#{ you whispered and now you have to sit down and think about your life }

[ch0llies]

FOREVER NOW | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO. PT.2

oneshot - chris x reader

You and Chris have been tied together by an invisible string ever since you met at 10. As you grew older, Chris became your safe place. He was always there, unknowingly shaping himself into the person you'd eventually fall in love with. By the time you were 18, you had become each other's first everything- first kiss, first love, first promise that neither of you could ever belong to anyone else the way you belonged to each other. And now, standing in the bathroom with ten pregnancy tests lined up on the counter, that promise felt heavier than ever.

story warnings: fluff, smut, pregnancy kink, basically everything that has to due with pregnancy and childbirth, established relationship, etc... if any of these topics upset you... don't read!

word count: 6k

MONTH 2

The sterile scent of the doctor’s office does little to calm your nerves as you sit on the exam table, your fingers gripping Chris’s hand like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room. The last week had been a blur- between the endless late-night talks, the baby name debates, and Chris spending way too much time researching the best prenatal vitamins- everything still felt surreal.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” the ultrasound tech says with a warm smile, squeezing the cold gel onto your stomach.

Chris tightens his grip on your hand. “You good, baby?” he murmurs.

You nod, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Me too.”

And then, the screen flickers to life.

At first, it’s just static, a mix of shadows and shapes you don’t quite understand. But then- there.

A tiny bean-shaped figure appears, nestled inside of you. The heartbeat echoes through the room, fast and steady, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, tears instantly pricking at your eyes.

Chris lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes glued to the screen, pure awe written all over his face. “That’s our baby?”

The tech smiles. “That’s your baby. And judging by the measurements, you’re about two months along.”

Chris lets out a stunned chuckle, running a hand down his face. “Two months,” he repeats, like he’s trying to wrap his head around it. He turns to you, his expression softening. “We’ve had our baby with us for two months already.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, and Chris leans over, kissing your forehead. His hand stays firmly in yours the whole time, never letting go.

And just like that, the little bean on the screen makes everything real.

You decide that night to invite everyone over and tell them the news. Your apartment is full- packed, really- with family, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of home-cooked food. Your mom, dad, and brother are here, chatting with Chris’s parents and all his brothers. It’s the first time everyone’s gathered together in a while, and they think it’s just a normal family dinner.

But you and Chris have other plans.

Chris squeezes your thigh under the table, shooting you a knowing look. It’s almost time.

“Hey, Mom?” you call out casually, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. “I think something’s burning… can you check the oven?”

Your mom, who’s been deep in conversation with Chris’s mom, Mary Lou, immediately moves toward the oven. “Oh shoot, yeah, of course.” She opens the door, peering inside. “There’s just a… roll?”

Mary Lou tilts her head, coming over. “Let me see this.”

Chris, still seated but now grinning widely, leans forward. “What’s in the oven?”

Your mom and Mary Lou both frown at first, then look at each other as realization dawns.

“A bun…”

Their heads snap toward each other, eyes widening, mouths parting in shock.

Then, utter joy.

Screams, happy shrieks, as they grab each other and start jumping up and down like teenagers. Your mom clutches Mary Lou’s arms, her eyes already welling up.

“Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD-”

Chris laughs, standing up just in time for his mom and yours to practically tackle you in a hug. “Are you serious?!” your mom exclaims, pulling back just enough to look at your face.

You nod, laughing through your tears. “Two months.”

Another round of screams.

The commotion quickly draws in the rest of the family. Chris’s dad steps into the kitchen first, followed by your dad and your brother, then all of Chris’s brothers- Matt, Nick, and Justin, who were mid-conversation and now just staring at the scene unfolding before them.

“What’s going on in here?” your dad asks, looking mildly concerned.

Your mom turns to them, face lit up with pure joy. “THEY’RE HAVING A BABY!”

Silence.

Then, another explosion of excitement.

Chris’s dad claps him on the back, shaking his head with a wide grin. “You little shit.”

Your brother lets out a stunned laugh. “Holy shit, I’m gonna be an uncle?”

Nick lets out an exaggerated gasp. “I’M GONNA BE AN UNCLE TOO!”

“You’re not special, we’re all uncles!” Matt chimes in, and Justin just shakes his head, laughing.

Chris, overwhelmed but beaming, pulls you into his arms, kissing you right there in the middle of the kitchen, his hands cradling your face.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

Tears still streaming, you smile against his mouth. “I love you too.”

MONTH 3

By the third month, your body is starting to change, though you’re not fully showing just yet. Your lower stomach has a tiny bump, just enough for Chris to become obsessed.

Every morning, before even kissing you good morning, he lifts your hoodie or pajama top to check your belly. “Lemme see our baby,” he mumbles sleepily, pressing a kiss to your skin. He does this every single morning.

At your 12-week ultrasound, you both hear the baby’s heartbeat loud and clear for the first time. Chris records the whole thing on his phone, his eyes misting over as he grips your hand tightly. “That’s our baby,” he whispers in pure awe.

Month 3 was fun but it came with mood swings. And they hit hard. One moment you’re laughing, the next you’re sobbing because you saw a video of a puppy and now you need one. Chris is patient, rubbing your back while hiding his laughter when you cry over the most random things.

Not to mention the weird cravings too…pickles with peanut butter. Chris gags every time you eat it but stocks up on both anyway.

MONTH 4

Your energy is coming back, and so is your sex drive. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, you need Chris all the time.

“You’ve been insane, baby,” he teases one night, hands tracing over your growing belly. “Not complaining, though.”

Chris also starts buying baby stuff constantly. You come home one day to find him unpacking an absurd amount of onesies, soft blankets, and a tiny Bruins beanie.

“We don’t even know the gender yet!” you remind him.

Chris just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Our kid’s gonna be a Bruins fan either way.”

MONTH 5

One night, you wake up to something- a small fluttering sensation in your belly. It happens again, and your breath catches.

“Chris,” you whisper, shaking him awake. “Chris, the baby just kicked.”

He sits up so fast he nearly falls out of bed. “Wait, what?!” His hands are on your belly immediately, waiting, eyes wide. When he finally feels the tiny kick against his palm, his breath stutters.

“That’s-” He swallows hard, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s our baby.” He spends the next hour whispering to your belly, telling them all about their parents and how much they’re already loved.

This is also the month you start turning the office into a nursery. You decide not to find out the gender until the baby is born and instead choose a yellow theme- bright, neutral, and happy.

You both spend an entire Saturday painting the walls, music playing, the windows open. Chris is in jeans, no shirt, covered in paint, while you’re in overalls, your baby bump finally visible. He insists on taking a picture of you holding a paintbrush to your stomach.

“For the baby album,” he says with a grin.

MONTH 6

Your bump is really showing now, and Chris is in love with it. He touches it constantly- rubbing it absentmindedly when you sit together, spooning you at night with his hands protectively splayed over your stomach, kissing it whenever he gets the chance.

“You’re glowing,” he tells you one day, watching as you fold tiny baby clothes in the nursery. “Like, actually glowing.”

The nesting instinct is kicking in full force. You’re suddenly obsessed with organizing and cleaning, and Chris is doing his best to keep up. One night, you wake up at 2 a.m. convinced the nursery needs rearranging immediately. Chris groans but helps move the crib- only for you to change your mind an hour later.

“Baby,” he mumbles, flopping onto the rug. “Please. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“No.”

MONTH 7

Your back hurts constantly, your feet are swollen, and even sleeping is uncomfortable. Chris gives you back rubs every night, rubbing your feet and making sure you’re drinking enough water.

Sex is still happening, but it’s… different. Your growing belly makes some positions impossible, limiting you mostly to doggy, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s more patient, more attentive- his hands steadying your hips, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along your spine. He’s careful with you, always checking in, always making sure you’re comfortable, but there’s something else in his touch lately- something hungry.

And then, one night, as his fingers trace the curve of your belly, lingering just a little longer than usual, he finally admits, “Baby… I think your belly turns me on.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “What?”

He shrugs, but the way his eyes darken as they sweep over you betrays his casual tone. His hand drags slow and deliberate over your bump, fingers spreading possessively. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Just… knowing our baby is inside you. That I put them there.” He shakes his head, smirking as he licks his lips. “It’s kinda hot.”

You roll your eyes, but the way your pulse quickens betrays you. Because honestly? It is hot.

“Yeah?” You challenge, your voice playful but laced with something deeper. You tug your shirt over your head, baring your swollen breasts and belly to him, your skin hypersensitive, your body already aching for him. “Wanna show me just how hot you think it is?”

Chris exhales sharply, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. His pupils dilate, his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he might actually lose his mind.

Then he’s on you, hands already reaching, already touching. His lips find your neck, warm and open-mouthed, his breath hot against your skin. “Get on your hands and knees, mama,” he rasps, voice thick with need.

You obey without question, shifting onto your hands and knees, arching your back just enough to give him the perfect view.

You had thought that since gaining pregnancy weight that Chris would be turned off… or maybe even stop finding you attractive completely. But it was the opposite. He loves it.

He grabs your love handles every chance he gets and rubs your thighs and massages your back, not because you asked, simply because he wants to. Because it turns him on.

Chris groans behind you, his hands immediately finding your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel grounded. He spreads his palms over your skin, dragging them down to your thighs, then back up, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You shiver at the heat in his voice, at the way he sounds almost wrecked already.

“Then show me,” you challenge, glancing over your shoulder at him.

His eyes flash dark with something dangerous, something wild, and then he’s moving- leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back as he kisses along your shoulder, his hands never stopping their slow worship of your body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hands slide under your belly, holding you, supporting you like it’s second nature. Like taking care of you is just as much a turn-on as anything else.

And when he finally pushes into you, slow and deliberate, a deep groan rumbles through his chest. His grip returns and tightens on your hips, and he drops his head forward, his breath hot against your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, voice strained. “You feel even better like this.”

A gasp escapes your lips as you adjust to the stretch, your fingers clutching the sheets. Chris moves carefully at first, like he’s afraid of hurting you, but it only makes you want more.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” you pant, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “You’re not gonna hurt the baby.”

Chris lets out a deep, shaky breath, his hands tightening on your hips as he keeps thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace. His self-control is tangible, the restraint in every roll of his hips almost maddening. Then, suddenly, his hands slide from your hips back to your belly, spreading wide, cradling the swell of it with something so tender it makes your chest ache.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost wrecked. “I just- fuck.” He exhales harshly, thumbs stroking the soft skin of your stomach. “I just love you like this.”

Your breath catches, and before you can respond, he moves- his grip tightening, his thrusts deepening, more purposeful now. He’s still careful, still mindful of you, but the hesitation is gone, replaced by something more raw, more desperate.

“Chris,” you moan, your fingers clutching the sheets, your body arching into him.

His hands stay on your belly, holding you there, like he’s grounding himself in the feeling of you- of the life you created together. His pace picks up, each thrust pushing you forward just enough to make your breath hitch. He’s panting above you, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your spine, his voice thick with need.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his grip flexing as he moves. “Carrying my baby, taking me so well.”

The words send a shockwave through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. You whimper, pushing back against him, needing more. He growls low in his throat, like you’re unraveling him, like he’s barely holding on.

“Yeah?” he breathes, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple. “You like that?”

You nod frantically, gasping as he rolls his hips harder, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” Chris groans, his voice strained, his movements more desperate now. “Gonna make you cum just like this, mama. You ready?”

Chris’s thrusts grow more purposeful, deeper, his control slipping as your body clenches around him. His hands remain firm on your belly, holding you close, grounding himself in the feeling of you- the mother of his child, his woman, so perfect beneath him.

You’re burning, every nerve in your body alight as pleasure coils deep in your stomach. The way he’s touching you, how he’s holding your belly like it’s something sacred while still fucking you so thoroughly- it’s overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.

“Chris- ” you gasp, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “I’m- oh my God- ”

He groans, gripping your hips again, pulling you back onto him harder. “I got you, baby,” he pants, his voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good- so tight, so perfect. You gonna cum for me?”

You nod frantically, the tension inside you about to snap. His hand slides from your belly down between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing firm, tight circles that send shockwaves through you.

Your moan is almost a sob as the pleasure crashes into you, your body shaking as you cum hard around him. Your walls clench tight, dragging him deeper, and he groans, losing whatever fragile control he had left.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he grits out, his rhythm growing erratic. His grip tightens on your belly again, his forehead pressing against your spine. “Gonna fill you up- fuck-”

You’re still trembling from your own orgasm when you feel him go rigid behind you, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he cums inside you, his thrusts slowing but still deep, still pushing every last bit of himself into you.

For a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of your mingled breaths, heavy and uneven. Chris collapses against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his hands still possessive on your stomach.

He lingers inside you for a moment longer before he finally pulls out, groaning softly at the loss of warmth. He presses a lingering kiss between your shoulder blades before sliding off the bed, heading to the bathroom. You hear the water run, and moments later, he’s back with a warm washcloth.

“Let me clean you up, mama,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with exhaustion and satisfaction.

You sigh as he gently wipes between your legs, being careful with every touch. His hands are slow and methodical, taking care of you like he always does. When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth into the laundry bin, then climbs back into bed, pulling you into his arms.

You melt into his embrace, your back pressed against his chest, his hands instinctively finding your belly again. He rubs slow circles over your skin, his lips pressing lazy kisses to the back of your neck.

Just as you’re about to drift off, his voice cuts through the quiet.

“Baby,” he says, his tone laced with something mischievous.

You hum sleepily, too comfortable to open your eyes. “Hmm?”

“We’re gonna have to record a movie or some shit with you pregnant,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “It turns me on way more than it should.”

Your eyes snap open as you twist to look at him. “What?”

He grins, completely unapologetic. “I’m serious. You obviously can’t be pregnant all the time… unless I get you pregnant again right after the first baby is out.” He smirks, his hand splaying possessively over your belly. “How do you feel about Irish twins?”

You stare at him, half amused, half horrified. “Chris.”

“What?” he chuckles, nuzzling into your neck. “I mean, just think about it…. another baby, back to back? You’d look so fucking good carrying my baby again.”

You swat at his arm. “Let me get through this pregnancy first before you start planning the next one.”

He laughs, squeezing you tighter. “Alright, alright. But just so you know, I’m putting the idea out there.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me,” he counters, kissing your shoulder.

You sigh dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Chris just chuckles, pulling you even closer. “Get some sleep, baby. We’ll revisit this conversation later.”

You shake your head but don’t argue, letting yourself drift off in his arms, knowing full well he’s absolutely going to bring it up again.

MONTH 8

Your families throw you the most beautiful baby shower. Chris spends most of the day looking at baby items like he’s in awe that they’re for his child.

He’s also officially in full-on dad mode. He refuses to let you lift anything, scolds you for overexerting yourself, and installs the car seat a month early.

One night, you find him sitting in the nursery, staring at the crib.

“Chris?” you whisper, stepping inside.

He looks up, a soft smile on his face. “I just can’t believe we’re gonna have our baby sleeping in here soon.”

You walk over, taking his hand and resting it on your belly. “Me neither.”

MONTH 9

Everything is ready. The nursery is done, the hospital bag is packed, and Chris is on edge 24/7.

Every time you shift in bed, he bolts upright. “Are we going? Is it happening?”

“No, Chris. I just have to pee.”

He starts leaving work early, checking on you constantly. One day, he comes home with even more baby clothes, a yoga ball, and a brand-new breast pump.

“Chris,” you laugh. “We already have everything!”

“I just… wanna be prepared,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

One night, as he’s helping you into bed, he kneels down, pressing his lips to your belly.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, voice full of love. “We’re ready for you whenever you are.”

And just like that, the final stretch begins. Any day now, your baby will be here.

MONTH 9, WEEK 1

Lying in bed, your body aching from the sheer weight of pregnancy, you shift slightly, trying to find some comfortable position. Chris, ever in tune with you, adjusts immediately, tucking himself behind you and rubbing slow, soothing circles on your belly.

“We need to talk names,” you murmur sleepily, your head resting against his chest.

Chris hums, his fingers trailing absentmindedly over your bump. “Yeah, we do. We can’t just keep calling them ‘baby’ forever.”

You smile, but then a thought strikes you. “Okay, hear me out- if it’s a boy, I still wanna name him Owen.”

Chris stills for a moment before tilting his head down to look at you. “Still?”

You nod, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. I just… I love the name, and I thought it’d be a sweet way to honor you.”

Chris is quiet, but then his lips press against the side of your head. “You know what, I love it,” he whispers.

Relief floods you, and you nuzzle closer. “For the middle name… I was thinking maybe after my dad or my brother?”

Chris grins. “Perfect. We’ll decide when we meet him.”

You nod before shifting again. “And if it’s a girl?”

Chris chuckles. “Do you remember what my pick was?”

“Aria?” you question, remembering what he had said months and months ago.

Chris exhales, and you swear you feel his heart pick up. “Yes. Aria,” he repeats, like he’s letting it settle. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, baby. And for the middle name,” you continue, tilting your head to look at him, “I was thinking… Lou.”

Chris’s breath hitches. “After my mom?”

You nod, watching as his face softens into something unbearably tender.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Aria Lou… that’s perfect.”

And just like that, your baby- Owen or Aria- finally has a name.

MONTH 9, WEEK 2

The first time you feel contractions, they hit out of nowhere. Your stomach tightens, and a dull ache spreads through your back, making you pause mid-step in the kitchen.

Chris notices instantly. “What? What’s wrong?”

You grip the counter, wincing. “I think… I think I’m having contractions.”

Chris immediately launches into action. “Okay! Okay, let’s go- hospital, now!” He grabs the pre-packed hospital bag, his keys, his phone, his soul practically leaving his body as he rushes to the door.

You exhale through the pain, holding up a hand. “Chris. Chris! It’s fine. They’re just Braxton Hicks contractions.”

Chris blinks, still frozen mid-panic. “The fuck is a Braxton Hicks?”

You sigh, rubbing your belly. “False contractions. My body’s just practicing.”

Chris stares at you like you just betrayed him. “Practicing?! Baby, I was ready to sprint down the hall and flag an ambulance!”

For the rest of the week, every single time you shift uncomfortably, Chris is on guard. If you so much as groan while rolling over in bed, he’s wide awake, scrambling for his phone.

You sigh. “Chris. I just have to pee.”

He squints. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

You’re not sure how he’s gonna survive the real thing.

MONTH 9, WEEK 3

By now, the baby is almost a month overdue and you want nothing more than to push it out. God must’ve heard your prayers because you wake up to an intense pressure in your lower belly, a sharp pain that pulls you out of sleep with a gasp. For a moment, you think it’s just more Braxton Hicks contractions- until you feel it.

A rush of warmth liquid. A pop.

Your eyes go wide as realization slams into you.

“Chris.”

Chris, who had been sleeping like a dead man, groggily lifts his head. “Mmm?”

You slap his chest. “Chris, my water just broke.”

It takes him exactly three seconds to process that before he shoots upright, fully awake.

“OH, SHIT.”

“CHRIS, GET THE FUCKING BAG!”

Chris dives out of bed, scrambling for the hospital bag while simultaneously pulling on his jeans and trying to call everyone at once. “Okay, okay- uh, shit, okay- baby’s on the way, holy fuck!”

“Chris, breathe!” you hiss, gripping the bed as another contraction rolls through. “Just get me to the-”

And then you glance outside.

It’s snowing.

Not just a light dusting- a full-on blizzard.

Chris follows your gaze, his face draining of color. “No. No, no, NO- Fuck. Okay, hold on.”

He rushes to the window. Your car is buried under the snow, the driveway completely covered.

“Oh no….”

“DON’T WORRY! I GOT IT!”

And for the first time in your life, you see Chris move with the efficiency of a goddamn Olympic athlete.

He grabs his coat, shoves his feet into boots, and runs outside with nothing but a shovel and pure desperation.

You’re standing in the doorway, gripping the frame through another contraction, watching him shovel like his life depends on it.

“CAREFUL, CHRIS!”

“I’M BEING CAREFUL, BABY!” He yells as his left boot slips on ice and he almost takes a tooth out on the frozen pavement.

After what feels like forever, he finally clears enough space to get the car out. Panting, sweating, frost forming on his damn eyelashes, he runs back inside, scooping you up like a firefighter.

“Okay- okay, we’re going, baby, let’s go.”

He gets you into the car, throws the bag in the back, and peels out onto the snowy road, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping yours tightly.

Between contractions, you hear him frantically calling his parents, your parents, anyone will who pick up. “Baby’s on the way! We’re coming- SHIT, THESE ROADS ARE ICY- but we’re coming!*”

“Chris, focus on driving!”

“I CAN MULTITASK!”

But through the excitement, the panic, the snowstorm- Chris still finds a second to glance over at you, his free hand tightening around yours.

“We’re about to meet our baby, baby.”

And despite the pain, the stress, the absolute shitshow of this entire night- you smile.

Chris has the gas pedal pressed way too hard, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he simultaneously calls every single family member he can think of.

“Mom! We’re on the way- baby’s coming NOW. I don’t care about the storm, just- just get to the hospital!”

You groan through another contraction, gripping your belly, your nails digging into the seat. “Chris, shut the fuck up and focus on DRIVING!”

He immediately hangs up on his mom and dials someone else. “Dad! Baby’s coming- YES, RIGHT NOW- NO, I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG LABOR TAKES, JUST GET THERE!”

“Chris,” you grind out, trying to breathe through the insane pain in your abdomen. “If you call one more person, I swear to God-”

“Hold on, babe- Nick’s calling.”

“CHRIS!”

“OKAY, OKAY, I’M FOCUSING!”

Chris barely slows the car as he swerves into the hospital entrance. He parks right outside the ER doors, throws it into park, and launches himself out.

“Hang tight, baby, I got you!”

You let out a pained groan as another contraction tears through you, doubling over in your seat. Chris yanks the hospital bag from the back, sprints to your side, and immediately pulls open the passenger door.

“Come on, come on, we gotta go- ” He tries helping you out, but you’re moving too slow for his patience. His head whips around and locks onto the valet guy standing nearby.

“TAKE THE KEYS!” Chris chucks them at him before turning back to you.

“Chris,” you grit out, “I need a second-”

“NOPE, NO TIME, HOLD ON-”

Before you can argue, he sprints inside and grabs a wheelchair.

And when you say grabs a wheelchair, you mean full-speed, NFL linebacker, dodging obstacles, yanks one from the hallway and sprints back.

“Okay, baby, up you go- ” He lifts you carefully, places you into the chair, grabs the bag, and immediately pushes you through the sliding doors, moving like a man possessed.

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” he yells to the entire hospital lobby. “WHO CAN HELP DELIVER IT?”

A nurse rushes over, calm and professional. “Sir, please lower your voice-”

You groan, grabbing onto the wheelchair handles, “Shut the FUCK up, Chris!”

The nurse blinks, unimpressed. “Yeah, you heard her. Follow me.”

You’re wheeled into a triage room, and Chris hovers like a nervous wreck as the nurses work quickly around you.

“How far along are you?” a nurse asks, helping you onto the hospital bed.

“Nine months and three weeks.” Chris answers way too fast. “She’s been having contractions for…how long, baby?”

You glare at him through the pain. “CHRIS, I DON’T KNOW, I’M IN AGONY.”

“Okay, okay, right, sorry-”

A doctor comes in, pulling on gloves. “Let’s check how dailated you are.”

Chris freezes. “Wait, check what?”

The nurse gives him a look. “Sir, if you’re gonna faint, step outside.”

“I’M NOT GONNA FAINT,” Chris yells, then immediately looks pale when the doctor starts checking your cervix.

“She’s already seven centimeters,” the doctor announces.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Wait, so that’s close, right? Baby’s coming soon?!”

“Labor can still take time,” the nurse says calmly, way too used to panicked fathers. “Let’s get her into a delivery room.”

Once you’re settled into the delivery room, Chris refuses to sit down. He stands beside you, gripping your hand way too tight, bouncing on his feet like a fighter waiting to enter the ring.

“Okay, baby, just breathe. Remember the breathing exercises? In through your nose, out through your-”

“I swear to fucking GOD, Chris, if you tell me to breathe ONE MORE TIME-”

“Okay, yep, shutting up- ”

The contractions are getting worse. Chris watches helplessly, his eyes flicking between you and the monitor tracking each one.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “How are you this strong?”

“Because I have no choice,” you snap, panting through another contraction. “Because you put a baby inside me, Christopher.”

Chris gulps, squeezing your hand. “You’re doing amazing, baby. I love you so much-”

You barely register the doctor’s next words.

“You’re at nine centimeters- almost time to push.”

Chris blanches. “WHAT? ALREADY?”

“You ready to meet your baby?” the nurse asks, beaming.

Chris nods rapidly. “Oh, hell yeah, let’s go, let’s do this-”

The doctor smirks. “Dad, maybe sit down before you pass out?”

“I’M FINE!”

You glare at him. “Chris, SIT THE FUCK DOWN.”

And for once, Chris actually listens and sits down in the chair next to your bed.

And then It’s time.

Chris stands up again, gripping your hand both excited and terrified, his forehead pressed to yours as the doctor counts down.

“Push, baby, you got this- Oh my God, I can see the head- holy fuck- ”

You’re exhausted, screaming through the pain, every fiber of your being focused on getting your baby into the world.

And then-

A cry.

A loud, beautiful baby’s cry.

Chris chokes on a sob as the doctor lifts your baby up.

“Congratulations! You have a-”

But Chris isn’t even listening. He’s already crying, already pressing kisses to your damp forehead, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you so much, baby, you did it-”

And then, they place your baby in your arms.

Tiny. Perfect. Yours.

Chris stares at them, absolutely wrecked with emotion, whispering, “Hi, baby,” his fingers brushing over their tiny hands.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse says softly. “6 pounds and 7 ounces. Perfectly healthy.”

Chris lets out a breathless laugh. “I knew it.”

Tears spill from your eyes. “Aria Lou,” you whisper, and Chris breaks, pressing his face into your shoulder.

“She’s perfect,” he chokes out. “You’re perfect.”

Chris holds out his arms the second the nurse gives the okay, gently lifting Aria from your chest. The moment she’s in his arms, his entire face crumbles. His hands tremble slightly as he cradles her tiny body against his chest, his thumb brushing over her impossibly small fingers.

A shaky breath leaves him as he leans down, pressing the softest kiss to her forehead. His voice is barely a whisper, full of so much love it physically aches.

“Hello, my baby girl. My beautiful, beautiful baby girl.”

Tears slip down his cheeks as he stares at her like she’s his whole world. Because she is.

SIX HOURS LATER

The hospital room is quiet now, the energy finally settling after a whirlwind of family visits. Both of your parents, Chris’s parents, his brothers, your brother- everyone had come rushing in, crying, hugging, taking turns holding Aria.

Mary Lou had sobbed the second she heard the name. “You named her after me? Oh, honey…” She hugged you so tightly you thought you’d burst into tears again.

But now, the room is peaceful.

Chris is sitting up in bed beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you cradle Aria against your chest. The hospital room lights are dim, and for the first time all day, it feels like time has slowed.

“She has your eyes,” you murmur, staring down at her delicate face. “Your beautiful light blue eyes.”

Chris hums, his hand trailing up and down your arm. “Yeah… but she has your lips. And your nose.” He leans down, tilting his head to study her. “And your little chin. And your cheeks.”

You laugh sleepily, pressing a kiss to Aria’s soft hair. “She’s perfect.”

Chris sighs, completely in awe. “Yeah, she really is.”

An hour later and you’ve fallen asleep, exhaustion finally pulling you under, but Chris stays awake. He sits there, just watching you breathe, his heart swelling at the sight of you curled up beside him, completely worn out from giving birth to the most precious thing in the world.

Carefully, he lifts Aria from your arms, cradling her to his chest. She’s so tiny, so fragile, her breaths warm against his skin.

Slowly, he stands, rocking her gently as he walks back and forth across the room. His fingers ghost over her little ones, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

And then, in the softest, most reverent whisper, he murmurs:

“I’m gonna love you forever now.”

And with that, his whole world is complete.

a/n: dad!chris is literally my favorite thing EVER😭😭😭

tags: @mattsobvimyfav @bernardsbendystraws @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[starsjulia]

16 going on 28 // leah williamson

a/n : so sorry about my month long hiatus, but i am back!!! and i’ve got you guys some leah x gobby!reader but reader is now carrying leah’s baby! pls let me know if you’d like a part two because i deeply enjoyed writing this one.

warnings : suggestive, pregnancy, reader being a shitbag, and this is so cute i almost cried beavyse i am so single

“We’ve got a problem,” you announce gravely.

Leah groans, face buried back into the pillow. “If this is about the toast being too crispy again—”

“It’s burnt, Leah. There’s a difference.”

Leah peeks at you, a smirk creeping across her face. “You literally asked for it ‘extra golden.’”

“That’s not the same as setting it on fire, is it?” You huff, waddling dramatically back towards the kitchen, belly leading the way. “Honestly, it’s like living with a pyromaniac.”

Leah finally drags herself out of bed, following the trail of muttered complaints. She wraps her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Morning, love,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

You try to maintain the façade of being very cross, but your face betrays you, lips twitching.

“Don’t think you can seduce me out of my rage, Williamson.”

“Oh, I definitely can,” she murmurs, kissing the spot behind your ear—the spot she knows drives you mad.

You shiver despite yourself, turning in her arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

“God, it’s embarrassing how right you are.”

After training, the team lounges around, trying to relax. You waddle into the room, plopping down next to Leah with an exaggerated sigh.

“Leah,” you announce dramatically, “your child is ruining my life.”

Leah doesn’t even look up from her phone. “You mean our child.”

“No, because my child would’ve had better manners.” You rub your belly with mock disapproval. “This one’s clearly yours—rude as hell, keeping me up all night.”

The team snickers, already used to your daily monologues of suffering.

Beth pipes up, grinning, “Didn’t you literally say yesterday that you ‘loved being pregnant’?”

“That was before I sneezed and peed a little, Beth.”

The room erupts into laughter. Leah finally looks up, shaking her head with a fond smile. She reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re beautiful when you’re ranting.”

You squint at her. “I’m beautiful all the time, but thanks for noticing.”

Leah leans in, her voice low. “Especially when you’re moaning.”

The room goes silent.

“OH MY GOD,” Viv groans, covering her face with her hands. “Can’t we have one conversation without you two flirting like teenagers?”

“No,” you and Leah respond in unison, both grinning like idiots.

You’re both in Tesco, which was Leah’s first mistake because pregnancy has turned you into an unfiltered, walking hazard.

“I want crisps,” you declare, standing in front of the snack aisle.

Leah, already holding three bags, sighs. “Babe, you’ve got enough crisps to feed the whole team.”

“Well, the team isn’t carrying a small human and emotional trauma, are they?” You grab another bag, tossing it dramatically into the cart. “These are for survival.”

Leah snickers, steering the cart like she’s driving a getaway car.

At checkout, the cashier glances at your growing belly. “Aw, when are you due?”

Before Leah can answer, you deadpan, “Oh, I’m not pregnant. I just like snacks.”

Leah chokes on her own spit, trying to stifle her laughter while the poor cashier looks like she’s about to evaporate from awkwardness.

Outside, Leah doubles over, tears in her eyes. “You’re evil.”

You grin, proud. “I keep you entertained.”

She pulls you in for a quick kiss, her laughter fading into something softer. “I keep you loved.”

Your heart squeezes, but you cover it with a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Now carry the bags, I’m fragile.”

Later that evening, you’re sprawled on the couch, Leah sitting between your legs, massaging your swollen feet.

“You know,” she murmurs, fingers kneading gently, “pregnancy suits you.”

You snort. “Yeah? I’m sweaty, swollen, and have heartburn from drinking water, Leah.”

She leans back, her eyes dark with something warmer, deeper. “Still the fittest person I’ve ever seen.”

You arch a brow, biting your lip. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m growing your child.”

Leah shifts, her hand sliding up your leg, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Nah. I fancied you even when you were just a gobshite with an attitude problem.”

You grin, pulling her closer until your faces are inches apart. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve still got the attitude.”

She kisses you softly at first, then deeper, her hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

When you finally pull back, breathless and grinning, you whisper, “Still whipped, huh?”

Leah presses her forehead against yours, her smile soft and full of love. “More than ever.”

later, kettle whistles in the background, but you’re too busy glaring at Leah to care. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter with that smug grin—the one that says she thinks she’s hilarious—while you sit on the couch, belly protruding like a smug reminder of your current, swollen state.

“I swear to God, Leah,” you huff, struggling to adjust the blanket around you, “if you make one more joke about me ‘waddling,’ I’m throwing your protein powder in the bin.”

Leah snorts, unapologetically stirring her tea. “You do realise you’ve married an athlete? Go ahead baby, i’ll get another fifty packs shipped to our door tomorrow.”

You narrow your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Don’t test me. I’m hormonal, hungry, and hot. Triple H—but not the sexy wrestler kind.”

Leah bursts out laughing, nearly spilling her tea. “Triple H? You’re such an idiot.”

“Oh, I’m the idiot? Says the woman who wore her very new very expensive white trainers, which i did tell you was a bad idea, in the rain last week and then acted shocked when they got dirty.”

She walks over, still grinning, and plops down beside you. “At least I can still see my feet.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “I’m growing a human, Williamson. What’s your excuse for that forehead?”

Leah nearly chokes on her tea, coughing and laughing simultaneously. “You’re so mean,” she wheezes, eyes crinkling with affection.

You roll your eyes but lean into her anyway. “Yeah, well, you love it.”

She presses a kiss to your temple, her hand instinctively resting on your belly. “I really do.”

The team is gathered in the lounge of a hotel post match, and you’ve made the grave mistake of standing up too quickly.

“Ugh,” you groan dramatically, gripping your back. “I feel like I’ve aged 40 years in nine months.”

Beth smirks from across the room. “You sound like it too.”

You flip her off without missing a beat. “Didn’t ask for commentary, Bethany.”

The girls burst into laughter. Leah watches, amused, shaking her head.

“I don’t know how you survive,” Beth says to Leah, chuckling.

Leah shrugs, biting back a grin. ”it’s character-building.”

You glare at her. “Character-building? Please. You’re lucky to have me.”

Leah saunters over, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and kisses your cheek. “Yeah, I am.”

The team groans in unison. “Get a room!”

You stick your tongue out like a child. “Jealousy’s a disease. Get well soon.”

Leah wakes up to you standing over her with a look of pure desperation.

“I need ice cream,” you whisper like it’s a life-or-death situation.

Leah squints at the clock. “It’s 3 AM.”

“And the ice cream won’t buy itself.”

Fifteen minutes later, she’s standing in the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing mismatched socks, scooping ice cream into a bowl.

She hands it to you with a tired smile. “Happy?”

You take a bite, sigh dramatically, then look at her with faux seriousness. “You’re lucky you’re fit.”

Leah laughs, leans down, and kisses you softly. “Yeah. And you’re lucky I’m whipped.”

[ghxstlike]

in hiding

synopsis: he finds you crying and comforts you.

featuring: dan heng & aventurine (seperate)

content: sfw. comfort, pre-established relationship, dan heng has feelings for reader, tiny bit of flirting/compliments from aventurine, aventurine is kinda awkward, social anxiety (aventurine), anxiety attack (aventurine), reader’s gender isn’t specified, not proofread.

author's note: this is super self-indulgent lol. also this is the first time i’ve ever written these characters, so i apologize if they seem ooc! this also has been buried deep within my drafts- i finished this MONTHS ago….i felt too nervous to post it 😭 anywho, enjoy!

dan heng

you're another member of the astral express crew.

you've known dan heng enough to get the gist of his distant personality, even though you find him slightly intimidating.

you still managed to develop a crush on the guy, so he can't be that intimidating.

anyway, dan heng was tasked to go and 'fetch' you (pom pom's words) so all of you could eat dinner.

you're usually in 'his' room, reading a book. when you didn't arrive at your usual time, he began to get a little worried.

the only other place that you'd be is in your room.

when he finds you in your room, his heart sinks.

intensely worried about you the moment he realizes you're crying.

type of guy to immediately jump into action. he's not aggressive about it, no, he's gentle.

softly sits beside you where you're on your bed, his hand reaching out to touch you while asking to do so.

if you say no, he obviously listens to your wishes. would not want to harm you or make you uncomfortable while you're in this state.

he sits there, watching you cry in silence. it's a little awkward, having him watch you cry, but he doesn't know what else to do. he doesn't want to ruin anything.

he says a few things to calm your crying down.

"let it all out."

"it's okay, you're safe."

"i'm here for you."

if you say yes, his hand comes up to rub your back gently, making you scoot closer to him. also says comforting words in this moment as well.

after you're done crying, he listens intently if you start to talk about what is bothering you.

man's just wants you to feel better.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, wiping your snot with the back of your hand. you don't see it, but dan heng shakes his head while he smiles softly at you.

"no need to apologize." his deep, monotone voice instantly calms your nerves. "crying can be helpful to some. don't worry about it." he places a hand on your head, ruffling your hair ever so slightly. you sigh, then sniffle. even though he said it was okay, you still feel a little ashamed at yourself. you almost feel embarrassed. you sort-of know what you look like while crying, and you know it isn't pretty. your heart soars with discomfort as you realize that dan heng has witnessed you at one of your lowest moments in life.

"gosh, i probably look like a mess right now." you croak out, a dry laugh following short after. you try to wipe the dried tears off your cheeks but to no avail. you'll have to wash it off with some cold water later. you hear dan heng hum, which catches your attention. your eyes look into dan heng's. you notice how dan heng's blue eyes soften at your stare.

dan heng's hand reaches out to a strand of hair that's in the way of your face, pulling it back behind your ear. you feel your face heat up, and your heart skips a beat at the intimate eye contact. you notice how dan heng’s face is in a similar predicament to yours; a light pink blush covers his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"you don't," he whispers. "you're beautiful."

aventurine

guy doesn't know how to comfort other people.

type of person to let the person cry it out by themself, then come back later with gifts.

i've seen a headcanon where aventurine is bad at comforting other people due to his past trauma and i truly believe it.

aventurine can rarely take stuff seriously, what makes you think he can comfort someone?

anywho. he finds you curled up into a ball in an alleyway in penacony. he heard the sobs come from a mile away and was curious at what the sound was.

he honestly thought it was a stray cat.

he's seen you around before. yeah, he remembers! you walked up to him at the bar and complimented his outfit, telling him he looked like a peacock.

he thought that it was very cute when you blushed, explaining you didn't mean to say that outloud and kept apologizing.

but now here you are, sitting on the gross ground of the alleyway with your chin propped up on your knees, crying your eyes out.

aventurine bites his lip, trying to figure out if he wants to help you or just leave you alone.

but that's when you placed your hand flat on your chest, and he noticed how you began to breathe heavily.

he knows exactly what's happening, and he can't leave you alone now.

"hey, breathe. you need to breathe."

you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out to you, but it seems so far away. you don't understand what he says and try to brush it off. though, he doesn't go away. his legs are in your line of sight, and he doesn't seem to be moving. you watch as he crouches down, his hands shakily reach towards yours.

"i'm gonna touch you, okay?" he gulps, almost flinching at the skin-to-skin contact. you don't answer, you just continue to hyperventilate as your wide eyes dart across the environment around you. the man seems to notice this and blocks your field of vision with his face.

"y-you- you're-" you try to get out, but all you can manage is a few hiccupped mumbles. the man in front of you smiles.

"hi again." you can clearly hear his smooth voice now. "can you take a deep breath for me? i'll do it with you." you nod, looking into his multi-colored eyes. they're so pretty.

you follow his actions- breathe in for 4 seconds, pause for 4 seconds, breathe out for 4 seconds. you both repeat this a few more times until your breath doesn't sound choppy or uneven.

silence overcomes the two of you. your eyes glance down at your intertwined hands, then back up at the man in front of you. suddenly realizing he's still holding your hands; he quickly drops them from his grasp while clearing his throat.

"you alright?" he says softly. his eyes glance down at your body, trying to see if you're hurt anywhere. your words interrupt him.

"no, i'm fine now," you sniffle. "thank you, um.." you pause, waiting for the man to give you his name.

"aventurine. it's no problem." aventurine shrugs. he stands up quickly, holding a hand out for you to take. "now, can i get you a drink? you must be dehydrated." his gloved fingers wiggle slightly, encouraging you to take his hand.

he grins down at you, "you can also tell me why you were sobbing in the alleyway." you chuckle at his words.

without another thought, you take aventurine's hand.

[mickeys-been-staying-at-ians]

So Dean is fucked up after Cas is taken into the Empty obviously, all melancholy, no sleep, drinking too much, you know his gist. Sam probably tries to get him to talk about it, but he would never tell him everything Cas said, you know. So Dean is miserable, and Sam is miserable, but THEY DON'T STOP trying to get Cas back.

And they do, somehow. So Cas appears somewhere in the library or wherever they were Doing What Brought Him Back and there's a second of confused, vulnerable silence because this can't be real don't believe it's real he's gonna disappear and it's gonna suck all over again but he stays, and looks at Dean, and then Dean is hugging him, clutching him like... well, like everything that happened, happened, and they're breathing each other in. Cas hasn't had the chance to think about what it all means, yet, so he's not overthinking it. Then they break apart, and Dean has tears in his eyes and his lower lip is shaking, and while Sam hugs Cas, too, Dean's body is like, shutting down, months of exhaustion (physical and emotional) catching up to him, and he feels it coming, so when Sam gets Cas to sit down, making him drink some water, Dean's like "I'm just gonna-" and he's running into his room and he doesn't even make it inside before he starts sobbing. He's sitting against his bed, his face in his hands, all wet now, when Sam comes in. Maybe he knocked, maybe not, Dean couldn't hear him. And he tries to cover himself a little, but Sam sees anyway, and he's so tired, so he just. Doesn't care.

And Sam says, "Dean, don't hide from him" and Dean isn't sobbing anymore but he's still crying into his palms, saying "I'm so tired, Sammy" and Sam knows. He doesn't know what happened between Dean and Cas but Cas said he did something and now Dean wouldn't feel comfortable around him. So, you know. Sam can guess, a little.

So he says, "He thinks you don't want anything to do with him anymore" and "you should go talk to him" and Dean is like "I can't" and he doesn't know why, maybe because he's exhausted, or because he doesn't know what to say to him , or because Cas sacrifised himself for him again, or because he told him he loved him and turned Dean's world upside down and disappeared, or maybe because he's scared.

And Sam knows this is all happening in Dean's head and he knows some of it is whispered to him in their dad's voice, so he says, "you know nothing in the world would ever change how I think of you," and Dean's head snaps towards him, wet with bloodshot eyes, confused and terrified, but he doesn't say anything, so Sam asks, "what really happened down there?" and Dean knows Sam knows. There's a hand squeezing his heart and lungs and he can't breathe, and Sam knows, and Dean wishes he could go back to when it wasn't even an option.

"He's your best friend," Sam says, and he is, he is, he's Dean's best friend, above all else, it's not just sacrifises and battles and blood and desperate confessions, it's also movies and music and inside jokes, so Dean asks Sam to get Cas. He does, and leaves them in Dean's room alone. And Dean says "don't ever die for me again" and "you think you saved me but i was barely alive" and "next time we die together" which is maybe a little fucked up, but he's feeling so raw. He says, "you're my best friend" and looks at Cas, hoping Cas hears everything he isn't saying, how Cas is the most important person in all the universes to Dean. He's family, but he doesn't say that, doesn't want Cas to think he's family like anyone else, because Cas is more. To Dean, Cas is- something Dean won't say yet, but he is.

And they have a quiet dinner with Sam because they're all tired, and Cas showers while they turn on the TV and bring out a couple of beers, and they act like it's a normal day in their life. Dean's head keeps falling and his eyes keep closing, his temples aching, but he stays, and at some point Sam goes to sleep, and when they're alone Cas tries to get Dean to go, too, but he keeps coming up with lame excuses to stay and Cas doesn't know what to make of it until he thinks maybe Dean doesn't want to be alone, or even - maybe Dean doesn't want to leave Cas alone, maybe he's scared something will happen to him again, or maybe he wants to just - be with Cas longer. And Cas is completely out of his element, because why would Dean- But it doesn't matter. His priority has always been Dean's well-being, so if there's any chance Dean is pushing himself because of - some of that, Cas will step up.

So he asks Dean if he can sleep in Dean's room tonight because he doesn't want to be alone. And there's a blaring red light going off in Dean head, screaming he knows he knows he knows Dean wants him to... what? Dean doesn't even know. Cas is asking as if for himself, for Dean's benefit, and Dean. God. Dean loves him, doesn't he? He's always loved him, but he loves him like... like... but he doesn't think it, still. He feels too open, now, and he wants to lock himself in his room and sleep it off and drink and stop feeling so vulnerable, he thinks he must be an open book to everyone, to Cas especially, and god, could people always tell? Can Cas tell, now? But why does it matter? Cas told him- he told him-

But none of it matters, because Cas is here, and he's offereing Dean an easy way out, and Dean is a weak, weak man, and he's exhausted and all he wants is to breathe Cas' air and know he's here, and not going anywhere.

So Dean puts on an old T-shirt and gets out of his jeans like he always does before realizing Cas is here. He flushes all over, sits down on his bed because he didn't think about how this was gonna go. Cas glances at the desk as if he was gonna sit in his chair the whole night, and Dean doesn't actually know if Cas sleeps now or doesn't, which he maybe should've thought of before, but before he can say anything, Cas says, "Dean, I don't want to make you uncomfortable" and Dean, completely lost, says the first thing that comes to his mind, which is, "can you lie down with me?" which is not exactly how he was gonna tell Cas he's the opposite of uncomfortable with him, but it does the trick. He makes Cas get out of his dress pants and gives him a T-shirt to sleep in, too, and flushes even more when he realizes what Cas is wearing. Dean lies down when Cas steps towards the bed, faces the wall because he doesn't know what to do with himself. They lie in silence for an awkward moment before Cas says, "are we okay?" and Dean says, "of course we are" and Dean knows Cas is still overthinking it, and he is, too, but... Cas took the leap, and he must feel so uncertain about them, and Dean thinks he owes him something, at least. Cas told him he loved him. Nothing felt right since then, because Cas died and because Cas thought he could never have what he wanted and because Cas thought he wasn't the most important person in Dean's life with Sammy, whatever that meant, and because Dean had to come to terms with that reality, a reality where Cas loves him, has loved him, him, Dean, broken and all. A man. A man Cas thought beautiful, and loving, and- and Dean has many issues, but Cas was never one of them, and Cas deserves to feel certain about his place in Dean's life.

So Dean asks Cas to come closer, and there's a still moment before Cas does, still too far away from Dean, and Dean can't see him, can't make himself turn because his heart is beating so loud he thinks if he looks at Cas, it's gonna beat out of his chest. So he reaches behind himself, finds Cas' hand and brings it forward, keeps it between his hands and brings them to his face. Breathes Cas in. "Please don't leave again" he says, in that tone he used when he prayed to Cas. He feels Cas shift, finally, as if he lost some of the tension from his body, feels the bed dip behind him, and he doesn't know how Cas moves but then Dean's back is pressed against Cas' front, and despite his beating heart, Dean is feeling the exhaustion start to take him. "Cas, I..." he tries, but he can't think anymore, can't make sense of anything.

"You can fall asleep, Dean," Cas says, his words warm in Dean's hair and the last thing he hears before sleep takes him is "I will be here when you wake up."

So when Dean wakes up, it's to a heavy arm around his chest and slow breaths against the back of his head. There's no moment of confusion about who he's with, or why. He doesn't even get a second to consider if it was real before Cas says "good morning, Dean" and Dean wonders if Cas slept at all. If he needs to sleep, now. There's so much they need to talk about, all three of them.

"Cas," he tries again, remembereing his attempt from last night. He needs Cas to know, for sure. "Cas, I - what you said. You know I. I've never..." and Cas is like "I know, Dean" but he sounds a little confused, so Dean doensn't know what Cas thinks he knows. So he turns, takes a second to notice how close they are now, and he thinks about Cas' eyes, his lips. Thinks, soon.

"You have to know," he says, as if Cas didn't say anything. "You have to know how I - what I" and he can't get the words out, not sure if it would be easier if there were no words to get out or if there were no voices in his head screaming over them. So he breathes in, Cas' scent overtaking his senses, brings his palm to Cas' face. Closes his eyes. Thinks, soon. Thinks, now, and meets Cas halfway.

[nemisuki]

After Hours

Comfort AU | Just helping the blonde feel better about himself because he deserves the world.

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, fluff and angst, no smut, reverse comfort, wholesome oneshot, words of affirmation, he’s just a lil guy fr, 668 word count

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed throughout his silent dorm room. The only other noise being the rustling leaves outside his window - strong winds causing the autumn tree branches to sway in the chilly air beyond the glass.

"We really need to work on this habit of yours Katsuki."

The mattress slightly dips with the new added weight as she sits on the edge of his bed, likely staring at him, though he wouldn't know, as he lays backside to her - mindlessly staring at the wall.

He told her to not show, yet she did anyway, as always.

"Go away Y/N."

If only he'd looked at her, then he would've seen the way she simply smiled at his remark, unbothered by his blunt words.

She slowly lays beside him to make herself comfortable, a small yawn escaping her as she turns on her side to face his back.

"You can't keep pushing me away" she says softly, so much so that it could be considered a whisper.

"I said go away."

"I think your hurting-"

"Stop it" he mumbles, sharply cutting off her words with a huff. As his body tensed from her field of view. 

But he knows she isn't one to back down.

"You know.... to me you're the most important hero in my life" she hums, her hand slowly wrapping around his torso to spoon him from behind.

He doesn't push her away - making her only be met with silence. Seems he's already lost the urge to fight back, which only heightens her concerns.

Her grip on him tightens at that realization, "You don't have to blame yourself Katsuki, you're only human."

She doesn't say much after that, understanding the best form of comfort for him is offering silence.

In other terms - the invitation to speak if needed, while staying by his side, waiting patiently for him to let her in.

As time passes, she doesn't know how long it's been, the only thing occupying her mind being the urge to get a glimpse of his face.

He hasn't made a sound or moved in a while. Has he fallen asleep?

Her own question gets answered as she takes notice of his sudden shaking body, making her heart lurch at the immediate breakdown, his emotions finally reaching a breaking point.

Small sniffles escaping him as he finally lets his walls break down.

".....please let me hug you properly" she whispers, biting the inside of her cheek to not cry alongside him. It's not often he's so vulnerable like this, that she can't help but to feel pain at his own suffering.

It takes him a moment but he reluctantly shifts around, finally facing her as those red glossed orbs meet hers.

On that pretty face typically seen with his signature scowl now lies a defenseless version of Katsuki that only those closest to him get to witness.

"....hurts..."

Her eyes slightly widen at his small mumble, her body quickly moving on its own, pulling him into a tight embrace as one hand caresses his back while the other gently runs through his hair.

It doesn't take long as he decides to cling to her, burying himself against her body as muffled sobs escape him.

Silent tears flow down her face as she presses soft kisses against his scalp, "I know... but I'll listen. When you're ready, okay?"

He quietly nods beside her, pulling himself closer as she drapes the blanket over the two of them. It takes him a while but "....sorry for earlier."

"mhm i know katsuki."

There's no doubt in her mind that she's the only one with the privilege to hold him like this - so she'll wait for him, listen to his troubles and soothe the blonde seeking refuge.

In her eyes she doesn't see the angry hothead who strangers tend to avoid in the halls, but a wounded boy attempting to fix his past mistakes and accept himself to move forward.

Maybe this time - she can be his hero.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| this was inspired by an album called 'Cry' by Cigarettes After Sex (specifically the song 'cry' which can be heard at 27:44-32:01) : link! I think Bakugo is such a complex character and as seen in the show he often struggles with personal issues. In this fic, it's up to your interruption on what he's battling against! tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

also i tried something different in the layout! as u can see i used colors for the first time to highlight a characters dialogue. whats more important is if YOU GUYS prefer this or not. please vote in the poll below so i can meet ur standards bc thats all i care about!

i put examples below if your confused (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

Option 1 Example : Bakugo mumbles with a scowl, "vote or your pillow will be warm tonight."

Option 2 Example : Bakugo mumbles with a scowl, "now fucking vote nerd."

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

i was lost within the darkness but then i found her; i found you. - k. yukimiya

synopsis: a man who couldn’t find purpose in his life and the woman who brought each of them meaning.

a/n: i was lowkey thinking of meruem and komugi the whole time i was making this.

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya didn’t know what he was supposed to do now.

he clutched the papers from the doctor, walking to the nurse’s office at school for the information to be added to his profile at school. he walked with no emotion upon his usually jubilant and beautiful face, and it was as if all of the light had been sucked from his eyes.

“yukimiya?”

yukimiya looked up, and you stood in front of him, holding a few boxes in your hands. you were probably helping your teacher with moving things again.

yukimiya was fairly fond of you. you were kind and quick on your feet, and yet you always gave helpful, honest advice to your more delusional friends. he enjoyed being around you more than anything else at school. “oh, hello. how’s your day been going?” yukimiya asked, painting a smile over his frown on his face.

your eyebrows knit together. yukimiya recognized that look; his mother always had that look in his childhood whenever he had been crying and hid the fact from her. she always caught on quickly. “you seem upset, are you okay?” you placed your boxes on the floor next to you before walking closer to him, your head tilting slightly as you looked at him.

and as if water began overflowing in a glass after barely having not reach the point of spilling yet, tears began to spill from yukimiya’s eyes.

fat, warm tears stained yukimiya’s cheeks wet, and snot began leaking from his nose. if any of yukimiya’s fans had seen him like this, his modeling career and their crush on him would be over. but instead of looking at him with your face scrunched up in disgust from his current expression, you instead had him sit down with his back to the wall as you sat down next to him.

“what happened?” you asked, your voice soft. you assumed that it had to do with his eye and soccer career; after all, he got glasses even though he didn’t have them previously, and soccer was practically his whole life. yukimiya sniffled before looking at you.

“optic neuropathy,” yukimiya whispered. “there are black spots in my vision. treatment will help, but not fully cure it. worse case scenario, it causes blindness. the doctor said that i probably won’t be able to play soccer professionally anymore.” yukimiya sniffled again before he wiped his tears away, laughing.

“look at me. complaining to you about it even though it’s not even your problem. you should be helping the teacher, right? sorry, i know this is your free period and im not a very crier—“ before he could continue on with his idiocy, you grabbed his face in between both of your hands and faced him, your eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed.

“yukimiya kenyu,” you began, voice grave. your face darkened before your gentle cradle on his face turned into a stinging pinch. “first of all, i could care less about this being my free period. we still have months of school left, and that means hundreds of more free periods. second, no one cares that you’re an ugly crier! everyone ugly as shit when they’re sobbing and their face is all scrunched up when they’re bawling. you should’ve seen me when i read the chapter that gojo died!”

at your last comment, you could see yukimiya hold in a chuckle, which proved your effort worthy. “and also, maybe you won’t become the best forward in the world. maybe you really will become blind because of soccer. maybe all of your efforts wouldn’t have been worth it in the end. but yukimiya, i hope you know and realize that the result may be important, but…” you stopped your pinching, and you held his face as if you were holding the most precious and beautiful glass vase. “sometimes the joy of the process itself overshadows what was thought to be the joy that comes from the result.”

yukimiya’s eyes widened, and suddenly, a fresh batch of tears came to his eyes. but this time, it wasn’t of sadness. this time, warmth bloomed in his chest when the tears came. this time, his mind was clear of the negative thoughts when the tears came. and this time, instead of his vision being blurred by tears, his vision was being cleansed by the light right in front of him: you.

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee snuck quick glances at the papers that had been left on the coffee table. They were certain that it was about them, but their new caregiver wrote in a strange handwriting.

Caretaker glanced out at them. They grinned as they watched Whumpee strain their neck... trying to see the pages.

"Могу ли я помочь?", Caretaker chuckled. (Can I help?)

Whumpee jumped back onto the floor.

"Sorry, sorry", Whumpee shook as they scooted farther away from the table.

"It's alright", Caretaker smiled as they helped Whumpee sit up, "what were you up to? Do you need help?"

Whumpee looked down with embarrassment, "I was being nosey... and I shouldn't be poking my nose in your work. I'm sorry."

Caretaker nodded, "Well, it is about you. You don't have to worry, I'm not upset. You were concentrating really hard. Were you able to read any of it?"

"M-my name", Whumpee admitted, "no offense, but your writing is hard to make out."

"Well, it's written in Russian, so I would hope it would be difficult", Caretaker chuckled as they picked up the notes.

"Rus... Russian?", Whumpee looked at them questioningly.

"Da", Caretaker nodded as they shuffled the papers, "I file my patient notes in two different ways. All of these notes will be stored in the secure program on my computer. I will transfer these into English then. My paper chart is kept in Russian as many people can not read it. That keeps my patient's information safe in case there was a break-in or something happened with the charts. When I finish with my patient, these papers will be shredded."

Whumpee glanced at the chart again.

"You can look at them if you like. I'm just about to start dinner", Caretaker handed the papers to Whumpee, "I hope you like кура с гречой."

"Uhm", Whumpee stared dumbfoundedly.

"It's chicken with buckwheat", Caretaker turned.

"Ku.... r..a... sss", Whumpee tried, but paused.

Caretaker slowly pronounced, "kura s grechoy", while Whumpee tried to follow along.

"Very good... Молодец (well done)", Caretaker cheered, "spoken like a true Russian."

Whumpee smiled excitedly, "really... I did it right?"

Caretaker nodded joyfully, "you did. Now, would you like to come help me cook, or do you want to stare at my writing for a while?"

Whumpee looked down at the pages, "it looks cool. I wish I could understand more of it though. I never really knew this was what Russian looked like."

Caretaker knelt down and took a page gently. They carefully read over the page in English to tell Whumpee what the lines said.

"Now this is the Russian", Caretaker read over the lines again.

Whumpee cocked their head to the side as Caretaker read to them.

Caretaker smiled when they looked up.

"Can I learn more?", Whumpee whispered, "please."

"Yes, you can", Caretaker nodded, "we can practice while you stay with me. How does that sound?"

"Good", Whumpee looked at them excitedly.

"Умелый (capable, good)", Caretaker finally stood, "I believe you are capable of learning the language, at least as much as you want to. I know it can be difficult, but it's possible. It's a great part of life to share in other's cultures. It can be a lot of fun. Would you like to learn how to cook something."

Whumpee nodded quickly.

"Alright, come on", Caretaker offered a hand to help Whumpee up.

Whumpee set the papers down and took Caretaker's hand.

"Ku...ra...", Whumpee attempted, "sss... uh... gre?"

"You'll get it", Caretaker promised, "it just takes time."

I just want to attempt something a little different and see if I could use a different language in my writing. I'm not Russian, but I think the language and writing are very cool. I also have a very good friend on here who is very very patiently helping me. This may be a sneak glimpse into a plan I have for SP Specail Containment as well. I am very excited for my next parts to hopefully come back soon. - Mj

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

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@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

[anakinstwinklebunny]

new hayden fan nonnie again, i am ready to officially join the fam (if you’ll have me)! may i be 🐮 anon?

also i have a fic request! would you be open to writing one where nerdy!anakin meeting his favorite book author who happens to be reader? or anakin could be the book author and the reader is the fan? either sounds cute to me, have fun with it!

thank you, bunny!!

- 🐮

PAIRING: writer!nerd!anakin x f!reader/ nerd!anakin x f!writer!reader

Author's note: OFC YOU CAN POOKIE!! and that's such a cute emoji 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ (couldn't help myself and made two scenarios you mentioned)

𝓕𝓛𝓤𝓕𝓕 ❦

You weren’t nervous.

Nope. Not at all.

Just because you were about to meet the ANAKIN SKYWALKER, the actual author of your favorite book series—the one whose words had ruined you, rebuilt you, and left you obsessing over every single character, every emotion described on the paper—did not mean you had to freak out.

Except, you were totally freaking out.

Fingers clutched his book against your chest as if it may shield you from crushing your nerves adrenaline, while you stood in line, shifting on your feet, trying not to think about the fact that in a few minutes, you’d be face-to-face with him.

And then suddenly— way too soon—it was your turn.

You stepped forward, heart pounding. Hands sweating

He looked up.

Oh.

You were not prepared for how pretty he was in real life.

The grainy black-and-white author photo in the book didn’t do him justice—those messy curls framed his face in a way that made your stomach flip, glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, and his sweater sleeves were pushed up, exposing lean forearms dusted with veins running up his body

God really took his time creating him.

He blinked at you, pushing his glasses up with two fingers. “Hi.”

His voice was soft, a little hesitant, like he wasn’t really used to this—like he didn’t know the power, the impact he had.

You swallowed, barely keeping your composure. “H-Hi,” you managed, setting his, well..yours, book down in front of him. “I—um—I love your books. A lot. Like, I might have reread them too many times.”

A soft flush crept up his neck. He ducked his head, scribbling something in the book. “That’s—uh—thank you. That means a lot. Really.”

Your heart clenched. He was adorable.

You leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have to know—how did you come up with him?” You tapped the book cover, referring to the broody, tortured love interest that had single-handedly ruined your life. “Because I swear, he haunts my dreams.”

Anakin let out a breathy laugh, looking up at you with this disgustingly-twisting-gut eyes “Uh—he just… appeared, I guess.” He smiled sheepishly. “You’re actually, um, not the first person to say that.”

You grinned. “Well, he’s perfect. And kind of my biggest crush.”

His pen froze mid-signature.

Oh my gosh..what have you done?

He cleared his throat, fumbling slightly as he handed the book back to you. “That’s—uh—good to know.”

You peeked at what he’d written, expecting just a simple signature. But beneath his name, a small note made your breath hitch and your lips to crack in a small, nervous smile:

«To the girl with excellent taste—if you ever want to discuss my characters over coffee, let me know.»

Your head snapped up. He was already looking at you, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Your stomach flipped.

ANAKIN SKYWALKER had planned this day for weeks. Checked the bookstore’s event schedule at least a dozen times. He had to make sure he was on the right time, the right day, wore the right clothes for this occasion. For weeks he had practiced what he’d say in the mirror, only to stammer like an idiot each time. But now that he was here, standing in line, gripping a hardcover copy of your book so tightly his knuckles were white—he felt like he might pass out.

The line moved too quickly. One second, he was behind a group of fans, and the next—

“Next, please!”

His breath caught in his throat.

Sitting behind the table, a warm, inviting smile on your lips painted your face as you reached for his book. “Hi,” you greeted, voice soft, smooth, the same voice he’d listened to in countless interviews. “What’s your name?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

God.

You were even prettier in real life.

“I—uh, it’s Anakin,” he managed, adjusting his glasses like it would somehow fix the fact that he was a mess. “I—wow, okay, sorry, I just—uh, I love your books. Like, a lot.”

A soft laugh left you, and his heart nearly stopped, did a flip, hit his insides and went back to its place.

“That’s really sweet. Thank you, Anakin.” You took the book from his shaking hands and flipped to the title page. Gosh, you said his name in the most sweetest way possible. Was it how heaven felt like? “Do you want me to write anything specific?”

“Uh, um—” He cursed himself for being so awkward, so nervous. He was a grown man for Force’s sake. “I—your characters. The way you write them. It’s like they’re real.” He pushed his glasses up again, desperate to say something intelligent but it made no sense in the sudden conversation. “I feel like I know them. Like they’ve… changed me.”

Your pen stilled. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his.

For a second, he panicked—had he said too much? Sounded too intense? Was it too weird? But then, your expression softened

“That’s probably the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Anakin swore his heart exploded.

You smiled, scribbling something inside his book before sliding it back to him. “I’m really glad my stories meant something to you, Anakin.”

He stared at the book, at your signature, but what was the most important was the small note beneath it:

«To Anakin—thank you for feeling my words the way they were meant to be felt.»

His throat went dry.

Before he could even think, the words slipped out. “Would you—” He swallowed hard. “Would you ever want to talk about writing? Over coffee? Or tea—if you like tea, that’s totally fine, I—”

Your lips twitched. “Are you asking me out?”

His face burned. “I—uh—”

But then you grinned.

Oh.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty

Maybe at the end of the day this was a story worth writing, too.

[acynicalsweetheart]

Dad Jimmy and daughter reader sitting in his lap at a family gathering (like a holiday or smth idk) while she tries not to draw attention to him (not so) subtlety groping her and grinding on her under the blanket. By the time he finishes, he thinks he got away with it without his daughter or anyone else noticing..😇

hai made it curly’s family gathering cause jimmy’s family is dead or deadbeat to me… omfg somebody lynch me i am so bad at following requests sorry. i did NOT see the part ab daughter reader not noticing gosh. anyway… very new to writing jimmy so it kind of really sucks.. read cws!!

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, daddy-daughter incest, non/dub-con, etc etc

“Would you look at that? The couch is all full!” Curly exclaims like he is a fucking sitcom character. Kind of how it goes when he tries to make a joke. Painfully unfunny, that is. His family members sit there like lobotomees, squeezing out half-aborted chuckles.

Jimmy plays along just to spite you.

“Too bad,” he pats your cheek twice—hard, ���looks like you’ll have to sit on daddy’s lap tonight.” 

The way the color instantly drains from your face is too good, looking ghastly within a matter of seconds. Curly’s entire family be damned, his fourtieth-something birthday be damned, Jimmy feels like fucking the life back into your corpse.

Right here and now, ideally. He has no clue where that thought came from but it’s welcomed. 

“I’m sure there’s… a spare chair or something I can use.” You look around frantically, eyes scanning the living room like Jimmy having you in his lap is a fate worse than death. They land on your savior. “Right, Uncle Curly?” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Curly offers you a quick glance, finishes setting up a shitty movie he for some very peculiar fucking reason wants to watch with his family and Jimmy, to celebrate his midlife crisis milestone. 

Uncle Curly likes you, sure, but he likes Jimmy better. Takes about half a brain cell to see that. 

Jimmy grunts when he pulls you onto his lap, partly ‘cause he’s nearing Curly’s age (old) and partly ‘cause his dick is already kicking up a fuss in his pants. 

He hopes you can feel it.

“Dad? What are you—what is that?” You whisper obnoxiously loud when he grips your hips, moving his own against your ass. “Oh my gosh, is that your—“

“Shut up.” He interrupts before you can finish your babbling, it’s like you want to get smacked. 

Jimmy doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just did it ‘cause he felt like it and now he’ll keep going. Wring every possible reaction out of you because goddamn this birthday party is fucking boring. Where is the booze? The real booze, not some pesky little pint of wine. Curly’s an alcoholic, isn’t he? 

“You’re so gross!” 

Gross? Jimmy hasn’t even fucking done anything yet. Typical stuck-up bitch you are. Like being within several feet of your vicinity is enough to warrant a restraining order against him, an anti-Jimmy movement of some sort. 

He’ll show you how gross he can really be. 

Arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from escaping, Jimmy fumbles with the blanket - purely ‘cause he doesn’t want Curly’s entire bloodline to see his dick - and heads for the zipper of his—

“Is everything okay over there?” Goldilocks interjects. 

You flail like a toddler two seconds away from drowning, teasing Jimmy by putting all that friction against his cock. “Dad’s trying to—“

Trying to what? Fuck you? Maybe. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Jimmy pinches your cheek and you grimace. “Think it might be that time of the month for the little lady here, if you know what I mean.”

He hears one of Curly’s relatives snicker under their breath. 

Your mouth falls open, nearly gasping out of shock. “That’s—“ 

Jimmy knows exactly what you were going to say. That’s so not true! Dad, that’s so fucking mean and unfeminist and bla bla bla, patriarchy, oppression—

“Alright,” Curly’s turn to cut you off, speaking directly to Jimmy like he owns you. That’s right. “Just try to keep it down, yeah? Movie’s just started.” And that’s that. 

“Dirty fucking bitch,” Jimmy presses his mouth to your ear, talking directly into it to feel you squirm against him. “You want them to see, huh?”

“No…” Please. Your panties are probably soaked already, comes with being related to Jimmy—you’re all fucked up.

His hands slide up your bare thighs, feeling the skin prickling up underneath his touch. You kick your legs, nearly hitting some Curly 2.0 in the process. Jimmy keeps going till he finds your mound and he is right like always—you’re wet.

No time to waste, Jimmy creeps under your panties, shamelessly rubbing away at your sticky little pussy, the slickness mildly audible. You’re gripping his wrist so hard beneath the blanket that Jimmy’s surprised he can’t feel your nails break. 

“Dad,” it’s halfway a whine, halfway a whisper, “dad, stop.” 

You’re terribly quiet, not kicking up a big enough fuss for someone who seemingly wants him to stop. Jimmy sinks two of his fingers past your entrance, feeling you stiffen in his lap like you’ve never had anything up there before. Can’t be true, you’re sucking him in like a fucking vacuum cleaner. 

“No.” He picks up his pace, your cunt squelching around his fingers under the blanket, damn near talking louder than the actors in the movie. 

You struggle to contain your own noises, clamping down around his fingers already. 

“You wish it was my cock inside you.” Jimmy tells you matter-of-factly, nips at your earlobe. 

“Eww,” you whimper, a brat even when getting fucking molested. Who raised you? ‘Cause it sure wasn’t Jimmy. 

He doubles down, “you want Uncle Curly to see what dad’s doing to you?” You squeeze him tighter, cheek hot against his. Of course.

Or one of his sisters perhaps. He wants to say… Wavy? Maybe the old fuck casually hogging up two couch cushions that may or may not be Curly’s father. Jimmy should thank him, really, wouldn’t be feeling your pussy gripping onto his fingers for dear life if it wasn’t for him. 

“Quit acting like you didn’t want this,” Jimmy’s fingers find your spongy spot, hitting it over and over ‘cause he knows it’ll have you cumming around him. “You’ve just been aching for daddy to touch you here, haven’t you?” Is all it takes for you to snap. Dirty fucking slut.

The moans get stuck in your throat, teeth biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as you cum—soaking his fingers and his pants and Curly’s blanket. Jimmy doesn’t stop, grinning at your mortified expression. 

Jimmy pulls out with a sloppy squelch after you’ve come down from your incestual high. You’re still frozen, looking like that bitch from The Shining with your open, unblinking eyes and discombobulation plastered all over your face. 

One of Curly’s sisters, or his mother, shoots him a nasty glare. If she’s so disgusted by Jimmy now, she’d have a fucking heart attack if she saw the other guys at the trailer park. Jimmy may look like a hobo from time to time, nothing he doesn’t already know. Plastic whores and their plastic attitudes. They disgust him. 

Braindead freaks. Jimmy practically fucked his daughter right under their noses and they didn’t notice a thing. 

“Act up like that again and I’ll pull my cock out, stick it in your hole for everybody to see.” He wipes off your cum on your thighs, pulling his hands away to keep you wrapped up in his lap. “No blanket.” 

[short-honey-badger]

Hi. I saw people sending you requests so I'm gonna try my luck. Can you write soulmate au or A/B/O MiSham x reader? 💗

Hello love! I'm so sorry this took a bit to get out! It's short and sweet, but I wanted to keep this first part more fluff than smut this time around. Anywhere, I really hope you enjoy!

Wine, Mint, and Leather

Pairings! Misham x Female Reader

Warnings! Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics are used. Alpha Shamrock and Omega Mihawk and Reader!

Masterlist for Shamrock-> HERE

The scents that lingered in the air have Shamrock stalling, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in the air. There were omegas about, and while the other gender usually didn't affect the god knight, these two did. The stronger of the two scents smelt like a fine wine, a subtle fruitiness that made his mouth well up with saliva. The other complemented the first, delightfully mint that made his alpha instincts sing in response.

Shamrock turned on his heel, barking orders at his subordinates to continue to their destination, before he sucked in another deep breath and followed the scents. He dipped down alleyways and side roads until he came upon a hole in the wall bar where the scent of wine and mint were the strongest. They are so strong, so overwhelming that Shamrock feels his own scent leak out in response to them, leathery with a hint of steel that mingled perfectly with the omegas.

It wasn't unheard of for an alpha to be drawn to more than one omegas, but it was a rarity nonetheless. It came as a surprise to him that he of all people would even be drawn to an omega, but he supposed the world worked in mysterious ways.

Shamrock pushes the door open, finding the bar dark and awash with a multitude of scents, all coiling tightly against one another. He shifts through them until he can pinpoint the two that had drawn him here in the first place. He shifts through the crowds of patrons and, at the back of the bar, finds exactly who he is looking for.

He recognizes one of them. The make is tall with perfectly groomed facial hair, deep, ringed golden eyes, and an open coat that showed off lean muscles and olive skin. The other was a woman, all soft skin and gentle curves. You were curled into the other omega's side, a teasing smile on your lips as you whispered in Dracule Mihawk's ear. Shamrock watched the male omega huff and slid his eyes down to meet yours, hand curling along your jaw before he drew you in for a kiss.

Shamrock had never wanted something so badly in his entire life. His cock throbbed in his pants at the sight, eyes going wide, and he found himself waltzing forward without thinking, wanting, no needing, to be closer to the two omegas. He isn't prepared for them to turn as one and look at him, their eyes burning with knowing interest.

“Finally,” the smaller omega scoffs, and Shamrock gulps, eyes going a little wide when you soften, giving him a smile, “It's about time you showed up.

Mihawk eyes him, his face impassive, but his scent curls out and around Shamrock, welcoming the alpha that now stands at the edge of their table.

“We've been waiting for you,” Mihawk murmurs and dips his head at the chair beside you. Shamrock's rear end parks there without a second thought, mind, and body thoroughly consumed by the two omegas before him. His nose is stuffed full with the smell of wine and mint, so focused and entranced that the world disappears around him.

“Waiting for me?”

The question is soft, the redhead feeling out of his element and off kilter. He usually would never show such doubt, such uncertainty, but Shamrock has never been affected like he is now.

“Mhm, we could scent you before you even made landfall,” you murmur, and offer your wrist, smiling when the alpha snaps it up with a gentle hand, “Our missing half.”

Shamrock raises your hand to his face, nose pressing into the small scent gland that sits just under your flesh. He breathes deep, eyes shuttering when your scent assaults his nose, and feels every fiber of his being relaxed like he’s sunk into a warm bath. Gently, he pulls the omega closer, and you happily stand so that he can take your seat, humming in delight when Mihawk slides an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap.

The alpha is thankful that this bar is dark, and the spot that his omegas have chosen is shadowed and tucked away from everyone else, giving the three of you enough privacy that Shamrock doesn't feel like he is exposed. Now that he is closer to Mihawk, the older man offers his own wrist, and the redhead gladly takes the offer, inhaling the delicate scent of fruity wine. Having the two of you so close is heady, and Shamrock never wanted to leave.

“Alpha,” you coo and shivers cascade down Shamrock's back. He cracks his eyes open and finds you peering at him with a pout on your lips, “Your turn.”

Blinking, he cocked his head, confused. His muddled mind wasn't sure what the smaller omega meant, though his confusion cleared when you reached forward with your free hand, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrist and gently tugging it toward your face. A rumbling grumble escaped from his chest when you pressed your face against his scent gland, eyes going heavy and arousal shooting up his spine when you pressed your lips against his flesh.

You sigh at the scent of your alpha. He smells like fine leather with a hint of sea salt, the perfect compliment to your and Mihawk's more delicate omega pheromoans. You can't help but flick your tongue out to taste the heady scent, a shiver running up your spine when the alpha rumbles across from you at your teasing.

“You'll send him into a rut if you aren't careful, my love,” Mihawk murmurs and you feel the arm around your waist tighten, though when you pull away from your alpha, and look at the other omega, you find that his golden eyes have darkened into molten lava. You give him a cheeky grin and then let go of the thick wrist of your alpha, allowing him to pull his hand back, though it doesn't go far. You watch Shamrock rest his hand against Mihawk's knee, fingers curling possessively.

“We should leave,” Shamrock rumbles and flicks his burgundy eyes, meeting your own and Mihawk's, “I do not wish for anyone to see us like this, and I want to scent both of you properly.”

The thought of having this powerful man run those big hands and soft lips along every sensitive inch of your flesh makes you hum in delight. Mihawk makes a sound of interest behind you, lips tugging up in a smile so slight that one would miss it if they weren't looking.

“My ship is docked in the harbor. We can go there,” the former warlord says and pats the side of your thigh, signaling for you to hop up out of his lap. You do some reluctantly but are swiftly scooped up by the redhead when he stands, the alpha holding you against his chest as he follows Mihawk out of the bar and back to the shore. Anticipation burns in his stomach, for while he had not expected to find not one, but two omegas on this random island, Shamrock is glad that he did.

@mit-suri @mfreedomstuff @sanjisleggy

[xoxochb]

Prue! Prueprueprueprue!!! Vampire Percy, hiding his vamp from a human/fae/elf sweet girl, until he's out of blood and requires ✨️sustenance✨️

got a lil freaky here

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

a first day, a second day, a third day, a fourth day, until the days had become weeks and weeks a month.

and you, percy was well aware, were filled with blood coursing through your veins— from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet.

even better, you were here, directly in front of him, your fingers toying around with a stray flower. one move and he would have as much sustenance for a life time.

but you were his girlfriend of all people, it wouldn’t be fair to suck the blood from your veins when you had been nothing but kind to him.

then again, without it he would die slowly. but, to think about it, if you loved him so much wouldn’t you be so kind as to share?

well, firstly, you weren’t even aware of his natural form— only the gods know how you would react to finding out.

but it was either sit here and suffer until he perishes, or confess and drink your blood happily.

his brain makes the consecutive decision for you.

percy’s head turns in your lap, facing upwards to look at you. he reaches a hand out to twirl a strand of your hair anxiously.

“can I tell you something?”

you place the flower down on the grass. “sure you can.”

he takes in a deep breath. “I may not be exactly who you believe I am.”

your face takes up an expectant expression, ushering him to go on.

“I— well…” either perish or take your blood. “can I do something?”

“uhm… sure, I suppose so.”

percy bites down on his bottom lip, teeth forming and puncturing it, his swipes his tongue over it quickly before you can see.

he takes one of your hands into his hold delicately, the other resting on your upper arm to keep you stable as his mouth brushes your neck.

“percy…” you murmur barely audible.

“relax.”

easy for him to say as you feel sharp canines begin to find your skin. you inhale and close your eyes tightly. you squeeze his hand as they sink into you, most definitely drawing blood from the piercing pain shooting through your veins.

his tongue catches each last drop falling, assuring not even a single bit escapes his mouth. a tear trickles down your cheek, head dizzying. something as dangerous as this, however, should not feel this good.

you tilt your head backwards, allowing him easier access to suck you clean of blood. you release his hand and fist his dark hair, tugging it and eliciting an involuntary moan from his lips, onto your skin— though in this case more so inside of you.

you whisper his name again absentmindedly. this time, his teeth leave your neck. you whine at the loss of contact. his tongue swirls around the area gently to take in the last portions of blood left before rubbing the teeth marks with his thumb.

“you… you… drank my blood.”

“not that much. but if I knew you had tasted that good I would have done that far earlier.”

your brows furrow. “am I going to die?”

percy shakes his head. “no. I won’t allow that.”

his hand in the side of your neck snakes around to the back, pulling your face close to him, mouths brushing, breaths mingling. you murmur his name a third time. he does not respond now, only latches his lips with your own.

the first thing you take notice of his how metallic and salty he tastes, your own blood lingering throughout the hollow of his mouth.

this is so wrong and you know it too.

but you’d be dammned if you’d let him part from you.

his tongue coaxes your lips apart with such delicacy— happily, you oblige to it, letting him taste you from inside of your mouth this time. your naive tummy flutters with each of his movements, disregarding how he had quite literally sucked blood out of you.

but he’s still your boyfriend, isn’t he?

so it doesn’t count.

[mimisempai]

Taking your pain away

Summary

Crowley gets hurt gardening and Aziraphale makes a big deal about it. Is he being a drama queen, or is there something deeper going on?

Notes

Just one more situation to create a bit of fluff...

On Ao3

Rating G - 787 words

"Hold still and let me take care of you."

Aziraphale shoved Crowley, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed.

The demon began to protest vehemently, "Angel! I'm all right! It's just a scratch, stop making such a fuss - ouch!"

Aziraphale had just touched where Crowley's shirt was torn on his hip and raised an eyebrow at Crowley's reaction.

"Just a scratch, huh? Then show me that scratch."

Crowley continued to protest, but the angel cut him off.

"Now!"

After a moment's hesitation, the demon began to lift his shirt, grimacing as the fabric peeled away from the wound.

"Crowley, you've got to be kidding me, this is more than a scratch! Don't move!"

Aziraphale rushed to the bathroom and returned with a damp cloth.

"What happened to you? And don't lie to me, will you?"

While Aziraphale went to fetch a wet towel, Crowley sheepishly told him that a step on the old ladder had cracked while he was trimming an apple tree, and that it was a branch that had cut him when he fell.

"It's just a scratch. It's really nothing to make a drama out of. Just a little miracle and it'll be gone."

Aziraphale wasn't impressed with Crowley's casual tone and scolded, "Off the ladder! You fell off the ladder and you're telling me not to make a fuss? Besides, there's dirt and I don't know what around it, we have to clean it up before we do anything, miracle or no miracle." 

As the angel used the wet cloth to clean the wound, he said in a softer tone, "This is going to hurt."

Crowley couldn't help but hiss in pain as Aziraphale tended to the wound. Then he instinctively grabbed the angel's forearm, digging his nails into the flesh. Once the brief moment of pain had passed, the demon released Aziraphale's arm.

His gaze fell on Aziraphale's tense face as he finished cleaning his wound, before he made a small gesture that caused the wound to close and disappear as if nothing had happened.

Without a word, the angel got up, rummaged through the closet, and returned with a clean shirt. Still without a word, he helped Crowley take off the torn shirt and put on the clean one.

At his silence, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm to make him sit down beside him.

"Angel? Why are you angry? Talk to me."

Aziraphale mumbled something between his teeth that Crowley didn't understand.

"Can you repeat that, please?

Aziraphale looked up at him and said more clearly, "I hate to see you hurt."

"I'm sorry."

Aziraphale shook his head.

"There's nothing you can do about it. But sometimes I wonder how many times it must have happened to you without me knowing."

"Not as much as you think. I mean, they're not exactly soft in hell, but as far as I know, you haven't been spared by your own side either."

"Don't change the subject. I'm serious about this. I hate to think of you suffering in any way."

Crowley didn't answer, but stepped back to sit against the headboard, then stretched out his arms toward Aziraphale.

"Come here, Angel."

Aziraphale climbed onto the bed and, once near the demon, snuggled up to Crowley, resting his head on his chest and gently caressing the demon's hip where the wound had disappeared.

After a moment, the angel whispered, "I wish I had the power to make sure that you would never be hurt again, that you would never be in pain again."

Crowley kissed the angel's hair and replied softly, "Even if you can work miracles, there are certain things that are unavoidable. That's life. Human life. The one we choose to live. You won't be able to stop me from tripping over a stone in the middle of the road any more than I could stop a book from falling on your head."

The angel chuckled slightly as the demon continued, "But you'll be there to help me up and heal my scrapped knee, and I'll be there to put the book back in its place and ease your pain. That's all I can promise you."

Aziraphale hummed against the demon's chest before lifting his head to look at him.

Crowley lowered his head until his lips met the angel's in a tender kiss.

As he wrapped his arms around the demon's neck, lost in the sweetness of the moment, a thought crossed the angel's mind. 

Crowley was right.

They didn't know what danger, great or small, lurked around the bend. Their one constant, their one certainty, was the strength of their love, the knowledge that they would have each other no matter what the danger.

And that was enough.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[the-daydreaming-show]

(3.) Dreams Made Heavy.

SUMMARY: It's the celebration of Nyx's first birthday.

Or

Your time in illusion is running out and the past is ending, unable to bear its own weight any longer.

NOTE: I love this chapter because Feyre is so excited to bring the reader into her life and introduce her to her son, it's adorable. Let me know what you think of this chapter and how things are going, I'm always happy to hear your thoughts. As always, English is not my first language so sorry for spelling mistakes and mistakes of the type, any comment on it is welcome if it is respectful. I am always trying to get comfortable and improve my writing in this language. I hope you like it. XOXO Ella

Memories/Thoughts in italics

Dragon Language in bold italics

Previus Part: (2.) EMBRACING ILLUSIONS

AO3 / Story Masterlist

“What lived and died between us—haunts me still.” – «The Chronology of Water: A Memoir» by Lidia Yuknavitch.

Lying on your back in bed, you held the hand-painted parchment invitation above your head, looking up at it with the expression of someone who knew they had flown too close to the sun.

Feyre had painted the invitations herself—each one was different—and, in her words, they were meant as a sort of souvenir, something for each recipient to keep as a memento of the very special occasion that was Nyx’s first birthday. You didn’t know what the others looked like, but you guessed that not all of them had the shadows of three little dragons flying in the corner of the invitation. The boy’s name and what looked like a tiny fingerprint also decorated the small square of parchment, proving that he had helped create it as well. You ran your thumb over the shape of the boy’s print, which seemed to reach out to the three dragons in the corner.

“I told you that you should have brought more of a variety of outfits,” Mayhem reminded you flatly from her spot on the balcony, sitting cross-legged with her dress bunched around her as she settled in for her prayer.

With that, you snapped back to harsh reality, dropping your arms carefully so as not to ruin the invitation, and rolled over onto your stomach, wanting to drown yourself in the mattress as you let out a tearful cry.

As if that was the main problem in the whole situation, you thought, too hopeless to put it into words just yet. Of course, you wouldn't tell your court how deeply you had gotten yourself into the mud of this situation—not when they had clearly warned you it would happen, and not when you had known, deep down, that it would.

But I think it’s what I need, you had told Armin when he warned you about the consequences. And maybe you really did need it. You needed to see the beauty of the life Feyre had now, to let her go, even if it would break your heart. But you didn’t want to. You realized you weren’t sure how you would survive that. Still, there was no way out now—you were up to your neck in the consequences of your own decisions, of what you had asked for. You had wanted to see Feyre one last time, to know she was okay. And now you have gotten your wish.

“I don’t think a kid’s first birthday has much of a dress code, especially if it’s just a family gathering,” Luka added from his spot in the desk chair, practicing his penmanship on different birthday gift card options while experimenting with different ways to hold the pen with his missing finger. “Let's just be grateful if the gift has a decent bow.”

“It’s the birthday of the heir to the court. For all we know, it could be a gala, even if it’s just a family affair. It wouldn’t be unusual for people with the kind of money that the High Lord and High Lady have,” May said without changing her tone as she placed her hands in position to begin her prayer.

“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s shown up in riding gear to an event like that, either,” Luka whispered, focusing on his movements on the paper.

“What’s wrong with my outfits?” you finally asked, wanting to divert the conversation, lifting your head from the pillow. “They’re all very nice and comfortable.”

“And they all smell like ash and burnt leather,” Mayhem stated before beginning to whisper her affirmations.

You gulped. You needed something to do, and figuring out party etiquette suddenly sounded like a great activity. You didn’t say anything, and no one paid you any mind as you got out of bed and walked out of the room, into the hallways of the house, on a mission to find Nesta and question her about what she might be planning for her nephew’s birthday party. Would she give him a birthday card or just the bow? Who was going? And any other information she was willing to share so that your anxiety could drown in the comfort of knowing a little more about what to expect.

When you had offered to give Feyre Nyx’s gift so she could take it to him, she had ended up handing you that beautiful invitation with the child’s name, time, and place for the party. But she had told you that the birthday hadn’t happened yet, and giving gifts or celebrating early was a no-no in mortal culture, as it was considered bad luck. So, she couldn’t accept the gift, and instead, she had invited you to the party, pulling the invitation out of her pocket and handing it to you.

You told yourself that you wanted to see if Feyre was happy, to see if everything was as it seemed. This is the perfect opportunity to do so. Don’t complain. You repeat to yourself as you walk.

As you turned into a hallway, you came across Morrigan walking toward you.

“You look like a woman on a mission,” Morrigan declared as she approached. “May I help you with it?”

“Indeed, you can,” you replied with a knowing smile. Morrigan simply followed suit.

Morrigan took you out of the house the next morning with Mayhem in tow. Your bodyguard had refused to let you go alone, following you in deathly silence despite your insistence that you could manage on your own.

It was interesting to see your friend, Mayhem—thin, pale as a ghost, with long, straight dark hair falling past her waist and piercing eyes like stone—contrast with Morrigan, who was tall, blonde, and radiant, her smile dressed in reds and golds as she walked elegantly through the city. Morrigan talked a lot, while May watched her out of the corner of her eye, expressionless, merely analyzing. She took you both shopping, exchanging gold for the currency used at court.

“Personally, this outing suits me well. I don’t know what I’ll wear yet, and if Feyre paints a picture of the occasion, I want my nephew to see that his favorite aunt was the best-dressed since before he could even remember,” the blonde commented, linking her arm with yours as she walked.

“At this point, the only standard I have is that it not be riding clothes, as has been widely pointed out,” you replied, casting an accusatory look at Mayhem, who simply shrugged, knowing she wouldn’t regret her insistence.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with that—you need more variety in your wardrobe.” Morrigan shot May a knowing look, which she didn’t return. Instead, your friend put on a pitying expression and looked away. Morrigan, however, didn’t seem offended or put off by her reaction. “Uh, let’s start with this store. It’s one of my favorites.”

Morrigan pulled your arm into a sudden U-turn that nearly made you trip, while Mayhem hurried to catch up, trying to return to your side as quickly as possible. You managed to straighten up before entering the store, where a kind woman immediately greeted Morrigan by name, and the scent of lavender filled your nostrils.

Your escort broke away from you to chat about the occasion she needed an outfit for, expressing her excitement about the birthday, while you and Mayhem wandered slowly through the store together.

You quickly let Mayhem take the lead, walking ahead of you and browsing options on your behalf, given your clear lack of enthusiasm and ideas after the first two rows of hangers. You rejected skirts of any length—not because you didn’t like them, but because riding a dragon in them often led to painful scrapes on your legs. And since you never knew when you’d be flying Balerion, you avoided them whenever possible.

Instead, you picked out a loose-fitting pair of pants. While they wouldn’t be ideal for riding due to the excess fabric, they would suffice in an emergency. You left Mayhem to decide on the color and wandered toward the shirts, where Morrigan was supposed to be—though you couldn’t see her among the hanging clothes.

Taking advantage of the illusion of privacy, you asked a question.

“Morrigan, will you give the birthday boy a card along with your gift?” You spoke into the air, waiting patiently for an answer as you admired the shirts, t-shirts, and tops around you. But when no immediate response came, you suddenly felt the need to justify your question. “I know he can’t read—it’s only his first birthday. But Fey enjoys keeping memories.”

“First of all, I’m giving him too many presents to include a card with each one.” You jumped in place when her voice sounded much closer than expected. “Second, call me Mor. And third—” Morrigan rounded the corner of the same row of hangers you were hiding behind, looking at you in amusement. “Fey?”

You felt like a deer caught in headlights. Or rather, like Balerion when you caught him stealing cattle.

Mor, carrying several red and purple dresses in her arms, walked toward you with a friendly smile. Mayhem, as silent as your anxiety, appeared at your side, making you glance over as she placed three pairs of pants in your arms, giving you a knowing look.

Are you okay? her eyes asked as she carefully arranged the clothes in your arms, hangers included. You nodded quickly while she adjusted the garments on your elbow.

“Yes, it’s—” You swallowed, realizing your mouth was dry, then turned to Mor. “It’s what I called her when we were kids. Pronouncing ‘Feyre’ was too much for me back then—my country accent kept me from being understood.”

Mayhem settled next to you, browsing through the pants among the shirts. You mimicked her, and Morrigan wasted no time joining in, glancing at the pants in your arms before helping with the search.

“You had an accent?” Mor asked casually. “Sometimes I swear I hear something in Feyre’s tone, but not enough to place it. Is that it? Did she have one?” She then lifted the sleeve of a nearby shirt, holding it against the fabric of one of the pants to check the match, only to let it go with a frown.

“No, actually, in all the years I knew her, she never quite managed to shake off her posh, aristocratic accent. She sounds pretty normal now—I guess time has won in that regard,” you explained, recalling little Feyre elegantly asking how to set up a rabbit trap in the woods. Even now, the memory was amusing. Morrigan must have agreed because she let out a genuine laugh.

“And your accent? What happened to it?” Mor asked, looking up from the shirts to meet your gaze. This time, you didn’t avoid her eyes or her question. Instead, you met her gaze and answered.

“Courtesans with accents aren’t well regarded unless they sound ‘exotic,’ and I didn’t fall into that category by any standard. So, I was trained until I lost it,” you explained simply, turning toward another rack of more casual tops. Mayhem mirrored you without thinking, even though none of the clothes in front of her now matched the outfit she had been planning with the pants.

As you browsed side by side, Mayhem silently took your hand, squeezing your fingers. You looked at her. She smiled sadly—a quiet comfort, an “I understand you”. Because even though Mayhem had never been trained as a courtesan, when she was raised to be a hired assassin for a slave master in the bay, they had done the same thing to her as they had to you. They trained her to forget who she was and become what was expected of her.

“What was she like?” Morrigan asked. You had almost forgotten she was standing next to you, but you turned to her, murmuring in confusion.

“Feyre, when you were children. What was she like?”

You thought for a moment. You could have said more if you had started, though at the end of the day, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you genuinely believed the answer you ended up giving her.

“Not much different from now,” you pointed out softly, to which Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “But smaller, of course, and with an insatiable need to learn.”

“And with an elegant accent?” Morrigan smiled mischievously.

“Yes, my lady.” The phrase, mimicking the elegant, exaggerated tone Feyre used to have as a child, made Morrigan burst into laughter.

“She sounded like that?!?” she asked between giggles.

“Don’t tell her I told you—she always said it was my imagination. But I swear to anyone that she sounded exactly like that,” you told her, while May, noticing that you were calmer, returned to searching for shirts to match the pants.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” Morrigan assured, her eyes glinting with honesty and amusement, a look that went unnoticed by you. “Come on, you need some good boots for those pants.”

With that, Morrigan led you toward the stairs of the store, May hurrying behind both of you, shirts in hand, as you headed up to the second floor where the shoes were.

To Mayhem's bewilderment, Morrigan made sure to give—and impose—her opinions on the outfit the black-haired girl was putting together for you, quickly realizing that you had little drive or interest in making choices yourself, trusting their judgment without much thought. As the day went on, you got the impression that the blonde had started to genuinely enjoy debating Mayhem’s choices, gradually drawing her into longer discussions, getting her to argue more and more as the hours passed.

You picked out the pants from the first store, but May wasn’t convinced by anything else there, so the three of you scoured nearly every shop in Velaris to piece together your outfit. Jewelry became the biggest battleground between Morrigan’s yin and Mayhem’s yang, reaching its peak when May delivered a twelve-word speech to Morrigan about why silver jewelry suited you better than gold. Morrigan’s defeat did nothing to deter her—if anything, she seemed to enjoy it. When you finally walked out with the silver jewelry May had carefully selected, your two shopping companions each latched onto one of your arms, and off you went.

“I’ll pick you up at the House. And don’t even think about putting those pants on that beast’s saddle.” That was the last thing she said before leaving you in the living room of the House of Wind—then she disappeared without another word.

You wished you had put on a riding suit. Leather would have made you feel safer than the soft, airy fabric of the fancy pants you had bought. You regretted the logic that had led you to avoid Mayhem accompanying you—and the fact that it had worked.

“If I’m going to be killed at the birthday party, there’s nothing you can do. It’s a gathering of the most powerful beings on this continent—and all the continents—so it probably won’t make any difference whether you’re here or not.”

You were right. Mayhem knew that. But once you arrived, you realized that her silent support would have been invaluable. Mor had dragged you into the house happily, as if there was nothing wrong with your presence. Yet you could feel the guests’ wary gazes, and soon after, she left you alone—standing at the entrance to the living room with your gift in hand—while she excitedly went to greet the other guests. There was no way to feel balanced, but at least now you knew that it wasn’t just your side that was the problem.

Someone called your name, and before you knew it, Elain Archeron was in front of you, wrapping you in a hug.

“Hi,” you greeted her tentatively, trying to hug her back without dropping the gift in your hands. The gift was a small, handmade wooden chest carved with stars and the moon, barely bigger than your hand, wrapped with a perfect bow—one that Luka had managed to tie despite having one less finger than usual. He had been very proud of it.

“Hello,” Elain replied, pulling away and looking at you with emotion in her eyes. “How are you?”

A glimpse of the human life she once had—that’s what this was, you thought. It was no secret in your court how unhappy the middle Archeron was about her life as a High Fae, and how she openly longed to be human again. Elain was not comfortable in her own skin. You could understand that, and you smiled back at her because of it.

“Well, it was refreshing to have a change of scenery after so much time in the desert,” you commented softly, watching as she looked at you intently before hooking her arm around yours and gently pulling you toward an armchair in the empty living room.

“I’ve seen the dragons in the sky since you arrived,” she explained, smiling as they sat down peacefully. “They seem to enjoy the mountains, and the blue one always seems to stay near the flowers.”

“Yeah, they’re not used to seeing so many colors,” you explained, carefully placing the gift on your lap and making sure the bow didn’t shift from its perfect position.

“Balerion is the oldest, right? He’s quite large compared to the others,” she commented softly, her curiosity genuine.

“Of those who accompanied me here, yes, he’s the oldest. He was born in the volcanoes, but he’s the second-born of all the dragons—they have an older sister and a younger one,” you explained calmly. Elain listened attentively, and you didn’t mind. You loved talking about your dragons. “The other two that came with me are Caraxes and Dreamfyre. They hatched in the desert.”

“You need to stop pestering the poor woman with questions,” Nesta’s voice cut in as she sat sideways at the head of the chair. “She’s been obsessed ever since you flew over the city when you arrived, and she won’t stop asking me questions,” she added, taking a sip of her fruit juice.

“And you have no answers, Nesta,” Elain complained, turning her gaze back to you. “The blue one of the two—the middle one. What is its name? I always see it flying over the flower meadows outside the city.”

“Her name is Dreamfyre. The flowers in the desert—the few that grow—don’t have much of a scent, so the flowers here fascinate her. That’s why she’s always camping out in the meadows,” you explained. Elain seemed ecstatic, her eyes lighting up at the information, but before she could say anything else, another voice interrupted the conversation.

“Elain, I told you not to pester her with questions as soon as she got here,” Feyre scolded, sounding somewhat embarrassed as she approached you at a quick pace. She was wearing a dress. “Sorry, she’s been obsessed with them ever since you arrived.”

“That’s what Nesta told me. But don’t worry, it’s nice to talk about them out of curiosity,” you commented, smiling softly at Elain.

It’s nice to talk about them as if they were nothing more than weapons to be used in war, you wanted to say, but that would be saying too much.

Elain, seeing that her questions didn’t bother you, prepared to ask another, but Feyre’s hand suddenly appeared in both of your fields of vision, drawing your attention away from your curiosity. Standing in front of you, dressed in the style of her court, her hair half-up and decorated with pearl stars in a style very similar to Nesta’s—though with more hair cascading down her back—Feyre offered you her hand, a gleam in her eyes.

“Come,” she said, gently taking your hand and pulling you toward her. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

Feyre lifted you off the couch and led you down a hallway that stretched deeper into the house. The sounds of the party faded as the steady tug of her hand guided you through the house, and you nervously held your gift to your chest the entire way.

The silence of the house was suffocating as you moved forward, and you became hyper aware of the way she wouldn’t let go of your hand. In a sudden turn that took you by surprise, Feyre took the opportunity to intertwine your fingers more firmly, and you didn’t know what disturbed you more—the touch of another human being, something you had grown sensitive to since leaving the volcano, or the fact that it was her hand holding yours. The one who hid so many secrets from you that simply being in her presence made you feel tainted. You felt disrespectful.

You two climbed the stairs and then turned the final corner of the path, at which point you saw Cassian and Azriel, both casually standing on either side of a particular door. Guarding. That’s when you realized, with the same feeling as someone who had just received a punch to the stomach, who you were about to be introduced to. You quickly adjusted the gift in your hand, praying that the bow hadn’t shifted from its place when you pressed it against your chest, and Cassian waved at you as you walked past him, entering the room.

There was a huge stained glass window that offered a beautiful view of the mountains and the meadow of flowers Elain had mentioned earlier. From there, you could see your three dragons in the distance. Standing in front of the stained glass and looking at them was Rhysand, with little Nyx sitting on his hip, pointing and babbling. You stood in your spot, watching the child interact with his father, squeezing Feyre’s hand, torn between your own decision.

You looked at her, as if ready to lend a helping hand if she was sure of what she was going to do. After almost a decade of not seeing each other, you wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t feel comfortable introducing her son. But she was looking at you with an excited smile, genuinely happy that you were there about to do what you were going to do, and guilt closed your throat as you let her happily lead you over to where Rhysand was holding the child by the window. He turned to greet you as soon as he heard your footsteps, though you had no doubt he had known you were there long before. He smiled softly every time your gaze met as you approached. He didn’t look uncomfortable either; in fact, he seemed the calmest of the three because Feyre was vibrating with excitement and you were almost frozen with fear. If he felt uneasy about the situation, he didn’t show it for a second. When he greeted you by name as you reached his side, you managed to sense that the arrangement held back a little too strongly.

The bow, you scolded yourself as you breathed, looking at him and checking the state of the bow.

Nyx noticed his mom standing next to him and reached out to her as he babbled, and Feyre closed the distance between them, happily receiving him and resting him on her hip. She whispered your name excitedly as she looked at the chubby boy in her arms, then raised her head to smile.

“This is Nyx,” she proudly introduced, then pointed at you softly, drawing the boy’s attention in your direction. “Nyx, this is y/n.”

The pride in her voice and the smile on her face as she approached you with the child in her arms were undeniable, and it was also the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. At that moment, you panicked; you didn’t show it, but you looked at Rhysand, trying to convey: This is the moment where you get protective of your child or something and end this encounter. But the idiot was staring at his wife and child, mesmerized.

“Say hello, Nyx,” Feyre asked sweetly, moving closer to you and leaving you no choice but to accept the situation. Ever since you had met Rhysand, you had tried not to think too much around him because of the information you had received about his abilities, but now you could only think about wanting to know what he was thinking. It had been planned that something very different would happen, and you had even been advised not to bring the gift for Nyx because it could be taken the wrong way. Yet Rhysand didn’t seem to be reacting to the situation, which made you more anxious than anything. Meanwhile, little Nyx, with his chubby hand, made a greeting motion towards you along with a little sound that you assumed was the closest he could get to saying hello.

“Hello,” you greeted back, shifting uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. “Umm, I brought you a gift; it’s some toys.”

“I’m sure you can’t get enough of those. Right, my love?” Feyre ran her hand through the boy’s curly black hair, giving you a moment to admire him more closely.

You noticed two things. The boy’s wings weren’t in sight, which meant they were either hidden or he had already developed the ability to hide them. He was the spitting image of his mother. Yes, he had his father’s hair, skin, and reportedly wings, but it was Feyre’s eyes, color, and shape, as well as his nose and the shape of his lips.

“He looks just like you,” you pointed out, reaching up to run a finger over the freckles on the boy’s nose, just as you used to do with Feyre. The little boy looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

“Really?” Feyre asked, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Yes. It’s a mini you, Fey.” You assured her without looking at her. Feyre didn’t say anything else, but you could feel her beaming with happiness; her enthusiasm was almost contagious, to the point that you smiled softly at the child who was watching you intently. Nyx reached out his hand towards you, pointing and looking at his mother, asking a silent question, to which Feyre repeated your name. The baby babbled and looked at you, as if waiting for you to answer.

Rhysand decided to make a move at that moment. He stood next to Feyre and met your gaze before the questions began.

“May I?” he said, pointing to the wooden trunk you still held in your hand. You handed it to him without much thought, your hands feeling the loss of something to hold onto. You missed your gloves and regretted not putting on any rings.

Rhysand pulled at one of the strips of the undone bow, all under your watchful eye. Feyre peeked out a little to see as he removed the small latch from the trunk and lifted the lid, revealing your gift. Inside the trunk, resting on a padded base, were three toy dragons, carved in intricate detail from wood and with polished black stone eyes.

“They’re very popular in the bay. I chose these because I thought that since Nyx would probably be able to see them through the window, bringing him the same ones he would see would be more appealing than a regular dragon. Maybe he would enjoy them more. The kids in the bay even collect them, so...” you explained hurriedly as you watched Rhysand pull out the one that was Balerion and stare at it.

“They’re beautiful,” Feyre whispered breathlessly, pulling mini Caraxes out of the box and looking at the carved wood intently.

Rhysand and Feyre seemed fine with the gifts; they hadn’t moved the boy’s toys away, so you assumed they considered them safe. But the opinion that mattered to you was Nyx’s. So you found yourself staring at little Nyx expectantly, hoping he would like your gift.

You weren't lying when you said they were popular in the bay. Of your adult dragons, who constantly flew over the bay and its cities, all of them had been immortalized as wooden toys in countless numbers by this point, for children to play with and enjoy. It was rare to see a child on the street who wasn't walking with a wooden dragon in hand or one within quick reach, either in the hand of one of their companions or hidden in a pocket or bag.

Sure, there were more expensive gold or silver versions sold to high-born children, but those were the ones you saw on the streets all the time, and they were the ones you enjoyed the most. You thought wood was the most worthy material to immortalize your dragons in; there was something about it that felt more alive than any metal. You had your own collection, as apprentice carpenters who learned to make them would give you the ones that failed to meet their standards so you could see if a dragon that looked like that would ever be born.

You had bought those three from an old carpenter who refused to die and continued to work on his craft with passion. He had been recommended to you on the streets, and he had ordered all three personally. The man hadn't made toys in years, according to his words, but he had made them for free despite your complaints and had exceeded the expectations you had for his work.

Nyx set her gaze on the dragon in Feyre's hand, looking at it for a second before glancing at the one Rhysand held. She reached out her hand towards the mini Balerion with eagerness, almost breaking out of her mother's arms to reach it.

“Looks like there’s already a favorite,” Rhysand laughed, letting Nyx reach for the toy in his hand. When she did, Nyx held the dragon in both hands, looking at it as she babbled excitedly. She shifted in place to face you and held out her hand with the dragon, babbling something in a questioning tone.

“Balerion,” you said, and it was immediately met with a determined babble.

“Bababa,” the boy said, looking closely at the toy, then immediately glancing at the dragon that Feyre still held in her other hand. He let go of Balerion without thinking and grabbed the other dragon. Rhysand managed to catch the toy before it fell. Again, he offered the toy to you with a mumbled question, grabbing it by the neck roughly, which you found funny. The long neck of Caraxes’ lizard was very different from the rest of your dragons; you called it Wyrm because of that.

“Caraxes,” you said, playing with your fingers and waiting patiently.

“Carrare,” Nyx repeated, stretching out the "r" so that it spit a little onto Feyre’s sweater. Rhysand offered him the third toy before he could ask for anything, pulling mini Caraxes from her hand to break his fall. The process repeated itself: Nyx offered the dragon to you, and you stammered in question.

“Dreamfyre,” and this time Nyx couldn’t even stammer a syllable; her attempt at pronunciation only got her tongue tied, ending with her tongue sticking out. “Two out of three is very good,” you assured him when he looked at you for approval, smiling sweetly at him. He mimicked the smile before turning around and searching for the missing toys in his hands.

Nyx babbled over to her mother, showing her the toys, and Feyre's attention shifted to the boy, her eyes shining as she looked at the toys and accepted the explanation of their names. It was lovely to see her interact with her son like this, but you soon realized that it left you and Rhysand in an awkward silence, or at least an awkward one for you.

When you glanced at him, checking to see if he was distracted by the sight of his wife as he had been a while ago, you found him staring at you with an expression you couldn't understand. You felt the heat of embarrassment build up in your neck.

“I’m glad he likes them,” you managed to say, looking at him with the softest smile possible. “Even if he stops playing with them, he can use them for decoration; I use them for that.”

“Do you have any of these?” Rhysand asked, his tone amused. Embarrassment crept up your neck and onto your face.

“Yes, I get them as gifts from time to time, and I put them on my mantelpiece,” you answered quickly, turning your full attention back to Feyre.

“I hear he has a taste for carved wood,” Rhysand subtly noted, directing the question at you but feigning indifference to your reaction.

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile and nodded softly, unable to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off if you spoke. The table—that was what he was referring to when he mentioned your taste for carved wood. When he had ordered the piece of furniture, you hadn’t thought that its acquisition would mean much, but once it was installed in the War Room of your mansion on the bay, word had spread that the new queen of Slaver’s Bay had acquired a table carved from wood and inlaid with stone, outlining in detail the shape of the great continent, with the lands and kingdoms of mortals carved into it, and the borders detailed. A huge wooden map, the map of a conqueror.

Everyone knew what that table was for; the cards declaring you queen had been an action long overdue on the continent, and that beautiful piece of art carved in wood was the reason.

“They are beautiful,” Feyre spoke to you, easing the tension out of your shoulders with just those words. “Thank you.”

You nodded with a softer smile this time.

The party officially started when they walked in with the birthday boy. Little Nyx happily passed from arm to arm for the first few minutes after his arrival, receiving hugs and kisses from practically everyone. You became a silent presence during this process, accompanied by a drink and the occasional snack that would allow you to eat because you were hungry, but you wouldn't be able to devour the food as your body demanded because there were so many people.

When people began to clear out around you, you felt like a child, sensing the gaze on your back—how you knew when one of the younger dragons thought to try and attack to see what would happen, or when you were within sight of the wolves in the woods in your youth. The eyes followed you as you walked to the drinks table and helped yourself again to the fruit juice you had been drinking.

The eyes fixed on your back followed you to the open doors in the courtyard, where you leaned on the railing that limited the unevenness of the floor, entering the building and the garden that you suspected was Elain's area. You felt her gaze as if she were looking at a bright red target on your back as she approached you with a calm step, as if she weren't stalking you or didn't care to be obvious in her pursuit.

When Amren stood beside you, the most primal part of you—the one that was more beast than person and as connected to Balerion as if they were one—wanted to growl in threat, and you were sure Balerion was doing it in the mountains, leaving room for you as the threatening sound bounced off his chest and tongue.

“Enjoying the food?” she asked with little kindness or dissimulation of her skepticism towards your presence. “I imagine you have a particular appetite since you brought your beasts to life.”

We are not talking about food. Of course not.

“My appetite is particular, but I only eat what I need,” you assured her absentmindedly.

“And if you are not satisfied, kovesh*? Where will you look to satisfy your appetite?” The question was cruel, accusatory towards you. And you smiled calmly at her because you knew what she was implying with the question.

Once you conquer mortal lands, how do you know you would not want more and look to us, conqueror?

Amren was not out of place. That was why her words did not affect you as much as they should have; you had expected these questions at one time or another. Dragons, as beloved as they were to you, were in the eyes of many like a strong brute, one that few defenses could stop or harm. You had conquered the bay in less than a year with them; you had already proven that you were capable of carrying out the actions necessary to take lands with only dragon fire as a weapon. And when you commissioned the carved table, you made it clear that the conquest of the bay and the liberation of the slaves had not been enough for you. It has not sated your appetite. You had already made the first move to conquer the rest of the continent owned by mortals. You offered peace before unleashing war again, but the statement was firm: you would not back down if the queen did not bend the knee. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, only your appetite for conquest and power moved you to seek to conquer those lands. You knew the truth; you knew what you had seen in the lava and what you wanted to avoid, but you didn't need anyone else to do it.

You sat up straighter and took a step closer to her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Amren stood up straighter, as if ready to fight, but you just stared at the way her hair fell perfectly, framing her sharp jaw and slanted eyes; it was wonderful. Her eyes looked up at you, irritated by your boldness, no doubt. You weren’t sure if you were more irritated because, at this close distance, the height difference between you and her was apparent, even without her heels, or because you reached up and moved a strand of hair from her cheek delicately, leaning carelessly on one elbow on the railing beside you, daring not to fear the infamous second of the Night Court.

“On that side of the sea, dear and stunning Amren, it is not my appetite that is a problem.” You watched her as she blurted out the statement, her tone sweet, finding it adorable how beings like her could not see past their necks and did not understand the truth of life.

It was not you or your dragons. It was their kind, sworn to the gods with the lives of mortals even when the wall had been up for years and were now free to do as they pleased. It was them, not you, who planned to invade and sent their beasts to test the waters on the other side of the unprotected border the wall had left behind.

A name called out to you from inside the house. You turned your head to find Elain walking hurriedly toward you, followed by a man with stubby skin, hair that was more white than blonde, and a face that looked less than happy. Elain quickly hugged your elbow when she reached you, repeating your name with somewhat forced excitement.

“This is Varian,” she pointed to the grumpy male who came to Amren’s side and hugged her around the waist, looking you up and down skeptically. “You’ve been introduced to him; he’s Amren’s boyfriend.”

Elain stared at you, wanting to say something, but you weren’t sure what it was. You looked at Varian and Amren, searching for a clue as to what it was, but Amren had leaned against Varian, looking at you as you supposed she was looking at the people, and Varian was still frowning. You knew who he was and his relationship with her, but you didn’t think it was a state secret, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise or something that serious.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, not sure what else to say, moving your glass of juice in his direction. You're still confused as Elain pulled you into the house. 

“Have you seen Feyre’s paintings? Let me show them!” the girl said hurriedly as you let her lead you.

Elain led you down the hallway of the house, away from the central area. It was long and ended in double glass doors that led to the patio, making it perfectly lit for the paintings hanging on both sides. There were no doors or hallways that branched off from this hallway, only walls displaying Feyre's paintings.

At the beginning was the most recent one. A painting of Rhysand, Fey, and little Nyx when he must have been a newborn was the first one that caught your attention. It was proof of how the talent that had painted wooden drawers, tables, and small wooden figures had evolved wonderfully until it became that divinely illuminated image, with colors brightened by the rays of sunlight that flooded the hallway.

“Wow.”

“I know, right? It gets better every day. Soon we’ll be trying to walk inside its paintings in search of experiencing their beauty,” Elain spoke softly, as if she had lost her breath. You watched her smile at the painting with pride before she pulled you toward the next one.

There was one of the three sisters, along with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, and one of Nyx alone. You were surprised by the one of Mr. Archeron, but you didn’t wince. There were also remnants of all of them individually, and one that depicted them as a whole. A family. At the end of the hallway was a painting leaning against the wall, as if waiting to meet its fate; the nail it should have hung on highlighted the empty spot where it had been or should be hanging.

“Oh, I should get back—”

“Elain, do you mind changing Nyx’s diaper for me?” Feyre’s voice rang out in the hallway. You looked at Elain, confused, not understanding why she wanted to go back, but she just gave you a sad smile before meeting up with Feyre in the hallway and taking the child from her arms.

Nyx didn’t need a diaper change; you could smell it quickly—it was an excuse for Elain to leave. Looking back at you from the hallway, at the place where the painting leaned silently against the wall, that was when Elain realized she wanted to get you out of there.

Feyre slowly approached you as you walked carefully down the hall, moving toward the painting leaning against the wall as if it were an explosive of some sort. Feyre didn't stop you, which you assumed was a sign that she didn’t want to keep it from you but rather wanted to be there when you saw it.

As you stood in front of the painting, you noticed that a corner of the cloth covering it was falling away, revealing the right edge of the canvas. Your breath caught. You recognized the snowy forest you and Feyre had walked through so many times, and the dark, curly hair, just like your mother's, peeking out from beneath the cloth. Feyre reached under your arm and hugged you, holding your hand and interlacing your fingers.

“I made it a few months ago, before you sent the letters,” which was before she knew you were alive. Feyre had painted it thinking you were dead. “When I found out, I repainted it. I wanted to give it to her, but when we sent Mor to the bay with the letter, I thought it would be too much for you. I don’t know the exact circumstances, so I didn’t know how you would take it on top of everything.”

Feyre spoke to you in a whisper, so only you could hear her, but you weren’t able to look at her or answer her, or even return her handshake. You felt her gaze on your profile, full of concern, as if it pulsed out of her to you.

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” she admitted, just like you had a few days ago regarding the gift for Nyx.

But you weren't able to reassure her the same way she had done with you, because she had crossed a line—one you had blocked years ago when you decided to fight for your freedom in the volcanoes, ignoring the emptiness that weighed down and bled in your heart.

You ripped the canvas off the top of the painting's frame with one pull, like tearing off a band-aid while holding your breath, and you couldn't breathe again when you looked at the painting in front of you.

The scene depicted a winter afternoon, with the forest covered in white. Rue, dressed in her clothes to accompany you on hunts when you deemed it safe for her, was half-turned, facing forward, as if watching you as she walked in front of you in the snow. Her hair, a massive, curly mass just like your mother’s, was tied into a makeshift braid. You had never been able to style it the way your mother knew how, so it was loose and low, with many strands flying in the wind around her face as she stood halfway into the forest, looking at you as if you had called out to her not to go ahead on the walk.

You stood there, frozen, feeling the pain in your throat as the lump that had formed there became unbearable, and the burning in your eyes as you refused to cry, despite your body begging for it. You stared at the painting for a long moment while Feyre looked at you, still feeling her concern against your cheek.

Finally, you set your jaw and stared at the floor, blinking rapidly. Feyre rested her hand on your cheek, her thumb caressing your hand, and you were able to squeeze back, turning your knuckles white, but she didn’t complain.

“She looks like she’s saying goodbye,” she finally said, looking back at the painting, and Feyre looked at it too, admiring for the first time the depth of her own act. “Since she left, I haven’t been able to remember her any other way. But I like the ability to remember her this way.”

You didn’t explain to her that the way you remembered her was covered in blood, terrified, and with the feeling of helplessness tearing through your chest. There was no reason to put that on her, but you wanted her to know that the line she had crossed was significant. You might now think that she had left you like that—smiling, with her hair free in the wind, in the middle of the snow that she loved to play in so much and that she missed during her years on the pirate islands. You could imagine that those were her last moments, going into the forest you had accustomed her to so much, where she felt safe, never to return again, becoming part of the nature and the snow of the place.

“Thank you,” you managed to say over the tightness in your throat.

Feyre smiled softly. You felt her warmth as she rested her head on your shoulder, and you stayed like that for a while before going back to the celebration.

You left the painting leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door in your room so that you could see it from your place, sitting in the middle of the bed. You couldn't sleep and had resigned yourself to waking up and asking for some tea.

You didn't notice Mayhem in the room until she was sitting next to you on the bed, the hot cup of tea in her hands. It was only then that you realized she had even come in. You silently thanked her and took the cup from her hands, but she didn't move. She just sat there, and you looked at the cup, your hands, and the painting, constantly shifting your focus among them, but never looking back at her.

A silent understanding formed between the two of you, and Mayhem stayed with you as you drank all your tea. It worked; whether it was the tea or her reassuring presence, when you finished your cup, your eyes closed, and you fell asleep as soon as you laid your head on the pillow.

You dreamed of Rue. You always dreamed of her being scared in her final moments, but that night, for the first time since you lost her, you dreamed of her happiness. You saw her answering you in the forest, playing with the snow. You woke up with the certainty that she had stayed there, happily making snowmen, and also knowing that Feyre knew what she would do here, happy for the rest of the eternity that the Mother had granted her for her sacrifices.

It was time for you to go to your war; the illusions ended here.

*kovesh: It means conqueror in Hebrew, which is the language I have decided to use as a representation of the first language of mortals, without any particular reason other than I do not have the mind to invent a language for this story. All words in this language will be translated by me as best as possible, but if anyone knows the language that I do and sees any flaws in my translations in the future feel free to point it out in the comments.

Next Part: ...

TAG LIST: @pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch @raisam @asweetblueberry2 @kabekusa @throneofsapphics @makayla2036789 @jojodojo02 @kooterz @rcarbo1

[hueningstar]

i cannot stop thinking about spiderman!taehyun… and him saving the reader who also happens to be his classmate. i’d love u forever if u could write smth about it (i’d love u and ur writing anyway <333)

Caught in the Web

Summary : After being attacked on a dark street, you’re saved by none other than Spider-Man—who, to your shock, turns out to be your classmate, Kang Taehyun.

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A/N : omg first of all, ily sm for this idea!!! i could NOT stop thinking about spiderman!taehyun either, so i just had to write this!! something about him being all cool and heroic but still his teasing self??? yeah, i’m obsessed. hope you love this as much as i loved writing it <333 let me know what you think!!

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Pairing : spiderman!Taehyun × reader

Warnings : none!

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The city never sleeps, but neither does Spider-Man.

You clutch your backpack tightly as you hurry down the dimly lit street, the faint sound of footsteps echoing behind you. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Maybe—

A hand grabs your wrist.

You barely have time to react before you're yanked backward, your heart lurching into your throat. Panic floods your system, but before you can scream—

Thwip.

A web shoots from above, latching onto your attacker’s arm. A blur of red and blue swoops down, kicking him away before he’s webbed against a streetlight.

Your knees threaten to give out, but strong arms catch you before you fall.

"You okay?" Spider-Man asks, his voice breathless but steady.

And that voice—God, you know that voice.

Your eyes widen as he steadies you, his masked face tilting slightly.

"Kang Taehyun?" you whisper, and he stiffens.

A pause. Then, through the mask, you hear a low chuckle. "Hah… so much for secret identities."

Your classmate, the boy who sits two rows behind you in physics, the one who always seems just a little too tired during morning lectures… is Spider-Man.

And right now, he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Taehyun exhales sharply, his grip on your arm loosening as he steps back. “You, uh… didn’t hit your head, did you?”

You shake your head, still staring. “No. But—holy shit—you’re actually Spider-Man.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, well. Guess there’s no use denying it now.”

Your brain is still struggling to process everything—the way he saved you in seconds, the fact that your classmate is freaking Spider-Man, the way his voice, even distorted through the mask, still sounds so much like him.

“I mean, I always knew you were good at, like, everything,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “But this? This is next level.”

Taehyun chuckles, but there’s a flicker of worry in his stance. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone. This has to stay between us.”

You raise a brow. “You think I’d just go blabbing about it?”

“Dunno.” He tilts his head. “Depends. Do I trust you?”

You scoff, shoving his shoulder lightly. “I think saving my life earns you a little trust in return.”

His lips twitch behind the mask, like he’s smirking. “Good.”

For a moment, silence stretches between you. The distant hum of the city fills the air, neon lights casting shadows on the pavement. Then, he steps closer.

“I should get you home,” he says, voice softer now. “It’s not safe out here.”

You blink up at him. “You mean, like… carry me?”

Taehyun lifts a brow. “What, scared of heights?”

You scoff. “No. Just—”

Thwip.

A web latches onto the nearest building, and before you can react, he scoops you up effortlessly, one arm secure around your waist.

“Too late,” he murmurs. And then—

You’re soaring.

The city blurs beneath you as he swings through the air, wind rushing past your face. Your stomach flips, a mixture of exhilaration and terror flooding your senses. But Taehyun holds you tight, his grip firm and unwavering.

“Hold on,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me just yet.”

You groan. “Even as Spider-Man, you’re insufferable.”

He just laughs, the sound echoing between the skyscrapers. And for the first time tonight, you feel safe.

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[sqh3e]

what if, chapter one: one and only | wc: 4.1k (proofread but still may be errors sorry) warning: use of the word dummy

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you are on the train heading back to busan, you spent the winter in seoul with friends just cause you had some free time and just ultimately needed a break from busan. you loved the city but sometimes it feels stuffy being there all the time. but the feeling of leaving and returning always puts a familiar smile on your face, you love the nostalgia of returning because when your dad would take you with him on business trips to seoul the feeling of returning home was just a comfort feeling.

you were in seoul for about a month but even returning it felt like you hadn’t been gone that long, you liked that feeling. knowing no matter where you go or how long you stay there busan will always be home. you turn and look out the window getting the view of how beautiful busan is you snap a picture of the view and slide your phone onto your lap. and smile out the window attempting to romanticize your life.

there was still about fifteen to twenty minutes left on the ride until you were officially back, your friend leehan is going to meet you at the train stop. you look around at some of the people on the train some old, some young, some families but this couple in the back of the train in particular caught your attention, occasionally glancing at them looking down at their hands intertwined with each others put a small smile on your face, you were brought back to reality at the sound of your phone dinging but you couldn’t focus on that you were at your train station.

getting out of the seat you walk off the train feeling in your pocket for your phone you pat your pockets and check your bag no phone was in sight, you ask some of the people around “hey! sorry to disturb you but have you seen a blue phone? clear case… with a photo in the back of it sticker on the back, the lock screen is a picture of me and my bunnies.” you explain, causing them to shake their heads “sorry we haven’t, hope you find it though.” they say before walking away.

“of course they hadn’t seen it, we just got off the train.” you mumbled to yourself, before looking around looking for the conductor you walked over to him and started explaining the situation “hey miss slow down, i can hardly understand.” he gave a concerned smile. “please could you just take a few minutes of your time and open the train doors for me? i just want to see if i left my phone there.” you plead, “you young people and your phones,” he sighs “fine.” you smile at him “thank you!”

once the train doors open you look around where you were sitting and in other spots but nothing, “was is my phone…? i’m sure if i dropped it, it would be here…” you mumbled to yourself. you get off the train thanking the conductor before walking off. you walk deep in thought “where could that phone be?” you think to yourself, “y/n!” your friend leehan shouts causing you to look up.

“fuck.” you whispered to yourself, you totally forgot that he was meeting you here “leehan! hi dude.” you shout back walking towards him. “i’ve been calling you for the last twenty minutes,” he said. “yeah i lost my phone just now, i think someone might have stolen it.” you laugh a little, “well uhm… that’s funny?” he says in a confused tone. “well no, but if i don’t laugh i might actually go insane so…” he nodded in response, “do you want to keep looking or just head home?” he asked, you shrugged. “i don’t know what i’m going to do.” you sit down on one of the benches in the station.

“so i assume this is more than just about a phone? hm?” he sits down next to you nudging you. “nope just about a phone!” you reassure him, “let’s get going actually, that ride from seoul to busan made me hungry. my treat.” you smile before grabbing him out of the seat leading him out of the station.

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“i really hate you for not bringing your car…” you say glaring at leehan, “okay i thought this would be more effective-” you cut him off “in what way?” you huff “this is ridiculous.” he laughs. you both continue walking along the sidewalk you bump into him every now again “so you forgot how to walk?” he said, raising an eyebrow, “maybe.” you continue to glare at him. “oh my… i’m incredibly sorry i didn’t drive my car to the train station.” he rolled his eyes, “is that what you want to hear?” you scoffed “what i would like to hear is a car engine.” you and leehan look at each other and laugh.

“just say you missed me, you act like it’s hard.” he chuckled, and you continued walking. “i miss… my phone.” you spoke fake crying, “oh okay y/n” he continued laughing. walking made everything seem like it was so far, well technically it was but the walk only made it longer and you didn’t have your phone. you constantly think about where it could be or where it could’ve gone.

you know it should be on the train but it wasn’t, and how did someone have that much time to grab your phone? this is actually hard for you considering you practically live on your phone, which was a habit you were trying to break so maybe this was just step one into breaking that habit.

“i really think we should be coming upon the cafe soon.” leehan said, “well not shit, i live in busan as well.” you say joking leehan takes off running, “last one there has to pay!” he said get further and further away. against your better judgment you started running after him even though you had no energy.

soon you both arrive at the cafe, some before others… “next time give me a head up dude!” you say trying to catch you breath, he was sitting on the step outside the cafe, “i would’ve won regardless,” he says looking up at you “yeah yeah yeah,” you sigh “just go inside so we can sit down finally.” you said. “well actually i’ve been sitti-” you cut him off “leehan. just go inside.”

he stood up laughing, swiping the dirt off his pants “if you insist.” you roll your eyes and follow behind him. the cafe hasn’t changed much in the last few months. the only thing that’s changed was the winter decorations they had up were no longer there but that was about it, and they removed the holidays menu. you look around in the cafe taking in the view from the windows and just the people around.

“yea i want the usual and i’m sure she’ll want her usual as well.” the older man infront of us said, talking to the worker, “hey i gonna go sit down.” you said to leehan and he nodded in response. you decided to sit down on the couch and look at some of the books they had on the table. you and leehan aren’t in your neighborhood yet but this was a cafe you both would stop by before school and get a bagel or doughnut on the way to school, something about being here brings back that nostalgic feeling, the smell of coffee, in the winter it’s the smell of peppermint but over the cafe always smell like some kind of cherry wood giving it a homey vibe.

soon leehan approaches you “here y/n,” he said getting you attention anytime you came to this cafe you get the same thing no matter the time of day, you always get two croissants the ends dipped in chocolate and a americano, “i don’t know how you drink that nastiness.” leehan said teasing you but also being serious he sits down next to you “it’s actually not that bad! take a sip,” you encouraged him.

he shakes his head “nope! but i will take a piece of this croissant.” he said, biting a piece of it from your hand, flakes of croissant fall onto your lap. he laughs putting his hand under his chin to not make more of a mess and you roll your eyes taking a piece of the croissant with your other hand and eat it.

“did you have fun in seoul?” he asks, taking a sip of his milk, “first of all why do you have milk and cookies? don’t you usually get a cinnamon stick? but yes! i had so much fun in seoul, everyone was asking about you.” you said in between sips of your drink.

“oh okay y/n! the food police… i just wanted to try something new, not new but you know, different.” he responded and you nodded, “don’t ignore what else i said leehan,” you nudged him “you should’ve come.”

“and miss out on all the fun here? pst i don’t think so.” he jokes and you laugh, “you can’t keep avoiding her forever leehan,” you say looking in his direction taking another sip of you americano. “i’m not avoiding her, i’m giving her space like she asked for.” he says in a rather convincing tone, but it more so sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“enough about that though, i’m just glad you enjoyed yourself, i’m sure you needed it.” he bites his cookie, “okay these are hard.” he said as he crunched on the cookie and you both made eye contact and laughed.

you both continued to eat your croissant and laugh, “so how are we going to find your phone?” leehan asks “i’m not even sure… it could be anywhere by now, i’ll probably just get a new one.” you add, “was your phone dead or charged?” he asks “should be charged, why…?” you ask, dragging out the y in why. “cause i have find my iphone i have your location we can track it,” he suggests “AND YOU SAY THIS NOW????? DO IT HURRY!!! i might die without my phone for real, i’m already hyperventilating-” you’re cut off by leehan “ok y/n ok!” he laughs, “ouuu… so actually my phone just died…” he says “leehan. dong hyun. stop.” you say glaring at him.

“it probably died while i was calling you 8 times back to back…” he said, sighing, “dong hyun… let’s just go home just- let’s go home.” you continue glaring at him, you both stand up grabbing your cups and cleaning up your trash. leehan throws the cookies he had in the trash and you both look at eachother and laugh, “they didn’t even break when they hit the bottom,” you say laughing.

leaving the cafe the sun was finally out, a few clouds in the sky and you swear you could hear birds chirping, the smell of water and trees filled your nose as you exited the cafe. “busan is so beautiful during the day,” you say while taking in the view around you “y/n you grew up here” leehan said “and? i can’t admire its beauty?” you replied and he laughed.

“don’t you get so much nostalgia when you walk down these streets?” you asked, “reminds me of when we were kids are your big head would run along the road, our parents following closely behind us.” you sigh laughing lightly, “those were good times, then in highschool you ran off with that guy and left me to walk the streets of busan alone…” he adds “you’re so dramatic, we all walked together… you just walked a little slower.” you say and he sighs.

“you ever think about him?” he says and it catches you off guard “all the time dummy, he was my first love so of-” leehan cuts you off “i thought i was your first love???” he says jokingly and you nudge him “don’t flatter yourself, also you need to work on that you constantly cut me off when i talk it’s lowkey annoying.” you said and he shrugged “start getting to the point faster.”

you roll your eyes, you both continue walking down the street waving at some of the residents, who live in the area. the street was fairly quiet and empty with a few people here and there but that was typical for this neighborhood, everyone was either working or just stayed inside. faint sounds of waves crashing into each in the distance the more you walked the closer you got to your destination.

home was so far yet so close, you just wanted to flop down in your bed after the last few weeks you’ve had before you had to resume life back home, you weren’t ready to go home just yet though. “leehan where are you going after this?” you asked, blocking the sun with your eyes “home,” he said “why? what’s up?” “let’s go by your house first then i’ll walk home from there!” you suggested, “huh? why? going to my house makes the walking distance from yours a bit further.” he said, “it makes sense though, we’d have to pass your neighborhood to get to mine.”

“i think you’re just trying to get rid of me,” he said with a smirk on his face “you’re actually annoying so yes!” you said “now let’s take this detour and go to your beloved house.” you both make a right turn, this time you both we’re walking in the direction of the water. the sun reflecting on the water just right, the water glistening, waves crashing into the rocks, the sight was just beautiful.

a light breeze in the air, “why couldn’t you just have driven… ugh!” you said “this is easier since everything is within walking distance, y/n stop complaining.” leehan responded “unfortunately i was born to complain and-” you were cut off “oh ok.” leehan chimed in.

you playfully pushed him, “you should’ve brought your charger and charged your phone at the cafe, now we have to walk all the way to your house to charge your phone.” you said, “i have my charger,” he said pulling it out his pocket “remember you suggested we should leave so we did.” you glare at him.

“kim dong hyun… i’m actually going to kill you!” you say and he takes off running and laughing, you would never admit it but moments like this were your favorite. bickering like siblings, well you two basically are this just showed how close you two truly are not that you need the reassurance. you were gone for a month and both you and leehan were able to pick up right where you left off.

leehan is like your little brother, no leehan is your little brother. since you were kids you and leehan have been conjoined to each other, even when you both got into a relationship you still found and made time for each other. and realistically if any man talked to like leehan did you’d most likely leave them alone, but you know leehan means no harm and plus the back and forth and bickering is mutual.

“ahhh help me!! this crazy lady is chasing me!!” he said continuing the run getting further and further from you. “shut up dummy before people take you seriously!” you shouted back.

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you both arrive at his house you see his car parked nicely alongside the house and you pinch him “that’s for not driving your car,” you say pinching him again “and that’s for not keeping your phone charged.” “OW!” he shouts “can we just go inside? SAFELY?” he adds “yes! go inside so i can tell your parents how you neglected me the whole walk over here.”

his jaw drops in a dramatic way, “wow y/n…” he said putting his hand against his chest as if you stabbed him in the heart, you roll your eyes at him before brushing past him knocking on the door “y/n, why are you knocking i have a key plus my parents aren’t even here.” he said and you look over notice there were no cars besides his parked along the house

“oh…” you say in a low tone he laughs as he makes his way towards the door unlocking it and you practically push him down to get into the house. for some reason his house smelled like apple cinnamon? you couldn’t quite put your finger on the smell but it wasn’t mrs kim's usual smell but you couldn’t deny it smelled good.

you make your way to their living room plopping onto the couch sighing loudly, you hear leehan close and clock the door in the distance. he grabs your legs and fling them off the couch onto the floor sitting where your legs were. “can you not?” we just walked for like an hour!” you say sighing sitting up, leaning on the arm of the couch.

“it was only 15 mins… 30 mins all together.” he laughed, you mocked his laugh “dude go charge your phone, i’m literally so phone deprived right now… like i’m actually starting to feel colors.” you say shoving him off the couch, “and i hear sound.” he says “well i hope so?” you say laughing “you’re supposed to hear sound dummy, now go charge your phone.”

he rolls his eyes “you know what i meant.” he walks towards the kitchen and you follow him, “everything is still the same” you said “you only left for a MONTH, stop saying that like stuff was supposed to change.” he says plugging his phone into the cabinet outlet, he placed his phone one the table the charging screen showing up on his phone.

“do you keep those “call this number if you find this phone” on your phone?” he asks, “and who would they call? my number?” you respond sarcastically “no dummy you put a trusted adult number, cause obviously you can’t be trusted with your own phone.” be replied and just then his phone powers on and you smile excitedly.

he grabs his phone “don’t get too excited i need to text my parents first and let them know i made it home.” he said but you knew he was doing it to tease you, you watched as he went to message and slowly started typing you getting more and more impatient. “kim dong hyun you type faster than this on a bad day.” he just laughs “okay okay!”

“okay let’s see uhm, well according to the location of your phone it’s still at the train station.” he said, causing you to sigh “of course it is… cause it being anywhere else would’ve been too easy.” you huff and lightly bang your head on the counter and leehan playfully pushes your head down once before you start groaning.

“why can’t things just be so simple, everything is hard!” you complain, “cause if everything was easy life wouldn’t be fun…” he adds and you sigh. “and this is fun?” “well… kinda? it’s like a scavenger hunt for your phone.” he says.

you know he was trying to make light of the situation but sometimes you just wanted someone to agree with you.

“i think i’ll head home now.” you say as you make your way out the kitchen, “wait really? y/n you just got here don’t you wanna rest for a bit?” he asked with a confused expression, “i do but i’m sure my parents are waiting for me.” you replied, which was a lie… your parents hadn’t even known you were back yet. you wanted to surprise them but looks like you were the one in for the surprise.

he squinted his eyes at you before nodding, “okay but at least let me take you home.” he said, “leehan it’s fine i don’t mind walking alone,” you replied he knew was about to fight a loosing battle so he just didn’t say anything and brushed past you heading past the stairs into his room. “y/n!” he shouted from his room and you followed the voice.

“hm?” you say standing in the doorway and his room was still the same, bed still in the same place as when you were kids, same posters and stuff, same lamp, dresser just same everything. he turned around and faced you “take this,” he said, handing you his apple watch “you don’t have your phone but you can use this you know if it’s an emergency or something.” he added and you take the watch, adjusting it to your wrist size.

“alright leehan,” you say smiling “i’m off to hopefully get proper rest!” you say teasing him and he laughs “alright y/n be safe, call me when you get home… no pun intended.” he says, you give him a nodded and you share a hug before leaving his house.

a walk alone was probably just what you, especially after leaving seoul being surrounded by people. now how would you explain to your parents your back a month early from seoul…? “fuck..” you say lowly fidgeting with your hands as you walked, that didn’t even cross your mind. leehan knew you were going to seoul but not for how long so when you told him you were back there was no reason for him to question you.

you parents on the other hand… you sighed “what am i going to do?” you think to yourself, the reason you went to seoul was of course for your friends but also cause you felt like your life in busan was moving too slow but in seoul you felt like you life was moving too fast.

the majority of the walk was just you and your thoughts, you continuously checked the time on the watch only a minute passed. “maybe i should’ve let leehan take me home.” you think to yourself, it was only around two and to think you only just left seoul about two-three hours ago.

you follow the same direction you and leehan had walked earlier, suddenly the watch chimes and you look at it, it’s just a message from leehan mom to him. and it dawned on you that the watch is connected to his phone which kinda makes you uncomfortable considering you can see who calls and texts him.

you were like ninety nine percent sure he wouldn’t of lended it to you if he didn’t trust or just mind you using it. so the thought you had soon dissolved and you continued walking.

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after what seemed like ages you finally arrived at your place, you don’t see your parents cars so you assume they must be gone you fiddle around in your bag for your key you grab it and put the mey into the keyhole before twisting it and unlocking the door.

you take a deep breath and walk into the house you see your brother on the couch “i knew i smelled something dead…” he says looking in your direction. you roll your eyes walking past him ruffling his hair before dashing upstairs to get some rest.

you start to make your way to your room “oh yeah by the way, some guy came by and dropped this off.” your brother says and you stop on the stairs turning around heading back towards the living room, “dropped what off?? and what guy.” you asked, “ahhh the questions y/n i don’t know look on the table.” you replied and you walked over to the table.

to your shock there was your phone on the table, “what the fuck???” was all you managed to get out. “how-” you were cut off by your brother “he also said not to tell you who he was and that in the upcoming days you’ll find out,” he huffed “i guess he thinks this is a movie but i’ll play along.” he added, “what???? why is my phone HERE and not at the train station???? and when did it get here????” you ramble on and on.

the last thing you had expected was to see your phone laying on the table, you pick it up and a sticky note falls off the back of it you read the note to yourself “just wanted to return your phone to you safely without actually returning it to you.” was what was written, you sighed.

“then he said something like say the one and only…? and you’d know what that meant… freaks.” your brother spoke up, but that sentence just wasn’t ringing a bell… you don’t know why or what but you need the rest of this week was going to get crazy and this was just a taste of it.

masterlist > next

d’s notes: what if is here YAYY! first chapter i’m super excited and i really really really hope you all enjoy this mini series :D hope you all have a great day or night!

taglist: @kamfaye @kukkurookkoo @woonhakiastic @dobbiesvvorld @taylorluvation @molensworld @nujeskz @yuzuksi @beaabz @leralise @bloomnspring @yurisblooming @pumpkg @heeheesang @enzstr @taesanfav @janjoonty @sanataesan ♡

© sqh3e

[artsninspo]

COUNTERFEIT - two

⇽ part one

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

🍒 pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Faith (Original Character) All my characters are black women.

🍒 word count: ~1.6K

🍒 summary: Faith faces the blowback from her decision to end things with her now ex-boyfriend. Conflict stirs between her and her sister. Rio's curiosity grows and he finds himself not able to stay away before getting to know about Faith.

🍒 two ~ life traps

“Where’d you go last night?” Char asks as she comes in from the gym.

“To have a one night stand” I respond being facetious.

“Faith, Jason is the kind of man women pray for” Char starts.

“I don’t want to hear it” I groan, needing some peace.

“Why not, he’s romantic, attentive, emotionally stable and makes good money?” Char continues.

“And he’s boring, closed minded and pacifistic” I add.

“Life isn’t all about excitement!” Char shouts.

“I think you’re mistaking life with death” I retorted, earning a grimace from my sister.

“He wanted to marry you!” She snaps. “He asked mom and she gave him her blessing, he was planning a party and everything! Your ring is gorgeous!” she says like it’s the thing that makes me stay but I couldn't be more relieved.

“If he knew me even a little he’d know I don’t want a public engagement” I respond.

Char huffs in exasperation “Anyone who’s in love does!”

“Well then, there you have it!” I sigh, reinforcing the obvious.

“Faith.” she fusses.

“He’s a great guy just not for me. Now he can return the ring and find someone who’s grateful and appreciative of the perfect man he is.” I fake a smile.

Char sighs, folding her arms in frustration. “You’re being unreasonable and taking the ungrateful thing out of context.”

“He’s not the man I want to wake up with forever or who I want to raise my children” I explain speaking in terms she can understand.

“Because you have commitment issues!” She snaps.

“You don’t? Where’s your Prince Charming?” I ask and she goes ridgid. Her eyes bug out and I realize I’ve gone too far.

“Char” I call but she storms off to her room.

———

Char hasn’t been speaking to me all week. She’s hardly been coming home. I feel bad but there’s not much I can do if she won’t talk to me.

Big game? I could use some back up.

- D

I smile at the phone and D’s perfect timing. I get dressed and go where I’m wanted. I drive to the bar and park out back. I can hear from out here the place is packed and head in. D doesn’t look as happy and he usually is to see me. I hug and kiss him and he makes me my favorite drink with a smile. I get started and make things easier for him. I work the bar until there’s a lull and I can enjoy my cherries. Diego smiles at me.

“I’m glad you texted, Char and I are fighting and it’s all bad at my place”  I tell him.

“What about?” D, asks.

“Breaking things off with Jason” I explain and his cousin walks in. “Am I okay to be here?” I whisper, putting my cup of cherries down.

“Yeah,” Diego nods. His side of the bar fills up and he steps away to tend them. His cousin sits on my side. I head over to him.

“Whisky neat” he says before I can ask. I head to the top shelf pouring him what he asked for. I place it down on top of a napkin and I’m shocked when he pays. Doesn’t he own the place?

“Thanks” I smile, putting the money away. I work my side of the bar finding time passes and the game ends, music replaces the previous entertainment. When things settle I go back to D and my cherries. We joke around with some of the patrons doing shots and keeping them in their pockets. There are no fights tonight which is a win and when the night’s over I’ve made twice as much in tips as I did the other day. I’m cleaning off the bar when Diego’s cousin comes in from outside.

I continue cleaning up and Diego mops this time. Security takes all the dirty glasses to be washed and I make sure the register balances. We have at least fifteen empty bottles and I pack them away making space on the shelf.

“Where else do you work?” He asks from behind me.

“I’m not a bartender,” I respond.

“You know your way around a bar.” Diego’s cousin remarks.

“Diego taught me” I explain and he smiles nodding. His dark eyes miss nothing, it’s like he can smell my uncertainty and is amused by it.

“So what are you?” He asks again.

“I work in interior designing,” I explain, omitting my shinier accolades.

“Pays well?” He asks. It's a strange question. If he were anyone else I'd roll my eyes and walk away. One thing my Ma is right about is that a woman's pocketbook is none of mens business unless he’s adding to it.

“I’m not complaining,” I respond. The answer doesn't seem sufficient as he looks down trying to read me. We both give each other nothing. “You into nature?” I ask stacking glasses and his brow raises. I’ve thrown him off.

“Nature? Outdoors?” He asks and I steel my expression in genuine curiosity as I motion to his neck where the bird is permanently inked into his skin. He looks affronted, so much so my facade breaks. A smirk plays on his lips and he nods.

“I was just messing with you. D’s my friend, he loves this place and I’m here to help him out - not cause trouble” I tell him and he looks me over again - his energy less distant.

“You’re a woman, this is a guys bar and I’m a businessman. Women mean trouble. More security, more fights and more egos. It’s not personal, don't help him every weekend and don’t use your real name. You getting stalked or followed isn’t my problem and D’s not built for it. He’s crazy about you. Told me I need to apologize for the other day” he says completely relaxed. His expression is back to giving nothing away as he speaks matter of factly. 

“Gotcha, and It’s fine, you don’t seem like you apologize much” I tell him and he nods, holding back another smile.

“Is everything alright?” Diego asks with an uneasiness that makes me reconsider the ease I feel next to his cousin.

“You don’t bring women around often, I’m just curious” his cousin says and I sense tension between them. 

“I’ll do the rest Faith, let me walk you to your car” he says protectively and I look between them a moment before getting my jacket.

“Thanks” I tell Diego who is standing ramrod straight and tense, in juxtaposition to his cousin who looks both relaxed and amused. He empties my tips into a paper bag.

“Goodbye Faith” his cousin waves.

“Bye,” I respond.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Diego once we’re outside.

“Rio” he sighs. “I wish I could just strangle him sometimes,” he snaps.

“Rio is your cousin’s name?” I ask and he nods.

“Nickname, his name is Chris but don't call him that.” D warns.

“What's going on between the two of you, does he think you're into me or something and how does he own the bar? I thought it was yours?” I ask and D takes a deep breath before letting one out.

“He doesn’t think I'm into you, he knows I’m gay. He’s part owner, not full owner although he thinks he’s the boss of everything ” D sighs.

“I’ve never known you to huff and puff instead of knocking someone clean out” I comment looking outside as Rio strolls cooly into a G-Wagon.

“Rio doesnt get mad, he gets even, he can be spiteful and petty and he’s patient. You’ll never know you’ve fucked up until you’re wading through shit. Be polite and keep things short with him” Diego says, giving his cousin a less than glowing review.

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth as the G-Wagon pulls out driving into the night. D follows suit and silence befalls the car until he presses me for information on Char and I. When I tell him the full extent of everything the look in his eyes tells me while he’s on my side. Diego agrees with my sister in regard to my commitment issues. Unlike Char, D understands why I don't want to run from where we came from. Why I’m in no rush to commit to a life of pageantry or rush into an engagement at 24. He calls it survivor's remorse which is kinder than the assessments given to me by my shrinks. A life with Jason would be a lie. I’d have to pretend my step-dad is my father. Not my real father who’s no longer on this earth. The result of a life selling street pharma and the violence that comes with it. I’d have to hide that part of my story and heritage and even do away with D as a part of my past. Jason and his family would see it as a character defect instead of character building. It would be bad PR and so it would be filed away in a safe and kept away for comfort and convenience. No one understands not wanting to hide yourself from people like D.

He watches me sitting shotgun as the sun dawns.

“Be gentle with Char, she's a marshmallow - all soft. You’re a jellybean.” He smiles and I lean on his shoulder. He presses a kiss onto my forehead. “You know ChaCha means no harm, she doesn't like to rock the boat or disappoint anyone.” Diego speaks knowing us well.

“I was gentle, we didn't have a screaming match” I smile but his phone ringing gets my attention. Rio’s name flashes on the car’s console shifting the mood.

“I gotta take this, text me when you get in” D says and I nod.

“D, if you need money-”

“I don't, I'm the oldest. You need money you come to me” he asserts and I nod exiting the car. I hear the call pick up when I grab the lobby door. I place my fob on the console and the automatic door opens.

Mercury must be in gatorade because I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

authors note: thanks for reading, what do we think D's deal is with Rio and the girls? Why is Rio in our girls business? don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog & vote on open polls

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