#Where’d that kid go. I want to be her again

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024

July 6th Prompt: Dizzy

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve stands up, and that’s where it all goes wrong.

His intent was to grab more drinks from the fridge, but when he stood, he blinked a few times. “Whoa,” he murmurs.

“Steve?” Robin asks. She sounds like she’s at the end of a long tunnel.

“Steve?” Eddie asks. He sounds closer, but not as close as he should.

“‘M fine,” he says, “jus’ dizzy.”

Then he’s waking up in the hospital. “What,” he asks, then doesn’t complete the thought because Robin and Eddie are both standing over him, one on each side, holding each of his hands, and he’d feel so much love if he could feel anything besides general panic because- “I can’t hear you,” he says, breathing picking up. “I can’t- please, I- I need-”

Eddie shuts up, staring at him with wide eyes, and after a second of hesitation, places Steve’s hand, palm down, on his chest. He takes deep, purposeful breaths, and Steve can feel his hand moving, feel the breaths, feel his heartbeat-

He takes a breath. Another. Another. By that time, Nancy had gotten a doctor.

Later, he’ll learn this is something they’d been watching for, but couldn’t be sure of until he woke up. Later, he’ll learn that Eddie lays awake at night, sometimes, hearing the sound Robin makes.

All he knows right now is how to keep breathing, how to keep holding Robin’s hand, how to believe he’ll be okay, because he has to.

He has to.

He stays with Eddie upon his release, because they’re together most days anyways, and it’s a certain kind of torture on Steve’s heart because Eddie’s started carrying around a notebook and a pen just to write to Steve whatever he was gonna say, and Steve doesn’t think he could love another person more than he did, but here’s the proof, apparently.

They’re sharing a bed, because Wayne had previously called their couch “older than Jesus,” and Steve lasted for all of an hour on it before slipping into Eddie’s room.

The good thing about sharing a room is it helps curb the nightmares for a time.

Eventually, though, they come back with a vengeance.

Steve’s laying in bed, like he does every night, when he rolls over to face Eddie. “Eddie?” He asks. Eddie’s always last to sleep, so Steve’s not hesitant about asking, except Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie?” He asks again, jostling Eddie’s shoulder a bit.

Suddenly he shoots up in the air, and Steve bites back a yell.

Suddenly there’s a voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating off the corners of the room, echoing louder and louder. You took everything from me. Eddie’s arms snap, and Steve yells, scrambles up, music, except what’s his favorite song—that puppet one, metal, come on brain, think—but there’s nothing here but country, bluegrass, stuff Wayne likes, and Steve turns to watch the blood drain from Eddie’s face as another gristly crunch echoes, louder than anything so far. So I’ll take everything from you!

Something reaches out for him, grabs his shoulder, and he yells, twists around, pushes away, hard enough he falls on the ground. He opens his eyes to see Eddie on his bed, Steve sitting just off it, eyes wide and hand reaching to help, stalled halfway. Illuminated by the lamp, too, which wasn’t on half a second ago.

Steve blinks at him, looks at the room. No floating Eddie in the middle of it.

“Dream?” He asks. Eddie nods. He stifles the sob and practically launches himself onto the bed, into Eddie’s arms, lets himself shake apart because he can.

Eventually he feels reverberating in Eddie’s chest that he knows means words, means speaking, so he looks up at Eddie, who’s looking at the door.

He turns to look, too, and sees Wayne. “S-sorry,” he tries, still sniffling.

Wayne shakes his head at him, walks into the room, sits on the edge of the bed. Offers his arms out in a hug.

Steve thought he was done crying. Trust Wayne to prove him wrong, because he’s tearing up all over again as he leans into Wayne.

His new position means he can see Eddie, who points at him, makes a talking motion with his hand, then points at himself and Wayne. Steve frowns. “You… want me to tell you?”

Eddie points at Steve again, insistently, and Steve understands: your choice.

“I can,” he agrees. “We were in bed and I was tryin’a talk to you, but you didn’t answer, and I kept trying to get your attention, but suddenly you- you were up in the air, and your arms and legs broke, and a voice—it was Vecna, I didn’t recognize it in the dream—said I’d taken everything from him so he was gonna take everything from me. And I was trying to find music, but I couldn’t remember the name of your favorite song, and the only stuff in here was Wayne’s stuff, country and bluegrass and stuff like that, and…” he sighs out a broken sob. “I couldn’t save you.”

Eddie reaches for his hand, but suddenly that’s not enough, he needs to be able to feel his heartbeat, have his breathing move Steve’s hand, so he tips over into Eddie again, gets his hand on his chest and his face in the side of his neck.

Eddie says something, but before Steve can move Wayne’s got a comforting hand on his back. He removes it after a minute, and Steve can feel the shift in the bed of him getting up, but before he can mourn the loss, Eddie’s got his arms wrapped around Steve as he carefully lowers them back down. He rubs a hand up and down Steve’s spine, slips the other into Steve’s hair.

Steve falls asleep like that.

He wakes up in almost the same position. He tries to apologize, but Eddie waves him off, hands him some clothes and points to the bathroom before pointing to himself and miming cooking.

Steve’s heart clenches at the thought. “Okay,” he whispers.

Robin comes over later, and they sit on the front steps as he recounts what had happened. “He’s just so sweet,” he sighs. “And I’m an idiot who’s letting my heart get involved.”

Robin wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. It doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would, but he appreciates the gesture anyways.

Later she leaves, and Eddie pulls out his dedicated Steve Notebook.

I’ve got a friend in Indy who knows sign language. I could give her a call, if you want? He writes, and again Steve’s all but overcome with love for this man.

Instead of anything he wants to do, he just nods. Eddie grins and hops up to use the phone.

He’s back in a couple of minutes, collapses onto the couch with the notebook before furiously scribbling and handing it to Steve.

I spoke to my friend. She says sorry and it sucks, first of all. Steve snorts and nods. She’s willing to talk to you, get you started, maybe even get you some books. Does tomorrow work?

Steve gapes up at Eddie. “Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods and grins, then points at Steve in a gesture Steve knows has come to mean you decide.

“That would be great,” he says. “Seriously, I- thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him off, but Steve can see the happy little blush on his cheeks.

They head out the next day. It’s probably twenty minutes into the drive, and even with Eddie sitting next to him in the driver’s seat, it feels lonely. He never realized how much he’d miss the sound of tires on asphalt. He wasn’t ever truly into music, like Eddie is, but he misses the radio. He misses the wind rushing past, the silence that’s possible to share when both people can hear-

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s pulled over, a hand on his cheek and a concerned expression on his face. “Sorry,” he tries. Eddie shakes his head, presses his palm more firmly to Steve’s cheek. “Fuck,” he mutters. “‘S stupid. Just… felt alone. I dunno. There’s, like, a million little things you hear every day that you don’t think about, like the way your hands tap the steering wheel when you turn, or the way your clothes shift and rub against each other, and it’s all silent now, and there’s not even music, and-” he takes a deep, shaky breath. Lets it out as evenly as he can. “I just… felt really alone all of a sudden.”

Eddie brushes his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone as he thinks. Suddenly, he grins and moves his hand, shoving a tape into the deck and cranking the sound. He demonstratively puts his hand on the door. Steve laughs and does the same, gasping when he feels the vibrations of the song move through him. He can’t tell notes, but it’s something, and then Eddie carefully reaches for his hand, keeps his grip relaxed until Steve smiles at him and tightens his own fingers around Eddie’s. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, nods, and gets back on the road.

They arrive at his friend’s apartment in no time, and Steve would be jealous at the length of the hug if Eddie didn’t immediately step back to grab Steve’s hand again. Based on his hand motions, he’s introducing Steve.

She asks Eddie something, and he turns bright red, pulling a strand of hair across his face as he glances at Steve before looking back at her and answering.

She invites them in, scribbles on a little chalkboard, and hands it to Steve with a smile. Hi, Steve! My name is Nicole. It’s nice to meet you.

He grins up at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She takes the chalkboard back, scribbles something else. Eddie tells me you recently lost your hearing. Do you mind me asking about that?

“Not at all,” Steve says, then frowns, somehow just now realizing he doesn’t know the full extent of what happened. “Honestly, all I know is I stood up and got really dizzy, and then I was waking up in the hospital.” He shrugs. “I’ve had a couple of pretty bad concussions, and I guess whatever made me pass out also just… took my hearing.” He shrugs.

Eddie shakes his head, grabs for the chalkboard. Almost. He bites his lip. You passed out, and I wasn’t fast enough. You hit your head on the floor. He looks away, takes a deep breath. I’m sorry.

“That is not your fault, Eds,” Steve tells him firmly. Eddie won’t look him in the eyes, so Steve grabs his chin. “Hey, look at me. Not your fault. I don’t blame you. Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating smile, and Steve knows what he’s trying to say. I do.

“Well I don’t,” Steve says. “But if- if you need to hear it. I forgive you, okay?”

Eddie nods, eyes big and wet, and Steve pulls him into a hug.

Eddie suddenly laughs, pulling away to wipe his eyes before saying something to Nicole.

Right. They’re not alone. “Sorry,” he tells her, but she waves him off, handing over the chalkboard again. I think we’ll start on the alphabet today. That way you can at least finger spell what you need, even if it’s slow.

“Sounds good,” he says, and she nods, talking the chalkboard to write the alphabet.

Slowly but surely, she teaches Steve and Eddie the alphabet. They get a little tripped up on some of the letters, most noticeably p and q, until Nicole takes pity on them and makes a p. She uses her other hand to draw a line down both her extended fingers, then tracing her own legs. She taps her thumb, peeking out between the two, and with a mischievous grin, points between Steve and Eddie’s legs.

They share a look and burst out laughing, but they don’t forget those letters again.

By the end of the day, they’ve gotten through the alphabet with enough regularity that Nicole feels they can practice on each other.

Steve pauses before they leave. T-h-a-n-k, then a pause, then y-o-u.

Nicole smiles, presses her fingertips to her lips, then brings her hand down to chest height, palm up. She does the motion again, and Steve copies her, grinning when she nods excitedly.

“Thank you,” he signs and says, grinning even wider when she pulls him into a quick hug before waving at him and Eddie.

They wave back and pile into the van, Steve’s hand in Eddie’s before Steve can practically blink. He smiles, unbearably fond, and squeezes to get his attention before signing, “Thank you.”

Eddie just smiles back, throws the van into reverse, and starts home. 

They practice more while they make dinner, throwing words like spatula and stir and chop around, and Steve didn’t realize learning could be this fun.

He’s watching Eddie stir the broth, hips moving in a little dance to a song only Eddie knows, and his heart is so full, he has to say something before his heart bursts. “I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound incredibly sappy,” he says. “But just… please just listen until the end? And try not to tease me too much.”

Eddie just smiles, grabs his hand and squeezes, and Steve takes a breath before starting.

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you were there that day, I’m glad you were there when I woke up at the hospital, I’m glad you were there when I realized going home meant being completely alone. I’m glad you made a complete fool of yourself in the hospital lobby, doing charades to let me know I could stay here.” He takes a breath. “I’m glad you have Nicole, because it lets me talk with you easier. I’m glad you never once let me feel like I’m alone, or like I’m going through this alone. I’m glad you’re learning with me. I’m glad you’re making this fun. I didn’t know learning could be fun, but it is with you, and I-” he takes a breath, swallows the three words that want to come out. “I’m glad it’s you,” Steve whispers, “here, at the end of all things.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s hands are cradling his cheeks, wiping away tears. Eddie’s just as teary-eyed, though, and he pulls away, looking for the notebook. Please don’t punch me.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed, to watch Eddie spell something. I l-o-v-

That’s as far as he gets before Steve gasps, understanding, or hoping he understands, and pulls Eddie into a kiss.

He pulls back almost immediately to check that’s correct, that that is what Eddie was trying to say, when Eddie pulls him back in, dinner be damned, crowding him in against the counter and doing his best to lick into Steve’s mouth.

Steve lets him, pulling away for a sharp inhale before diving right back in, fingers tight in Eddie’s hair and the back of his shirt, and there’s a sudden vibration that he just knows means Eddie moans, and suddenly he’s dizzy again, but this time he welcomes it, because this time he’s not passing out; this time, he’s dizzy because he’s drunk on love.

[nats--sw]

Orange Juice | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader Where Leah finds you again after a while and decides to help you out This is based on this request Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, alcohol addiction my masterlist

Football was incredible. Ever since you were a kid, kicking the ball around always made you happy. Your parents thought it was just a phase, that by the time you hit your teens, you'd move on to something else. But that never happened.You earned a scholarship in the US and you only returned to England after establishing yourself as a future star in the NWSL. You had a bright future there, but when Arsenal showed interest, you couldn’t say no to the club that made you fall in love with the game. 

By then, you’d already faced your first injury, you ruptured your ACL at 19. 

But that was already in the past, now you were in your new club. 

Leah was the same age as you when you joined the team, so you two clicked right away as the youngest on the team. Then, at 21, you both made your senior debuts for England, Leah as a defender and you as a forward. But shortly after that camp, you tore your hamstring, leaving you out again. 

And the thing with Leah… It wasn’t until you were 23 that, after months of innocent flirting and endless scenes of jealousy, you both finally admitted there was something more between you. It was one of the best moments of your life, you were playing great, Leah was playing great too, you’d just confessed how in love you were, and Arsenal was in the race for the league title. But then your body betrayed you again. 

It happened during a game against Aston Villa in 2021. You were subbed in after 63 minutes, and by the 70th minute, you had to be stretchered off after a bad fall from a collision with one of the players. 

“Y/n!” Leah rushed to see you after the game, her heart racing when she saw you crying in your cubby. “What happened?” she asked, a bit calmer when she noticed the ice bandage was on your ankle and not on your knee. 

“Just a sprain, but a bad one” you said, trying to hold back your tears. With the adrenaline now wearing off, the pain was really hitting you. “I’ll be out for at least six weeks”

“You’ll miss the rest of the season,” Leah blurted out. When she saw you hide your face with your shirt and start crying, she realized her mistake. “Love, I’m sorry” she said, kneeling beside you, trying to comfort you. “You’ll get through this, I promise,” she whispered, taking your hand and kissing it. 

You did get through it, but the following season brought another setback, a meniscus injury this time. 

“England striker, Y/n L/n, will undergo surgery and will miss the next  European Women's Championship.”

The reporter’s voice echoed in Leah’s head, she still remembered it clearly. It has crushed her, but it hurt even more seeing you on the hospital bed, turning your back on her.

Leah was set to captain the Lionesses while you were stuck on the sidelines, unable to play. It wasn’t her fault, but you couldn’t help feeling that pang of envy.

You thought you’d seen the worst of it, but when you watched Leah and the rest of your old teammates lift a trophy in a packed Wembley, it broke you. 

“Y/n! Where’d you go darling?!” Leah’s voice was ecstatic over the phone, with the sound of the girls celebrating in the background. “I tried to find you. You’ve got to come and celebrate with us!”

Leah had no idea you were already back at the house you two shared, the England shirt you wore during the match now lying on the bathroom floor. 

“I wasn’t feeling well” you replied, your voice tired.

“Huh? Is it your knee? Want me to bring something for the pain?”

You felt like a selfish jerk for resenting the person you were supposed to love, but you wouldn’t take away Leah’s moment. You knew she wouldn’t do that to you either. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry” you lied. “Just go enjoy yourself with the girls, you all deserve it.” you said, fighting back tears. But as soon as Leah said goodbye, you lost it. You cried all night and the next morning, watching them celebrate on tv. You were supposed to be there. You cried so much that your eyes were swollen, making it impossible to hide from Leah that you’d been crying. But, lucky for you (if that’s what you call it), Leah didn’t call you for two days, still celebrating. 

Her face was everywhere, on tv morning, noon and night. 

Then, Leah’s sudden fame messed with your relationship. It felt like you were drifting further apart. Interviews, radio shows, tv appearances, her Insta blowing up, it was all too much too fast. She didn’t have time to be with you during your recovery, and you weren’t up for a holiday in Ibiza with her and the rest of your teammates. 

The breaking point came during that time, while she was partying in Ibiza. You two had a huge argument when Leah found out you’d skipped your recovery session. Leah could argue for hours when she was convinced she was right, but with a hangover the size of Europe, your upset voice was the last thing she wanted to hear. 

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?!” Leah was yelling into the phone, while Keira sat nearby, clearly uncomfortable listening to the argument. 

“I just needed to stay home, away from everything and get some rest” you explained, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

“If you were going to skip the sessions, you could’ve at least come with me” Leah snapped, pacing back and forth. 

That really got under your skin. Leah wasn’t just upset about you missing the sessions, she was more annoyed that you turned her down. 

“I miss you,” Leah said, but even Keira could hear how empty that sounded.

Things had been off between you two since before the Euro camp even started.

“You miss partying with me, which isn’t the same,” you shot back. Leah had days off before the trip and could’ve spent time with you, but instead, she kept finding excuses to hang out with the girls.

“Are you seriously saying that?” Leah almost shouted. Keira’s eyes widened, thinking Leah must still be a bit drunk to be going off like this.

“You could be here if you missed me. You could’ve come to my sessions, which you know are a nightmare, but instead, you’re partying in Ibiza.”

“Fuck, Y/n. I just won the Euros! Of course I want to celebrate. If you knew how great it felt, you wouldn’t be saying this shit. It’s not my fault your stupid knee decided to mess up.”

That was the last straw for Keira, who quickly grabbed the phone from Leah’s hand.

“Y/n, Leah’s drunk. She doesn’t mean what she’s saying,” Keira said, giving Leah a stern look.

“Tell Leah to go fuck herself,” you snapped.

Leah took that to heart. Twitter was quick to pick up on the videos from that night, showing Leah getting pretty drunk. But what no one knew was that in one of the group chats with the girls, someone had shared a video where Alessia and Ella were laughing, it was silly, and in the background, Leah was dancing way too close with another girl. At first glance, it might not have been obvious, but you knew Leah well enough to recognize her, even in the dark.

When Leah came home from Ibiza, your stuff was gone.

The next season was awkward. Everyone on the team knew there’d been some drama, but they didn’t know the details. It was clear that you and Leah had been together for ages, then suddenly broken up after Ibiza. And some of them knew you had renewed your contract for just one more year.

One day, Lia joined you for lunch, ignoring Leah. “You know she didn’t cheat on me, right?” you said, trying to set the record straight.

There’d been rumors flying around that Leah had cheated, but that wasn’t true. After seeing that video, you confronted Leah when she called asking why you weren’t home. She’d sworn on her mother’s life that even though she’d been with that woman all night, nothing more than a few dances had happened. Leah wasn’t a good liar, so you believed her.

“Yeah,” Lia said, “but Keira spilled some stuff, so I know Leah was kind of an idiot with you.”

“I feel like I messed up everyone’s holiday,” you said with a sigh. You hadn’t talked much to the other girls either, and they’d picked up on your indifference to their Euro win.

“It’s not always easy to celebrate someone else’s big moment,” Lia said, taking another bite.

The next season didn’t get any better for you. Your performance was tanking because of how you were feeling, both physically and mentally, so Leah wasn’t shocked to see your name missing from the England squad list again. 

Leah had already missed the World Cup due to her ACL injury, and while she was in Australia, watching from the stands as her teammates made it to the final, she finally got a taste of how tough it was for you during the Euros. And it hit her, she realized it was probably even harder for you. She was a defender, but you were a striker, the star everyone was watching, the one who scored all the goals. When you got sidelined, replaced by the season’s top scorer and other younger players, it was like you’d been forgotten overnight. That hit hard.

You both messed up, that was clear. Leah knew she could have handled things better, and she was determined to make it right as soon as she got back to England. But fixing things wasn’t going to be easy.

Leah was hanging out with the team, getting ready for the pre-season meeting, when she noticed something odd. You weren’t there, and Jonas had this sad look on his face. Just as she was about to ask where you were, you walked in with crutches and wearing a knee brace. 

“Morning,” you said as you made your way to the center of the room, with Jonas helping you along.

Leah did a double take. You were in sportswear, but not in the Arsenal kit.

“I don’t know if you all heard, but a few weeks ago I blew up my knee,” you said, glancing at Leah with a sad smile. 

Leah’s heart dropped. That meant you’d torn your ACL and meniscus again, plus your MCL.

“And I’d made it clear that I’d only renewed for one more season... last season. So...” you said, taking a deep breath and avoiding eye contact with Leah. “I’m retiring, I mean, professionally… from football. I won’t be renewing.” You fought back tears, quickly wiping your cheeks with your jersey sleeve. “I just came to say goodbye.”

Leah stayed in her chair while the other girls got up to give you hugs and say their goodbyes. Kim and Jonas noticed what was going on and told everyone to give you and Leah some space.

“How bad is it?” Leah asked, still sitting, arms crossed, eyes locked on your knee brace. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard about this sooner. She was clearly shocked.

“Well, it’s the second time I’ve messed up this knee,” you said, sinking into a chair a little away from Leah. “The doctor says I’ll never get back to even 60% of my old self. I don’t want to play if I can’t give it my all.”

“You can still do it,” Leah said, her voice firm.

“No, I can’t. My record’s already bad. What club’s gonna want a player who’s always at risk of injury?” you said, rolling your eyes.

“We’ll pay,” Leah insisted.

“You’re not the club,” you replied with a sarcastic smile. “They offered me one more season, but they’ll cut my salary. And I don’t want to be a burden, not anymore.”

“Y/n, an injury doesn’t mean your career’s over,” Leah said, raising her voice a bit. “You just need to get through this and move on. Just like last time.”

“It’s not that simple,” you snapped, annoyed that Leah wasn’t getting it. “Do you really think I can compete with Alessia or Stina? I can barely score more than one goal a month, I can't even run like before, Leah. And that’s my job!”

“But-”

“No!” you cut her off, dropping your crutches in anger. “Just leave me alone. If I want to retire now, that’s my choice. I’m not you!” You cried harder. “Nobody misses me on the team! I’m not you!��� 

Leah bit her lip, struggling to hold back her tears.

“I do miss you,” she admitted, wishing she could find the guts to stand up, walk over, and kiss you to show how she felt. But ironically, the fear of losing you forever left her feeling paralyzed.

“I can’t do this,” you said, struggling to stand up. “If you start talking about us, I’ll take back my decision, and I don’t want that. Good luck,” you said, wiping away your tears as you left the room.

That was the last Leah saw of you. Your retirement was lowkey, just an announcement and a few social media posts. Leah found out later that you’d gone back to the States as if you’d never been there at all.

You ended up in the US on a whim, just wanting to forget Leah, Arsenal, England, and football. That had been two years ago. No one knew where you were or cared that you were spending everyday drunk in some bar. 

You were okay with that. 

If it weren’t for a family matter, you’d still be hiding out there.

Your plan was simple: wrap up your stuff, grab some cash to continue your drinking habits of shitty american beer, and then return. But as soon as you landed, you hit the first bar you saw and pretty much stayed there.

It wasn't uncommon for former (failed) footballers to turn into addicts, and you were no different. Although you had attempted to quit drinking a year ago, when your money was running out, but without any support system in the US you couldn’t stay sober for more than a month before heading back to that familiar bar.

You were so drunk you didn’t even worry about running into anyone you knew now back in London. The only detail you vaguely recalled, though you were unsure of its significance, was avoiding blonde women. But you didn’t think twice about the men.

“Jacob,” Leah said, still in shock. She’d been sleeping when her brother called, saying he was sure he’d seen you drinking heavily in a bar he’d just arrived at with his friends.

“Glad you’re here,” Jacob said, guiding her to where you were. “She didn’t see me, I wasn’t sure how she’d react, so I wanted to wait until you got here.” He glanced at you as he spoke.

Leah’s heart sank when she saw you. It was definitely you, but you looked totally different, completely out of it and about to pass out on the bar.

“I’ll take her home,” Leah said quietly, making her way towards you. “Y/n,” she called softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. When you didn’t respond, Leah shook you gently and called your name again. “Y/n.”

You barely opened your eyes, but you recognized her immediately. “Lee,” you mumbled, and tears started rolling down your cheeks, though you didn’t really know why.

It wasn’t the first time you’d cried while being drunk, and it wasn’t the first time you’d cried for Leah while being drunk either.

“Hey,” Leah said, gently wiping the tears from your face with her thumbs. She didn’t remove her hands, as you were barely able to hold your head up. “Let me help you.”

Leah signaled to Jacob with a nod to help lift you from the other side. As they carried you to the car, Leah couldn’t wrap her head around what was going on. She’d never seen you this drunk before, not even when you used to drink occasionally during your time together.

With Jacob’s help, Leah got you into the back seat of the car and drove quickly to her home, which had also been yours a few years back.

Leah was totally stuck on what to do now. If it were up to her, she’d have tossed you in a hot bath to get rid of the alcohol smell, but she didn’t want to risk you passing out in the tub.

So, she just put you in the guest room. She placed a towel on your pillow, took off your jacket and shoes, and got you settled in bed. She also left a glass of water and some painkillers for when you woke up.

Next morning, when Leah woke up, the first thing she did was check on you, but she was surprised to find the room empty. The water and pills were still there, She freaked out a little, she couldn’t let you slip away again, not this time. She rushed downstairs and, while searching for her car keys, she noticed the kitchen was a mess. All the cupboard doors were open, and there was broken glass on the floor. Then she saw that the door to the backyard was wide open.

Trying to be quiet, she headed outside and found you sitting on the small terrace you’d set up years ago, holding a bottle of wine with your eyes shut.

“I’m awake,” you mumbled without bothering to open your eyes when you heard the door.

“It’s… 9 am” Leah said, pulling out her phone, her voice tinged with worry. “Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“It’s for the hangover,” you replied, taking a swig straight from the bottle. Leah looked around, noticing there was no glass or cup in sight. “Sorry, the glass broke when I grabbed it”

Leah stood there with her hands on her hips, looking worried. She had no idea where to start.

“Do you even remember how you ended up here?” Leah asked, stepping closer. She noticed you were shivering, probably from the morning chill. Without hesitation, she took off her hoodie and draped it over your shoulders, relieved when you didn’t push her away.

“Ah… I don’t really remember,” you said, trying to force a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” Leah asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

You shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. Leah was taken aback by how sober you looked despite the drinking. It seemed your tolerance was crazy high.

“Why did you leave?” Leah asked, gently placing her hand on your knee. At the touch, you jumped up, but the dizziness hit you hard, almost making you fall over. Leah quickly helped you back into your seat. “I won’t touch you again,” she said, holding up both hands as if to show she meant no harm. “I’m just asking you not to run away.”

You stared at Leah for a few seconds, noticing her glazed eyes and the slight tremble in her lower lip. You wanted to get out of there and avoid the whole sad scene, but you knew you wouldn’t get far and you didn’t even have any money left.

“I don’t want to answer any questions,” you muttered, staring at the ground.

“I need to ask a few things,” Leah said, almost reaching out to take your hand but stopping herself just in time. “I haven’t seen you in two years. Haven’t heard a thing from you.”

“That was the point. You had enough going on with your stuff. I didn’t want to add to it,” you said, trying to avoid her eyes.

“Damn it, Y/n, I never stopped caring about you. Not when we broke up, and not when you disappeared,” Leah said, quickly wiping away a tear. “Yeah, we messed up, but we could have fixed things back then, and we still can-”

“No, Leah.”

“Yes, we can-”

“Don’t say that. I’m not sober enough to deal with this,” you said, feeling frustration creeping in.

“Then go take a shower, and we’ll talk,” Leah said, her frustration matching yours. Why did you have to be so stubborn all the time?

“I’m not sober,” you repeated, stressing each word and holding her gaze, hoping she’d get it.

Leah swallowed hard, taking in the mess you were. Your hands were still shaking, and even though she thought your pale skin might just be from the morning, your flushed cheeks and the redness on your nose told a different story. The dark circles under your eyes were deep, making you look worse than she’d imagined.

Leah always thought she was the heavy drinker between the two of you. Her cabinet was stocked with all kinds of alcohol, and she’d always found it odd how you’d cringe whenever she brought home a new bottle. She remembered you mentioning a relative with addiction problems back when you weren’t even together, but she never thought it would hit you too.

“Have you… have you tried to quit?” Leah asked, her voice cracking as she grasped the seriousness of the situation. You nodded slowly, looking down, clearly embarrassed. “Could you try again?” she asked.

This time, you shook your head. “I can’t.”

“I can help you,” Leah said, determined.

“I don’t want your help,” you said frustrated, trying to get up again but failing.

“Y/n, look at yourself,” Leah said, exasperated. “You can’t even stand. Please, let me help you.”

You reluctantly agreed to let her help, mostly to get her to stop pushing. You figured that if you said yes and she saw how messed up you were, she’d leave you alone. What you didn’t remember was how stubborn Leah could be when she was set on something.

Leah couldn’t believe she actually managed to get you to go to rehab, but it seemed like it was working after a while. According to the doctor, you were doing great, really putting in the effort in your sessions and activities. So, it didn’t take long for you to get the green light for a day out, and of course, Leah was the one you’d spend it with.

“Good morning,” Leah said softly when she saw you. It was wild how you were starting to look more like yourself again.

“Morning,” you replied. It was weird to think that just a few months ago you were alone in the States, drinking day and night. And now Leah was here, smiling at you again. It was something you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Leah said when you two were in her car. “I checked with the doctor because it might be a... sensitive topic for you.” Instantly, your heart raced in panic. Leah noticed your breathing quicken and gently placed her hand on your knee while steering with the other. You placed your hand over hers, and she didn’t hesitate to intertwine your fingers. “Just relax,” she said. “I think you’ll like it. And if I’m wrong, just let me know, and we’ll forget about it. No big deal.” She stopped at a red light, bringing your hand to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss.

It was something that had always helped you chill out. Even though you weren’t together anymore (not physically, at least. Both of you knew those feelings were still there, just waiting for the right time), it still felt good.

When Leah parked the car and you looked out the window, your heart raced again. You were right in front of a football pitch. Leah knew how much your struggles with the end of your career were a trigger for your addiction, so being here wasn’t exactly ideal.

“Leah, I don’t think-”

“Shh,” she said, gently taking your hand to help you out of the car. “Just give it a few minutes, okay? If it’s too much, we’ll head back.” She cupped your face, locking eyes with you.

You nodded, holding her hand tightly. Leah didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension in your grip.

You walked together to the middle of the field. It wasn’t as big as the one you used to play on, but seeing it made you smile a bit, remembering the good times you had there with Leah.

“I should’ve been more supportive, you know,” Leah said as you both settled on the grass, still damp from the morning dew. “After my injury and the World Cup, I finally realized how lonely you must’ve felt. Part of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you replied. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“You were my girlfriend. I should’ve been there for you, giving you the support you needed,” Leah said, her tears starting to fall. You hated seeing her cry; it always made you feel awful.

“I was tough to deal with too. I didn’t make it easy for you,” you admitted, resting your head on Leah’s shoulder.  She turned and kissed your forehead without hesitation.

“Do you think we can get through this?” She whispered.

“I think we’re on the right track.”

Leah nodded and after a few minutes of silence, she stood up. “Don’t move,” she said, running back to the car. She came back with a mini football, the kind you can hold in one hand. “Wanna play?” she asked with a small, hopeful smile.

You laughed, shaking your head, but took her hand to stand up. The feel of the ball in your hands was weird but you couldn’t say no to Leah.

“Let’s warm up before my friends get here,” she said with a smirk. You didn’t get what she meant at first, but the excitement of kicking a ball again had you too pumped to question it.

Leah’s friends turned out to be a bunch of 12 year olds who had joined her every week to play football together. There were about seven girls, with the oldest being 13. She was the one who kept glancing at you the whole time.

“Excuse me,” the oldest girl said as they were about to leave after the game ended. “You’re Y/n L/n, right?” she asked, eyes locked on you.

“Jackie!” Leah hurried over and tried to cover the girl’s mouth. “What did I say about the questions?”

Leah kept talking to the girl, but you couldn’t catch what she was saying. Jackie was 13 now, but she was only 11 when you retired, and probably no older than 7 when you were at your peak. It touched you that she recognized you.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you said, holding Leah’s hand for support. “What’s up?”

“Your hair is longer and darker now,” Jackie said, eyeing you closely. “And your face is a bit different, but I remember when you kicked that penalty into the goal. I saw it in person!”

“Jackie,” Leah said again, but you pulled on her arm.

“Do you really remember?” you asked.

“I do! I saw you play. My sister took me to that game. Even though Arsenal lost, your penalty was the best.” Jackie said, her eyes shining.

Leah watched silently, a big smile on her face as she saw you light up with that familiar spark you’d lost over the years. She let you have a moment with Jackie, impressed by how you were reconnecting with your past. It made her even more certain about the idea she’d been planning to share with you.

The next weekend, you both were back out on the field with the girls. You spent some time teaching Jackie a few tricks. Your stamina wasn’t what it used to be, so Leah gave you a break. 

“I wish I had the energy of a 12 year old,” Leah said, flopping down next to you on the grass and handing you a bottle of water, but you shook your head.

“I’m good,” you said, pulling out a bottle of orange juice from your bag. Leah looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“But you don’t like orange juice,” she said, wrinkling her nose as you popped the cap and the citrus scent hit the air.

“You don’t like it,” you said with a grin. “I never hated it.”

“You never bought it when we lived together,” Leah pointed out.

“That’s because you didn’t like kissing me with juice on my lips,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at her. “You were always so picky, even with that.”

Leah shook her head, remembering how she’d pull away in the middle of a kiss if she tasted something like orange juice on your lips.

“I’ve been drinking a lot of orange juice lately because plain water gets boring,” you said, putting the bottle away and sitting up straight. You glanced at Leah, who seemed like she wanted to say something.

"Your doctor mentioned you're about to be discharged," Leah said, glancing at you with a curious look.

"Yeah," you replied, a bit embarrassed. "I wanted to talk to you about that too." Leah raised an eyebrow, curious. "I don't have anywhere to stay, and my family's all moved away from London. And I need to keep up with the weekly therapy."

"You can stay with me," Leah said before you could even ask. 

"Thank you," you said with a relieved smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

"Can I confess something?" Leah asked, fiddling with the bottle in her hands.

"Sure."

"I'm afraid you'll leave again," she admitted, biting her lip. "You have no reason to stay, and I don’t want you to be alone again," she added, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. "That’s why I've been thinking about something..."

You felt a bit panicked, knowing what Leah could be thinking.

"I’m not going to play again-" you started, but Leah cut you off.

"I know, honey," she said, stroking your hand with her thumb. "But I've been thinking...these girls need someone to teach them," she said, nodding toward the group of girls who were too busy fighting over the ball to rest.

"No, Leah-"

"Shh, let me finish," Leah said with a laugh. "It won’t be professional. It'll start as an amateur academy. We just need to build a dressing room, add a few more seats, and recruit some more girls."

"Leah, I'm not a coach," you said, shaking your head. "And running an academy, even an amateur one, costs money."

"I’ve got the money," she assured you. "I'm already talking to some local sponsors. And you’re great with the girls, you’ve got experience, and it’ll keep you busy doing something you still care about, even if you won’t admit it right now."

"I don’t know..."

"Just give it a shot," Leah said, bringing your hand to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss. "If you don’t like it, we’ll figure out something else."

You took a deep breath, feeling unsure but finally nodded. "Alright, I'll give it a try."

Leah was feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. After all the hard work, the tough times, and a few relapses along the way, today might be the day you could finally move back to her place. But she’d spent the night taking away every trace of alcohol from the house. Pouring out all those liquor bottles, which had cost her a fortune, felt a bit like a sacrifice, but knowing she was doing it for you made it almost satisfying. She’d also packed up all the wine glasses and stashed them in the attic, figuring they’d be better off out of sight for a while. 

She’d gone a bit overboard with the shopping too, piles of chocolate, different coffee flavors, and gallons of orange juice to cover any cravings you might have. And she’d moved her medals, trophies, and awards into her bedroom. She figured it would be better to ease you back into things slowly, rather than hitting you with the full weight of her football career all at once. 

“Good morning,” Leah said as soon as she saw you dragging your suitcase in.

You greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, and she offered to put your suitcase in the car while you settled into the passenger seat.

“I’m really nervous,” you admitted, shifting uncomfortably in the seat.

Leah didn’t say much, just reached out her hand. You took it without hesitation, intertwining your fingers with hers for comfort.

“I think it’s best if we skip the game with the girls today,” Leah suggested, seeing you nod in agreement. “Alright then, let’s go home.”

The drive to the house was quiet, neither of you saying a word. Leah held your hand the whole time, even after you two stepped inside.

"I got the guest room ready for you," Leah said, setting your suitcase on the floor.

"Will you come with me?" you asked. Leah nodded immediately, following you to the room. She smiled as you flopped onto the bed. "God, I missed sleeping in a good bed," you said, then looked at Leah, who was leaning against the door frame. "Come here," you said, patting the bed.

Leah kicked off her shoes and lay down next to you. She was a little surprised when you rested your head on her chest, but her hand instinctively went to your hair, stroking it gently. Throughout your rehab, you had been close, but Leah always worried about moving too fast, unsure about what the future held for both of you.

"You've changed a lot," you murmured, closing your eyes and smiling at the scent of Leah's shirt. "I like this side of you."

"What side?" Leah whispered.

"The side that takes care of me. I like you taking care of me."

Leah bit her lip, feeling it tremble a little. "I should have taken better care of you before. Maybe then you wouldn't have left."

"I didn't give you the chance. I didn't want to hear from you."

You both stayed silent for a few minutes, Leah holding you tighter.

"And now? Will you give me a chance to take care of you?"

"I’m doing that already," you said, lifting yourself up a little to look at her. "Thank you for not letting me leave again." You gave her a soft, short kiss on the lips.

Leah didn't ask for more, didn't move her hands or deepen the kiss. That small contact was enough for her. Trying again would be a slow process, and she didn't want to go back to what you had before. She wanted to start fresh, avoiding the mistakes of the past.

After almost two months, things were looking up. 

When you woke up, Leah wasn't in bed. You weren’t sharing a room yet, but she spent most nights with you, and last night had been one of those.

After showering, you headed to the kitchen and found Leah putting things away in the fridge. 

"Morning," you said, startling her. She quickly shut the fridge door and looked at you with wide eyes. "Everything okay?" you asked, walking towards her curiously.

"Uh, yeah, everything's fine," she said, taking a step back and letting out a curse as she bumped into the fridge.

"What are you hiding?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

"N-nothing," she said, trying to squirm out of the situation, but you were quicker. You cornered her against the fridge. "Shouldn’t you be going? It's your first day of training with the girls," she reminded you.

"I can’t leave without my good morning kiss," you said, watching her features soften a little.

"I haven’t brushed my teeth," she lied, standing on her tiptoes to keep you from kissing her. She was definitely hiding something.

For a moment, you thought it might be something with alcohol. You'd noticed that all the alcohol in the house was gone, even the liquor filled candy Leah used to eat. But it was early in the morning, and Leah wouldn't be drinking anything with alcohol at that time. You trusted her, she was fully committed to your recovery. On the rare occasions she had a drink, she’d brush her teeth multiple times before kissing you. 

Leah thought she'd kept it a secret, but you'd caught her almost drinking the extra mint mouthwash.

So, it was highly unlikely that was the reason she didn’t want to kiss you.

"I'll be mad if you don't kiss me," you said, playing your last card.

Leah rolled her eyes but leaned in, brushing her nose against yours before giving you a short kiss. When she felt your tongue graze her lip, she knew she was caught.

"Leah!" you exclaimed, patting her shoulder. "You were drinking my orange juice!"

"I was thirsty," Leah laughed. "I'll grab some more juice for you, I promise," she said, wrapping her arms around your waist. She tried to kiss you again, but you turned your face away, causing her lips to land on your cheek. "Hey, there's no more juice left. Your only chance to have some is kissing me," she said, still holding your waist.

"I hate you," you said, shaking your head before finally kissing her. "You're not supposed to like that juice."

"I think I got so used to tasting it when I kiss you that I've started to like it," Leah said with a grin.

"Did you really drink all my juice?" you asked, almost sadly, resting your head on Leah's shoulder.

"Of course not, love," she said, stroking your back. "I think I bought all the orange juice in London. I can't have my girl without her daily glass of juice."

"Thank you," you murmured, kissing her again.

"I should say that," Leah whispered back.

[macfrog]

If you ever feel up to it - a little short story from the scom universe about reader and Joel deciding to have a second baby or finding out they're pregnant for the second time would warm my cold dead heart <3

i am. so. sorry. for the word count on this i truly do not know what happened. but i had a lot of fun with it, so. hopefully y'all do, too. happy fathers day! x

jellybean ~4k words | series masterlist warnings: pregnancy symptoms (feeling and being sick, horniness + sleepiness. aka me even when not pregnant), 99% just duckie vs her mom

Duckie spills the secret on a Friday.

The morning is lazy, slow. The breathing of the sea across a plain of beach. Your fingers sift through her hair like the breeze through sun-bleached pages. The way she and the sun tint the room peach.

Sarah sprawls out across the spot still warm on her dad’s side of the bed. She’s in a habit of waking up early to sneak through to your room, lift the bottom of the covers, and army crawl between your bodies.

Joel’s in a habit of stirring to the heat of her at his back, her tiny toes at his spine, and turning to scoop her in one arm. They sleep curled into one another, mouths catching flies.

This morning, though, she’s up to something. She brought a secret.

She’s flat-out on her stomach, pens scratching at the paper. There’s the scent of cherry and lemon and green apple tangling in the air. Taut frown on her face, tongue poked with concentration. She looks just like her dad.

She pauses and looks up at you. “What color is this part?” she asks, dabbing at the blank hubcap.

“Silver,” you reply, fixing the cap back onto the grape pen before it stains your sheets.

She huffs. “I don’t have silver, Mama.”

You tap on the page. “Daddy’s wing mirrors are black, but you did ‘em green. The colors don’t matter, do they?”

But it’s seven a.m., and you’re sharing only the red jellybeans for something of a pre-breakfast snack (the four-year-old’s idea), and you’re exhausted despite having slept the full night, and she keeps halting any time Joel’s humming quietens – just in case he spoils his birthday surprise.

She hunkers down with the lemon pen to nail the emblem of his truck, and you figure – color is just the least of it. Truthfully, to your kid – and so, to you, too – nothing has ever mattered more.

You cup her cheek and lift her gaze back to meet yours. “How about I grab you a glitter pen today, just for the wheels?”

She grins. Little milk teeth, gappy and gummy. Peach fuzz cheeks, sweet as the rest of her, a perfect fit in the palm of your hand.

I love you I love you you’re my whole world I love you, you want to say.

Instead: “Only if we tidy your room later. Deal?”

“Deal, Mama,” Sarah giggles, and her little ink-stained hands splay out across the page again.

She scribbles only a few more splotches of color before you both notice it.

The sudden silence.

The water’s stopped running. The shower screen rattles as he pulls it back. Dripdripdrip from the showerhead straight down to the empty basin.

Sarah twists to watch Joel’s disembodied arm blindly grab for a towel folded on the sink. It whips off out of sight, and he calls through from the bathroom.

“Duckie? You still there?”

“Gogogo,” you whisper, helping your daughter cover her dad’s drawing with blank sheets. “Leave the jellybeans, Duck, save yourself!”

She finds the entire thing hysterical. Swinging her masterpiece under one arm, two fistfuls of rainbow pens, springing from the mattress like it suddenly caught flame. She throws herself from the foot of the bed and dashes across the hall to her own room, candy scattering in her wake.

Joel’s head cranes around the doorframe. “Where’d she go?”

You smile, shrugging. Chewing innocently on a jellybean. “That’s funny. She was here a second ago.”

He pads over to the bed, towel slung loose around his hips. Smirks, when your hungry eyes descend his figure – the bearlike shape of him, all muscle and fur, toned where he needs it but soft where you want it.

He cages over you, dark hair dripping with the smell of citrus, skin sticky.

His lips are like velvet against yours. Tongue still singed with coffee. A low growl from his throat when you lean forward to lick into his mouth.

“Smell so goddamn good,” you murmur, dipping your head to bury into the crook of his neck.

His beard is fuzzier when it’s damp, natural masculine musk melded with the fresh soap and rich aftershave he uses. All honey and oatmeal, mixed with a woodsy scent – and fuck, it’s intoxicating. Moreso than usual – stronger and sexier.

You take his hands and lower them to your hips, letting his fingers knot around the baggy material of your – his T-shirt. Tugging on it, exposing the slip of delicate lace on your hips.

“Darlin’,” Joel warns, “we’re late. We still gotta drop Duckie off – If she walks in –”

You groan, huffing back into the mattress. The weight between your legs ripples over the horizon, pulses into weak nothing.

Joel fixes the shirt back down to your thighs just as the thunder of his daughter’s footsteps rumbles back into the room.

Tonight, he breathes, slicking some of the hair from his face.

You grin, taking his hand to pull yourself back up.

Sarah materializes in the doorway, a lingering half-girl. Smiling from behind the frame, twisting the ball of her foot into the floor.

“Hi, Duck,” Joel says, still playing with your fingers.

“Hi.”

“You look guilty.”

Her grin widens. She totters into the room, launches herself onto the bed, and nuzzles into your side. She squirms when Joel digs his fingers into her waist.

The beats of her laughter drum against your ribs, the same way her fists used to when she lived inside you.

“Alright.” You cradle her, her little head tipping back to wake the rest of Austin up with her squeals of glee. “Are we ready for some actual food, now?”

Joel chuckles, reaching for his mug.

Sarah nods from your lap. Her eyes drift down to the print on your tee. “Mama?”

“Mhm?”

“Do they like jellybeans?”

You frown. “Does who like jellybeans?”

Her finger prods lightly into your tummy. “The baby.”

Joel chokes, splattering coffee into his fist. He slams the mug down, pounds his chest clear of liquid.

“There’s no – Jesus, Joel,” you swipe mocha flecks from the sheets, “Told Sarah to be careful with her pens and then you spray coffee all over the…”

Sarah rolls off, cackling. “Silly Daddy,” she hoots, leaping on the bedroom floor.

“Hey,” you usher her over to the door, “Why don’t you go pick out what you wanna wear today? I’ll be right behind you. Quit tryna give your dad a heart attack, okay?”

“The baby, Mama,” she’s repeating, walking like a little convict. She turns over the threshold to her room like it’s a cell, her pink pajama uniform and guilty expression to go with it. Still laughing, swallowing the ticklish bursts when she notices you’re shaking your head.

“There is no baby.” You kneel before her, repeating, “No baby. Just you. How about your T-shirt with the butterflies?”

It seems to distract her enough. Thank Christ. She gasps, inspired, and twirls off to find the tee.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, pushing back to your feet.

Joel’s flapping the sheets when you slip back into your room, still clearing his throat. Half-dressed: a white T-shirt over his broad chest and a pair of black boxers. Soaked hair clinging to the back of his neck and drying in flicks across his forehead.

Jesus, you want to pull him back over you and let him have his way.

You close the door over and spin, hands on your hips. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” he croaks. “Did you hear what she just said?”

“You’ve known this kid for four years, Joel, you really can’t tell when she’s fucking with you? She’s my kid, keep up.”

“Just seemed an awfully –” he thumps his chest again, “– awfully specific thing to say.”

“She’s in a phase I think,” you reply, catching the pillow he tosses across. “She’s telling stories. Last week, her pre-K teacher congratulated me our supposed wedding. Asked to see pictures of the Mickey Mouse officiant.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles. “She really bought that?”

You mimic the breezy voice: “Sarah was very convincing.”

Joel scoffs. “I don’t know if I can take a lying phase and a copying phase at the same time. Every goddamn word I say, she’s gotta repeat it.”

“She idolizes you,” you straighten the sheets, “I think it’s endearing.”

“Hm. Just wait until it’s you.”

He wanders around the bed, pulls your back against his chest. His arms cross over your tummy, lips pressing into your shoulder where his shirt has slipped.

“How much harder would two be?” he mumbles into the bare skin.

“Two Sarahs?” You scoff.

Joel laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. I forget she runs on chaos and jellybeans.”

“Yup,” you turn in his arms, linking yours behind his neck, “And there ain’t no point in talking about it anyways, because I am not fucking pregnant.”

He rolls his forehead against yours, stealing bristly kisses. “Okay.”

“I’m not, Joel.”

“I believe you, baby.”

Sarah’s bedtime is a liberal eight, eight thirty on weekends. She likes to sit up, lodged between you and Joel on the couch, and help pick the movie you two will watch once she’s in bed.

Once – and only once – Joel tried to fool her by pretending to play her choice, then switching as soon as she went down.

The kid quizzed him on the movie the next morning. He failed. She’s never forgotten.

Tonight, though, Joel’s out. Some game that you know and care too little about sports to learn the name or importance of. He’s with some buddies at the local bar, probably nursing his second beer in as many hours, and counting down the minutes until he can come home to his girls.

Sarah snores soundly, slumped at your side as though butter wouldn’t melt. The flicker from the TV across her face, the gentle mumbling of the voices onscreen. Her hands limp in her lap, fingers idling in a pink snack bowl.

You admire her, stealing a piece of her popcorn. Teeth grinding down when you remember dishing it for her earlier, hearing her curious voice ask whether or not the baby likes popcorn more than jellybeans.

Nope, you sang, tossing a handful in your mouth as you passed her the bowl. Imaginary babies don’t eat popcorn.

She snorted (which unnerved you, because what the fuck is this kid finding so funny?), and followed you to the living room so close that you could feel her toes at your heels.

Some of the kids in her class have siblings. Some older, but mostly younger. It’s the only fucking explanation, the only thing that explains this sudden interest in the real estate of your uterus.

She’s going through a phase, you tell yourself, suckling on popcorn. But then – how many fucking phases do kids go through? Which phases did you go through?

Barney & Friends. That was a fucking phase. Refusing to leave the house without the hoodie your mom bought you from the Museum of Natural History, even in the height of summer. Ketchup and broccoli, your boyfriend at seventeen, frisbeeing your neighbor’s newspaper and aiming for his flowerpots.

Phase, phase, fucking phase.

Does she know something you don’t?

…No. You took a test just last week. Shut up. Stop letting the kid into your fucking head.

Joel’s keys jangle on the other side of the door, shunting into the lock with a sound which stills your brain.

You tilt your head over the back of the couch, your man’s beard tickling your nose as he kisses you. “Evening.”

“Missed you,” he whispers against your lips. He straightens and tugs the jacket from his shoulders. “She not in bed yet?”

“She fell asleep down here,” you reply. “I got too tired to carry her up.”

He caresses your forehead, big pillowy palm. “You feelin’ okay?”

“It’s been a long day,” you grumble.

Joel smiles. He flops down onto the couch beside you, reaching over to stroke Sarah’s head.

You roll, solid as a rock, curling into his side. “She keeps saying it, Joel. She keeps fucking saying it.”

His chest jumps, tectonic plates moving with a laugh. “You’ve met your match, honey. Produced a professional little shit.”

“One of the other moms from her class is pregnant,” you mumble. “That’s gotta be it, right? That’s where she’s getting it from?”

“Maybe,” Joel muses. His fingers link with yours. “Why don’t you take a test anyways? Settle it in your mind?”

It startles you awake, even if only enough to prove the fucking point.

“No, Joel!” you hiss, body jerking. “If I take a test, and it turns out negative – which it will – she wins! My four-year-old fooled me. No,” you pluck spilled popcorn from your lap, pinging it back into the bowl, “I know this kid. I gave birth to this kid. She is not fucking winning.”

“Alright, baby,” he coos, “it’s okay. I won’t let the four-year-old fool you.”

You glower. “Thanks, asshole.”

He chuckles. “She’d make the best big sister, though. She would,” he insists, when you huff back against his chest. “She’d love being the oldest. Get to be bossy, get to call the shots. Get to protect them, no matter what.”

Your voice feels so small, as inquisitive as your daughter’s when you blink up at him. “Were you protective over Tommy?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, he was annoying as all hell – and I told him so – but anyone else had anythin’ to say about him, and – well, they had me to deal with.”

“Big scary Joel Miller,” you whisper, yawning into his shirt. “I knew him once.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, “You sure did.”

You look up again, blinking all doe-eyed and dreamy. Already half-asleep.

“He never scared me,” you whisper.

Joel smiles.

“Well, you scared the hell outta him.”

Saturday morning, you wake to an empty bed. No snoring man, no scribbling girl. Just you – a starfish on the mattress. Bathing in waves of late-morning sun, sheets for coral, body as heavy as though you really are at the bottom of the ocean.

Her giggles carry all the way upstairs. Sarah. They surf into the room on a sunbeam, sounds like bubbles which shatter and sprinkle over your aching body.

You smile into Joel’s pillow, breathing in the smell of him, and peel your eyes open.

It’s ten thirty. Definitely – you blink three times and rub at your eyes, just to make sure. Ten thirty, and something’s swirling behind your navel. Something that sharpens, sours, when you push yourself upright.

“Oh, shit,” you rasp, and throw yourself across the room.

You barely make it, collapsing in a heap at the toilet. Your stomach empties in seconds; three heavy, painful gags and your head is in the bowl, choking on last night’s dinner.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, gasping, “Oh, Jesus.”

You’re sick. You’re just sick. Sarah probably caught something from pre-K, passed it on without even knowing. And, hey – you feel better, now that that happened.

You’re just sick. Nothing else.

“Mornin’,” Joel calls, watching as you stagger into the kitchen.

Sarah mimics his drawl. “Mornin’, Mama.”

“Hi, Duckie.” You crumple into the chair beside her, shoulders hunched. The smell of burnt toast and grape juice twists up your nose, and you suck in a slow breath.

Joel sweeps a hand over your forehead. He tips your jaw up to face him. “You alright? Thought we heard running.”

Sarah rips a slice of toast in two. She stares at the fluffy insides, the jam dripping from the tear. The sight of it lifts the hairs on your skin, the gloopy mess splattering onto her plate.

“Just feel kinda…funny,” you slur, turning away.

“Funny? Funny how?”

“Funny how?” your daughter parrots.

You shrug. Every word, every inhale makes you feel even more nauseous. “Probably just ate something.”

“Heard that one before,” Joel drones, and you throw him a flat look.

Sarah licks the jam from her fingers. She holds her tiny hands up to her dad, snorts when he pretends to bite at them.

“Eat your breakfast, Duckie,” he says then – in his Dad voice. And in something softer, kinder: “Can I make you somethin’?”

You swat the idea away, but it’s already churning in your stomach again. “Just gotta – get over whatever it – is.”

The table falls silent. Joel and Sarah stare blankly at one another. When you turn to look at your daughter, she’s staring straight back. Smirking.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you clip, wincing again at the dribbling jam.

“Alright,” Joel utters, “I think you oughta take a test now.”

“That is not what this is,” you groan, petulantly pushing up from your chair.

He takes your hand, steadying you. “No? I was thinking about it, baby, and I don’t think we’ve been safe enough to be so sure.”

You dump your golden toast in the trash and turn, crossing your arms. Your shoulders lift. “We’re not being any less safe than we have been the last four years.”

“Safe,” Sarah says, and Joel holds a finger up.

“No,” he tells her. “No. Not that word. Go back to funny.”

She beams at him. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

He sighs, pacing over. “Look,” he lowers his plate into the sink, “I’ll take Duckie to the park. Let you rest up, give you a quiet house for the morning. But darlin’, if you’re not better by tonight, you’re takin’ a test.”

You grimace. “But she –”

“I know –” he grits his teeth, “– I know you don’t want her to be right. But I want you to be okay, more ‘n I want to prove my child wrong. Like it or not, you’re taking a damn test.”

Your eyes flit across to the kid swinging her legs in her chair, the splotch of jam down her Peppa Pig T-shirt. Your greatest accomplishment and your biggest challenge, wrapped up into a hundred-centimeter, jellybean-fueled monster.

Her cheeks lift, jam-covered and smug.

“Funny,” Sarah says, nodding.

The afternoon strings the sun high in the sky.

You’ve been home alone for the better part of an hour, busying yourself by cleaning to take your mind off the nausea tugging at your esophagus. Making and remaking beds, folding laundry until your fingers cramp.

Sarah’s room has never been tidier. Joel’s workshop has never seen so little dust. And you have never been more determined to prove your four-year-old wrong.

You’re lingering in the bathroom, the window gaping. Sucking in breath after breath of fresh air – which only serves to tickle the acid burning its way up your throat, entice it further.

You’re emptying the cabinets, reorganizing them into some senseless order. Playing Tetris with boxes of Band-Aids, slotting in tubes of toothpaste. You blindly reach behind your hip for the next box – a nearly empty thing which rattles when you lift it, jitters as though nervous.

You glance down.

“Fuck off,” you hiss, throwing it on the shelf beside some tampons.

It stares back at you, as blinding as the sun. The two display window examples, pregnant and not pregnant, like a wink peering out from the dull cabinet.

Your gums taste of bitter bile, rancid. Teeth furry and aching. Your entire body aches – though nothing quite so bad as the space below your ribs, still tender from all your retching.

Slowly, your hands slip down your front to cup your lower tummy. Rounder than before, suppler – bloated, even.

“’s from all the throwing up,” you tell nobody in particular. Maybe yourself. There’s a desperate edge to your voice, almost a plea.

But then – a plea to who? For what? There was nothing you loved more than carrying Sarah for nine months. Duck. Start saying duck. Baby Duck.

You were never on your own. She was right there. Someone to talk to, someone to complain to. Someone to weep to, in the quietest lulls of night.

Her language came to you as easily as your own. All her kicks and punches, her fucking acrobatics while you tried to sleep. It was love, in its most chaotic form.

And you loved her, the very moment you saw those two lines. The very moment you realized she’d been in there the whole time.

You realize now, squatted on your bathroom floor, that it feels the exact same. A warmth, radiating from your very core, if only you’d pay it enough attention to feel it.

Like there’s someone there. Right there.

“If you’re fucking with me,” you warn your stomach, reaching for the single test, “I will lose my shit.”

Love, in its most chaotic form bursts through your bedroom door no less than half an hour later.

“Hi, Mama!” Sarah sings, tearing through the room with her hands behind her back. Her knees bump against the side of your bed, the air about her summer-warm and pollen-sweet.

“Hi, little Duck,” you mumble, voice swollen. You wipe sleep from your eyes, asking, “How was the park?”

She answers with a wide grin on her face, whipping out a small, shabby bunch of flowers. Dandelions and daisies tangled around one another, loose petals scattering over your bedsheets.

“Oh, baby,” you push yourself up, ignoring the sickly weight in your stomach, “Are these for me?”

She nods. She dusts her hands free of grass when you take the bouquet. And then, as you smell them and hum with delight, she turns.

First, over to the dresser. She stares at her reflection, pokes at some of the makeup on the table. Then over to the window – where her breath fogs the glass. You hear the whack of Joel’s tailgate closing, and she tracks him into the house, before examining the windowsill.

You watch nervously as she drifts back over to the bed, a curious hop to her movements. Inspecting, like she knows there’s something waiting to be found. Someone.

“Did you have fun with Daddy?” you ask.

“Yep,” her small voice says, distant and distracted. She disappears into the dim bathroom.

You slump back down on the mattress, dropping the flowers in a clump on your bedside table. “I don’t even know when I fell asleep, baby girl,” you say through a yawn.

Sarah doesn’t reply.

“Duckie?”

“What’s this?”

You lift your head. “What’s wh…Oh, n-no, Duckie, wait –”

She flees past you, one fist raised and wielding the pregnancy test.

“Sarah! Jesus, fuck –”

You’re chasing after her before you have a chance to consider it – nausea be damned. She’s squealing something, roaring with laughter, blitzing out into the hallway. She swivels, ladders down the stairs backwards, leaps straight into the arms of –

“Christ, Sarah –”

Joel stumbles backwards with the force she throws at him. She’s safe in his arms by the time you reach the top of the stairs, waving the stupid stick around his head like it’s a magic wand.

“Daddy!” Sarah cries.

He glances up to you: hunched over the top step, panting, clutching your stomach. He pinches the test from her grasp. “What do we got here, baby duck?”

She kicks her feet. She has no fucking idea what they have, but she knows you didn’t want her near it – and if you know your kid, you know that’s all the catalyst she needed to fucking take it.

You slowly make your way down towards them, smirk growing the nearer you draw.

Joel glances down to the test. The creases by his eyes deepen. He hugs Sarah closer.

“Two...two means...pregnant, right?” he asks.

You sigh, nodding. “Mhm.”

His head lifts.

He breaks, the second he sees your expression. Eyes glassy, tears spilling onto your cheeks. The same smile you wore that June morning: sleep-deprived and shellshocked, a love pumping through your veins so strong that you thought you might burst with it.

Joel reaches for your hand, reels you in against his body.

“Shit,” he laughs, holding the test up.

Your shaking hands take it from him – though you already knew what it says. You were dreaming of it all when Sarah broke into your room.

Dreaming of linked hands and echoed giggles; of bunkbeds and matching surnames, of all four seats in the truck filled and all four chambers of your heart spoken for.

Dreaming of one on each hip, one in each hand. Dreaming of them tag teaming Joel, of the word kids slung with his southern twang. My kids, the kids, our kids. All ours.

Dreaming of two Sarahs, goddamn it. Because nothing ever completed your life as effortlessly as one Sarah, and – hell, she was born to follow in her dad’s footsteps and become the elder Miller sibling.

“Shit,” you agree, turning to sob into Joel’s chest.

“Duckie,” Joel says, voice hoarse and choked by tears, “You’re gonna be a big sister.”

She giggles, tracing the damp lines down your cheeks. As she reaches your jaw, the elation on her face slowly dwindles into something of a frown.

Your lips part to repeat it – a big sister, Duck – when her tiny voice steals the air from your lungs.

“Shit!”

[togament]

“𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝: ‘𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐬?’”

written in their P.O.V.

pt. 1. (sakura, ume, suo.)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : spicy spicy boyfriends, suo is a FREAK (but we love it), sakura is a precious bean, ume is *incomprehensible sounds emanating from my face hole*, ume’s is longer than the others (hah) i got carried away, swearing ofc i can’t express emotions without them i so sorry i do try, fem!reader, nipple talk.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

"WHAT-????" I scream into the microphone and it screeches. shit my face feels like it's on fire. I turn my head slightly to catch my reflection in the window beside me--SHIT I'm blushing again. "w-why would you ask me that?!", I try my best to tone it down a little but UGH-I can't help it. She asks the question again, pushing the microphone towards my lips. I angle away as best I can but she's persistent. "n-n-not answering that!" my eyes focus on anything BUT her. darting everywhere, on the chair, the stack of papers on her table, but she's too hard to resist. i turn my head slightly to look at her direction. fucking hell, she's got her chest out slightly, tits practically begging me to look at 'em. god. that shirt looks so fucking good on her. that the new one she just bought? shit, she's coming closer. I can see the outline of her bra--FUCK-WAS I STARING?????

...so boobs?" she asks so smugly. damn it.

"...yeah tits." HER tits, if you want me to be specific.

𝐔𝐌𝐄.

another afternoon, another quick little date with the love of my life — and my girlfriend. kidding, kidding! I was tending to my veggies as I often do after school with my girlfriend helping. noticing her absence (and silence, shocker!) I call out for her, “baby? where’d you run off to?” then I hear a little giggle to my left, a pitter patter of her shoes against the wooden board and a slight ringing. “boobs or butts?” she asks and I turn to face her only to have a mouthful of the plastic microphone. “PWEH-! baby-“ I say as I chuckle, wiping my mouth. “boobs or butt? is this an interview? any cameras around?” looking around playfully, I crane my neck around her. for a sec there I genuinely thought I was on camera. but then I look at her and she’s waiting for an answer. Hmm. Toughie. “This!” taking one of my gloves off, I pinch her cheek with my clean hand but she shakes her head. “Not in the choices, babe. Try again.” she says. gosh she looks so cute when she’s trying to be serious. “Wrong answer, huh? Let’s see…”

I try my damndest to be serious too, pursing my lips in deep thought, giving her a once twice thrice over just to be extra sure. I know she’s squatting there waiting for me to answer but how can I? she’s perfect in every way! shoot. think, ume, think! I drag my gaze from her face, to… her chest, heh. nice. to her tummy, to her… oh. damn. right.

“…yer thighs.” I say almost quietly. Who WAS that? “say that again, babe?” she asks, pushing the microphone closer. she wants me to say it again? maaaan. I chuckle, shaking my head gently at her.

“can I just show you? point at it, baby?”

“nope.”

HECK.

“…yer thighs. I like napping on them after I’m done gardening…” I unintentionally trail off. I clearly got more things on my mind now. My mind’s miles away from innocence. God- I love leaving my mark on them, sucking hickies on them when I’m going down on her. I fucking love it when she tightens them around my head when she’s about to cum. She worries she’d suffocate me but it only makes me want her more. I swallow dryly. damn it-my boner’s tenting in my jeans and I know she can tell.

“and?” she prods and I let out a shaky breath. she’s biting her lower lip, shifting her weight while she’s squatting. she’s worked up too huh?

“—obsessed. when you hold me closer to your cunt when-“ is it getting hotter here? she’s putting her microphone down. I take my other glove off while keeping my eyes on her.

“…when what?”

“can I please show you? pretty please?” can’t help it. I take her free hand to palm me and I let out a soft whimper, eyebrows knitted together.

“yes. yes please.”

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

"oh? someone's curious," leaning close to her, I ghost my fingers along the inside of her wrist just to fluster her. oho, her breathing is staggered now, chest rising and falling ever so slightly. I do have an answer but I just want to toy with my love. Just a little bit wouldn't hurt. "what's gotten you worked up so quickly, dove?" I purr, making sure to whisper it good in her ear. she lets out a shudder, almost melting. goodness, do I adore how she reacts. like clockwork, that earns me a gentle slap on my hand. ah. I suppose I deserved that.

"boobs or butt, huh?" I pretend to ponder, looking up and pinching my chin for maximum effect, knowing full well I have an answer set and ready. turning to meet her eyes, holding her hand that's steadily holding the plastic microphone. and with the most serious voice I could muster, I speak into it, "your nipples."

hm. that must have shocked her. she's silent. taking the initiative, I continue, "I love how.. sensitive they are." cooing, I trace a finger along her jaw and down the line of her neck, featherlike. "I love how I can coax the most delicious moans from you that way--" oh, she's lowering her microphone now. continuing, I push some hair behind her ear, fingers now teasing the shell of it, "--you seem to like it especially when I suck on one while I roll the other between my fingers. fuck, you sound so beautiful when you beg for more." mhm. her breathing's shallow now. she's leaning her head away. "someone's eager." I lean in to press a gentle kiss to her neck, lingering my lips on her pulse. “do you need more details from me? I could always elaborate-“ she’s pushing me back now. I like where this is going.

"screw the interview. just fuck me already, hayato suo."

"as you wish, my dove."

a/n: SCCCCCRRREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! first time writing things in the guys’ POV I hope I did each of their individual personalities justice. Sakura’s was the hardest but I was flying off with Ume as you could tell. Also!!!! I forgot who it was but someone reblogged one of my HCs with a tag saying Hayato means hawk and that doves are their natural prey and 😳😳😳😳😳😳 that was purely unintentional but the connection they made was so perfect. I’m making it a permanent fixture for whenever I write for suo. Thank you, user. I would tag you but djjfkdkfkd i hope you see this!!!! Also thank YOU so much for reading all the way to the end btw!!!!!! Ily babycakes. part 2 coming soon! I WANNA WRITE FOR KIRYU I HAVE IDEAS AND I AMDJFJJDJD HE. Ok.

@interstellar-inn ⭐️

[penkura]

First Mother's Day

Note: I decided to do a special post in what is now my OP Men as Dads series, and do a Mother's Day headcanon/blurb post. I understand this day can be rough for some, but I hope that whether you celebrate or not, whether your mom is in your life or not, that you have a lovely day otherwise and if this isn't your cup of tea, I hope there's something else that can entertain you today. <3

If you'd like my thoughts on other OP men as dads (Shanks, Kid, Usopp, etc.), please just ask and I'll give an answer! I'll include Luffy in this despite my viewing him as a son or brother, but it probably won't be x Reader based. Requests are being worked on as well.

I am using baby Ace image to break up this and the actual content from now on lol. He's just so cute. 🥺

Ace is going to go all out for your first Mother’s Day. He’s buying flowers, candies, and cards, all from him and your daughter. Even if you tell him you don’t want anything except a quiet day at home with the two of them, he’s buying you gifts.

He’ll likely buy you a bracelet with your daughter’s name on it, or maybe a charm bracelet with her birthstone, so you can add any more in the future if/when you have more children. Ace will try to make you breakfast in bed, but he ends up burning the bacon to the point your smoke alarm goes off, and you have to open all the windows to air out the house the rest of the day (at least it’s a nice day out). He orders out breakfast from a nearby diner to make sure you have something that morning, he’ll even try to take your daughter out for a walk or to Luffy and Sabo’s place for the day to give you a break, but you insist on going along.

“You should have the day off though!”

“Ace, I don’t want a day off. Rogue is only three month’s old, and I’d much rather spend the day with you and her than alone. That’s not a fun Mother’s Day to me.”

The three of you end up at Luffy and Sabo’s place, the two uncles absolutely adoring their niece as she coos and lets them hold her without any crying or fussing. When you get home later that night, Ace watches you get Rogue ready for bed. He knew from the start that you would be a great mother, and sometimes, he just wishes his own mother was around to see it, and to meet her granddaughter.

~~

Law has a plan that gets thrown off when your son decides to be born a week earlier than expected, on Mother’s Day itself. He still tries to do something for you, even though the original plan of taking you out for brunch and giving you a quiet day at home while you waited for your baby to be born was now out the window. He should’ve known, ever since he met Luffy all his plans go haywire at some point. At least it led to you two meeting eventually.

Once you’ve gone to sleep and your son Rosi is in the nursery at the hospital, Law slips out to quickly put something together. He has a gift for you, a mother’s ring that will fit into your wedding band, he just needs flowers, or chocolate, or something to add to it. He doesn’t really like to be cliché, but he ends up with flowers, at least they’re something pretty you can have in your hospital room and when you’re released to take your baby boy home.

The girl in the hospital gift shops tells him he looks happy, even if Law doesn’t really show it. She swears it’s just something in the way he speaks while he asks her to pull together a small bouquet for you. He is happy, beyond that actually, knowing you two have a son, you both are healthy and safe. He has a family again, his very own. The flowers and ring aren’t enough to convey his gratitude to you for giving him a family to call his own, but it’s a start. There will be plenty more times for him to do so in the future.

When Law gets back to your room, you’re awake again and in the middle of nursing your son, a nurse helping you when you need it. She notices the flowers he’s brought and leaves you both with a smile, saying she’ll come back in a few minutes.

“Where’d you get off to?”

“Had to get something,” Law comes over and presses a kiss to your forehead, giving you a smile, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

~~

Penguin has thought of what to do every day since your daughter Wren was born. He’s come up with multiple ways to celebrate your first Mother’s Day, but nothing seems just right to him. He’s thought of brunch, breakfast in bed, giving you a day out with your friends while he watches your daughter, or even a weekend trip away, leaving your baby with her grandparents, but nothing works out. Restaurants and diners he calls are all booked up already, you hate eating in bed because of crumbs, your friends all had plans either with their own mothers or their spouses and kids, and your own parents were out of town for the next two weeks.

He ends up with no real plans for the day and feels terrible about it as it approaches. Its going to be another normal Sunday for the three of you, he hates the idea of that because it’s your first Mother’s Day, it should be special, shouldn’t it?

When the day finally comes around, Penguin is up first, hearing Wren’s little babbles through the baby monitor, and going to pick her up. At nine-months-old she’s figured out how to stand up on her own, still no steps being taken by herself, but when she sees Penguin enter the nursery, she grins and starts bouncing up and down, holding the rail of her crib and shouting “da” over and over. It makes Penguin smile as he picks her up, kissing her chubby cheek which makes her squeal.

“Good morning, Wren! Let’s keep quiet, mommy’s still asleep, okay?”

“Da!”

He laughs a bit, lifting her up over his head to make her giggle again, as she reaches her little hands towards his face.

“You know…a great gift would be for you to say ‘mama’ for the first time, yeah?”

“Ma?”

“Yeah, you’re close! Now, just say ‘mama’.”

Wren sticks her tongue out while she tries to speak, Penguin helping her along for several minutes until she finally says something close to ‘mama’.

“Mm…ma.”

Penguin sighs a bit, but nods as he brings Wren down and kisses her cheek again, making her giggle as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“You two sure have been having fun.”

Both look to you in the doorway, no shortage of smiles among the three of you, as Wren lights up and starts to reach for you, trying to say she wants you to hold her. You both take just a moment too long to get her to you, and it makes her fuss and kick her legs a bit.

“Ma…ma!”

You didn’t even get her in your arms, you and Penguin both freezing in place for a moment while Wren continues to fuss and whine, almost in tears since you haven’t held her yet.

“Mama!”

“I—”

“Her first word!!” You quickly take Wren from Penguin and hug her close, kissing her cheeks and forehead telling her how proud you are of your little girl. “This is the best Mother’s Day gift!”

At least that worked out, even if he didn’t have a plan in mind.

~~

Sanji wouldn’t have waited nearly a year to celebrate you as a mother if you hadn’t forced him to. With fraternal twins to now take care of and raise, you’ve both been through bouts of exhaustion and elation over the two babies you brought into the world. Sora and Angel, your precious blessings, were nearly a year old, and you’d already started planning a birthday party for them, completely ignoring the fact Mother’s Day was a few weeks prior to their turning one-year-old.

Sanji didn’t forget, he had a plan, one that included your twins scribbling away to make cards for you, though he didn’t expect the two to be so fussy about it and mark each other up more than the papers. He learned very quickly to not give babies or toddlers markers, unless they were washable. You still don’t fully realize how Sora ended up with a bright green mark over his right eye and Angel had a hot pink line down her left arm.

The rest was simple, breakfast in bed, made by your professional chef husband of course, and whatever else you wanted for the rest of the day. If you want to lay in bed and watch TV without interruption, he’d put your twins in the stroller and take them to the park. If you wanted to turn your phone off and sleep the day away, he’d take over and leave you alone until you needed anything. Whatever you want, it’s a day to celebrate you as the mother of his children, he wasn’t going to deny you anything.

But when you do tell him what you want, after finishing off breakfast, Sanji’s a bit surprised.

“Are you…sure?”

“Mm-hm,” you nod and try to keep Sora from grabbing the butter knife on the tray, making him whine while Angel slept in Sanji’s arms, “I want to spend the day with the three of you.”

“You…do that every day though, my love.”

“So?” smiling, you kiss the top of Sora’s head and watch Angel as she starts to stir awake, rubbing her eyes with her tiny hands, “You guys are my family. I hate the idea of not being with the three of you today, so I’d rather just spend it like we always do.”

Sanji nods a bit, seeming to understand, greeting Angel when she wakes up fully with a kiss to the forehead. It makes you happy to watch him with both your children, but especially your daughter. How could he ever think you’d want to spend the day alone? Not when you had these two blessings as your children and Sanji as your husband.

“We could still take these two to the park later, maybe burn off some energy so they nap at a decent time.”

“Of course! Whatever you want, my love.”

~~

Zoro doesn’t even fully realize that its Mother’s Day until Nami says something to him. The past few weeks with your son have been exhausting for both of you, but he can’t believe he forgot that this was a thing. He has nothing planned and isn’t sure what to do. He’s running out of time, it’s literally just a few hours away before Nami offers to take you out for the day wherever the Sunny docks in the morning. Zoro will stay with your son on the ship, and you’ll get a day off from being a mom and wife, the two think it’s the best thing to give you on such short notice, though Nami does up the interest on his debt again for this.

You don’t even get to say good morning to your husband or son before Nami has dragged you off to whatever she has planned, its really just a normal girl’s day out with shopping and lunch. Most of what you buy isn’t even for you, it’s baby items that you need or clothes you think are adorable. It just ended up making you miss your son more as the day went on.

When you do get back to the ship, your son is wailing and no one has been able to calm him down, not even Zoro while he tries his hardest and lightly bounces your baby as he shushes him gently. As soon as you drop your bags you’re taking him from your husband and holding him close to calm him down.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, mommy’s here, Keitaro. I’m back.”

He slowly calms down once he realizes its you, burying his little face in your shoulder and keeping a tight grip on your shirt. When you ask Zoro what the deal was with Nami dragging you off the ship so early, before you even had the chance to hold Keitaro that day, he explains the situation and it just makes you tilt your head.

“…it’s Mother’s Day?”

You hadn’t even realized it. That just makes Zoro feel bad that it caused your son such distress, and he and Nami both apologize for not talking to you about it beforehand. They both assumed the other had discussed it with you. You didn’t really care to celebrate, all that mattered was being with your husband and son, the rest of your day spent with just the two of them.

Note 2: Out here dropping names like I didn't say I'd make a post about that at some point lol. So, the firstborns in order of character are Portgas D. Rogue, Trafalgar D. Rosinante (called Rosi cause it's too damn cute), Wren, Sora and Angel, and Roronoa Keitaro.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

The swirl of people around you was almost overwhelming and you reached for Daryl's hand and laced your fingers with his. There were traditional games, kids running around in costume, and sweets and treats everywhere. You felt like you'd stepped into an alternate universe.

Suddenly, you saw your friend waving at you ahead in the crowd. You nudged Daryl. "Oh, there's Kate. She wants to meet you. Is that okay?" you asked him.

He chewed on his bottom lip nervously for a moment but finally nodded and hummed his assent. After exchanging a few niceties Daryl looked down at you. "I'm just gonna go check in with the kids real fast, alright? Dun go anywhere."

You nodded and gave him a smile, relinquishing your hold on his hand. You and your friend Kate watched him disappear into the crowd. She gave you an approving look and you laughed, smiling and blushing.

"Where'd you find him again?" she asked.

You rolled your eyes. "I didn't. He found me."

"Right... well, I want details. Sign me up for the same," she said with a laugh.

"Yeah, go find your own," you said playfully.

Her smile grew more sincere and she took in the bright look in your eyes. "He's good for you. I can tell already."

You searched for him in the crowd and spotted his broad shoulders heading back toward you. "He is."

Prompt: "Where'd you find him?" / "I didn't. He found me."

[lunajay33]

Missing🖤

Summary: You and Daryl got separated at the started and now you’ve just been wandering hoping to find a secure place will you find Daryl again?

Pairing: Season 2 Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

You and Daryl have known eachother since you were kids, growing up right next to eachother, along the way feelings grew and you got together right before graduation, you became a teacher and he worked at a mechanic shop, life was nice and simple together, you were even thinking about having a family but then things change, the world ended when you were teaching and you haven’t seen Daryl since, you search everywhere for him until eventually you had to leave down because of the walkers and venture out on your own, hoping you meet him again

Along the way you came across a barn, you scavenged for food finding some cans and as you looked out the window a horse was grazing the field, you packed up the rest of the food and ventured out finding a saddle approaching the horse steadily trying not to spook it away, thankfully it was friendly and approached you with ease letting, you strapped the saddle around her and hopped up, leading the horse as it trotted north

You’d be alone on your own for about 5 weeks now and it’s been lonely, you just wanted to see Daryl again just needed for him to hold you, you were on the horse walking through trees when a clearing opened up showing a farm house with people walking around, you were a bit wary since you’ve run into some shady people along the way but for some reason you were drawn to this farm, you lead the horse, you named Pixie, slowly as to not scare the people

As you and Pixie walked up the dirt road people started to gather, you hopped off Pixie holding her rope and waiting for the others to do or say anything and not just ogle you

“Who are you?” A man in a police outfit asked

“I’m y/n, I’ve been alone since the start, until I found pixie here” you said as you pet her shiny black hair

“Where’d you come from, who’d you find this place?” Another man asked he seemed a little crazy

“I’m from outside of Atlanta, I’ve just been wandering until I found something, I lost someone at the start and I’ve just been looking for him”

“Sorry to break it to you, he’s probably dead”

“Shane!” The officer glared at the man

“I still have hope, but do you guys have room for one more, I know how to hunt and I can help out”

“Of course, we could use another hunter, got one out hunting right now”

“Thank you”

The officer who introduced himself as Rick, showed you around introduced you to everyone even the owner of the farm, the sun was setting by the time all that was done

“We don’t have anymore tents we’ll have to go out tomorrow and get you one”

“Oh that’s no problem I can sleep out with Pixie” it was the normal for you now

“You sure?”

“Yeah it’s no problem…….shouldn’t your hunter be back by now?”

“Yeah oh there he is now” he said looking over you shoulder at the dirt road

A man with a crossbow and plaid shirt with ripped sleeves, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, you sprinted off towards him your heart racing, tears streaming down your face

“DARYL” you screamed as he looked up dropping his crossbow just in time to open his arms and wrap himself around you as you threw yourself into his arms

“Is it really you peach?” He asked in such disbelief it broke your heart

“It’s me, I can’t believe I found you I thought I’d never see you again, I looked everywhere for you I waited at our house hoping you’d come back but……I had to leave I had to find you” you said quickly your eyes not believing you found him having to tell him everything you’ve been thinking these 5 weeks without him

5 weeks may not seem like a lot but in the apocalypse there was no guarantee about anything so everything was precious

You held his biceps as he traced his fingers over ever features on your face completely forgetting others were around you both

“So I’m guessing you two know eachother?” Glenn asked

“She’s my girl” Daryl stated not taking his eyes off of you

“Thee Daryl Dixon got a girl?” Andrea laughed, you turned and glared at her

“You bet your ass I’m his”

“And ya ain’t ever leaving my side again”

[permanentmess]

Can we pls get a Peter maximoff x reader fic where Peter is annoying the reader and ofc the reader is getting annoyed by him and then he explains how he only does it cuz he likes her attention? Pls and thank you :]

attention (peter maximoff x reader)

a/n: thank you so much for the request! you’re actually my first request ever!!! i thought this idea was so cute. fem!reader in mind but could be read as any gender easily. reader also has powers but it’s unspecified and unimportant to the plot.

word count: 754 (just a short and sweet thing. i can make a part two if you want more!)

warnings: none! just fluff, mentions of being tired (aren't we all), unestablished relationship but not entirely platonic

pt. 2!

GIF NOT MINE

~~~

You were dead exhausted. Like eyes blurry, body aching, could fall asleep standing up tired. 

You loved being a teacher at Xavier’s school, you really did. But between trying to grade exams and homework, training after classes with the other X-Men, and then lesson planning, it made it hard to not be exhausted. And on top of all of this, you still wanted to hang out with your friends. Storm often invited you out of the mansion, Logan offered for you to share some drinks and watch movies, and Peter, well, you didn’t care what you two did, you just wanted to spend time with him. 

But you needed a break from life. That is, of course, right after you finish grading the exams you’d been putting off all week. 

You’re rubbing your eyes with your hands, taking a quick break in between two exams when there’s an incessant knocking on your door. You have a suspicion on who it is, but regardless, you open the door with a scowl. 

“Hi,” Peter greets you with a grin. You can’t help but smile back a little bit. He’s infectious with his happiness. He looks insanely cozy in his sweatpants and plain white t-shirt, slippers hiding his feet. If he was officially yours, you’d hug him in an instant and fall asleep standing up.  

“Hey,” you reply, leaning against your door frame. 

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I come in or are you just going to leave me standing in the hall?” You give a short laugh and nod your head towards your bed for him to sit. 

“I’m warning you now, I have to finish grading these exams before I can hang out,” you tell him as you shut the door and go sit at your desk again. 

“That’s alright, I can wait” he says, swinging his feet back and forth off the side of your bed. “What’d you do today? What’s the exam on?” 

You take a moment to respond, but it’s not quick enough for Peter. In an instant, he has moved to your desk, making some papers fly away from the force of using his powers. You close your eyes, trying not to get annoyed. You know he’s just fast by nature, even in his mind, and you know you’re just exhausted. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” he quickly rounds up the papers and puts them back on your desk neatly.

“‘S alright. This one is for the life and health management class I teach,” you tell him, continuing to grade. 

“Oh nice,” he says, staring down at your papers, before moving to go look at the things on your shelf. He did this often when he came to your room, but you’re not sure why. “Where’d you get this from?”

You turn around after marking a question wrong, looking at the picture frame in his hand that held a picture of everyone in their suits. “Uhh, Jean gave that to me, for my birthday.” You turn back around, going back to mark the last question on the exam, writing the grade at the front and moving it off to the side. 

“It’s really pretty. What about this?” You sigh and turn around again. 

“Peterrrrr,” you whine. “I really gotta finish these exams, I told the kids I’d get them back by tomorrow.” 

He puts the object down. “Sorry, I know.” He walks over and puts a hand on your upper back, running over it softly. You relax a little at his touch. “How many more do you have left?” 

“Five.” 

“Okay so how about this: you hang out with me tonight and I can finish them tomorrow morning for you, before your class?” You look up at him, contemplating his offer. “I feel bad for annoying you, I just like having your attention. I thought that was obvious.” 

You grin. “Well, I mean, yeah.” You look back down at the papers. “Sorry for getting annoyed, I’m just exhausted lately.” 

“Then cmon, let’s watch a movie.” He moves to your bed and pats a spot next to him, grabbing your remote to turn on your TV. 

You’re hesitant, but oblige. There’s not much space on your bed, so you’re pressed up against his side. He’s put on a movie you two have seen a thousand times, so you decide to relax into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“You know, I like having your attention too.” You tell him quietly. He rests his head on top of yours. 

“I know.” 

[ambeauty]

Ok ok since these two cuties won’t leave me alone with their friendship 🤭 fic preview under the cut👩🏾‍🍳🧑🏼‍🍳

“Chef de Cuisine, Sydney Adamu of The Bear, has been nominated for the James Beard Award for Best New Chef, Casual Fine Dining, Midwest. As well as Executive Chef, Carmen Berzatto. Okay, it doesn’t read like that exactly, but you fucking get it.” Richie reads over the expo so the whole crew is in on what just happened.

Sydney just stands in place and Carmy wraps his arm across her shoulder for stability. Afraid she may crack into pieces or drop in shock. “You deserve it Chef,” Carmy beamed next to her.

“I couldn’t have done it without-“

“No no we are not starting that shit again. We are proud of you Syd!” He lets go so the others can give their congratulations properly.

She lifts her hands up to hide her face.

“We are mami! Bravo!” Tina reaches up for another hug and Syd tries her best not to breakdown again in her sous chef’s arms this time, but hugging Tina almost feels like hugging her mother and if she thinks to hard about it she might lose it again.

“I gotta hand it to you kid. I always knew you had it in you to get this shithole together.” Richie punches her shoulder lightly before she rolls her eyes back at him and accepts his pat on the back.

“Shit Syd, I always knew you had it in you!” Marcus daps her up then shakes her shoulder encouragingly. She can’t but share a big smile with him.

“You next Marcus! For real.” She looks up at him with assurance.

“Man that’s you and Carm all pressed for the awards and shit. As long as y’all keep letting me make whatever I want. And Carmy stops being a little bitch. We good.”

“I wish y’all would let that shit go already.” Carmy shakes his head.

“So when’s the big day?” Marcus asks them both.

“In a month.” Sydney responds rubbing her hands on her apron, ready to get back to her prep. She was not built to receive this much praise at once. Like yeah, she wanted a star and she wanted the awards, but that almost meant that she would have to be perceived more and praised more and the only person’s attention she craved she finally has… for the most part.

“We gotta get you right Syd! But we got plenty of time. Can not represent the bear in your baggy sweaters and overalls.” Marcus ribs her in a playful way.

“Dude shut up! Let’s get back to work Chefs!” Sydney calls out to the kitchen so they can get the dinner prep done before their booked night.

Yes Chef!

Carmy taps his spoon against the back of his hand as his mind starts flooding with ideas, but instead of meat, sauce, and herbs, it’s fabrics, patterns, and stitch variations. It’s long limbs but tailored to perfection around soft curves. It’s bright colors that compliment deep brown skintones.

“Carm, hey.” Sydney snaps at his face quickly. “Where’d you go? Can you pass me the strainer?”

“Yeah, sorry chef. Um just thinking.”

[so-mordor-itis]

I had to write this after I saw @jukednuked mention it...

~

Lyney was used to this.

To the dazzled gazes of the crowd, watching their eyes sparkle with amusement and interest. Observed as they allowed themselves to crack open this once and enjoy a spot of magic. Children gawked, watching with wide eyes as Lyney snapped his fingers, spun his wrists. They wanted so desperately to know how the card–that was once in his grip–had been placed in his hat and was now being poured onto the street alongside its siblings. He chuckled at them, at their innocence.

He was also used to the many questions he’d receive after the mini show was finished.

“Can you teach me that card trick?”

“Mister Lyney, where’d the flower I gave you go?”

“Ooh! Mister Lyney! I’m interested in magic. Please be my teacher?”

For the first two questions, he would smile, perhaps give the curious little kittens a wink. “Ah, but you see, if I spoiled the magic, it would ruin the fun.”

For the last one though…

Lyney blinked for a second, the question seeping into his mind as it processed the words. It wasn’t the first time a child had approached him with such an offer, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Yet, turning them down was never an easy task. They always held such enthusiasm, such potential. They would always remind him of his younger self, of when he and Lynette themselves asked Caesar the famous magician if he could give them pointers.

You had been watching from a distance. Observing the expression on Lyney’s face. He had placed his chin in the palm of his hand, lightly knocking his other fist against his temple in thought. Faux thought. It made your mind wander a little. What would his answer be?

“It always made me laugh,” Lynette said. Your shoulders shook, not expecting her voice or her presence.

Your forehead wrinkled at her statement. “What did?”

“His reaction to being asked to teach magic. He never expects it, somehow.”

“With how wonderful he is at the craft, you’d expect more and more kids to ask him.”

“Yeah, but he still struggles to come up with an answer. Sometimes he leaves them in suspense.”

Your lip twitched a little, a smile threatening to form. “Does he not believe he’d be a good mentor?”

“Maybe, but that could just be reluctance.”

His eyes met yours for a second, and a twinkle shone brightly. You knew that look, he was planning something. Your heart fluttered and you lightly cursed yourself for it. Was he seriously about to drag you alongside for a small distraction? Again?

“Say, my energy is a bit drained,” whined Lyney, he flopped his arms against his sides in an act to look drained. The kids instantly bought it, looking concerned at the magician. “But, I know how to get it back. There’s a trick to it.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Lyney glanced in your direction once more, winking. You shook your head but immediately failed to relay your message. He was already sauntering towards you.

“It’s simple,” he said, “though, we might need this for privacy.” He removed his top hat.

“Privacy…?” One of the children muttered. You believe it was the one who had actually requested his mentorship.

Lyney paused his step once he was in front of you, the twinkle in his eye still bright as ever. It could rival the sun. He held his top hat in front of you two, covering your faces so he could swoop in to place a kiss upon your cheek, missing your lips on purpose. He’d save that for later.

“Oh my,” he giggled, his hat instantly finding its place on his head again. “I feel better, in fact–” Lyney fiddles with the armlet on his wrist. “Oh, what’s this!” He reveals a pinwheel, its fans colored blue. It spun as it was released from the confinements of his sleeve.

Lyney smiled as he gave the item to one of the kids, hoping this would take their mind off of their questions. “Ah, I must take my leave–even we magicians have to eat dinner, yes? Don’t worry your parents now.”

They were all smiling, eyes shining with wonder only a child could hold. They all waved goodbye, possibly hoping they could see Lyney again without having to ask their parents to take them to the Opera House.

You folded your arms, giving Lyney a look. “That was the third time you pulled that trick this week.”

Lynette had a silent snicker on her face as she watched her brother become flustered. Lyney scratched the back of his head, eyes holding a plea of apology. “Ah, well…”

Your cheeks ran hot as you turned around, applying your own dramatics to this situation. “You tease. You can at least kiss me on the lips."

[louloulemons-posts]

Harrington!reader, Steve’s little sister. Popular, a cheerleader, first time senior and Chrissy’s best friend. But she has a secret that only her best friend knows. She’s had a crush on Eddie Munson since middle school. She’s afraid to tell him, thinking there’s no way he’d be into her. Until one day in the cafeteria, Jason Carver calls Eddie a freak. She confronts him, and punches him in the face, breaking or spraining her hand/wrist. Guess her little secret is out, and she may never be popular again.

Bruised Knuckles

Eddie x Fem!Harrington!Reader

Summary : Reader likes Eddie, but it only comes to light when people are cruel and punches are thrown.

Word Count : 1.4k

Warnings : Not proofread, 4am writing, swears, punches, broken nose, jason is a homophobic asshole, bullying (from jason), best big brother steve, fluffy, eddie a cutie, cute reader, bestie chrissy.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Walking arm in arm with Chrissy you laughed loudly at something she said, “I’m not even kidding! It went everywhere.”

“You know for a the head cheerleader you’re incredibly clumsy Chris.”

“I know!”

Heading into the exit you saw him. Your crush. Eddie Munson. The so called Freak of Hawkins. You didn’t think that, you thought he was sweet, kind, a little eccentric, but not a freak.

You’d liked him since Middle school, he appeared out of nowhere, buzzcut and guitar loving. Not much had changed, but now deep chocolate curls lay on his head.

You knew you didn’t stand a chance, he probably liked Chrissy, everyone liked Chrissy. You loved your best friend, but you loathed how boys would get close to you, just to reveal that they liked her.

“Hey!” Chrissy snaps a finger in front of your face, “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry. Daydreaming about you being covered in flour.”

“You’re so horrible to me,” she whined, shoving you lightly.

Laughing you met a pair of beautiful brown eyes, Eddie. Smiling slightly as him, as you walked past, almost dragging Chrissy to speed up.

Exiting the school you heard a familiar voice, “Hey there you are.” It was Steve your big brother. “Hi, sorry got held up in practice.”

“No worries,” he waved to Chrissy, “Did you need a ride?”

“No thanks. I better go,” she smiled to you, squeezing you lightly before heading off.

“Let’s go then,” your brother spoke. Opening the door and climbing in you heard a voice. A voice you loved so much. “Harrington.”

“Munson, how are you?”

“You know, crawling towards graduation. You coming to Henderson’s this weekend?”

“Course, gotta babysit.” He let out a laugh, man was a stunning sound.

“Uh, you know my sister,” he motioned to you, speaking your name. “Oh right, we have History together right?”

You hummed in response, words failing you.

“Well I better get her home, got a shift tonight.” Thank god for Steve.

“Right, I’ll see you Saturday. See you tomorrow,” he waved to you.

Sliding into the car, you wanted to floor to eat you. Oh my god that was so embarrassing.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Finally it was lunch, you’d be waiting for this all day, not bothering with breakfast as you were running late. You slid into your seat next to Chrissy, other cheerleaders and members of the basketball team joined you. You’d have to say Chrissy was your only friend though.

You were often glad at how chatty she was, due to your shy nature. It was also hard to know you were Steve’s sister as he was incredibly confident himself, you’d claimed he stole it all before you were born.

“Oh man look who’s here,” Jason groaned. Two of the newest members of Hellfire, Mike and Dustin. Friends of Steves, you’d met them a couple times they were sweet. “Such freaks,” one of his friends said.

Rolling your eyes, you stabbed a piece of fruit, popping it in your mouth rather aggressively. They were such assholes. “You good?” Chrissy asked.

“Mhm, apple?” Sliding her the pot without looking.

“I dare you!” one of the boys laughed, pushing Jason’s shoulder. “Well I can’t back down from a dare,” he smirked. Lifting up a bottle of mountain dew he unscrewed the lid.

“Oh Jason don’t! They’re not doing anything!” Chrissy said, trying to stop her dick of a boyfriend. “A dares a dare Chris.”

The bottle flew from Jason’s hand, drenching the two younger boys.

Silence. Then laughter. Jason was cackling, almost falling from his seat. “It’s not funny!” you snapped. “Yeah Jason what the hell!” Chrissy continued.

Jason was dragged out of his seat, shoved up the wall by his collar. “What the matter with you? You can have an issue with me, but do not take it out on them, you hear me asshole.” Eddie.

“Get off me freak,” he shoved the taller boy back. “Yeah I’m the freak not them, so leave them alone.”

“Aw standing up for them, god Munson if you couldn’t get any weirder, now you’re hanging around with kids. You must be like that Byers kid, is it true what they say kids without dads become fa-”

A cracking sound echoed across the room.

Pulling back you fist you winced, but ignored it, talking to Jason so only he’d hear you.

“Shut your fucking mouth, you don’t ever talk about Will like that you hear me, or Eddie for that matter. You are a pathetic little boy, who needs to grow up and if you try this again I will shove my foot up your-”

“Miss Harrington, my office now.” Shit.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Waiting in the reception office, you sat with an ice pack on your hand. Bruising now coming out across your knuckles. You’d been suspended for a week for breaking Jasons nose. It was worth it.

“Hi I’m here to pick up my sister.” Thank god Steve was your top contact, not that your parents would give two shits anyway. “She’s just through there. I just need to get you a form to fill out for me.”

The receptionist left and Steve headed over to you. “Suspended. Seriously, what the hell did you do?” Steve scolded, sitting next to you. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Punched Jason Carver in the face.” Steve’s eyes widened you weren’t the violent type. “Broke his nose,” you whispered.

“Why on earth did you do that?”

“Was being mean, threw something at Dustin and Mike. Then he said something real horrible about Will, he just needed someone to stop him.”

He said your name softly, “Here’s that paperwork Mr Harrington,” he got up walking over to the desk, but soon you were on your way, leaving the school.

Climbing into the car, it was like dejavu. “Harrington!”

“Munson? Hey man, sorry can’t stay and chat, have to get going.” Eddie came closer, “Sorry Steve I was actually talking to Harrington Junior over there.”

Looking up from the ground you met his eyes again. “Oh right, I’ll um … let you two talk.” You brother slid into the car awkwardly.

“Walk with me?” Eddie asked, you followed. “So um, what did you want to talk about?”

“Is that a serious question?” he asked.

“Ha, no.”

“You didn’t have to do what you did, I mean the punch was incredible, but a weeks suspension.”

“It’s fine, someone was going to do it at some point.”

“I mean yeah, but not you.”

“Why not me?” you asked him, looking up as his eyes widened. “W-well you’re you and I-I.”

“Like you said Munson it was an incredible punch. My brother is the bad fighter, not me.” He laughed at that, nodding.

“Well I wanted to say thank you, on behalf of all of Hellfire and freaks in town.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” you said softly.

“You, you don’t?”

“No. I think you’re cool, you know what you like and you don’t hide it.”

“Well thank you, gentle lady,” he mockingly bowed to you.

“You’re welcome kind sir,” you curtseyed back, making you both chuckle. “You’re even nicer that I imagined,” Eddie spoke.

“Hm?”

“Oh- I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” his face flushed, beet-red.

“You imagined me?”

“W-well um … yeah. Sorry, that’s weird.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve imagined you too Eddie,” you laughed, “Okay it sounds a little weird, but weird is good.”

“You’ve thought about me?”

“More than I care to admit actually.”

“Please stop me if I’m getting the wrong idea but would you maybe wanna hang out sometime?”

“L-like a date?”

“Mhm, if you’d like to that is,” he said, nervously fiddling with his rings. “I’d really like that.”

“Great.”

“Great.” A car horn beeped. “I umm should probably get going.”

“Right,” he smiled. Wandering back to the car you paused running back to the metal head. Taking his hand in yours, you pulled a sharpie from your pocket. Trying to be gentle so you didn’t hit your knuckles.

“What are you doing?” he asked as you scribbled on his skin. “My number. Call me about the date okay?”

“Okay,” he smiled and this time you really left.

Climbing in the car next to your brother. “So suspension and a date on the same day, what has happened to you?”

“Shut up!” you whined.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : thank you for the request I hope this was similar to what you had in mind and you enjoyed 🤍

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 1 The Dragon

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 1103

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly.

“Да. Good. Make sure she stays that way. Now, tell me everything.” Bucky listens to his henchman’s answer, pissed in general but only getting truly angry when he hears one specific detail. “She was with who?! Ублюдок!!” He takes the phone away from his face for a second as he curses in three different languages. Fucking Gleb. He fucking knew it. He’s going to cut his fucking dick off! When he brings the phone back up to his face, all he utters is a deathly quiet, “We’re in the Dragon’s Den. Get them here. Both of them.” He ends the call.

The gun at Bucky’s back has stopped buzzing. Funny, how it’s the sudden lack of pain that makes goosebumps rise to his skin. “Boss?” Natasha asks.

Bucky’s eyes flick over to Steve, who’s sitting next to the Karpovs on the couch. One moment of intense eye contact between the two of them, and Steve’s face goes wan in recognition. Tight-lipped, Bucky gives an almost imperceptible nod of confirmation. Steve squares his shoulders and pushes up to standing to go over to the bar. The guy has an almost preternatural ability to predict Bucky’s wants and needs, which is one reason why he’s risen through the ranks so fast (well, it's one, leastways). He artfully flips a lowball, knowing what this situation calls for without having to be told; ice and two fingers of the Russo-Baltique that’s so expensive, Bucky once stabbed a guy’s hand into a table for drinking it without permission.

Steve delivers the glass and retreats to stand sentinel along the wall. Bucky sips, sets it down, growls and grabs it up again. He rolls the liquor in his mouth as he fumes, a dark plan starting to form in his head. It comes together quickly, because it’s not like he hasn’t spent plenty of time fantasizing about it before now. What he’d do when he finally got her back.

His little one is tenacious and likes to make trouble. She has a penchant for running away, but she’s never lasted this long before. It’s been over ten months—long enough to put the fear of God in Bucky that he could actually lose her for good, if he isn’t more careful. So, he has to be careful, has to make a statement, send a message. He has to make it stick.

Luckily, when it comes to “sending messages,” Bucky Barnes can be very creative. Like tattooing, torture is an oft underappreciated artform. “Dimi,” he barks. “I’m expecting some special guests tonight. Go and sort things out downstairs. I want the place packed by ten—Make sure it’s with the right people.”

“Boss?” Lev pipes up, confused. He’s Karpov’s kid brother: new, inexperienced but eager, still “earning his scales,” as the boys like to say.

Dimitri jerks his head for his brother to follow him. “Boss wants a demonstration. C’mon.” He’s already got his phone out as they leave the room to get things arranged. Bucky’s “demonstrations” usually require plastic sheeting and a crowd of people who are either Hydra themselves, or else educated enough to know to keep their mouths shut about Bratva business.

“Where’d they find her?” Steve asks.

Bucky scoffs, still fuming. “Floating off the coast of Belize. On my own fucking yacht. Can you even believe that?”

“Sounds like her.”

“Lena?” Nat hums. “Who’d you send?”

“Maximoff and Belova have her.” Bucky grits his teeth at the sting as Natasha uses a wet cloth to wipe off the excess blood and ink. He can feel her scrutinizing her work. “You can keep going,” he tells her, but she ‘tsks’ in that way that only a Russian tongue can really do.

“We’ll come back to it. Skin behaves differently when you’re not relaxed.”

“I’m am relaxed!” He hears how ridiculous he sounds and heaves a long sigh, trying to let his shoulders untense to at least somewhere below the level of his ears. “I’m relaxed.”

“Keep saying it and it might come true.” Nat rolls away on her stool, peeling off her gloves with finality. “Your blood pressure and vodka’ll push the ink out faster than I can stick it. Just come over to the Red Room once it’s done scabbing and we’ll finish it then.”

She’s already packing up her stuff when Bucky gets the idea. “Wait.” He narrows his eyes at the rolling toolkit that Nat keeps in the club’s upstairs lounge just for him and his men. “Do me a favor,” he says slowly, the idea taking shape in his mind. “Run down to the shop and print out a transfer for me. Cyrillic. A small font. Something pretty but … bold. Easy to read.”

Natasha tenses. “What do you want it to say?”

“собственность дракона.”

“No,” she says, and when Bucky looks over, she’s standing ramrod straight.

“Clearly, you disapprove.”

“I’m not inking it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he snaps, low on patience tonight, even for Natasha. “Print it out on a goddamn transfer sheet and bring it to me.”

She’s doing that dead faced thing she does—where she goes still like a doll to avoid making some expression she doesn’t want you to see. Right now, Bucky suspects it might be sheer disdain. “Size?” she asks. “Shaping?”

“One line straight up the forearm. Delicate lettering, but clear as a fucking bell to read.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what spacing—”

“You know how big she is, you figure out the fucking spacing!” he yells. “Or what the fuck am I even paying you for?!”

Natasha goes eerily still, then abruptly pivots to leave, the severe line of her hair whipping around with the motion. She’s unhappy with him.

“Red ink!” Bucky calls out, the door slamming shut after her a millisecond later. He grinds his teeth together and stands up from the chair he’s been perched in for the past three hours, carrying his drink over to the mirrors so that he can get a better look at his back.

Scales, teeth, claws. Crouched and curling across his shoulders, tendrils creeping up onto his neck, marking him as what he is: Дракон.

The Dragon.

“Will you help me?” he asks Steve, quiet now that it’s just the two of them.

“Depends on what you want me to do.”

“It depends”—No other man in the Bratva could give such an answer and expect to remain in one piece. But Steve’s gaze is steadfast when Bucky meets it and tells him, “She’s gotten away with too much for too long. It’s time to shorten the leash.”

In the mirror, Steve’s eyes darken. He nods.

Take me to part 2!

Masterlist

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[soulc-hilde]

Welcome to the Wild

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x OFC! Caden

Synopsis: No longer about her future, Caden spirals as the rug is once again pulled from underneath her feet. Living her days in a silent shell, she forces herself into her work. Noted as the restaurant's Mute Pâtissier, the stuttering eyes of her boss always finds themselves attached to her. Studying her. Like some animal in the wild.

Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

“Honey, how are those buns comin’, love?” Mickey’s deep voice calls over the chaos of the kitchen.

In the far corner, blocked off from the madness was his sole baker, prepared for war and unbothered with the onslaught of orders. She pulls out the third baking tray of rolls and places them inside the rack before turning to coat a tray of recently cooled ones with honey butter. The perfect, golden rolls absorb the butter. Droplets run down its sides slowly, the bread appearing like a professional photograph.

“First three trays are finished,” she calls back, not a pause in her pace noticeable.

The Berzatto nods, a grin taking over his chiseled features as he watches her work. “Atta’ girl,” he compliments, hustling on with the service. Afterwards as the staff gathered for Family, everyone talking and laughing, Caden looks over at the man who seemed to bring ease into her life.

“Why that name?” She asks, quietly. He looks over at her, stumped at the question.

“What name you talkin’ about, Honey?” He retorts, eyebrows scrunched. She nods his way, “that one. Honey. Where’d you even get that from?”

This time he looks down at his plate, fork shuffling the food around. “Because you’re a good kid, ya know?” He tilts his head up, looking at her.

“You try to push people away, scare ‘em off, but you really just want a family. You want someone to love your sweet soul just as much as you’d love them.”

Caden scoffs, playfully, shaking her head. “The day that someone can look me in my eyes and say ‘I love you’ and mean that shit, pigs’ll start flyin’.”

She swallows a fork full of collard greens and a bit of turkey tail in the mix, eyebrows scrunching happily. Mickey looks at her, his shy gaze steeled as he stares through her. The once mute kid Tina brought to his office like a lost kitten has become the rambunctious, scatterbrained little sister he never asked for but appreciated.

He chuckles, “just be happy it’s ‘Honey’ and not ‘Squirrel.’ kiddo.”

She sends a playful glare, chubby cheeks stuffed with food. “Hey, my ADHD ain’t a joke,” she tries to scold yet her words come out jumbled and slurred.

He smiles, leaning forward, ear facing her, “what was that? I couldn’t hear you over those stuffed cheeks, Squirrel.”

“Go to Hell,” she mumbles, going back to her food, ignorant of his eyes watching her with a soft gaze.

---

No one really goes into details about the hero of the story dying and how their loved ones, their supporters, deal with it. For Caden, Michael's death wasn't that big of a shocker. No one lives forever unless you're the Devil's favorite. Mickey was the most stereotypical older brother anyone could ever meet.

The stand-in father. Believes everyone is better off without him. The one who puts up with his abusive mother's shit, not because he's an enabler but the little boy who watched it all go to shit just can't let go.

God, she missed him. Despite having her own older brothers, Caden was doomed from the start, as if neglect and trauma was all she was destined for. No friends, a negligent mother, an ill father, and avoidant brothers.

But, Michael was her brother, though.

When Tina brought her to The Beef, all the poor girl had was a backpack of clothes, her grandfather's saving, and desperation. Michael took her in, watched her bake and turn the pastries she once drew into a reality like some magician.

If only she knew how much she reminded him of Carmen.

"Those two'll bitch each other out, but they'd be one hell of a front." He'd think with that smile he'd carry as if everything was gonna be okay.

Maybe she shouldn't have answered her phone that night. She should've declined his offer, make up some lame excuse like homework.

No. Even if that was the last memory of him she had, she'd much prefer that they were together rather than apart.

---

"Cousin," Richie's microphone for a voice rings off the kitchen walls. "You may already know some of these guys, seeing as they've been here longer than me. Tina, Ebra, Angel, Manny, and finally, the soul of the team, Honey."

Caden side eyes the men, lazily looking at them for a moment before sending a nod toward the short, curly haired one. Just as quick as she turned, she resumes back to her station, sorting her spices and chocolates. Behind, Richie simply waves her off, blowing a rasberry.

"Don't mind her. The name's sweet, but, uh, she's kind of dark." He warns the younger man. Ebra leans over, "her name's Caden. If you're a smart boy, you'd call her that."

Richie scoffs, "c'mon, this is Carmy, we're talkin' about. Mikey's little brother? It works out, perfectly, the Bears and their honey."

Walking past, Caden smacks her hand against the back of head, beelining for the walk-in. The man winces, rubbing the heated spot with a grimace, glaring at her back.

Inside the walk-in, she glares at the bananas, aggressively picking them off the shared stem. Why the fuck would he say some shit like that? Makin' it sound like some damn affair happened between her and Mike.

She'll fucking kill him if he keeps going. Marching back to her corner, her blank eyes fall onto the man, or Carmy's, blue eyes. He was obviously watching, waiting for her to walk out.

He walks over as she begins chopping a peeled banana into perfectly symmetrical slices. "I'm, uh, Carmen," he practically whispers, fingers pinching at his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry... uh, about, about Richie. He's an asshole, doesn't know when he's gone too far," he continues.

She nods, lost amongst the rhythm she subconsciously follows with every cut. "Have you, uh, have you ever went to culinary school?"

Her hand comes to a stop, her attention now focusing on him. Rather than snap, she curls her plump lips inward and bites down before shaking her head.

He nods, shrugging, "i, I was just wonderin', ya know? With the way you, uh, take, take care of your station, it's, uh. It's experienced."

"OCD," she whispers.

Her eyes return to the cutting board, hands frozen in place to memorize the exact width she had cut. Finishing the first one, she grabs the second, mimicking the actions of the first time, not a step different or seconds behind.

Laying the bare fruit beside the chopped pieces of its twin, she places her hands in a starting position. Left hand gripping the fruit, index and thumb pressed gently against her cutting mark that matched exactly to the ones beside it.

Carmen watches, fascinated, as the embodiment of silence works in an ongoing loop of repetition, shutting him out from her world. Her fucked up world of madness.

"You enjoyin' the show or some'?" A voice questions him, snapping the man from his thoughts.

Turning to face the intruder, his eyebrows raise with panic as Tina glares up at him. The corner of her top lip is pinned up, teeth bared as if she was prepared to mame him.

"Uh, no, not. It's not, it's not like that," he rushes to his defense. Her eyebrows raise, expression shifting to one of aghast. "Oh, so, you don't think she's beautiful? Talented? What, you too good for this place?"

He jaw jolts, brain short-circuiting as the older woman rapidly fires assumptions his way. He knew coming through the restaurant as a nobody was a risk. He may have been Michael's baby brother, the star in his eyes, but they only knew Carmen by his words. To them, Carmen was a fantasy character. The kid that stood in front of them was just a stranger, the stranger who was also their new boss.

"Tia," the woman calls, finished slicing the bananas. She turns to glare at the two. "Do you mind? I've got a system going on, right now. Take the playground shit somewhere else, yeah?"

Unlike the staff built up of Chicago natives and ethnic backgrounds - Latino and Italian being the majority, she didn't yell. Regardless of how far she stood from anyone, she never even raised her voice in a way to project her words. She just talked, casually, and if you heard her than you heard her.

If you didn't? Well, tough shit cause she won't repeat herself.

Her voice was mellow and naturally rested at a low octave. Her accent nowhere near the Chicago accent, it was more of a general midwest/southern accent. Her words relied heavily on the southern part of her dialect. It was as if she was a puzzle that just kept scrambling, creating greater confusion than understanding.

"Yeah, system, mija," Tina nods, a condescending smile taking over. "Don't fuck," she points at Carmen, finger just inches from his face. "with the system. Cocotazo."

She walks off, leaving the younger chefs to themselves.

---

In the beginning, he believed that Tina was fucking with him. "The system" was a fucking mess. It was about as sloppy and greasy as the restaurant itself. As the thoroughly trained professional he is, Carmen decided that things were to take a change for the better. The first being to go?

Every fucking red flag that dressed the staff like some high-end jacket. And God, did they fucking complain. Turn into children with their stomps, glares, and petty insults aimed at him no matter what he did.

Just simply asking for the chefs to keep up with proper hygiene outside of the typical washing hands with soap for 20 seconds resulted in a 'fuck you' and 'don't fuck with the system.'

Well, fuck me for not wantin' to deal with sick customers, he scoffed at the thought. A breath-filled chuckle releases beside him. Quickly, he looks over to meet eyes with Caden. She leant her right shoulder against the doorway of the office, face seemingly blank but her eyes hummed with warmth.

"I wouldn't wanna deal with these bitches on a regular, much less because they got sick from us," she states, referencing to the statement that rang through his mind.

He straightens, "oh, oh? Di-Did I say that out loud?" She nods, "yeah, you did." She steps further into the office, closing the door behind her. "But that's not what I'm here to talk to you about. Well, actually, it has some connection."

"Okay, uh, here," he stands, leaning over to push out another small metal foldable chair. "Take a, uh, seat. Take a seat." She nods, settling down beside him. "So, what did you wanna talk about?"

Please, don't say you're quitting. Please, don't say you're quitting, his conscience pleas.

"Staff," she starts off. "I love those assholes, but even when Mikey was here and runnin' the show, it was fuckin' chaos. They think they're functioning well because Mikey never corrected them, but we both know they're not."

His eyebrows raise with surprise. "Oh?" he whispers, sitting back in the wheeled chair, fingers pulling at his lips.

"Mh," she nods. "And don't even get me started on the bakery. Before Mikey died, we were workin' togetha' on how to make the bakery faster. Which meant better equipment and shit," she snorts.

"We don't have the money, though. Which leads me to the next suggestion," she leans forward. "We're gonna have to start hirin' some help."

Taglist: @spiderstyles04 @lostinwonderland314

[suzukiblu]

WIP Wednesday Game

Taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

file names:

a fake cryptid and a real romantic

mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

YJ accidental baby acquisition

merfam drama

gentle princely caretaking 

snippet from "a fake cryptid and a real romantic":

Clark hears a sudden rush of air and a thrumming, not-quite-human heartbeat, and is therefore unsurprised when Superboy pops up over the side of the Metropolis rooftop he’s sitting on and grins up at him. The kid always seems to be in a good mood, but is clearly in an even better one than usual. 

“Guess what?!” Superboy greets gleefully, pushing himself up on the edge. 

“What?” Clark asks, smiling wryly at him. The kid just gets so enthusiastic so easily. It’s kind of funny, to be honest. 

“I got a date!” Superboy says delightedly, plopping into a seat beside him and kicking his legs excitedly as he does. “Robin said I could go hunting with him in Gotham this weekend!” 

“You’re going to hang out, you mean,” Clark corrects kindly, since Superboy still has a notably skewed education and concept of correct terminology and probably calling working with another vigilante a “date” without knowing what that actually means isn’t going to end well for the kid in the long run. Especially since Robin isn’t actually an aspect of Gotham like the Batman is and would definitely be confused by it. 

Admittedly, the Batman gets confused by some very straightforward things sometimes, but still. 

“‘Hang out’,” Superboy repeats, cocking his head with a slightly puzzled expression that almost immediately clears into another excited grin. “That, yeah! I caught Catwoman breaking into some fancy cat exhibit in Gotham and dropped her off for him, and he was into it! And I gave him a diamond and he liked that too!” 

“A . . . diamond?” Clark blinks. He really hopes Catwoman didn’t manage to be that bad of an influence on the kid in one meeting, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Superboy’s impressionable and Catwoman is . . . well, Catwoman. “Uh–where’d you get that?” 

“I made it!” Superboy says proudly, puffing himself up as he mimes the act of crushing something in his fists. 

. . . alright then, Clark thinks, mildly bewildered. He has no idea why Superboy would make a diamond, much less give it to Robin, but the kid gets weird ideas into his head sometimes and he supposes it would’ve been good practice for controlling his strength to very specific pressures, so he’s not going to say anything about it.

“Did you?” he says, figuring he should keep the conversation going. Superboy’s an odd kid, but he’s eager and has a good heart and always soaks up attention like a sponge, so Clark always tries to talk to the kid at least a little whenever the other finds him. 

“I figured Robin’d like it,” Superboy says reasonably, kicking his feet again. “Birds like shiny stuff, and he’s kinda a bird, right?” 

Clark is going to assume that Tim Drake more appreciated the expensive gemstone than the “shiny stuff”, assuming a teenage boy would even care about anything like that anyway, but he doesn’t want to rain on Superboy’s parade. Honestly, he’s just glad the kid’s finally trying to make a friend or two in the community who isn’t wearing an “S”. It never hurts to have a little backup on call–or to have a friend who understands the life around, either. 

He’s not actually certain what the Batman’s latest Robin’s policy on maintaining his secret identity among the larger hero community is–even Dick still typically presents himself as a city splinter, just of Bludhaven instead of Gotham now–but even if he keeps passing for a cryptid with Superboy for a little while longer, it’s not like Superboy’s had a normal life experience. He’s not going to be bothered that he can’t talk about girls and homework with his new friend first thing. 

Clark vaguely dreads the possibility of Superboy eventually deciding to come to him to talk about girls, because he has absolutely no idea how to talk to anyone about girls, much less an impressionable teenager who’s guaranteed to hang on his every word for the whole conversation and take everything he says as gospel while also misunderstanding at least half of it, judging by most of their previous conversations. He hasn’t even been able to figure out how to give the kid the Kryptonian version of the talk, though, much less if it’s actually applicable to him. Relationship issues and dating are a whole other kettle of fish. 

Well, with any luck Superboy will stay too young for that kind of thing for a little while longer, Clark hopes halfheartedly. Just–please?

[darling-i-read-it]

Reunion

Trevor Philips x fem!reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: smut, unprotected smut, gta5 story spoilers, 

Author’s Note: I am very aware this is the randomest thing to post. I have been replaying gta5. I am in love with Trevor. He’s my best friend, he’s the funnest to play, and I need him (nefarious motives). I unironically have a part 2 to this I’ve half written where the reader and Trevor meet up with Michael so let me know if anyone is invested <3 This is partly inspired by me going into the strip club to go to the atm and then going batshit insane. i am no better than a man but it is never the women im objectifying.

Summary: The reader did the original heist with Brad, Michael and Trevor. Afterwards, when everyone got split up, Lester told the reader that both Trevor and Michael were dead. After the jewelry store the reader wonders if he was lying about both of them. The reunion is filled with anger and also long lasting tension. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“You see him at all? After the incident?” Michael’s voice trailed off into a feign disinterest. Lester and him both knew; this is what the conversation had been leading up to. The conversation had dissipated away from the task at hand, casing the jewelry store. Neither of them seemed to care. 

“I kept tabs on him for a while. Needed to know that he didn’t blame me,” Lester complained, reminding them both of the idicotic ways of their former friend. 

“Yeah, where’d he go?” Michael questioned, trying to be nonchalant. 

“North, south, east, west. Wherever there were liquor stores to turn over and hitchhikers to disappear.” There was a beat of silence as Michael climbed further up the roof to get a better vantage point. The words could have remained in the air, if Michael hadn’t pushed further. 

“Where did they bury him?”

“They buried him? Not as far as I know.” 

He wanted to ask. He knew he had to. 

“You see her?” 

Lester was glad Michael couldn’t see his face. It was a knowing look. Oh God, Michael wanted to talk about her again! Something so familiar that it didn’t even seem out of place, not even after everything.

“No. She left all together.”

“She still…she still around?”

“She’s alive if that’s what you’re asking. Moved, made a better life for herself. Better than he could’ve gaven her. Or you for that matter. Still got the bullet wound to prove she was there though. Physical therapy for months on that shoulder.” 

Michael was hit with a sudden pang of nostalgia. He thought about the pandering, the vein attempts to make himself look better for you. The fight’s he and Trevor used to have all the time, arguments on who deserved you and who would get you. He had hoped you were oblivious. Now he wasn’t so sure he believed that. 

“I told her he was dead.” 

Michael paused on the roof, his movements only momentarily stunned. 

“You feel bad about that?”

“It was the only thing to do. She would’ve found him. They would’ve found you. Bad for everyone.” 

“And especially your cover.”

“Especially that.”

You were living a life where both he and Trevor were dead. You had moved on because it was the only thing you were able to do. He yearned to know what it could’ve been like if things hadn’t gone to hell. The danger was intoxicating but never as intoxicating as you. 

He thought about Amanda. How she had never been you, how that’s the reason he was never able to love her the way he wanted. Clearly she had never loved him quite as much either, as was the case from her tennis performance. You were out there somewhere. 

“I don’t wanna know,” he decided. If Lester told him even the smallest thing, a job, a marriage, a kid…he would go looking. He knew himself better than that. 

“I wasn’t gonna tell you if you asked.” 

Another short beat. He was almost to the highest vantage point. 

“She deserved better than both of you. But you have to know she would’ve always chosen him.” 

“There’s no need to hash up old shit okay? I was just asking to see who was still around. There’ll never be a better get away driver than her.” Even his deflection felt fake and vein. Lester saw right through it but decided to let it be. Michael thought of Franklin, diverging his thoughts. He could have him work, train him, mold him. He huffed as he got to the highest point. 

“Now just to take a picture of the vent up there,” Lester said, evenly. The conversation was over. They wouldn’t talk about you or Trevor again today. 

-

You were sitting at the small dining room table of your apartment. It was more of an island honestly but you called it the dining table because it was the best you could get. Los Santos was an expensive city and you were lucky to have found a place you could afford at all. Not that you weren’t doing well here.  

The television was on to the news, though you weren’t necessarily paying attention. You poked at your mashed potatoes, proud of yourself for making anything tonight. You grabbed the remote with the intention of changing it to a shitty reality TV show when the screen shifted. ‘Breaking News’ painted the bottom of the television in red. A man was speaking but the volume was too low to hear it. You turned it up, out of sheer curiosity. You were reminded of a life before this one, a bang of guilt in your chest that you had desperately tried to get rid of. 

Was it the guilt that brought the nostalgia forward? Or was it the way they reported it to be set up? Was it the cars, the hacking, the timing? Was it the sheer familiarity that made you sit forward? Or was it the fact that looked exactly like a Michael Townley job? 

“You forget a thousand things everyday,” the witness said, shaken, “make this one of them.” 

Your food was forgotten. Your face had gone blank with confusion. 

“That motherfucker,” you muttered. The urge to throw something came back with his face in your head, the funeral you went to, the life you left. You saw his face on a big portrait and cried in front of it, wishing you had been faster. You left before ever seeing if anyone held a funeral for Trevor but now you wished you had stayed. What if you had spent all this time alone when they were out there, somewhere. What if Trevor was still alive? 

The TV was now a ghost. It was now a time long forgotten. It was the bullet wound in your shoulder that now ached, something you hadn’t felt in a long while. That jewelry store was in Los Santos. It was here. Michael was here. 

Lester told you him and Trevor were dead. 

You searched for your phone. You didn’t have his number anymore, you couldn’t. He had changed it. He was too smart to keep the one he had years before. You recklessly searched anyway, knocking over the chair you were sitting in, tossing your pillows aside. Finally you grasped the phone in your hand, frantically searching in your contacts. His name remained, under L, and you called the number. It rang and rang and rang. You were already starting to think about how you would find him when the line picked up. Your breath caught. 

“Y/N.” 

“You fucker. You motherfucker. You fucking fucker.” You almost didn’t recognize the voice coming out of your mouth, you were so dedicated to the rage you felt. It was almost Trevor’s, almost the same cadence that you had picked up from him. It was amazing how fast all of that came back to you. How, just like that, you were her again. You weren’t her anymore, even when you took a turn too fast or knew the fastest routes out of an issue. 

“What are you talking-”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you seethed. You failed to think about how he had kept the phone just for you, just in case you needed him one day. It didn’t even cross your mind that Lester had loved you too, that they all had. You were friends in the purest sense of the word. You were all each other's people. Now, you hadn’t heard or talked to Brad since he was arrested. Now you were a different person. 

Lester was laying low but he still answered your call. 

“I don’t know-”

“Is he dead?” You couldn’t say his name.  

“Michael? “

“No.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“I don’t believe you.” There was a bitterness in your voice you almost didn’t recognize. Her, her, her. When did you stop being her? “Lester tell me the fucking truth.”

“I don’t know. I used to follow him but there was no use.” 

“What do you mean you used to follow him?” There was a long pause. Too long. “What do you mean?” You sat down slowly on the chair by your island. You grabbed the edge of the counter. Your knuckles were strained. “Did he live?” 

Silence. 

You were gonna kill Lester. You were gonna kill him and you were gonna enjoy it. 

“Where did you see him last?” 

“Sandy Shores. But that was ye-” You hung up the phone. You should’ve asked about Michael, you knew you should’ve. You wanted to but the anger was too much. If you saw Michael now, you’d kill him with your bare hands. Sandy Shores was not a large place. And you were a determined person. 

-

Trevor looked in the mirror at the tattoo he had for Michael Townley, his dead best friend. His formally dead best friend. On his other arm was a tattoo for the only girl he had ever really loved. She was supposedly dead too. 

He broke the mirror with a fist. His knuckles started to bleed from the glass cuts. He ignored it. Ron was standing in the doorway, shaking, leaning over. Trevor almost made a shitty joke about his posture but for some reason, he didn’t. He had already sent Wade to find Michael Townley but he had kept you to himself. He wanted to find you but he’d do that with his own two hands. No one else needed to know you were out there. If you were out there. A Townley job did not mean you were still alive. Just because Michael lived didn’t mean you had. 

“What the fuck do you want Ron?” 

“Sorry boss.” He moved out of the doorway, down the steps outside. He looked around eagerly, glancing back at Trevor but not holding eye contact too long. Trevor followed him outside and walked past him. “Bikers had been scoping out here while you were gone.” 

“Did you tell them to fuck off?”

“No?” 

“Well next time, tell em to fuck off!” Trevor approached his truck with the intention of going to the city himself to find Michael. Michael would know if you were alive. 

Trevor thought about that time little. He thought about leaving his friend, about the bullets that flew past him, the moment he knew he would never see you again. He thought about the bullet wound in your shoulder, the one in him, the wounds that will never fully heal. A constant reminder of the near death experience he lived through and shouldn’t have. In drunken nights he always wished it had been you who was in his place. You would’ve made a life. Had you made a life? Had you done it without him? 

He hopped in the truck. He needed more booze. 

“Where ya going boss?” Ron questioned. 

“Bar.” He started the engine. It rumbled to life underneath him and it was already hot from the heat. He turned his head to Ron. “Get lost Ron.”

Ron nodded eagerly, already starting to stumble away. Trevor needed to clear his head. He needed to cloud his head some. He pulled away, mentally going through the map closest to him. If he went to a strip club, he was extra sure not to think about anything else. But the better booze was always cheaper at just a bar. If he went all the way to the city he could search for Michael at the bottom of a bottle. 

All of those options seemed like good options. He wanted to beat the shit out of somebody. He should probably stay in Sandy Shores to do that. But where’s the fun in doing what you’re probably supposed to do? He made a sharp turn, almost running over a girl crossing the street. 

“Hey don’t you see I’m driving here!” he yelled, feeling better already knowing he had probably ruined someone's day with their near death experience. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going! Jesus Christ, some people don’t know how to fucking drive,” you called, anger lacing your voice.

The cogs turned at the same time. 

You were standing on the side of the road, in the dust of the truck. You stopped walking completely, replaying that voice in your head again like it was your favorite song. The familiarity ached at you. You knew it the second you heard it. 

Trevor had gotten about half way down the road when he hit the brakes. Hard. He was in the middle of an intersection. People were honking at him but he just sat there, both hands on the wheels, eyes squinted in confusion. 

With ease he put the car in reverse. Much to the dismay of the few drivers around him, he backed up. You were staring at the truck as it did so, not sure if you should laugh or cry or yell or have any reaction at all. 

He stopped beside you, head turned. You stared at each other for a moment. Eyes so familiar it was like coming home after a long time away. Like the feeling of your own sheets but someone else had made the bed. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost sweetheart,” he hummed, his voice as cocky as it had always been. “Which can’t be true because if I remember, you’re my ghost.” Your lips parted. You approached the truck and he let you, wordlessly. You were in shock. You were stunned. There had to be a word for seeing a ghost from your past you thought was dead. You wrapped your fingers around the edge of the door. 

“You motherfucker,” you whispered, in awe. 

“I’m the motherfucker?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m not the motherfucker.” You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to slash his car tires. You wanted to take him home. 

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you, Trev.” The car behind him honked. Neither of you had even noticed they were there. You both turned and it was like you were possessed by your respective ghosts. 

“Can’t you tell we’re having a fucking moment?!” Trevor yelled. They honked again. Trevor pulled out a handgun. You watched him wordlessly. He shot the window. He missed. The car quickly diverged around and was gone in the dust again. You opened up the car door, his gun still smoking. He watched you, eyes curious. He thought he had memorized your entire body but now that you were there in front of him he realized his memory had never done it justice. You shut the door behind you and turned to him. The hand with the gun was slung against the passenger seat. 

“I need a drink,” you muttered. He chuckled lowly. 

“My girl.” He started to move forward again. Closest bar would do, he decided. 

-

Lester wasn’t sure if he should even tell Michael. It was probably for the best that none of them had any contact for a while after the robbery. He had set that rule himself. They would lay low, stay straight, stay away from each other. Still, after the phone call with you it seemed stupid to not let Michael know, in some capacity, that you were going to be looking for him. Maybe he was more worried about you finding Trevor and then dealing with the aftermath of the havoc the two of you could bring. 

Lester stared at his phone. He could text Michael. He could call. He could drop a place to meet. He knew that his friend would come if he asked, ever the rulebreaker. If you and Trevor remerged together that would be bad for everyone. That was bad for this whole thing. 

Lester finally picked up the phone. He decided a text would do. 

She knows. 

Michael picked up his phone. He had been desperately attempting to hide from his kids and Amanda. He was glad for it, honestly, that the life he had chosen had chosen him back. But when he saw the text from the number with no photo with it, his jaw tightened. He had told Lester he figured Trevor was dead but now a risk was going to have to be made. You were out there and you were either looking for him (which was bad) or Trevor (which was worse). 

Trevor and you were better off thinking the other was dead. The world was better for it. The money, the people, the general crime rate were all better for it. 

“I want the TV,” Tracey said, approaching him. Her voice was muffled. It was like he was hearing her from underwater. “Dad. Give me the remote.” He looked up at her then, eyes still wide from worry. She made no note of his mood. He handed her the remote. He stood up, grabbing his car keys from the side table. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Amanda questioned when he ran into her in the hall. He didn’t come up with an excuse fast enough and the judgemental look in her eyes creeped in.

“Gonna try and find an old friend,” he admitted. 

“Yeah? How old?” Amanda dripped in annoyance. Did he mean a stripper? Did he mean a criminal? Somehow she knew it would negatively affect her. 

“Old.” He pushed past her. Amanda looked at him and knew there were only two options to that answer. Neither were good. 

Michael opened his phone to Lester’s number. 

Where? 

-

You sat beside each other in a bar that wasn’t memorable, drinks in hand you didn’t know the name of. You sat as close to him as you could get, legs touching. You didn’t want to ever not be touching him again. 

“I had no idea,” you told him. “Lester told me you died.”

“Fucker.” 

“I know, I know. Trust me, I’ve got a bullet with his name on it.” You took a sip of your drink. He looked at you, watching eagerly. You looked different. Well, you looked the same, but the clothes you were wearing were different. You must’ve had some sort of office job that required clothes on you he had never seen before. You used to steal his shit all the time, when it was clean. “I’ve got seven bullets for Townley. I’m makin sure that motherfuckers dead this time.” 

Trevor smiled. 

“Fuck girl, I thought you bled out from that shoulder wound. I thought I left you there.” 

“You did leave me.” He glared at you. You had told him to leave and he did, only after you begged. “Lester told me you were gunned down in the escape.” 

“You saw the fucking jewelry-”

“Yup.” You shook your head. “Bold of him. Really bold.” You finished your glass. You pulled down your blouse at the shoulder, revealing the bullet wound scar. He put his hand on your shoulder. He hadn’t touched your skin since seeing you again. It made you shiver. He poked it, making you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

“All I know how to be.” 

He rubbed it with his thumb, shaking his head. 

“Looks like it hurt.” 

“Yeah well.” You put your sleeve back up. 

“So you haven’t seen him?”

“Nope. Went to find you first.” 

“I’ve always been your favorite,” he bragged. You rolled your eyes, a sly smile playing on your face. It was true. It had always been that way. “You got any leads?” You were more reliable than Wade. 

“Lester know’s where he is. I was gonna pay him a visit anyway.” “Well there’s no time like the present,” he offered. You gave him a look. He couldn’t read it. People skills had never been something he was particularly good at. You tilted your head. 

“You haven’t seen me in nine years and you wanna go find Michael right now?” 

His eyes went wide. 

“Nine years and she finally admits it.”

“You knew it then. Don’t pretend you didn’t.” He did remember it. He remembered all of it, every second of it. He leaned in. 

“I’ve got a shitty trailer with a shitty bed.”

“That sounds like heaven right now Trev,” you said under your breath. He had been wanting to kiss your lips as long as he had known you. It took so much of him not to do it all the time when you saw each other regularly. After he thought you were dead, he regretted not doing it every chance he had. 

You threw money at the bartender, too much he noted, and piled into his truck. Your lips were on each others before the car even stopped. You crawled over the middle of the truck, wondering if you would even make it to the bed, wondering if you even needed to. 

Ron came rushing out of the front door, talking before he registered, “Boss the bik-” He stopped, literally putting a hand over his mouth. It wasn’t odd to find Trevor fucking a girl in his truck but Ron knew he didn’t like to be interrupted. Trevor left your lips for only long enough to speak. 

“Get the fuck out of here Ron!” He nodded, scrambling away. You popped open the truck door and slid out. You weren’t touching Trevor for a mere moment and he grabbed you again, pulling you towards him. “You’re not getting outta here again,” he promised, voice low and threatening. You smiled brightly. 

Ron opened the door to his place nearby and peaked through the window. You were dragging Trevor behind you, hands interlocked, a puppy dog look in his eyes. Ron was used to seeing Trevor with girls. He wasn’t used to seeing Trevor with girls he liked. He lost the two of you as you entered the trailer. 

Trevor’s lips didn’t leave yours, even when the door hit him from behind. He hugged you close to him. How close could he get to you? How close could he make you so that you never left him again? 

You hadn’t expected Trevor’s lips to taste so good. You expected beer or weed or unbrushed teeth or something shitty but something about them was intoxicating. He had a firm grip on your ass, pulling you closer to him. You tripped over something on the ground. You pulled away to see where you were going. 

The trailer was a mess. There were beer cans littering the ground, half naked girls on the walls, unwashed dishes in the sink. He let go of you just to move shit off of his unmade bed. He grabbed the pictures he had of girls and tore them off his wall. 

“Disrespectful,” he grumbled, kissing you again. And just like that you could have been anywhere in the world and it didn’t matter. You had waited long enough. 

He was clawing at your clothes with one hand while the other dragged up your back under your shirt. You shoved him down onto the bed. He chuckled, falling onto his back. 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“Think?” You crawled on top of him, cupping his face in your hands. Why hadn’t you done this before? Why hadn’t you done this so many times? His hands reached for your shirt and it wasn’t until then that it hit him. You were alive. You were here. You were in his arms. He had beat the stupid longstanding fight him and Michael would always spat about over drinks. You were here, with him. He took off your shirt. 

“God woman.”  He cupped your breasts, eyes wide like they were gonna pop out of his head. You put your finger under his chin. 

“Eyes are up here Trev.” He kissed you like he would never be able to do it again. He needed to be on top. The rising tension in his sweats were hard to ignore as you sat on top of him. He could feel your every movement. You slid your hands slowly up his shirt and then down again, fingertips electric. You hummed as you trailed kisses down his chin. While you were distracted he flipped you onto the bed. You made a surprised noise that caused him to chuckle.

“My girl.” He took off his shirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept with a girl and wanted to make it last. When was the last time it was less fucking and more something else, something he could barely remember the name to? You gripped his shoulder. There was a tattoo there, your name in faded ink. Your eyebrows softened. He didn’t seem to notice. “My girl,” he repeated, whispering against your skin. 

“Trev,” you whined. He was already shimming down his pants. He kicked them off the bed onto the floor. You could feel his hardness against your clothed core. He fixed his fingers around the loops of your jeans, pulling it down with ease. You raised an eyebrow at his expertise but he was so caught up in the taste of you he didn’t notice. 

“God!” You arched your back, looking up at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t wait any longer. Without warning he was inside you, all of him. You gasped at the sudden change and then eased. He gave you no time to calm down or adjust but he was leaning over you and his lips were permanently on your skin and it was like the room had gotten ten degrees hotter in the span of five minutes. You could probably fuck around all night. Trevor could go again and again but he needed to do this right now. 

He placed a finger on your clit. You gasped, eyes locking with his. He grinned smugly. You kissed him to shut up whatever he was about to say. 

Your breath hitched as he sped up, moving his fingers wildly and without care. Somehow he managed to hit just the right spot. 

You came together, plagued by moans and spasms. 

Still inside you he smiled, self satisfied. 

“Never thought a dead guy would make you cum huh?” You snorted, eyes shut tightly. 

“Fuck you Trevor.” You were laughing through your words. 

“Haven’t gotten enough yet?” 

He collapsed beside you. You found the bed more comfortable now in your bliss. You grabbed a pillow, placing it under your head. 

“Get me a beer T. I can go all night.” 

-

When Trevor woke up you were still in bed. He had a hand on your thigh, now clothed, much to his dismay. He had no idea what time it was. You had thrown on one of his clean shirts, one of the rare ones. You were hunched over your phone, sitting beside him. He rubbed his eyes. You turned your head, realizing he was awake.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” you said, a pleasant smile on your face. Your hair was a mess of the night. He could still feel it on the tips of his fingers. He could still taste you on his lips. 

It hadn’t been a dream. You were here. You were with him. It wasn’t a wet dream, it was reality. Just the thought made him dizzy.

“Let’s get drunk and get hitched.” You laughed gently. 

“Now that’s an idea.” He sat up and kissed you aggressively, throwing you off but not by much. Your phone fell from your fingers. You turned to him. His girl. His girl. His girl. You pulled away, much to his dismay. “I think I know where Michael is.” 

He groaned. 

“You had to remind me.” He fell back onto the bed with a flop.

“Los Santos. There’s a Michael De Santa with two kids and a wife. Amanda.” He perked his head up. 

“You check the plastic surgery records?”

“I did not but I have a rough estimate.” You stood up. The bed was cold without you. Couldn’t you just live forever like this? Why go find Michael at all? 

And then he remembered his anger.

“They’re living in a mansion, Trev,” you said. You hadn’t taken any money from that robbery. You couldn’t, it wouldn’t make any sense. But Michael was out there and he was using that money somehow. He had taken it all for himself. 

Trevor’s anger intensified. He was here in the slums of San Andreas in a shitty trailer. He had put his life on the line. He had lost everything he cared about. Michael got the house and the family and the life they had all risked it for. He had lost you for nine years. 

He tossed you the truck keys. 

“Start it but don’t drive it,” he said. You rolled your eyes. 

“You think you’re a better driver than me T?” You both sat in the memories of you driving away with money, evading the cops, knowing nothing but the danger in your speed. 

“I’m the only one that drives that truck.” You put your hands up in surrender, backing out. 

“Yes sir.” 

God he wanted you back in bed. 

Part 2

[razorblade180-heated]

Early Christmas Gift

[Warning, smut. Like the whole thing]

It had been a looooog day for Jaune Arc. The end of a crazy mission that had far too many explosions, the loss of his wallet for half the day which forced him to miss his boat, and finally, bad turbulence on a flight all the way back to Vale. Now it was the dead of night and he was wheeling his luggage down the sidewalks. At least he didn’t vomit on the ride, this time.

“Note to self, Vacou kids are amazing pickpockets.” He mumbled aloud. Thank goodness Ren was quick on his feet and that Nora could be as scary as she could be sweet. If not, things could’ve been worse. Now that he was back in the city, his Scroll was practically blowing up with messages. Notably, his girlfriend, Yang, called a little more than Ruby. Before he could finally return a call, his scroll rang with Yang’s name.

He laughed nervously and smiled, preparing himself as he answered. “H-”

“SO YOU ARE ALIVE!? WHAT THE HECK MAN!?” The blonde yelled, relieved and annoyed.

Honestly, less aggressive than he expected. “Hi baby. I’m sorry.” Jaune deflated as he spoke. “Today has been a day.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Weren’t you supposed to be home seven hours ago? Did the mission go south? You didn’t get hurt did you?”

“No, the mission was pretty Nora core. All and all we made good time but then someone stole my stuff, missed my boat; lots of other very, very exhausting stuff. I’m walking home as we speak.”

“Wow. That’s…definitely a lot. Wait, you’re walking? It’s nearly midnight. You could’ve called me or someone to pick you up from the port.”

“I figured everyone was asleep.”

“Get real. Do you really think I’d be sound asleep before I knew you were okay?”

Those words warmed his heart greatly. “Thanks Yang. I’m fine though. Vale isn’t some ghost town at night. I am sorry though. We had plans to meet today. You must’ve been waiting a while.”

“You…could say that.” Yang laughed sheepishly. “Here I was, ready to see my boyfriend after we finished our missions and his annoying personal challenge was achieved.”

“A month without sex is a test of will and power.” He defended.

“November is the time for good food and being thankful. Anything else is wild. Besides, we’ve both gone years without fun stuff. Why add a month?”

“Heh, I don’t think being a single or a virgin counts. You’re just opted in at that point. How did your mission go by the way?”

“Got home on time.”

“Ouch… where’d the warmth go?” He teases.

“I know you’re fine now. If you want warmth then…maybe I should see you?”

“You’re an island away. Even if you caught the final flight I’d feel guilty. Though if it makes you feel better…I’ve been missing you all day.”

“…Always the charmer. I’ve definitely been missing you too.” She said, a little more bashful than usual.

“There’s always tomorrow. I’m definitely not going anywhere. Aside from grocery shopping.”

“Have you eaten?”

“My apartment should still have something edible. I’ll probably grab a snack, bathe, and crash.” He finally reached his building’s street. “Anyways, I’ve officially made it home safely. Just several feet away. Now you can have pretty dreams knowing I’m safe.”

“Nope. Not until you go through your front door. I’m not hanging up until you do.”

“Okay, okay. Heh, honestly with my luck something crazy would happen if I hung up early.” He laughed.

“Please don’t jinx yourself.”

Jaune made his way down the hall, up some annoying stairs, and to the front of his door.

“Kay, now you are free to sleep.”

“Have a wonderful night, handsome.” Yang made a kiss noise over the phone and hung up.

Just like that, Jaune felt the warmth again. She was so good to him. He’d definitely have to treat her to a dinner or some kind of club date. The man found his keys and went inside his home at last. Instantly his nose was greeted with wonder and bliss. That was…odd. He put down his belongings and walked over to the kitchen; a flick of the light revealed a hot box of pizza. Jaune had to do a double take to make sure this was his place. He then noticed Yang’s emblem drawn in orange on the box.

“Ah, that’s why she asked if I ate.” He smiled before quickly going back to being confused. How was the pizza hot? Yang had a key to his place but when was she over here? Did she leave briefly before he called? Unless…

Jaune looked towards the absolute darkness that was his living room and squinted. Not that it helped with the balcony blinds shut. “Yang?”

His call was answered with snickering. “Hehehe, I do love watching your brain at work. Although…” She pulled the metal lamp string next to her to light up the room. “You’re also cute when it’s derailed.

And derailed it was. There his cute girlfriend was, sitting on his black leather recliner his family had bought him. Her smile was cheeky as well as ear to ear. She sure caught him by surprise, but the real shock was her outfit. A silly little Santa hat on top of her head jingled while the only thing on her body was a red tube top with white frills that was fighting for his life, a matching miniskirt that barely went halfway down her thighs, and very, very long red stockings that compensated for the skirt’s lack of…well, skirt.

Jaune’s mouth went dry and his eyes embarrassingly wide. It was as if Yang had knocked the exhaustion out of them. He wasn’t quite sure where he should’ve been looking at first, but then noticed despite how confidently the lady sat there with her legs crossed, her cheeks were branded pink and her gaze, while excited, was also avoiding complete eye contact.

“For the record, I’ve been in this for quite awhile.” She said, breaking the silence. “It took guts to commit to this surprise.”

“Now I’m curious what you would’ve done if I had called you to pick me up!”

“Then Remnant would’ve gotten a hot Mrs. Claus on a motorcycle.” She smirked. “Although I’m actually very relieved that was not the case. It’s cold out there!”

Not the issue Jaune thought she was going to say but he rolled with it. Not that he had much choice. Yang finally stood up and slowly walked towards him, draping her arms over his shoulders and giving a more endearing grin despite her obvious flustered face. “Welcome home. As you can see, I missed you.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I can feel the yearning. Hehe, you look…wow. Talk about an early present.” His hands automatically went to hold her waist.”

Yang got on her toes and gained a very sweet and joyful kiss. She’s glad her efforts paid off, but she could tell Jaune really had a long day. “Go grab a slice and unwind yourself. I’m not going anywhere so- mmph!?”

Her offer was outright denied, thrown to the side as Jaune pulled her body closer and back into a more passionate kiss that fluttered her heart and stole her breath. The longer kept her in his arms, the more she found herself melting into the embrace to the point her knees buckled before he allowed her to breathe again.

Frazzled, Yang found herself stammering and chewing on her bottom lip. “I um- I uhh can wait a while longer for you to rest.”

“I’ve made you wait long enough.” He said with yearning and restrained lust as he pulled her back into a kiss that took custody of her tongue.

Yang felt herself rise up onto her toes as Jaune’s hands found residence on her shapely rear. He didn’t think twice about squeezing it as he picked her up and allowed her legs to wrap around his waist. It didn’t take long before her man went a step further in sliding his hands under the provocative skirt. Jaune quickly ended their kiss to gaze at her as her face grew red from his curious expression.

“No underwear huh?” He said, sinking his digits into warm flesh. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Funny. I was wondering the same thing.” Her hands rubbed his broad chest. “Come sit on the couch for you me will ya?”

He followed her quest and sat right in the middle of the couch. Yang was about to get off him for the next step, but was clearly taken by surprise when his teeth tugged her tube top down, freeing her massive chest before ravishing them. A jolt ram through her spine as his warm tongue lapped around her nipples. His hands kept her waist pressed down on her lap to the point she had no choice but to feel his pulsing cock through tight jeans. Nevertheless, Yang couldn’t stop her hips from grinning along it, dampening the fabric severely.

“H-Hey…wait! I-mmm” Her voice shook, feeling him sink his teeth into her. Jaune leaned forward, putting Yang on her back as he continued devouring her body. “Jaune! Hold on~ I…had a whole routine~” Yangs mewls only served to make him more daring. His tongue trailed up her neck, causing her entire body to arch as he met her lips again for another kiss. Yang was overwhelmed with the scent of the boy and his rough day, which she increasingly found more and more dulling to her senses. She didn’t even notice Jaune had unzipped his pants until she felt his buring hot tip rubbing along her folds. “Mmmph”

Jaune could already feel her lips quivering as they coated his cock. To get this excited so quickly; he wasn’t one to talk though. He began pushing his hips continuously into the molten warmth.

“Aaaaah!” Yang felt the wind leave her body as Jaune’s thick cock spread her body apart and filled her inch by inch until she felt the weight of his balls against her ass. He slowly began dragging himself out halfway before plummeting back in as he grunted. “Ah fuck!” Yang gripped his forearms as her body tripped to adjust.

“Gods, I missed you. You’re so wet.”

“Who’s fault is that!?” Yang’s breathing became sharper as Jaune started moving. “Nng, too big. Rock solid too~”

“It has been a long month. I’m dying for a release.”

“How do you think I feel!? It hasn’t been easy for me either.” She pouted. Suddenly she felt his movements slow. “Jaune?” He raised himself up and looked down at her with a shocked look from between her legs. “What?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t touch yourself the entire time?”

Yang felt heat rush to her face. Looking at him became a lot harder so she turned her head to the side. “What would be the point? Even if I used a toy, I just wouldn’t feel as good as you.”

A brief silence fell on them. Yang awaited his response when she suddenly felt him twitch inside her. Jaune’s hands held her waist tightly and raised her lower body off the couch with ease, causing her to look his way. “What are you-” was all she could manage before seeing Jaune thrust his hips forward, causing another series of jolts as he began to go all out.

Yang’s mouth fell open and stayed that way as voiceless, broken cries left her throat until a scream finally broke out. “AAAAGHN~” her brain became a mess, her eyes fluttering at the sight of jaune mercilessly fucking her pussy until their sex became loud and wet. Her stomach felt like fire as her hips became numb with the pleasure of being turned inside out. Each deep rub made her gasp for air she couldn’t gain while her chest bounced to the rough rhythm. “B-baby. Baby! Aaah!” Yang reached for him and he gladly returned to her embrace. She knew despite her pleas, his pace would not falter; nor did she want it to. Their pleasure had built too quickly to turn back now. With a final raise of his hips, Yang felt the man bury himself deep inside and release a rush of heat that made her body squeeze him for more as her vision blurred momentarily. When she recovered, Jaune was already pulling out slowly and giving both of their bodies a break. Still, if you were to go by appearances, Jaune’s body hadn’t calmed down in the slightest.

“Looks like all of you missed me.” Yang huffed, sitting up as her legs gained some feeling. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to have a kid.”

Jaune watched the woman run her middle finger along her slit to pick up some of the lust he left dripping in her. Yang looked him dead in the eyes as she lapped up the naughty taste, making him blush.

“I had an entire routine planned out and you threw it to the side. Not that I mind.”

“You can’t say the things you said a

and wear this without expecting me to get riled up.”

“Heh, touché.” Her gaze fell on his erection, the near seven inches of solid flesh was still ready. Might as well start her plans now, Yang thought. She leaned forward, crawling on hands and knees until she was in the perfect spot to lower her head.

Jaune shuddered as he felt her hot lips wrap around his length to lick him lavishly. Now he knew Yang was horny for sure. Giving head was never her favorite activity in this fun process, but now her face was happily burying itself in his lap repeatedly. His left hand brushed the blonde bombshell’s hair aside for an unobstructed view of her work.

Yang ran her tongue up and down the girth base, polishing it while making faint moans and wet smacks to turn him on more. She must’ve been losing her mind because the way his taste and smell overwhelmed her senses in the best way possible. Her grip on reality only came back when Jaune's hand struck her rear suddenly, his middle and ring finger slipping inside her body to stir her desires harder.

“Mmmm~”

Jaune couldn’t stop his smirk. “Oh you like that?”

“Mmhmm~” Yang readied herself and pressed down in one motion to feel this man in her throat before coming up for air. Yang could feel his digits grow relentless as they sped up. Unable to focus, she freed Jaune from her mouth in a fit of panting and mewls. Her hips couldn’t stop shaking, pushing against his hand to feel each knuckle rub deeper. “Gods, why is this so good?”

“Cum if you need to. Let me see that pretty face.”

“No~ I…I wanted to use my tits on you. But now I…I’m…” Yang let out a long, heartfelt sigh. How did things get this messy so fast? “Put it back in me. I want it.”

Jaune retracted his fingers and did his best to regain his own composure; a difficult task when the love of his life not only pleaded, but brazenly kissed along his shaft in a stupor of want and desire. “Ngh, Yang, get on my lap if you want it.”

Yang got on her knees then swung her right leg to the other side of Jaune’s waist. The boy wasted no time massaging and kneading her chest, riddling it with bits as Yang cooed. Her body dropped slowly, piercing herself onto Jaune’s flesh.

“Aaaaghn~” her hands ran up his chest and gripped his shoulders as Yang started bouncing on his lap, putting all her weight down each time to feel her womb get knocked on. Jaune’s mouth stayed busy where it was but his hands returned to her rear, molding it like clay as he helped push her down to the base. Her hips buckled. “Fuck!”

Heavy, wet smacks echoed every time her ass slammed onto Jaune’s lap. The man couldn’t believe the tightness that surrounded him; the way it clung it his length and coated it with ecstasy that reached his thighs. Engulfed by Yang’s heat, Jaune finally took a second to separate his lips from his body and removed his shirt. Yang’s arms all but sprang out towards him right after, pulling him into a feverish kiss while her hips moved on their own before his hands returned.

“You’re so in love with my ass tonight.” Yang hummed.

“I’m in love with it every night.” He continued kneading it, his fingers rubbing all of it. “Hey, so how much did you prepare for today?”

Yang didn’t get the question at first, until she felt a single finger tracing her asshole. Yang couldn’t hide the state of blushing red he put her into with his pesky intention. To make it worse, her body already gave him the answer to the question. Yang buried her face into the crook of Jaune’s neck and quivered as the naughty middle finger pressed into her slowly. A moan came from her throat and her hips worked over time on his cock as Jaune began to play his little game.

He could already feel her walls frantically twitching but he knew he could make Yang go crazy. He wanted to make the month of emptiness mean everything. He nipped at her ear as he continued fingering her. “You’re such a good girl, you that? Doing all this for me; allowing me to cut loose~” he thrusted up suddenly.

“AAAHH!” His nipping turned into feverish licks as well. Yang tried staying strong but now he was meeting her thrusts and pumped his finger into her more quickly. Her body became repeated jolts of pleasure to the point Yang could only bite her lover’s shoulder as a way to soften her growls.

Jaune’s only panting became like a drunken breath as he approached his end. “Good girl~” he cooed, leaning right into her ear and whispering it one more time. “Gooood girl.” He pressed her hips down against his waist, going as deep as possible. “Here’s your reward!” He grunted, cumming for the second time.

Every muscle in Yang’s body tensed all at once. She was certain she’d scream, yet the immense rush of pleasure stole voice, leaving nothing but a silent yell as she clung to him like a girl on a wild roller coaster. Pulse after pulse, she felt her insides get marked by Jaune. The dork was brazen enough to call it a “reward” and she had half a mind to thank him for it. They were going crazy. Not that she hated it for a second.

Yang felt Jaune relax under her body while she found the strength to set up after his hands finished toying with her. “Wow, that was- hmm” Yang stopped short as she witnessed Jaune struggling to keep his eyes open. Poor guy was spent! It was almost hard not to laugh. “Pfft, gee, looks like someone should’ve eaten.”

“I was hungry for other things.” He groaned, wrapping his arms around her torso and resting his face in her chest. “But now that pizza sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Oh what to do with you?” Yang giggled, her hands combing through his hands. Truthfully, she wanted him to stay inside like this a little longer, but the last thing she wanted was her boyfriend withering away. Yang kissed the top of his head. “I’ll go fix you a plate.”

“You’re wonderful.”

“And you’re outstanding. My hips are still floating.” She said, embarrassed by her own honesty.

“Let’s wash up together after we eat.”

“Only washing?” She teased, only to feel him twitch inside of her. Yang gasped a little. Jaune raised his head to look into her eyes with a gaze that made her chew on her bottom lip again. Tonight was going to be a long night. “Welcome home.”