#I crouched down for for something while he was standing and I felt my brain just. snap. short circuit

[loched-off]

you think you’re gay? there was a gas leak at my school and I was too busy focusing on how BIG my friend was to focus

[magnagaruzenmon]

Accident

Karina looks too cute like this

You were on your way to the restaurant for your first date, stomach buzzing with nerves, when the universe decided to throw in a plot twist—by way of a speeding luxury sedan.

You didn’t even get a chance to swear before the front grill smacked you like a linebacker. You bounced off the hood and landed badly, ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.

“Ah, god—” you groaned, curling around the pain as your foot ballooned to nearly twice its size. The agony was sharp and immediate, then settled into something duller but constant—like your ankle had been replaced with a live wire.

A car door slammed. Footsteps rushed over.

“Oh my god—are you alive?! I swear I didn’t see you!”

You looked up, expecting some panicked auntie. Instead, you were met with the most disarmingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen—glossy black hair, porcelain skin, wide eyes full of panic and… chaotic sparkle?

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t texting, I swear—well, I was looking at the restaurants, but that’s not the same—wait, what’s your name?”

You blinked, still on the ground. “Malcom.”

“I’m Yu Jimin—but you can call me Karina! Okay, I feel terrible, so I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you stand? No? That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, she crouched, looped your arm around her shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged you back to the passenger seat of the car that had just hit you. You stared, dazed, as she buckled you in with the tenderness of a mom securing her toddler.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in the ER, staring at a doctor whose mouth kept twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between you and Karina, “she ran you over and then personally chauffeured you to the hospital?”

You nodded.

Karina stood beside the gurney, arms crossed like a scolded puppy. “It was an accident,” she mumbled. “And technically I clipped him. Just a little clipping. Barely a love tap.”

The doctor gave up and left the room before he could laugh in your face.

After you got a boot on and were waiting in to be discharged Karina laughed and said, “You know I was actually supposed to headed to a date before this. That’s probably ruined,”

You laugh and say, “if it’s any consolation I was supposed to as well,”

“I guess this can be our first date then,” Karina said with a goofy smile. You laugh and say

“Sure,”

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Karina—and learned one undeniable truth.

This girl? Absolutely insane.

Not in a bad way. Not the dangerous kind of crazy. More like… a fizzy soda shaken too much, a firecracker in a Hello Kitty box, a sunrise that forgot it wasn’t supposed to talk at 200 words per minute.

Karina was a whirlwind of sunshine: too energetic, too happy, too much—but in the kind of way you start to crave. She skipped instead of walked. She made up songs about brushing her teeth. She got excited about vending machines like they were ancient wonders of the world.

But here’s the thing no one warned you about: her body? Ridiculously sinful for someone so wrapped in pink chaos.

Every time she bounced around the room in one of her oversized crop tops—grinning, giggling, hopping like an overcaffeinated bunny—there was a real risk of divine intervention. One bend, one innocent lean, and boom: cleavage apocalypse. You’d try to keep eye contact, but it felt like a test sent straight from the heavens. And you were failing. Hard.

Then there were the lap moments.

Karina didn’t mean anything by them. That’s what made it worse. She’d plop down on you mid-conversation with zero warning, back wiggling against your chest like she was trying to unlock some ancient, primal curse. Sometimes she’d shift without realizing it, and your brain would short-circuit while she nibbled Pocky and asked if ducks had teeth.

She was, somehow, both God’s most adorable angel and the devil’s most tempting succubus—wrapped in one soft, giggling, maddeningly affectionate package.

And the worst part?

She had no idea what she was doing to you.

Or maybe she did.

But either way… you were hopelessly, blissfully doomed.

The plan was simple: a chill double date. Dinner, drinks, and maybe a board game or two at Giselle’s place.

The execution, however, was anything but chill—because Karina, bless her chaotic soul, had once again decided to dress like a Victoria’s Secret model pretending to be wholesome. Which was ironic because you knew Victoria secret models who were more modest and wholesome than Karina.

She wore a baby pink cardigan that only had two buttons fastened—right at the middle—and underneath, a lacy bralette that could barely be called clothing. High-waisted jeans hugged her hips like they were in a committed relationship, and her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that made her look infuriatingly effortless.

Giselle’s boyfriend tried very hard not to stare which would have annoyed you but you had your own issues . You tried very hard not to combust.

The whole night, Karina was a golden retriever in human form. She bounced around the kitchen helping Giselle cook, humming pop songs and spinning in her socks like the floor was a skating rink. Or she clinged to you like a new puppy would.

“Do you want more wine, Malcom?” she asked, leaning across the table to pour you a glass—from the wrong side. Her chest hovered right in front of your face like a sentient temptation. Your soul briefly left your body.

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered beside you, hiding a snort behind her hand. “She’s not even trying.”

“She never tries,” you hissed, face hot.

When dinner ended, Karina claimed your lap like it was her rightful throne. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable, which meant your life expectancy dropped by about five years. She stole bites off your plate and pressed her cheek against yours like a cat marking its territory, all while giggling at a dumb story Giselle was telling about her boyfriend getting locked out in boxers.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

All you could focus on was the fact that Karina’s bralette strap had slid off her shoulder. Her skin was warm against your jaw. Her hips were grinding against your thigh every time she laughed too hard.

She looked up at you with wide, oblivious eyes.

“You okay?” she asked sweetly.

“Peachy,” you croaked, voice cracking like a teenager.

Giselle made a strangled noise. “This is the funniest date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m just sitting!” Karina protested, still perched innocently in your lap, pouting like a kicked puppy. “Malcom’s the one acting all weird.”

You met Giselle’s eyes over Karina’s shoulder. She grinned like the devil. You were never going to live this down.

Later that night, after you’d survived dinner, board games, and the lap of doom, you and Karina finally made it back to your place.

She flopped onto your couch, kicked off her shoes, and gave you the look—head tilted, brows scrunched, lips pursed. The interrogation look.

“Okay,” she said, pointing a finger at you like you were on trial. “Why were you being so weird all night?”

You blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah! You were jumpy and awkward and barely spoke during dessert. Did I say something dumb again? You’re not secretly allergic to lasagna or something, right?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Karina… it wasn’t what you said. It’s you.”

Her expression softened in that open, trusting way that always made your heart lurch. “Me?”

“Yeah, like—look, you’re adorable and funny and insane, but also you’re just… really sexy. And you don’t mean to be, which makes it worse. You sat in my lap in that bralette like it was no big deal, and leaned over the table, and giggled with your boobs basically—okay, you know what I mean.”

Karina just stared.

Then blinked.

Then laughed. Hard.

“Nooo way. You’re just saying that to be dramatic!”

“I’m serious!” you groaned, collapsing beside her. “Giselle even gave me that look like, ‘bro, I’m so sorry for your suffering.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I need to hear this from a second source.”

And just like that, she grabbed her phone and FaceTimed Giselle.

You tried to stop her. She smacked your hand away like a mosquito. The line rang once before Giselle answered, wrapped in a blanket, holding a popsicle.

“What’s up, chaos goblins?”

Karina shoved the phone in her face. “Was I sexy tonight?”

Giselle blinked. Then howled.

“Oh my god—YES. Babe, you were almost radioactively hot. I nearly had to throw a blanket on you for public safety. You sat in his lap like it was your throne and bounced like you were trying to get him to fuck you right there.”

“I wasn’t even trying!?” Karina cried.

“I know! That’s what made it worse! You’re like an adorable succubus and he was suffering in absolute silence. Honestly, it was impressive.”

Karina turned slowly to look at you. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief. “Wait… you were turned on that whole time?!”

You gave her a flat stare. “Karina. I nearly bit through my cheek during Uno.”

She gasped like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

Then she burst out laughing again—and tackled you onto the couch, straddling you without a second thought.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed. “You should’ve said something.”

You groaned. “You think I didn’t try?”

Giselle was still cackling through the phone. “I’m hanging up before I hear something I’ll never un-hear. Good luck, Malcom. You’re gonna need it.”

The line went dead. Karina grinned down at you, straddling your hips like she was born to sit there—like gravity itself had conspired to put her in your lap and keep her there. That wild sparkle lit up her eyes, mischief blooming across her face like fire meeting dry grass.

“Oh?” she purred, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me show you what me actually trying to be sexy looks like.”

And then she kissed you.

Not the shy, fluttery kind. No. This was a kiss that didn’t ask permission—it took. Her lips met yours with a hungry certainty, all heat and rhythm, like she knew exactly where you were weakest and aimed straight for the center. Her hands cupped your jaw, keeping you exactly where she wanted you, and every time you tried to catch your breath, she pulled you back under—deeper, slower, harder.

You groaned into her mouth, clutching her waist like a lifeline, your brain fogging up with nothing but the feel of her.

By the time she finally let you go, you were panting, light-headed, your pulse galloping like it was trying to outrun your restraint.

She didn’t stop there.

Karina leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear with infuriating gentleness. Her breath was hot, intimate, maddening. Then her tongue flicked out—just once—before she slowly dragged it along the edge of your ear and finished with a teasing nip at your lobe.

You gasped, hips involuntarily twitching beneath her. She giggled at the reaction, soft and smug, like she’d just discovered your cheat code.

Her fingers trailed down your chest, feather-light, tracing invisible patterns over your shirt. She wasn’t rushing—no, this was deliberate. Torturous. Seductive in the most innocent-seeming way, which somehow made it even worse.

“I’ve been waiting for the right signal,” she whispered, voice all faux innocence wrapped in sin. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

She leaned back just enough for her bralette to catch the light—those two ridiculous buttons on her cardigan threatening to pop at any second—as she tilted her head, her short fluff of hair bouncing playfully with the motion.

“But it seems like you’ve been ready for me…” she purred, running her nails lightly along your abdomen, “…for a very long time.”

You swallowed hard. She smiled wider.

You had absolutely no idea if this was heaven or hell, but one thing was certain:

You weren’t leaving her lap any time soon. She slowly began to undress first the cardigan, then the bralette.

You almost drooled at how hot her body was and then somewhere along the way. A red light turned green and you took the offensive. You kissed her as you fumbled with your pants and belt as she took off hers.

Before you could think or even consider anything you plunged into her tight wet heat.

Karina smirked in the smug knowing way as you entered her.

Your ears ringing as blood rushed down to your dick. She smiled and said, “fuck me” her voice soft and seductive in all the right ways as you slowly plunged in and out as she greedily sucked you in,

“Fuck yu, your pussy is a vice”

Karina smiles at your struggle before saying, “well I do love you,” her words send you down a spiral as her pussy tightens around you leaving you ragged and breathless before exploding inside her velvety walls. Your seed enters her greedy womb as her walls desperately try to drain every drop from you. She smiles after your spent and says.

“I’ll tone down my accidental sexiness,”

Still inside her you say, “no keep me hard because I want you to know how much I love you as well.”

Karina smiles then says” oh you sweet poor boy,”

[dckweed]

ROSIE!, alpha!simon riley x omega reader

in which captain price sends alpha simon on a much needed vacation to his secluded countryside cabin, but leaves out a most important detail- he has a live in omega caretaker to care for his little cabin when he’s away! and she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing that simon ever did see..

warnings: alpha/omega universe, mentions/depictions of abuse, smut, pregnancy, kind of forced proximity?, ill add as i go...please note that i know NOTHING about COD but i am in love with the 141 guys and this has been rotting in my brain.

this will be a series, as well as there will be side stories for gaz, soap and captain price!

part one: over the garden wall and to the stream to die

It was a pretty day, the sun shone brightly down on your typically pale skin, staining it a light shade of red (you’ll loathe yourself later for not wearing sunscreen, cheeks, neck and shoulders red despite your large gardening hat that you put on for shade), it twinged a bit, but you didn’t mind. You were enjoying the garden, it had become lush and full over the past couple of weeks, the sun (despite its wrath on your skin) feeding the various plants and bushes with its light, making everything vibrant and fragrant. You were making your own arrangement of flowers, picking up some yellow roses and a few pansies, in hopes that it would make the kitchen of the cabin all the more cheery for the guest that would be arriving that day. 

You had received a message from your boss (for lack of a better word for the alpha that employed you to live in his home) the night before about an arrival, a guest come to lay low and spend the summer. You assume it’s another Alpha, one of the lot he had told you he worked with on his little task force and while it makes you nervous to be alone with an unmated Alpha that you don’t know, you know that John wouldn’t put you in any danger knowingly. With trust in the man that sent you a fat lump of money every other week, you had no qualms about welcoming the unnamed guest into the cabin. 

You had already turned down the guest bed, fresh linen adorning the mattress, and tidied up the whole house, and you even had a plate of fresh cinnamon rolls baked from scratch sitting out on the small table in the kitchen and it wasn’t even noon yet. Anticipation was beginning to eat you alive, a nervousness settling into your muscles that just made you ache for something to keep you occupied (a trait that got you many a beating by your papa’s hands when you were growing up, his voice still in your head calling you an annoying runt as he took the belt to any part of you it would reach), you hum as you continue to work, the pale blue of your pretty little sundress getting dusted by dirt every time you crouched down, your bare knees covered in the black soil of the garden. You didn’t mind, you liked the way the sun felt on your skin and the ground beneath you, you went for so long without feeling either that you would embrace both happily without complaint. 

Your bouquet was slowly becoming a large bunch, beautiful petals hanging over the edge of your little wicker basket that you brought along to carry the trimmings back inside in, not wanting to squish them in your hand the whole time, and you were just snipping through the last of a beautiful rose stem when you heard the garden gate squeak open, you pop your head above the bushes and look, eyes met immediately with a hulking form of an alpha, his forearms laden with a large duffle bag and a mask pulled over his eyes. 

“Who the ‘ell are you?” They’re brown and beautiful and they’re narrowed at you, looking about you, deciding if you’re a threat or not. Just like the rest of his body, his voice is thick and strong and deep. It verberates in your brain, the sound of his voice rattling around in there. Your breath catches and your cheeks flush and you have to avert your eyes, the little wolf in your brain barking at the sight of this man standing before you in the garden. 

‘He’s so strong, so pretty, look at him, look at him, look at him!’

“‘Ello?!” You jump, swallowing a thick lump in your throat, that nervousness in your body boiling up. The only thing that comes out at first is a squeak, and you close your eyes, cheeks flushing even farther. “You mute or somethin’ there Rosie?” A dig at the color of your cheeks you’re sure because there’s no way that he knew that that was what John and everyone else you’d ever met had taken to calling you if he didn’t know who you were. 

“I-um-..” What was wrong with you? “I..live here..” That was it? That was all you could come up with? ‘Not even your fucking name?’ 

“Like ‘ell you do.” Your bottom lip quivered, the gruffness of his voice scarring you more than you already were. Your knees shook but you straightened yourself up otherwise, your fathers voice ringing in your head about how spineless you were. 

“I do. I’m sure you’re the guest that Alpha John told me was coming, but he certainly didn’t mention how rude you were!” You huff, turning on your bare heel to stomp your way through the garden and back to the cabin, though you wanted nothing more than to climb over the garden wall and drown yourself in the stream not too far off from the house. Oh how badly you wanted to die from the embarrassment, but even more so you wanted to throw your bouquet of flowers to the ground and stamp on them, throw your fresh baked cinnamon rolls into the bin even, all of the things that you had done for the mans arrival to make the cabin nice and inviting and relaxing and all he could do upon meeting you was make fun of your reddened skin, flushed from embarrassment! Alpha’s could be brutes, you knew, but they didn’t have to be so rude!

‘Oh but cut him some slack, he’s so pretty, he looks tired..maybe he just needs a hot meal in his belly and his dick sucked..’ You gasp at the voice of your wolf, never had she been so crude! “No!” You shouted both in your mind and outloud, slamming your wicker basket down onto the wooden top of the island as you went about searching for the kitchen shears, not even bothering to listen to see if the man was following you. ‘Did you see how thick his thighs were? His arms? I bet he could hold us up with ease-’ 

There’s a shuffling of footsteps behind you and a clearing of a throat that interrupts your wolfs inner monologue. You turn around, not to acknowledge the Alpha standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the light of the sun shining brightly behind him through the open door, but to grab the fresh bunch of flowers you’d so graciously picked for the beast. They were beautiful, you didn’t have it in you to not trim up the stems and put them in a pretty vase. 

You keep your eyes planted on the work at hand, trimming each stem one by one and setting it off to the side. He shuffles in that spot for a moment longer, but you don’t look at him like you know he wants. He huffs after a few more seconds and you hear his footsteps taking him up the stairs, the smell of him wafting so strongly through your nose as he passes by you to get to them that you have to grip the edge of the counter so tightly your knuckles turn white. Your wolf nearly taking control of you completely, wanting to follow him. She’s chanting in your head about his smell and how she just wants to drop to her knees for him, let him do whatever he so pleased as long as it made him happy. 

She had felt that way about Alpha John at one point in time too, and just like that, you knew it would pass and she would calm down once she got used to his presence. 

You would just have to ignore her until then. You were good at that, ignoring her. Your father had beat it into your head because you were an omega that you were nothing, that you didn’t even deserve a wolf, and you had believed him. Had ignored her and your natural instincts for more than half of your life, until John came along. Until he saved you. And now here you were, living in his home, making it nice and homey and putting meals on the table for a man whose name you didn’t even know. 

Wasn’t that a funny thing?

Heavy footsteps echo above you as you work, and you begin humming, attempting to shut him and the annoying second voice out of your head. You take your time as you arranged the bundle of flowers, you had picked such a big bunch that you had enough for two full arrangements and you were just placing one of them in the middle of the round table that sat by the stairs in the kitchen when you heard his footsteps coming back down, a heavy pitter patter that sent your heart racing, but you were ready to face him now, to welcome him into the cabin. You suppose your wolf was right, he needed a hot meal, and who were you to turn away from cooking someone in need a good belly full of food?

He clears his throat again when he comes off the bottom step, from your peripheral you can tell that he’s fully facing you, large meaty hands on his thick, muscled hips. He wore a dark green tshirt that stretched so tightly over his muscly chest that you were sure it would rip, and it hung just barely above the waistline of his jeans, that fit him so snugly you weren’t sure how they hadn’t ripped already. 

“Listen, lovie, s’pose I was a bit rude back there, yeah?” You say nothing, but look up at him fully now, making eye contact as your hands still fidget with the glass vase you had set so neatly in the middle of the table. “‘name’s Simon..I work with your Alpha..”

“S’not my Alpha.” You say pointedly, and under the mask he still wears you can tell a smile is spread across his face at your words. “And neither are you, so don’t go getting your hopes up. You’ll be keeping your big paws to yourself while you’re here, or i’ll be telling John.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He says, his body seeming to relax now that you’ve spoken a full sentence to him. “What can I call you?” 

You sigh, cheeks heating. “Ironically, most people call me Rosie.” You say, turning away. You didn’t know what your actual name was, your father had never called you anything but Runt or Omega, and your siblings always followed in his suit. You were content to go by whatever John wanted to call you whenever he finally came to your rescue, who were you to argue with the man who had saved you?

“These for anyone?” He’s pointing to the plate of cinnamon rolls when you look over your shoulder, setting the second vase on the window above the kitchen sink. 

“Help yourself.” Your voice is soft, gentle, a smile spreading when you begin to talk about the food you had made. “Made them from scratch, strawberry cream cheese icing and everything!” 

He moans as he bites into them, and you’re sure he’s putting on a big show as a form of apology but either way it prickles you in the best way and puts a big happy grin on your face. “Jesus lovie,” He groans. “I’m gonna be fat by the time i leave, arent i?”

[nogutsnogloria]

summary: late night exciting news

andrew pope cody x reader

a/n: i actually don’t like this one but i was having a panic attack (not about this, about something else) and while i felt like i was dying i only could imagine my parents like finding this doc or something open when they went to clean everything up. that was enough to just post it so it’s not sitting in a document anymore.

this is a first. you are wide awake and andrew is peacefully sleeping beside you. not wanting to wake him by tossing and turning you strategically untangle yourself with him and head into the kitchen. the moon is out tonight so you can work by the glow of the moonlight. you quietly grab the electric kettle and start heating up water grabbing a bag of your favorite camomile tea down from the cupboard. once the water boils you pour it into the mug and head out to the patio to listen to the ocean. hoping real life white noise will help make your brain shut off and become tired enough for sleep.

pope is in a state in between being asleep and being awake. he reaches out so that he can cuddle into you and your warmth, but no matter where he reaches he can’t find you in his dream state. he is quick to open his eyes at that and sleepily figure out what is happening. he doesn’t hear you in the bathroom so he is getting out of bed and throwing a pair of sweats over his boxers to search for you in the rest of the house. he sees you sitting outside and wastes no time to join you. he stands behind the chair you are sitting in and rubs his hands up and down your shoulders.

“do you think lena would let us officially adopt her, or would even want us to?” pope doesn’t know if he’s fully awake and functioning enough to properly have this conversation, but he’s going to try. “we could ask her, but i think i am always going to be her uncle pope.” you nod processing what he said. “yeah” it makes perfect sense to you. pope comes around the chair so he can crouch in front of you looking up with his hands resting on your lap. “what are you thinking about?” this is obviously not a thought coming from nowhere, if it has you up in the middle of the night.

you straighten up in the chair and look in his eyes. “i’m pregnant.” you place your hands on top of his in your lap and wait for him to process. his whole face softens and he looks up to you and gives you a smile that makes you weak in the knees. “you are?” he sounds a bit choked up when he asks pulling a hand from yours so he can rest it on your stomach. you nod, your eyes a bit misty. “i took a few tests today, all positive. i still should see a doctor to make sure it’s all viable, but yes all signs point to pregnant.” he’s getting up to place a kiss on your lips. “so the adoption question?” he’s asking because he knows you have thoughts about this.

“well i was trying to figure out how to tell you and most go with ‘you’re going to be a dad’ but that didn’t feel like it would do it justice, because you already kind of do dad things. but ‘you’re going to be a dad again’ didn’t make any sense either. also i want the baby to have lena as an older sister, because she will be so amazing at it. older cousin just doesn’t seem like it would be right, you know? but how does that even makes sense?” he’s can tell you have spent so long thinking about this. “our family dynamic is a bit complicated.” he states matter of factly. you shake your head “i love the way it is, but i would never want lena to feel replaced or that the love is different because she’s not mine biologically, or that i didn’t know her from the day she was born, because that will never be true.” he lets you finish your thoughts.

“she’s loved you since the moment she met you, and i am not just saying that to say it. that first night, that first tea party, i saw her start to become a real kid again, one that wasn’t sad all the time, brightness came back in her eyes, laughter came back into this house. don’t ever think you haven’t been exactly what she needed, exactly what i’ve needed.” you feel the tears well up in your eyes. “i am so excited to see you with a baby, the thoughts do crazy things to me.” he smiles up at you with one of his most devastating looks, the one he knows works best and you immediately want to kiss it right off.

“does things to you? oh really? you have no idea what knowing that you’re pregnant is doing to me.” his hands are rubbing up and down your lap flirting with innocence and inappropriateness as he is also leaning up to kiss you. it’s a messy one that leaves you wanting more. his tongue mapping out the inside of your mouth that draws a whine from the back of your throat. “will you let me take you back to bed?” he’s not playing fair kissing down your jaw, easily finding the spot that makes you not think straight. you give him a breathy “uh-huh” and that’s all it takes he’s picking you up bridal style from the chair you’re in and bringing you back his bed where you belong. forever.

[buddierealm]

ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 Wordcount: 4.1k Summary: Someone almost dies. You freak out. Alternatively, those accused of robbing banks together, stay together. Warnings: cheating, panic attacks, vomiting, yearning overload, idiot4idiot, they’re broken up but HR still hates them. A/N: anyone else feel like someone's gearing up to die and haunt the narrative?

13 times. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen. You repeat the number so much in your head it doesn't even sound like a real word anymore. It's all you've done since you hung up on Bobby. It's all you can think about on the drive over. 13 times Chimney's been stabbed.

Howie Han can be annoying at times, but he's always been a loyal and kind friend. You don't understand why anyone would do such a thing.

And Maddie's been kidnapped, too.

They've seriously got to be the most cursed couple of all time.

You rush through the hospital doors, and tell the front desk your name. You're sure you look a mess. You had no time to even look in the mirror after getting that call. They ask for the patient's name and it takes you a long minute to come up with anything, cycling through Chim's endless list of nicknames in your mind.

“Howard Han. His name's Howard Han, he was...um,” you can't even bring yourself to say the words.

He was stabbed thirteen times.

The nurse at the desk's mouth drops open as she opens something up on the screen in front of her. You nod, you can tell she's just uncovered what's happened to him. Her eyes are full of pity as she directs you to the hallway adjacent to the ICU.

There, you find Athena and Bobby leaning against the wall, while Buck and Eddie sit in the corner. You walk up to Athena and she offers you a hug, before Bobby does the same.

“Anything new?” you ask Athena.

“No, he's stable for now. Last we heard they were getting him prepped for surgery,” she responds.

“Good, good,” you sigh, “What about the case? I mean, who the hell did all of this?”

“We don't know yet. There isn't much we can reveal. But before he fell unconscious, Howard mentioned a Jason Bailey. That name ring a bell?”

You think it does. You wrack your brain for a few minutes, trying to come up with anything from your conversations with Chim, but nothing comes up. As you're about to shake your head in response, though, you remember.

“Oh my god! Yes,” you yell, grabbing Eddie and Buck's attention, “This guy I met outside a bar we were all at. He asked for my number. I gave it to him.”

“He said his name was Jason Bailey.”

“Did he ever end up calling you?” Athena asks.

“Yeah, he called me a bunch after. I never responded, though,” you confess, as Buck and Eddie make their way over to the three of you.

“Would you mind giving me the number?”

You nod in agreement frantically, and pull your phone out. You read the digits out loud to her, and she logs them onto her phone. She explains that she'll try to track the phone attached to the number, and then leaves with Buck.

Shortly after, Bobby follows them. You're left standing there with Eddie, too stunned to speak. You can feel your throat closing up and a large pit forming in your stomach.

You move to sit down at the chair where Buck sat just minutes ago. You put your head between your knees and try to even out your breathing. Your mind is flooding with all of the different possible ways this could've gone. Repositioning your head fails miserably, when you start remembering all of the bad memories from the past month.

You've felt so lonely lately, the breakup with Eddie hitting you hard. You wonder, if it had been you, how long would it have taken anyone to find you?

You shoot out of your seat and make your way into the nearest storage closet you can find, slamming the door shut. If you're about to break down, it might as well be private. You can hear Eddie call after you, but you pay him no mind. You slide down the floor and sit in a crouched position, letting the cold floor cool you down.

Your face is running hot, you can barely hear your own heavy breathing with your mind running at 100 miles per hour, and it feels like someone's stabbed you in the stomach. You close your eyes tightly, trying to zero in on anything positive, but nothing comes up. And then Eddie walks in.

He closes the door behind him gently, and you're too busy wigging out to tell him to leave you the fuck alone, please. He grabs something off of a shelf above you and bends down to sit beside you.

“Hey,” he whispers, and your eyes turn to look at him. You're still freaking out but his voice is making this a little easier.

It could've been you. You instead of Chim. Maybe it should've been. You could've saved him. Maybe you would've been able to tell this guy was bad news. Why hadn't you responded to Jason's calls? If you had, it might've been you kidnapped right now. It might've been Eddie stabbed and left to die. Or you. You aren't too sure what this psycho's end goal is exactly.

“Take this, okay? Breathe into it for me,” he hands you a paper bag. You grab it desperately, and put it over your mouth.

You focus on filling the bag up with air, and breathing it back in. Eddie whispers praises into the dark, with a steady hand on your shoulder.

“You’re okay, cariño. You’re okay,” he tells you, “You’re doing so well.”

Your breathing's still irregular, though, and two breaths later you can feel the contents of your stomach come back up. You're immensely grateful for the bag, which Eddie grabs and throws into a trash can nearby. He makes his way back to your side immediately, placing his open palm on the middle of your back.

The worst of it is over, the endorphins from throwing up carrying you over. You feel a lot better almost instantly. Your breathing's gone back to normal, and you feel a little dizzy but it's a lot better than whatever the fuck that was. You rest your head against the shelf behind you as Eddie does the same. He sighs in relief, like he was the one who's just had a panic attack. Somehow, you can see it's affected him just as much as you.

“You okay, now?” he checks.

“Mhm. Much better,” you respond.

He rubs your back gently in circles. A few moments after you've both calmed down, you walk out of the storage closet. He leads you to a bathroom to get cleaned up, and waits outside.

Neither of you talks for the rest of the night. He takes care of you silently; he brings you food and coffee, holds your hand when Chimney goes into surgery, and consistently reassures you everything's going to be fine with just his eyes.

The morning after feels a little like dying inside. Chim's still in surgery, you haven't spoken to Eddie yet, and you're all going around sharing anecdotes about Howie like he's about to die.

When you feel like you're about to start panicking again, you put your head between your legs and claim it's just because you're tired. You can feel Eddie look for any signs of distress you might be exhibiting whenever you do this anyway.

The moment Michael and Harry turn up with drinks and baked goods, Eddie goes to grab you both a cup of the fancy coffee they brought by. You take the cup from his hand and thank him with a smile.

“We don't have to talk about last night if you don't want to,” he blurts out, as he takes a seat again.

You frown, “It's not that I don't want to. There's nothing to talk about. I freaked out. Chimney's my friend. I was worried.”

“It wasn't just that,” he accuses. “C'mon, we were both there. That wasn't just worry or sadness. It was guilt.”

You roll your eyes, “What the hell do I have to feel guilty for?”

He leans back, “You should ask yourself.”

He glances around to make sure no one's looking and puts a reassuring hand on your back, “None of this is your fault. It doesn't matter that this guy was trying to harass you first. It's not your fault, okay?”

His tone has a finality to it that almost makes you believe him. You nod anyway, and it's more of a promise that you'll try, than an affirmation. It's good enough for him.

You sip on your coffee slowly, and his hand never leaves your back.

There's still a smooth rhythm to your conversation. The quick-witted quips and jokes you shared during your time together still flow between you like you've never been apart. You're listening intently to Eddie talk about something that happened on a call the other week when his attention is pulled by something else.

“I happen to think...” he pauses, his eyes are now trained on someone behind you.

“Shannon?” he says, getting up.

You turn around to look. Yep, definitely Shannon.

He walks a few steps closer to lean down and hug Christopher. You smile at the sight, and get up to greet Shannon.

“Hey,” you say, introducing yourself.

She introduces herself as well, and you nod. Like you'd ever forget her. When Christopher hears your voice, he walks over to hug you. You pick him up into your arms, as Eddie grabs his walking sticks.

“Hey, buddy. How's it going?” you ask excitedly.

“Great,” he says, “Missed you.”

“Yeah?” you grin.

“Yeah,” Shannon responds, “He's mentioned you a lot.”

You nod at her, trying not to look visibly uncomfortable, and then ask Chris if he'd like to go see Chim. He's very enthusiastic for a kid that has to spend his Saturday at a hospital, but you entertain him anyway. You both walk further into the hospital, as his parents talk for a moment, before Eddie joins you and Shannon leaves.

It seems you have an insanely useless and incredibly inconvenient talent: it's crossing paths with Shannon Diaz. It's almost like the universe is punishing you by putting her in your life every time you have the gall to try forgetting about her.

And the curse doesn't stop at the hospital, it follows you all the way back to the station. Eddie's been out on a call for an hour and fifty-two minutes. Not just Eddie, everyone else too, but his shift had ended within those two hours, as had your own. You were just sticking behind in case anyone needed anything, definitely not to keep tabs on him.

Besides, no one ever said you couldn't keep tabs on your ex in your mind, even if he does have a wife. It's completely innocent. No one's getting hurt, and you find a little bit of solace in making sure he's fine after every call.

So, when you look over the railing to see if it's the team that's just stepped into the station and you catch sight of Shannon Diaz instead, you feel a little caught. It's almost like that woman has a sixth sense when it comes to you and Eddie.

She catches you staring at her from upstairs and waves her arm at you. She makes her way up with Christopher, and you greet them both, bending down to give Chris a hug.

“Hey, uh, Eddie's on his last call right now,” you inform Shannon.

She nods, and for some reason, you invite her to sit at the couch and decide take a seat with them. Christopher goes out of his way to sit next to you.

You entertain them with stories about rescuing people from the most inconvenient emergencies, but you keep out all of the graphic details for Chris' sake.

“Y'know, when I was with your dad, responding to an emergency once,” you narrate, looking at Christopher.

“There was a fire we had to put out. At the very last minute, I had to pull him away before he got caught in it. I practically saved his life. You should make sure he never forgets that,” you joke.

He laughs and nods like he’s actually going to remind his dad every 5 minutes. You can tell Shannon’s getting a little bored with all of the story-telling.

“Good thinking,” she comments, like she's praising a child for a cute drawing.

Chris almost immediately decides he wants a drink of water. He insists on going to the fridge for it alone. You watch him anyway, worried about the uneven flooring of the station. You finally look away when you realize one of your co-workers helping him out at the kitchenette.

“He's so independent for a kid. Wants to do everything himself,” you admire.

“Yeah, I know,” she responds, but she sounds like something else is on her mind.

“It is you, isn’t it?” she blurts out.

“Um,” you look around and repeat your own name back to her, nodding.

“You know what I mean,” she says, her voice heavy with accusation.

It’s clear she knows exactly what transpired between you and Eddie, before she decided to turn back up. If not, then she has a pretty damn good idea. You're too stunned to respond. You make sure to frown at her tone, though.

“What...” you begin, but you're thankfully interrupted by Eddie running up the stairs.

He hugs Shannon with one arm from behind the couch, and goes to say hi to Chris. When they both come back, Shannon looks positively furious. You feel like she might get up and kill you. Then, she does the most unexpected thing ever.

“Why don't you join us for dinner tonight? I'll make something nice.”

Is she seriously fucking inviting you to dinner?

Your eyes go so wide you might pop an eyeball. You turn to Eddie for a moment and then back to her.

“I kind of have plans. A date,” you lie.

That catches Eddie’s attention. You try your hardest to ignore his eyes boring into the side of your head, on account of his wife, who's literally sitting five feet away. There’s a palpable tension in the air. It makes you want to find the nearest sink and drown yourself in it.

“Maybe some other time,” you lie again.

You bid Christopher goodbye, and run to get dressed and leave.

A day later, it's Chimney's survived-a-brutal-stabbing party. Eddie and Buck hold up the party banner that reads, 'Chimney: 2, Death: 0.' Buck argues with Hen about respecting Chim's wishes, but she's having none of it. And, just on time, Athena brings the cake she picked up for the party being held at the station.

Hen announces that Chim's ten minutes away.

Perfect, you think, that's just enough time.

You walk up to Eddie as discreetly as possible and tell him to follow you into the bathroom. You go inside, and a few seconds later he's in there too.

“What?” he asks, a little concerned.

“Did you tell your wife about us?” you ask abruptly.

“Excuse me?” he whisper-shouts. “What I do and don’t tell my wife is none of your business,” he adds.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Just answer the damn question.”

He sighs in defeat, “Fine. Yes, I did. Of course I did. Happy now?”

“No, actually,” you respond, with snark.

“So what does she want now? For all of us to be friends?” you question, talking about how she so casually tried to invite you to dinner.

“I have no idea, okay?” he admits, "All I know is that I wouldn’t mind it.”

He waits for you to respond, expectantly. It's clear he's waiting for you to say the same.

You won't. You can't. The implications of it would be so fucked up. Especially after what happened at the hospital, which you're 100 percent sure Shannon doesn't know about.

“What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That it doesn’t kill me every time I see you with her and I remember what we had, and just how easily you let it all go?

“No. I won’t say any of that. Because it’s pathetic. And I’m not going to say anything to ease your guilty conscience. You should feel guilty.

“And I hate you for what you did.”

He's staring so intently into your eyes, you think he might be looking for any indication that what you're saying isn't true. Then, what you've just said dawns on you.

You've just admitted every single feeling you have for him in double negatives. And it's all true.

He grabs both sides of your face and pulls you into a hard kiss. He walks forward and pushes you into the tiled wall behind you.

It takes you a moment to slip your eyes shut, and delight in the feeling of his lips on yours. Just one word flashes through your brain, and it makes you pull back immediately like he's just burned you.

Wrong. This is all so, so wrong.

Looking into his eyes at this moment is the biggest mistake of your life. It instantly makes you forget everything. Your morals, your past, and his wife, it all fades away into the background.

You do remember the way he's made you feel, though. How sad, and dejected, and lonely he rendered you the day you realized he'd been lying to you. Your brows furrow at him, like looking into his eyes is causing you physical, palpable pain.

You slap him.

And before he can react, you pull him in for a kiss again.

His fingers are wrapped up in your hair in an instant. He pulls you impossibly closer, smushing your mouths together in desperation. You whine into his mouth at the feeling, but it reaches your ears as nothing more than a muffled, barely audible noise.

Your hands are cradling his face, but they just serve as leverage to keep him close. To make sure he receives everything you're pouring into this kiss.

You endlessly pour every single emotion he's made you feel since that night at the bar into the gesture. You hope he can feel the result, which just feels like a mess of love, and lust, and misery, and guilt.

So, so much guilt. So much guilt you're choking on it. When you almost can't breathe anymore, you pull back quickly. It makes you remember why you feel so guilty.

“No, no. Oh my god,” you exclaim, pulling his hands away and stepping back, all the way to the other side of the bathroom.

“You're married. Still married,” you think out loud, and it makes you feel a thousand times worse.

You shake your head firmly, “I'm not going to be some kind of mistress.”

You walk towards the bathroom door to leave, needing as much space between you and him as possible.

Since it's all out in the open now, so you feel the need to call him out on his bullshit once and for all.

“I won't tell you how to live your life. But if you keep playing house with someone you don't love, it'll do a lot more harm than good. To you and to Christopher.”

You had no idea a call could end so badly. You'd spent 12 hours locked up in a vault, unconscious and drugged. And now you're being interrogated. After having had to wait for everyone else in the 118 to be interrogated, naturally.

As you wait in an interrogation room in the LA police station ten minutes away from the 118, you tap your foot impatiently. You're so tired you could fall sleep right here on the metal table you're leaning against. You're also so angry you could annoy the idiots who brought you in here for hours. You probably will.

Two detectives step into the room, and take a seat in front of you. It's a man and a woman. They look familiar, and you already hope you never have to see them again after today.

The way they walk to their chairs, smiling at you, and look at each other plays out like a very badly written act they're trying to perform.

“Hello, firefighter…um,”

The woman checks your name and then says it out loud, tapping the piece of paper in front of her.

“I’m Detective Mercer,” she says, and then points at her partner, “And this is Detective Wash. We just have a few questions for you.”

You nod, because it’s the only reaction you can manage without completely freaking out at them. Your nerves are fried. Not only have you just gotten accused of being involved in a bank robbery, you had to wait four hours for these idiots to be done interrogating everyone else to bring you in.

“Look, we know you’re probably not involved in any of this,” Detective Mercer says.

You shoot her an expression you hope conveys, ‘Really? Then, why’d you bring me in here, idiot?’

“Yes,” she says with certainty at your disbelieving glare.

“I mean, you were already a Fire Cadet, who was qualified for Ride-Alongs by 17. Recognized by the Board of Fire Commission for your dedication. You graduated top of your class at the academy. The top graduate for three years after too, if I recall correctly,” Detective Wash notes, reading off of the file that rests in front of him. His partner just nods. 

“Your record’s completely clean. You’ve had no financial problems. Hell, your credit score’s better than either of us,” Mercer says, pointing at herself and her partner.

They both laugh, but you aren’t laughing with them. You know they don’t believe in all of the bullshit they’re spewing.

It’s all real, of course, but it doesn’t absolve you from looking guilty in their eyes. They’re just trying to pull you in by making you feel so holier-than-thou that you rat the 118 out, which you wouldn’t do in a million years. So, it seems there’s a few things they don’t know.

“So, where are the questions?” you ask, clearly too tired for this demeaning attempt at manipulation. 

Detective Wash sighs, and then looks at his partner like they’re gearing up to reveal a big secret to you. 

He then leans in, across the table, and almost whispers, “We heard, uh, somewhere, that there’s been some involvement between yourself and Probationary Firefighter Diaz. We also heard he hurt you pretty badly.”

Detective Mercer nods again, “Lord knows I wouldn't forgive an ex for lying to me that easily, either.”

You cock your head to the side.

What the actual hell...

You wish you could just run away. Or hide in the corner, or something. You were aware everyone in the station knew what was going on, but it being spoken back to you like this makes you want to pull your own hair out.

You haven't spoken to him since the kiss, but hearing his name still leaves you embarrassed and a little hurt.

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, annoyed.

Wash sits back like they've just caught you red-handed.

They haven't. It's why they're resorting to all of these cheap tactics, you tell yourself.

"What we're trying to say is..." Mercer sighs, feigning disappointment, “You don't have to go down for this with him.”

You roll your eyes, slamming your hands down on the table as gently as you can manage right now. They're bigger idiots than you previously thought if they genuinely think they can manipulate you into saying anything.

“Of course,” you laugh.

“Look, I didn't do anything. Diaz didn't do anything. The 118 didn't do anything. I was unconscious with my friend in a vault for almost 12 hours that day, but I can tell you with utmost certainty: you're barking up the wrong tree.”

You sit back in your seat. They look shocked at how plainly you speak. You hope they didn't realize the fury in your eyes when they suggested you might rat Eddie out. Of all people. He's the last person you'd betray.

They ask you a million other questions. They even try to insinuate you might've cooked this up to help Eddie out with his finances, which you had no idea he was even having problems with.

It's all irrelevant. Everything else sounds irrelevant to your ears after they've asked about your fight with Eddie. Your answers are clipped, enough to be cooperative, but not enough to give them any false hope that they might be right.

The investigation fizzles out, and you're all found innocent, obviously. But they've taken Captain Nash away from you. It tips the carefully curated balance you've all got going on when Chim assumes the role of Interim Captain Han.

It's the most entertaining thing to have happened at the station, since Buck got fired. You have no idea why everyone hates it so much. You loved having Bobby Nash as your captain, but you wouldn't mind if he stayed on the bench a little longer.

To be fair, Howard Han is pretty much completely afraid of you.

He wouldn't be able to boss you around if he tried. And he has, many times. When you first joined the 118 as a probie, he tried to act as a guiding hand. It seemed more like he was just trying to get you to do everything he tells you to do, constantly.

So, when you got tired of it, you put him in his place. Very loudly. For thirty minutes. And he hasn't tried to order you to do anything since.

It's just the dynamic you two have. Him becoming a temporary replacement for Captain Nash will never change that.

That being said, you still miss having Cap around, so you decide to visit him.

You're sure you might be the unluckiest person alive, though, because it isn't Bobby who opens the door for you. It's the very last person you want to see. And he looks as stunned to see you as you are.

As you walk into Bobby's apartment, and set down the cookies you've brought over, you realize he has the same stunned look on his face as you and Eddie.

“What? You guys look like I've just caught you sharing dirty secrets,” you joke.

“Oh,” you realize.

They were probably talking about Shannon, or Christopher. Or anything else you have no business butting into. Maybe Bobby even knows about the kiss. God, you hope he doesn't.

“Never mind,” you counter.

You sit down beside Bobby. The awkward silence becomes a little too much to bear, so you decide to ignore Eddie's presence completely.

“Bobby, I have to tell you, I'm so incredibly entertained by Chimney playing captain,” you gush.

“Really?” Bobby questions, “Everyone's been saying the exact opposite.”

“Yeah, well. Howie's too afraid of me to try any of his weird power-play stuff on me,” you explain, popping open the Tupperware you brought to grab a cookie. You urge them to do the same.

“I've got free passes out of all of the boring stuff he's having everyone else do."

“How'd you do that?” Eddie asks, smiling into a bite of a cookie.

You're a little disoriented for a moment. It's the first time he's directly spoken to you since the... well, the thing. And it was completely by accident. You can tell by the way his eyes went wide right after.

Now, you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. You could respond, and lose your credibility in this ongoing contest to see who's going to initiate friendship first. Or you could ignore him and make this entire visit a hundred times more awkward.

You respond, for Bobby's sake, “It's a long story. Maybe later.”

You start talking about all of the interesting calls you've had since Bobby left, and Eddie listens intently, despite having already been there for most of them. He laughs at every joke and grins at every other word.

Sooner rather than later, you check your phone and notice you're about to be late to brunch with Hen.

Eddie watches your every movement, like he's been doing for the past hour.

He must think he's subtle, but he really isn't.

“I have to leave in ten, Cap,” you announce, “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” he says, “I'm booked and busy.”

“Yeah, uh, me too,” Eddie seems to realize, “I'm already twenty minutes late to lunch with the family.”

The family? You're sure Christopher has a physical therapy session right now, like he does every week.

Maybe he means Shannon? Why not say her name? Is he trying to spare you all the feeling of awkwardness when he mentions her in your presence? Or does he remember the things you told him the last time you...spoke. If you can even call it that.

He gets up to grab his coat, and hugs Cap goodbye. He spares you a long glance, too.

Before he can leave, Bobby speaks up.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bobby calls out to him, “I think you'll find the answer to your question within. You need to figure out how you feel.”

It sounds so cryptic, you're sure the question's related to his marriage somehow. It's the only reason Bobby wouldn't speak plainly.

So, you do your best to busy yourself getting your stuff together. Eddie does no such thing, though. He lets his eyes drift to you for a long moment, before nodding at Bobby.

“Wow. That's some Yoda shit. Has staying at home already made you wise beyond your many years, Bobby?” you joke.

Eddie laughs out loud as he closes the front door behind him.

A/N: if u remember what eddie asked bobby in 2.17 u get 10 points!

[cherry-jamm]

I lose my mind when it comes to you

・❥・ Where Mark tries to keep you awake post head trauma

・❥・word count: 1.5k

・❥・warnings: so much fluff, not beta read

・❥・I might make a part 2 for this if it gets some love, who knows?

The world swayed slightly even as you stood still. On top of your steadily growing nausea a headache pounded relentlessly at your head. Putting your pride away, you had gotten pretty banged up in the final battle of your mission. You tried to steady your breathing as you looked up towards the sky to try and spot your teammate. 

Invincible slowly lowered himself to the ground beside you with a smile you easily returned. “You did great!” He congratulated, gripping onto your shoulder and shaking it. A new wave of nausea overtook you at the sudden movement. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling good.” You lied. You weren’t sure exactly why you lied, but for some reason you couldn’t admit to your charming and incredibly handsome teammate that you actually weren’t alright and that you were really a few minutes away from collapsing. So you plastered on a smile and gave him a thumbs up. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push you much further. “Alright, now that we got that finished up, let’s head back.” 

You felt the ground hit your cheek before you even realized you were falling. You shut your eyes in a mixture of embarrassment and pain. “Jeez! You sure you’re alright?” Mark’s concerned face filled your hazy vision as he crouched down by your side. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You silently shook your head, feeling small pieces of debris cut into your cheek. Mark chuckled. “Yeah, you look kinda banged up.” 

“Thanks.” You mumble sarcastically. At that Mark only laughs more before fumbling to flip you onto your back.

“No like,” He looks down at you. You couldn’t see his face beneath his mask but you could feel him scanning you. “I think you might be concussed or something.” He bites his lip as he drags his thumb gently over your forehead and as he pulls it back the pad of it is covered in sticky red blood. You groan. 

“Am I gonna live, doc?” You tilt your head. Suddenly the sun above him seems much too bright and you squeeze your eyes shut to lessen the splitting headache that pulses behind your eyes. 

“Probably not.” He responds playfully. There’s a long pause as you try to steady your breathing, your eyes still shut. You fight the urge to smack him as Mark pokes your cheek. “I’m pretty sure you have to stay awake after you get a concussion.” He muses. You look at him, mustering up as much distaste as you can to glare at him. “I mean, I saw it in a movie?” He stumbles under your hard gaze. 

“Mark.” You whine. Suddenly all the attraction you felt towards him was replaced with irritation. You throw your head back as best you can as you lay on the concrete. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” He huffs frustratedly. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get like permanent brain damage or something.” You remain thoroughly unimpressed by the fact. Your eyelids ached to shut just for a moment. It was a losing battle against your own body. The brief moments your eyes closed to blink felt like pure bliss and it was only a matter of time before you were falling asleep once again. 

“Hey, hey!” Mark picks your head up. Your eyes crack open to him frowning down at you like a disappointed mother. “What’s the square root of nine?” 

“What?” 

“The square root of nine?” He asks again.  His hands tuck under your arms to lift you off the ground. After a short while of trying to get your limp legs to stand his hand wrapped around your waist and he took a step forward. 

“Three?” Your head lolled to the side to rest against his shoulder. He tightened his hold on you. 

“Good. What’s six times seven?” 

“I don’t know, leave me alone.” You purposely shift more of your weight onto him to irritate him. 

“I’m trying to keep you awake.” He looks down at you resting your aching head on him. “You won’t be sick if I fly you back right?” You shake your head (slowly to avoid another bout of sickness). “Good.” He tightens his grip on you. But he doesn’t take off and instead an awkward silence grows. “Could you, uh… do you mind if I?” His other hand hovered over your body awkwardly. 

“Just grab me.” You roll your eyes. Having to stay awake when you would much rather sleep your way back to base was getting on your nerves. You barely even registered that you had essentially volunteered yourself to be manhandled by Mark. He nodded and quickly picked you up to an awkward piggy back ride. 

“If you wrap your legs around me this is a lot easier.” He frowned. 

“At least buy me dinner first.” You tease, but oblige. He held onto your thighs and you felt your cheeks heat up slightly but quickly pushed it down. He takes off with a start and as you feel the stability of the ground getting further away your stomach twists. “How do you do this all the time?” You hide your face in the crook of his neck, shielding your face both from the wind and the ability to look down. 

“It’s just like walking, I guess.” You feel his shoulders tense as he shrugs. 

“Walking.” You repeat incredulously. “When the ground is that far beneath you?” You have to raise your voice to be heard over the growing noise of wind. Mark just laughs. Your legs unconsciously loosen around his waist to which Mark grips them tighter. 

“I mean, you have it easy right now. Just hold on tight and don’t look down.” 

“And that’s so easy.” Actually it was becoming much easier to not look down. It was becoming easier to not look at anything as you felt drowsiness overtake you. You feel the urge to dig your heels into his stomach but think better of it. Probably not the best decision to irritate the man keeping you from falling out of the sky. 

There were a few minutes of silence and you had to dedicate all your willpower to not falling asleep against his shoulder. “We’re almost there.” Mark announced. “You only gotta hang on for a little longer.” Despite the good news you were still impatiently waiting to get out of the sky and fall asleep without Mark’s interruption. 

“You know what they say about home stretches.” You sigh. Your eyelids slowly became heavier to the point you could barely keep them open anymore. Your body went almost completely limp as your vision grew heavy. 

“What do they say?” Mark asked. However before you could answer, sleep forcefully overtook you as your head slumped against his back. Mark let out a small gasp, pausing in the air. “No, no, no.” He muttered. He held one of your thighs even tighter (if that was even possible) while the other one went up to poke your cheek again. When you didn’t wake up immediately Mark groaned and switched to pinching your cheek, then your thigh until your eyes opened. Once you realized that he was no longer holding both of your legs it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you as you suddenly scrambled to hold onto him as tight as possible. 

“Mark!” You yell frustratedly. He returned his hold on your legs and began moving in the air once again, albeit slower this time. 

“Thank god you woke up gracefully, because I totally would have dropped you.” He smirks. You gripped onto him tight enough that it started to hurt. 

“Mark!” You yell again, more panic in your voice. “I’m never flying with you again, this is the worst!” 

“Only because you’re concussed.” His voice raised in pitch as he tried to defend his honor. “You know, you shouldn’t anger the guy who’s holding you right now.” He pouts.

“My apologies, your majesty.” You concede. You relax in his hold once again and for a second you feel the muscles in his back tense to sense if you had fallen back asleep. “‘M awake.” You mumble into his suit. You feel him nod. 

It wasn’t much longer until you were landing. Somehow the landing was worse than taking off. Mark helps you stand on your own two feet again, his hands wrapping around your forearms to ensure you wouldn’t fall on your face again. All the while you were fighting the urge to puke as your stomach had dropped to your feet and had yet to return to its original position. You had to close your eyes to steady yourself again and get your shit together. You took a deep steadying breath. 

“Thank you, Mark.” You said earnestly. Ignoring the way black crept into the edges of your vision, he looked good like this. His hair was windswept and messy and his hands still nervously held onto you. You couldn’t help the way you naturally blushed. 

“Yeah, I mean you did most of the work in that fight back there, it's only fair.” He trailed off as you stepped closer to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“Thanks.” You repeated. 

“Anytime.” He smiled a crimson blush rising on his cheeks. That was the last thing you saw before your eyes shut and you slumped against him once again. The last thing you heard before you fell asleep however was him groaning, 

“Seriously?!” 

[hoonieyun]

the tree of knowledge of good & bad ₊ ⊹

pairing: park jongseong x reader genre: angst, romance, established relationship warnings: religious themes, kissing, profanity, skin ship, yn and jay are morally grey characters (honesting theyre bad ppl lol), borderline bonnie and clyde vibes, suggestive, jay is a bit possessive of yn, really bad codependence, yn and jay are runaways/criminals, it kind of jumps around a lot between like past and present and i didn't do a very good job differentiating it but i think you can tell, yn and jay love each other but there's like something sinister about jay, mentions of guns and violence, yn kills someone, not a lot of dialogue sorry my brain froze tbh, 18+ not proofread lol

synopsis: your boyfriend knew best when it came to good and bad. he was both sides of the same coin of good and bad, but it was up to you to decide on whether or not which side you felt more comfortable with.

wc: 5716

“yn! get down!” jay’s voice rings in your ears and you follow his orders, bullets ricochet past you as you duck down behind the random car on the street that was shielding you. “fuck– i’m out of bullets.” you huffed, jay looks at you with narrowed eyes. 

“baby, go grab the car; i’ll stall them.” 

“but– no, go!” you try to tell jay that you don’t want to leave him behind but you know better than to argue with jay, especially in an intense time like this. jay crouches down to give you a chaste kiss on the lips; one that you could feel in your heart. like he kissed you to let you know that you’ll be together soon and not to worry. 

“i’ll be right back, ok?” you say before running off down the alley, dodging and ducking to avoid the stray bullets while jay stayed behind to fend off the police officers that were there to detain you. there wasn’t anything on your mind aside from getting to the car, grabbing jay, and driving off into safety. 

thankfully you had parked the car only a few blocks away. you had ditched your gun in a dumpster and were running to your car, fiddling with the keys in your pocket so you could unlock the car. 

the moment you take a seat in the driver’s seat, everything slows down– your breathing is still heavy but each inhale and exhale felt like it lasted for minutes and the birds that flew overhead flapped their wings so slowly that they didn’t even appear like they were moving. 

it was all short lived. 

when the key turns in the ignition, you’re off– speeding down the street in hopes that when you get back to jay, he’d still be standing on his two feet, unscathed. you wouldn’t ever forgive yourself if jay wasn’t fine when you get back to him, blaming yourself if he was hurt because you left him behind. 

jay would never leave you behind. 

“baby.. baby– wake up!” you’re jolted awake with a gasp, jay hovering over you with a worried expression on his face. “are you ok? you were mumbling in your sleep.” 

you sit up, pulling the blanket up to your chest as jay takes a seat in front of you. the mattress dipping– you swallow the dryness in your throat as you try to come up with the words to explain your dream. it didn’t feel like a nightmare but it was the furthest from a sweet dream. you tell him that it was nothing but jay knew better than to believe you because he knows when something bothers you. the wrinkle in the middle of your brows, the constant swallowing, and incessant blinking– but he also knew to give you space when these things occur. 

jay gives you a hug, pulling you into his arms and your worries soon melt away as you feel the warmth of his arms around you. your shoulders relax at the familiar feeling. 

jay was everything to you, he was all that you had and you couldn’t ever think about losing jay. 

you first met jay in the 2nd grade, a little boy was teasing you during break time at the playground and jay came to your rescue like a little angel wearing a bright blue hoodie, denim jeans, and red light up sneakers. ever since that day, you had followed jay everywhere because he was the only person who showed you any semblance of care and was the first person to show you love. 

jay tried to ignore you at first, you followed behind him like a stray dog and for a 2nd grader– he had a grasp on reality that you couldn’t even process. he was able to make decisions and choices devoid of emotion and was built for survival. 

he eventually started to warm up to you because he realized that you needed a friend… and so did he. 

at the age of 15, the two of you had long been best friends and shared a lot of firsts with each other. the days leading up to your 15th birthday, you and jay planned to run away together. deciding that all you needed was each other and you understood that all you truly did need was jay. he knew what to do at all times and you put all of your trust in him, so when he proposed that you run away with him on your 15th birthday, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

when you were 10 you learned that jay was living with his aunt and uncle, you never truly learned the real reason why or where his parents are– but you knew that his aunt and uncle didn’t give a shit about him the same way your own parents didn’t. even until this day, you don’t know what jay’s relationship was with his parents and you don’t dare bring it up, not because you’re afraid of how he’d react, but because you didn’t want to put him through that. 

you didn’t want him to have to confront emotions and feelings that he may not have processed and in all honesty, it would only unearth something inside of you that you’ve yet to confront. 

from 15 to 18, you and jay hopped from city to city, sleeping on random people’s couches in their garage or spending endless nights on a train as you moved to a new place because jay always told you that you should never stay in one place for too long. 

it felt like jay was running away from something and he brought you along as a symbol of solace but you didn’t mind because you were content being that for him. he felt like you were someone he could rely on, keep him grounded, and someone he could spend the rest of his life with. 

jay was your savior, he was your guide, and he was your safety. 

it was hard to get by when you both had no education past 1 year of high school and barely any job experience but jay, resourceful and smart as ever, was able to get a job with a mechanic in one of the towns you were staying in for a few weeks. it was starting to look good for the two of you and with a bit of convincing, jay eventually came around to the idea of settling down in this small town. 

you were living in a small studio with jay above a family run corner store and the carshop he worked at was just a few blocks around the corner. life was finally starting to turn around for the both of you and all you could do was thank jay. 

he knew all of the right things to do and all of the wrong things to avoid so that he could give you the life he thought you deserved. jay wasn’t a man of many words but you felt his love and emotions stronger than any person you’ve ever met. 

jay didn’t say a lot of what he felt but he always showed you. working hard and late nights to make enough money to get you a nice gift, one that you told him you didn’t need, but he insisted instead because he said, “you deserve something pretty so that everyone knows you’ve got a man at home who loves you and would do anything for you.” you were 17 when he bought you a pearl necklace with a small jeweled cross in the center of it. 

you didn’t know if it was real but because jay got it for you, it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry that you’ve ever seen and owned. one that you still wear everyday even so many years after. 

it was a symbol of his love and you held it dearly. 

making an honest living as two young lovebirds with no experience was hard– but jay always found a way to make do. it was hard at first, still is sometimes, but lately life has been a lot easier. just being by jay’s side was enough but because he was determined to give you the life you deserve, he made an effort to work hard for you. 

you weren’t going to let jay do all of the work on his own though. 

at some point, working at the mechanic shop wasn’t enough as society itself only became harder and harder after the growth of the economy and eventual fall. jay was laid off, rent increased, and everything at the grocery store went up in price by at least 25%. you could tell it was taking a toll on jay’s mental and physical health as he spent all day working wherever they’d take him but even working 3 jobs, none of it was enough. 

you eventually found a job cleaning homes in the rich neighborhood in the next town over; you owed it to the necklace jay bought you because you always thought of it as your good luck charm. the beautiful woman who lived in the house with her husband and 3 kids even complimented it and soon after asked if you could be her housekeeper. 

it didn’t pay much, $9.35 an hour and you thought they’d pay more because the family was very well off, but it was enough so that jay only had to work two jobs instead of three. but even then, it was barely enough. you didn’t have any experience cleaning homes but your rapport with your now boss was enough to land you the job. 

it didn’t seem like she was looking for anyone specific anyways because all she had asked you about the job was your availability and when you could start– the rest of the conversation was about your interests and the pearl necklace around your neck that jay bought for you. 

“baby.. can i ask you something?” 

jay asks while the two of you ate stale bread and jam for dinner after a long day at work. you had several candles lit on your wooden dining table because you didn’t want to have any lights on to reduce your electric bill. 

you look up at jay and he’s got jam outlining his lips, you reach over with your thumb and wipe it off– sucking on your finger afterwards. “yes, baby?” you respond, suddenly the atmosphere changes and you can feel jay’s shift in demeanor as he places his bread on the table. 

“what i’m about to tell you requires a lot of trust and i know you trust me and i trust you with my whole life…” his words were beginning to worry you a bit and you tried your best not to show it. his words and body language felt unfamiliar and jay was quick to catch onto your worry. 

he grabs your hands and covers them with his own, a wave of calm washes over you instantly as jay looks you in your eyes, “baby.. just breathe, ok? i promise i’ll explain everything…” 

and when he’s seen your breathing has become steady and you are no longer shaking, he continues. “i know life has been hard and we’ve barely been scraping by and i know i promised you a happy life– i am happy..” you interrupt and jay smiles at you. 

“i know you are but you deserve so much more… and i think i’ve found out how we can start making a bit more money.” 

he swallows the saliva in his throat for a second before continuing. 

“your boss, the lady you’ve gotten pretty close to as a housekeeper– i found out her husband is the son of the biggest industrial supply company in the country. they’re insanely rich and maybe if you can–” 

“baby.. i don’t know… that’s illegal, what if i get caught and i end up in jail?” 

jay already knew you were going to ask that and had a solution ready. 

“i know.. i know but they’re going to be out of town this weekend. the whole family and you’ll be working while they’re gone. if you grab a few things of worth like jewelry she has multiples of or anything– i know a guy who will buy it off of us for a shit ton of money, baby. 

this is it.. we can make so much money and better our lives.” 

your eyes were constantly blinking and although you were afraid, you trusted jay enough to know that his plan would work. jay was intelligent and he didn’t go into anything without a full proof plan. he knew good from bad and he knew right from wrong and you followed him no matter what because he has never steered you wrong. 

that night, you spent hours going over the plan, talking about possible things you could take and what their priority would be to steal. jay specified that you couldn’t steal anything too often and make sure that it was something unnoticable. 

and when the day came, it all worked. 

you stole several necklaces and earrings, a watch that had collected dust, and even a vase that you were able to hide in your cleaning cart. 

and soon enough, you and jay were able to move out of your shabby studio apartment and into a single bedroom home. it had a front yard, not a big one but a front yard nonetheless, and even a white picket fence that surrounded your home. 

but that night never ended. 

as you and jay worked regular jobs, you, still a housekeeper for several rich families, and jay who worked at a new mechanic shop in town; you made just enough money but your little side jobs were able to provide more for the two of you than your regular jobs could. 

every sunday night you and jay would attend church in your town and scope out which families you wanted to target next. you’d approach the wife and make short conversation and eventually her husband would join to which you’d introduce jay. you’d talk about how you clean homes and miraculously, the wives would always say how they’re looking for a housekeeper. 

jay would then interject at some point and offer his help in mechanics, saying that they could get the family a good deal on car services if they reached out to him, he did it because he got commission if he brought in more customers but also because he had a plan of his own. 

while you secretly stole from the families your worked for, jay would drop you off at work and sneakily find a way to sabotage their cars and when the family noticed it, they would then ask you for jay’s help to which he’d bring their car into the shop for a prolonged amount of time, giving them random excuses why it’s not fixed yet when in reality– the solution was quick and easy but jay was able to rack up a bigger bill for them if the car stayed in the shop for longer. 

at some point, the two of you went from having stale bread for dinner in a shitty studio to have a roast dinner on sunday’s after church, the only thing that remained the same was the fact that you had each other and how there was still a candle lighting the dining room as you both ate. 

not because you were still trying to conserve energy and decrease your electricity bill, but because jay found it romantic to always have a candlelit dinner even at home. 

that was several years ago. 

you and jay were now in your early 20s and have since moved cities because jay said “we can’t stay here for too long.” and reasoning behind it was valid. he mentioned that if you guys stayed in oneplace for too long, they’d eventually start to notice the small things that have gone missing and it would trickle down into the scam jay was running at his job. 

so, after two years of doing that; jay chose a new place to live and as usual, you followed him. 

it was later in the day now, jay was at work while you stayed at home; the events of your dream occasionally crept into your mind– difficult to shake off. lately you’ve been having a lot of dreams about that day. 

the day where you and jay were in a shootout with the police. 

you never really knew how you and jay went from petty theft and scamming to make a living to robbing banks and rich folk in the city. you’re sitting on your couch in your living room, it was a small house on the outskirts of town– closer to the countryside. 

jay said that it was better to have a house outside of the city because it was more under the radar. with the work, if you could even call it that, that the two of you do; it was good to lay low. the shootout with the cops had traumatized you for a while and when you thought you were over it, the dreams began. 

the day of the shootout started off like any regular day for the two of you. you spent the weeks prior planning your bank heist and the morning of, jay would leave early and would monitor the bank from a vantage point; taking note of everything that goes on and would later return home to you to prepare for the heist. 

everything was going normal, jay had everyone threatened and fearing for their lives on the ground with his gun raised in the air while you had yours aimed at a bank teller, instructing her to put the money in the black duffel bag you shoved into her hands. 

it was all normal… until it wasn’t. 

a patron of the bank had the heroic idea to try and tackle jay to the ground– and indeed he does. he catches jay off guard and when their two bodies collide with the floor your attention switches from the bank teller to your boyfriend who was now wrestling with this man. the hostages at the bank have begun to think they have courage but you were quick to cut away at any of their bravery with your gun. 

you made sure that no one had any more brave ideas as you aimed your gun at them, making your way to jay who was now sitting on top of the hostage, throwing down punches. 

eventually the two of them made their way back onto their feet but at some point jay lost his gun and the hostage found it in his hands. before you could even think, you see the man aim the gun at jay who was staggered and a gunshot echoes throughout the bank. 

the man falls to his knees as a single hole in chest begins to leak red. 

you had shot him to save jay and with the loud popping noise that emitted from your gun came a ringing in your ears that was then followed by the sirens of several police cars outside waiting for the two of you. 

this isn’t how this heist was supposed to go. 

no one has ever gotten hurt during any of these heists and right now there was a dead body lying in a pool of his blood as jay snatches his gun back and drags you out through the back of the bank– which surprisingly had no cops waiting for the two of you. 

it wasn’t until the two of you rounded the corner and found yourselves at a standoff with cops, ducking behind a random car on the street for cover, initiating the shootout with the cops. it lasted for about 6 minutes until jay told you to get the car so you could both escape. 

but all you had on your mind was the fact that someone lost their life that day and it was by your hands. 

your hands would forever be tainted red. 

whenever times go hard for you, you always went to two places: jay’s arms or the large tree in your backyard. the tree wasn’t anything special, just a simple oak tree but when jay was gone or when you wanted to be alone; you went to the tree to do some thinking. 

like it could provide you the answers you were looking for. 

when you were a child and still lived at home; you seldom attended church. your parents only attended to show face but never really cared for the church or the bible, and quite frankly; god. they only showed up when it mattered so that they appeared to be god fearing people but you knew that to be untrue. 

the tree of knowledge of good and bad was something you never expected to follow you throughout your life. you had learned about it once and ever since then it’s felt like the words behind it became a constant in your life the same way jay has. 

the tree itself resembled the idea of following and obeying god or choosing a path of your own where you, yourself, determine good and evil. in a lot of ways, the tree and jay were very similar and you’re able to identify the parallels between the two. 

should you follow the path that god had set out for you, obey what the great lord has instilled in everyone else, or should you follow what’s in your heart and mind. create your own destiny and develop your own understanding of what good and bad is based on your own faith. 

the answer was clear. 

the answer came in the form of your boyfriend, jay. 

he showed you everything you knew now and your faith was based on your love for jay. the foundation of your faith was rooted in the seed that you planted in the soil and was watered by jay. he poured himself into you and in return, you grew and poured yourself back into him. together the two of you were merely the existence of undying love and dedication. 

something that god could never provide for either of you. 

jay had arrived home and found the house to be empty. a singular lamp lit in the corner of the living room as he walked through the house and when he doesn’t instantly find you– he knows exactly where you are. 

“yn? baby, you alright?” 

jay emerges from the door, peeking his head out to find you laying by the tree in the backyard. he never understood why you had such an affinity to the tree in the backyard but he found it cute how much you loved it. you hadn’t heard jay call for you as your focus was the tree, you were fidgeting with the bark of the tree, telling it your worries as if it could answer. 

“my love?”

you look up in a slight startle when you see that jay was now standing above you, his head blocking out the moonlight– creating a slight halo around him. “hi, when did you get home?” you ask as he offers his hand to you but you gesture for him to sit with you instead of moving back inside the house. 

jay takes the spot next to you in front of the tree, both of you sitting in the comfort of silence for a few moments, staring up at the moon. “what’s on your mind? i know you like to come out here when you’ve got a lot going on up here.” jay says, gently tapping your temple, giggling in response. 

you rest your head on his shoulder before dumping your worries on him. telling him about the recurring dreams, nightmares even, of the day you had shot and killed that man during your bank heist. it was just about a year ago when that happened and when you had thought you moved past it; it came back to haunt you in your sleep. 

jay rubs your shoulders in comfort, “baby, i know that day was hard for you. i’m sorry that you’ve been dealing with that but just know that it isn’t your fault. you did that to save my life and i couldn’t be more grateful that you made the decision to pull that trigger.” 

you swallow the lump in your throat as you continue to listen to jay speak so casually about committing murder. 

“it was survival, you know? it was either me or him, and i never doubted in my mind and heart that you would choose me because i know how much you love and trust me. the same way i love and trust you. 

right, baby?” 

you look up at jay to see that he was looking down at you now, waiting for your answer. you stretched your neck to give his lips a kiss, one that jay deepens. 

“of course, jay. i love you with all my heart.” you say, placing your head back down onto his body, hearing the beating of his heart behind the sweater that he was wearing. jay did a lot to remind you that every decision the both of you have made was for the bettering of your lives. that none of it would ever be in vain because it was to make the both of you happy. 

jay was good at telling you what you needed to hear. 

he whispered all of the right things into your ear, soothing your worries and clearing your mind as you listened to his sweet and low voice. telling you that you shouldn’t feel guilty for taking the life of an innocent man because he threatened to take jay’s life. 

“you wouldn’t have let that happen right? you wouldn’t have let that man shoot me? and take the love of your life away, right? you wouldn’t let them happen..?” 

jay was asking you this but he already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear you say it. he had this ability to get what he wanted from you without telling you what it was that he wanted. now that he was asking you these questions, there was a certain aura surrounding jay that made you feel like there was only one answer. 

“of course. i’d never let anyone take you away from me..” 

jay smiles as he rests his head on yours. “good.. i know, baby. so i don’t want you to ever feel guilty before it was either me or him.” his voice was stern but not strict. it was like a father trying his hand at gentle parenting but you could tell that his patience was running thin under the guise of sounding calm. 

“come on, let’s go inside.” 

you tell him that he can go first, wanting to have a bit more time outside but jay instantly tells you that you need to come inside with him. that you didn’t need to dwell on these thoughts any further and that he wanted you inside with him so you should do that. you didn’t want to fight or push back, so you stood up when he did and followed him inside, just as you’ve done your whole life. 

you’re barely able to look back and glance at the tree before jay is gripping your wrist and pulling you inside. something about it was still gentle but you could tell something was off with jay from the conversation the two of you had. you couldn’t put your finger on what it was but it felt like jay was hiding how he truly felt about your lingering guilt building up inside of you. 

later that night when you laid in bed, jay’s arm around your waist and his snores filling the room, your eyes wide open and your mind running wild. the night was still, crickets chirped outside and the sound of the fan running in the corner of the room mixes with jay’s snores. you couldn’t quiet your mind and although jay did a good job of that earlier, your mind was only filled with other worries soon after. 

you had never once worried about jay, well you have; like when he had several guns pointed at him– but right now it was different. you worried about jay a lot, for his safety especially, but right now you were worried because you were starting to question whether or not you truly knew him. 

good and evil often found themselves on a very thin line. 

it was hard to differentiate good from bad when both have manifested into one person who has shown you that bad was justified when it was in the name of good. jay justified you committing murder because it was to save his life– but the situation only arose because the two of you were committing a crime; but you were only robbing a bank because you needed money to survive. 

a cycle. 

it was one thing that led to another that led to another. jay knew this, he knew that one action would only lead to another and he was banking on the fact that you’d stay by his side throughout all of it because he was all that you had. he convinced you that committing these crimes were all in good faith because it was to work towards the dreams the two of you have worked so hard to achieve. 

you sighed as you tried to do the mental gymnastics of why this was suddenly making you feel guilty. trying to convince yourself that all of the bad things that you’;ve done was all because you wanted a good life to live with jay. 

jay. 

he was all of the good this world had to offer you and you couldn’t imagine not having him by yourself. he dedicated his life to you, put his life on the line for you, bore his blood, sweat, and tears for you. 

and it was only fair that you did the same. 

who cares if a bit of blood was shed if it meant that it brought you and jay closer to the happiness you both strived for. jay showed you the faith that you followed now, he paved the path that you walked on, and he showed you the good and the bad. 

it was up to you to decide whether or not you would accept good and bad the way jay has. 

your foot was planted firmly on the gas pedal as you sped around the corners of the street, leaving skid marks on the concrete as you made your way to jay, hoping that he was still safe and hadn't met the same demise as the victim inside of the bank. 

jay could hear the car’s engine from a few blocks away and readied himself to jump in the car and make your getaway together. you stomp the break and the car does a 180 turn that causes all of the police officers to disperse in shock at the appearance of a car barreling towards them, you reach over to open the door and jay jumps inside before the cops could continue unloading their clips into your car. 

“hi, baby.” jay says, placing a wet kiss on your face as you sped off and away from the scene. safe and sound with neither of you hurt. “just in time– i was running out of bullets.” he laughed as if all of this was amusing to him. jay, honestly, found a thrill in all of this. 

what started off as you stealing jewelry turned into a life of crime as jay grew more and more enamored with the idea of this dreamland that he strived so hard for. he wanted you to have the life you deserved, even if it meant that you were the one pulling the trigger while jay encouraged you and justified taking someone else’s life. 

you had ditched the car when you were sure that no one was following you, abandoned it on the side of the road and hopped onto the back of jay’s motorcycle that he had hid in a random warehouse. the rest of the drive home was short as you felt the wind whipping past your face while you rested your body on jay’s back with your arms wrapped around his waist. 

when you got home, you dragged your body to the tree in your backyard, falling to the ground in exhaustion as you huffed and puffed. the events during the bank heist repeating in your head. the sound of your gun still echoing in your ears and the image of that man falling to his knees covered in blood burnt into your retinas. 

“you did so good today.” jay says, stepping into the backyard with you and wrapping his arms around you like a warm blanket. jay presses a kiss onto your hair and smiles, like he was proud of how everything played out. “i’m so happy you were there to save me.. you did what you needed to do and i’m so proud of you.” 

good and bad was something that everyone should be able to identify. 

god himself has created a moral grading level that all of his followers should obey. 

but not you and definitely not jay. 

jay showed you what good and bad was. 

there was a fine line between the two. 

good and bad are different sides of the same leaf. like when someone says, “i’ve turned a new leaf.” at the end of the day, it’s still the same leaf. 

good and bad coexisted together

and jay was both good and bad, and you accepted all of him even if it scared you sometimes. 

as jay holds you close to him, a single leaf from the tree above you slowly falls to the ground. signifying that fall has come and the tree in your backyard has begun to lose its leaves. much like how the events of today have led you to lose a part of yourself but because jay was by your side, you just had to believe that everything would be okay. 

the garden of eden

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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[bambieyedoll]

WHEN THE WOLF BOWS .・。.・゜✫・゜・

summary: she’s spent her whole life afraid of wolves. he’s spent his whole life waiting for her. when fate ties them together, love must fight to be louder than fear.

pairing: sam uley x fem!reader

word count: 2,8k

warnings/notes: short writing, angst and fluff, reader is afraid of wolves, mentions of trauma, desperate and begging sam, mix of headcanons and a detailed scene.

masterlist | check out my other work !

sam knew immediately the imprint was different the second he saw you —the pull was there, magnetic and undeniable— but when you flinched away from a dog walking past you on the beach, he understood something was deeply wrong.

his heart cracked a little, seeing the fear flash across your face.

he learned about your childhood trauma from embry, who overheard you mentioning it once in passing: a terrifying encounter with an aggressive wolf while you were camping as a kid. it left deep scars you never fully healed from.

“she’s scared of wolves, man. like, seriously scared.”

sam felt trapped for the first time since phasing —desperate to protect you, desperate to be close, but terrified of what you’d think if you knew the truth.

he swore he’d move slowly, no matter how much the imprint ached inside him.

at first, sam approached you like he was trying not to spook a deer. gentle smiles. careful distance. his voice always low, soothing.

“i’m not here to hurt you,” he’d murmur whenever you seemed overwhelmed, “i promise, sweetheart.”

the more you opened up to him, the more sam fell. you were kind, clever, so soft-hearted despite your fears —and every day, it killed him a little more that he couldn’t be honest about what he was.

sam refusing to phase anywhere near you. even if he needed to. even if it hurt.

he would not risk you seeing the wolf and losing the safe place he was trying so hard to build between you.

“i’ll tell her when she’s ready,” he promised himself, clenching his fists until his knuckles went white.

when you eventually admitted your fear to him —cheeks burning, voice trembling— sam just listened. no judgement. no pity. just silent, steady acceptance.

“i don’t think i could ever be near a wolf again,” you whispered, shame creeping up your spine.

sam touched your hand so gently you barely felt it. “then you won’t have to,” he promised.

the night he realized he had to tell you the truth nearly broke him. he sat awake for hours, fists tangled in his hair, replaying every way you might scream, cry, run.

but the imprint pulsed inside him—trust her. she’s stronger than her fear.

nothing could prepare him for the moment you finally found out. it didn’t happen the way he planned.

the storm hit earlier than anyone expected. one minute you were sitting on sam’s porch, laughing at the sound of thunder rumbling far away, and the next, the sky cracked open, heavy rain hammering down.

“stay here,” sam said, already standing, voice steady. “i’ll grab something to cover us.”

you nodded, hugging your arms to your chest against the sudden chill. you loved storms —normally— but something about the sudden drop in pressure made you uneasy, your skin prickling with a warning you couldn’t name.

you didn’t mean to follow him.

you just didn’t like being left alone in the sudden dark.

padding inside the house, calling softly for him, you heard something —a low, almost animalistic growl— from deeper in the hallway.

“sam?”

no answer.

the next few seconds were a blur.

you turned the corner toward the back door and froze—

sam was there, or —no— not sam —something huge, something black and hulking, crouched just beneath the porch light, the shape of it flickering like a nightmare against the rain.

a wolf.

a massive wolf.

your mind short-circuited, instincts screaming before your brain even caught up.

you didn’t see the way the wolf’s black eyes widened —how it stumbled back, trying to make itself smaller— because your body was already moving, heart slamming against your ribs, feet pounding the slick floor as you ran.

you didn’t hear the desperate, broken whine the wolf let out as you bolted into the woods.

you just ran.

branches slapped at your arms, the rain blinding you, but none of it mattered. you had to get away —from the house, from that thing— you had to move before it came after you, before it—

“Y/N!”

you choked on a breath as you heard sam’s voice behind you —not the growl, not the snarl you expected— but his voice. rough. frantic. human.

“please—wait—!”

you stumbled to a halt without meaning to, panting, turning back just enough to see him—

sam.

soaked to the bone, barefoot, standing in the mud, his hands raised like he was approaching something wild and wounded.

“it’s me,” he panted, voice cracking. “it’s still me, baby—”

he took a single step closer and you flinched so hard it was like you’d been struck.

the pain on sam’s face was worse than anything you’d ever seen.

he dropped to his knees in the mud without hesitation, as if lowering himself would make him less terrifying —as if it could undo the sheer panic clawing up your spine.

“i didn’t mean—” his voice broke, “—god, i would never hurt you. please, you have to believe me. you have to—”

you shook your head, backing another step away, still trembling, too many emotions strangling your throat.

sam’s face crumpled like he’d been punched.

the imprint —that golden, glowing thing tying him to you— howled inside his chest, raw and desperate, feeling you pulling away, feeling your fear—of him.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, rain dripping from his hair into his eyes. “i should’ve told you. i should’ve told you, sweetheart. i swear to you, i’m still me. the wolf—it’s part of me, but it would never hurt you. i would never hurt you.”

the woods were so quiet around you both that you could hear his breathing —shaky, uneven, pleading.

you wanted to believe him. you did.

but the memory of the black wolf standing where sam had been —the fear still flooding your system— kept your feet rooted in place.

sam didn’t move. he stayed kneeling there, hands open, throat working around a thousand apologies he couldn’t force past the lump in his throat.

if you asked him to walk away—

if you asked him to leave you—

he would. even if it killed him.

because seeing you terrified of him —his imprint— was worse than any death he could imagine.

the rain kept falling. hard and cold, soaking through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. but you barely noticed.

all you could feel was the pounding of your heart —the twisting, wrenching confusion inside your chest— and sam’s voice, still raw and broken, repeating again and again:

“please, sweetheart. please.”

“i would never hurt you.”

“i’m so sorry.”

you stared at him. at the man you trusted with every piece of you. at the man you loved without even realizing when it had happened. and yet…

there had been a wolf standing there. massive. terrifying. how could both things be true?

your legs shook. your body screamed at you to keep running. but your heart —the part of you that had always felt safe with sam— hesitated.

he wasn’t chasing you.

he wasn’t angry.

he wasn’t trying to force you closer.

he was kneeling in the mud. shivering. silent now. waiting like a man on the edge of a cliff, begging silently for a chance not to fall.

something inside you cracked.

“sam,” you whispered, barely audible over the rain.

his head snapped up instantly, eyes wide, desperate —but he still didn’t move, didn’t dare.

you swallowed hard, your throat burning. every part of you was screaming in confusion, in fear.

“i don’t understand,” you choked out, taking a stumbling half-step backward. “how— what—”

the words collapsed in your mouth, too huge to untangle.

sam stayed perfectly still, his bare hands open, palms facing you like he was trying to show he was harmless. his voice broke when he spoke:

“i never wanted you to find out this way,” he rasped. “i wanted to tell you. i swear to you, y/n. i was trying to find the right time. the right way.”

you flinched back a step without thinking, and sam’s face crumpled —but he still didn’t rise. still didn’t chase.

“i’m not…” he swallowed hard. “i’m not human. not fully. i’m—” his voice cracked. “i’m a shapeshifter. a wolf. part of an old tribe meant to protect this land. protect everyone.”

you shook your head, dizzy. “that thing—”

“me,” he said quickly, urgently. “that was me. i would never hurt you. i could never. even like that, y/n. especially like that.”

the ache in his voice —the desperation— made your chest tighten painfully.

you looked at him, this man who had only ever been gentle with you, whose touch had always steadied you, whose voice could chase nightmares away.

you thought of the way the wolf had folded into the ground, trying to look smaller, less frightening, even as it towered above you.

it didn’t make sense.

and yet… it did.

some part of you —the deepest, most instinctive part— had always known there was something bigger about sam. something ancient. something untouchable.

now you understood.

your hands trembled at your sides, heart hammering so hard it made you lightheaded.

sam lifted his gaze —slowly, pleadingly— but stayed kneeling, rainwater dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin.

“i understand if you can’t—” his voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he couldn’t bear to see the answer on your face. “if you can’t love me like this.”

“i’ll give you anything you need—space, time, anything— but please,” his voice broke, raw and pleading, “i’ll be yours however you need me.”

your heart twisted violently.

because sam uley —strong, steady sam— looked like he was the one about to fall apart now.

you stood there for a long moment, rain running down your face like tears, fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. fear and instinct gnawed at your ribs, but something softer pressed against it. something louder, deeper —the way your heart had always known sam even before your mind caught up.

the bond between you —the pull that had always felt like home— was still there.

strong. unbreakable. true.

tears blurred your vision as you stumbled a half-step closer, your hands shaking so badly you almost missed when you reached for him.

sam froze —a tiny, wounded sound escaping him, like he couldn’t believe you were touching him— but he didn’t dare move, didn’t even breathe.

“i’m scared,” you said honestly, voice trembling. “i’m still scared.”

you watched the light flicker in his eyes —the way his whole body seemed to wilt— but you didn’t stop.

“but i’m trying,” you whispered. “because it’s you.”

sam made a broken, desperate sound —half-sob, half-laugh— and dropped his forehead against your hands where they cupped his cheeks, like he couldn’t believe you were still there.

you threaded your fingers into his rain-wet hair, grounding yourself in the familiar feel of him, and choked on a sob of your own.

“i love you,” you managed, tears slipping down your face.

sam let out a low, shuddering breath —like he’d been drowning and you were the air he’d been clawing for— and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him with a gentleness that broke your heart all over again.

you buried your face in his shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline, feeling his heartbeat hammering wildly against your palms.

sam buried his face in your hair, his whole body shaking with the force of his emotions.

you felt his lips brush your temple —featherlight— and heard him murmur, over and over, like a prayer:

“i’m yours. i’m yours. i’m yours.”

and as the rain washed over you, cold and clean and endless, you held onto each other like you could outrun the whole world —like nothing else mattered but this.

because despite the fear, despite the shock still burning in your veins— you knew one thing with absolute certainty.

you would never leave him.

and sam —fierce, desperate, heart-on-his-sleeve sam— would never stop fighting for you.

sam doesn’t let go of you for a long time.

even when the rain soaks you both to the bone, even when you’re shivering, he just holds you tighter, one big hand cradling the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip even a little.

he speaks so softly to you afterward.

his voice is usually deep and commanding when he talks to the pack, but with you now? it’s a low, almost reverent murmur against your skin. “you’re safe. i’ve got you. i swear, sweetheart, i’ve got you.”

he wraps you in his jacket before taking you anywhere. the moment he realizes you’re cold, he immediately shrugs off his own jacket —not caring that he’s soaked— and gently wraps it around you, tucking it close like he’s shielding you from the entire world.

sam moves slower around you for days afterward. no sudden movements, no raised voice, no flashing irritation —he’s so aware of your lingering fear.

every time he steps close, he hesitates first, giving you the choice to meet him halfway.

he asks permission for everything.

before touching your hand. before sitting too close. before leaning in.

you can see the question in his eyes every time: is this okay? are you sure?

and the tiny, grateful smile that blooms when you say yes.

the pack teases him about being so soft around you, but no one says anything twice —the look sam gives them could kill.

cuddles are a big thing. sam always keeps you on the side of him that’s human and warm, holding you like you’re something fragile and precious.

“you’re safe with me,” he murmurs against your hair. “always.”

sam gets incredibly tense anytime someone in the pack even jokes about phasing near you.

like —deadly serious.

“not around her,” he growls lowly, “or you’ll answer to me.”

it’s not even a threat. it’s a promise.

when you start spending nights at his house, sam makes sure everything feels safe.

no wolf-related books. no forest-y paintings. no sudden noises.

it’s warm, quiet, gentle —like he built a world where nothing could touch you.

sam tries so hard not to fall apart when you tell him you trust him.

he’s very slow with physical affection at first —not because he doesn’t want to touch you (he aches to), but because he’s terrified of making you feel trapped or cornered.

every hug, every brush of his fingers, every kiss is offered like a gift you’re free to accept or turn away.

if you ever have nightmares, sam is up in seconds.

no hesitation. no grogginess. just pure instinct to protect.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling you into his lap. “you’re safe. nothing’s gonna get past me, alright?”

and he rocks you gently until you fall asleep again, refusing to let you go.

but you slowly start to notice how gentle sam is —even in his strength.

the way he’s careful not to slam doors. the way he makes himself smaller when you’re upset.

the way he’d rather break himself apart than ever scare you.

you are sam’s entire world.

he can’t stop looking at you.

there’s a new kind of softness in the way he watches you —like every time you glance at him, you catch him memorizing you.

she stayed. she stayed. it hums under his skin like a prayer.

sam smells different to you after that night.

there’s something about the bond between you that deepens after you faced your fear —now you can almost feel him in your chest. his scent is grounding: pine needles, rain, the worn cotton of his jacket. home.

little, wordless moments mean the most to him. you touching his hand first. you leaning into him without hesitation.

you falling asleep against him and sighing like you’re at peace.

those tiny moments? they destroy him in the best way.

if you tug on the hem of his shirt, or hide your face in his chest, or climb into his lap without a word —sam just melts. his whole body relaxes like this is it. this is all i need.

sam never pressures you to see his wolf form again.

if you ever want to —if you ever ask— he’ll do it. but until then, he makes it crystal clear: you are enough, just as you are, without bravery or proving anything.

the first time you ask him to shift again (weeks later), he almost cries.

not because you aren’t scared anymore —but because you trust him enough to try.

and when he shifts in front of you again, carefully, slowly—

this time, you don’t flinch.

you step right into him.

bury your hands in his fur.

feel the rumble of his heart under your palms.

and sam —the wolf, the man, your sam— whines low in his throat and nuzzles into your touch like you’re the only thing that matters in the whole world.

one day, you half-joke that he’s like your “guard dog,” and sam gives you this little crooked smile you’ve never seen before.

“guard wolf,” he corrects gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “but only for you.”

he swears —deep down— that he will never, ever let the world hurt you again.

no matter what it takes.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Soot Sprite - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 3.87k

series masterlist | main masterlist

“You didn’t tell me this was a walk-walk.”

Peeta’s voice is light, teasing, but he’s already trailing half a step behind you on the cracked road leading out of the Victor’s Village, long legs catching up as you dodge a patch of grass curling up through the pavement.

You glance back at him. “What did you think it was gonna be? A tour bus?”

“I was picturing a nice sit in the sunshine. Maybe some strawberries. Not emotional excavation.”

You roll your eyes, but you smile too. “You’re the one who said, and I quote, ‘of course I’ll come, just tell me when.’”

He groans dramatically. “Past Peeta is a menace.”

“Past Peeta is the reason you’re wearing those shoes,” you say, nodding toward the very white, very not built-for-dusty-ruins sneakers on his feet.

“They’re comfortable!” he protests. “Besides, I’m here for moral support, not practical.”

You snort but don’t answer. The road ahead curves gently toward the remains of the town. The trees thin. The sky widens. Your chest tightens, but your feet don’t stop.

Peeta must notice the shift in your silence, because he quiets too.

You take a breath.

In.

Out.

The rhythm helps. Just like it always has.

You hadn’t meant to come back here. Not really. Not yet. But something had changed in you after that morning with Haymitch—after the toast and the teasing and the stillness that felt like a promise. The ache in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it had moved. And now… now it felt like maybe you could carry it with you instead of being crushed under it.

You glance over at Peeta, who’s walking beside you now with a gentler expression.

“Thanks for coming,” you say quietly.

He bumps your arm with his. “Always.”

After walking a little while in silence, you cross into the town square.

Everything is exactly the same.

Not the way it used to be—just the way it was when you came back the first time. Months ago. Burned out. Empty. Stuck.

You stop walking.

Peeta slows beside you, his arm brushing yours.

Nothing moves. The air feels heavier here, still thick with memory. You don’t need to look around. You already know what’s there, what isn’t. It’s all carved into your brain like a map that won’t fade.

Your throat tightens.

Peeta doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You take a slow breath, feeling it settle into your ribs.

In.

Out.

“I thought it would be harder,” you murmur, voice barely above the breeze.

He turns toward you slightly. “Is it?”

You nod. “But not in the way I thought.”

He’s quiet again. Just present.

You shift your weight, hands at your sides, eyes still fixed somewhere you’re not ready to name.

“It used to feel like this weight,” you say. “Every second. I thought coming back here would break me open.”

“And now?”

You let your gaze drift over the stillness.

“It still hurts,” you admit. “But it doesn’t feel like it owns me anymore.”

There’s a pause, then Peeta says softly, “I’m proud of you.”

Your breath stutters, half a laugh, half a warning. “Don’t say that. I’ll cry.”

“I’m still proud of you,” he says. “Even if you cry.”

You swallow, blinking fast. Your fingers twitch at your side, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach for his hand.

He takes it without hesitation.

You squeeze once. He squeezes back.

And you just stand there together in the center of what hasn’t changed, knowing you have.

The quiet lingers for a while.

Long enough for your pulse to slow. Long enough for the weight in your chest to feel less like a burden and more like proof—you survived this place. You’re still here.

You’re mid-exhale when Peeta suddenly tugs your hand and yanks you a step to the left.

“Wait.”

You blink. “What?”

“Look,” he says, crouching so fast he almost eats it. “Look, look, look.”

You follow his gaze down and—

“Oh my god.”

He’s holding up a half-melted ceramic mug with the words #1 Mayor barely legible on the side.

“No,” you say.

“Yes,” he whispers, reverent. “The ghost of Mayor Undersee demands justice.”

You laugh—actually laugh—and cover your mouth. “That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Right?” he says, grinning. “I’m keeping it.”

“You’re not keeping it.”

“I’m emotionally attached now,” he says, already cradling it like a rescued bird. “You can’t separate us.”

“You found it in the dirt.”

“It found me,” he corrects. “Don’t be jealous.”

You wipe a tear from your eye, still laughing. “We’re literally standing in the ruins of our dead town.”

“And I’m choosing to heal,” he says, dead serious. “Through sarcasm. And souvenir theft.”

You shake your head, heart still pounding from the mix of grief and joy and Peeta being Peeta.

“I hate you,” you say, still laughing.

“No, you don’t.”

You glance at him—smeared with dust, cradling a hideous mug, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard.

You sigh. “Unfortunately, no.”

He grins and tucks the mug into his satchel like it’s priceless.

And just like that, the air shifts again. Not heavy. Not gone. Just lighter.

Like maybe grief doesn’t have to be quiet all the time.

You keep walking.

The path toward the Seam is cracked and faded, but it’s still there—like it refused to disappear even when everything else burned. Weeds push through in places, sprouting from ash and gravel. The sun is higher now, heat settling into your skin, and Peeta’s back to rambling about how he’s going to clean the mayor mug and repurpose it as a sugar bowl.

You’re smiling, shoulders loose again, when you glance to the side and realize he’s gone quiet.

Your steps slow.

He’s a few feet behind you now, completely still.

Looking at what used to be the bakery.

What’s left of it, anyway. Which is… nothing. Same as it was months ago. But you watch the way his shoulders tense—how his jaw locks the way it always does when he’s holding something in too tightly.

You don’t say his name. Just take a slow step back toward him.

His eyes are fixed on the space where the door used to be. The stone frame is still scorched, half-swallowed by vines. There’s nothing left to see, but you know he does. Every shelf. Every counter. The warmth of the ovens.

He exhales through his nose, quiet but sharp, like he’s trying to breathe it all out.

You speak gently. “You okay?”

He nods once, too fast. “Yeah.”

You don’t believe him.

Still, you don’t press.

Instead, you reach out and brush your fingers against his.

He doesn’t look at you, but his pinky hooks around yours.

“I used to wake up every morning before dawn,” he says, voice soft, distant. “Knew the smell by heart. The heat. It’s like… part of me still thinks it’s there.”

You nod, throat tight. “I know what you mean.”

He squeezes your hand, still not looking at you. “It doesn’t own me either. Not anymore.”

You stay beside him a moment longer. Not moving. Not fixing it. Just being.

And when he finally takes a step forward, you follow.

Toward the Seam. Toward the memory of something harder. Toward whatever’s next.

You’re only a few steps from the edge of what used to be Fiza’s house when it happens.

Something explodes out of the brush with a sharp rustle and barrels toward your foot.

You shout—actually shout—and leap back, nearly knocking into Peeta.

“What the hell—”

It’s a kitten.

Tiny. All wiry legs and frantic meowing, its fur black as soot and sticking up in strange angles like it just lost a fight with the wind. It stumbles as it runs, catches itself, and then practically launches into your ankle like you were the destination all along.

Peeta freezes. “Is that thing feral?”

The kitten meows again, louder this time, and starts climbing up your leg.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, bending down fast to scoop it up. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

It keeps purring. Or vibrating. Or both.

You stare at it.

It’s skin and bones. A little too small, even for a kitten. Runt-sized. Its ears are too big for its head, and its tail flicks like it has opinions already. But its eyes—

You go still.

Gray.

Soft, cloudy-gray eyes in a too-skinny face.

Your breath catches.

Peeta tilts his head. “Hey. What’s—”

“She looks like Fiza,” you say, quiet.

He falls silent.

You look down at the kitten curled into your chest now, still purring like it’s got something to prove. The black fur, the wide gray eyes, the way her ribs shift under your palm when she breathes.

“She was tiny,” you murmur. “Shorter than me, even. Always got teased for it. Wore boots two sizes too big and told everyone it was ‘so she could outrun the Capitol faster.’”

Peeta smiles softly but doesn’t speak.

The kitten kneads her paws into your shirt, one claw catching slightly on the fabric.

You exhale shakily, a laugh breaking through the weight in your chest. “She would’ve named this one something awful. Like Coal Dust or War Cry.”

“I vote you honor her legacy,” Peeta says. “Go with something unhinged.”

You blink back heat from your eyes, pressing your nose against the kitten’s fur.

“She found me,” you whisper.

“Looks like she’s keeping you.”

The kitten refuses to be put down for more than five seconds at a time.

You try once, gently, just to adjust your shirt—and she screeches and immediately attempts to scale your body again like a jagged, purring spider. Peeta’s already made three jokes about how you’ve been chosen.

You’re not even mad about it.

You shift her into the crook of one arm as you and Peeta head back toward the Victor’s Village, the ruins of the Seam behind you now, a scratchy warmth in your chest replacing the ache.

“I’m naming her Soot Sprite,” you say, like it’s already been decided.

Peeta blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Soot Sprite,” you repeat. “In honor of Fiza. Because she would’ve picked something horrible and cursed, and I can’t disappoint her in the afterlife.”

Peeta processes that. Nods solemnly. “So what I’m hearing is, you’re raising a goblin.”

“She’s perfect.”

“She’s covered in dirt and definitely has worms.”

You ignore him. “We’ll have to call someone—get dewormer with the next supply drop. Maybe flea treatment too, just in case.”

Peeta stops walking. “You already have a to-do list?”

“She’s mine, Peeta.”

The kitten lets out a dramatic squeak like she’s backing you up.

He stares at you, then at the kitten, then back at you. “Haymitch is going to hate this.”

You keep walking. “Haymitch will get over it.”

“You’re gonna bring that little gremlin into his house.”

“She’s part of the family.”

Peeta makes a strangled sound behind you. “You’re both gonna die.”

You don’t respond—mostly because the kitten starts trying to climb your shoulder again, claws poking through your shirt, and you’re too busy keeping her from launching herself into the fabric.

Peeta groans as he jogs to catch up. “I’m not helping when he yells. Just so we’re clear.”

“He won’t yell.”

“He’s absolutely going to yell.”

You look at the kitten.

She yawns with her whole body, then bites your sleeve.

You grin.

“He’ll love her,” you lie.

You just walk into Haymitch’s house like you’re not smuggling a chaotic soot-colored creature into his life forever.

Peeta’s right behind you, his face already cracking, trying so hard not to laugh that he looks like he might explode. The kitten—Soot Sprite—is squirming behind your back, tucked in your arms and not at all thrilled about being contained.

“Just… be cool,” you hiss under your breath.

Peeta snorts. “I’m so excited.”

Haymitch is on the couch when you enter. Legs stretched out, one arm slung along the backrest, a book open in his lap and a half-finished drink on the table beside him.

He doesn’t look up yet. “You’re late.”

“We weren’t supposed to be here at a specific time.”

“Exactly,” he mutters. “And you still managed to be late.”

You take a slow step forward, keeping the kitten mostly still behind your back.

“Okay,” you start, voice bright and innocent in the way that definitely means something’s wrong. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

Haymitch finally looks up.

His eyes narrow.

Peeta immediately chokes on his own breath and turns away like he’s inspecting the wall.

“Why,” Haymitch says slowly, “do I feel like that sentence is about to ruin my entire day?”

You smile too wide. “It’s not a bad surprise.”

He sets the book down carefully. “I swear to god, if you—”

You pull the kitten from behind your back and hold her up like you’re presenting royalty.

Haymitch blinks.

The kitten meows.

Audibly.

Once.

Then again, louder.

Peeta wheezes behind you.

There’s a silence so sharp you swear you can hear the creak of the wood floor.

You clear your throat. “Her name is Soot Sprite.”

The kitten starts purring like a chainsaw.

Haymitch doesn’t move.

You shift your weight. “She found me. She imprinted. Like a duckling.”

Peeta makes a strangled snort and bolts into the kitchen, cackling.

Haymitch stares at the tiny thing now climbing up your sleeve with murder in her heart.

Finally, he says, “Why is it making that sound.”

“She’s happy,” you say, beaming.

“She sounds like a dying engine.”

“She’s sensitive.”

He stares at the kitten. Then at you. Then leans back into the couch like he’s accepted his fate. “This is revenge for every time I’ve fallen asleep on your porch, isn’t it?”

You sit beside him with Soot Sprite still vibrating in your arms.

“She’s just staying for a while.”

“She’s not leaving,” he says flatly.

You grin. “No. She’s not.”

Soot Sprite sneezes once and then promptly falls asleep curled up in the crook of your elbow.

Haymitch watches this happen, defeated.

Peeta pops his head back in from the kitchen. “So when’s the wedding? Do I call her my sister now?”

Haymitch throws a pillow directly at his face.

Peeta insists on helping when you get up to give Soot Sprite a bath.

“Because I’m great with animals,” he says, already rolling up his sleeves with the reckless confidence of someone who has clearly never bathed a cat.

You’re standing in Haymitch’s kitchen, sleeves pushed up, the kitten perched like a gargoyle on the edge of the sink. She’s crusted with dirt and… something. You don’t ask questions. You just know she’s about to become so clean and so pissed about it.

Haymitch doesn’t even come in the room.

You think he might’ve fled on instinct.

“All right, Soot Sprite,” Peeta says, eyeing her like a soldier before battle. “This can go one of two ways.”

She growls.

“You’re gonna make this so dramatic,” you sigh.

You test the water—lukewarm, gentle—and pick up the dish soap, because it’s the only thing on hand and at this point, she’s probably more soot than fur.

Peeta starts humming a funeral march.

You shoot him a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m absolutely helping. I’m contributing morale.”

You scoop a little water into your hands, testing it against her fur.

And then it happens.

She locks eyes with you like you’ve betrayed her soul—and lets out a screech so ungodly you actually flinch.

“Oh my god,” Peeta gasps, backing up. “Did she summon something?”

“She’s fine,” you mutter, gently pressing her into the basin with both hands as she flails like a possessed raccoon.

Water splashes everywhere. You’re soaked. Peeta’s got suds on his cheek. The floor is a crime scene.

“This is what I get for trying to help something small,” you groan. “This is cosmic punishment.”

Peeta’s dying in the corner. “Do you want me to—”

“No. Your morale is enough.”

Eventually, after much screeching, flopping, and one near-death leap, Soot Sprite goes still. Just… still. Her head slumps forward, her tiny body dripping with suds, tail twitching once in utter betrayal.

“Oh no,” Peeta whispers. “She’s accepted death.”

You rinse her as gently as possible, biting back laughter.

“Maybe she’s just accepted me,” you say, and she opens one gray eye like she heard you.

You wrap her in a dish towel like a burrito, and she lets out a pitiful mewl, then flops completely against your chest.

“You did great,” Peeta says, wiping his face with the sleeve he rolled up forty minutes ago. “I’ll light a candle for her at dawn.”

“You’re never allowed to help again.”

“I was invaluable.”

You glance toward the living room. “Think Haymitch is still alive?”

“I think he’s pretending he died so he doesn’t have to deal with us.”

You gently rock the kitten in your arms. She’s still glaring. Still soaked. But purring again.

You whisper, “She’s never going to forgive me.”

Peeta grins. “You’re her mom now. She already did.”

Soot Sprite, now mostly dry and still swaddled in the dish towel, stares back from the middle of the counter. She looks smug. Sinister, even. Like she knows you’re arguing about her.

Peeta groans. “This is how horror movies start.”

“She’s cute,” you remind him.

“She’s glaring at me.”

“She’s hungry.”

“She can’t eat that.”

Peeta says it while already backing away from the cutting board like it’s possessed.

“She has to eat something,” you argue, holding up the suspiciously grayish slab of raw chicken you found in Haymitch’s icebox. “And unless you want to go knock on his nonexistent neighbor’s door for cat food that also doesn’t exist, this is what we’ve got.”

“She’s like… six ounces.”

“She’s an apex predator.”

You drop the chicken into a shallow dish and set it on the counter in front of her.

She doesn’t hesitate.

Not even for a second.

She lunges forward like she’s been starved for years, teeth flashing, paws gripping the edge of the bowl with wild intensity. You actually flinch at the snarling sound she makes.

“Oh my god,” Peeta breathes. “She’s possessed.”

“She’s enthusiastic.”

“She’s eating like she’s on a timer.”

You lean over slightly to watch. “I didn’t even cut it up…”

“She doesn’t need it cut up,” Peeta hisses. “She’s turning it into pulp.”

You both go quiet.

The only sound in the room is the kitten making unholy noises as she annihilates raw chicken like it owes her money.

“She’s gonna throw up,” you whisper.

“She’s gonna kill us in our sleep,” Peeta says.

Soot Sprite growls low in her throat, not even looking up.

You both take an automatic step back.

“She’s definitely Fiza reincarnated,” you murmur.

Peeta nods. “I believe it.”

You cross your arms and watch in weird, horrified awe.

“…Should we get her more?” you ask.

Peeta looks offended. “I’m not losing fingers so she can have seconds.”

It’s quiet now.

Suspiciously quiet.

Soot Sprite is passed out on the kitchen table like a tiny, bloated gremlin. Belly round, paws twitching in her sleep, a smear of something unidentifiable on her chin. Her tail flicks once like she’s dreaming about murder.

You and Peeta are sitting at the table, trying to look casual. Innocent. Normal.

You are none of those things.

The dish that once held raw chicken is now empty. The cutting board has been wiped but not well. The counter smells vaguely like regret and a very specific brand of chaos.

“I feel like we witnessed a crime,” you whisper.

“I feel like we committed one,” Peeta replies.

You’re about to argue when the floorboards creak.

You both freeze.

Haymitch walks in.

He’s wearing the expression of a man who expected disaster and is still somehow disappointed to find it.

He takes one look at the counter.

Stops.

Looks at you.

Then Peeta.

Then at Soot Sprite, belly-up, absolutely unrepentant.

“…What,” he says slowly, “happened in here?”

“She ate,” you say too quickly.

Peeta adds, “Vigorously.”

Haymitch blinks. “Why is there a scratch on the cutting board?”

“She’s passionate,” you say.

“She’s feral,” Haymitch mutters.

He walks over to the kitten, who doesn’t even stir. He nudges her gently with one finger. She makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a snore.

“She gonna die?”

“She’s just full,” you say brightly.

Peeta grins. “We fed her raw chicken.”

Haymitch turns toward him so slowly it might be a threat.

You both smile like that’ll help.

He stares. Then closes his eyes. “This is why I drink.”

You shrug. “She’s happy.”

He looks down at the tiny monster curled up on his kitchen table, then back at you.

“She better love me,” he mutters.

“She will,” you say, scooping her back into your arms. “She’s family now.”

Haymitch sighs. Deep. Resigned.

Then—quietly—he reaches out and scratches the kitten behind one ear.

She purrs in her sleep.

He mutters, “Great. You brought home a demon.”

You smile into her fur.

“She’s ours.”

The house is finally quiet again.

Peeta left half an hour ago, still cackling to himself as he walked out the door. “Tell Soot Sprite I love her,” he’d called, and Haymitch had replied with, “I’m not saying anything nice to a gremlin that bites my fingers.”

Now it’s just the two of you—and the kitten.

Soot Sprite is curled into a tight little loaf right in Haymitch’s lap, her tiny face tucked against his thigh. She’s purring. Loudly. Steadily. Like she’s doing it just to spite him.

Haymitch looks miserable.

“She’s drooling,” he mutters, staring down at her like she’s personally offended him.

“She’s happy,” you say, curled into his side, legs tucked beneath you and head on his shoulder.

“She’s a hazard.”

“She likes you.”

“She’s using me for body heat.”

You lift your head just enough to raise an eyebrow. “You could move her.”

He looks down.

She purrs louder.

“…I could,” he says, clearly lying.

You hide your smile and settle in closer, letting your cheek rest against his chest.

Outside, the wind has gone soft. The air hums with the low, summer quiet that only happens at the very end of the day. Inside, it’s warm and dim, and every sound feels like it belongs.

“I think she’s claiming you as her father,” you say quietly.

“Nope.”

“Too late.”

He shifts slightly to look down at you, one hand resting on your knee, his thumb drawing slow, absent shapes against your skin. “You bring home a goblin and now she’s our daughter?”

“Yep.”

He snorts. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You grin. “You love me.”

He doesn’t argue.

Soot Sprite sighs and stretches one tiny paw across his stomach, fully claiming him.

You laugh, soft and sleepy.

He leans his head back against the couch with a sigh. “This is my life now, huh?”

You look at him. At the man who used to think he didn’t deserve a future. Who’s now got a kitten in his lap and you curled into his side and a heartbeat that doesn’t panic every time someone stays.

You nod. “Yeah. It is.”

He doesn’t say anything back. But after a moment, his arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you even closer.

The kitten purrs.

And Haymitch doesn’t move her.

Next Part

[nthewriter]

(Thank you all for the love for my fic 🥹

Age and years of birth of cod in my fic lolilol

Soap survived the headshot in 2023. This fic takes in the future so 2033.

Simon: 44 year old (1989)

Johnny: 40 year old (1993)

Kyle: 40 year old (1993)

John: 52 year old (1981)

Reader: likely to be 23-26

Simon was 19 when he had reader

Reader was born in late 2000's

Simon left in 2014 when reader was 6 , reader mother died in December 2014 from a drunk driver.)

Being Simon's long lost biological child

part 1 - part 2 (you are here)

It felt like staring at his own reflection.

Except it wasn’t the mirror in the bathroom or the mirror that had belonged to Johnny's grandmother that he preciously had hung in their bedroom.

They were the portrait of Elsie. Same eye and hair colours. But the way they carried themselves and frowned, with a cold glare, completely reminded him of himself. It was a perfect mix of the one night stand he had with her.

Tilting his head, Simon began to assess them: a little muscular, a scar on the cheek, that reminded him of the same one he had. It was really his kid. Down to the bones, down to the scarred skin they shared. They wore the usual uniform of a Konni, except a bit ripped and a spot of blood on the left arm. Gaz had explained they had shot them down so they could bring them to justice.

"You don't recognise me do you?" He said, and his tone was soft, surprising himself. He was usually gruff and down right mean during interrogation. But this was his child, he repeated himself.

The person in front of them squinted their eyes and Simon hold his breath. They groaned, squirming at their bonds. The guards had restrained them on the chair.

"I do." They replied with a roll of their eyes, clearly annoyed by the situation. "You're my old dad, right? The one who left me and mom without saying goodbye."

His heart clenched and broke a little. He had been stupid back then, and... even now. He took a deep breath, approaching them, trying to look menacing.

"This doesn't give you the right to join a terrorist group. I know you are angry but-"

"But what, dad?" They sarcastically cut him with a snort. "I should have searched for you? I should have come, enlist, and beg you to take me back?" They stayed silent for a while. "Makarov is our true father to us orphans."

In a way, it felt idiotic. His child was British and it made no sense that they would say such a thing. They weren’t Russian. But then he remembered what Kyle had told him: the indoctrination. The Konni and their new head had changed strategy since Makarov and his main followers had died. Recruiting kids from all over the world who didn't have anyone... That's why they said that.

"You have two choices here." Simon crouched in front of them. It reminded him when they were small, like four, and he had tied their shoes so they could play football in the park next to Elsie's small flat. "One, you will be judged for acts of terrorism. The judges won't be compliant toward you. You will spend most of your life in a jail." He let the words sink in before sighing. "The second one is... I can take you in, in exchange of rehabilitation and an ankle monitor. No prison. Consider yourself very lucky to have such a deal, if it wasn’t for me, you would have been jailed already."

"It does make you feel better to waltz in and play the hero, dad?" They grunted but they were quiet for a few minutes before accepting the offer. Simon knew something was fishy, they probably thought this would be a mean to escape and go back to the Konnis. But he won't allow that.

He thought about Johnny's words. A second chance. He wouldn't pass it. Simon had his second chance ten years ago with Johnny, when the bullet lodged in his skull, so close to his brain but not killing him. It was after that incident and Makarov's death that Simon had confessed his love to him.

Now it was time to get his child back in the line.

[mayasaurusss]

A touch of summer.

Contents: established relastionship, fluff, sfw breastfeeding, blurb (700 words). A/N: I wanted to desperatley write a somthing based on the lake scene in the lastest episode, so I made a poll and asked you guys what genre you would have liked the most, and the results were pretty telling: while 70% of voters decided on a fluff version, 30% wanted to see angst, so I resolved into making both! This is the fluff version: you can find the pool here and the angst version here. Enjoy!!

The gentle lull of the waves rocks her body left and right, so calm and soothing that sleep comes easy to her. Shauna hasn't had a moment for herself in months, and letting the lake cradle her feels appropriate somehow. The weather is warm, the sky is blue and her heart is finally free from the sadness winter brought to it.

She spent so long in the cold that she didn't remember what summer used to feel like.

Her ears pick up on the sounds beneath her: bubbles of oxygen rising to the surface, currents that collide with each other, and in the distance, an infant's laughs. Her body moves before her brain can process the sound, eyes drawn to the shore, frantically searching for him. She finds him under the sun, merely visible from the middle of the lake, looking like a little fat bundle of you as he absolutely laughs his ass off at your peek-a-boos.

She can see his little arms reaching for your face, stopping as you hide your face behind your hands, then clapping his as you reappear once again.

How old is he by now? Several months, at least, but not old enough for him to walk on his own. Something Shauna has always thought, since he was born, is that if they ever come back, she will never know his birthday.

A warmth that she didn't think she'd ever felt fills Shauna's heart: she can't imagine a world in which he's not by her side. And you, so simple and gentle, so patient with her, so lovely, raising her boy at her side.

Back on the shore, you see Shauna swimming towards you and you stand up from your position, but the pain of spending several minutes crouched on the flat stone where you the boy down his too much for your legs to bear, and you fall comically to the ground, his laugh a soundtrack for your embarrassment.

"Hey! Don't laugh, kid!" you hush him down, going for tickling his little belly.

"You've already got all of your mom's attention, just let me get some!".

"What do you want?" A shiver runs down your spine at the familiar voice, following it to see Shauna smiling at you with a hint of smugness behind her lips. Her locks fall to the sides of her neck, darkened by water.

Shit, she got you.

"N-nothing! Here you go!" you take him in your arms, handling him to Shauna as if he was a bag of potatoes.

In her arms, he looks like the most perfect thing in the world. You can only describe the way Shauna's eyes look at her baby as simple, true and pure love. There has never been a love so deep on this earth.

There is something so simply natural in the way she exposes her chest and angles his neck up so her can drink from her. A summer ago, you would have probably made a snarky comment, would have been weirded out by all of this, crunching your nose in disgust; but as you watch her feed her son with such love that it could make you cry, nothing like that crosses your mind.

But the stillness doesn't last long, and just as she tucks her breast back in the dress, she looks at you, a mixture of interest and smugness in her eyes.

"So, you want my attention?"; when she says that, you feel like a total jerk. What possessed you to say such a thing out loud, right to her baby?

But you do: you do want her attention. You want her to look at you, to kiss you as she did before, to have her as she had you during the winter. Maybe you should tell her, what danger could that be?

"No. It was stupid of me to say that. He's your son, he has to be your top priority" you find yourself staring at the burnt yellow grass below, avoiding Shauna's gaze. How fucking embarrassing... But before your brain can spiral into self-hating, Shauna presses her lips on your skin, between your nose and your cheek. She stops briefly to look you in the eyes, so dark you can see your reflection in the summer's sunlight.

"You're mine" she says, bringing her lips to your cheek now, holding her baby close to her heart, "You are both mine".

[hummingbird24220]

HELLOOOO I'm the one who submitted the req where reader drowns...IT WAS SSOOOO GOOD JDJDISJDJSIJFN

anyways i have something else in mind....okok... reader is like superrrrr sick like 110 degrees fever type shift and everyone figures that out (unfortunately) when reader just....falls to the floor and doesn't have enough energy to get back up and the crew has to take care of them and sanji mayhaps uses reader being unconscious as a chance to touch their face and stuff uhhh yeah ilyilyily

erm all platonic...make sanji a perv.....and can reader have a older brother? a protective one?

UHHH YOU DON'T HAVE TO ANSWER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO

Hello! Sorry it took so long - as mentioned on my previous posts, ive had a lot in draft form but not edited to publish! Just getting to it now <3 Hope you like it ^^

Boiling Point

Sanji x Reader

The sun had barely climbed past the horizon, golden and soft, and you were already sweating buckets. Not from the usual humidity, not from exertion. Just... existing felt like swimming through lava. But you pushed through it—because when didn’t you push through?

You swayed as the ship gently rocked, the world blurring around you in watercolor streaks. You tried to hide it—joking, smiling, brushing off any worried glances. Until your knees buckled mid-step and you crumpled to the Sunny’s deck like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Oi!" Luffy blinked, completely unprepared.

"Shit—(Y/N)!" Usopp scrambled to your side as Zoro cursed and dropped his weights.

Chopper was already sprinting over. "Move, move! Let me see—ahhh!! Your temperature’s off the charts!" His tiny hooves trembled as he checked your vitals. “They’re at 110°F—that’s not just a fever, that’s a boil-your-brain fever!!”

"Why the hell didn’t they say anything?!" Nami hissed, crouching beside you, brushing hair off your sticky, flushed forehead.

"They did say something," Robin said gently, standing behind her. "Just not with words."

Sanji was the last to approach. He held back, drying his hands on a kitchen towel, lips pressed thin. But when no one was looking—when Chopper was busy yelling about rehydration and cold compresses and moving you inside—Sanji knelt down. Carefully. Reverently.

You were unconscious. Soft little breaths escaping your parted lips. Your cheeks were burning with fever, lashes fluttering like you were stuck in some nightmare loop.

Sanji swallowed hard.

Just a touch.

Just once.

His hand, warm but far gentler than it had any right to be, brushed along your cheek, then traced your brow to smooth the sweat-matted hair back. "Mon trésor..." he whispered, thumb ghosting across your temple.

"I’ll make you a broth so good it'll heal your soul, I swear..."

He hovered a second longer, resisting the urge to kiss your knuckles.

Then—

"Oi. Blondie."

Sanji jerked like he'd been shot. A broad-shouldered figure stood at the foot of the galley steps, arms crossed and glaring down at him.

Your older brother.

Not crew. But very much present. And very much glowering.

"I saw that."

Sanji cleared his throat, rising smoothly. “Just checking their temperature,” he lied.

“Uh-huh.” Your brother’s voice was flat as a cutting board. “With your mouth, eventually?”

Sanji chuckled, awkward. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not while they're sick.”

“Not while they’re asleep either.”

“...Right.”

A long, heavy pause. Then:

“They like soup,” your brother muttered, softer this time. “Lentil and ginger. Makes them sleep.”

Sanji blinked, surprised.

He nodded, just once. “Got it. You... sit with them. I’ll cook.”

-

You drifted in and out of consciousness, sweat-soaked and buried in blankets, head pounding. At one point, you thought you felt someone brush your cheek. And a soft, baritone hum. Not your brother’s.

Warmth bloomed in your chest—fever aside.

Even half-dead, you could still feel it.

Someone was watching over you.

And damn if their cologne didn’t smell divine.

-

The next few days passed like a heat-haze dream—dizzy, slippery, and hard to hold on to. You drifted in and out, waking for brief moments of lucidity that never lasted more than a handful of minutes. Every time you opened your eyes, it felt like the ship had tilted, the world shifting just a little too fast.

But there was always someone there.

Chopper came and went like a determined little whirlwind—checking your temperature, giving you fluids, muttering frustrated reindeer curses under his breath. At one point, you were sure he slapped Luffy’s hand away from trying to draw on your face. ("They’re not a doodle pad, Luffy!")

Nami was a surprising constant, gentle hands sponging sweat from your skin when you felt clammy and disgusting, quietly murmuring, “Don’t worry, no one’s seeing anything.” She wiped down your face, your chest, your arms—never once making you feel exposed. “Just hang in there, okay?”

Zoro kept watch outside the door when he wasn’t training. You heard him once, grumbling to Sanji: “If they die, you better not cry loud enough to wake the whole sea.”

“They’re not gonna die,” Sanji had growled back. “Not on my damn watch.”

You weren’t always conscious enough to speak, but you felt him.

Sanji.

Always there.

Even when you were barely tethered to reality, there was the smell of sea salt and cigarettes and spices. You’d wake up to soft rustling sounds—he was brushing your hair back, or changing the cold cloth on your head. Once, you cracked your eyes open and found his head on the bed beside yours, arms folded, chin resting next to your hand. He was asleep. You must’ve been dreaming. Because you could’ve sworn he was holding your fingers between his.

He did that often.

Touching you only when he thought no one was looking.

The fourth day, the fever had broken, but you were still weak. Everything hurt. The sweat felt gross. You managed to croak something—probably half a sentence—and next thing you knew, Nami had helped you out of the clingy clothes and wiped you down with a warm cloth. You were too tired to be embarrassed.

"You're getting better," she told you. "Bit by bit."

You blinked at her, and she smiled. "The boys are worried sick. Sanji hasn’t left this room for more than twenty minutes. Not even to cook."

"...'m sorry," you mumbled.

"Don't be dumb," she said gently. "You're loved."

That evening, things were calm. Too calm.

You were asleep again, body still heavy with fatigue, curled in the nest of blankets that Robin and Chopper had padded around you. The lantern light was low. Everything smelled like citrus and broth and you felt… okay. Not good. But not dying.

Sanji was seated by your bedside, quiet and still, holding your hand in both of his.

Your hand, so limp in his warm fingers, like you'd trusted him even in your unconsciousness.

He rubbed his thumb along your knuckles slowly, like a prayer, staring down at you with a softness that could kill.

"I’m not trying to cross any lines," he whispered. “I know they’d tear me in half. Especially your brother. But gods, sweetheart… you’re making it so hard not to fall deeper.”

"Let go of their hand."

Sanji froze.

Your brother stood in the doorway, eyes shadowed and arms crossed, jaw ticking like a time bomb.

Sanji rose, still gentle, but firm. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

"You think I’m blind? You’ve been hovering like a lovesick vulture since they collapsed.”

“I’m taking care of them.”

“You’re making it weird.”

“They’re not yours to guard like some dragon over treasure!” Sanji snapped suddenly, voice cracking like flint. “I haven’t touched them beyond holding their hand!”

“You think I don’t know what kind of guy you are?” your brother barked, stepping closer. “I see the way you look at them. Like you’re already undressing them in your head!”

“I respect them,” Sanji hissed. “I’d never do anything they didn’t want—”

“Because they’re asleep, Sanji. They can’t say yes. Or no.”

Your name slipped from Sanji’s mouth like a guilty prayer.

The voices were loud. Angry. Too angry.

And it dragged you from sleep like being pulled from underwater.

You blinked, throat dry, the world grainy and spinning.

“S…stop…”

Two grown men froze mid-argument and whipped their heads toward you.

You looked at both of them, eyes half-lidded and voice hoarse. “Don’t yell… headache…”

Your brother was at your side in an instant. “I’m sorry. I’m here. It’s okay—”

Sanji stayed where he was, shame etched across his face, unable to meet your gaze.

But you reached your hand out toward him, shaky and slow.

His eyes widened.

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Your hand rested, palm up, between them.

Waiting.

And Sanji took it.

Even your brother couldn't argue with that. Not out loud, anyway.

-

You were finally sitting up.

Propped against a stack of pillows, a soft blanket tucked around your legs, and an untouched bowl of soup resting on the side table. The fever had broken for good now, but everything else ached. Joints, muscles, eyelids—it was like your entire body had been wrung out and left to dry on the Sunny’s mast.

But at least you were awake. Present.

The breeze from the cracked window was cool on your skin, the scent of ocean salt and lemon cleaner drifting in with it. Chopper had stopped fussing (barely), and now it was just you… and your brother.

He sat beside the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his nose. That familiar furrow was back on his brow—the one you remembered from when you scraped your knees as a kid or came home past dark.

"...You gonna say it or just look constipated all afternoon?" you rasped.

Your voice wasn’t croaky anymore—just tired. But there was enough of your usual bite in it to make him sigh.

He leaned back and crossed his arms.

“I don’t like that cook.”

You blinked. "Wow, what revelation. Guess the fever’s not the only thing that broke."

He frowned. “I’m serious. I’ve seen how he acts. The flirting. The hearts in his damn eyes. The nosebleeds. You’ve got no idea how guys like that think.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you replied softly.

He glanced at you—cautious. Waiting.

You let out a sigh and leaned your head back against the pillow, letting your gaze drift to the ceiling, the timbers above creaking softly with the ship's movement.

“Sanji’s… yeah, he’s a flirt. He’s dramatic. He’d probably marry a tomato if it was in a short enough skirt.”

You heard your brother snort faintly.

“But when I was half-dead,” you continued, quieter now, “he didn’t do anything inappropriate. He stayed. He held my hand. Talked to me like I was gonna wake up. Like I mattered. Not like a fantasy. Like a person.”

Silence.

“I adore him,” you said, voice sincere and a little dreamy. “He’s a bit of a mess, but he’s my mess. I trust him. Completely. And he’d never do anything I didn’t want.”

There was a long pause. You glanced over.

Your brother was quiet. Still staring at the floor.

Then, finally—he stood.

You blinked. “...What?”

He didn't answer. Just walked to the door, pulling it open—

—and immediately stopped.

Because there, pressed shamelessly flat against the frame like a blonde gargoyle, was Sanji. One eye wide. The other squished from impact. Probably had been eavesdropping since the word "adorable."

He froze.

Your brother stared at him.

Up.

Down.

Up again.

He didn’t say a word—just gave him a sharp, assessing once-over… and then, after an agonizing beat, let out a grunt, patted him once (hard) on the back, and muttered, “Don’t be an idiot,” before walking off down the hallway.

Sanji stared after him.

“…Did I just get blessed or threatened?”

You laughed—soft and wheezy, but full of affection.

“Both,” you coughed out.

He was by your side in an instant.

“Mon dieu, I thought I was gonna explode if I couldn’t come in,” he breathed, kneeling by the bed. “You—you really said all that?”

“‘Course I did,” you smiled, eyes half-lidded but warm. “It’s not a fever dream anymore. I meant it.”

Sanji looked like you’d handed him the One Piece wrapped in silk.

“You’re... you’re incredible,” he whispered, brushing your hand with his thumb like you’d break if he held on too tight. “And if you let me… I’ll prove to you that I’m worth all that trust.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead gently into his palm. “I know you are.”

He kissed your knuckles, trembling with restraint.

“…Not marrying a tomato, by the way,” he murmured, grinning.

“Damn. There goes the competition.”

-

You were finally back on your feet.

Still wrapped in a blanket most of the time like a sad little burrito, still groaning when you bent the wrong way—but walking. Breathing. Living.

The sea breeze didn’t sting anymore. The sunlight didn’t hurt your eyes. And the food—Sanji’s food—actually tasted like something again instead of cardboard in broth.

Your steps were slow but steady across the Sunny’s deck. It felt like relearning your body. Every muscle ached like it was fresh out of storage. But you didn’t walk alone.

Sanji was there. Always.

A hand at your back when you swayed. A guiding arm around your shoulders when you took the stairs. His fingers curled gently around yours as if he had to be touching you in some way—just to make sure you were still here. Still his to protect. Still real.

And you let him.

No, you welcomed it.

You leaned into every soft brush of his palm, every whispered “careful” and every murmured French endearment you didn’t understand but felt in your chest.

The crew had mostly adjusted. Nami just smirked and gave knowing looks. Robin teased you by calling it “recovery-based clinginess.” Luffy didn’t get it but hugged you extra hard “just in case.” Zoro rolled his eyes but didn’t say a word. Even Usopp had admitted once—when he thought you were asleep—that he missed Sanji in the kitchen.

But your brother?

He was less subtle.

Much less.

You’d be walking with Sanji’s arm linked through yours, cheeks warm with affection, and from somewhere behind you:

“BLEEEHHHHHHHH.”

You sighed without looking back. “I swear to god.”

“That was physically painful to witness,” your brother gagged, dramatically fake-coughing behind you as if love itself was a contagious disease. “You let him kiss your hand in public. I have secondhand burns.”

“You don’t have to watch,” you called back flatly, half-amused.

“I do when he’s glued to you like a horny octopus!”

Sanji didn’t miss a beat.

“Technically, if I were an octopus, I’d have three hearts and still wouldn’t love them enough.”

Your brother let out the most offended groan humanly possible. “I’m going overboard. I can’t witness this. I won’t.”

You just laughed.

Because even he couldn’t fake the way his eyes softened when he saw you smile. Couldn’t hide the way his teasing came with less venom and more resignation these days.

He’d lost the war. But you were happy.

And he couldn't argue with that.

Later, you sat with Sanji on the railing, his hand cradling yours like it was the most fragile thing on the ship. The sky was gold and rose and the sea calm beneath you, soft as silk.

Your brother walked by, eyeing you both.

He opened his mouth. Took a breath.

Paused.

Then just shook his head and kept walking.

"...No gagging?" you murmured, mock-shocked.

Sanji pressed a kiss to your temple, grinning. “I think that was his blessing.”

You leaned into him, fingers twined with his.

“Poor guy,” you murmured. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

“No one does,” Sanji whispered, brushing his lips across your hairline. “Not when it comes to me and you.”

[haikyu-mp4]

Monster

word count; 979 – gn!reader who is shorter than Tendo

I had the idea to write two different reactions depending on the reader being either more extroverted or more introverted, feel free to read both or either option:)

It was raining outside, which made your little stroll to the vending machine all the more pleasurable. The sound of the little raindrops falling on the buildings, lawn and concrete was quite therapeutic. All because you were under a roof, of course, you were not as excited to cross the lawn in a minute to meet your boyfriend after his volleyball practice in this weather. Typical of you to never bring an umbrella.

You put in some coins, clicked the button and crouched down to pick up your strawberry milk before straightening up again and turning back around. Annoyingly enough, you were met with a startling wall. Two guys were standing a bit too close to just be in line for the machine, and the looks in their eyes were mischievous in a bad way. It’s the kind of eyes people say Tendo has even though all you ever see in them is endearment.

“You’re the one dating that monster, aren’t you?” one of the guys said while the other one huffed as if it was funny.

Tough extroverted reader

“Can I help you?” you asked back with a confused expression, not seeing any reason why you’d discuss your dating life with these guys. You opened the milk and took a sip before tilting your head to await their answer.

“We should be asking you that. Someone so pretty stuck with such a freak. What’s he threatening you with?” The guy kept talking, truly stepping on thin ice. You scrunched your nose and took another sip, not exactly comfortable with the situation but not wanting to leave without defending your boyfriend either.

“You jealous or something? I’ll let you know I’m perfectly happy with my dating life.” You take a step closer to the guy who apparently did all the barking. “And his name is Tendo Satori,” you said in a clear voice as if trying to burn the name into their brains. If they were going to call him a monster, it better be because of how he rules the volleyball court. You had half a mind to tell them that as well, but the moment was interrupted.

Their eyes were slowly cast in a shadow before they could respond. If only you could see the reflection in their eyes of your boyfriend’s smirk behind you. “That was pretty hot.” Tendo finally says after letting you answer them yourself. It startled you a little, before relaxing into his touch stroking down your arm. You leaned your shoulders back on his chest, a cocky smile on your face from watching the other guys lose their confidence. Tendo leaned down and obnoxiously kissed your cheek to make a point before lifting a hand towards the boys and shooing them away. “You heard them.”

“Whatever, weirdos.” They put on some tough faces that weren’t very believable, and you turned around to Satori while they scurried away. Being weirdos together definitely wasn’t that bad.

“Satorii,” you purred, happy to see him.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Again.” He said, obviously trying to be aloof about it, but you could see through it.

“I’m sorry too,” you said with a soft smile, knowing he knew what you meant, before grabbing his hand and tip-toeing to peck his cheek. “I thought I was meeting you?”

“I know you didn’t bring an umbrella,” he answered, finally showing a genuine smile. “My dorm? I’ll make you something sweet.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Soft introverted reader

You felt your pulse quicken with angst, eyes not meeting theirs but rather desperately hoping someone you know would pass by. “Can I help you?” you asked carefully, wishing that if they had to talk about your boyfriend behind his back, they would do it behind yours too. A blind person could see you were not the confronting type.

“We should be asking you! What kind of freak are you to be dating that?” he said, a cruel comment that didn’t make the situation any more comfortable.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you mumbled, avoidant as ever. Why would they care about your dating life anyway?

“Won’t you at least look at us with those pretty eyes, monster-lover?” the other one said, taking an unwelcomed step closer.

“He's not a monster,” you said, making an attempt at defending your boyfriend but still feeling tears brim your eyes from the confrontation.

Finally, you saw your salvation, like a stream of light finally peering through the clouds and hitting your face. The two boys were about to turn around when they saw your eyes lock on something between them, but were stopped as Tendo grabbed each of their shoulders and pulled them back, giving you space to breathe. “But I can be... if you ever make them cry,” he said in a goofy albeit frightening voice. His eyes crept from one boy to the other as if making sure the threat sank in before passing them and taking your hand to lead you away. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles while you walked before letting your hand go so he could open his umbrella and hold it above you. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he said softly, trying to seem like he didn’t care about himself, just that you had to hear it.

“It’s okay. They were being shitheads anyways,” you huffed, anger seeping in now that you didn’t have to face them anymore.

“Ooh, language, baby.” Tendo laughed and looked down at you with adoration flowering in his eyes.

“Shut up,” you giggled, pushing your shoulder into his before tucking your arm around his closest arm so you could walk together even if he held the umbrella. Safe to say that anger dissipated quickly.

“I’ll treat you to some A-class cuddles for standing up for me like that. My dorm?”

“Yes, my love.”

masterlist

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: CEO!anakin x (crazy!)female!reader

PART TWO

Rain drenched your windows. It was grey, rainy weather while you gazed through the glass. Almost as if the nature cried with you; for your loss, for your sadness that twisted and curled around your bones. Nonetheless you felt it; how it was embracing you with its warmth, kissing the top of your head, murmuring how it's all going to be okay...or was it simply Anakin's mother? You weren't sure anymore

Your eyes kept coming back to the three bushes of flowers you planted not so long ago. Your nails dig into your skin, dragging down, leaving marks. Your breath caught in your throat, heartbeat sped up as the nauseous feeling wrapped itself around your gut, twisting and pulling, making you want to vomit even though you didn't eat anything today.

Too many memories, too many emotions. Too man--

Wait.

Where's the fifth bush of roses?

Your brows softened in pure realization, dots connecting in your brain. No, no, no, no, no

He did not.

Standing up, you knocked the blanket away, stumbling your way to the doors that would led you outside. There was some voice calling your name in this frantic, worried tone, but who was behind it? Lately you barely recognized your own voice when Anakin changed the doctors and the medicine also changed. It made you floaty, weirdly disconnected, weirdly quiet, depressed

Grabbing at the door handle, you run out of the house, rain covering you fully, draining your light white nightgown to something that was sucking you in, highlighting your body in a way that made you feel naked, exposed

Standing before your, what was supposed to be fifth, bushes, your hand ran down your soaked face, in hopes to see more clearly. In hopes it was all in your vivid imagination.

But it was not

A whimper broke from your throat, leaving you breathless, speechless, with your knees slowly loosing it's balance, feeling weak, defeated. Falling to the ground, you crawled to the place where the fifth bush of dark red roses was supposed to be. Your hands frantically gnawed over the wet ground, your breathing coming in sharp, frantic inhales.

"Y/n!" you've heard the voice call you from behind

Tears filled your eyes..or was it simply the rain falling down on your face? It just felt cold, so exposed, so depraved of the feeling of love.

"Are you out of your damn mind? What are you doing here?" Anakin's voice rang in your ears

twisting your neck to the side, you broke in tears "Ani, it's gone"

"What's gone?"

"My roses!" You frantically looked over the place where the bush was supposed to be growing "where are they, Ani? Where's my baby?"

He crouched down to you, arms trying to pull you over to him "c'mon baby, let's go inside. You're gonna get sick" his voice was now calmer, more gentle

"No, Ani..where's my baby? What happened to it?" you cried, groping on the leftovers of the roses' petals "Ani, where's my baby?" you kept repeating, feeling your mind twist and drove away, making you feral, making you anxious, making you insane

Anakin cursed under his breath, rain dripping from his hair "You're going to make yourself sick—stop this."

You shrieked, twisting away from his grasp, fighting him like a wounded animal. "NO!" you sobbed, voice so raw. "I have to find it! I have to—I have to—"

"THERE'S NOTHING TO FIND!"

The words hit like a slap, freezing you in place.

"I let the new gardener cut it off. It's already rotting in the trash, it's not here, y/n'"

Your chest heaved, lips trembling as you finally met his eyes. Was it..anger in them? Pity? Regret?

Yet all you could hear was gardener, rutting, trash, cut off, not here.

A wretched sob tore from your throat as you lunged forward again, hands desperately grasping at the rain-soaked dirt, at the scattered, dying petals.

Maybe you could at least bring petals to life

"Enough of this." Anakin snapped

His grip was like iron as he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground.

"NO!" you screamed, kicking wildly "LET ME GO! I NEED TO FIND IT, ANI! I NEED TO—I NEED TO—"

"You need to go inside." voice was low, cold, firm, no gentleness or calmness in it anymore

You fought harder, slamming your fists against his chest, clawing at his arms, leaving dirt prints on his soaked, expensive shirt you definitely once ironed. But he was stronger. He was always stronger. "YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!"

His grip never softened.

"You’re going to hurt yourself," he bit out, dragging you back towards the house like you were some doll

"I DON’T CARE!" you raised your voice "My baby--ani, it needs me! I need--" you choke on your tears "I need to save it, Ani please"

Rain poured down in sheets, blinding you both, soaking you to the bone. Your kicks grew weaker, screams turning into hoarse, gasping sobs.

"Ani, please," you whimpered, voice breaking. "Please… I need them. I need them back."

Your feet barely touched the ground as he hauled you up the steps, like your weight was no problem for him. You tried to claw at the doorway, fingers desperate enough to latch onto anything, for him to shove you inside

You felt like being pushed to the mouth of some beast.

No. No, no, no.

“Please,” you sobbed the only word that came to your mind, voice cracking as your knees gave out beneath you once again.

Anakin held firm, refusing to let you sink to the floor while his other hand closed the doors in a firm way “You need to calm down.” voice was low, strained, with a weird, cold edge to it “Now.”

Your breath hitched, chest heaving as you shook your head frantically. “You took them away,” you choked. “You took them away, Ani. You let them die..you let them die”

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, gentle. But it was gone as fast as it came.

“You need to rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” you cried, clutching onto the fabric of his soaked shirt. “I want them back.”

Silence.

A long, agonizing silence.

His arms tightened around you.

Not soft. Not comforting. Restraining.

He pulled you close, breath warm against your temple. “I won’t let you do this to yourself,” he murmured, voice cold.

Your lip trembled. “Ani—”

“Shh,” he hushed, running a gentle hand through your soaked hair—a lie, a mockery of comfort.

You hiccupped against his chest.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered. A promise, a warning, maybe a curse.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl

[nisuna]

thinking about Touji and Megumi fucking Megumi's stepsister together

So much Stepcest 😳 I'm not complaining tho keep it comin' guys I'm digging it 🤤

Thank you for your take!!<3

<3masterlist<3

~short drabble~

TW: stepcest; use of daddy, good girl, Megumi-Nii sweetheart; oral (m receiving), spitroasting, deep throating , face fucking, gagging, vaginal sex, Toji and Megumi bicker a bit

"Open wide for daddy. That's it. Good girl."

Megumi visibly cringed at his father calling himself daddy while shoving his dick down his step daughters throat.

"Oh don't be so stiff. I am her father after all and she gets off on that, don't you, sweetheart?"

All you could do was nod, not having much room to move or talk while Toji had an iron grip on your hair. You didn't mean for all of this to happen, all of this meaning Megumi walking in on his pretty little stepsister getting her brains fucked out one day.

"C'mon make yourself useful and get her off. I'm kind of busy right now." A particularly hard thrust making you gag while your nose touched his dark pubes. "Can't believe you're really my son."

"Shut up."

Megumi was nervous, but he would lie if he said he didn't get excited the first time he met you a few months ago. He would lie if he said he didn't think of you at night when he couldn't sleep because his dick hurt so bad, due to a small interaction he had with you. But seeing you like this, skirt pulled up tits spilling out your top and his fathers cock down your throat, he just couldn't move.

"Tch." Toji pulled you off his cock, making you cough and suck in deep breaths. Loosening his grip on your hair he softly patted it and crouched down to where you currently were kneeling on the floor. "Sweetheart?" You looked up, eyes blown wide from arousal. "Want your big brother to make you feel good?" "Yes please, daddy." "You gotta tell him, that good for nothing won't do anything on his own."

You turned around at that crawling over to where Megumi was standing. "Please Megumi-Nii, want you to make me feel good. Don't you want to fuck me too. Need it so bad.", you blinked up at him and he finally swallowed the lump in his throat and went to unbuckle his belt. You smiled at that, turning around and sticking your plump ass out. As he knelt down behind of you he asked, "want me to prep you? Don't want it to hurt."

"No need, she's used to big ones.", Toji interrupted as he grinned. "Eyes on me, sweetheart."

You obeyed immediately turning your attention back to your stepfather already opening your mouth.

"Good girl. I've taught you well."

As soon as Toji wrapped your hair around his hand again you felt something prod at your entrance, making you hum. And before you knew it both men pressed into you with loud grunts to which you whimpered.

"Are you okay? Can I move?" Before you could answer Toji answered for you, "Just fuck her already goddamn it."

And fucked you he did. If getting your mouth fucked wasn't stimulating enough already, getting your pussy stuffed at the same time definitely was.

"Shit she's so tight."

"I know right, her pussy's the best. You should thank me for letting you use it."

Them talking about you like you weren't there made you clench around Megumi and suck Toji deeper into your mouth.

"Shit you get off on getting used? Gonna cum on my cock, pretty?"

"Gotta rub her clit. She won't cum from you sticking your dick in her. You sure you're not a virgin?"

Toji's comment made Megumi glare at him, but he finally did start rubbing your clit sending you into overdrive. They were fucking you at different speeds basically shoving you around on their dicks like a ragdoll. Your moans got louder with each passing minute of getting stuffed full of cock in both ends.

"That's it she's about to cum. You better not stop now."

Megumi would be stupid to stop right now, he desperately wanted to feel you cum on his cock. He's sure that will push him over the edge as well. As his ministrations went on, you felt the knot in your stomach unravel and with a muffled scream you felt yourself cream on your step brothers cock. Both men soon followed after stuffing their cocks as deep as possible and spilling inside your waiting cunt and mouth. After swallowing it all Toji pulled you off his dick, you felt fuzzy after finally being able to breathe again. Megumi pulling out made you squirm and you felt his seed drip down your inner thigh.

"Go clean her off. I got things to do." With that Toji left both of you in your bedroom.

After cussing out his father under his breath Megumi pulled you into an embrace, patting your head. You visibly relaxed in his hold sighing contently. "Are you okay? Did you like it" You hummed at his question nodding your head. "I loved it."

With your new found love for your brother and father who knows what the future has in store for you three!

------

Feel free to send me your Hot Takes as well ^^

[gingerteafairy]

heyy!! I absolutely LOVE your writing!! I was wondering if you could do a luke cooper x reader? Something like reader is maybe Jim's younger sister, or just related to someone in the office and she comes to drop something off to them or something and catches luke's eye. feel free to ignore this ahaha

girl, no way in hell I'm ignoring my sugarplum luke cooper.

tags n warnings: suggestive, jealousy, dirty jokes, terrible environment, creed and kevin (real warning). word count: 2.3k

A/N: hey, i'm back!!! sorry for being super absent here, I missed you all <3

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Luke was a good person—when he wanted to be. Which was almost never. But when it came to you, he tried to be slightly more decent. Especially when it came to looking at you.

Not because he was a better man, no. He just avoided looking because you sat right next to Jim. And you—by every unfair twist of fate imaginable—just happened to be his sister.

Seriously? You?

The prettiest, kindest, most distractingly adorable girl in the office, and of course, you had to be related to the most upstanding, qualified, all-american guy in the building. Jim was fair with everyone—except when it came to you.

He had a very specific way of showing how protective he was: keeping you far, far away from anyone like Luke Cooper.

Luke had to bite the inside of his cheek sometimes just to stop himself from staring. Especially when you wore those damn button-up blouses that looked a little too good tucked into your skirt. Even your cardigans were starting to look criminal when you cinched them at the waist.

Sometimes, he’d “accidentally” knock something off his desk—just so you’d bend down to pick it up for him. A few precious seconds of watching you, a soft “here you go” from your lips, before Jim would clear his throat like a freaking siren.

But today, in a cruel plot twist straight out of a badly written fanfic, you were the one who dropped a highlighter.

Luke’s brain short-circuited when he saw the neon yellow pen roll dramatically across the floor, stopping right by Phyllis’s desk like it had a mind of its own. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Stand up? Risk instant death via Jim Halpert’s “big brother” death glare? Stay seated? Look like a jerk There was no winning move. Every option was a trap.

Then—you stood up.

Luke froze. Muscles locked, heart in his throat, eyes very carefully not following the line of your legs as you moved.

He could hear the faint squeak of your heels. The soft jingle of your bracelet. The rustle of your blouse when you bent down to grab the highlighter.

And he was gone. Fully spiraling. This was hell. Corporate, fluorescent-lit, paper-scented hell.

And yet… the corner of his mouth twitched. Because if hell meant watching you brush your hair behind your ear while laughing softly at your own clumsiness—he’d gladly stay.

You walked over to the spot, crouching down to grab the highlighter. This time, Luke didn’t look away. He wouldn't have looked away even if Jim smacked him upside the head with a broom handle.

Just a little lower and he’d see a bit more skin—not that he needed to. The visible outline of your top beneath your cardigan already felt like a punch to the chest. You moved like a dream. Like the office had suddenly switched to slow motion.

Then you looked up and smiled at him. Just a casual little smile. Nothing dangerous. Nothing scandalous.

It nearly killed him.

You went back to your chair like nothing happened. Like you hadn’t just melted every cell in his body.

Was that on purpose?

No. No way. That was too absurd. You’d have to be counting on physics to roll the highlighter directly to Phyllis’s desk—with your hip perfectly angled toward him? Come on.

Still… just in case… getting up to splash some cold water on his face sounded like an excellent idea.

Luke stood up and made his way to the break room, setting a cup of hot chocolate in the microwave before heading toward the bathroom.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Kevin said out of nowhere, side-eyeing Luke while noisily slurping instant noodles like it was a performance piece.

“Who?” Luke asked, feigning confusion as he stirred the powder in the cup and punched in the timer.

“Jim’s sister, duh" Kevin clarified, turning his head to get a full view of you typing away at your desk. “I’d have kids with her. So many kids. Fill up their whole house, then put in more kids. Just… kids everywhere.”

“That’s how you know she’s the wrong girl,” Luke muttered, giving Kevin a light punch on the arm before heading for the door. “You want kids with her. Rookie mistake. Stay away from girls like that, Kev. And keep your weirdness to yourself. We don't need more of you."

As he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, Luke leaned back against the cold tile and looked up at the ceiling.

He hated the idea of being a dad. Hated the idea of being responsible for anything besides his laptop and maybe a white cat you’d name Pinky because of her pink paws… and because your future daughter would love that name, wearing cute pink dresses matching with yours he gave on your birthday.

He groaned.

No.

This was getting out of hand.

“You're so pathetic,” he muttered, running damp fingers through his curls. “You know who else stares at people’s asses without them knowing? Creeps on public buses. That's fucking sexual harassment.”

“They're just hard-working people,” Creed suddenly chimed in behind him, clutching an old newspaper like he was about to preach. “What? It’s not illegal to admire beauty. I don’t get why people say it’s gross.”

“You’re gross,” Luke scrunched up his face, hurrying out of there before any more of Creed’s essence clung to him.

He was already too much of a mess to absorb even an ounce more of that man’s weirdness.

But apparently, the universe had other plans. Because right then—just to torture him—you were standing by the microwave… holding his hot chocolate.

He stopped short.

And then you added marshmallows. Where the hell did you even get marshmallows? Were you part witch?

“I felt like drinking something warm too,” you said sweetly, turning to hand him the cup. “It’s freezing today.”

Luke glanced around like he was being filmed for a hidden prank show. Jim could not know about this. Ever.

Then again… you had approached him. Not the other way around.

“Yeah… it’s freezing,” he muttered with a small laugh, taking a sip. The chocolate tasted ten times better than it should have. It was literally store-brand powder. But still—what kind of magic were you made of?

“I was kind of expecting a thank you,” you teased, crossing your arms with a mock pout that nearly gave him a heart attack.

“For the hot chocolate?” He blinked, setting the cup down on the counter. “Thanks.”

“For letting you stare a little longer,” you added with a grin so smug and bright it could've powered the whole building. That confirmed it.

It had been on purpose.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That was weird. I’m not usually like that,” he muttered quickly, practically burying his face back into the cup to hide from his own shame.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, uncrossing your arms and stepping just a little closer. “If it’s you, I really don’t mind at all.”

If not for the laws of physics, Luke’s cup might’ve floated straight into the air right then and there. Instead…

It hit the floor.

Chocolate splashed everywhere, shards of ceramic scattered. Luke stared at the mess in horror.

“Fuck,” he muttered, crouching down to collect the evidence. You bent down too, but he gently stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let me do it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh… okay. Thanks.”

You pulled your hand back and rested them in your lap as Luke carefully picked up each shard of ceramic with his palm, standing to wrap them in a napkin and toss them into the trash. You grabbed a roll of paper towels, but before you could start wiping the mess, he reached out.

“I’ve got it—”

“No, let me clean this part,” you insisted, smiling and kneeling again to soak up the spilled chocolate.

Luke knelt beside you and just watched. There you were, cleaning hot chocolate off the floor, and somehow you still looked like an angel. If you two ever ended up dating, he’d probably pay to see you do this again—maybe in whatever weird outfit you felt like wearing that day.

“Why’d you say it’s okay for me to look at you?” he asked quietly, his hand falling to rest on the floor as he looked into your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you replied with a soft smile—the same honest one you always gave him. “I guess… I like you.”

More than just the office clown, more than the guy who always had a sarcastic comeback. You liked him.

“You’re probably the only one who does,” he murmured, exhaling and glancing away as you stood to toss the paper towels and wash your hands.

“Your uncle likes you,” you teased gently.

“He just wants to fix me. Make me into the son he never had,” Luke grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “So yeah… I guess you might actually be the only one who really likes me.”

“I don’t think so,” you responded as you turned to face him again, drying your hands. “I like you a lot. You always make me laugh. Even when your jokes are super stupid, I still laugh."

Luke smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up with something softer, something he didn’t show often.

“Jim hates that,” you added with a grin. “He’s losing his title as the office comedian.”

“So that’s why he hates me?”

“He hates you because I like you.”

Oh, this time it was different. Luke could feel it—by the way your eyelids softened, the shine in your eyes, the slight lift of your shoulders. It bloomed warm in his chest, hotter than any cup of cocoa could ever manage.

“I like you too,” he replied casually, though his tone matched yours in quiet honesty. Even without more words, you both knew what he meant. “If your brother allows it, of course. Do I need to sign something, or should I have my uncle send over a memo? Because I can make that happen.”

“A real nepobaby, huh?” you teased, finally turning to look at him.

“It has its perks,” he grinned, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Now can we go back? Your brother’s staring at me like he’s about to pair me up with Dwight.”

“Oh, that would be awful,” you whispered, giggling softly. He couldn’t help it—he laughed too. Your laugh was far too infectious to resist.

“Yeah, like... they’d invent some beet-powered machine that chops off a piece of me every time I look at you.”

“And what would you do about that?”

“I don’t know… Crap. I think I’d disappear.” He joked, touching his own arms as if parts were missing. “Where am I? Guess I vanished from looking at you too much.”

“You’re so dumb,” you laughed, marveling at how he could be so effortlessly charming, so beautifully spontaneous—so Luke.

“It’s just my flirting technique,” he quipped, brushing invisible dust off his shirt. “That and dropping pens so you’d hand them back and I could sneak a glance.”

“So you were thinking everything through, huh?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t use the same trick on me today, missy.” He smirked, ruffling your hair playfully.

“Yeah, but you started it.” You grinned, trying to fix your hair once his hand pulled away.

“Yeah, keep laughing and soon you're laughing in my bedroom.”

“What’s going on in here?” Jim appeared in the doorway, his eyes sharp like a warning shot.

“Luke helped me with a mug I dropped,” you explained, looking at your brother, who seemed far too invested in finding a hint of a lie.

“You drop a lot of stuff, huh, Luke?” Jim raised an eyebrow at the guy, who just shrugged.

“Gravity. Blame Isaac Newton. Oh wait—sorry, forgot. You can’t complain to your cousin.” Luke mocked, trying to stifle a grin.

Jim turned to you, jaw slack, completely stunned. But as soon as you started laughing, he rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, Jim. That was actually funny,” you admitted, covering your mouth, while your brother leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You used to be better,” he remarked, trying to hold back before breaking into laughter too. “Watch your back, Luke. Might be a good idea to start sleeping with the doors locked.”

“Man, it’ll take you a while to crawl outta the Cretaceous period.”

“Don’t add fuel to the fire,” you scolded, grabbing Luke’s hand to stop the back-and-forth.

“Stay sharp,” Jim warned, throwing one last glance before disappearing down the hallway.

“I was seriously freaking out,” Luke confessed, shaking his hands like he was trying to loosen the nerves. The moment suddenly felt light—soft as a marshmallow.

“Doesn’t look like it. I can’t even picture you nervous.”

“Your brother’s terrifying.”

You laughed, resting your head on Luke’s shoulder. “He just looks scary. Inside, he’s like an underbaked carrot cake.”

“With frosting?”

“No flavor. Like his jokes.”

Luke snorted, but his eyes darted back to the doorway, half-expecting Jim to reappear holding a “Code Red” sign. You gave his hand a small squeeze, bringing him back.

“Relax. If he were really mad, he’d have launched into a three-paragraph speech with a Star Wars analogy.”

“He’s done that?”

“You have no idea.”

Luke shook his head, amazed. “Honestly, I think I’d take Darth Vader.”

“He’s definitely gonna hear that in the Christmas recap.”

You both laughed, and for a moment, the usual office noise seemed to vanish—keyboards, phones, even the steady drip of coffee brewing. It was just the two of you in that quiet little corner, balanced between humor and a kind of controlled danger.

Luke looked at you, more serious now. “You know... I don’t really mind getting lectured by Jim.”

“No?”

“No. It’s worth it. Like... if it means I get a little more time like this with you.”

Your face felt warm—not from embarrassment, but from that rare kind of heat that only someone as wildly unpredictable as Luke could ignite.

“Can I say you look insanely gorgeous today?” he murmured, fighting a smile.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Take it easy, Cooper. I haven’t even decided if I’m letting you sit with my family at Sunday lunch.”

“Can I bring dessert? Promise I make an awesome cup of chocolate with marshmallows.”

“Only if it’s better than your jokes.”

“Might need to ask your mom for help, then.”

You laughed again—that kind of laugh that slips out easily when your heart’s already made a decision, even if your head is still pretending it hasn’t.