#It's the second week back give me a break!

[moonstruckme]

hiii bb

first off all GURL YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY TOP TIER I CANNOT WITH IT—

and second, i saw you had your requests open and while i’ve never done this before i really, really would love it if you could write a poly!wolfstar with reader coming from a pretty similar family background as sirius and gets triggered by loud noises and remus is in a bad headspace because it’s just a few days before full moon and he accidently yells at her and reader just shuts down and tries to brush it off because she thinks she’s being dramatic and tries to act unruffled but sirius sees through it and overall just hurt/comfort, pretty please? ILY

Awe thank you lovely! For both the sweetness and the request <3

cw: migraine, reader panics because of shouting/aggression

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Remus has told you to leave him alone more than once. You know that you should, that you really ought to make yourself scarce because these moods before the full moon almost never yield good things. The issue is that you care about Remus more than consequences, and as a result you’re not very good at doing what you should. 

“Hey,” you say gently, when he passes you by on his way back to his desk with another cup of tea. “That’s too much caffeine, lovely. You’ll make your headache worse.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Remus grunts. He continues on his way, and, despite Sirius’ look, despite knowing better yourself, you give chase. 

“You’ll regret it if you have another,” you reason, following him to his work-cluttered desk, which has been shoved temporarily into the darkest corner of your bedroom. “I know some caffeine helps, but too much—”

“I know how it works.” Remus’ voice is low. Low, but not thin. He doesn’t look at you as he sits down. “I need it, alright?” 

You take a breath. Yes, you can see how you explaining Remus’ own migraines to him might not be well received. But it’s not easy to watch your boyfriend act against his own self-interest. 

Remus has described the feelings leading up to a full moon to you before. He said it feels like something sizzling under his skin, or crackling. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it gives him more energy than he ever has otherwise. Makes him restless, productive, lively. Eventually, though, that energy builds into something he can barely tolerate—that’s when the migraines usually start. Remus gets irritable, his joints ache, it’s like his body is trying to hold something no human can, waiting for the full moon and the chance for Remus’ not-human body to expel it all. 

When you think about how much energy he’s storing, that electric sizzle under his skin, caffeine hardly seems necessary. Until you take into account that Remus has hardly slept for the past three nights. Then you wonder if perhaps his brain can no longer keep up with the tireless dynamism of the rest of him. 

“Maybe you should rest for a while instead,” you try. 

“I have work to do.” 

“It’ll still be there after a nap.”

“And I suppose I may as well just wait until after the full, then, yeah?” 

“I mean, maybe.” You pick up on Remus’ sarcasm, but you don’t disagree. “You can’t be expected to just power through when you’re having such a hard time.” 

“Really?” There’s bite in your boyfriend’s voice now. Enough that you retract the hand you were about to set on his shoulder. “I can’t be expected to? That’s exactly what’s expected of me. I don’t just get a week off every month.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “I know, and that’s not fair—” 

“None of this is fair.” Remus turns in his seat, glowering with such virulence it shocks you despite the argument you’d thought you were prepared for. “There aren’t allowances made for lycanthropy. If I told my boss that I need a lighter workload and he made the connection, he could report me to the ministry. I can’t afford to complain about how my head hurts or indulge in naps and breaks when everyone else keeps working.” 

His voice rises, and he’s suddenly taller than you, looking down on you. He stood up. Your ears are ringing. 

“If everyone else is able to handle their workload during the full, I have to, too. Do you understand that?” 

You find you can’t speak. There’s a horrible ache sitting in the base of your throat which won’t let anything out. You nod. 

“Do you?” Remus seems exasperated. Baffled by your naïveté. “I don’t want to be told that I shouldn’t be working. I don’t want to be told that I can’t have caffeine to get through it, because I know what I have to do, and that’s not something you can understand. Alright?”

“Alright,” you choke out. 

“Do you get that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Remus,” says another voice. You don’t turn, but you don’t need to; Sirius always follows the sound of shouting. It’s habit for him. “That’s enough, love.” 

“I was done,” Remus snaps. 

Sirius’ hand wraps around your elbow. His fingers feel cool, or maybe you’re only hot. You feel very, very hot. 

“Hey,” he prompts softly. Now you look at him. Sirius’ expression is all tenderness, and it feels like whiplash. “You okay?” 

You dismiss the question with a shake of your head. Your ears are still ringing. “Yeah.” 

You look back to Remus. You can’t help it. You want to fix, and to leave, and to dissolve. But Remus is the epicenter of everything, and you feel as though taking your eyes off him even temporarily is a danger. 

“Let’s be done squabbling for now,” Sirius says, his voice unnaturally light. “We’ve all said our piece, yeah?” He gives your arm a gentle tug, and you take a step back. You’d been nearly right up against Remus, you realize. Frozen to the spot where you’d gone to rest your hand on his shoulder. Sirius runs his thumb over your skin before asking again, “Are you okay?” 

Tears invade your eyes without warning. Your face burns, and you feel it screw up in an attempt to keep them from falling. “Yeah,” you say unsteadily. “I’m just—so—sorry.” 

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Sirius crushes you to him. 

Remus exhales. You hear the creak of his chair taking his weight again. “Shit.” 

“Shh, I know,” Sirius murmurs, petting your head while your tears spill over to wet his jumper—Remus’ jumper, which smells like both of them and probably also you. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. His voice sounds muffled, as though he’s speaking into his hands. 

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” You sniff, trying to wipe under your eyes. Sirius keeps you held to his front. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is my fault.” 

“I believe I said we were done with the squabbling.” Sirius kisses your head firmly. “What do you need, sweetness? Some quiet? Time to breathe?” 

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” You give Sirius a grateful squeeze before letting him go. He lets you, but watches you concernedly as you swipe a knuckle underneath your eyes. The ringing in your ears has faded to near nothing, aftershocks trembling through your fingers in its wake.  “I’m fine. I just—needed a second. Sorry.” 

Sirius makes a quiet sound. “Stop that. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Remus nods his agreement. His head is in his hands, you can see now, but he lifts it up to look you in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.” 

You shake your head. “You were right. I was insensitive. And I don’t know why I reacted like that, I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Oi,” Sirius cuts in sternly, though half as stern as he’d usually be even to tease you. “I’m dramatic. Get your own personality.” 

That gets your lips to twitch a little. You watch as Remus sends him one of his fond, exasperated looks. 

“You weren’t being dramatic,” Remus says to you. “I shouted at you. However angry I was, that’s not alright. I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” Your eyes are beginning to burn again. You try to blink through it. “It was just—it was—” 

“I understand,” he says, softly. His expression is still taut with pain, but some of the harsher lines have melted away. “I’m sorry anyway. Do you want to come here?” 

Sirius hums satisfiedly when you go sit across Remus’ lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He draws his hand up and down your back slowly, with enough pressure to ease away any lingering tension coiled around your spine. You breathe out. Sirius doesn’t hold out long before he’s there too, curled around the two of you and squeezing heartily. 

“You two aren’t allowed to fight,” he mutters, kissing your head and Remus’ in turn. “In order for me to be petty and vain, I need you to be the sensible ones, understand? This is a delicate ecosystem.” 

“I don’t know,” you hum. “I think Remus should get breaks some way or another around the full moon. Can’t you take a sensible shift once a month?” 

Sirius lets out a sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but you hear the gentle sound of him pressing another kiss to Remus’ head. “Suppose so. Only once a month, though.” 

[sidequestobserver]

“What will you give, my dear?” The fae smiles, knowing she’s won. I need this deal.

I slump and turn away. My mind races through what I can sacrifice. My firstborn? I can’t give her Emma. She’s my daughter, my treasure. She just entered preschool. My name? I would forget who I am, and who knows what kind of damage that could do. No. No. I need to think of something else.

“Hurry darling, I can find someone else.”

“Give me a second,” I snarl. Come on Warren, think. What can you give. I smack my head with my hand. Think think think. My head hurts. Gosh I need a cigarette. I fumble in my pocket. Pull out a pack of Camels. Cancer sticks, my mum calls them. She’s not wrong. I stick one in my mouth, grab the plastic Bic lighter from my jeans. Sorry mum, I’m a lost cause, but I promise I don’t smoke around Emma.

I pause, cigarette unlit between my lips. Turn back to the fae, who is tapping her fingers idly on one cheek. I pull the cigarette out and study it. The thin white and brown cylinder rolls on my palm.

I’ve been a smoking cigarettes for a while. Tried them in high school, thought they looked cool. A few tries later I was gone. The corner store knows my face because I buy them there, have been buying them there, for years. I smoke with friends, smoke when I’m taking a break at work. They’re part of routine, part of life.

I look at the fae, who is looking at my face with a bored expression. I don’t know what she sees. I don’t know what is showing on my face, because I don’t know what I am feeling as I lift my hand and offer it to her.

“I will give you my addiction.” I whisper.

Her eyes flick to my palm. Back to my face. Back to my palm. I start to tremble. I grab my forearm with my other hand, lighter dropping on the ground. Steadying my open palm, my offering.

The fae’s smile returns, brighter and sharper than before. “Deal.”

And just like that she’s gone. The air before me is empty.

My hands are empty as well. So are my pockets. The cheap plastic lighter and pack of cigarettes erased, as if they’d never existed at all.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, check around to make sure the fae is gone. I rub my temple. My head hurts. I should drink some water, I think I’m dehydrated.

I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and a pack of mentos for Emma, then step up to the corner store register. The clerk rings me up. When it comes time to tell me the total, he hesitates. Waiting for me to say something.

I prompt him. “How much?”

“Will that be all?” he asks.

I look at him, a bit confused. “Yes.”

“Just Gatorade?”

“And the Mentos.”

“You sure?”

I stare at him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The clerk wavers for a moment longer. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, wanting to ask something. I can’t think of what. Instead he says, “That’ll be $4.31.”

I pay. I walk out the door. Time to pick up Emma.

Jason stared as Warren exited the corner store. Five years he’s worked here, and Warren has come by at least once every week in those five years, usually more. Sometimes he bought Mentos, sometimes not. But he never left without buying a pack.

A finger tapping on the glass counter brought Jason’s attention to a customer at the register. He hadn’t noticed her come in. A woman dressed in a fancy dress, with ethereal beauty and a razor sharp smile. Many men would have stared. Jason didn’t. Jason was a professional. Professionals don’t stare at customers. He hadn’t stared when that guy wearing macaroni briefs and nothing else had came in for chips, he was not going to stare at the pretty lady.

“How may I help you?” Jason asked politely.

“A pack of Camel, please.”

In a deal with a fae, you must give up something you hold dear. Whether it be your name, your first born, or something else, it must be held dear. You, gave up your addiction. It worked.

[suunani]

full of you [ jeong jaehyun ]

you somehow end up cockwarming in your best friend’s lap by the end of the night.

❛ content 2.5k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, bottom! male reader, cockwarming, so much praise, lots of pet names, jaehyun being completely gone for reader, sligh fingering (prep), fluff, lots of kisses.

( part one )

you hadn’t planned on staying the night.

it was just supposed to be dinner. maybe a movie. a casual tuesday night the same way it had always been — except 'casual' hadn’t meant the same thing in weeks. not since that kiss. not since everything shifted without either of you really acknowledging it, like the ground had quietly changed beneath your feet and you both just agreed not to panic about it.

now jaehyun kissed you often.

on your mouth, your cheek, your shoulder when you were brushing your teeth. he didn’t ask anymore. and, honestly, he didn’t need to.

you were already his — and he was yours — in every wordless way that mattered.

so when his fingers had curled around yours after dinner, tugging you gently into his bedroom without saying a word, you didn’t question it. you never could, not when he looked at you like that : soft and full of something you didn’t quite have a name for, but felt deep in your bones.

he sat on the edge of the bed while you stood between his knees, your thighs brushing the outsides of his, his hands exploring in slow, patient movements — under your shirt, across your waist, thumbs skimming the waistband of your sweats like he was drawing a map of you in his mind.

jaehyun didn’t rush. he never rushed. not with you.

you leaned down and kissed him — not deep, not eager, just slow. mouths barely parting. it was the kind of kiss that just felt like breathing, like leaning into warmth. you felt the subtle flex of his fingers on your hips, the way he exhaled softly through his nose when your lips skimmed the corner of his mouth. that made him weak — you could tell, and it made your heart ache with affection.

“can i ask you, hum… something?” he murmured, barely breaking the kiss, his lips brushing yours with each word.

“mmh?” your forehead stayed pressed to his.

his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the bare skin just above your waistband — he was not pushing, not teasing either, just… grounding you.

“i’ve been thinking about something,” he said, eyes flicking up.

you pulled back just a bit, enough to see the shift in his face — open, but careful. that look he gave you when he was being vulnerable. when he wanted something and wasn’t sure how you’d take it. that look alone made your stomach flutter.

“yeah?” you asked gently.

“i kinda wanna try cockwarming.”

you blinked.

your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. your throat went tight, and your heart slammed once — hard enough you could feel it in your teeth. his words didn’t even fully register at first, like your brain had hit a glitch trying to process them.

jaehyun smiled softly, thumb still tracing your skin. “you okay, baby?”

“i…” you swallowed, your eyes flicking down to his chest like you couldn’t look at him for a second. “you want me to… sit on it?”

“that’s the general idea,” he said, smiling a little more, voice still so soft. he laughed gently when your face went warm — not teasing, just fond. “but only if you want to.”

you choked a little — or whatever the hell that thing in your throat was — because your whole body had gone tight. not out of fear. just that visceral hit of nerves and want colliding in your chest like a wave.

you tried to speak, failed, cleared your throat, and tried again. “y–yeah. i want to. just… wasn’t expecting that.”

“i know,” he said, and his hands moved slowly up your sides, like he was reading you. “i’ll be really soft with you.” his voice dropped a note, not dirty — not even close — but reverent, like he was giving you a promise.

it went straight through you.

“i just want to feel you,” he said, breath brushing your jaw. “no rush. just… stay inside you.”

you didn’t even realize your fingers had curled into the fabric of his shirt until he tilted his head and pressed a slow kiss to your jaw, like he could taste the way your pulse jumped there.

“okay,” you whispered, breath catching.

“yeah?”

you nodded.

his hand found yours again, his fingers lacing with yours like they always did when he needed you to stay close.

“come here, baby.”

the clothes came off slow — peeled away like they had all the time in the universe. his hands skimmed up your back when he took your shirt off, brushing his fingers down your spine as if he couldn’t bear to lose contact. your pants were pushed past your thighs with quiet exhales and shy glances, every bit of skin uncovered only making the air feel heavier between you.

he laid you back on the bed for a moment, not even to do anything — just to look at you, to lean over and kiss down your chest, his mouth tracing every line of you with quiet awe. he kissed your stomach, the soft part just below your navel, his hand warm against your side while the other held the lube.

then he settled behind you, letting you lean back into him while he slicked his fingers and started prepping you — slow, warm, so careful. every movement was met with a whisper at your ear.

“you’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, lips brushing the side of your face. “opening up so easy for me, honey. like your body already knows what it wants.”

you groaned, head falling back against his shoulder. his fingers moved deeper, coaxing you open, the stretch manageable only because he gave you so much time. his free hand stroked along your waist, grounding you with every soft word and every warm breath.

by the time you were ready, he was sitting back against the headboard again, legs spread just enough, his dick flushed and slick in his hand. you watched him stroke it slow while you moved into his lap, watched the way his breath caught just slightly when you just touched his shoulders for balance.

everything slowed down.

your knees pressed to the mattress on either side of his hips. you hovered just a little, hands on his shoulders, letting him guide you by the waist as you lined yourself up his dick.

the tip nudged against you, and—

the stretch made your breath hitch immediately. your fingers clenched on his shoulders like you needed to anchor yourself really bad, your thighs trembling with the effort to stay in control.

“you okay my love?” he asked, eyes locked on your face. you nodded shakily.

“y–yeah. just… oh my god.”

jaehyun smiled, smoothing one hand slowly up your spine. “take your time, baby. don’t rush. i’ve got you.”

so you did. you took your time — letting yourself sink down inch by inch, breathing hard, feeling your body slowly adjust around him. it was intense — the pressure, the heat, the way he filled you without even moving. his hands never left you, stroking your waist, brushing the backs of your thighs, eyes never leaving your face.

and when you finally settled all the way down, seated flush in his lap, his dick buried deep inside you… everything went still.

your chest was pressed to his. you could feel the way your own heart pounded against his, the subtle shudder in your limbs, your fingers trembling where they clutched his shoulders. he wrapped his arms around you like he was holding something fragile, his face burying into your neck as he let out a low, shaky breath.

“fuck,” he whispered. “you feel… so warm. my pretty baby. so perfect.”

you didn’t move. honestly, you couldn’t. he filled you so completely, so deeply, you could feel the whole shape of him pressing against the most tender parts of you. the weight of him inside was overwhelming — not in a painful way, but in that too-much-and-still-not-enough way that made your head feel like it was floating.

every twitch of him inside you made your body respond — tightening involuntarily, fluttering around him in little pulses. even the smallest shift in your position sent a slow, pulsing wave up your spine, making your chest rise sharply against his.

and yet… the stillness was a high all its own. the way nothing moved. the way your body and his body simply existed together, locked in this quiet, molten closeness.

jaehyun’s mouth moved against your skin — soft kisses along your shoulder, your neck, the edge of your jaw. he didn’t press for more, didn’t chase the rhythm most people would. he kissed you like worship, like gratitude. like touching you like this was more than enough.

“god, you feel so good,” he breathed at your ear, his voice cracking faintly at the edges. “so fucking warm… so tight around me, baby. i could stay like this forever.”

your whole body flushed at the confession. you clenched down on him — just slightly, unintentionally — and the way he groaned in response made your eyes flutter shut. his forehead dropped to your collarbone, breath stuttering against your skin.

“shit…” he murmured. “you can’t do that, baby. i’m trying to behave.”

you laughed — breathless, warm — and your hands came up to cup his face. his skin was hot under your palms. your thumbs brushed over the apple of his cheeks, which were flushed high with pink. his lips were swollen from kissing, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

he looked… completely gone.

like he was drunk on you.

“you’re really not gonna move?” you asked, voice barely steady, teasing him enough to make him smile again.

“not unless you do first.”

his hands slid over your thighs — warm, gentle, almost reverent — before settling again at your lower back. the pressure was soft but firm, grounding. his touch felt like a tether, like it was holding you right there, keeping you full and safe and still.

you rested your forehead to his and just breathed.

and with every second you stayed like that, your nerves slowly began to quiet — like the rest of the world was fading out. all that was left was the fullness, the heat of him inside you, the solid weight of his body beneath your hands. every throb of his dick, every tiny twitch, sent ripples of sensation through you. your muscles clenched without thought, your body pulsing around him in soft, slow waves.

jaehyun leaned in and kissed you again — soft, unrushed. his lips moved against yours like the world was paused just for you two. then he pulled back just far enough to see your face again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “you know that?”

your throat tightened at the sound of his voice — like it cracked open something inside you that you weren’t ready for.

“jaehyun…”

“you are,” he insisted, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “the way you look at me… the way you feel around me. my pretty boy, you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

the ache in your chest bloomed at those words, too full to hold. you kissed him before he could say more — a deeper kiss this time, one that felt desperate not from lust but from emotion. from the sheer weight of everything he was giving you just by being here like this.

minutes passed in a haze of soft touches and slower breaths. neither of you spoke. you didn’t need to.

you let your bodies say everything else — in the warmth of your mouths, in the quiet slide of your fingers up his arms, in the way your bodies fit together without friction, without force.

eventually, you shifted in his lap — just the barest rock of your hips. not a thrust, not even a grind, just enough to feel him move inside you. and jaehyun moaned — loud and raw, like he hadn’t expected it.

“oh my god…”

you froze — startled — and then let out a soft laugh against his mouth.

“sensitive?” you teased, your voice breathy with affection.

he glared up at you with playful exasperation, his hands tightening on your waist like he was restraining himself from snapping his hips up.

“baby, i’m trying to last, and you’re out here trying to kill me,” he muttered.

you laughed again — full and quiet — and then gasped as you moved just a little more, the slow drag of him inside you setting every nerve on fire.

jaehyun kissed you again — harder now, but not fast. his hands came up to cup your face like he couldn’t stop touching you, his lips sliding against yours, his tongue brushing soft and slow. you felt his hips twitch under you — once, restrained — like his body couldn’t help but react even when he was trying so hard not to.

“stay like that,” he whispered, breath trembling. “don’t move. just let me feel you, baby.”

you rested your head on his shoulder, breathing hard. your dick was fully hard now, pinned between your stomachs, leaking steadily onto his skin. the way your bodies were pressed together made the sensation almost unbearable.

“can i come like this?” you asked, voice soft, uncertain.

jaehyun moaned at the question, a loud moan, like just the thought undid him.

“yeah, baby,” he breathed, and one of his hands slid down between your bodies, wrapping carefully around your dick. “come just from sitting on me. let me feel it, yeah? let me have it.”

his hand moved slowly — steady, perfect strokes in sync with the pulse of his dick inside you. you were so full, so open, it was almost too much — but not in a way that made you want it to stop. in a way that made you want to live there, in that moment, forever.

you were shaking when it hit — a soft, beautiful, startled gasp leaving your mouth as you came, your body clenching around him so tightly that his breath caught hard in his chest.

“fuck— you’re so perfect,” jaehyun groaned, voice breaking. “so fucking perfect.”

you spilled between you, the heat of it spreading across both your bellies, and he held you through it — one hand stroking your back, the other cradling your jaw, pressing tender kisses to your temple, your cheek, like you’d just given him something really sacred.

after a beat, when your heart had slowed and your breath had steadied, you felt his hips shift, just once.

a shallow grind. a soft moan that sounded like a plea.

“baby,” he whispered, voice cracked and wrecked. “i need…”

you nodded, not even waiting for him to finish.

“okay,” you breathed, still trembling.

jaehyun thrust once — slow and so deep — and you felt his whole body shudder beneath you. he came with a gasp against your neck, arms wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needed to feel every inch of you when he let go.

the warmth of him filled you, spilling deep, your body still fluttering around him with every soft aftershock.

you stayed like that — his dick still inside you, your chest pressed to his, his breath against your throat — for what could’ve been hours. long enough for his pulse to slow. long enough for your fingers to loosen from his shoulders. long enough for the world to feel quiet again.

neither of you spoke.

there was nothing to say, really. not when everything had already been said — in every whisper, every still breath, every soft praise pressed between kisses.

because this wasn’t about trying something new.

it was about knowing each other — and wanting to be known that way.

[holdinsteddie]

prompt: lollipop

(originally posted on my bluesky here)

au where Steve and Robin had their bathroom floor conversation/platonic soulmate initiation ceremony way back in 1983, like two weeks after Jonathan rocked Steve’s shit and by the time everyone gets back from winter break they’ve become SteveandRobin.

Steve knows all about Robin’s crush on Tammy Thompson and Robin knows all about the fact that Steve thinks one Eddie Munson is really pretty, actually, when he’s not being a grubby little gremlin.

In this au, Steve and Nancy mutually broke it off after the whole monster-fighting thing and so for the next few months after break, SteveandRobin try to wingman each other but also the ‘you rule/you suck’ board makes an appearance, this time in an unused corner of the band room.

So far Steve hasn’t gotten a single tally in the ‘you rule’ column. He is deeply offended by this and is trying to figure out why he seems to have lost his mojo. He needs to prove to Robin that he is very suave, actually, and no, his reputation is not a fluke. Jesus.

Which leads us to a Thursday evening in late May where band practice is getting out at the same time as Hellfire club. Steve suddenly finds himself being possessed by the ghost of Casanova himself or something because the next thing he knows, he’s abandoning Robin with a quick “be right back” and swaggering up to Eddie, who eyes Steve warily before leaning up against the side of the school building with a smirk paired with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve starts, keeping it causal.

Eddie pulls the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth with a wet pop and Steve fervently doesn’t have any feelings about that whatsoever.

“Steve Harrington,” he purrs. “What can this lowly peasant do for such esteemed royalty as yourself, hmm?”

Steve raises a single eyebrow. “Well, first of all, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly Hawkins High royalty anymore. Apparently jocks and band geeks can’t be friends,” Steve adds with a roll of his eyes.

“Second of all…” Steve glances left and right, making sure there’s no one in earshot before giving Eddie a once-over and taking a deliberate step forward so the toes of their shoes are almost touching. “I think we both know you’re too pretty and too smart to be stuck as a peasant.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide for a moment before narrowing, his dimpled grin somehow managing to be sharp as a knife. “Careful, big boy. You don’t wanna play this game.”

“Who says this is a game?”

Eddie scoffs, putting his lollipop back in his mouth and straightening like he’s going to move past Steve, but Steve stops him with a hand to the wall behind Eddie’s head.

He makes sure to leave enough room for Eddie to be able to walk away if he really wants to, doesn’t want him to feel trapped or pressured in any way. But he also wants Eddie to know he’s being serious.

“Look, you can tell me to fuck off if you really want, and I will, swear to god.”

Eddie stares at him with wide eyes and slowly nods his head.

“But I really hope you don’t,” Steve continues, leaning forward until their noses are just inches from touching, “because it turns out I really have a thing for curly-headed nerds.”

Steve relishes in the way Eddie’s jaw drops open and a blush works its way over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. It’s really fucking cute.

“I know I can’t exactly wine-and-dine you like if you were a girl, but maybe I could get us some pizza and beers and you could come over to my place one of these days?”

Steve raises his eyebrows, trying to only let a little bit of his excitement at the idea through — he doesn’t want to scare Eddie off.

Eddie stares for a moment, two. Eventually, he blurts, “Is— Is this— Are you being serious right now?” He hadn’t bothered to take out the lollipop before speaking, seems like he’s completely frozen, actually, making the question slightly garbled.

“As a heart attack.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So?” Steve asks, biting his lower lip. He watches Eddie track the movement and gives himself a mental high-five.

“I’m— fuck, okay.” Eddie looks at Steve’s lips again before looking into his eyes incredulously. “I’m pretty sure this is a dream, but whatever, fuck it, I’ll go on a date with Steve goddamn Harrington, I guess.”

“Not dreaming,” Steve grins, finally leaning back a little bit. “And I’m gonna hold you to that,” he promises. On a whim, he reaches out and plucks Eddie’s lollipop from between his lips before placing it in his own mouth, making sure to maintain eye contact the entire time. Eddie’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he visibly swallows.

“Uh.”

“I’ll find you at lunch tomorrow, figure out what day works,” Steve says casually, leaning back and starting to walk backwards towards the parking lot. He points the lollipop at Eddie and commands, “Better not stand me up, Munson,” before putting it back in his mouth, shoving his hands in his pockets, and turning to walk back to where Robin is waiting by his car.

He doesn’t look back, even though he really really wants to, because he still wants to make sure he looks cool and aloof.

“Steven Marie,” Robin whisper yells once he’s close enough to hear her. “What the fuck was that? What did you do to Munson?”

Steve ignores her questions. “What’s he doing, Bobbie?”

Robin, bless her, answers him. “He’s just… standing there. And now he’s pulling his hair over his face and squatting. Did you break him?”

Steve grins, pleased. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Wait, where did you get the lollipop? You didn’t have one a few minutes ago.”

“I might’ve stolen it from Munson, right after I got him to agree to go on a date with me.”

Robin freezes, staring at him like she’s buffering as her entire worldview gets rearranged. “Steve, Stevie, I need you to know I’m so happy for you and proud of you. But also I am going to actually strangle you to death in your sleep what the actual fuck.”

“Love you too, Robs.”

+ Bonus:

Steve, 5 min later after he’s started driving to drop Robin off at home: ohmygod. Robin.

Robin: What.

Steve: Eddie and I basically kissed.

Robin: What?????

Steve: His spit is in my mouth as we speak.

Robin: wHAT??!!!?!!!

Steve: Robin stop screaming I’m having a crisis

{send me a 📝 and a one-word prompt and i will try and write a lil steddie microfic for you! (it will almost certainly be much shorter than this one but who knows, i might get Inspired™️)}

[smutmind]

Goodbye Head ft. Wendy

The agency halls echoed with soft footsteps and muffled goodbyes.

Wendy walked slow, fingers brushing the plastered wall where old tour posters still hung. Thirteen years. From fresh-faced trainee to seasoned idol. Every corner of the building held a whisper of her past—early call times, tearful rehearsals, stolen naps on studio floors. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She turned the corner and nearly collided with someone.

"Ah—sorry," she started, then blinked. "Mr. Joon?"

He looked older. Grayer hair. Softer around the edges. But the same calm eyes, always watching without judgment. He stepped back, blinking as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. "Wendy... Wow."

She grinned. "It’s really my last day. Can you believe it?"

"I can’t. God, I remember when you came in with braces and a notebook full of lyrics you were too shy to show anyone."

Her laugh was quiet. "I still have that notebook. Somewhere."

He smiled, but something in it sagged, weary. They stood in the hallway as the silence stretched between them.

"You know," he said, clearing his throat, "I’m leaving too. Retiring, technically."

Wendy's brows lifted. "Really? I didn’t hear. When?"

"End of the week. No fanfare. Just... walking out."

She read his posture—shoulders rounded, tie loose, eyes that avoided hers for a beat too long.

"You okay?"

He gave a low laugh. "I don’t know. Poured everything into this job. Years just blurred by. All the birthdays missed, family I stopped calling back... I don't even have a plant at home to water."

Wendy's smile faded. Her voice turned soft. "I saw it. All of it. You were always the last one to leave. Even when I passed out in the practice room, you were the one who covered me with a coat."

Mr. Joon looked away.

"You gave everything, Mr. Joon. We noticed. I noticed."

For a moment, he didn't answer. Then: "It's strange. You get to the end and realize no one’s there to clap for you."

The ache in her chest surprised her. Wendy stepped closer. Close enough to see the faint wrinkle beside his mouth. Close enough to smell his cologne—subtle, woodsy, familiar.

"That's not true," she said. "I’m here."

He met her eyes.

Wendy tilted her head. "Come on. Just for a second."

She led him down the hall, past the break room she remembered napping in between vocal lessons. The light was off. The door creaked as it opened, and silence wrapped around them like dusk.

Mr. Joon paused inside. "Still smells like burnt coffee."

"And ramen packets," she added.

The hush between them deepened.

She stepped closer, fingers trailing the edge of the table where she used to sit and cry quietly after a bad dance eval. "You don’t deserve to feel alone. Not after everything you gave us."

He shook his head, mouth twitching like he might say something. Then he didn’t.

Wendy touched his hand. His skin was warm, trembling slightly. Their eyes met again, and something unspoken bloomed between them—gratitude, grief, tenderness.

Her voice barely above a breath. "Can I give you something?"

He hesitated. But he didn’t move away.

Wendy knelt slowly, fingers brushing his belt.

His breath caught.

She looked up, her gaze steady. "Let me say goodbye properly."

She opened his belt with slow, deliberate fingers. The metallic clink echoed in the silence. Her palms were warm against his hips as she unbuttoned and tugged down his slacks.

Mr. Joon’s breath stuttered. "Wendy… this kind of service… It’s only ever been offered to higher-ups. The executives, sponsors. Never someone like me. Not once. Even when you were all still under my care, I never—never expected anything."

She smiled gently, her lips grazing the outline of him through his briefs. "Exactly why you deserve it. You were kind. Always. No agenda. You watched over us. You watched over me."

Her voice turned tender, reverent. "So let me watch over you now. Just this once."

She pulled his briefs down, freeing him. He was already half-hard, heavy and flushed, and he twitched when the cool air kissed him. Wendy wrapped her fingers around his base with soft wonder. Her thumb stroked the tip, drawing a sharp hiss from him.

"You’re beautiful, Mr. Joon."

He groaned, looking down at her. She looked luminous even in the dim light—her skin glowing, lips plush, lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

Then she leaned in and licked.

One slow drag of her tongue along the underside, from base to tip. He shivered. Her mouth opened, wet and warm, and she took him in—just the tip at first, circling it with her tongue.

"Jesus," he muttered, hand finding the table to steady himself. "You feel like a dream."

Wendy moaned softly around him, the sound sending a throb straight through him. She began to bob her head slowly, each movement smooth, her cheeks hollowing as she took more of him in.

His hips jerked. She steadied him with a hand against his thigh.

"Wendy—God—you don’t have to—"

She pulled off with a pop. "I want to. Let me spoil you. Just this once."

Then she went back, deeper this time. Her throat opened to accommodate him, slick and hot. Her other hand fondled his base, her lips working him with deliberate devotion. She wasn’t rushing—she was savoring. Worshipping.

He gasped, watching her. Her hair brushed her shoulders, catching the dim light. Drool slipped from the corners of her mouth as she took him deep again, again, her eyes fluttering closed with each descent.

Then, she looked up.

She locked eyes with him, mouth full of him, lips stretched wide. And then she moaned again—vibrating pleasure straight into his core.

"Fuck—" he choked. "I can’t—I’m gonna—"

She didn’t pull away. She sucked harder, faster, her cheeks flushed, her eyes never breaking contact. Her nails bit into his thighs just enough to ground him.

And then he came.

He spilled with a long, ragged groan, and she took it all—every drop—without breaking rhythm. Only when he trembled under her touch did she finally pull back, licking her lips, eyes still soft.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling up at him.

"Goodbye, Mr. Joon."

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Don’t Blame Me

Evan Buckley x fem!reader

The coffee pot hisses lowly in the background, but you don’t move to pour a cup.

Buck’s standing near the kitchen counter in his uniform pants and undershirt, tugging on his boots like he’s trying to outrun the tension hanging in the air. He hasn’t looked at you once since he walked out of the bedroom. Not while brushing his teeth. Not while grabbing his keys. Not even when you greeted him with a hesitant, quiet, “Morning.”

You’re still in your pajamas, arms crossed tight over your chest, holding your breath like it’ll stop you from saying something you’ll regret.

But he’s the one who speaks first.

“I’m gonna be late,” he mutters.

That’s it. That’s all you get.

Not good morning. Not I’m sorry for last night. Just that distant, flat tone you hate. The one he uses when he’s already halfway out the door, emotionally and physically.

“Then be late,” you bite out before you can stop yourself. “Be late and talk to me.”

Buck freezes with his boot half-laced, finally—finally—lifting his eyes to you.

You expect softness. Regret. Anything.

But his gaze is cold. Exhausted.

“I don’t want to fight with you again.”

“Then stop running away from me every time I try to fix this!” you snap.

The words crack like a whip across the quiet morning, and for a second, he doesn’t move. Just stares.

“You said I make everything harder,” he says finally, his voice quieter, but sharper. “Do you remember that? Last night? When you were mad—you said loving me is exhausting.”

Your mouth opens—closes—opens again. The memory rushes back, half-blurred by tears and frustration. You did say that. Not because you meant it, but because you were hurt. Because you were trying to get him to hurt too.

“Buck…” your voice falters. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

“You didn’t even try to take it back.”

“I—I was upset. You kept shutting me out—”

“I shut down when I’m overwhelmed!” he explodes, and now the room isn’t quiet anymore.

“I know that!” you yell back. “But you shut me out even when I’m just trying to love you! What do you want from me? You want me to give you space? I do. You want me to show up and be patient? I do that too. But you’re never really here, Buck. You’re never fully with me.”

He turns away like he can’t stand to look at you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything he’s said.

“I have a job,” he mutters.

“And I have a heart!” you fire back. “And you’ve been breaking it piece by piece, every time you act like I’m the enemy just because I want more from you than silence!”

He exhales hard, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on. “I can’t do this right now. I’m going to work.”

“So that’s it?” you ask, voice cracking. “You’re gonna walk out like everything’s fine?”

“I didn’t say it was fine,” he says over his shoulder. “I just said I have a shift to cover.”

“Right,” you whisper. “Because running into burning buildings is easier than facing me.”

That one makes him stop.

His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He turns just enough to look at you—but not close enough to bridge the canyon between you.

“I’ll be back tonight.”

And before you can say anything—before you can tell him you’re sorry, or that you didn’t mean it like that, or please don’t leave like this—the door shuts behind him.

Hard.

And just like that, the morning falls silent again.

But now, it’s worse.

Because that’s the last thing you said to him.

And by tonight… you won’t even know if he’s coming home.

———

The first thing you reach for is the cast iron skillet.

Not because it’s convenient—but because it’s his favorite. You haven’t used it in weeks, and the weight of it in your hands feels heavier than it should. Like it knows this meal has more to carry than just calories.

It’s a little after 7:00 when you start the prep, soft music playing low in the background—some jazz playlist Buck said once reminded him of his mom’s kitchen when he was little. You’re not trying to win him over. You’re trying to reach him. To say with this meal what your mouth failed to this morning.

You’re making chicken marsala, his comfort food. The real kind—not the 20-minute kind with shortcuts and cornstarch and cheap wine. You’re talking browned mushrooms and shallots in butter, reduced marsala with stock, pan-seared chicken cutlets finished in the oven. It takes time. Effort. Intention.

Everything you wish you’d put into the conversation you had with him before he left this morning.

⸻

The chicken is sliced and floured by 7:18.

You take your time with the mushrooms, caramelizing them until they’re deep golden and nutty. You remember the first time you made this for him—he said it tasted better than any restaurant. You laughed, thinking he was exaggerating. Then he kissed your cheek and asked for seconds.

Your eyes sting now as you stir.

You glance at the clock. 7:47.

He has two more hours on shift. He said he’d come home after. You want to believe him.

So you keep cooking like he will.

⸻

By 8:10, the sauce is reducing and the house smells rich and warm. You even took the time to roast baby potatoes with garlic and rosemary and steam green beans the way he likes—still slightly crisp. You set the table for two. His side has the glass of cabernet you know he won’t drink more than two sips of.

You’re wearing one of his old firehouse tees. The one that got too small in the shoulders but he refused to throw out.

And while the chicken rests on a warm plate in the oven, you finally sit down at the counter and let yourself think.

How do I bring it up?

You know he hates conflict. You know he gets overwhelmed fast. You’re not perfect either—you push, you poke, you say things to test if he’ll stay. You don’t want to do that this time.

Maybe I’ll start with: I miss you.

Simple. Honest. Less threatening.

Or maybe: I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.

Because you didn’t. You never meant it. He exhausts you sometimes, yes—but you never meant him. You meant the space between you. The way he shuts down. You just… don’t know how to reach through the wall when it goes up.

The smell of dinner still fills the apartment. Everything’s still warm.

8:57.

You fluff the potatoes with a fork and smile. Almost time.

⸻

9:23.

You open your texts. Nothing. You refresh. Nothing.

You click on his location and see the familiar dot at the station. Still there. Maybe paperwork ran late. Maybe someone needed a minute to talk. You know how it goes.

You pour a glass of wine. Just half.

⸻

9:51.

You go ahead and put his plate in the microwave to keep it warm. Not reheat—just enough so it’s not cold when he walks in. You picture his tired face lighting up when he smells the marsala sauce. You imagine him slipping his arms around your waist from behind, whispering “You made this for me?”

You’ll say yes, and then you’ll apologize first. You’ll say it was a bad morning, and you love him, and you don’t want to keep hurting each other every time things get hard. You’ll say “We’re better than this, right?”

He’ll nod. Kiss your forehead.

It’ll be okay.

⸻

10:37.

You’re pacing now. Your stomach’s tight with something halfway between worry and dread. You check your phone again. Still nothing. You almost call, thumb hovering over his contact—but you stop yourself. You don’t want to seem clingy. He said he was coming home.

He promised.

⸻

11:02.

You call.

Voicemail.

You wait five minutes. Then call again.

Still voicemail.

You open Eddie’s contact. Then Chim’s. You don’t press call, but your thumb hovers. Maybe they’d know. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

It’s not him.

It’s a  text from one of his coworkers:

“Hey Y/N, thank you for being ok with Buck canceling your dinner date tonight, my baby is sick and we’re taking her to the hospital. I really appreciate both of you.”

Your breath leaves your body like a punch to the ribs.

Third shift.

Third.

That means 9pm to 7am.

And he didn’t tell you.

Not a single word.

⸻

The anger doesn’t hit all at once. It builds—slow and hot, like the marsala sauce did earlier, except now you’re burning from the inside out.

He looked you in the eye and told you he’d come home tonight.

He let you wait. Let you hope. Let you believe that maybe he wanted to fix this too. And the whole time, he knew. He knew he wasn’t coming.

You grab the to-go container from the top shelf of the cabinet—the one he uses when he packs leftovers for shift. You fill it with the marsala. The potatoes. Everything.

You don’t care that it’s after 11.

You don’t care that you’re not wearing shoes yet.

You’re going to the firehouse.

You’re going to look him in the eye and ask him why.

——

The firehouse is alive with the usual noise — radios buzzing, boots clacking, men focused on their shift.

You burst through the door, the cold container of chicken marsala digging into your palm. The food’s cold, just like your patience.

Buck’s sitting at the table with Eddie and Chim, playing cards like it’s some damn party and not a damn job.

You don’t hesitate. You throw the container on the table with a slap loud enough to stop the whole room.

“Are you serious right now?” Your voice is sharp, venom dripping from every word.

They all look up, startled. Buck’s face goes tight — but you don’t care.

“You said you were coming home,” you spit, stepping closer, rage burning in your chest. “You looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’ll be home after shift.’ And then you pick up another goddamn shift and don’t even have the decency to tell me?”

His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“I waited. Two fucking hours—waiting for you to walk through that door. Waiting for you to show up so I could finally fix this damn fight. And all I get is silence.”

You’re shaking now. The fire’s burning so hot it’s almost painful.

“Do you know what it feels like to cook your favorite meal for an hour and a half, spend every second thinking about how to not start another fight—and then find out you didn’t even come home?”

Buck’s jaw clenches. You see the guilt trying to crawl out, but you don’t give a damn.

Before things can get worse, Bobby steps in between you two.

“Y/N, enough,” he says, calm but firm.

You laugh, bitter and loud. “No, Bobby. I’m done. Done pretending I’m not fucking furious. Done waiting on someone who can’t even text me.”

You turn sharply and walk out, leaving the cold food and the broken silence behind.

The street is nearly empty—just you, the hum of the engine, and the boiling silence inside your chest.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. Your pulse is still racing from the firehouse. From him. From the way he sat there laughing, like you hadn’t been home, pacing in the kitchen for hours with a full plate of his favorite food going cold on the counter.

A sob claws its way up your throat but dies before it reaches your mouth.

You’re so caught in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the headlights screaming toward you from the side.

Almost.

Too fast.

Your head whips to the left—brakes screeching—but it’s too late.

The other car slams into your passenger side at full speed, a T-bone hit with the force of a missile.

Metal screams. Your body jolts violently as the impact rips through you like lightning. The car spins uncontrollably, tires screeching, glass exploding like gunfire.

Time slows down.

Your head whips forward, then back, as the car spins once—

Twice—

Then slams sideways into a tree with bone-crushing force. The passenger side caves inward, the entire right half of the car crushed like paper.

Your head hits the driver-side window with a crack, blood immediately pooling from your temple. The airbag deploys a second too late to save your ribs from the force. Pain sears through your abdomen—blunt trauma, maybe internal bleeding. You can’t tell.

The door won’t open. Your hands won’t move.

You taste copper.

You can’t scream.

The cold rushes in through shattered glass. Somewhere outside, someone’s shouting.

A pair of headlights flicker in the distance. A car screeches to a halt. Someone runs toward you.

“Oh my God! Call 911! Call 911 now!”

Another voice: “She’s still breathing—barely!”

You’re fading fast.

“Miss? Stay with me! Stay awake—hey, look at me. Look at me!”

A stranger presses on your side. It hurts so badly you nearly black out. The pain is unbearable. But you’re too weak to fight it.

Blood coats your seat. Drips down your wrist. Puddles on the floorboard.

Your car is unrecognizable.

And you? You might be dying.

Somewhere close—only three blocks away—sirens are screaming louder and louder.

The 118 is coming.

So is he.

But you don’t know if you’ll still be awake when he gets there.

——

(Station 118)

“Motor vehicle accident—two vehicles involved. One critical. Location—”

Buck hears the dispatcher say the street name and his body freezes.

He knows that road.

He knows who drives that road home from the firehouse.

“Buck,” Bobby says quickly, already picking up on it, “Don’t jump to—”

But Buck is already running. Helmet in hand. Vest half on. Sprinting to the rig like his life depends on it. Because it does.

The rig tears through the streets. It’s barely been three blocks. That’s how close she was. That’s how stupidly close—

Chim is driving. Eddie’s beside him. Hen’s checking gear.

And Buck is staring out the windshield, praying, pleading, bargaining.

Please don’t let it be her car.

Please don’t let it be her.

Please. Please. Please.

They turn the corner—

And he sees it.

Her car. Or what’s left of it.

A mangled, twisted wreck of metal, glass, and blood. The entire passenger side crushed like a soda can against a tree. Her car is barely recognizable—but Buck knows it. He knows the shape, the color, the dent on the rear left bumper from that time she backed into a post.

He jumps out of the rig before it’s even in park.

“Buck!” Bobby yells. “Wait!”

But he’s already running.

And then—he sees her.

Slumped sideways. Blood all over her. Her face pale. Her eyes half-lidded.

“No—NO—”

He drops to his knees by the driver’s side as Chim and Hen rush in.

“I’ve got no access here!” Hen shouts. “We need to cut her out!”

“Vitals are crashing!” Chim yells.

Buck’s voice shreds open as he pounds on the glass.

“Y/N—HEY—HEY, STAY AWAKE, BABY, STAY AWAKE—”

She flinches faintly. A moan. Barely.

He’s never felt fear like this. Not during the ladder collapse. Not during the tsunami. Not during lightning strikes or bomb threats.

This is worse.

This is her.

Bobby grabs him, yanking him back as they start cutting open the door.

“Let them work, Buck!”

“She’s bleeding out—she’s bleeding—”

“She’s alive,” Eddie says hoarsely, eyes locked on her. “But she won’t be for long if you don’t let them do their job.”

The door peels open.

It takes every ounce of strength Buck has not to fall apart when he sees the blood soaked into her seat, the way she gasps when they touch her abdomen, the deep gash on her temple.

She looks at him—just for a second. Eyes glassy. Barely there.

He reaches for her hand.

“Hey… hey, baby, I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”

Her lips move. He leans in. She’s trying to say his name.

Then her eyes roll back.

The monitors scream.

“She’s coding!” Hen yells.

“Go, go, go!” Chim shouts.

They hoist her out on the board, blood dripping to the pavement, and Buck runs after them—bloody hands shaking, lungs heaving, heart breaking wide open.

As the ambulance doors slam shut, Buck is left on the street, on his knees, shaking and sobbing—

Whispering over and over into the dark,

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The hospital lights are too bright. Too white. Too sterile.

Too clean for how bloody his hands still are.

Buck hasn’t sat down.

Not once.

He’s pacing—back and forth, back and forth—the soles of his boots leaving faint red smudges on the white floor, reminders of how he held her, how her blood soaked into his skin, his sleeves, his soul.

It’s been twenty-two minutes.

Twenty-two minutes since the double doors swung shut behind the gurney.

Twenty-two minutes since she coded in the back of the rig and Hen fought like hell to bring her back.

“She’s got a pulse!” Hen had shouted.

“Go, go, go!” Chim had banged on the ambulance wall.

They’d barely made it.

Now, she’s in the OR.

“Any update?” he asks the nurse at the desk—again.

She looks up. Same look of sympathy. Same rehearsed, practiced tone.

“She’s still in surgery, Mr. Buckley. The doctor will come out as soon as they can.”

He nods, but it’s barely a movement. His jaw clenches. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

He can still see her face.

How pale she was.

The blood in her hair.

The way she looked at him like she was already slipping away.

And all he can think is: I was supposed to come home. I was supposed to eat dinner with her. I was supposed to say sorry.

Not scream at her.

Not make her feel unwanted.

Not send her home in tears.

His stomach twists as the weight of it crashes down on him. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the to-go container.

Her handwriting on top.

“Your favorite. Still warm. I love you.”

He breaks.

Eddie finds him in a chair, head in his hands, the note clutched to his chest. His shoulders shake with every quiet sob.

“She was trying to make things right,” Buck chokes out. “And I—God, I didn’t even give her the chance.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, crouching beside him, voice steady but wrecked, “She’s strong. She’s in there fighting. But you’ve gotta hold it together until she wakes up.”

“If she wakes up.”

Silence.

Then:

“She will.”

Buck sits there, numb and bloodied and broken, staring at the doors like he can will them open.

“Ten more minutes,” he whispers. “I’ll ask again in ten.”

And he will.

Every ten minutes.

Until someone tells him the only thing he wants to hear:

That she made it.

Buck sits hunched over, forearms resting on his knees, fingers twitching against one another like if he stops moving, he’ll come undone.

Eddie sits in the chair next to him, silent, steady, like he always is. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t prod. He just waits.

And eventually, Buck cracks.

“It started over something stupid,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t even remember what. Something about the way I didn’t respond when she asked if I was okay.”

Eddie glances at him, quiet.

“She asked, and I brushed her off. Said I was tired. Said I had a long shift ahead.” Buck lets out a bitter laugh. “She tried to get me to talk about it, and I shut down. Again.”

Eddie’s silence isn’t empty. It’s full of understanding. Full of memories.

“She said it felt like I only let her in halfway. That sometimes I didn’t even try.”

Buck swallows hard. His voice softens.

“And she wasn’t wrong. She never is when it comes to me.”

He wipes his palm across his mouth, shaking his head.

“I snapped at her, man. She was just trying to talk, to understand, and I told her I didn’t want to do this before work. I told her, ‘we’ll talk tonight.’ Like that was enough.”

“She believed you.” Eddie’s voice is low, even.

Buck nods. His eyes are glassy again.

“She asked me if I was still in this with her. If I was still trying. And I just stood there. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t answer her, Eddie.”

Eddie looks over, eyes dark.

“And then I walked out. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she didn’t mean anything.”

The words sting coming out. Buck flinches at the truth in his own mouth.

“I was already halfway to the firehouse when I felt it. That regret. That voice in my head screaming at me to turn around. But I didn’t.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, gently.

Buck’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Because it was easier to go to work than it was to tell her I was scared.”

He swallows hard.

“Scared that I don’t know how to be loved like that. That I don’t know how to hold something so good without breaking it.”

Eddie leans back, sighs through his nose.

“You think picking up another shift was gonna keep her from seeing that?”

“I think it made it worse,” Buck whispers. “I think she cooked my favorite meal as an apology. I think she wanted to make it right and I didn’t even give her the chance.”

“You didn’t know she’d show up.”

Buck finally looks over.

“I shouldn’t have had to. She always shows up.”

His jaw tightens, grief crawling up his throat.

“And I didn’t.”

Eddie looks away. Doesn’t speak. Because he was there—when she walked into the station, shaking, eyes red-rimmed, voice raised with fury and heartbreak. He saw the way Buck froze, silent and stunned.

He watched her drop the container on the table, the note taped to the lid.

He heard her voice crack when she said, “I waited for you.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut now.

“She left like I’d torn her in half. And I let her go. I just let her walk away.”

The waiting room door buzzes open in the distance, but no one comes out. Just a nurse crossing through.

Buck leans forward again, elbows on his knees, hands laced together.

“If she dies…” His voice catches. He swallows thickly. “If she doesn’t wake up, that’s the last thing I ever said to her. That silence. That nothing.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet but certain.

“She’s fighting. You have to believe that.”

“I do.” Buck wipes at his face. “But I also know… if she doesn’t make it, it’s not gonna be the accident that kills me.”

Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder, firm. Steady.

“You’ll get to tell her all of this, Buck. You’ll get to say everything you didn’t. Just hold on.”

Buck nods, jaw clenched.

Another ten minutes pass.

He stands again. Walks to the nurse’s desk.

“Any update?” he asks, voice breaking.

This time, the nurse looks back at him, expression softening—

“The doctor’s coming out now.”

The waiting room had never been quieter. Not even when Bobby had been under the knife. Not even when Chim had coded. Not even when Buck had nearly died himself.

Because this time, it wasn’t him on the table.

It was her.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing.

His palms were still sticky with dried blood.

Her blood.

He’d been pacing when the door opened. The air shifted. He felt it before he heard it.

The soft click of shoes on tile. The rustle of a white coat.

Buck turned.

A doctor. Older. Stern, unreadable face. The kind of look that didn’t tell you anything until it told you everything.

“Evan Buckley?”

Buck took one step forward so fast Eddie reached out, as if ready to catch him.

“Yes,” Buck said, voice hoarse. “That’s me. I’m—She’s my—”

He swallowed.

“I’m with her.”

The doctor nodded. “Let’s sit.”

Buck didn’t want to sit.

He wanted answers.

He stood stiff and cold and trembling like a thread pulled too tight.

The doctor didn’t force it. Just exhaled slowly.

“She was brought in with severe abdominal trauma, a major concussion, and internal bleeding. Her spleen was ruptured. There were signs of blunt force trauma to the ribs, a laceration on the liver, and she had lost significant blood volume on the scene.”

Buck could hear himself breathing. Could feel Eddie standing behind him, but he couldn’t look away.

“The impact was… catastrophic. The passenger side of the vehicle wrapped around the tree. She was partially crushed between the door and the seat.”

Buck closed his eyes. His fault. She shouldn’t have been in that car.

“But,” the doctor said, voice softening just a hair, “she’s alive.”

Buck’s eyes snapped open.

“She’s in critical condition. We were able to stabilize her for now. She’s intubated and on a ventilator. Her vitals are holding, but it’s going to be touch and go for the next 24 hours.”

“Is she awake?” Buck rasped.

“No. We placed her in a medically induced coma to let the brain swelling reduce and give her body time to fight.”

Buck swayed where he stood. Eddie’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

“You said she’s stable?” Buck asked, and his voice cracked like a boy’s.

“For now,” the doctor repeated carefully. “There’s no guarantee. Her body is in shock. But she’s young. And she’s strong.”

Buck nodded like his neck was made of splintered glass. “Can I see her?”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Only for a few minutes. Let the nurses get her settled in ICU. Then we’ll bring you back.”

Buck breathed out like he hadn’t in hours.

The doctor started to turn away. Buck stopped him.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “For saving her.”

The doctor paused, gave him a look he’d remember for the rest of his life.

“She’s the one who saved herself,” he said. “She held on longer than most could have. Might be something worth holding on for.”

Then he walked away.

Buck stood there. Frozen.

“She’s alive,” he whispered. Like maybe if he said it out loud, it would stay true.

“She’s alive,” he said again, and this time he turned to Eddie, who had tears in his eyes too.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, gripping Buck’s arm. “She’s alive.”

But Buck didn’t feel relief. Not yet.

Because she hadn’t opened her eyes.

Because she hadn’t heard him say sorry.

Because she’d still left thinking he didn’t love her.

And that might be the part that killed him first.

The ICU was too quiet.

No sirens. No radios. No alarms.

Just the slow, soft beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor keeping her alive.

Buck stepped into the room and felt the rest of the world drop away.

She looked so small in the bed. Tubes and wires tangled in her arms, tape at her mouth, bruises blooming purple and red across her temple and shoulder. Her skin was pale, almost waxy. The kind of stillness that didn’t belong to someone like her—someone who laughed with her whole chest, someone who kissed him with all her soul.

The nurse gave him a nod, quietly closed the door behind him.

He took one step, then another. His boots felt too loud against the floor.

“I—” Buck started, then stopped.

His throat was too tight.

“I didn’t think it was real,” he said softly, sinking into the chair by her bedside. “I saw the car, and I—I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you.”

His hand hovered near hers for a second before he finally took it. It was cool, limp, fingers slack.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “God, I’m so sorry.”

His other hand came up, dragging across his face like he could rub the shame out of his skin.

“You were trying to talk to me, and I shut you down. You made dinner—you made my favorite, and I just… I stayed at the station because I didn’t want to face you. Because I was afraid I’d say something that made you walk away.”

He let out a weak, bitter laugh. “And I said nothing. And you still walked out the door.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“I never wanted you to think I didn’t love you. That you weren’t enough.” His voice trembled. “You’re everything.”

The machines kept beeping. She didn’t stir.

He leaned closer.

“Please wake up. Just… please. I’ll do anything. I’ll say everything I never said. I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life how sorry I am, how much I love you, how—how I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

His forehead dropped to the edge of the bed, hand still wrapped around hers.

“I didn’t come home, and now you might never come back to me.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Barely there.

The ventilator hissed. A monitor blipped.

And then—a twitch.

Her fingers.

They moved.

Buck’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Hey. Hey—are you—?”

But before he could call for the nurse, the heart monitor spiked.

And then,

flatlined.

[himasgod]

Would it be to soon to ask for a "where you suddenly stop giving them attention" part with the third years?

THIRD YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

Cater was living for your affection.

Seriously, you were his favorite notification. You always knew how to brighten his day, a kiss on the cheek before class, selfies together, random “thinking of you~” texts that made his heart skip. He acted all chill about it, but inside?

He was twirling his hair, giggling and kicking his feet like a teen in love.

So when you stopped? When your texts slowed down to dry busy rn, when you walked past him without that sparkle, when you skipped Magicam photos for days? Cater noticed. At first, he played it off with humor.

"Whoa, my number one fan vanished! Was I canceled and no one told me~?"

He scrolls back through your message thread at night, wondering if he said something wrong. Tries to post a cute story hoping you’ll react. Even sneaks by your class to “casually” spot you.

And when he sees you — head down on the desk, dark circles under your eyes, shoulders trembling, it hits him. You didn’t stop caring. You just stopped having the energy.

He walks right in, pulls you up from your chair, and takes your hand. You barely react, exhausted, letting him lead you. He brings you to the empty pop music club room, shuts the door, and wraps you in his arms.

"You don’t have to smile for me, kay? You don’t have to be “on.” Just be real with me, babe. I’m not going anywhere."

You finally let go and cry a little, muttering “I’m sorry” into his hoodie. He hugs you tighter.

"Nah, none of that. You gave me real love, and I’m keeping it. So if you need a break, I’ll be your filter. I gotchu."

Leona had long since decided that affection wasn’t something he needed. Or wanted. Or deserved.

But then you came along. With your sleepy kisses. Your hands in his hair. Your little “I missed you, lazybones” messages. Your way of plopping down beside him like you belonged there. It made him soft. He hated it. He loved it.

So when it disappears, when you stop curling up next to him during naps, when you barely say “hi” in the hallways, when the only messages you send are “Sorry, can’t today. Too tired”, Leona’s first instinct is annoyance. He’s gruff. Snappy. Sulking like a big cat who’s been denied his favorite sunspot.

"So that’s it? Done spoiling your prince, herbivore?"

But he doesn’t press it. Not yet. Not until he finds you passed out in the botanical garden, curled under a tree with your bag still slung on one shoulder. You don’t wake up when he calls your name.

He kneels beside you, frowning, brushing your hair out of your face. Your skin is warm. Your body limp with exhaustion. And suddenly he sees it, the sleepless nights in your eyes, the way you’ve been dragging your feet through the week. This wasn’t you ignoring him. This was you falling apart.

When you finally blink awake he doesn’t let you speak. He just pulls you against his chest, sighing into your shoulder.

"You idiot. You think I need all your attention if it costs you this much?"

You try to explain, apologize, but Leona tightens his hold and cuts you off.

"You gave me something warm for the first time in a long damn time. You think I’m gonna throw that away because you forgot to say “good morning” a few days?"

"Next time, just tell me you’re burning out. I’ll carry you if I have to. I’ll drag your overworked ass into bed myself."

And he does. He carries you to his room like it’s nothing, tucks you under his thickest blanket, and curls around you.

"You spoiled me rotten, herbivore. Let me spoil you back."

Vil took note the second it started.

The first time you didn’t compliment him. The first time you didn’t send your good morning text. The first time you passed him in the hallway, eyes on your phone, and didn’t so much as glance up. He noticed. He always noticed. But he didn’t act on it immediately. He gave you space, told himself you were probably dealing with something. That it was just a phase. He wasn’t going to be the clingy insecure type. And yet…

"Why haven’t they noticed my new look? They always say something…"

"They haven’t visited the dorm in over a week. Why?"

The questions start to pile up in his mind, and with them, a tightness in his chest he hates admitting is worry. When he finally seeks you out, you’re in the library, fast asleep over books, dark circles under your eyes, your lunch untouched beside you. And everything clicks. It wasn’t about him. It was about you. Pushing yourself too hard again. Giving too much and leaving nothing for yourself.

Vil lets out a sigh and gently wakes you. You blink at him, confused, guilty, already trying to explain. But he stops you with a finger pressed to your lips.

"Enough. You don’t owe me affection when your body is falling apart."

He takes your hands, helps you stand, and brushes the hair out of your face.

"You’ve been overworking yourself again. Look at your complexion. Look at your posture. Have you even slept properly this week?"

You shake your head, ready to apologize again, but Vil frowns and holds your face with both hands.

"You showered me in love when I needed it. Now let me return the favor."

That evening, he takes you to Pomefiore. Runs you a bath with herbs for your fatigue. Makes you a skin treatment himself. Feeds you something warm, nothing fancy, just what you need. And when you lie down, eyes drooping, he sits beside you with a book and reads aloud until you drift off.

The next morning, when you wake up and whisper, “Sorry for worrying you,” he only scoffs.

"You’re lucky I love you… Because darling, letting yourself fall apart is never a good look. So next time, tell me. You don’t have to be perfect — just let me in."

You were his safe place. That’s it.

Idia had never, ever been good with people, but somehow, you slipped through him like a virus. You installed yourself into every part of his daily life: calling him nicknames, hugging him out of nowhere, holding his hand even when he flinched like a malfunctioning Chatgpt.

So when you stop showing up to his room after class, when your daily “I love you, you nerd” texts vanish into silence, Idia panics. But he doesn’t know how to confront you. Not directly. So he goes through his mental folders.

"Did I say something cringe? Did I scare them off? Oh no. Oh fuck—what if they’re ghosting me?!"

He pings you in-game. No reply. He messages you on Magicam. Nothing. Eventually, he decides to do something terrifying: he leaves his room. He finds you half-asleep in a corner booth, head down on your arms, a tray of snacks beside you. You look pale. Tired. Your phone buzzes with unread messages, mostly from group projects. And his. He shuffles over, hoodie up, hands in sleeves.

"Hey… hey… you okay?"

You lift your head, dazed. When you realize it’s him, you try to smile, but it comes out cracked. “I’m sorry, I just… forgot to reply. I’m so tired.”

Idia sits beside you. He just pulls his sleeve over your hand and gives it a squeeze. "You’re running out of stamina, huh? You chuckle weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”

"You don’t have to be good all the time just for me. But next time, let me know, okay? I can carry the team for a while."

Then he gently drapes his oversized jacket over your shoulders.

Lilia always used to tease you a little about how much you pampered him.

"Another treat? You’re going to spoil me rotten, little one. I might start expecting this every day~"

He would laugh, flutter his lashes, feign dramatic swoons every time you brought fixed his hair without warning, or clung to his arm calling him “old man.” But the truth? He loved it. Every second of it.

So when all that stops? When you start pulling away with tired excuses and absent eyes, when your touch disappears, your laughter fades, and your texts become “sorry, I’m busy” Lilia notices. Of course he does. He notices everything. At first, he jokes about it, as usual.

"Ara~ have I lost my most devoted fan? Say it isn’t so"

But you just smile weakly, wave him off, and walk past him. And Lilia stays behind, lips still curved, but eyes narrowed. Concerned.

He doesn’t chase after you, he waits. Watches. He sees how you stumble over your steps in class, how you barely eat. And suddenly, everything makes sense. You weren’t ignoring him. You were burning out.

The next time he sees you, you're dozing off, a stack of notes on your lap and your pen still in hand. He crouches beside you, brushes a strand of hair from your face, and whispers. "Silly human… You give and give until there’s nothing left. And now you’re forgetting to take care of yourself."

He doesn’t wake you. Instead, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to his room. He sets you on the bed, tucks you in, and sits beside you. Humming something low. And when you finally stir awake, blinking at him with confusion, he just smiles.

"You stopped spoiling me… so I’ll spoil you now. Rest, darling. I’ll watch over you."

Malleus had never known what it was like to be loved in the small ways.

Not just respected or fond like Lilia, Silver or Sebek, But openly loved, with warm hands brushing his hair, with nicknames whispered, with kisses on the cheek followed by playful grins and “did you miss me prince?”

That’s why, when it suddenly stops, he doesn’t know how to process it. You no longer greet him with your usual bright voice. You stop reaching for his hand. You avoid going to Diasomnia. He doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t even speak of it at first. He just watches.

"Have I displeased you?" He asks himself this more times than he’d ever admit.

At first, he assumes it's distance — that perhaps your heart had grown bored of him. But then he begins to see the truth, your slowed pace, the way you rub your eyes and mumble apologies without reason. You weren’t pushing him away, you were exhausted. So one night, he appears outside Ramshackle, as he used to do in the beginning when your bond was still new. You hear the gentle knock, and when you open the door, there he is.

"May I come in, child of man?"

You nod tiredly, and let him sit beside you on the edge of the bed. You try to explain. Try to apologize. But Malleus just shakes his head, placing a hand over yours.

"You gifted me a kind of love I never imagined I’d have. You do not need to apologize for needing to rest. But I ask you this. Do not shut me out. Let me carry some of your burdens, if only a little. Let me stay beside you, even in silence.·

You feel tears sting your eyes, but Malleus simply leans forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

"Even if you have no strength left to call me “my prince,” I will still be yours."

Trey never asked for much.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to expect grand displays or dramatic affection. But ever since you started spoiling him, slipping love notes into his apron pocket, kissing his temple while he baked, calling him “sweetheart” when you thought no one was listening, he’d gotten used to it. Too used to it.

So when you suddenly go quiet, when your touches vanish and your little “I brought this just for you” moments dry up, Trey pretends not to mind. At first.

"Everything alright? You’ve been… quiet lately. Busy?"

You nod. Tell him not to worry. That you’re just tired, that homwork's overwhelming you a bit. He doesn’t push. But it nags at him. He watches how your shoulders slump, how you chew your lower lip while working through assignments, how your phone lights up with unread messages you don’t even glance at.

And one afternoon, when he sees you curled up, asleep with a half-eaten snack and your notebook clutched to your chest, something in him clicks. He sighs softly, kneels beside you, and gently takes the notebook from your arms. He sits down pulling out a small container from his bag. Inside is your favorite treat. One you once made together. He leaves a note beside it:

“For when you wake up. You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here too.”

When you wake up hours later, groggy, you find Trey still sitting across from you, reading calmly, as if nothing ever happened. But when your eyes meet, he smiles, the kind of smile that says “You don’t owe me anything, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And later, as he walks you back to your dorm, he gently bumps your shoulder.

"Next time you feel like the world’s too heavy, tell me. You’ve always been sweet to me… Let me return the favor, yeah?"

Rook noticed the change before anyone else in all the 3 parts.

He always noticed you. The way your eyes lit up when you saw him. The rhythm of your voice when you called him, the tender way you touched his arm when you thought no one was looking. Your affection was art. And he had memorized every stroke of it.

So when your energy faded, when your “good mornings” dulled to distracted nods, when your hands stopped reaching for his, Rook didn’t need an explanation. He read your body like poetry. At first, he gave you space. Like a hunter watching from a distance. But Rook isn’t passive. He’s passion incarnate. And watching the light fade from you? It ached.

So one afternoon, when you sat alone in the library, head heavy in your arms, unmoving, he couldn’t stay silent. He approached quietly.

"Mon cherie… what burden weighs your wings so deeply?"

You flinch and try to sit up, but he kneels beside your chair, taking your hand gently. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a tired whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Rook kisses your knuckles.

"Ah, no. Do not apologize for enduring. You have not ignored me. You have simply... forgotten to care for yourself."

You shake your head, tears building, shame rising, but he hushes you with a finger to your lips.

"You who gave me such beauty, such devotion, how could I abandon you now, in this moment? Let me cherish you now, ma lumière. Let me carry you."

He lifts you as if you’re made of petals and takes you somewhere quiet. He wraps you in blankets, brings you tea, brushes your hair.

"Rest, my treasure. You gave your light to so many — now let me be the one to shine for you."

[diaryofavillainwhore]

— Corrupt Me Softly

She smiled too easily. That’s the first thing he noticed about her.

In a city choked with smoke and rot, she was all softness and light. The kind of girl who bent to help a bleeding stranger. Who picked flowers from the cracks in the pavement. Who still clapped when pro heroes gave speeches and said things like “We’ll protect you.”

It was fucking laughable. Pathetic. He hated girls like that. He wanted girls like that. No, he wanted her.

Dabi first saw her during a league attack gone wrong. Her arms were wrapped around a sobbing child, blood on her hands, eyes wide and too brave. She looked up and saw him through the fire. His face was half hidden by staples and shadow, but he saw her clearly. That beautiful soft face, the big eyes. And what she didn’t do. What she should’ve done. She didn’t scream or beg. She watched him with unblinking eyes… and that was it.

He should’ve turned her into kindling. Should’ve reduced her to bones and ash, like the rest of the meatbags in the way. But something about her made him pause for a second. And in that second, the idea planted itself like a spark on dry wood.

What would someone like her sound like when she cried for him?

She didn’t even know his name, not really. She had heard rumors about the league of villains and its members. But he was like whispers in the smoke.

And he followed her every day. Sat on rooftops with a cigarette between his teeth, watching her go about her sunshine life. She wore skirts that floated when she walked. Took care of stray cats. Gave money to buskers. Laughed with her friends like she hadn’t seen a man burn alive last week.

He started slow. A scorched bouquet outside her door. A voice in the dark. A heat on the back of her neck when she walked alone. She left her curtains open like an invitation, like she wanted to be seen.

And Dabi? He watched her sleep. Watched her press her knees together in bed like she was pretending not to be needy. She was aching for something she didn’t understand yet and it made him smile, because he’d be the only one able to give it to her.

Then the man at her work smiled too long. Chatted her up with clear intentions. She was too naive to notice, but Dabi saw everything, and he acted.

Two days later, he was found in an alley, tongue cooked black, hands melted down to the knuckles. No suspects. No witnesses. Just a message burned into the bricks.

‘Don’t touch what’s mine.’

She knew. She knew he was watching her, and she didn’t tell the heroes. That’s when he knew she’d break.

When he finally showed himself again, it was in the alley behind her apartment. Her hands trembled, But she didn’t run.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

He stepped close. Breath hot against her ear. His fingers slid over her jaw like he was touching glass. “Everything.”

And he took everything piece by piece. First, her time. Then, her truth. He made her lie to her friends. Made her second-guess the people she trusted. Made her sneak out just to hear his voice. She started trembling not from fear, but from want. From the sick little thrill of hearing her name curl off his tongue like a threat.

When she told him she still believed in heroes, he laughed. “Then why do you moan like a sinner when I touch you?”

One day, she came to her childhood home to black smoke in the distance. Gone—burned to the ground. Every memory, every piece of who she used to be, gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

He found her on her knees in the rain, sobbing. And all he did was kneel behind her and stroke her hair like a lover. “They never gave a fuck about you. They loved your brother more. They always did. Now they can’t hurt you anymore.”

She screamed at him. Fought him. Hit him until her knuckles split. And he let her, because pain is still attention and rage is still connection.

Beneath it all, her heart was cracking like glass under pressure. “You’re sick,” she spat.

“No, baby,” he purred, cupping her face, his thumb brushing the tear on her cheek. “I’m in love.”

She had a plan. A secret exit stashed under the floorboards—money, a burner phone, a recording of what Dabi had done. Names. Dates. Faces.

He had changed her. He had Warped her. He had twisted everything she believed in. But maybe… maybe she still had time to undo it.

She told herself she wasn’t running from him, just running back to the truth. Back to the heroes she once adored. To justice and to the light that used to warm her, before cold flames surrounded her like a shield. No, not a shield, but a cage.

One last chance to escape the monster who lived in her shadow.

She got as far as one street away from the agency. Her hands trembled as she looked up at the building. Its sleek glass windows reflecting hope, safety, salvation.

Her eyes burned with tears. She stepped forward, and a hand closed over her wrist. Hot. Unmistakable. Dabi.

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” he murmured behind her, low and calm, the way it always was right before he snapped. “After everything I gave you, everything I burned for you… you really thought you could crawl back to them?”

She gasped, tried to yank her arm free, but he was already dragging her backwards into the alley. Into the dark, and out of sight.

Her body betrayed her, like whenever he touched her. When she smelled that unmistakable scent of smoke and musk. She shivered at his touch, weak with adrenaline and full of twisted memories.

“No—let me go, Dabi—” she whimpered weakly.

“No,” he growled, shoving her against the damp brick wall, pressing his body to hers. “You don’t get to fucking leave.”

Despite the beautiful sunny day, the alley was tight and cold. A siren wailed in the distance. She still could see the hero agency’s sign, beyond the edge of the wall. So close. Even a single scream could save her, but the fear of what would happen to Dabi overpowered the need to step back into the light.

So she let him held her there, trapped in the shadows, his hands sliding under her shirt like he owned her.

“You thought you were a civilian again?” he sneered. “That you could go back to your little sunshine life and wash the filth off? You’re not one of them anymore. You’re mine.”

She whimpered, struggling, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I just wanted to feel normal again.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice turned dangerously soft. “You were normal. I made you better. I made you real. I made you mine. And now you’re gonna show me you remember that.”

She froze as he dropped to his knees in the filth of the alleyway, yanked her panties down beneath her skirt, and pushed her thighs apart. “Dabi, no—please, someone might see—”

“Then maybe they’ll learn who you belong to.”

He licked a slow stripe up her inner thigh, fingers bruising her hips as he buried his face into her soaked cunt. There wasn’t anything gentle about the way he ate her. Every lick, every suck was punishment. Her back arched against the brick. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry. It was sick and twisted how she wept for him.

“That’s it,” he rasped against her pussy, pulling away just enough to look up at her. “Say you missed me. Say you missed my mouth, my cock, my hands around your throat. Say you don’t want them. You want me.”

She shook her head, choking on a sob, “I—I wanted out—”

“Liar. You wanted to be caught. You wanted me to remind you how fucking good it feels to be ruined.”

He stood and opened the zipper of his pants, enough to free his partly burned cock out. Angry, hot and leaking for her. He gripped her thigh with one hand and hooked it around his waist. The other holds his cock tightly, smacking it against her swollen clit until she was sobbing. Then he thrusted into her in one brutal push. She cried out, eyes wide, walls clenching around him with betrayal and sick, molten need.

“You hear that?” he growled, rolling his hips in slow, devastating rhythm. “That wet little pussy knows where she belongs. Not in some glass tower full of hypocrites. Not at the feet of heroes. Here. In the dark. Taking me like a fucking whore.”

He kissed her like he was starving. Fucked her like he was punishing her for the thought of leaving. Slow and mean, hands holding her open, body caging her in, fucking her against the bricks like she was nothing but his plaything.

“Tell me,” he hissed against her ear, “do the heroes make you cum like I do? Do they choke you while you beg for more? Do they own your fucking soul like I do?”

She sobbed and wailed and squeezed her eyes shut. Pleasure and shame blurted the edges of her mind. “Please,” she whimpered.

He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in with a growl. “Say. It. Say you’re mine. Say you never fucking left.”

And with her face soaked, her thighs shaking, her pussy gripping him like she never wanted to let go—she cracked. She cracked and broke completely. “I’m yours. I never left. I can’t—I can’t live without you—”

He groaned deeply and looked up to the sky, like he was thanking every fucked up god that she’d be finally his. His hips started to stutter as he ground deep inside her and spilled her womb full of him. He held her there for a long moment, still buried inside her. His grip bruised her skin, two hearts pounding like war drums and finding the same rhythm.

Then he kissed her temple so sweetly it made her cry again. “That’s my girl. You’ll never leave again. Not unless you want the world to burn for it.”

for @dabislittlemouse, because corruption never felt so good

[rosiesrroses]

Hey!! Since you’re taking requests could I possibly ask for a Yuki x Reader? Just a cute date night where the two of you cook together? I’d love to see Yuki get a little more love ♥️

Motsunabe ~ yt22

in which: reader makes yuki his favourite childhood meal to cheer him up

paring: yuki tsunoda x fem!reader

warning(s): just fluff! (and this is not proofread btw! and i just realized i didn't completely fulfill this request but this is the fist thing that came to mind)

word count: 473!

My love for u is ever lasting, it will last until eternity ends~

You and Yuki have both been waiting for this week off. 

You really wanted to spend time with him again and you could see he needed a break.

You offered to pick him up from the airport, but he insisted on driving himself. 

And even though he didn’t say it out loud, you knew he needed some space to breathe and some time to himself before returning to your shared apartment.

You didn’t argue, instead you decided to surprise him.

That evening, you stood in the kitchen, grocery bag on the kitchen island and your phone open on a recipe his mom sent you earlier.

Motsunabe. His favourite childhood meal.

You asked her a few days ago and she replied almost immediately and you read through it about six times before even starting.

The apartment was soon filled with the scent of garlic, chives and simmering broth by the time the lock clicked and Yuki stepped inside.

His hoodie was up, dragging his suitcase behind him with a tired look on his face.

“Hey,” you said softly.

His eyes found yours instantly, and the tiredness softened just a little.

“Hey,”

He kicked his shoes off, left his bag by the door, and made his way over to you without another word. You met him halfway, wrapping your arms around him as he melted into your touch.

You held him for a while, the stove humming in the background.

“Welcome back,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair.

He let out a breath, his arms tightening around your waist. 

“I, um… I made dinner,” you said softly, suddenly shy. 

He looked up at you, “Yeah?” 

You nodded, letting go of him so he could see the bubbling pot on the stove. 

“Motsunabe,” you said, “Well, my best attempt at it,”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. He slowly walked over, peering into the pot, and just stood there for a second. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and for a moment you thought you messed it up.

“You made this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Your mom helped me, kind of,” you said with a small smile. 

He looked between you and the pot, his expression softening a bit more.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” you said gently, “You’ve had a rough few weeks and I thought maybe this could cheer you up a bit,”

His gaze lingered on you for a few seconds before he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist again, pulling you into his chest.

“Thank you,” he murmured, kissing your temple. 

You held him tighter, “Don’t thank me yet, you still have to taste it,”

He pulled back, giving you the realest smile you’d seen on him in days.

“If it’s made by you, then I already know it’s good,”

my masterlist ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

[dee-writes-anime]

The Art of Homemade Gloves

FEATURING Choso Kamo x Reader

SUMMARY When you handed him a heat pack and told him to get some rest, you didn’t think anything of it. But Choso had never really been given warmth before and now he doesn’t know how to stop bringing it back to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS choso is awkward (!!!), not much other than cute fluff :D

AUTHORS NOTE some cute choso fluff I wrote to break up some request posting. Sometimes, you just gotta let those creative juices flow freely. ;)

It starts with a mission and a sore back.

The fight hadn’t been brutal, but it left everyone scraped raw—too much cursed energy in the air, too many small injuries that didn’t need a healer, just rest. By the time Choso finds a quiet hallway in the safehouse to sit down and breathe, the adrenaline’s long gone and a strange stillness is settling into his bones. Not peace. Not exactly. Just quiet.

You find him there, sitting against the wall like an abandoned shadow, elbows on his knees, head lowered. You don’t say anything right away. Just sit beside him with a soft grunt and stretch your legs out. Close, but not too close. It’s that subtle kind of closeness he’s noticed about you—natural, like you belong where you are without needing to ask permission.

You’re both quiet for a moment. Breathing in the same air, letting silence do what it does best: make space.

Then, you nudge something into his lap.

He looks down.

It’s a heat pack—one of those soft, microwavable ones, stuffed with rice or seeds, a faint trace of lavender clinging to the fabric. It’s warm. Still holding the heat from your hands.

“You looked tense,” you say. “Helps with the soreness. Just pop it in the microwave for like thirty seconds.”

He stares at it, confused. “You’re giving me this?”

You shrug. “Yeah. You didn’t look like the type to grab one for yourself.”

That’s… true. He wouldn’t have.

You stand, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your shirt lifting just slightly. Choso looks away.

“Rest up, Choso,” you say over your shoulder, and then you’re gone.

He stares at the heat pack a while longer before pressing it to his chest like it might teach him something.

The next day, you find your favorite bottled tea sitting on your desk.

No note. No explanation. Just a single can, placed neatly beside your papers.

You glance down the hallway in time to see Choso disappearing around the corner.

The day after that, it’s a bag of spicy chips—the exact kind you’d mentioned craving once after a mission, in passing, weeks ago.

You open the bag and pop a chip into your mouth, chewing slowly.

“…Huh.”

When you see him again in the common room, you raise an eyebrow.

“Choso,” you say, arms crossed. “Are you… bribing me?”

He freezes mid-step, holding another drink can in his hand. You’ve caught him in the act. His eyes dart to the tea, then to you.

“No,” he says immediately, too fast. Then he pauses. “…Is it working?”

You try very hard not to laugh. “Maybe.”

He nods, completely serious, and sets the can down carefully before turning and walking away with the stiff posture of a man fleeing a crime scene.

You’re still laughing ten minutes later.

The gifts don’t stop.

They’re not flashy—never flowers or jewelry or anything extravagant. Just little things. Snacks. Canned drinks. A fresh roll of wrist tape after a tough training session. A pair of soft socks when the weather turns colder.

One day, it’s a neatly folded cotton scarf. You recognize it from the vendor stalls near the school—simple but warm, and in a color you once said you liked. Choso doesn’t even stick around to see you open it.

You don’t know what to do with it all, exactly. You try to give things back. He refuses every time.

“No,” he says, like it’s obvious. “It’s for you.”

Sometimes he hovers after dropping things off, pretending he’s not hovering. He doesn’t talk much, but his presence fills up the space slowly, like steam curling through the air.

Eventually, you stop pretending you don’t enjoy it.

One evening, after a mission with a few too many close calls, you sit outside the safehouse, elbows on your knees, cooling off under the open sky. The stars are just starting to emerge—faint and flickering. You rub your thumb over a small cut on your palm, mind wandering.

Choso appears quietly beside you, holding something wrapped in a soft cloth.

You blink. “Another peace offering?”

He sits without answering and sets the bundle in your hands.

You unwrap it carefully.

Inside is a pair of gloves. Hand-stitched, soft, warm. The seams are slightly uneven in a way that makes your chest hurt. Not messy—just… real. Like someone had done their best, even if they weren’t used to doing things like this.

You slip them on. They fit perfectly.

“You made these?” you ask, voice soft.

He nods once.

You flex your fingers and stare down at your hands, searching for words. Before you can find them, Choso speaks first.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “After you gave me that thing.”

You look up at him.

“The heat pack,” he clarifies. “You gave it to me and… didn’t ask for anything. You just did it.”

He pauses. His voice is low and steady, but you can hear the tension underneath, like a bowstring drawn tight.

“No one’s ever done that before,” he says. “Just… gave me something. Because they wanted to.”

Your heart pulls, slow and deep.

“I didn’t know how to say thank you,” he adds. “So I started… bringing things.”

You swallow, touched in a way that’s hard to describe.

“I noticed.”

His hands twitch in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you say gently. “It’s… really sweet, actually.”

He turns to look at you—cautious, uncertain.

“You didn’t have to do any of that,” you continue, “but I’m glad you did.”

He’s quiet. Then, after a long pause:

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you say immediately.

He exhales, quiet and almost imperceptible.

“…Good.”

Things shift after that.

Not dramatically—just slightly. Like a door left cracked open. Choso starts lingering more. Sometimes he doesn’t bring anything at all, just sits with you while you read, or trains quietly nearby.

He doesn’t speak much. But when he does, it’s careful. Intentional. Like he weighs every word before offering it to you.

And sometimes, he watches you.

Not in a way that feels heavy or uncomfortable. Just… watchful. Soft-eyed. Like you’re something he’s trying very hard to understand. Or maybe memorize.

You don’t push. You just let it be. And quietly, you start giving back.

You bring him little things, too. Not out of obligation—just instinct. His favorite onigiri. A new set of hair ties. A small bottle of eucalyptus oil for his aches. The first time you brush a leaf out of his hair after a mission, he goes so still you think he’s stopped breathing.

Then he thanks you in a voice so quiet it barely makes it past his lips.

One day, you find a new heat pack on your bed.

It’s handmade. Soft fabric, the same color as your favorite hoodie. There’s a note tucked underneath, the handwriting small and oddly careful:

For when you’re sore. Or cold. Or both. —Choso

You press it to your chest, smile, and feel warmer than the pack itself.

You don’t realize how normal it’s become—this strange rhythm between you—until you wake up one evening from a post-mission nap on the common room couch and find Choso sitting on the floor beside you.

He’s reading. His legs are crossed, and there’s a mug in his hands. The book’s upside down, you realize after a moment.

You blink groggily. “How long was I out?”

He glances over, calm as ever. “Not long.”

There’s a blanket draped over your shoulders.

You frown, tugging at it. “Did you…?”

He looks vaguely guilty.

You smile. “Thanks.”

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes. Choso sets the book aside (right side up this time) and watches you for a moment. Not saying anything. Just… looking.

There’s something in his gaze tonight. Something quiet and vulnerable and very, very present.

You decide to ask the thing that’s been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks now.

“Choso,” you say, “are you courting me?”

He freezes.

You swear you see his soul leave his body for a full three seconds.

“…I don’t know,” he says finally, voice small. “Am I?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“I think so,” you say gently. “And if you are—I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.”

His eyes widen slightly, like you’ve just handed him the moon and asked if he wanted to keep it.

Then—slowly, like a cloud parting—he smiles. Just a little.

“…Okay,” he says.

You reach out and take his hand.

It’s warm.

So are you.

[withluvvenus]

　　　𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 : 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝓣𝐄𝐍

　

　

　　" it's just love island " they say , but what if someone you never expected to see is on it ? what if it's season ten and everything is ten times worse ?

　　　　　episode ten of love island USA :

　　it's late , the stars are out to cover the sun's scarcity . the crickets nearby are doing their noisy rituals , and there is a cold blow in the air tonight . the air feels like static , the breeze flushing through everyone as they are sat in a group . tonight's the recoupling , and ariana madix is present . it's bad when she's here for a recoupling .

　　some of the original couples have switched around , but venus has stayed with emmett this whole time . there have been new bombshells who have entered the villa since , and one of them have already been dumped . but there is this one bombshell in particular who wanders in venus's mind . he's the boy from last summer , the boy she had left early in the morning , the boy of her ' what ifs ' . he's back and better , but the two haven't even spared the thought of spending a second together . but the viewers know , from the confessionals to just how the two look at each other from across the villa . some even say they rebranded the look of love . but they both are too stubborn , yet everyone knows the saying . distance makes the heart grow fonder .

　　tonight , the boys get to choose who they want to recouple with . each one of them stands and give their reasoning . most of them don't break hearts , but the one who does ? emmett .

　　" i choose this girl to couple with because i have spent countless hours talking with her outside of challenges , and when we're chosen to participate in the same challenge together ? it feels like heaven for me . . . i'm choosing this girl because she has made my heart beat faster in her presence . . . i'm choosing lana "

　　lana . one of the new bombshells who hasn't even been here for a week . the girl venus was holding hands with in the line to be picked from . the girl who left venus to stand alone by ariana madix as she made a beeline towards emmett . they hug , they smile at each other , and they both sit down . it's just venus standing now , alone , vulnerable , and out of a couple . ariana announces the news , the person who isn't in a couple will be dumped from the island .

　　as venus is packing up her suitcase , he comes to pull her for a last chat . not emmett , but matt . the bombshell . she goes with him , of course she does . they find a spot to talk where the night sky is visible . they've never touched since last summer , not really have had a good chat since he walked in as a bombshell either , but now ? she sits closer to him , he's wiping away her tears as her mutters soft spoken words .

　　" i would have picked you if i could , i would have instantly , but you seemed so occupied with emmett . when you left last summer , it seriously felt like you never wanted to do anything with me again . i swear to god , i would've picked you . over and over and over again . this is all my fault , i would've picked you a thousand fucking times in a heartbeat . "

　　silence .

　　" if you hadn't left last summer , shit if i had chased after you last summer , i swear to god we wouldn't be on this damn show right now . "

　　　　　after episode ten :

﹫frank_ocean_lover2009 　THEY WERE IN LOVEEEE AND NOBODY CAN PROVE ME OTHERWISEE GOD DANG IT

﹫trustfall 　can we talk about how they looked at each other at that moment though??? especially when she was leaving?? he woulda folowed her right outta there!!

﹫loveislandfanatic 　"we wouldnt be on this damn show right now" THEY WOULDVE BEEN TOGETHERRRR BRO MY DAYS BEEN RUINED

﹫username20392834 　BRING HER BACK ﹫LOVEISLANDUSA

　　　　　episode eighteen of love island USA :

　　and bring her back , they did . at casa amor .

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗹𝘂𝘃 ✶ 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝘀

[coltermorning]

A Standing Offer Pt. 2 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: When your car ends up with a minor problem, you’re forced to interact with Arthur again.

Author’s Notes: Part two of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, eventual smut

AO3 Link

~

A Standing Offer

Word count: 3418

Part Two

“That aren’t gonna buff out, Artur.”

Arthur was doing his best to ignore the Irishman at his side, sweat beginning to bead across his forehead for his efforts. He was trying hard to get your bumper back in working order, but it was proving more difficult than he’d thought.

“What is it they call insanity? Doing the same ting over again and expecting different results?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Arthur grumbled.

“Exactly what you should doing there.”

Arthur stood so fast that Sean jumped back to avoid him. Arthur laughed at him. “What you so jumpy for? I’m just getting another cover for this buffer.”

“Oh, sure you are,” Sean said. “Very funny.”

“Unless you think I have reason to beat your teeth in,” Arthur suggested.

“Me? Never,” Sean answered, following Arthur along as he made for the part he was looking for.

“Shit, there’s reason enough to give you a good beating every day,” Arthur said, scanning the shelves on the wall. He found the right cover for the buffer machine and took it off the shelf, feeling along it to see if it would do the trick. He wasn’t quite pleased, but it was worth trying at least.

“You always this nasty toward your friends?” Sean teased.

Arthur finally turned to him. “To my coworker who won’t go work his job, keeping me from mine in the process? Yes.”

“Ahh, you love me though. Besides, I know what it is. You’re just hung up on that girl. What’s her name? Ruby?”

Arthur really could have punched him then, and John and Javier too for ever mentioning you in the first place.

“I ain’t hung up on anyone. Now go do the job you’re hired to do before I fire you myself.”

Sean let out a bark of a laugh. “You wish you could, English.” But, thankfully, he let Arthur be and went back to the old Chevy he had been assigned a week ago.

Even though Arthur’s shadow was gone, he found himself even more aggravated when he continued buffing out the bumper. The breaks in the plastic that resulted when the piece bent back into its proper shape weren’t going anywhere.

Arthur put the buffer down and rocked back on his knees, hands on his hips. This weren’t good. Either you’d need a new bumper, or you would have to come up here and confirm that you were all right with the damage. The second one was cheaper, but Arthur wanted no reason for the boys at the shop to keep ribbing him over you. It didn’t make any goddamn sense, as far as he was concerned. John and Javier were the two idiots who had cornered you in that club. He’d barely even spoken to you in comparison. But no, all he’d heard since was how sweet on you he was, volunteering to fix up your car cheap. He wished he’d never even offered.

Truth be told, Arthur didn’t quite know why he’d done it. There was the obvious, that he felt bad for all the damage his truck had caused that you would have to pay for. But beyond that, he’d told himself the minute he left the Rouge that he would block all thought of you off. True, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you that night, and also true, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d spoken to him. But it was your job to act as you had toward him. He didn’t think he’d ever have reason to see you again anyway. When he got out of his truck in all that buzzing traffic, the last person he’d expected was you, shouting at some poor girl enough to make her look like she was shrinking into her clothes. He was so amused by your change in behavior that he’d told himself right then and there to be done with it all. He couldn’t fall for a stripper who had only paid him any mind because she was getting paid to do so. So, he’d told you the damage, determined to leave it there, then the words that he would help you came spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them. And he’d regretted them every moment since.

Arthur wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm, knowing either way, the shape the car was in at least warranted a call. Best to get it over with sooner rather than later.

~

A number you didn’t have saved in your phone crossed your screen, distracting you from your reality TV. You would normally damn whoever it was and ignore it, but a lot of random numbers had been calling you since moving and starting a new job. You groaned loudly and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Y/N? This is Arthur.”

Well, well. You didn’t like the excitement that bolted through you one bit.

“Hey,” you said simply, not wanting to make this some big deal. Simple phone call, back to your show.

“I got a problem with your car.”

Just perfect. Couldn’t you have one relaxing day?

“What is it?”

“I got the front bumper back in place, but the breaks in the plastic won’t buff out.”

“So…”

“So you’ll either have to keep it like this or order a new bumper.”

“Oh.” That was an easy decision. “It doesn’t affect driving it, does it?”

“No, just cosmetic.”

You grinned at his use of the word cosmetic. “Easy enough. Leave it like it is.”

“Can do,” he said. And, just before you were about to hang up and go back to your show, “I’ll need you to come look at the damage and sign off on it.”

Christ. You really didn’t need to go see this man in person again. You would have to go back up there to get your car anyway, but you were hoping Arthur would already be busy with another car by then. “Can’t you just sign it for me? Take this as my personal attestation that I won’t sue you?”

“Afraid not,” he said simply.

“Ugh. Fine. When do I need to come up there?”

“It’s ready now. Anytime before five.”

“Great,” you said with as much sarcasm as you could muster. “Be there soon.”

“Bye,” he said, and hung up before you could.

“Bye,” you said in a sing-song voice, tossing your phone across the couch. This was just not what you needed right now. You were thrilled the car was done so soon, but you were determined to get this man out of your head. Going to see him at his shop, where he dressed like masculinity given form, would not help. But you sucked it up and called an uber anyway, at least glad that you wouldn’t have to inconvenience Janiyah by bumming a ride anymore.

The entire ride to the shop, you watched the traffic from the back seat and did your best to hold your tongue. But truly, you would have to move closer to the club or something. This road rage was taking years off your life.

Before you could do something stupid enough to ruin your uber rider rating, you arrived at Arthur’s shop. It was named Van der Linde Auto Shop—a mouthful of a name that you’d told them to change upon learning it. Because of it, though, you’d learned that Arthur didn’t own the place, that his last name was Morgan, and way too many other personal things about the guys who worked here. John and Javier included. The owner hadn’t been in the last time, and neither had the rest of their little gang of merry men. But today as you walked up in broad daylight, the place was crawling with them.

“Y/N,” someone called out from your right, and you squinted into the sunlight to find John. There laid another problem—because of the business with the cars and the cops, they now knew your real name.

John loped over, pausing his work on a ridiculously jacked-up truck you had a sneaking suspicion was his.

“Hey. Arthur’s just inside. Said to let him know when you got here.”

“Well, here I am,” you said, curious over John’s enthusiasm. You wondered if it was due to flattery or guilt. Most men couldn’t help feeling one or the other toward you after meeting you a second time.

“This way,” he said, sure as ever. You followed him in through the shop’s big bay doors, thinking he was likely feeling both. But you refrained from calling him on it, remembering the woman he and Arthur had been arguing about at the club. No need to insert yourself there.

“Arthur! Y/N’s here,” John called out to the floor.

You couldn’t see Arthur but heard him call out, “Give me a minute. Almost done here.”

You turned to John and smiled. “Thanks for the help.”

The scars across his face stretched as he smiled back. “No problem. See you.” Then he turned to go, and you could only laugh under your breath at his confidence.

“Yeah, see you.”

Wanting to get out of here as quick as you could, you went looking for Arthur. There were cars in the way and four other men you could see working—Javier and three others you’d never met—but no Arthur. Javier waved at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You didn’t even want to know, just waved back. But you did spot your car near the back of the shop, so you made for it. Only, you saw sudden movement by your feet and stopped, taking in the sight of…holy fuck.

There were two work boots and a very familiar pair of well-fitting jeans sticking out from under the car at your side. Arthur was on his back on one of those stupid roller things, and the way he reached up to work on the underside of the car revealed a sliver of very chiseled, deliciously sweaty abdomen. You had two seconds to imagine your tongue on those muscles before you mentally kicked yourself and behaved.

You nudged one of his boots. “So, should I come down there, or..?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before he pushed himself out from under the car, rising up and putting those abs to work. You forced yourself not to watch them. Even though the rest of him looked just as good in a black shirt that stretched across his broad chest. He had black streaks across his arms and hands from whatever he had been doing with the car, and he started to wipe them away with a dirty rag.

“What part of ‘give me a minute’ didn’t you get?” he asked, though he sported a smug look as he said it.

You just shrugged. “You look done to me.” Not just done—hot as fuck, you thought to yourself. The way he cleaned his hands with that rag made his forearm muscles turn over, bulging. Something about the movement and the black shirt as opposed to the white one he had been in the last time...

Now that you took him all in, you realized he was undoubtedly threatening in a way that ran past the seams of his shirt and down his coarse arm muscles to his able hands. This man was barely-contained power. And yet, you still wanted it all for yourself.

���I am done,” he said. “But make no mistake, if I weren’t, you’d be waitin’.”

“You sure know how to charm a girl,” you replied lazily, easily. It was so easy to flirt with him you made a point to keep the chit chat to a minimum from then on.

He smirked and threw the rag on top of the car, rolling the contraption he’d been lying on back under the car with his boot. “Car’s over here,” he said, leading the way. You watched his ass in those jeans again, not really caring to divert your gaze. If this was the last time you saw him, it was best to take in the view.

He stopped just before your car and pointed at the front bumper. “Scratches are just there.”

You leaned down to get a better look and were pleasantly surprised. They really weren’t bad. You certainly wouldn’t be buying a whole new bumper just to fix a few pieces of fractured plastic. They were noticeable, but the thing was drivable and had two properly-shaped bumpers again. That was the best you could ask for at the price he was offering.

You straightened up and turned to him, and his gaze flicked back to your face. From where it had been on your ass.

This was a dangerous game the two of you were playing.

“Looks fine to me,” you said. “Where do I sign?”

He just grunted in response, motioning for you to follow him. You really wished he wasn’t so gruff. Rude, really. If he’d just accepted your dance back at the club, he would be gone from your thoughts entirely. But no. He had to make things difficult, like he knew you were a sucker for a challenge.

Arthur led you back to the shop’s corner office, one you noted was walled with glass. Likely so whoever was in here could see what was happening on the shop floor, though your mind went to less innocent things, like what all those workers would think of what a mess Arthur could make of you on this very desk. You shook that thought off before it could take root and looked to Arthur. He had found the form he wanted from the filing cabinet and laid it down on the desk, beginning to fill out the details of the repair. You watched his shoulders and back muscles work against the tiny weight of the pen on paper. This man really was a sight to admire.

“There, if you’ll just…sign there,” he said finally, flipping the paper around for you to sign. He held the pen out to you, and you impulsively tried to catch his gaze as you took it, but he wouldn’t look up. Coward.

You set your purse down in the chair at your side and signed. When you finished and handed him back the pen, he gathered up all the paperwork and the receipt. Then you paid and knew it was time to go or else risk getting hung up on this idiot.

“Here’s the keys,” he said, handing them over. “Try your best to drive a little better from now on.”

“Shut up,” you quipped. “Like you wouldn’t be happy to have me back in.”

He chuckled and shook his head, his face tingeing red. “Go before I charge you for keeping me from my job.”

You gave him one last long look, memorizing that handsome face, before turning on your heel. “Thank you, Arthur.”

All he said in response as he followed you back to the floor was, “Be sure to put it in reverse to back out of here. That’s the one with the ‘R’.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you shot back, though you gave him a smile and a laugh as you did, secretly hoping that just as it usually did at the Rouge, the look would linger.

~

It took you until you got out of your car back at your apartment to realize you didn’t have your purse. It, and your phone, and your wallet, were still sitting in that goddamn chair at Arthur’s shop.

You let out a groan and slapped a hand to your forehead, debating turning right around to go get it. You would need it for work tonight. But you also didn’t want to see Arthur again. You’d spent the entire ride home cursing yourself a fool for how you’d acted toward him at the shop. It was infuriating, really, how you just wanted to be done with him, but seeing him made you turn into the world’s biggest, most obnoxious flirt. You could not get involved with this man. It went against every instinct you had in your professional life. So, you did what any sane person would do when faced with such a problem and avoided it. You stomped upstairs and slammed your apartment door shut behind you, leaving that problem for a later, much wiser, version of yourself.

After eating a ridiculous amount of junk food and bingeing reality TV for the rest of the day, you finally gave in and left a little earlier than usual to go get your purse back before work. You only hoped that John or Javier or literally anyone other than Arthur would be the one to retrieve it for you when you got there.

Upon arriving, not only were you disappointed, you were debating turning right back around and leaving. It was late enough on a Wednesday night that everyone else had left for the day, and only Arthur’s gray truck remained sitting just in front of the office. Fuck.

All you could do was go in and get your shit and leave with as few words as possible, and that’s exactly what you aimed to do as you parked beside him and walked up to the door. But then you saw him through the glass office windows walking around the shop carrying some power tool, lifting his shirt up to wipe his sweat away. You watched that glorious body in silence, not moving a muscle to go inside as he used the tool to saw a piece off of a car. Fuck him and his stupid sculpted body.

Before you could move, he looked up and saw you standing there. He startled a little but set the tool down and walked over to you, opening the door. “Jesus, you trying to scare the shit out of me?”

“Sorry,” you managed. “I was just…I left my purse.”

“Oh. Where?”

You pointed inside the shop to the chair that held the tiny bundle of leather you could have burned up with the spite you felt toward it.

He held the door open wider for you and motioned for you to come in.

“Sorry about that,” you said honestly. “Didn’t mean to take up so much of your day.”

He huffed a laugh. “You sure about that?”

You stopped and turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

He crossed the room and took your purse, handing it to you in an annoyingly courteous way that made you think get out now before you do something stupid.

“Just that I’m starting to think you like my company,” he said, meeting your eye with a smile so charming that it made your flirting look pitiful in comparison.

You were lost on a comeback and settled for a simple, “I’m just forgetful is all.” Even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth—he had distracted you into forgetting your purse earlier.

“Uh huh,” he quipped. “And you just happened to be looking my way when I spotted you watching me work through that window, right?”

You felt your face heat. “Something like that.”

He really smiled now. “‘Course.”

He let the silence stretch enough for you to feel a panic you normally never did when it came to men.

“Well, thank you,” you said, turning for the door. “I owe you.”

“Nah, you don’t owe me anything. We’re even,” he said as he stepped forward and opened the door for you.

You passed him and walked into the night air, about to do the very thing you knew you shouldn’t. But you did, because he was a good person under all that toughness.

“Not even a dance?” you quipped, turning on him with a raised eyebrow.

His face hardened, his jaw clenching just a heartbeat long enough for you to know the comment had its desired effect. But then he leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms in amusement.

“You want to know why I turned you down before? Why I will every time you ask?”

Your heart started racing in a way no man had made it race in years. “Why?”

“Because I don’t pay for it. If I get what I want from you, it ain’t going to be for any money.”

You just stared at him. He stood straight and let the door fall in, retreating back into his shop. “Night,” he said without looking back. And you were left watching him go, for once the one allowing a man’s words to linger.

[odearly]

ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

fucking friends and strangers, well, you love me

song by daffo

summary : you left the outerbanks as soon as you turned 18, leaving behind your family and friends to find yourself and escape your abusive father. You come back 4 years later, surprising everyone... including rafe cameron.

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You pulled up to 'poguelandia' after driving your shitty chevy all the way from charleston, south carolina to the outerbanks. One ferry ride later and you're standing in the world you used to fit into, watching your past all run back to you.

All the hurt, all the suffering you faced on this island is running at you at the speed of your brother. You don't know how to react because you can't breathe, can't think, can't cry because there nothing to cry about.

You stood there frozen for a second before you feel your brother tackle you to the ground in a hug, knocking you out of your thoughts. "Fuck J! What the hell!" You pushed him off of you, standing up and brushing the dirt off your clothes.

He got up pretty quickly though, the rest of the pogues finding their way to the entrance of the Chateau now. Kie ran to you at light speed the moment she saw you-- you were always her favorite babysitter. She pulled you into a kinder but still squeezed hug. "Oh my god!! You're actually here! I thought JJ was just bluffing."

"Dude I wouldn't lie about that." He groaned, and walked back over to Pope, John B and Sarah. "Who's this?" Sarah asked and you saw her. Sarah Cameron.. why was she hanging out with pogues?

JJ spoke up, "Just my runaway sister, wont even give me a hug." You scoffed and walked over to him, giving him a proper hug. "Yeah well, maybe don't attack me next time."

It was nice to see your brother again, it really was. All of these memories, though, were making you anxious, angry even. You were right back where you started on the shit list of the outerbanks.

John B spoke up finally, his hand around Sarah's shoulder. "Wrap up the family reunion." You turned around to face John B and Sarah.

"John B pulled himself a kook. Sarah Cameron at that." You looked her over, wondering why the hell a rich girl like her would slum it with the pogues.

Sarah scrunches her face at that. "I don't care about that kook stuff." You roll your eyes and glare at John B, "I don't know if I can trust you, Sarah." You said very bluntly, dragging out her name like you were challenging her.

You hate the Cameron family. Rafe especially, he was in your graduating class. He was constantly teasing you for smelling bad because you didn't have hot water some weeks, making fun of you for being poor and living in a trailer, you never wanted to see him again.

"C'mon yn, me and her, were serious." John B said, looking slightly irritated. You look at Sarah again, inquisitively, looking for any chance she may be using John B. For what? You don't know but you couldn't trust a kook.

"You talk to Rafe?" You asked, trying to understand exactly whose side she's on. She scoffed, crossing her arms as John B pulled her a little closer. "As little as humanly possible."

You nodded, a simple agreement of peace. If you don't tell her anything then she can't break your trust. JJ smiled at that and looked at all of the pogues, "Alright then lets go fucking party!"

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sarah's story & messages w rafe

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a/n: hi.. so i hope you guys like this i've always wanted to do a smau but ive never actually achieved it. this story will be smau and irl.

[eviemonroeer]

The Monroe Effect: Chapter 17

Set in between Seasons 5 and 6 of ER. It's original material y'all!

Warnings: varying pregnancy symptoms

WC: 3.1 k

ER story belongs to original creators, just adding on my own original charter.

Taglist: @pleasecallmeunhinged, @rainmg, @arigoldsblog, @queenslandlover-93, @hagarsays, and @antisocialfiore

Main Story: prev | next

Snapshots: prev | next

I ended up being on bed rest for a total of three weeks. At my first appointment with Dr. Coburn during the second week, which Carter had managed to sneak away to come to, she found that the hematoma had almost totally healed, but another week and a follow up appointment was warranted to make sure everything was okay. Thankfully the appointment wasn’t a total bust. I got some medicine for my nausea which was helping a lot. So, Carter kept bringing me fruit cups and occasionally fries from Doc Magoo’s, my new craving, while I continued to wait it out in my apartment. 

Once I got the all clear to go back to work, it felt like a prison break. Granted I was stuck at the admit desk answering phones and ordering labs on half shifts, but at this point I would do anything to get out of my apartment. I could get back to light nurse duty once I was out of my first trimester before working my way back to full RN mode.

Walking through the ambulance bay doors, the light hustle and bustle of the early morning ER was a welcome change from the silence of my apartment. Could someone actually miss this place? I smiled as I walked into the lounge, dropping my stuff off in my locker before I grabbed a clerk jacket and headed out onto the floor. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Haleh exclaimed, putting her chart in the holder and giving me a hug. “It’s so good to see you sweetie. How are you?” 

“I’m glad to be back. I could only stay in my apartment for so much longer.” 

“Evie!”  

Lydia came around and joined the hugs, followed by Yosh and Chuny. “Wow, if I knew I would get this reception, I would have taken time off a long time ago.” 

“We missed you.” Lydia said. “How’s the baby?” 

“Baby’s good. Ten weeks. Hematoma is healed, but they don’t want me going back to nursing duties until I’m past twelve weeks. So, for right now, I’m working the admit desk.” 

“We’re just glad you’re back.” Chuny said, before forming a frown. “Someone has been a little cranky without you around.” 

“Evie!”

“Speak of the devil.” 

I tried to disguise my laugh as Carter walked over to the admit desk. “I didn’t know you were here yet. I’m sorry I couldn’t come in with you.” 

“It’s all good. Train ride was fine. Just ready to get to work.” The other four nurses gave me a few more pats and encouragements before walking away, leaving us alone. “I heard you’ve been a little cranky?” 

Carter shook his head. “Just miss having you around.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fruit cup and a wrapped plastic spoon. “Here. Wanted to make sure you had a snack during your shift. There’s more in my locker if you want them.” 

 “Thanks.” I said, smiling as I took it from him. “That’s really sweet, Carter.” 

“I have some charts to finish up, but if you want, I can pick up a half shift and stay here.” 

“Carter, you’ve been working all night. I’m a big girl. Finish up, go home, and sleep. I’ll bring dinner by later and I’ll call you on the very slim chance something happens.”

He sighed and put his hands in his coat pockets, giving in. “Alright. Stay at the desk. Don’t go running into a trauma because they’re down a nurse.” 

“I pinky swear.” I said and held up that finger. He rolled his eyes and took my hand in his before pulling me closer and kissing my cheek. My eyes went wide, and my mouth got dry. 

“See you later.” 

“You’re back!” 

I spun in the desk chair and smiled when I saw it was Carol walking up to me. I stood and gave her a hug. “And not a moment too soon.” I looked her up and down, taking note of her midsection. “Look at you, you’re finally starting to get a bump.” 

“I know.” She said, gently stroking it. “It just kind of appeared overnight.” 

“And here I am losing weight because I’ve been puking throughout the day.” 

“Don’t worry. It’ll make its appearance before you know it. How is everything going with baby Carter?” 

I chuckled at the nickname. “We’re okay. Hematoma is gone, thank goodness, and we are officially 10 weeks and five days today. Stuck here at admit until my appointment at 12 weeks.” 

“I see you’re still craving peaches.” She said, gesturing to the empty container on the desk. 

“It’s the only consistent one so far. It’s actually my second one today. I had to break into Carter’s locker to get it.”

“Just wait till you are craving full meals.”

“I would kill to stomach a full meal right now.” 

Carol laughed before the doors to the ambulance bay opened. “Evie, what’s open?” Mark called out as he and Carol joined the paramedics. 

“Trauma One!” I shouted back before they took off down the hall. I was itching to go join them, but I knew better. To many people around who would escort my butt right back to this desk. So, I gave my stomach a light rub before I sat back in my seat and started back up with paperwork. 

“Hello?”

I smiled at the sleepiness in Carter’s voice. “It’s me.” 

“Is everything okay?” I heard the sheets move as he sat up quickly in bed. 

“Calm down. I’m fine. We’re fine.” He sighed on the other end, and I could hear him lay back down. “I’m actually about to finish up my shift and wanted to know what you wanted me to bring over for dinner.”

“I can just meet you at your place.” 

“Absolutely not. I need to be out of those walls for a while. I was thinking pizza. Does that sound okay to you?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever you’re craving.”

“Good because I already ordered it, and it should be there by the time I arrive.”

Carter chuckled. “Then why did you even ask me?”

“To be polite. I was just really hoping you would say yes. Get a little more sleep and I’ll see you soon.” 

“Can’t wait.” 

“Evie! Come on in.” Dr. Weaver said as she opened the front door. She looked like she was getting ready to leave for a shift. “How was your first day back?”

“Good. Different, but good. I imagine Carter’s told you the baby is doing okay.”

“He has. But I’m also glad to hear so are you. Listen, the pizza already came, Carter has it downstairs. Take whatever you guys need from the kitchen. I’m headed into work.”

“Have a good night!” I called out at the basement door. 

“You too!” She yelled back as the front door closed behind her. I smiled and opened the door, but Carter was already climbing the stairs to meet me. 

“Hold on.” He said and held out his hand to me. 

“Carter, I can walk down the stairs by myself.” 

“Humor me.” He pulled me into his side and walked with me down the stairs, a hand tightly wrapped around my waist. The pizza box was sitting on his bed, the top open and enveloping the room in a mouthwatering smell. 

“I have been waiting for this all day.” I moaned and left his grasp once we were on the floor. I ran over to the box and grabbed a slice, taking a large bite. I moaned again as the flavors danced off my tongue. 

“That good, huh?” He asked, chuckling. 

“Indescribable.” I muttered, my mouth full. 

“Well, just go slow. You don’t want to regret it later.” He sat on the bed and passed me a plate and a napkin, which I happily took and loaded another piece onto. “I’m glad to see your appetite is back.” 

“I wouldn’t say its back. I’ve just been craving this since this morning. If it were anything else, I would not be digging in right now.” 

“Well, either way, I’m glad. I’m also glad it’s a normal craving, not something weird.”

“I was never really a fan of pickles to begin with. But we’ll see what happens later on.”

“Noted.” He finally got himself a slice, making me feel less insecure about stuffing my face. “You know, I was thinking....” 

“Thought I smelled smoke.” 

“Ha-ha.” He said and rolled his eyes. “I was actually thinking that maybe we should go on a date.” 

“Isn’t that what we are doing right now?” I took another bite. “And if you ask the ER staff, I think they would tell you we’ve been dating for five years, just with a couple breaks in between.” I laughed.

“I’m being serious.” Carter said, and I could tell by the look on his face, he was. “I want to take you out somewhere special. If we’re taking this next step, I want to start off on the right foot and I want to do something better for you then pizza in the basement.”

“But I like pizza in the basement.”

“Evie....”

“I know. It’s very sweet and I appreciate it. But Carter, I told you I didn’t want to start a relationship with you just because we’re having a baby. That’s not a good reason.” 

“And I told you I wanted to be with you before and the baby was just a bonus.”

I sighed and sat down my plate, biting my lip. “What were you thinking of for this date?” 

Carter smiled, satisfied that he won. “I didn’t want to preplan dinner. Just in case something wasn’t working for you.”

“I appreciate that.” 

“I thought maybe we could go walk around the pier. I know you can’t ride any of the rides, but maybe we could still have fun.” 

“That actually sounds really nice. I haven’t been to the pier in a long time. Okay Romeo, when do you want to do this?” 

“Saturday night?” 

“Absolutely not. Our first date will not be on your birthday.”

 “Why not? It’s my day. We can do whatever I want.” 

“You really want to tell our kid one day that our first date was on your birthday?”

“Would make the date easy to remember for anniversaries.”

I scoffed and shook my head. “Is that what you really want to do?”

“It’s what I really want to do.”

“Fine then. Dr. Carter, you’ve got yourself a date for Saturday night.”

“Come on! Please don’t do this to me!”

I groaned as I tried buttoning up my shorts for the third time, praying somehow this time it would work. For the first ten weeks, I had been losing weight thanks to my constant need to run to the bathroom to puke. Now all of a sudden at eleven weeks, the bloating was real, and I couldn’t get my favorite pair of shorts on. What made it worse was this was the first nice day we had all week. No rain, just sunshine and a slight breeze. Perfect shorts weather.

“Why do you have to do this to your mom now? These shorts make my butt look good.” I threw down my arms beside me and stared up at my ceiling, trying to think of what else I could wear. That’s when there was a knock at my door. “And of course your dad is early for once.” I got up from the bed and walked through the apartment to the front door to open it. Carter was wearing khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and tennis shoes. He looked down at my unbuttoned pants and shoeless feet and furrowed his brow.

“I guess you’re not ready?”

“No.” I groaned and turned to head back to my bedroom. “I thought I was, but then your spawn had to go and mess things up.”

“Hey, stop blaming my kid.”

“Then do you want me to blame you?” I stopped and turned to the side, holding up my shirt so he could see the small curve of my stomach preventing me from buttoning my shorts. “I’m only eleven weeks. I should still be able to fit in my old clothes.” I put my shirt back down and kept padding towards my room. 

“I’ll just wait out here.” He said and I could hear him chuckling. 

I closed the door behind me and went over to my closet trying to decide what might fit. After some digging, I stumbled upon something I hadn’t worn in a while. It was an ivory, floral sundress with a halter top and open back. I last wore it to some event in college. I had been a couple pounds heavier back then from late night snacking, so many it would fit me now. I quickly switched out the outfit I had for the dress and checked myself out in the mirror. It actually did fit pretty well, the dress hugging my new curves nicely. My boobs did look pretty huge, but I think that was something I was going to have to live with for a while. And it went with the hair and make-up I had already done. Overall, it honestly was a big win. 

Dressing it down with a pair of white sneakers, I transferred everything to a matching bag before walking back out to the living room. Carter had turned on a basketball game and wasn’t even paying attention when I walked in. “I’m ready to go.” 

“Okay, cool.” He said and turned off the TV and standing. “I thought we could......” But the words died on his lips when he saw me. “Wow. You look amazing.” He walked over to inspect me closer.

“You’re just saying that so I won’t go change again.”

“No, I’m saying it because I mean it.” He put his hands on my hips, his thumb drawing circles over my slightly curved stomach. 

“Thanks Carter. Oh, I almost forgot.” I ran back into my room and grabbed the wrapped gift off of my bed. “Here.” I said, handing it over. “Happy Birthday from me and the baby.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know. But seeing as your real gift won’t be here for another 7 months, I thought this would be a good replacement.” 

He unwrapped the square shaped gift, getting a black box. He lifted the top cover, revealing a watch. It had a brown faux leather strap with a white and gold face and black roman numeral numbers. “Evie this is too much.” 

“I’ve been saving for a while. I heard you saying your other one was broken and so I thought I’d upgrade you.”

“This is very nice.” 

I took the box from him and took the watch out. I grabbed his left wrist and put it on, having already set the time before I wrapped it up. “There you go. Looks great.” 

“Thank you, Evie.” He said and without thinking, he lightly grabbed me face and kissed me. My breath was taken away at the sudden gesture and it felt like butterflies were floating around in my lower tummy. I think my toes even curled. He backed away and smiled. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” 

 

The sun was just beginning to set as we made it to the Pier. We had stopped for dinner after I got a strong craving for a cheeseburger, and we were finally walking down the length of the Pier together. The walk started just side by side, no touching. But eventually as we talked, our bodies naturally gravitated towards one another and soon we were holding hands.

It all felt easy. The way we could go from talking about our day to just being in comfortable silence without any awkwardness. It was really nice. Granted knowing each other for years helped things, but it always was easy with Carter. Why would this be any different?

“So how does it feel to be twenty-nine? One year closer to the big 3-0.” 

“It doesn’t feel too different. Didn’t think I’d become a dad at 29 though.”             

“Thought you would be younger?” 

“Older.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help you be able to run around with your kids old man.” I suddenly stopped and tugged on his arm. “Oh! Can we go on the Ferris Wheel?” I asked, pointing up to the giant wheel. 

“Uh, I don’t think—” 

“Oh, come on Carter. Please. It’s the one ride I can get on. Its slow moving.” I put on my best pouty face. “Please.”

Carter thought for a moment and then sighed. “Alright.”

“Yay! Thank you!” 

“Man, if our kid inherits that face, I’m in trouble.”

“Especially if it’s a girl.” I said, pulling him over to the line. 

After some waiting, we were finally able to board the Ferris Wheel in our own car. The view was amazing, especially with the colors of the setting sun painting the sky. Carter pulled me in close to him the moment we were sent airborne, a tight hold squeezing my side. I used that to my advantage to lay my head on his shoulder as I watched the skyline as we made our way around. It had gotten dark by the time we made it back safely on the ground and Carter’s heartrate went back to normal. We ended the evening with ice cream while we sat in Polk Park. I really wanted to make it until the fireworks, but I guess I had yawned one too many times for Carter, so he said he was taking me home. 

“I had a really nice time, Carter.” I said as we walked up to my door. “I hope it was a good birthday.”

“I honestly think this was the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be just a little part of it.” I opened the door to my apartment after unlocking it. Carter tried to come in with me, but I stopped him. His brow furrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t invite guys in after the first date, even if they are the birthday boy.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. I smiled and stepped back out a little, raising up to kiss him again. It was a quick kiss, a simple peck, but it still brought a smile to both our faces.

“Happy Birthday John. Good night.” I closed the door, but there was a knock. I opened it and Carter grabbed my face, this time giving me another toe curling, take your breath away kiss. My arms wrapped around him as I melted into him, my exhaustion forgotten as we held each other. Eventually he pulled back and smiled. 

“Good night.” 

And with that, he left, pulling the door shut behind him. 

[spookytragedyshark]

Part two of this one of my Ghoap x f!reader idea. Writers can take it and run; just remember to tell me where to find your work.

MDNI 18+ ONLY.

Also debating on a name so feel free to share some ideas

So, after the spectacular incident that had ghost drooling on himself, Soap is included in most everything you guys do. Problem Y/N is not as good at communicating as Ghost gives her credit for.

Soap firmly believes that he is around for fun. After all, he still sleeps in the guest bedroom some nights. You were just giving him space in case you and Ghost became too much at once. Sure his stuff is all over the apartment, mixing in just as well as Ghosts. Yes, he has been with you two every break except… he hasn't been asked for the holidays. You two spend holidays with your (family/friends). You never asked because you do not want to make him choose between his family and your relationship, and are not sure how his family would take a polycule.

So the boys go back to base. Soap fools himself into believing that was that, and he should be grateful for the few weeks he had in your home. Still, he can't help sleeping with the collar on every night, or that it brings him comfort. He only begins to question this when you text him two weeks in. It is a simple text, asking his preference on some random recipe you want to cook for him, but Soap honestly starts crying. After that, he gets texts from you every few days.

At the first news of a break, Ghost once again appears in his room, packing Soap a bag, "birdie said home." Within hours, Soap is sandwiched between you watching a movie in onesies. Soap is just eating up the attention. All too soon, they have to return.

Soap feels like he has no right to be upset that he and Ghost do not have moments on base. Ghost is just unsure how to approach the subject without his bird. But you are both so good to him on leave.

Then he gets injured, it's minor, but it could have been so much worse. Ghost drags him to his room. Soap is expecting a lecture instead he is thrown on the bed. The bounce of the mattress reboots his brain. Next thing he knows, he is blissed out, sweaty, collared, and covered in love bites with Ghost asleep on his chest. Ghost thought Soap was going to die and freaked out, needing to feel and hear Soap. Following that, after particularly rough missions, Ghosts visits him at night.

One break, you get some temporary tattoo pins and go nuts doodling on them. They are covered in colorful designs when they return to base. While they are home, you take an imprint of their mouths. Soap doesn't think anything of it, given that he once saw you wearing tooth earrings and knows you get creative.

At least he doesn't till the moment he realizes he might actually be married to you two in every way but on paper. He and Simon come home exhausted to find you in the kitchen with the counters covered in different desserts. Stress baking... the two of them are by your side, checking on you. "What has Birdie worked up?" You are evasive at first. Only Soap notices you flinch when he touches your back. The shirt is off in seconds, them checking for injury, only to find a fresh tattoo. Suddenly, you are a blushing mess. "Do you like it? It took some effort to design it right." It takes the boys a minute to catch on, to process what they are seeing. Spanning across your shoulder blade are their bite imprints simplified and shrunk down to create a wave pattern with little penguins in it.

This is the moment Soap decides to buy Y/N, and Simon rings because you two clearly are incapable of just saying what you want. You are also in for a wild night.

[sturniololuvz]

“who the hell are you?”

meantmatt! x partygirlreader! - part 14

⸻

The living room was dim and warm, soft blue light spilling in from the TV, casting low shadows across the apartment walls. A random episode of Family Guy buzzed in the background, but neither of you were watching. You were tucked sideways in Matt’s lap, your knees curled up, your face nuzzled softly into his hoodie. His arms were wrapped around you like it was second nature now, like holding you made sense even if nothing else did.

You were already half-asleep. Every few minutes, you blinked hard to stay awake, your cheek rubbing slightly against the Sturniolo across his chest.

Matt was silent. Not tense. Just quiet.

His hand moved absentmindedly up and down your arm, brushing gently over your skin like he needed the rhythm to keep him calm.

That’s when Chris came up the stairs from the garage hallway, holding a water bottle and rubbing his eyes.

He stopped at the top step, doing a double take when he saw the two of you like that.

Matt didn’t say anything at first.

Chris’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “She knocked out?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah.”

Chris walked over and flopped into the armchair. “Damn. You got her in a coma-level nap.”

Matt let out a quiet breath, but his gaze stayed on you.

Chris noticed.

“You good?”

Matt hesitated. “I think I’m falling for her.”

Chris blinked. “Like—falling falling?”

Matt nodded slowly, jaw tightening. “And I fucking hate it.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, confused. “Why? Dude, she’s good for you. You haven’t snapped at anyone in a week and a half. That’s, like, a record.”

Matt didn’t laugh. He swallowed instead. “Because it’s not supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to… care.”

Chris stayed quiet, giving him room.

Matt looked down at you again — the way your fingers curled in the hem of his hoodie, your lashes soft against your cheek.

“She’s not like anyone I’ve ever…” He shook his head. “It’s not just some hookup. She sees me. She makes me feel like I’m not some asshole all the time. Like I’m worth something.”

Chris softened. “Maybe you are.”

Matt scoffed under his breath. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” Chris said confidently. “You act like you’re incapable of being good to people, but Matt — you’re already good to her. She just brings it out.”

Matt didn’t reply.

He looked back down at you, sleeping peacefully in his arms, and he realized that maybe — just maybe — falling didn’t feel like breaking this time.

It felt like being caught.

⸻

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