#it might take up to a week for them to be uploaded because i get them from another site

[thepandalion]

the incredibly close call of my mom asking what fic I'm writing tomorrow before changing subject

me: so tomorrow, the plan is to start with writing my essay for academic readings, then do the laundry like you asked, and then I need to watch an episode of House for a fanfic

my mom: oh, what episode

me: that season 2 one where chase's dad dies

my mom: what is that fanfic even gonna be about?

me, thinking about trying to explain "wilson is a werewolf and chase is magic and through silly shenanigans that specific episode will be canon-diverged":

my mom: hm, my plans for tomorrow are going to work. I still need to work on my crochet vest for the baby, too

me: oh yeah I crocheted like 4 whole lines for the blanket today!

my mom: woah!

[em1i2a3]

Good Grief

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Enhanced!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob is spellbound when he watches you train. It’s his favourite part of the day, and it’s his way of getting to know you. This is how the two of you grow a bond that is practically inseparable, and extremely protective.

Warnings: Hints of Angst and Fluff, Mentions of Violence (because of the training), Reader purposely puts themself in danger to coax out Sentry (this is to test a theory), Accidental Training ‘Injury’, Reader is Enhanced (super strength pretty much)

Author’s Note: I liked this request and the idea, and I kind of ran with it a bit and spiced it up at the end! So I’m glad I could write a nice little blurb for it! Thank you for the request! :)

P.S. I may or may not miss a day this week to upload something for a different Lewis Character….I won’t say who…But some people might know who it is for lol 🤓, or we might get a double update day! Who knows. Just thought I’d put that out there though.

Word Count: 6,163

The training bay was silent except for the soft slap of bare feet on mat and the distant hum of ventilation through the compound walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows that pooled at the edges of the room. The space smelled faintly of sweat and vinyl, clean but lived-in, the kind of place where discipline lived in every corner.

Half a dozen padded dummies stood propped in a wide arc across the center of the mat. Each one anchored with care, their placement intentional–neither random nor symmetrical. You’d paced the bay in slow circles earlier that morning, nodding to yourself before gesturing for Bob to help shift one a few inches to the left, another slightly forward. He followed your directions without question, even if he didn’t quite understand the pattern you saw.

He stood beside you, palms resting awkwardly against the top of the shoulders of one dummy, eyes flicking between them.

“Yo-You sure you don’t want to go one at a ti-time?” He asked, his voice soft but edged with concern.

He didn’t mean to doubt you–he never did–but this setup was different. Not just reps. Not just sparring. It looked like a battlefield mapped from memory, and you were the only one who knew how to walk it.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile. “Trust me.”

And he did.

You stepped away from him, shedding the lightweight black zip-up that clung damply to your arms from your warmup. Underneath, you wore a ribbed charcoal-grey sports bra, cropped snug against your chest, the hem riding high enough to show every breath you took. Your training shorts were low on your hips–matte black, skin-tight, with thick waistband support and slits up the sides for flexibility. Scuffed tape wrapped around your knuckles and a faint sheen of sweat already coated your skin, catching on your collarbone, and the dip of your stomach.

Bob was doomed from the start.

He took his usual place–cross-legged at the edge of the mat, your water bottle already in his hands–and watched.

And then you began.

A sharp inhale, a roll of your shoulder, and the first strike landed–clean and fast, a side kick directly to the gut of the closest dummy. You barely touched down before twisting, rolling into a shoulder drop and springing up again in a tight coil of movement. Your limbs snapped into each new angle like memories were guiding you. Like your body had done this a thousand times in another life.

Bob’s grip tightened on your water bottle.

You had told him once–over take out cartons on the roof of the Watchtower–that you were a gymnast before any of this. Before the field ops program. Before the blacksite conditioning and chemical rewrites. Before they molded your hands into weapons and trained you to end lives instead of chasing crappy medals that meant nothing.

That past still lived inside you though, and every single movement was proof of that.

The way you twisted midair and landed softly on the ball of your feet. The perfect, calculated bend of your back as you rebounded into a cartwheel, launching into a split aerial that folded into a kick. It was impossibly smooth–violent and beautiful all at once.

Bob could feel Sentry stirring the way a storm stirs just beyond the clouds. A pressure in the center of his chest. A weight behind his eyes.

“God she is beautiful…” Sentry whispered.

Bob exhaled shakily.

He had never seen anyone move like you before, and he was obsessed with it. He wished that he was able to see you on the field, to watch you take down actual threats, but ever since he voided the majority of New York's population, they had him sitting out until he could fully control himself. So this–this was all he had. And still, he couldn’t imagine anything more intoxicating than what he was watching now.

Your punches echoed through the room like cracks of thunder. Each one landing with calculated force, a precise explosion of movement that rolled through your shoulders, down your spine, and out through your fists. Bob could feel the vibrations in the air.

He sat perfectly still, barely breathing, with your water bottle gripped between his palms, the plastic creaking faintly under his thumbs. Steam hadn’t started yet, but it would, and he could feel it building under his skin.

You didn’t look tired, but there was a sheen of sweat forming now–glowing against the line of your throat, collecting at your lower back, glistening on your collarbones with every twist–but you didn’t breathe heavily, and your pace didn’t falter. If anything you moved faster, like the rhythm inside you had finally caught up to the shape of the room.

Bob’s eyes followed you like a man possessed.

You twisted, and ducked, and rolled seamlessly into a sweeping leg kick that took one dummy down with a harsh crack. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t hesitate. You flipped up onto your hands and spun into a tight, two-point kick, knocking a second dummy halfway backward before landing clean, knees bent, palms open.

It wasn’t training anymore. It was a ritual. It was instinct. A muscle-deep, cellular kind of memory, more ancient than tactics and more intimate than breath.

Bob could feel his throat tighten.

Your fists snapped with brutal precision, thighs flexing with each powerful step. And your eyes–glistening with anticipation–were locked on the next target with such focus that it felt like gravity bent towards you.

You landed on one hand, and kicked upward with explosive strength, sending a dummy rocking on its base.

Then–you pivoted low, gathered your weight and launched.

A scream of momentum–nothing verbal, just kinetic energy in its purest form.

Your shoulder slammed forward, with one final strike, and the last dummy flew.

Launching across the room, skidding off the mat with a plastic-laced screech before it smashed into the far wall–loud enough to echo with a thunderous boom.

Silence followed.

Thick. Charged. Unmoving.

You straightened slowly in the center of the mat, chest still rising in a quiet rhythm, arms loose at your sides. A fine mist of sweat clung to your stomach and thighs. You tilted your head just slightly, watching the dummy slump on the other side of the bay with a smirk on your face.

Bob stared at it as well, not blinking, nor breathing.

“Oh to be a dummy…I’d let her launch me across a room.” Sentry whispered, “I’d kneel at her feet, just to feel her shadow pass over me.”

The water bottle in Bob’s hands began to hiss.

Not audibly, it was just a faint pressure, a heat coiling inward, steam threatening to rise. The plastic beneath his fingers had begun to soften, warping faintly where the heat of his palms pushed in. But he didn’t even notice, because his senses weren’t registering anything except you.

You were still on the mat, framed in the center of his vision like some living storm–shoulders rising and falling in slow rhythm, now a towel slung lazily around your neck, with its ends brushing the curve of your chest as you dragged it across the glistening lines of your collarbone.

You looked like power incarnate. Like something divine caught in a human frame. And Bob? Bob was drowning in you.

You ran the towel down your stomach, catching the sweat that shimmered on your skin like dew on glass. You weren’t even looking at him yet, but he still flinched when you finally turned and strode toward him with that same slow, dangerous confidence you carried on the mat.

“How was that?” You asked casually, voice still slightly breathless. “Good form?”

Bob blinked.

Then blinked again.

And the world snapped back into sound with a pop.

Literally.

The lid of the water bottle burst off with a sharp crack, steam hissing faintly from the top as the pressure released, shooting the cap somewhere behind him. It clattered to the floor and rolled in a lazy half circle before spinning to a stop.

“Oh…Oh Je-Jesus.” He breathed, glaring down at the now-lidless bottle in his hand. You laughed–a puff of amusement–as you stepped towards him, holding out your hand.

“I’ll take that from you now,” You said. Bob’s eyes widened still fixated on the warped bottle in his hands.

”I-I could get you a new one…Th-This one is basically boiled.” You shrugged, stepping even closer, your shadow now brushing over his lap like a tide coming in.

“Water is water,” You commented with a lazy smile, “I don’t mind.” He swallowed hard, the sound thick in his throat. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to not hand you this half-melted, Sentry-steamed, probably-dangerous bottle of lava–but your fingers brushed his anyway, curling lightly around the neck of it.

Bob relented, blushing furiously as he let go.

You brought it to your lips without hesitation. The plastic crinkled under your grip as you tilted it back and drank–really drank–head tipped slightly, throat working, the rise and fall of your chest steady despite the heat. The soft sound of water hitting your mouth was too much, and Bob had to look away–eyes darting to the dummy you launched, to the vent above the door, anywhere but at the way your lips wrapped around the bottle’s edge.

You drained it in a few long gulps.

Then–with a snap of finality–you crushed the softened plastic in one hand and passed it back to him, like it was a token from a battle won.

A droplet clung to your bottom lip, and you licked it off slowly. Like it meant nothing. Like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Tell Sentry thanks for the impromptu tea,” You murmured, voice all syrup and smoke. Then you slung the towel back around your neck and turned away, already walking toward the locker room. “I’m gonna go shower off. Meet you on the roof?” Bob couldn’t look at you.

Not when his entire face felt like it was glowing. Not when Sentry was humming in his veins like molten sunlight.

He nodded, eyes on the mat. “Y-Yeah. I’ll–I’ll be there.”

—————————

The roof was quiet except for the soft rustle of wind and the distant city stirring far below.

Bob stood near the ledge, forearms braced loosely against the cool concrete, the weight of his body leaned into it like he needed the grounding. His hair was still damp from a quick rinse, curls pushed back by a hand that kept running through them nervously. The sun hadn’t fully crested the skyline yet, but the horizon was blooming in soft bands of color–mauve to gold to the faintest hint of fire. The sky looked half-awake, as if the day hadn’t decided yet whether to stretch or sleep in.

Behind him, the rooftop door gave a soft clunk as it opened.

You stepped out into the cool air wearing a hoodie that hung a little too long at the sleeves and a pair of loose sweatpants rolled once at the waist. Your socked feet were shoved into slip-ons, and your hair–still damp from your shower was clipped back, the ends brushing against your collar.

You were a completely different version of the woman who had just launched a dummy across the mat, and somehow, to Bob, you were even more dangerous this way.

He heard your footsteps before he saw you. You weren’t trying to be quiet–you never did up here–but there was something about the way you moved that always gave him pause. Even when you weren’t fighting, even when you were soft and warm and dressed in clothes he’d seen you nap in, you moved like a threat. Like someone who could shatter him without ever raising a hand.

He turned when you stopped beside him.

You held out one of the two containers tucked under your arm–clear plastic, condensation fogging the inside, layers of oats, berries, protein powder, almond butter, and a mess of chia seeds and yogurt.

“Added extra almond butter for you,” You said casually, like you hadn’t just left him speechless fifteen minutes ago in the training bay, “I’ve seen you eating it by the spoonful.” Bob smirked, and took the bowl from you with a soft, stuttered thanks, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.

You leaned against the ledge beside him, shoulder nearly brushing his as you opened your own container and sat it down on the concrete ledge. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The wind tugged at the strings of your hoodie, and your eyes stayed on the skyline.

It had started as a fluke, months ago. You had finished training early, Bob had offered to bring you a smoothie he’d prepped the night before, and you both ended up watching the sun rise in silence, chewing half-thawed berries in tired satisfaction. But the ritual had stuck. And now…This was just what you did.

Watch the city wake up. Together. Every time you trained early.

Bob peeled the lid off his breakfast bowl and picked up the spoon you’d shoved into the side.

“Th-this is my favorite one,” He said softly, glancing sideways at you, attempting to break the silence. You didn’t look away from the skyline when you responded.

”I know…You’ve told me.” That made his cheeks pink again. But he didn’t look away this time.

You were quiet for a moment. Chewing. Thinking.

Then, just barely loud enough to hear:

”I got a…Curious question for you.” Bob gulped softly, the sound nearly lost to the wind curling off the rooftop. His spoon paused midair, a dollop of almond butter sliding off into the bowl. He glanced at you, cautious but attentive, like someone approaching a line they didn’t know they were ready to cross.

“A-Alright…” He said carefully, the word sticking to the back of his throat.

You didn’t meet his eyes.

Instead, you scooped a spoonful of frozen berries from your container, crunching down slowly as the chill settled into your jaw. Your lips pressed together in quiet concentration, almost like you were tasting your words before saying them out loud.

“If Sentry is in there…” You said around the fruit, eyes still on the horizon, “Why haven’t I met him?” Bob’s eyebrows rose, and he blinked at you like you’d reached across the space between your shoulders and tapped directly on his soul.

”I do-don’t know,” He replied quietly, “Why do you ask?” You finally looked at him.

Not with challenge, not with anything harsh–just honest curiosity, softened by morning light and the glint of something deeper.

“I kind of want to see him, that’s all,” You said with a shrug. “Sometimes I can feel that he’s there, behind your eyes…” You gestured loosely to the general space around his face, your hand lifting just enough to draw a vague halo around his features. “But I just haven’t seen him. And I’m curious. That’s all.” You looked down into your bowl for a second, then added, “Yelena mentioned he talks differently too, so I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Bob choked on a breath.

Not dramatically, not loud–but just enough for his shoulders to twitch and the tips of his ears to go scarlet.

“Y-Yeah, well…He–He kind of only comes out in ex-extreme cases…” Bob glanced away again, fidgeting with the edge of the plastic lid. “I’ve been able to get a little bit of co-control over him these past few months but…I-It’s not like switching a light on…Not yet at least.”

“Extreme cases?” You echoed, your tone gentle but laced with curiosity. You swirled your spoon around the half-melted oats in your bowl, watching the almond butter spiral through the yogurt like a lazy storm. “What do you mean by that?” Bob cleared his throat. He adjusted his stance slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I–uh–I-if anyone I care ab-about is in danger…” He explained, voice tight, eyes fixed somewhere just past the edge of the roof. “Th-that typically triggers him.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him.

Anyone I care about.

The air seemed to pause for a moment. Not in a dramatic, thunderstruck way—but in that quiet, split-second beat where something subtle shifts. Where the wind changes direction.

“Really?” You said, just barely above a whisper. Bob nodded, slow and honest.

You bit your bottom lip.

Then you looked away–at the skyline, at the bowl in your hand–and cleared your throat softly. “Huh.”

Bob glanced over, unsure what that huh meant. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could speak, you placed your container down on the ledge beside you with a faint plastic clack, and then–you pushed yourself up onto the ledge.

Bob froze.

His breath caught like you’d pulled a pin from a grenade.

You didn’t do anything wild–not yet–you just perched there, casual as ever, one leg dangling off the edge of the rooftop and the other folded beneath you. The city stretched wide below your feet, vast and golden and humming with distant morning traffic. But Bob only saw you.

And your eyes–when they turned to meet his–were gleaming with something dangerous.

Playful. Calculating.

“I wonder,” You said slowly, tilting your head, “How close to the edge I’d have to lean before he decided to show.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “Wh–what? N-no, no, don’t–don’t you dare–”

You grinned.

“You just said it yourself…Extreme cases of danger.” Bob stepped closer immediately, alarm blooming in his chest, his breakfast long forgotten.

“P-please get down. Th-that’s not funny.” But you just arched an eyebrow, the wind tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

“I’m not gonna fall. I’ve done this a hundred times.” Bob’s pulse was a living thing in his throat.

He watched–helpless, breath caught, fingers twitching–as you stood.

One slow, deliberate motion. A shift in your hips, a plant of your foot. Then the other followed. Smooth. Balanced. Effortless.

You rose from the ledge like it was solid ground, and there wasn’t a ninety-story drop waiting just inches behind your heels. His entire body went tight.

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

“P-Please,” Bob choked, one foot already shifting forward as if sheer will might anchor you back. “Please don’t–just–get down, okay? I–I’m serious–”

But you weren’t listening. Or maybe you were–and that was worse. Because your gaze was steady. Calm. Amused. The wind tugged strands of hair into your face, and you didn’t even blink.

“Bob…I used to be a gymnast. I’m fine.”

Your foot shifted ever so slightly on the ledge—only an inch, maybe less—but the wind caught just right, and your body flinched. Just a twitch. A minor, involuntary jerk of balance.

And that was all it took.

One blink.

And then–

He was there.

A rush of gold.

A flash of heat.

Your breath hadn’t even finished catching before arms like tempered steel wrapped around your middle, yanking you from the ledge so fast your feet barely had time to register air. The skyline spun, the wind cracked, and then–you were grounded again.

Back pressed to a broad, heaving chest. Hands banded across your ribcage, fingers splayed like molten iron beneath your hoodie. You burst into laughter–a sharp, bubbling giggle that sounded almost wrong in contrast to the divine tension crackling through the air now.

The grip on your waist didn’t ease.

It tightened.

And when you tilted your chin back to look behind you–just slightly, just enough–you saw them.

Gold….His eyes that burned like sunlight through glass, pupils sharp as stars. Sentry.

“Hi,” You said cheerfully, still grinning, breathless from your own stunt.

”No,” Sentry replied, voice rich and low, echoing like thunder rippling through marble, “No ‘hi’…You almost fell off the roof.” It wasn’t a reprimand exactly…But he took the kind of tone that was reserved for things that were precious, vulnerable, and untouchable. His voice vibrated against your spine like something too old and too vast to be fully human.

You glanced down at the way his arms were locked around you–solid and certain, pressed against the soft fabric of your hoodie, heat blooming where his skin met yours.

“I won’t climb back up…I just did that to bring you out, you can let go.” His grip didn’t ease right away. You could feel the tension humming in his limbs. Like holding you was the only thing anchoring the storm.

“Can’t believe you did this deliberately.” He stated, words molten. You smirked at his comment.

”I knew you cared about me.” You teased, then there was a beat of silence. Not empty, not cold–but charged. Like lightning was being held back by sheer force of will.

And then Sentry groaned softly, tipping his head forward, forehead nearly brushing your shoulder

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” He murmured, his breath warm against your neck. You swore you felt the heat of a small sun in that exhale.

“I think my plan worked perfectly actually,” You replied, twisting in his grip slowly until you were facing him. He let you go gradually–arms loosening, like letting go was something he didn’t quite want to do. You stood in front of him now, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“You’ve been watching me,” You added, softer now. “So I thought I’d introduce myself.”

Sentry stared at you, golden gaze intense, unreadable.

“And how do you know I’ve been watching you?” You shrugged.

”The room kind of gets super hot whenever I’m around you,” You trailed off, playfully, and then added, “And the boiled and semi-melted water bottle during my training this morning really confirmed my suspicions.” Sentry’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment–longer than most people could withstand without blinking, without looking away, without shrinking under the weight of something celestial sizing them up.

But you didn’t shrink.

You just stared right back, lit by the bleeding edge of sunrise, hoodie sleeves bunching slightly as your arms crossed beneath your chest

He inhaled deeply through his nose.

The kind of breath that stirred the wind around you. Like he was tasting the moment.

Then–

“Well…” He exhaled slowly, gold eyes narrowing faintly, heat rolling off his skin like he hadn’t quite put the sun back in its cage, “We like watching you train, so…” A slight smirk, nearly imperceptible, “Sue me for melting the water bottle.”

You laughed, head tilting, teeth catching your bottom lip for a second before you let it go. “Oh, you do?” You echoed, all exaggerated with mock surprise. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

He said nothing.

So you stepped a bit closer, toe to toe now, looking at him, chasing eye contact.

“Anything else you want to tell me?”

The question hung in the air between you like a dare. A thread. A fuse.

Sentry’s jaw tensed.

Then slowly–very slowly–he bit the inside of his cheek and glanced away, gaze drifting out toward the edge of the city as though it might offer him a safer answer than the truth.

“Not that I know of.”

Smooth. Measured. Deceptively calm.

And a lie.

You could feel it ripple through him like static.

Your eyes narrowed just slightly, catching the minute shift in his expression. The way his mouth twitched like there was something sitting right behind his teeth that he didn’t trust himself to say.

But he wouldn’t betray Bob. Not even a little. Not even now, not when his hands still remembered the shape of your waist and the weight of your pulse thudding wildly against his palms.

You let the silence stretch, the smirk pulling at your lips again.

“Liar,” You muttered, voice low. Not accusing. Not even disappointed. Just certain.

His eyes flicked back to yours–sharper now, searching.

And for one breathless second, you swore the skyline bent around the shape of his frame. Like the sun tilted its arc to catch the side of his face, painting him in a soft gleam of fire and gold.

“Maybe,” He murmured finally, voice like molten glass. “But I’m not the one you want to hear it from.”

Your stomach fluttered.

Not because you didn’t know what he meant.

But because you did.

And for once…You didn’t push.

Instead, you stepped back, just enough to give him space. Just enough to keep the tension intact.

————————

You stood at the center of the mat again, barefoot, hands wrapped, shoulder blades flexing beneath a sleeveless compression top. You were rolling your neck in lazy circles as you waited for your new sparring partners to get their shit together.

“Jesus, how many wraps does it take you to tie your boots, Walker?”

John scoffed without looking up, still crouched in the corner tightening the laces on his combat shoes. “Some of us don’t train barefoot like monks on a mountaintop.”

“That’s because you’d trip over your own ego,” You muttered under your breath.

“C’mon now,” Bucky called from across the mat, stretching his arms behind his back, black long-sleeve rolled to his elbows. “Play nice, kids. I’m not pulling any punches today.”

From his spot on the edge of the mat, Bob looked up quickly at that–eyes flicking between the three of you, concern flickering across his face like a warning light. He was already perched where he’d always sat during your solo drills, long legs folded under him, with your water bottle in hand–now reusable and stainless steel–watching quietly like you were the only thing in the world that moved in color.

Walker clocked it immediately.

His head turned toward Bob with a crooked grin, already half-laced boots squeaking faintly as he stood. “Does he always sit there like that?” He asked, nodding toward Bob. “Watching you like it’s a one-woman stage play?”

You didn’t even blink.

“He always does,” you replied smoothly, turning your wrist in a light circle to loosen your shoulder. “Is this a new thing you’re just realizing?”

Bob flushed–brilliant red blooming beneath the collar of his navy crew neck–but said nothing, just curled his fingers more tightly around the water bottle.

Walker smirked. “What–you need an emotional support human to pummel some dummies?”

You turned toward him fully then, one brow raised, lips already twitching. “I’m glad you’re calling yourself a dummy so I don’t have to.” Bucky let out a laugh from his spot near the wall, shaking his head.

“Alright, alright–enough with the bickering. Let’s go for another round, huh?” He rolled his shoulder and stepped toward you, that slow, loose gait of someone who’d seen more fights than birthdays. You nodded once, tightening the wraps on your wrists.

“Let’s.” You muttered.

Bob settled deeper into his spot at the edge of the mat, posture stiff but eyes locked on you. Sentry stirred beneath his skin again–he could feel it like pressure in his spine, heat behind his ribs. Watching you get ready, watching you glow with motion and discipline, was like watching a match hovering over gasoline.

And then you moved.

You and Bucky danced the way soldiers did–tight and calculated, strike and recover, quick feints that turned into fast contact. He wasn’t going easy on you, and you wouldn’t have let him if he tried. Walker hung back at first, arms crossed, smirking, tossing in the occasional jibe about your stance or form.

Until you spun low and landed a solid elbow to Bucky’s ribs. He let out a grunt, rubbing the area with the flat of his hand.

“Had my guard down,” he muttered, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

You cocked your head. “You always do.”

Walker snorted. “Alright, let me get in on this now.”

You cleared your throat, barely disguising your amusement. “Don’t be shocked when you get humiliated.”

“Big words for someone who’s at a one man disadvantage.” He said, cracking his neck as he stepped forward onto the mat.

You rolled your shoulders. “Yeah? Let’s see what you’ll be saying when you’re on your ass.” From the sidelines, Bob’s grip on the water bottle tightened.

It started slow–Walker lunged, you ducked, Bucky feinted–and then all at once, it shifted.

The three of you moved like an orbit, tight and reactive. A storm of limbs and instinct.

Walker threw strength. Bucky threw precision. You threw heat.

And Bob? He watched like he was studying scripture.

Your body was in constant motion–every movement timed perfectly, every dodge low and tight, using Bucky’s stance to redirect Walker’s force, using Walker’s height against him to launch yourself higher. You pivoted with a fluid snap, stepping off Bucky’s knee to catch Walker’s shoulder with your heel, spinning out of reach before either of them could tag you.

You were alive in a way that made the room bend around you.

Bob had stopped blinking. His heart beat like a war drum behind his ribs, the kind of rhythm that only came when Sentry hovered near the surface, watching through his eyes like a god hungry for movement.

You slid under a punch, twisted Walker’s momentum to force a stumble, and kicked Bucky’s thigh hard enough to send him back a pace. The two men glanced at each other then—silent communication—and came at you together.

You grinned like you were being handed a gift.

Your foot landed on Bucky’s shoulder and you pushed off, flipping neatly in the air, body tightening mid-rotation. Your leg caught Walker’s bicep and you twisted, but his center of gravity adjusted quick–too quick–and suddenly–

Your body slammed into the mat.

Hard.

The noise cracked through the air.

Bob surged to his feet.

You wheezed–chest collapsing, eyes wide, lips parted but no air catching–and for one sickening second, you didn’t move.

And that was all it took.

The heat slammed into the room like a detonated sun.

Sentry burst through Bob like goldfire ripping seams in his skin. One moment it was Bob’s widened eyes and open mouth–

And the next?

The mat shook under the force of Sentry’s arrival.

He was halfway across the floor before anyone could react, a golden blur slicing through the fluorescent haze. The floor steamed faintly beneath his bare feet. His fists were already clenched, molten lines of fury pulsing under his skin like veins lit with solar flares.

He didn’t think. He moved.

Straight toward Walker.

“Hey!” Walker shouted, palms already lifted as he stumbled back a step. “Jesus Christ–It’s not like I meant to do it!”

Sentry was drowned in the roar of protection and wrath, his eyes wild, glowing like twin cores of a star gone supernova. His mouth opened, teeth bared like something celestial barely contained in a human shape.

“You hurt her.” The voice wasn’t loud–it was deep. Like stone cracking under pressure. Like a threat too old to need volume.

Bucky stepped in without hesitation.

“Whoa–hey! Hey, easy! Stand down!” His voice was sharp but not panicked, hands up in a calm brace, body angled between Walker and the god.

Sentry didn’t listen.

Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just stood there, vibrating with heat, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Walker like he was calculating exactly how many bones to break.

On the floor behind them, you coughed–one harsh, painful breath, then another. You rolled onto your side slowly, eyes blinking hard against the light, one hand braced on the mat as you forced yourself upright.

“Sentry–” You wheezed, chest still hitching, still attempting to catch your breath.

His head snapped toward you. Immediately.

“I’m fine.” You said, firmer this time. You winced as you sat up straighter, hand pressed against your ribs. “Don’t…Don’t worry. I’ve had worse happen. Calm down.” Sentry’s eyes flicked from you…To Walker…Then back to you.

His chest rose and fell once. Sharp. Controlled.

And then–like a pressure valve easing open–he exhaled. The heat softened just enough that Bucky didn’t feel like he was standing in front of a furnace. His fists slowly loosened at his sides, muscles still taut, but held.

Sentry turned fully toward you, and for the first time since appearing, his voice shifted–just barely.

Lower. Softer. Still fire-wrapped, but laced with something else.

“He slammed you.”

You gave a weak smile through your breath, “We’re…We’re sparring, accidents happen, you don’t have to…Scare the crap out of Walker.” Sentry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

“Yeah, no need to scare the crap outta me,” Walker echoed, huffing a laugh like he was trying to keep things casual even though his heartbeat was still visibly pounding in his neck. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking between the three of you. “And also–when the fuck did Sentry suddenly come back?” He asked, motioning to him.

“He’s been coming back for a while.” You blinked at Walker, still cradling your ribs lightly, and shrugged.

“You’re the one that triggered him by hurting me, moron.” Walker’s mouth opened in disbelief.

“Me?!”

“You slammed me,” You clarified, not unkindly, but with a smirk twitching at the edge of your lips. “Like…full-body slammed me.”

“You jumped on me!”

“You adjusted your center too fast–”

“Guys,” Bucky said mildly, hands raised, “No more arguing please.” Walker, still shaken, jabbed a finger toward Sentry, who was still standing like a stone beside you, radiating enough heat to keep the entire bay at a slow simmer. His golden gaze hadn’t left you once.

“I’m just saying,” Walker said, eyes narrowed, “You make it sound like we should’ve known. Like this was a thing. I’m still caught up in the fact that we haven’t seen him appear in almost a year, and now suddenly he’s back up and running—no warning, no update, just–” He gestured to Sentry’s still-glowing hands. “–bam, golden demigod about to fry my ass.”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky said, his voice quiet, but laced with warning.

Walker rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m saying it’s insane.”

You leaned your head back, letting out a slow breath. Sentry’s hand moved–just barely–hovering again near your spine like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to touch you. You shifted to sit up straighter, letting your shoulder brush his forearm gently.

“It’s not like Bob can snap his fingers and summon him,” You said, keeping your tone level. “Sentry shows up when he wants to. Or when Bob needs him.”

“Which is usually when someone’s in danger,” Bucky added, folding his arms and glancing at Walker meaningfully. “Someone Bob—or Sentry—cares about.”

Walker stared at that. Then looked at you. Then back at Sentry.

The dots were not subtle.

Sentry still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need to. His silence was heavy. Watchful. The sun pressed into a man’s body.

You reached out and gave his wrist a light touch, enough to feel the heat still thrumming beneath his skin. “It’s alright,” you murmured, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. “I can breathe now.”

Sentry blinked slowly. Then–almost imperceptibly–nodded.

The heat around him dropped by a few degrees.

Not gone.

Just…Tempered.

Walker, still trying to reconcile what had just happened, ran a hand over his face. “Look, I didn’t mean to–if I’d known he was even still awake in there, I wouldn’t’ve–”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” You interrupted, waving him off, wincing a little at the motion. “You’re just an idiot. But that’s not new.”

That earned the tiniest snort from Bucky.

Sentry, finally, tilted his head just slightly. “You’re in pain.”

You turned to look at him.

The golden light in his eyes had softened–just a touch. It was still otherworldly. Still ancient. But there was concern there. Sharp and clear.

“I’m sore,” You corrected. “Not dying.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Come on,” Bucky said, stepping forward, placing a steady hand on Walker’s shoulder as he glanced between the rest of you. “Training’s over. Let’s all cool off before someone actually does get launched through a wall.”

Walker muttered something under his breath and turned toward the exit.

Bucky lingered a moment longer, looking at you. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Just bruised, but I should be fine.” Bucky’s gaze slid over to Sentry.

”Should I be worried he’s gonna explode if you ever truly get hurt?” You smirked faintly.

”Let’s hope we never have to find out the answer to that question…”

[plethorawrites]

I love the secret gf stuff with Jason so much juat in general but you write it so incredibly well! It’s such a pleasure to read. Do u have any ideas or hcs about how the Batfam eventually finds out? My personal fav I’ve seen is Babs seeing a photo reader uploaded of Jason to their private ig that Babs somehow found anyways. Do you have a fav iteration of this theme or anything more like it?

I feel like the info hits one of them and spreads like an incredulous wildfire. (Ie. Once someone says something NO ONE believes them.) I think it would be most realistic if Roy slipped up to Dick, given he's in the Titans (yay for the recent issues) and Jay's close friend.

I think Roy would have 100% met you before and maybe even repeatedly to the point you have each other's phone numbers and the three of you occasionally go out for drinks, which is literally just him third wheeling while you sit in Jason's lap.

Needless to say, you're all close. And he's sworn to secrecy. Which he keeps up, for the most part.

Until he's on a stakeout with Dick and realizes it's where you and Jason were going for dinner... Cue confusion.

"Oh, shit, that's where Jay's date is..." He would mumble without even realizing it, more worried about the fact that the place might get blown up than about who was standing next to him.

Dick of course heard him and turned in disbelief. "Jason's what?!" He exclaimed. "He has a date?" Jason never went on dates. Ever. They had all tried a dozen times to get him to go out and he never did.

Roy quickly realized his mistake and (poorly) attempted to rectify it. "No. Of course not! Why would you think he's got a girlfriend? He has no game."

Dick's eyes widened. "I didn't say girlfriend, I said date because you said date. He's got a girlfriend?" He wasn't sure if he should be happy for his brother or try to kill him for hiding it. "Who is she? For how long?"

He'd instantly start trying to comb through his memories to find any signs he could have missed or start making assumptions about you based on his brother's type.

Roy promptly shuts the hell up and says nothing else. Dick, however, says plenty.

He tells the entire family, obviously.

And no one believes him.

He's a jokester and they think it's some elaborate stunt to get back at Jason for pissing him off. It takes weeks before any of them finally believe it and it's only because they start looking at Jason through the lens of someone with a significant other—something they never really considered.

He's always been a bit distant so no one ever considered that when he disappeared after a mission before check in he was actually calling you to make sure you knew he was safe. They notice the slight smell of something nicer lingering on him than his usual soap, because you liked it and he loved you. They realize the slightest discrepancy in his behavior in the field, how he's a bit more cautious and restrained because he doesn't want to risk getting hurt and facing your sad eyes.

Alfred, of course, knows. He's the one Jason always goes to for advice.

That's when the truth finally came out and Dick was believed. Jason had, like usual, gone to Alfred for advice, this time about the idea of proposing. He wanted to know if he thought it was the right time and of course Alfred told him if he was considering it to the point of asking for an opinion, then it was already a thought imbedded too deeply to push away.

A few weeks later, he was showing Alfred the ring when Damian, hungry for a snack after school walked into the kitchen and saw it. He then, promptly and politely excused himself from the room before loudly screaming "Grayson was right!" Through the whole house.

Jason just groaned, trying to escape before the endless questions could start. Not that it worked. They had him cornered in minutes and Dick looked like he had finally been validated.

"Who told you? Was it Roy?" He demanded, already envisioning ways to kill him.

"The better question is why didn't you?" He retorted. "We're supposed to know these sorts of things. Don't you think we'd be happy for you?"

That had nothing to do with it. He knew they would love you. They were just...a lot. A lot of trauma, a lot of darkness, a lot of danger. He already hated putting you in danger by association to him, he couldn't imagine what could happen if you got embedded in the entire family.

"I just- you're all are a bit hectic you know? She's not like us. I don't want her around all the trouble." And the endless embarrassing stories that his siblings could tell...but that was besides the point. "I want her to be safe and happy and...I didn't want to risk either by introducing her to you guys."

...

That...was the remarkabley sweet of him.

"I still need to meet her," Bruce would insist firmly.

[whitechocolate355]

time out

oneshot

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 2k

warnings - language

synopsis: after a heated argument during a scrimmage, Paige and Azzi are both benched for “unsportsmanlike behaviour.” Forced to sit in silence while their teammates play, the tension between them begins boils over — and neither of them can hold back what they really want to say (or do).

one shot request from a lovely anon!! getting around to everyone’s requests so bear w/ me… also chap 5 for full court press will be uploaded tmr morning

The gym was blisteringly loud. Sneakers screeched. Whistles pierced. Coaches yelled in a flurry of clipped commands and clipboard slaps.

And Paige was about two seconds from completely losing her shit.

“I SAID SWITCH!” she yelled, throwing her arms up as Azzi jogged past her, completely ignoring the rotation.

Azzi didn’t even spare her a glance. Just caught the rebound like it was hers by divine right and launched the ball effortlessly into the net.

Swish.

Paige’s blood boiled. “You’re seriously not gonna talk to me now?”

Azzi brushed past her again, the faint scent of musky vanilla clinging to her skin, her face stoic, as if carved in stone. “I didn’t realise I had anything left to say.”

“Oh, cut the cold act,” Paige hissed, stepping into her space. “You’re playing selfish. This is a team scrimmage, not your personal Steph Curry highlight reel.”

Azzi stopped. Turned. Her hair whipping around like a blade.

“You want to talk about selfish?” she snapped. “Maybe look in a mirror before you start throwing around words you don’t understand.”

And that was it. All it took. Paige shoved her shoulder into Azzi’s, and Azzi shoved right back.

“HEY!” Coach blew the whistle like it was a goddamn siren. “You two—BENCH. NOW. You wanna act like children? You’ll sit like them too.”

Paige stormed to the bench, jaw clenched, heart clawing at her ribs. Azzi followed, expression unreadable.

But this had been building for weeks.

Paige could feel it in the way Azzi always passed to someone else when she was open. In the glances they shared that lingered too long. In the breathless moments after every scrimmage where she half expected Azzi to say something—anything—that might make sense of the way her heart pounded after every brush of their hands.

And now, with them both benched and pissed and sitting shoulder to shoulder, Paige couldn’t take it anymore.

They sat on opposite ends of the same metal seat, separated by maybe three feet and about a mile of heat.

The game continued. Shouts echoed. The scoreboard buzzed. But in their corner, time held its breath.

Paige bounced her knee. She could feel Azzi’s presence like a gravity field.

Neither of them spoke.

Not until the fourth whistle of the quarter blew and the gym momentarily dulled into ambient chatter.

"You always do this," she muttered without turning her head.

Azzi’s brow ticked. “Do what?”

“You push until I snap, and then you act like I’m the problem.”

Azzi finally turned to face her, eyes sharp. “Maybe you are.”

Paige laughed bitterly. “God, you’re exhausting.”

“Right back at you.”

Their teammates were across the court, deep in the scrimmage, too far to hear. Too far to care. Paige felt something inside her break loose—something reckless.

“You don’t have to hate me, you know.”

Azzi’s expression flickered. “I don’t hate you.”

“No?” Paige turned now, fully. “Then what is this, Azzi? Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, it turns into a fight?”

Azzi exhaled slowly, then said, “Because if I don’t fight you, Paige, I might actually—”

But she didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. Paige felt the unspoken words hang in the air between them like a thread about to snap.

Might actually what?

Their breath tangled somewhere in the air between them. The game raged on, but the court felt impossibly small now, the air between them thick with tension.

Flashback: The First Game

The first time Paige had seen Azzi play, it was more than just basketball. That girl was a display of effortless grace, precision, and an undeniable swagger that drew Paige’s eye from the beginning. 

They had met at a youth basketball camp, and Paige hadn’t been able to forget the way Azzi dominated the court, effortlessly gliding from one play to the next. Paige had never felt the need to be jealous, or scared for her spot on the team. But for the very first time, she was. And the culprit: Azzi fucking Fudd. It wasn’t just the way she played—it was the way she carried herself. Confidence radiated from her every movement. It pissed Paige off.

But at the same time, she was drawn to it. The two were the first off the court. 

Azzi wasn’t like anyone Paige had met before, which made her feel unsettled. It was as if she could read Paige’s movements, and every one of her thoughts because before Azzi even knew where she was, Paige had kicked it to her in the corner in one, smooth movement. And unlike her other previous teammates that would’ve just fumbled the ball in surprise, Azzi caught it mid-pass with ease — as if she intercepted her own ball — to fire the quickest release the crowd had ever seen. And with that, Paige held her fingers out in celebration, because as soon as that ball graced Azzi’s hands, Paige knew that shot was cash. 

—-----------

“I don’t get you,” Paige growled, slamming her water bottle to the ground. “You show up like you’ve got nothing to prove, and then you play like your whole damn career depends on it. What is it? What do you need to prove?”

Azzi took a breath, her face a mask of calm, but Paige could see the tension in her jaw, the way her muscles were coiled, ready to spring.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Azzi said, her voice lower than usual, laced with frustration. “Not everything is about what you want, Paige.”

“Then stop pretending like you’ve got it all figured out!” Paige shot back, her voice trembling with anger and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge. “It’s like I can’t even look at you without feeling like you’re hiding something.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like she was about to say something but thought better of it. The silence that followed stretched out between them, thick with unsaid words.

They were sitting inches apart. But emotionally? Miles.

Azzi finally turned toward her, eyes softer now. “You think I’m hiding something? Paige, you have no idea.”

Paige swallowed, heat rising in her chest. Her heart beat erratically in her ears.

“Oh, I think I know,” she said, voice low and dangerously soft. “You don’t let anyone close. You keep everyone at arm’s length. But I’m done with that. If you’re hiding something, then I want to know. Because I’m not gonna keep playing this game with you.”

Azzi stood up suddenly, the motion sharp and filled with frustration. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said, her voice a growl. “I’m not the one here pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m the one who shows up every single day, working my ass off, and all you can do is act like I’m the problem.”

Paige stood up too, the two of them facing each other, inches apart. “Maybe I’m not pretending,” she shot back, her voice hard, eyes burning with a fire she couldn’t suppress anymore. “Maybe I’m tired of you acting like I’m just another player you can push around. I’m done with that, Azzi.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a second, Paige thought she saw something flicker in her eyes. But before she could analyze it further, Azzi was stepping back. Her hand went to the back of her neck, rubbing the tension there.

“I think we both need a timeout,” Azzi muttered, more to herself than to Paige.

“Yeah, we do.” Paige replied under her breath.

.

.

.

Benched and bitter and burning from the inside out, Paige knew she needed to get away. Before she did something she shouldn't do. Watching Azzi glance over at her every so often as their chests rose and fell in sync with each other was driving her crazy. And before she could stop her thoughts, Paige stood abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asked.

“Out back. Before I say something I can’t take back.”

Azzi hesitated, then stood too, following closely behind. “Say it.”

Paige turned, inches away from the gym door. “What?”

Azzi stepped in, closer now than she had any right to be. “Say what you want to say. I’m right here. And besides, I’m done following you.”

“Fine.” Paige grunted. It was time to get real. The blonde couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t get you,” she began. “One second you’re giving me eyes like you wanna ruin me, and the next you’re pretending I don’t exist. What the hell is your game, Azzi?”

Fuck. Did she really just air herself out to Azzi?

Azzi stepped toward her slowly, closing the distance. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was something else there too—something raw.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Azzi said, her voice barely a whisper. “This isn’t a game. You think you know me, Paige. You think you understand me. But you don’t. You’ve only seen the parts of me I’ve allowed you to.”

Azzi stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending.”

And just like that, Paige couldn’t take it anymore. 

Grabbing onto Azzi’s jersey, she pulled her into her chest —not hard, not violent, just… desperate, while her free hand pushed the door back. 

[Outside]

Azzi’s breath caught as Paige leaned in. It was slow at first, hesitant, like a dare. Azzi’s heart pounded in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she was leaning into Paige too, their mouths meeting in a frantic collision of teeth and heat.

Paige slammed her palm against the building wall, caging Azzi between her broad shoulders all while forbidding herself to tear away from Azzi’s lips. Her fingers curled around the metal grate, trying to stay grounded — as if this moment wasn’t what she was fantasising about since she met Azzi. 

It was a kiss that held everything—frustration, longing, pain. All the words neither of them had said but both of them had wanted to for so long. There were no zone defences anymore. No hesitation. Just the messy, overwhelming need to feel something, anything, between them.

Azzi’s hands slid to Paige’s back, pulling her closer. Paige’s hands found the hem of Azzi’s shirt, fingers pressing against the soft skin there, memorizing the feel of her. The kiss deepened, becoming frantic, like they were trying to devour each other whole.

Why the hell did she look at Paige like that when we first met?

Why does she keep pushing Paige on the court, then staring at Paige like she’s hers?

Why does this feel better than any win?

Paige shot away her thoughts with her mouth, biting softly on Azzi’s bottom lip, as if that was where she held the answers. Azzi pressed against the wall as Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist, her muscles tensing —which sent a jolting sensation to Azzi’s spine.  Paige’s hands gripped the back of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer.

Azzi gasped into her mouth, and Paige took that gasp like a win, like a possession. She leaned back, admiring her view with a smug smirk on her face —as if she had manifested this moment— before she tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her body flush against Azzi’s now — muscle to muscle, sweat to sweat.

Azzi moaned before she could stop herself…

And Paige kissed her harder for it.

They didn’t pull away. They couldn’t. Not until a water bottle dropped somewhere in the locker room, echoing just loud enough to remind them where they were.

Paige’s hands were still bunched in Azzi’s jersey. Azzi’s fingers were threaded through Paige’s hair.

Neither of them moved. Their foreheads touched.

Paige’s voice was hoarse. “I hate you.”

Azzi’s breath fanned her lips. “No, you don’t.”

Silence.

Then Azzi kissed her again — slower this time. Like a statement. Like a fuck-you and a promise in one.

The buzzer rang again. Timeout was over.

They pulled apart, barely. Lips swollen. Chests rising and falling.

Paige glanced down, cheeks red but jaw still set. “We have five minutes.”

Azzi smirked, voice low. “Then you better move fast...”, leading her to the locker room by the jersey.

[cottonlemonade]

Marriage Of Convenience [Part 7]

word count: 1656 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That's why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

As the next week came and went, you felt something shift inside yourself. The kiss, if you could even call it that, lingered in your mind and if you zoned out at work too much, you swore you could still feel his lips against your skin. 

The thought that all it took was some tender smooch to scramble your focus, was ridiculous. It was more than likely that it was simply some leftover vulnerability from that night that made you so susceptible to whatever stray arrows Cupid had desperately been aiming in your direction for months. But you had to admit, on Tuesday afternoon, that you might have fallen for your husband. 

A huge bouquet of flowers was delivered to your desk that day and for a confusingly hopeful moment you wondered if Tetsuro had sent it, but he leaned against your desk with a cocked brow stating prickly, “Don’t look at me, I know your favorite flower unlike this person, obviously.”

He and Asana helped you locate the card under the thicket of greenery surrounding the brightly colored florals. It was from Mr Kuroo, sending his belated congratulations to the wedding. A red envelope with money was tucked between the densely packed blossoms, and Tetsuro smiled when you handed him the note. “See?”, he said under his breath and wrapped an arm around your waist to give you a quick, gentle squeeze, “Told you he’d come around.”

He folded the note back up and put it in his pocket, returning to his work, while Asana went to find a vase, and you fought the growing urge to go into a supply closet and hyperventilate.  

You were glad that Tetsuro had to go on a business trip down to Osaka for a few days, because, quite honestly, you were tired of bumping into doors and stumbling over table legs whenever he smiled or teased you at home nowadays. 

It was only 9 pm but you were already in bed, staring at the dark ceiling in deep thought, then you unlocked your phone to go back over the initial pro- and con-list you made back in February. Slowly, your finger swiped along the page and the many pros in the first column. It was so quiet in the apartment. Not that Tetsuro usually made a lot of noise in the evening, but there might be some music coming from his room or maybe a laugh here and there when you sent him a quality meme. Soon you found yourself on his social media, scrolling through the many pictures he uploaded over the years. Quite a few of them featured you next to him, even before the wedding. You hadn’t even noticed how often you spent birthdays and holidays together since you met. It took quite a while to get to the pictures from before you’d known each other. 

Apparently, he hadn’t exaggerated when he said he was the captain of his university’s Volleyball team. You snorted at his silly poses with friends, intermixed with professional glamor shots from campus forums about the success of the science club at yet another competition, in which Tetsuro held up a certificate and trophy with a bright smile. You found your fingers sort of hovering over the photo as if you wanted to touch him, praising him on his undoubtedly well-deserved victory, but then shook your head and continued your doom-scrolling down his page, every so often turning your wedding ring on your finger. 

“To the kids!”, Bokuto cheered, raising his beer to his friend. 

“To the kids!”, Kuroo echoed happily.

The two toasted and sipped their drinks before turning their attention to the feast of fast food in front of them that Kuroo planned to never tell his wife about. He would have liked to take you along on the trip. He knew you would have loved to see the city and the excited glint in the elementary students’ eyes as MSBY’s Bokuto Kotaro showed them how to attack at the net. There was even a list open on his phone that detailed, with addresses, all the little shops, cafes, museums and restaurants he wanted to take you to, if you ever went to Osaka together. 

“So, how is it going?”, Bokuto asked now, cheeks bulging with beef. 

“Really good. The kids seem to be engaged and the turnout is large enough that I think we can easily make this training camp happen in more cities, too. Who knows, maybe we could even make a case for rural towns and prefectures like Miyagi, so they don’t have to travel as far.”

“Cool! But not what I meant.”

Bokuto reached for the next grilled skewer. 

“I mean your marriage thing.”

“Marriage thing?”, Kuroo cocked an amused brow. 

“Yeah, how are you and your wife doing?”

“She’s great. - We’re great.”

“I see that.” Bokuto used the already empty second skewer to point at Kuroo’s ring finger. 

“Oh right. Yeah, we got those for the office. Just symbolic so people know we’re married there. More of a safety thing, you know.”, he shrugged but Bokuto noted, “You’re not at the office now.”

“Huh. Guess you’re right.”

But Kuroo made no effort to slip off his ring, instead he adjusted it and picked up a deep-fried spiral potato, closing his eyes in bliss at the greasy crunch of the batter.

“Tell me about her.”

Kuroo leaned back in the cheap plastic chair of the street food market and unhurriedly chewed his potato. 

“You’d love her. She is really funny and smart - witty, too, you know. But also so freaking clumsy. Just this week alone, she must have stumbled over the same chair like three times.”, he laughed to himself at the mental image of you grasping at the air or the wall for stability and then continuing to walk as if nothing happened, “She is also a huge fan of that book series you like. She has been catching me up on the whole plot and dare I say, I may even finally read it.”

“Oh of course, now that she asked you.”

“I knew, you’d get it.”, Kuroo smirked, finishing off his potato and beating Bokuto to the next yakitori skewer, “Wait, there is this hilarious picture I took of her yesterday.”

Holding the skewer (safely away from Bokuto) in his hand, Kuroo fished his phone from his pocket and opened his camera roll, then tilted his head in question. 

“Hm?”

“What?”, Bokuto asked, leaning forward on the table as if that would help. 

With a curious smile, Kuroo swiped to his social media app and saw a notification bell at the very top. 

“Give me a second.”, he said to Bokuto, at last handing over the yakitori and with a tap of the speed dial, raised the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, watcha doing?”, he asked innocently as soon as you picked up. 

“Nothing. Why?”

“So, while doing nothing, you just happen to like a picture of me from 7 years ago?”

“... No?”

He held up his phone for a second to double-check, then returned to the call, “And it just so happened to be the only picture on my feed where you can see my abs? Why, darling, you just had to tell me, you missed your husband, I would have facetimed you, you know?” 

His smugness was immeasurable. 

“I…”

“Hm?”

“I miss my husband.”

Kuroo sat up in his chair, face momentarily clear of any sneer or taunt. 

“I miss you, too.”, he said softly and very deliberately ignored Bokuto’s knowing eyebrow raise, “Are you going to sleep? Do you want me to call?”

“We are calling right now.”, you laughed. 

He felt light-headed, embarrassed even. Rubbing his palm over his eyes at the dumb question he swerved. “I meant with the camera. So you can… see... me.”, he ended lamely.

“That’s okay. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah, a lot. I’m with Bokuto right now.”

“Oh, I’ll let you go, then.”

“No, wait. Uhm. I got you something today. And no, it’s not a puppy.”, he interjected before you could ask. 

“What is it?”

“I think you’ll need to wait until your husband is back home to find out.”

“Not fair.”, you whined, “But fiiine, I guess… your wife can wait.”

His heart was pounding so loudly he clicked the volume bar on the side of his phone to make sure he could hear you, but there was only silence. 

Not wanting to end the call yet, he said, “You’ll never guess what we’re having for dinner.”

“Hmm, some kind of super healthy fish on some steamed spring vegetables?”

“Close.”

Kuroo snapped a quick picture of the table littered with paper plates under stacks of food in varying shades of beige, oil-stained napkins and large beers. 

He beamed when he heard your disbelieving gasp.

“You are so in for it when you’re back! We’re having a pizza night! With extra cheese! And fries.”

“Oh no.”, he protested entirely unconvincingly, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much, “But twist my arm, I guess.”

“I’m squinting at you so hard right now.”

“I can feel it, trust me.”

Another round of comfortable silence followed.

Eventually, you said, “I really should sleep now.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Coming out of his daze when he hung up, he was met with Bokuto’s dreamily invested expression, which turned to an expectant frown. 

Before Kuroo took a sip of his beer, he muttered, “You don’t have to say it.”

When you woke up the following day, you lay in bed for a while, unmoving, trying to discern if last night’s phone call was a really vivid dream or not. Your answer came in the form of a massive wave of notifications on your social media. Every single picture, every last one of them, had been liked by Tetsu and in your text messages he had sent you a selection of five he ranked as his favorites.

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

taglist: @etsuniiru @nocaffeineallowedtome @princessshart @aldebrana @grassbutneo @melimelisworld @yatoatyourservice @ranscutedoll @remiratboi @armeenix @doodle-with-rhy @bingbongsupremacy

[finale]

[karinasbaby]

hiii!! what type of porn do u think enha would be into?? this question has literally been plaguing me for the past week

thank u sm for sending this to me my beloved anon ! (⺣◡⺣)♡ here is my personal opinion on what kind of porn the enha hyung line (adding jungwon cuz i love nia) would be into 🤞

𖥻 JAKE i know will be into the nastiest shit known to humanity. but ! at the same time everything really depends on his mood and what he’s feeling. if he’s feeling like he just needs to get one nut out and have a quick orgasm he’ll probably go into the shadiest & easiest porn sites and just click on whatever makes his cock twitch from the thumbnail on the recently uploaded page. and he has range. his gravitation towards these types of videos range from (obv scripted) milfs getting pounded by their step sons or … hear me out. just straight up pussy eating videos. that does it for him tbh. however ! if he does have time and wants to have a whole masturbation session he would probably take his time in searching for the types of videos he’s in the mood for (also ranges from 69 videos, anal videos, sex toys videos, BDSM videos and so on and so forth) but at the end of the day, doesn’t matter if he was here for a quick or long orgasm— it WILL knock him out and he will sleep like a baby :(

honourable mentions ! : fucking machine videos, … sybian, step-cest hentai, pussy eating videos & squirting orgasm compilations (he’s a munch what can i say).

𖥻 HEESEUNG also into the nastiest shit known to human kind. i feel like heeseung has a phase where he hyperfixates on either 3D porn (probably futanari threesomes) or hentai (highschool themed ones maybe? or … infidelity ones ngl). (that phase comes and goes every now and then but it’s there for sure) he also has a thing for step-cest and i feel like lots & lots of bondage videos. i’m talking like porn videos where girls get tied up and fucked with different kinds of toys for hours till they squirt uncontrollably and best believe he’s watching it entirely. heeseung also has a thing for edging himself as it makes his orgasm hit 10 times harder. so he probably has participated in those ‘10 mins do not cum’ challenge videos on random porn sites. i also believe he has a thing for rough fucking videos. going back into the bdsm part he loves watching threesome bdsm videos where there’s a guy fucking a girl while another one is pushing his cock down her throat. also seems like the guy to have a thing for monsterfucking.. anything that involves werewolf, monster or alien x human porn videos just know that he’s already watched it. tentacles hentai is the way to go, 3D alien forced breeding is also one of his favourites (might even have an obsession with facehuggers phase… anyone interested in alien hee?) overall really filthy shit gets him off so well.

honourable mentions ! : has a thing for double penetration videos, gangbangs, lesbian threesomes, sex toy videos, alien breeding & facehuggers.

𖥻 JAY my romantic baby :( this man probably doesn’t even go to porn sites that often (lies) he goes to twitter to his fav nsfw accs & watches the most romantic and loving porn on the internet that it’s not even porn atp it’s just watching two ppl love each other (and being jealous). he’s the type of man that will have a thing for missionary videos because i feel like he watches the type of porn that he, himself can replicate. missionary videos with the guy being so whiny and kissing his girl everywhere is one of his favs, but ! he also does really enjoy watching cowgirl povs.. doesn’t matter if it’s reverse or not, i know an ass man when i see one. see now all of this? applies to my beloved soft boy jay ♡ who takes his time and enjoys his alone pleasure time so nicely and sleeps so contently like a baby after. butttt ! he also does have his own random urges and moments and needs to watch diff types of porn. i see him as the type of guy to stay on twitter still but also go to diff acc w diff kinds of porn in them.. call me crazy but i believe he also has a thing for tying up like heeseung. except this time its obv diff than the bondage on porn sites. he loves loves loves to watch videos of pretty ‘good girls’ getting punished on their daddies lap with their legs and arms tied up. loves to watch how their daddies make them sit on their faces so they can eat their cunts out for hours. also has a thing for full fucking session videos from start to beginning. is fully tuned in from the first few minutes of the make out session or the teasing till the final minute where both of them orgasm. might even be the type to start jerking himself off slowly in the beginning and make himself cum with the ppl on the video to get maximum satisfaction, then goes into a deep slumber cuz he’s been edging himself for a long time.

honourable mentions ! : twt videos that lean heavily towards ddlg content, bj videos, tit play videos (to feed into his lactation kink ! best believe he’s jerking off to a man sucking milky droplets off his girl’s nipples) and doggystyle compilations.

𖥻 SUNGHOON … he’s really into role play videos. idk how to explain this but i feel like he has a massive obsession with role play porn videos that are all scripted. a police officer x criminal porn video where the girl is the criminal and gets cuffed and fucked over the chief’s table just does it for him. his interests also drift towards pet play… has a thing for pet play kind of videos & cute pet like outfits like cat ears :( really has a huge thing for calling a pretty girl kitty it just makes him cum so quickly & so so hard. when the video contains roleplaying and punishment? he’s so gone. give him a video where it’s a professor / teacher x student roleplay porn and his hands will be around his cock in a second. his obsession is so deep rooted he’s willing to go into the sketchiest sites just to find the full versions of the videos he sees that are frustratingly teasers / half way through. he’s also a freak for ‘stuck inside the washing machine’ type shit (so yes to step-cest roleplaying videos). it just adds up in my head tbh cuz it’s freakhoon we’re talking about. bcs of his obsession with roleplaying and pet play… he also sometimes falls down a horny rabbit hole of 3D hentai.. that’s furry porn. he will never admit this but he came so hard to furry / wildlife porn especially when he found werewolf & human porn. best nut of his life the second he saw the knot orgasm. again will never admit this bcs the post nut clarity hit him so hard he didn’t jerk off for five days straight after that. (anyone interested in werewolf hoon? omegaverse hoon?).

honourable mentions ! : also into fucking machine videos, furry breeding videos, roleplaying hentai videos and anal compilations (no i will not elaborate for now.)

𖥻 JUNGWON the only thought that comes into my head when i think about the type of porn that will get won off is tits. doesn’t matter what kind of video he’s watching as long as there’s tit play is involved he’s so gone. loves and adores to watch videos of either boob play & jerking off or missionary with milfs (yes has a huge thing for milfs) where the camera pov is from above and he has the perfect angle of their cunt & tits bouncing. though he might have a thing for tits & female body worship… cock worship gets him off so well. just seeing a girl get so cockdrunk with a guy slapping his leaking dick on the side of her cheek makes him so fucking hard. like jake, jungwon’s porn videos depend on his mood and how he’s feeling like. if he needs a quick nut he’ll go to his favourite website and click on whatever appears for him first cuz he has an acc and the algorithm already knows the kind of filth he watches. (he’s a dedicated consumer, has an acc on every site and might even go as far as to downloading porn site apps & following their twt accs) but if he is looking for a long session where he can take his time then best believe he’s watching a whole homemade movie. loves to watch videos from beginning to end with all different positions and angles and multiple orgasms. also tends to have a thing for following along and experiencing everything in the video. but then again he also strikes me as the guy to also watch tit play compilations… for sure has a lactation kink and lives to get off of boob sucking videos & maybe even adult breastfeeding. either way… everything depends on his mood.

honourable mentions ! : 69 compilations, cowgirl compilations especially ones where the guy starts to suck on the girl’s boobs, pussy fingering orgasm videos, deep throating.

again thank u for sending this ask !! <3

[wlw-imagines]

Knifepoint - Amelia Shepherd x Reader (Grey's Anatomy)

a/n: ignore this is a day late and also that i have disapperead for a week, work was high stress - i may upload previous days or i may disappear for another week. with me - who knows!!!

summary: You’re a trauma surgeon known for rocking black scrubs and keeping cool under pressure. When a tense situation turns dangerous and you get hurt, Amelia Shepherd steps in to save you and things get a little complicated. Between the hospital chaos and all the unspoken feelings, you both start to realise maybe there''s more to your rivalry than just work.

Part of May Prompts (a black scrub top) AND Maylancholy 2025 (held at knifepoint - @may-lancholy) - that's right, we have a combo one in day sixteen!

Early on in your career, you made a choice to wear black scrub tops.

Not charcoal. Not navy. Not a trendy graphite hue that someone from plastics might mistake for fashion. Just black. The kind of colour that takes no prisoners.

They drape like shadows around you, absorbing everything, blood, questions and grief. You make no explanation for them, and in your silence, everyone else fills in the blanks.

Some say it’s a trauma thing, a symbolic mourning, whilst others think it’s rebellion. A way to set yourself apart from the chaos of surgical life, from the rainbow of department colours that try to make life-and-death look less... well, less like death.

You don’t confirm or deny. You just keep moving.

There’s something in your gait, unapologetic and smooth, that makes people step aside before they consciously decide to. You walk like someone who’s already memorised the next fifteen steps. Your stethoscope is always coiled neatly, and there is not a strand of hair out of place.

The residents know not to chatter around you. The interns whisper your name with reverence and fear, as if you’ll materialise behind them with a glare sharp enough to lacerate.

You’ve heard the nicknames: The Void, Reaper in Reeboks. One ICU nurse calls you death in Danskos when she thinks you’re out of earshot.

You don’t mind. Better that than someone trying to make small talk.

Only one person doesn’t keep their distance. Amelia Shepherd.

It didn’t begin as antagonism. More of a clash. She barreled into the scrub room mid-glove, her ponytail swinging. Her badge hit her chest as she moved, the words NEUROSURGERY catching the light. She stopped short in front of your locker, her arms folding across her chest.

"You’re not hijacking my OR just because you’ve got seniority and a God complex," she snapped, voice sharp with adrenaline and annoyance.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look up from the chart in your hand. "My patient is crashing. Yours is stable, sedated, and prepped."

"So that’s a yes on the God complex, then?"

"I’m trying to save a life," you said, calmly sliding your arms into your black gown. "If you’d like to argue about it with the chief, be my guest. But I’ll be done before you even know it."

She narrowed her eyes. "You better or you can be the one to apologise to my patient's family."

You met her gaze finally, with the slightest quirk of your eyebrow.

You’d been circling each other ever since.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a few weeks later. The hospital had finally quieted to a dull hum, most of the chaos seeping into night shift rounds and whispered consultations. You sank onto the cracked leather couch with a sigh, unwrapping the worst vending machine sandwich known to mankind.

"You know," came a familiar voice, dry as desert air, "I’m starting to think you enjoy suffering."

You didn’t look up right away. "Big talk from someone eating protein bars like there's no tomorrow."

Amelia Shepherd let the door swing shut behind her with a soft thud. She was still in her scrubs, top untucked, sleeves pushed to her elbows, hair escaping in every direction. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept in twenty hours, which, given the shift schedule, was probably accurate.

"They do the job and at least they taste somewhat alright," she said, biting into her bar without a flinch. "You, however, look like you’re one bite away from a stomach pump."

You risked a glance at her, brows arching. "Did you come in here just to roast my dinner, or…?"

Amelia’s lips twitched. "I came for silence. I stayed for the opportunity to roast your dinner, obviously yes."

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward. You tore a piece off the sandwich, then paused, glancing over at her. "Rough day?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug, flopping into the chair across from you. "They’re all rough days lately." You didn’t respond right away. Amelia tapped her thumb rhythmically against the side of her protein bar wrapper. "You haven’t been sleeping."

You blinked at her. "Is that an observation or an accusation?"

"Just an observation." She leaned back, regarding you with that unnervingly perceptive look she had, the one that always made you feel a little too seen. "You’ve got the whole haunted-in-the-hallway vibe going."

You bristled slightly. "You don’t exactly radiate sunshine and puppies yourself."

"Touché," she said with a smirk. Then, after a beat: "But I’m not the one deflecting by working double shifts and pretending it doesn’t bother me."

You met her gaze, something sharp and vulnerable flashing across your face. "And what would you suggest I do, Shepherd? Meditate? Journal? Scream into a pillow between rounds?"

Amelia didn’t flinch. "No. I don't have an answer yet. I wish I did."

"Ah, so you dish out this empty advice for free, huh?"

For a long moment, you sat there, two people balancing on the knife’s edge between pushing each other away and pulling each other in. Then Amelia sighed and stood, tossing her wrapper into the trash with unnecessary force.

"I’ll bring you real food next time," she muttered, already halfway to the door. "Try not to die of sodium poisoning before then."

You looked up, surprised. "You cook?"

She paused in the doorway, turning her head just enough to send you a small wink, "No. But I have very convincing delivery menus."

And then she was gone, leaving the door swinging quietly in her wake and something strange in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was annoyance or interest. Maybe both.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Another three weeks later, you’re mid-chart, back hunched at the nurses’ station, eyes moving too fast over patient notes that make you wish you could just go home, when you feel it.

A presence. Off-kilter.

You look up.

The man standing in the lobby doesn’t... belong. That much is obvious from the way his body holds tension. It's coiled, like a spring waiting to snap. He wears a hoodie too thick for the weather. His eyes dart from nurse to wall to floor. Sweating, fidgeting, vibrating with something that doesn’t match his surroundings.

You’ve seen that look before, where someone balances on the edge of unreality. A place where people either break down or break through.

Then you place him.

Angela Vasquez’s brother.

Angela, seventeen, who came in with a sudden thunderclap headache and collapsed in the elevator. You’d operated for six hours, cut and clamped and prayed with every ounce of precision you had. But the bleed was too fast. Too much.

She never woke up.

You were the last one to touch her. You’d stayed after the code was called. Sat beside her body. Pressed your palm against her cooling wrist and whispered her name.

Now her brother is here, standing across the atrium with that look in his eyes.

You push back from the desk and murmur low to the charge nurse, "Call security. Quietly." But it is too late.

He’s already moving. Three strides, maybe four. He closes the distance with a speed you don’t expect. There’s no time to back away. His arm rises.

Metal flashes.

The folding knife is cheap, dull silver with black tape around the handle. It catches the light for half a second before pressing hard into your chest.

There’s a shout. A dropped clipboard. Somewhere, someone screams.

But all you see is him.

His eyes are red-rimmed. His breath comes in short gasps. He’s not a killer. But he’s grieving.

"Say her name," he growls.

You exhale, slowly. Keep your body still.

"Angela," you say. "I remember. I was there."

He breathes harder. The knife digs in. You feel the press of it, sharp enough to pierce fabric, bite skin. "She walked in here. Alive."

"I know."

"She had a headache. That’s it."

"I know," you repeat. "I’m sorry."

The blade jerks. He presses it harder. Blood wells and there's a sting, then warmth. You'd hardly be able to see the liquid bloom through your shirt but you feel it become damp.

"Say it again!" he shouts. "Say it!"

"I’m sorry."

His eyes glisten, fury cracking into anguish. The whole hall is still. No one dares move.

And then- "Hey!"

The voice slices through the tension. Amelia.

She’s standing at the end of the corridor, wide stance, hands half-raised, eyes locked on the man’s trembling grip. She’s wearing her normal clothes and must have just come off shift. But her presence shifts the air.

"Don’t move," she says, calm and razor-edged. "It's just us."

The man twitches. The blade shifts slightly. Your blood spreads slightly wider beneath the black.

"She didn’t care," he says, voice cracking. "Didn’t even say sorry till I made her."

Amelia takes a step closer. "You’re right. It wasn’t enough."

You shoot her a glance. She doesn’t look at you. Her focus is entirely on him.

"Hurting her won’t bring Angela back," she says, voice thick with compassion and authority. "You don’t want to carry that weight."

He trembles. The muscles in his forearm twitch. "She was my baby sister."

"I know," Amelia says. "And I’m sorry. I should’ve caught the bleed. I’m the neurosurgeon. Maybe I missed it. Blame me."

Your heart spikes. "Amelia. No."

She finally looks at you, just for a second. And what’s in her eyes is not fear. It’s fury. It’s fire. It’s something too big to name.

"I’m not letting him kill you."

The man is confused now. His rage flickering, not knowing where to land. You feel his grip loosen. And so you move. It’s instinct. You slam your elbow into his ribs. The knife slices downward as he staggers, leaving a hot, burning trail across your chest.

Then you’re falling.

But you don’t hit the ground.

Arms catch you, steady, strong, too warm. Amelia's hands are on you, pulling you back against her body, her breath right against your ear. "Okay. Okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Stay with me."

You feel her pressure against the wound, fingers trembling just slightly. Blood soaks into her sleeves. Her hair brushes your cheek.

"That was monumentally stupid," you whisper.

"You’re a fucking idiot," she chokes. "A stupid, noble, infuriating idiot."

You wince. "Didn’t know you cared so much."

She huffs a broken laugh. "Don’t flatter yourself."

But her hand never leaves your chest.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You wake up in post-op and feel sore. Slow. Heavy.

And you’re not alone. She’s there. Curled in the corner chair, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her cheek resting on her fist. Her eyes are closed but not asleep.

You whisper, "Did I ruin your day?"

Her head jerks up. "You ruined my fucking month."

You give her a tired smile. "That dramatic streak. Neurosurgeons really are the worst."

"You bled on my sweater. And almost died. You don’t get to talk shit."

You reach out. Your hand finds hers. "You stayed."

"Yeah, I never left."

There’s a silence. Then, "Why?"

She swallows. "Because I didn't to. Not when you owe me for that takeout. It's your turn to buy me food."

"That makes sense." You smile softly and she shakes her head.

"Maybe I want to keep you around to see what happens too." She hums, a slight anxiousness in her eyes. But you are too blunt for this.

Your voice barely makes it out. "Say it."

She leans in, forehead brushing yours. Her breath is warm, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

"I care about you," she murmurs. "More than I should. More than I ever wanted to."

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, it doesn’t hurt quite so much to feel.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Two weeks later, you’re back on rounds. You turn a corner and stop.

Amelia’s waiting for you and she is in black scrubs.

She raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Well? Do I look intimidating?"

You glance at her, lips twitching. "You look like my evil twin. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She smirks. "I can think of some other things."

Teddy walks past, gaping and tilts her head, eyeing both of you with theatrical scrutiny, one brow lifting. "Okay. You can’t both wear black. People are going to think you’re in a cult."

Amelia didn’t even look up from her coffee. Her tone was bone-dry. "We are. It’s called the surviving trauma and deflecting with sarcasm cult."

You leaned back against the nurses’ station, a grin spreading slowly as you raised your coffee like a toast. "And caffeine. Don’t forget the daily sacrifices to the coffee gods."

"You need a catchier name, there's no way that'll catch." Teddy came to a stop next to Meredith, who was leaning on the opposite side of the counter. Meredith lifted her head and blinked at you both and deadpanned, "You two realize you’ve been matching every day for a week now, right?"

You shrugged with mock innocence. "Coincidence." Amelia, at the exact same time, replied, "Solidarity."

That earned an amused snort from Teddy, who shook her head. "So… solidarity in looking like you’re two seconds away from scoring a record deal with a broody indie hospital soundtrack?"

Amelia finally turned toward her, her grin blooming slowly. "If the scalpel fits."

Meredith took a slow sip of her coffee, clearly savouring the moment before droping in her next line, "Honestly, I just want to know how long until you two finally stop pretending that this is just a trauma bond."

You choked on a laugh and pretended to clutch your heart. "Meredith Grey with emotional insight? Who are you and what have you done with our queen of avoidance?"

Teddy leaned in, stage-whispering to Meredith with a gleam in her eyes. "I give them two more days before Amelia ‘accidentally’ kisses her in the elevator."

Amelia didn’t miss a beat. "Please. It’ll be the supply closet. Have some respect for tradition."

"Just for the record," you said, voice lower now, intimate in a way that made Teddy raise her brows and Meredith pretend very hard to be engrossed in her phone, "if it were the supply closet... I wouldn't exactly object."

Amelia tilted her head, mouth curving upward into that mischievous little half-smile she wore when she was two steps away from doing something reckless and brilliant. "Noted," she said, her voice just as soft.

Teddy cleared her throat, "Well. That’s my cue to make myself scarce before someone violates HR policy behind the linen cart."

Meredith finally looked up, smirking. "Just make sure someone actually does kiss someone before I waste another bet on emotional repression."

Amelia chuckled, stepping close enough that your shoulders brushed. "No promises," she murmured.

But the glint in her eyes said otherwise.

[thewritingfairy]

This is so funny because just today I was hoping you would upload a new chapter and immediately when I check Tumblr you updated. I swear we share the same mind! Anyways u love chapter 12 pookie, Damian is very much self reflecting in his own way slowly but surely but I want to know, who is out off all the batfam the worst yandere because in my opinion I think its either Jason or Alfred.

Phone format, Chapter mentioned: 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

This is actually very funny, because I update whenever I have a random burst of inspiration for this story. (Its also why the chapters are often short or multiple after each other because I go from writing to no motivation to sudden motivation). And sometimes I just take days or weeks to write.

But the worst yandere...

Honestly? It depends from which angle you look at it.

When it comes to betrayal? Tim (also delusional). Especially since he knows what it's like to be neglected, he knows how much damage it brings and you thought you would have some solidarity with him. You don't care for his reasons, you simply care for his actions.

When it comes to possessiveness, Damian and Jason. For obvious reasons, Damian has an obsession with blood relations and Jason's possessiveness is actually a plot line so I can't spoil too much. But he basically sees you as a better version of his mother that he failed to protect and keep alive before, so now he wants to ensure you cannot leave them. Because if you leave you'll be like his mother. And you don't want that now do you?

When it comes to protectiveness, Cass, Bruce and Barbara. Cass feels immense guilt for ignoring your pain, so she'll attempt to shield you from more even if it means kidnapping you or locking you up. Barbara is in the same boat but also because she knows how hard it was at first to become disabled, so she feels guilt for not being there for you. And Bruce is Bruce, with his obsessive plans, his canon nature is already a bit shit, his yandere side just makes it all worse. And when it comes to protectiveness? Eventually you'll won't be able to breath without someone monitoring you if he had his way.

When it comes to delusional Alfred, Dick and Stephanie. We've all seen how Alfred acts, like a piece of shit and he honestly thinks your behaviour is just a fase. Dick feels the need to protect everyone and to be loved by everyone, so he's mainly delusional. He makes himself think that you do love them and still want to be with them (you don't). Stephanie doesn't really want to acknowledge how she has hurt you, so she pretends you guys are okay but she feels the need to keep you (in a sense) so that you'll no longer get hurt.

The easiest would be Duke.

Duke knows what you want, so he'll always take your side. Especially with your past and his own morals. Duke doesn't throw away what he stands for simply because he feels an obsessive need to protect you or to lock you up. No. But he might come with you to everything check if everything is safe and then pretend to leave but he's actually just stalking at a respectful distance and out of sight (from everyone !!!)

I also would like to note that there is no such thing as respectful stalking in real life. Fiction doesn't equate to what's healthy in real life. also you got happy because I updated? Pls, you've made my day, I needed that before my exam tomorrow.

[erodasfishtacos]

Threadbare ||FWB!H|| - 2

prompt: when does your ultimate fantasy ever come? true for YN it has but at what cost?

word count: 4.2k

warnings: angst, cheating, body-shaming, toxic relationship (YN & OC)

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

This will be updated this month.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (2-5kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 375 + pieces available to read

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previous part

+

YN had never been kissed the way Harry was kissing her.

Not when she was sixteen and naive, not in college when she thought she'd fallen in love for the first time, and certainly not by the man she was supposed to be with now.

She’d never had someone cup her face, hold her right where they wanted her like they had all the permission in the world.

His lips were urgent and consuming, devouring her with a hunger that felt like it had been suppressed for far too long and he just kept taking and taking until she had to gasp for breath.

He kissed her like he was starving, like he hadn’t tasted affection in years, and now that he had her, he was going to make every second count.

His mouth moved over hers with reckless abandon, not soft or slow but desperate, unrelenting, and persistent.

It made her dizzy, this kind of want. 

This kind of wrong.

And still, she didn’t stop him.

But it’s a split second to inhale before his lips are back on hers like that little break (minuscule really) was too much time for their lips to be apart.

The minute she let out a pant, Harry took the opportunity to press his tongue into her mouth - greedy, indulgent, and you would think he’d been a man withheld from physical affection for years.

The room felt like it was closing in around them—small, private, dangerously close . 

The air was thick with heat and the weight of everything they weren’t supposed to be doing. 

Harry’s body pressed against hers, solid and overpowering, completely consuming. 

He wasn’t just close—he was everywhere.

Something she’d imagined for so long, how he would feel, what it would be like to be in the exact situation, and it didn’t seem real that the man of her dreams was kissing her like it was his dying wish.

It lets her know that she hadn’t imagined the sexual tension in the past, over the last year or so.

YN had convinced herself that it was in her imagination because she was pining after him slightly, not that it was actually there.

She thought she had been looking into it too much when she often glanced over at Harry to find him already looking at her.

At how when they were brushing past each other, Harry would lightly put his hand on her lower back or squeeze her hip gently, or that the pet names were just terms of endearment even if he didn’t say them to their other friends.

YN’s fingers are knotted tightly into his curls, something she’d always imagined as he’s ducked down to meet her lips, keeping her right where she was and right where he wants her.

When Harry pulls back but their noses are still brushing, his chest is heaving, and his forehead is against hers.

He swallows harshly and shakes his head, eyelids fluttering shut as he tries to gather himself, “I-fuck, honey. You have to tell me to stop. Please, tell me.”

For a second she thought it might be regret, that maybe he’d come to his senses.

YN’s heart seizes, insecurity creeping through as she lightly tugs at his hair until he blinks his eyes open, his pupils are blown, his lips are pink and puffy from her own, “Do you want to stop?”

Harry lets out this laugh that his voice cracks on, breathless and heavy, “No, the last thing I want to do is stop. Fuck I want you so bad and I-I shouldn’t. I’ve never felt like this.”

“Like what?” YN presses, her voice soft and curious, her fingertips moving to comb through his hair - if she was only going to be able to touch him for a short amount of time, she was going to make sure to do it as much as possible.

“You make me feel out of control,” Harry admits as he nudges their lips together, softer this time and not for long but it was like he’d went too long and needed to feel it again.

YN tries to figure out how to respond but he’s still talking.

“You’re drivin’ me insane and you don’t even realize it. You never have. I’ve always had good self-control.. I keep shit in check. I’m good at that. But with you?” He laughs under his breath, edgy and wrecked, “With you it’s like none of that matters. I try to pull away, I swear I do, but the second I see you, the second you look at me like that—I’m fucked. I can’t reel it in. I can’t.”

YN tries not to let those words get engraved into her brain because she has too much self-doubt to trust that he’s not just saying these things because he’s clearly aroused, clearly making bad decisions, and what is said in the heat of the moment isn’t something that she should take to heart.

But shit, it fuels her ego.

Harry’s made her feel so desirable, so wanted in these few minutes in a way that no one has ever made her feel, not even her partners prior to Ben, and it is invigorating, new.

“Please,” YN can’t find anything else to say but she was willing to beg, she wasn’t above it because this could be the only time this happens, and she can’t risk passing it up.

Harry’s gaze locked with hers, something wild and unreadable flashing in his eyes, “You’re sure?”

YN nods, hands moving from his hair down the side of his jaw, “Is it not obvious? How much I want this too?”

He sucked in a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he tried to steady himself, his voice came out thick and cloying like the petname he kept calling her, “Tell me again. Humor me, honey.”

YN shakes her head, lips wobbly as she feels random emotion prick behind her eyes, there was so much going on, her brain couldn’t keep up nor did she want it to.

She’d always been the good girl. 

The one who thought things through, made lists, weighed consequence but for once—just once, she wanted to live without second-guessing every damn decision. 

Even if this was a bad one. 

“Please, Harry. I just -” YN voice goes higher pitch, she must look as frantic as she feels because he’s honed in again, alert and noticing the wet film that was starting to film over her eyes.

“You’re gon’na kill me,” Harry laughs with a fondness she hasn’t heard before, not even towards his own girlfriend.

There’s some weight behind his words that YN’s choosing to ignore because she’s not had one sip of alcohol but she was starting to feel drunk.

And not in a light, bubbly way - this was heavy, dizzying, like her head couldn’t quite keep up with her body like she was already too far gone.

The heat hadn’t faded, hadn’t fizzled—it was slower now, syrupy, dragging and simmering under her skin like molasses.

Because as soon as YN rolls her hips forward, right towards where he’s hard, his hands come to hips and press her back into the wall with a roughness that makes her physically throb .

She never had anyone take what they want, manhandle her, and let her not make every call.

"Not yet," Harry chastises, fingertips pressing into her skin.

She wants to point out that they shouldn't take that long.

She doesn't know if anyone would check on them, or if any of them where even sober enough to know that they've gone missing for an extended amount of time.

YN lets this low whine from her throat, a noise she's sure she's never made before, and lets out a huff of air - frustration because she could feel how wet she was, there was arousal that wasn't just pooling in the pit of her tummy but raging, a fire that needed extinguished.

Harry stepped back slightly, but his gaze stayed fixed on her. 

His smile was sharp, fond and teasing, and his voice was full of something too intimate to name, “You’re sweet—sweet as honey. Wouldn’t have guessed you were a spoiled little brat underneath it all. So tell me, you spoiled thing… what do you want?”

YN blinked, her mind fuzzy and trying to keep up. 

She wasn’t used to this—talking during sex. 

Teasing. 

That line between humor and heat. 

It short-circuited her anxiety and left her floundering.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, panicking just a little, “I don’t wanna be spoiled—”

Harry's smile falters when he realizes that she doesn't know he's just prodding at her to get a reaction, and he steps forward once again, voice soft and reassuring, "Don't, I like this version of you. Do you want to tell me what you want or do you want me to decide?"

Not thinking sounds great at the moment actually.

“You,” She breathed, the answer instinctual, without a single beat of doubt,“You.”

Harry’s gaze grew molten again, he moves closer once again, mouth ghosting over her lips before they're pressing against the edge of her jaw.

She naturally tilts her head to the side, head lolling back as his hand came up to cup her throat—not tight, but firm enough to make her feel it, to ground her in the moment.

"I need to see you," Harry rumbles as he sucks at her pulse point, careless, and hopefully, not with enough pressure to leave a lasting mark but she couldn't be assed to chide him, only rooting her fingers into his hair deeper to keep him as close as possible, "Fuckin' struck me dumb yesterday. You know your tits are pretty, flashin' 'em to me because they're perfect."

And it wasn't true, YN didn't show him because she thinks they're anything great.

YN doesn't realize that she's shaking her head in disagreement until Harry pulls his lips away from her neck, and YN hand's move from his locks down to his shoulders, broad and straight.

"Why are you shaking your head at me?" Harry raises an eyebrow, his hands are smoothing down her sides, over the big tee-shirt (it was the one Harry had given her the day prior and she hadn't returned it though she should of, she knew she should of when she walked out wearing it today, and Lauren stared her down but didn't say anything).

"You don't need to butter me up to -"

“Stop talking.” His voice was firm now.

Serious.

The shift was immediate.

His jaw ticked, lips set in a tight line, “Take your top off.”

Her breath hitched.

Not from fear.

But from the gravity in his voice, the intensity in his eyes.

“You’re not going to talk down ‘bout yourself around me,” He continued, quieter now but no less direct, “I know he tore you down. Said things that stuck. But none of that shit’s true. I’m not buttering you up—I don’t need to. I don’t know how you don’t see how fuckin’ gorgeous you are—inside and out but I’m going to show you.”

YN’s chest ached with the weight of it all—his words, his sincerity, his frustration on her behalf.

And despite her instinct to shrink away, to hide, to keep that armor tightly wrapped around herself… she didn’t hesitate.

She pulled the shirt over her head.

Her skin prickled in the sudden air, left in nothing but her bikini top and the jean shorts tugged over the bottoms.

Harry steps forward, quiet as night between them, and he reaches around her to untie the knot of her bikini at the base of her neck.

Before moving down to undo the knot right underneath her shoulder blades, and just like that, the garment slips from her body and onto the ground.

Her instant reaction is to cover herself but she didn’t have the chance.

Harry was on her.

"Fuckin' hell," Harry grunts as he ducks down, hands greedy as they cup her tits, perfect sized handfuls, and he's rushed to bring his mouth to meet where he's massaging at her, "You don't even know what you do to me. Look at this pair, you're god damn blind if you can see any flaw in 'em.'

And yet, beneath the pleasure, something darker stirred, something bitter and hollow.

Because this? 

This reverence, this hunger, this unshakable desire—this was not what she had with Ben.

It's not until right now she truly realized how fucked up it was that he talked so negatively about her body.

Led her to believe that she had all these issues that she couldn't change but when she pointed out these things were inherently her and she can't change how her body looks, he had been disgustingly genuine when he said, "That's not true. Boob jobs exist for a reason."

Before him, she hadn’t loved her body, but she hadn’t hated it either.

She thought her boobs were cute - small, but round. 

Her nipples were puffy, sure, but they were hers. 

Nothing about her ever felt like a problem until someone told her it was.

And yet that same man would sulk for hours if she didn’t tell him how good his haircut looked.

If she didn’t fawn over the way his biceps popped in a new gym shirt.

It had always felt so unbalanced—how much space she was expected to make for his ego.

But Harry wasn’t giving her time to spiral right now.

 He was dragging her out of it with his mouth and his hands and the way he touched her like she was a piece of art. 

Wet and hungry, his lips wrapped around her nipple, tongue circling before he sucked, gentle at first, then rougher, like he couldn’t help himself. 

His other hand kneaded her free breast, thumb brushing over the peak with careful, almost reverent attention.

The sensation ripped through her like a current and her back arched away from the wall as a startled gasp escaped her mouth, “Har—”

She didn’t get the rest out. 

He scraped his teeth over the sensitive peak, the dull bite making her moan, pleasure flaring where pain flickered.

 It was better than anything she thought she’d like. 

Harry doesn’t break rhythm, hunching his broad shoulders to get lower, curling into her chest, and her hand comes to the back of his neck to keep him there.

He’s sloppy with it but not in an unexperienced way, in a very precise way.

The way he laps at her, leaving her skin wet with his spit so he can pull back, blow air on it before latching back with his teeth nipping the thin skin around it.

It was obscene, and though YN always guessed that Harry would be good in bed - well, she didn’t expect this.

She was stuck in an in-between hell because she never wanted him to stop but the ache between her thighs was getting unmanageable, it felt like she was going to combust.

After a long moment, teasing, biting, licking - he finally pulls back to admire his work, cupping both and running his thumbs over her hard, damp peaks with a sense of accomplishment on his face, “See how puffy they are now? S’perfect size to find in my hand and they’re prettier the puffier they get.”

YN taken aback by how sincere he is, how he can’t take his eyes off of her, and when she looks back on this moment - it’s like time didn’t exist, that there was no lake house around them, and there was definitely no significant others just outside at the firepit, oblivious.

YN’s mouth is dry, probably from panting like there wasn’t enough air in the room to fill her lungs, and it feels difficult to find her voice.

“Harry, I can’t,” YN begins and when Harry’s eyes quickly pop up to her face, expression going concerned, she realizes it sounds like she wants to stop which is the last fucking thing she wants so she continues even if it’s more of a babble, “Feels like m’on fire, I need t’come, please-”

Harry inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening with restraint, eyes dark. 

Harry pulls back up to kiss her quiet, his thumbs still rolling at her nipples, squeezing the weight of her tits in his palm, “Gon’na show me where else you’re pretty?”

YN nods slowly, but it’s not without a wave of insecurity that crawls up her spine and settles heavy on her chest. 

No one’s seen her like this in so long. 

She hadn’t had many partners before Ben, and now she’s realizing just how deep his criticisms carved into her self-worth. 

He always had something to say—some way to make her feel wrong in her own skin.

Her mind jumps to how he didn’t like to eat her out because her folds were full, tucked everything neatly inside, and even when she was aroused (which wasn’t often with Ben, well, never), her clit didn’t even peak out then, and he said it was ‘too hard’ to get her off because of that.

It wasn’t just the hurtful words, looking back, there was no kind way to put what he told her.

He had said it with annoyance that YN ever even asked why he doesn’t do that and she stopped asking questions after that because it typically ended in some time of hurtful turn back on her.

Harry has a flash of anger cross his face, it was remarkable how much he knew without her even saying anything, “What? What could he possible have fucking said to you?”

“It’s not important-”

“No, it is because I’m going to fuckin’ prove it wrong,” Harry insists, there was no argument.

And YN almost laughs, because how could this be happening?

 How could she be here, half-naked, pinned between a wall and Harry Styles’ chest, being told her body deserves to be worshipped?

YN curls her bottom lip, “He didn’t, it’s dumb, he doesn’t like - I can’t say it.”

“Please?” Harry sweetens up a bit, his lips soft against her cheekbone, “I only want to know so I can make you see how pretty you are.”

“He said it’s too hard to do anything for me because of how it looks, because it’s all… tucked in. It’s stupid,” YN tries to brush it off.

Harry blinks.

Then—he laughs.

A short, disbelieving snort that’s almost kind before realization sets in and turns it bitter.

“He didn’t make you come?” Harry asks, incredulous. “Like, ever?”

YN’s eyes drop.

Her voice shrinks “I don’t think it’s all him. I just… I stopped trying.”

Harry is silent, watching her like he’s waiting for the punchline but it doesn’t come.

It’s not a joke.

"Can I?" Harry asks softer now, sobering from his disbelief, his fingertips tuck into the waistband of her jean shorts and tug as a request, "I know you'll be so pretty for me."

YN has a million reasons to say 'no'.

But she can't find one that she wants to say because she wants to say 'yes'.

"Yes," YN agrees with rapt attention on him as he kneels in front of her, glancing up at her from underneath his eyelashes, and it's the most breathtaking scene she never knew she needed to see.

His hands run up from her ankles past her calves, knees, and thighs before he's popping the button on her jean shorts.

Glancing up one more time to check to which she gives him a nervous but sure smile and nod that he has full permission to do it.

Harry curls his fingers into the material, hooking the string of her bikini bottoms as well.

He's tugging them down, down, down until he helps her step out of them so she doesn't trip, carelessly tossing them to the side as he goads her into spreading her thighs a bit more.

YN is waiting on bated breath but even though it shouldn't be shocking, it still is when he uses one of his big hands to hook under her thigh and throw over his shoulder like it's nothing, giving him more room to work, and effectively burying his face between her legs.

She was pinned up against the wall, putting some of her weight on Harry.

She’s barely had time to process what’s happening before she moans—loud.

Because he’s not fumbling. 

He’s not hesitant. 

He parts her folds with his fingers, presses his nose against her mound, and licks—slow, purposeful, and right on her clit.

"Harry," YN mewls in pleasure, she can't believe she ever bought Ben's story of 'too hard to work with'.

"S'not hard to miss your cute little clit," Harry thumbs over her folds, collecting the slick over the pad of his thumb, "Did I find it, honey?"

YN lets her head fall back, lips parted, breath caught somewhere in her chest.

“More,” She pleads, “Want more.”

"Spoiled rotten," Harry almost croons, he moves his thumb over her bud, rolling it underneath with firm, direct motions that have her thighs want to twitch shut, "How could anyone say anything negative about her? She's pretty as anything, you know that? S'like the biggest tease, hiding everything from me."

YN never looked at it that way, she tried not to think about it much but her ego was being fed more than it ever had before.

Harry bullies his way back in, no more talking as his free hand comes up to grip her hip, keeping her pressed back against the wall as she tries to roll into it.

His hand that was spreading her moves to tease at her entrance, just tracing, and starting to press the tip of his finger in when it's too much.

His tongue was persistent- filthy as he would lick from her hole up to the crest, he nips at her hood, pulls it back, knows exactly what the fuck he's doing.

"Oh, I feel you pulsing, sweetheart," Harry hums happily, barely pulling back, and the hand on his hip moves to her backside, squeezing her backside hard and pulling her into his motions which was all she needs to start to quiver.

Hips erratic as she bites the back of her hand to keep quiet but he can still hear the moans as stars burst behind her eyelids - truly the best orgasm she's ever had.

“Look at that,” Harry sounds like he’s in awe and fuck, she feels powerful, “Holy fuck, look at you.”

And his mouth is back on her until she rides it out, even afterwards he’s lapping at her like he has to get every last drop of her arousal on his tongue.

She’s not used to coming from someone else, that intensely, so she squeaks when the overstimulation starts, and Harry pulls back.

YN’s fuzzy in a way she can’t ever remember being, it’s like she’s tipsy or just smoked enough to get a bit of a high, floaty.

Harry doesn’t instantly stand, instead he does something oddly intimate and sweet, he noses at her thigh, resting his forehead against it there, and his hands are just massaging her backside, and he says, “That was incredible.”

“You didn’t even get off yet,” YN giggles but it’s airy, breathless as her hearts still trying to slow, her hand coming back down to push through his hair.

“Don’t have to get off to enjoy it, I don’t need anything, honey,” Harry tells her but everything about his body says elsewise, how wound tight he seems, the way his cheeks are pink, and his eyes were more pupil than anything else.

“I want to see you now,” YN insists as she encourage shim to stand.

It was her turn to touch him because she hadn’t really gotten the opportunity yet.

She wanted her hands, her mouth on every inch of him, and when she reverses the roles and pushes him back against the sink, lips finding the curve of his throat, her hand coming to thumb at his nipple.

Harry lets out this low, rumbling moan that will permanently be etched in her mind.

But then there’s footsteps, up the wooden staircase, and reality sinks back - Harry and her eyes both get wide.

Jesus.

What had they just done?

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Froze

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Prompt -  "You're one of us now."

Notes - Season 8, Episode 15 Spoilers // it's a bad week to be a tlou and 911 fan but at least I'm uploading because of it

You’d been in LA for six months now and still hadn’t gotten used to it. For the first few months you’d just sit in your apartment, not leaving unless you absolutely had to, which between all the delivery services out there was rare. 

Eventually though you had to get on with your life. You had to start the fresh beginning you’d come here for. 

So you forced yourself to start functioning like a proper human being, forced yourself to leave the safety of your apartment and go to a coffee shop a few blocks down the road, forced yourself to go for a walk along the pier, forced yourself to go grocery shopping. 

To anyone else it wasn’t an achievement, it was just everyday life but to you it was big. 

You’d been reckless back when you were a part of Station 252, an awful relationship, one that had left you a shell of yourself, that had seen you putting yourself into unnecessary situations both on and off the job. Eventually your reckless behaviour had been enough to cause a call to go wrong, people had been hurt because you weren’t focused, because your mind was so far away from the scene. 

Yet they hadn’t fired you, you’d been transferred out to LA. You hadn’t spoken to anyone from the new fire house but the Captain had reached out when you got here, assuring you the job was there when you were ready to take the test that would tell you if you were stable or not to go back. 

Six months in LA and you had finally felt ready to take it. You were still broken, still had to deal with the fears and the ghosts from your old life but you wanted to go back to work. 

And so you did. 

You passed the test, shocking even yourself when they’d given you the all clear and spent the morning getting ready, feeling like a bag of nerves as you walked into your new fire house. 

You saw some of the team had gathered up the stairs, two of the men cooking whilst the others sat at the table, all five of them talking and laughing and it made you relax slightly, calmed the thunderous beating of your heart as you climbed the stairs and stood just beyond the scene.

The older of the two men cooking was first to notice you, the small furrow of his eyebrows as he looked at you was quickly replaced by a kind smile, drawing the attention of the others. 

“Um, hi, can we help you?” The other man cooking asked and before you had a chance to reply the man with the kind smile answered. 

“This is Y/N, right?” He asked you and you nodded, watching as he stepped around the counter and made his way over to you. “Y/N here is joining us from New York.”

“No way, that’s so cool! Why didn’t you tell us?” The man asked before turning to you. “Welcome to the 118. I’m Buck, that there is Eddie, then we have Chim and Hen and that there is our Captain, Bobby Nash.”  

You smiled at everyone, giving a polite wave and was shocked by how genuine your smile was. 

“Buck, watch the food, I’ll be right back.” Bobby said as he gestured for you to follow him to his office and you felt your stomach drop. 

“Relax, I’m not here to pick apart your life up in New York.” Bobby said as you both sat down and you nodded, the tension not leaving your shoulders. “I am here though if you need anything. Doesn’t matter what it is, you need me, you pick up that phone and call.”

“That’s it?” You couldn’t help but ask, feeling taken aback with how seriously he’d seemed to mean his words. “No list of rules for me to stick to, no threats looming over my head of what happens if I ever spiral again?”

“You’re gonna spiral again, Y/N. One day you could be great and then the next something’s gonna hit you, it might be your old life, it might be something that triggers you on the job. When that happens, you come to me. I can’t promise I can fix it but I can promise you won’t be alone.” Bobby told you, his voice kind and soft but filled with so much conviction that you trusted him without knowing him. 

“That’s it?” You asked softly in disbelief causing him to chuckle. 

“That’s it. You came here for a new start, Y/N, I’m not treating you any different to how I treat the others. You’re one of us now.” 

His words had your eyes stinging but you kept yourself composed and nodded, choking out a thank you that had the man grinning and gesturing for you to follow him back to the others, Bobby’s hand holding your shoulder the whole time and never straying too far as you got to know the team. 

Things had been good, it had been a year since you moved to LA and six months since you’d become a part of the 118, the firehouse feeling more like home than anywhere else ever had. 

Things had been good. 

Then you had a call that left your hands shaking. It hadn’t even been a particularly bad call to begin with, it was a building fire but it was easy enough to get in and out of, passing civilians down to safety without trouble.

Then the building shook and your heart leapt, remembering the last time you’d been in this situation. 

It was the last call before you were sent away and you hadn’t bothered securing your safety equipment properly. It was routine enough that you thought you’d be in and out but then just as you picked a child up ready to get him out, the building shook violently and you felt yourself falling. 

Thankfully, despite the drop, you’d kept the kid safe, hurting yourself in the process but that didn’t matter. 

It wasn’t long after that you found yourself no longer a member of the 252. 

“Hey Y/N!” You heard Buck call through the radio and it snapped you back to reality, your hands gripping your safety harness so hard your knuckles were white. “Y/N, do you copy?”

Your throat was dry, you opened your mouth but couldn’t answer, the panic had already built up and worsened as the building shook again.

You knew you had to get out, so why couldn’t you move?

“Y/N?” Buck tried again, the rest of the 118 stood outside looking up at the building and Buck looked at Bobby desperately. 

“I’m going in.” Bobby said when you failed to respond, watching Buck shake his head but didn’t protest when Bobby gave him a sharp look. 

Bobby made his way through the building, the smoke blocking his view for the most part but he found you easy enough, you were frozen to the spot, one hand gripping your safety harness whilst the other held the wall like it was the only thing grounding you. 

“Hey kid,” Bobby called and he watched as your head snapped up, your wild, panicked gaze meeting his calm one. “You’re okay, you did good. We got everyone out and nobody got hurt.”

He watched you take a moment to process his words before you nodded, not taking your eyes off of him. 

“You did good but we need to leave, Y/N.” He said softly, reaching out a hand for you to grab.

You looked at Bobby’s hand, steady and still, and watched as your own finally reached for him, shaking violently, only stopping when Bobby wrapped his around yours. 

“That’s my girl.” He smiled over at you and you couldn’t stop the ragged breath that left you, body on autopilot as you let Bobby lead you out, just in time for the building to crumble. 

The team immediately encompassed you and despite how foggy your mind felt, despite how overwhelming it was, you couldn’t stop the warm feeling that spread through you at how much they cared. 

Plus Bobby’s hand was still in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

Bobby was tempted to pull you into his office once you’d all arrived back to the house but he stopped himself. This was the first time you’d faltered since being here and he wanted to see if you would come to him on your own. 

It took nearly an hour but Bobby had to fight back a smile when he saw you approaching him, clearly nervous but his words from the first time you’d met had been playing in your head since you got back. 

“I froze.” You said after a few minutes of sitting next to Bobby in silence.

“You froze.” Bobby agreed and you looked over at him, his eyes as kind as they always were, a steady, unshakable force that you needed. 

“What if I can’t do this job anymore? What if every time a building shakes all I see is me falling, see the kid in my arms sobbing in fear?” You asked, tears stinging your eyes. 

“You can do this job, Y/N.” Bobby told you and his words were so certain that you believed them too, a shuddering breath escaping you. “Everyone got out safely because you made sure they did. You froze, it happens. That’s the beauty of the 118, you freeze? It doesn’t matter, we’re all here for each other, if you can’t get out on your own, we’ll come get you.”

You let out a small sob and Bobby couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, smiling as you buried yourself into his chest. 

“I told you, you’re one of us. We’re here to you, you’re not alone anymore, Y/N.” 

“I don’t deserve it.” You mumbled into his chest and Bobby sighed, running his hand up and down your back. 

“Everyone on this team has done something they think they can’t atone for but they can. This team is never going to hold your actions over you, they’re gonna drag you through the tunnel to the other side, trust me I know that better than anyone.” Bobby told you softly and you looked up at him with a shaky smile. 

“I’m glad I got sent here, couldn’t imagine not having you by my side.” You told him, smiling as he pulled you further into his arms and held you tightly. 

“Me too, kid.” He murmured softly, not at all surprised by how much he’d meant those words, between you and Buck the father instincts he thought were long gone were being dragged up to the surface, protective of the two youngest of his team. 

You’d meant it though, despite only being a part of the 118 for six months, it was hard to believe you’d gone so long without knowing Bobby. His kind, steady presence was what you depended on, the way it was so easy to talk to him, easy to trust him. You couldn’t picture a world without him anymore. 

Despite all the bad things that had happened in New York, despite all the hurt and guilt and regret you carried, you were glad for it because without it you never would have met Bobby Nash and that was the biggest tragedy of them all.

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[soaps-mohawk]

I'm going to be honest

I'm having a genuinely hard time making this post. I've been fighting with it for a couple weeks now, but I think it's time I finally make it.

I'm not having fun on this blog anymore.

It sounds bad, but honestly, it kind of is.

I think a lot of it started from the very beginning with the precedence and expectations I put on myself. I've always tried to respond to every comment I get. Even from the beginning. It's just a polite thing to do since those who leave comments took the time to write out what they think of my fic, even if it's just a keysmash. I've always felt the need to thank those who leave comments or reblog my writing or (now that tumblr has it) replied to my fics. It worked fine before because none of my fics were particularly popular. Even my most popular fic (at that time) didn't get as much attention as CRCB has. I've never had a "big blog" before, nor a fic as popular as CRCB has gotten.

It was fine at first, responding to everyone, engaging with everyone. I was riding that high of omg so many people are reading and enjoying my fic! I've never had anything quite like this before.

Now...it just feels more like a chore. I set this precedence on this blog that I respond to everyone and I know a lot of people have said that they're surprised I responded to them and to everyone, and now I'm getting why a lot of writers don't. I'm exhausted. I feel like I've just been robotically saying the same thing over and over trying to respond to people now. I used to love seeing asks in my inbox and reblogs and replies but now? All I feel is dread because I have to respond to all of those.

Turning anon off was a big help. It lessened the sheer volume of asks I was getting a day. And while I do feel bad for all of my anons who prefer to stay anons, with everything that happened (the multiple incidents) with anon that kind of started to suck the joy out of everything. That paired with the obsessive need to constantly have my inbox cleared and make sure everyone gets a response...I can understand now too why big blogs will have 200+ asks in their inbox. It's hard and it's exhausting and I'm burning out.

First it was the fic that was burning me out. Things have gone on far longer than I planned and I just wasn't prepared for this fic to go on and for a while there it was dragging. I'll admit that. If I could go back, I'd speed up a few things, but it's done, it's posted there's no going back. I kind of hoped I would have the mental capacity to upload more than once a week too, but I just couldn't. I still can't.

I've come to dread posting chapters because I know I'm going to have to reply and respond to everyone. The only thing keeping me posting is the fact that we're in the part of the story I've been excited about since the beginning and also because I keep leaving everyone on cliffhangers and I love torturing y'all with all of them.

So that being said, this is in no way to shame anyone for interacting with me, anyone leaving comments or replies or sending asks. Don't feel bad about doing it please. I appreciate all of you that have engaged with me and it really means so much to me. Honestly, earlier this year, if I didn't have this fic and everyone on this blog, I might not have made it to now. It's been a really rough year and it's still going to be into next year. It's just getting to the point where I need a break.

I've needed a break for a long time. I thought taking days off the blog would help, and it did for a couple of weeks, but now even on the days I'm supposed to be on the blog and engaging, I just find myself queueing stuff up and just being offline most of the day still.

I'm tired. That's the best reason I can give. I'm tired and burned out on life and I'm tired and burned out on this blog.

So...I think I need a break. I need to not keep responding to every single reply and reblog every chapter. I need to not force myself to answer every ask right away, no matter how much I want to. I feel bad, but I know everyone would rather have me here and enjoying the blog than forcing myself to interact to the point where I'm dreading it and just robotically repeating myself over and over with every reply and answer and comment.

I won't be pausing the fic, I won't be not uploading. I'll still be posting chapters, I just might not be interacting as much as I have been. It's just putting such a mental strain on me still, even with anon off, even with days off. And with things getting busier for me, it's going to be too much to try and deal with irl stuff and write and try to be super active on the blog. There's going to come a point where I have to sacrifice the writing or the blog and I'd rather sacrifice the blog to keep myself sane, and also to keep trying to finally get this fic done. I love this fic, don't get me wrong, but I'm just burning out.

I'm already burned out in a lot of ways.

I was planning kinktober this year but honestly I'm considering not doing it because I know interaction is going to be insane and it's going to be a lot to keep up on. Plus trying to write that many fics is hard and I'm not sure I have the ability to do it. I have a few done but now I'm just like...is that something I want to do on top of irl stuff and CRCB.

There's just no joy in it anymore. It's not anyone's fault but mine. I put the pressure on myself, I held myself to that standard for this long despite the fact I knew it was draining me. I've tried to push through when I should have prioritized myself. I feel so guilty not responding to everyone. I feel so guilty being a day or two late responding to everyone.

I want to be here and interacting and responding to things but I just can't bring myself to anymore. It's no one's fault, and this is not a drag on anyone, or an attempt to make anyone feel bad or guilty for interacting or sending asks or anything. I'm just airing out the truth and saying what I need to say because I feel like I've been so robotic and lifeless with my responses these last couple weeks and I feel like I need to explain why. It's nothing anyone has done. It's my fault. It's 100% my fault.

Things have just gotten to be too much and it's my fault for forcing myself to be so active. The social battery has dropped into the negatives. I'm not a social person. I can only handle so much interaction and I've pushed so far beyond that, that things have gotten to this point. I want to be here and I want to have fun and I want to use this as an escape but I just don't feel that way about it anymore. It's a chore for me, a job, something I feel like I have to do and it's my fault that I feel that way. It's my own standards and expectations I set on myself, and my expectations on what I think my followers want and deserve and now I feel like I've gone on too long like this that I can't change things without hurting anyone's feelings. I don't want people to think I'm ignoring them in favor of others because I know there's writers out there that do that. They only respond to a certain group and ignore others that comment and reblog. I don't want to make anyone feel like I'm doing that to them and that's now led me to here.

I'm forcing it and I'm tired.

It's been hard these last few weeks. The life has just been draining and draining continuously. The joy and the love I have for this blog and my followers and the interactions and the fic. The last anon bullshit that happened was just kind of the last nail in the coffin so to speak. The straw that broke the camel's back. Things stopped being fun. It made me feel bad (and not in the guilty way, though that was a part of it) and I'm honestly just over it. I'm over the blog, I'm over interacting, I'm over life at this point. August is a hard month for me and every year it seems to get worse and worse. A lot of it is unrelated to anything online and I was going to make a post about it but honestly I just don't want to. Those that know, know. Those that don't...it doesn't matter.

I'm getting annoyed by the blog, I'm getting annoyed every time I look in my notifications and see an ask or a reply or a comment. I'm getting annoyed by some of my followers and that's not fair to you. Everyone always talks about how nice and kind and patient I am when I'm really not. I'm not the person I present myself to be on this blog, the way I mask myself so I can present myself as being a normal, kind human being. The mask is coming off because I'm so tired I can't keep it up anymore. It's happening here and it's happening in real life. I'm tired and I'm frustrated and I'm angry at a lot of things and the last thing I want is to start taking it out on my followers. You don't deserve that, especially when it's not your fault, it's nothing any of you have done. It's all me.

It's not you, it's me.

So for the sake of not burning this whole thing to the ground, I'm going to take a break. I'm not replying to everyone, I'm not responding to every reblog, I won't reply to every ask I get right away, if at all because sometimes I just don't have anything to say in response and I need to learn that's okay. It's nothing against you. It's not aimed at anyone specifically, I'm just trying to put myself first and stop things from escalating. I need a break and I'm going to do something selfish and I'm going to take it.

Don't apologize because it's not your fault. Don't apologize because you think you might have contributed to this because you didn't. It is no one's fault but my own.

I'm the one that needs to apologize to all of you because I've just not been myself because I've been forcing myself to be someone I'm not. I've been very unfair to a lot of people over the last seven months that this blog has been active and I've held a precedent that is not sustainable in the long run and made everyone believe that I was capable of maintaining that kind of interaction when I'm not.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been putting everyone through this. I'm sorry I've been so detached and robotic and ingenuine. I'm sorry I led everyone to believe I'm someone I'm not. I'm sorry I've dragged this on this long that it's gotten to the point that I have to make this post.

I considered just disappearing but that wouldn't be fair to you either. I don't want to put you through that, so I'm pouring all of my thoughts out and making you read through this fucking novel of a post. If you've made it this far, then congrats I guess. Gold metals to you who bothered reading this far.

Anyway, all of that aside, I'll still be posting chapters. I'll have them scheduled and I'll probably come on and add links places to keep things current. I'll respond and reply and answer asks when I feel like it. You don't have to stop sending them, but just don't expect them to be responded to right away anymore. I'll probably still be here reblogging things I want and doing things when I feel like it.

I just need a few weeks to myself. Time I don't have to care about the blog at all and keeping up with it. Anon will remain off for the sake of keeping asshole trolls away, and also so I don't open tumblr and have 200 asks in my inbox after a week. Sorry to my anons but it's just the way it needs to be right now. Maybe once this break is over and I've dealt with irl stuff, I'll consider putting it back on. I just can't after everything I dealt with recently on anon.

It'll be the same on Ao3, for those that follow here and read there. Comments will probably sit for a while. They won't be answered right away anymore unless I get the energy to burn through them. Even then I won't try to answer them all at once like I did this last weekend.

I'll try to reblog something every day so y'all know I'm alright. I don't want y'all to panic and it's not fair to put you through that, especially those that might not see this or bother reading it. Those that follow simply for the fic and nothing else. I'm here, I'm just not...here.

This week's chapter is in the queue to be posted tomorrow as usual. Chapters will still come out as planned since I'm not stopping writing, just taking a break from the blog itself.

Thank you those of you who stuck through to the end here. I appreciate all of you so much. You have no idea. I'm sorry I let things get to this point and I'm sorry to anyone that I've gotten rude or snappy with because I couldn't be selfish and put myself first. I'm sorry to anyone that got a robotic, repeated response to something they were probably excited to share. I'm sorry I've been so unfair to everyone and I hope you can forgive me.

Take care and I'll talk to everyone when I have the energy to.

[cowboyschumi]

MUSE

Summary: Oscar is known for being bad at padel, which is why he tries other hobbies, like photography. Now, he clearly needs something to take photos of.

Author's note: Oscar trying to play paddel 🤏

I'm a huge fan of taking inspiration from songs, so you can listen to this. Don't forget to enjoy the reading and show some love. <3

Warnings: None ig.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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Oscar had to be grateful for being that good of a driver. Man, he was really bad at other sports. Everyone pointed it out and made fun of him, some people even pitied him or found it cute. He even tried golfing, but that racket was his last straw. He was a bit frustrated, but Oscar wasn’t the type to get frustrated and give up. He just accepted the fact that he wasn’t gifted enough.

His Instagram was— for his luck because he wasn't a media guy— managed by a social media professional, who made him posts and even took charge of taking pictures. Yes, none of his dumps, captions, or stories were posted by his own hands, which was crazy. He wanted some sort of control over that, after all, he had a voice and a platform. Not taking advantage of that would be a shame, besides there was no fun and genuine part if he wasn't the one behind his Instagram. So he decided to take it more seriously, it made his brain hurt in the most untolerable ways but he started to post more, engage with his fans.

Instagram dumps are such a religious thing for some people, he wasn't in that group until now. Having a picture perfect Instagram would let people have more connection with the places, his interests— perceive him differently and not some boring and flat boy with not much to say.

Like any driver, he had a stylist, a PR team, and other fancy stuff—which he didn’t like much because the main focus was on him, physically. His content was different now; it was full of sunsets, yachts, cars, and food pictures. He had to thank his team for lending him a professional camera—it made the quality ten times better.

"It's a lost cause." Oscar spoke as he carelessly dried his hair with a towel.

You vividly remember the first time he stepped into one of your classes—the typical shy kid who barely spoke. Other drivers came along with him, doing most of the talking, but they weren’t consistent in attending. For them, padel was just a way to kill time. Oscar, on the other hand, wanted to know everything about it—from the size of the court to executing the perfect shot with his racket. A few weeks after his first class, he started booking lessons on his own, demanding more focus and dedication.

He came around twice a week, and seeing him so often, you quickly grew close. So it wasn’t surprising to find him frequently emerging from the showers at the padel club. You had even learned to tolerate his wannabe tennis grunts when he hit the ball. At this point, you had already seen the worst of him.

"You’re just being hard on yourself. Not everything has to be perfect."

Like in any common locker room, there was a bench where people placed their clothes after showering. You sat there as you two talked.

No matter how comfortable you were around Oscar, you respected him, so you made a point of not looking at his shirtless torso.

"Don't give me a pity speech. I’ve heard enough of that." He really did sound tired of hearing it. But it was true—no one should be too hard on themselves for not meeting their highest expectations. Striving for perfection in everything wasn’t normal. Oscar’s mindset was too rigid, and being optimistic felt like an impossible task for him.

"Webber told me you started… photography? He even sounded worried about what you might do with that." Chuckles and laughter echoed through the warm changing room.

"Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty great. Still got a lot to work on," he admitted sincerely, making that classic uncertain face he always did when he wasn’t sure about something. His facial expressions were always amusing. "I got bored of photographing the plants on my balcony at home. Took some photos of Lando, and Hattie doesn’t even want the lens near her."

Laughter filled the room again—it felt like a comedy show at this point. But when it faded, you exchanged a tense glance, as if communicating telepathically. A mischievous smirk lit up his face.

"No." Your answer was immediate and firm, anticipating what was coming.

"I haven’t even said anything!" He raised his hands in mock innocence, his guilty smile still in place. Oh, you knew him too well.

"I won’t. I’m not photogenic."

"Please, just one time."

Oscar always swore on one-time things. But when something felt good, you tended to repeat it. He knew exactly how to take advantage of your kindness, always asking for harmless favors—because, in the end, you never said no to him.

————————————————————————

And there you were, in his Monaco apartment, on a morning when rain was pouring outside. Oscar always pointed out the differences between his current lifestyle and the one he had in Australia, the daily longing for home. That small place in Europe had its charm, and he wouldn’t complain, but he missed the wide-open spaces, the warmer weather, and even his mom’s cooking. Now he lived on the highest floor of the busiest avenue, in a cramped apartment so small that he barely had space to walk around.

"I brought donuts and coffee," You announced while cleaning your boots on the entrance mat.

"Cool, thank you. Would you mind sitting by the window? The light is majestic." His attention was focused on his camera, probably adjusting some tricky settings.

"Already bossing around?" Unbelievable. The kid already thought he was a professional photographer, giving orders and having the worst attitude.

You had a big trench coat on, surprisingly still soaked after the unstoppable rain. And it kept coming—people still struggling with their umbrellas, cars almost floating down the street. That’s what you could see from how high his apartment was.

The brown-eyed boy placed his face behind his huge, intimidating camera, yet somehow, you didn’t feel intimidated by it—after all, he was the one taking the photos. But then, an unexpected expression of discontent crossed his face, confusing you. Your brows furrowed instantly, maybe you weren’t pretty enough to be photographed. You relaxed your body, stopped posing—that was it. At least you tried.

"Take it off." Oscar’s index finger pointed at my jacket, his face continued hidden behind the camera. The view was limited, but his expression remained unreadable—no emotion, all seriousness. Clueless.

"It's freezing cold outside, you're insane." Despite your protest, you did as he told you—just like always, hating yourself for it. Your body leaned against the nearly immense open window, the breeze sneaked through with ease, making your skin shiver. Your face card wasn’t your main attribute, maybe your toned padel body was. Still, you couldn’t quite grasp why he chose you, considering all the contacts and friends he had. Favors were an unbreakable thing between you two, but, of course, you never owed him a thing.

A few more adjustments, and his camera was down again, poker face still tattooed all over him. With slow, measured steps, he walked closer until he stood right in front of you. His mannerisms were always soft and gentle, like he had been written by a woman. Not exactly naive, but delicate enough to make you feel safe and comfortable in his presence.

Oscar set your coat aside, draping it over his vintage couch. His whole place had that aesthetic. You especially loved the Abu Dhabi carpet that stretched across the floor, its deep reddish tones were delightful. His eyes couldn’t help but dart down your slim silhouette. Your white sleeveless shirt, drenched from the rain, clung to your curves, turning entirely translucent against your skin.

Finally, your eyes connected, and you desperately searched for answers, whether in his gaze or through words. The driver was entirely focused on his task, calculating angles, observing the natural lighting, and analyzing your body. Over-analyzing your body.

You knew that look—the one men gave when they stared too long, leaving a disgusting feeling. But Oscar wasn’t like that. Yes, he was staring, but with such admiration and adoration that, for once, you didn’t mind. For the first time in a long time, you felt pretty. Feminine. Reaching that level of femininity wasn’t easy. Padel and sports had always shaped your image, conditioning you to appear tough, stereotypically masculine. But under his gaze, all of that melted away.

You broke eye contact as the staring became too overwhelming for your liking, exceeding your daily dose of attention. You couldn’t just escape him because he was there, and you were working, or something like that. Your breathing hitched, and you involuntarily let out a low gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin. His touch was cold, just like your body. The only warmth came from the fire igniting in your cheeks. His fingers hooked around one of your white straps, which had fallen out of place.

God, you wished you could say a word, anything, but you were petrified.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You just say that hoping I’d say yes to another photoshoot. Your guinea pig.” The back-and-forth banter and sarcastic flirting didn’t end, but now you were playing silly enough to avoid any heartfelt compliment. You didn’t like those types of things because you never knew how to react, especially when they came from him. His contagious laughter filled the room and your world turned upside down.

Something always lingered between you two, and it was the expectedly obvious, taking into account the amount of time you spent together—padel mornings or sometimes afternoons, dinner nights if class ended late, and when he actually managed to wake up to his multiple alarms, cycling together. But it was casual because you never knew what could cross a man's mind; spending a whole day together could mean nothing to them, maybe he even saw you in a sisterly way. So you tried to chill, not giving it much importance—because, again, a compliment could mean nothing.

His free hand found its way to your nape, resting his palm there, barely cradling it. You had no choice but to regain eye contact; he had you cornered with his gaze—physically, too. Any cold once brought by the winter weather had vanished. Your skin was hot, almost burning. Oscar's gaze didn’t reflect frenzy or desire; he looked lost, even stunned.

“Let me kiss you, please.” He murmured hopelessly, his words caressing and sweetening your ears in the most shivering way.

“Oscar, professionally is not the best to-” It was just a matter of seconds before he silenced you in the most cliché way possible. His kisses mirrored his personality—timid and shy, as if he were afraid to go too far. Yet, at the same time, they were sweet and innocent, like a first kiss, completely inexperienced.

Something that you clearly weren't used to.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even more close, letting each other feel how you teetered, how you edged by just a kiss. Your consent gave him more confidence, turning the encounter into something deeper, sloppier. His lips parted against yours with more urgency, the hesitation melting away as the two of you let each other get lost in the moment. His breath was uneven, intoxicatingly mixing with yours. The kiss grew needier, desperate, and hungry. The sound of your teeth crashing messily together was secondary as his tongue brushed against your lips, savoring, tasting, before he dared to explore further. The slick warmth, the breathy sounds between kisses, the way his body pressed against yours—it was thrilling in the best way.

“I never really liked padel that much, nor was I good at it. There was no chance of improving. But you know why I kept coming back.” Oscar's smile emerged in the middle of the kiss, his tone playful, hinting that he knew he’d been doing something wrong just for the fun of it. Paying for extra classes just to see your face more than once a week? Genius move.

“Oh, I'm so gonna kill you.” You warned him, still in disbelief, that he’d been such a fool, especially since you would’ve said yes to any date prior if he’d only had the courage. There was no need for this extreme and unnecessary padel. But, still, seeing him struggle was part of your routine—and you enjoyed it. Not wanting to hear any lame excuses, you pulled him in, deciding to stay glued to his lips for a very long time

[callme-holly]

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -the gang x reader jealousy headcanons 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - i have quite a few requests in my inbox and I swear i will get around to them all eventually, however i have exams for the next two weeks, so i probably wont be uploading all that much!! 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.2k words

Darry Curtis - 

I can’t see Darry being an overly jealous person to be entirely honest.

He’s probably more protective of you than anything, but that isn’t to say he doesn’t get jealous sometimes. 

If he’s had a rough or busy day at work, all he wants to do when he gets home is spend time with you, which can become a bit of an issue considering how crazy the Curtis house can get. 

If your attention is on one of the other boys, he’ll get a little annoyed and slightly jealous. 

He won’t try to start anything, nor will he say anything about it, but he will sit in his chair and scowl everytime he hears you laugh at something one of the others told you. 

If you’re cooking dinner, he’ll hold you from behind and press occasional kisses to your neck or cheek, just to make it known that he wants his time with you. 

Just show him how much you care about him and how much you appreciate everything he does, and he’ll be content enough to relax a little, but don’t expect him to be far from your side for the rest of the night.

Sodapop Curtis - 

Soda gets more insecure than jealous, which can lead to him getting a little upset.

The whole Sandy situation messed him up pretty bad, so his trust issues can be a little iffy sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, he loves you a whole lot, but he also really likes your attention.

If he sees you talking to another guy he’ll get a little upset and will probably cling to you, just to make sure they know that you’re taken.

He’ll press little kisses to your neck, your cheeks, your lips, and he’ll constantly have his hands on you in some way shape or form. 

Occasionally, he’ll make little comments telling you how pretty he thinks you are just to make it known that you're his and he’s yours.

To cheer him up, just give him a quick kiss and you’ve got your cheerful, upbeat boyfriend back in no time at all! 

Ponyboy Curtis - 

Ponyboy is difficult because I can see him getting a little frustrated when he’s jealous, however, he’ll also be quite quiet. 

He’ll probably just sit back and glare at whoever is taking your attention away from him, but he won’t say anything or make any little snippy comments. 

He might come and stand beside you, just to make his presence known, but he won’t smother you with affection like some of the other boys. 

If he thinks the person you’re speaking with is getting a little too close for comfort, then he’llt ry and distract you and divert your attention away from the conversation you were having. 

He might get a little upset depending on the day; not to the same extent as Sodapop, but he might become a little clingy in private. 

All it takes is for you to flash him a little smile and he’ll be reassured once more than you love him, and only him.

Johnny Cade - 

Oh, Johnny…

Honestly, I really can’t see him getting jealous. Maybe a tiny bit, but much like Soda it will be more based on insecurity. 

He’ll stand next to or behind you, almost like he’s watching over you, just to make sure that you’re safe and that the other person isn’t going to try something.

He won’t say much to the guy you’re engaging in conversation with, nor will he hang off of you

He might link your pinkies together, or hold your hand in his, but it’s just to reassure himself that you’re still aware of him more so than to show you off. 

Take him home and shower him with love please. Cuddle him, kiss him, tell him how much he means to you

He needs to hear every single word, and it will instantly make him feel better. 

Dallas Winston - 

Where to even begin. 

Dallas is the most jealous out of everyone, but I think that’s just common knowledge at this point.

He sees you talking with someone, regardless of whether he knows them or not? He’s got an arm around your shoulders and he’s staring and that person down, daring them to try something.

He’d definitely make little comments about how you’re “his girl”. 

I think his jealousy and protectiveness definitely stems from some level of insecurity that he’d never admit to. Like, he’s been cheated on in the past and, even though he trusts you, he really doesn’t want it to happen again. 

Y’all probably argue a lot because of his overprotective behaviour

He won't let you talk to other guys without accusing you or the other person of flirting

Just give him your sole attention or a firm lecture, and he’ll back off pretty fast. 

Steve Randle - 

I’m very on the fence about Steve because I can see him getting jealous, but not to the same extent as Dallas, however, he wouldn’t get upset like Sodapop and Johnny.

He’d probably get more frustrated, but instead of making it known, he’d let it simmer until eventually everything boils over.

If you’re talking with someone, he’s shooting that person dirty looks from across the room, just to make sure they don’t try anything. 

If he thinks the guy you’re talking to is getting just that little bit too cosy, he will go over there 

He’s making little snippy comments whenever he can, with an arm around your waist

He’s probably not afraid to punch a dude if they lay a hand on you, but he will hold back for your sake. 

All it takes is for you to hold his hand and drag him away from the situation, and you’ve got yourself a worked-up, and rather clingy boyfriend on your hands… 

Two-Bit Mathews - 

I actually believe Two-bit would get pretty jealous, however he’s just that little bit more laid back.

If you’re talking to someone, he’ll keep his arms wrapped around you in some way, nodding along as you speak.

Everytime he catches the other dude’s eyes, you bet your ass he’s shooting them a cocky smirk.

You’re his, and he’s yours, and he’s damn proud of it.

He’ll crack the occasionally joke in your conversation, just to see you smile 

This will probably be enough to reassure him that you’re not going anywhere any time soon, and he’s more than happy to let you talk, as long as he can stay close. 

But if he thinks something is going on for too long, or the other person is getting too comfortable, he will have something a little less light-hearted to say. 

Tim Shepard - 

Oh, Timothy Shepard can be one scary dude. 

Much like Dallas, he gets jealous pretty easily, but it’s more of a protective jealousy than anything else.

I’m telling you now, he’s staying by your side at all times with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist

He’ll stay silent the whole entire time you’re talking, but he will be staring the other person down, making sure the conversation is nothing more than friendly. 

He’s not afraid to punch someone for you, and I mean that. You’ve lost count of the amount of fights he’s started because a guy looked at you funny, or they stood just a little too close to you.

If you notice he’s particularly tense or on edge, just move yourself a little further into his side and he’ll relax just enough to maintain that ounce of self control.

[spaceyaemonds]

oh GOD stop I love it! Your mind!!!!

"she still gets extremely frustrated with him (like when he goes a day or two without calling, missing t-ball games, etc.). but i completely agree that they (especially him!) are so SO flirty with one another!"

plsssss I love this dynamic, there's so much to explore!! Her being pissed Robby hasn't called because their kid likes to tell him goodnight and recap their day, or how he kinda stumbles being a dad, like maybe he volunteered to bring something to the t-ball game and forgot the t-ball game entirely (picked up a shift). And his volunteering kinda came out of a clumsy way to really integrate himself and prove to her he's trying to do better which makes it more of a yikes.

And Dylan!!! Yes, like she has so much love and affection for this man but let's be foreallll she and Robby went at it like animals which is why they ended up with their bundle of joy meanwhile Dylan gets kisses on the cheeks for the first week/let's keep our own space for now engagement...lolllll.

Like I can just imagine Dana, not amused with either party, like she probably hears all of Robby's bitching about Dylan, thinks this guy is the worst and then when she comes to meet him (they meet due to a freak incident, the kid breaks his arm while at the park and Dylan was a bit distracted because he saw a prized bird and he just had to take a photo and upload it to his bird-er groupchat so they're at PTMC) and just laughs because he is like anti-Robby. He fumbles, super clumsy but very endearing kinda like Whittaker but no cool moments-which makes it double hilarious because in normal circumstances he might actually like Dylan. And all the staff is just watching the trainwreck of Robby trying to play cool, Dylan fumbling apologizing and Reader trying to be calm for her kid. Some of the staff who like don't know her probably only call her Robby's wife, or the ex so its just super awkward.

But Dana is like an all seeing eye and also calls out reader for leading poor Dylan on, like the funny red flag of being engaged while living apart (still hilarious lol) and how she and Robby are still like deeply attracted to each and everyone can see except maybe Dylan. Dana is like "Dylan is really nice but it'd be like having two kids"

also just picturing a rom-com (more comedy) moment where Robby is feeling hella jealous because his kid and dylan are really bonding and playing (they both have the same interests) and Robby kinda tries to play too, or kinda tries to assert his bond with his kid but ends up pinching a nerve in his back and goes down, cut to him with a bruised ego and his kid trying to massage his back better as he lies face down on the couch (mom to the rescue with a heat pad)

also would love to see the lore of how they get together, i'd like to think a lot of their relationship at least intially was their crazy chemistry, like crazy carnal appetite for eachother, and it just being easy being with one another...until it isn't

hi friend!!!!!

i am so glad you liked it!!! ahhh!!! let me answer this in parts!!!

there really is SO much to explore with them!!!

referenced post

1) i think robby really means well, it’s not like he doesn’t call on purpose, he’s just so physically exhausted when he gets home from work, and more often than not he’s also mentally exhausted. unfortunately, he just forgets sometimes :(. and she always remembers to let him have it, not to make him feel shitty, necessarily, but just enough so he feels guilty if that makes sense?? like she knows he loves their son (ryan), she just wants him to show it.

i think he volunteers for t-ball stuff maybe because ryan offhandedly mentions that dylan helps with the team snacks. like robby just says “well i could help coach” or something. when they mention it to reader, she says they should start small, with actually coming to games and being consistent with that first. not in a passive aggressive way either, just because she knows robby is so busy, and that would take more effort than she honestly thinks he has to give. which, again, she unfortunately is right. he makes probably 5/9 games, which is great, and ryan is so excited, but he misses two that he promised to be at because the ED was short staffed. but she can tell he’s trying, and it really hurts him not to be there.

2) OMG DO NOT GET ME STARTED!!! i think they (reader and robby) met at a coffee shop, and it was just pure passion from the moment they met. they were CONSTANTLY fucking (for lack of better words LOL). it’s more surprising that they only had the one kid during their relationship than anything!! i think dylan was a co-worker (who took a promotion to a different department so they could date) who always really liked her, but never made a move until well after she and robby broke up. he knows that there’s a lot, a lot of damage and (again for lack of better words) issues from that relationship, so he knows things are going to be slow and a little non traditional. but at the same time, it all still stings a little. like he’s there, he’s present, and she’s got his ring on her finger (something michael never did). why won’t she fully give herself to him and trust him?

3) DANA!! she gets really annoyed with robby, like she definitely thinks he’s just talking shit, but also, like you said, thinks dylan just has to be the absolute worst (to an extent, she knows reader pretty well). then he comes in with ryan, awkward and fumbling while wearing khaki shorts with binoculars around his neck as he awkwardly asks for robby, and she genuinely has to hold herself together once she realizes exactly who this man is. robby’s that jealous of this guy?

i imagine whitaker and king are the ones in the room helping out. so they awkwardly look between reader who is biting her nails as she sits on the bed, robby who looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel, and dylan who looks one second away from throwing up. he also keeps apologizing, which they can tell pisses robby off more than anything. he’s fighting back shitty comments about why he wasn’t watching him in the first place, but keeps them to himself when he sees how distressed reader is. it gets extremely awkward when king takes ryan for x-rays, and whitaker is awkwardly stuck in there with the three of them. he called her mrs. robinavitch like four times, and it just makes it worse.

4)dana does definitely call her out!! she can see the way she clings a little closer to robby, and at first she thinks it may be the nerves, but one too many times she sees the look in her eyes when she looks at robby. they have quick chat, and it does get reader thinking about a lot of things, because i think she’s the first person to call her out on it.

5) AHHH OHMYGOSH!!! i can’t think of a scenario for this so we’ll just look at the aftermath LOL. robby, laying facedown on the couch, wounded pride but also actually a little down and genuinely wanting to just leave. he knew the kid liked dylan, but didn’t really realize how much, ya know. ryan, poor boy, cries because his dad is hurt, and that makes it so much worse, the poor boy just sobbing lightly while rubbing his dads back softly. reader comes in just in time, with a heating pad and icyhot, telling the boy to go find some water while she takes over, rubbing the icyhot into his back. it shouldn’t make him feel like it does, but neither of them say anything to acknowledge it.

6) i can (and plan on) really diving into this)!!! there’s definitely a lot of lore for them, between their relationship, having a baby, the break up, robby and heather, reader and dylan. there is SO much we can get into with this!!!

[whimsyfinny]

He's a Winchester

Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, mention of toxic parenting/custody battle, angst, alcohol,

Chapter Word Count: 3471

MDNI 18+

A/N: here it is! I’m not gonna lie, this is going to be very slow burn at first, but don’t worry, you know me and you know how much juicy content I write so it’s definitely coming hahaha. I’m also trying to figure out a schedule for posting this, so hopefully I can upload two chapters a week.

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out. 

Photos from Pinterest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I reached for the bottle of wine for the third time in the last hour and a half. I was sitting with Kat, pyjamas adorned, in the living room of mine and Levi's modest two bedroom house. For financial (and personal) reasons, our little house didn't follow current trends and looked more like something out of a popular 90s sitcom. The couch was comfy, the blankets were fuzzy, and a fresh pot of coffee was always brewing. Pictures embellished the walls of every milestone Levi had achieved; every birthday party, every new dirt bike, every new hairstyle. There were a few of Kat and I from over the years, going way back to when we first met back in ‘99 and both decided to rock platform heels on at the turn of the millennium - having tiny babies at the time didn't seem to stop us. Every single moment on these walls was a happy memory - something that I would treasure forever, yet there was something missing. There were no photos - or perhaps a scarce few - of my own parents, or of them with Levi, or of any extended family for that matter. The price I paid when I decided to have my son out of wedlock, at barely twenty years old, with a man who my family saw as a total stranger, is a price I'd pay every time in a heartbeat. Kat and Toby were our family now, and that was more than I could ever ask for. That was why the sheer possibility of Levi getting to meet his dad for the first time in, well, ever… it had my mind spinning. It was a scenario I'd dreamt of, late at night when I couldn't sleep and the burdens of life weighed me down. I conjured false memories in my minds eye of the pair of them fixing his bike on the drive or driving to school in the impala. I pictured us having breakfast together as a family and taking trips to the movies. Being together. Because no matter how many dates I went on, or how many frogs I’d kissed over the years, none of them were Levi's father.

None of them were Dean Winchester.

“Girl you have to reach out to him,” Kat walked in from the adjacent kitchen before slumping on the couch next to me, wine glass elevated to reduce spillage.

“Kat I could barely look at him today without feeling like I was going to have a heart attack - how the fuck am I supposed to talk to him?” I glanced at her with wide eyes, every nerve in my body on edge despite the wine and scented candles. Kat sighed. 

“You might never get this opportunity again, and we both know that if you don’t give Levi the opportunity to meet his father then you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” I held my breath, urging the raging storm in my mind to quiet down before letting the air gush from my lungs.

“Yeah I know. I just…I just never thought that this would actually happen, you know? I never thought that Dean would show up here. I figured Levi would eventually track him down when he was old enough to make that decision on his own. I have no idea how to even approach this.”

“Sure you do!” Kat beamed, a wicked glint in her eye, “you sit him down and say, ‘Hey Dean! Remember when we had sex in the back of that amazing car of yours nine years ago? Well, actions have consequences, and yours in eight years old and sitting in his science class right now.’”

I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face and I cackled when the bit of popcorn I threw landed in her wine glass.

“Bitch.”

I blew her a kiss in response to her insult. It didn’t take long though for the distraction to run its course and for my mind to return to its state of panic.

“But seriously, what am I going to say to him? What if I tell him, and he rejects us too, like my family did?”

Her smile softened.

“From everything that you’ve told me about that man, I highly doubt he’s going to reject you. Sure, he might not stick around permanently, but he sounds like the kind of guy that would stay in touch,” her softened smile turned to a stern stare, “but he’s only going to do that if he knows. He deserves to know he has a son.”

I took a long gulp of my wine. 

“Yeah, I’m going to tell him…” I paused, gnawing my bottom lip as I drew my knees to my chest, “it’s Saturday tomorrow so I’m not at work and Levi has two hours at the track. I can try to do it tomorrow, but I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to track Dean down in that time - I have no idea where he could be.”

“Hey, I’ll pick up Levi from Motocross - it’s been a few days since him and Toby have spent any proper time together anyway, just them two. Tobes’ has been dying to show him those brand new boots of his.”

We shared a smile. That’s the thing about Kat; she always had my back, no matter the situation.

“Thanks babes, I owe you one.”

She shook her head.

“No way - this is me returning the favour from when Toby’s dad decided to show an interest in his own child. I’m pretty sure my kid thought you were adopting him at one point from how much he stayed here,” I laughed, remembering the camp bed I bought especially for Toby, along with all the extra duvet sets and boxes of cereal I’d had to purchase for the best part of half a year.

“He’s a good kid, and honestly he and Levi entertained themselves for most of it.”

There was another pause in the conversation as I recounted how difficult it had been for Kat when David had shown up, insisting on being a part of Tobys life despite zero contact since his son was born. They’d argued over custody, over which school he went to, the clubs he attended. Even his hobbies were on the line, with David wanting him to play football despite Toby already being involved down at the track with the bikes. The stress caused Kat to lose weight and sleep, and she nearly lost her job over it all when she kept falling asleep at her desk. I’d lost count of how many times she’d cried in my arms. Cried over a man who thought that practically owning his son was his God given right despite being an absent father, and I think that is what scared me the most. That I would feel the same wretched things that she felt, and the waves of disappointment that crashed over her time and time again when false promises were made. It took her months to settle on an agreement due to David's behaviour, and Toby finally sees his father, albeit only for one weekend a month. It's better than nothing, but certainly not worth the fight that was fought with blood, sweat and tears. 

I hope from the bottom of my heart that Dean takes the news well, and doesn't leave us in the dust like he does in my worst nightmares.

It had taken me around thirty minutes to track down Dean. Well, to at least find the impala. It's common knowledge that if you find that car, Dean isn't far away. I’d parked my truck two spaces down, and luckily we were within walking distance of my favourite café, Jolenes’. It was my safe space. The place that I would finally tell him about Levi.

I pulled the sleeves of my soft cardigan down over my hands to stop myself from chewing nervously on my nails. Leaving the safety of my truck, I paced over to the black Chevy and stood by it, determined to speak to Dean as soon as possible. I knew that if I had stayed sitting behind my own wheel, there was a huge chance that I'd chicken out and just drive away. As I waited I checked over the car in front of me, admiring how he still kept it spotless after all these years. Unable to stop myself, I let my gaze drift over to the backseat, the events that unfurled on the soft leather racing to mind. I pulled my lip between my teeth, unable to resist the replay of memories.

“You have good taste in cars.”

I practically launched out my skin as the voice came from behind me. I could hear the amusement in his voice from a few feet away. I spun on my heel and our eyes locked, the charming grin slipping slightly from Deans’ lips when he realised it was me. The playfulness in his features quickly softened, a true, genuine smile now gracing his lips.

“Dean…” I suddenly felt breathless, but despite my nerves I returned his smile in kind.

“It's good to see you (Y/n),” he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in his entirety. I closed my eyes as I hugged him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and taking a deep breath, my brain tingling at his familiar scent.

“You too, Dean. It's been too long.”

After a moment we released each other and Dean stood up straight, smiling at me again with a soft twinkle in his eye. We both flinched slightly when someone cleared their throat and he took a step back. 

“Oh, uh, (Y/n), this is Sam, my younger brother,” he patted the shoulder of the young man standing beside him, and I instantly recognised him from the dessert parlour. He was tall, taller than Dean even, which was one hell of an accomplishment, and his face held a similar boyish charm to Deans. Yet he looked softer around the edges, like he hadn't been hardened by life too much yet.

“It's a pleasure, I'm (Y/n). I've known you're brother for a while,” I smiled as I shook his hand, taking note of the rough calluses beginning to form on his palms. “He used to talk about you all the time, apparently you're the smart one of the family,” with a grin and a quick glance at Dean, I tested the waters with humour. If he laughed or took the blow like a champ, now was a good time to talk to him. Sam chuckled, squeezing my hand slightly in his before letting it go. 

“Ouch… (Y/n), sweetheart, aren't you supposed to be on my side here? Y’know, with our history and all…?” he feigned hurt with a hand on his chest before his lips twitched up and he shot me a wink.

“I mean… she's not wrong,” Sam laughed, dropping his hands lazily into his pockets.

“Hey, I'm just going on what you told me, Dean. Don't hold that against me,” I grinned at them both, unsure of what to do with my hands so I crossed them across my chest.

A small breath of silence passed between us, Deans’ gaze holding mine with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't. Sam cleared his throat again, clapping his hand to Deans’ shoulder before taking a step back.

“I'll, uh, give you guys a few minutes,” and with an appreciative nod from Dean, Sam gave us some space. With his younger brother gone, my heart began to flutter in my chest. The time to break the news was getting closer, and my nerves were on edge. On fire.

“So,” he started, taking a step closer with a deep breath, “how's it going? How long has it been?”

“Nine years,” I was almost too hot on the mark, my words coming out faster than I'd intended and Dean blinked slightly. I sighed, looking down. “There's been a lot going on, and honestly, I've really needed you at times. You're a hard man to find Dean Winchester.” 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” his brows pinched apologetically and he reached for my hand, tracing my knuckles with his thumb. I took a deep breath and met his gaze again.

“Do you… do you have some time? I need to talk to you. It's important, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I'll get another chance.” 

He nodded slowly, giving my hand a squeeze, releasing it hesitantly with a slight wince to his features.

“Uh oh,” he said, “am I in trouble?”

I laughed, the sound light off my chest.

“Oh Dean,” I reached up to touch his face, and his instinctive reaction was to lean into my palm, “you don't know the half of it.” 

The walk to the café had been pleasant. We chatted about what we'd been up to since we last met - Dean revealing he was still in the same line of work and had travelled around a lot, never really settling down. There was something about that nugget of information that made my stomach twist in knots. He learnt I was still a receptionist, this time at the local garage  instead of the large dealership I had scored before. He asked why I'd changed, to go to something smaller, lesser, and my silence urged him to wait until we were at our destination. He knew I was anxious, and he did his best to keep conversation light and breezy until the time was right. To an untrained eye he was unphased, yet I could tell from the lip nibbling and flitting gaze that he was nervous too.

Do you think he's already guessed it?

The bell jingled as we walked in, the two baristas looking up and instantly greeting me with a wave and a smile.

“Hey (Y/n)! Your couch is free,” the first barista, a young man around my age with soft blond curls waved to me across the counter, his brilliant grin making me smile with a comforting familiarity. “Your usual?”

“Yes please! Thanks, Jake,” I returned the friendliness, stepping around the tables until we arrived at my favourite spot.

“And for your… date?” He gestured to Dean, who was now shrugging off his leather jacket, “what can I get for you pal?” 

Dean hesitated, before just holding his hands up.

“Uhhh, I don't know, I guess I'll have what she's having.”

With our hot beverages on their way, I sat down in my usual nook in the corner whilst Dean sat down opposite, in that same plush armchair that Kat had sat in yesterday. Where Kat had been swallowed by the chair and its all-consuming cushions, Dean had the opposite effect. He made the chair look small under his broad form, like it was made for a child. There were a few moments of silence, neither of us really knowing where to start. So I bit the bullet.

“Dean… before I tell you anything, just know that I've been trying to get hold of you on and off for years. Your number always seemed to go to voicemail and I never got a call back. So please just… know I tried.” 

I looked up and he was totally engaged, already hanging off every word I said as he leant forward, his elbows on his knees. Our attention pulled away from each other briefly as our coffees arrived, hand delivered by the second barista - a woman a few years older than myself with a jet black pixie cut.

“Thanks Emily, you're an angel,” I grasped the mug before she even had a chance to put it on the table and clutched it in my lap, letting the warmth seep through my palms to help soothe my nerves. 

“No worries babes, you two have fun,” she looked between Dean and me with a playful smirk, throwing me a wink before she turned around. 

Great, the gossip starts now.

I turned back to Dean who was now sitting on the edge of his seat. I took a deep breath.

Do it now.

“Dean, I have a son.”

I watched his face twitch slightly, almost like it dropped in disappointment, however it was so fleeting across his features that it was hard to tell. He pulled a strained smile onto his lips.

“(Y/n) that's great, I'm happy for you,” he looked down at his boots briefly, choosing his next words, “I guess this is you telling me to stay away, huh? Now that you have a family and all. It's ok, I get it.”

I shook my head, placing my cup on the table so I could pull myself to sit on the edge of the couch, almost mirroring Dean.

“No, no Dean, that's not- look, what I'm saying is…” another deep breath, “you, have a son.”

I watched his eyes go wide, unsure if he heard me correctly.

“What?” His voice was breathy.

I looked down into my mug for a second, choosing my words. 

“I have a little boy; he's eight, his name is Levi…and he's yours, Dean. He's your son.”

I dared to look up at him, watching his eyes go wider and his mind empty of thoughts. Either that, or his mind is racing so fast that it's left his body on standby. I gave him a few minutes to process the news. Or at least process it the best he could as it would likely be days or weeks before this fully sunk in. Nervousness prickled at my own skin, my worst fears of rejection bubbling to the surface again at his silence. I sighed.

“It’s ok, Dean, I’m not expecting you to-”

He stood abruptly, stepped over the coffee table and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his strong arms around me in a crushing grip. His arms were so tight that it almost winded me, yet I returned his embrace. The feeling of his lips on the top of my head surprised me as he kissed my hair, the sensation warm and comforting. He placed one, two more kisses before he cupped my face in his large hands, his rough palms gentle against my cheeks as I locked eyes with him. The sight was beautiful. The annoyance and exasperation that I expected to be met with was nowhere to be seen, and I saw no shadow of negativity within those evergreen eyes. All I saw was love. Pride. Joy. Excitement. The relief washing over me felt the same as climbing into your nice, warm comfy bed when on the brink of exhaustion. 

“I’m a dad?” his voice cracked slightly whilst his eyes shimmered.

I nodded as a grin erupted across his face, followed by an airy, almost unbelieving chuckle.

“Holy fuck, (Y/n)-”

“You’re not mad?” my voice was quiet.

“What?” Dean looked at me as though I’d grown a second head, “of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“Because it’s been nine years since we last saw each other, and suddenly this woman who you’ve not spoken to in nearly a decade drops the biggest truth bomb on you. A truth bomb  that I know you definitely weren’t expecting,” I try to step back but he pulls me in for another hug, squeezing the air out of me a second time.

“(Y/n), sweetheart, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in a long, long time.”

I smiled into his chest, freeing my arms to wrap them around his neck and pull him down into a hug of my own. We stood for a moment in our embrace as the coffee shop busied around us. I knew this shop and I knew this town and people would soon start to talk, start to try and figure out Dean: like who is he? How does he know (Y/n)? Why are they acting so familiar? Is he trouble? But that was all unimportant rubbish that I would deal with later. Right now, Levis father was here, and he knew. For the first time in my adult life I felt like I wasn’t keeping some devastating secret from an incredible man, and it was like I could breathe again. 

Pulling away from Deans’ bear hug, I tucked the wisps of hair away that had come loose from my claw grip and grinned up at him, reaching for his hand. I held it in mine as I swayed slightly on the spot, like an excited schoolgirl who’d just been asked on her first date. Dean smiled down at me, the sort of smile that shone on top of the world.

“So…” I started, biting my lip slightly.

“Do you want to meet your son?”

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

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[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Hello,

I'd just like to clarify a few things going forward, because I think a few people might be upset or confused, and this is a silly gimmick blog, so I don't think there's any need for that.

I post submissions exclusively in the order I receive them. I have only added or inserted songs in three cases:

The first two songs posted on this blog.

#69, where I inserted 'Weight of the World' from NieR:Automata.

The song would not upload to tumblr, and I have typically replaced it with a random fromsoftware song off the top of my head, because I already have the OSTs on my computer.

When I receive multiple songs from the same game in a row, I try my best to space them out between multiple songs. This has typically been every 4-6 songs in the past. I am going to extend this number further as it appears to be a source of frustration for some. When I space out songs, I do not consider DLCS/Extras as new games, so they will be spaced out. I DO consider new entries in a series as new games, so they will not be spaced out. This means you may get a song from Dark Souls I and Dark Souls II right next to one another, but never two songs from Dark Souls I.

I also understand that many are upset that their submission has not been posted yet. At the time of creating the google form, I already had the first 1000 slots of this blog lined up. I now have 4581 additional submissions from the google form, so please understand that it will probably take me a while to reach your submission.

As for how I should remedy this:

Posting more songs each day. I am planning to increase the number of songs I post each day soon. However, I would strongly prefer to not exceed more than five songs a day. This is entirely a personal preference: I often found myself annoyed when my feed was filled with nothing but polls from the same blog, that would post 7, 10, 15 polls a day or even within the same time slot. I love poll blogs, but I also wanted to be able to enjoy taking the time to listen to the music on each one. I created this blog primarily because I wanted to hear new music and find out about new games I've never heard about before, and I wanted others to share that experience. In my opinion, if you don't have the time to listen to each song posted, then it sort of defeats the gimmick of the blog itself. That being said, I will increase the number of songs posted sometime within the next two weeks.

Closing Submissions. I did not want to ever have to close submissions (because I didn't really see a reason to if I was going to post all the submissions eventually), but I now understand it may now be necessary. Starting on 9/7/2024, I am going to close the submissions box, and I am going to reopen it for the first week of each month, every month, only. The google form will remain the only way to submit requests. Hopefully, this will allow individuals who are especially excited to see their request posted gain a bit of an upper hand.

In the end, there is only so much I can do. I am only one person and I do have a life of my own. I am very happy so many people are enjoying this blog, and I will continue posting for as long as I can. If you are not enjoying this blog for any reason, feel free to unfollow it, block it, and make your own. It's nothing personal.