#I never looked that closely at his character

[andypantsx3]

BY THE BOOK : MIDORIYA IZUKU X READER

SUMMARY: When your pro hero boyfriend comes home to find you studying, he suddenly takes a great interest in helping out. You find his methods... questionable. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft, hysterical literature (reading out loud while sexually stimulated), pro hero deku, deku still has ofa, support tech grad student reader, slight intelligence kink, gn + afab reader, cunnilingus, established relationship, aged up characters, fluff (3k) NOTES: Hi guys! I have been in survival mode as of late and the writing has been slow going; my sincerest apologies for how long it’s taking me to burn down my @ficsforgaza backlog. But I finally had the time & energy on my hands this weekend to work on this one and I had such a blast!! I hope I’m not too rusty—and if I am, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it regardless lol. Love you and thank you always for your patience. Happy Holidays!!

Sometimes, you thought you could tell your boyfriend was near, even before you heard his key in the lock.

It was something to do with his power, you’d always suspected—as a support engineer unduly interested in other people’s capabilities, you’d spent hundreds of hours turning it over in your head. It was the unnatural immensity of other people’s powers, you thought, pulling and coiling just beneath the surface of Izuku’s skin. In close proximity, after prolonged use, its presence felt like a shiver up the back of your neck.

You felt the barest hint of it now, an unsettled feeling creeping into the marrow of your bones, and you sat up on the couch just as you heard the scratch of Izuku’s keys at the door.

One For All fit cleanly into Izuku’s own unwavering intensity somehow, like the last piece of his puzzle. Though one would certainly never think so looking at him as he spilled through the door, pink-cheeked from the cold, all bright eyes, sweetly angelic features, and a riot of wild green curls. He looked windswept from the biting winter breeze. He also looked too kind to be carrying the sort of power he did—too sweet and eager and lovely.

“Look what the wind blew in,” you grinned at him over the back of the couch, after assessing he was well. Your eyes tracked the sinuous movement of those broad shoulders as he yanked his mouthguard over his head, the flex and pull of his bicep as he hung it beside the door. He was moving without pause, no sign of injury or muscle strain , and his suit was intact. Ordinarily you didn’t mind if there was a bit of shredding about the abs as long as he came back to you whole and hale, but in the winter you didn’t like him wandering about risking the chance of frostbite.

Your heart fluttered when Izuku returned your smile with one of his own, so beautiful and bright, chasing away the cold he’d tracked in like a warm sliver of sun.

“Lots of small, easy fights today?” You guessed, judging from his intact suit but clear whiff of power about him.

Izuku scrubbed a hand through that riot of curls, exposing the reddened shell of a cold ear. “I only had to use blackwhip a couple of times,” he said as he shouldered the door closed behind him, the muscle of his thighs flexing enticingly as he stepped out of his boots.

You gestured at the pot of soup you’d left warming on the stove, and the veritable pile of crusty bread beside it. Warmth and carbs, exactly what you would have wanted if you were a pro hero fresh off a long day of patrolling in the snow.

Izuku’s eyes fixed on it with an obliging amount of interest, and he almost tripped over himself in the genkan in his haste to get to the kitchen. “I love you,” you heard him say, muffled through a mouthful of bread, heard the clatter of the silverware drawer and a bowl being placed on the counter.

You smiled and turned back to the book in your lap, a particularly dry, knotty text on robotic imitation learning that had had your eyes drifting closed for the better part of an hour. It was the last you’d need to get through for your Wearable Technologies graduate course, and something you were deeply interested in incorporating into your design practice. You could train a piece of equipment on how an individual pro hero moved and deployed their quirk, and use predictive modeling to deploy assistance functionalities within milliseconds if you got it right—such as immediate cooling in pro hero Shouto’s temperature vest the moment he ignited an arm.

The implementation was going to be so cool—but the theory was so mind numbing.

You felt the couch sink in beside your feet, and Izuku peered interestedly at the title in your lap.

“Introduction to Robotic Imitation Learning,” he echoed, and you could hear the note of excitement in his voice. You suppressed a fond smile, knowing he was already thinking through the same applications you had—he was just as much of a nerd as you were.

“Introduction to Snoozing and Napping,” you grumbled, turning back to your page. “There are only so many words on the Kalman filter framework a brain can handle before the human mind shuts itself down.”

Izuku hummed in interest around a spoonful of soup, propping himself up against your leg. The exterior of his suit was still cool from the outside, and he groaned with relief from the warmth of your skin, even as you hissed at the chill.

You knew he wanted you to go on, so you generalized for him. “It’s an algorithm used for robotic motion planning—you not only take measurements of the thing you want to model but you account for uncertainties to predict the probability that something is going to happen.”

Izuku nodded, taking another spoonful of soup, gesturing for you to go on.

You summoned up the willpower to explain joint probability distribution, pleased when Izuku easily managed to follow—he’d always been a quick study, especially of anything that could be employed in the service of heroics. You’d long thought if he hadn’t been gifted his quirk, he would be an insane support engineer.

He managed to finish his entire bowl of soup in the time it took you to explain, and housed another two slices of buttered bread with the sort of alacrity you’d only ever seen in pro heroes and professional athletes, making you smile while you spoke.

His spoon clinked softly against the edge of the bowl as he set them aside on the coffee table, and he hooked his chin over your knees as you finished explaining. In the setting sun from your windows he looked especially lovely, the kind, angular planes of his face brushed in gold, softening the spots of his freckles.

His eyes were especially bright, the way they always were when something in particular had caught his interest, and he smiled at you again over the tops of your knee caps.

“I admire how smart you are,” he told you, in the simple, straightforward way he always gave out compliments. It was like a shot to the heart every time, and you could feel your face warm with the praise even after years of receiving similar compliments.

You reflexively flapped a dismissive hand. “Not smart enough to have internalized it all! I have mostly been falling asleep to it,” you promised him.

He tilted his head, a green curl falling into his eyes. “I know you won’t have a problem when you’re awake.”

You shifted your legs with embarrassment, and a long fingered hand came up to cup the front of your thigh, as Izuku turned more fully towards you. You could feel the warm, hard planes of his chest against your shins, the line of his jumpsuit’s zipper pressing insistently just below your knee.

“Gotta try to impress you somehow,” you joked, your skin prickling as Izuku’s fingers absent-mindedly drew a pattern across your thigh. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material of the leggings you’d lounged around in all day, the chill finally chased away from his skin now that he’d come inside and warmed up.

“You do impress me,” he said in his soft, gentle tone. Which made your cheeks and nose burn hotter.

You knew you did, and the steady faith Izuku had in the people around him was one of your favorite things about him. It still made you feel like a middle schooler with a crush to think about, though, the intensity of your feelings too much for one body to handle.

“I will study hard to live up to your faith in me,” you promised, unable to help the goofy smile you knew you were giving him.

Izuku’s chin shifted against the tops of your knees, and he pressed his mouth to the knob of your left one, leaving a smiling kiss. “Tell me more?” he asked, fingers still sliding softly over your thigh.

“I’ll read it to you as I go, then,” you said, turning back to the brick of a tome, propping it up more firmly on your stomach as you adjusted yourself against the couch arm. Izuku’s eyes watched you over the top of the pages, that emerald gaze tracking your face closely.

“‘The algorithm works via a two-phase process: a prediction phase and an update phase’,” you began, trying to turn your attention away from Izuku and back to the text. “‘In the prediction phase, the Kalman filter produces estimates of the current state variables, including their uncertainties. Once the outcome of the next measurement (necessarily corrupted with some error, including random noise) is observed, these estimates are updated using a weighted average, with more weight given to estimates with greater certainty.’”

Izuku’s long fingers traced firmer lines across your thighs, almost like he was taking notes. He layered another kiss along the line of your knee, eyes glittering at you as you read.

“‘The algorithm is recursive,’” you continued, “‘It can operate in real time, using only the present input measurements and the state calculated previously and its uncertainty matrix; no additional past information is required.’”

You almost jumped as Izuku’s mouth trailed lower, into the space between your knees, leaving kisses along your inner thigh. His fingers gently pulled one thigh away to make space for him in between, and you cleared your throat, trying to return to the text at hand.

“‘Optimality of Kalman filtering assumes that errors have a normal–that is, Gaussian–distribution,’” you read on. “‘The following assumptions are made about random processes: Physical random phenomena may be thought of as due to primary random sources exciting dynamic systems. The primary sources are assumed to be independent gaussian random processes with zero mean; the dynamic systems will be linear.’”

Izuku let out a soft breath, insinuating himself further between your thighs. Your own breath came out a little uneven as he bent over you, mouth tracking dangerously towards the inseam of your leggings.

You paused, but Izuku fixed you with a look of his slightly-darkened eyes. “Please—keep reading,” he said, his tone a little lower than it had been a minute ago.

You swallowed in shocked understanding, skin tingling. You felt yourself nod, as Izuku’s fingers strayed to the waist of your pants, dipping below the band.

You let him slowly peel your leggings down, your underwear with them, adjusting as needed to make it easy for him, even as you tried to return your attention to your textbook.

“‘Regardless of Gaussianity, however, if the process and measurement covariances are known, then the Kalman filter is the best possible linear estimator in the minimum mean-square-error sense,’” you quoted, nearly squeaking when Izuku pressed his mouth to your hip, his curls tickling the skin of your belly. His hands gripped either side of your thighs, palms square and rough against your skin, and you tried not to shiver with the feeling.

“Um—‘Although there may be better nonlinear estimators’,” you said, then nearly jumped out of your skin when Izuku pressed his mouth to the core of you, only the strength of his grip stopping you from accidentally kicking him in surprise.

“Oh my g—uh! It—um—‘It is a common misconception perpetuated in the literature that the Kalman filter cannot be rigorously applied unless all noise processes are assumed to be Gaussian,’” you managed, before your cut off into a groan as Izuku layered a hot, sweet kiss over you, tongue dipping carefully between your folds. “Ah-–Izuku—”

Izuku petted a thumb gently over the top of your thigh to show he was listening, even as he swiped his tongue over you again, a long, firm stroke that had your thighs flexing in his hold. He laved over your clit, sucking ever so slightly, and your grip almost tore the edge of your textbooks as it tightened.

“Keep going,” he urged briefly, then did it again, punching a groan out of you.

“Extensions—oh—‘Extensions and generalizations of the method have also been developed, such as the extended Kalman filter and the unscented Kalman filter which work on nonlinear systems,’” you read on, voice shooting up nearly into a squeal when two of Izuku’s long, firm fingers pressed into you, as his mouth moved over you again.

“Ah! Oh my god—the—um, the basis—-” you said, breath growing short. Izuku’s fingers unerringly found the spot inside you that made you twist in his grip with the ease of long practice, and his jaw worked as he kissed you so shockingly filthily. You could feel something already starting to build up behind your navel, a fluttery lightness, an insatiable insistence on more.

“‘The basis a hidden Markov model—oh, fuck—such that the state space of the latent variables is continuous and all latent and observed variables have–ah!--Gaussian distributions,’’’ you recited, your voice tripping up further into a register that sounded more like begging than reading.

Izuku’s fingers worked you, long and thick and perfect inside you, as his tongue drew unrelenting circles around your clit. Stars seemed to spark in your vision, and your eyes squeezed shut, losing your place on the page as your hips flexed into his face. You felt suddenly very floaty and lightheaded, and not at all in a position to keep going.

Still, you tried to refocus your attention.

“‘K–Kalman filtering has been used successfully in—oh—multi-sensor fusion—ah, ah!--and distributed sensor networks–fuck, please, Izuku—to develop distributed or consensus Kalman f-filtering,’” you said, your tone nearly a cry.

Izuku groaned softly, sucking gently as his fingers curled inside you. It made your veins spark under your skin, your legs shaking in Izuku’s hands. You abandoned your grip on your book to seize the arm of the couch, clawing desperately at the fabric.

“Please, Izuku,” you cried, hips bucking towards his mouth.

The book tumbled off your stomach but you hardly noticed, gaze refocusing on the way his eyelashes fluttered as he licked you. His fingers played gently within you, a maddening press that was simultaneously too much and not enough, and his other hand came up to slide under your sweater, plucking gently at your nipple.

You lost yourself to the feeling—caught between the mind-melting curl of his fingers, the delicate suction of his mouth, and the careful pinch of your nipple. A delicious heat curled through you, waves of unbearable pleasure, and you could hear yourself babbling nonsense—garbled syllables of Izuku’s name, and every entreaty you could think of, a hundred thousands mores and oh pleases.

Izuku abandoned your nipple to pull you more firmly against him with a strong arm curled under your thigh, pressing you even harder into his mouth.

You muffled a scream in the sleeve of your sweater as he sucked you harder, tongue laving over you in loving strokes. Only his terrible strength held you down as you writhed beneath him, and then his fingers twisted in a way that had your vision whiting out—and you were suddenly thrown out over the edge of your pleasure.

Izuku licked you through it as you squirmed and begged and cried out his name, your climax seeming to last for eons.

You were panting hard when you finally slumped into the cushions of your couch, the ceiling seeming to swim in and out of focus before your eyes. When you gained enough control of your body again you looked down at Izuku, finding him watching you with a satisfied, almost shy curl to his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you, emerald gaze glittering with sincerity. “You’re so smart.”

Impossibly you felt your heart swell with even more love for him, and you seized his shoulder, dragging him up over you so you could kiss his mouth. The taste of yourself on him was embarrassing yet thrilling, and you petted a pleased hand through Izuku’s wild mess of curls as you kissed him.

“Well you are amazing,” you told him, swiping a thumb over his cheek fondly, smoothing over his freckles. A gorgeous watercolor of pink washed over his cheeks and nose at the proclamation, and you could hear his fingers flex in the cushion beside your head.

The sight of him flushed and waiting over you like another small something inside of you, like a pilot light, and you let your mouth pull into a wry grin.

“I hope you know I learned nothing though,” you said casually, your plan for your next steps already forming in your head. You let a hand trail carefully down Izuku’s flank, tracking towards his waist. “I think maybe I might need a few rounds for it to really sink in.”

Izuku’s ears went red against the green of his hair, and you felt your smile widen. “Maybe you could read it to me this time?” you asked, guiding him to roll under you, retrieving your book from the floor as you did so.

You settled yourself on the tops of Izuku’s thighs, feeling the hard press of him against your core, as you placed your textbook into his waiting hands.

Izuku’s answering smile was all the permission you needed. You directed him to start from the beginning of the chapter, and he did so in that soft, lilting tone of his you so loved. And then your fingers trailed up to the zipper at his collar.

It was time to return the favor—wholeheartedly.

REFERENCES: Kalman Filtering (Wikipedia) I took the passages our Reader recited from here because I do not actually understand Kalman filtering at all and could not organically come up with feasible text for her to read through. Sorry in advance to the author of this page lol.

[everythingspokenfor]

Currently thinking about arranged marriage au with Bakugou..

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Husband!Bakugou who had known you for about 6 months before you both got married, your parents having introduced you two. Hoping to personally aid in love life of their children and praying to get grandchildren.

Husband!Bakugou who despite being uneasy by the presence of another person in his house, is quite considerate. Cooking meals for you whenever possible, keeping your favourite chocolates in stock, always making sure you feel welcomed.

Husband!Bakugou who has your schedule memorized, dropping you to the hospital everyday and picking you up as well.

Husband!Bakugou who never lets you feel left out, always mentioning about work, what he did that day, even the reports he wrote.

Husband!Bakugou who, 3 months after the marriage mentions his friends wanting to meet you, considering the marriage had been private, only close family was there. His friends knew about the marriage, had even seen photos of you but, were yet to meet you.

Husband!Bakugou who, on the way to his house, tells his friends to behave and cause a wreak havoc when they get there. Denki teases him, stating how Mrs.Bakugou already has him trained. Bakugou tells him to shut up but his ears did turn red.

Husband!Bakugou who sits back and lets you mingle with his friends, noting how you were already getting along with them so well.

Husband!Bakugou who helps you can after everyone had returned to their respective homes. Bakugou who stands beside you, washing the dishes while you dry them. Both of you working in silence.

"Did you enjoy today? Hopefully it wasn't to exhausting." He spoke.

"I was fun." You turned towards him. "It's good getting to know people."

The dishes were done, both of you now looking at each other, he turns to look at you before slowly leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. You instantly melt against him and wrap your hands around his neck.

A low hiss leaves his mouth at the coldness of your fingers. Bakugou let's his hands wonder, one hand holding your head while other going down and squeezing at your waist.

He taps your thigh, signalling you to lift it. Holding your thigh, he ruts his hips against your core. His bulge rubs against your clit. You let out a gasp, clit buzzing in joy. He leans lower trailing kisses down your throat, leaving behind love bites for you to admire later.

"-am takin' this off." He pulled your sweater off. He let out a groan, the sight of you in bra making his cock throb.

"wait- hold on." You pulled away. "We don- don't have condoms."

He looked at you bewildered, the idea of being cockblocked by lack of rubber and possibility of fucking you raw clashing.

"I'll pull out." He said before continuing to hump his cock into your cunt.

"You won't, we both know it."

He lets out a defeated sigh, before gently letting your leg down and moving to the living room.

He comes back with a thin blanket before wrapping it around your shoulders. "Go to bedroom, I'll be back in a minute." He kisses your forehead before he is out the front door.

Husband!Bakugou who is standing at the cashier counter impatiently, thinking about you laying in bed and playing with yourself with only three items in hand, pack of large condoms, unscented lube and your favourite post sex snack.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

[s4kura-tr3]

Could you make a crybaby reader with JJK men? Like just an overly sensitive/nice reader? It’s okay if not! Have a good day!

Sensitive!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru never meant to upset you—he rarely ever did. But today, his usual playful teasing hit you harder than usual.

You were sitting on the couch together, scrolling through your phone while he flipped lazily through the channels on the TV. Out of nowhere, Gojo chuckled and said, “You know, you’re so dramatic sometimes. It’s kinda cute, but it’s like everything’s the end of the world for you.”

You froze, his words hitting a nerve. Dramatic. That’s how people had dismissed your feelings for years. You tried to brush it off, but your chest tightened, and your vision blurred slightly as you blinked back tears.

Gojo didn’t notice at first, still flipping channels and humming to himself. But when you didn’t respond with your usual witty comeback, he glanced over and saw your downturned face.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up immediately. “Did I say something wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check.

“Hey,” he said more gently now, setting the remote down. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Finally, you looked at him, your voice quiet. “You called me dramatic. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? It’s like every time I feel something, people just… dismiss me.”

Gojo’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Oh no. No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, scooting closer to you on the couch. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss you. I swear, I just—ugh, sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”

You didn’t reply, still feeling the sting of his words.

Gojo reached for your hands, holding them in his warm, large ones. “I’m really sorry,” he said softly. “You’re not dramatic. You just feel things deeply, and I love that about you. It’s one of my favorite things about you, actually. You care so much, and that’s rare. Honestly, I wish I was more like you sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I mean it,” he continued. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t a good thing. It is. You’re amazing, and I’m lucky you put up with my dumb jokes.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite your lingering hurt. “You really think that?”

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy returning as he kissed your knuckles. “I think you’re perfect. And I’m perfectly terrible at saying things the right way. Forgive me?”

You sighed, the weight in your chest easing. “Okay. But maybe think before you speak next time?”

“Deal,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll even let you pick the movie tonight as a peace offering. But only if it’s not boring.”

You laughed softly, and just like that, Gojo had you smiling again, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

Geto Suguru

It was late in the evening, and you and Geto Suguru were sitting together in a cozy café. He had insisted on taking you out to unwind after a long week, and for a while, the warm atmosphere and his gentle company had done just that. But then, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

You were talking about a project you’d been working on—how much effort you’d put into it and how nervous you were about how it would turn out. Somewhere in the middle of your rambling, Geto chuckled softly and said, “You really overthink things sometimes, don’t you?”

His tone was light, and you knew he didn’t mean it maliciously, but the comment stopped you in your tracks. Your heart sank, and your chest tightened as those familiar insecurities reared their heads. You looked down at your tea, your appetite for conversation disappearing.

Geto immediately noticed the shift in your mood. He tilted his head, his dark eyes softening with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, leaning closer.

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Did I say something wrong?”

You hesitated, but his steady gaze encouraged you to speak. “It’s just… when you said I overthink things. I know I do, okay? I hear it all the time, and I hate that about myself. It feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough, and people just see me as… too much.”

Geto’s expression shifted immediately, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “Hey, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity.

You looked away, but he gently reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone warm and steady. “I wasn’t trying to say that in a bad way. I know you overthink because you care. You care so much about everything, and that’s not a flaw—it’s a strength.”

You blinked at him, his words catching you off guard.

“You put your whole heart into what you do, and yeah, sometimes it makes you nervous or unsure, but that’s only because you want things to be perfect,” he continued. “And honestly? That’s one of the things I admire most about you. I could never think of that as a bad thing.”

The tightness in your chest began to ease as his words sank in. “You really mean that?” you asked softly.

Geto smiled gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Of course I do. And I’m sorry if what I said made you feel like I didn’t. I’ll be more careful with my words next time.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you.”

He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to remind you how amazing you are when you forget.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and the tension that had settled between you melted away.

“Now,” he said, his tone lightening as he leaned back in his chair, “how about I make it up to you with dessert? I hear they’ve got a mean matcha cheesecake here.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

“Always,” he said with a playful smirk, raising his hand to call for the waiter.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento had had an exhausting day. Every step he took up the stairs to your shared apartment felt heavier than the last, and all he wanted was to come home, see you, and let the warmth of your presence melt away the stress.

When he opened the door, you greeted him with your usual enthusiasm, rushing over to pull him into a tight hug. “Kento! You’re home!” you exclaimed, your excitement practically radiating off you.

He managed a small smile and placed a hand on your back, but the weight of his day still hung over him. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice tired.

You didn’t seem to notice his exhaustion as you began talking a mile a minute. “I missed you! You won’t believe the day I had—oh, and guess what? I tried that recipe you love, and I think it turned out amazing! Oh, and Louis did the funniest thing today—”

“Can you give me a second?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

The room fell silent, and the warmth in your expression dimmed instantly. You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Oh,” you said softly. “Sorry.”

Nanami immediately felt a pang of regret as he saw the hurt in your eyes. You weren’t upset because he was tired—you were upset because he’d made you feel like your excitement didn’t matter to him.

You turned away, mumbling something about letting him settle in, but he quickly reached out and gently grabbed your hand. “Wait,” he said, his voice softer now.

You hesitated, looking at him but avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your fault I had a hard day. I… I was looking forward to seeing you all day, and then I let my frustration get in the way.”

You blinked, your lips trembling slightly. “I just wanted to make you happy,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do,” he said immediately, stepping closer to you. “You’re the best part of my day. Always.”

Your eyes met his then, searching his face for the truth in his words. His expression was soft, full of remorse and affection.

“I don’t deserve to have you greet me with so much love after the way I acted,” he said, gently pulling you into his arms. “But I promise I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, and I should have treated you like it.”

You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. “I just got too excited,” you murmured.

“And I love that about you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your excitement, your energy—it’s what makes this place feel like home. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate it like I should’ve.”

For a moment, you stood there in his embrace, his warmth and steady heartbeat easing the lingering hurt.

“Do you want to sit down and tell me about your day?” he asked after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I want to hear everything.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Okay. But only if you let me heat up dinner for you first.”

He chuckled softly. “Deal. But don’t rush—just being here with you is enough.”

And as you led him to the table, the weight of his day began to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing he was home—with you.

Toji fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t the type to watch his words. His bluntness was just part of who he was—sharp, quick, and sometimes careless. Most of the time, you brushed it off, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt you. But tonight, it cut deeper than usual.

The two of you were in the kitchen after dinner. You were putting away dishes, humming softly, while Toji leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you.

“I’ve been thinking about trying something new,” you said, your tone excited. “Like a cooking class or maybe painting—something creative. I think it could be fun.”

Toji grunted in response, not looking up from the dish he was drying.

You hesitated but kept going, trying to draw him into the conversation. “What do you think? Would you want to try something like that with me?”

Toji sighed and set the dish down a little too hard, the sound making you flinch. “You don’t stick with stuff like that, do you?” he said, his voice flat. “You get all excited and then drop it a week later. What’s the point?”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you expected. You knew he had a point—sometimes you did lose interest in things quickly. But hearing him say it so bluntly, so dismissively, made your chest tighten.

“I…” Your voice wavered as you set the plate in your hands on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice to do something together.”

Toji finally looked up, his brows furrowing when he saw the way your shoulders slumped. “Hey, don’t get all upset about it,” he said, his tone softening, but it didn’t help.

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, though the slight tremble in your voice betrayed you. “I just… never mind.”

You turned away, trying to hide the tears that were already welling up, but Toji wasn’t one to let things go.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now as he stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, but when you tried to brush past him, he caught your wrist gently.

“Look at me,” he said firmly, his tone still low but insistent. You hesitated, and when you finally met his gaze, he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his grip on your wrist loosening. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t have to say it at all,” you whispered. “You make me feel like I’m… not good at anything.”

Toji’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face. He wasn’t good at this—at saying the right things or fixing mistakes—but he hated seeing you like this, especially when he was the one who caused it.

“You’re good at plenty of things,” he said, his tone softer now. “And… I’m an idiot for saying that to you. I wasn’t trying to put you down. I just… I don’t know how to say things without sounding like a jerk sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he admitted after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “The cooking class or whatever. And I’d do it with you if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to just say that,” you murmured.

“I’m not just saying it,” he said, stepping closer until he could wrap his arms around you. “You’re trying to do something fun, and instead of supporting you, I ran my mouth like an idiot. I’m sorry.”

His arms around you were warm and steady, and you could feel the sincerity in the way he held you.

“You’d really go with me?” you asked, your voice still small.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Even if I suck at it, I’d go. For you.”

Your lips quirked up into a small smile, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “Okay,” you said softly, leaning into his chest.

Toji smirked, holding you a little tighter. “Good. But don’t expect me to wear an apron or anything. That’s where I draw the line.”

You laughed, the sound lightening the room, and he sighed in relief, grateful to see your smile again.

Sukuna Ryomen

The Heian era was a time of beauty and chaos, and life with Sukuna Ryomen was no exception. Known as the King of Curses, Sukuna was feared across the land, but to you, he was something else entirely. His presence, though intimidating, had always been a source of strange comfort. However, his sharp tongue often betrayed him, and tonight was one of those nights.

You had spent the entire day crafting something special—a delicate embroidered cloth featuring patterns of crimson and gold, colors you knew he favored. Each stitch was precise, your fingers aching by the time you finished, but the thought of presenting it to Sukuna filled you with anticipation.

When you brought the finished piece to him that evening, you entered his chambers with cautious excitement, kneeling before him as he sat on his throne-like dais. “My lord,” you began softly, holding out the cloth, “I made this for you. I thought you might like it.”

Sukuna’s four crimson eyes flicked to the offering, and for a brief moment, there was silence. Then he spoke, his tone as sharp as ever.

“You spent all day on this?” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “What use do I have for something so… trivial?”

The words hit you harder than you anticipated. You had poured your heart into the gift, hoping to please him, and now your efforts felt meaningless. You lowered your hands, clutching the cloth tightly as your vision blurred with tears you desperately tried to hold back.

“I… I just wanted to give you something,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

Sukuna’s brows furrowed at the shift in your tone. He could sense your emotions as clearly as the tension in the air, and the sight of you so visibly upset stirred something in him—something he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Tch,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “Why are you crying? I didn’t tell you to do something like this.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “I know. I just… I thought it would make you happy.”

Sukuna let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t good at this—at softening his edges. But seeing you like this unsettled him in a way that battles and curses never could

“Look at me,” he commanded, his tone firm but quieter now.

Reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. His gaze wasn’t as harsh as before, and for a moment, the room felt less heavy.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’m not good with… things like this.” He gestured vaguely at the cloth in your hands. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You… you do?”

“Yes,” he said, almost impatiently, but his tone lacked its usual edge. “I’m just not someone who knows how to handle… thoughtful gestures. But that doesn’t mean they’re wasted on me.”

You blinked, the sting of his earlier words starting to fade. “I just wanted to give you something that reminded you of… us. Of me.”

Sukuna’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “And you think I could forget you?”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and he chuckled lowly, clearly pleased with your reaction. He reached out, taking the cloth from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“It’s well-made,” he admitted, running his thumb over the intricate stitching. “Better than I expected.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Sukuna leaned back, his gaze softening just slightly. “Next time, don’t exhaust yourself for my sake,” he said. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you said softly, your earlier sadness melting away.

“You do,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “Even without this.”

The warmth in his words made your heart ache in the best way, and as he set the cloth aside carefully, you knew that, in his own way, Sukuna was trying.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi Fushiguro was in a foul mood. Gojo had been pestering him all day—constant teasing, unnecessary tasks, and endless comments that pushed his patience to the brink. By the time he walked through the door, his mind was racing, and he felt like he was ready to snap at anything that moved.

You had been waiting for him to come home, your excitement bubbling as you thought about sharing the small surprise you’d planned for him: his favorite snacks arranged neatly on the coffee table and a cozy spot on the couch waiting for him to relax.

When he walked in, you greeted him with a bright smile. “Megumi! Welcome home! I set up—”

“Can you just give me a second?” he snapped, not even looking up as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag with more force than necessary.

You froze, startled by the sharpness of his tone. “Oh… I didn’t mean to bother you,” you said softly, your voice already trembling slightly.

Megumi sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about you, okay? I just need some space.”

Your chest tightened at his words. He didn’t even glance at the effort you’d put into making his evening better. The snacks, the cozy setup—it all felt meaningless now. “I just wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away, your shoulders slumping.

The sound of your soft, hurt tone stopped Megumi in his tracks. He looked up and finally noticed the care you’d put into the room—the snacks, the cozy setting, and the clear effort to make him feel better. Guilt hit him like a wave.

“Wait,” he said, his voice gentler now as he stepped closer to you. “I… I’m sorry.”

You didn’t turn to face him, your hands nervously fiddling with your sleeves. “It’s fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed your true feelings.

“It’s not fine,” Megumi said, his tone firm but remorseful. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You glanced back at him, your eyes glistening. “I was just trying to make you feel better,” you murmured, “but if you don’t want me here, I can—”

“No,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s been a rough day, and I let my frustration get the better of me. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were trying to do something nice for me, and I acted like an idiot.”

You stared at him for a moment, his rare vulnerability catching you off guard. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer and gently taking your hand. “I see what you did here. It’s thoughtful, and it means a lot to me. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Your lips trembled as a small smile broke through. “I just wanted you to relax after your day.”

“And I’m lucky to have you,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “Let me make it up to you.”

You hesitated before nodding, letting him guide you to the couch. As the two of you sat together, Megumi reached for one of the snacks you’d prepared, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly, glancing at you.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“For being patient with me,” he said. “And for always knowing how to make things better—even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned against him, letting the tension of the evening fade away. Megumi might not always get it right, but moments like this reminded you why you loved him so much.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori wasn’t the type to snap at people—he was always upbeat, kind, and quick to laugh things off. But after a long day of missions, training, and dealing with the stress of being Sukuna’s vessel, he’d finally managed to steal a rare moment of relaxation, engrossed in a video game he’d been trying to beat for weeks.

You, excited to share some news with him, entered the room without realizing how deeply focused he was. “Yuji! Guess what happened today?” you said cheerfully, walking over to him.

“Not now,” he muttered, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying across the controller.

You hesitated, unsure if he’d heard you properly. “It’ll only take a second! You won’t believe—”

“I said not now!” he snapped, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard before.

The sudden harshness of his voice made you stop in your tracks. Your excitement vanished, replaced with a sinking feeling in your chest. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before mumbling, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Your voice was so soft, Yuji almost didn’t catch it. But when he heard the hurt in your tone and turned to see the way your expression had fallen, his stomach twisted with guilt.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” he started, but you were already backing away. “I’ll just… leave you alone,” you said quietly, heading toward the door.

Yuji quickly paused the game and jumped to his feet. “Wait! Don’t go!”

You stopped but didn’t turn around, your arms crossed tightly as if trying to protect yourself from the sting of his words.

Yuji rubbed the back of his neck, his face filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was really uncool of me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I just wanted to tell you something. I didn’t think it would make you so mad…”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I was just so caught up in the game, and I got frustrated. But that’s not an excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should say anything, and Yuji reached out, gently touching your arm. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I’m really, really sorry. You’re way more important to me than some stupid game.”

His words made your heart ache in the best way, and you finally turned to face him fully. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, giving you that familiar, boyish grin that made it hard to stay upset. “Tell me what happened today. I want to hear everything.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to interrupt…” you trailed off.

Yuji shook his head quickly. “Forget the game. I want to spend time with you.”

The sincerity in his voice melted away the last of your hurt, and you let yourself smile again. As you started sharing your story, Yuji sat beside you, listening intently, determined to make up for his mistake.

And when you laughed at one of his playful comments, Yuji silently promised himself to never let a moment like that happen again. You were his safe place, his reason to smile, and no game—or anything else—could ever compare.

[bisexual-borderline-disaster]

transcript

[A man faces the camera, which captures him from around his chest to the top of his head. Behind him is a wall with various paintings. He seems to be sitting down. On one side, there is the tiktok symbol with his username below it, @ mohanad.elshieky91]

I grew up in Libya, not to brag, in the city of Bengazi, which I’m sure you’ve only heard good things about. We are famous for our beautiful beaches and nothing else.

And I was driving my car years ago to meet a friend and by the time I got to my street corner where I lived, this woman comes out of nowhere and she does this [holds up his hand, palm out, symbolising ‘stop’] right in front of my car. And to be honest, I was intrigued, so I stopped.

But then that woman runs towards my car, opens the back door, and gets in, and I was like, I can’t think of one scenario where this is a good thing. But then the door next to me also opened and a guy comes in. He points a knife to my face and he says, “Drive now- please!”

I was like brother, at no point I feel like you needed to add the “please.” You know, I was never gonna be like [looks to the side and pretends to hold a steering wheel, as if he is a driver talking to a passenger] “Oh, are you forgetting something?” and he’s like, “please,” and I was like, “okay yeah, now I can drive you” [he flicks a hand to express how ridiculous the idea is and then faces the camera again].

So I started driving and in my head I was like oh, I got tricked, I’m being kidnapped right now, because that woman just stood in front of my car to distract me and this guy got in and they’re probably going to steal my car and do something to me. But then they were chatting and I can like, hear some of the stuff that was going on, the woman said that her phone died and she couldn’t call her husband to come pick her up, so that’s why she stopped me. And I was like, this part makes sense, but doesn’t explain the thing next to me.

And then the guy was like “Hey man, how was your night going,” and I was like, “I don’t know – I didn’t think we were doing this – my night is going great, hopefully not the last night.”

And then finally I got to the location he gave me and both of them left my car and went to a house and knocked on the house and man came out, I assumed that was the husband from the story, and I was like okay, but then the two guys started yelling at one another. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were just going at it. And I was just like, in the car watching them, and I know what you’re thinking, you’re like, ‘Mohanad, you could have just dri-ven [his voice wavers] away at this point,’ which is true, but more than anything, I love drama. I was like, I’m not gonna leave on a cliffhanger, you know, I need to see where this plot is going.

But then I was watching too close – close, and I was like, holding, like, like this on my steering wheel [he holds up one hand on top of the other, both open and face down, curved a little as if they are resting on top of a steering wheel] and I got too close and I honked by mistake.

And the husband saw me and he just runs back in, comes out, now he’s holding a gun and runs toward my car, and I was like, I don’t like this character development. And he starts yelling at me, and he’s like “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” and I was like, I mean, to be honest, questions I ask myself every morning – but also I didn’t know what to answer because I know – I don’t know who I am in this scenario, I’m also confused. And then he said, “Should I shoot you right now.” And I was like, “What?” and he was like, “Should I shoot you right now.”

And I was like, “When you say should, like, that’s a yes or no question, like, does it matter what I - answer?” and he was like, “What?” and I was like, “What are you saying, 'should I shoot you' – if I say no, wo-would you not do it, would- would my answer matter in this – case,” and he said [laughs a little], “Why are you making it weird?”

[He pauses for a moment to let this sink in]

And I was like, “I’m sorry that I’m making it weird, I’m just - scared,” and then he was like [flicks his hand] “Just go,” and I did not know you can survive death by being annoying, but I proven that you could.

And then the knife guy comes back into my car and he was like, “Just drive us home,” and I was like, who is ‘us,” I don’t even know your name – but I was like, you know what, I’ll just drive you where I got you from, to the streets, and forget that this night ever happened.

And he gets into my car and he was just like, “I was just trying to help, man,” and I was like, “I don’t think you’ve helped people before, because this is not how you do it. You could have just asked me, why would you put a knife to my face.” And I was like, there’s no way this night can get any worse, but then we got stopped at a checkpoint.

And back then in w– in the city, years ago, it was mostly controlled by these religious militias, extremist militias, they were, like, everywhere. And when I say extremist militias, I mean groups like ISIS. I’m not sure if you guys remember them, they kinda fell off, they used to be big on youtube, big posters. And they haven’t posted in a while. So I think about them sometimes, you know, I’m like, did they make it? You know, through the pandemic, you know, which I’m sure they did, those guys famously [he waves an open hand around his face, palm toward him, to indicate a mask] wore masks.

But then, you know, they searched our car up and down, and I said “our,” it’s my car, but – and they couldn’t find anything, I don’t know what they were looking for, and they were gonna let us go, but then one of them was like, “Hey, guys, before you go, I’m gonna ask you something,” and I was like, “sure.”

Then he said, “Who you guys support, us or them?”

And I- And I was like, okay, first of all, let’s acknowledge what a great question this is, you know, thank you so much for asking it, I love [his voice wavers] dialogue – but I didn’t know what to say, because I don’t know if you guys are “us” or “them,” you know, there are so many militias in the city and you guys all kinda dress the same, not to give you fashion advice but – you know, it’s kinda confusing, so I don’t know if you guys are “us” or “them,” and they were started – starting to yell at me, and they were like, “Who do you support?!” and I was so scared and I was like [presses two fingers to his forehead as if he has a headache] ah man, Jesus Christ, which obviously I did not say that out loud ‘cause that would have been so weird and awkward.

So instead, I went with another answer, and I said, “god. I…support god,” and they looked at each other [his eyes flick around as if he is looking at other people] and were like [he looks back toward the camera and shrugs] “honestly that’s pretty dope, you know – what a great answer, you can [he flicks his head sideways as if pointing someone that direction] go. That’s actually the whole brand here, so good job.”

And they let me go, and I was happy, but I drove the guy home and he turns out to be my neighbour, I love my community so much, and he was about to leave my car and he was like, “hey man, let’s hang out sometime” and I was like, “absolutely, you know, would love to do that, and you know – see you,” and…before he left, he said that I should keep the knife, and I was like, “why?” and he was like, “You never know when you need it man, this neighbourhood can be very sketchy,” and I was like, “oh, what – makes you say…that, like did something happen, tonight?”

And, um, I have not seen that guy since, and I don’t know what happened to him or whatever but, you know, uh, all I’m saying is, uh… life is a journey. [He smiles. The tiktok ends]

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Under the mistletoe at a Daily Planet party for Clark Kent. No lois lane slander plz, I love her!

A/n: I could never 😩. She was my favorite back in the animated series and I love her in the comics. Fuck anyone that writes negative shit about her and just bashes her character.

If you want a different clark please let me know 🙏.

It was the annual Christmas party at the Daily Planet and once again Clark found himself in the corner of the room with his gaze fixated on you. Your laugh ringing in his ears for something that Lois had said.

Lois the ever observant one turned to find Clark's gaze on you a smirk forming on her lips. Jumping, Clark quickly turned away finding the drink he was holding much more interesting.

"So Smallville when you gonna take the plunge and finally ask out our favorite photographer?"

"Lois!" Clark quickly adjusted the glasses on his face, his cheeks flushed a deep red. "I don't know what you're talking about." He muttered.

Rolling her eyes, Lois placed on hand on her hip as she pursed her lips. "I'm not blind Kent! I'm pretty sure everyone can see your feelings for them in space..."

"I don-."

An exasperated sigh escaped as she stepped behind the man giving him a hard shove. "God it's like pushing a brick house." She muttered. "They are under a Mistletoe..now that's your excuse now go!"

"You're very pushy!"

"I call it being innovated! Now go!"

Stumbling forward, Clark took a few steps then narrowed his eyes spotting another work step towards you. Making a B-line to you, Clark slipped in between you and his co-workers name he happened to forget.

"H-hey."

Beaming, you gave Clark a bright smile as you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Hey Clark, you enjoying the party?"

"Y-ya I." Glancing up at the Mistletoe he then looked to you.

Lois's voice, her whisper somewhere in the office urging him to do something. "Kiss them." She hissed ignoring the looks she was getting.

Adjusting his tie, Clark cleared out his throat giving you a nervous grin. "So uh...I happened to notice we are standing under the Mistletoe and I...would you mind...I mean you don't have to but can I kiss you?"

Blinking, your gaze flicked up to the red and green plant that hung above you both. Gaze softening, you smiled then stood up standing on your toes as your breath fanned across his lips. "I'd like that Clark."

Returning your smile, Clark let his arm wrap around your hips drawing you in close. "Good." Bending down his lips grazed yours in a soft and gentle kiss.

Holding her head high, Lois crossed her arms over her chest. "I made that happen."

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

Didn't expect me to write more about Sol, did you? Honestly, I needed to do more research into his character, after all, since I kinda ignored him in the game as soon as Crowe showed up. Like, no wonder he did what he thought he had to do.  

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet. I'm still learning about the BDSM community, and honestly, it's been really eye-opening.

A close friend (college roommate: adding on the fact she adores Sol—Sorry not sorry, love) of mine has been super helpful, sharing and explaining things about the BDSM scene to add more depth to my writing.

A lot of my inspiration comes from her, along with the Tumblr fanfic community and the original creator's work. I try to blend what feels true to the characters while throwing in my own twist. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with my man—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. He exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence, though the details are still unclear. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences! 

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache. You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His head teases your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want. Can’t do anything unless you say it. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing lightly as if testing the waters. 

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His grin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears on your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb, slick with your tears, slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly. Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special. So sacred. There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Every tender smile, every soft whisper... and every shadowed obsession that came with it. 

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[xoxo-sarah]

Hello my love I have a request for a reader who is like best friends Stevie and you know he’s a caretaker of the group, so she kind of is too anyways she is the caretaker always the mom of the group and everything but he can pick up on some signs that maybe she doesn’t wanna always take care of everybody else like maybe she wants to be taken care of, and he slowly starts doing things for her. But maybe she is reluctant to accept the help so she kinda gets snippy at him queue a frustrated, love confession from Stevie to her. Ends happy because my life is in shambles and I need a happy ending.

Distant

↝a/n: thank you for requesting. I hope you enjoy! 🩷

↝pairing: Steve Harrington x female!reader

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 12.20.24

Steve had always been the caretaker of the group. Whether it was driving the kids around or making sure everyone was safe, he was the go-to guy. But there was someone else who shared this role with him—his best friend, you. You were the “mom” of the group, always looking out for everyone and making sure things were in order.

You had become close to the kids shortly after Steve had. Dustin liked you, liked how Steve acted when you were around. It was also fun for Dustin to pick at Steve when you weren't around; talking about how Steve would blush when you looked at him. You never seemed to notice, though.

It wasn't unusual for you and Steve to be attached at the hip. You pretty much thought as one. One followed after the other. So it was natural when you took the group of kids under your wing. You would do anything for them. That was evident when you had a stern talking-to with a group of kids that were messing with Dustin's group at school. You had spent countless nights making and bringing them food when they were busy playing DND. You always made sure they had a ride home. Or, if they needed to go somewhere, you were the first to call. It became a habit to pick Steve up on the way, if he wasn't already with you when you got the call.

It was fun, spending time with them. They were funny and nice, a contrast to other kids their age.

But, all the times playing “mom” could be tiring. It seemed like every time you got the call, you would drop everything. They needed you, why would you decline?

It was one specific night when you had finally had enough.

Dustin kicked Lucas' feet out of the way, walking toward the phone. He knew your number by heart. Honestly, it's a surprise the number hadn't worn off from how much he typed it in. The phone rang…and rang. Usually, you would've picked up by now. Dustin turned, looking at the clock. 2:37 pm. You were off work today. You typically answer. Plucking the phone back into the base, Dustin turned, eyebrows furrowed. “She didn't answer.”

“How are we supposed to get to the arcade?” Mike sat up straighter, kicking himself for breaking the chain on his bike. Nancy was at Jonathan's, and his parents were out with Holly.

“Call Steve.” Lucas looked at Dustin like that was the obvious answer.

Nodding, Dustin turned back to the phone.

“She didn't answer my call either.”

Steve sighed, turning down the familiar street. The other kids were squashed in the back of Steve's car as Dustin sat in the passenger seat. The kid was quick to tell Steve about his worries. Sure, you just didn't answer the house phone. But that wasn't like you. If you had missed it, you always called back. Or called from Steve's house phone.

“Maybe she isn't home.” Mike watched the trees out the window. Truthfully, he just wanted to go to the arcade. He had a high score to beat. Yours, specifically.

Pulling into your driveway, Steve unbuckled, before getting out. Your car was parked in front of his. “I'll ask if she wants to come with.”

Steve practically skipped to the door, knocking and waiting. It took a few moments before you opened the door. “Hey,” Steve took in your appearance. You looked tired, sleep clumped at the corners of your eyes, eye bags apparent. “Uh, the kids were wondering if you wanted to come with us to the arcade.” He used his thumb to point behind him, where the kids were watching.

“Um,” You opened your mouth, looking at the kids, before furrowing your brows. “You know, I actually have to catch up on some sleep.”

“Oh, okay. Dustin was worried about you. You didn't answer his calls or mine.”

“Yeah,” I have a life outside of you and the kids. I don't have to constantly drop everything to play pretend and do their parents job. “I was asleep.” You weren't going to tell him about how you listened as the phone rang, not daring to even get up from the couch.

“alright, just wanted to check up on you.” Steve turned, not wanting to leave, but feeling like you wanted him to.

You smiled, “thanks, and sorry. Enjoy dealing with those hooligans all by yourself.”

Steve laughed, before you closed the door.

~

Days passed, and it was always the same answer. You had other stuff to do. Until Steve came to visit you at work. He saw you through the window, laughing with a coworker. You looked like you. He missed it.

“I'm having a little get-together at my house tonight. You should come. Food, board games, movies. Everything you love.” Steve smiled, begging you with his eyes.

For some reason, you couldn't say no this time around.

As you all gathered at Steve's house for a movie night, he noticed something different about you. You seemed a bit more tired, your smile a little less bright. You were still taking care of everyone, getting everyone snacks, making sure everyone liked the movie before it was put in, but Steve could see the weariness in your eyes.

You didn't pay attention to the movie, mind elsewhere.

“What's going on?” Steve had asked, after everyone was asleep, and you helped clean up.

“What do you mean?”

You didn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on grabbing the candy wrappers and throwing them away.

“You're distant. You don't answer the phone anymore. Did I do something? Did one of them do something?”

“No.” You sighed, “No one did anything. I just…I'm tired. I don't want to be the caretaker all the time.”

Steve slowly nodded, letting you know he was actually listening.

“I mean, I've had to drop so many things just to take them somewhere or pick them up. I have my own life, you know. I have a job so I can pay bills. If I wanted to be a mom, I would have kids myself.” You hated how that made you sound. You felt selfish for wanting time for yourself, but it's just how it is. They're not your kids, you're not their mom. You're a young adult that has to live life without the constant burden of children.

“You don't have to. I'll talk to them-”

“No. Don't do that. It's fine.”

“It's obviously not fine. You're having to ignore us just to get some free time. I'll talk to them.”

You dropped the trash bag, looking up at him. “I said no. It's not that big of a deal.” You huffed, moving around the living room toward the door.

Steve watched as you grabbed your stuff and left.

He knew first hand how it was to be the caretaker of the group. He found it easier to do with you by his side. But obviously, it wasn't like that for you.

Maybe you wanted someone to take care of you for a change.

Steve started doing little things for you. He'd stop by your house to bring you snacks without you asking. He brought you flowers once, claiming it was from him and the kids, for burdening you. Steve tried to do stuff for you, but you were reluctant to accept his help. You'd always been the one to take care of others, and it was challenging to let someone else do that for you. Sometimes, you'd even get snippy with him, telling him you could handle it yourself.

~

You finally came around again- not as much as before, but you didn't decline their calls anymore.

One night, after a particularly long day, Steve found you in his kitchen, cleaning up after everyone else had left. He walked over and took the dish from your hand.

“Steve, I can do it,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Why won't you let me help you?” he asked, his tone equally frustrated.

“Because I don't need your help!” you snapped back, but your voice cracked, betraying your true feelings.

Steve put the dish down and turned to you, his eyes filled with concern. “You don't always have to be the strong one, you know. It's okay to let someone else take care of you for once.”

You looked at him, tears welling up in your eyes. “But what if I don't know how to let go?”

Steve stepped closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “Then let me show you,” he whispered. “Because I love you, and I want to be there for you, just like you've always been there for everyone else.”

Your breath hitched at his words, “You… you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve said, his voice firm and sincere. “I love you, and I want to take care of you. So please, let me.”

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you finally allowed yourself to lean into his embrace. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of relief. “Okay.”

Steve smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We'll figure it out together,” he said. “One step at a time.”

As the days passed, Steve made it his mission to show you that it was okay to let someone else be there for you. He'd surprise you with your favorite coffee in the morning, leave little notes of encouragement on your bedside table before he leaves at night, and always be there with a listening ear when you needed to vent. Slowly, but surely, you began to let your guard down and accept his help.

~

One Saturday afternoon, Steve took you to a quiet spot by the lake. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the water. You sat together on a blanket, watching the ducks swim by.

“Thank you,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“For what?” Steve asked, looking at you with a gentle smile.

“For everything,” you replied. “For being there for me, for showing me that it's okay to lean on someone else.”

Steve reached out and took your hand in his. “You don't have to thank me,” he said. “I care about you, and I want to be there for you. Always.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling a sense of peace and contentment that you hadn't felt in a long time. “I love you, Steve,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And I'm not going anywhere.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you knew that you had finally found someone who would always be there for you, no matter what. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I fell in love with an emo… BOY???

Tags: itafushi, megumi x itadori, bl, aged up characters, modern!au, side of SatoSugu, crack, NO SMUT, unserious joke about suicide, maybe some tension and suggestion though, megumi wants that cookie so damn bad, hey what’s junpei doing here???

Synopsis: There should only be ONE emo boy in Itadori’s heart, and it damn well wasn’t going to be the one who died in season one.

An: If you don’t ship itafushi, don’t read this LOL. This was so fun to write honestly. I didn’t take it too seriously. You shouldn’t either. The idea just popped up, and I wanted to write it as a palette cleanser from all the dark shit I’ve been conjuring up.

Megumi was going to need a dentist.

Yep, he was surely going to need to take Gojo’s precious black card and pay for all new veneers because his teeth were practically going to be dust by the time this visit was over.

It shouldn’t bother him this badly. His best friend and long-term crush was only visiting with his childhood best friend.

Itadori was a fucking saint. A ray of sunshine and pretty pink flowers on a rainy day. He exuded kindness and thoughtfulness in everything he did. He was unapologetically himself, even if he was a total dork. He was charming as all hell. It was no wonder how he was so popular.

Megumi wasn’t the only one that was blessed enough to feel his warmth, and that thought was sickening enough.

Usually, the black-haired male didn’t necessarily care about all the attention Itadori received. He didn’t bat an eye when Todo would unabashedly sling his arm across Itadori’s shoulders. He couldn’t care less when Nobara would sit on Itadori’s knees and apply skin care to his face, and he definitely never cared whenever Hana would run up to Itadori and give him one of the biggest hugs ever.

So, why was it bothering him so bad that Junpei was simply sitting next to Itadori… laughing at his god awful jokes? They were clearly close… Their knees casually leaned up against each others as they weren’t afraid of touching.

Maybe it was because Junpei laughed really hard at Itadori’s shitty jokes? Everyone loved Itadori, but it wasn’t because of his sense of humor. That was for certain.

Maybe he hated Junpei because he just sprung up out of thin air? Gojo had just shown up with Junpei with basically no forewarning. He knew how much Megumi hated when he did that.

Maybe it was because they had history together? History that didn’t involve Megumi. Maybe he felt some weird claim and ownership over Itadori because he was the first one out of the group of students to meet him. They had known each other the longest… even if it was only by a couple of days.

Or maybe it was because Junpei had that fuck ass haircut. The 2009 emo boy look was so stupid, and it didn’t help that he was wearing a My Chemical Romance t-shirt… It was an exact carbon copy of the one in Megumi’s closet.

“What about you, Megs?” Yuji voice snapped Megumi out of his train of thought. He looked up at the two pairs of eyes that were waiting for his response. Shit. He had been so focused on trying to deduce the status of their relationship that he hadn’t been listening for the past ten minutes.

“Hm? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.” He responded casual enough. It wasn’t unlike him to mentally check out of conversations… especially whenever Itadori brought up that godforsaken human earthworm movie.

“I was just trying to see if you wanted to go see a movie with Junpei and I?” Itadori asked without even skipping a beat.

Junpei and I?

Junpei and I!?

They were like some fucking package deal or something. No, he’d rather drop dead than go hangout with them. He couldn’t stand to see them together for any longer.

“I don’t have anything else better to do.” Megumi sighed in agreement. He couldn’t stand to see them together, but he also couldn’t stand the thought of them going on a date alone! Sorry Junpei, Megs was definitely going to tag along and be a complete cockblock for him.

“Really? Hell yeah!” Itadori grinned as he quickly sat up from the couch, exuding excited puppy energy. Megumi never wanted to go to the movies with him, so this was a treat. His two best friends going with him to see a movie! What could be better?

“Kugisaki!! Come with us!” Itadori shouted towards the short brunette, who was currently sitting at the table with Hana, painting her nails.

“I’d rather kill myself. Thanks!” Kugisaki called back to him, causing for him to pout in response. That’s fine. It was good enough that Megumi and Junpei were tagging along.

Yuji knew how much they had in common with each orher. He at least hoped they’d finally talk on the way to the movie theatre.

Megumi leaned his head back against the couch, and he started to dial Ijichi’s number for a ride. Despite being legal adults, none of them had their license yet. Why get a license when Gojo’s money and staff supported all of them?

It was a little while later when Ijichi pulled the car up. Megumi’s stomach flipped as he thought about the seating arrangement for the car. It was something he hadn’t considered yet.

The three of them could pile into the backseat, except that would be three tall men piled into the backseat. That would be far too uncomfortable. Itadori was the tallest. He could sit up front, but… that would leave Megumi and Junpei in the back seat.. no thanks.

They could have Junpei sit up front. Then, Megumi could sit in the back with Itadori and…

Oh look, Itadori was already opening the backdoor for Junpei and ushering him in before sliding in beside him… how nice.

Megumi was left brooding in the front seat, internally cursing himself for coming along. Being a cockblock required getting and keeping Itadori’s attention, but he had no fucking idea how to do that.

Their relationship had always been Itadori reaching out to Megumi, and the brunette acting indifferent towards him. Megumi envied him for being able to reach out to others so confidently.

“Gojo said he’d be home later tonight, Fushiguro.” Ijichi informed meekly, sensing the other’s frustration. He was just trying to make small talk, but Megumi really wasn’t in the mood today. He actually was never in the mood, but today was worse.

“I already told you to call me Megumi. You’ve known me since I was a kid.” He rolled his eyes at Ijichi, never understanding why the man insisted on using his last name.

“Right… right.” Ijichi fumbled over his words as he continued to drive. Megumi was grateful yet also hated the silence between them. Now, he could hear Yuji yapping to Junpei about the latest horror movie release.

They hadn’t stopped fucking talking since Junpei showed up. It was unnerving. Unnatural. No one had that much to say, did they?

“God, I wish you would’ve been there, Junpei. Megs hated that movie. You would’ve enjoyed it though.” Itadori said with a small laugh.

It was like a knife to Megumi’s gut. All this time they spent together… had Yuji been comparing him to Junpei? Had he secretly wished the Junpei was there instead of Megumi?

Aaaannd his teeth were grinding together again. He propped his head up with his hand, glaring out the car window. He wasn’t a cockblock at all. Fuck, he was a third wheel.

He debated on faking some sort of illness to stay behind in the car, but he knew Ijichi would’ve taken any opportunity to take him to see Shoko. Shoko would’ve found out quickly that nothing was wrong with him, and she would’ve forced him to explain why he faked being sick.

He trailed behind the two as they walked into the movie theatre. They were constantly bumping their arms together as they walked in perfect sync.

Junpei was a little smaller than Megumi, so he came up just to Itadori’s shoulder. Did Itadori prefer shorter men? He liked tall girls… Did that translate to men as well?

He knew Itadori didn’t care about gender. He had revealed such over a game of truth or dare. Kugisaki had asked if Itadori would ever date a guy. Megumi’s ears subtly perked up with the pink-haired male said he really didn’t care what gender someone was. He only looked for personality. With a bit more digging, Kugisaki had taken the honor of labeling Itadori as pansexual, and the young man agreed with such.

Megumi was glad that no one had pressed about his sexuality. It’s not that he was ashamed of being gay. Hell, shame wasn’t a thing when you had Gojo as a parent. He just didn’t want there to be that weird awkward tension that always happens between two friends when they find out each of them like the same sex.

It happened in middle school once. He was finally coming to terms with his sexual identity with the help of Geto. He came out of the closet to his closest (and only) friend in middle school, and there was a pregnant pause when his friend replied, “Wait really? I also like guys.”

He honestly preferred coming out to straight men. Sure, they’d make the common mistake of saying, “Well, as long as you don’t hit on me. We’re cool, dude.” but at least there was no complicated feelings when Megumi would always reply with them not being his type.

Lost in thought, he had completely been acting on autopilot this entire time. He didn’t even realize that they were already in the movie theatre until he sat next to Itadori. Junpei sat on the other side.

Itadori held a large bowl of popcorn on his lap. It was more than enough for the three of them to share, especially because Megumi despised popcorn. There was too many times when Gojo would try to serve popcorn as a meal to him as a young kid.

Granted, Gojo was a teen dad who ran off of sugar and desserts, so he really didn’t know any better either. Geto would always come by and save the day with his cooking.

A small tap on his thigh had Megumi tensing. He slightly flinched before snapping his gaze at Itadori.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you.” He whispered with a soft laugh. Even though it was dark, Megumi could still see how bright his smile was. It made his heart skip a beat. Christ, he was whipped. “Here. I know you don’t like popcorn.”

Itadori gently nudged Megumi’s thigh once again with a bag of American salty chips. It was one of his favorite kinds. Did Itadori by chance know that was his favorite..? If he did, was that something that friends did for each other?

It’s better not to read too deeply into it. He slowly took the chips from his friend’s hand. “Thanks.” He muttered as he just stared at the chip bag. Something about the small token kindness made his heart swell. Itadori didn’t get Junpei his own special snack.

“Don’t mention it.” His friend replied, immediately shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Megumi took a deep breath, and he tried to relax in his seat. Finally, rational thought was beginning to come back to him.

Junpei was only visiting for today and tomorrow. If there was some weird tension between him and Itadori, it’s probably just lingering feelings of their past. Megumi really had no right to be jealous. It’s not like he had ever expressed his feelings to him. He had no claim on Itadori.

Junpei would be leaving soon and flying back off to wherever the hell he lived now. This would be a funny memory in the future.

All was well… until Megumi caught a glimpse of the two men whispering to each other and laughing. Their hands kept bumping together in the popcorn bucket. Itadori was leaned against Junpei so they could hear each other better.

Fuck this. This was torture to witness. Junpei could get fucked for all Megumi cared. Who needs to visit their childhood best friend for a full two days, and who cared if Megumi had no claim over Itadori!? He was still his best friend. That had to count for something.

The movie Itadori had chosen, Human Tarantula, was nothing like Human Earthworm. It took a horror twist upon the movie, and there was little to no romance.

If Megumi wanted his attention, he was going to have to fight for it.

Even though the jump scares were pretty predictable, the next one that happened, Megumi sharply inhaled, and his hand latched onto Itadori’s thigh, feigning terror from the movie.

The pink-haired male straightened, and he looked away from Junpei for once as he looked over at Megumi. He never usually got scared during these films. Did… did Megumi have a secret fear of spiders?

Itadori leaned into Megumi, his mouth next to his friend’s ear as he softly whispered a, “You alright?” to him.

The brunette was thankful it was too dark in the movie theatre for Itadori to see how much that affected him. His cheeks flushed a soft red, and he carefully removed his hand from his friend’s thigh. “I’m fine..” He responded, not risking a glance in Itadori’s direction.

Itadori softly laughed. It was totally like Megumi to act like he wasn’t scared. The pink-haired male just didn’t expect him to be so afraid of spiders. It was cute though. He made a mental note of it. He would be the designated person to take care of spiders if they ever crawled their way into the house.

It wasn’t five minutes later until Itadori and Junpei were all huddled up together once again. They weren’t even talking. They were just leaned against each other, enjoying the movie together… like a couple.

It made Megumi’s stomach turn. He had to act scared to get Itadori’s attention even for just a minute. Meanwhile the emo with the fucked ass haircut can manage to keep his attention the entire day.

Junpei was getting to experience Itadori whispering into his ear constantly throughout the entire movie — something that Megumi only got to experience once, and it was something he craved again.

He was about to just excuse himself to the bathroom to go hide in self-deprecation. He was tired of third wheeling, and he was certainly fucking tired of hearing Junpei giggle at Itadori’s comments.

A scene played on the giant movie screen of a whole nest of baby spiders crawling around. It was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl with disgust. The sound alone made Megumi’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. He wasn’t actually afraid of spiders, but he also didn’t fuck with them either.

A hand rested on his knee, and Megumi tensed. Itadori casually had his palm on the brunette’s knee. He focused on his breathing — trying to not appear as if he was about to die over such a simple touch.

Itadori was clearly just trying to soothe him. It’s not like this is a romantic gesture. No, this is just what friends did for each other, right..?

His thumb gently stroked the outer part of his knee, and Megumi gripped onto the arm rest of the chair like he was fighting for his life. His heart was racing in his chest. Butterflies swarmed his stomach. Itadori and him were close, but they had never even shared a hug before. They weren’t the type of friends to casually share touches… like him and Junpei were.

Of course, on the outside, Megumi looked terrified. Itadori genuinely pitied his friend. He would’ve chosen a different movie if he knew about Megumi’s aversion to spiders.

His hand continued to caress his friend’s knee, thinking this would be a soothing motion to ease his terror, but Megumi was nearly shaking.

Itadori leaned over against him once more. “We can go if you’re not having a good time.” His breath brushed against the shell of his ear, causing Megumi to shudder.

“I’m fine.” He managed to get out in a low, steady tone.

Itadori gave his knee one good squeeze before continuing to rub circles around his knee. Megumi swallowed harshly as he tried to keep his breath slow and steady.

The rest of the movie went by painfully fast. Megumi couldn’t focus with Itadori’s hand on his knee, and he couldn’t get enough of the feeling. His hand itched to just reach down and hold it, but he was too nervous. He kept trying to remind himself that Itadori was likely only doing this so he could be a good friend.

The loss of contact had Mugumi’s heart sinking down into his stomach. Itadori was right back to being all up Junpei’s ass. Were they in some weird ass throuple situation? Is that what people thought about them as they saw them in passing? Two emos sharing a golden retriever?

Returning home, Gojo was sitting at the dining room table, playing on his Nintendo Switch before he looked up at the three with starry eyes. Megumi had forgotten Ijichi mentioned Gojo would be home this afternoon.

During the school semesters, Megumi, Itadori, and Nobara would all go live on the college campus they all went to. However, it was summer time, so they all stayed at Megumi’s since Nobara and Itadori really didn’t have any family.

Megumi’s house was expansive thanks to Gojo’s handsome check from being the clan head. Geto’s income also helped a bit, but he mainly ran a nonprofit for disadvantaged children.

Hell, their home was like a nonprofit for disadvantaged children. It felt like the collected orphans like pokemon cards. First Megumi when he was seven, now several college students found refuge in Gojo’s house.

Hell, Junpei was probably an orphan too. They were really trying to catch ‘em all.

“Gumiii~!” Gojo called out to his child by that god awful nickname that Megumi hated. He was eternally grateful that Itadori had landed on calling him ‘Megs’ instead. “How was the movie?” He asked.

Junpei and Itadori had already settled right back on the couch right next to each other, going back and forth about the voice actors for the movie they just watched.

“Outside.” Megumi grumbled as he grabbed his adoptive dad by the collar of his shirt and comedically dragged him backwards until they were in the backyard.

“Why the fuck did you bring him here, and when the fuck is he leaving exactly?” Megumi asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

“Grouchy.” Gojo laughed, scratching the back of his neck once his son released him. “I guess the movie wasn’t that good, was it?” He asked, clearly just trying to egg the brunette on.

“Gojo.” Megumi’s tone was low and threatening. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides. Small crescent shapes were likely indented into his skin from how tight his grip was.

“Okay, okay- No need for the government name, Gumi.” Gojo responded with his hands up in a dramatic surrendering expression. “Itadori had mentioned having only one close childhood best friend one time, and I decided that a reunion was very much needed.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. He had really filled out his frame since he was a teenager. He still wasn’t as tall as Gojo, lanky bastard, but he wasn’t as defenseless as he use to be. And he honestly debated fighting his adoptive dad.

“So, anyone can just mention to you about a previous friend, and you’ll go dig them up and fly them out?” He asked in a careful tone. His voice was low and filled with misplaced anger.

Gojo pretended to contemplate Megumi’s question before finally giving a response. “If they give me pretty puppy dog eyes, yes.”

“He begged..?” Megumi’s anger was swiftly forgotten, replaced with shell-shock. Itadori had been so desperate to reconnect with Junpei that he begged Gojo to find him and fly him out..? His stomach coiled from the news, and his face paled.

Gojo chose his next words very carefully. “He said he wondered how Junpei had been getting along, and he missed their long talks about movies.”

It was enough to send Megumi straight to his room, locking the door behind him. He knew he had just been mindlessly jealous thus far today, but this level of self pity was unprecedented.

His long-term crush wasn’t fulfilled enough in his friendship with him. He had to go search out his old childhood best friend likely to rekindle old nostalgic feelings. They got along great. There hadn’t been a moment of silence in the house since Junpei had arrived.

Fuck. The memory of Gojo showing up with Junpei flooded Megumi’s mind. Gojo’s stupid ass had shoved Junpei into a box to make a grand reveal. Megumi was too surprised to notice how Itadori’s eyes gleamed and how he ran straight up to Junpei to envelop his body into a tight hug.

Even now, Gojo was sitting downstairs with Junpei and Itadori as they played a board game. It was sickening to think about.

Maybe… maybe he should just move on from Itadori. There was clearly nothing between them on Itadori’s side. He should take on a few more classes during the fall semester and bury himself in his studies to forget about his crush.

A soft knock at his door had him wiping his face, making sure no residue tears were left behind. “What?” He called out in an unamused tone.

“Don’t what me.” Geto’s calm voice filled the room, and Megumi immediately moved to unlock the door for his other adoptive dad.

Megumi knew better than to pick a fight with Geto as he was the lawmaker in the house, and Gojo would back him all the way to the moon over anything.

“Sorry…” He muttered as he sat back down on his bed, avoiding eye contact with the other male.

“Why are you up here moping? Nanako and Mimiko are even downstairs socializing, and you know how hard it is to get those girls to do anything besides stare at their phones and laugh at each other.” Geto said as he took a seat down on the bed next to Megumi.

Megumi shrugged his shoulders. There was no way he was about to vent out his frustrations right now. He already felt too vulnerable and raw. He didn’t need anyone else knowing what was going on.

Too bad for him, Geto was perceptive as hell. He was always the first to notice when Megumi would go on downward spirals like this… probably because he went through the same thing.

Geto’s episodes were far and few between nowadays, but he still had his days. Gojo had luckily gotten better at picking up on Geto’s warning signs, and he’d always do whatever was necessary to bring his husband back to life.

“You know… I remember I use to hate this girl back in college. She was brash, strong, and had long dark hair that rivaled my own.” Geto said as he looked at his son. He knew without even having to ask. Megumi was clearly stricken with jealousy and grief.

“So?” The brunette asked, giving Geto a raised eyebrow.

“So, Satoru was too touchy with her. He always use to tease her until she went red in the face, and they way he said her name had me plotting her demise. Uttaahimmee~” Geto mocked Gojo’s teasing tone of voice, earning a faint smile out of Megumi.

“We weren’t dating at the time, and I’d say we barely even had a situationship going. I felt like I had no right to be so jealous. I usually tried to play along, until I found myself retracting from what Satoru and I had been building.” He went on, recounting their teenage years fondly.

“I almost let him go, but I decided to give a last ditch effort. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if I had retracted completely instead of just telling him how I felt? He admitted that he was only acting that way so I’d feel jealous. He thought it’d make me want him more. What an idiot.” He laughed, and Megumi joined in with his own soft laughs.

“Thanks. I know what you’re trying to do..” Megumi said with a soft smile planted on his face. “But I don’t think Itadori is doing this to get a rise out of me.”

“Certainly not. That boy doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t perhaps like seeing that jealous side of you.” Geto said, raising his eyebrows with suggestion that had Megumi shoving him out of his room with embarrassment. His dads were too cool joking about that stuff with him, even if he was grown now.

After a few moments of reflection, he set forth a plan in his mind before collecting himself mentally. He was going to allow himself to feel jealous without any judgment.

He walked downstairs, and he lingered around the back of the couch as he watched his sisters, Itadori, Junpei, and Gojo all playing some sort of board game.

Itadori and Junpei were nearly on fucking top of each other. It was disgusting. He let out a disgruntled noise of dissatisfaction as he climbed over the couch to sit on Itadori’s other side.

“Hey Megs. I was going to go check on you after this round.” He said as he freed himself away from Junpei.

“It’s fine.” He said as he placed a firm hand over Itadori’s knee. Butterflies once again swarmed his stomach. He really couldn’t touch the other without getting all flustered. He tried to control his breathing, and he forced his voice to be steady. “What are you playing?” He asked.

Itadori noticed the sudden hand on his knee, but he didn’t dare to comment on it. “We’re playing Life.”

“Speaking of which, it’s your turn, Yuji.” Junpei spoke up, interrupting their small interaction.

Megumi glared at Junpei unapologetically until every person in that room felt uncomfortable.

“Actually, I completely forgot. I have a livestream to go watch!” Mimiko said as she hurried out of the living room.

“Me too-“ Nanako added as she chased after her twin sister up the stairs.

“I think I hear Suguru calling for me.” Gojo said with a knowing grin as he leisurely left the living room as well.

“Well…” Junpei muttered lowly as he looked around. “Maybe we can watch another movie, Yuji..?”

Megumi didn’t miss how Junpei clearly didn’t intend on inviting him to their plans. His teeth ground together, but he stayed silent, waiting to see what Itadori’s response would be.

“I… actually need to shower. It’s getting late, and Todo expects me to be in the gym every morning at 5 o’clock sharp.” Itadori said as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

Good boy. Megumi thought to himself.

“I’ll bring you down some blankets and pillows. Hana’s currently taking up the guest room, but you and I can camp-“ A disapproving growl from Megumi had Itadori quickly rethinking what he was saying. He felt the brunette’s hand tighten around his knee. “You and I can… catch up tomorrow.” He quickly adjusted his words.

“Yeah, sure.. That’s fine.” Junpei nodded as he got comfortable on the couch. Yuji stood up, and Megumi followed along right behind him. It took work to keep the smug expression off his face. He finally fucking won. He was officially a cockblock.

His smug victory was cut short when he was swiftly jerked into the bathroom, and his back was pressed against a wall. The door shut, and the lock clicked into place. Itadori’s hands trapped him in, and he looked up at his tall friend with wide eyes.

“Mind telling me what’s going on with you?” Itadori spoke in a voice that was not at all intimidating, but it was more concerning than anything.

“I don’t know what you’re-“ A hand placed firmly under his jaw had Megumi’s heart nearly leaping out of his chest. He secretly hoped Itadori couldn’t hear it.

This was straight out of his fantasies. His friend keeping him still against a wall, forcing his gaze up into his big brown eyes. He had the face of an angel, but his actions spoke to a hidden darkness underneath.

“Don’t lie to me, Megs.” Itadori spoke with a frown. It looked like disappointment on his face, making Megumi feel slightly remorseful for the bold display of jealousy. Though, he wouldn’t have had to do that if Yuji and Junpei weren’t so annoyingly close.

“You’ve been up Junpei’s ass since he got here. It’s like you forgot you have other friends around.” Megumi finally fessed up as he tried to jerk his jaw away from Itadori’s grasp. He only tightened more around his jaw.

“That’s what your mood has been about?” Itadori asked with a laugh. A laugh. Megumi could feel his anger boiling over as if he wanted to explode right then, feeling so invalidated by the guy he had longed for-

His train of thought completely stopped as he felt a pair of lips upon his own. No way was this happening right now. He literally had to look down and check. Yep, Itadori was kissing him right now.

After the smallest moment of hesitancy, Megumi instantly melted into the kiss, looping his arms around Yuji’s neck and swallowing down each and every small noise he made.

The kiss was short, but it was lust-filled on both sides. Itadori was gently panting with a dumb grin on his face as he eyed his best friend. Megumi face had a subtle blush to it, and he was avoiding his gaze.

“Does that make you feel better? I didn’t take you for such a brat, Fushiguro.” Yuji gently teased, squeezing onto Megumi harder as he tried to get out of his grasp.

“What did you just call me?” Megumi asked as he was trying to fight Yuji’s hulking figure. The pink-haired male had supernatural strength that rendered Megumi completely useless against him.

“I’ll let you mark me up if you stop fighting me and forget that I called you a brat.” Yuji bribed with a laugh, and Megumi went completely still in his arms.

“Wherever I want.” He negotiated with a narrow stare.

“Wherever you want and however many it takes for you not to be such a jealous recluse.” Yuji offered.

“Deal.”

*** *** ***

Todo was a loss for words when Yuji walked into the gym the next morning littered in bruises along his neck and collarbones.

Also, no one dared to mention to Megumi that Junpei was actually straight… There was never a battle of the emo boys in Yuji’s heart after all.

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

The very first time Gianpiero Lambiase met Ariel Cane, it was a quiet summer evening in August 2015. 

He had just gotten home from the Belgian GP…and he and his wife Laura had finally closed on a house in Milton Keynes. 

A charming red brick two story, with a bright blue front door, at the end of a quiet street with patch of a garden. Less than 5 minutes away by foot from the Factory and near a daycare for Francesca, their daughter. 

The knock at the door was unsurprising because GP had just ordered Chinese takeout…

But when he opened the door…it wasn’t a delivery driver. 

No, instead there was a teenage girl on his doorstep. With a cloud of bright red hair, a dimpled smile and Tupperware box of… something in her hands that she thrust at him. 

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” she told him brightly. “I am Ariel. We live in the house with the red front door. I made you some cookies!”

This was the last thing he had expected. 

Actually, he could just stare at her for a moment, while Francesca happily clapped in her hands. 

GP couldn’t help but chuckl as his young daughter reached towars Ariel's hair, her tiny hands grasping air as he pulled her back. The toddler's babbling, "Red! Red! Red!" seemed to break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his voice roughened by laughter. "That's very kind of you. I'm Gianpiero, and this little one is Francesca."

Ariel’s smile seemed to brighten at the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you. And you too!” she chirped to Francesca, whose little face was peering over her father’s shoulder, still trying to grab her hair.

Gianpiero balanced his daughter on his hip, still a little bemused by the whole situation. With Francesca squirming in his arms, he shifted the Tupperware box under one arm and extended his free hand. "Thank you for the cookies," he said graciously, glancing at the contents of the box.

They looked delicious, that was for sure. Freshly baked and still warm from the oven.

"Did you make these yourself?" he asked wracking his head to come up with something to say. 

Ariel nodded enthusiastically, that sunny smile never fading. "Yep!" she confirmed, as his daughter started babbling ‘cookie’ repeatedly, trying to reach for the box. "I love baking! My mum…she taught me how."

GP hummed in acknowledgement, carefully keeping the Tupperware out of Francesca's reach. He wouldn't put it past his daughter to snatch the cookies and try to eat them all on her own.

His gaze returned to Ariel, taking in the girl's bright, cheerful demeanour. She couldn't be more than…17 or 16, her limbs not having lost their coltish length, but there was a maturity in her eyes.

"You're very young to be baking cookies for neighbours," he remarked, hoping it didn't sound like a criticism.

Ariel just shrugged nonchalantly. "I just wanted to make a good impression," she said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world for a teenager to bake cookies for total strangers.

GP’s amused surprise only grew.

"And you certainly have," he assured her, fighting a smile as his daughter kept trying to snatch the box of cookies. "Not many teenagers would take the time to bake for the new neighbours."

He managed to move the box successfully out of view from Francesca, who then started complaining loudly.

Loudly enough that it pulled his wife’s attention.

The commotion had brought Laura to the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. As soon as she appeared, Francesca instantly held her arms out to her, wanting her mother instead of her father.

Laura chuckled, taking Francesca into her arms and kissing the top of her head. The toddler immediately quieted down, clutching at her mother's shirt.

"What's going on here?" Laura asked, gazing quizzically at their new neighbour.

GP chuckled and held up the Tupperware box as explanation.

"Apparently, we're being welcomed to the neighbourhood with cookies."

Laura’s expression softened, an amused smile on her lips. "That’s so sweet," she said brightly, her free hand coming to gently ruffle Francesca’s hair.

"Ariel Cane," Ariel introduced herself. "My dad, my sister and I live to your right, in the house with the red door," she explained.

Laura smiled, shifting Francesca to her other hip as the toddler reached up to tug at her hair.

"It's nice to meet you, Ariel," she said, the Tupperware box in GP’s hand momentarily forgotten. "I'm Laura."

"Nice to meet you," Ariel said back, then flashed a smile at the little girl on her mother's hip. "And you too!" Francesca let out a giggle and stuck her tongue out at the new neighbour.

Laura chuckled, gently catching Francesca's hand and pulling it down from her hair.

"I just wanted to say welcome to the neighbourhood," Ariel said quietly. "And if there are any stray cats running around, don’t be surprised! Mrs. Higgins, she lived here before, she used to feed them," she explained.

There it was again, that surprising maturity in her voice.

GP and Laura exchanged a glance, still baffled by the fact that a teenage girl had come to their door with baked cookies in hand.

“That’s very kind of you,” GP said. “We’ll certainly keep that in mind.”

"Just bring back the tupperware whenever," Ariel said brightly. "If I am not there, my father's healthcare aid is there, so somebody will probably answer the door."

"And let me know if you ever need a babysitter. I have a younger sister so I am well-versed. And Francesca is adorable," she offered brightly. "I am sorry, I need to get back...Gloria's shift is ending..." she trailed off for a moment. "Ah...and if you ever see a ambulance parked in front of our house, don't worry, it's for our dad...he has cancer, so..."

GP’s expression immediately softened. The mention of her father's condition hung awkwardly in the air, the cheerful atmosphere dampening slightly.

Laura was the first to speak, reaching out to gently touch the girl’s shoulder.

"I’m sorry to hear that," she said softly, genuine sympathy in her voice.

"I hope he'll be alright," GP added, shifting the Tupperware box in his hand.

Ariel's expression didn’t change, but it was clear that the topic of her father’s health was a sensitive one. She forced a smile to her lips, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Yeah...he will," she said, her voice just a tad brittle.

The silence that followed was awkward and thick, none of them quite knowing what to say.

It was Francesca who broke the tension, letting out a soft whine at the lack of attention. Laura gently shushed the little girl, before once again addressing Ariel.

"Thank you again for the cookies," she said kindly. "It was lovely meeting you, Ariel."

"It was lovely meeting you both," Ariel replied, her usual cheer returning to her voice. "And you too, Francesca!"

The toddler giggled and made a grab for the bright red hair again. Laura pulled her hand off gently, chuckling.

"Goodbye," Ariel said with a final wave, before turning around and quickly heading back to her own house.

GP and Laura watched her go, both of them quietly contemplating the girl’s words. Her father’s illness suddenly put everything into a different perspective.

Laura let out a soft sigh, readjusting her grip on Francesca.

"That poor girl…"

GP nodded in agreement, the Tupperware box seemingly heavier in his hand than it had been a few minutes ago.

"It must be tough," he mused, turning the corner of his mouth down. “Caring for your dad, while still being so young…”

"And a younger sister, don't forget that," Laura added. "Did she say anything about her mother?"

GP paused, thinking back to the earlier conversation. “Just that her mother taught her how to bake,” he said after a moment, a small frown on his face. “I guess she’s not in the picture, maybe?”

“Maybe a single dad, raising them by himself,” Laura said with a soft sigh, one of her hands gently tousling Francesca’s brown locks.

The toddler let out a little grumble, turning her head away from the touch.

“And taking care of him as well,” GP shook his head. “It’s a lot for someone so young to handle.”

There was a heavy silence as they both silently commiserated over the girl’s situation. GP let out a soft exhale, shifting the Tupperware box to his other hand.

“I hope her dad gets better soon,” he said quietly. “For her sake, more than anyone else’s.”

It took him two days to convince himself that it wouldn’t be weird to bring back the Tupperware – and he certainly wasn’t just using it as an excuse to check in on the girl. 

So he found himself walking up the path to the red front door, the Tupperware box in hand.

He knocked on the door, the Tupperware feeling heavy in his hand. After a moment, he could hear the sound of soft footsteps approaching the door. The door was opened by another red-headed girl, nearly identically to her older sister other than the colour of her eyes. Her were dark brown, her sisters were blue.

"Can I help you`?" she asked him, her eyebrows furrowing. 

GP found himself momentarily taken aback by the unexpected sight of the younger sister. 

"Ah, yes," he said, quickly recovering from the surprise. "I'm returning these," he said, holding up the Tupperware for her to see.

The girl, who he assumed was Ariel's little sister, stared at him through the crack of the front door with a cautious expression. She was clearly assessing him, trying to determine if he posed a threat or not.

"ARIEL!" she screamed loudly.

"Em, be quiet," came Ariel's voice, worried. "Dad just fell asleep. Don't wake him, please."

Gianpiero tried not to chuckle. He was getting the distinct impression the little sister was rather fierce.

Ariel appeared behind her younger sibling seconds later, her eyes lighting up with recognition as she spotted him on the doorstep.

"Hello, Mr. Lambiase!" she chirped with a smile. Her cheerful greeting made him chuckle.

"You can just call me GP," he said. He held up the Tupperware in his hand again. "I just wanted to return this."

"Oh, right," she chimed, reaching for the Tupperware. As she did so, her little sister, Em, gave him a suspicious look, still standing by the door.

Gianpiero found himself amused by the girl’s distrust. She seemed rather protective.

"Thanks," Ariel said as she accepted the Tupperware from him. She gave him another smile.

Meanwhile, Em was still standing a few steps behind, eyeing him intently. Gianpiero caught her gaze and gave her a small, friendly wave.

“And who’s this?” he asked, nodding towards the younger girl.

Ariel glanced back at her sister, who was still staring at him with an almost suspicious expression. She didn’t seem quite as sunny and cheerful as her older sister.

Ariel sighed softly.

"This is my little sister, Emma," she introduced the girl, who just continued staring at him without saying a word.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, addressing Emma directly. “Your sister made some really nice cookies.”

"I know," Emma said seriously. "Ariel makes the best cookies. They taste just like Mom's used to."

Ariel winced ever so slightly, though her smile stayed firmly in place. It was obvious that their mother was a sensitive topic for them.

"Well,” GP said lightly, not wanting to linger on the subject, "they were delicious."

He cast a subtle glance towards Ariel, noticing the way her smile seemed a fraction more brittle.

This poor family really had been through so much, and the kids were paying the price.

"Girls, who is at the door?" the voice was croaky. The man that belonged it to...didn't look very well at all.

His complexion was wan and drawn, and he seemed to be struggling to keep himself upright. Whatever illness he was suffering from was clearly taking a toll.

"Dad you are supposed to rest," Ariel said quickly, abandoning the door, to rush to her father's side.

The man waved a hand at her, a look of determined stubbornness on his face.

"I'm fine," he insisted, despite the fact his voice was croaky and he could barely stand.

"Dad,” Ariel protested, catching him as he stumbled slightly. GP instinctively took a step forward, ready to assist if he needed to.

The father tried to bat her hands away, but his movements were weak and shaky.

"I’m fine," he repeated, albeit unconvincingly. "Stop fussing."

Ariel looked like she wanted to protest again, but instead helped him hobble back into the house, gently but firmly keeping an arm around him to prevent him from falling.

Ariel let out a sigh of annoyance as her father continued to insist he was fine. Clearly, this was a familiar argument.

"You’re not fine," she scolded, supporting him by the arm to prevent him from falling. "You need to rest."

The man opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, he was overcome by a racking coughing fit. GP winced in sympathy, watching as the man struggled to catch his breath.

Ariel’s expression darkened with worry, her grip on her father’s arm tightening.

The coughing fit ended as suddenly as it came, leaving the poor man looking even more feeble than before.

"Who's that?" he managed to croak, his eyes half-lidded and weary.

Ariel looked back towards GP, a slight look of concern on her face. She was clearly reluctant leave her father’s side, but also didn’t want to be rude to him.

Before she could respond, Gianpiero decided to answer for himself. “I’m Gianpiero Lambiase. We just moved in next door,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

The man's expression turned into one of realization as he pieced the information together. He let out a weak chuckle, which turned into a cough again.

"Ah, the new neighbours," he rasped hoarsely. "I remember my girls mentioning you. I’m Paul Cane."

Gianpiero smiled at the introduction, though it quickly faded at the sight of the man's ill state. His eyes were sunken and weary, the skin around them drawn with exhaustion and pain.

"It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cane," he said, his voice low and kind.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, though any attempt at a proper greeting was cut off by another coughing fit.

GP fought the urge to wince; the man’s ragged coughing sounded downright painful.

Ariel, meanwhile, continued to support her father, but her eyes were filled with worry. She looked so young and so concerned, it was heart wrenching to see.

The coughing subsided once again just as quickly as it had come, though it left Paul even more breathless than before. He leaned heavily on his daughter, looking as if he was going to pass out.

Ariel’s grip on her father tightened, her expression one of both worry and frustration. "You need to go back to bed, Dad," she pleaded.

"I’m fine," Paul tried to protest again, but his weak voice betrayed any attempt at bravado. He was clearly struggling, even though he refused to admit it.

Ariel, however, was not having it. "Dad, you're not fine, and you know it," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "You need to rest or you’re going to make yourself even worse."

"i just wanted to bring back the Tupperware. Your daughter made some amazing cookies," GP said quickly.

Despite the fact that Paul was clearly struggling, he managed a weak attempt at a smile.

"Ah...yeah, my girls are great with baking," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They take after their mother, she was a great cook..."

Ariel flinched at the mention of her mother, her expression darkening.

GP was quick to notice the look on Ariel’s face, and the way she tensed. It was clear that the topic of their mother was a sensitive one.

He shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to navigate this particular subject.

Paul didn’t seem to notice his daughter’s reaction, instead, he turned his attention back to GP.

"Thank you for returning the Tupperware," he managed to say, his voice still weak.

GP nodded, sympathetic. "No problem," he said quietly. His eyes flicked to Ariel again, wondering how all of this must be affecting her and her younger sister. They were both so young, dealing with so much.

"Well, I should get going," he said carefully. "If there is anything I can do to help, just...ring the doorbell?" he offered questioningly.

Paul nodded faintly in response, though it was a gesture that clearly took a lot out of him. "Yeah...yeah, sure," he rasped hoarsely, before lapsing into another coughing fit.

Ariel shot a grateful look at GP, mouthing the words 'thank you' before redirecting her attention to her father, who was leaning heavily on her.

GP took a step back, knowing they had bigger things to worry about than him.

"Take care," he said earnestly. "And please...try to take care of yourself," he added, aiming the comment towards Paul.

This defineitly didn't put his neighbours out of his mind. Actually the exact opposite.

He thought about himself at 17. He couldn't have shouldered that kind of responsibility that Ariel Cane.

But then he thought about the other 17 year old that he had interacted with lately. Whereas Ariel Cane seemingly was mature beyond her years, unwilling to take any risks...Max Verstappen had spent his weekend in Belgium pulling a hat trick on Felipe Nasr and giving everybody on the paddock grey hairs for deciding that overtaking somebody around Blanchimont was clearly something that he could do.

The worst part was actually that he had shown that it was very much possible.

GP had to admit, he couldn't help but chuckle as he thought of the young driver's audacious move.

Max Verstappen was an extremely talented boy, but he certainly wouldn't win any awards for caution or restraint anytime soon.

In some ways seemingly the exact opposite of Ariel...but then they were both clearly having to shoulder a whole lot more responsibility than GP ever had needed to at this age.

The stark difference between how the two teens lived their lives – the cautious, responsible Ariel Cane who took on the role of adult-caretaker in her family to such a degree that it bordered on concerning, and the reckless 17-year-old racing driver Max Verstappen who seemed to have absolutely no fear or restraint for the risks he was taking – provided a rather interesting contrast.

GP couldn't help but compare them in his mind, and it was striking how differently they approached life despite both having to deal with burdens beyond their years.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't shake the image of the two of them. They were both 17, yet they seemed a whole world apart.

[sunderwight]

Honestly fascinated trying to figure out how both of Ambessa's kids ended up being diametrically opposed to her whole jock spartan might-makes-right mentality.

Tthe obvious answer, of course, is that Ambessa's husband (Kino's dad, and the guy Mel thought was her bio dad until recently) was way more of a diplomat and way less of a fighter, both philosophically as well as in terms of skill. And that he's the one who passed this on to the kids.

This fits well enough as an answer. The guy in the portrait certainly looks more like a talker than a fighter, and we know that Ambessa has a thing for pretty, submissive men thanks to her whole introduction in S1. Also, regardless of Mel's genetics this is presumably the man who raised her and is her father in the "nurture" sense of the equation, so it would be completely reasonable for her to take after him.

However, there are a few issues here.

One is the fact that even when Mel is talking to who she thinks is Kino about the possibility of one of them being a bastard, or of a bastard half-sibling existing, neither of them mention their father at all. While I doubt either of them would hold illusions about Ambessa remaining faithful to a spouse (for all we know the guy's still alive while she's off carousing with twinks), you would think that if both kids were close to their dad or took after him particularly, there'd be at least a passing mention of him in the midst of this discussion.

Maybe Mr. Medarda died a long time ago, though. Perhaps it's a topic so buried that it's an established habit to simply never mention it. Or maybe there is an issue of estrangement between him and his children for other reasons. He doesn't seem to have factored into Ambessa's decision to send Mel away, nor is his potential grief brought up around the subject of Kino. Despite confirmation of his existence, he seems (ironically) to be out of the picture, though it could also just be that the writers wanted to leave their options open for what he might be like in case another Arcane-adjacent series comes into production. I am fairly sure that Mel is the most likely character from Arcane to create continuity into a show about Noxus or Demacia or something, if we get another LoL series, especially since her story feels the most unfinished.

However, there's another possibility, which is that Mr. Medarda up there was such a nonentity in his kids lives that he doesn't come up because there's not much of a relationship to acknowledge. In which case, even if he is more of a diplomat (and he and Ambessa were a political marriage, presumably?) it'd be hard to credit him with influencing the kids so significantly.

One of the interesting things about Mel and Kino is that even though they are at odds with their mother on a lot of topics, topics that even seem to tie into prevailing Noxian cultural ideals (so, things they'd have been overall raised to believe in by the rest of their house and not just their mother too), they are also kind of astonishingly confident in expressing themselves?

So, somebody must have been supporting their alternative viewpoints and validating them as opinions worth expressing, even if they weren't things Ambessa approved of or actually wanted to foster in them as opinions/philosophies.

I think an interesting option is that it was Ambessa herself who did this, actually.

Ambessa's lore mentions that she figured out really early on that Kino did not share her temperament at all. Also, that she started searching about for ways of ensuring not only her house's domination, but the survival of her children specifically. Because the succession in a Noxian noble house doesn't seem to be guaranteed by birthright, which means that Kino and Mel would probably face rivals from their own family if they seemed too weak or vulnerable to lead, and someone else contested it. An easy way to remove a "weak" leader would also be to just kill them off. That's even apart from external rivals (like the ones who actually did kill Kino).

Which means that even if her kids had different values and priorities, Ambessa would probably have wanted them to still present those opinions with ferocity and confidence. If they cower to her, they will cower to others, and that's worse than them just not being aggressive combatants or warlord types. If you're gonna be a peacenik weirdo (by Ambessa's standards) in Noxus then you better damn well still be an assertive one.

I like this idea partly because the image of Ambessa trying to balance her kids having totally alien opinions about things like the value of life and importance of compassion, with trying not to actually beat down their spirits about it. Just spending a lot of their formative years being like, ugh, I have to listen to my nerd ass loser children tell me why they think mercy is a good idea. Such a fucking chore. Anyway great job presenting your arguments kids, lots to think about, let's go get ice cream. Then Mother has to fire one of your military tactics instructors for daring to call you a couple of wieners. Again. Even though she's right.

[bonefall]

I was thinking about your tags, and while I understand the caution, it feels like it would still be a stretch to baseline equate common traits among the clans with eugenics. I know that humans can rly quickly go from everyone has biological differences = there are innate qualities that are "good" and "bad", and there's a quality of fascism in that, but when the clans are fairly isolationist, it seems like it'd be natural for there to be trends among its members.

this is also just me prompting for your thoughts on biology and politics surrounding that, since i appreciate your thoughts on fascism in warriors overall.

I think you're missing a piece in your takeaway that I'm more conscious of-- it's not that I'm wary of population genetics and natural trends; it's that the Clans have an obsession with "blood purity" paired with that.

When you introduce "subspecies" Clans to that, cats who are truly biologically suited to a particular environment, you are inevitably narratively connecting the rhetoric to this worldbuilding fact. Unless you're going to massively overhaul the theme and setting of Warrior Cats, to me it's like looking at xenophobic characters that say "mingling with out-groups is bad" and announcing, "I AM GOING TO GIVE THEM PHRENOLOGY BUT REAL."

Even canon is wise enough to not do this-- Graystripe shows in TPB that it's the oily diet that makes RiverClan's fur so water-resistant. WindClan's lanky legs never get more extreme than a general population trend; enough Clans have skinny warriors that you wouldn't "clock" mixed cats like Jayfeather and his siblings.

But in making those Clan differences MEGA extreme, suddenly, you have taken the irrational social bigotry and turned it into a potentially legitimate practical concern about adeptness in an environment. Not just against an individual, but against that individual's population.

As an example of what I mean, imagine if RiverClan had special, extreme adaptations to living in water. Let's say they're webbed-foot cats who can close their orifices like seals and their coat is twice as thick to keep the water out.

Outcrossing to another Clan means hybrid kittens display the opposite of hybrid vigor-- hybrid depression.

Without webbed feet, other cats are always slower swimmers than their counterparts

Hybrids have thinner fur, making them lose heat in cold water much faster, requiring them to eat more to stay healthy or get sick more often.

They may not have the same muscles to close their orifices, meaning they're more likely to damage their senses by swimming in dirty water.

You can reduce disadvantages with accessibility technology in a more advanced setting like BB, but... they are still born significantly disadvantaged, compared to a ""pure blood"" RiverClan cat.

Doing this also says something you might not have realized you've said at all; Your population is proof of evolutionary pressure. Highly specialized genetics like this (not just trends but HIGHLY specialized) implies there's been something preventing the genetics of other Clans from intermixing with RiverClan.

Which has two implications;

The hypothetical RiverClan cats achieved a positive goal by self-inflicting a selective breeding program onto themselves. (...eugenics. that's eugenics.)

The hypothetical RiverClan environment is so harsh and demanding that it will naturally, swiftly eliminate unfit phenotypes. (The river totally cancels out any secret outcrossing)

(as a side note, ppl tend to misunderstand evolution. Darwin wasn't totally right with "survival of the fittest," I prefer Bill Nye's description of "survival of the good enough." But that's a topic for another time)

Either way, I find those implications DEEPLY unfitting for BB. This is a project which has major themes of exploring bigotry, showcasing its irrationality and digging into how it's perpetuated and exploited in spite of that.

I think BB's themes have a better clarity of purpose if the physical differences between Clans are kept subtle. Never more extreme than what you'd see between ethnic groups-- with frequent reminders about how culture, environment, and politics shape behaviors more than genetics do.

Don't misunderstand me-- I'm not saying that every setting with physical differences between races/sapient species is doomed to this. I actually have good things to say about certain artworks that lean into it (Steven Universe, Beastars, Oren's Forge). I'm saying this specifically about WC and my work within that context.

If you're curious though, I actually have a loose set of "rules" in my head to try and keep my Clans' population differences within my own critiques! I've given a lot more thought to this than I've shared.

There are no "unique" Clan mutations, any trait could appear within any hypothetical kitten.

It's a matter of prevalence. ThunderClan is like 80% Sweetness Tolerant and the other clans are between like 15% - 60%. It's not a sign your mate cheated on you if your kitten likes honey.

But it is something that an accusation can be based on, if your mate is insecure or the Clan's politics are going sour. A "pedigree" RiverClan cat could still have a mane, and it can get used against them.

Some traits do help or hinder ability slightly (ex; thick tails making RiverClan cats better at steering in water), but typically not significantly. I Just Keep It Reasonable.

Most importantly, I just make an effort to have most traits be based on social behavior. Reflect enough and eventually you sorta train your brain to think differently. As a bonus, it helps with cultural worldbuilding.

Related: If you found this insightful, I also dove into fascism and TigerClan in a way that's relevant to this.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 19 - 'Dad’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.3 k

It was just past 6 a.m. when Jack heard the soft creak of the side door opening. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had been up for a while now, nursing his coffee in the kitchen and mentally preparing for the day. The text Trent had sent somehow even earlier had left him rolling his eyes, and now here he was, sneaking in like some lovesick teenager. Jack set his mug down with a dull thud and turned as Trent stepped inside, looking more awake than he had any right to at that hour. A tired but knowing grin stretched across Trent’s face as he quietly shut the door behind him. A bag was slung over his shoulder, which caught Jack’s attention for a moment before he decided to brush it off.

“Bro, it’s just unnecessary for you to be here this early,” Jack muttered, crossing his arms and giving Trent a look that bordered on disapproval.

“Jacky lad, come on, don’t be like that,” Trent replied, punching Jack’s arm lightly as he passed. The playful gesture did little to mask the nervous energy buzzing under his skin.

“Nah, serious,” Jack pressed, shaking his head. “It’s mad early, and you’re creeping around my house like a burglar. Bit much, isn’t it?” Trent raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll be quick. Thanks for letting me come over, yeah? I just… I gotta talk to her real quick. Won’t take long.” Jack stared at him for a beat, trying to figure out whether he was annoyed or just resigned. 

“Yeah, alright, mate,” he said, finally giving Trent a shove in the shoulder. “Do what you’ve gotta do.” As Trent moved toward the stairs, Jack stayed rooted in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms folded. He watched Trent ascend the staircase, his steps careful and deliberate, and shook his head with a rueful chuckle. This was his new normal, wasn’t it? Trent sneaking into his house not to see him, his best mate, but to see you, his younger sister. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Jack was trying. For you. For Trent. He was glad Trent was putting in effort and glad he was coming to talk to you. Upstairs, Trent moved with purpose, his feet soft against the carpet as he made his way to your room. The house was quiet, the only sounds the faint ticking of a clock and the distant hum of the world outside. The early morning light filtered through the windows, casting warm streaks of gold on the walls. He reached your door and paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. A nervous breath escaped his lips, and he ran a hand over his hair, hesitating for just a moment. He hated how much he’d missed you, even though it had only been a couple of days. Finally, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open slowly, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the silence.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn but not fully closed, letting in just enough light to bathe the space in a soft glow. You were curled up in the center of the bed, buried under a blanket, your hair fanned out against the pillow. Trent’s lips tugged into a smile at the sight of you. He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him and setting the bag down on the floor. For a moment, he just stood there, soaking you in—the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes rested against your cheeks.

“Morning, pretty girl,” he whispered, his voice low and soft as he approached the bed. You stirred at the sound, your face scrunching up briefly before your eyes fluttered half open with a squint.

“T? Baby?” you murmured, your voice soft and laced with sleep as you felt the bed dip slightly. It took you a second to register the figure standing at your bedside, but when you saw Trent, a sleepy smile broke across your face.

“Mmmm, course it’s me, baby,” Trent whispered back, his voice warm and comforting as his lips brushed against the bare skin of your shoulder. His scent wrapped around you, a mix of his cologne and the faintest trace of fresh air from outside.

“What are you doing here?” you asked groggily, your brows furrowing as you tried to fully wake up. “Thought you were leaving. I was planning to already be missing you.” Your voice held a pout as you blinked up at him, your eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” Trent murmured, his hands gently pulling you into him, wrapping you in his warmth. You didn’t resist, letting your body mold against his as he held you close.

“Hi…” you giggled softly, nuzzling into his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“Look so good like this,” he said with a smirk, his fingers playing with the thin strap of your pajama top. His eyes traced over you with a softness that made your cheeks warm.

“I look… tired probably,” you laughed, a little embarrassed as you nestled your face into the crook of his neck to hide.

“Not to me,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere, making your heart skip. You pulled back slightly, your curiosity piqued. 

“No, seriously, baby. What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms instinctively wrapping around his waist to hold him closer. Trent let out a quiet sigh, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing strokes. 

“I couldn’t go… not yet,” he murmured. Your brows knit together as you searched his face, trying to piece together what he wasn’t saying. 

“Why? You okay, baby?” you asked, your voice soft and filled with wonder. He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something real. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, holding you gently as he gathered his thoughts. 

“When I go, baby, I want to leave knowing you’re mine. I want to leave with you as my girlfriend.” Your breath hitched at his words, your heart racing in your chest as you stared up at him. “You’ve been my dream girl my entire life, you know that? And… if you’d let me, I’d want you to be my girl for the rest of it. So…” He trailed off, his voice soft and filled with nerves as he studied your reaction. Your eyes filled with tears, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. 

“Okay,” you sniffled, your voice trembling as you gave him a small nod.

“Yeah?” he asked, his lips curving into a hopeful smile, though you could see the tension in his shoulders as he waited for more.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, a shy smile breaking through the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Gonna be my girlfriend now, yeah?” he murmured, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “For every season. Gonna take care of you forever, pretty girl.”

“T…” you whimpered, unable to find the words as emotion choked you. Your hands clung to him tightly, your face burying in his chest as you nodded against him. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“None of that, baby. Don’t cry.” He smiled sympathetically.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled as your tears soaked into his shirt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would ever love me like this.” You let out a sentiment far heavier than anything you were expecting this morning. His hands on you felt gentle something you never knew you didn't have.

“Shhh, baby,” he murmured, his arms wrapping securely around you, holding you as if he could shield you from all the pain you’d ever felt. “I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.” You pulled back just enough to look at him, your tear-streaked face glowing as a smile spread across your lips. 

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tumbling out naturally, as if they’d always been there, waiting for this moment. Trent’s eyes softened, his gaze locking with yours as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so tender it made your heart ache. 

“I love you too,” he whispered against your lips, his voice steady and sure. The two of you stayed there, wrapped in each other, the world outside fading away as the weight of his words and the promise in his eyes made you feel more whole than you’d ever thought possible. “I’m gonna ask and properly take you out, swear,” Trent whispered, his thumb grazing over your cheek in the soft glow of morning. His voice was gentle, but there was an earnestness behind it that made your heart skip a beat. “I just didn’t want to take to the pitch ever again without you being my girlfriend, that alright, pretty girl?” His lips pressed to yours in a kiss so soft, so unhurried, that it felt like time stood still. You melted into him, your sleepy haze mixing with the overwhelming feeling of love that settled deep in your chest. Everything about this moment felt surreal, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

“You didn’t have to do all this, baby,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with emotion as tears threatened to spill over again. “Just you here…. this is perfect.” You confessed.

“Nah, Y/N… baby,” he murmured with a smirk that sent a flutter through your stomach. It was mischievous, cheeky and ever endearing. “You think I’m waking you up like this just with words?” His dimples deepened as his playful grin grew. You giggled, brushing your hand across his chest as he shifted beside you. Your brows furrowed when he leaned off the bed, reaching for something on the floor. When he straightened up, your eyes widened. In his hands was the most beautiful bouquet of fresh peonies, their soft pink and white petals still glistening with dew.

“For the most gorgeous girl in the whole world,” he said softly, holding them out to you. Your heart clenched as you took the bouquet from him, the delicate fragrance filling the air around you.

“Baby…” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you buried your nose into the flowers.

“You like ‘em?” he asked, his voice low, almost shy, as he watched you with a boyish smile.

“I love them,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. "I love you." You pouted, emotion getting the best of you. You were having a hard time shaking your tiredness because this entire thing felt like a dream. Longtime crush, brother's best friend just asked you to be his girlfriend, waking you up with peonies in your bedroom? In what world? Evidently, your world.

“Not done yet,” he teased, leaning over the side of the bed again. You tilted your head, blinking through your tears as you watched him grab two boxes—one large and one small. He placed them carefully in your lap, his smile softening as he looked at you.

“T…” you started, your voice trembling as you stared down at the boxes, overwhelmed. Trent’s phone buzzed with a message. The notification irrelevant, but the time illuminated, not so much. He caught the time and sighed. 

“I gotta run, pretty girl,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. “But you open these, yeah?” Your fingers brushed over the ribbons on the boxes as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips stayed there for a moment, warm and reassuring, before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “And you’ll call your boyfriend tonight, yeah?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. A smile broke across your face as you nodded. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you clutched the boxes close.

“Alright,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if he couldn’t bear to leave. “Good girl. Love you so much, baby.”

“Love you, T,” you whispered, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in for one last kiss. “Can’t wait to watch my boyfriend tomorrow.” He chuckled, his laugh rumbling softly against your chest. 

“Let me know how he does.” he said cheekily, brushing his nose against yours before finally pulling away. As the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, the weight of the moment settling over you. You looked down at the boxes in your lap, your hands trembling as you untied the ribbon on the larger one. Inside was a gorgeous Chanel bag in the gorgeous turquoise tweed, the bag so perfect you wanted to scream but you were too tired, almost delirious at your unexpected morning.  You needed to call Layla now but you still had one more box to open. And then amid your eagerness to gush to your best friend, your breath hitched opening the smaller box, revealing a delicate pair of earrings, just like the necklace you wore only slightly different. Nestled there were two butterflies, one gold, the other turquoise. It was perfect. It was you. It was you and Trent, finally evolving. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the box to your chest. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until your cheeks started to ache, your heart swelling with a love so overwhelming it left you breathless.

“What are you doing before the final game?” Jack, out of the blue, asked. Games had come and went and now it was the end of Trent’s season. You paused, caught off guard by the question. 

“Why? What’s going on?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. Jack hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was debating whether to tell you.

“Dad’s coming,” he said carefully. You froze, feeling your heart drop into your stomach. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. You hadn’t seen your dad in about a year, and though you’d always had a good relationship with him, it had become more distant as time went on. He didn’t really know you as an adult—didn’t know about the life you’d built for yourself, and definitely nothing about Trent. And now, the thought of that relationship, so new so fresh coming to light, made your chest tighten.

“Dad’s… coming?” you repeated, almost as if you didn’t believe him.

“Yeah,” Jack replied, scratching the back of his neck. “He, uh, wanted to come to the match and catch up, I guess.” He muttered. You nodded slowly, but your mind was racing. 

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to sound as anxious as you felt. Jack took a breath, his eyes flicking to yours. 

“We’re supposed to grab lunch at that pub he likes… then, you know, I guess head to the match with him.” Jack explained cautiously and hesitantly. He knew you didn’t want these plans but nevertheless, they were your plans.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The weight of it all started to sink in. The pub he liked—the place you hadn’t been to in years. Your dad showing up, expecting to see the same version of you he’d always known. And Trent—how would he feel about all of this? How would your dad react, to realizing the relationship between you two? Jack watched you carefully, sensing your nerves. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer now. You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Yeah. Just… a lot to process, I guess.” You told him not wanting to even start because you knew it was all fairly fresh for Jack. An adjustment for everyone, including yourself.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Jack reassured you. “Dad’s not that scary, you know.” You laughed weakly, shaking your head. 

“It’s not that. It’s just… he doesn’t really know me anymore, Jack. I don’t even know if he’s going to like me.” You explained poorly. Jack frowned, stepping closer. 

“Hey, what are you on about. Of course, he’s going to like you. He loves you. You’re his daughter. He knows you.” He smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah, but Trent’s my—” You paused. You didn’t know if Jack knew, if Trent had told him. You didn’t want to hurt him anyone. 

“Yeah, your boyfriend. My best friend, I know,” Jack interrupted firmly. “T’s a good guy, and Dad’s not stupid. He knows that.” You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to convince yourself Jack was right. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety forming in your stomach. This wasn’t just about your dad knowing Trent was your boyfriend—it was about him seeing the person you’d become and hoping he’d still be proud of you.

Seeing your dad was harder than you’d anticipated. There was a heaviness in the air, a kind of tension that came from too much time apart and too many things left unsaid. You sat awkwardly on the edge of your chair, your hands clasped in your lap as Jack and your dad caught up. Their voices filled the room, casual and animated as they sipped on beers, talking about work, sports, and everything else except the topics that mattered. You knew it was only a matter of time before Trent came up—his name felt like it was hovering in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore. The clock was ticking; you’d have to get to the stadium soon, and once you left, there’d be no escaping the inevitable conversation. Jack leaned back in his seat, laughing at something your dad said. They were so at ease with each other, the kind of natural connection that came from years of shared history. You sat silently, feeling like a child again, a bystander in their world. You hadn’t expected to feel this small, this invisible, but here you were, the same as always.

It hit you, sitting there, how little had changed. Even now, as an adult, you were still on the outside looking in, waiting for a chance to be part of their conversation. But when you finally did speak, your words felt hollow, like they didn’t quite fit in their world. Maybe this was why you sought attention elsewhere, why you craved the kind of validation that left you breathless and seen. It wasn’t just about romance or excitement—it was about feeling like you mattered, like you were more than just someone to be looked over or around. Your dad didn’t mean it, you told yourself. He didn’t notice the way his conversations with Jack seemed to box you out, like you were still twelve and incapable of understanding the weight of their conversations. But that didn’t make it sting any less. They avoided mentioning your mum, which wasn’t a surprise. Her absence was like a shadow in the room, unspoken but lingering in every quiet moment. You glanced at your dad, wondering if he even noticed how uncomfortable you were, how small you felt sitting there. The stadium was calling, and part of you was glad. At least there, you’d see Trent, someone who made you feel like you belonged, like your voice mattered. But that didn’t erase the ache of sitting in at the pub, waiting for the conversation to shift, for someone to notice you were there.

“Jack we need to get going… “ You said. The atmosphere in the room was thick with an uneasy silence, a weight that neither of you could shake off. “I told Di I’d meet her outside  before so…” you awkwardly interjected. 

“How is Di? Can’t wait to see her and Mike at the match.” Your dad sat at the table, his hand still wrapped around his half-finished beer, the glass catching the dim light as it rested on the surface. He was relaxed, too relaxed, as though everything was fine. His words, casual and unbothered, contrasted sharply with the tension in your chest. His assumption that things were as they always had been — that you could talk about Dianne and Mike like nothing had changed — stung in ways you couldn’t put into words. Your father’s gaze drifted from you to Jack, lingering for a moment before it returned to you with that familiar, unspoken question. Why wasn’t Jack the one making decisions? His eyes didn’t need to ask it, but the look was unmistakable. You could feel the knot tighten in your stomach. You didn’t want to answer him, didn’t want to acknowledge that the dynamics between you all had shifted. That he had shifted.

“Just Di is going,” you muttered, your voice sharp as you tried to hold it together. The words fell like ice into the room. Jack noticed the change in your tone immediately. He could see it, the way you were pulling away, the way your nerves frayed at the edges. You stood up abruptly, the motion too fast, too sharp, betraying the calm exterior you tried to maintain. The chair scraped against the floor, the sound jarring in the silence that followed. “I told her I’d meet her…” you trailed off, your words faltering for just a second, but the pressure to leave was too strong. "I have to go, you can meet me there if you want to stay here longer, but I promised." You snapped. Your dad’s gaze flicked from you to Jack, waiting for a response, expecting one. But there was no response. Jack could sense the brewing storm, the way your jaw tightened and your eyes clouded. The air between you all was electric, like the calm before a storm, but Jack was the first to break the silence, his voice low and calm, a stark contrast to the storm inside you.

“Y/N, Y/N, jesus, hold on,” he said, his hand reaching out to gently grab your arm, but you flinched as if the touch burned. Jack immediately regretted it. It all came crashing back to hm. His fingers loosened, and he let his hand fall to his side, his voice softening as he realized what he had done. He could see it now — what Trent had told him, what you’d been through. Everything, the secrets, the pain. The moment hung there, suspended between the three of you. Jack straightened up, his gaze not meeting your dad’s but aimed directly at you. “I’m with ya,” he said gently, his words grounded, offering you the support that was starting to feel like a lifeline. He nodded, as if trying to anchor you in this moment. “It’s fine. Let’s go, yeah?” Your dad’s eyes flicked back to Jack, but Jack didn’t move. He was standing firm, waiting for you. There was a subtle shift in the air, as though Jack had pulled the rug out from under your father’s expectations, leaving the tension behind you like dust settling after a storm. “You never want to keep Dianne waiting,” Jack said, his voice a little more light-hearted, as if trying to smooth over the heaviness. But his words couldn’t erase what had passed between you all in that moment. And you didn’t want them to. You were already halfway out the door, trying to escape the weight of it all, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things would never be the same.

The atmosphere in the stands felt charged, the sound of the game filling the air, but it was easy for you to tune it out as you focused solely on the field, your mind a whirl of thoughts. Jack had fallen into easy conversation with Noah and Trent’s brothers, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being apart from everything. Maybe it was the weight of your father’s distant gaze, or the unspoken tension between you and him, but there was a disconnect you couldn’t ignore.

Dianne’s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, and your dad turned as she approached, her expression warm and teasing. But as her gaze landed on you, wearing Trent’s jacket—something you had nicked without thinking—he saw the softness in her eyes, the way she always looked at you as if you were her own daughter.  You instinctively tried to listen in, and for a moment, you almost wished she didn’t see the truth so clearly.

“Finally, hmm?” Dianne cooed with a smile, nodding to you in Trent’s clothes, the way you were leaning forward, lost in the game. Her voice was light, but you could tell there was an undercurrent of something more, a knowingness that settled between you. Your father’s voice came almost too quickly, a hint of forced joviality in his words.

“Ah, she’ll always hold a torch for him. I’m sure he has more lasses than he can handle though. Him and Jacky boy.” He chuckled, clearly trying to mask something—maybe his own discomfort or the way the whole situation made him uneasy. But you heard the words, and they stung a little more than they should have. You looked down, feeling that familiar ache in your chest. He’s fine because Jack is fine. Jack’s fine because Trent is fine. And everything will be fine because they all just fit together in this neat little package. But you? You were the complication, the one who didn’t fit. And yet, your father was never looking too closely at the things that didn’t add up, wasn’t he?

“Well… we’ve known he’s only wanted one, and Trenty’s got her now,” Dianne added softly, a playful tone in her voice but something deeper behind it. There was no judgment, only an understanding, and a subtle acknowledgment of everything that had been left unsaid. But the words landed like a heavy weight in your chest. Your father, though he was trying to make light of things, didn’t see it—didn’t see you. He couldn’t see past the loss of your mother, the way you reminded him so much of her, both in looks and in the way you held onto things, quietly, intensely. It had always been easier for him to connect with Jack, the son who didn’t wear his mother’s ghost in every glance, in every gesture. Jack, who had managed to fill the space she’d left in a way that you hadn’t. But your father couldn’t escape the grief that came with you. And it hurt. You felt it in the way his words came too quickly, like he was trying to convince himself, to ease his own pain without even realizing he was pushing you away. You wanted to reach for something, anything, to make it easier, but instead, you just sat there, a quiet reminder of everything lost. Dianne’s gaze softened, and she didn’t need to say anything more. She saw it. She always did. She didn’t need to push. All she did was offer a quiet reassurance, a recognition that the divide was there. You were both standing in it, but only one of you seemed to have the strength to acknowledge it.

Your dad watched, almost frozen, as Dianne moved behind you, her hand finding your arm with that familiar warmth, a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. It stung a little to watch—how easily she could reach out to you, how easily she could offer you something he didn’t know how to give anymore. You turned towards her, smiling up at her with an expression that was softer, more open, than the one you had given him in ages. Dianne cupped your cheek gently, the kind of tender touch that felt like home, like someone who understood you without words. She tilted your head just slightly, guiding your face back toward your dad, as if to make sure he saw you—really saw you.

“So, so, so gorgeous, huh?” Her voice was light, teasing even, but with a layer of affection that felt bittersweet. She wanted him to see you the way she saw you, but it was all so much more complicated than that. Your dad’s eyes followed you, but there was an unreadable expression on his face. He was lost in it, in everything unsaid between you, between the past, the present, and the future.

“She’s beautiful, always has been,” your dad muttered, his voice tight. The words were there, but they didn’t reach you in the way they used to. The sadness in his smile only made the gap between you feel wider, more unbridgeable. He had always been so proud of you, but now there was something missing, something he couldn’t find his way back to. Dianne, as if sensing the weight in the air, pressed a kiss to your hair, her lips warm against your skin, and pulled back just enough to let you turn back toward the game. 

“And finally Trenty’s got his head on straight, hmm?” she asked with a knowing smile, the kind of smile that said she wasn’t oblivious to the tension you had been carrying. She wasn’t stupid. She knew. You felt a flutter of discomfort at her words, a sharp reminder of how much you had been hiding. A part of you felt like you’d never tell your dad about Trent. And then you realized that wasn't really an option. But you didn’t think you could ever tell him about Trent, not like that. You weren’t sure if he could handle it, and you weren’t ready to deal with his disappointment or confusion. So, you let her words slide by, nodding as you turned back to the game, trying to lose yourself in the sound of the crowd, in the rhythm of the match. Your dad remained still, his mind racing, trying to piece together what Dianne was getting at. The look on his face betrayed a quiet frustration, as if he had just missed something important, something he wasn’t privy to. He felt like he was in the dark, and it hurt more than he’d like to admit. What was Dianne talking about? What was happening between you and Trent? The questions hung there, unanswered. He looked at you one more time, but you were lost in the game, your eyes focused, your body language closed off. And in that moment, your dad knew that things were changing, and he couldn’t stop it. The weight of the unknown pressed down on him, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate this new space between you, between all of you. Dianne, sensing the shift, took a seat next to Tyler, her presence no longer a bridge but a reminder of the complexities of what had been left unsaid. The game continued, the noise of the crowd growing louder, but for you, the world felt smaller, and the distance between you and your dad felt wider than ever.

You stepped inside, the cool air of the box a stark contrast to the heat of the stadium outside. Your gaze immediately landed on your dad, standing alone, watching the game through the glass with his usual intense focus. But there was something different about the way he stood, a slight distance between him and the rest of the crowd, like he wasn’t really part of it all.

“Keeping warm?” you asked, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was a weak attempt, but it was all you could manage. He hummed, squinting at the field, trying to follow the play. His focus was still on the game, but you could tell he wasn’t fully present. It was as if part of him was always somewhere else. “You know… you can see a lot better out there,” you suggested, motioning toward the seats where the rest of the group was. The words were casual, but there was a plea in them that you couldn’t hide. A hope that he might want to come closer, to bridge the gap that had grown between you both. He glanced at you, his excuse falling flat. 

“Yeah, don’t want to crowd the space and all.” It wasn’t a good reason, but you knew it wasn’t really about the space. It was about something else, something neither of you were talking about. A sigh escaped you as you stood there, unsure of how to push forward. It felt like you were both stuck, circling each other but not quite connecting.

“Do… do you want to come sit with me?” The words came out hesitantly, like you were testing the waters, unsure if he would say yes or if you would even know how to handle it if he did. For a moment, there was silence between you, and then your dad finally turned, his eyes meeting yours. It was like a weight lifted in that brief second, his gaze softening, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. He reached up, his hand gently cupping your face, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you saw a genuine smile spread across his face.

“I’ll come sit with you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm, sincere in a way that it hadn’t been for so long. The affection in his tone caught you off guard, and you felt a lump form in your throat. You tried to smile, to match his warmth, but it was hard to push back the tears that threatened to spill. “Gorgeous you are, huh?” he added, his smile growing. There was a hint of that old fondness in his voice, something familiar, something you hadn’t heard in a long time. You grinned, a shaky laugh escaping you as you fought to keep the tears at bay. In that moment, everything felt a little bit easier, a little bit lighter, even if just for a second. It was a small step, but it was a step forward. The game’s final minutes ticked down, but they felt like hours as you sat there with your dad, the tension between you both growing thicker with every passing second. The crowd’s roar seemed distant now, just background noise to the awkward silence you were both trapped in. To your surprise, your dad, who had always been so engrossed in the game, turned to you, his expression more serious than you were used to.

“Sweetheart, Dianne said something earlier… Does she know something Jack and I don’t?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a weight that made your stomach churn. The question felt wrong in so many ways—almost like an accusation. The assumption that he and Jack were always on the same page, always in sync, and you were the one left to navigate things alone. You couldn’t stop the frustration rising within you. You fought back the urge to snap, to let him feel your annoyance, and instead gave him a steady answer. 

“Jack knows…” You didn’t want to get into it, but it felt like he was trying to pry, trying to put you on the defensive as if there was something to hide. And for a brief moment, it felt like he was accusing you of betraying Jack, not simply sharing your own truth.

“And… should I know?” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying expectation in it, as though you owed him an explanation. It hit you harder than you expected, making your patience slip. You turned your gaze back to the game, unwilling to meet his eyes, unable to mask the irritation building inside. 

“I don’t know. Should you?” Your tone was sharp, your words colder than you intended, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The unfairness of it all—the way Jack and your dad always seemed to understand each other, always seemed to be in sync, leaving you as the outsider. It stung.

“Y/N…” Your dad’s voice softened, but the use of your full name was a reminder of a time when you hadn’t been this distant, when his voice was filled with care and not frustration. That small shift in his tone made something inside you crack, but it only made your anger burn brighter.

“What? Do you care enough to want to know?” You shot back before you could stop yourself, the words tumbling out sharper than you meant. You could feel your dad bristle, his frustration mounting, but so was yours. This wasn’t just a conversation—it was an accusation, a judgment.

“Hey.” His tone snapped, and the energy in the air shifted. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you from across the box, but you couldn’t stop now. This had been building for too long. Jack stood up and walked over, his presence like a wall between you and your dad, as if once again it was two against one. That old dynamic—the one that always left you feeling like you were fighting to be seen, fighting to be heard, while Jack and your dad stood side by side, united.

“Okay, yeah. Trent’s my boyfriend. Happy?” The words shot out like daggers, sharp and bitter. “There’s my life update. You can go back to wherever you are in Spain at the minute and act like you know anything that goes on here.” Your voice wavered for a split second, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it felt like you were invisible to them. Without waiting for a response, you stood up and stormed past Jack, your heart racing with anger and hurt. He called your name, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. There was no going back now, not with this tension hanging between you all. You had to break free, even if it meant isolating yourself again. Once again, it was you against them, and you were done trying to fit into the space they had carved out for themselves. Jack’s eyes softened as he looked at his father, knowing the weight of the situation, knowing the rift between you and their understanding of what you were going through. He had seen it for years, the unspoken divide between you and your dad, the way he treated you so differently than him. But now, it was worse. Now, your dad had crossed a line, and Jack felt the tension, the hurt that you’d carried for so long.

“Dad…” Jack sighed, his voice heavy with frustration and compassion. He could feel the hurt building inside him, too, knowing that his father was looking at the situation with an incomplete understanding. Jack wasn’t blind to the way his dad had always looked at you, how he seemed to hold back from truly seeing you, as if seeing you fully would mean confronting the loss of your mother all over again. But that wasn’t your fault. And this wasn’t easy for you.

“She… she’s dating Trent, and I have my own way to deal with it, but…” Jack’s voice trailed off, the words hard to form. He knew the history, knew the tension between you and your dad, and how impossible it was for your father to see things from your perspective. “You can’t just show up and ask for this huge piece of information about her…” He took a deep breath, the weight of what he was saying settling heavily in the space between them. “So much has gone on, I can’t even begin to describe it.” Jack’s eyes searched his father’s, trying to get through to him, but the words felt like they weren’t enough, like they could never be enough. “She’s had a really hard time, dad. This isn’t some spur-of-the-moment, rash decision… It’s been a lot, and it’s been really heavy for her, so please… Please talk to her.” His voice cracked slightly, a mix of frustration and helplessness. Jack didn’t know how to make his father see the pain you’d been hiding, the burden you’d been carrying in silence. He wasn’t sure if he could even explain it himself, but he tried anyway, hoping something would break through. Your dad looked at him, his face filled with a shock that Jack hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the mention of your struggles, maybe it was the revelation of just how much you had been dealing with, but something in him seemed to shift, even if just slightly. He didn’t know what surprised him more—your relationship with Trent or the fact that you had been struggling this much. But instead of addressing it, instead of asking questions or trying to understand, he simply turned away.

“I’ll give her a minute,” your dad muttered, his voice distant. He didn’t even look back at Jack as he focused once again on the game, his back turned to his son. Jack’s heart sank. He had hoped for more, had wanted his father to reach out, to show that he cared. But it was like he was retreating again, locking himself in the same place he had always been—unable to break free of the grief, of the distance between him and his children. Jack stood there, watching his father’s back, feeling a wave of helplessness and sorrow wash over him. The conversation had gone nowhere, and the gap between them was only wider now. He had hoped his father would understand, that this moment would spark something in him to reach out to you, but it didn’t happen. All Jack could do now was wait, just like you.

As the game ended and the crowd filtered out, you couldn’t shake the heaviness that lingered in the air. Your eyes were red and puffy from the tears you’d tried to hide, and your lips were pressed into a thin pout, an attempt to mask the hurt and frustration you felt. You didn’t even have to look up to know when Trent walked into the box. His presence was like a breath of fresh air, a sense of comfort in the storm you were fighting.

“Come here, pretty girl,” Trent’s voice was soft, concerned. His hands gently pulled you into him, and the warmth of his embrace felt like a balm to your soul. “What’s that face for, beautiful, hmm?” His words were a sweet coo, the kind that only he could make sound so tender. He kissed your forehead, repeatedly, his lips brushing your skin like a quiet reassurance. He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes, his gaze full of care. “Look at me… What’s going on, baby?” He asked earnestly.  But just as you opened your mouth to respond, your dad’s voice cut through the moment, loud and blunt.

“Trenty.” Trent froze, his eyes widening for a moment as he turned to face your dad. The tension in the air shifted immediately. At the moment, his hands had been dangerously close to your ass, a comforting gesture that felt natural, but now it was like they were caught in the act. Trent cleared his throat, his smile faltering, and he quickly retracted his hand from a more intimate position.

“Ah, alright, sir?” Trent stumbled over his words, extending a hand for a handshake. It was awkward, but you could see him trying to play it off as casual, even though the situation was anything but.

“Course, had to at least catch one game this season,” your dad replied, his tone unnervingly normal, like nothing had shifted, like he hadn’t just witnessed a small piece of your private world that he wasn’t meant to see. His words, however, didn’t seem to match the discomfort in the room. It was like he was pretending to be fine, pretending that everything was the same as it had been before. Trent, though, immediately pieced it all together. The tears in your eyes, the tension in the air, the way your dad had come over so bluntly—it all clicked for him. His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him protectively. You didn’t fight it. Instead, you leaned into him, your arms winding around his bicep, letting the comfort of his embrace ground you. Trent looked down at you, his expression softening.

 “Okay?”He asked.  He could feel the weight of everything you were carrying, and he just wanted to make sure you were alright. You nodded, leaning your face into his shoulder, finding solace in the warmth of him. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, the simple act of being close to him helping to ease the pressure in your chest. Trent, still standing with you wrapped around his arm, continued talking to your dad, but now his attention was solely on you. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he felt the familiar presence of your perfume wrap around him after the long match. There was something deeply intimate about the way you held onto him, and he relished it. “Stayed warm, huh?” Trent asked, pinching your side lightly, a playful spark in his eyes as he adjusted the jacket you’d borrowed from him. Your dad, however, was no longer paying attention to the conversation. His eyes had locked onto you, watching the way you interacted with Trent. It was clear he was taking it all in—more than just the casual handshake, more than the friendly chat. The dynamic between you and Trent had shifted in the air, and your dad, whether he acknowledged it or not, could sense the change. Trent, on the other hand, was completely absorbed in you. The conversation with your dad was just noise in the background. He wasn’t concerned with anything other than making sure you felt safe, loved, and cared for in this moment.  

“So, Y/N finally wore you down,” your dad said, and it sounded like a statement wrapped in a half-joking, half-disapproving tone. Maybe it was the way he said it, but it didn’t sit well with you. You could feel the sting of it, the assumption that you’d been some sort of challenge for Trent. But then again, maybe he didn’t mean it that way. You weren’t sure anymore. Your dad’s words hung in the air, but there was something about the way he said them that felt off—like he was trying, but still not really understanding. You stiffened slightly, catching the slight edge in his tone, but you couldn’t be sure if it was truly patronizing or just his attempt to mask his discomfort. Trent, however, didn’t hesitate. He always seemed to have this way of handling awkward moments with confidence, and right now, he used it like a shield. 

“Nah, I finally got my dream girl,” Trent said with a grin, flashing that million-dollar smile your dad had always found disarming. “Everyone’s on board with it now, even Jack the lad, so… What you saying?” Trent prompted. You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth for him in that moment. He’d just taken the lead, not hesitating, not letting your dad’s old-world ways hold him back. It was like he was saying, This is happening. You have to deal with it, and you have to accept it. It was exactly what you needed to hear. You looked at Trent, grateful. He was doing all the hard work that you couldn’t bring yourself to do, and doing it with such ease, making your dad see that this wasn’t some fleeting phase or secret rebellion. This was real. And with his words, it felt like Trent was subtly reminding your dad that he couldn’t just sit on the sidelines of your life. Your dad, for all his avoidance and silence up until now, finally softened. 

“Just want her happy,” he said, his voice sincere, and for a moment, you could see that he meant it. The weight of the words, even though they were simple, felt like he was finally trying to step into your world, into a space where he hadn’t been before. He reached out then, almost tenderly, lifting your chin with his finger, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Just want you happy, sweetheart.” There was an effort there, something raw and unspoken behind his eyes. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t the resolution you’d hoped for, but it was something. For the first time in a long while, it felt like your dad was trying—really trying—to meet you halfway. And for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different between you both.

“Aye bro, we going out tonight?” Jack’s voice carried over as he approached Trent with Noah trailing close behind, his energy already at full throttle.

“Yeah, mate, I’m down,” Trent replied with an easy smile, turning his head slightly toward you. “Gotta stop home first, but yeah, down.” Jack clapped his hands together, clearly excited. 

“Let’s goooo. Trenty’s actually coming out with us. Been missing for a while. Wonder where he’s been,” Noah teased, his tone full of mischief. His eyes darted over to you, the wink he shot you making your cheeks heat up. Trent shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. 

“Don’t mate,” he muttered, though his tone was amused. Then he leaned down toward you, his voice dropping to a soft whisper in your ear. 

“You wanna come back with me first, pretty girl?” The warmth of his voice made you giggle as you nodded, already feeling your heart flutter. You barely had a moment to revel in the intimacy before Jack groaned dramatically.

“Ew… fuck right off,” Jack grumbled, pulling a face as if he’d just walked into something awful. The embarrassment hit you like a wave, and you hid your face in Trent’s neck, trying to disappear. But he wasn’t about to let you hide for long. His arm wrapped securely around your waist, and you could feel his skin shift as he smiled. He leaned down again, his lips close to your temple. 

“Want to get going? Hmm?” he cooed, his voice sweet and reassuring. You pulled back, giving him a small nod as you went to grab your bag. Trent watched you with that soft, fond look he always seemed to have when it came to you, and even with Jack and Noah’s teasing, you couldn’t help but feel completely safe with him.

As you grabbed your purse, you felt your dad step closer, his presence lingering behind you like he was unsure if he should speak. You turned slightly, catching the hesitation in his face. His hands were tucked awkwardly in his jacket pockets, and the tight line of his lips showed he was working up to something.

“Sweetheart… you’ve gotta talk to me,” he finally said, his voice soft but insistent, the same tone he’d used when you were little and in trouble. You stilled for a moment, gripping your purse tighter. Then, you turned to face him, already on the defensive. 

“I don’t… I’ll talk to you next time you call Jack,” you snapped, your words sharper than intended, but you didn’t take them back. Your dad’s shoulders tensed as if the bite in your voice stung.

 “Y/N…” he began, his tone gentler now, trying to tread carefully. “I’m happy you’re with him. But…” That one word—but—sliced through the air like a warning. Your heart clenched painfully, and the tightness in your chest spread. 

“But what?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly. The tears you’d held back all evening were dangerously close now, teetering on the edge of your composure. He took a deep breath, gesturing vaguely around the room and toward the buzzing energy outside. 

“Have you thought about this… what it’s like to be with someone with this life?” His hand swept toward the box windows, where the stadium lights and crowds shone brightly, as if Trent’s world was a foreign, insurmountable thing. You blinked at him, dumbfounded and suddenly furious.

“So Jack can be friends with someone with this life, but I can’t date someone with it?” you shot back, your voice tight with frustration. “What is it, Dad? Do you think I’m not strong enough? Or is it just easier for you to trust Jack with all this than it is for me?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, his tone dipping into something softer, almost pleading. “I just… I can’t see you hurt or upset. Please.” You took a step back, shaking your head in disbelief. His words felt hollow, like they carried a concern that wasn’t rooted in knowing you, but rather in trying to protect an outdated idea of you. A part of him never could trust Trent. It didn’t matter who he was, it didn’t change the fact that you were the only girl he had left, and Trent’s life was far too risky for his girl. 

“Dad, you’re upsetting me right now,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to compose himself. 

“Alright,” he murmured after a moment, his voice heavy with resignation. Slowly, he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. His arms felt heavy around you, like he was holding onto more than just you in that moment—grief, regret, guilt. “I’m sorry, hun. Just… can ya give me a ring sometime? Let me know how you’re doing?” You let out a shaky breath, your defenses crumbling as his embrace tightened. 

“Okay,” you murmured weakly, unable to push him away when he was like this. You didn’t hate him or anything. It was just a strained relationship. One that was badly bruised but not broken. He pulled back, his hands moving to gently hold your face. His eyes, tired and watery, scanned yours with an unfamiliar tenderness. 

“Always here for you, alright?” he said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “Di’s right… beautiful…” His words caught you off guard, and before you could react, he leaned down and kissed your hair. There was something in his actions that felt like a glimpse of the dad you used to know—the one who saw you, really saw you, before the loss of your mum built an unspoken wall between you. But then he continued, and the weight of his words hit you like a wave. “Just like mummy was. Beautiful. So don’t lose that smile. I only have yours, sweetheart.” The compliment hung in the air, bittersweet and sharp. For a moment, the world seemed to pause as you absorbed what he’d just said. He was telling you you were beautiful, comparing you to your mum, but there was something beneath the words that made your chest ache. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a plea. A reminder that your smile, your light, was all that was left for him now. You nodded silently, swallowing back the lump in your throat as tears blurred your vision. His hands lingered on your face for a moment longer before he stepped back, giving you space. But his words stayed, weighing heavy on your heart. He meant well, you knew that. But his love, wrapped in grief and unspoken expectations, felt like a burden you weren’t sure how to carry anymore.

The game had been intense, the energy of the stadium still ringing in your ears as you walked through the door. The weight of everything-the adrenaline from the game, the quiet tension in the air after the final whistle, and the lingering thoughts about the night-settled into your bones. You pushed the door closed behind you with a soft click, taking in the familiar scent of Trent's place, which should have felt comforting, but tonight it was a little too quiet. A little too still.  You couldn't hide the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your mind was still racing with everything that had happened that evening. You didn't want to talk, didn't want to think about the crowd, the noise, the emotions. You just needed to forget, to be lost in something else for a while.  He noticed immediately. 

"Sweet girl, you okay?" His voice was gentle, soft with concern, but there was also a warmth in it. He could see past the cloudiness in your eyes, he could see you were carrying something heavier than just the weight of the game. You tried to smile, though it was weak, and shook your head slightly. 

"Yeah, baby... I'm okay." You appreciated his presence, his effort to make you feel better. It meant more than you could express.He stepped closer, his hands sliding around you, pulling you into his embrace. He kissed the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Hmm my baby..." He hummed with his lips staying pressed to your skin. "Thank you for coming," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin again, sending a shiver down your spine. His arms tightened around you, the security of his touch grounding you. "You looked so good tonight," he murmured, his words affectionate and full of admiration. You leaned back into him, feeling the heat of his body against yours. His lips found your ear, nipping gently at it, and you closed your eyes, giving yourself to the sensation. "Need to shower before we go out, you know," he cooed, his voice low and teasing.

"Mmmm... do you need company?" you smirked, your playful side slipping through the cracks of your exhaustion.

"Absolutely," he whispered, his hands moving to peel your jumper over your head, the cool air in the house sending another shiver through you. Without a word, Trent picked you up, effortlessly carrying you upstairs to the bathroom. You giggled at the suddenness, his strength a comforting presence. As he set you down in the ensuite, you eagerly stripped off the rest of your clothes, your movements frantic as you tried to rid yourself of the tension from the night. Trent followed suit, shedding his own clothes, his back pressed against the cold bathroom wall. "C'mere," he whispered, his voice deep, almost commanding. He moved towards you, his hands sliding down the back of your thighs, coming under your ass as he picked you up effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around him, kissing him messily, desperately. It was a kiss that spoke of more than just desire-it was about forgetting, about feeling alive in the midst of everything that had happened. He pulled away, loosening his grip slightly, his fingers fumbling as he turned on the shower. The sound of the water rushing from the showerhead filled the space, the hot water soon warming the air around you, enveloping you in steam. Trent stepped in first, pulling you closer to him. It wasn't long before you were pressed against the wall, your back to the cold tile as Trent moved inside you with a rough intensity. His lips were on yours between every thrust, soft words of affection-’I love you,’ whispered breathlessly as the water cascaded over your bodies, mingling with the heat of the moment. You were shaking, your body overwhelmed by the intensity, but Trent held you tightly, grounding you. As the minutes passed, your breaths grew shorter, the euphoric high mixing with the crash of emotions, the pressure of everything finally coming to a head. When it was over, Trent gently set you on your feet, his hands still supporting you as you clung to him, the warm water cascading down around you, and for a moment, everything outside of this moment seemed distant. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the heat of the shower, bodies pressed together, hearts still racing from what had just happened. Trent's arms around you felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. He ran his fingers through your damp hair, his touch gentle now, almost reverent as if he was trying to savor the moment. "I love you," he murmured again, his voice soft but steady, as if he needed to remind both of you that, despite everything that had happened, this was real. You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the intensity of it all, your lips tingling from his kisses. 

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. Your emotions were all tangled, a mix of desire, love, and the lingering pain from the night. But in this moment, in his arms, it all seemed to fade away. Trent cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. 

"Don't let tonight get to you," he said quietly, his forehead resting against yours. "Let me take care of you." You nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into him, the warmth of the water and his embrace comforting you in a way nothing else could. It wasn't just the physical pleasure that had brought you together, but the connection, the way he made you feel safe, despite the storm of emotions swirling in your mind. He kissed you again, slower this time, more tender, letting the water continue to wash over you both as the world outside seemed to vanish. There were no distractions here, no chaos, just the two of you. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to let go fully, to forget about everything that had happened-just for a little while. As the water began to cool, Trent gently helped you step out of the shower, wrapping you in a towel and pulling you close.  "We'll figure everything out," he promised softly. "Just... trust me, yeah?" You didn't answer right away, but his presence was enough. You didn't have all the answers yet, and there was still so much uncertainty, but in this quiet moment, in his arms, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things could still be okay. In the aftermath, the world outside seemed a distant memory, the quiet between you two an unspoken promise that for a little while, at least until you headed out for the night, you could forget everything else.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 20 xx

[todoriin]

x : TOUCH ME NOW *+ﾟ

in which: you help sunday through a predicament. a part 2 nsfw to this sunday fic.

warnings: 3k wc,MDNI or u fail ur next test, afab!reader but no pronouns, sex pollen trope, oral (m receiving), fingering, idk how in character sunday is but i blame it on sex pollen, sunday busts like multiple nuts, wall sex that then becomes bed sex, riding, creampie, unrealistic sex, unprotected p in v, emotionally charged sex towards the end, multiple rounds.

a/n: there are so many warnings i'm kinda ashamed. anyways, i hope u enjoy! i'm never gonna look at this again lol

A feverish heat clings to Sunday, racking shivers up his spine. Warmth suffocates him, expanding to all edges of his body- legs, chest, head, there’s a particular stubborn sensation that clings to his core. And his pants.

It must have been because of that mysterious substance that befell him during the mission. At first, it was a stinging in his nose and eyes that eventually faded, but after a while the real side effects kicked in, and he concluded that it was some sort of material that enhanced… sexual needs, if the growing stiffness in his pants was any indication. He excused himself from the group, and darted back to the hotel at record pace.

Curled up on his made bed, the linen sheets are a mild balm against his hot skin, coat and shirt discarded the second the hotel room locked behind him. Hours have passed since he separated from the group but the symptoms still stubbornly fester in his gut, falling and rising but never fading, sticking to his being like glue. 

It’s already painful enough on its own, but you just have to be on the other side of the hotel door, knocking and knocking, asking if he was alright in that sweet, concerned voice of yours. 

Things have been… awkward since that incident with you in his room. He hasn’t been able to look you in the eye since, and Sunday’s positive the entire Express can tell that something happened between you, just not entirely sure what.

Having a good memory can be a curse sometimes, and because of it, he hasn’t been able to forget the feel of your warmth atop him, and the paralysing fear when he realised just how strong his desire was. Sunday won’t deny it, even back in Penacony when he was the strict and rigid Head of the Oak Family, there were undertones of attraction that stirred in his heart when he first got to talk to you, but they were quickly buried, just as he was taught to do years ago.

Now, in closer proximity and freed from shackles of duty, he can’t help but let the desire roam wild, peaking at the incident that occurred not too long ago.

A siren’s song. He’s going to give in to your call. 

He opens the door no more than a crack, letting your voice come through loud and clear.

“Sunday?” Your tone is gentle, kind, treating him like a wounded stray that would run if you got too close. In some sense, he is, except he thinks if you got too close, he’d pounce on you and do what he’s been thinking of doing for days- weeks, even.

Except in his barely-lucid state, he thinks it might be worse.

“Can I come in? Mr Welt told me you were unwell and separated from the group when March and I went away.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, strained.

You raise a brow. “You’re clearly not. No offense but… you sound a bit worse for wear.”

“It’s alright, I can manage alone.”

“Yes but you don’t have to, I’m happy to help.”

“I don’t think this is something you might want to stick around for.” 

With each passing moment that you turnaround his rejection, Sunday feels his sanity slipping and pants growing tighter. And when you raise your eyebrows again in defilement, he just wants to pull you in and sink you both to the floor, reduced to a puddle of limbs where neither of you can tell where he ends and you begin.

“How bad can it be?” You whisper and all fighting spirit leaves him. He lets you inside.

As soon as the door clicks shut, you’re putting a hand up to his forehead, testing his temperature as if his entire face wasn’t flushed, pale skin heating up to an uncharacteristic pink. You seem to be avoiding the obvious issue that’s happening in his lower body.

“What happened?” 

“I- uh, was hit with something,” he groans when you steps away.

“Like hay fever?” You ask, still somehow innocent and unaware.

He never thought he’d need to spell this out to someone. “Like extreme arousal.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth forms a small ‘o’ in realisation, eyes trailing down to his bare torso for a mere second before meeting his gaze again, as if deciding how to word the next sentence you want to say. 

“Would you like some help with that?”

In any right state of mind, Sunday would be double checking that what you said was right. That he wasn’t hearing things. However, in a lust-ridden state where he can’t even tell north or south without thinking of the incredible stiffness in his pants, he says what he thinks is most logical.

“Please.” It’s no more of a whimper, but you hear him loud and clear because next thing he knows, you’re cupping his face with bringing it to yours, tongue parting the seam of his lips. 

Sunday backs you up against the hotel door. You seem eager, that delights him. 

With the invitation pressed into his mouth, he uses it to lick into your mouth, exploring and reaching wherever he can, tilting his head slightly for better access, overpowering whatever control you had previously exerted over him, just has he’s dreamed of. Biting on your bottom lip, he feels saliva dribble down his chin, wetting his skin. He separates from you to catch the trail, kissing down your chin and going even further, lips meeting the dips and curves of your neck as you gulp, overwhelmed by the onslaught of affection. 

It’s your hands that remove your shirt, pulling it over your head as he continues his flurry of kisses, eventually stopping near your sternum. It’s your hands that exposes you- all of you, to him, letting him near his mouth and hands to your breasts. He squishes and pinches your left mound as the right one is enveloped by his lips where he spits and suckles, the sound so unabashedly wet that it shoots straight down to your core- where you need him the most. So you roll your hips against his and enjoy the vibrations of his moan, mouth still connected around you. You do it again and this time, his grip tightens, parting from your breast with a satisfying pop. 

Crazed hunger gleams in his eyes and you sink to your knees before him. 

“Let me take care of you,” you mutter breathlessly, now eye level with his member. His very obviously, very painfully hard member. Your hands make quick work of his pants, unbuttoning them as Sunday does the work of discarding both his boxers and the pants, leaving him naked before you, cock hitting the base of his abdominals. 

It’s an odd sensation to present yourself so wholly to someone for the first time, especially when your most private parts are in the other person’s face, but Sunday’s mind is too far away to feel ashamed. Not when your hands crawl up and play with the angry, swollen tip of his dick.

“This looks so painful,” you mutter. “How long did you suffer for?”

“A couple hours,” he confesses through stifled teeth, feeling your hands move up and down along his shaft. You’re toying with him, seeming so sympathetic to his current condition when the only thing you’re doing is making it worse, the heat flaring hotter and hotter than he thought humanly possible in his abdomen. 

It’s like torture, but he never wants you to stop. Never wants you to leave.

“Poor thing,” you coo. When you kiss his leaking tip, he collapses against the hotel door, bent arm catching him against the hard material. From this perspective, Sunday gets to watch you take him whole, his cock disappearing into your mouth inch by agonising inch until you stop just short of the base. It is so filthily wet and warm, and his skin glistens from your saliva when you move back, only to take him again, tongue sliding over the veins of his incredibly sensitive member. 

The pleasure is overwhelming. It feels like everything and not enough, all at the same time. He wants your mouth to be hugging him like this forever, but he wants more, wants you to sink into his ligaments and press this feeling of pleasure into him permanently. Wants his muscles to remember the sensation of your tongue and lips, and how your spit mixes with his precum as small whimpers and moans leave him.

A hand comes to the back of your head, and Sunday begins to move his hips in tandem with your actions, and a surprised sound rings from the back of your throat when he forces himself deeper into your mouth. He does it again and again, wings fluttering as a coil begins to tighten in his lower half.

“I’m- I’m close,” Sunday whimpers. “Don’t stop, please, I want to- I want-”

The pleasure climaxes and hot ropes of cum shoot into your used mouth, dribbles out when it’s too stuffed to stay in, falling down the curve of your lips, down your chin, and landing on the floor or your body. He feels like ascending. This has been the high he’s been craving, the solution to the mania Sunday has been subjected to.

It is still not enough. He watches you swallow his cum, using your finger to clean around your mouth, and gulps when his dick springs to life again, aroused by the sight alone. 

Only a fraction of his issue has been solved it seems, because neediness still burns hot in his veins, and he needs you so pathetically bad. Needs to press you against the nearest surface just to take you again and again. 

Your eyes widen at his hard cock again.

“Still not enough?” You ask, voice slightly hoarse from being used. 

“More,” he groans, and presses his mouth against yours when you rise from your knees, pressing a flurry of kisses against your lips, mixed with moans as words are spoken against your mouth. “Want more of you, let me inside.”

You nod against him, hands coming up to hold onto his shoulders, desperate for the anchor. “Please.” 

A hand traces over your hip and moves down to your core. Two fingers part your folds, letting two digits sink into your wet entrance, collecting your slick as he glides in and out, feeling the constriction of your walls around his hand. 

You cling to him tighter, resting your forehead against his shoulder as you deal with the onslaught of blinding pleasure, heightening when his thumb plays with your clit, rubbing circles and moving the nub up, down, left, and right. It’s mind-numbing, you don’t know what else to think of except the pleasure he’s bringing you. 

It’s torn away when he retracts his hands, heated golden gaze staying locked with yours as he licks himself clean. An act so obscene that it leaves you speechless, all coherent sentences slipping from your brain as Sunday holds your leg up to his hip, allowing him more access. 

He grinds his hard length against you, sliding it along your wet slit, sometimes catching your clit, causing you to jolt in his hold. Your breath is heavy with anticipation as you claw at his back, unable to take anymore of this gentle torment, walls clenching around nothing when his tip rests against your entrance. Sunday’s testing you, teasing as his perceptive, golden gaze never strays away from your expression, analysing every micro change as he slowly, slowly, slowly eases in, feeling every movement of your walls parting to make space for him.

You’re constricting him, pulsing around him so tightly that it’s getting harder to breathe, harder to think straight without fucking into you so recklessly that you leave an imprint on the door. His lust-filled brain wants to, but the composed part of his mind knows to give you time to adjust first, even if you’re wet enough for him to move freely. 

However, it seems that he’s too impatient himself. 

A sudden warmth floods your walls, gushing hot white as Sunday rests his forehead against you, shuddering, laboured breaths heaving out his chest.

“Did you just… cum?” 

“Yes,” he pants, wings fluttering lightly as he recovers from busting his load without warning.

Your hands move to play with the hair at the base of his neck, twirling the strands as you wait for him to come down. It’s alarming that you can already feel him getting hard again. Just how strong was this pollen? 

“Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t felt anything this powerful this before.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, holding his cheek. “Sunday, use me. Don’t hold back.” 

With your blessing, he regains his footing and slowly retracts his hips, almost sliding out of you before thrusting back. You moan right by his ear, nails clawing his skin. The pace of his movements stay slow, methodical as he splits you open, but with a last few rolls of his hips, Sunday begins to pick up the pace, listening to his frayed mind as the wet sound of skin slapping skin fills the hotel room. 

Your whimpers of his name are soft as he keeps moving, holding your leg higher to his hip for more access as he relentlessly bullies himself into you, reaching even deeper parts of you. Mixed essences coat your skin, the last load he spilled into you falling out and dribbling from your entrance, and down to the apex of your thighs. It sounds obscene every time he thrusts into you, and the pleasure makes you bite into the junction of his neck- a coping mechanism against the searing build up in your abdomen.

He’s thrusting into you so deep, hitting a sensitive spot over and over again, causing you to see stars on the edge of your vision. 

“I’m almost there, please, don’t stop,” you’re puffing against him now, gasping for air when his hand suddenly crawls between your bodies, rubbing your clit in the exact way he did before, intensifying the pleasure as it shoots through your nerves.

Without warning, you gush all over him, walls spasming around his cock as he continues chasing his own high, hands squeezing you harder as he grows sloppier. Then, with a muffled moan, he lets go and spills hot semen into you, his hips stuttering flush against your pelvis as he presses himself as close as possible. 

Both of you pant erratically, still coming down from the high as you cling to each other with vice grips. He nuzzles into your shoulder, wings and silver hair tickling your skin. His is still feverish, burning and hot against your body. You can’t even remember if he grew hotter since you first began, but it’s hard to think about it when Sunday’s still nestled inside with no intention of leaving any time soon.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, careful not to break the delicate atmosphere.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m feeling… a little more clear-headed now.”

“That’s good. Should we move away from the door and sit on the bed?” 

He slips out of you and you wince at the feel of thick fluids dripping out of you and down your inner thigh. Sunday is at least conscious enough to sit you down and go grab a towel, gently grabbing your ankle to stretch your leg, patting your skin gently to rid the traces. Despite how methodical and tender he is, he can’t hide his growing erection, even if he’s diligently avoiding looking at your spent cunt. 

“This… predicament of yours must be stubborn,” you joke when he takes a seat next to you, unable to meet your eyes.

“I think this one might be mostly my doing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

Without hesitation, you swing a leg around and straddle him, sitting daringly close to his cock. “Need a little more help?” 

He groans through gritted teeth when you roll your hips, teasing him with a half-lidded look, lips turning into a smirk. You will be the reason for his demise, an obsession growing in the depths of his mind.

“If you are fit enough, don’t exert yourself for me.”

“But I want to help,” you pout at him. 

Yes. Something like obsession. 

Sunday’s hands are vice grips on your hips as you lower yourself down on his dick, the familiar stretch causing you to wince, but his touch is grounding as he places a flutter of kisses on your face when you’ve lowered yourself completely, the back of your thighs meeting his. You watch as his face contorts with pleasure, gaze focused on where you’re joined. 

“You feel so perfect,” he murmurs. “I’ve been dreaming of this, I can’t believe it’s real.”

“Dreaming? How so?”

“Ever since that… day, where you visited me in my room,” he grunts, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, to stop desiring you, I felt it was better for the both of us if I just kept my distance since then.”

You cup his cheeks, placing a kiss on his nose before you move, rising before slamming down, causing the both of you to moan in sync, his being more of a whine. Repeating the movement a few times, you feel wet droplets landing on your hands, and you stop moving out of surprise, the ichor falling from his eyes catching you by surprise.

“Sunday, are you-”

Catching the liquid gold with your thumbs, you are so devastatingly careful handling him that he might just cum again, decorating your insides with white for the fourth time that night. He barely just holds on, though, for the sake of his own sanity. 

Although he almost snaps when he feels you catch a tear with your lips, and then you clench around him- oh, this is the recipe for his downfall.

“You will drive me crazy.” He whispers as he holds onto your wrists. “T-This… this is incomparable. I-I want you like a man starved.” 

Then, without warning, he rolls you around so that your back is on the bed and he’s the one on top. Climbing between your parted legs, he carves a space for himself in your arms, infatuation glazing over his expression. 

“Let me show you how badly I crave you.” 

© TODORIIN 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Thirteen: [Panic Room]

Summary: Jakes darkest fears come to fruition when surgery doesn’t go as planned and the months to come bring a new reality he never saw coming.

Warnings: MAIN CHARACTER DEATH Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion.

Word Count: 5.5k

Author Note: A big show of appreciation and love to @a-reader-and-a-writer (Vee) for constantly being ready and willing to help me with my writing. You have been the backbone I needed to get this done!

You guys will never know how much this series means to me. And in the same breath, you guys will never know how much your support truly means. Merry Christmas Eve Eve 2024 ya filthy animals.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Researchers say the average length of a dream is two to three minutes long. But many people experience their dreams as hours, days, or even years if they can remember them at all. 

The science of dreaming has been questioned for hundreds of years. Some hypothesise that dreams are our way of processing real events that occur when we’re awake. They also serve as an outlet for repressed hopes and desires. Neuroscientists introduce a new theory every few years. But honestly, no one knows why we dream. 

Or why we have nightmares. We just hope that after the dream, we wake up. 

“We’ve gone over all the risks, weighed up all the possible outcomes, dotted I’s and crossed T’s. Today is the day, Mrs. Seresin.” Doctor Morrison was hopeful in his consultation. The white coat-wearing man reassured you as he placed your chart back where it belonged. “How are you feeling?” 

The question went unanswered for a moment or two. You felt like you were in a state of shock. Unable to truly express how you felt just hours before going into what could be life-changing surgery. You were giving everyone in the room a thousand-yard stare. Mentally and physically, you had checked out. Like you’d been stuck in a nightmare that wouldn’t stop torturing you. 

“We had some bad news last night. A close friend passed away unexpectedly,” Jake answered on your behalf. “Is there any way–” 

“We need to do this now, Mr. Seresin, or we won’t be able to revisit this for a few months,” Dr. Morrison explained with an emphasis on the matter of now or never. “I understand personal circumstances may have changed. However, knowing everything you know about risk and recovery and survival rates after double mastectomies, I recommend we stick to the organised care plan.” 

“Can we have a moment alone?” Jake asked cautiously as his hand came to rest gently on your shoulder. You hadn’t moved from what could only be described as a catatonic-like state for the entire duration of the conversation. 

“Of course,” Dr. Morrison nodded. “I’ll come back after I’ve checked in on a few patients.” 

It didn’t take long at all for the oncology crew to exit the room. But the second they did, you felt like you could breathe again. 

“I can’t go through with this surgery Jake,” you begged. Fear of the unknown had taken over your entire being. “I can’t do this,” 

“You are the strongest person I know, honey, the kids and I really need you to do this.” Jake tried his best to comfort you as well as remind you why this surgery was so important. “We need you, yeah? We need you to stick around and this fucking cancer, this disease, is trying to cut that time short.” 

“But Jensen–” 

At the height of the Great Depression, Harvard scientists started tracking students in hopes of discovering the key to a long and happy life. They looked at participants’ mental and physical health over seventy-five years. It’s the longest study of happiness to date. Seventy-five years and all they did was confirm what we’ve known since the beginning of time. 

The most powerful predictor of health and happiness is the quality of our relationships. 

Strong relationships protect us. Loneliness on the other hand…can be deadly. 

“Would want you to keep fighting and have this surgery.” Jake could have said he thought Jensen was a coward. He could have said how angry he was at that fucker for leaving you alone in this world with no one to confide in who knew the struggle, who knew the feeling of being told you’re sick and need to get sicker in order to get better. 

Jake could have told you how he wished Jensen had survived so he could kill him himself. Jake could have responded with the fact Jensen was terminal and there was nothing on this earth that could have saved him from his illness. 

Jake could have told you that Jensen thought you hung the stars and the moon in the night sky every night just for him…but then Jake would also have to admit to himself and you that maybe, just maybe, you should have moved on. 

“What would he say right now if he was here?” Jake settled on that question just to keep himself sane. He didn’t want to open yet another can of worms right before your surgery. This was all one big giant nightmare already, he didn’t want to make it worse. If anything, Jake kept pinching himself in secret just hoping that maybe he’d wake up on the couch and this cancer saga would all be some sadistic subconscious dream of his. 

He’d always been deathly afraid of not being good enough for you. 

“He’d tell me to do it,” you sighed as you let your head rest against the upright bed. “He’d tell me to be strategic about the battle, the war is the endgame.” 

“Exactly, one battle at a time, step by step,” Jake agreed with a cheeky smile. That signature Seresin smile you so effortlessly loved. “You’re not gonna hand in the white flag before the battles even really begins, are you?” 

“Kinda want to if I’m being completely honest with you,” you responded knowing Jake would appreciate the honesty. “But I guess you and the kids really need me to stick around, huh?” 

“Oh, I can’t even begin to explain how much we need you to stick around, honeybee.” it was as honest and as sincere as Jake could be. He wore his heart on his sleeve for you. He exposed every nerve he had just so you could dance your feather-like fingers across the tender strings that made Jake, Jake. 

“I’m so scared of being alone in the operating room,” you admitted as Jake leaned in to leave a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so scared they won’t see me as a person,” It was an explanation that broke Jake’s heart even though he believed his heart couldn’t be broken any more. “That they won’t remember I’m me, that I have a life and a family and people who will miss me.” 

Over the course of our lives, our relationships ebb and flow. We get together, break up, move away, or fall out of touch. It’s prolonged periods of loneliness and toxicity that wreak havoc on our health, our brain function, and our longevity. 

“You’re never alone,” Jake replied softly as tears threatened to spill over his waterline. “I’m always with you, the kids are always with you, Jensen, your mum, everyone will be with you during that surgery, we’re gonna be waiting on the other side.” 

“I love you so much, Jake Seresin,” you smiled brightly through a tight-lipped smile Jake wished he could save in his mind’s eye forever. “Let’s win this battle.” 

“And the war too,” Jake replied as he reached for your hand, gave it a soft squeeze, and brought your palm to his lips. “Let’s fucking do this, Y/n.” 

*************************************

Jake sat waiting by the vending machine as he picked at the small single service-sized packet of original Lays he’d nearly had to beg the machine to drop. His watch told him it was almost nearing the end of your surgery. He wasn't stressed, not when your surgeon had been so hopeful and calming. Jake had spent far too much of his time recently worrying about the what-ifs. He wanted to focus on the now. And that now was the fact you would have been nearing the end of your surgery. Which meant soon enough he’d get to see you again. 

The only thing that kept Jake on his toes was the ever-looming doubt that perhaps the treatment plan wouldn't be enough. He hoped that you had enough fight in you to make it through the journey. He needed you to have enough strength to fight. 

“She should be coming out of surgery soon–” Jake explained as he held his phone up to his ear and tried not to chew so loud. “The kids know that Rooster is picking them up to bring them home to Grandma Maz’s house?” 

“Yeah, Mum’s not too happy about it but she won't keal over about it,” Jasmine replied as she watched her brother's kids play with hers in the backyard she and Jake used to make mud pies in. “Rooster messaged about an hour ago saying he was close, he shouldn't be too far away now.” Jas continued in her own little world. Jake was used to not being able to get a word in with his youngest sister. “I can't believe Y/n has fucking cancer–does her side of the family have a history or…?” 

“Not that we know of, it's just really bad luck, Jas,” Jake sighed as he let his head fall back against the wall his chair was pressed up against. “But hopefully with this surgery and the chemo, she’ll be able to beat it.” 

“Well, you tell her that I’m pissed she gets a boob job before I do,” Jasmine tried her best to keep the situation as light-hearted as possible. “Make sure she gets a good rack, not too small or too big, like a good handful that's just right.” 

“I'll be sure to let her know,” Jake smiled, he really could count on his sister for that. “Oh, I gotta go, I see Y/n’s surgeon.” Jake sat up in anticipation as anxiety flooded his nervous system. “Tell the kids we love them for me.” 

“Have been every day,” Jasmine replied quickly knowing her brother probably had his phone down from his ear by now. “Bye.” 

Jake was quick to pocket his phone and wipe the crumbs from his shirt as he stood to greet your surgeon. However, something seemed off about the man who had seemed so confident before your surgery. 

“Mr. Seresin–” 

“How is she?” Jake asked. He didn't mean to interrupt, but he needed to know first and foremost before any medical mumbo jumbo. “My wife, how’d the surgery go?” 

There was a very telling pause that accompanied the sober look that Doctor Morrison wore, but Jake tried not to read into it all that much. He knew you would be fine. 

Right? 

“Mr Seresin, your wife's heart was weakened by the stress of her recent stroke,” Doctor Morrison began to explain as Jake stood there expecting good news. “She, unfortunately, went into a cardiac arrest–” the air around Jake disappeared. Almost instantly, he felt as if he were floating in space. “We tried to revive her for the better half of twenty minutes while she was on the table,” There was a pause. A telling moment where reality and fantasy were trying to battle it out. Who’s version of events would win? When Doctor Morrison saw Jake’s mind short-circling with an inability to process the magnitude of information, he felt as if he needed to continue explaining the severity of the situation. 

“It was catastrophic, and I'm afraid we've lost her.” Doctor Morrison had told far too many loved ones over the years that they had lost family members, but never in all his years had he ever seen such immediate denial written in the lines on someone's face. “Mr. Seresin, your wife has died.” The words Doctor Morrison was saying were not sinking in as Jake stood there completely blind to the reality happening around him. “I’m so sorry for your loss–” 

“Uh–” Jake frowned as the confusion kicked in. “I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else. My wife was fine before she went in for surgery, she was fine.” 

“Yes, yes, your wife was fine, yes–” Doctor Morrison tried to keep his composure, but even after all these years the losses still hurt. It made him feel human to experience the emotions alongside the family members, but in the first few seconds of watching Jake Seresin spiral into a hole of denial that you were, in fact, gone, Doctor Morrison, knew this particular loss would haunt him for the rest of his career. 

Speaking slowly, Doctor Morisson tried once more to explain what had happened in a way that Jake would understand. “The stress of the surgery along with her recent stroke…her body just couldn't handle the stress. Her heart experienced a cardiac episode and we unfortunately couldn’t revive her.” 

The immediate silence between the two men was all-consuming as it was telling. Jake’s heart was breaking in two. 

“Is there someone I can call for you?” Doctor Morrison tried to be as empathetic as he could be, this part of the job was never easy. The part where he was tasked with telling loved ones that the people they loved had passed on his table. They were few and far between, but the people he did lose would forever haunt him. He could name every single one and their family’s name too. Jake Seresin would be a name Doctor Morrison would remember for the rest of his life and into the next. 

“Are you out of your mind?” Jake pushed back almost immediately as he tried to wrap his head around what he was being told. This didn’t make any sense, you were just here. You were fine. 

“No, Mr. Seresin I–” Doctor Morrison tried to explain again, but it was to no avail.

“I–Okay, I think you must be mistaken,” Jake wiped his hand on his jeans as he stepped back. “I just need to ge–”

“Mr. Seresin, please.” Doctor Morrison tried to stop Jake from leaving the waiting area, but Jake just stepped further back with a frown of disgust and grief. He was still holding his packet of Lays. 

“No, no can you just, can you back up?” Jake nearly growled. “Can you leave me alone?” Jake looked around as he tried to remember how to breathe. People were staring at him like he was in a zoo. A caged and cornered animal begging to be left alone. “Can somebody get this person to just give me some space please?” It was as heartbreaking as it was cruel to watch Jake walk down the hall towards where he knew your hospital room was. 

“Y/n?” He called out hoping you'd be back by now. “You won’t believe this guy, honey. He just–” The moment Jake rounded the corner and saw your hospital room empty with no sign of you, he stood still. All the air had been sucked right from his lungs as his eyes scanned the room. Your Christmas lights weren’t flashing, your bed wasn't made, and your laptop sat open with a black screen, but just where you’d left it. You weren't back. 

“Y/n?” Jake whispered under his breath as his eyes continued to scan the empty hospital room just waiting for you to appear from out of the bathroom or sneak up behind him. But Jake knew you weren't about to appear even though he wished for nothing more. 

“Oh–” One step, two steps, three steps, four. Jake didn't know where he was but he was on the move. He couldn't stay here looking at an empty room. He had to find where you were. “Oh god, no, no no no no no, please no don’t take her away from me.” 

“Jake!” The woman's voice Jake had come to know over the last few days broke through the fog that was clouding Jake's mind. He continued to stumble blindly down the ward. “I just heard,” Lydia explained as she rushed up to the man who she had come to know as your husband. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't expecting this to happen. I thought–” Lydia quickly reacted when Jake's knees buckled underneath him. 

“Woah! I need a little help over here!” Doctor Morrison was quick on the draw as he made his way over to where Jake now kneeled on the floor unable to breathe. 

“My wife–” Jake tried to talk as he hyperventilated. “Y/n!” he cried out for all to hear. “Y/N!” 

“She's gone.” Doctor Morrison had to make sure the fact was sinking in. 

“Oh Jake, I’m so sorry–” Lydia tried to console the six-foot-something man who had crumbled to his knees. “Your wife was an amazing woman.” 

Jake still couldn't believe it, he didn't believe it, and he wouldn't. The pain he felt inside his chest, the burning hot sensation was excruciating. He’d never felt such a feeling of grief mixed with denial and so much love. You couldn’t be gone. He was having a nightmare, wasn’t he? This wasn't real. He was dreaming. This was all one big dream. It had to be. It had to be a nightmare his subconscious had concocted. A nightmare where Jake lost it all. His biggest fears were realised. 

“I need my wife, I need Y/n,” Jake sobbed as Lydia kneeled on the ground in front of him just assessing his current state of shock. “I can't, she can't–no no no she's fine, please tell me she's fine.” 

“I'm so sorry, Jake,” Lydia confirmed what Jake wished so desperately wasn’t true. “She’s gone,” Lydia’s voice became distorted as she held the broken man in her arms. “You need to wake up before it's too late.” 

************************

Bradley Bradshaw was accustomed to losing the people he loved the most in this world. He’d lost his father, his mother, and his grandparents. For a while there he’d lost the only man who had ever slightly filled the shoes his dad left behind. But the loss of someone who was still there was something he’d never had to handle before. 

“Nat, he hasn’t gotten out of bed in days,” Bradley groaned as he cleaned up the kitchen. “The kids already lost their mother,” Bradley tried his best to keep his voice down, but the way little Lennox clocked Bradley from where he was sitting at the dining table made him realise he wasn’t one to talk on the quiet side. “They don’t need to lose their dad too.”

Jake stood just outside of Bradley’s eyeline, but he could hear everything the giant overgrown bird was saying. He couldn’t hear what Phoenix was saying but there was enough back and forth on Bradley’s behalf to easily fill in the gaps. 

“No. No, he hasn’t been down since the funeral.” Jake forgot how to exhale at the mere mention of your funeral as he hid in the hall. He couldn’t remember ever getting ready or speaking at your wake. He couldn’t remember who drove them or if the kids cried. He couldn’t remember hugging your mother or shaking your brother’s hand. Jake couldn’t remember any details about the flowers he’d organised or the people who were there. 

The anti-depressants weren’t helping. Nothing was. Nothing would. 

Until today, Jake couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. Without you, there was no point. He was begrudgingly okay with living a life in a world where you were still in it. But living in a world where you were no longer present wasn’t something Jake was willing to do. The kids would be fine with their grandparents. They’d be fine with Uncle Rooster. Lennox and Lucy and little Sammy didn’t need him. How was he supposed to look into their eyes and know he could never see the twinkle in yours ever again? 

“I’m really worried about him, Nat,” Rooster sighed as he held his phone up to his ear with his shoulder. He was working on making little Samy some banana pancakes. “As much as I want to, I can’t stay here forever, but he needs someone.” 

“No one is asking you to babysit me, Bradshaw,” Jake replied to the statement Bradley wasn’t expecting an answer to. “You can leave, trust me, I can drop the kids off with my mum.” 

Bradley stood stunned into silence as he watched Jake round the corner and into vision. He reluctantly reached for his phone and hung up as Phoenix questioned what was going on. 

“Hey man,” Rooster finally broke the silence as he watched Jake walk closer and closer to where Sammy sat in his high chair. “How you feeling today?” 

“Well, my wife’s still dead, so that’s something,” Jake replied with a sigh as he picked up Sammy and placed him on his lap. Lennox could see the look of pure admiration in his younger brother’s eyes as Jake hugged the smallest of the Seresin kids. “Seriously, you’ve done enough for us, I got it from here.” It was the biggest lie Jake had ever tried to tell not only himself but his best friend. 

“Uh,” Bradley wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? I mean–I wanna stay as long as you need man,” Bradley tried to plead his case as Jake went about his business with Sammy. The business being nothing. Jake stood somewhat dazed and lost in the middle of the clean-ish kitchen. A kitchen he knew where nothing was. It wasn’t his. It was yours. 

“I think the kids should come back to North Island with me,” Jake opted to ignore what Bradley was saying. Instead, he decided to continue with a vague plan for what the future holds. A future he didn’t want to have with you. A future he didn’t care about. 

“You want the kids to uproot everything they know?” Rooster frowned as he looked over to where Lenny sat watching on. The kids were down, to say the least. Bradley could recognise himself in the permanent pout that had taken shape across Lennox’s face. The puffy eyes and saddened expression really tied the whole look of mourning together. They were just kids, they didn’t deserve any of this. “I don’t think you should be thinking about coming back to work anything soon either.” 

“I don’t need you micromanaging me,” Jake hissed as he held onto his youngest son, all the while his eldest watched on with concern for his dad. “I need you to go home, Rooster, we’ve got it from here.” 

“You don’t got anything, Seresin. Are you kidding me right now?” Bradley didn’t mean to come across as so defensive. But he’d seen Jake in this grief-fueled spiral long enough to know that his destructive and depressive mindset would end up causing more distress for the kids than intended. Jake was a good dad, that had never been questioned. Until now… Bradley wasn’t sure if his best friend could handle parenting three small children without a village to back him up. “The kids haven’t seen you in days–” 

“Would you rather them see me at my worst or not see me at all?” Jake’s grief was eating away at him. So much so that Jake began to wish each time he closed his eyes he’d get to stay with the version of you his mind had envisioned. “I’m fine, I’ve got it from here,” Jake sighed as he hugged little Sammy with all the strength that he had. “I wasn’t, but I’m fine now and I just wanna spend time with the kids.” 

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying right now man,” Bradley replied as he caught sight of Lucy coming down the hall. She’d been sleeping much like her father was. Great, all three Seresin children were present for their father’s impending breakdown. 

“Get the fuck out of my house, Bradshaw.” This hadn’t been the first confrontation Jake and Bradley had gotten into while Bradley had been staying in Rhode Island as the Seresin kid’s personal live-in nanny. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was becoming an almost everyday occurrence. The only difference this time was the kids were here to witness it. “I don’t need you here–”

“You aren’t thinking straight, just–how about the kids and I go for a walk or something and you sort yourself out? Have a shower? Shave? Drink something other than alcohol for–” Before Rooster could finish his sentence, Jake was placing Sam on the kitchen floor with a haste that didn’t sit right with Rooster. Lennox was the first to move from his chair. He was the spitting image of his father. 

“I don’t fucking care, Rooster!” Jake shouted at the top of his lungs. So loud and with such rage that the veins in his neck were popping as his skin turned a nice shade of ruby red. He took fast strides across the kitchen until Jake was standing toe to toe with his best friend. The very friend who’d been taking care of his children since before your passing. “I have to live the rest of my fucking live without the woman I love, so, cut me some godman slack before I knock your smug ass head from your shoulders.” 

Bradley didn’t move. He didn’t retaliate. He watched over Jake’s shoulder how his three children all cowered on the kitchen floor, scared of how their father yelled. Jake was oblivious to his surroundings. He couldn’t see the kids were struggling too. 

“Jake?” Bradley sighed as he placed his hands on either side of Jake’s face. “When the fuck are you gonna get through all this?” Braley asked softly as he remained calm. “When are you gonna wake up?” 

“Wake up?” Jake repeated as he pulled his face from his best friend's grip. “Wake up? Bradshaw, I died with my wife! There is no waking up from any of this!” 

“Maybe–” Bradley shrugged as he walked over to where the kids had been huddled together. It was only as Jake followed Bradley’s trajectory that he realised how much he’d scared his children. Something he never wanted to do. “There's always hope though.” 

“Kids,” Jake sighed as his tears began to fall. He dropped to his knees right then and there in the kitchen he wasn't familiar with. In a house that was now cold and dark without your constant radiating light to keep it warm and bright. “Guys, I'm sorry, huh–Dad didn't mean to raise his voice, he’s just–” Before Jake could finish his sentence, little Lennox was finishing his father’s sentence for him. 

“You’re just sick, dad.” 

“What?” Jake frowned as the kids made their way over to where Jake was kneeling on the tiles. 

“I said you’re just sad, Dad,” Lennox replied once more as he gave his dad a hug. “We’ll take care of you.” 

************************

December 31st 

Jake Seresin tried his best to hide the wet tears that fell down his cheeks as he sat with his kids on the lounge of the home that he had tried his best to keep as tidy as he could. There was a lot of uncertainty, a lot of frustration, a lot of fear and unbelievable sadness that surrounded Jake and your three small children. The unknown was truly tragic, terrifying and treacherous, but Jake wasn’t about to let his kids see the way he so desperately wanted to cry. 

Things had changed since Jake fell mind, body and soul into an unimaginably deep hole of depression. So much so that days had become to feel like one long dream. A paradox of grief and manic love. Your mother had told Jake to feel every ounce of emotion he had locked away. Maz had told him that grief was just someone’s residual love with nowhere else to go. 

Once Jake was able to understand that the pain of losing you was his love for you, he understood why it hurt so deeply on a cellular level. He understood why it hurt to look at the children he’d created with you. He understood why the kids had wanted to sit and open the small, still-wrapped Christmas present Lenny had found in Jake’s bag when he was looking for his dad’s wallet. 

Because it was one of the last things you ever gifted someone. It was one of your last acts on earth. 

“What did Mum get you for Christmas, Daddy?” Jake held the small present in the palm of his hand, the present he had yet to open. The present he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It felt like something he’d held before, the weight felt all too familiar. It haunted him the more he carried it around, held it in the palm of his hand and contemplated the inevitable. 

“I dunno buddy, you reckon I should open it?” Jake asked as he kissed his son's head. “S’not Christmas anymore.” The Naval Aviator had recently shaved his head, it had been the closest to a number one he’d ever had. It was in solidarity, union. A decision he made in the blink of an eye but one he did not regent or ever would. 

“We haven’t taken the tree down yet,” Lucy added her two cents into the conversation as she laid her head on her father’s thigh. “Mum would be upset if you didn’t open it, Dad.” Jake knew that much was true, you probably would be pretty bent out of shape if he never opened it. 

“Alright, I’d better open it then huh?” Jake shook the small perfectly wrapped box he could hold in the palm of his hand. He heard what sounded like a rock rattle inside. His heart nearly exploded inside his chest. 

Fuck….Jake knew what it was and he really didn’t want to open it. 

“Hey, Dad?” Lucy’s voice sounded completely different to anything Jake had ever heard before. She was looking right at him yet her eyes were trained on something one hundred miles away. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Jake replied just as he was about to open the present you’d given him before his life was turned upside down. 

“You need to wake up now,” Lucy’s voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t her own. “You’ve had enough time here,” 

“What are you talking about Lu?” Jake frowned as he looked at his daughter. An extension of himself and you. “Lucy? Are you feeling okay?” 

“You’ll be a good dad soon,” Lucy smiled as she unwrapped the small ring box in Jake’s hand. The ring box that held what Jake assumed to be your engagement ring. But as little Lucy opened the wrapping, a blinding light burst through the cracks. A light so bright it forced Jake to squint. 

“Please wake up, honey,” Jake heard your voice clear as day as Lucy opened the ring box to send a piercing white light into the living room. Jake was completely captured by the light around him. So much so the entire room was drowned in a light so pure it was crystal clear. He couldn’t see a single thing beyond the all-encompassing white. 

“Please wake up for us,” again your voice was the only thing Jake could hear in the void he found himself in. 

“Y/n?” Jake called out into the void around him. He could feel his ribcage breaking like he couldn't breathe. Every breath he took was agony. “Hello?” Yet he could hear your voice. A voice he longed for. A voice he had to get back to. Jake had to get to you. 

“I’m here, you’re alright,” Jake once again heard your angelic siren song. His head began to throb. The feeling was agonising. Like there was no more room for swelling. 

“Where are you?” Jake called out as he stumbled in the light. The smell of burning flesh mixed with jet fuel overcame Jake’s senses. His need to get to you was more powerful than the deep bone ache he could feel in his legs. There was nothing on earth or beyond that would stop Jake from getting to wherever the hell you were calling him from. His entire body ached with a pain so unimaginable it sent him to his knees. Crawling, Jake cried out for you just one more time. 

“Y/n!?” Jake called out once more in a desperate attempt to find you in the void. “Kids?” 

“Here he comes,” Bradley’s voice echoed out as Jake looked up towards where he assumed the sky would be. The glare was too much. Jake placed his forearms over his forehead to soften the brightness. “Come on Hangman, don't leave us out to dry.” 

Some people spend their whole lives trying to make a dream come true. They set a goal and make a plan on how to achieve it. It works for some people. But for others, it’s not so easy. As hard as they work toward the dream, it can feel like the whole world has plotted against them. 

As someone gets further and further away from the dream, people begin to cling to any sign of hope. And the longer it takes and the more it costs…you start to consider whether you should give up. Do you find a new dream? Or do you stick to the one that started you on this journey in the first place? 

For Jake, things weren’t as black and white. 

As Jake closed his eyes and took one painful last breath in, he felt as if he’d fallen from cloud nine. When he opened his eyes, the light was still there….But he wasn’t.

Jake’s eyelids fluttered, the faintest hint of light creeping through the haze of his mind. He tried to move, but his body felt foreign as if it wasn’t entirely his own. The weight of unconsciousness clung to him, reluctant to release its hold. Slowly, he became aware of the sounds around him—

“Jake, It’s me, can you hear me?”

**********************

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[winchesterwild78]

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters:  Ben/Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Self esteem Issues, Light Smut, Pregnancy,

A/N: Day 11 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

I gave Ben’s mom a name in this even though she’s not named in the series. 

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

I sat on the couch touching my swollen belly. Feeling the little kicks of my baby girl growing inside me, I smiled. 

Ben and I had been married for over three years and I finally convinced him to try for a baby. 

I desperately wanted to have his baby. I’d wanted to since the moment I met him. Well, maybe not the exact moment, but pretty damn close.

He and some of Butcher’s team showed up at my office to take care of some business and he was focused on my co-worker, April most of the time. She’s gorgeous, long legs, thin, long blonde hair and very busty. 

I’m the complete opposite, well I do have boobs, but many exes said it was because of the extra weight I carried around. 

I was a little jealous of April, especially when Ben finally asked her out. She giggled and said yes, then they left. In the middle of the day they left to go on a “date”. 

Hours later when she came back her stockings were gone, makeup smudged, and her hair was really out of place. 

I felt a pang in my chest and couldn’t figure out why. I heard April giggle at her desk as Ben whispered something in her ear. 

I sat at my desk trying to focus on the mountain of work I had to finish before I left for the weekend. 

I grabbed my coffee cup and sighed, it was empty. I stood and walked to the breakroom. Hearing her giggle over and over in my head made me feel worse. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never formally met him, but everyone knows who he is. There was something about him that made me want to be with him and only him. It was crazy. 

I was lost in my thoughts trying to figure out how to push him out of my brain. This feeling of wanting him was crazy. I’d never even spoken to him. I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps behind me as I bent over to grab the creamer from the refrigerator. 

“Damn, now that’s a gorgeous view, doll.” My eyes went wide and I stood and turned. There he was, looking incredible. His voice sent a shiver down my spine. Which he noticed because of the smirk it drew on his face. 

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of what to say or do. I turned back to my coffee and started to finish making it. 

“What’s your name, doll?” “Y/N, and you’re Soldier Boy.” “Ben, you can call me Ben.” “Nice to meet you Ben.” By this point I was turned and facing him. 

Taking in his perfectly trimmed beard, his strong jaw, his piercing green eyes, plump lips. Oh god I could feel myself getting aroused and my heart rate picking up.

He stepped closer, “You okay, darlin’? Your heart is pounding.” I just nodded and my breathing became shaky. 

He stepped closer, inches from me, “You sure about that?” I made eye contact with him and held my breath. Oh god I would have his babies right now.

He asked me questions about myself and my life, and I just freely gave him everything he wanted. Hell I would have given him anything he wanted right there in the breakroom. 

His hand gently touched my cheek and I leaned into it. I bit my lower lip. I’d never felt like this with anyone. 

As he was closing the distance between us, April walked into the breakroom. She gasped, “What is this? Soldier Boy, what about us?!” She didn’t call him Ben, interesting.

He turned and looked at her, “There is no us doll. We were just having a little fun.” Her face turned red and her jaw clenched. 

She looked at me, “So you think you can seduce THE Soldier Boy? Girl please. I’m half the woman you are. Why would he want you when he’s had me?” 

I felt the pang grow in my chest. The cruelty of people making fun of my weight wasn’t something new to me. It's been happening since my teen years. Even now as an adult the judging looks, the snide comments and sideways glances seemed to be a constant. This time however, it hurt to my core. 

She was right. Why would he, a man built like a Greek God want me when he’s had her and so many other beautiful women. 

I felt the sting of the tears in my eyes. I turned away as I felt the tears fall. 

Ben crossed the room to her and grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again. She’s gorgeous and twice the woman you are, and she’s mine.” 

I lifted my head and turned to look at him. His eyes met mine and instantly softened. Did he really just call me his? What the hell?!

He let April go and she left the room. Ben walked back over to me and his thumb gently wiped the tears away. “God you’re beautiful, Y/N. Even with a red splotchy face.” He chuckled and I smiled. 

“Ben, why did you tell April I’m yours? I’m not.” “I know, darlin’. I want you to be mine. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn to you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We did just meet and I did just fuck your co-worker.”

There it was again, that pang of jealousy filling my soul. I couldn’t ignore it.

That was over 4 years ago, and the day I took a chance on Ben. Fast forward to now, and here I am sitting on our couch in our house, watching him fight with the Christmas tree and lights on Christmas Eve. 

“Why the fuck do we need a damn tree up, Y/N? It’s Christmas Eve.” I rubbed my belly, “It’s for her, Ben. Plus a Christmas tree with twinkling lights is beautiful at night and I can’t do it alone.”

“She’s not here yet, why does she need a tree?” I rolled my eyes, he could be stubborn sometimes, but I knew he was in trouble once our daughter was born. That rough, tough, grumpy man will turn into mush when she’s here. She already has him wrapped around his finger. As evident by the extravagant nursery he created for her. 

I tried to get off the couch, but being almost 9 months pregnant it was proving rather difficult. Ben stopped what he was doing and walked over to help me up.

He helped me stand and chuckled, “What’s so funny, Ben?” “Nothing, I love seeing your belly swollen with my baby. Even if you can’t stand on your own anymore.” 

Emotions and hormones got the better of me and I started to cry, “I know, I’m fat. I’m so sorry I look like this and you don’t want me anymore.” 

Ben’s eyes shot back to mine, “Don’t say that! You’re so fucking beautiful and you’re giving me a baby. I love every (he kissed my lips) inch (he kissed down my neck) of (he kissed my collarbone) your (he gripped my hips) body (he kissed the top of my breasts that peaked out of my shirt). 

My cheeks flushed red and I felt my arousal growing. Sex with Ben was always amazing, but since I’ve been pregnant it’s been different and at times primal. 

As soon as Ben found out I was pregnant a primal instinct in him took over. His need to protect became stronger. When we had sex he was gentle but dominant at the same time. As my pregnancy has progressed we’ve had to be creative with positions due to my growing belly. Ben’s favorite recently was me on top or he behind me, cradling my belly. 

Ben began kissing me deeper and walking me backwards towards our room. “Ben, we really should finish the tree.” “Nope, I’m gonna finish what I started.” He practically growled. 

Once in our shared room Ben began removing my shirt and pants. His hand slid between my legs. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.” I smirked as I felt my arousal running down my thigh. 

Ben began to undress as I sat on the side of the bed. I tried to grab the blanket to cover myself, but he pushed it away. He lifted my chin, “Please don’t, you’re so beautiful and I love every inch of you.” 

I bit my lip. He always had a way of making me feel so beautiful and desired. One of the many reasons I fell in love with him. 

Ben undressed and laid back on the bed, motioning for me. I laid beside him, the best I could and his hands trailed up and down my body. 

“Ben, I need you.” He grinned, “I need you too baby.”

My hand slid down his torso and to his thick, hard cock. My thighs clenched together. 

He helped me up and I straddled him. Taking his length in my hand and I lined him up to me. We both moaned as he bottomed out. 

His fingers are holding onto my hips and digging into my skin. I moved my hips as he thrusted up. Each thrust pushed me close to the edge. I knew I wasn’t going to last long. 

“Ben..I’m so..close.” “Mmm, let go baby.” My body responded to him and before I knew it I was cumming hard. 

“Damn baby, you soaked me.” He chuckled. I felt the warmth of my release all over me and him. The bed became soaked under Ben and I kept feeling it. 

I stopped moving. “What? What’s wrong, Y/N?” “Ben, I think my water broke.” 

Ben helped me up and I could still feel the liquid coming out of me. “Y/N, you’re not due for about 2 weeks.” “I know, I just think we should go to the hospital.” 

Ben cleaned off and helped me get dressed then got himself dressed. He helped me to the car and I climbed in. 

Arriving at the hospital we saw a ton of people waiting to be seen. Ben stormed up to the front desk, “We need a doctor NOW! My wife is in labor and she’s not waiting out here with all these sick people.” Ben growled. 

The nurse looked up at him then over at me as the contractions started. 

She grabbed a chair and had me sit. Ben was by my side as they pushed me to the labor and delivery floor. 

Once I got changed and hooked up the doctor came in and confirmed I was in labor. 

Ben began pacing the floor. “Isn’t it too early?” Ben asked the doctor. She shook her head no and told him everything looked perfectly normal. 

“Normal?! She’s having a supe baby and she’s 2 weeks early. There’s nothing normal about that!” 

The doctor looked at Ben and then back to me. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. “The contractions aren’t that bad yet, but they are getting closer together.” 

She glanced at the machine tracking my contractions and nodded. “Well, let’s check to see how dilated you are.” 

Propping my legs up in the stirrups she checked my cervix. I winced in pain and Ben was at my side holding my hand. 

“Can’t you be a little more gentle doc?” Ben’s voice boomed in the room. 

“Ben, it’s okay. She didn’t hurt me. It’s just uncomfortable. Baby, you have to calm down a little. I need you, she needs you.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, “I know. I just don’t like to see you in pain and I caused this situation.” 

“Benji, look at me, please. She is worth all the pain in the world. Before too long we will be holding her in our arms and all of this will be over.” Ben’s eyes softened and he kissed my forehead. “Sorry doc. I know I can be a dick sometimes. She’s just everything to me.” 

The doctor nodded and smiled, “I understand, and your reactions are perfectly normal. I promise you I’m going to take care of your wife and baby.” 

He nodded and she left the room leaving us alone. 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of us as we listened to her heartbeat fill the room. She was less active as the contractions came closer together. 

A few hours later the doctor came in and said it was time. I took a deep breath and grabbed Ben’s hand. 

“Are you ready to meet our daughter, Ben?” He smirked and nodded. 

After what felt like forever the sound of a tiny cry filled the room. The doctor laid our baby girl on my chest and Ben cut her cord. It was love at first sight. 

She had a great set of lungs, sandy blonde hair and piercing green eyes like her father. 

When the nurses took her to clean her, measure and weigh her, Ben was standing over them. 

He kept asking questions and the nurses were so sweet answering him and even let him help. 

“Why are you wrapping her so tight? She looks like a burrito. That can’t be comfortable for her. Is she breathing? Why’d she whimper?” 

I giggled seeing him hover. The nurse handed the baby to Ben and he walked over to me with the biggest, proudest smile on his face. 

It reminded me of why I fell in love with him. His softer side not many people get to see. 

He sat down beside me and smiled down at her then at me. “You did amazing, sweetheart. Look at what we made. She’s perfect, just like her mama.” 

My heart filled with so much love and joy, seeing him hold her. He was made to be a father. 

“Ben, we have to name her.” “Yeah, we do, but how do you give a name to someone so perfect? I can’t think of one that does her justice. It has to be perfect.” 

I smiled, looked over at the time and realized it was Christmas Day. “Ben, how about Noelle?” 

He looked at me and then down at her and smiled. “It’s perfect. Noelle Grace” 

I smiled. Ben didn’t talk much about his mother, but I knew her name was Grace. “Perfect” I smiled at him. 

He handed her back to me and I held her tight. “My little Noelle Grace. Merry Christmas, baby girl, and Merry Christmas, Ben.” 

Ben leaned down and kissed me and then her, “Best Christmas present ever. Merry Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

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[soldearestsoulmate]

Character + Prompt/Request:

Crowe x GN!Reader, Sol x GN!Reader

Angst and drama. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Warnings: cheating(in a sense, since you are with Sol in this moment but end up leaving him for Crowe.)

"I have always loved you."

The room grew deadly silent when Crowe let those words slip out of his mouth in the heat of the moment. Everyone froze in their actions, looking at each other. Then all eyes went to you...As you felt your heart sink and ache at those words, then felt your face heat up.

"...E-everyone?...Can you leave the room for a moment to let Crowe and I talk? Please?"

Everyone nodded to your request and silently left, while one person, one of your bridesmaids gave you a small pat on the shoulder, to comfort you I'm sure. But also, to maybe show pity over such a turn of events on today of all days.

Once everyone was gone, leaving you with Crowe alone in the room. You finally responded.

"Crowe...Don't you think this is too late?" You looked away for a moment, looking into the mirror, seeing yourself dressed in your chosen outfit for this day...A special day. You are to be married to Sol. It was decided even before graduation. That's how fast your love with him grew. Though you couldn't deny, in the end of it all, as much as you loved Sol, and decided to say yes to marrying him...

You still loved Crowe too.

"I thought that too...Until Brittney and the others told me its not too late until you say "I do". So I...God...What am I doing? This is your special big day. I should be here supporting you, wishing you all the best and nothing more. But seeing you like this...Who you're going to spend the rest of your life with...Knowing its not with me...I just..." Crowe frowned deeply, he looked close to crying over this all. He felt too much guilt over his own words now, wished he didn't even come here now.

Yet here he was, before you, letting out a confession that happened in the spur of the intense emotional moment. Now he couldn't even look at you.

"Crowe..." You gently took his face into your hands, making him look at you.

"...Do...do you really mean it? Do you really love me?" You asked, with sincerity as you looked into his eyes, and he looked back, as his gaze softened at your sight.

"I do, always have. From the very beginning." You couldn't help but smile at his words, and he leaned in closer to rest his forehead against yours.

"I love you too, Crowe...I do...

Crowe let out a soft sigh over this, happy to hear those words come from your lips. But also a sigh over what a mess this situation is now for you two.

"But Sol--" You started to add on, though were cut short.

"Leave him." Your eyes widened at his sudden response. He looked at you with seriousness as he took your hands in his.

"W-what?" You felt your face redden at Crowe's sudden brashness.

"You heard me. Let's run away from this place, from him, from everyone. Just you and me, Starlight. I promise, I'll make up for all the times I failed to say I love you sooner. I swear to protect you always, to love, to cherish, to--"

"Whoa whoa calm down, Crowe! You sound like you're proposing to me!"

"...And what if I was? You're not a married person yet...So..."

"Crowe...I'm still with Sol though. I can't just--"

Crowe looked down at your hand, seeing the promise ring still on you ring finger. "...May I then?"

"...I..." You looked at the ring, feeling your heart ache, the thought of Sol crossed your mind. You loved him, but you knew the love would never compare to Crowe...Your love for Crowe outweighed the one for Sol...

So you decided on it, to take the ring off. As if a weight was lifted off your shoulders, a string cut, as you gave your hand to Crowe to slowly take the ring off you. A decision made by the both of you.

"I promise, Starlight. You won't regret this." Crowe's words came out with a love so strong, it could engulf you in any moment you felt. Then the promise was sealed with a kiss, a kiss that one you didn't know you yearned for for so long until this moment.

~💚~

Though in that moment, elsewhere away from where you and Crowe were at. Sol felt a sudden chill run throughout his body, and his expression said it all.

"Sunny? Something wrong? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now." Hyugo teased as he tried to help his friend get his suit properly on.

"...No...I just...I need to see Y/n." Sol said suddenly, as he started to leave the room.

"Wait hold up! You can't see them yet! Bad luck you know!" Hyugo tried to stop Sol but Sol only glared at him. Which instantly made him let him go. "...Don't say I didn't warn you, Sunny..." Hyugo let out a sigh as he rested his hands on his hips with a shake of his head.

~💚~

"Then its settled?" Crowe said with a bright smile, as he held your hands tighter.

"Yes...but we have to move fast, and hope no one sees..." Crowe cupped your face in his hands, giving you another but quick kiss.

"We'll be fine, Starlight. I promise. Nothing and no one will stop us now or separate us. I swear to you on that." Crowe really felt sure of this, felt sure your future together would be a happy one...That it'll be so easy to runaway and live happily ever after together.

"...Y/n? Pumpkin?" Both your eyes widened to the sound of that voice...His voice...Then looked over to see Sol at the door, at your only exit. Looking at you with widened eyes, a forced smile planted on his face. While his gaze was a mix of madness and anger. "Oh. I didn't know your friend would join us today. Too bad he won't be around for the ceremony. Since his visit will be cut short..."

Then you saw it, in Sol's hands, a knife. Which made your heart skip a beat and drop, as Crowe stood in front of you to shield and protect you...

Sometimes not everyone gets a happy ending however...