” you say all of a sudden. Joel shifts behind you, prepared to counter even without the full context, but you continue, “I never asked about your day.”

Joel gives you a squeeze. “Probably would’ve bored you to half to death anyways.” 

A small smile buds on your face. “Half alive is better than nothing,” you say. 

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating straight into you. You’d wage wars to hear that sound. Cross oceans to reach it again. Joel feels you shake with a small laugh of your own, and it further solidifies that you’re going to be alright. 

“Let’s see,” he decides to humor you after a brief moment of silence. You turn around in his arms and touch your feet to his beneath the sheets.

“Everything went well at the stables,” he says. “Alamo's doing a lot better. Stopped by the Tipsy Bison to tell Clyde on my way home.” You can hear the tiredness in his voice, making it gruffer. 

“Aww, really?” 

Joel hums and places a hand on your hip. He draws smalls circles with his thumb. 

“He’s such a beautiful horse,” you think aloud. His coat is as black as the night. 

“I’m starting to notice a pattern,” you slip your hand beneath the hem of Joel’s shirt to splay over his side.

“What might that be?” he asks. 

“You making everything better. People, animals...” 

Joel huffs an amused breath through his nose, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe not everything, but he sure as hell knows he’ll never stop showing up. 

You scoot closer to him and allow your lips to find his amid the candlelight. Slow and steady like you’ve got forever. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

Check out the From Here on Out Masterlist for more of this reader and Joel.

GENERAL MASTERLIST

[dirtyvulture]

BBB

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader*

18+ only read at your own risk

Word count: 3248

Requested by anon: Hi i love your work..you don't have to do this request if you don't want.. i was kind of was wondering since we haven't heard from Sergeant Nat and reader. If we could hear from them? I was thinking since Nat is always the confident reassured one in that universe like maybe something happens where shes not sure where she stand with reader? Like jealous or maybe reader lets one of her military friends borrow her laptop and they use it to watch porn...and nat finds it and thinks its reader. And nat kind of loses her mind in a way that we havent seen. (Not like crazy but for the first time shes like am i enough). And reader is high key oblivious bc she worships nat. Some communication to sort out and then smutty times. Only if you want. If not i look forward to whatever you post yay. 

AN: *Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Thanks for the idea, anon! This was a lot of fun to write. :)

This is Part 5 in my Sergeant Beef series. Read the first one here.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Sam asks, poking his head into your room. 

“Why?” You don’t even look at him, focused on you video game on the tiny television mounted to your wall.

“I dropped mine in the lake, so I had to buy a new one but it won’t get shipped off until later this week,” Sam explains. 

“Okay,” you say, hardly listening to him as you race your little car across the screen to bump the giant soccer ball towards the goal. “It’s in my room on the–”

“I know where it is. Thanks.” Sam whisks in and helps himself. 

“Close the door on your way out!” you call, just in time to hear the door slam behind him. Turning your whole focus back to your game, your fingers mash the buttons to a triumphant win.

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

A few days later, Natasha is over at your apartment. While the two of you had discussed a thousand times moving in together, you had always stalled or walked around the subject. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because you were nervous what the public’s perception would be of your relationship, or if you preferred your own private space too much to give it up. Ever since the deployment, you had been more likely to retreat and hide away (even from Natasha) when you were upset or moody. She wondered if it was a side effect of your PTSD, but you never seemed ready for that conversation so she left it alone.

For dinner, you grilled some steaks (setting off the smoke detector in your apartment) while Natasha made a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. Afterwards, you went to take a shower while Natashas lounged around and found a movie on Netflix for the two of you to watch. She sits on the couch, opening your laptop and finding the web browser. She looks up Netflix and then browses through the recommendations on your home page, but none of them pique her interest.

She goes onto Google to search what other people are recommending and wades through a sea of titles and descriptions to find one. Swapping back and forth between tabs, she finds a website with a host of titles and flips back and forth until she finds a movie that is both on the list and currently on Netflix. But in the process, she loses track of the tab and accidentally closes it, silently cursing to herself, before going to check the history to find it again.

But what she finds in the history is not what she had been looking for.

Natasha feels almost scandalized when she sees the words “big busty blondes” in your search history, followed by a list of pornsites. While she knew you watched such videos in her absence, she didn’t know what genre you were into, and now a deep sinking feeling of insecurity fills her. She was not blonde, nor was she particularly busty after the years of hard workouts had shrank some of her assets a little. You always told her she had the perfect body, but now she wasn’t quite sure if she should believe you.

“Nat? Did you pick a movie?” You poke your head out of the bathroom. You’re not wearing a shirt and your wet hair is dripping water down your chest, emphasizing the lines of your muscles. Natasha can see the bullet scar on your ribs from the deployment that almost ended your life. But you walked away with every member of your team alive, and your tale of bravery had become something of a living legend in the community. 

She knows you could have any woman you wanted. She had seen the way the recruits eyed you and how bold the other brass were with you. Before your promotion to sergeant, you were often overlooked and completely ignored. Natasha, perhaps a little selfishly, always considered herself the catch in your relationship: she was one of a handful of female sergeants with outstanding credentials, and looked great in and out of a uniform. But maybe she thought too highly of herself. You had developed into a very competent sergeant, were extremely good-looking, and had the most lovable personality anyone could ask for.

What if you didn’t want her anymore? What if you wanted someone younger, or someone you could start a family with? Natasha hadn’t yet disclosed to you her inability to have children, but if the subject ever came up, she knew you’d need no other excuse to walk away.

“Nat? Did you pick out a movie?” you ask again.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “We can watch Trolls.”

“Okay. That sounds fun.”  

You come out in a sweatshirt with matching gray sweatpants and join Natasha on the couch. Instinctively, you put your arm around her shoulder and she snuggles against you, letting you rest your head against hers.

You seem to enjoy the goofy children’s movie, laughing out loud at the jokes and cheering when the main characters hug by the end. But Natasha can’t focus for a second, still thinking about the search history on your laptop. She didn’t even know if it was something she should bring up, but it was already eating her alive to think that she wasn’t good enough for you.

Natasha didn’t know if she would be able to survive without you. She would have to do everything she could to keep you by her side.

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

“Give me a sec,” Natasha calls, hurriedly slipping her boots on. She checks herself in the mirror one final time before opening her apartment door to see you.

“Hi, Nat–oh.” Your expression goes flat.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, her stomach twisting in knots. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“You dyed your hair,” you say, blinking at the short blonde hair she was now sporting.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, her worry growing by the second. She had dropped a significant sum at the salon on base to cut and dye her hair. Perhaps this had been a severe overreaction on her part. 

“Oh. No, um, it looks very nice,” you stutter. 

Natasha is not convinced in the slightest. Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying in frustration. “That’s okay,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Where are we going again?” she asks, even though she knows every detail of the outing she had planned with you.

“The gym first, then we can get lunch and go grab groceries,” you list off, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness. 

“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s go,” she replies sullenly.

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

Natasha isn’t sure what else she can do to hold your attention after the hair dying incident. She tries to be extra doting with you, but all of her efforts seem to go completely unnoticed. You only say “thank you” once when she gets you your favorite chocolate bar from the commissary. The next time the two of you are in bed together, Natasha feels like she has to guide you through all the motions and you fuck her with a concerningly low level of enthusiasm. Natasha is convinced you’ve found someone else and just the thought of losing you makes her sick. 

She’s nearly sent over the edge when she finally gets a text from you:

From Y/N: Can you come over tonight? I want to talk

Natasha feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet. Sweat breaks out on her forehead and her stomach starts to hurt like she had a bad meal. What if she just didn’t go to see you? Would you really still break up with her over text?

Her body seems to have a mind of her own as she responds:

To Y/N: Ok

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

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, welcoming Natasha into your apartment. She steps in guardedly, wondering if you’re hiding your new girlfriend under the couch. Or maybe she’s already in your bed. She shuffles down the hallway to subtly peer into your bedroom, which is empty.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha isn’t one to dance around the elephant in the room. Besides, she doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than it needs to be.

“Oh. Um…” You sound caught off guard. “Well, I was thinking that–”

“You want to break up with me.” Natasha can’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away, angry at herself for showing such weakness already.

“What? What makes you think that?” Your shock is so genuine, Natasha almost wants to believe you.

Natasha hides her face behind her hand. “I saw it on your laptop last week. The kind of porn you were watching–”

“Porn? I use incognito,” you say. “Unless that doesn’t actually hide things…” you add in a mumble.

“Your search history said you looked up…” Natasha takes a breath. “‘Big busty blondes,’” she repeats, hating the way the words sound off her tongue.

“What?” You sound confused now. “That’s…I don’t watch that kind of stuff. Wait, is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“No,” Natasha lies. “But I saw it on your laptop!” she insists, hastily changing the subject.

You pause for a moment, then start shaking your head with a chuckle. “I’m gonna rip him a new one,” you mutter. Then louder, you explain, “Sam borrowed my laptop last week because his was broken. I’m guessing he used it to…you know…” Your expression turns into one of disgust, and Natasha matches it. 

“Oh. So, you’re not into big busty blondes?” Natasha is embarrassingly desperate for clarification.

“No, I’m not.” You take a step towards her and hold out your hands. “But I do have a thing for hot redheads who could totally kick my butt.”

“I know,” Natasha says, taking your hands and leaning up to kiss you. Her lips lift into a smile when you return her kiss with more passion than you had all week, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you. You dig your fingers into her thighs, lightly rolling your hips, and when she feels your hard bulge against her stomach and all of her doubts are cast away immediately. Her face burns in shame when she realizes how quickly she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. You weren’t going anywhere. You were totally in love with her and wanted no one else.

“Wait, so what did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, trying to ignore the arousal building in her core as you hump her.

“Oh! Um…” Your face reddens, as if you’re so turned on yourself you forgot why you asked her to come. “Uh…I wanted to ask if…you would like to move in with me? Or if I could move into your apartment? Or we could find a new place together…”

Natasha feels like she’s gotten whiplash from the subject change. She had come here thinking you were breaking up with her, but instead you actually wanted to move in with her? Just when she had thought it was never going to happen.

“Why the change?” she asks.

You shrug your massive shoulders. “We spend so much time together as it is. And I was mostly nervous because you know I have those night terrors a lot, but…” You sigh. “I realized I get them a lot less when I wake up next to you.” Natasha wants to melt in your arms. “And it would be really nice if I got to wake up next to you every day. And eat every meal with you. And–”

Natasha cuts you off with a hard kiss. “Yes,” she pants, groping for the tie on your sweatpants and pulling them down. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

“Nat,” you whine when she grabs your cock. She feels it throb in her hand and her arousal spikes. As high as her own sex drive was, there was little else that turned Natasha on more than to see how excited you were for her. She pushes you towards the bedroom and you understand without needing words, obediently sitting down on your bed and pulling you on top of her. You grunt when her weight lands on your thighs and Natasha immediately props herself on her knees; sometimes she forgets about the injury on your right thigh that still causes you pain sometimes.       

“Sorry baby,” she whispers while leaning in to kiss your cheek. It had been a long and sometimes frustrating journey to get back to the same level of intimacy the two of you shared after the deployment ambush and your recovery. The medicines you were on had drastically affected your mood (and performance) and there were still some positions you could no longer do because of the strain it put on your body. But Natasha had been patient and gentle with you, even when all she wanted to do was fuck you senseless. Over time your strength and stamina had come back, and Natasha was thrilled you could still please her in bed. 

She leans back and takes her shirt off while you mirror her. You’re almost back to your weight as before the deployment, but the physical therapy has encouraged you to work out even harder, so you are more muscular and toned than before. Natasha eyes your body hungrily, her hand reaching out to trace the scar on your ribs. While she hates the memory attached to your scar, she can appreciate how much more badass it makes you look.

“Nat,” you say, and she breaks out of her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She pushes you to lie on your back, rolling her clothed lower body against yours. “Everything is very okay.” Her hands skate across your warm skin, squeezing your biceps before resting on your chest, balancing herself as she rocks back and forth. Even though you’re still wearing boxers, Natasha can feel the hardness of your dick pressing against her butt.

“All ready for me?” she hums, digging her nails lightly into your chest.

“Always,” you respond, rolling your hips to match her rhythm. 

“Hmm.” Natasha contemplates how she wants you today. You almost never call the shots in bed, but you have no problem with Natasha taking control most of the time. She likes how submissive you are to her and your willingness to please her even at your own expense. But she isn’t feeling selfish today and wants you to relax and enjoy too. 

Her body seems to have a mind of its own as she humps along your abs, eventually pushing her panties to the side so you can feel her heat on your stomach. 

“Nat,” you whine, gripping onto her waist to guide her movements. 

“Just let me ride you,” she says, lifting off of you for a moment to remove her panties completely, and the two of you moan when she settles back on you. You flex your abs until Natasha swears she could grate cheese on them. She angles her hips back and widens her legs so she can drag her pussy along the ridges of your abs, smearing her wetness everywhere. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” she moans.

“So do you,” you say, your hands tightening around her waist. 

Natasha moves her hips faster, sliding back until she can feel your cock practically poking a hole through your boxers. She’s just warming herself (and you) up and doesn’t want to rush to the main event. But as she hears your whines and feels the tension in your body, all she wants is for you to flip her over and fuck her until she can’t walk.  

“Can you do exactly what I ask you to?” Natasha pants, the building arousal in her stomach almost painful now.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Sergeant. Whatever you want.”

The use of Natasha’s title makes her pussy clench around nothing. Her body aches for you and she’s done playing around.

“Good. I want you to get on your knees and fuck me,” she demands, abruptly climbing off of you and presenting her backside to you. You scramble to obey, wasting no time lining up your cock with her soaking pussy and pushing in eagerly. Natasha inhales sharply when your length stretches her out, filling her perfectly and reaching places she could never reach with her hand or a toy. When you start moving your hips, she whimpers and moans, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets so you don’t slam her into the headboard.

She spasms around you with every stroke, clenching tightly and trying to draw you in as deep as you can go. Natasha loves to hear you moan, knowing she was the cause of them, and more of her slick leaks out around your cock. 

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, your thighs slapping against her butt with every thrust. “You always feel amazing.”

“Harder,” she begs. “I want you to cum when I do.”

“I’ll try,” you respond, your breathing ragged as you start to falter in your rhythm. 

“Fuck, you’re in me so deep,” Natasha moans, wishing that despite your already above-average size, you had more to give her. She lets go of the bedsheets and slips her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit for added stimulation. “Don’t you dare stop,” she warns, noticing the way your legs are shaking and your thrusts are losing their power.

“I won’t,” you whimper, and Natasha is not convinced you’ll be able to last much longer. Her hand glides back up to her stomach, where she can feel the bulge of your cock through her skin. That alone nearly sends her over the edge, but she has one more request from you.

“Bite me,” Natasha pants, motioning to her right trapezius muscle. Normally, she is very against you marking her during sex because she doesn’t want to worry about hiding them, but now she is panting at the thought of you finally staking your claim on her.

“Bite you?” you say, sounding extremely timid.

“Yes!” she growls, not wanting to repeat herself. “If you don’t bite me, I won’t let you cum.”

You moan and tighten your grip on her waist. Natasha feels your cock throbbing inside her, but she knows you won’t finish without her permission. The bed creaks as your weight shifts and she feels your chest press against her back as you lean over her. She hums in anticipation, feeling your breath across the back of her shoulder. Your teeth graze her skin lightly, your hesitancy obvious. 

“Y/N,” she moans, pushing back into you and squeezing your length. “If you don’t fucking bite me–”

Your teeth suddenly clamp down sharply and Natasha keens, gushing around you and not even noticing you finish inside her. White spots of pure pleasure burst behind her eyelids and she feels cum drip down her thighs. It feels like she’s riding out the high forever, but when she finally unwinds, she feels your weight pressing into her back and a dull stinging in her shoulder. She twists her head to see the clear imprint of your teeth in her skin, the flesh reddening already.

“Sorry if that was too hard,” you say softly, as if you’re embarrassed by following her instructions.

“Nonsense,” she says, reaching behind her to cup the back of your neck. She pulls your head down against hers and nuzzles against your cheek. “Next time, you can bite me harder.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Sorry to Sam lol

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[umikawa]

a/n: a request sent in by this anon ! sorry it took me so long haha a bit embarrassing on my part especially with such a poop ending (*'▽'*)

senku ishigami x gn!reader | 1k wc | no warnings, no “real” romance (as in couple talk?) Gen is the biggest opp ever I fear, justice for Taiju, justice for yo (you’ll understand) subpar ending I fear

At first, it was subtle.

Yuzuriha thought nothing of the small touches that lingered when you and Senku passed each other things, your shoulders that always grazed each other when you walked beside each other. It was normal.

But she kept track of how you acted around others who weren’t Senku, holding things as far away as possible to prevent any unnecessary touch, walking almost a whole body apart from others; Senku acted the same.

Now nestled comfortably on Senku’s couch, mindlessly watching Taiju attempt to beat Senku’s high score in a game, her eyes drift to the two of you in the kitchen.

“You’re doing it wrong. You’re ten billion percent going to hurt yourself doing it like that.”

“Oh yeah, genius? You worried about me?”

“Ha! As if, I just don’t want any pathogens from your blood getting into my system via food. Who knows what you’ve got floating around in you.”

“Tch! Asshole.”

Maybe she was wrong… But her eyes still linger on the two of you, long enough to notice the soft smiles on your faces and the perfect sync between you while cooking.

“Taiju.” She whispers, smiling gently when he pauses the game and leans closer. “They’re pretty close now, don’t you think?”

Taiju leans his head back, staring into the kitchen where you’re standing, with a spoon held to Senku’s lips and a hand underneath to catch anything that drops. “Huh, I guess so!”

“Let’s keep it a secret, okay?” She laughs, putting a finger over her mouth. Taiju nods in agreement, casting another look in your direction. Right, it’s probably what you two wanted.

———

3000 years later, Gen’s the first one to catch on.

It was inevitable; he was always looking for the minor details, the slightest hint of gossip he could have fun with– it was the main source of entertainment in this Stone Age, after all.

He watches from afar as you slip away from the crowd, grabbing a basket and filling it with miscellaneous fruits and bread—an apologetic look cast to Francois, who replies with a nod. He figures they said something about being of service.

You make your way to the lab, which gets his attention. He’d known you and Senku were friends in the modern day, but that’s all the knowledge he’s gathered on you two from Tsukasa and Yuzuriha– other than the obvious superglue that stuck you to his side. Though, Gen always wondered if it was Senku who was glued to your side instead.

Though, whenever he spoke to Yuzuriha about you, she’d always seemed a bit jittery, as if she was hiding something.

But, there was another person he could talk to about his theories….

“Dear Taiju!” Gen happily slides into conversation with him, appreciating the full attention he’d given him. “May I ask you about our dear scientist and his ever oyal-lay assistant?”

“Huh? Oh, Senku and Y/n!” He laughs at himself, setting his hands on his waist. “Is it about them dating? I was told to keep it a secret, but it’s been so long. Does it even still apply? I’m sure you’ve figured it out anyway!”

Eyes blown wide, Gen glances around him, deflating when seemingly everyone has mimicked his expression. Oh, he hopes he could make himself the good guy in this situation.

“Taiju, we were supposed to keep that a secret!”

He sputters, looking around him before casting his gaze down to Yuzuriha. “I thought it was okay…” Gen thinks he looks like a kicked puppy. Taiju turns to the villagers, waving his hands frantically in front of him. “It was all just a joke!” He sputtered, hoping they’d believe him. Whatever came out of Taiju’s mouth was pure, unfiltered truth.

“They’re courting each other!?”

“Why did he marry Ruri then?” “He did get a divorce right after.” “For the alcohol!”

“Look, they’re coming out–”

Breaths held still, forced awkward chatter, and too many whistleblowers instantly tells you something happened. One look cast in Gen’s direction, standing with Taiju, whose tail is tucked between his legs, and a sweating Yuzuriha tells you everything you need to know.

Senku sticks his pinky in his ear, resting his other hand on his hip. “Ah– so you found out.” The village bursts out, shouting out question after question— some of them make you wonder if they even know what privacy is.

Taiju wordlessly walks up to you, dropping to his knees and throwing his head down to the ground. “Sorry for exposing your relationship!”

“Taiju–” a laugh slips out at the use of dogeza, hands tugging at the shoulders of his shirt to pull him up. “It’s fine, seriously. We weren’t hiding it– just private.”

“Private my ass!” You look over at Yo, who mimicked a shriveled bunch of leaves. “I had no idea, and I thought you were as single as can be this whole time– somehow!”

Senku raises a brow, “What’s it matter to you?” You glance in his direction at the sudden shift of tone, clasping your hand over his shoulder to silently tell him to stand down.

“What’s it matter–” Yo scoffs, waving his hands near his head in frustration, face nearly beet red. “You know, so why bother asking!” He storms off, angry puffs of air coming out with each stomp. You think he resembles a bunny having a tantrum.

“So, why not mention you both were an item?” Gen asks, sauntering over with his signature mischievous smile.

“Not in the mood for your dimwit games,” Senku mutters, twisting his pinky into his ear again. “I’m busy trying to restore humanity, mentalist. No time for that illogical romance talk.”

Gen gasps, holding his hand over his mouth and chest, popping up suddenly behind you. “Watch what you say around your long term partner, dear Senku. You never know what might hurt them.”

Senku deadpans, looks at you, then back at Gen. “They’re not the slightest bit affected by this thing you’re trying to pull. Give it up while you still have some dignity.”

A scoff rings out, and grumbles of ‘no fun’ and ‘lame’ spew from his mouth before he turns and leaves in an uncharacteristic surrender.

[saminsecret]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a male s/o with a deep voice for the slashers. Like corpse husband's voice, you don't have to make y/n have gerd, I just like the idea of the reader having a voice that could attract everyone. No matter what the gender or sexuality.

Slashers dating a male!s/o with a deep voice

I didn’t really know what to write for some of these guys but I hope you like it nonetheless anon :) I also didn’t know who to write this for so i just chose three randoms , hope that’s okay >.<

Characters include Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, and Brahms Heelshire

Michael Myers (Halloween 79’)

He won’t admit that your voice intimidates him. He’s used to hearing the high pitched screams of his victims, so coming home to your deep voice throws him off at first, but you’ll never realize it because Michael will hide the fact until death.

He doesn’t like it when you talk. The fact that your voice intimidates him makes him upset, because nothing is supposed to intimidate the bogeyman. For the first few months of your relationship he’s covering your mouth anytime you speak more than a few seconds, which quickly annoys you. If you really put up a fight about it he’ll stop trying to keep you quiet…eventually.

He likes to hear you scream. Expect him to startle you by standing behind you, silently waiting for you to notice him. Your screams sound so different from what he usually hears, so it fascinates him in a way to listen to you yell in fear when he’s suddenly right behind you. But after a while, he’ll get bored with this as you become accustomed to him and his antics, thus less screaming.

He lives with it. After those first few months of annoyance and curiosity surrounding your deep voice, he becomes accustomed to it. So his boyfriend has a deep voice, who cares? Not him, that’s for sure. And if you find him sometimes suddenly behind you while you’re deep in conversation on the phone, it’s definitely not because he starts to like listening to your voice. Don’t be weird, y/n.

Thomas Hewitt (TCM Remake)

He screams the first time he hears you. He didn’t know such a deep voice could come from a guy! It’s one of the reasons he ends up not killing you, so be grateful for this reaction!

Begs you to talk. All the time, about anything at all. He just needs to hear your voice! It’s so soothing and sends a shiver down his spine every time he hears you. Will absolutely nod enthusiastically at whatever story you’re in the middle of telling him, but he’s mostly focused on the deep baritone of your voice.

Hums at you. He can’t doesn’t talk, so other than sign language he communicates through a rough humming to you that he wants you to talk to him. Sometimes he just wants you to hum back at him while he rests his head on your chest to feel the vibrations. It calms him down, especially after dealing with his family and/or a particularly tricky victim.

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

Freaks him out. It took him a long time to warm up to you because of your voice, but eventually he just had to like you because you followed all his rules so well. But he can’t deny that shiver that goes down his spine every time you read him a book or whisper to him a quick goodnight. He doesn’t know if he likes your voice or is afraid of it.

Makes you read to him constantly. Eventually he has decided that he does in fact like your voice and refuses to go on with the routine until he gets at least one story read to him at bedtime. He’ll try to be cheeky and pick out an extra long story for you to read, but you don’t usually mind as you like to spend those extra moments with him!

Do not yell at him. He already hates yelling, but if you were to yell at him? He’d refuse to leave the walls for hours. You’d have to coax him out with promises of treats and kisses and even then he’d still be jumpy until the next day. He doesn’t mean to be naughty, y/n, he promises to be good!

Will try to mimic your voice. It won’t be perfect, obviously, but he wants to try his hand at that deep tone! He’ll force you to sit and say different phrases at him so he can try to imitate it, but he can’t get his voice as deep as yours without hurting his throat. He’ll still try though!

[pullupinarari]

It takes a bit more than you [LH]

author’s note: wrote this just to test how I felt about my writing and the answer is: idk lol I truly don't know if I love or if I hate this. But anyway. Thank you to the anons who requested this and sent some more ideas for this scenario!! Hope you enjoy this, mwah 🩷

• masterlist

wc: 5564 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

You don’t know how it started, when or why. But lately, it seems like everything that you and your husband know how to do, is fight all the time. Either over the tiniest of things or about the most serious questions, the environment surrounding you two lately is cold, heavy, and the silence surrounding your bodies could easily cut through you - the feelings of anger and disappointment invading your veins.

Maybe it’s because of all the work pressure that both of you have been facing for the past month or so, maybe the tight schedules are to blame. Maybe the fact that you haven’t had any time for yourselves lately isn’t helping either. But the only time you see Lewis smiling now, is whenever he is with his princess, Grace - and the realization that you came to, was that you only end up getting the cold shoulder from him, a closed facial expression that breaks you.

Yet again, another stupid argument broke between you two - God, it was so stupid that you don’t even remember what it was about anymore. The only image playing in your head over and over again, is the frame of his dark eyes, the way he looked at you with such a distance, like you aren’t the woman he loves anymore, like he doesn’t see his entire life and future beside you any longer.

Every time, the cycle repeats itself. You two fight, and silence is the only thing stringing your bodies along, the only sounds being the conversations and interactions that both of you would have with your daughter. But other than that, it’s like you and Lewis just pretend that the other isn’t there.

During the night, Lewis had to fly out for some work, and you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. No matter how hard you would try, you would close your eyes and your mind just kept haunting you with the destructive thoughts it would create. The fact that Lewis’ body would lay far from your figure whenever he was home, wrapped in the cold sheets, wasn’t helping.

To be honest, you don’t remember the last time he even touched you, the last time he gave you a heartfelt kiss - not even a goddamn hug. And you miss him. You miss the feeling of his limbs intertwined with yours, you miss taking in his scent when you would nestle your head in the crook of his neck, while his arms would hold you tight and close. You miss your husband.

You close your eyes, pretending to be asleep and hiding your face further into the covers, but the way he just gets dressed, grabbing his bag before leaving your shared room without even landing a kiss on your hair, or his fingers caressing you for a second, is enough to make you burst into a crying mess once he is out the door.

You still love him. You can feel the love for him burning inside of you every time you look at him, hearts mirroring your gaze, a warm smile spreading across your features every time you see him with Grace - showing that he is, indeed, the best dad ever, and you have no doubts that you chose the right one to raise a family with.

But, lately, Lewis just makes you feel lonely. Like you don’t mean that much to him anymore, like he doesn’t feel the same way. And you are growing tired of all this. Growing tired of burning your entire self, your skin, your emotions, your soul for him, and getting just coldness and silence in return. If you don’t burn together, you will, for sure, burn alone.

Long gone are the days when Lewis would actually care, and take some time to sit down with you and talk it out after a fight. Long gone are the days when fights between you would happen very rarely.

When he is away, he still makes sure to call everyday. But not to talk to you. He wants to talk to his daughter, making a special time in his days to always talk to his baby, to see her face lighting up as soon as she sees her daddy on the screen in front of her.

And while you hold your phone so Lewis and Grace can have a little chat, you die a little more on the inside. Your face falls, your brain rethinking your entire marriage, questioning why you keep doing this to yourself. Why do you still submit yourself to stay in a place where you clearly don’t feel at home anymore?

Your gaze travels through the four walls surrounding you. The family pictures - reminiscing you through the old times when you were happy, united as family. Every piece of furniture is enough to remind you of all the times you and Lewis carefully picked every piece, decorating it like the house of your dreams, creating your safe space there, a place that would reflect both your personalities.

In the dark of the night, where it would be just you and silence, tears stream down your face - and you don’t even bother cleaning them up, hoping the salty water would be enough to extinguish all the fire and love that insists on devouring your insides. You’re sure that, if you listen close enough, you can still hear his giggles echoing through the kitchen, you can still hear his favorite music playing, remembering how he would always sway to its rhythm while cooking.

Now, the night lies beside you in bed, pure and cold like a sharp knife. It’s just you and the darkness, alone. Your love, the passion that you still hold in your hands for your husband feels like this knife, entering every ounce of you - painfully, slowly through the days, ripping your skin apart, until this emotion can finally subside.

Except it never fades. It’s like your mind still recalls the feeling of his silky lips traveling through your body, like a ghost that carefully touches your skin until goosebumps appear. You would give everything to go back to those passionate nights, followed by slow, light mornings. Lewis saw you differently then, finding heaven on earth in your presence, giving you everything of himself.

You are a long history. And Lewis was always the type to read every line, to focus on each word of your being. Until it got to a point where it seems like he doesn’t want to read you anymore.

If you could, you would go back to the day when the first fight erupted - oblivious that it would be the beginning of a never ending phase of frustration, short replies, closed facial expressions, and solitude. You would kill to go back and to make it right, giving your all to avoid the argument, firmly believing that it could have changed something in the present.

You drown yourself in work, trying your best to forget about all this. Everytime your phone rings and Lewis’ face shows up on the screen, your instinct is to immediately reach for your three-year-old - you already know that he isn’t calling you, he doesn’t want to see you or talk to you.

You don’t know when or if this is coming to a stop, and it scares you to imagine what it might take for you to find some peace in your heart again, touching the ring on your finger while every possibility crosses your mind.

You’re too tired to think, too tired to wait for him. You can’t stand looking at the same four walls anymore, spending the entire night by yourself, your tears being your only company.

At the same time, you can’t shut the feeling that makes you realize that, all it would take for you to stay, was your husband telling you that he still wants you. You would drop everything in a second to be back into his arms. If you could find the same emotions pooling inside of him, you would spend the entire night sharing secrets, feelings, touches in your haven, without anything being able to ruin it. But he doesn’t, and you’re tired of feeling alone, abandoned.

So, after talking to your brother for a while and venting to him about everything that has been going on, you decide to pack some clothes for you and Grace in a bag, picking up your daughter and Roscoe, driving to your brother’s house, trying to stay away from all the memories and flashes that your house brings back now.

“Are we going to meet daddy, mummy?” - your daughter asks as you start driving. The question makes your heart drop, and you take a deep breath before replying to her.

“No, love. We are going to see your uncle Josh! Don’t you miss playing with him?” - you fake some enthusiasm in your voice, but a small smile shows up on your features once you see your princess nodding her head at your words.

Once you arrive at your brother’s house, you decide to turn off your phone: Lewis doesn’t acknowledge you anyway, and you know that it won’t be long until he is back home from his work trip. So, you just try your best to enjoy your brother’s company for a moment, desperately searching for a different environment, different people that might make you feel something other than sadness and emptiness inside of you.

Your brother and his wife manage to distract your daughter, playing with her and spending some time with the toddler while you took some time for yourself. Taking a hot shower, hoping it would ease the tension surrounding your muscles, the tears escaping your eyes mix themselves with the water coming from the faucet, making you feel like your tears aren’t even real.

And maybe, your marriage isn’t real either. Maybe, what was once real, is now becoming a pity stop that your husband keeps making, out of shame or doubt, not ready to face the consequences of his actions either. Apparently, this is what we call love: this thing that knocks us down or ends up treading on us slowly, like weary grass.

Every night, you cuddle your daughter closer in her sleep, her little body comforting you, truly mending your heart without even knowing it. Your little partner in crime, the only one that saw you crying for the past days, the one that put a smile on your lips, her presence lighting up your insides, the most important piece of your life.

And just like you thought, Lewis didn’t call that day, already preparing everything to come back home. Except that coming back to an empty house wasn’t in his plans. He unlocks the front door, noticing how everything is dark, without a sign of life inside.

He checks the clock - 6:34pm, furrowing his brows, trying to understand what’s going on. Wandering around every room, only to be met with silence and darkness, he tries to find a reason for your absence. “Maybe they went to the park” - the man thinks, connecting the empty house to the fact that your car isn’t parked in the garage either.

Grabbing his phone, your husband calls your number, wanting to let you know that he is back home. But instead of being greeted by your voice, he is greeted with your voicemail. Why would you leave your house with your phone switched off?

He insists. Calling you again, and again, and again, and again. Only to continue to be met with the message that says that your phone is off, his calls not coming through. It’s ironic how this moment represents how your marriage has been for the past months: you are continuously trying to make things better, only to be met with Lewis’ indifference.

His heart races in his chest, worrying that something might have happened to his daughter, and to you. Hopping on his car, he starts driving around the city, passing by every place that crosses his mind, potential spots where his family can be - while never stopping calling your phone.

Almost an hour later, the man is delving into complete desperation, not knowing where his family is, not knowing what to do. Lewis starts praying without even realizing, his hands slightly trembling at the thought of losing the loves of his life. But, just like an angel showing up, his phone rings with a message from his brother-in-law.

“Hey, man. I don’t know if you’re back home already, but Y/N and Grace are at my apartment. They decided to come spend some days here, but they are okay. Just a heads up, so you don’t have to worry” - Lewis lets out a heavy breath after reading the text, leaning his body on the car seat, feeling lighter just by knowing that both of his girls are okay.

He knows that things haven’t been going well between you two, and he tries his best so your daughter doesn’t realize any of it - but right now, he just wants to hold both you and Grace, and bring you back home, wrapping your bodies safely around his arms.

So he decides to drive to your brother’s house, ready to meet his family again. Once he enters the apartment, your daughter is immediately drawn to her daddy’s voice, and the way she squeals his name is enough to make your stomach drop, even from afar - the realization of being back in the same room as your husband hitting you now.

You walk into the living room, being greeted by the sight of Lewis sitting on the sofa, his giggles mixing with Grace’s, while he is hugging her tightly, leaving kisses all over the girl’s features.

He acknowledges your presence - for what feels like the first time in months. His gaze lands on you, and his face falls when he realizes that he isn’t being welcomed by your kind smile, happy to see your husband finally back home. Instead, his eyes are fixed on your emotionless expression. The dark bags under your empty eyes, your lips narrowed in a line, your body tensing the more he looks at you. But he is just trying to look into you, trying to understand everything that happened while he was away.

“Can we talk?” - he asks you quietly, picking Grace up so he can come closer to you. You just nod silently, directing him to the room where you were temporarily staying at your brother’s house.

Walking inside, he sits down, his hands never leaving the hold he has on his baby - and your daughter being equally glued to her dad, not letting him go for the world. You decide to sit across from your husband, keeping your distance.

Lewis can feel the tension in the air, the way your connection feels weird and uncomfortable right now. Cleaning his throat, he decides to speak. “Your phone has been off” - he informs you, as if you don’t know about it.

“I know” - is all you reply with, your voice sounding hoarse and cold.

His eyebrows furrow for a second. “Why did you turn it off?” - the man insists, making you feel like he is actually trying his best to make you snap, just so he can hear the worst words that have been crossing your mind during all this time.

“Because” - you keep yourself from speaking, looking into your daughter’s eyes, reminding yourself that she can hear everything that you two are saying, and definitely not wanting her to witness something like this.

Lewis can still read you. He notices how uncomfortable you are, how you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying something that you might regret. So he just leaves it, kissing Grace’s cheek lovingly while thinking about what to do.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” - he offers, getting up from his place, holding out his hand for you to take.

You don’t even bother looking at him, hugging your own figure while leaning further in your seat. “I came here to spend some time with my brother, away from home. And that’s what I want to do” - your words sound cold and dry, making Lewis’ heart sting.

Deep down, he knows that both of you are broken. He knows that your relationship has not been the same for a while now. He just doesn’t want to believe it.

“Mummy, I want to go home with daddy” - your child says, her voice trembling slightly as some tears swell in her eyes. You could cry right here and then, too - not wanting to be the reason why your daughter has to go through something like this, and definitely not wanting to make her feel like she has to pick a side.

You swallow the lump that found its place in your throat a couple of days ago. Lewis’ thumb carefully cleans the small tears leaving your baby’s eyes, kissing her over and over again. “Don’t cry princess, it’s okay. We’ll be home in no time” - his soothing voice tells her, and he gives you a silent look, a pleading one, begging you to please come home with him.

Her tiny arms wrap around his neck, hiding her face on her daddy’s shoulder, and he makes sure to continue to caress her back, while leaving gentle kisses on the little girl’s frame, calming her down, making her feel protected.

“We’ll talk about all this at home. Please” - Lewis whispers to you, extending his hand for you to take.

This definitely isn��t the time to have such a serious conversation, not while your daughter is near, hearing every word that you say as clear as water. So you give in, ignoring his hand but getting up from your seat, gathering your things so you can go back to the place you used to call ‘home’, but that doesn’t feel like it anymore.

On your way back, Grace ends up falling asleep and you carry your baby back to her room, while Lewis takes your bag out of your car.

Now, your daughter isn’t there anymore to pull you back from the deafening silence surrounding her parents. Now, it’s just you, Lewis, and the shadows of the couple that you used to be. The room is so silent that you could almost hear each other’s heartbeat, at this point.

Lewis doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t even know if he should push it, so he decides to bring his body closer to yours, trying to comfort you, wanting to see your reaction.

But as soon as you feel his figure approaching you, your instinct makes you immediately move away, walking around to the other side of the living room, sitting on the sofa and covering your body with a blanket.

You don’t plan on lying beside him anymore, you don’t feel comfortable enough to do so. As sad as it sounds, Lewis feels like a stranger to you now, and you don’t want to share a bed with someone that treats you as coldly as he does. So, maybe, sleeping on the couch doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

Your husband sighs at your movements. “Come on. It’s just the two of us now, let it out” - he sits on the opposite side of the sofa, ready to listen to you.

“I have nothing to say” - you reply, not paying him much attention, not having the energy to argue once again.

Another loud sigh leaves his lips. “Why did you turn off your phone?” - there it is, the damn question again.

“I didn’t want to talk to you” - sincerity is scary, but needed in times like these. You don’t want another fight to break, but you are tired of hiding the way you feel.

“Why not?” - the words leave Lewis’ mouth immediately, as if he didn’t even have time to process them. Your reaction is to just snort at his question, sounding stupid to your ears.

“When was the last time that we actually talked, Lewis? When was the last time you called my number to speak to me, specifically? Because lately all I do is pick up your calls and leave you to talk to our daughter, because all you do is ignore me and the way I feel” - you snap, raising your tone as if that would make your words enter his brain faster.

On the other side of the room, silence settles. He knows that you are right, he can’t argue with you on this. The truth is, Lewis is tired of the constant fighting as well. He misses the calmness that he would always find at home, with his family, by your side. He misses the cuddles, the carefree mornings, the way you used to make him feel like time had stopped.

This routine is taking a toll on your marriage, but Lewis doesn’t know how to deal with this - with the changes in your behavior, with the distance growing more and more between you two, with his own feelings. He is frustrated with work, he is worried about the future of your relationship, of your family, but he doesn’t know what to do to make it better - and it’s always hard for him to open up, to let his shell crack, to show his feelings and weaknesses.

He doesn’t dare to say a word to you, his mind running to create a supercut of all the past weeks, analyzing everything that went wrong between you two. You just nod your head at yourself, not even slightly surprised by his lack of response.

Lewis eventually gets up, reaching for the bathroom, starting the water to drain his own thoughts in the hot water hitting his muscles. For the first time in a while, he allows himself to let some tears escape his own eyes now, feeling powerless, unable to mend his family back together - feeling like he is failing the most important roles of his life, failing you as a husband, failing Grace as a father.

When he steps out of the shower, he finds you already asleep on the sofa, and he actually needs to stop himself from picking you up and carrying you to bed - thinking that maybe it’s just better to give you some space.

During the night, Lewis tosses and turns on the bed, his mind haunting him with an endless guilt creeping through his bones, running to find a solution to the crisis you found yourselves in.

He doesn’t want to lose you, of course he doesn’t. You are the best thing that has happened to him, you gave him the most precious gift he could ever ask for - your baby, and he longs to have many more with you, to grow old by your side as your beautiful family keeps growing.

In the living room, you too are still awake. Some hot tears tingle in the corner of your eyes at the thought of spending another night without being held by your husband. You hate to admit it, but the hope that you used to safely keep inside of you, it’s vanishing, and you see yourself reaching a dead end - with the end of your marriage being the only possible solution to this.

You mirror each other’s thoughts, expressions and movements right now, even while lying in different rooms. It feels like your shadows are still connected, an invisible string sewing your hearts together, even if you can’t see it right now.

If saying goodbye is the solution, you wish you could ask Lewis to spend one last night with you. Just so you could feel his touch for one last time, sensing the protectiveness of his arms, the warmth erupting from his skin, and he would kiss your entire face, making your heart jump as he would make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world again. You would just ask him to stay for a little while, not to leave you suddenly. Instead, you would beg him to leave you slowly, so you could feel him lying by your side one last time, before you two would say goodbye for good.

The next morning, your bodies both feel tired, restless, and the air feels thick and heavy, the tension could clearly be felt between you two. And even if you tried your best so your daughter wouldn’t notice what was happening, she still did. She knows that things aren’t the same, she sees that her mummy and daddy are quieter than usual, you don’t sound happy anymore, and it’s been a while since she has seen you and Lewis kissing or hugging like you used to do all the time before.

Lewis is helping Grace eat her breakfast while you take a shower. And even though he tries to play it cool, playing with his princess, smiling at her, she still holds a question for him to answer.

“Daddy, is mummy okay?” - the toddler asks, making Lewis stop his action for a second.

He furrows his eyebrows lightly. “Of course she is, my love. Why are you asking?”

“Mummy has been crying a lot lately” - the little girl’s words startle Lewis, feeling like he just got punched in the gut.

You are broken, even if you try to play tough and pretend like you’re not. And Lewis can’t stop feeling that incessant guilt in his veins, desperately in need of some divine solution that can help him save his marriage.

But as much as he tries, he can’t find the right way to make you crack even for a bit, so you can let him inside your mind, not allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him anymore. Every time he tries to touch you, your body tenses, you are always searching for things that can distract your mind whenever you find yourself in the same room as him, and completely avoiding being left alone near him.

It’s devastating, truly. He is still your husband, after all - even if he doesn’t really feel like it now. Your heartbeats don’t beat at the same rhythm anymore, you spend your days feeling like you are fighting a silent battle with the father of your child, your feelings being all over the place, declaring themselves as your worst enemies nowadays.

At night, after putting Grace to sleep, you lay on the rocking chair that sits in her room. You are sad, empty, and you are just trying to find some comfort in the little things. Being near your daughter is the best antidote you can get while your entire world seems like it’s coming crashing down, ready to collapse on you.

And without even realizing, you end up falling asleep in her room, the chair carefully placed beside her little bed, trying to wrap yourself in the peaceful bubble that surrounds your baby while she sleeps.

After some time, Lewis gathers the courage to go search for you, actually trying to talk to you now, with no interruptions, just you, your feelings and the sincerity that both of you need so desperately now.

When he finds you sleeping in your daughter’s room, another moment of disappointment and hurt hits him. Are you that desperate to avoid his presence, to physically distance yourself from him, that you feel the need to hide in Grace’s room?

Either way, he decides to act like an adult - something that he should have done a while ago. Gently touching you, he whispers your name until you open your eyes, surprise mirroring your eyes as you realize where you ended up falling asleep.

His face is mere inches away from yours, his eyes staring deeply into yours, and feeling his body so closer to you again makes you break immediately - your lips form a pout while hot tears begin to stream down your face silently.

Lewis wraps his arms around your frame tightly for the first time in so long. Finally, you allow yourself to feel his touch, the one that you were so desperate to feel but kept blocking away, out of fear.

Your husband carries your body to your shared room, finally sitting in the same bed that you have been sharing for so many years now. You breathe quietly, while Lewis gently wipes away the tears that keep staining your cheeks.

“What happened to us, Lewis?” - you question, your voice barely above a whisper as your faces are incredibly close now - you two were missing the contact.

His eyes look glossy as well, trying to brush it off before replying honestly. “I don’t know, love. I wish I knew” - he gently picks a strand of hair, putting it behind your ear.

Your head falls, crying harder as your gut keeps telling you that there’s no way to mend this situation, no matter how badly you want to.

“I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to lose you” - you confess, sobbing into his chest as he pulls you into his lap, his fingers playing with your hair as he tries his best to calm you down.

Lewis feels his heart clenching in his chest nonstop now, but he is sure of one thing: he doesn’t want to say goodbye either.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here” - he lets you know, an attempt to shush away your fears.

Distancing your face from his body so you can look into his face, you sniffle before replying. “You don’t understand, Lewis. This isn’t just about you being here or not. You’ve been here for the past couple of months and still, here I am: feeling like I’m walking on eggshells every time I’m around you, afraid of saying something that might be misinterpreted by you, something that can make another fight break again. Afraid to be myself because I feel like you don’t like me anymore. This isn’t just about your presence, it actually takes a bit more than you for me to overcome all this. We are ruined, Lewis. We aren’t the same anymore” - your cries intensify, making Lewis gulp at your confession.

A single tear escapes your husband’s body now, which he immediately wipes away. Sniffling, he cups your face in his hands gently. “I’m sorry, my love. This is all my fault. I’ve been feeling so easily annoyed lately because of work, I haven’t been in the right place mentally, and it took me a while to understand how hard it was affecting my family” - more tears stream down his features now, and you are the one reaching out to softly clean his cheeks.

“But trust me my love, we are still the same, I promise you we are. We are still the same couple, this is just a bad phase, I guarantee you. I need you by my side to be happy, to be myself, I need you so desperately that I will do everything in my power to fix all this shit that I’ve put you through, I swear to God” - he takes a moment to breathe, anxiety pooling in his chest now.

“I don’t breathe correctly, my heart doesn’t beat at the right rhythm without you. I want to continue to raise our princess by your side, I want to have more kids with you, I want our family to grow and I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, caressing your hair while you lay your head on my chest, falling asleep while we are entangled in each other. That’s my plan for the future, because I long to be close to you whenever I’m away. I promise I’ll learn how to deal with my emotions and frustrations better, just please don’t leave me. Please. I can’t stand any idea of a life without you in it. I am still so madly in love with you, Y/N, and I never stopped loving you. So please, just tell me that you still love me as well” - he begs you, his eyes showing you a pleading honesty, so pure that it’s enough to make your inside light up again.

“I could never stop loving you” - you admit, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, Lewis is finally attaching your lips together, meeting you in a loving, gentle yet passionate kiss - the type of kiss that speaks for the both of you.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry. This won’t happen again, I promise you. The fights are over, I’ll learn how to deal with all this mess, I just want to have you and Grace next to me, forever” - the man is a mess right now, tears still running down his face, completely being himself, being vulnerable to the person who knows him best in this world.

Your nose rubs against his, a small smile appearing on both of your faces. “Me, Grace, and her future siblings?” - you tease, feeling the aura around you lightening up.

Lewis giggles softly. “Definitely. I’m addicted to being your husband, to being a father, and I love the life that I have because you gave me the most important part of it: our family. And nothing in this world is worth losing my girls over. Nothing” - your husband assures you, laying your body on the bed, getting ready to cuddle you for the entire night, making up for all the distance that surrounded you for so long.

[achilles-rage]

All Yours

summary: you go to a frat party with your longtime boyfriend buck, but when you see a girl flirting with him, you get jealous. you leave early, and buck begs to make it up to you.

word count: 3.4k

request: anon- down bad kinda sub(?) frat boy evan buckley. like, established relationship, they've been together since high school; but someone was flirting with buck and reader saw it so she takes him back to her apartment and he like gets down to his knees and like begs with his eyes to please her or whatever :) and feel free to take this in your own direction!! this is just an idea :)

a/n: dear god, whoever requested this i'm gonna kiss you on the lips. this has me FERAL and i love sub buck a little more than i thought i would. this reminds me so much of good luck charm and i had to go back and change all the evan's to buck's because i'm so used to using evan in good luck charm lmao (read good luck charm if you haven't pls i promise it's a good time). also, just a reminder than buck is the only man ever<33 enjoy<3

warnings: smut, barely edited (oops), college fratboy!buck, sub!buck, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

Your face scrunches up as you walk over the threshold of the frat house, the smell of beer and sweat filling your senses and making you feel dizzy.

It’s not your first party. Far from it. You’ve been in this house many times; during parties, and when it’s just the members. You can’t even count how many times you’ve woken up in one of the rooms, a strong arm wrapped around your thick middle as hot breath hits the back of your neck. 

You’ve been to many parties with him, too, not even just college parties. You’ve been dating Buck since high school, and with him being on the football team in high school too, parties were something he was always dragging you to. Not that you minded.

“Wanna show off my girl.” he’d tell you. And you couldn’t do anything else but agree; not when he’s looking at you with those big blue eyes, a small pout on his lips. 

Even with being so used to parties, and having Buck by your side the entire time, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the first few moments when you step into the party. It’s so loud, and the smell of beer almost burns your nostrils as you try to maneuver through a sea of drunk people, just waiting for someone to get too close and spill beer all over your shirt. You learned early that wearing black was always the best option when you’re here.

You make your way through the crowd with Buck, watching him greet his teammates and other friends and laughing as they call him whipped for walking to your house to pick you up. He brushes them off. Tells them that he has to. That it’s his girl that he’s got to keep safe.

All of his friends have seen how he is around you, and while he tried to hide it during the first few weeks of college, it’s your last year, and it’s very clear to everyone that you’re his world. And they’ve stopped teasing him about it. For the most part.

You finally find a group of his friends and their girlfriends standing around between the living room and the kitchen, and you stop there, beers in hand as you both fall into conversation with them. 

Buck talks to his teammates while you talk to a couple of their girlfriends that you’ve grown quite close to. Buck keeps an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close. He likes to have you near him all the time; he’s seen the way some guys here look at you, and while he knows you won’t do anything about it, as you’ve been together for over 5 years and have yet to have a problem, it’s the guys he doesn’t trust.

“We’re gonna go get more drinks. You want another beer?” you ask him over the noise around you, standing up on your toes and practically yelling into his ear.

He smiles, looking down at the sight of you on your toes as he licks his lips.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” he asks over the music. You feel your already hot cheeks heat up even more, and you laugh softly.

“Yeah, a couple times.” you tell him, rolling your eyes. More like 10, at least. “You want a refill?”

“Yeah, if you’re going. Thank you, baby.” You nod, then put two fingers on his cheek, making you face him again as he holds his mouth near your ear. You give him a quick peck, then lower back down and turn to walk towards the kitchen with the girls.

You whirl your head back around when you feel a hand smack your ass, a tight-lipped smile forcing its way onto your face as you pretend to be mad. Buck raises his hands up in surrender, shrugging as he looks at you with an innocent expression. You roll your eyes, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder, and you see him pretend to catch it just before you turn back to face the kitchen.

You stand with the girls in the kitchen, stopping to talk to some other people you know before you get your refills. One of your friends is ranting very loudly about her boyfriend, one of Buck’s best friends, and you’re all listening intently. Their relationship is very on-again, off-again, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at her words. You got so lucky with Buck, you think.

Your conversation is cut short when her eyes widen, and she ducks behind you. All you hear is something sounding like a mumbled “he’s right there!” before she speed walks out of the kitchen and into the living room. You laugh with the other girls, and then grab your refills before making your way back to your boyfriends.

You stop in your tracks, however, when you’re met with the sight of Buck standing very closely to a pretty brunette. She laughs loudly at something he says, and everything around you disappears as your focus remains solely on the sight unfolding in front of you.

You frown as you see him smiling down at her, his head leaned down just slightly in order to hear her.

Buck is just trying to be polite, of course. He knew exactly what was happening as soon as she made her way over, stumbling slightly and almost crashing into him when she was finally right in front of him. 

He talks with her, not wanting to seem rude, but his mind is completely focused on you. His eyes widen in surprise when she stands up on her toes and grabs the back of his neck, pulling his ear down to her mouth to speak to him over the loud music and chatter around them. 

You can’t see his face when she puts his hand to the back of his neck; her head completely blocking your sight of his very clearly uncomfortable expression. All you see is his hand going to her waist. Your jaw clenches, and it’s like a car crash; it makes you sick, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

In your jealous haze, you don’t process the fact that she’s clearly stumbling around, and Buck’s hand on her waist seems to be the only thing keeping her from falling over completely. 

His eyes scan the room for you as she keeps talking, barely listening as he looks out for you. He wants you back here right now; he wants to show this girl that he’s taken. By you.

He doesn’t see you though. And when he finally leans down and tells her that he’s happily taken, she pouts, mumbling a slurred “of course you are” before she walks away. He lets out a sigh of relief, and a minute later, he smiles widely when he sees you crossing the room back to him.

He grunts when you practically shove his beer at him, his smile disappearing. He’s quick to grab the cup, and his brows furrow when he sees you ignoring his presence, keeping your eyes on some of the girls you were with. 

“You okay, baby?” he asks, whispering into your ear as he wraps an arm around you and rests his hand on your hip. You shrug, your body rigid as he pulls you closer to him. You know you’re being a little overdramatic; you’re sure the girl walked away pouting because Buck told her that he was taken, but you’re too jealous to listen to the voice of reason in your head.

“Perfect.” you reply shortly, your jaw clenched as you keep your eyes straight ahead of you. He keeps his eyes on you, and when you don’t even bother looking at him, he squeezes your hip, hoping it’ll get your attention.

“Hey, what’s up?” Are you mad at me?” he asks desperately. He hates when you’re mad at him. He doesn’t see it often, at least, not real anger. You’ve argued over silly things, of course, and he’s not unused to seeing how you get when you’re hangry, but it’s not very often you have actual fights.

“Do I have a reason to be mad at you?” you reply coldly, finally turning your head to look up at him with a raised brow. You’re glad the girls have noticed your anger, and have turned to talk to each other. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Buck says, his brows furrowed in confusion. He doesn’t even think of that girl earlier; he barely even paid attention to her. He couldn’t tell you a single thing about her. He was too focused on you coming back to him.

“Then why would I be mad at you?” you reply, although your tone tells him that you’re clearly mad at him.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.” Your sweet boy, always the voice of reason. He’s always eager to talk things out; he never wants things to grow into a bigger problem. Usually, you love it, but right now, it’s making you even more upset.

“Do you wanna go somewhere and talk?” he asks when you don’t answer right away. You huff, shaking your head, then turn your attention back to the girls who aren’t even facing you anymore.

“Not particularly.” you reply shortly. He huffs, grabbing your forearm gently and turning you to face him. He’s had enough of this. He just wants you to talk to him.

“Come on, baby. Can we go talk, please?” he asks, desperation in his eyes. He’s driving you insane right now; pretending not to know what you’re upset about.

“Do we have to? I thought you wanted to enjoy the party? I wouldn’t wanna stop you from that.” you reply in a mocking tone, crossing your arms over your chest as you finally face him.

“Baby, please. You know I want to be with you tonight. Please talk to me.” You groan, finally snapping and grabbing his wrist, beginning to pull him out of the house and towards your house. He drops his cup on a table haphazardly as he passes by it, eyes focused on you. 

He stays quiet as you pull him in the direction of your house, waiting for a minute before he speaks in a hushed tone, wary of the people walking past you two on the sidewalk.

“So? What’s up?” You shake your head, continuing to walk. You don’t want to argue with him in the middle of the sidewalk. 

He huffs, but keeps following you all the way to your house. When you’re finally in your room, the house eerily silent with your roommate still at the party, you finally turn to face him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Are you gonna explain why you’re so mad at me now?” he asks, trying desperately to keep the distance you’ve put between the two of you. You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“You’re really gonna keep playing dumb?” you ask angrily, narrowing your eyes at him. His eyes widen, and he tilts his head to the side, trying to think of a reason for your feelings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby. Really. Just, please tell me why you’re upset.” he pleads, his voice softening. He wants nothing more than to see your pretty smile again, and he hates that he’s the reason for your frown.

“You were flirting with that girl! And don’t act like you weren’t because I saw you.” you seethe. Deep down, you know he’d never do that, but your jealousy is getting the best of you. His eyes widen further, and he shakes his head and stutters as he tries to come up with a reply. He’s taken back by your accusation. He would never do that. He has you. His sweet girl.

“I wasn’t flirting with her! She came up to me and was flirting with me, and I was trying to be polite. Is that really why you’re mad? Baby, you know I only want you.” His voice gets softer as he speaks, and he takes a step forward, desperate to touch you.

“It sure didn’t look like you were just being polite. You touched her.” you snap, jaw clenched as he takes a step forward.

“She was drunk; she was stumbling around. I was keeping her steady so she didn’t fall over. Come on, baby, you know I only want you.” he pleads, crossing the distance, reaching a hand out to you. You shake your head, taking a step back before you turn and walk towards your bed. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, putting your head in your hands. You know he’s right. His reassurances are slowly helping, but you’re still angry. He’s yours, and you don’t want to share. Ever.

“Baby, please. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.” he whispers, kneeling down in front of you, trying to meet your eyes as they remain focused on the floor.

“I know you wouldn’t. But I know what I saw.” you reply in a softer voice. You don’t want to argue anymore. You’re tired. But even so, your hair is standing on end, and you can feel your teeth grinding.

“You saw me keeping her from falling. Yes, she was flirting with me, but I didn’t reciprocate.” he explains, putting his hands on the top of your legging-clad thighs. You bite your lip, finally looking up at him.

“What can I do, baby? Let me show you that you’re the only one I want. Please.” he practically begs, his hands slowly moving up your thick thighs. You let out a shaky sigh, feeling goosebumps erupt on your skin from his touch, even through your leggings. 

“How are you gonna do that?” you ask softly, your heartbeat quickening as you sit up straighter and lean back on your hands.

“Let me show you, baby. Let me make you feel good. Show you how much I love you.” You bite your lip, a smirk coming onto your face at his desperate expression. You’re still angry, but it’s being clouded over by the sheer power you feel as you take in your boyfriend on his knees, begging to please you.

“Can I?” he asks, his voice almost a whimper as his fingers dance across the waistband of your leggings. 

“You better.” you reply in a slightly mocking tone. He smiles, tugging on your leggings eagerly. You lift your hips and let him pull your leggings and panties down in one go.

“Yes ma’am.” he whispers with a hint of a smirk, beginning to press feather light kisses up your inner thighs. As soon as his lips touch your thighs, he lets out a desperate moan, his smirk long gone as he looks up at you with desperate eyes.

“God, I love you so much, baby. Love your pretty body.” he murmurs against your skin, working his way up your thighs to your core. 

You bite your lip as he kisses you, and you move one of your hands to his hair, slowly pushing it back.

“You gonna show me, baby?” you ask in a sweet tone, although there’s a hint of condescension in your tone. Buck groans, nodding, and he can feel his dick twitching in his pants at your tone.

“Yeah, baby. I’m gonna show you. I’ll do anything you want.” he tells you eagerly, now dangerously close to your dripping centre.

“You know what to do.” you tell him, a smirk on your face as you hold eye contact with him. He wastes no time in pushing your legs even further apart, and wrapping his arms around your thighs. He lowers his mouth to your cunt, licking a firm strip up your folds before nuzzling into your heat, sucking and lapping eagerly.

You bite your lip, letting out a shaky sigh as you grip his hair tightly. He’s always eager to use his mouth on you, but now, you think he’ll have you seeing stars in record time.

“I’m all yours, baby. My sweet girl. God, you taste like heaven.” he murmurs against you, groaning. He darts his tongue into your cunt, using his nose to nudge at your clit, and you moan, tilting your head back and pushing his head further against you.

“Yeah? You’re all mine?” you ask shakily, and he nods eagerly, moaning.

“All yours. I only want you, baby.” he whimpers, taking his mouth away from you just long enough to speak before he’s diving back in, circling his tongue around your clit.

“Is that good, baby? Is this what you wanted?” you ask in a condescending tone when you feel his actions quicken slightly, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs.

“So good, baby. I love making you feel good. Taste so good.” he mumbles, although you can barely understand him as he keeps his head burrowed between your legs.

“Yeah? Just me? Or would you rather that girl at the party?” you ask sarcastically. He growls, his teeth grazing your clit as he looks up at you. You gasp, your grip tightening on his hair as you let out a soft laugh at his unimpressed reaction.

“Only you, baby. She’s nothing compared to you. So pretty.” he tells you, his eyes glancing down at your glistening folds as he speaks.

“Good answer. Now, are you gonna make me come, or am I not gonna let you touch me for a whole week?” you ask in a stern tone, licking your lips as he whimpers.

“God. Please, baby. Wanna make you come, please.” he murmurs, taking his mouth away to push two fingers into your dripping hole. You moan loudly as his lips attach back to your clit, and you can feel your stomach tighten at the feeling of both his fingers and mouth working you fervently.

“So good for me, baby. Don’t stop.” you purr, trying desperately to keep your eyes on him as you feel the familiar sensation growing in the pit of your tummy.

“Won’t stop. Wouldn’t dream of it.” he mutters, curling his fingers to push against that spot inside of you.

“Buck. Oh my god.” you whine loudly, tilting your head back as you finally let go. He smiles against your cunt, lapping up your juices until he’s sure he’s gotten it all, desperate to work you through your orgasm.

“How was that, baby?” he asks when he finally pulls away, his chin glistening with your juices.

“Did so good, baby. So good for me.” you tell him, trying to slow your heavy breathing as you push his hair back with the hand previously gripping his hair tightly.

He beams, kissing your thighs gingerly. You almost laugh; he’s looking up at you with bright, wide eyes, he almost looks like a sad puppy.

“Thank you. Taste so good, baby. Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” he murmurs, continuing to kiss your sensitive thighs.

“You think you should be forgiven now?” you ask in a slightly teasing tone. You know you’ve forgiven him; you forgave him as soon as his lips touched your core, but you can’t help but continue for a little bit longer.

“Yes. Please. Please forgive me, pretty girl. I only want you.” he pleads, squeezing your thighs.

You laugh softly, caressing his cheek, and he leans into your touch immediately.

“I forgive you, baby. But if I see something like that again, I won’t be so nice.” you tease, although there’s a sternness in your voice. He nods quickly, pressing one last kiss to your thigh.

“Promise, baby. It won’t happen again. I love you.” he says desperately. You keep a straight face for a moment before you smile, nodding.

“I know, and I love you, too. Now give me a kiss.” you tell him softly. He’s quick to unwrap his arms from your thighs, standing up and pushing you back onto the bed. He crawls over top of you, slotting between your legs as he kisses you with fervor. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue as his tongue glides across your lips, and you part them gently, pulling him closer by his shirt.

“I love you. My pretty girl.” he murmurs against your lips, and you smile, continuing to kiss him.You know you may have overreacted, but it was definitely worth it to see him like this.

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[pedroscurls]

the first date (one-shot)

summary: hugh takes you out for your first date. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 1.2k warnings/tags: fluff, implied age gap (reader is 30, hugh is 55), teasing, brief sexual tension, brief jealous!hugh, no use of y/n. a/n: shout out to this anon for this request! i had so much fun writing this and tbh, it's the only way i can live out my fantasies lol 🙂‍↕️ as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

An hour into your date with Hugh and you can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at you from the rim of his glass. There had been an instant attraction you felt towards each other and this first date so far had been a dream. The age gap was a topic of conversation before you agreed on this date. You didn’t see a problem with the fact that he was old enough to be your father, but Hugh – well, it had taken quite a while for him to warm up to the idea of taking you out. 

He had tried to keep his distance, to be respectful, but after hearing you go on and on about a disaster of a date with another man, Hugh couldn’t hide his feelings for you anymore. The jealousy that he felt in the pit of his stomach lingered until he finally blurted out that he wanted to take you out on a real date. 

You were surprised, uncertain if he was just saying that because he felt bad or if he really did feel the same way you did. But you never asked. Instead, you agreed on going on a date with Hugh. 

And now, from the way he’s looking at you, you know that the feelings you have for him aren't just one-sided. You both still have to maintain some boundary, especially with Hugh being so well known in the public eye. Even after his divorce, he had been careful about who he wanted to be seen with. 

But with you? Well, with you, he didn’t care. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you finally ask him, brow arching upwards. 

“Like what?” 

“You know what.”

“I don’t,” he grins, setting his glass back down on the table. “Are you having a good time?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “The best time, actually. Who knew these are what dates are supposed to be like?” 

Hugh laughs quietly and leans back against his seat, staring at you from across the small table. When he had picked you up that evening, you took his breath away. The black mid-length dress you were wearing clung to every curve – it was modest and elegant, but when you walked, the front side split showcased your leg and all he wanted to do was run his hands along you. 

Even now, Hugh can’t help but glance down at the exposed skin on your upper thigh when you cross your leg over the other. In the dim lighting, Hugh can see you so clearly. No one else in this restaurant mattered, the sound of chatter fading in the background until all he could focus on was you. 

“You’ve been going out with boys,” Hugh teases. “They don’t know a thing about taking a woman out on a proper date.” 

You roll your eyes. “Psh, boys,” you repeat. “At least the night ended with–”

“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence,” he growls. Hugh moves his seat next to yours as he drapes his arm on the back of your chair until he’s leaning into your personal space. He shuts his eyes and brushes his nose against your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo mixed in with your perfume. 

“Why not?” you ask teasingly, heart racing.

“Because I don’t wanna hear about it.” Hugh whispers, voice low and so dangerously close to your ear. “Besides, I doubt those boys treated you right.”

“How would you know, hm?” 

“Let me guess,” he continues, the hand on the back of your chair slowly moving to graze your upper arm. “Did you even get to come, baby? With those boys, did they make sure you were taken care of first?”

You feel the heat settle between your legs and you shift in your seat at his words. “I– uh…”

“You what?” Hugh leans in, brushes his lips against your earlobe. “Tell me. If your dates were always so shitty, did you at least get to come?” 

“Yes,” you lie. 

Hugh pulls away as if he can sense the dishonesty in your voice. He looks down at you, glancing between your eyes and down to your lips and back up. Then, he just grins and it irks you because you know that he caught onto your lie. And he’s fucking smug about it too. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you tell him, bringing your hand up to tuck your hair away from your face and behind your ear. You clear your throat, leaning slightly back against the seat as you suddenly feel hot. Under Hugh’s gaze, you can feel the tension radiating between the both of you. Lingering in the air. 

“What a shame,” he ignores you. “Shitty dates and an even shittier way to end your nights.” 

“I manage just fine, thank you very much.” 

“Oh yeah? And how’s that?” 

You lift your hand and wiggle your fingers in a suggestive manner. You see his eyes narrow down at you and you know what he’s thinking, know where his mind had drifted off to. And now, it’s your turn to be smug. 

“Exactly,” you tell him. “Now, can we go and get dessert?” 

Hugh grins and then nods in your direction. “Whatever you want, baby.”

—

“It’s cold outside, I’ve given you my jacket, and now you’re eating ice cream,” Hugh points out, walking alongside you. 

You nod and grin up at him, gently nudging him with your shoulder. You feel warm and safe in his jacket and even though it’s well into nighttime, it feels oddly calming to walk the park without any distractions, illuminated by the city’s lights. 

“There is always a time for ice cream,” you giggle. 

Hugh smiles to himself and then wraps his arm around you, pulling you to his side as you both continue walking. He kisses the crown of your head as he thinks to himself. Hugh likes you, a lot, and your presence alone puts him at ease. 

“Want some?” you ask, lifting the small plastic spoon up in his direction. You’re gazing up at him with a hopeful glint in your eye and Hugh just smiles. He leans in and takes the spoonful of vanilla ice cream in his mouth and pulls away, seeing your eyes gaze down at his lips. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

You and Hugh continue to walk until you both hear the sound of quiet music in the park. You both walk towards it, noticing a man playing the guitar. You can see his eyes widen when he registers that you’re with Hugh Jackman, but Hugh just nods in his direction, drops some money in the guitar case before he turns his attention to you. 

“What?” you ask, tossing the small empty cup of ice cream at a nearby trash can. 

“Dance with me?” He extends a hand out for you and smiles in your direction. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” you take his hand and feel him pull you to him. You rest your free hand on his shoulder as he brings your joined hands to his chest, his free hand moving to rest on your lower back. Both of you sway to the sound of the music, eyes locked with each other’s, and it feels like it’s only the two of you in this world. 

Hugh leans in, resting his forehead against yours as he keeps his eyes locked with yours. “It’s been the best night,” he whispers. 

“Does it have to end?” you ask hesitantly. 

You can see the recognition flicker in his eyes, the familiarity of what you’re implying. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Take me back to your place?” 

“I thought you’d never ask, baby," he grins and leans in to press his lips against yours for the first time that night.

---

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