#i'm so sorry for butchering your show

[bloody-peach]

The Sun Always Shines on TV (Hazbin Hotel: Vox x Reader)

SURPRISE! I'm not dead! So my buddy @omniuravity got me into Hazbin and especially my new husband Vox, and after a few headcanon chats, I just HAD to write something. So I did. Is it canon to Vox's behavior? I dunno, I haven't seen the full season, but I've seen clips, and I think I at least got a vague idea. So, sorry if not, but oh well. Still fun! This was kind of done in a rush of hyperfixation, so sorry if it's a bit rough. Anyways, enjoy!

Taglist: @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @neonvehk @omniuravity and anyone else who loves Hazbin and Vox!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

It was midnight when the hourglass finally ran out. The counter read '000', showing that time was up. You knew what today was.

Extermination Day was here again.

The day where angels would come down to hell and massacre hundreds of sinners as a form of population control. You could hear the screams of terror outside as crowds of sinners would scurry and try to escape their fates. You could've easily been in that crowd, getting impaled through the gut by an angel's spear.

Vox pulls you close to him, his arm around you as he watched the carnage from the couch on the large TV. He knew that it was hard for you to watch sinners get butchered alive, so he would let you hide your face in his chest when things got gory. When he heard you whimper, he looks at you, a concerned look on his face, saying, "You ok, Y/N?" You look at him and nod, "Yeah..it's just...it could be me out there...what if I'm next?" Vox brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear and said, "You won't be. As long as I'm here, you're safe. I won't let them hurt you." You hug him, snuggling in his chest for comfort, glad that he was there.

In truth, Vox was just as scared as you were. You could easily be in the crosshair of an angel if you were out on the streets. He would low-key panic if you weren't there with him each Extermination Day. He couldn't stand the idea of losing you, not to anything or anyone.

He still remembers seeing you watch his show from an electronics storefront. He noticed how you were drawn to the show, but somehow, his hypnosis didn't have an effect on you. But he was amazed that even without it, you still tuned in and watched with excitement. That day, he felt there was something special about you, so he kept a close eye on you, watching you through various tv screens when you weren't looking. Then one day, he met you through a chance encounter.

You worked at Valentino's studio as the camera operator and Vox happened to show up one day. You caught a glimpse of Vox talking with Valentino and you couldn't stop staring at him. You felt a ball of anxiety in your gut build as you watched him, admiring his good looks, charismatic attitude, and mesmerizing voice. You couldn't help but swoon to yourself.

"Y/N! Are you listening?!" Valentino's voice broke your daze and you quickly ran to him, so not to enrage him. "I-I'm sorry sir! I-I just sent the footage to the editor and they'll get it done right away!" Vox saw as Val smiled at you and he felt a bit of rage. He didn't like how Val looked at you with his sleazy gaze, undressing you with his eyes. He's the only one who should be allowed to do that.

Once you started to walk away, Vox trips you and you start to fall, but he catches you before you could hit the ground. You look at him and could feel your face blush and your heart flutter. You stood up and bowed your head, "I'm sorry sir!" "Hey, no need to apologize. And no need to call me 'sir', either. Just call me Vox. Now, who may you be?" "I..I'm Y/N..." "Y/N...what a nice name. So you work for Val?" You nod, saying, "Yeah, I work the camera." Vox walks closer to you, saying, "Oh, sweetheart, your cute face doesn't deserve to be hidden behind a camera. It deserves to be displayed on TV." You blushed pure red and Vox knew he had you in his grasp.

Vox buys you off of Val and he lets you live with him at his mansion. While you were amazed by the opulence an overlord possessed, all that mattered to you was that you were with Vox. As things went on, Vox noticed how caring you were towards him, comforting him when he was stressed out over Alastor or helping him fix his screen or repair his wires when he gets hurt. He would always turn to you for comfort before anyone else. He always enjoyed being around you, loving the way you laughed, smiled, made jokes, everything. Eventually, he realized that he was in love with you.

When Extermination Day came, you were just leaving the porn studio from a long night of doing re-shoots. The bell rang and you felt your heart sink. You tried to look where to hide, pushing your way through the screaming crowd. You pass by the electronics shop when you hear a familiar voice. "Y/N! Over here!" You turned and saw Vox's face on a screen. "Vox! It's time! Extermination Day! Oh my god, what do I do?!" "Listen to me, you're not too far from where I am. Find a place to hide and stay there, I'll come get you. Ok?" You nod, tears in your eyes. He sees your fear and says in a comforting voice before signing off, "It'll be okay, Y/N. I won't let them hurt you."

With that, you look and find a dumpster. You immediately hop inside and hide, keeping quiet. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours as you laid there, your anxiety and fear through the roof. You kept hoping that Vox would get there soon. You then feel a wire coil around your waist and pull you out of the dumpster and hold you. You look and see it was Vox, carrying you and rushing back to his house, dodging any angel nearby.

Once you got inside, Vox grabbed you and held you, causing your emotions to crash over you as the adrenaline ran out. You hugged him tightly and cried into his chest. "Shh, shh, it's okay now, Y/N. I'm here. You're safe. You're..safe..."

You could hear tears choked up in his voice and he hugged you tightly as you both dropped to your knees. He tried to hold back his tears, but he couldn't.

He could've lost you. When he heard the bells ring, he was so scared. He needed to find you and take you home. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't. Not you. He scanned every television in the district to find you and was so relieved when he did. He rushed out the door and ran towards the studio. And now that you were here in his arms, where he knew you were safe, he started to break down. His screen started to glitch and his audio started to skip as he tried to control himself. He was usually an narcissistic egomaniac, caring about himself, but when it came to you..it was all different. He needed you.

"Vox.."

"Y/N..please...stay with me...don't go...I love you..please..."

Those words made you cry even more, out of joy now.

"Vox...I love you too..."

"Y/N.."

And with that, you both cry out your built up emotions and soon, you both were in bed together, forgetting the world outside and only listening to each other's moans and words of love.

Ever since, Vox claimed your soul and you were now permanently his. From now on, you were under his protection. If any demon fucked with you or disrespected you, that was a direct insult to him and they would be dealt with. You would work as his assistant and co-host on some of his shows, entertaining thousands of viewers all over Hell. And whenever Extermination Day hit, you stayed at home with him, sitting with him on the couch and listening to him cheer and laugh as each sinner was killed. Sometimes it helped you, other times it didn't. But he knew that.

Vox stands up from the couch and shuts off the TV, saying "Come on, let's get to bed. It should be over soon anyways." You nod, following him. It's not too long til you both lay in bed, holding each other close. The bedroom was higher up from the ground floor, so the screams and sounds of death were much more distant. You lay your head on his chest and you hear his circuits buzzing rapidly, a sign of his anxiety. You lift your head and look at him, concerned. "Vox? Are you okay, honey?" He looks at you and smiles, but his face gave away that today kind of disturbs him too. It would remind him of the day that he almost lost you. He cupped your cheek and said softly, "I am, knowing that you're with me." You smile and lean up, kiss him softly and tenderly, the kiss showing so much love. Vox reciprocated the kiss and held you close. Once you broke the kiss, you hear the bell ring out, signaling the end of the annual massacre. Vox chuckled, saying, "Perfect. Now I can get some sleep. Night, babe." You lay on him, your head resting on his chest as you respond, "Night, sweetie. I love you." Vox wrapped his arms around you, gently rubbing your back as he said softly, "I love you too, Y/N."

~~~♡♡♡~~~

I hope you all like it!!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’ve read a variation of soft and rough König and I’ve enjoyed both but I’d love to see your take on his character.

I can’t deny I have a preference for soft König. I think his size is a major concern, especially if his partner is on the smaller side, which leads me to believe he’d prolong the inevitable and the pining and anticipation would be off the charts on his end. But maybe his SO thinks he’s not as interested as she initially thought.

Add in the fact that he’s gone for long periods of time in which there is little or no communication and perhaps she considers moving on. The ol’ miscommunication trope if you will, with a happy ending. Thanks!

Overflow the Stars

Pairing: König x F!Reader

Synopsis: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Angst, feelings of insecurity, body issues, allusions to König's past w. bullying & his anxiety, size difference, fluff, soft!König, happy ending

A/N: This is my apology to the German-speaking people out there - I think I butchered your language (feel free to correct me). I'm so sorry lmfao. But, Anon, this request was adorable to write, hope you enjoy it!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wanted to say you were surprised when he didn't show up – really, you did – but in the back of your mind, you already knew he wouldn’t. It was hard not to feel disappointed when you swirled your tiny cup of Franziskaner tensely, watching the whipped cream sink away into the concoction of dark espresso and milk; calling attention to the same feeling in your chest.

König had a strange habit as of late, and with a delicate furrow in your brow and perhaps even a smidge of sadness in your eyes, you wondered what you had done wrong. Why had he been avoiding you so…violently? While you wouldn’t have called yourself perfect by any means, nothing you had done over the course of your meetings was strange or downright embarrassing. 

You admitted that the man had never been the type to run away from something, and sighed as you brought the cup to your lips and sipped. Caffeine sits on your tongue along with a bitter revelation as the rain begins to pick up in velocity outside. The small and quiet café where you’re spending your afternoon is warm and unburdened by the weather. 

Do you think…he’s even interested in me anymore? The sharp thought brings a pang to your chest, fingers over the warm cup flinching back as if struck with lightning. O-or he doesn’t like being around me?

Your relationship was still new, very new, and if you were asked you would say it wasn’t even dating yet. König hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend. 

But it had still been going well.

“Or so I thought,” you take a breath, watching the fog on the window as the streets of Vienna are rapidly being emptied of tourists and locals alike. Your shoulders are painfully tight.

Aggressive rainfall like this into the cold seasons was unusual, but it wasn’t like mother nature cared about the whims of anyone but herself. It’ll freeze overnight, leaving a bitter chill that puffs from breaths and a shaky few steps out the door across hardened ice. You’d probably go out – alone – for a walk in the morning to clear your head, or try, at any rate.

Lately, all you could think about was the bear of a man that was supposed to be sitting in the empty seat ahead of you. The cursed wooden chair burns your eyes; its dark wood and red cushion stab your vision over and over until you’re sure you’ll bleed tears instead of water. 

He was supposed to be here.

Taking another shaky sip of your drink, one that König had recommended to you himself a few dates ago, the brief moments of warmth it brings to your bones does little to satisfy you. You doubted anything short of a hulking figure trying to stick their knees under the small table could do just that.

The giant man you called your possible future boyfriend was avoiding you, and your subconscious was breaking itself to try and understand why. As if that gracious plea had been heard above the glossiness of your eyes and the gentle hum of the café workers who shuffle about, the phone in your pocket jumps. 

You don’t want to admit how fast your hand snapped to your thigh, sneaking under the layers to draw out black metal. A single link to König when he was overseas or out of sight that you were told was unwise to use. He was rarely able to answer you, but for what it was worth, he always tried to call back later. 

Even if recently, it had been a brief state of events. 

“I-I can’t talk right now–”

“Forgive me–”

Your lips thin.

Pulling the phone out, you immediately look at the contact, though you already know the message before you read it. The sunken whipped cream finally falls under deep chocolate-colored waves.

“Sorry, Bӓrchen, I’m stuck in the building for the day! I swear I’ll make it up to you for missing–” You don’t bother reading the rest, thumb already scrolling upward to see the numerous times other excuses have been made. 

His parents were needing some help moving furniture, he was drowning in post-operation reports, or simply just too tired. You weren't stupid. But every time you had stuffed down your pride and responded cheerfully, dressed to the nines and standing in your living room while your fingers shook over the keys.

Holding back tears. 

It would hurt less if he’d just tell you to your face what you were thinking. Maybe all of this was just… 

Your thoughts trail off. 

But that didn’t make sense – König was never malicious!

Placing down the phone, you leave him on read, feeling the pitying eyes of the baristas burning into your skin like a brand. They knew as well as you did that he wasn’t showing up.

When he calls sometime later, you shut the device off completely. Staring out the window at the dimming light, you lean your head into the glass and try not to cry as you watch couples rushing for cover from the rain; laughing and holding the other close. 

The empty chair stays motionless in the corner of your eye.

—

The first time you met König, you were left gaping at the sheer size of him. 

Towering over ninety percent of the other patrons in the art shop, he had looked down at the package of charcoal pencils in his large, scarred, hands. Turning them over to read the description on the back like an expert with delicate eyelashes that you’d kill for. 

You yourself had been cast in his shadow quite by accident, looking along expansive shelves for a sketchbook – your friend had gotten into a watercolor phase lately, and what better to give her than a birthday present she could actually use? The only problem was that you had no idea what was considered good quality or not, but had a strange suspicion the man beside you did. But what a happy accident it all turned out to be.

König had a black surgical mask on, but the milky-white scar that ran up his right eyebrow and disappeared into his auburn hairline was still starkly visible. Expressive dark eyes blink down at his object from a surprising height. Between picking up multiple books, running your fingers over the paper and whatnot, you can’t help but stare at the pure strength the man emanates. Compared to you, he was utterly gargantuan in both mass and height. A bear and a bee, you thought with a stifled giggle.

He blatantly appeared to know more about this stuff than you did as he placed the charcoal pack down and picked up another.  

“Erm,” you begin, and his head snaps down to yours immediately, head of hair falling into gentle curls near the ears. He had looked partially surprised to hear you speak to him, and his eyes had flickered around instinctually. But it was only the two of you in the aisle. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but you seem to know a helluva lot more than me about art supplies.” Your voice was cautious, and you were afraid you’d seem rude for disturbing him, but all he did was stare and wait for you to finish speaking. Feet every so often shifting, or his hands twitching as if he never was able to stay still; he blinks a few times like a rabbit. “Any suggestions for watercolor?” A small laugh meets the air as you move your hand to show off the wall of possible options for paper. “I’m not much of an artist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up – thought I’d get her something she’d actually use this year. She wasn't too enthralled with the plant I got her for her twenty-third. Killed the thing in a week.” 

A nervous chuckle is softly met and your face heated as his own did. There’s a moment of a clearing throat before the man nods carefully, and the sparse freckles over his forehead shift. His biceps flex.

“O-of course, Ma’am,” his accent is quite strong, and you like the guttural raspiness of his tone. “I prefer Saunders Waterford, though I don’t manage to use it often. Better, eh, was ist das Wort?” He stumbles for a moment over the proper descriptor. “Beständig. Durable.”

A tilt of his head later, and you’re beaming, picking up the large pad with careful fingers, testing the weight in your palms as one would an apple. 

“Wonderful! It looks like I owe you one, eh?” Looking back up, you watch his eyes widen as you notice him blatantly staring. Face crinkling into a shy display of heat and curiosity, he slightly moves back, a large hand going to scratch at the base of his neck as his sweatshirt bunches. 

Chest tight, you stick out a hand and offer your name with a smile. It was only customary, but the action was pure instinct more than thought-out. All the while restraining a shiver, his limb encompasses yours so completely and radiates a large amount of heat.

“A pleasure,” your voice wavers, but it’s not so much nervousness as it is genuine intrigue. For a man so blessed with the tall gene, he really had a considerate hold – barely squeezing your skin in fear it would break. 

The action makes your chest squeeze.

“Ah, guten tag,” he utters, nodding with a firm shake, though his eyelashes caress his cheeks as his eyes rove away, “König.” 

A bit awkward, isn’t he? You have to ask yourself. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you found the nervous tensing of his thighs to be cute, along with that red tinge that was over his pale ears. So very opposite of how you expected him to act.

That was when you noticed the dog tags, as well, though you found no purpose to say anything. But everything about this man had caught your attention as a large billboard would, and the comparison has you practically bending in laughter. He probably could be a billboard with a build like that. No doubt he’d catch a lot of attention.

You tilt your head and release his hand, nodding to König’s charcoal pencils. 

“I bet you can make some killer drawings with those things, huh?” The beast twists them in his hand and turns down to stare at the supplies as if he’d forgotten they’d been there at all. “You draw often?”

“Ja,” his eyes brighten, and the crinkling of his eyes tells you that a small smile pulls at his lips. “Whenever I’m able. I,” König pauses before his shoulders move in a soft movement akin to a shrug. “I…find it calming.” 

Your ribs move in reaction to an interested sound. 

A bear that likes to draw.

“You’re better than me, I’d just get frustrated if something doesn’t look right.” A deep laugh echoes off the shelves before a lapsing silence settles like a bird’s wings. Overcome by a sudden urge to speak, yet having no other words to say, König’s voice meets your ears before you can find something to say.

It’s slow, the tone, bathed in hesitation and even a smidgen of armor; like the outcome of your response was already measured and taken as null compared to the giant’s own thoughts.

“I…don’t suppose I could show you some if you’d be interested.” At your widening lids, his twitching hands come up to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly as a vermilion hue blossoms like a flower over his visible skin. Dark eyes like broken obsidian pay more attention to your shoes than your face.

“N-not, eh, scheiße, I only meant I–” Watching him stutter was similar to what a high schooler would do when he was called out during an assembly. Though, your giggle makes him clear his throat and pause with a stiffening spreading to his legs. His body seems to deflate, taking your reverence for his soft inward nature as making fun or at worse, a blatant rejection. The delicate makeup of his psyche was on display, though you didn’t know. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ma’am–”

“I’d love to see your artwork, König,” you begin, pulling the watercolor pad closer to your body instinctually, cheeks hot. The man perks up, and you can see his heart hammering through his clothes when his eyes blaze with light. “How about I give you my number and I’ll text you a day I’m free and we can work something out? A local café or library sound good?”

“I…yes, that sounds wonderful.”

—

You throw your soaked coat on the hook as you shut the door, hating how the frigid rainwater had wetted your hair, though still holding it as a blessing. At least no one could see the tear tracks as you walked back to your apartment. 

Kicking off heavy boots and peeling the slick layers of fabric from your chest with a sloping sound, you flick on the lights with a shaking finger and a sniffle. Wet footprints are left over the rugs and hardwood as the phantom shuffles over them, beelining to the bathroom to strip. 

Your mind was preoccupied as you slipped out of heavy fabric, the pile already on the floor creating a large puddle that you threw a towel on and left as it was. 

“He…he’d tell me if he didn’t like me anymore, right?” Whispering, the broken words meet air as you toss on a large shirt – the hem meeting your knees as a pair of thick sweatpants follow. 

Quite the look for someone who was having an internal battle. Your friends would say you looked like you were minutes away from grabbing a tub of ice cream and sobbing over a rom-com. The quick-witted part of you confessed that the idea wasn’t even that bad if you threw in a glass of beer. Preferably the shitty kind so you could complain about it and distract yourself.

“Get it together…” You would not cry over a guy that hadn’t even asked you out officially, but with that familiar sting in the back of your eyes, you hissed that König wasn’t just any guy.

You’d really liked him, and for what it was worth, your heart would have exploded if he had asked you out. 

He was kind – respectful. Utterly adorable when he was speaking so passionately about his artwork and his parents who he held on a larger-than-life pedestal. König’s heart was just as big as his body, that gorgeous, bear-like body, and…oh, you’d wished he would like you just as much as you liked him. 

Before you could stop the wave of hopelessness, the tears were already dribbling down your face, and the dark apartment was echoing with the barely-there sobs that hit the walls.

—

When you hadn’t answered him in the next two hours and his calls were going to voicemail, König was hit with a train’s worth of worry. Feet tapping faster than unusual and eyes were finicky as they passed over documents.

Although his contract with KorTac wasn’t exactly like his own had been in the military, the hyper-vigilance was still ingrained bones-deep. The Austrian man held his personal relationships tightly – and if someone wasn’t answering him, the anxiety reserved for large, uncontrollable, crowds reared its ugly head. König wasn’t sure when it had happened, but you had entered that loyal group consisting of his parents and a few work friends in an incredibly small amount of time. 

He really should have bit the bullet and gone out with you today, the man acknowledged as he slipped out of his office and tried once more to get in contact with you. König watched the icon of your smiling face go straight to the familiar voice that in any other circumstance, he would have wanted to listen another moment too.

“...Thanks for calling! I’m not able to speak with you right now, but go ahead and leave a message–”

“Come on, Bӓrchen.” König lightly growls, hanging up and stuffing the infernal device into his cargo pant’s side pocket. 

His usually hidden face was twisted up with worry, so commonly lit with bloodlust on Ops now left in a state of unknown. It was stupid to think like this, but how could he not? In such a small amount of time, you’d made him fall for you like a bird does the sky; that thin line between falling and flying caught underwing. 

That was why he’d been making excuses, you see. 

You were so…good…that he’d been worried about the way he carried himself; second-guessed small actions like a hand on the small of your back in public, or a comment about how nice you looked. 

Did she take that the wrong way?

Why did I tell her that?

I hope she doesn’t think that I’m rude…

You were messing with his mind with every turn, but it wasn’t even all that, either. His size also played a part. Your form was so small as it trailed beside him on walks through the city – it fit in the clutch of his arm easily. 

König was just scared he might break you, he’s never had to be…gentle so often before. It was against everything he’d been taught in the last decade or so.

Pushing open the front door of the KorTac: Private Military Contractor building, the man pushes on with a frown over his scarred lips and a drawn-in expression. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten his surgical mask in his office, along with a jacket, and braved the volatile winds and slapping rain in a slight jog, an athletic shirt tight across his chest. 

By the time he’d reached your apartment building, his hair was dark and stuck to his skin, slight puffs of breath escaping his lips and wracking shivers along his spine. König ascended the stairs in double steps, agile as his heart pounded. 

Being ex-military left him with an undeniable state of readiness.

With heavy knuckles and panting breath, his hand quickly rasps against the door, and after a second of no sound, he does it again. 

“Bӓrchen, it’s me. Are you there?” König’s shoulders are set, ready to batter the door down at the barest hint of something wrong. He calls your name but like a voice on the wind, there’s no answer. Not even a shadow under the barrier, a whiff of your shampoo.

Grunting, strained eyes going grim, the man’s hand encompasses the handle, arm and body going parallel to the wood. His hips tense, feet grinding over the floor as they set. But the nearly missed footsteps that his ears twitched at gives him pause. 

After a few moments of intense listening, his body stone-stiff and eyes spaced out, there’s a clicking of a lock. 

König moves back swiftly, hands going to rest at his sides, and when your face graces his vision, a large weight is lifted. Until he realizes that your eyes are red-rimmed. His lids go startlingly wide, fingers coming up to curl into themselves near his middle, but you speak before he does.

With a hatred for interrupting others, König keeps his lips sealed and watches with a concerned once-over and nervous lungs.

Your hand is clenched over the door frame, the muscle of your tongue licking at your lips as beads of water fall from your locks. 

“What are you doing here, König?” With a voice more hoarse and dry than a desert. The man itches at the side of his hawk nose, hesitant about what he sees. 

You’d never been like this before – always so happy. 

“I…” He trails off quietly, seeing your eyes unwilling to meet his own. “Are you…alright?” 

The Austrian’s fingers jerk when you laugh, and a surprised blink later he’s coming closer to check on you, hand almost outstretched before he sees the size difference and thinks better of it. He just taps on your cheek instead, delicately, like a hit from a flower. 

“Sweet one? Please tell me what is wrong. You weren’t answering your phone.” He wants to beg for you to look at him, plead. “It made me worry for you. Why did you not respond?” 

“So you want me to respond when you’re obviously bailing on me for what,” you pull back, disappearing partially behind the door. König watches with a still body as your arms go to wrap around your waist, dread creeping up his throat. “The third time? Fourth? I guess I’ve lost count.” 

The man’s lips go thin, eyes crinkling as an expression of pure self-hatred takes hold. He had stupidly hoped you wouldn’t notice that. When times got tough for him in the past – whether with the schoolyard bullies or an operation on wrong, avoidance was usually his best tactic; it was one he had fallen back into time and time again without fail. But he’d never told you that. 

And now he looked like a proper Arschloch. 

But you’re not done yet. When you leave the door open and disappear inside the dark apartment, König follows after like a lost puppy, water still dripping from his strong chin and stuck in his stubble. Cursing himself out in his head. 

“Ach, du Depp, jetzt hast du‘s getan. Die eine gute Sache ruiniert, die du hattest, oder...?" He mutters, slipping out of his boots and frantically looking after you as your form goes to the couch. König closes the front door and stays in the foyer, fingers twiddling and mouth opening and closing. 

You hadn’t even looked at him yet, and you’d barely seen him without a mask on. 

The Tv was on, playing some show that he’d never seen and he doubted you were watching. Your body plops to the couch with a shrieking of springs and bouncing of pillows. A small huff escapes your lips, though you speak no more. 

König clears his throat again, a nasty nervous habit along with the fidgeting, as he takes a few steps forward. The finger of his right hand goes to spread through his hair, pushing the strands back like a red wave and unintentionally slicking them to his skull. The clicking of his jaw reverberates in his ears as he resets it, picking at the palate scar under his left nostril. 

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it fitfully and already his face is reddening. König looks away from you for a moment, breathing before shuffling over like a guilty child would on drowned socks. He places one leg on the floor and kneels down in front of you so he can better look into your creased face. 

“Bӓrchen,” he liked calling you that – little bear – because the comparison was enough to make him smile every time it passed his lips. It was such an endearing term that it became difficult to look past the blatant harm he could inflict on you if he wasn’t careful. While his size made him perfect for the field, home life was, well, let's just say he could easily force his way through a crowd. Not that he would, of course. But at any rate, that was what you were to him – a little bear. “I…I have to confess to you that I have been avoiding you, yes? That much has been,” a stiff breath is taken in. “Obvious.” 

Your head turns to the side, knees brushing his own as you hold your hands in your lap. Behind König the show continues to play, spreading a silver light over the living room and the continuous droning of voices.  

Not knowing whether it would be frowned upon or not, and with a steadying breath for confidence, the man loops a cold finger under your chin; bringing you back to him and finally setting your glossy eyes ahead. 

He sees you blink in surprise when you find him maskless, and a faint smile flicks over his lips when your expression goes shy. Cautious like a bird.

“It was of no fault of your own, Sweetling, I ask that you believe me. I’ll try to explain the best I can, Ja? If you’ll let me, though, I know that I don’t deserve it.”

“If you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it…Stop dragging me on, please.” His heart stops, mouth still partially open before a sharp breath is sucked in. “I don’t know if I can take that anymore.” The pang in his chest hurts immensely, like taking an arrow and peeling back skin. You look at him so hopelessly, broken beyond belief as though a piece of you was being ripped out.

“W-why do you say that?” König tries to desperately stop the wetness of your tears from falling, shaking his head and cupping both of your cheeks, rubbing at the flesh in agony. “No, no, no, Dear One. That’s not what it is at all, I beg of you to listen.” In the fever, he switches between his native tongue and English, fingers shaking though not from the drenched clothes. “Meine Schöne, oh, meine Schöne. Bitte hör auf zu weinen.“

He takes quick breaths and finds in himself that he would do anything to stop you from crying – take a bullet, run a marathon, or learn to fly. Name it, any of it. Anything to wipe away the sadness that lives in your expression as if it even belonged there in the first place

“Do not cry over me, please, I-I,” König’s tongue trips over itself, but he persists, a similar burn in the back of his nose. “I…You scare me, Bӓrchen,” that gets your attention, creased eyes and a loose jaw going to give him full observation. 

What?! Your expression screams.

Face on fire, the Austrian continues with intense eyes, dark obsidian awash with pure light that reflects stars. Overflowing with anxious tears that he refuses to let fall. 

He can’t lose you. No, no, not you. You were the best thing to happen to him in a long time. Damn him – damn his own consciousness that’s more of a betrayer than Brutus. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go… 

“...What?” Your voice wavers, nose twitching so adorably that the man is momentarily stunned. 

“I am afraid of you, my Dear. Utterly and wholly.” König sucks down a breath, now the one unable to continue the stare-off. His foot shifts. “I am afraid of what you do to me. Your smile, Gott, your smile. A-and the way you speak, how you react so honestly to my paintings like you care with all of your heart.” He laughs wetly when you smile dimly, continuing as he caresses your skin. “Everything down to your very bones is like…like…” König’s words fumble, because comparing you to something earthly was impossible to him. 

“Ever since I met you in that art store, I cannot string together words with any semblance of meaning when I am around you. Bӓrchen, you have entrapped my mind, and I am afraid.”

He watches you breathe in slowly, tears no longer falling, though the evidence still haunts him. The man’s chest lets go of a tightly wound knot, the anvil on the other side just narrowly missing his heart as the sweat on his brow evaporates.

“A-and,” König sighs, shaking his head and moving his hands to tightly hold your own in your lap. How could he explain the last part of this dilemma? He bluntly states, “you’re small.”

A brief moment of silence bleeds like a wound, long and slow, until a tiny snort echoes. Full-blown laughter emanates not even a second later, and he watches your body heave forward and slot itself with your nose in his shoulder. König’s blush stains all the way down his neck, but minuscule giggles also fall from him in retaliation to yours. His great arms wrap themselves around your waist, dragging you slightly closer as he breathes deeply. 

Your scent pulls him under like a ship at the water, riding great waves with sea beasts under the waves guiding the vessel along its course. 

“Everyone’s small compared to you.” Your mumbling in his shoulder makes his grip tighten, side-eyeing your visage as his head tilts down. “Not my fault you got every gene that made you sprout like a damn tree.”

With your lips caressing his neck, he blinks softly down at you, amused, as his breath mingles with your hair. He lets you speak, getting it all off your chest and feeling stupid for how he had been avoiding this.

“You’re afraid because you’re so big, then? That you might hurt me?” 

“Ja.” Your hands circle around his shoulders, and with a sigh that leaves the man short of breath, you shimmy back and face him, fingers playing with the base of his neck; pulling at tiny hairs. 

“Don’t you think being worried about that means something? And, c’mon,” you smile lightly to him, and he watches closely, fingers moving along your spine. “With how conscious you are of your body, it’s hard to imagine anything ever happening.”

Hands grasp his neck, and with a bobbing Adam’s apple, König yields to your pull, angling his head to you as your back straightens. Watching with awe; your silhouette bathed in silver light and eyes fatigued, though never more beautiful. You’re beaming.

“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you, okay? So stop worrying about it, you big dope – and stop ditching me!” The Austrian’s dark eyes are fastly moved from one spot on your face to another, cataloging every bump and pore to memory. 

He’d never been this close to you before, though he’d fantasized about it. And what you were telling him…it’s like his body deflates with relief, and a genuine, boyish, smile blossoms. 

“Safe? W-with me, Bӓrchen? Oh-oh, my…” A kiss suddenly hits his forehead, and if you continued doing things like this, he was sure he’d explode. His body was vibrating with pure bashfulness; it was so odd to be complimented and doted on by someone that wasn’t his close family. For someone to reassure him of his flawed concerns. 

She feels safe with me. 

How could he tell you how happy that made him to hear aloud?

“Hey,” hands cup his jaw, and his spaced-out eyes snap back to you instantly, blinking away the rose-colored fog. You shake his head back and forth until he’s chuckling, like a kid again, and his grip catches your wrists to make you stop. Your breath fans over his blazing cheeks like a wind sent from Zephyrus himself, and the sticking clothes to his body matter little. “No more leaving me hanging, okay? I miss you, König. I want to be around you.” 

The eyes that travel down his scarred and freckled face leave him slightly self-conscious, but as if sensing this, your lips curve. Before he could utter a grunt of surprise, your kiss had connected with the scar on his forehead, as well as the palate. Just brushing the top of his lips as his large nose poked your cheek. 

“Mein Gott.” König gasps, eyes fluttering shut when you pull back and a grin slashes your face. A whisper meets the room.

“Thank you for showing me your handsome face, mein Schöner, I’ve been wondering what you looked like.” Shyly scanning his features, the redhead lets your fingers trace his flesh, shivers left in their wake, and a soft sigh. 

If he opens his eyes, he’s afraid he’d start crying. So he lets you touch his scarlet flesh, nearly the same shade as his hair, though the auburn is more deep-set. Shivering every time you lay another press of your lips to a blemish; more addictive than drugs. 

“You’re going to kill me,” König pleads, “but if this is punishment for causing you pain, I will gladly bear it.”

“Sly.” You smirk, pressing one more peck to his nose, and pulling back. He grumbles in his throat before his eyes peel open slowly; pupils blown wide and mouth parted. “Are you alive down there?”

“Barely. Perhaps I’ll need another kiss to tell, yes?” 

“You’re horrible.” Looking at his clothes, your eyes suddenly go grim. Like you’d just noticed the state of him now that he was kneeling in front of you and struck by your beauty. “And shivering.” You huff. “Why didn’t you start by saying you were soaked to the bone, König?” 

He looks to the ground, and you try to shuffle past and grab him a towel, but his arms trap you. You find yourself in a chest faster than you can blink, hands splayed over a pec that jerks as you’re lifted up. 

König hears you squeak and laughs, throwing you up into a bridal-style hold easily. Laughing chest-deep, you curl under his chin and quickly comment, “what are you doing?!” 

“Hush, Bӓrchen,” the man squishes you closer, “I’ll find a towel, don’t strain yourself.” 

You direct him to the bathroom after he sets you on your bed, hearing the pounding of rain outside as he sneaks off. 

The room smells of your shampoo, and König takes a pastel towel from the wrack after half-closing the door, slapping it to his head and violently rubbing it back and forth. Lost in his elevated thoughts and happy demeanor, the knock on the wood is almost missed. He’s just about to take off his shirt and wring it out when he blinks at the sound. 

“König – I’ve got some spare clothes, but I doubt they’ll fit you well enough.” An amused twitch of his lips later, he’s opening the door to your soft face, staring down at it. Standing shyly, your eyes crease; head tilting. “Sleepover?”

The man looks at the pile of fabric and nods kindly, a lofty feeling in his bones.

“Yes, please. They’re perfect, vielen Dank.” It isn’t long before he’s coming back out, a shirt that barely fits over his wide chest and a pair of sweats clinging to his hips. But he didn’t mind. 

They smelled like you, and thus, he smelled like you. König quickly found out that drawing wasn’t the only thing that could calm him. 

An embarrassed smile and a sheen of giddiness never leave his face.

He slides into bed with you, and you quickly latch under his arm, limbs tangling with his own as his fingers twitch over the width of the base of your shoulder blades. An easy expulsion of air leaves him as your weight settles, back curving to the make of the mattress. 

The words leave him in the delicate silence; water hitting the window and during the exploration of souls. Cheeks hot and heart hammering. 

“Sei mein?” Be mine? 

He feels your grin, nose nuzzling his flesh like it was the perfect pillow, and his heart speeds like a shooting star.

“Mein Herz war immer deins. Ja.” My heart was always yours. Yes. 

He stays awake for a long while, listening to your breathing and staring at the ceiling, running knuckles over your spine and staying silent. 

Smiling.  

[churipu]

Hellooo! I saw ur reqs wer open and I wanted to know if its oknif ok if u can write abt the jjk men being their for their gf's performance/exhibit for school or work when their family or friends can't make it?

(I love how how the way you write them as well! I found u through the nanami oneshot and I've just been on ur masterlist reading through all of ur fics and drabbles, esp now with me going through the same thing as above 💛)

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐓 .ᐟ

❪ jjk men showing up in your art exhibition when nobody did ❫

────── 𝕴 . featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, itadori yuuji x fem! reader

────── 𝕴 . warnings. none :)

note. hi nonnie :( thank you so much for the love, i'm so sorry for the delay, i'm so sorry that happened to you. i'm 100% sure whatever you were presenting to everyone was awesome! i love you <33

𝜗𝜚 . GOJO SATORU

gojo has received your heads up regarding an art exhibit a week prior. he'd notice the way you've been very very excited about having your art work presented for people to see. and he's happy to see you happy.

he made it extra clear he wanted nothing with the jujutsu world the day your exhibit was held — all he wanted was a nice and peaceful day to spend with his partner. gojo woke up extra early to send you off, helping you get ready.

the way your smile lit up his morning, he couldn't even get back to sleep right after, seeing how happy you are with today. gojo can't even wait for the time to struck twelve for the exhibition opening, and so he got there an hour early.

he was silent with his movements, a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his grasp as he paced around the crowded area — blue eyes averting everywhere to look for you. with his height, finding you wasn't too hard for him.

pushing through oceans of humans, he stood right in front of you. the solemn look on your face doesn't go unnoticed, "hi, baby."

you look up to see him and crack a smile, "you came."

gojo grins down at you, "of course i did, can't miss my girl's exhibition, can i?" his large hand covered the top of your head, "why the frown? are you not happy to see me?"

chuckling, you shake your head, "no. my parents couldn't make it, they were too busy with work."

and you were so excited to show them your art work too. gojo didn't forget the way you rambled on about how your parents were going to love it — especially when it was dedicated to them. and they butchered it up by choosing work over you.

this time, gojo frowns along with you, "they didn't show up?"

with a shake of your head, gojo pulls you into his embrace, "i'm sorry that happened, show me everything? i arrived here an hour ago to see you, you know?"

"one hour? so early and for what?"

"to see you, silly. i couldn't wait to see all your works," he pressed his lips onto your forehead, "and this is for my beautiful girl."

he handed you the bouquet and laced his fingers with yours, "let's get some food after this? it's a date."

"it's a date!" you smiled, no longer feeling upset.

𝜗𝜚 . NANAMI KENTO

people always tell you to never get excited over small things, but you couldn't help it — the slightest things made you really happy, but at the same time, the slightest things made you sad as well.

i'm sorry, can't come to the exhibit. something came up, i'll try to swing by next time y/n! maybe next year? sorry :(

you read the text over and over again. this should be fine, (friend) was probably just busy with their day so they couldn't drop by — no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that it was fine. you didn't feel like it. they promised.

"i'm sorry i'm late, y/n."

turning around to look at the source of the voice, there stood your boyfriend. sweat dribbling down the side of his face, hair disheveled with shallow and rapid breaths. he looked like he just ran a marathon.

"kento? i thought you couldn't make it—"

nanami shook his head, "i made time for you, i will always make time for you," he gave you a small smile.

"you're not late, just in time actually," you switched your phone off, shoving it inside the back pocket of your jeans, "thank you for coming for me."

he wiped his sweat, standing up straight, stepping towards you, "where are your friends? they should be here now, are they not?"

the corner of your lips tugged downwards. it was embarrassing as it is, and now you had to tell him that they weren't coming. it's like a slap to the face, "um . . . they aren't coming. something came up, and i guess they couldn't come."

nanami's eyebrows twitched slightly, but he said nothing. his hand reached out for yours, giving it a slight squeeze, "spend the rest of your day with me?"

you blinked, "how about work?"

"don't worry about my work, you come first, understood?" he brushed his fingers through your hair, pulling you in for a brief kiss.

𝜗𝜚 . ITADORI YUUJI

maybe the fact that your parents were workaholics made you a better person. maybe the fact that your parents were workaholics pushed you to do better — like a cry for attention. but for some apparent reason, they never seemed to be satisfied with what you're doing.

"art brings you no good, what are you going to be? an artist? do you know how much they earn a year?"

don't be an artist this. don't be an artist that. it was pretty expected that your invitation for them was discarded with no thoughts behind. hell, they didn't even spare it a glance.

and yet, the little girl in you still hoped that they'd show up — even just for a while.

they didn't, it should be obvious. you saw it coming, but it still hurts anyways. however, itadori yuuji showed up; and he was like a ball of sunshine, so you couldn't help but to be happy as well. especially with how packed his schedule is, he still made the time to stop by.

"baby!"

"yuuji!"

he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a tight hug, carrying you around with ease, "sorry i came a little late, kugisaki needed me to bring her shopping bags back to the cab. where are your parents? they should be here, right?"

right. they should have.

"no, they didn't come," you murmured into the crook of his neck before pulling your head back with a sad smile plastered to your face, "but i'm okay, you're here now!"

yuuji puckered his lips out slightly, "i'm going to pester gojo-sensei to let me off for the rest of the day, i need to be here with you."

you shake your head, "you can't, what if you have a mission?"

"fushiguro can take over, pretty. don't worry about my missions," yuuji replied, nuzzling his nose to the side of your face, "plus, how can i leave you alone here, huh?"

"you're the sweetest, yuuji. but what if it's an important mission?" you pinched his cheeks gently, pulling them.

"fushiguro can take over, he's strong. and there's kugisaki, and the second year students. they'll manage," he retorted, pecking your cheek before letting you down.

"you're too nice, yuuji."

"i love you. and show me your works, i can't wait to see them, you know? kugisaki wanted pictures!"

© churipu 2024 , do not copy or repost anywhere

[captain-mj]

Being what you are and what you could be

Simon's father is sitting on the couch when he comes home. There's lines of blow on the table. He stares at him with hate in his eyes.

Simon pulls his hood up and tries to just go past.

"Your Mum is out with a friend."

Simon nodded. "And Tommy?"

"Out at a party."

Simon nodded but tried to keep going.

"Simon. Stop."

He paused, foot still in air. "Yes sir?"

Mr. Riley glanced at him. "You look just like your mother."

Simon swallowed. "Thank you."

"Wasn't a compliment."

He let out a breath. "Can I go? I just want to go upstairs, Dad."

Mr. Riley stared at him. "You're going to end up just like me. You know that right?"

Simon paused and looked back at him. "What?"

"You're going to grow up. You're going to find someone. Probably some fucking blond. If you're like me, they'll be weak. You'll think you're in love. I know you will. You're fucking soft."

Simon tried not to shake. He wouldn't cry. Couldn't cry. But emotions still broiled and bubbled in him. It wanted a way out but nothing happened.

"But. You'll find yourself getting angry. Really angry. You'll hit them. And you'll think to yourself that you won't do it again. That you're better than me. But you're not. You're angry and vicious and I made sure you're full of sharp edges, just like me. You'll backhand them. And then you'll realize, well. They deserve it."

"Sounds like you're making excuses." Simon swallowed. "You do horrible things and say it's in your nature. it's not. You're just a shit person."

"And you're my son. What does that make you?" Mr. Riley waved his arms, smiling. His teeth were damaged from years of drug abuse. His mom had insisted that Simon and Tommy get braces as soon as possible. "You're made of the same cloth as me. Burned by the same fire. You'll always be a monster, Simon. I'm sorry for that. If I had been a better person, I would've made your mom abort you."

Simon bit his lip until he felt it start to burst. He just stared, not really having words to respond to that with. He was 16. Just got back from working. His hands were still raw from where he had scrubbed them. Fingers still sore from holding a butcher's knife.

"You're going to hurt everyone you ever love, Si. And there's nothing you can do about it. But knowing you, you'll let them in, anyway. You're soft like that. Your heart is soft. Squishy. Better learn to fix that. Make it cold. Because being loved by you? It's a death sentence.

Now fuck off. You look too much like your fucking mom."

~

Ghost had never felt so pissed in his life. He glared at Soap, feeling actual venom bubbling into his mouth. Preparing to say something vicious. Cut him with his tongue or bruise him with his fists.

Soap and Ghost stared into each other's eyes.

Ghost swallowed.

Soap had beautiful eyes.

He huffed and Soap looked defensive. "What's that about?"

"Sorry just... You look beautiful."

Soap let out a startled laugh. "What?"

"And you're not blond." Ghost said softly before softening. "I'm sorry."

Soap blinked rapidly. "Did something happen?"

"I don't... want to repeat my father's mistakes."

"Oh, mo chroí-"

Ghost grabbed him and, showing as much gentleness as he could, put his arms around him. "Love, it's okay. Not like that. Just... I love you."

Soap squeezed him. "I'm sorry too. You wanna try this again?"

Ghost took a deep breath and let go of Soap before letting it out. "Yeah. Let's try this again."

[deangirlsstuff67]

Sorry... Not Sorry

Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Smoking, Male masterbation, Drug and Booze use, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Orgasm denial, Dirty talk, Language

Summary: You work with the boys to fulfill Butchers mission. Your family, like MM's, were killed by Soldier Boy. The only difference, you aren't mad about it. Your family was terrible and you constantly suffered at their hands. When you all find Soldier Boy, you offer to be his babysitter, only your attraction for the older supe might be too strong to fight.

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He escaped you in Russia, only to track him to The Legend's house. You aren't a supe so for the most part you hang back when they go fight. Butcher always had a soft spot for you.

When it comes to Soldier Boy however, you willing volunteered to babysit the nuclear powered superhero. Everyone was reluctant at first. You're the youngest of the group, but you weren't backing down. Not this time.

Eventually Butcher agreed, which led you here. Some old man's house who wants to relive the glory days. Any other day I would pretend to listen, just not today. I am on a mission.

I walk towards the room The Legend informed me he would be in. Whatever I was expecting to find on the other side of the door, orgy, some chick giving him head, was not what I found.

His back was facing the door when I opened the handle. Wildly designed silk robe hiding his body from my lust filled eyes. Leg proped up on the bed frame. His whole body moving as he grunts from the pleasure his hand was providing his dick.

A very well endowed dick if I remember Russia correctly.

My body begins to heat, my underwear quickly becoming damp from my own private show, breathing coming in fast shallow pants.

Forgetting he had super hearing, Soldier Boy rips a surprised gasp from me when he speaks into the quiet room, "I can practically smell your sopping cunt from here Pretty Girl."

He doesn't turn or even stop his movements. Though you do notice he has slowed to a lazy rhythm. No longer chasing a quick orgasm.

Closing the door behind you you take one step at a time towards the powerful man infront of you. A man who I'm positive can spit me in half with one powerful thrusts into my heat.

Oh what a way to die.

By now you're standing right behind him fighting the urge to touch him. In a blink of an eye he swings around to come face to face with me.

We are in the middle of a staring contest. Him wondering my next move. Me wondering if I even have the nerve to follow through with anything.

Now or never I guess. This is one way to thank him for saving me. I know he hurt a lot of people and is the ultimate asshole, but to me he's a hero.

With a wave of bravery rushing through my veins, I step up and wrap my hand around his huge cock. My tiny hand barely touching as I begin to slide it up and down his shaft.

Soldier Boy throws his head back from the contact. Long, messy hair shining as te sun hits him just right. What I wouldn't give to run my fingers through it. I know I've got him when I hear a deep moan leave his kissable lips.

"Been a long time since a beauty such as yourself has touched me, Doll."

I still can't speak. His husky voice drips of honey when he's aroused, eye's that were once shining green are now hooded and black with lust. The man's beautiful on any given day, but when he's in a stage of bliss, he's breathtaking.

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Strong, long, thick fingers move rapidly inside me as Soldier Boy brings me to the edge again. Pistoling straight into my g spot repeatedly.

"You're stunning when you're fucked out and frustrated, Doll." He removes his fingers from my soaked core, bringing them to his mouth before sucking them clean. My pussy clenching around nothing.

"Mmm... taste sweet." Rolling on top of his naked body I rub my wet center up his length while sinking my tongue into his mouth. Stunned for a moment from surprise before he begins to kiss me back... hard.

Breaking away I lift my body and grab his leaking cock before impaling myself on his perfect dick.

I was right, he's going to split me in half. It burns as he stretches me to my limit. Never had a cock this good. I can feel every vein as I slipped farther down his shaft.

Bottoming out I stay still waiting for my body to adjust. Feeling my velvet walls flutter around him as they fight to accept his size. He shifts slightly sending electricity shooting through my body, another wave of arousal soaks his dick.

"Soldier Boy..."

Laughing he leans up, wrapping a strong arm protectively around my waist as he kisses me sweetly. "Sweetheart I'm balls deep in your sopping cunt right now, pretty sure you can call me Ben." Then he thrusts into me, hitting my cervix.

"Ben..." is all I can moan as he takes control of my body.

"That’s my Pretty Girl. Scream it baby, my names never sounded so sweet before."

His pace quickens sending me into my first orgasm. Clenching him so tight I'm amazed he can still move as he fucks me through it. "Squeezing my cock so good."

Ben watches where our bodies are join, "this pussy is drooling Doll. Making such a pretty mess of my dick." I tighten around him, "oh fuck yes..."

"Got one more in there for me baby girl." It wasn't a question. He brings his rough hands to my bundle of nerves and starts to vigorously rub me there.

My orgasm build fast and hard. Just as I'm think I'm about to be thrown over the edge a new sensation comes over me, "shit... Ben you have to st.. stop. I.. I think I'm go.. going to pee."

He doesn't listen. If anything the statement makes him feral as he double downs his efforts. Then it happens. My body let's go, vision goes white as I scream his name as loud as I can before slumping into his chest.

What feels like hours goes by, but I'm sure it's minutes, before I feel someone gently finger my pussy. Whimpering I hear a dark chuckle beside me.

"That was fucking hot Doll." Ben holds me to his chest as he lazily plays with my pussy and our mess, "I'm far from done with you, sleep for now."

"You should have known better than to try and tease me. Best damn pussy I've had... just might have to keep you now." He gently bites my ear lope.

Through my blessed out haze I weakly smile before whispering, "Sorry... not sorry."

I fall asleep in his warm embrace with his laughter as my lullaby and his fingers bringing small waves of pleasure every once in a while.

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@syrma-sensei

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 14: You're All I'm Dreaming Of

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter fourteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5.8K

Warnings: References to sex, Mentions of sex (not really explicit), Self-detrimental thoughts, Cursing, Drinking/Snorting Drugs, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from Soldier Boy's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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

Previously:

"Y/f/n Y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks, an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

You open the door to look at them. "The rapper?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The rapper? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo. Who did you think I meant?" You ask.

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Present Day

*Soldier Boy POV*

The longer Ben sat in the motel room the more he thought of you. It wasn’t unusual. Ben was always thinking of you, even before he fucked everything up and before you two became supes, Ben rarely thought about anyone else. He hated that he did that, hated that you were always on his mind because he believed that he shouldn’t care about you as much as he did. Because why would you want someone like him? He was a fuck up before and after the serum and you deserved better. You always had deserved better.

When his cage had finally opened your name had been on his lips. He was ready to see you again, tell you how sorry he was, and how much he loved you. He hoped that it was you finally coming to take him away, but it wasn’t.

Y/n said she never wanted to see you again. Of course it wasn’t her.

He sighs and takes a bite of cheeseburger. His first one in 40 years, that the British fuck had gotten him, but it tastes like sandpaper, because he can't focus on anything but you.

"Well we know a few of your old team members are already dead." Butcher breezes pacing in the dingy motel room. "Countess, Gunpowder, Indigo-"

Ben reaches for his knife to grind up the oxy on the table in front of him, hoping that the pills will bring more relief than the whiskey.

It had been three days since he got out of Russia. Two since he visited Legend, when Legend told him that you were dead and Ben threw Legend's red armchair through the window of his apartment.

When Legend said it, Ben couldn't breathe, couldn't grasp that you were really gone. He didn't want to believe it.

You were all he thought the past 40 years, you were the only reason why he wanted to get the fuck out of Russia. He hated himself for what he had done, felt that he deserved the torture, but it was nothing compared to how he had tortured himself over the years.

The last thing he said to you often replayed in his mind and the way you looked when he said it burned against his eyes at night. He hadn't meant to hurt you, he didn't want to hurt you, never did. You were his oldest friend, the only person he knew that could be honest with him, call him out on all his shit, the only person who knew the real him, and the only person he could trust to be the voice of reason when he lost his temper.

And he threw you away like you meant nothing to him, when you were the only person who meant everything, the one person that he actually gave a fuck about.

Ben thought about your last night together often, remembered the dinner in the little restaurant when you wore a dress the color of his suit and looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen you as you danced to the song that always made him think of you. Remembered how he felt when he finally took you to bed, how each time you cried out his name it made him feel proud that it was him making you feel that way, that you wanted him as much as he had wanted you for so long.

Of course, then the memory of the next morning broke in his mind. When he woke up before you and held you closer than he'd held anyone else, slowly stroking your back and watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept and allowing himself to feel at peace. He couldn’t stop smiling in that moment because you genuinely wanted him to hold you close to him. When he woke up with you in his arms when you were children he feared that you wouldn’t want him to hold you, so he always pulled away, afraid of the rejection. He felt rejection from his father, but Ben knew that if you ever rejected him he wouldn't recover.

And then I rejected her, like a dumb fuck.

Ben was not a cuddler, he didn't think it was manly, but being there with you the morning after was different, and he believed he could have laid there for eternity listening to the soft beat of your heart where you rested against his chest and watch the gentle rise and fall of your body as you breathed. He had trailed his fingers along your spine as you laid on his chest, happy for the first time in his life.

When you told him that you loved him, he had been stunned. He remembered the soft blush of your cheeks and wide smile as you said it. He had wanted to say it back, to hear you say it once more, and to make love to you again while he said it- because he knew that’s what you had done together. He had fucked a lot of women, but that night with you was different, he cared how you felt, wanted it to be good for you, wanted to be everything you needed.

But the thought of you loving him scared him.

As much as it made him a pussy, Ben understood that it scared him.

You shouldn't love him because he didn't think that he could be what you wanted, that after all these years he couldn't be enough for you, and he believed that he shouldn't care for anyone as much as he did for you, because that meant weakness. That meant that every time you were on a mission together he would have to worry about you more than anything else. And Soldier Boy couldn't be weak.

So he pushed you away and ran to Countess. Ben's jaw tightens.

The psychotic bitch that sold me out. 

It had surprised him, how recently she had died. Butcher hadn't taken responsibility for it as he had for Gunpowder, which made Ben curious as to who had done it.

"Are you sure that Indigo is dead?" Ben asks taking another bite of the hamburger, but it still tastes like nothing.

He wondered if that was because you were gone and then wondered if he'd ever be able to taste anything ever again.

"What?" Hughie looks up from his bag of food. "Why would you think that?"

"Countess. Y/n hated her." Ben takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey on the table to try and dissipate some of the sadness he felt when he thought of you being gone. "Who told you that y/n was dead?"

"Her daughter." Hughie answers.

Ben freezes, his muscles tightening as a sickening feeling rises in the pit of his stomach. "She-she had a kid?" The thought made jealousy burn in his chest. Someone else had loved you, someone else had been man enough to say the thing that kept him up at night.

Of course she had a kid. She said she wanted a family. I was just too fucking stupid and couldn't admit that I wanted to give her that, to give her anything she wanted because I fucking love her. Did I really think she was going to wait for me? After everything I did to her? After everything I said? 

"Yeah-" Butcher shrugs. "Spitting image of her."

"She looks like her?" The thought of seeing you smile again makes something stir in his chest.

But it wouldn't be y/n. Ben reasons to himself. Because she’s gone.

His hand tightens on the bottle of whiskey and he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand as a wave of sadness comes over him. The memory of you and him at Fairmount Park, when you painted him briefly flashes across his mind and he allows himself to bask in your smile for a few fleeting moments before it’s gone. It makes him feel like he’d taken a knife to the chest at the thought that he’d never see it again and never hear you laugh.

"Yeah. Calls herself the same thing." Butcher continues.

"I want to meet her." Ben states taking one last drag of whiskey from the bottle.

"What?" Hughie chokes on his food.

Ben stands up. "I want to meet her. Where is she?"

"Oi, I don't think that's a good idea. She didn't really seem too keen on seeing you-"

"What do you mean?" Ben spits back, eyes narrowing.

Hughie shifts in his seat uncomfortably and Ben can hear Hughie's heartbeat quicken in fear.

"Don't be a pussy and just tell me." Ben snaps, becoming angry.

"She didn't want to talk too much about her mom. But she did mention how upset her mom was with you." Hughie states.

Ben felt the memories of the past creep up on him again.

Of course she was upset.

He remembered how broken you had looked the night you caught him and Countess. The look on your face forever sealed in his memory. He’d never seen you look so small. Honestly he was surprised that you hadn’t killed Countess that night. If he had walked in on anybody fucking you after the night you shared together, he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from killing them.

Because you were his.

He thinks about Howard briefly. Ben had almost killed him before you were supes when he called you his at the dance. It was also difficult to walk away when Howard hurt you.

Ben’s thoughts drift back to Countess. Her body had been burned beyond recognition, but her head was no longer attached. It would have taken an extreme amount of force for someone to do that.

Could she still be alive?

Ben thought about your ability. He was the only one who knew what it really was, that you didn't just come back from the dead, that your body was able to take the power of any supe that killed you. It made you incredibly indestructible, more invulnerable than him, even though he didn't want to admit that. He liked the thought that he was stronger than you because it meant that you needed him to protect you. He liked the thought that you needed him.

The day you both figured it out momentarily dances across his mind, making him tighten his jaw.

He remembered the sound of the gun and how you immediately pushed him out of the way to take the bullet for him, because you didn't know he was bulletproof and your gut reaction was to protect him.

Ben remembered how he held you when you took your last breath, watched the fear and pain in your eyes, mirrored in his own body at the thought of losing you, of trying to exist in a world where you weren't there. It was how he felt now.

Purposeless.

He remembered the broken feeling that rose in his chest when he heard your heart beat for the last time and how he begged internally for you to come back to him, because he didn't want to live if it meant losing you. He remembered gently brushing your hair back from your face as relief swelled in his chest when you came back and he clung to you like you had been gone a millennia. Of course after he had yelled at you for being so stupid, for putting yourself in that situation, tried to act like he didn't care as much as he did, but you'd only yelled back and refused to listen to him.

She was just so damn stubborn all the time.

"I don't care. I want to talk to her." Ben grabs the black leather coat that Butcher brought him and changes into a dark t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "Take me to her."

Butcher rolls his eyes. "Well, she did call the other day and say that she had some information for me." Butcher shrugs. "Let's go."

"But-" Hughie interjects.

"Oi Hughie. Calm down."

"She lost her mother. I don't think she wants any reminders of that."

"I promise I'll be gentle, cupcake." Ben rolls his eyes and pushes past Hughie to the door, the thought of seeing you again or just someone who shared your face enough to make him feel something for the first time in forty years.

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

"Oi, Y/n you in there." Butcher presses the call button on the outside wall of the brick apartment building.

Ben looks up and down the street, noting the people who are walking down the cracked sidewalks. It was weird to be back in New York, to be in a city that he lived in for so long and feel out of place. Hughie had tried to explain some things to him about the new century, but Ben was still confused, and honestly he didn’t care. The only thing he could focus on was you and the possibility of you living here.

Not you. He corrected. But maybe. He still didn't quite believe that you were dead, that you could die.

A minute passes and Ben is tired of waiting. He confidently walks up to the glass front door, and pulls with  enough of his superstrength to break the lock and open it.

"What are you doing?" Hughie whispers following behind him, but Ben ignores the question strutting straight to the stairwell.

"What floor?"

"8th." Butcher says.

When they finally reach your door Ben pauses. He's not sure if he can look you in the eye, not after all of these years, if it really is you. And if it wasn't then what? What would I say to her daughter?

The thought makes the fear that he refuses to acknowledge grip his chest, the fear that you were dead followed by the feeling of purposelessness that seemed to follow him since he heard the news.

If it is her daughter, maybe she’ll tell me if y/n suffered, if she died thinking that I hated her.

The memory of the fight stirs in his chest as Butcher knocks on the door and waits. But nobody answers.

"Must not be home." Hughie shrugs. "We could call her-" He begins to say, but Butcher deftly picks the lock and the door swings open into the darkness.

As soon as Butcher opens the front door of the apartment and Ben steps through, all he smells is you. It's enough to confirm in his heart that it is you and not your daughter. He felt something in his chest stutter to a halt as he inhales the familiar scent of lavender and lemons. It was everywhere, all around him, flooding his senses. 

And for the first time in forty years he felt comfort, at peace. For a moment all thoughts of revenge, rage, and justice fades from his mind and he is left with the memory of you.

Ben immediately is transported back to those quiet moments when he settled into bed next to you after climbing through your window. When you would fall asleep before him and curl against him subconsciously, your hair tickling his cheeks and sending the soft smell over him. The nights when he’d wrap his arm around you as soon as you fell asleep because he was afraid to do it when you were awake, afraid that you would reject him like so many others did. Those nights with you outweighed any other time in his life. He remembered that each time he crawled through your window you smiled up at him, were happy to see him, so different than the home he left behind, where his father wouldn't look at him.

He remembered the nights after you took Compound V, when even after a hard day when he was a dick, you still allowed him into your bed, allowed him to sleep next to you. Those quiet moments in the late hours of the morning when you cuddled into his side and muttered words in your sleep that he couldn’t understand all the while he brushed your hair back from your face stayed with him. As much as he refused to admit to anyone, refused to show any emotion, being there with you, felt more like home than anywhere else.

That's why he asked you to come with him in the first place. He couldn't leave you behind. Maybe that was selfish of him, but he would not pretend to be unselfish, not when it came to you.

He thinks about all the suitors that he scared away before him and you left Philadelphia, all his friends who expressed interest in you only to have him drive them away, and of course the one that wouldn't leave. The one that bought you jewelry and finally asked you to marry him, another reason why Ben convinced you to come with him.

The jealousy was familiar. Ben didn't want to leave you behind, the thought that some other man would possess you or love you made his chest hurt. You were his. No one felt the way about you that he did, never would. No one would know you, care about you or understand you like he did, and no one knew you as long as he did. And although Ben had trouble expressing it, he knew that he loved you, he hated himself for being unable to say it. He couldn’t decide if admitting that he loved you made him a pussy or it was his fear of telling you that made him one.

Ben looks around the apartment, noticing the artwork on the walls, the messy studio table, and smiles. He remembered the way you always had a sketchbook with you, he used to tease you about it,  but you would only roll your eyes at him and continue to draw. He loved watching you sketch, watching how focused you were as you created something so effortlessly. He remembered watching you paint with the watercolors he got you, feeling a swell of pride that he was the one who started that love. Ben had been afraid to give them to you, afraid that it was too thoughtful, but then he remembered how widely you smiled, how happy you had been.

The apartment felt like you.

And by now again he knows that it is you and perhaps that's worse, because now he has to face you and he doesn't know how to fix this, any of it.

You weren’t like him or anyone else. You didn’t bend under easy promises and gifts like the other women he had been with over the years. Your ability to read him and understand him meant that you were special. And you were. You were special to him.

He moves forward towards the darkened hallway.

"Hey wait-" He hears Hughie say behind him, but Ben ignores him.

Ben finds your bedroom easily and the smell grows when he opens the door. He takes in the controlled chaos of the room before his eyes fall on the suitcase on the large bed.

Where was she going?

Ben pulls your supe suit out of the bag and smiles at the memory of the day you first tried it on. You never wore anything form fitting, hid your shape under shirts and pants, but the day he saw you in this for the first time made his breath catch in his chest. He knew that you thought you were fat, but Ben never believed that. He loved every curve of your body, loved to trace them with his eyes when you weren’t looking  and when you finally let him take you to bed, his hands. Seeing you in the suit for the first time was almost enough to push him over the edge, but he kept it together.

He notices the plane ticket on the edge of the bed, beneath the bag, and he pulls out the printed piece of paper, reading the fine print.

She was going to Russia. She was going to come get me even after I-

The emotion that rises in Ben's chest is unfamiliar. He did not like giving in to emotions the same way others did because he believed that made him weak, a lesson his father had ingrained into his mind. But this time he doesn't attempt to push it down. The plane ticket crumples in his hand as his jaw clenches tight. A part of him was relieved, relieved to know that somewhere deep down you still cared about him, maybe that meant that you would be willing to see him.

But he still didn’t know how to fix this. He'd never been good with words or apologizing or, well, love in general. He’d never loved anyone before you. He frowns at the thought of all the meaningless flings he'd had in the past. There was only one relationship with a woman he'd ever been in, with you, and he'd fucked it all up.

He kneels and reaches under your bed, looking for the box he knows will be there. It's a dark rosewood, one from your bedroom when you were a kid, but now it holds a different value. Ben sits on the end of your bed and opens it.

He had caught you with it a few times, usually when you started drinking or on your birthday, always on your birthday. It's why he never let you stay at home, he made sure you came out with him, because your mind would drift when you were alone and Ben didn't like the dark places it took you.

Ben rarely liked leaving you alone. Whenever he was on movie shoots in another country he would call you just to hear your voice, and even when he went to bed with someone else and they fell asleep he would stay up thinking of you, wondering if you missed him as much as he missed you, and wondering if you could sleep without him because he couldn’t sleep without you. Another reason why he pushed you away, believing that it made him weak.

The photo on top is unfamiliar to him, it's newer, and shows you standing with a young brunette woman outside of a college dorm. He traces the lines of your face with his thumb. He hadn't seen a picture of you in forty years, but you were just as beautiful as he remembered. The one that follows is also unfamiliar, you holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, the baby’s hand wrapped around your index finger, and you looking down at it like it's your whole world.

The look in your eyes does something to him. He remembered when you looked at him like that, the morning when you woke up next to him and whispered those four little words to him that he always wanted to hear while holding his face tenderly between your palms, "I love you Ben."

When things got bad in Russia he would strain to remember the memory, remember the way you looked at him, the way the words sounded falling from your lips. The words that he always wanted to hear you say. The morning that he wished he could change and the disastrous night he wished never happened.

"We shouldn't be here." Hughie says to Butcher in the living room.

"She ain't home. We'll go when he wants to leave." Ben hears Butcher respond.

But Ben knew that he didn't want to leave, wouldn't want to leave. He had spent the past forty years away from you and he didn't want to spend anymore time apart from you, even if that made him a pussy, he didn't care.

"This isn't a good idea. Y/n didn't want him here-" Hughie tries again

"Oi, look at this. She's looking at flights." Butcher states, when he notices the laptop on the counter.

"What?" Hughie asks.

"If it ain't her, how would she know about Russia?" Butcher says back. Ben hears a rustling like Butcher is going through the trashcan “And take a look at this-“

Ben shuts out their conversation and pulls other photos out, finally pulling out strip of paper from a Photo Booth. It was the day he took you to a baseball game,  before you were supes. You’d never been to one before and Ben had only been to the one his father took him to, when his dad got drunk and forgot Ben was with him. Ben frowns for a second but then looks back at the collection of photos on the strip. It was a good day. He had bought you a ridiculous hat, and you'd sat next to him looking radiant in the sunlight like you always did sketching him. Ben loved it when you drew him, it made him happy to know that when you looked through the pages of your sketchbook later that you were thinking of him. He often wondered if you thought of him as much as he thought of you. You'd both gotten drunk on cheap beer and when a woman yelled at you for being unladylike you flipped her the bird and said some choice words that made the tips of the woman’s ears turn pink.

Ben loved that about you, that you never seemed to care what others thought of you, especially your friendship with him. Everyone you knew had told you to keep a wide berth from him, but you didn’t listen.

Ben traces your young face in the photo with his fingertip.

Maybe she should have.

He turns back and pulls out a yellowed photo of you and your mother. Ben frowns at the expression on your face. You were never happy when she was around. He hated your mother, not just because she hated him, but he hated what she did to you. He hated that she made you feel ugly, when you were the most beautiful woman that he'd ever seen. Even as teenagers, Ben couldn’t help but notice how pretty your figure was and how you filled out the soft dresses you wore when you went with him on adventures through the city. He never thought you were too fat, if anything he liked your curves. The night you were finally together he worshipped them, wanted you to know that you were beautiful, to understand that he saw your beauty, because he knew that you still thought about what your mother said to you. He hated that she had such a hold on your life even though she had been dead for so long.

He hears a rattle along the bottom of the box and when he picks up the source of the noise he immediately wishes he hadn't.  It's a single pearl, and Ben understands what it's from. It's from the necklace he bought you for your birthday, the one that you ripped off your neck when you found him with Countess. He had agonized over whether or not to get it for you, thought that maybe it was too thoughtful or rather was too romantic. But the look on your face when you opened the box made him feel like he’d swallowed the sun.

Ben's teeth clench together as a wave of guilt crashes over him remembering what he yelled at you, remembering what he did to you. He thought that it had been what he needed to do, that he needed to push you away because he didn't want to care about anyone else, at least not the way he cared about you.

He hadn’t thought it would hurt as much to say those things to you, but it had all but ripped his own heart out.

But even before you found them together all Ben felt was guilt. He wasn’t enjoying anything he was doing to Countess, all he wanted was to do those things with you. He thought it was necessary, that by doing those things with her he could somehow clear his head of you, but all it did was make him feel guilty and want you more.

He thinks about the days that followed before his mission in Nicaragua, when he agonized over calling you, over showing up to your apartment, but he couldn't. He couldn't face you.  He hadn't been able to sleep those nights before the mission and wanted desperately for you to be there with him.  Ben couldn't sleep when you weren’t with him. He hated that he'd finally gotten you and then lost you so quickly.

Ben notices a velvet box, and he sighs when he opens it. It's an engagement ring, the engagement ring that you showed him the night he asked you to come with him.

He briefly wonders if you thought that was his version of a proposal. That you believed, turning your back on your family and coming with him meant more.

I’m such a fucking idiot. I should’ve-

“It really is a shitty ring.” He mutters. And it was, it was all wrong for you. Ben knew what you liked and he couldn’t believe that this was what that asshole got you.

Why did she keep it? Because she wanted to remember what her life could have been like if I didn’t ask her to come?

Ben remembers when he asked you if he ruined your life, before everything exploded. He imagined that after that night you changed your answer, because how could you look at him, let alone want to be around him after what he did to you?

Ben examines the ring again allowing the memory of the night you showed it to him push its way into his mind. He remembered being scared, of course he’d never admit that, he wasn’t a pussy, but he acutely remembered the moment you showed it to him. The fear of losing you that struck him when he noticed it on your finger, as the weight of what it represented settled on his shoulders. He knew that the asshole who proposed would quickly turn you against him, and this time you’d believe it because you loved that dick or-

Ben reconsidered. She didn’t love him because she came with you. She loved you.

He remembers again what it was like to be with you in  bed, when you whispered those words so tenderly to him and is struck with guilt all over again.

You had looked almost sheepish when you showed me the ring, like you were afraid to tell me-

Of course she was afraid to tell you. She wanted you to propose but you didn’t instead you fucking ruined her life and strung her along for 40 fucking years-

He never understood how you did that. Survived all those years with him while he fucked his way through everything that crossed his path. How you continued to stand by him when he was a dick to you and so many others. And yet you never let any other man into your life.

He remembers the night after you got between him and Noir, remembers asking you if you wanted to marry Howard, but you said no. The other things you said struck something within him. When you said you wanted someone to come home to, someone who would love you, a family. He remembers how you looked the night of your birthday in the restaurant, how you watched the couples around your table and smiled. He knew what you were thinking, and he had tried to show you that he could be that for you by taking your hand where it rested on the table even though it went against every instinct he had. He wanted so badly to give you those things, to make you happy. Ben didn’t want you to find that with anyone else. He would have loved to have a family with you, to be with you always the way you were always there for him, or were until he fucked it all up. He remembers asking you to marry him, apart of it had been a joke, just to gauge your reaction, but deep down he was curious. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much when you laughed him off.

Ben sighs. When you spoke about leaving Payback he was worried, worried that it meant you would leave him too and then who would he have? No one. It’s why he spent so many nights in your bed, with you curled up beside him. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He shuts the ring box with a snap and throws it back inside. The memory of the night you spent together is just on the edge begging to be let in. Ben indulged in that memory many times over the years, letting it strengthen him. Remembered every detail. It was the first time that he actually cared what someone else wanted in bed. He remembered how your cheeks blushed when you told him that you’d never had sex before and how you said that you wanted it to be him. He never imagined that you would want him the same way that he’d wanted you all those years.The exact reason why he drowned himself in so many other women, because he thought that’s what he needed to do. Because you deserved someone better than him, you always had.

The thought is immediately followed by what he yelled at you in the bathroom at the premiere, when he turned something that you believed to be special, one of the happiest nights of his life, into a cheap fuck.

He remembered the broken expression on your face. He'd never seen you look so small. Ben always admired how strong you were, but as soon as he said those things to you, he watched you crumble when he broke your heart.

Worse still was when he grabbed you. He fights the shudder, remembering how he grabbed onto your arms. As many times as you’d stood between him and the source of his anger, he’d never laid a hand on you but that night, he was just so damn frustrated. You were looking at him with those big eyes of yours that always saw through him, understood him, and he was frustrated because he wanted to tell you that he loved you that he always had loved you but he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit it because he was a man and damn it a man didn’t show emotions and he was Soldier Boy he didn’t need anyone-

His jaw clenches together so tight that he hears the click of his teeth.

But he did. He knew that all he needed was you.

I’m such a fucking asshole. Y/n doesn’t need me and I don’t deserve her-

Ben raises his head to look at your bedroom door as he hears the front door of your apartment swing open. And he freezes.

Because why would you want to see him? He had ruined your life.

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

A/N: Alright everybody we made it to the chapter right before the reunion!!! What will happen? Will she forgive him? Who knows?! Even me, honestly. 😂

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know. :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts,@onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn @lifeonawhim @soldirboy @liuope @brynanna

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Talk. || baby daddy!Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 2.2K~ Pairing: dad!gaz x mother!reader CW: canon-typical violence, events of MW2019 (references), CHILD DEATH (mentioned), pregnancy, underage!! pregnancy, some cultural/religious judgements regarding underage/out-of-wedlock pregnancy, birth (references). Tags: you/your pronouns, (reader implied female because 'mum', 'mama' and other nicknames are used + mentions of pregnant!user), hurt/comfort, fluff?, military inaccuracies I'm sure. Summary: Gaz and the reader are co-parents of a 10-year-old girl (the result of a teen pregnancy). Gaz calls home to talk to his family and he's having a bit of a breakdown after a mission. a/n: This happens in the MW2019 game timeline, somewhere after the Butcher's interrogation. NOT PROOFREAD, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.

“SIMISOLA RUBY GARRICK, I WILL NOT CALL YOU AGAIN, GET DOWN HERE!” You shout at the top of your lungs, your voice reverberating all the way to the upper floor of your small townhouse.

“IN A MINUTE!” The girl’s voice calls out from upstairs for the… umpteenth time in the last 10 minutes.

“I swear, Kyle, this girl will be the death of me one of these days.” You tell him. “I’m not well-equipped to deal with a teenager.” You grumble as you look at Kyle’s face on the phone screen.

“She’s not a teen yet, lovie.” He retorts with a little smile. “She’s only 10.” He reminds you.

“She’s teenager enough for my taste. Bloody ignoring me whenever I call her!” You reply with a bit of a huff.

“She’s gettin’ older.” He says simply. “You tellin’ me you obeyed your mum every day at her age?” He asks.

“No, but…” You trail off and sigh, dejectedly. “I hate when you make sense, you know that?” You retort, glaring right at him with your best attempt at the ‘mum stare’, but it’s not as effective through the phone.

“Sorry, mama. One of us has to.” She adds with a mischievous smirk on his full lips. He knows how much you like it when he calls you that.

“Shut it, Garrick, I don’t want to hear it.” You retort and you can hear, and see, him giggling on the other side.

From the way the area around him has gotten progressively darker as you spoke for the last 30 minutes, you can tell he’s somewhere out East, somewhere where the sun is starting to set, since in Birmingham it’s only 3 P.M. and still fully bright outside.

“How’s the OP goin’?” You ask despite knowing that he’s not allowed to say anything about it so he simply shoots you a look before raising his fingers to bring a cigarette to his lips, taking a good long drag.

“It’s goin’ fine enough.” He adds and shrugs, before looking off to the distance just off-camera. He’s… lying. You can tell from the way his eyes furrow and his scarred cheek scrunches in frustration.

Turning your head back up, you aim your eyes at the stairs. “BLOODY FUCKIN’ HELL, SIMI, DAD’S ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!” You announce to what, at this point, has to be the ghosts that kidnapped your daughter because she refuses to come downstairs.

Your ears pick up on the sound of her bedroom door flying open and her feet taking her through the carpeted hall and down the steps.

You watch her coming through the vintage, little pass-through window in your kitchen. “Did’ya say dad?!” The dark-skinned girl says as she comes sliding around the corner and into the room.

“Oh, THAT lights a fire under your arse, innit? But not all those other times I told you to come down? What if I was dying, huh?” You scold her and she immediately smiles the same impish smile your baby daddy is sporting on the phone screen. He loves seeing you be maternal.

“Sorry, Mamsie.” She says while showing absolutely no regret at all in her young features. Shaking your head, you pass the phone over to Simi, whose face lights up at the sight of Kyle. “Dad!”

“Oi, kiddo!” You hear Kyle say through the phone as Simisola takes the phone with her down to the sitting room and parks herself on the sofa, talking about all sorts of things with her dad.

You watch her for a moment through the pass-through window. She’s bouncing excitedly, talking about school, her mates, her grades… It’s not often she gets to talk to Gaz, less even that she gets to see him.

Sometimes you wonder if the unpredictability of his job is going to mess her up one day. I mean, her chances of that are already high enough considering the two of you are merely 28 and have been raising her since you were still kids yourselves… But the fact he’s more gone than around in her day-to-day life is bound to mess her up too…

Maybe you should get her into some therapy, just in case.

But then again, she seems surprisingly unaffected by all of this. She’s healthy, smart, sweet… a bit of a smartass (she takes after her dad in that)... And above all else, she seems... happy.

All things considered, of all the blokes that could’ve gotten you knocked up at seventeen, Kyle Garrick was the best option… And your daughter was the best outcome possible.

Sure, you weren’t official or anything back then (nor are you now, really... though you share a bed and a home and you kiss and-), the pregnancy had been an unforeseen consequence of a tryst in the back of a car after drinking at the local pub… But looking back, you got lucky.

Either way, you were both too young, too eager, too needy, too… stupid. Neither of you thought of condoms, hoping the ‘trusty’ pull-out method would suffice.

It didn’t.

You still remember the way you had a panic attack in a toilet stall at school, you and a girlfriend skipping class to pop over to Tesco and buy a box of pregnancy tests… She took one with you, just to ease your worries… And then yours came out positive.

The fear and absolute dread you felt was paralyzing, the way you stayed holed up in the loo while your friend tried to console you and used her fuschia Motorola Razr to text your other friends to come to the toilets after class.

From there, your girlfriends texted his mates, and by the time you noticed, Kyle was elbowing his way into the bathroom, past the group of waiting students, all of them mutual friends of you both. He spotted you sitting on the dirty tile floor in the corner, eyes glued on the pregnancy test in your hand. You were ugly crying, snot all over, and hyperventilating.

Even back then, Kyle was already years ahead of any other teen you knew. He was mature and calm, collected… He sat beside you, rubbed your back, and told you it’d all be okay. You know deep down that he only held it together to calm you down but once he was alone he probably cried like a baby too.

His parents are Nigerian immigrants. In their minds, there was an order of doing things and their only son getting a girl pregnant before marriage (or before hitting maturity, really) was NOT it.

And your parents, well… They weren’t very happy about it either. Not that any parent ever is when their daughter comes home and drops the bomb that she’s expecting.

That was a bad moment for your lives… You both lived with your parents and you had to go back and forth between school and baby appointments… Kyle was by your side the whole time (or as much as he could, considering he had enlisted as soon as he hit 18) and both your parents tried their best to be supportive… But you never quite earned Mr. and Mrs. Garrick’s affection. Not even now, 10 years later.

At first, they didn’t even want to believe the baby was Kyle’s. Your father ended up having some very heated choice words with Mr. Garrick, defending your honor, and almost bringing the house down screaming that you weren’t a slag.

You were on edge and depressed back then. Once the news spread, most of your friends stopped hanging out with you out of pressure put on by their own parents… They still smiled at you and showed encouragement to you whenever you saw each other… But they didn’t come over anymore, barely spoke to you in the halls… 

People stared in the streets… Whenever you went into a baby shop or the diaper aisle at the supermarket… You were stared at. The whispers of “Look at her, such a slag”, “So young and already up the duff…” never came, at least not that you heard them, but you found yourself clutching your mum’s arm particularly hard whenever she managed to drag you out of the flat and to the shops.

You don’t like looking back on the pictures of that year in sixth form. As much as you love your child, seeing the way your face became hollow and sad, your eyes weighed down by dark circles as your belly grew consistently until nothing you wore fit you right… It still stung.

You wonder how you managed to retain enough mental faculties to not earn yourself a post-partum depression diagnosis. Whatever your brain did, it did it well...

With her skin all wrinkly and red and screaming at the top of her lungs, her little fists shaking, eyes all glossy, and a little clump of dark hair on her head slicked back by the amniotic fluid… You fell in love with Simi the moment the nurses set her against your bare chest.

And Kyle did too. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, his lip trembled and his nose and chin scrunched up to contain a wail. As soon as he held her in his arms for the first time, so small against his chest, her little body wrapped in a blanket against his fatigues... you started openly weeping at the sight, blaming the hormones, but the fact of the matter was that she was so small, so tender, so… perfect.

You tune out most of your daughter’s conversation with her father as you go about preparing dinner for the two of you, moving about the kitchen, lost in your own thoughts.

Your ears perk up when you hear Kyle ask Simi if she can pass the phone back to you and let the two of you have a conversation. The girl complains a bit about how much she misses him but ends up acquiescing to him. Daddy’s girl, she is.

She rushes over, her mini twists bouncing with each step as she drops the phone onto your hand and then waves an exaggerated “See you soon, dad!”. You watch her bounce away and trot back up the stairs before you look down at the phone.

Putting on your earpods, you set the phone down on the counter, propped up by the flour container so you can still be in frame as you go about breading some thin chicken cutlets. 

“What is it, Kyle?” You ask him softly and raise your brows at him. His face is a lot more grim and he lights a second cigarette.

“We lost a kid.” He replies softly. “A little boy in Urzikstan.” He adds and sighs loudly. Your whole face twists lightly into sadness. “Some… fuckin’ plonker of a terrorist…” He trails off.

“Did you kill him?” You ask him and he nods his head solemnly. You’ve learned long ago not to give your input too much on these topics… He’s chosen to keep you and your daughter away from it all… 

He once mentioned that asking to be let in would be like 'dipping your pinkie toe in a pond, never knowing if something would be reaching up to pull you in'. You swore he got that quote from a John Wick movie, and then you both laughed… But you knew he meant the sentiment of it.

“I had to stoop down to his level first.” He tells you as he takes another drag os his new cigarette. “Threatened his wife… his son… to get him to talk.” He trails off and sucks in a sharp breath.

Even with the progressive darkness that has set in now, wherever he is, you can still spot the way his nose scrunches as he tries to hold in his crying… His voice is still steady, but his eyes… Always so expressive… You’ve learned to read them in 10 years of co-parenting.

“Every time that bloody barrel even went slightly near that kid’s face I-” Kyle trembles out a breath and rolls his shoulders. Then, he goes quite.

“Anyways…” He says, trying to deflect his feelings away from the things he’s had to do. “I… I miss Simi… And I miss you.” He adds.

“We miss you too, Kyle.” You reply, trying your best to be positive for him. He needs it. “She can’t stop talking about you, counting down the days ‘till you walk through that door and come wrap her in one of those alledgedly ‘annoying’ bear hugs of yours.” You quip and a genuine smirk forms on his lips.

He nods and you notice him through away his cigarette and move somewhere else. As he walks you notice the space is brighter, the camera is facing upwards, and you can see the ceiling and ceiling lights… But above all else, you see his handsome face, the light wisp of a mustache and a goatee, the scar on his left cheek, his tired eyes, and disheveled hair.

He crosses a threshold into another darkened space, but this one is much quieter. You hear some shuffling sounds and even though now you really can’t see shit, you know he’s there, staring at you… And you know he’s lying down.

“Lovie… Can I ask you a favour?” He says as he sighs deeply and slowly.

“Yeah, what is it?” You end up saying as you set aside the breaded cutlets and wash your hands.

“Tell me everything I’m missing. Tell me everything that Simisola did and said… Tell me about your day… about work… share all the gossip you’ve got…” He requests. 

“Just… Just talk my bloody ear off.” He pleads. “I just need to hear your voice.” He adds, his tone a lot more gentler. “Please…”.

[skylarsblue]

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

[midastouch-zaza]

R is a dance teacher, and during a private lesson with Chaeryeong and Yuna, the two girls end up goofing around the entire time and ignoring the teacher. Eventually, R gets annoyed and decides to show them what he does to bad girls.

"Can you girls being serious for like ten minutes?", you asked, groaning loudly. "Yeah, yeah, in a moment", Yuna quickly answered, not even looking at you. It was the same response she gave you five minutes ago...and then minutes before that.

Their agency paid you for giving them a private lesson, but their attitude was so disappointing. They have been just gossiping for like 20 minutes and you were starting to get really sick and tired of them.

"Girls, please, at least let's do some stretching", you basically begged them at that point. "Sure, just more five minutes", Chae replied, keeping to talk with her younger member. That's it, now you were done. You are professional, how do they dare disrespect you this way?

You stomped till the bench where they were sitting and pulled down your sporty shorts, pulling out your semi-rigid cock. Now that got their attention and silence. "Let me teach some manners", you simply said, before shoving your shaft inside Chaeryoung mouth.

You expected Yuna to defend her friend or to protest at least. "Damn, Oppa... didn't expect you to be this cool...and big", she gasped, looking your cock reaching its biggest size, while being sucked by her older friend.

In fact Chae seemed to accept her punishment, and honestly was doing her role in such a good spirit. "Are you gonna still do nothing?", you coldly asked at the maknae. "No, I'm sorry, I'll help her", she quickly apologized before attacking your balls with her tongue.

"Tsk, you two are nothing more than kinky sluts", you commented, while Chae was bobbing her head on your shaft and Yuna was slurping on your balls. Probably it was because of the anger or the adrenaline, but you were quick to fill Chae mouth with your cum.

"Now change", you ordered them, and they immediately followed your command with Yuna basically stealing the cock from her friend mouth and Chae having her turn with your balls. These idols really knew their way with their mouth.

They were having too much fun for your taste, so you started to fuck the bunny girl face, while pressing Chaeryoung head until both her balls were filling her cheeks. You were thrusting so face inside Yuna mouth, then after reaching your climax her make up was completely ruined by a mix of tears, her own saliva and your cum.

"Do you see what I do to bad girls in my lesson?", you asked, thinking that it was enough. But instead you saw Chaeryoung pulling down her track pants. "Yeah, and we love it, please punish us more", she said, bending over the bench and offering you her ass.

You couldn't refuse her slutty offer, immediately taking her butchered hole, pounding it with your big cock. "This fat ass deserves to be destroyed", you growled, while fucking her ass. "Yes, do it, it feels so good", she said, while moaning and offering you candy eyes.

After stretching her hole and using it until she had difficulty to stand up, you reached your climax, shooting your seed inside her tight hole. Now it was the turn of the younger bitch. Where was she?

You found her behind you, seated on the parquet with her legs widened while looking at you with eyes full of lust. "Take my pussy too, Oppa, do it and I won't be bad anymore", she promised, biting her lips.

If a good fuck was that she needed to behave like a good student and not like an unbearable girl, you were going to give it to her. You started fucking her pussy with fast and deep thrusts, making her black out because of the pleasure.

Her hands were around your neck, keeping your body impossibly close while your were fucking her silly. "Fuck, Oppa, breed me", she moaned, kissing you, so you just dumped a big load of cum inside her.

Few minutes later you getting dressed while they were cleaning the mess you've made. "I expect you to ask your agency to book another training session. Next time just be serious about my lesson and I'll fuck at the end of that, alright?", you said, before leaving the practice room while the two girls looked at you with loving eyes.

[beybaldes]

and wouldn't you love to love her?

Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

djats masterlist

Word Count : 2.1k

Summary : basically my fic they long to be (close to you) with a warren!ending. OR the one where Warren reveals he can't sleep without you anymore.

Warning!! I have not read the book or the show!!! All info I have gathered has been from other x readers I have read. sorry in advance if I have butchered your fav show/book because I have plainly made shit up in favour of satiating my own need for more warren fics xoxo

Moving to LA had been much more isolating then you'd ever thought it'd be. Sure, you'd moved with there with some of your closest friends, but it still felt harrowingly lonely compared to what you were used to in Pittsburgh. In your small hometown, everyone knew everyone, so wherever you went, you saw someone you knew - here, in LA, you felt lucky to accidentally make eye contact with a stranger on the street.

Warren was the number one person happy to fill the needed affection you often sought out since moving to LA. He, himself, was quite the lover - always one to take a cuddle and hold onto a hug for way longer then most would deem appropriate - which was exactly what you needed. The two of you had spent many nights in bed together in LA just for the company of it, and not that you didn't like it, you just wished it was with someone else, instead.

"You coming to bed, sweet girl?" Warren asked with a tired drawl to his words, extending a hand out to you while the other held the remainder of his joint to his lips.

"In a little." You hummed back, taking a hit out the joint he offered out to you, the joint being held to your lips by Warren instead of taking it into your own hands. "I'm not tired enough to sleep."

Warren pulled the joint back to his lips, his other hand coming to brush your hair out of your eyes and behind your ear, his hand resting against your hair and keeping you tucked in the crook of his neck. "You want me to wait up with you? Or you can come keep my company? I'll put on some Fleetwood Mac, it'll help you sleep, baby girl."

That was another thing that you missed about Pittsburgh; the constant nicknames you let the others call you. Back in Pittsburgh, everyone had some kind of name to call you except the one you were born with. Now? Karen called you sweet-pea, Eddie called you birdie, Camilla called you sunshine as did Graham and even Billy, but Warren? Warren called you whatever he liked; sweet girl, baby girl, baby, doll, his.

"No, it's okay Warren, you go to bed." Warren scooped you up in his arms, placing you down in the spot next to Graham who had already opened up his blanket for you, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. "I'll leave the door open for you."

You let your head fall to Graham's shoulder, who pulled his arm out from between the two of you and wrapped it over the back of the sofa. He allowed you to tangle your legs up in his pyjama covered ones, making sure you were comfortable before he turned his attention back to the tv screen.

"You and Warren are sleeping together?" Karen had been the one brave enough to ask, the conversation between the two of you not unnoticed by the rest of the group - it being the only thing to break the silence in the past 40 minutes. 

All heads turned to you, attention suddenly on something that had the potential to be more interesting then the rerun of Scooby-doo that had just started. "Not like that." You answered softly, eyes still focused on the cartoon dog and his gang on friends, not noticing how everyone else was now looking at you. "We both just like the company of it. I don't think either of us realised how lonely it would be coming out to LA."

"Cute." Camilla mused, a warm smile curling on her lips as she took in that even in your sleep you were reaching out for the touch and warmth of someone else.

"You're always welcome in my bed, sweet-pea." Karen added, a smile curling on her own lips as she managed to take your attention away from the tv. "I swear you run cold. Would be nice in the LA heat."

"You can't steal my blanket buddy." Graham gasped, pulling you tighter against him and furiously tucking the blanket around the two of you. "She's the perfect amount of cold. The windows open, with the blanket, with y/n is the perfect temperature for me."

"I'm going to have to pass on that one Karen, unless you want to come down to my room." You countered her offer with a soft smile, attention moving back to the tv once more. "Warren says your room is haunted."

Laughter spread through out the room as you sided with Warren even in his absence; he was so sweet to you, and that's what friends do, so how could you not?

"What?" You asked, laughing yourself. "We left it empty until your arrival for a reason." That caused another round of laughter to break out in the room, everyone enjoying the way the two of you were slowly but surely morphing into one person with the more time you spent confined in the LA rental.

A particularly loud shout of "scoob!" from the TV had everyone's attention turned back to the cartoon, letting the nature of your relationship with Warren lie for at least the time being.

By the end of the third episode, only you, Graham and Eddie remained in the room. Graham was fast asleep, his head leaning against yours making you trapped in his hold, and Eddie was sat in the armchair against the wall, legs curled into the seat and a bottle of warm beer in his hands that he'd been nursing for the last half an hour.

As the intro to the next rerun of Scooby-doo blasted from the TV, Graham startled awake, literally jumping out of his seat and pulling the blanket with him. He grumbled some attempt at what you thought was a goodnight, and stumbled sleepily out of the room, the warmth of him and the blanket leaving you alone on the couch.

Eddie got up from his seat without a word, joining you on the couch with his arm stretched over your shoulders and across the back of the couch cushions.

"I know you like him." Eddie teased, letting his arm fall around you and pull you into his side. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and placed it over the two of you, trying to keep you warm now that Graham had stolen your provisos blanket. "I can tell, I think we all can."

"Everyone except Warren, I guess." You complained, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, taking the warm beer he held in his hands and having a sip of it.

"He likes you too you know." Eddie laughed at the face of disbelief you pulled, taking the beer back from you to have another sip for himself. "All I'm saying is, you don't see me in his bed every night, and he likes me just fine."

You hummed into him, tucking your head away from the light of the tv screen, thinking about what Eddie was suggesting. His fingers moved to run through your hair, soothing you to sleep even if he hadn't meant to.

It wouldn't be the first time you had ended up in this predicament, you and Eddie cuddled up together on a couch in someone's living room, the night having gotten away from you. But it was the first time since coming to LA, the first time since you'd basically moved into Warren's bed, and if it weren't for the fact you were already half asleep, you would've felt sick about it.

Eddie wasn't far behind you when it came to falling asleep, his fingers shortly stilling and beer left half drank and held loosely between his fingers.

As people slowly began to filter into the living room the following morning, you made yourself plenty comfortable in Eddie's lap - instead of taking up the whole couch - allowing him to wrap an arm around your waist and hold you up and against him by your thighs. You lazily tuned into the conversation everyone else seemed to be having, mainly focused on eating the bowl of cereal Camilla had given you and the feeling of Eddie's fingers toying with the hem of your shorts. Picking up another spoonful of food, you offered him a mouthful, him taking it with a grateful smile.

"I thought you and Warren were sleeping together?" Billy asked, gesturing at you and Eddie with the tip of his spoon accusingly.

"And I thought we discussed this last night." You deflected with a shrug. Everyone apparently knew of your feelings for the curly haired brunette according to Eddie, but that didn't mean you had to admit them to them. It would only give them more ammunition to tease you with anyways. "Me and Ed's stayed out here last night, tried to stay up watching scooby-doo but failed, that's all."

"You and Ed's, huh." Graham asked, his eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"You're just jealous that she doesn't have a cute nickname for you." Eddie spat back, quickly coming to your defence as you offered him another bite of your cereal.

Scanning your eyes around the room, you took notice of the lack of a certain member of the sixes presence. "Where is Warren, actually?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Graham teased, earning a smack on the chest from Eddie who came to your defence as you left the room, leaving him with your cereal and an unusually rowdy Graham.

You crept into Warren's room, quiet as a mouse, hoping not to wake him up as you made your own way to bed. Despite your claim last night, you headed over first to the record player in the corner, pulling out your Fleetwood Mac vinyl and skipping to where Rhiannon should start. Turing the volume down enough that it wouldn't go outside the room but would reach you from Warren's bed. Cracking open the window just enough to let in a cool breeze, you finally got into what had become your side of Warren's bed.

No sooner then you'd lied down and turned on your side to slowly wake him, Warren was cosying himself into your side, nuzzling into your shoulder and wrapping his arm around you, intertwining your fingers.

"I didn't mean to wake you, m'sorry." You murmured, wiggling your arm out of his hold to wrap it over him, tangling your fingers in his mess of curls. You scratched gently at his scalp, Warren preening into your touch, yearning for it. "Well I did actually, but not like this, it's nearly 9."

"You didn't wake me, sweet girl." He purred, pressing a kiss, then another, then another to your shoulder. "Can't sleep without you, just been sat here all night trying to."

"Warren." You whined, shuffling to face him better at his confession. "You should've said so. I would've come with you when you first asked. You could've come to get me."

"I didn't want you to think I was needy." He whispered, avoiding your eyes as he busied himself in trying to get comfy now that you were in his arms again. "Plus, when I did come out to get you, you seemed pretty cosy with Eddie."

"We just fell asleep watching tv, that's all." You promised, feeling as a smile creeped onto Warren's face at your admission. "Nothing else. If I didn't have the blanket I would've come here, to you. I promise."

"You're here now, baby girl. That's all that matters to me." Warren was already dropping asleep, his need for it catching up quickly now that your presence was beside him, now that he was safe in your arms. "All that matters."

At your lack of response, Warren began to move, exhibiting the most life you'd seen in him since you'd walked into the room minutes ago. "C'mere hot stuff." Warren opened his arms to you, letting you shuffle down until your head rested against his chest and your arms were wrapped under his, going up his back and holding onto his shoulders from behind.

You gently scratched your fingers up and down his back, lulling him to sleep just as he was lulling you sleep with the soothing circles he was rubbing into your hip. You were quick to fall asleep again in his hold, as you did every night in Warren's bed, as did Warren, who, like he'd just admitted, couldn't sleep without you in his arms.

[softstargirl]

Strawberries & Blueberries! (A Sweet Treat For A Sweet Man!♡)

Pic - Pinterest Account: @candytufftie.

I have been thirsting over this cake for wayyyy too long (a day) and our wholesome baby deserves to enjoy it! (I'm delulu) (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Sorry if I butchered the German language ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡ I was using DeepL Translator.

König/F! Reader, Baking & Wholesomeness. Fluff & a little bit Suggestive.

Enjoy!!! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Writing tips are appreciated in this household!! ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡ (Seriously, I'm aiming to improve in writing! ෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ)

“Meine liebe (my love), there’s no need to do all of this. We can just spend the day rewatching the series you love.” Kong tried to convince you but failed miserably as you pulled out your cookbook and placed it on the table, [f/c] apron tied around your body and your face beaming. A red, silk bookmark stood out underneath the pages before it and a grin shone on your face as you opened it.

“I am not going to hear you out, Kö. You just got back and I have to treat you. Please, it'll make me really happy. Please?”

The large man sighed at the sight of your pleading, shoulders lowering in defeat and with a nod, a smile appeared on your face and you rushed to hug him. “Thank you! It's going to taste so good!” König rolled his eyes, a warm smile on his face as your frame tightly held onto him before you let go.

“I'm so glad I managed to snag a remaining copy of the book. The Pinterest mom who created it said that if I didn't contact her at the time I did I would have probably found them sold out! She’s such a sweet lady. I hope I'll be like her when I’m older. Five whole children and she’s still so active.”

“Gosh, she’s lucky to have all the energy to handle all the stuff that she has to do. Her husband seems sweet too. He was playing with the kids at the park as she was explaining the contents of the book to me. They were so adorable together.”

I truly hope that you and I will be like that too. Probably because of how wonderful of a boyfriend you are. No doubt that our future will look like that”.

König paused as he brought out the egg carton from the fridge. You imagined him being with you for so long? König sometimes wondered how he ended up with someone as amazing as yourself. “Was there no one else who you’d rather commit a relationship to?” “Was he worthy of you?”

Truly, he didn't know. You were, in his eyes, way too graceful for him. Kind, loving and sweet as sugar towards people whom you showed care for. You treated him so well that he sometimes couldn't grasp that he was around you. Around your light. Your presence. Your amazing self.

The whisk rotated firmly as he moved it, not wanting you to injure your soft hands and form callouses and blisters which he had grown accustomed to. König could tell that you were keen on watching his arms as he worked and made sure to flex his muscles as long as you were on sight. The little lip bite you do makes it so worth it.

“Don't try to tempt me, Kö. Gosh, the sugar in the mixture smells divine”. His lips kissed your cheek after his hand grazed your bum as he placed the flour in the cupboard.

You brought out the strawberries and blueberries, basking in their blooming red and blue-purple colour with a grin on your face as they sat on the basket you placed them in after washing them. A smack to your hand made you roll your eyes as you attempted to taste a juicy strawberry once more then a blueberry after you had a couple of them. König took the strawberry from your hand and sliced it. “Dummes mädchen (silly girl), why did you choose to stuff four strawberries and a couple of berries in your mouth?”

“You keep pushing my hand away from the basket. What else am I supposed to do?” You responded, wiping the icing you placed on top of the berries from your lips.

König chuckled and walked up to them. “You've got a little bit left at the corner of your lips. Lassen sie mich Ihnen helfen. (Let me help you.)”

König’s thick thumb trailed over the curve of your lip, making your cheeks grow hot. They grew hotter as you watched him lick the icing off of it, a teasing smile growing on his face at your dismay.

You looked away, desire pooling in you and started wide-eyed when his hand gently moved your face right back to his sight. “I was on the mission for a while. Pardon my boldness, but I just can't wait to feel you right after we’re done.”

“I understand the feeling so much. I can't wait either. I hope I'll be able to walk tomorrow. Knowing you, I doubt it.” You giggled and gently kissed his cheek then moved to place the batter in baking pans.

“Meine Güte, du hast mein Verlangen nach dir noch verstärkt.” (“My goodness, you've made me crave you even more.”)

“It's so good!” You grinned as you chewed on the sweet taste of the cake as you both sat on the couch, cuddling as a show you loved played on the TV.

“Yes, it is.” König nodded then popped a blueberry into his mouth and smiled at you.

You caught his gaze and smiled back. “You've got a little icing...here.” You said and flicked the icing off of his soft lips with your thumb and licked it off of your finger. You caught the desire pooling in his eyes and lifted your head to kiss him. Lowering his head, your lips met his. The fruity taste of the cake resided in your mouths and you savoured one another.

“Hmm! Kö, let’s- oh! eat first.” You told him as your hands caressed his face. His hands moved lower onto your sides and tightly held onto them as he placed you on his lap.

“Lass mich jetzt ein kleine stück von dir essen. Dann esse ich gleich noch mehr kuchen.” ("Let me eat a little piece of you now. Then I'll eat some more cake.")

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Okay every time I read one of your celtophobia posts I am filled with immediate and incandescent rage, enough to propulse the responsible idiots into space but not to bring them back again. I'm really sorry about the """""lecturer"""""" you had to sit through this morning, and any other instances that happen. Hugs.

That said, I am very worried of doing the same thing and want to make my utmost sure I don't, so I thought it'd be okay to ask someone from a language that has to fight for space for politeness tricks. Apologies if this is not okay!

Context: I'm from continental Europe, which means English is my second language (I speak three languages and a half ish, the half is in process, because #languagenerd). I'm moving to Ireland come September, and I'm absolutely terrified of offending the good Irish people when I don't know how to pronounce their names, surnames, street names, or anything else; or, worse, try and end up butchering them in the manner of the British.

Dilemma: How can I ask for help when pronouncing things in a delicate way? I was thinking of signing up to Irish courses once I'm there, but for now I'm panicking about the actual move so I can't get a head start with that because my brain space is limited, and other than watching YouTube videos with the most common Irish names/words ahead of arriving, I honestly don't know. I want to be culturally sensitive and make sure they feel respected and not Colonised, Part Three Hundred, but also they shouldn't have to bear the weight of my lack of cultural knowledge and Teach Me? Idk. Just thoughts.

Good question! I suppose it's a two-part procedure:

Step 1: Learn a pronunciation guide. By that I just mean get to grips with the alphabet, common phonemes, etc and how those are said. With something like Welsh it's super easy (because phonetic), something like English it's super hard (because not phonetic); Irish is a bit more complex than Welsh, but still more phonetic than English. You might not be able to get to a "perfect every time" place, but you can get yourself to a "right most times" place.

Step 2: If you encounter a name you aren't 100% sure of, offer your best educated guess when asking. This shows that you have done the work, you are making a genuine attempt, but you still have the humility to ask to make sure.

When I say "best educated guess", I mean it's clear that you're guessing based on a working knowledge of the language rules in question. In Welsh, for example, if someone asks me how to pronounce "Cymru", there is a world of difference between someone saying "Sim-roo" (based on English pronunciation rules transposed onto Welsh) and "Kim-ree" (based on Welsh pronunciation rules, they just forgot which pronunciation of 'y' to use for the syllable it's in.) If someone says to me "How do you say that? Sim-roo?" then I know they haven't attempted any prior learning (though points for being interested enough to ask.) But if they say "Am I right in thinking it's Kim-ree?" then I know they've made the effort themselves, they've done the work, they just have a carry error that's skewed the answer.

Plus, you may well be right! And will be right more and more often the longer you're in Ireland.

If it helps, there's an Irish pronunciation guide here that's pretty good (or was back when I used it), and teanglann.ie is a pretty good resource for this, as it's a dictionary that lets you hear the words aloud and explains grammatical uses. (Irish people please feel free to add any other resources to the notes if you feel so inclined!)

As a final note, mind, given that you don't have time atm to dedicate brain space to this, speaking as a Welsh person I would be absolutely fine with someone saying to me "Sorry, I haven't had chance to learn yet, how do I say this?", or some variant thereof. Or, frankly, anything that's just... a polite request, and not laughing about it. I would take a thousand instances of "How do I say that? Sim-roo?" over even one "I don't know how to say that, haha" because the former is still caring enough to ask. So don't panic! A polite request will see you right.

[churipu]

Hi, may i request jjk men s/o is like roxana agriche ? If you don't know her, she was described as a ravishingly beautiful young woman with wavy golden hair that reaches below her waist and long lashes framing her crimson eyes. She often wears elegant dresses with butterfly motifs. Thank youuuu,! ❤️

ROXANNE ! — JJK MEN AND THEIR "ROXANA AGRICHE" PARTNER

featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. cursing

note. hi anon! i took some time into looking into roxana agriche and her personality. i could see sources saying she's a cunning person and somehow manipulative to get what she wants + she's mellow voiced and poised too. i don't read the series, so i hope i didn't butcher your request. thank you for requesting anon, i hope you enjoy this!

GOJO SATORU. he loves how calm you are at times — but with his energetic nature, on other times he feels like you should try to loosen up. sure you do laugh at his jokes, or pop a smile every once in a while. gojo loves you.

he just wishes you'd loosen up, with him. only him.

he finds your personality endearing and unique. that's why he fell in the first place, you managed to fool him the first time you both met — and ever since that day, he's been so interested in you (eventually falling in love with you).

you're such an unique person, with your various colored butterfly motive dresses that's now carved into a personality, your cool as a cucumber personality.

believe me when i said he took a long time chasing after you, trying to make you fall for him, he's done everything. get you chocolates, get you flowers, pizza, kikufuku. and one day you just accepted him and boom! he's your boyfriend.

but sometimes, he feels like he isn't. and it's starting to etch into his mind that you were just using him.

"satoru, are you listening to me?"

"are you using me?" you looked at him with that eyes of yours, that somehow looked so empty it scares gojo sometimes. you were silent, so gojo decided to speak again, "did you accept me out of pity?"

no. the answer is no. you do really like him, you're in love with him. people around you perceive you as someone cunning and manipulative — that you just had to...keep up with it. you felt like showing other things would be such a weakness.

"why are you saying that? have you been watching those sappy weird dramas again?" gojo heaved out a sigh.

"just because you say that you love me, doesn't mean i feel loved by you." okay, your relationship was in a verge of crumbling away right now and you honestly didn't know what to do, "are you listenin' to me. y/n?"

"i am."

"say something about it then."

it was either this whole personality, or gojo, "i do love you, satoru," you tell him, "and i apologize if i don't make you feel loved, that is completely a mistake in my part. you do a lot of things for me, and..i don't do as much for you. i apologize for that."

it will always be gojo over this whole personality, weakness and stuff.

hearing the word "apologize" made gojo flutter, you weren't really the type to apologize in the first place, so this all seemed like a fever dream to him, "i know 'm not doing much for you right now, but i do love you— and, i just...don't know how to show it to you. i'm so sorry."

you're a person of your own words, gojo felt loved, and you felt loved. it was a total win for the both of you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. he could care less about your whole personality or how much people hate it, in fact, your personality is one of the thing he loves most about you. other than that, there is one thing that he doesn't like about you.

he hates how beautiful you are. let's be real, as much as toji tries to show himself off as a bold and macho man — he's human too, and i feel like sometimes he feels a little insecure and scared. scared that you'll find someone better than him, then leave.

although he's never said that directly to your face, he shows it to you. and you knew, but also said nothing about his behavior. toji is an assassin, he's a sorcerer killer, he gets missions that required a long time. and in those times, he couldn't help but to think that you'll leave him to find someone better.

someone who could be there for you. someone obviously more perfect.

and as much as you don't show it to him, he's the most perfect. you'd never tell him that indirectly, but you show it through your actions. after all, actions do speak louder than words, right?

"what is your motive, toji?" you murmur into his shoulder— the male has been indubitably clingy for the past couple of hours, it was starting to get suspicious.

"what? 'm not allowed to hug my own partner now or something?" he retorted back.

"you're acting quite odd."

toji stayed mute. and it was obvious what he was doing, when everyone couldn't see right through him— there you were, reading him like an open book, "don't understand what you're talkin' 'bout."

you rubbed your hand on the back of his head, "i know you understand what i'm talking about," his body visibly flinches, but you paid no mind to that, your fingers trailing small circles on his nape, "what is it that you're afraid of?"

toji knew he could never lie to you, "you. leaving."

you pressed a kiss on to the side of his face, "well, you're worried over nothing. i'm not leaving you, not now at least."

toji pulls away, narrowing his eyes at you.

"hey, you never know when i'll die."

like hell toji would let that happen.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. like toji, he loves your personality — he's a brash person, and you were a cool headed person. name a better duo than that. often he'd find himself the one to ramble a lot in the relationship, complaining about how people are such shitty beings and how he'd rather be a rock.

one thing he despises is when people turn their heads to take a double-look at you whenever you both go out, it always annoyed him how people don't understand why he was there with you. or how it wasn't obvious enough that you were taken. by him.

"fucking shits."

you couldn't help but to smile at his fits of cursing, smiling lightly as you look up at him, "what's the matter?"

"'m seconds away from gauging their eyes.." sukuna mumbles out, scratching the back of his head sheepishly — he's a jealous person, there's no doubt to that of course, it's quite obvious is it not? what belongs to his is only his, nobody else's.

"how adorable."

sukuna despises it when you call him adorable, or how calm you are even if you know people turn their heads to look at you. he never asks you about it or why you never said anything to them, but he didn't like it, he wanted you to say something; show him off to these people, show him that he's yours too.

"are you jealous?"

"..no." hesitation was his enemy, with the slightest bit of pause — you could tell that he's lying through his words.

"do you perhaps want to go back home then?" home was the best place for you both (sukuna thinks, because he has your full attention and he doesn't have to worry about other people). he nodded his head and rolled his eyes.

"you should stop wearing these..dresses. wear them just for me," he mutters out.

"so you are jealous?"

"'m not. just saying."

he is jealous.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[avonne-writes]

Sorry if I'm butchering this but I think you've sort of explained how Gale and John first discovered subspace through accident, and then it scared them off for a while, and then they decided to do it intentionally when John asked Gale if he likes it or never wants to do it ever again. And I think elsewhere you mentioned that they discovered it because they realised Gale liked being told what to do, so they learnt into that. I'm wondering what your thoughts are on how they got to that space of realising Gale liked being instructed, and John felt comfortable telling him to do stuff? Especially as (and I can't recall exactly what your imaginings are re how much past sexual experience per say they both have, but) I agree totally with your general dynamic of them which is that Gale is quite self-conscious, a bit shy at first, probably needed a bit of leadership anyway from John to overcome nerved when they first started sleeping together - is that what you meant? Like was John simply showing him gently how to do something and then it turned into him telling him? And how did Gale realise / or voice / or John understand Gale actually liked being told what to do decisively? Thanks 🤩🥰

Thank you for the question, you’re not butchering anything! 🩷

Yes, you summarized that well! Basically, this is what happened:

They started having sex. Gale had little previous experience and Bucky had a lot, but in terms of dominance, it only showed in how frequently Gale asked if something felt good.

Once, while Gale was giving Bucky a handjob, Bucky touched his hand and guided him how he wanted to be stroked, and then sighed things like "that feels so good, do it again" into Gale's ear. When this made Gale's breathing hitch, Bucky noticed.

He grinned against Gale's cheek. "You like it when I talk?" Gale smiled, not looking at him. "Does it matter if I like it? You’re gonna talk my ears off anyway." Bucky laughed in delight. "I'll talk some more if you get on your knees for me."

He did not expect Gale to actually sink to his knees.

He also didn't expect Gale to look up at him with wide, expectant eyes as he took Bucky's cock in his mouth. Bucky said he'd talk more but words deserted him, he didn’t know what to say. So he just murmured the first thoughts that came to his mind - a stream of praise and instructions (like "yes, take it deep, Buck, oh my God").

After Bucky came, he found Gale clinging to his leg, his face pressed to Bucky's thigh. When he nudged him, Gale stirred and stood up, and he kissed Bucky, flushed and turned on.

They did this a few more times before Bucky realized that it wasn't just simply the talking but the things he said that affected Gale so. He asked Gale if he wanted to play one day, to pretend Bucky was a senior officer or something and he had to follow his orders. Gale was wary and sceptical but Bucky got really excited about the idea so Gale decided to humor him.

They really enjoyed the roleplay. Even more than Bucky expected. He offered to do it the other way around but Gale dismissed the idea with some excuse, and that was when the puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He realized that Gale wanted to be ordered around.

He knew Gale wouldn’t admit it easily. But he figured they didn't need to talk about it anyway, they could just play with it. So play they did, and sometimes Gale was receptive, sometimes he pushed back. Bucky tried to pinpoint the correlations. Another puzzle piece: Gale wanted it on bad, scary or exhausting days.

So, after a really bad day, Bucky went into it with the idea that he was gonna help Gale wind down by giving him as much of this as possible.

He was met with zero resistance (for the first time ever) and he was just happy, he thought that was Gale's way of showing he was enthusiastically on board, so he kept pushing and pushing, until he suddenly realized that Gale was acting really weird. He looked dazed, drunk - Bucky had never seen him drunk but this sure looked like that - he was slow, he didn’t talk, he clung to Bucky and gave him idle kisses that seemed odd for someone as purposeful as Gale.

Bucky made a joke but got no reaction. He was starting to panic. He looked into Gale's eyes and found his gaze content but hazy. Gale was breathing too slowly for what they'd been doing.

Bucky freaked out. He shook Gale, tried to get him to come back, was thinking they would have to find a doctor, and what if Gale had a head wound or illness they didn't notice - then Gale snapped out of it. Painfully, because he wasn’t ready for it yet, and he needed aftercare but he didn't get it. Instead, his dom was panicking so Gale started panicking too, and he felt wretched and cold and as if he was sick.

When Bucky saw that Gale was fully conscious again, he started asking him if he was okay and what happened there, but Gale snapped at him viciously that yes, he was okay, and Bucky should just piss off. Bucky didn’t believe for a single second that Gale was angry with him, he knew Gale was scared but didn’t know how to help when he was pushed away and met with utter, cold rejection.

Gale avoided him for an entire day, which was quite a feat considering the circumstances.

They didn't talk about it, just resumed things as usual on the second day. But Bucky could tell that romantic advances would be rejected, so he stayed away.

This went on for an entire miserable week before Gale broke and made a move. They made up and kissed and everything seemed okay again.

They had normal sex for a while. Bucky tried not to give Gale any orders and let him control how they had sex. But after a while, he could tell that Gale still wished he had guided him more when he was having a bad day, so Bucky told himself that that incident had been a one time thing and they could try again.

Without knowing what he was doing, he got Gale to subspace again. He had no word for it but he knew that Gale was high on some feeling. This time, Bucky was more prepared for it though. He still stopped having sex with him as soon as he noticed (which was, again, jarring for Gale), but when Gale had his subdrop due to the abrupt stop, Bucky was able to provide comfort and aftercare.

Still that night, cuddling, when Gale started feeling a little better, Bucky put his foot down and made them finally talk about it.

It went something like this. So, it was an accidental discovery because they didn’t even know that this mental state existed, but they got to it through purposeful actions that had a different goal. 😊

[vampirebloodie]

Vought Party | Homelander x Reader

Summary: You agree to help your brother Butcher by spying on Homelander during a Vought party.

Warnings: little smut 18+, dub-con, violence, Homelander being an narcissistic asshole (natural)

You were Billy Butcher's little sister, you hadn't seen him in a while, he was always a tough guy who liked to get into trouble for anything and with anyone, you could tell he got worse mentally after Becca disappeared, since then, you rarely saw him, not even at christmas time, where the two of you always got together to eat at night and put up the christmas tree. You felt sad about this, you were always attached to him, he was always the one who protected you and taught you about the evils of the world.

You were sitting on the couch in your apartment watching the news, it was always the same nonsense they repeated, Homelander saves the world once again, Vought, bla bla bla. Your doorbell rang, making you look at the door, you were surprised because you hadn't called anyone or ordered dinner. You opened the door, coming face to face with Butcher.

“Billy? My God!"

You smiled happily and hugged him tightly, feeling his hands squeeze you. You let go and he closed the door, entering your house and sitting on the couch, looking with a frown at the television that showed Homelander's face on the screen, he turned off the TV.

"We need to talk."

“You were missing for months, i thought you were dead or the police had caught you.”

You sat next to him on the couch.

“I know, sorry. But the situation is really complicated, i need your help.”

"What can i do for you?"

“I need you to go to a party today and try to get close to someone.... Homelander.”

He says a little apprehensive and the smile disappears from your face. You knew very well who Homelander was and what he was capable of off camera, just as you know Billy's hatred for him.

"I... how?"

"You're not known, Vought knows me and the boys and won't let us near him, i need you to bug him."

“What if this doesn’t work?”

I asked worriedly.

“It will work, you are smart and you are my little sister, i will always protect you.”

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

The long tight dress that served to highlight your curves made you uncomfortable, but Billy assured you that the more you attracted attention, the better it would be, you sighed, taking another champagne from the tray of a waiter who passed by you.

"Stop drinking. You shouldn't get drunk."

You heard Billy's voice coming from the device in your ear that was covered by your hair. Your eyes rolled back and you wondered if this was really worth doing.

“What is a pretty girl doing alone on this beautiful night?”

You heard that voice coming from behind you and your blood froze for a few moments, you turned around seeing Homelander looking at you with a smile.

“I… I came alone.”

You responded nervously and he grabbed your hand, giving it a kiss.

“Well, now you’re not alone anymore. I'm Homelander, but you probably already know that, after all, everyone knows me as the most powerful man in the world.”

He boasted and you couldn't help but laugh, starting to laugh, the smile on his face disappearing immediately.

"What's the fun?"

“I’m so sorry, it’s so funny to hear that in person.”

You recovered, wiping away some of the tears that fell from your eyes.

“Don’t you think im the most powerful man in the world? Who are you?"

He asked looking at you with disdain.

“I’m Liz.”

You told him your fake name, Vought knew Billy had a sister but they didn't know your face, only your name. Homelander smiles again, maybe he is a bipolar.

“So, Liz...Why don't you come with me? I can show you the building.”

"Follow him, go."

Billy whispered softly and you smiled at the blonde, starting to follow him through the huge building. It was something extremely luxurious and completely out of your reality, you looked at everything impressed, until you came face to face with a huge photo of his face pasted on the wall. It was weird.

"It's beautiful, is not it?"

"Yes...."

You lied and he looked proudly at his own image on the wall and you realized how narcissistic he is, but you couldn't say anything so you just nodded. The two of you entered his office, it was certainly the most luxurious one there, with several expensive pieces and security cameras everywhere, which could be a problem for you if someone saw you tapping the camera in some corner.

"Do you want something to drink?"

He asked, grabbing a bottle of wine from a mini freezer there.

“No, i already drank too much today.”

You rejected it, you couldn't trust him and accept a drink. He turned his back.

“Accept the drink! He needs to trust you."

Billy whispered and you wanted to kill him in that moment.

"You said to stop drinking!"

You whispered back and Homelander turned around again looking at you confused.

"Did you say something?"

He asked and you gave an awkward smile.

“I talked to myself, it’s a strange habit.”

He just ignored it and drank a glass of wine, sitting next to you, you felt nervous with his presence so close to you.

“I can hear your heart from far away. Why are you so nervous?"

You looked at him.

"I..."

"It's okay, i understand, all women are like this by my side, they never resist my charm, being a handsome man is sometimes..."

You couldn't stand listening to his irritating voice any longer so you just shut him up by kissing his lips, to your surprise he responded immediately and grabbed your waist, placing you on his lap.

"Y/N!!!! Get out of there! That's not the way to approach him!!!!"

You heard Billy's angry whispers, but you just ignored him, Homelander ran his hands over your body in a hurry and needily, then he kissed your neck, putting your hair to the side, suddenly he stopped and you opened your eyes, looking at him.

"What is that?"

He pulled the device from your ear, revealing the bug, you felt your blood run cold as he looked at you with a deadly look. Fuck. fuck. fuck.

"I... I have hearing problems, i don't hear very well from far away. It's a hearing aid!"

You laugh nervously and try to take the device from his hand, but he grabs your wrist tightly, you groan in pain but it doesn't seem to bother him.

"Don't lie to me. It's a wiretap, isn't it?"

"If you already know, why are you asking?"

You asked sarcastically, he pushed you against the couch and pinned you underneath him, with his knee on your stomach.

“Watch your mouth.”

You knew there was no way to fight him, he would probably kill you before you even tried to react, Billy was probably on his way to try and rescue you, but he wouldn't get there in time.

"You'll kill me?"

You asked a little afraid and he laughed, he tried to kiss you and you turned your face away, so he grabbed your arms tighter making you complain.

"Kill you? Nah, you're too pretty to waste like that. I think i could use it a little."

He crushed the wiretap with one hand, scaring you, he seemed to enjoy seeing you scared of him, it made him feel more powerful than he already was. Homelander's hands grabbed your waist, squeezing it, you felt his lips on your neck leaving kisses there, you closed your eyes and grabbed his arms. Maybe fuck with him would be better than getting into trouble and ending up with yourself being killed by his laser.

"I knew you wouldn't resist."

He smiled proudly and your eyes rolled back instantly, his hand grabbed your chin, squeezing it tightly making you look at him. If he wanted to, he would have broken your jaw right then.

"Do that again and i ll make sure to burn those pretty curious eyes of yours."

He seriously threatened and you swallowed hard, Homelander was the worst kind of person to challenge and you knew that very well. You remained in absolute silence and he continued to kiss your neck while his hands roamed your body, you were torn between your body denying his touches or accepting all the touches and everything that would come later. His hands went to your dress, pulling up your skirt, showing ur blue panties.

“Blue is the color of my uniform, it’s almost like you’re a fan.”

He boasted again and you wondered if maybe it was more worth taking a laser beam to the forehead than listening to his narcissism. He pulled down the top part of your dress, revealing your breasts since you weren't wearing a bra, his eyes lit up seeing that and soon you felt his tongue in desperation surrounding your nipple while his other hand squeezed your other breast. You moaned loudly, you didn't want to admit it, but his tongue really felt good. Then his hand went down to your core, where he pushed your panties to the side and invaded you with his fingers, you let out a moan of pain because it was something unexpected, you felt like you were in heaven receiving his touches.

That's when you heard a loud knock on the door and before you could react the door was opened, revealing Ashley.

"Homelander! You have to.... OH MY GOD!"

She screamed in despair and covered her eyes with the clipboard, you held back your laughter and he seemed to be angry that she had interrupted you two.

“ASHLEY!”

He shouted angrily, his face red.

"I did not see anything! I did not see anything!"

She defended herself by running out of the office before he could probably kill her, your hand discreetly went to ur bag that was nearby, while Homelander was still trying to calm down, so you took the pepper spray that Billy had given you and shot it at Homelander's eyes, who screamed in pain, moving away from you and falling to the ground, you adjusted your dress covering your nakedness.

"Really fucking with the enemy isn't for me."

You told him before running out of the room before he fully recovered and came after you, which he would definitely do soon, you walked through the halls and left through the emergency exit finding Billy's car waiting for you, opening the back door Hughie pulled you inside, that's when a red laser beam hit the part you were on, almost hitting your head and blowing it off. You saw Homelander at the end of the hallway fuming.

“You don’t mess with Butcher’s sister, idiot! ”

Hughie shouted before Billy sped up the car getting you both out of there before another bolt of lightning was fired there.

“HUGHIE!!! What was this idea of ​​almost having sex with that asshole?"

Billy shouted angrily at Hughie and looked at you in the rearview mirror, he still seemed a little disturbed by the things he had heard through the bug.

“Works, Billy, works…Better than he kill me”

“Well, let's take extra care with our work since your "work" now knows who you are thanks to Hughie's open mouth, and will definitely come after you to finish the job."

“I will wait for him then.”

[moonstruckme]

hi!! i would just like to send a request for a remus lupin × reader... the reader is trying to teach him another language they are fluent in ( pref. french but if not that's fine ) and rem is struggling a bit. take the idea wherever you want!

Thanks for requesting sweetheart! I don't know any french, so the translations may not be the besttt (and I tried to make it somewhat comprehensible for others who don't speak french either, but sorry if you have to use translate!) but I hope you like it :)

Cw: light (practially implied) smut

Remus Lupin x gn!reader ♡ 580 words

It had begun with a slip, in the heat of the moment. You'd been all dizzy with love and pleasure, babbling and making nonsensical sounds, when you'd called Remus mon chou. It had been thoughtless, one in a string of endearments and encouragements as you tipped over the edge, but when you were both catching your breath a few minutes later, Remus had asked about it.

"What was that you called me..." he hesitated. "Mon chew?"

You'd laughed at his butchering of the term, but had refused to tell him what it meant. Remus is so often the one with the intellectual high ground, and you’re self-aware enough to admit that you got a bit of wicked enjoyment out of letting him wonder about something you knew and he didn’t.

That high had lasted all the way until the next afternoon.

"Hello, cabbage," Remus had greeted you as you'd come into the room, not looking up from his book.

You'd halted. "What?"

He'd carefully folded over a corner to keep his place before closing the book, meeting your confused gaze with his smug one. "Cabbage. That's what we're calling each other now, isn't it? Mon chou?"

You'd laughed. "It's not supposed to be an insult. It's a term of endearment."

"Doesn't sound much like 'handsome' or 'darling' to me." Remus had rolled his eyes, but his smile let you know he was only teasing. "I want to know what you're saying to me. Teach me some?"

And however much you'd liked to lord your French over him, you enjoyed sharing it with Remus even more. Soon your apartment was covered in flashcards showing translations for things like "microwave" or "television," and when you were home, Remus insisted you speak to him exclusively in French. That was how you'd learnt it in school, and for you, it made for excellent practice. Remus, however, wasn't catching on as quickly as either of you had hoped, and for him, it could be a bit of an inconvenience.

"Amour," he calls now. "Où est le...uh, broom?"

"Le balai," you tell him gently. "Le balai est dans le placard près du réfrigérateur."

Remus only purses his lips, making no move to go retrieve it.

You give him an apologetic look. That was an awfully advanced sentence. "It's in—"

"No, don't tell me," he cuts you off, brows furrowing in concentration. "The broom, something something...the refridgerator? The last word was refridgerator, yeah?"

You nod, trying not to smile.

Remus nods back seriously. "I'll find it." He goes and opens the refridgerator, looking inside confusedly, and he doesn't stop you when you follow him, reaching around him to pass him the broom from the cabinet nearby.

"Merci," he says, though it sounds more like mercy in his heavy accent.

"Bien sûr." You grin up at him. "Don't worry, you're—"

Remus gives you a look so scandalized you're not entirely convinced it's warranted by your situation. "Français s'il vous plaît—"

"Remus, let me talk to you!" you laugh. "I'm only saying that you're getting really good."

Remus beams at your praise, the sight making that ever-present spark of adoration in your chest flare up. What a nerd. "Thanks, love. You mean it?"

"Oui," you promise. "We'll make a fluent speaker of you yet, ma puce."

Remus looks down at you, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What's that one mean?"

You take the broom from him, humming in faux disapproval. "Guess you'll have to figure it out."