#so few bugs left now... cry cry

[invertcollection]

11/1/24

[itneverendshere]

read between the lines - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: steamy, but no smut; yearning; friends to fwb (requested).

You were doing everything you could to pretend it never happened. 

There was no way you had completely fallen apart on Rafe Cameron’s thigh, right there in a fucking hallway, you hadn’t let him talk you through it, moaned his name like a whore.

You hadn’t seen him since that night.

You caught glimpses—across the rink when Kelce asked you to drop your class notes in the locker room; in the dining hall; in passing on campus. You never let your eyes linger for longer than two seconds, afraid that looking would mean acknowledging, which would mean feeling.

And you could not afford that. So, you avoided.

You ignored his texts. The first few were easy—just casual shit, acting nothing had happened which just gave you even more whiplash.

Rafe: You coming to practice? Rafe: Why the fuck is Mac playing first line? He’s trash. Rafe: You got my charger?

Normal. Fine.But then—

Rafe: Are we okay? Rafe: You ignoring me? Rafe: Princess.

That was the one that had you turning your phone face down, staring at the wall, your stomach twisting into stupid little knots.

You had liked Rafe Cameron since you were twelve years old.

He was your childhood friend, your brother’s best friend, the one who tied your skates when you were too little to do it yourself. He gave you your first sip of beer even thought you’re practically the same age, let you cry into his hoodie when you bombed your first big test.

This wasn’t some random hook-up. It was him. You overthought it.

Kie was mid-sentence when you saw him from across the street, standing with a few of the guys from the team, laughing about something. Your brain should’ve gone straight to panic, to run, to hide, but all you could do was look.

His stupidly perfect face tilted slightly up, light eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. His smile, wide and easy, dimples popping, that natural, effortless charm radiating off him.

It wasn’t fair.

Why did he have to look like that? Why did he have to smile like that—like he didn’t have a single thought in his head, like he hadn’t completely wrecked you in the middle of a hallway and then proceeded to haunt you for four fucking days?

Then—

“Oh, look, it’s Rafe!” Kie said, already raising a hand like she was about to call him over.

Fuck.

You didn’t even think, your reflexes were fast.

Your hand flew out, clamping over her mouth before she could even think about calling him. She let out a muffled yelp, arms flailing, eyes going wide, but you were already dragging her the other way, you didn’t stop until you were out of sight. Only then did you finally release her, pressing yourself against the wall and trying to get your breathing under control.

Kie ripped your hand off her mouth, eyes bugging. “Girl, what the fuck was that?!”

You swallowed hard, your brain panicking— “Nothing,” you croaked.

Kie blinked. “Ohhh, no. No, no, no—that was not nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms.

“Did you fuck Rafe?”

Your soul left your body.

“What? No—Kie, what the hell—”

“Then what was that?” She gestured wildly back toward the street. “Why are you acting like he’s Michael Myers?” She squinted at you, analyzing you. “You saw him and ran like he was about to shank you.”

You hesitated. What were you supposed to say? Oh, yeah, I dry-humped my childhood friend in a hallway until I fucking came on his thigh and now I think I might be in love with him, but I can’t deal with that, so I’m just pretending he doesn’t exist?

No, absolutely not.

“I just—I don’t wanna deal with his bullshit today,” you said, forcing a scoff. “You know how he is.”

“Uh-huh. And what bullshit would that be?”

You scoffed. “The usual.”

She hummed, clearly suspicious, but after a moment, she just sighed, shaking her head, “I don’t even wanna know.”

Kie started walking again, and you followed, pretending everything was fine, your heart was still about to leap from your ass, from the fact that before you’d run—before the panic—You’d wanted to cross the street.

You were losing your mind. Every time your phone buzzed, your stomach clenched. If you saw a blond head in the crowd, you went into full fight-or-flight mode. Every time someone so much as mentioned his name, your brain died.

You missed him, which was fucking ridiculous.

You didn’t miss Rafe, your more or less missed the idea of Rafe. The way things used to be. How easy it was before—when he was just your brother’s best friend, your childhood friend, the hockey captain and campus menace who called you his girlfriend as a joke. Not someone who’d kissed you like he was starving or made you orgasm.

It didn’t matter, you weren’t thinking about it, it wasn’t real and it was never happening again.

You were so caught up in your downward spiral that you didn’t hear your brother speaking.

“Dude.”

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring at your phone for a solid minute without actually seeing anything.

“Huh?” you said, “What?”

Kelce raised an eyebrow, his mouth curling. “I haven’t seen you in like a week. You on some self-imposed exile or shit?”

He was so good at reading you. You were stuffing your face with food, “I’m busy, Kelce.”

“Sure, sure. Busy.” He grinned, “You’re too busy to talk to anyone, but not too busy to binge-watch trashy reality shows at 2 AM.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Must be some real important work going on.”

You could feel your face heat up, suppressing the urge to smack him upside the head like your mom used to. “Shut up. It’s not like I’m getting nothing done, okay?”

Kelce snorted, “Uh-huh. So you’re avoiding me and acting weird because of midterms, huh? Got it. You're pulling a full-on ghosting move on your older brother, huh? Can’t even get a text back. Nice.”

“Dude,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You know that’s not why.”

Kelce raised his eyebrows. “You just enjoy being super sketchy for fun now?” He tapped his chin like he was solving some big mystery.

You poked at your food like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

He took a bite of his sandwich, then casually said, “Oh, by the way, Cameron asked about you the other day.”

Your fork froze mid-air, and your stomach did that sudden flip like you’d been caught in a lie. You looked up at him with wide eyes, way too startled by the words.

“What?”

“He was asking if you were okay. ‘Is she alright? Been avoiding me.’” He mimicked Rafe’s voice in a perfect, exaggerated tone. “‘Is she mad at me?’”

Did he really ask about you?

You tried to keep your voice from shaking, “Why would he be asking about me?”

“You tell me.”

The big brother look. The “I know all your secrets and will drag them out of you by sheer force of will look.”

You played dumb. 

“How the fuck would I know?” you said, stabbing at your food. “He’s just being weird.”

Kelce huffed out a laugh.

“Rafe Cameron, king of emotional repression, suddenly real concerned about your well-being for no reason.” He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Makes total sense.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe he just—”

Kelce cut you off. “Did something happen?”

You forced yourself to scoff. “No.”

He tilted his head. “You sure? Because, if something did happen, and you need me to handle it—”

Shit, the protective brother routine was worse than the interrogation. You could already picture it—Kelce storming across campus, making a scene. You had to shut this down immediately.

“No!” you blurted, probably too loud. “Kelce, Jesus. Nothing happened. I just—” You struggled for anything to say that would end this conversation. “I don’t know. 

You shoved another bite of food into your mouth to avoid talking. His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing, you could see the exact moment the thought crossed his mind, the way his whole face changed—hell no.

You froze mid-chew.

“Oh hell no,” His voice dropped, like he was speaking something unspeakable. “Did you fuck Rafe?”

You choked, violently choked. Had to slam your fist against your chest to clear your airway while your brother just sat there, eyes wide, horrified.

“No!” you coughed out, reaching blindly for your drink. “What the fuck, Kelce?”

His whole body slumped in relief. “Okay. Good.” He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “I was about to throw up. Like, actually, right here, in front of God and everybody.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding. “You’re disgusting.”

“No, you’re disgusting for making me even��think that was a possibility!” He shuddered dramatically. “Jesus Christ. I was gonna have to disown you. I can’t have my best friend and my sister—” He cut himself off, physically gagging. “No. Nope. I refuse, it’s bad enough that people already think you two are dating.”

You shoved another bite of food in your mouth so you wouldn’t have to respond. Because technically, you weren’t lying, it wasn’t sex-sex.

Your brother groaned. “Why do you look guilty? Why are you chewing like that? You’re chewing suspiciously.”

You glared. “How the fuck does someone chew suspiciously?”

“Like you have something to hide.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing further. “What. Happened.”

“Nothing!”

He did not look convinced.

“This is why I don’t talk to you.”

“This is why I question you,” he shot back. “Because you’re being sketchy as fuck.” He paused. “Wait.”

You braced yourself.

“You did do something.” His face twisted in agony. “Oh my God.”

“No, I didn’t—”

Kelce groaned so loud people actually turned to look as he ran both hands over his face, trying to erase the images his brain was conjuring.

“Nope. I don’t wanna know. I actually don’t wanna know.” He stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “You’re on your own. Talk to him."

"What?"

"Talk. To. Him," he repeated, enunciating each word like he was speaking to an illiterate child. "He’s been playing like shit, and it's your fault."

Your jaw dropped. "My fault?"

Kelce threw his hands up. "I don’t even wanna know what you guys do—" He gagged slightly, "Just fix him. I don’t care how." Then he pointed at you again, eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the mental horror movie playing in his head. "As a matter of fact, don’t tell me."

You had spent all night hyping yourself up for this. 

You had gone full motivational speaker in your dorm, pacing back and forth, rehearsed conversations in the mirror, mapped out every possible scenario, prepped yourself for all the ways this could go. You were not going to keep avoiding him. 

You were going to be a normal, functioning adult, walk up to him, and say… something. What you were going to say was still up for debate, but you were hoping divine inspiration would strike when the time came.

So when Kelce asked you to drop off his car keys in the team's locker room the next day, you figured—okay, maybe this was fate, the universe was giving you a chance to finally stop being a coward.

The door swung shut behind you, the heavy scent of cologne and sweat filling the air, but then you heard the door open again. Except the sound wasn’t coming from where you just walked in, it was coming from the showers.

Which meant— 

Fuck me sideways.

Rafe was fresh out of the steam, dripping wet, with nothing but a towel slung obscenely low on his hips. Water slid down the hard lines of his chest, down the ridges of his stomach, disappearing beneath the fabric, and—You had not rehearsed for this.

He froze mid-step, another towel in his hand, running the other through his damp hair. His gaze locked on you, and his brows furrowed, you stared at him, he stared at you.

Silence.

Open your mouth and say something, you freak.

You made a sound that was definitely not human, a squeak, maybe, because your brain was melting out of your ears.

Good start.

He took a step closer, his eyes dragging over you, making sure you were actually real.

"You—" He hesitated. "You’re here."

You swallowed hard, trying to remember how to function like a normal human being.

"Kelce’s keys," you blurted, holding them up like they were some kind of protective shield. "He—uh. He needed them. I was just—"

"You’ve been avoiding me."

He said it so bluntly, no lead-up, no pretense. 

You swallowed again. "I—"

Rafe raised an eyebrow, then—deliberately—he reached up, stretching slightly as he dried his hair with the towel in his hand, every muscle in his torso flexing, his abs shifting—Oh my God.

You snapped your eyes to the ceiling, hoping that staring at the water stains above would somehow erase the image now burned into your brain. "Put some clothes on."

He laughed, deep, smug, the kind that made you want to launch the keys directly at his stupid perfect face.

"What? Thought you weren’t looking at me."

"I’m not."

"Really?" He took a step closer, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. "You do sound kinda flustered.”

You could not do this, not in a locker room while he was half-naked and wet and smiling like that. You inhaled sharply, shoved the keys against his stupid bare chest wondering when you got so close, and immediately turned to flee.

"Wait."

His hand wrapped around your wrist before you even processed that he’d moved, "Talk to me."

You yanked at your wrist, but he didn’t let go. Your pulse was a thunderstorm in your ears. “Rafe.”

He just shook his head, water droplets falling from his damp hair, sliding down his neck. His fingers flexed around your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin there.

"You have been avoiding me,” he murmured, tilting his head, waiting for you to lie.

You inhaled sharply, straightening your spine. 

"No."

His lips twitched, you hated that he knew you were full of shit.

"Right." His voice was slow, “It was just a coincidence you suddenly stopped answering my texts? That you ran the second you saw me on the street? That you—” His voice dropped lower, taunting. “—look like you’re about to die just standing next to me?”

You clenched your jaw, even though you were one wrong look away from folding like a lawn chair. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Rafe’s lips parted, you thought he was gonna call you out again—but then, he hesitated, you were still close and neither of you were moving.

The stupid heat in the room was almost suffocating, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the humid air clinging to his skin or the fact that you were losing a battle you swore you weren’t even fighting.

He exhaled through his nose, "Talk to me.”

That plea in his voice—you were going to jump him. How could you look him in the eye and tell him that he’d broken something open in you? That his hands on you had felt too good, that your name on his lips had made you want to do this every day? That you were terrified because this was Rafe, and it had never been like this before?

His body heat soaked into yours, you could smell the clean scent of his soap and the remnants of his cologne. Rafe could see it happening—your breathing, your eyes darting everywhere but at him, your lips parting like you wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You were freaking out.

His hands flexed at his sides, he wanted to touch you, but instead, he just said— “Nothing has to change, okay?”

Your breath caught.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he continued, “You don’t have to pretend like it didn’t happen, but—” His jaw tensed, struggling with his words. “If that’s what you need, I’ll do it.” He swallowed hard. “Just don’t—don’t shut me out, alrigh'?”

He was making it sound so easy.

It would be so simple to just nod, go along with it, pretend like nothing had changed between you, that things could go back to how they were before— you knew better. Because you’d felt it.

'Nothing has to change', liar, everything had already changed, and you both knew it.

You never felt so frustrated with yourself, with your inability to communicate what you were feeling. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, hands around you before you even had the chance to breathe, before your mind could catch up to what your body already knew—you needed this.

You hadn't realized it until then, but you had tears of frustration in your eyes as his hand slide gently around the back of your head.

His thumb brushed over the nape of your neck, voice softer than it had been before, “What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightened, words failing you, because how were you supposed to explain this? 

“I don’t know.”

You shouldn’t be here, letting him touch you like this. 

“Princess,” he murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He was so close, his breath warm against your cheek. “Don’t touch you?” His fingers flexed, testing you, “Don’t look at you?” His free hand lifted, tracing the curve of your jaw, “Don’t tell you that you’ve been in my head every second since that night?”

He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I don’t know how to be normal about you.” His fingers tightened on your neck, “And I don’t fucking want to.”

Shit shit shit shit.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, “You’ve been avoiding me, but I can still feel you—” His lips ghosted over your temple, so light it made you shiver. “I can still hear you.”

Oh.

You clenched your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms.

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted. “I close my eyes and I see you—” His breath hitched. “I see you like you were that night.”

Your thighs clenched, and Rafe caught it, his lips curving against your skin.

“You feel it too,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

You wanted to say no, laugh, roll your eyes, but then—his lips brushed your jaw, and the sound you made was fucking embarrassing.

Rafe groaned, the sound deep, “Say the word and I’ll back off.”

Say it. Say it. Say it.

He tilted his head pressing his lips to your temple in the softest kiss.

“Just talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

You should have pulled away.

You should have said something, but instead, your body moved on instinct, your hands sliding up his stomach, feeling the skin beneath your fingertips. His abs tensed beneath your touch, the way his breath stuttered.

His fingers tightened in your neck.

“Careful,” he breathed, and it sounded like both a warning and a prayer.

You should’ve stopped, taken a step back and gotten your shit together, this wasn’t what you were here for. But when you finally looked up at him, when you saw the way his lips were parted, the way his eyes were so open and waiting for you to do something, you knew you were completely, utterly fucked.

“I don’t know what I need.”

Rafe’s eyes dropped to your lips. “No?”

You were so gone.

Your breath hitched as his thumb traced slow circles on your neck, you tried to think past the horniness, past the way his bare chest was so close you could feel the warmth.

“I—” Your voice wavered, cracking and Rafe, the smug asshole, just smirked.

“You don’t know what you need,” he repeated, savoring the words, rolling them over his tongue. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, feather-light, and your entire body tensed. “Let me help."

Your breath was shaky, your pulse pounding so hard you could feel it in your fingertips, "We s-shouldn't do this.”

Rafe inhaled sharply through his nose, "I know.”

Neither of you moved, your fingers still pressed against his stomach.

Your throat was dry. "So...?"

His lips parted, his gaze flickering to your mouth again, “So.”

Your heartbeat was so loud it was drowning out all rational thoughts, but for some godforsaken reason, you decided that now was the time to pretend like you weren’t one wrong move away from losing your mind.

“Uh,” You cleared your throat. “H-how was practice?”

Rafe blinked. “Good.” A beat. “Yeah. Good.”

You nodded. “That’s… good.”

Another beat.

"Did you, uh… did you lift today?" you asked, because apparently your last two brain cells had given up.

Rafe exhaled sharply, he couldn’t believe this was happening. "Yeah."

You nodded again, staring at the very obvious definition of his abs, the evidence, before dragging your eyes back up.

"Cool," you said, voice about an octave too high.

Another pause.

Rafe squinted at you. "Did you just—" He huffed a disbelieving laugh. "Are we seriously talking about my workout right now?"

You swallowed. "I mean, I was just—"

"Jesus," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. 

You were killing him, and yourself, and any chance of pretending like either of you had an ounce of self-control.

“Did you eat today?” you blurted, because you weren’t done being a fucking idiot.

You'd never felt this useless while talking to a man. Words usually came easy but now, when you needed them, they tangled on your tongue.

Men tripped over themselves for you, not the other way around. 

Rafe let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, his hand dropping from his face as he looked at you like you were insane. “Are you—are you asking me about my meals?”

Your cheeks burned. “I just—I was making conversation.”

Rafe stared at you for half a second. Then he let out a low chuckle, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he was asking some higher power for strength, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

His laugh was wrecked, frustrated. He took a step forward before he even realized he was doing it, his body moving on pure fucking instinct.

“Like you’re two seconds away from letting me ruin you.”

His hand shot up, fingers threading through your shoulders, yanking your head back just enough for him to see it. That look, the fucking look in your eyes that said you were just as far gone, dazed beyond logical thinking.

Then he kissed you.

Your hands fisted into his damp skin, and he groaned into your mouth, swallowing the sound, pressing himself harder against you, until your back hit the lockers with a clang.

You gasped, and he took the opportunity, tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss, hands roaming, taking.

His body caged yours in completely, the smell of him, the absolute need pouring off of him like he was burning alive. When you shifted, pressing yourself against him, feeling just how fucking hard he was, Rafe swore.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gritted, forehead dropping against yours, his hands gripping your hips so hard he might leave bruises.

He moaned deep in his chest, vibrating through you, and when you tilted your head, letting him push deeper, letting him taste you properly, he swore again into your mouth. His hands gripped your waist, dragging you flush against him, until his rock-hard cock was pressing against your stomach through the towel barely hanging onto his hips.

You whimpered.

His tongue slid over yours, before pulling back just enough to let spit trail between your lips, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Then—he was right back in it, licking into your mouth like he needed to be inside you, his teeth scraping your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, making your head spin.

You were soaked and all he did was kiss you.

Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders, nails raking against his toned skin as he tilted your head back further, palm pressed to your cheek, taking control, deepening the kiss until you were moaning into it, until your thighs were clenching, squeezing, rubbing together for even the slightest bit of friction.

He pulled back just enough to let his forehead fall against yours, breathless, shaking.

“Again,” His fingers flexed against you, physically restraining himself from tearing you apart. “Kiss me again.”

You didn’t even realize you were moving until your lips were back on his, until his mouth was parting against yours like he’d been starving for it. If you weren't so fucking gone you’d find it funny.

His towel slipped lower on his hips.

You gasped, but Rafe didn’t let you go. He deepened the kiss hoping he could erase anything that wasn’t him. His hands dragged over your skin, searing hot even through your clothes, sliding lower—

“Wait,” you managed, your breath shaky as you pulled back, hardly resisting the gravitational force of his body.

Rafe made a sound that was borderline pained, his fingers tightening around your waist before he forced himself to loosen his grip. His lips were swollen, slick, “What?”

“What if someone comes in?”

His hands were under your thighs, lifting you, your back hitting the lockers again but all you could focus on was him—his body caging you in, his hands clutching your thighs, holding you up like you weighed nothing, once again.

“Couldn’t give less than a fuck.”

He shifted, pressing forward, and you felt him—Oh, you missed him.

A choked sound left your throat, and Rafe grinned, his lips dragging down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

“Yeah?” he murmured, rolling his hips against you again, slow, “That feel good, princess?”

You wanted to slap him or cry, but you also wanted to grind down and take more. Your nails raked down his back in response, and Rafe whined, the sound going straight between your legs. 

Your breath hitched as his lips traced the line of your jaw, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. "Rafe—"

Your voice wavered, but he only hummed in response, his teeth grazing your pulse point before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, pressing you harder against the locker.

You should stop.

"Fuck," you breathed, hating how weak you sounded.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, his lips swollen. His thumb dragged along your jaw before tilting your chin up, forcing your gaze to his.

"We’re okay?” When you didn't respond, his lips brushed yours, the barest hint of a kiss. He tilted his head, his thumb grazing the edge of your bottom lip, watching—waiting. “Tell me.”

A slow, shuddering breath left you. “We’re okay,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” His lips brushed yours, a teasing promise of more. “You’re not gonna run this time?”

You let out a shaky exhale, your hands moving on instinct—fingertips brushing his jaw, tracing the curve of his lips. Rafe’s breathing was uneven, his lips parting at your touch like he was barely holding himself together.

“Tell me.”

Your fingers curled against his jawline, nails scraping lightly against his stubble, “Not running.”

His forehead pressed against yours, and you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

“I’d find you anyway.”

Once again: What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

[leniisreallycool]

The Silent Game

MC gets sick of the brothers' constant bullshit and demands that they play the silent game

They challenge the brothers to see who can last the longest without speaking

The rules: speaking, no burping, passing gas, scraping chairs or any other furniture, chewing too loud, breathing too loud, clapping, punching/slapping/any other form of hitting that causes noise, grunting, etc

Coughing or sneezing is fine, as long as it's involuntary

Texting is only acceptable in situations where they would already use text or if they have to talk to Diavolo or Barbatos

Satan and Belphie immediately tries to piss Lucifer off enough to break and scold him but it doesn't work

Beel doesn't even have to put effort into it except to keep his chewing noises to a minimum

And he can't go on a rampage when Mammon takes advantage of the situation to steal his yogurt

Belphie would have just slept through the challenge but MC said sleep talking or communication through dream walking is also forbidden

Lucifer is pissed off when Diavolo talks to him and he has to text him in response

Diavolo finds the situation delightful and bugs Lucifer to try to break him

Barbatos does too but more subtly

*insert brief joke about making Solomon play too*

Asmo is in tears when he realizes he can't speak to his fans or make videos or go on quote unquote dates

Levi just sits in his room the whole time except for meals

No one knows if he's following the challenge or not but they can't hear anything from his room so it's safe to assume he is

The challenge has been going for three days and it's starting to creep MC out

They've never had a round of the silent game go on this long

It's eerily silent and they almost want to call off the challenge

But it's so nice to not have to worry about anyone slamming doors and screaming at each other

So they let it go on

Mammon steals Lucifer's credit card and gets strung up

To his credit he doesn't yell for help

Belphie is the first to break 5 days in

He's half asleep when he demands MC cuddle him, forgetting that he's not supposed to speak

He acts like he doesn't care but he wishes he wasn't the first to break

He takes advantage of the fact that because he lost, he can be as loud as he wants

MC is so done immediately

Asmo and Levi are next, 2 days later, a1 week in

He had a livestream scheduled with someone cool and awesome and he just can't miss it

It makes him cry to lose but he gets over it pretty quick

It means he can whisper sweet nothings to MC while the others watch in jealousy

Levi tells him to fuck off and stops, realizing his mistake too late

Beel is next 2 days later

Mammon took too many of his desserts and absolutely lost it

He was ashamed afterwards but he lost

That leaves Mammon, Satan, and Lucifer

Another whole week goes by without anyone dropping out

Surprisingly it's Satan next

He's bugging Lucifer again as he has been for the last 2 & 1/2 weeks with no result

He drops a chair on Lucifer in the hopes that he'll noisily crack it in half

But Lucifer sidesteps and the chair smacks the floor

Satan loses

Now it's only the oldest two left and the rest have started taking bets

Barbatos already knows who's going to win so they make him monitor the bets so no one cheats

No one expected Mammon to last this long because he's normally so obnoxiously loud (I love him anyway hush)

Then one day

Three weeks into the challenge

Lucifer walks up behind Mammon to tell him something

Mammon didn't know he was there

And squawked

Lucifer didn't even intend to startle him

It was a complete accident

Everyone is disappointed with the anticlimactic ending

But hey! MC got a few weeks of relatively less chaos

And for a while afterwards the brothers automatically stay silent when they walk into a room with MC before remembering that the game is over

Worth

[pretentious-blonde]

aftermath

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve is wrecked, haunted by the thought that he’d lost you for good. but when he finally braced himself for the worst, your answer shattered him in a way he never saw coming

warnings: 18+ emotional distress, angst, depression, major self-hatred, crying, smut, but like make up smut, minor bruising/scratches during intimacy (consensual), this is heavy guys

a/n: i hope this makes up for the cliff hanger. you do need to read this to fully understand what is going on. hope i did the make up justice!

series masterlist

You’ve been living in your pajamas since Friday, the same ratty jumper and threadbare bottoms you’ve slept in for days. The curtains in your living room are half-drawn, letting in just enough gray light to remind you it’s daytime—though you’re not quite sure which day it is anymore. 

Tuesday, probably. 

You’d asked for the whole week off, a near-unheard-of request, but you couldn’t face the world after what transpired. Your hoarse voice must have been enough to convince your boss of your current state, though he most likely believed it was a result of a bug or the flu. You were grateful he didn’t press further. 

Everything in your flat reminds you of him. The bookshelf he painstakingly built and shoved into the corner. The stupid T-shirts he left behind, folded on your desk. The toothbrush tucked in next to yours in the bathroom. You’ve cried more than you ever thought possible, especially as day after day passes with no call, no communication. Nothing.

That’s why you’ve barely left, lying low in your own sorrow. You should be out celebrating your first ever published article—yes, that finally got the green light—but even that feels tainted now. Steve had helped you with the idea, reading every paragraph you placed in front of him for inspection. Thinking about it only reopens the wound.

By late afternoon, you’re in a numb haze, scrolling absentmindedly through the same TV channels, when a sudden knock on your door makes you freeze. Your pulse spikes with pure dread. You beg some higher power as you take a few tentative steps toward the entrance, pleading for it to be anyone else but him. 

“Who—who is it?”

A boy’s voice answers. 

“It’s Dustin.”

Surprise fills you, but you tug the door open anyway, still half-hidden behind the frame. The teenager stands there, head tipped back to look at you with wide eyes. He takes in your rumpled clothes, your blotchy cheeks, the dark circles under your eyes—and his face softens with genuine concern.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi?” You can’t hide your confusion. You’ve met him enough times to be friendly—even invited you to his birthday party—but this is definitely not the level of closeness where you expect him on your doorstep.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone polite.

“Uh—yeah,” you say, stepping aside. You’re mortified at the state of your living room—blankets and tissues strewn around, half-eaten toast on the coffee table. But Dustin doesn’t so much as blink. He just walks in, glances at the chaos, and settles himself on the couch.

“Have you heard from Steve?” he asks gently, but the question punches you right in the gut. Your breath catches, tears immediately threatening to spill. He sees the way your eyes go misty and holds up both hands in alarm. “Whoa, hey. No, wait, why are you crying?”

“Sorry,” you manage, swiping at your face with the edge of your sleeve. “I just—I don’t think me and Steve are… together anymore.”

“Alright.” The boy exhales, like the missing piece just slid into place. “Well, that… would explain a few things.”

“Explain what?” you ask, voice shaky.

He glances around, looking conflicted. Then he pats the space next to him on the couch. 

“I think you need to sit down.”

Something about his earnest, grown-up tone makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time, but you sink down anyway. You stare at your own hands, picking at a loose thread on your jumper.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

“Um… yeah.” You blink, surprised by the shift. “Top cupboard in the kitchen.”

“Okay… You stay there.”

He heads into the kitchen and starts rummaging through your cupboards like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You watch him, baffled as to how this kid is behaving. 

He returns, balancing two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one gently on the coffee table in front of you and then settles next to you on the couch. You notice the way he glances around at the mess once again, but he doesn’t comment on any of it—just holds his own mug close, like it’s offering him a little comfort.

“Um,” he begins, voice hesitant, “I need to ask you… about Steve.”

Your grip tightens on your mug. 

“Have you…have you spoken to him?” you try not to let your voice crack. 

“Sort of.” Dustin exhales. “That’s why I’m here. He didn’t show up on Sunday when he was supposed to, and when I tried talking to Robin, she just told me to stay out of it.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking troubled. “I’m worried. Robin says he’s gonna quit—his job, I mean—and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him since Thursday. I was hoping maybe you knew what was going on.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears pressing at the corners of your eyes again. The puzzle just kept getting more complicated, first his outburst, and now he’s quitting? None of it made any sense to you. 

“Dustin, I wish I fucking knew what was going on,” you admit, voice trembling. “But I don’t. Steve made it very clear how he felt about me.”

Confusion crosses his face. “He…made it clear?”

“More or less.” You manage a bitter laugh, though it hurts. “Let’s just say…there’s no chance of me diving back in to figure out what’s wrong, okay?”

“You won’t?” he presses, leaning forward, his mug clutched between both hands. “I know it’s a lot. But the only time I’ve seen him act like this was when…” He hesitates, almost like he’s afraid to say something more. 

You speak before he has the chance to elaborate. 

“Yeah, well…” You suck in a breath, blinking away fresh tears. “I’m pretty sure it’s over between us.”

He sets his mug down so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t spill and scans your face, as if trying to analyse the best approach to this situation. 

“I wouldn’t be asking, except… I’m scared.” His lower lip trembles, and suddenly you realise how much this is hurting him, too. “He never talks to anyone about how he’s feeling. Not really. You were my last option.” He swallows, looking away. “Whenever I call and he hears it’s me, he hangs up. He’s shutting me out. And Robin. And—everyone.”

Something tightens in your chest. You see Dustin’s fear written all over his face, and it hits you how much he looks up to Steve—how much he cares. 

Without thinking, you set your own mug aside and pull him into a hug. At first, he’s stiff with surprise, but then he slumps against you, like the weight of this worry is too heavy for him to carry alone. You press your lips together, forcing the tears back as you hold him. 

“Okay,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I’ll try. I’m not making any promises, but…I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved. “Thank you so much. I just—I don’t know how else to reach him.”

You nod, your throat still thick. 

“I’m not making any promises,” you repeat, needing him to understand that you’re as shaken as he is. “But I’ll figure something out.”

He offers you a small smile, picking up his mug again. You both take a few moments to sip your tea—hot and soothing, but not nearly enough to un-knot the anxiety in your stomach. Still, Dustin’s presence is oddly comforting; it’s nice not to be alone in this, even if it’s a teenager by your side.

“So…” You clear your throat, stealing a glance at him, gaining the courage to lighten the sullen mood. “Are you gonna tell me how you know where I live?”

“I’ve seen Steve practically sprint here a bunch of times.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Took me about three tries before I got the right door.”

You let out a laugh, but then something clicks. 

“Wait—three tries?”

Steve had never felt so low in his life. Five days holed up in his room, only sneaking out to the ensuite to splash water on his face or raid the kitchen for whatever snack he could grab—mostly stale crisps and soda—before retreating back inside. 

The place was still a wreck, remnants of that explosive outburst he couldn’t even remember starting. Not that it mattered, really; he’d be getting kicked out in a few months, so why bother cleaning up?

He’d turned off the ringer a while ago, but the calls still came, filtering distantly through his phone on his bedside. Sometimes he picked up the receiver out of some faint, mechanical impulse, but he never spoke. Except once, to Robin. 

’M not feeling so good… might quit, but I dunno.

He’d mumbled it out, half-delirious, knowing she’d recognise the alarm in his voice. She’d shown up at the door not long after—he could feel her worried presence behind the wood—but he couldn’t make himself stand, couldn’t find the will to undo the lock and let her in. Plus, he’d moved the key. 

She had her own life anyway, right? 

Her own happiness, her own girlfriend.

His body ached from lying in bed so long, muscles protesting every slight movement. His mind felt worse, drifting in a haze of guilt and regret so heavy that sometimes he wondered if he could even take another breath. 

He had no more tears left to cry, not after everything that went down—especially with you. The memory of your face—that hurt, that fear—was seared into his brain. Even when his eyes closed, he saw it.

Part of him wished you had stayed, just so he could apologise or explain or… something. But another part felt a grim sort of pride that you walked out. You deserved more than the pathetic shell he’d become, and he knew it. He’d flung the ugliest parts of himself at you and he couldn’t even figure out why. 

It felt like some twisted reflex, lashing out the moment he’d felt cornered.

It stung especially hard because he remembered every time you’d cried into his arms about your job or life in general, how he’d held you close and never once used your own aspirations against you. He’d admired your drive—even if it sometimes left him feeling insecure. 

So how had he ended up painting you as the villain for doing what you love?

Now, it all felt rotten inside him. He could see exactly how cruel his words had been—every insult sharpened by his own self-loathing. And there was no taking them back. He’d never understood before what it meant to watch someone you love crumble right in front of you and realise it was your own damn fault. 

It hollowed him out, left him lying in stale sheets, counting the cracks in the ceiling, wishing for the strength to rewind time.

But it was too late. And with each hour that passed in that cramped, messy room, he felt himself caring less about fixing anything—less about everything. Because when he closed his eyes, you were always there, the memory of your wounded gaze burning behind his eyelids. 

And he didn’t think he deserved a way out of it.

The moment you pull into the driveway, your hands grip the steering wheel with white-knuckles. You can’t shake the memory of your last conversation—if it even counts as a conversation. 

Part of you wants to slam your car into reverse and leave Steve to his own devices. He hurt you, humiliated you, and you haven’t forgiven him. But you made a promise, if not to him, then to Dustin. The kid all but worships him, and someone has to check on Steve.

Seems like you were the logical option here. 

So you climb out and make your way to the front porch, heart pounding with each step. The absence of his parents’ car in the driveway tells you they’re gone; the Harrington house is eerily still. You knock, loud and firm, each rap echoing in the silence.

No answer.

A chill snakes up your spine as you bend down to lift the mat—nothing. You bite down on your lip, anxiety churning. But then you notice the pot beside the door. You reach in, fingertips brushing over cold metal, and pull out the key. You feel bitter that this is the thing he decides to listen to. 

Stepping inside feels like walking into a tomb. The air is dank, a smell of something musty that makes your nose wrinkle. You notice the coffee table, still shoved askew from wherever he’d kicked it last time. 

A glimpse of the kitchen stops you in your tracks. The muffins he must have finished are perched on the counter, days old now, untouched. They look sad, deflated. You can’t decide if you’re more confused or hurt by that. Mail lies in a messy pile on the table, corners curled, unopened envelopes scattered. It’s like the whole house has been abandoned.

Each step up the staircase feels heavier. Despite the countless hours you’ve spent here—movie nights, lazy mornings, heated make-out sessions on the couch—it all feels foreign now. Wrong. The hallway is silent, the lights dim. The air clings to your skin, intensifying the sense that you shouldn’t be here.

You notice his bedroom door, slightly ajar. You pause, trying to calm the growing panic in your chest. 

You didn’t come to intrude. You just needed to make sure he’s alive. 

But a quick glance through the gap reveals a sight that stops your breath short. Clothes strewn everywhere, books and tapes littering the floor, a desk chair toppled on its side. The place looks destroyed. 

Not in a casual, messy way—this is carnage.

You push the door open, and the state of the room hits you like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just sloppy. It’s the aftermath of something far darker. A breakdown. And there, at the center of the chaos, is Steve—sprawled on his bed like a shadow of the person you once knew.

He stirs at the creak of the door, blinking groggily. When his gaze lands on you, his face pales even more, if that’s possible. He looks so different, like a ghost wearing his skin. His cheeks are hollow, hair unkempt, eyes ringed with shadows. 

He doesn’t speak—just stares, wide-eyed and stricken, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing there.

Anger simmers beneath your ribs, fighting with a rush of pity so strong it nearly chokes you. You’re furious with him, furious for how he treated you, but the sight of him like this—broken, listless—makes your stomach lurch. 

No one deserves this.

You snap into problem-solving mode. No words, just action. 

You stride to the window and yank it open, letting a sharp gust of air sweep into the stale room. Behind you, Steve finally rouses enough to realise what is happening, but you cut him off by walking past him, heading into the bathroom.

The pipes groan as you turn the faucet. Steam fills the air, and you test the temperature with your fingers. Your mind runs on autopilot: 

Get him up. 

Get him clean. 

Breathe some life back into him.

When you return, he’s half-upright in bed, blinking in confusion. You hold out a hand, expression set in stone. For a moment, he just stares.

“Come on,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended, but firm. He looks at your outstretched hand like he isn’t sure what it means. 

You try again, gentler.

“Steve… let’s go.”

Slowly, he sets his feet on the floor, wincing at the effort. You guide him toward the bathroom, every step feeling like treading on eggshells—somehow both intimately familiar and gut-wrenchingly new. 

You still hate what he said, what he did—but seeing him like this, you hate the situation more.

No words pass between you as you ease him toward the tub, your body moving on memory. Your gaze flicks over his clothes—so easy to remove in moments of warmth and laughter, but now the act feels unnatural.

You pause, fingertips brushing the edge of his shirt, and look up into his sunken eyes for permission. His nod is barely there, just the smallest tilt of his head, but you accept it.

Stripping off his clothes feels like undressing a corpse; his limbs move sluggishly, offering no resistance. You gather his T-shirt and jeans, tossing them aside on the sink, your stomach twisting at how distant he feels in your presence. By the time he’s left in nothing but his underwear, you can hardly meet his gaze.

“You got it from here?” you ask unsure.

He nods again, a weak gesture that does nothing to reassure you. You scoop up the discarded clothes, slip out of the bathroom, and softly shut the door behind you.

Outside, his room looks just as you left it—an absolute wreck, the fallout of some internal war. Despite the roil of anger and pain under your skin, something in you is set on fixing whatever can be fixed.

So, you get to work.

You gather wrappers and empty bottles, muttering under your breath as you fling them into the bin. Next, you scoop up the random VHS tapes littering the floor, shoving them onto the shelf in a messy row. 

He can reorganise later if he wants to. Not your problem.

The clothes get tossed into a laundry basket, clean or not—it doesn’t matter anymore. You strip the bed, sheets and blankets in one swoop, hauling it all downstairs and stuffing it into the washing machine along with the rubbish. 

You don’t even know why you’re doing this, not when your own place is a disaster. But each step feels necessary in a house that’s clearly falling apart from the inside out.

In just under half an hour, you’ve turned the carnage into something that resembles a house again—no longer a battlefield. Even got rid of the stale baked goods in the kitchen. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you head back upstairs, nerves jangling when you hear water draining from the tub. You catch sight of his half-open drawers and rummage for something soft—a pair of old joggers, an oversized sweatshirt.

At the bathroom door, you knock lightly before pushing it open just enough to slip inside. Steam clings to the tiled walls, but the sight of him makes your chest tighten. The towel wrapped around his waist might hide him as he brushes his teeth, but you can see the exhaustion carved into every line of his shoulders. 

Even clean, he looks terrible. Empty.

He notices the clothes in your arms, glances between them and your face, then finally takes them from you without a word, toothbrush hanging awkwardly out his mouth. 

“I’ll be outside when you’re ready,” you say softly. 

It’s the only explanation you can offer before turning on your heel, escaping the suffocating press of sadness that fills the bathroom. 

He emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing the sweats you picked out. He looks like he’s expecting a lecture—or worse—and some part of you can’t help but want to give it to him. 

After all, he hurt you. Yet the sight of him, freshly washed but still sunken-eyed, strips away most of your anger, leaving something more complicated in its place.

He glances at the newly cleaned space. 

“You… you didn’t have to do that,” he mutters, voice scratchy. He won’t meet your eyes.

“I know,” you shrug, your tone clipped. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He swallows, nodding once. 

“Okay.”

Silence. 

He moves to sit on the far edge of the mattress, opposite you, as if he’s afraid to cross an invisible boundary. You can feel the tension stretching between you—a chasm carved out by wounded pride.

“Are you seriously not going to talk?” you finally bite out, the frustration tightening your chest.

He flinches, as though your voice itself is too sharp. 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“A ‘sorry’ would be nice,” you snap, though your anger is already warring with pity. He looks so frail.

“I’m… sorry.” He ducks his head, hair falling into his eyes. 

A beat passes, and you feel your patience fray. 

“Great.” You swing your legs off the bed. “If that’s all I’m getting, I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” His voice cuts through the air, urgent and tremulous. “No—please. Don’t. Just—”

You pause, catch a glimpse of his face, and see raw panic etched into every line of it. With a sigh, you sink back onto the bed, crossing your arms.

His relief is almost palpable, but it’s quickly replaced by shaky breaths. His hands tremble, and he can’t seem to keep them still on his knees. Panic floods his features, twisting them into something agonised.

“Steve,” you say quietly. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“I—I can’t—” he stammers, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I just—fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

You shift toward him without thinking, placing a hand on his quaking shoulder. 

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, gentling your voice. “Just breathe. Start from the beginning, okay? We’ll work from there.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, haunted and glassy. The weight of everything unspoken hangs between you: all the damage he’s done, all the nights you spent upset and alone, all the ways you once trusted him.

You can’t forgive him—not yet. But you can’t leave him like this either.

“Please?” you add, your own voice betraying a shaky undercurrent of worry. “Just… talk to me.”

Like you once did.

He takes a ragged breath and nods, swallowing hard. His hands cling to the bare duvet as though it’s a lifeline. 

You wait as he struggles to form the right words. And he tries—is trying—lips parting and closing in fits and starts, heart pounding so loud you can almost hear it. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he says, voice ragged. “Never should’ve spoken to you like that. I—I don’t even know where it came from.”

“It clearly came from somewhere, Steve. But we’re not talking about us right now.” You quietly shake your head, eyes fixed on him. “We’re talking about you.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping as he stares down at his unsteady hands. 

“Okay,” he whispers, “yeah. Okay.” A deep breath. A hesitant glance at your face. Then, almost in a flood, the words come out once more.

“My dad… my dad got in my head. T-told me I was nothing, a disappointment—couldn’t even bear the thought of me.” His voice quivers, and he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to block out the memory. “I just—I don’t know how—don’t even know who I am anymore. He just—just looked at me, like I wasn’t even worth the conversation.”

Your heart twists, but you don’t speak—just let him continue.

He scrubs his hand over his face, eyes flicking to the doorway as though someone might burst in at any moment. 

“I was going to come see you on Friday, I swear—you have to believe me, angel—I really was. But he caught me on the way out, and…” His breath hitches, panic threading through his words. “He was just confirming what I already thought—what’s already true. That I’m a fucking failure.”

He presses a palm to his chest, as if trying to steady his heartbeat. 

“And I know that,” he says, voice shaky. “I know I’m nothing special. And in that moment, I just— I wanted someone to feel what I felt—even…even you.”

You swallow, stunned by how raw and desperate he sounds. Even in your worst nightmares, you never imagined him this broken.

“I know it’s not fair—but I’ve seen this story before. You’ll get bored of me—I know you will.” He glances up at you, eyes pleading for understanding. “You say you won’t, but you will. And I’m sorry—so fucking sorry. You have to believe me. I never meant to be mean to you or—or scare you.” His mouth twists in self-disgust. “God—I can’t believe I made you feel that way… Like you were ever unsafe with me.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on his arm, and he flinches—more out of self-loathing than fear. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft, but firm, “Breathe for me, okay?”

A shuddering exhale racks him, and he bows his head, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment, you think he might push you away—tell you not to touch him, that he doesn’t deserve it. But the words never come. 

Instead, he stands there, quietly shaking under your hand, a broken boy who’s convinced himself he can’t be saved.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in at the sight of him—at the guilt, at the rawness, at how he’s clinging to these warped ideas of his own worthlessness. 

“I don’t know how to fix this.” He keeps going, voice splintering as he tries to get it all out before he loses his nerve. “There’s no fixing this—I’ve got three months.”

“Three months?”

“He’s kicking me out… basically—my dad. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m done here.” His breath comes in ragged gulps, the admission shaking him. “And I know—God, I know this is so unfair. So fucking unfair on you, sweetheart. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I never should’ve—” His voice breaks, and he drags a hand across his mouth. “Never should’ve asked you out that day you came into the store—never should’ve done this to you.”

You want to protest, to tell him he’s talking nonsense—but your words get stuck behind the wave of memories that crash over you from all those months ago. 

That first day, his dorky smile lighting up the entire shop. The way he nearly jumped out of his skin when you said yes to hanging out. Building that bookshelf together in your living room, both of you laughing as he insisted he didn’t need your assistance. 

The time he showed up at your door unannounced because he just sensed something was wrong. Showing you off to all of his friends. All that progress, all those private jokes, all that slow, deliberate peeling back of each other’s layers—cut to ribbons by a single night’s outburst.

Now, here he is. Tears still clinging to his lashes, voice choked with regrets. The ache in your chest flares hot—hurt and a fierce tenderness all mingled into one. 

You couldn’t bear it any longer. 

You slide closer without a word, pulling him into your arms, and he clings to you. Trembling so violently it’s like he might shatter if you let go. His breaths come in spurts, each exhale sending a tremor through his body. You press your forehead to his shoulder, eyes burning. 

“Steve?” you ask softly after a minute, voice muffled against his sweatshirt.

His head lifts, eyes rimmed in red. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, brushing the hair off his clammy forehead. 

“Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no?” His brow furrows. “That’s not really—why are you asking?”

You pull back just enough to fully meet his gaze, then lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. He freezes, almost like he doesn’t believe what you’ve done is real.

He doesn’t question it, just grateful that it means you’re not leaving him alone. He won’t read too much into it now, doesn’t want to assume that you’re here for good.  

“Because,” you say, “we’re gonna go downstairs and make something to eat.” Your voice is calm, like talking to a scared child. “And then we’re going to figure out what to do.”

“You’re staying?” He stares at you, confusion and hope warring in his eyes. “But—why?”

“Because, Steve,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth twitching in a sad smile. “You said it yourself. I’m independent.” You pause as you cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheek as you gaze up at him. “And you’re going to learn how to be, too.”

He sits at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on the way you move around in front of the stove. If he blinks just right, he can almost pretend it’s a normal day—just you and him, making an impromptu meal after a long shift. 

He watches you crack eggs into a pan, stifling a sigh when you scrape the shells into the trash. You’d hoped for something more elaborate, but the fridge was nearly empty—most of the produce spoiled. He curses himself silently for not taking care of it.

A pang of guilt floods him, prompting him to stand, to do something. He goes to the cupboard, rummages around until he finds the familiar box of tea bags you keep here for yourself. He lifts a mug, glances back at you. 

“Tea alright?” 

You shoot him a quick look over your shoulder and nod. 

“Yeah. Tea’s good.”

So he gets to work, carefully measuring out just enough hot water, placing a teabag in each mug. He adds a bit of sugar and a splash of milk to yours. 

Just how you like it. 

When he turns back around, you’re already plating the eggs—fried sunny side up, edges crisp and a little burned around the rim—along with a couple of slices of toast.

Just how he likes it. 

The two of you sit down across from each other at the table. The clink of cutlery against plates sounds almost unbearably loud in the silence. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch him push at the meal with his fork, taking tentative bites at first. Then something shifts. He goes from nibbling to devouring the entire plate in a matter of moments, like a man who hasn’t seen food in days.

A pang grips your stomach. Clearly, he hasn’t had anything decent to eat in a while. You slide your plate toward him. He gives a shaky protest. 

“No, I’m good.” 

But you shake your head.

“I already ate,” you tell him gently. “Not really hungry. Please, eat.”

He studies your face, then seems to accept it, nodding slowly. Within seconds, he’s finishing off your portion, too. You sip your tea, quietly reeling at how hollow his cheeks look, the bones more pronounced than you remember.

When the food is gone, he rubs his hand over his face and slumps back in his seat. 

“You’re not at work?” he asks, voice low.

You exhale a thin breath. “I… took the week off.”

“What?”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying and failing to sound nonchalant, “I was kind of upset. Didn’t want to hide in the red room if I needed a cry.”

Remorse surges in his eyes, and he ducks his head. 

“Sweetheart… I know it doesn’t make up for anything I did, but from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” you begin, voice trembling slightly, “it’s fine. We’re focusing on you right now—”

He shakes his head, cutting you off.

“I know, and that’s important. But there’s something I gotta ask...” He presses his palms to the table, steadying himself. “What I did was unforgivable. If we’re over—if you can’t do this anymore—tell me. I just—I need to know.”

Your heart lurches; the raw plea in his voice stabs at you. 

“Steve—”

He lifts a hand, begging you to let him finish. 

“I don’t care if you—if you need space, or if you don’t want to see me for a while. I get that. I just… I need to know that I still have a chance. That once I figure this shit out—I haven’t—haven’t lost you completely.”

You swallow hard. The weight of his gaze feels almost too much to bear, but there’s no hesitation in your reply. 

“You haven’t lost me.” Your voice softens. “I....I love you too much.”

His face crumples with relief, a choked exhale leaving his lips. You reach out, tentatively resting your hand on his, and for a moment, the two of you stay like that—clinging to the thin thread of hope that still binds you together.

Finally, you clear your throat, pulling your hand away.

“So,” you say, steadying yourself, “we need to figure out what you’re going to do. Are you sure your dad will kick you out?”

“Yeah. He will.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t lie. He cut me off already when I didn’t go to college—he follows through on every threat.”

“Okay. So what about renting? You make enough to cover it, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I do, but there’s hardly anything on the market. And what there is…” He trails off, leaving the rest unsaid. 

You know all too well how soul-crushing it can be to search for a decent place in Hawkins. It took you months to find yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding, “I know.”

A hush settles between you, the quiet palpable, almost electric. He fiddles with his empty plate, pushing around the leftover crumbs with his fork, while you stare at him, mind churning over possibilities. 

Then a single thought sparks—a ridiculous, terrifying idea that sets your heart pounding.

“Steve?” you say softly, and his eyes lock with yours. “I… I might have an idea.”

His eyes scan your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. And then, suddenly, it all clicks into place for him. 

No. 

There is no way you’re suggesting that. It’s absurd. It’s idiotic. It’s not even something he’d ever let himself consider.

“No,” he rasps almost immediately, shaking his head. “No, angel, I can’t—I can’t do that. Are you serious? That’s yours—not mine. I can’t just—whatever you’re—I mean, after what I said? After what I did to you?”

Finally, you see what you’ve been searching for all week—you see your Steve. 

The Steve you’ve always known. The one who never wants to impose, who refuses to be a burden, who won’t ask for more even when he desperately needs it. The remorse in his eyes is painful, and it only solidifies your decision.

This is your boyfriend, Steve. And God, if it meant keeping this version of him—the one you cherish, the one you love—you’d let him stay with you forever.

“This is my offer,” you say. “I’m offering it to you. If you want to treat it like a last resort, that’s fine. But…” Your throat bobs with emotion as you draw in a shaky breath. “I really, really want to wake up with you every day. Split the rent. If your dad’s so concerned about your future, why don’t you make one? One you’re actually proud of... One with me.”

He blinks, tears shimmering in his eyes, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he struggles to compute what you’re saying 

You’re insane for doing this. 

In his eyes, at least. You’re supposed to be the smart one—the one who thinks things through, who knows better. And this? This is the furthest thing from a smart move.

But he sees it—the way your eyes shine with conviction, how your expression doesn’t waver, how every fiber of your being is offering this to him, fully and completely. 

You’re not lying. 

He knows when you are. And this? 

This is real.

“You… You really mean that?” His voice trembles, and the raw hope shining through makes your heart twist.

You nod, eyes glistening with your own tears. 

“Yes. I really mean that. I’m ready to do this—seriously.”

A choked sound escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His body aches with the need to have you near him. 

“Come here,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come over here, please?”

You push your chair back, crossing the short distance in two steps. The moment you’re within reach, he pulls you onto his lap, arms locking around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

His hands come up to brush the hair away from your face, the gentleness almost undoing you. Then his lips meet yours in a lingering kiss. It tastes like promises and second chances, and he pours every ounce of relief, every fragment of devotion into it.

“You’re not gonna regret this,” he murmurs between soft presses of his lips, voice thick with emotion. “Swear on my life, I’m gonna spend every single day showing you how much you mean to me. You’ll never—ever have to worry about anything again, long as I’m around. You know that?” He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple, like he can’t get enough. “You’re an angel—call you that all the time, I know, but you have to understand I mean it—fully. You’re a godsend—straight from fucking heaven.”

You feel your heart swell, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. A little laugh slips out—half joy, half disbelieving relief—while you bury your face in his neck, letting him cling to you as if letting go might shatter the fragile moment.

Eventually, you have to pull back, your lips still tingling from his. 

He inhales shakily, a new determination igniting behind his tired eyes. A tear slips down his cheek, but he doesn’t look away. 

He couldn’t. 

Even if he wanted to.

Because this girl—this stupid, stubborn, impossibly insane girl in his lap—has just given him the one thing he never thought he’d have. 

Salvation. 

A way out. A chance to live his life—not the one dictated by his father, not the one shaped by expectations he could never meet, but his life. The way he’s dreamed about since leaving high school.

It’s been a few days since that heart-to-heart—since all the raw emotions and apologies spilled out and brought you two back together. You find yourself trudging up the stairs to your flat, a small duffle bag clenched in your hand. 

It’s not your bag. It’s Steve’s. 

He insisted on carrying the heavier stuff, so he’s right behind you with a large cardboard box balanced carefully in his arms. He keeps throwing concerned glances your way, reminding you not to overdo it, especially after the whirlwind you both survived these past few days.

When you offered him your place—opened the door to your home, and more importantly, to your future together. It felt cathartic at the time, but neither of you were naive enough to think it would be easy. Later that same day, the two of you ended up at his dining table, drafting a meticulous list: bills, rent, utilities, a hundred different phone calls you’d need to make to set everything up. 

You were both determined to do it right. He kept emphasising that he’d pull his weight, that he’d take on more than his share if it meant showing you how committed he was. The idea of this new life with him thrilled and terrified you—but mostly, it filled your chest with a heat you could hardly articulate.

Hours passed, and by ten at night, you were rubbing at your eyes, complaining of a headache from all the numbers and paperwork. He looked at you, concern shadowing his features. He’d noticed your exhaustion well before you said anything and felt guilty for letting you push yourself so far. Relenting, he agreed that you both needed to step away and breathe.

That night, you slept at his place, and the sensation was immediately familiar—like returning home. Wearing his old Hawkins Phys Ed shirt, you crawled under the covers and felt his arms circle around you. He held you so gently, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers. You could feel his shaky exhale against your hair as he tried not to tear up, clearly thinking about how damn lucky he was.

Even after you drifted off, he found he couldn’t sleep. Not with the guilt still gnawing at him, not when the knowledge of how he’d hurt you weighed on his mind.

Call it self-inflicted punishment or penance, but he carefully slipped out from under your arm, doing his best not to stir you. 

With measured steps, he made his way back downstairs, returning to the scattered papers on the table. He picked up the old calculator he thought he’d never use again, muttering every sum under his breath. Even though it was late, the methodical tap of buttons and scribble of pencil across paper soothed him.

Each calculation that confirmed a real, shared future gave him the momentum to keep going, no matter how sleep-deprived he felt. Some of the equations he did twice, not wanting any part of this to be left up to chance. 

When you woke up sometime later, you realised the bed was still cold on his side. Anxiety prickled through you as you called his name into the darkness, flipping on the lamp to peer through the dimly lit bedroom. The quiet of the house led you downstairs, where you found him hunched over the table, eyes rimmed red from strain, pencil in hand. 

He didn’t even notice you right away, so lost in thought—tallying numbers, crossing them out, re-checking them. Your heart melted at the sight of his serious expression, that little line between his brows telling you just how deep in concentration he was.

Padding across the floor, you stepped into his line of vision. He glanced up at you, and the softness in his eyes nearly made your breath catch. Leaning back in the chair, he waited—almost timid—until you climbed right into his lap. His arms came around you instantly, hugging you like he was grounding himself in your warmth.

“Should be sleeping, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice husky with fatigue. “S’almost two.”

“You’re not in bed.” You told him in a drowsy mumble as you burrowed yourself further into his chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted softly. “Thought I’d finish what we started. Want to make sure all of this works out.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” you gave a small shake of your head.

It was true. All these papers and logistics would still be there tomorrow. There was a movement in his eyes but he still wasn’t quite ready to give it up. Wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn’t going to lose this too. 

“Please?” You pleaded, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Wanted to sleep with you... Haven’t had the chance all week.”

At that, he broke. His expression gentled as he brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. 

“Okay,” he whispered, like he was surrendering to something bigger than both of you. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”

You led him quietly back upstairs, exhaustion weighing down both your limbs. The moment you slipped under the blankets and into his arms, you felt a warmth settle through your bones. He held you close, and you could sense his heart thudding in his chest as he finally let himself relax. 

Within minutes, he was drifting off. 

That was four days ago. Now, everything’s official—all the logistics sorted, all the phone calls made. You stand in your bedroom, setting his duffle bag in the corner of your room. Behind you, he carefully places a large box on top of the dresser. When you turn, he meets you with a soft, lopsided grin that crinkles the edges of his eyes.

“Is that it?” he asks.

You cross your arms over your chest and nod slowly, taking in the modest stacks of his belongings that are now scattered around your bedroom. 

“Thought you had more stuff than this,” you say, frowning. 

“I decided to get rid of a few things.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “New start and all that.”

“You threw them away?” You scowl in mock indignation. “Instead of giving them to me?”

He chuckles, stepping closer to hook an arm around your waist. 

“Sweetheart,” he lets out a low chuckle, nudging your chin with a gentle finger. “You now have full access to my entire wardrobe, and you’re complaining?”

“Hmmm.” You pout as he leans in, you let him kiss you—warm and tender. When you finally break away, you clear your throat. “Did you call Keith?”

“Yeah,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “Got my job back—already squared things away about my time off. Robin forgave me for being a complete idiot, and Dustin too.”

He’s got a second chance, and he’s not going to blow it.

When you told him how Dustin had turned to you for help, you saw the panic ignite in his eyes again—fear that he’d let everyone down, especially the kid who looked up to him like a brother. 

So you’d forced him into the passenger seat, driven to Dustin’s house, and watched from the window as Steve hesitated on the porch before finally knocking.

You weren’t sure what was said in that living room—he spent an hour in there. You do know that, by the time you joined them, Dustin had tears in his eyes, but they were happy tears. And Steve looked lighter. Like he’d scraped the burden off his shoulders and left it on the welcome mat. 

The three of you ended up sprawled in Dustin’s living room, eating too many slices of pizza, and watching a random comedy on TV. By the time you left, your heart felt a little sturdier.

No more tantrums. No more breakdowns.

You’d believed him too, especially with how his eyes shone with fresh resolve.

“I, uh, moved some of my stuff around in the bedroom,” you tell him. “Had a few spare drawers or whatever—you’ve got the bottom two, and there’s some free hangers in the wardrobe.”

His eyes flick to the space you’ve made for him, you catch the gratefulness that softens his entire expression. He looks at you like he still can’t believe this is real—that he’s here, that you made room for him. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a slow kiss, his lips lingering on yours.

When it ends, he presses his forehead to yours, murmuring a playful “thank you.” But before you can reply, the gentle press of his mouth becomes more insistent. His hands shift to cradle your jaw, and you melt into him as the kiss deepens—hungry, a little desperate.

“Steve,” you mumble, pulling back just enough to speak, though his lips still ghost over yours. “We need to unpack…”

He hums, not letting you stray far. 

“We can unpack later,” he murmurs. “Got all the time in the world.”

You want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters—makes your heart ache. When he dips his head to nip gently at your neck, you let out a breathy laugh, your hands coming up to clutch his shoulders. In one swift move, he lifts you onto the bed, settling you against the pillows.

Your pulse skitters in your chest as he looms over you, his warm, steady gaze sweeping across your face. 

“Can I?” he asks, voice hushed. “Wanna say thank you properly—wanna make you feel good.”

A little huff slips past your lips, your cheeks hot. He’s ridiculously sweet, and he knows it. He sees you hesitate for half a second, so he leans in, pressing a series of gentle, coaxing kisses along your jaw, his hands finding purchase at your hips. 

“Please?” he murmurs, breath fanning against your skin. “Wanna take care of you. You gonna let me, angel?”

His thumbs begin to knead soft circles into your sides, and you feel your heart skipping a beat—or maybe five. You tug him closer, inhaling the comforting scent of his shirt as your arms loop around his shoulders, deciding then and there you’ll never get enough of him.

You blink up at him, heat already flushing across your cheeks. The second you mumble your agreement—“Yeah, all right. Okay.”—his face lights up with a grin so bright it makes your stomach flip. 

He leans in, giving you a quick kiss before pulling back to yank off his shirt. The muscles in his arms and chest shift, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail over his skin. Your own shirt follows suit as well as your bra, stripped away and tossed onto the floor, and then he’s on you again—breath warm and urgent against your mouth, hands skimming over your bare sides.

He’s nipping gently at your bottom lip, then your jaw, and you feel that fevered press of his body. Each touch says he needs this. Each breathless kiss says he’s missed you.

“Wanted to do this all week,” he murmurs, voice raw with relief. “Can’t believe you chose me, sweetheart—I mean—could’ve had anyone.”

Your heart clenches at the genuine wonder in his tone. You cradle the back of his neck, pulling him down for another firm kiss. 

“I want you,” you say, voice catching on the words. “Only you.”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes falling shut as though your confession alone is enough to undo him. 

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk. “Well, I gotta show you how grateful I am, then. Gonna make you see stars, baby. You deserve it—so fucking beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your face, and you instinctively try to duck your head, flustered by his praise. He catches the motion, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“Oh? You getting shy on me?”

“N-no…” you protest, but it comes out smaller than you intended.

“That sounds like a ‘yes.’” His voice is teasing as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. Before you can work up a witty retort, your trousers and underwear are slipped down and off, leaving you bare. His gaze darkens appreciatively. “You don’t like it when I say nice things?”

You shake your head, but the denial dissolves the moment his hand slides between your thighs. Calloused fingertips brush against your slick skin, and the breath escapes you in a shaky exhale. His responding chuckle warms your ear. 

“Oh, baby, I think you're lying—just look at you.”

A mortified whimper bubbles out—though your body clearly isn’t complaining. It’s a mess of conflicting emotions: the embarrassment of his unabashed words and the molten desire pooling low in your belly.

“It’s—it’s embarrassing when you talk like that,” you manage to squeak, squirming under his touch.

“Embarrassing?” he echoes, sounding far too amused. He presses his hand more firmly, and a moan slips out of you, your thighs quivering at the sensation. “Can’t have that,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss down your neck. “Was so mean to you, angel—don’t deserve you.” Another slow swirl of his fingers has you arching up. “Gotta make it right—s’only fair.”

You part your lips to respond, but all that comes out is a broken, breathy sound. The rhythmic press of his hand is driving coherent thought right out of your head. He watches you, clearly reveling in how easily he can undo you.

“You’re dripping, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping to a low hum. “You sure you don’t like it when I tell you how pretty you are? How perfect you are for me?”

You give a pitiful whine, your cheeks practically on fire. It only seems to spur him on, his fingertips slick as they work you open. Each thrust of his hand feels so sinfully good that you can’t tell if you want him to keep talking or just shut up and kiss you senseless.

Steve was always all sweet words and gentle smiles in bed, but this was different. He was savouring you, getting off on calling you names—not the degrading kind, but the ones that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten.

His cocky little grin flashes again. 

“Aw, baby, you’re so sensitive.” He leans in, brushing his mouth against your ear. 

You let your eyes fall shut, surrendering to the flurry of sensation he’s stirring inside you. The desperate tingle in your stomach builds with each curl of his fingers, and just when you think you might be careening toward the edge, he pulls away. You open your mouth to protest, only to watch him stand up and strip out of his jeans and boxers.

He shifts back onto the bed, bracing himself over you, and a sharp bolt of arousal lances through your core when you feel him—hot and hard—rubbing insistently against your clit. 

“Gonna fuck you, baby,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Gonna show you how much you mean to me—how good you are to me—”

He guides himself to your entrance and pushes in, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Your jaw goes slack at the delicious stretch. Both of you gasp at the same time—like you’ve just remembered how good this can feel when all the walls are down, when you’re both so desperately in need of one another.

A shudder runs through him. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans, beginning a slow, steady pace. “Missed you.” He leans in, mouthing at your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can get his lips. “Gonna do this every day—after every shift—hell, before every shift. Want you on my cock anytime I can have you.”

The rhythmic drag of him thrusting deeper and deeper has you arching your back. Your nails instinctively rake down his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. The sting must register because he lets out a rough moan.

“You gonna scratch me up, huh?” he rasps, his pace growing more determined. “Gonna leave a mark on me?”

“S-sorry.” You freeze for half a second, peering up at him through hazy, pleasure-blurred eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt you—”

“Could never hurt me—not after what I did.” He shakes his head, eyes burning with intensity. “I—I want it, baby. Wanna feel you tomorrow—everytime I move—wanna remember who’s at home waiting for me. Our home.”

Something about that—our home—sends sparks of electricity tearing through your veins. 

“Steve,” you breathe. Your voice cracks with urgency. “Shit, I’m gonna—”

He knows what you mean before you even said the words. Bearing down, he snaps his hips a bit faster, and his words become even more ragged and desperate, tumbling from his lips in quick succession. 

“So fucking smart—so fucking pretty,” he manages between thrusts. “Always so sweet for me—God”

His chest is heaving, damp with sweat, and he’s pounding into you like he can’t hold anything back. He feels you squeezing around him, and it only drives him further—spurs him on like he has something to prove. He can’t give you much, but what he can offer, he gives tenfold. 

This is what he can give you, and fuck, he wants to give you so much more. He’d give anything to make you happy—to make you feel even a fraction of what you’ve given him. He needs you to understand. Needs you to feel it.

“Always working so hard—taking such good care of me—making me feel so fucking good—aren’t you, angel?” he mumbles brokenly, delirious. He’s teetering on the edge, and you feel it in the way his strokes start to falter. “Need you to know how much I—Fuck—need you to cum on my cock, baby. Won’t stop ’til I feel it—please.”

You’re too strung out to do anything but obey that fierce longing in his voice. With one more thrust, you tumble into release, your body seizing beneath him. The rush has you clawing at his shoulders, your head thrown back as waves of ecstasy roll through you. You vaguely register him letting out a guttural moan as he follows you over the edge, the tension in his body snapping as he spills into you.

For a few seconds, you both just hover there—lost in the throbbing aftermath that feels electric and tender. Your vision spots with warm, dizzy bliss, and you’re semi-aware of him collapsing onto you, his lips brushing your temple in a dazed kiss.

You pull away from him, chest still heaving, and the giggle that slips from your lips sounds almost delirious in the quiet that’s settled around you both. his flushed cheeks crease into a satisfied grin as he tilts his head, studying you.

“What is it?” he asks, brushing his fingers through his damp hair.

You push at his chest—just enough to make him tumble to the side—and roll your eyes. 

“You talk too much.”

 “Me?” He gives an exaggerated gasp. “That’s weird. Usually you love my mouth.”

Heat crawls up your cheeks as you huff, trying to will away the memories of just how much you do love his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you grumble, “but when you talk like that…makes my head all scrambled.”

“Oh, I know, baby. I’m so mean, aren’t I?” He pouts exaggeratedly. 

Another huff leaves you, though you can’t hide the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement. He leans over the side of the bed to grab his discarded shirt and jeans, and you start to do the same—only to freeze when you catch sight of his back in the low light.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes going wide.

“What is it?” He whips around, alarmed by your tone. 

 “I, uh…I actually did leave marks on your back.” You grimace a little, shifting your weight to your knees. The faint, reddened lines stand out against his skin—four vivid stripes that trace the path of your nails from earlier.

He glances over his shoulder with a casual shrug, though the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays his real reaction. 

“Oh yeah?” His voice dips lower, interest obvious.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, feeling a hint of guilt.

“I wanted you to,” he replies without hesitation, and you notice the flicker of heat in his eyes. “Shows I was doing a good job.”

“Still feel bad,” you mumble, cheeks burning. You move closer, fingers ghosting over his shoulder blades. 

“You know…” His grin widens. “Could always kiss ‘em better. Hear that helps.”

You scoff but lean in, pressing soft kisses to each mark, and he practically melts under your touch. 

“Better?” you ask softly, lips brushing the raised skin.

“Much,” he murmurs, letting out a shaky sigh. There’s a definite pink tinge staining his cheeks now—you’ve managed to fluster him now.

"Aw, you getting shy on me?" You tease as a giggle bubbles up your throat.

"Shut up." He huffs as he leans down to pull on his boxers, holding out his shirt for you to slip on. "Shower?"

You nod as you pull on your clothes, letting him guide you to the bathroom, his touch gentle.

He doesn’t let you lift a finger—cleaning you up was his job tonight, just like making dinner, just like everything else.

He promised you wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing ever again, and Steve keeps his promises.

Any stress?

That’s his job now. Not yours.

Because you’ve already given him the greatest gift anyone could ask for. You. Your trust, your future. And he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure you never regret it.

He didn’t tell his dad he was leaving. Didn't see the point.

If the old man wanted to find him, he could, but it wouldn’t change anything. He had made his choice, and for the first time in his life, it wasn’t about living up to someone else’s expectations.

He blocked out the past, because the only thing that matters now is you—safe, warm, cared for, loved. He would spend every day proving that you’d never have to doubt that again.

[demonpiratehuntress]

bug trouble (Straw Hats + Ace, Law, Kaku)

featuring - Zoro x F!Reader, Ace x F!Reader, Sanji x F!Reader, Luffy x F!Reader, Law x F!Reader, Kaku x F!Reader, Usopp x F!Reader

summary - you ask them to remove a spider because you are afraid.

warnings - none

EDIT - someone reminded me that Usopp is actually not afraid of spiders, so im sorry if it is inaccurate. i write for a few fandoms at the moment so it's hard for me to remember some of these things especially for characters that im not romantically interested in. please just bear with it 🙏🏽

ZORO

Zoro is woken up from yet another attempted nap by the sound of two very familiar screams. He groans, already knowing what that entails, but forces himself up anyway because one of those screams came from you.

Sure enough, when he walks into the dining area he sees you and Usopp on top of the table, holding onto each other and shaking as you cried. This earned another sigh from the swordsman, who almost didn't want to ask what was going on.

You didn't give him a choice, wailing, "There's a spider on the floor!"

Zoro heaved another sigh. If it was just Usopp, he'd have left him on his own until one of the other crewmembers took pity on him. But it was you as well, and he promised to protect you, so...

"Where is it?"

"There!" Usopp pointed.

"Where?"

"Turn around!"

He turned to the left.

"No, completely around!"

He did a 180, ending up facing the right now.

"Zoro!" You cried. "Take this seriously!"

"I am! But I don't see it!"

You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped short when the massive bug climbed onto the kitchen table with you and the sharpshooter. Usopp promptly fainted, and you screamed and fell off the table.

Now catching sight of the spider, Zoro stalked over and just casually impaled it with one of his swords, before going outside and dropping it into the ocean. When he returned, you got up happily like nothing had happened and ran over to hug him, squeezing him in your arms.

"Thank you!!" You beamed, kissing his cheek before rejoining Usopp and continuing whatever conversation you'd been having with him before the spider came.

"No," Zoro grabbed your wrist and pulled you away, "For that, you have to nap with me."

"You say that like it's a punishment," you laughed.

He did not let you go for the rest of the day.

ACE

Truth be told, there were a lot of people aboard the Moby Dick that you could ask to get rid of the spider. Literally anyone passing by. But your predicament right now needed Ace specifically, because you were hiding in your bathroom with nothing on but a towel wrapped around your figure.

Someone had heard your cry for Ace and retrieved your boyfriend, who raced to your room when he heard you needed him. He burst into your shared room with misplaced enthusiasm, thinking of a completely different need.

"Ace?" You called, and you sounded like you were scared.

"Baby? What's wrong?" He asked worriedly, rushing over to the door. "Are you okay?"

"No!" You cried, "There's a spider in the room!"

"Huh? A spider?" He repeated, then saw something crawl across the floor. "Babe that thing is huge! You're on your own."

"ACE!" You yelled. "I swear to-"

"Relax, I was kidding," he laughed. "I'll handle it baby. Sit tight."

You had no idea what he did with it, hopefully he threw it overboard, but you opened the bathroom door just a sliver to take a peek. Ace was just coming back into the room, and you watched him approach the door.

"Okay, you can come out now baby," he cooed. "It's gone."

You sighed in relief and opened the door completely, wrapping your boyfriend up in the tightest hug you'd ever given him. Your towel slipped, but you didn't care.

"It was so big," you complained into his neck. "My hero."

He puffed his chest out proudly, engulfing you in his strong arms, "Anything for my pretty baby. But I think I deserve some kisses."

"I think so too," you smiled when you pulled back, then proceeded to pepper kisses all over his face, ending with a deep, slow and loving kiss on his lips.

SANJI

The moment your scream rang out through the ship, the cook dropped whatever he had been doing to rush to your aid. He was panicked himself upon hearing your cry for help, wondering what had gotten to you while everyone was busy. When he burst into your room, you were on your bed, curled up in the furthest corner against the wall.

"My love, what happened?" Sanji asked you worriedly, coming closer. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Just scared," you told him, trembling slightly.

"Why are you scared? Is there something in your room?" But even as he asked that question, he scanned your room and couldn't find what might have gotten this reaction out of you.

"There's a spider on the wall behind you," you offered weakly.

Your boyfriend turned around to see what must have been the biggest spider he had ever encountered. Now he understood your reaction. He, too, trembled in fear at the sight. But he was your boyfriend, he needed to protect you.

"Sanjiiiiii!" You whined when he just stood there. "It's moving!"

"Have no fear my love, I will take care of it!"

And then he ran out of the room. Leaving you to cry, terrified by the fact that now your boyfriend had abandoned you. Stupid, huge spider.

Sanji came running back in moments later, however, holding a pan. You gape at him, wondering how that was supposed to help, before he threw it at the massive eight-legged creature. This only pissed it off, and it started moving. Sanji screamed, grabbed you and sprinted out of the room again.

"Sanji!"

"I have a plan b!"

His plan b was, in fact, Nami. She had to go in and remove the spider, and Sanji felt terrible. He failed you as a boyfriend.

"Thanks for at least trying," you laughed when you finally calmed down, kissing his cheek. "It was pretty brave of you, considering you're also afraid of them."

His eyes bugged out of his head, heart-shaped, "Anything for you, my love!"

LUFFY

When Luffy heard you crying for his help he thought that you were being attacked. He rushed to help you, because you never cried for help like that unless you were truly terrified. And when he got to where you were, in the bathroom, he stopped dead when he saw you in the corner with your towel around your body, staring at something in the sink.

"(Name), what's wrong?" He asked you, confused. He didn't see an immediate threat.

"Look in the sink," you answered, voice shaky.

Your captain approached the sink, his eyes going wide when he spotted the spider, "Oooh, cool!"

"Luffy!" You cried. "Get it out of here!"

"But why?" He turned to look at you. "It can't hurt you."

"Luffy please!" You squealed, curling up into yourself and hiding your face. "You know I hate spiders!"

He pouted, not seeing the problem, but since you were so bothered by it he picked up the spider like it was nothing, and turned to you. You screamed and fainted on the spot, and Luffy panicked. He ran out and threw the spider overboard before running back to you.

"(Name)!" He picked you up and shook you, thinking that would wake you up.

You did wake up, but not when he shook you. He had taken you to Chopper, towel and all, and you screeched as you sat up and covered yourself, "Luffy!"

"(Name)!" He grinned, "You're awake!"

"You brought me here in my towel?!"

"I was worried!" He answered. "Besides, Chopper didn't look. He told me you just fainted and would wake up soon."

"You showed me a spider," you shivered. "Of course I fainted."

"I'm sorry," he apologised sincerely. "I won't do it again."

"You better not."

LAW

You try to keep your terror to yourself, not wanting to bother or irritate Law. He was busy, so you figured you had to do this yourself. It was absolutely horrifying, sitting on the table and staring at the eight-legged creature you would eventually have to remove.

Bepo was your saving grace, or at least you thought so until he also got scared and quickly left the room. Fortunately, he ran into Law who was looking for you, and told the captain that a spider was holding you hostage.

"A...spider," Law repeated incredulously, then sighed and made his way to the room you were stuck in. "Where is it?"

You were too busy trying to throw your shoes at it that you hadn't noticed Law enter. He frowned when he saw your eyes glistening and your form trembling.

"(Name)-ya."

You finally looked up, sighing in relief when you saw him, "Please help me, Law."

You sounded so terrified, that your boyfriend found it difficult to be annoyed. You didn't have to be afraid, you shouldn't be, not when you have him around. So, worried that you might pass out from fear, he just room, shambled it into the ocean, a shell taking its place on the floor.

You finally breathed, relaxing as you got off the table, "Thank you, Law. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

He came over to you and, in a rare display of affection, hugged you and kissed the top of your head. He said nothing, but his actions comforted you and you slowly calmed down.

And in that moment you knew he would always be there to help you, regardless of what he was doing. That proved his love, better than words ever could.

KAKU

Kaku returned home to find you were not in the kitchen like you usually were, ready to greet him with dinner and a kiss. In fact, dinner hadn't even been started, and this struck Kaku as extremely odd. Cautiously, he made his way upstairs only to hear things being thrown around and multiple crashes and thuds.

He burst into the room thinking you were under attack, only to see you running around room crying and tossing things over your shoulder. He couldn't see anything wrong, until he looked down and noticed a massive spider following you.

"Kaku!" You sobbed in relief when you spotted him. "Can you please get rid of this demon?"

He chuckled at your name for it, "Of course, sweetheart."

Your eyes almost bugged out of your head as he, with absolutely no hesitance, bent down and grabbed the spider by its legs. He stood up with it and you yelped and tumbled backwards onto your bed as he took the eight-legged creature outside.

"Is that better?" He smiled at you sweetly when he returned.

"Much," you smiled back, relaxing again, "Thank you, baby." You got up and walked over to him, kissing him sweetly. "Now let me go make you the biggest, best dinner you've ever had."

"I'll help," he offered, ever the sweetheart.

"No, no, no," you shook your head, taking his hand and leading him downstairs. "My hero gets to sit there and look handsome."

He chuckled again, his cheeks going pink at the praise.

USOPP

This guy...is on the table with you. Seriously, when you screamed and he came running, he took one look at the floor before he jumped so high that he ended up with you on the table. He was shivering and shaking more than you were, and you gave him an 'are you kidding me' look.

"Hey! Those things are freaky!" He defended himself.

You rolled your eyes, "Okay, but now who's going to save us?"

"...I didn't think this through."

"No, you did not."

The two of you sat there for a while, wondering who you could call and who would actually come help if you did. Meanwhile, the spider stayed where it was, taunting you both.

"I mean I could...hit it with a flaming star?" He suggested.

"And risk burning the floor? And the ship?"

"Right..."

"Throw something else at it," you told him. "Ooh, throw your shoe."

"I'm not throwing my shoe! You throw yours!"

"You were the one who got us in this situation!"

"But you-"

Robin walked into the room at that moment, only to stop when she noticed the two of you cowering on the table. She looked at the spider, then at you two, and laughed.

"Do you guys need some help?"

"Yes please!" You both begged.

Robin used her devil fruit power to get the spider out, making a trail of arms that eventually led overboard.

"Thanks, Robin," you smiled, which she returned before leaving. You whirled on Usopp, about to ask what that was when you noticed how pale he had gone. "Come on, let's go get your mind off the spider."

You took his hand and led him away, shaking your head.

[eloquentlytired]

18+ CONTENT. MDNI.

wade x fem!reader x logan

word count: 3k

summary: Wade and Logan are your neighbors and best friends. You've been through many things together in the span of little time. When things take a turn for the worse, they're there for you.

warning(s): brief physical abuse ( reader's ex bf ), logan and wade are the bestest of friends fr, sassy wade, smut, threesome, fluff, tension, these three actually love eo too much, I LOVE THEM!!!, besties to lovers

note: sorry for any mistakes, I didn't re-check it but take it bc I'm ovulating intensely while also coping. this will be very self indulgent I fear

Your new life wasn't amazing but it was yours. It was good.

Your own rented apartment, your cat, your car and your neighbors which you'd somehow ended up best friends with. You've known Logan and Wade for half a year but you'd probably sacrifice a bunch of people for them — as terrible as that sounds.

“Ever thought we might be linked by destiny?” Wade asked one day while munching on a few chips.

“I was actually trying to think if I should link my fist to your left or right side.” Logan lovingly replied before the two began bickering. Yes, you truly loved them as they were.

At some point you had gone through all best friends shit with them. New relationships, breakups, toxic boyfriends and girlfriends. Or what Wade liked to call ‘the final boss’ known as your current boyfriend.

“He eats burgers with a fucking fork.” Wade argued while slurping his pasta. Logan was quiet next to him, taking in all the information of your newest relationship. In all honesty, he didn't like the guy — something seemed off about him — but you still appreciated how Logan wouldn't pry too much or judge. The opposite of Wade.

“You can't cross him out just because of that.” You talked back to Wade, roughly swallowing your own bite of pasta.

You were all gathered in Wade’s apartment, sitting at his dining table and talking.

“Cross him out? I'll do worse. I'll cancel him, gonna film it and everything too.” Wade turns to Logan then while pointing at you with his fork. “Tell her something now. This is an order.”

Logan glanced at Wade sideways before shrugging.

“She’s a big girl. Let her breathe a little.” Your face lit up at Logan’s reaction while Wade’s darkened unusually. But Logan was quick to soothe him with mere words.

“We’re a door away, bub. She needs us then she yells.” Logan stared at you as if waiting for a sign of confirmation and you found yourself obediently nodding — agreeing with his words. At least Wade seemed more relaxed now.

There were many things you hated in this life. Workload, bugs, traffic, Wade being right about things.

You blankly stared in the mirror, observing the bruise that was forming near your right eye. It hurt, of course it did, but the physical pain was somehow masked by the mental one. Whatever was going on in your head was simply worse.

You tried to remember everything that happened correctly.

Your boyfriend, yelling and screaming over some unwashed clothes he needed for tomorrow. You were a girlfriend not a maid, you'd told him before he punched you.

You remember the silence that followed and then how fast he left.

Wade and Logan were out working; a convenient time for your former boyfriend to do what he wanted then dip.

You stared at the clock on the wall signaling 3:20AM. Logan and Wade wouldn't get off until 6.

Sleep seemed impossible but it wasn't when you laid your head on your pillow and cried for what felt like an hour. So you cried yourself to sleep.

“Baby.” There were hands on you. Not rough or unfamiliar but quite the opposite. You opened your eyes slowly, feeling the aftermath of your crying affect your body. The headache, the puffy eyes, the dried drool on your face.

Wade’s thumb brushed over a spot on your face and you winced. It hurt. Then you remembered why it hurt.

You sat up in your bed, not caring that everything was spinning for a while. You spotted Wade sitting in your bed next to you then Logan with his arms crossed, standing at the doorway of your bedroom. He seemed even more intimidating like this, his expression caring suppressed anger. Rage.

“We had an unfortunate meeting last night.” Wade said, capturing your entire attention. “Your boy thought it was a good idea to choose our bar and get drunk. Said a lot of shit but more specifically what he did to his girlfriend. Boasted about showing you your place.”

The tension was thick but nothing could compare to Logan’s tensed stance. He was clenching his fists so hard, it was a miracle he hadn't popped a vessel yet.

“We decided to show him his instead.” It took you a while to realize how serious Wade was. There were no snarky comments or jokes or stupid comebacks. His eyes weren't even smiling anymore. Wade was simply angry and so was Logan.

“I would have killed him.” It was Logan’s voice that followed, speaking to himself more than you. “I would have killed him if it weren't for you two. Otherwise I wouldn't have something to lose.” Logan murmured, looked between you and Wade and then he exited your bedroom.

Some silent seconds later, you could hear Logan doing things in your kitchen. Probably cooking something.

“Is he alive?” It was your attempt at a joke but also not really. You were being genuine because you knew that these two people would kill for you. Actually.

Wade gave you a faint smile. His first of today.

“Yeah. Definitely won't be able to eat burgers with a fork for a while though.”

You giggled and his heart eased up when he saw you smiling. It was a good sign.

“I told Logan that if I don't see you smile once today, I'll find him again and do worse.” The glint in his eyes proved he was being genuine with his threats.

After all, Wade only made real threats and educated wishes.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Get her to shower, Wade.” Logan yelled from the kitchen and it made both of you grin simultaneously.

Wade followed Logan’s advice for once and held you by the hand while leading you to the bathroom.

You and Wade exchanged long glances once you entered the bathroom, as if having a silent conversation that no one else knew about.

Then you began undressing carefully as Wade’s eyes remained glued to your face until you were done.

He helped you into the shower and took off his shoes before joining you — although he was fully clothed.

When the hot water began dripping down both of you, Wade seemed unbothered by his clothes getting wet and sticking onto his body.

His focus was on you as he turned you around until your back was facing him and poured shampoo into his hands.

He washed your hair carefully as if you were the most fragile creature to exist. But it was also incredibly soothing as he ran his fingers through your hair and over your scalp, drawing invisible lines.

Then he took care of the rest. He rubbed soap across your neck, your chest and beneath your breasts as if he'd done it a million times before. He hadn't but it wasn't awkward — nothing could ever be awkward with him or Logan.

His fingers washed your sides then your stomach and when it was time, he gave you the initiative to clean lower.

It was silent for a long time. Wade stared at you and you stared back while rinsing the soap off your body.

“Food’s ready.” Logan cracked the bathroom door slightly open and spoke within the small gap.

When he received no reaction, he entered.

The three of you somehow ended up tangled in the small shower. You stood in between Logan and Wade, your back pressed against Logan’s bare chest while your breasts kept grazing Wade’s chest in return.

“The food will get cold.” You whispered as Wade bent down to kiss you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Your hands moved to grip the back of his neck as you brought him closer, creating no space between you two. The same could be said about you and Logan as the latter kept rutting against you, his hardened cock moving in the space between your buttocks.

“We don't have to do this. Just say the word.” Logan whispered, pressing a faint kiss on your head.

You appreciated the affection and how gentle he was trying to be despite how hard he was.

“I want it. I want you.” You mumbled between them and that's all they really needed to know.

The bed creaked as the three of you moved in unison. Logan laid on his back while you crawled to him and laid on your stomach by his side. Your hand moved first, wrapping around his thick cock and giving it a few experimental tugs.

When he groaned in approval, you leaned your face closer to kiss the crown of his cock.

“Princess.”

He was already leaking in your hand, voice grumbling low.

The bed dipped beside Logan as Wade moved his knee there with odd familiarity and leaned over. You almost stopped what you were doing when you saw it happen—

Wade leaning in, grasping Logan’s jaw so naturally before kissing him hard. “Shit.” Logan cursed beneath all this attention and wrapped a hand around Wade’s nape while the other disappeared into your hair.

Logan gently urged you and you picked up where you left off — placing several kisses on the side of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip. You gave it a tiny suck before sliding your tongue against his slit, feeling his thighs tense around you.

You swirled your tongue around his cock. Licking, tasting. Your hand remained clutching his base as your head began sinking and your mouth stretched around the fat girth.

Logan’s hips twitched but one of Wade’s hands moved to pin one of them down.

Your eyes watered but you didn't stop, taking him deeper and deeper. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair and once your nose was buried against his pubic hair, he lost it.

Your eyes fell shut as Logan fisted your hair into a messy bun and began fucking into your mouth without mercy.

Wade followed the noises you were making with his gaze — watched you as you stared at them both while swallowing Logan’s cock until it was impossible to breathe.

You hollowed your cheeks then, making Logan shudder beneath you.

Despite the restricted air in your lungs and the fat tears rolling down your cheeks, you didn't pull off. Even as Wade’s hand accompanied Logan’s on your head and forced you down, it still wasn't enough to break you.

You drooled around Logan’s dick happily as he used your mouth, raising his hips just a little to build a steadier rhythm. Even as his balls slapped against your chin, it didn't matter—

“I’m gonna come.”

Logan warned with a shaky breath as you hollowed your cheeks once more, sucking whatever precum you could into your mouth. Your fingers shifted from his base to his balls as you massaged them thoroughly, making his head spin.

Wade slid his hand away from your head and watched Logan dissolve into a mess of incoherent mumbles and lustful expressions while your actions took place.

“Gotta give her what she deserves, Lo.” Wade whispered against Logan’s lips to egg him on and it worked.

You felt Logan tense beneath you, his tip hitting the back of your throat without mercy. It took a few more thrusts to watch him come undone while Wade kissed him hard, swallowing every loud noise.

His moans turned into satisfied grumbles instead, faint purrs too.

You swallowed every drop carefully, eyes shut and throat contracting around Logan’s softening cock. A few moments later you pulled off, releasing the soft cock with a pop.

Something inside you snapped as you crawled higher to reach Wade, pulling him to you and kissing him hard.

Logan couldn't help how sensitive he felt upon seeing you two exchanging sloppy and dirty kisses — especially after he'd filled your mouth.

It was Wade’s turn and clearly he wanted everyone to know it.

“There!” You gasped as Wade pressed his cock in a spot that had your toes curling. Your hands fisted the sheets as he fucked you from behind, his cock stretching you out while his balls collided against your clit with each rough thrust.

It was wet and over the top.

His cum from previous orgasms was already beginning to drip out of you, coating Wade’s cock and your own pussy.

“Think I'll just ruin you for everybody else.” Wade grunted, his hands clutching your hips tightly.

Logan watched as you buried your face in a pillow and screamed, your entire body shaking as Wade miraculously ripped another orgasm out of you.

“In— I want it inside.” You pushed your hips back as if to make your point clear and Wade complied because you deserved every moment of this.

The hands around your hips tightened their grip as Wade suddenly pushed himself forward, slamming his cock too deep, and emptied himself inside you.

Wade pressed his forehead against your back while your body completely crumbled beneath him. Spent and full.

You felt so sleepy that it was impossible to hear the exchange between Logan and Wade.

“Got carried away,bub.” Logan commented as he sat up, watching Wade’s cum leak out of you.

“I think it's barely enough.” Wade teased while looking back at him, completely slipping his cock out.

By the time you woke up, you were starving. Logan reheated your dinner which you basically inhaled afterwards.

You took another shower then — a proper one — and spent time watching tv sandwiched between Logan and Wade.

Their hands which were resting behind you were different this time.

First of all, you now knew they were definitely intertwined. Secondly, you were officially a part of this equation. Whatever that was.

“You have a really hairy ass.” Wade decided to cut through the silence, throwing a glance at Logan.

Your eyes shifted between them as you tried to muffle your laughter.

“Your mother likes my hairy ass.” Logan grumbles and Wade gasps in fake offense.

“You cheating bastard. With my own mother?” Wade places a hand over his chest theatrically. You giggle.

Logan rolls his eyes and decides to flip him off.

Yeah. You would sacrifice everyone for these two.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Pregnant at 40🫄👶🧑‍🍼

AN: i randomly thought about this scenario and played the whole thing out in my head, which lead me to typing it out. i hope you enjoy this story. let me know if you possibly want a part 2 to this. remember to reblog or comment with your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: mentions of a vasectomy, puke, brief mentions of abortions, crying, comfort, unexpected pregnancy

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - au!harry both you and harry are almost 40 }

word count- 2,071

Just one month away from Harry's scheduled vasectomy, you start showing signs of pregnancy (at the age of 40), which leads to a day full of anxiety and anticipation until later that night when you're finally able to take a pregnancy test.

This was not supposed to happen. You've just celebrated the fifth birthday of your youngest daughter, Daisy, who's the baby of your family. In addition to her, you and your husband Harry are parents to three other children: June, who's sixteen; River, who's twelve; and Willow, who's eight.

You and Harry were content with having just four children, as that number suited your family dynamic perfectly. After the birth of Daisy, you didn't envision expanding your family further. Both you and Harry are nearing forty, making the risks of pregnancy complications for either you or a new baby more high.

Your commitment to having just four children led Harry to schedule a vasectomy for next month. He'd contemplated this procedure right after Daisy was born, but both of you wanted to be certain that it was the right decision to stop having more children. Since Daisy's arrival, you've been using birth control, but after reaching the bittersweet decision to stop expanding your family, Harry chose to proceed with a vasectomy, stressing how he didn't want you to be on birth control for the rest of your life.

Over the past few mornings, after Harry has gone to work, you've gotten sick. On the first day, you thought you might've been coming down with a stomach bug that one of your kids had brought home from school. However, after getting sick twice more the following two days, your worrying intensified.

You intended to keep your recent vomiting episodes from Harry, but one morning, when you thought he'd already left for work, he quietly comes back into the bedroom to retrieve his Apple Watch. That's when he finds you not in the bed where you were minutes prior, but instead in the bathroom, throwing up. He hurries in to assist you, visibly worried about your health, and also thinking you might have caught a stomach virus. Yet, when you disclose that you've been sick for the past three mornings, his entire body stiffens, and his complexion becomes nearly as pale as yours.

"Baby," Harry whispers behind you as you brush your teeth at the bathroom sink, "do you um......think that maybe.........you should take a, you know, pregnancy test." Now it's your body that stiffening up. Oddly enough, the idea of being pregnant hasn't occurred to you yet, despite the fact that it seems it should have, as you consistently dealt with morning sickness during the early stages of your past pregnancies.

You glance up at Harry through the mirror with horror written across your face. "Harry," you meekly whisper with tears coming to your eyes, "I......., I...., I can't be *harsh swollow* pregnant. Oh my god, Harry, we turn forty next year. I..... I take my birth control everyday, and you're getting the vasectomy next month, but...., but what if? Oh my god."

Once you've placed your toothbrush down, Harry gently turns you around so you can become face to face with him without the mirror interfering. "Baby, calm down, everythin's gonna be alright. M' not sayin' you are pregnant. We don't know until you take a test. You may just have a lil tummy bug. But if you are pregnant, we'll go from there. You know you always have options."

"Harry, you know I could never." you say, regarding his last sentence. You fully support the right to abortion; however, on a personal level, you believe that unless it's medically necessary, you'd struggle to make that choice for yourself. In the event of an unplanned pregnancy, you'll be determined to find a way to manage life with a new baby. Having successfully navigated this situation four times previously, you're confident in your ability to do so again. Although, having a baby at the age of forty is not your preferred scenario.

Gazing at you with sincerity, Harry softly states, "I know sweetheart, but I want you to understand that if you ever came to that conclusion, the decision is entirely yours." He leans in to give you a gentle kiss on the lips, even though you've just recovered from being sick (you did at least brush your teeth), then withdraws and adds, "Would you prefer that I go to the store now to get a test, or should I wait 'til after work? I don’t mind being late this mornin'. This is much more important."

Standing there for a moment, you weigh your choices. You are eager to find out if you're pregnant, to put your mind at ease regarding the uncertainties. However, you realize that taking the test now might not give you the time you need to process the results, particularly if they're positive, and to have a proper conversation with Harry about it. You doubt you'd have the luxury of time if you took the test this morning.

"I can wait until you get home this evening."

"You sure?" Harry questions carefully. He knows how your brain works and knows your brain will be worked up all day if you wait.

You nod with conformation, "Yeah, I'm sure. If it is positive, I want us to be able to process the news afterwards and we'd only have time for that after the kids are in bed for the night. So I can wait."

Harry bends down slightly to wrap his arms around you, holding you securely. "Okay, but if you need anythin' today, please call me. I'll keep m'phone on me all day. And remember, no matter what the test results are tonight, everythin' will be alright. We've been together for almost twenty-two years and there's nothin' we can't handle together."

Harry leaves for work soon after the embrace and you exit the bathroom, ready to get your kids up for school, even though exhaustion is seeping into your bones and you've only been up for about an hour.

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

Throughout his the day at work, Harry couldn't shake the thought of you from his mind, particularly regarding the situation that arose this morning. The possibility of you being pregnant fills him with both joy and apprehension. While many people have children later in life, the idea of becoming a father at forty worries him; he imagines being gray and elderly by the time the child finishes school. Nevertheless, he's confident that he would love a new baby unconditionally, just as he's done with his four existing children.

After Harry wrapped up his workday, he drove to the shops located near your house to buy a pregnancy test. Once he had it in hand, he made sure to hide it within his work briefcase, fully aware that if his eldest daughter, June, came across it, she would have a multitude of questions for them. He'd rather she not discover the possibility of her mother being pregnant in such a manner.

Harry gets home a little later than normal and hurriedly goes upstairs to put away the pregnancy test until you're ready to use it tonight. Afterward, he comes back down to enjoy some family time with the kids while you wrap up dinner.

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

Once dinner has been ate, baths have been given, and the little ones are all snug in their beds, you and Harry finally enter the bathroom to do what you've been eagerly awaiting to do all day. While the kids were at school, you had to suppress the desire to go to the store and buy a test just to get it over with. However, you remembered that you and Harry had decided to do this together, tonight.

"Do you want me to step out or..." Harry goes to ask, but is cut off by you saying, "No, please stay." Though you've been married for many years, Harry still likes to ask if you want privacy for certain things; taking pregnancy tests, changing tampons, pooping, just out of respect, but you don't want to be alone right now.

"Okay baby, I'll stay. Everythin's gonna be alright." You take a seat on the toilet as Harry opens the box containing the pregnancy test. He walks over to you, hands you the test, and then quickly returns the box to the drawer to prevent any evidence from being found in the trash can. You take off the cap of the test and begin peeing on the stick, while Harry leans against the bathroom counter, patiently waiting.

Once you've finished, you secure the cap back on the pregnancy test and hand it to Harry while you wipe and flush the toilet. He places it on the counter and starts a timer on his phone. When you walk over to him, he leans down slightly and wraps his arms around you, offering a warm and comforting hug. "I’m really nervous," you whisper into his shoulder.

"It’s okay, m'love. If it turns out to be positive, think of it like this: we are healthy people with a comfortable income and a lovin' family. This means we're in a fortunate position to welcome a new life, somethin' that many families don't have the luxury of." This is one of the reasons you love Harry so much. He consistently focuses on the positives, even in less than ideal circumstances, because that's just the type of person he is.

You remain in his arms until the timer goes off, and then you request Harry to check the test, feeling too anxious to look yourself. Once he silences the alarm, Harry takes a deep breath to prepare for the results, then picks up the pregnancy test from the countertop and turns it over. A gasp escapes his lips, followed by a quiet sob that rises from his chest.

Finally finding the courage, you raise your head from his shoulder to see the digital screen displaying the word "positive." Harry, with shaky hands, swiftly sets the test down and pulls you into an even tighter embrace. You're caught in a blend of shock and emotional chaos; your body feels stiff, while your chest quakes with a sob. In the bathroom, you both stand together, wrapped in each other's arms, crying. It’s hard to tell if your tears are those of happiness or fear.

You allow yourselves to break down for a couple of minutes, before you decide to speak first. "Harry, we're having another baby."

At first, he's uncertain if you're feeling happy or upset, but a single look at your face indicates that happiness is the stronger emotion. Although the situation isn't perfect, what's done is done, and acceptance is important. "Fuck, Y/n. We're havin' another lil' baby."

With an emotional giggle, you look up and question Harry, needing to know where he stands on the matter. "Are you happy though?"

With tears glistening in his green eyes, he nods and responds, "M' so fuckin' happy, m'love." He gently places a hand on your cheek, cradling your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. You gasp momentarily, but quickly find comfort in his presence.

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

Eventually, Harry proposed that you shower together, and you accepted the offer. He assisted you in taking off your clothing and led you into the steamy glass doors. His intentions weren't sexual; he just wanted to be near you, to hold you, and to kneel and kiss your belly, even though at this point it looked normal and nothing more than a small bloat, if that.

After holding each other under the cascading water for a few minutes, Harry helped you wash your hair and body before he washed himself. He then assisted you in stepping out of the shower, and the both of you dried off before standing at the sink to brush your teeth. That was pretty much the only part of tonight that he didn't help you with.

Because once you'd finished brushing your teeth, he helped you dress in a pair of panties and one of his oversized t-shirts. He then helped you settle into bed. Due to your mental and physical fatigue from the day, sleep came easily once you were both tucked under the covers. The only worry you have now is how you'll break the news to your children and families.

Pregnant at 40..... At least your family will know that even after all these years, the two of you still love each other and get intimate in that aspect. Many couples your age either don't last that long or their sex drive plumits. But obviously not with the two of you.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! some people who've requested to be added doesn't allow me to @ you. please check your settings first.)

taglist: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar // @devilsqueen722 // @mema10 // @harryswifee // @jewelaponte // @fruity-harry // @triski73 // @chronicallybubbly // @prettygurl-2009 // @sincerely-yours-marsbar // @ilovezaynmalik08

My Masterlist Masterpost

[spacecowboyy0]

bucky barnes deserves baby reg reader!!!!

i completely agree!! i saw a tiktok of a mom who brought her kid to a martial arts gym so she could practice and her kid had a little set up in the corner and one comment said: “You watch Bluey while momma chokes the life outta someone, k pumpkin?” and i thought that was hilarious, so that's the inspo for this

notes: cg!bucky, cg!nat and reader live together but buck and nat are not in a relationship (i think they're both super gay)

~1k words

You enter the boxing gym on Bucky’s hip, head resting on his shoulder. A group of you planned to spar together in a gym that you have access to. Peter had saved the owner’s daughter from getting robbed one night and now he could use the gym whenever he wanted. At least once a month you, Peter, Natasha, Bucky, Matt, Frank and Wade (sometimes a few other vigilantes) sparred together. You had planned on sparring but when you woke up feeling smaller than usual, Bucky decided it would be best if you didn’t participate (you were a little disappointed but still happy to come). 

Matt, Frank and Peter are already there when the three of you arrive. Natasha trails behind Bucky, holding two gym bags and your backpack. You squeal when you see the others, slapping your hand against Bucky’s chest in excitement. He laughs and bounces you a bit before letting you down. You run to Peter and give him a big hug. 

“Hey Petey!”

“Hi bug! No sparring for you today?” 

“Nu uh, papa says ‘m too small.” You look beside him where Matt and Frank are watching the interaction. Matt greets you with a small wave and you give him a quick hug before turning your attention to Frank. You raise your arms, requesting to be picked up, and try to give him a convincing look. 

“Please Frankie?” He tries to keep his hard expression but everyone knows he has a soft spot for you anyway, so he lifts you into his arms. When you snuggle into him, he smiles a little bit, but enough for Peter, Matt, and Wade (who just came over) to notice. They give him teasing looks and Frank just rolls his eyes.

Natasha sets down your backpack, and pulls out a blanket to spread out beside it. Frank carries you over to your area, in a spot close to all the action. He places you down on the blanket and then hands you your sketchbook and markers from your bag. You smile up at him gratefully, and he gives you a pat on the head before heading towards the ring. Nat crouches down in front of you, a soft look on her face. 

“You sit here and watch mama kick these boy’s asses, alright pumpkin?”

“Yeah!”

They’re right over there, you can literally see all of them, and yet you feel left out and needy. Colouring inside the lines is too frustrating but you can’t let go enough to scribble like you want. You tear up, getting overwhelmed by your confusing emotions. As it happened, you are in the presence of people trained to be observant, so it doesn’t take long for someone to notice your tears. Nat is fighting Matt in the ring, so Wade nudges Bucky, who stands beside him as they watch the match.

“Buck, your kid’s crying.” Bucky looks over his shoulder to where you are on your blanket with wide, wet eyes, and your bottom lip wobbling. He jogs over to you, and carefully picks you up. 

“What’s up baby?” He looks concerned as he wipes your tears with his thumb and then softly brushes your hair out of your face. 

“I dunno, jus’ feel sad ‘n miss you.” 

“Aww kid, you can keep me company while I watch the others spar ok?” You nod, sniff, and rest your head on his shoulder. He makes sure you’re secure in the crook of his arm before rifling through your bag and grabs your pacifier. He taps it against your lips and you open your mouth slightly to accept it. He walks back over to the others who are watching by the sidelines, and you hear Peter coo when you get close. 

“We got a gym baby with us?”

Bucky bounces you a bit and then turns his body so you can see Peter. You look spaced out and cozy as you rest against Bucky. The group only stays about 10 minutes longer, and the whole time you’re attached to Bucky. 

When you get back to the apartment, you lie on the bed, waiting for Bucky to get out of the shower. You play with the ring on your pacifier and roll around on the duvet. You perk up when you hear the bathroom door open, and reach out for him as he comes out. 

“I’ll be right there cutie, let me get something quick.” You grumble and watch him as he walks over to the closet and pulls fabric out of a box. 

It was Bucky’s birthday recently and Peter gifted him a special fabric that he can use to carry you around the house. There hasn’t been an opportunity to try it yet, but you’re currently clingy and tiny, and dinner needs to be made, so it’s the perfect time. 

You watch with curiosity as Bucky wraps the fabric around his stomach and then pulls it over his shoulders. 

“Alright come here baby.” He reaches his hands out and you crawl over to him. He picks you up under your armpits and rests you against his chest. You’re squished against him so you can’t see what he’s doing but you feel the fabric wrap around you, making you nice and snug. You take a moment to shift around, getting used to the new position. 

Bucky watches as you wiggle a bit before closing your eyes and relaxing fully. When he walks into the kitchen, where Nat is chopping carrots, she coos when she sees you and pauses her cutting to brush her hand over your head lovingly. 

“We got a little snug bug hm?”

“I think we gotta get this soup started so this one can eat. That sound good baby?” With your eyes closed, you respond with a quiet “mhm” and Bucky kisses the top of your head. 

i've been meaning to write for bucky so thanks for the push anon!

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // signifying nothing (prequel)

summary: before everything, there came the reaping.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n:

close enough WELCOME BACK COLD NIGHTS I MISSED YOU!! :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

"Don't worry, bug. Your year won't ever come."

In the peaceful quiet of your bedroom, cicadas buzzing outside your window, you lay curled up under the quilts with your brother hoping they can coat him like a shield of armour. Impenetrable. Warm. Safe.

You only had two years left, this and the next, before you would be safe from the reaping. Lennox had four.

He wouldn't ever dare to show it outside of the safety of this room under the cloak of night, but he was terrified. And you were as well, knowing you couldn't save him if it was his year.

"I feel it. I feel it, something bad is going to happen. I'm going to- they're going to call me." He was crying as he spoke, his voice, only recently broken, shaking you down to your core.

You offer him a sympathetic smile in the dim light, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face. "Remember last year? We had this exact same conversation. And the year before that, and the year before that, too. They're yet to call your name, and they won't. Not ever, bug."

You knew it had the potential to be an empty promise. That you very well could find yourself in the crowd of other kids tomorrow morning and hear your little brother's name echoed over the speakers- a summoning to death, but the odds of that actually happening were slim. One in close to three hundred other boys in the District aged between 12 and 18. He would be okay, you were certain.

When you're only met with sniffles in response, you pull the quilt up over your heads, pressing your forehead against his. "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," You whisper, and Lennox stops his sniffling.

"Don't give me a monologue right now." He grumbles, and it pulls a slight smile to your lips. You continue anyway.

"Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!"

You can see he's smiling too, even just a little bit as your eyes adjust to the dark.

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale..." You pause, and he sighs.

"Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." He whispers along with you.

You let the silence swallow you both for a moment, looking at the redness in his cheeks and eyes from tears of fear. "It's signifying nothing, Lennox." You whisper again. "You will be okay."

Come the morning, his tears have dried and he puts a brave face on for your parents. You eat breakfast before the sun rises, before your father has to leave for work in the mines, and Lennox laughs and jokes with them as if he's never been less afraid in his life.

Your mother always has this look in her eye on reaping day. Her eyes are red-rimmed, puffy around the edges much like your brothers. You think that on this morning every year, they never look more alike. She's quieter as she makes something special, wheat toast with crushed berries and boiled sugar on top. Even a few chocolate shavings, if the year can spare it. This year, you can.

But then your father has to go, and you can see the hesitation in his look before he even moves to get up from the table dimly lit by a few lanterns so early in the morning. He chews on the inside of his cheek, looking down at his empty plate. He doesn't want to look at you. You know that, but you sit next to him at his spot at the head of the table, wishing he would.

"I should probably get-to-steppin'." He says, just like every normal morning when one of you happens to be up early enough to hear it. It's missing the cheerful note it usually carries, though.

Your mother nods, and both you and Lennox stand as your chairs push back simultaneously.

Your brother goes first, stepping around the edge of the dining table and shoving himself into your father's arms without a word. The air in your house feels multitudes thicker as you watch them.

"Be good for your mother," Your dad whispers, unable to help getting choked up already. He's holding the back of Lennox's sleep shirt so tight you know he's truly afraid he'll be ripped from his arms at any moment. "I love you so much. I love you more than anything. My baby boy..."

The nickname is reserved for days like today, of which there are very few. Your brother is fifteen now, and should be turning sixteen in just over a month. But on days like today, he's still just a baby.

Eventually, with a pat on his back, your father lets him go and Lennox knows he has to do the same even if neither of them want to.

His spot in your father's arms expands and shifts into your own, and before you're even aware of your feet carrying you those short three steps, your face is buried in his shoulder and his calloused hands are in your hair and on your back.

"Be good for your mother," He echoes the same sentiment to you, but his voice cracks. "My beautiful girl, I love you. I love you so much."

And into your hair, he whispers: "Be great in act, as you have been in thought."

You got your penchant for reading from your father. Most of your books, as well. You don't know where his family had acquired such a collection of by now ancient texts, but you were endlessly grateful. And together, he was determined that you both would read every last one. With the loss of a more than a few nights of sleep, that is.

"I'll see you tonight." You whisper back, a quiet reassurance that neither of you can fully, wholeheartedly accept. He nods anyway. "I love you, pa."

"I love you too," He replies, because saying it only twice wasn't enough. "Think about what you want to read tonight, and we'll all head out to the meadow, yeah? You and ma make some of those cookies I love, I'll be expecting them when I get home tonight."

"They'll be ready." You promise him, trying not to let the possibility that this is your last ever conversation choke you. Like last year and the year before, you were confident you would see him tonight. Both of you would, and to act as if you wouldn't, to say any kind of real goodbye would only result in the worst. But still, you couldn't take it. Maybe Lennox had gotten in your head last night, saying he felt like something would happen.

As your father pats your back in signal that he's going to let you go, you only hug him tighter. "I love you." You say again, but you both know it means something else this time.

The narrow, unpaved road and outskirts of the town are deathly quiet when the sun rose, and remained that way even close to noon as you held your mother's hand and walked down to the city centre. Lennox drags his feet a few paces ahead of you, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks along the same rock he had been since you left the house.

Tybalt, bless his little heart, has decided to join you as well. You'd made it out the door, sans saying goodbye to him in manifestation that you would be back in the afternoon, before he jumped out the window of your bedroom and followed you out to the street. With a huff, your mother returned inside to grab his makeshift leash to be able to at least keep him close during the reaping if he wouldn't allow her to hold him.

You wanted to hold him, of course, but God forbid your name is pulled and then you would just have to hand him to Lucy Gray and say goodbye. You knew he would be fine if that was the case, but the odds of you being strong enough to let him go in a moment like that were slim to none.

Walking into the square and up at the stage ahead, grey and brown and dreary, you linger by the surrounding buildings for a moment.

"We should wait for the Covey." You suggest quietly, wrapping your arm around your mother's.

"Good idea, sweetheart." She agrees, entirely unwilling to let either of you go yet either.

But that excuse didn't last forever, and they came running into the square just as peacekeepers came rounding up the stragglers, forcing kids out of the arms of their parents and into mildly organized rows. Girls on one side, boys on the other.

Starting with the little ones, your mother hugs each of them and whispers something to them. A brief "I love you", if you had to guess, or some assurance that they would be okay. That it wouldn't be their year. When she gets to Lucy Gray, your friend grabs you by your hand and pulls you in to share in it.

"Oh, I love you, my girls... We'll see you both after. Dinner at ours tonight, Lucy Gray, we wanna hear that new song you've been-"

Her attempts to calm you both with normalcy is cut short by a peacekeeper grabbing the back of your dress and yanking you off them, nudging a gun into your shoulder. "Line up."

Lucy Gray was getting much of the same treatment, but she was able to grab your hand once they released the back of her corset. It was a beautiful dress, her mother's that she wore every year just like you wore yours every year. Hers was much nicer, that if she were to get picked it would scream to the world that she is not erasable. You'd commented on it years ago, the first time she'd been eligible and had to join you in the lineup, with the rainbow ruffles getting caught under her boots from it being too big for her. She'd offered to share it with you, to trim the bottom and make that into a shawl or a skirt or a scarf for you to wear so you could match and so she wouldn't step on it anymore. You said no, though. You knew she'd grow into it, and you liked the one your mother had stitched for you anyway.

You look for your brother in the crowd as you make your way with the Covey girls over to the rows and rows of other young kids.

Somewhere in the middle, you end up in the row behind Lennox, though he's obviously on the other side. You can see him, which comes as a comfort. He can't see you, though, unless he turns his head. Which he does.

You meet his eyes and give him a small nod, and little CC next to him looks over as well. You give him a subtle wave and what you hope is a reassuring smile, blowing him a kiss which he pretends to catch. You pat your pocket, nodding for him to "save it for later", and he grins. What little you could do to make the little ones feel better was extended eagerly and at every opportunity.

Lucy Gray's hand is shaking in yours, and she leans in closer as the Mayor starts speaking, ignoring him completely. "Billy Taupe is upset with me." She whispers, and you'd welcome the familiarity of her boy troubles happily as a distraction.

"Why?" You ask quietly.

"Jessup Diggs." Apparently they were cutting right to the chase today. You knew him, sort of. You weren't close, but you often helped your ma fix up clothes for his family, or she stopped to chat with them in the market on days where you weren't in a rush. He's a lovely young man. It's heartbreaking.

But it isn't any of your boys. You spare Lennox a weak smile and a nod just after Jessup is escorted down the middle between you.

Lucy Gray continues, though, rushed now to get her words out. "He's cheatin' on me again, with Mayfair." Your eyes widen and your jaw locks as you find the mayors daughter in the crowd. "I gave him hell for it and he said we're done."

"Oh, hon-" You want to try and comfort her, but you don't get the chance.

"I'm scared they're gonna call me. That she told her pa, and-"

She stops dead in her tracks when your your name echoes through the square instead.

Your eyes snap up to the stage again, feeling oddly calm considering you're certain you'd just been handed a death sentence.

Still, you smile, eyes getting watery. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you- not that it was a concern of yours, but the gaze of Maude Ivory and Clerk Carmine and Lennox felt particularly heavy. Lennox's relief had been so short lived.

Lucy Gray whispers your name, sounding horrified. You can't look at her, but you know the expression on her face. Similar to yours, minus the smile. Hurt, angry- you're sure. "Give 'em a show. Don't go down quiet." She whispers, and you can hear the crack in her voice. The last words your best friend would ever share with you.

Heart pounding you nod a little, pushing your shoulders back as you drop her hand and walk down to the middle aisle, cameras tracking your every step. For as long as you've been eligible for the reaping, that had been exactly your plan. To get into the arena and lay down and take whatever would come to be your end. You couldn't fight, you couldn't hurt anyone. It was all wrong, anyway. Even if you could, you didn't stand a chance. She must have known that, though.

You'd always said that when you were younger, since the games were established almost in myth, and every year older kids would disappear to the Capitol and never return. 

"I'd take one of them guns the 'keepers got, and I'd win in a minute!" Lennox said, holding a broken stick to his shoulder like a weapon, squinting as he pretended to look down the sights.

You eyed him with suspicion, remembering what ma always said. "Boys will be boys," But your baby brother always seemed so separate from that when it came to violence.

"No you wouldn't." You giggled, shaking your head as he turned the stick gun on you and little Lucy Gray.

"Yes I would! Bang, bang! The first victor of District Twelve! We'll have a party!"

Your parents, guiding you down the wooded path to the lake with the Covey kids in tow, didn't like this joke. "Len, don't point guns at anyone."

"It's just a stick, pa!" He groaned.

"Never point a weapon of any kind at anyone." Your father stuck to his point, grabbing the stick from your brother's grip. "It's never a joke. You wouldn't be laughing if they called your sisters name in a few years, so don't laugh now."

Your father was right, Lennox most certainly wasn't laughing now. Somewhere you hear a sob, and you know it's your ma. Peacekeepers block either of your sides so you can't run, and the march to the stage feels like it goes on forever. A tear falls down your cheek, but you don't wipe it away.

"Thank you." You nod to the peacekeepers when they come to a stop with you at the bottom of the steps, but you have to continue. You have to.

You never had much experience with crowds, not the way Lucy Gray and the Covey kids did. They could command a space, change the energy in any room at the drop of a dime. Finally you can spare a glance at your mother, who's clutching Tybalt close to her chest and crying into his fur. It's deathly quiet. With a brief scan of the crowd, you can see tears on Lennox's cheeks that match your own, but his face is stone cold. You look at Lucy Gray, Barb Azure, and Maude Ivory. It was a jarring difference, seeing them from on stage. Lucy Gray nods at you, now holding her little cousin close to her side. Lifting one hand she taps the bottom of her chin.

"Head up, shoulders back. It takes confidence to hold a crowd, but even more to get your ass up on stage in the first place!"

Her voice from when you were just kids rings in your ears. The day you'd told her you could never do what they do, and she'd insisted they'd adopt you and you'd learn it like second nature soon enough.

You'd never quite gotten the knack for performing, though.

"May I?"

"Please," as the mayor nods and gestures to the mic, stepping out of the way to give you a minute.

You're not sure how to feel, what to say- but you couldn't disappoint Lucy Gray and the others, you couldn't let your brother go without hearing your voice one more time.

"Hello," You settle on, your voice calmer and smoother than you expected. "Thank you all, for being the village that raised us."

With a glance back at Jessup who just looks shocked, you hope he's okay with you speaking on his behalf.

"There's nowhere in the world with kinder people and kinder souls." You continue, wiping away a tear when it tickles your jaw. "My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile."

"Don't be sad," you want to tell your loved ones, or everyone. This was the only way you knew how to say it, with so many eyes and cameras on you. Frozen were your own words, left to rely on the comfort of your beloved books. You know they understand, anyway.

The clock is ticking, and goodbyes cannot be forever. "I must go in, the fog is rising." You say in finality, and a fresh set of peacekeepers flank you again to guide you and Jessup back away from the stage, away from everything you'd ever known and loved.

This would be the beginning of your final act.

You couldn't bring yourself to look back, and you wished that you had when you're corralled into the dark and cold train car. For a while, you and Jessup travel in silence- the train wheels rattling beneath you as it drew you further and further from your family.

Even still, you sat side by side, shoulders bumping often with the sway of the car.

"I'm sorry." He whispers into the dark after what must have been hours, and the words sound more like a breath than a tangible statement.

Looking over at him in the dark your eyes have adjusted to, you give him a small smile. "Don't be." You whisper back, shaking your head. "The way I see it, I'm lucky today."

Jessup cocks his head to the side slightly. "How do you figure that?"

"It could have been my brother, or any of my sisters." You explain with a slight shrug, and though he knows you aren't related to the Covey, he knows what you meant.

"I guess..." He agrees hesitantly, scrubbing his hand at the back of his neck. "I mean, I wouldn't want it to be my siblings either, but that doesn't mean our cards are fair. It shouldn't have been any of us."

"It shouldn't be anyone." You nod. "But there's some... peace, I suppose, to be found in going off today knowing that all those kids are safe another year, at least. They all get one more birthday, one more Christmas... feels kind of worth it. Like we've done good, by giving ours up."

"Let's just get this over with." He grumbles as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, as gentle in touch as you knew he was in soul. Even yet to meet the other tributes, you hope that Jessup makes it home to his family.

You hear shouting as you blink your eyes open, head resting against Jessup's warm shoulder in the previously droning train car. You must be stopping. Sure enough, the train jerks as it stops and you're rocked onto your side, even sitting down. A rude awakening, to be in the Capitol.

"Everybody out!" A voice bellows, followed by banging on the outside of the doors. You're shivering as you stand, brushing off the back of your dress as Jessup holds your arm to steady you. It had been a long journey, and a while since you'd stood up to stretch your legs. You tried to sleep most of the journey, to eliminate the possibility of overthinking as much as possible. You didn't want to cry anymore- it wouldn't change the past, and you wouldn't want to change it anyway. Bid me farewell, and smile. You think to yourself as the doors slide open, and Jessup hops out first before peacekeepers would get the chance to jump in and drag the two of you out by your collars.

He extends his hands out to you to lift you out, but with that smile you shake your head and sit down on the edge of the train car before making the small jump down to the paved ground of the station. Patting Jessup's shoulder you quietly thank him, looking around and taking in your new surroundings. It didn't look too terribly different from the station at home, which surprised you. The Capitol, in all its superiority, was a myth at best back home. No one knew what to expect, really, no one ever returned to tell the tale. In your own mind, it would have looked more like a Shakespeare play- the opulence and royalty of castle walls, but so far, all you could see is concrete and military uniforms.

Except for the flash of red that appears before you in an instant, attached to the body of a boy. Blonde hair that's curly like Len's when he hasn't cut it, kind blue eyes, a determined step, and a white rose extended in your direction.

"Hello." He says, clearing his throat. You smile wider.

"Hi there."

For the rose, though its petals be torn asunder, still smiles on.

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Imagine a Butterfly Alien

Imagine...

you're a human whose been farming and growing plants for as long as you could walk. You like the birds, the bees, the butterflies, even all the bugs that others thought were gross and useless...worthless, yet you've found appreciation of them.

you're also not ignorant to the fact that aliens have made their presence and cultures known to your world for a little while now. You've yet to meet any in your tiny farming village, but you're sure they can't be too different from any other humanoids you've met before. To say you're a black sheep to your village in those statements would be a massive understatement.

That's not to say you're surrounded by bigoted, closeminded individuals- on the contrary, your little village is eager anticipating meeting these new friends no matter what variety they are. So excited and willing to accommodate.

So, you're more than a little surprised when one day you hear a loud crash on your farm and go running over to investigate only to see a massive Butterfly Alien having torn his wing and crash landed your on your front lawn. Right near your butterfly bush, you reflect later. In the moment, you're sheepish to admit, you're spending the time panicking and crying.

At first, the Butterfly Alien is dazed and equally confused, interesting distended eyes seemingly peering around. You're sat next to him, face flushed and teary eyes, voice high pitched and fast paced; he's in pain and immediately notices tear within the upper quarter of his right wing. You can only assume he starts to suffer shock as he begins to violently tremble. At this point, you're more than upset at yourself for not going to at least one Culture seminar your village held to ease the welcome and culture shock of/for your future visitors.

You're frantic and nearly as trembly as the Butterfly Man you attempt to touch Him, but you flutter your hands around (adorably) unsure if you'd stress or hurt Him further. Tears finally begin to fall as the anxiety of it crests- the Alien flutters His wings quickly, almost desperately, as if gauging them, testing their abilities. You gasp loudly as the tear rips the top quarter of His wing off right in front of your eyes. You begin to hyperventilate as the Man begins to tremor again, whole body shaking like a leaf caught in the wind.

You can't quite see what happens next, eyes blurring your vision with thick tears causing you to wipe at them with the back of your hand. It's as you're doing that when the Butterfly Man moves. It's quicker than you imagine He could move before He's up; and one second later He's flying again.

He doesn't even appear to turn back as he glides up into the sky, as if He'd never crashed at all. You're left there blubbering, blurring vision flicking between the sky and the dinner plate sized wing remnant left in your yard.

You can't understand why, but when the breeze starts to pick up, you snatch the piece of his wing with your shaky hands and hurry inside feeling as if you'd seen a ghost. Unsure where to go with it or what to do with it, you find the biggest frame that you had that could fit it and frame it. It's the only way you can think of no harm coming to it further. It's beautiful, too, soft but vibrant colors popping against the whites of your wall as you hold it up in the sun.

You look into attending some of your village's culture seminars a few hours later after your heart stopped racing and mind spinning with everything that had happened.

Imagine as you're walking into town to see when the next Culture seminar is and you're hearing from whispered shadows as you're walking into town "did you see?" "did you hear?!" "They finally came!" "We need to throw a Welcome Festival!" "I wanna make them food to welcome them!" "I-I heard they're all...single..."

You fluster again when you reach the center of your village square, there's several insectoid aliens that have migrated to your village- drawn by its rich agriculture and farming lifestyles. There's only one Butterfly Alien, though, it's here, and only here, finally here that you get a good look at the person who literally crashed into you life.

He's not just beautiful, all colorful wings and lean muscles and graceful movements, He's handsome, too. He's got these masculine humanoid traits that add a rugged edge to His beauty- He's got a distinct jawline and defined cheekbones and whilst nothing about Him is particularly sharp or overtly (humanly) masculine, there's a defined demeanor to Him that pulls in favor of His handsomeness. The tear in His wing helps strongly to add that ruggedness.

It's hard to tell with eyes like his if you've met his gaze but with his posture shift and almost sheepish expression coming over him you feel as if you may have. You flush, flustered by his attention even so indirectly. The head of your village, MeeMaw, eagerly invites the couple of them into her space and once they're out of sight the whispers turn to full on chatter.

You huff, trying to push past how out of whack everything's become in one day and now you suppose you have a dual purpose for lingering by MeeMaw's quarters. You'll definitely need those Culture Seminars after today, and you suppose while you're at it....You could try and give the Butterfly Man His wing back to Him....You don't know if He needs it, but at the very least you'd have an excuse to talk to Him. You just hope you don't get shy on Him...you certainly didn't make the "best" first impression

(Little do you know, He thought it was so cute. So panicked over Him without knowing Him. So worried over Him without knowing He'd been there to peep on you after seeing just how cute you were tending to your farm

(Imagine He's just so grateful and thinks you're the cutest, sweetest little thing to save His wing for Him. Were you going to go looking for Him like some sweet and brave Knight in shining armor? How adorable!

(So sweet, little human, so cute! Gosh, you must be His! You must be made for Him! Why else would you have been so scared for him? You wouldn't save just anyone's amputated limb, would you? You must...love Him!

(You have no idea, either, until much later anyway, just how rare He is. Insectoid Aliens aren't the most intergalactically social so they're pretty rare off their own planets- Butterfly Aliens especially so, even more so. Mostly due to the fragility of their wings and inability to regrow. If someone wanted, it would be so easy to destroy or even rip His wings from Him, yet you wept over Him. Many would steal Him away, cage Him forever; yet you let Him free. Let Him keep His freedom. You're truly one of a kind. Just as He is.

(That must mean He's right- you are made for each other. He's glad you think He's handsome, He'd fight you for your love even if you were to think He isn't.

[princesseilish]

Heyy babyy, been missing u and I have a request that i've been thinking about actually and you're the only person that came to mind. (Always thinkin about u)

Probably Billie saying goodbye for the tour and reassuring her daughter or probably y/n leaving to run some errands and having Billie all the responsibility with the two kids.

You choose cause I can't make up my mind actually :/

(imissyousomuch and iloveyouwifey💋)

LULLABY

Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: crying, fluff, no use of cursing, that’s it? i think?

Synopsis: Billie is leaving for her first show, for tour, and she has never been away from her daughter for that long

A/N: Hii my love, i miss you too, like more than you’ll ever know

The night before Billie left for her Hit Me Hard and Soft tour, Rosie was inconsolable. The little girl, usually so full of energy and speaking in hyperbole, was now a sobbing mess, clinging to Billie like her life depended on it.

“Mommy, don’t go,” she hiccupped, her tiny hands gripping Billie’s hoodie, refusing to let go.

Billie, sitting on the edge of their bed with Rosie in her lap, sighed softly and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Bug, you know I have to, but I promise I’ll call you all the time, okay? And I’ll be home before you even know it.”

Rosie wasn’t convinced. Her big brown eyes, already puffy from crying, welled up again as she buried her face into Billie’s chest. “But—but what if I miss you too much?”

Y/n, sitting beside them, gently rubbed Rosie’s back. “You’re gonna miss Mommy, and that’s okay, baby. But I’ll be here, and we’ll do fun things while she’s away. And she will call us every day.”

Rosie sniffled. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Y/n and Billie shared a look. It had been a while since Rosie crawled into their bed—she was getting older, becoming more independent. But tonight? Tonight, she needed them.

“Of course, bug,” Billie murmured, lifting Rosie up and laying her between them.

That night, Billie softly hummed a lullaby, just like she had since Rosie was a baby. It was second nature at this point—the soft, familiar tune drifting through the dark room, soothing her little girl into sleep. Y/n watched as Rosie finally calmed, her little hands tucked under Billie’s hoodie.

But now, Billie was gone. She had already played a few shows, and it had been two weeks since she left for Québec. And ever since then, Rosie had been… off.

At first, y/n thought it was just normal separation sadness. But then she started noticing the signs—Rosie was restless, struggling to fall asleep, waking up in the middle of the night and wandering into y/n’s room with tired, teary eyes.

And then, one night, when y/n walked by Rosie’s room, she found her daughter curled up in bed, her little lip trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

“Baby?” y/n whispered, kneeling beside the bed.

Rosie peeked one eye open, barely holding back her tears.

“What’s wrong, lovebug?”

Rosie hesitated before whispering, “I can’t sleep, Mommy. I can’t… without Mommy’s song.”

And that’s when it hit y/n—Billie’s lullaby. It had been part of Rosie’s nighttime routine for years, and now, without it, she couldn’t settle.

Y/n felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t realized how much Rosie needed it.

She sat on the bed, brushing Rosie’s curls back. “Baby… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Rosie’s tiny hands played with the edge of her blanket. “Didn’t wanna make you sad.”

Y/n’s heart broke.

“Oh, my love,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “she would never want you to go without your lullaby, okay?”

Rosie sniffled. “But she’s busy.”

Y/n didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her phone and quickly dialed Billie, praying she wasn’t too caught up in something.

It only rang twice before Billie’s tired but warm voice came through.

“Hey, baby.”

Y/n sighed in relief. “Hey, love. Are you busy?”

“Not really, just chilling after soundcheck. Everything okay?”

Y/n turned to Rosie, who was already scooting closer to the phone. “Bug, someone wants to talk to you.”

Rosie hesitated before whispering, “Mommy?”

Billie’s voice immediately softened. “Hi, bug.”

And just like that, the dam broke. Rosie’s little lip quivered as she curled into y/n’s lap, gripping the phone with her small hands.

“I miss you,” she whimpered.

Billie let out a soft breath. “Oh, baby, I miss you so much too.”

Rosie sniffled. “I can’t sleep.”

Y/n heard Billie shift on the other end, as if sitting up straighter. “You can’t?”

Rosie shook her head before realizing Billie couldn’t see her. “No. I need Mommy’s song.”

There was a brief pause, then Billie’s voice came through, gentle and soothing.

“You want me to sing it for you, bug?”

“Please,” Rosie whispered.

And without hesitation, Billie started humming the lullaby. The same tune she had sung to Rosie since she was a baby.

Y/n watched as Rosie’s body slowly relaxed, her tiny fingers loosening their grip on the phone. Her breathing evened out, her eyelashes fluttering as sleep finally took over.

Billie kept humming, even after Rosie had drifted off completely.

Y/n brought the phone back to her ear, keeping her voice low. “Thank you, baby.”

Billie sighed. “I hate being away from her.”

“I know,” y/n whispered. “She loves you so much.”

Billie was quiet for a moment before she said, “I’ll record it. The lullaby. So if she needs it again, she won’t have to wait for me.”

Y/n smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “She’d love that.”

They stayed on the phone for a little while longer, Billie listening to Rosie’s soft, steady breathing.

And even though she was miles away, in a different city, in a different time zone—Billie was still right there where she belonged.

[izzih22]

Chapter 6: Almost

Note: should I post the rest… hmm… idk

It had been four days since prom.

Four days since Azzi had sat in Paige’s lap in the dark, trembling and broken, her voice barely holding up as she told her everything that had happened. Four days since Paige had wrapped her up like something sacred and whispered things Azzi had barely let herself believe she needed to hear.

Four days, and they hadn’t talked about it again.

Not directly.

There were glances, touches, a few quiet pauses when something came too close to the memory. But mostly, they did what they always did—they existed in that strange, magnetic space between friends and something so much more.

And now, with a few more days until Paige had to fly back to Minnesota, everything felt like it was ticking down.

But they weren’t rushing through the time.

They were stretching it out.

The Fudd house was chaotic in the best way that morning. Jose and John were fighting over cereal again—Azzi’s mom had bought the last box of the good kind, and Jose insisted he’d called dibs last night. Katie stood in the doorway holding her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her from launching the cereal box out the window.

Paige was sitting at the kitchen island, grinning like she’d been part of the family forever. She was eating toast and stealing pieces of bacon off Azzi’s plate whenever she wasn’t paying attention.

Azzi elbowed her. “You have your own bacon.”

“Yeah, but yours tastes better,” Paige said, popping another piece in her mouth.

“You’re the worst guest.”

“You say that, but you’d cry if I left early.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Katie raised a brow behind her mug and mouthed mhm as she turned back toward the sink.

That afternoon, it rained out of nowhere—thunderous, hot summer rain that hit the roof hard and made everything smell like wet pavement and grass. Azzi tugged Paige out onto the covered back porch just as the sky opened up.

“God, I forgot how loud it gets here,” Paige said, eyes wide as the rain pounded down like a drumline.

“You miss it?”

“Kind of,” Paige admitted. “Not the bugs. But this? Yeah. This I miss.”

Azzi leaned her shoulder against the porch beam and watched Paige. Not the rain. Just her.

“You always look different here,” Azzi said quietly.

“Different how?”

“More like you. The you I knew before everything.”

Paige blinked. “Before what?”

Azzi shrugged, glancing away. “Before the cameras. Before the hype. Before college coaches started drooling over you and you got your own freaking documentary.”

“I don’t even feel like that person most days.”

“Good,” Azzi said. “She’s kind of intimidating.”

Paige laughed—loud and full and completely unguarded. “You think I’m intimidating?”

Azzi turned to face her fully. “Sometimes.”

They were only a few inches apart now.

“You’re not scared of me though,” Paige said, teasing, but softer underneath.

“No,” Azzi said, shaking her head. “Never scared.”

Paige’s smile faded a little. The moment stretched.

And then Jose banged on the glass door behind them.

“Hey! Are y’all emotionally staring at each other again?”

Azzi groaned and turned away. “I’m going to kill him.”

Paige snorted and followed her back inside.

Later that night, they played Uno with the boys in the living room. Paige and Azzi teamed up, obviously, even though Jose tried to argue it was unfair.

“They cheat without even trying,” John said, throwing down a Draw Four with a dramatic sigh.

“Jealousy looks bad on you,” Paige said, smirking.

“Y’all need to stop finishing each other’s sentences,” Jose added.

“We don’t do that,” Azzi said at the exact same time Paige said the same thing.

Everyone groaned.

Katie popped her head in from the kitchen. “Let me know when you’re all done being in denial.”

“Mom!” Azzi called, mortified.

But Paige just laughed until her sides hurt.

They ended up in Azzi’s room again, like always. No real bedtime when you were teenagers and the clock didn’t matter as much as being close to someone who made you feel whole.

Azzi lay on her stomach on the bed, scrolling through her phone lazily. Paige sat beside her with her legs stretched out, picking at the threads of the comforter like it had secrets.

“You never talk about prom,” Paige said finally.

Azzi stopped scrolling. Her phone dimmed. She didn’t look up. “There’s not much to say.”

“There’s everything to say.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, but only for a second. Then she rolled onto her back, looking at the ceiling.

“I think I overreacted,” she admitted. “Like… it wasn’t that bad, right?”

“Azzi.”

“I mean, I got out. He didn’t—he didn’t—”

“Don’t do that,” Paige said, voice sharp but still gentle. “Don’t shrink what happened just because it didn’t go further. You felt unsafe. That’s enough. That’s all that matters.”

Azzi blinked fast, eyes glossy.

“And you called me,” Paige said more quietly. “You trusted me. That’s not something I’ll ever take lightly.”

Azzi sat up then, suddenly needing to be closer. Paige looked at her, and it was all over her face—fierce protectiveness, softness, something trembling underneath.

“You looked like you wanted to kill him,” Azzi whispered.

Paige nodded. “I still do.”

A silence settled between them again, but it was warmer now. Thicker with something unspoken.

“I almost kissed you that night,” Azzi said suddenly.

Paige didn’t move.

“I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

Paige swallowed. “I know.”

Their eyes met and held.

“I think about it sometimes,” Azzi admitted.

“Me too.”

“But we didn’t.”

“No,” Paige agreed, voice low.

They were close now. Knees touching. Hands so close on the bedspread that if one of them shifted even an inch—

“But if we did now,” Azzi said carefully, “would it change things?”

Paige looked at her, really looked. Her voice was quieter than before.

“I don’t want to do this unless you’re sure.”

“I’m not,” Azzi said. “But I want to be.”

Paige nodded, her face unreadable.

“I’ll wait.”

“You always do,” Azzi said, with something like gratitude and guilt.

“Because you’re worth it,” Paige said. “And because I’m scared too.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “You?”

Paige nodded. “If I kiss you, I’m not going to want to stop.”

Azzi’s breath caught. “That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

They sat in that moment for a long time—both too brave and too scared, hearts racing, the space between them humming with almosts and not yets.

Then Paige reached out slowly and took Azzi’s hand. Just that.

Azzi squeezed it like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And maybe it was.

Neither of them kissed that night.

But when they curled into bed, there was a different kind of closeness. A kind of silence that held so much more than words.

Paige lay on her back. Azzi tucked against her side, head resting on her shoulder, hand resting over her heart.

It was steady, strong, familiar.

Azzi whispered something into her shirt that Paige couldn’t quite make out.

“What’d you say?”

Azzi paused. Then said, louder, “Don’t leave until you have to.”

“I won’t,” Paige promised.

“And don’t kiss me unless you mean it.”

“I already do.”

Outside, the rain had stopped.

But the storm inside them?

That was still brewing.

[strangesuki]

the sound of you

pairing : nicholas wang x reader

genre : pure fluff!! established relationship

warnings : none i think?

word count : 0.9k

Nicholas had been a little quiet ever since he got home from work that evening. It was clear he was lost in thought about something. When you asked him about it, he just chalked it up to him being tired but you knew there was something more to it. Still, you didn’t want to be pushy so you left it at that, knowing that he’d tell you about it when he was ready.

A few hours later, you’re in bed looking at your phone with your head resting on his chest, which is when he finally brings himself to ask what’s been bugging him all day. “Y/n? Do you find me scary?”

You put your phone down and turn to face him. “What?”

“It’s just, you know, everyone I meet always tells me that I come off as scary and intimidating – even Euijoo and Fuma felt the same when they first met me apparently – so I couldn’t help but wonder if you maybe feel the same as well at times. Because…well, because I don’t want you to feel that way, ever,” his voice is soft and a little sad. He meets your gaze, like he wants you to know he really means this. “I want to be your safe space, your comfort person. I know I have sharp features that make me look a little threatening at times, but you know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?”

“Oh my love,” you cup his cheek. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about all evening?”

He nods, covering your hand with his.

“God, you are so cute,”

He frowns. “Cute?”

“Yes, cute. Baby, I’ve never found you scary.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. I find you about as scary as a baby kitten,”

“But kittens are already babies,”

“Exactly,”

“You could’ve just stopped with you’re not scary,” he sulks, a little offended.

You giggle. “But you know now that I think about it, I never did tell you about how I first fell for you, did I?”

He shakes his head, his eyes widening in sudden curiosity. “How?”

“It was love at first sound for me – the sound of your laugh. You sounded like the sun, Nicho, and it was so lovely and infectious I couldn’t help smiling too. You were with Euijoo, and it must’ve been something really funny because you were laughing for two minutes straight and this might sound silly, but I will cherish those two minutes for the rest of my life. I’d had such a shitty day and was feeling pretty hopeless, but then I heard you laugh and all I could think was, well a world that is capable of producing such a delightful sound can’t be so bad, can it? I don’t know if anyone has told you but your laugh is so . . . it embodies happiness. You know those pictures of rabbits that are captioned, ‘That’s the most bunniest looking rabbit I’ve seen’? That’s kind of what your laugh is like,”

He giggles and shakes his head like you’re crazy, although he feels his cheeks flush red. “You’re being ridiculous,”

You continue undeterred, “Like, if I were to meet an alien and had to explain what laughter is, I’d make them listen to your laugh specifically and say, ‘This is the sound we produce when our bodies are filled with so much joy we can hardly contain it. This is what happiness sounds like’,”

“Okay, you’ve gone beyond ridiculous now,” he rolls his eyes, but he feels his chest swell with love.

“No, I’m serious! When I first listened to you laugh, it made me want to keep listening to it, to be the reason for your laughter henceforth. And I swear to God even today every time I hear you laugh and see your eyes crinkle in that adorable way, I fall in love a little bit more which is insane because I think my heart might just burst at this rate. And for someone who fell in love the way I did, can you imagine how ridiculous it sounds to be told you’re scary?” you smile, booping his nose.

God, you’re going to make him cry at this rate. He pulls you to his chest, hoping you won’t notice how he’s already teared up just a little. What did he ever do to deserve someone like you? “How come you’ve never told me this before?” he asks. “All this time I thought you didn’t know me until Euijoo introduced us,”

“Well you never asked, for one thing. Besides, admitting how utterly, hopelessly, head-over-heels I am for you is hardly in my best interests, is it? Because I know now you’re definitely going to use this information to blackmail me all the time.”

This earns another laugh from him, and it surprises you how you haven’t gotten used to its effect on you even after so many months together. You didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much.

Objectively speaking, you could understand where people came from when they said he’s intimidating. But for you personally, you just couldn’t see it because ugh, even when you guys argued he had this softness in his eyes that melted your heart. Even otherwise, he was only ‘scary’ until one got to know what a softie he actually was, and you were sure even Euijoo and Fuma could attest to that fact.

“Well I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try to keep the teasing and blackmailing to a bare minimum,” he says in a mock-serious tone.

You pull back to look at him. “Uh huh, and what would be the ‘bare minimum’ according to you?”

“Oh I don’t know, I’m thinking like thrice a day?”

You punch him playfully. He breaks into a smile, closing the distance between you with a kiss.

you can read my other works here

a/n : yes i wrote this solely because i needed to gush about how much i freaking love hearing nicho's laugh. i'm not even kidding i genuinely think he has the best laugh i've ever heard, just listening to it makes me so happy. if any of y'all win a fancall with him i need you to tell him how beautiful his laugh is please also why am i just a nichojoo account atp. someday soon i will get over the nichojoo brainrot and write for other idols but that day is not today apparently

divider credits : @cafekitsune

[luvelve]

˚ · . lucky strike - c. seungcheol

summary: your first time giving head to anybody and lucky for you, that anybody happens to be your boyfriend seungcheol. you’re kinda nervous because unlike you, this isn’t his first time.

pairing: bf!seungcheol x afab!reader

genre: smut (18+ minors dni!)

wc: 2.9k+ (got carried away again :<)

warnings/tags: making out, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, lots of praise, softdom-ish!cheol, shy & inexperienced reader, bigdick!seungcheol, mentions of food & alcohol, seungcheol & reader are a bit tipsy, use of petnames (baby, angel, pretty), throatfucking, gagging, crying, finger sucking, cum eating

a/n: this is tiktok’s fault for always showing me “he’s the type to talk u through it” type of men. and to me, that sounded like none other than choi seungcheol !! so here we are. forgive me for any warnings i may have missed :< as always, likes/reblogs/feedback are highly highly appreciated ok bye <3

it’s been bugging you for weeks now. it first crossed your mind when you and seungcheol were driving home from a night out with close friends and it just dawned on you how you and seungcheol haven’t done anything yet. well, aside from making out.

seungcheol had told you from the beginning of your relationship that he wanted to take it slow with you. he didn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. he also told you that things would fall into place eventually and that there was no need to rush. you loved that about him.

but, being the massive over-thinker that you are, you also can’t help but compare yourself to your other girlfriends who have been in longer relationships and what they have possibly already done with their boyfriends.

you feel like you’re ready to do more with seungcheol and that you’re not just pressured by the people around you. you so badly want to bring this up to him but every time you try, you end up steering away from the topic.

the wall clock reads twenty minutes past nine; it’s a friday night and you and seungcheol are in his apartment already in your pyjamas when you should be dressed for a fancy dinner, stuffing yourself with pasta and wine somewhere in hongdae.

it’s been snowing nonstop these past few days and even on the one day that you and your boyfriend reserve every week to go on a dinner date, whether it be at the fanciest restaurant seungcheol can get a reservation at or the mcdonald’s just a few blocks down from his apartment, mother nature just won’t let up.

the two of you were left with no choice but to cook the ramyeon in seungcheol’s pantry. you also thought it’d be a good idea to bust out the remaining bottles of peach and grape flavored soju that had been left over from your camping trip over a month ago.

that was all over an hour ago, soup bowls and chopsticks long forgotten on the table, soju bottles empty, with some random sitcom playing on netflix in the background. you now find yourself on the couch straddling seungcheol’s lap, with your lips heavy on his. both of his hands resting on your waist, just above the band of your his boxer shorts.

breathy moans erupt from the base of his throat and it makes you dizzy. his plump cherry lips find your ear, your jaw, and your favorite spot: your neck.

"baby..." he whispers in between kisses, his hot breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine. all you can do is look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and continue kissing him, but this time sloppier and more desperate. seungcheol notices this and matches his pace with your own, your tongues fighting for dominance.

you don't know if its just you or the alcohol that's in your system, but you know that you want to do more than just kiss seungcheol tonight. plus the fact that you can practically feel his bulge growing under you isn’t helping either.

"nng.." you groan, breaking away from his lips momentarily and resting your forehead on his. your jaw falls slightly open, trying to find the right words to say and immediately, there's worry and confusion painted on seungcheol's face.

"baby, what's wrong?" he says in a hushed manner, his right comes up to your cheek.

“angel, did i do something? hey, you can tell me. hmm?” he adds, not breaking eye contact with you. he carefully fixes his position on the couch, not wanting to bother you.

“i… i-uhh…” you cut yourself off, you’re not nervous but you do want to be careful of how you say it. seungcheol looks at you with his big wet baby cow eyes, silently telling you that you can tell him anything.

“okay… so i couldn’t be more grateful for you wanting to take things slow with the both of us. i mean, really. a-and while i love love being with you like this.. like this close to you…” you trail off, hoping he understands or at least has a bit of an idea of where this is going. you kinda hate how he’s not breaking eye contact, you can practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin.

“mhmm…” he hums in agreement, biting down on his lower lip as he tries to suppress a smile. he does know where this conversation is going but he wants to hear it from you. his hand falls to the small of your back and he caresses gently, you can feel the callouses of his hands through the thin fabric of your sleeping shirt.

“i feel like i’m ready to… you know… do more with you.” you add, feeling your cheeks and ears heat up. you slouch so you can hide in the crook of seungcheol’s neck but he stops you from doing so. “hey hey, i wanna see your face.”

“so is that what my pretty girl really wants, hmm?" he exhales, the sweet look on his face now wiped away. he sits a bit upright, looking at you with dark eyes. you've never seen him this enamored by you, almost like he's hypnotized, and you haven't even done anything yet.

you only give him a slight nod, your breathing getting heavier, feeling like your heart's about to jump out your chest. again, you don't know what's gotten into you but downing soju in such little time definitely fuels what you're about to do next.

you move your hands from seungcheol's chest and onto his shoulders for stability as you rock your hips back and forth. you start slow and then pick up the pace when you see him lean back onto the couch and close his eyes for a few seconds with his jaw slightly open. you can feel his length get harder each passing second and it sends a pool down your panties.

you lean in to kiss him on the spot near his ears and on his neck and this sends shockwaves through his entire body. he feels like his dick is about to explode and all he wants to do right now is pick you up and lay you onto your stomach so he can have his way with you. but, for now he wants to savor this moment with you.

“mmh, just like that, angel.” he says softly, draping one arm over the couch and the other still holding on to your hips to help keep you stable. his words make you feel good, reassuring you that you’re doing something right despite never having done this before.

your right hand then leaves his shoulder and reaches down to massage the growing bulge under his sweatpants. you look down at him with hooded eyes, hand palming over his cock that’s dying to be sprung free.

“baby, can i put it in my mouth?” you ask. seungcheol’s turned on but also completely thrown off because if anything, he wanted to taste you first. aside from wanting to throw you around and bully his length into you, he’s always dreamt of being in between your thighs and tasting your sweet juices all while you tug at his hair as his name rolls of your tongue.

"i-uhh, baby are you sure you wanna do this? he replies, pushing his own fantasies aside first because he only wants to do more with you only if you're sure you want to. "yeah, i know i wanna do this. i've thought about it for quite some time now." you clarify. and that’s enough for seungcheol.

“okay, angel. i just wanted to hear it from you again." he claims, eyes fixated on yours. he quickly catches your lips for a deep kiss, you can feel the want that radiates off of him. he then interrupts, "although i was hoping that i'd be the first to... go down on you."

while his offer does sound nice and tempting, the thought of you being naked for the first time in front of seungcheol does intimidate you a little bit. not to mention that he's your first boyfriend. you think that it'll help ease your nerves and make you more comfortable if he goes first. a win-win situation, you tell yourself.

"well, i really like how that sounds... but i'm just super a little shy to.. y'know. be naked and all." you admit, struggling to maintain eye contact with him. seungcheol doesn't know whether to be mad, disappointed, or annoyed at himself because you feel this way. he thinks that he may have failed at being your boyfriend because you don't feel entirely comfortable around him. you immediately notice the shift in his face and quickly say something, "and it has nothing to do with you, i promise! it's just... i-i've never done this before." you run your thumb over the pout that's slowly forming on his lips.

you further explain the win-win situation that you came up with and seungcheol quickly processes your words and doesn't feel too bad about it anymore.

"so... will you let me?" you add, referring to your question earlier. he doesn't even have to think about it, and immediately agrees. "baby, i'd be stupid to not say yes."

"i'm gonna need a little bit of help though..." you whisper, looking at him with dark eyes and once again reaching down to continue palming his clothed cock as if nothing happened. "don't worry angel, i got you. we can go slow, yeah?" his voice breathy, and at this point he's already putty in your hands.

you're quick to get off seungcheol's lap and get on your knees in front of him. you're feeling nervous but also excited at the same time and so you reach for the band of his sweatpants to pull them down. he sees this and helps you, his hands hovering over yours as you do so.

despite this being your first time, there's still desperation in your actions. the way your dainty little fingers grab hold of his sweatpants and the way you look at seungcheol. as you pull his sweatpants down, you fail to muffle a gasp. fuck, he's bigger and thicker than you imagined. you already know that it's going to be a struggle holding him and putting him in your mouth. you feel your panties getting soaked at the sight of his throbbing cock in front of you.

seungcheol sits and watches you eagerly, his thick thighs spread out for you and his length already coated with precum. you sit on your heels, still admiring how heavy his cock is. "something wrong, baby?" he furrows his eyebrows, his eyes locked on yours. you don't know how else to put it so you tell him straight, "nothing, you're just... big."

he grins and even laughs a little, "i know you can take it." and so you do, you take the base of his cock into your hand and attach your lips onto his tip. you lower your head to get more of him into your mouth but you struggle to do so. you’re not entirely sure that what you’re doing is correct but you continue your actions. you come back up to swirl your tongue around his tip and seungcheol closes his eyes, "mmh, fuck. just like that, angel. slowly." he's so turned on by the sight in front of him that he can't even bring himself to close his eyes for too long.

he leans forward to gather your hair to one side and to press a quick kiss to your lips, practically tasting himself. you don't stop pumping his cock and so he moans into the kiss, feeling the vibrations erupt from his throat. he leans back onto the couch, and your mouth is wrapped around him again. your hand is settled at the base of his cock, stimulating him as much as you can while you cover his tip in spit. "use both hands, baby." he suggests, and so you do.

seungcheol watches as your hands and mouth move up and down in harmony and it's taking everything in him not to cum right now with your mouth so pretty around his throbbing cock. you take more of him into your mouth and your eyes are welling up trying to do so. his tip hits the base of your throat and he feels it when you gag. he expects you to stop but instead you keep him there for a few seconds until you have to gasp for air and you feel his body shudder at your actions. "angel, you're sure this is your first time?" he asks, gathering just enough breath.

"mhmm.." you swallow, looking up at him with sweet and not so innocent eyes, shooting him a shy smile. you're hit with a wave of confidence by seungcheol's words. he quickly lifts his left hand to push his thumb into your mouth, wanting to feel your tongue. he feels selfish, as if you sucking him off isn't already enough, but he just has to. you follow him by sucking on his finger without hesitation, doing the same things that you were doing to his cock a few moments ago. "fuuck, you're so pretty like this." he thanks his lucky stars because he has absolutely no idea what he's done to deserve you and what you’re doing to him right now.

your mouth returns to his cock, where your hands are still stroking him up and down. you make it your mission to make him cum tonight, wanting to see him all breathy and speechless. your hands and mouth increase their speed, and so does seungcheol's breaths. you can tell he’s close because his chest is rising and falling faster and you’re pretty sure the neighbors can hear the lewd noises spilling from his mouth. you wrap your mouth around him again and again, your head bobbing up and down while you look at him through your long lashes, slowing down your pace for a few seconds to tease him just a bit. where the hell did she learn to do that? he thinks to himself.

all seungcheol wants to do now is pick you up and throw you onto the couch so he can return the favor, but he wants to give this to you. he wants you to finish what you started, because he knows it’ll make you feel good. “taking me so well, baby. doing so good f’me.” the praises rolling off his tongue as he runs one hand through his hair.

seungcheol can feel himself getting closer and closer to his high and so your hands work double time twisting his cock. you spit on his tip and sink your head down, his cock bottoming in your throat again. as you come back up for air, he quickly bucks his hips up to chase the feeling as he’s on the brink of his orgasm. you can’t help but let out a small choke with tears falling from your eyes. “-m sorry, angel. couldn’t help it.” he quicky apologizes. “s’okay…” you reply with a sweet smile.

“hmm fuck, i’m gonna cum. you ready for me, angel?” he trails off, taking control as he strokes himself and his length just inches from your face. you watch him as his big hand goes up and down his cock at an erratic pace. you lift your hands up to rest them on his knees but seungcheol has other plans in mind. “uh-uh, hands on your sides.” he says firmly, and you comply. he wishes he could take a picture of you right now, obeying him and being his good girl.

“open your mouth.” seungcheol adds, his demeanor now completely different but you love that he has two different sides to him when it’s just the two of you behind closed doors. your jaw quickly falls into an ‘o’ and soon after, seungcheol reaches his high. he feels his orgasm throughout his entire body, fireworks shooting down all the way to his ankles. his vision goes white and his body writhes in pleasure. white ribbons of his cum shoot out from his tip and onto your face and in your mouth. you feel the warm liquid on your tongue and you don’t know whether to spit or swallow.

you close your mouth just enough that your lips don’t touch, the salty liquid resting on your tongue. you wait for seungcheol to come down from his high, his breathing getting slower as his hand moves from his cock and onto his thigh. your chest swells with pride because you couldn’t believe what you just did to him. your eyes are focused on him as he leans forward, “you can spit or swallow baby, it’s up to you.” he says, and you feel his breath fan over your face as he brings his hand up and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe off the cum that’s on your cheek and just below your lip.

you finally close your mouth and swallow his salty release, completely tasting him. he watches as your adam’s apple bobs up and down as you do so. “good girl.” he comments, ultimately sending butterflies to your stomach. seungcheol then wastes no time to connect his lips with yours, tasting a little bit of himself. this time around, you’re the one moaning into the kiss and biting his lower lip. he deepens the kiss, holding your cheek to get better access. it’s not rushed though, it’s one that says ‘thank you’ for giving me the best head of my life.

he pulls away and you feel his arms at your sides, pulling you up. he slots you between his thighs, your knees sinking down onto the couch and he looks up at you. “your turn?”

© luvelve — please avoid copying, reposting, revising and/or translating my work on any platform.

[ssahotchnerr]

Aaron and reader on their daughter’s first day of preschool 🥺 aaron is super protective and is like “why can’t we homeschool her??”

baby steps

THAT'S ADORABLE cw; fem!reader, girl!dad aaron, brief mentions of food, reader and aaron are married

when it came to baby girl hotchner starting school - a feat that once felt like was forever away - you assumed aaron would be the pillar of strength, especially after going through the same with jack a few years ago. you would have bet money he would've been the one persuading you out of the house, tossing reassurances left and right, getting you to smile through the tears; the voice of reason.

but, you were wrong.

from the moment your daughter was laid in aaron's arms, she wholeheartedly and completely had him wrapped around her little finger. and so the morning of her first day, aaron, the ever prompt riser, seemed to get out of bed much slower than usual. he was going to the office a bit late so he could see her off to school, but even on his days off would he be up before his alarm.

shockingly, and perhaps for the very first time since you have known him, aaron had hit snooze. just once, though, for five minutes.

likewise he sluggishly had gotten ready for the day, and now he was merely a shadow - following you around until it was time to wake the kiddos up.

"sweetheart?"

"hm?" you hummed in question, sealing the ziploc containing jack's sandwich.

"look at this."

after securing the bag into jack's lunch box, you glanced in aaron's direction, only to find him holding up her tiny, purple backpack. on his face, the most broken hearted expression there ever was.

"can't we homeschool her?" aaron asked, his voice the equivalent to a whine.

"yeah." you snorted out a laugh, grabbing another baggie for baby girl's snack. "with all the free time we have."

he continued to silently poke around as you finished preparing jack's lunch. it was only a matter of time until he found something else to mournfully point out.

"honey." next in hand, her brand new pair of sneakers (a small pair of pink converse, courtesy of uncle spencer) which looked absolutely minuscule in those hands of his.

"they're just shoes. she has how many pairs?" you teased gently, fighting the urge to succumb to tears yourself, courtesy of your husband.

"they're school shoes."

"you better quit it, or you're going to make me cry." with your index finger, you indicated for aaron to come. once he was in reach, you pulled him to you, wrapping your arms around his middle.

aaron instinctively placed a kiss on the top of your head, mumbling into your hair afterwards. "our little girl is growing up, isn't she?"

"she'll only be gone for three hours. three times a week at that." you toyed with his tie soothingly, and he released a deep sigh. "she'll still be your little girl when she gets back, i promise."

the look on his face was still utterly unconvinced - head cocked a bit to the side, eyebrows pulled, his lips almost begging to retake shape of his previous pout.

"now c'mon, let's go get our bugs up for their first day." you gave aaron an enthusiastic smile, to which he couldn't help but smile back - your smile was his weakness - releasing your hold on him.

but at the loss of contact, and at the next action at hand, a small groan escaped him. as you trekked up the stairs, you peered behind, making sure he was following you.

he was, and mumbling under his breath.

"god how am i going to survive when she's off to kindergarten?"

[gracie-eilish]

feel better sweet girl

☁️🩵🌙🫧💤

The relentless chill of winter had left you with a cold that clung to you for days, making your nose stuffy and your voice hoarse. To make matters worse, a stomach bug had hit you out of nowhere, leaving you completely miserable. Your body felt like it was fighting a war on two fronts, and all you wanted was to crawl back into bed and stay there until the world decided to be kind again. Thankfully, Billie was there, ready to take care of you.

You were curled up on the couch under a mountain of blankets, your hair a mess and your face pale, with a tissue box and a trash bin close by. Billie walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray with a steaming mug of ginger tea, a small bowl of plain crackers, and a glass of water. She’d already made it clear you weren’t lifting a finger today.

“There’s my sick little cutie,” she cooed, setting the tray down on the coffee table. She crouched beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face and frowning softly. “How’s my babygirl feeling now?”

“Like garbage,” you muttered, your voice scratchy. “Cold garbage.”

Billie pouted, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Aw, mamas. That’s not fair. You’re too cute to feel this bad.”

You cracked a weak smile despite your misery. “Flattery isn’t gonna make my stomach stop hating me.”

“No,” she admitted, “but it might make you smile. Which it just did. So, technically, I’m doing amazing.”

You rolled your eyes at her cheeky grin, but you couldn’t deny how much better she made you feel just by being there. Billie grabbed the mug of tea and held it out to you. “Here, love. Sip on this. Ginger’s supposed to help with nausea.”

You sat up slowly, Billie steadying the blankets around you as she helped you get comfortable. The tea was warm and soothing, even if you weren’t sure your stomach would appreciate it. She watched you closely, her blue eyes full of concern.

“Good girl,” she murmured when you managed a few sips. “Now, crackers. They’re boring as hell, but they’ll help settle your tummy.”

You gave her a look. “You’re really selling this whole recovery thing, babe.”

She grinned, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I wouldn’t be so patient.”

“Patient?” you teased weakly. “You’re enjoying bossing me around.”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a wink, holding up a cracker. “Open up, mamas.”

You groaned but obliged, taking the cracker from her hand and nibbling on it. Billie smiled proudly, like she’d just achieved something monumental. “See? We’re making progress.”

Once she was satisfied you’d eaten and sipped enough tea, Billie settled onto the couch beside you, pulling you into her lap and tucking the blankets around you both. She pressed a kiss to your temple, her hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Poor baby,” she murmured, her voice soft and sweet. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this,” you muttered, leaning into her warmth. “Everything hurts.”

“I know, love,” she said, kissing the top of your head. “But I’m here. You don’t have to do anything but rest, okay? Let me take care of my babygirl.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat at her tenderness, but you quickly swallowed it down. Crying would only make your stuffy nose worse. Instead, you snuggled closer to her, letting her love and care wrap around you like a second blanket.

As the day went on, Billie didn’t leave your side. She brought you more tea, held your hair back when you had to run to the bathroom, and even changed into matching pajamas just to make you smile. When you started shivering despite the mountain of blankets, she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“God, you’re freezing,” she said, her voice filled with worry. “Come here, lovie.”

She rubbed your arms and shoulders, pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead in between. “You’re like a little ice cube,” she teased, though her concern was still evident. “My poor little popsicle”

“You’re too good to me,” you mumbled with a small smile, your head resting on her shoulder.

“Of course I am,” she said with a cheeky grin. “You’re my baby. It’s my job to spoil you.”

By the evening, you were completely drained, barely able to keep your eyes open. Billie had coaxed you into eating a little more, promising you’d feel better with something in your stomach. Now, she was brushing your hair back gently, her fingers working magic as she played with the strands.

“Love,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to keep fussing over me.”

She leaned down to kiss your nose. “I’m not fussing. I’m pampering. Big difference.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for her. “Thank you, Billie. For everything.”

Her blue eyes softened, and she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin. “Always, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”

She kissed you then, her lips soft and warm against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, full of love and reassurance. When she pulled back, she smiled down at you. “Now, let’s get you to bed, mamas. You need some real rest.”

You nodded, too tired to argue. Billie helped you to your feet, wrapping an arm around your waist as she guided you to the bedroom. Once you were tucked into bed, she climbed in beside you, pulling you close and wrapping you in her arms.

“I love you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “My sweet girl.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, already drifting off to sleep. With Billie’s warmth and love surrounding you, the misery of the day seemed a little more bearable.

☁️🩵🌙🫧💤