#also gear five?? INSANE

[ajwalker7900]

I thought of this after watching the new episode and had to draw it immediately

omg a textless version yayyyyyy!!! now to rewatch film red

[peachcitt]

text from thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

read thirteen read thirteen it’s everything read thirteen read thirteen read thirteen read thirteen<3 happy thirteen day. have you read thirteen yet. read it again if you have. prepare for your life to be changed if you haven’t.

[yourworldiseternallycomplete]

literally fuck!!!

[handsoffthefuckinshield]

so far working this thrift store gig has triggered like 6 things for us. so that's gonna be fun

[cyberhughes]

TAPOUT!

jack hughes x fem!reader, quinn hughes x fem!reader, luke hughes , fem!reader, cole caufield x fem!reader, trevor zegras x fem!reader

IN WHICH… the new social media intern for the new jersey devils gets a proper welcome from her favourite boys

NOTE guys i had to take a pause on the requests because this was just on my mind so bad…and if this is the fic that gets me canceled for being too controversial then we went out w a bang!! (pun not intended)

also this is dedicated to my kitten clara👩🏻‍🍳🤝 @lovecla i’m glad i have someone to share my insanity with i love you👅👅

WARNINGS! NSFW 18+ content dark content/taboo | five guys one girl :( | dubcon/coercion | spiking drinks w aphrodisiac | unprotected sex | blowjobs |subtle size kink | dacryphilia (blink and u miss it) | recording | degradation | cum eating | uhm if im missing anything lmk im going crazy

she got that million dollar ooh ooh ohh...

make her tap out!

you don’t know how you got into this position. or, multiple positions. hot tears blurred your vision from clearly seeing the men in front of you. the men who had been watching you like you were prey the moment you stepped into the arena as a new social media intern, waiting for their chance to pounce on you.

[ ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ]

“hey!” you stopped your steps as you heard a familiar voice call out just before you were about to head over to the seats to film some practice content.

luke, who you had met a few times, had skated up to the gate, a friendly smile on his face as he approached. “it’s y/n, right?” he asked and you nodded with a smile, most of the time players didn’t really care for the social media girls, simply answering their questions and going on about their day like you didn’t exist. hell, they probably wouldn’t have recognized you if they saw you walking on the street.

“so uh, feel free to say no,” he started, scratching the back of his neck. “i was having a little get together with some other players tonight, and some friends from other teams too,” you nodded as you listened intently, scared you might zone out from admiring his features.

“and i was wondering if maybe you’d like to join? some of the other social media girls are gonna be there from the other teams so i was thinking that maybe you could like, connect with them or something? just cause you’re new.” he offered with a cheeky smile and you nodded, seeming calm but inside you were freaking out a bit, it was such a perfect opportunity!

you could get so many tips from the other girls, learning things from their past experience to limit any stupid mistakes you might make while learning on your own.

“yeah! i’d love to!” he grinned at your response, “okay, awesome! how ‘bout after practice i’ll give you the details?”

[ ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ]

you took in a deep breath before you firmly knocked on the door of luke’s apartment, nervousness bubbled in your stomach as you waited. you were excited to meet the other girls, and make some possible new connections with anyone else. your hands fiddled with the hem of your skirt as you heard clattering and music on the other side.

the door swung open, revealing a grinning luke. you tried to hide your surprise when you saw him, usually you had either seen him in either hockey gear or in a suit. you thought that it was refreshing to see him in something so laid back, a simple tshirt and jeans matched with a backwards cap that pushed his curls nicely to the back and side of his head.

“hey y/n!” he stepped back to let you in. you returned the greeting as you stepped in as you scanned the apartment, and wow. he really downplayed on the ‘small get together’. the apartment was bustling with players of different teams chatting and drinking, yet you couldn’t spot any of the social media girls. hm, maybe they were running late.

luke noticed the way your shoulders dropped slightly in disappointment. “oh, yeah i’m sorry y/n.” he shook his head as he led you into the living room where some familiar faces were sitting. “the other girls said they couldn’t come anymore. last minute family emergencies and some illnesses or something.” he spoked and you simply nodded. “oh, that’s too bad.” you responded, it was too bad. but you looked on the brighter side of things, you would get to know the players in a more candid setting, even starting some new friendships.

“hey guys, y/n came.” luke introduced you to everyone and you waved shyly. sitting beside jack on the couch was trevor zegras and cole caufield, with quinn sitting on an arm chair just beside.

“hey y/n!” jack slapped his hands on his thighs as he stood up from his position on the couch. “it’s too bad the other girls couldn’t come, but we’re still gonna have fun, right?” he said and you nodded, cheeks slightly burning when he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. the greeting threw you off slightly, only having met him a handful of times

“what do you say we get you a drink, hm?” he offered and you nodded, following along, you didn’t want to be impolite. you’d have one drink to settle your nerves before getting to know the players.

you didn’t notice the devilish grin jack shot luke as he placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the kitchen.

the night was going pretty smoothly, you had spent most of your time with the five guys you had initially been introduced with. you talked about your major for a bit, why you wanted to go into sports marketing, a bit about your personal life.

you went to take a sip of your drink as you listened to quinn talk about, well you weren't really sure what, but you had noticed your cup was empty. luke peered over, “oh, i can refill that for you.” he reached out his hand and you smiled, “sure, maybe just a soda, please?” he nodded. you don’t know how many times that night luke got up to get you another soda, but you didn’t complain. he was being a good host and you didn’t want to be rude.

“so what does your boyfriend think of you working in sports marketing?” cole smiled, taking a sip of his drink. you shook your head and chuckled in slight embarrassment, “oh, i don’t have a boyfriend.”

“really? but you’re so pretty?” trevor hummed from beside you. he had his arm draped behind you on the couch, and he reached up to twirl a strand of your hair as you blushed fifty shades of red.

you didn’t know how to respond to the compliment, squeaking out a quiet ‘thank you.’

the room started to get hot, maybe from embarrassment, maybe from the amount of bodies crowded into one space.

“hey, you okay?” quinn asked, noticing the way you were playing with the collar of your cardigan, trying to loosen it’s grip on your neck.

“uh, yeah sorry. just feeling a bit weird.” you gave him a tight lipped smile, you didn’t want to ruin the night, you had worked so hard to get where you are today and you didn’t want to ruin any of your newly made friendships with the players.

“hey it’s okay,” jack moved a few strands of hair away from your face, an expression of false concern taking over his features. “why don’t you lay down in luke's room for a bit while we call it a night?” he offered and you shook your head, “i don’t want to ruin your night.” he smiled at your pout, “don’t worry ‘bout it, luke will show you the way.”

and so luke led you to his room, letting you lean your weight onto his arm as he guided you.

“just sit down m’kay?” you nodded and plopped on the bed, feeling a weird warmth spread throughout your body. were you catching a fever? was it pms? you had never felt this feeling before. “they’ll tell everyone to go home.” he stroked your hair, letting you lean onto his shoulder.

quinn walked into the room, with jack, trevor and cole following right behind. “you okay y/n?” quinn asked as he took a seat next to you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “you’re getting hot, why don’t you take your sweater off?” you nodded and let him unbutton your cardigan, peeling off the fabric and letting his cold hands graze your skin.

“why don’t you stay over tonight?” luke murmured as his eyes fell to your cleavage once your cardigan was taken off.

“yeah, we don’t want you out driving like this.” trevor kneeled in front of you, examining your face as the boys nodded in agreement.

was this inappropriate? staying over at luke’s apartment? you were just the social media girl, you didn’t want it to seem like you had taken this job just to get closer to the players. then again, maybe they were right. it wasn’t safe for a young woman to head home alone in an uber so late at night.

“just let us take care of you baby, okay?” luke pushed your hair to the side as he whispered into your ear, letting his lips trail down to your neck where he placed a small kiss. you shivered at the touch, feeling your butterflies in your stomach. “o-okay…” you sighed when he pressed another kiss onto your shoulder.

“you feeling hot? why don’t we take off the rest of your clothes, hm?” quinn’s fingers toyed with the strap of your tank top. “is…is this weird?” you looked up at him with doe eyes, tears barely forming. he gave you an endearing smile, admiring how cute you looked. “no, we’re all friends here, just wanna take care of you.” he said and you nodded.

quinn carefully helped you out of your tank top and skirt, revealing your lace bra and panties which you tried to cover up in embarrassment. you felt the bed dip behind you, jack and cole approaching on the situation.

you felt like prey underneath their gazes, their eyes burning over your exposed flesh like they were getting ready to devour you, their mouths practically watering

“so pretty…” cole's voice was barely above a whisper as he watched they way trevor traced his fingers closer and closer to your core.

this was extremely wrong, it was dirty. yet you couldn’t help but feel your panties get damper at their ministrations.

trevor looked up at you, tilting his head with a friendly smile, “gonna let us use you, pretty girl?” as he gently pushed open your thighs and you gave him a dazed nod, your response nearly coming out as a whimper, “yes.” you knew what they were doing, you knew that this was extremely perverted and wrong, but you were too far gone.

your lips parted in a soft gasp as you felt his fingers trace over your cunt overtop of your pink panties. you felt so many hands on you, groping at your breasts through your bra, slender hands pulling your thighs open just a bit further.

trevor pushed your panties to the side, toying with your slick before pushing in a single finger, looking up for your reaction. you whimpered, leaning back onto cole’s chest while he placed a small kiss on your temple.

trevor slowly pumped his finger, your arousal growing with the overwhelming amount of stimulation you were receiving from everyone. “so tight…” he mumbled as he stared with amazement before forcing a second and soon third finger. he pumped his digits in and out, earning moans from you that felt like music to their ears. from behind you, jack reached around to toy with your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

tears threatened to fall as you felt the heat pool in your lower stomach, “m…m gonna cum..” you whined, body fighting the way cole hand you down as you squirmed.

“go on baby, it’s okay.” quinn licked at your ear and that was all it took for you to snap, your first orgasm of the night washing over you with an intensity you had never felt before.

“fuck..” luke’s mouth dropped open as he watched your release squirt out onto trevor's tattooed arm, his fingers practically jackhammering into you as he pulled every moan he could from you until you were breathless.

everything felt hazy as they lied you down, they took their time taking off the only fabric that you had left, leaving you fully exposed and vulnerable. you heard some rummaging around but stayed focused on catching your breath.

you dazily watch jack as he climbed on top of you, trailing comforting kisses from your stomach up to your neck. “you okay with this?” he asked as he stroked his cock from below you, positioning it at your fluttering entrance. you nodded frantically and he smirked, “‘course you are.” you felt your stomach drop at the mockery in his voice, but you didn’t have much time to think about it before he pushed into you, taking all the air from your lungs. “fuck baby,” he groaned, letting himself sink fully, tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to fall at the intense stretch.

he didn’t give you time to adjust as he began thrusting into you with fervor, lifting your legs and pressing them to your chest. his fingers dug into your thighs and he pushed them down, leaving bruises onto your delicate skin. “you’re so dirty, y/n.” he grinned from above you and you felt the tears fall, which he quickly kissed away. you could tell he was about to cum when his thrusts became harsher, his cock kissing at your cervix as he let out deep groans.

his gaze flickered from the way your pussy sucked him in, up to your face, cheeks red and stained with tears as you watched him with hooded eyes. “fuckkk,” he breathed out, letting himself shoot his load into you, hips stuttering as he did so.

you let out a whine when he pulled out, feeling his cum drip out of your hole and down to your ass. you don’t even notice when he had switched positions with trevor and cole, the two boys admiring your fucked out expression before taking their turn with you.

“such a pretty little whore.” trevor smiled at you sweetly, a contrast to his degrading words. he flipped you onto your stomach with ease, lifting your hips up so that your ass was flush with his pelvis.

cole positioned himself in front of you, and you knew what he wanted. you stuck your tongue out, looking up at him with doe eyes and he swore he could’ve cum just from the sight. he slapped his cock over your tongue as trevor spread your ass cheeks from behind, getting a better view of your swollen cunt before he lined himself up with your already leaking hole.

you moaned around cole’s cock as trevor thrusted into you, the vibrations sending instant pleasure throughout his body. you steadied yourself by placing your hands on his thick thighs, letting your nails dig into his skin as he let out the prettiest whines.

you let out a squeal when trevor slapped your ass, quickly smoothing his hand over the red mark to soothe the pain. “so filthy,” it didn’t take them long before they came, shooting their loads from both ends.

you had no choice but to swallow cole’s cum when he pushed your head down all the way, nose to pelvis as his body shook in pleasure.

he cupped your face with one hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he thanked you, leaving your heart fluttering. trevor placed a kiss onto your back before the two of them moved away, letting quinn take over.

quinn’s eyes scanned you with a look of disapproval and pity. “so messy, baby.” you pouted at his words, he was right though. you had cum and spit leaking at the corner of your mouth, your hair was tousled and your cunt was already stuffed full. he grabbed your tank top that was thrown onto the bed earlier and quickly cleaned you up.

“there we go.” he smiled softly before leaning down to give you a proper kiss on this lips and your eyes fluttered closed, your hands reaching up to tangle themselves in his hair. he trailed his kiss from your mouth down to your breasts, licking and sucking at the reddening skin. “poor baby,” he murmured, “didn’t even get to cum again, hm? it’s okay though, i’m gonna take proper care of you.” he said, a slight dig to the men who had previously used you without any regard for your own pleasure.

he laid you down, dipping his middle finger between your folds, chuckling at the way your hole fluttered, clenching around nothing. “i’ll take care of you.” he soon replaced his finger with his aching cock, pushing into you gently as he hushed your whimpers with a kiss.

“doing so good for us, aren’t you baby?” his hand trailed down to lazily massage at your neglected clit. “q-quinn…” your nails scratched at his back, leaving bright red marks and he hissed at the pleasurable pain, nipping at your collarbones. “it’s okay, i got you baby.” he rocked into you, never ceasing his actions on your clit and you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as his thrusts deepened. “you gonna cum for me, pretty girl? huh? gonna put on a show on for them?” you whined at his words, squirming underneath him as the heat pooled in your belly.

“k-kiss..” you mumbled and he smiled, “yeah, i got you.” he leaned down and you kissed him deeply, moving your hips up to meet him halfway. “go on baby, let go.” he whispered against your lips when he felt your grip on him tighten, your pussy spasming as you came, him following soon after, pulling out to cum onto the soft skin of your stomach.

your vision was blurry as you came down from your orgasm, body on fire from the consistent stimulation with no break. you felt quinn pepper kiss over your face, “you did so good baby.” he placed on last kiss on your lips, savoring the sweet taste of your saliva, “it’s okay, it’s almost over.” he reassured and you hummed in confusion, before you saw luke standing at the edge of the bed.

you didn’t know if you had it in you, and god he looked big standing there. “luke…” you whimpered as you tried crawling back up the bed, but he grabbed your ankles and pulled you back down.

“m’sorry baby,” he pouted, “you’re gonna let me fuck you, right? it’s only fair. i’m the one who thought you were pretty first.” he said like it was a competition before pushing himself in, your eyes going wide as your body tensed. even though you had been fucked plenty that night, none of them could’ve possible compared to the way luke’s cock was stretching you out.

hot tears fell down your cheeks as he thrusted into you, letting one of his large hands press down onto your lower stomach to feel the bulge of his cock as he fucked you. “too big luke!” you cried, thrashing underneath him and leaned down closer, his cock hitting deeper. “you can take it, know you can.” he grunted, his tip brushing against your cervix and you gripped onto his biceps like he was your lifeline. “luke! s’too much!” you cried and he licked as the salty tears from your face.

he didn’t let up his pace, continuing to fuck into you like he had been dreaming of since he first laid eyes on you at the rink. “my pretty girl...” he cooed as your screams of overstimulation echoed in his ears as he reached places inside you no one had ever reached before.

it wasn’t long before yet another load was dumped into you, your eyes lolling to the back of your head as you let out a silent scream while you came for the final time that night.

the room fell silent, the boys entranced at your fucked out expression, limp on the bed with your skin decorated with their cum.

“fuck, wait till nico sees this.” jack was quick to pull out his phone, snapping a picture of you.

“there’s no leaving us now, baby doll.”

[mokulule]

A Man has Needs part 1

This will hopefully be a short thing, maybe three or four parts. Silly with a small dash of angst for flavor. Also someone needs to stop me from starting new stories, instead of indulging my insanity.

Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny)

It had been an exhausting Friday, people were out celebrating the weekend and payday both. To top it off it was prime petty crime weather too with no rain. It was a patrol that would never end. Crime Alley had really lived up to its name tonight.

Jason was exhausted. Not because anything had been particularly challenging or dangerous, but it had just been one very long night of constant stupid little crimes.

It was five in the morning and his bed was calling him. He’d already stashed his gear in storage on the roof and he was so close to being home he could practically feel the soft sheets, the promise of sleep. The open bathroom window was a bother when he was this tired. Maybe he should have just gone down to the street and walked in the door, but keys also seemed like such a bother right now and more stairs… No, window was fine, he was in.

Bed. Now.

He bumped into something outside the bathroom door. Fuzzily he looked down to see a moving box - odd. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, he’d deal with that in the morning. Bed, comfort, safe.

He stumbled into the bedroom when it turned out the door wasn’t properly shut just pushed mostly closed.

Okay check list. Boots off. What else? Pants off, shirt off. He’d pick up in the morning. Did he forget anything? Toothbrush. He glanced backwards halfheartedly, he’d already left the bathroom; bed was right there.

The bed won. Tomorrow he would deal with teeth.

Tomorrow…

He crawled under the sheets. Warm and nice and safe and mmmmh he snuggled closer to the source, breathing in mint and something biting like frosty morning air. His nose buried into soft short hair and breathed in deep again. Good. Amazing. Safe. Sated.

Sleep.

Oo o oO

Danny turned and stretched with a yawn. He frowned when something held him into place. Must have gotten himself caught in the sheets again. It wasn’t a problem, he just slipped away intangibly, rolling to the edge of the bed to reach blindly for the night table.

Where was the phone? It took him a moment but finally it connected with his hand.

He groaned when he saw the time, it was nearly midday. Jazz would frown at him for already messing his sleep schedule up, but he’d just wanted to get as much set up in his apartment as possible, that had to be an okay excuse? He turned back on his back and looked at the light dancing across the ceiling from the light breeze moving the curtains. Okay time to get up. He had another day of unpacking today.

He got out and stretched absently. He turned around intending to make his bed if only to look responsible for when Jazz would come later to see the apartment.

He turned and promptly clapped his hands over his mouth to contain the frightened scream.

There was a guy in his bed! How was there a guy in his bed?! Ancients, what the fuck?!

Wait.

Danny tilted his head, eyes trailed down the muscular and scarred back, to a well shaped butt, which the tight boxers did very little to hide, and then those thighs!

There was a hot guy in Danny’s bed!

Focus Danny. He shook his head and slapped himself for good measure. That wasn’t what was important right now - though those thighs… Ancients, Danny would happily die again crushed by them.

No!

What was important was somehow there was a (hot) stranger in his bed. Danny had not invited him, of that he was sure. He had been unpacking yesterday, there had been no consumption of ghost zone alcohol yesterday, which could otherwise explain the lack of memory.

Which meant the guy had for some reason entered Danny’s apartment and slept with him - in the boring ordinary sense, Danny lamented this fact quietly for a moment.

Danny wasn’t surprised he hadn’t woken up, he slept, well, like the dead. The only thing that would wake him was very loud noises (like his alarm or his Dad’s inside voice) or occasionally his ghost sense.

It wasn’t even that Danny was surprised to find a bedmate. It was rare that Danny slept alone these days. He was, no matter how you put it, a very powerful ghost and he gave off a lot of good concentrated ambient ectoplasm.

Sometime last year the blobs and animal ghosts in Amity had started to join him every now and then when he slept. According to Frostbite it wasn’t so strange. They fed on the energy he gave off and also benefitted from his presence, which apparently radiated safety.

At first he’d been woken up by his ghost sense every time, but he’d gotten to a point where he just subconsciously dismissed the sense when the ghosts in question didn’t have ill intentions.

So Danny wasn’t surprised he wasn’t alone. He’d expected a bit more time to pass before whatever weak ghosts might be around figured out he was here, but you don’t wake up six days out of seven with cuddly animal ghosts in your bed and get surprised by it.

No, Danny was surprised by the fact that it was a guy. A human. A person. With muscled arms and- Oh, Danny realized cheeks heating up, that probably hadn’t been the sheets he’d been stuck in earlier.

Danny covered his face with his hands and groaned in despair.

Why was there a guy in his bed? Why couldn’t there be a guy in his bed for normal reasons? Danny would have brought this guy to his bed for normal bringing a guy to bed reasons.

He crawled onto the bed intending to wake the stranger, but as he reached out for the guy’s shoulder he turned leaning into the touch and sighed like the weight of the world had just lifted off his shoulders.

Danny was frozen, staring at the point of contact. He could sense it now: the man’s malnourished ghost core.

Danny swallowed thickly, suddenly seeing the many scars on the man’s back in a different light and that pure white streak in the otherwise black hair, it all seemed so obvious now.

The man was a halfa, or halfa adjacent. Because that was definitely warm human flesh underneath Danny’s hand.

So incredibly, unbelievably, absurdly this was essentially the same situation as usual, except not at all, because this was a person. Humanoid ghosts and ghosts with human-like or above intelligence didn’t do this. There were social conventions in place and not to mention they were usually powerful enough on their own to not need the ectoplasm.

But this guy was malnourished. He probably never had a good stable source of ectoplasm to properly develop his metabolism. Also to Danny’s metaphysical senses he smelled like he’d done the ghostly equivalent of dumpster diving to survive. Danny’s ectoplasmic aura had to be like the siren call of a buffet table.

Shit.

New plan. Danny was not gonna embarrass the poor guy. The situation was weird enough as it was. Danny was just gonna act like this was normal. Danny woke up with guests practically every day.

This was a person, not an animal, therefore petting was out of the question, so coffee.

Coffee was normal to offer guests. Also Danny needed coffee. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and floated off the bed to enter his combined kitchen and living room. The coffee machine was the first thing he got set up yesterday, clearly smart of past Danny.

It wouldn’t be long before his guest awoke with Danny no longer in the room to supply passive ectoplasm.

Maybe his human stomach wanted food too?

Oo o oO

Jason woke up with his head and nose buried in a pillow that smelled wonderful and comfortable somehow. He breathed in deep, catching mint and that biting cold he vaguely remembered from last night. Now, however he wasn’t dead on his feet, he was awake, more rested than he remember feeling for a long time and his brain connected the details into very alarming facts:

This was not his pillow. This was not his bed.

He sat up, quickly taking in the bare white walls and the stack of emptied and flattened moving boxes leaning against the wall next to a built-in closet.

This was very much not his apartment.

There was a noise of a cupboard clanging shut and Jason’s head snapped to the door that was open just a crack; he was not alone.

Shit.

He jumped out of bed, bending his knees upon impact to soften the sound. He needed to leave. Where was his clothes? His gaze darted around and he hurried to pick up his discarded items of clothing as he found them. Somehow one of his boots had ended up under the bed.

Quickly he pulled on the jeans and the shirt, was he wearing a jacket yesterday? He didn’t remember. Boots on and then he was going out the window- except there was the scent of coffee and something in the air. What was that smell?

He found himself moving to the door instead. The door squeaked as he pulled it open and he froze, hand still on the door handle, when the sound drew the attention of the young man in the kitchen.

His hair was black and sleep tousled, he had a slender athletic build and as he walked around the kitchen island bearing two cups it became apparent he was just wearing boxers. Jason’s inspection ended on his legs, which were admittedly very nice. When he looked back up he found the man standing a cautious distance away and a cute pink blush stretched all the way from his cheeks to his chest. Sky blue eyes looked up a him from underneath slightly frowning brows.

“So, you’re awake,” the man opened with an admirable attempt at a smile considering the situation. There was a beat of silence in which Jason grasped for what to even say, then the man reached his hand forward offering one of the cups, “coffee?”

There were many a thing Jason could say or should say. Like, what the fuck? You’re just gonna offer the guy who broke into your apartment coffee? Or, I’m sorry I broke into your apartment (and bed!)? And, why do you sleep with your windows open and unlocked? This is freaking Crime Alley! Or, what is it that smells so good?

What he actually said was a quiet, “yes, please.”

The cup was warm in his hands as he sipped it. And clearly this was enough for the cute guy because his smile turned more real and he nodded to himself and walked back to the kitchen counter. Jason really hoped that didn’t mean the coffee was poisoned.

“Feel free to take a seat. I hope you like pop tarts, it’s kinda all that I have at the moment.” As if summoned the toaster made a swish noise popping up the tarts. Hesitantly Jason sat down at the small square table paired with two mismatched foldable chairs. He really should turn and jump out a window. There had to be some kind of reckoning coming. Maybe the guy really cared about hospitality and Jason would be questioned after the food? Maybe that’s what was going on.

But also strangely his gut was telling him he was safe here? He really had no clue what to do with that.A paper plate with a pop tart was set down in front of him and after setting down his own pop tart and coffee the man joined him.

Jason was supremely aware of the few inches between their knees. This wasn’t a large table after all and if he moved just slightly they would be touching. But why would he want them to be touching? Why was it so tempting?

Jason clenched his hands firmly and stared down at the pop tart, with an intensity born of the fact that for some reason he had to focus on not knocking knees with a stranger.

“You look at that poor pop tart as if you think it’s gonna explode, that’s not actually what pop tart means, you know.”

Jason looked up at the guy in disbelief.

He rubbed the back of his neck, “yeah that was terrible I know.”

Silence stretched between them and clearly embarrassed the guy hastily took a sip of his coffee and a bite of his pop tart avoiding Jason’s gaze.

Guilt twisted in Jason’s chest, not only did he invade his home he was also making him uncomfortable. His only comfort was the fact that the guy clearly wasn’t afraid of him.

Jason started eating the pop tart. For whatever the reason breakfast was part of the script the guy had decided on to make an attempt at normalcy. What else was Jason to do? He hadn’t fled when he had the chance and-

Oh-

The guy had shifted in his chair, one of their knees were touching, there was a spark and it felt like something uncurled inside him, a weight lifted. Jason blinked. This was…Mint and frost was a sting in his nose, a fullness in his chest. Goose bumps ran along his arms, and it tingled all the way to his fingertips.

Jason snapped his head up, but the guy was just looking at his phone sipping his coffee. As if he couldn’t feel the cold electricity between them. There was no way he could sit like that if he felt it? Was Jason just imagining it? He shuddered and moved slightly, just enough that they weren’t touching and instantly he regretted it. The wave of longing was almost enough to make his vision black out.

The guy looked up with a frown. “You okay, man?”

“Fine,” Jason said hoarsely, desperately focusing on the half eaten pop tart and taking another bite.

When the pop tarts were eaten and the cups emptied the man stood and Jason matched him. Jason wasn’t sure what he expected to happen at this point but it certainly wasn’t the guy, to walk over to his front door with a casual, “well I should get ready for the day.”It was a clear dismissal. An out for the whole strange situation. Jason stood up and walked over to the door.

The guy opened the door letting Jason out with a short electrifying clap on the back and a “Take care, man.”

Jason was left standing outside the door to the previously empty apartment 4A, several floors below Jason’s own top floor apartment. How did he ever mistake it for his own?

What was the deal with the guy’s touch and why did Jason crave it so desperately?

Unsettled. he started walking towards the stairwell. As he moved further away from the apartment the pull to go back lessened. It was still there, but it was replaced quickly by something else.

He felt rested, energized in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while. There was an urge to do something. He felt like he could take on the world - maybe even Sunday dinner at the manor tomorrow.

Jason laughed. Wouldn’t that surprise everyone?

He was so caught up in the euphoria of productivity and social interactions that didn’t go sour for the next couple of days, that he completely forgot about the strange Saturday morning.

-

If you liked this consider telling me your thoughts in the replies or tags, it is motivating. Now to hopefully write a bit on Catnip. Edit: Masterpost now up if you wanna subscribe

[andersonsgf]

i LOVE modern roommate!abby 🥹

could we get more about them spending time together? like going to the gym, or abby becoming more interested in reader’s nerdy hobbies?

TYSM I LOVE YOUR WORKS 🫶🏾

modern roommate!abby

aa thank you im so glad youre enjoying it! very much enjoyed writing this series link

requests are still open for this series, and if anyone wants to be part of a taglist for it lmk :)

modern roommate!abby was a sucker for doing anything and everything with you. she needed to pick up some ingredients for tomorrow? she would definitely ask you to be a passenger princess for that five minute car ride, even if you were in your pyjamas already. sure, the fact that you two live together and date meant there was a tricky little line that hovered on codependency but it was managed well even with abby dragging you around everywhere. she'd go to mannys for the evening a couple of times a week, and you'd take yourself on little shopping walks around the city. it worked.

there were plenty of activities that you and modern roommate!abby had in common: going to the gym, hiking, late night drives, reading. fuck, you and abby had a lot of books. the equivalent of 'moving in together' was when you and abby combined your solo book collections into one big communal bookshelf. now that was commitment. working out together was abbys favourite thing though, the gym was definitely her happy place, where she felt most confident, felt the most at home in her skin. and you there too, practically drooling at watching her bench? that made her feel ten times more happy.

abbys pr for the bench press was 92.5 kilos, which you thought was simply fucking insane. what you thought was even more insane was that abby always asked you to spot her. of course you said yes, but you would always stare down at her whilst she did it with your nose scrunched knowing that you being the spotter meant a trip to the hospital for abby if she did fail her set. "you do realise that you're asking me to like... bicep curl or upright row 90 kilos if you fail, right?", you said to her one time as she sat up on the bench.

"i'm not gonna fail".

her attitude made you laugh a little, if she was going for new pr's then there could very well be a time where she can't finish the set. and you were supposed to be the thing between her and the barbell crushing her neck? "no but genuinely what happens if you can't get it up?".

abby snorted and stood up to take some of the weights off ready for your turn. "that's what she said".

"oh you are foul", you grumbled a little and lay on the bench, ready to do your lighter, yet respectable 30 kilo push. abby simply did that adorable shit eating grin in response before locking in when you started your sets. that 30 could still do a lot of damage if it dropped on your head.

modern roommate!abby earned more than you. it was a known fact. she had a full time job plus a second income from her rugby sponsors. you worked more than part time but not quite full time, enough to pay your half of the high seattle apartment rent prices, but still not enough to buy everything on your wishlists. which is where abby came in with her giant heart, and hungry eyes. gym clothes were expensive. and they were kind of non-negotiable, the cheaper gear never quite fit properly, always having weird baggy areas that you hated.

it didn't take long when you started dating for new gym sets to appear in your room, nicely folded with a piece of candy on top. she got them for you to see you smile, see how happy and confident you were in the gym when wearing clothes that felt comfortable and, in both of your opinions, made you look good. she also straight up just liked gawking at you in them though. you're her girlfriend, she finds you attractive, sue her.

she still vividly remembers the image of you in a new workout tank top she got you, watching you wear it on the assisted pull up machine, the muscles you'd been toning up on your back were a sight for sore eyes with that shirt. her cheeks had puffed out as she blew air out. man did she love working out with you.

that truly was secondary when it came to just being at the gym with you in general though. it really was just nice sharing that space with you, celebrating each others wins, pushing each other to do more even if your heart wasn't in it that day. she felt like she had her own little team. she really loved that team.

that being said, modern roommate!abby didn't really understand a lot of your other interests. she wasn't keen on video games at all. one of her mates back in college was obsessed with them. whitney always had her old psvita to hand and the incessant little noises that played from them grated her to no end. she could hear similar noises coming from your room a lot, you were an absolute fiend for playing games when you should be sleeping, or straight up playing them for 8 hours straight on a day off.

she didn't know what to expect with the genre of games you played. in all honesty they were kind of all the same to her. it took weeks to bring her around and get her to at least acknowledge that many games were vastly different. it then took another few weeks to get her to sit down and watch you play some games.

it was surprisingly successful. she still was adamant that she would never play any herself, but she enjoyed watching you. enjoyed watching you get excited at completing different things, levelling up, explaining story lore. she really got into some of the story games you played, looking genuinely shocked at the uncharted 4 twist, and she liked watching you swing around the open world new york in the spiderman games.

the first cozy game you showed her was spiritfarer. at first she was bored without the same action that story games had, but once again she was soon won over when she realised how great they were to play late at night. how it soon became satisfying to see the mini stories in the game progress, the little tasks you had to do, gathering resources. stanley ended up being her favourite spirit, claiming that she didn't "normally like mushroom themed things but he was an exception". you laughed at that one. abby was tough as nails but she was full of random bullshit like that.

then you whipped out the second "cozy" game. stardew valley. she looked more confused than ever when you pulled out your laptop too, pulling up a series of spreadsheets. "what the fuck is that for?".

she full belly laughed when you showed her your little pixel farm and explained that all the spreadsheets were for your farm efficiency and keeping track of pelican town relationships. "that's so much effort for what? virtual farming?". she was soon eating her words though when her eyes had practically gone square from intently watching you play for five hours straight into the early hours of the morning, half a litre of cola missing from the giant bottle in her hand.

you giggled slightly when finally finishing for the night as you had to basically drag her away from the sofa, reminding her about the morning training session she planned that she was now already tempted to skip to try and start her own farm.

you promised to buy a second controller for a co-op farm tomorrow.

[heartsaturn]

“i’m wearing tennessee orange for him” - lh43

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which, blood doesn’t run thicker than water

warnings: nothing (??), intended lowercase, set in luke’s last season at umich, awkward!luke and a bit of shy!luke, ends in a bit of a cliffhanger so i’m open for part two requests if anyone wants it

a/n: woah !!! sara actually write a fic ?!? ik ik it’s crazy. this was requested by my one and only @daniiiboo, i deeply apologize for taking five years (a few MONTHS 😓) for this to come out. i still don’t really like this fic but i like it enough to post it.

———————————————————————-

if one thing is true, it is that ohio state hates university of michigan. the feeling is definitely mutual. the two schools have been rivals since before you can remember. all you know is that you cannot associate with someone from michigan. you were raised a buckeye, and you will stay a loyal buckeye, right?

well, being a loyal buckeye is really damn hard right now.

it is not an abnormal thing for you and your friends to go and support the sports teams at your school. most of the time, it was football games. sometimes, it was hockey games. and now hockey season is starting. the stadium buzzes with energy at the first rival game of the season. it’s the beginning of october and the beginning of fall, which you believe is one of the best times of the year. the air finally starts to become crisp after a blazing summer. it couldn’t be a better time for a hockey game. so, you and your friend decide to go to the game for the atmosphere.

just here for the atmosphere, you try to remind yourself now. you also happen to be questioning in your mind why a hockey player just tossed you a puck. a michigan hockey player. there is no way that he thought you were a michigan fan because, first of all, there is a very minimal amount of michigan fans. you’re literally at your home arena. second of all, you and all of your friends are wearing ohio state gear. who does this stupidly gorgeous wolverine think he is?

while all of your friends start squealing because of this boy’s gesture, you sit there in shock. you look at the puck that rests in your hands. you don’t snap out of your confused daze until one of your friends nudges you.

“you think he’s cute?” she asks with a small smile on her face. her words are teasing and her smile is smug.

of course, you think he’s cute. how could you not? he is tall, has curly hair that you can see peaking through his helmet, and you note the little smirk that he had on his face as he skated away from you.

“he’s not bad-looking,” you answer. you can’t stop a small smile that grows on your face as you look down at the little gift.

during the game, you and your friends find out that this boy’s number is 43 and his last name is hughes. you can’t deny that your eyes follow him almost the whole game. you try not to let them wander, you really do. upon finding out his last name and jersey number, your friends are able to find his instagram account.

“you guys are actually insane,” you say with a snicker.

“we just found your future boyfriend on instagram, so you're welcome,” one of your friends teases sassily.

the game goes on and the whole arena is filled with chants and overwhelming school spirit as ohio state finishes off the game, winning 4-3 in overtime.

this is not good for luke. his mind has gone into a spiral of what went wrong and what the team could have done better when he remembers his bold actions during warmups. the truth is, luke isn’t some cocky hotshot hockey player. he is just an awkward college student who happens to be pretty darn good at the sport he plays. luke is charming and charismatic. he knows this, mainly because he has been told by other people. he just isn’t all that confident in using these abilities quite yet.

luke can already feel the regret bubbling inside of him because of his previous actions, certain that he has zero shot with this girl. what are the chances of him even seeing her anyway? well, apparently very high because he does see her again.

you had let your friends encourage you to wait outside the locker rooms to see if you could find the boy that they so desperately want you to meet. and then they left you. they left you wandering outside the locker rooms anxiously by yourself. in their minds, it was a way to get you alone with luke. in your mind, it was downright mean. the only people who really stand outside the locker rooms are family members and girlfriends, which you are neither of. you feel out of place and you honestly hope that luke comes out of the locker room just so that you don’t have to hover awkwardly for much longer.

then, your prayers are answered because out walks the same hockey player that had so shamelessly thrown a girl on the opposing school’s team a puck earlier. only this time, the boy looks much less intimidating. he actually looks quite friendly. when he walks out of the locker room, he is talking with one of his teammates. he looks exhausted and a bit beaten up from the loss that his team just faced, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive in your eyes.

luke sees you and immediately recognizes you. he couldn’t forget such a pretty face. honestly, that is probably the only reason that he gained the confidence to toss you a puck in the first place. seeing you smiling with your friends and looking so gorgeous while doing it made luke so desperate to try and flirt with you.

now, luke is a tad stunned. he sees you and just freezes for a moment. he decides to approach you after a few seconds of you not noticing him.

“hello,” you hear a male voice say after clearing his throat. you spin around to see the captivating wolverine from earlier.

“oh, hi..” you reply softly. both of you seem too shy to speak to the other properly.

“thanks for the puck,” you speak up, now looking up at his taller frame.

“oh yeah, no problem. i’m sure you get that all the time being as stunning as you are…” luke says back. his demeanor is still very bashful. although, he can feel his confidence swell as the conversation flows on because there is no way that he is losing his chance with you.

you find his attempt at flirting a bit amusing but still sweet. his continuous attempts to impress you and try to hold the discussion with you are honestly adorable.

“not usually, and not by anyone i would want to get to know anyway. i could make an exception for you though,” you respond, a pleased smile finding its way to your features.

“do you want to get to know me while we get lunch then?” luke asks. very smooth transition, luke. very smooth indeed.

“our schools are three hours away from each other you know…” you say. your words are meant to be taken almost as a warning. not just a warning to luke but to yourself as well.

“i have a feeling i’ll be in it for the long game,” the boy simply replies with a little grin and slight shrug. his casual answer eased you a bit and let you know that he wants to make it work out if you also want to.

you have literally known this boy for a whole two minutes of your life and you are already thinking about if you could go long distance with him. i guess he really did catch your attention on the ice.

“i’m luke by the way,” he says.

“y/n,” you reply.

you don’t dare to tell your family what school luke goes to if you guys do end up making it work.

———————————————————————-

word count: 1269

[joonberriess]

𓆩♡𓆪 “you don’t have to admit you wanna play, just let me rock you till the break of day,” – jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — simping at its finest, blowjobs, cum-swallowing, degradation, dumbification, jk is mean but also a praise fanatic, oc is a cute puppy who eats it all up, objectification(?) pretty sure bc jk just has unholy thoughts about oc, oc is THEE it girl, dirty talking, messy lil make-outs, thank you kiss on the tip LOL, PET NAME GALORE, oc is a nice lil bimbo everyone loves ❤️ even jk’s friends luv her

Jungkook listened to whatever the hell Jennie was explaining to him, in truth he stopped paying attention like five minutes ago. He sat there like a fried vegetable just zoning out and nodding mindlessly whenever Jennie looked at him and asked if he agreed etc. He didn’t want to be rude to Jennie but any more of this and he’d go insane he fears.

“So for the powerpoint I was thinking we should..” Jennie’s voice slowly fades out as the sound of the front door opening catches Jungkook’s eye/attention. Holy shit he doesn’t believe what he’s witnessing. He doesn’t realize he’s staring hardcore at Jennie’s poor unsuspecting roommate.

He instantly recognizes you as the girl he sees his team/friends go crazy over. You were quite the talk of the campus—cute, slutty, bimbo-like, these were some of the most common things said. If Jungkook had to admit, you were pretty cute and he’s only ever really seen you casually here and there. He finds himself licking his lips slowly and sitting up while clearing his throat.

“Hi Jennie, hi Jennie’s friend.” You sweetly say while waving at Jungkook politely. He gets an eyeful of tits and soft tummy as you pass by.

You’re wearing this soft pink tracksuit and white baby tee crop top which hugs your pretty little tits just nicely. Don’t even get him started about your backside which is enough in itself to bring a tear to his eye. Jungkook doesn’t realize he’s overdoing it with his staring until Jennie clears her throat pretty loudly.

“Ahem.” She glares at him, “As I was saying,” she shoves her laptop in Jungkook’s face.

He doesn’t see more of you because you end up heading down the hall to your room after saying “bye-bye” to both him and Jennie. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He grunts in annoyance.

“Not my roommate Jeon, you can go about fucking anything that fucking walks and has a hole between their legs but you leave y/n out of your lechery. Got it?” She hisses, “I can see the gears working in that stupid head of yours, so I’m warning you. Now help me with this powerpoint asshole, I’m not doing all the work.”

Jungkook internally groans—overprotective roommate, greaaat.

Whole time he works on the project his mind is filled with obscene thoughts and nasty little daydreams he comes up with just thinking about you. Jungkook’s had his fair share of hook-ups but none have ever truly made him go this crazy before. He’s fucking FIENDING for it, would be on his damn knees begging for you to crush his head with your soft thighs if he could.

Too bad Jennie said you were off-limits though. Unless..

Much to Jungkook’s dismay he doesn’t see you for the remainder of the time he’s there. He does see you more often around campus though, whether it’s you hopping out of your very pink car or you running about all over campus with a pink drink in your hands. He can’t get enough of you, and it’s fucking obvious to his friends who make fun of him for it.

“y/n, Kook? Really?” Yugyeom snorts, “Only in your fucking dreams will you ever hit that, your little guy down there probably wouldn’t even know what to do with all that ass.” Laughter all around them erupts as Yugyeom smugly smirks, happy with himself.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “You’re so fucking stupid,” more laughing, “honestly, if anyone has more chances it’s me, you’re all either losers AND she’s never bat an eye at you. I don’t see any action from any of you either, all talk and shit.” He mutters while taking a drag from the blunt they were all passing around.

“Not true! y/n is a nice girl Jungkook.” Jimin snorts, “Watch,” he turns around and looks over the area for you, “hey y/n!” He yells while waving his arms. They all wait patiently for your reaction, low and behold you just end up proving Jimin correct.

You look confused at first until you smile brightly, “Hi,” you wave back while walking over, “what are you guys up to?” You tilt your head, lips pursed in a adorable little pout.

“Smoking.” Yugyeom replies curtly, “Want some?” He holds the blunt out to you.

Jungkook doesn’t know why but that shit irks the fuck out of him, he shoots his friend a glare and fans the smoke out of your direction before it can hit you. You smell like chai mixed with pumpkin, and he definitely does NOT want to ruin your pretty smell.

“No thank you,” you politely reply and then turn to look at Jimin again, “ ‘m a little sad though, because this morning I tried to make waffles but I didn’t know you had to actually pull the lever down and I didn’t get to eat my waffles.” You sigh wistfully, “See?” You hold out the raw and cold waffles wrapped up in a napkin, “And I don’t like it,” you shake your head, “you’re my friend right Jiminie? Can you buy me some waffles from the cafe pretty please?” You whine.

Jimin turns a little red at the nickname and nods, “Here,” he holds out a couple of bills, more than enough.

The other guys scramble for their wallets, “I’m your friend too right y/n?” They say while holding out their own money to you. Jungkook just stands there slack-jawed, he has never seen his own friends this fucking down-bad before. Oh, but they wanted to laugh at him for simping after you? Funny how the tables have turned.

“Reallyyyy?” You breathily giggle while accepting the money, “Thank you!” You kiss Jimin on the cheek before skipping away with literally breakfast, lunch, and dinner money.

“But I’M the fuckin’ simp? Yeah, totally.” Jungkook scoffs while shaking his head.

Jungkook starts making up an excuse to talk to you from then on. He doesn’t have to do much because you do all the talking for him, he just stands there listening to you ramble on and on about something he doesn’t recall asking. He thinks it’s cute when you stop mid-sentence and say in utter confusion, “What was I talking about again?”

If he could, he’d sit there and just listen to you talk all day. He’s surprised how much he likes your ditziness and dumb little brain fart moments, he finds that he doesn’t mind it so much. Like now, he was sitting there propped up against his car in the parking lot listening to you rant about astrology, time-loops, and anime..?

“Yeah?” Jungkook occasionally says while he watches you passionately explain to him what a fucking shinigami was.

“Think about it—politics and death notebooks, they go hand in hand for disaster and doom.” You softly say, completely side-tracking from the original topic, “I wish I had a shinigami though,” you pout while tapping your finger against your chin, “I think Ryuk is pretty cool. Have you seen the anime?”

Jungkook hums, “No, heard of it but haven’t seen it. So like, shinigami’s come with a death note or what?” He asks, ready for another little rant of yours (he doesn’t mind though). His eyes fall down to your pretty camisole you wore today. You were wearing these cute tight jeans that hung low on your hips, he loved the little pink bows you attached to the belt loops.

“Mm-hm,” you nod, “oh! I gotta go before I forget, all my undies shrunk in the dryer and now they’re pretty tight ‘n they fit a little smaller so now I have to buy some more.” You pout, “Bye Jungkookie,” you throw one arm around his neck as you side-hug him, standing on your tippy toes to reach his height as you press a kiss to his cheek, “bye-bye!” You wave and run off.

“Bye..” Jungkook whispers in awe, he smells a hint of your perfume on his shirt and he vows then and there he isn’t going to wash this shirt anytime soon.

The next time that Jungkook sees you it’s when he’s leaving your shared apartment after another project session. He sees you bent over while poking and trying to pull at the gas tank lid, which is obviously sealed shut. He whistles under his breath and walks over, eyes dropping down to your perky ass which is covered in these pretty little shorts which hug both cheeks nice and tight.

“What you doing down there, hm?” Jungkook leans against the car with his arms folded over his chest and an amused smile on his face, “Having fun?”

“Jungkook, hi,” you greet softly while standing up straight, “I was just trying to get this stupid thingy open because Jennie is letting me borrow her car cause mine is in the shop getting the windows tinted,” you pout, “but I don’t know how to open this stupid thing, and I wanna fill her car with gas as a thank you for letting me borrow it. Help meeeee,” you whine tugging at his arm.

“C’mere,” he loosely wraps an arm around your waist and guides you to sit in the driver's seat, “you see this baby?” He squats down so he’s eye-level with you, his free hand rests over your soft thighs while he points with his other, “You just pull this, and wa-la, the gas tank lid pops right open.” He chuckles and squeezes your thigh.

Your eyes brighten, “Reallyyy? How cool, thank you.” You happily throw your arms around his neck and hug him tightly, “no wonder that stupid thing wasn’t opening.” You giggle.

Jungkook takes a deep whiff of your soft coconut smell, he closes his eyes and sighs in pure bliss. This was the dream dammit, he never wanted to leave this spot EVER. “It was no problem really.” He mumbles more to himself while he stares at your pretty tits.

Fuck the friend code (if you can even call Jennie’s threat that), friend code didn’t have a pair of child-bearing hips and a ass shaped like a fucking peach like you did. Who was Jennie to keep all of you to herself so selfishly?

“Jungkook,” you softly say, “ ‘m gonna give you a thank you kiss.”

Jungkook laughs in amusement over how proud of yourself you look right now, he finds himself shaking his head and speaking in a lower pitched tone, “Yeah, where? Right here?” He turns his face to stick his cheek out.

A tiny little giggle escapes your lips as you nod at him, “Mm-hmm, right there.” You lean upwards to kiss his cheek gently, emitting a soft smacking noise as you happily smooch him. “There.” You say more to yourself.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to your jiggly boobs which are pretty much in his face at this point. Your camisole somehow dips lower as your tits sit perfectly pushed together to accentuate their size. He tells himself not to but his dick seems to say otherwise as it stirs up in the confinements of his boxers. He already knows he’s about to be sporting a hard-on by the end of this interaction so he gives in.

“Want another kiss..” He mumbles while licking his lips, “But not on my cheek..got somethin’ else you can kiss.”

Your eyes follow his line of sight and you come across the very prominent bulge sitting behind his sweats. Your cheeks feel hot from embarrassment as the familiar throbbing sensation forms between your legs. Jungkook sees this when you suddenly begin rubbing your soft thighs together while staring back at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Whaddya say baby,” he lazily grins, “can I get that kiss?”

You stare back at him with those sweet puppy eyes of yours and nod eagerly.

.

Lips smacking against lips and quiet little moans/noises fill the otherwise dimly lit car (God bless his Mercedes for the interior lighting). You were tucked away on his lap in the backseat of the car, windows foggy and all as your hand slipped from the glass. Jungkook could die a happy man right now with the way he had a handful of ass sitting in the palms of his hands. He gave your soft cheeks appreciative squeezes as he kneaded the flesh roughly—greedily.

His own lips were a bit swollen from the hot make-out session but he didn’t mind, you were one hell of a kisser. One thing he didn’t see coming was how much of a little sex fiend you were, he swears he can’t keep up with how needy and slutty you are. He almost finds it cute how you pout and beg for him to let you have it while simultaneously humping him and refusing to let him part from the kiss.

Jungkook raised his hand and brought it down hard on your ass cheek, relishing in the resounding slap noise and how it recoiled/bounced in place. A slutty little moan escapes your lips as you pull back and pant softly against his lips, “Take ‘em off,” you slur softly, “hate these stupid shorts, gettin’ in my way.” You mumble with a tiny pout.

“Gonna let me see what’s underneath baby?” He looks up through his hooded eyes, grinning when he sees you eagerly nodding back at him, “Yeah? Go on then, slide ‘em off baby, show me what you got on.” He smacks your ass and gropes it harshly, only letting go when you whine at him while unbuttoning your shorts.

He swears under his breath as soon as the button pops open and you slip the zipper down. The hem of your undies comes into view, he sees a tiny bow sitting at the top so innocently and he can’t help but wonder what the rest of your panties are like.. Jungkook reclines back on the seat and parts his legs to make room for you.

You manage to slip your shorts down your thighs slowly with your hips swaying from side to side. Jungkook lets out an audible groan when he sees the cheeky undergarment that was hiding underneath. “Well don’t you look pretty,” he comments while running his hand over your ass, “bet you look prettier under.” He mumbles while licking his lips.

“But what about your kiss?” You pout.

Jungkook smacks your ass wickedly, “Don’t give me that fuckin’ pout. Didn’t know you were that eager to suck my cock, ‘s all you’re good for isn’t it baby? Just a dumb little thing who needs her mouth filled huh?” He grins when he hears you moan, “You gonna be a good little cock sleeve for me?”

“The best,” you happily slur, “ ‘m gonna swallow every last drop, promise.”

He finds it endearing when you hold your pinky out to him, and not wanting to be mean he hooks his pinky with yours, “Good girl.” He brings you in for a gentle little smooch, “Gonna ruin that pretty face of yours baby,” he whispers in-between kisses, “get on your knees for me.”

Jungkook finds that he likes how submissive and responsive you are to him, makes it a hundred times sexier in his opinion. You sink to your knees in front of him without missing a beat, you have your hands set over his knees as you sit there waiting with puppy eyes. “Go ahead baby, ‘s all yours.” He chuckles.

You eagerly paw at his sweats and with his help pull them down alongside his boxers until his fat cock is springing out and slapping against his lower abdomen. Your mouth waters when your eyes land on his perfectly sculpted cock, now you wanna feel it inside of you more than ever. His cock lays against his stomach, flush at the tip with prominent veins on the underside of his shaft.

“ ‘s mine…?” You whisper breathily while pursing yours lips, “ ‘s so pretty..” You’re talking more to yourself as you grab ahold of his throbbing cock and bring the mushroomy tip to your lips. Your tongue pokes out as you swirl it over the head, moaning softly at the tangy taste.

Jungkook bites down on his lip as he watches with hooded eyes, he can’t believe his wet dreams are coming true. Did he save an entire country in his past life? Made sense with how lucky he was right now. He brings his tattooed hand over the back of your head as he simply rests it there, letting you explore his dick like if it was a lollipop or some shit.

Your lips wrap around the head as you make these sloppy little sucking noises. Trickles of saliva begin to trickle down his cock, you use it as lube to stroke his girthy shaft—twisting and turning your hand around it while you noisily swallow around the tip. Jungkook’s lips part with breathy sighs escaping him, he relaxes into the seat and leans his head back with his eyes slipped shut.

You’re working wonders on his cock right now with the way you’re slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth. “Like that,” he whispers more to himself as he moans out again when you dip your tongue into the sensitive slit of his tip. Your strokes become slower but much more intense with the pressure you start applying. It’s getting a lot harder now to control himself from bucking his hips or something.

“Shit, don’t tease me baby,” he groans, “been thinking about your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock for weeks now. Knew you’d look pretty with a mouth full of cock.” Jungkook opens his eyes again to admire the view. “Open up for me baby,” he reaches down to thumb at your lower lip, “there you go—like that.” He grins.

He feeds you more of his cock watching as you eagerly take more and more until the tip hits the back of your throat. It sends you into a small gagging fit but the vibrations and pressure of your throat closing around him definitely sends zaps of hot pleasure down in his groin and lower belly. “Shit.” He groans loudly.

You whine around his cock and pull away to catch your breath, his cock slips from your mouth with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. Jungkook hisses quietly under his breath and reaches down to stroke his slicked up cock, “Messy little thing you are.”

“Off, off, ‘s my turn.” You huff cutely before swallowing his cock in one go now that you’re a bit more prepared.

It takes Jungkook by surprise as he groans loudly and throws his head back. You begin working wonders with that sinful tongue of yours, pairing it with some mean ass sucks. He lets his hand slip from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, just holding you there as he lets you do your thing. You begin bobbing your head slowly while noisily swallowing around his cock.

“Fucking hell y/n,” he whispers slack-jawed, you’re a damn menace. How the hell is he supposed to last? “You just needed something to fill that needy hole of yours didn’t you?” He pants softly, “Knew the moment I saw you that you were made for my cock baby. If only you could see yourself now.” He licks his lips and gives your neck a small gentle squeeze between his fingers.

You slurp up all the slick you leave behind on his cock, your hand sits at the base just idly gripping him while your mouth does all the work. You pull all the way up until the tip sits in your mouth before you swoop back down to take all of him in. He repeatedly hits the back of your throat but you do a much better job at controlling your gag reflex this time around. Your sloppy pace definitely has Jungkook moaning and grunting under his breath.

“Gonna cum,” he sighs, “keep going—like that.” He whispers as a full body shudder falls over him.

You eagerly pull off his cock and begin stroking him at a frantic pace. You watch with glee as his cock begins to throb in your hold, but you don’t let it deter you one bit. You’re eager to see him cum, you want it all in your mouth. “Like this?” You say this while squeezing around the tip and flicking your thumb over it.

Jungkook gasps softly, “Fuck..!” He hisses.

You smile deviously and bring the tip over your lips, “Or like this?” You whisper, blowing softly over his sensitive head before you take him back into your mouth.

Jungkook lets out a mantra of “fucks” and “yes’s” as he reaches down to grip his cock, his hand covers your own as he begins moving your hand up and down on his cock. You suckle at the head and watch as he comes undone. “Oh fuckkk..” He whispers as his cock throbs, cum shooting down your throat as you swallow around him greedily.

He slumps in the seat and pants quietly while watching you clean his dick with your sinful little tongue. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that hard in his entire life before. He saw the pearly white gates of heaven just now.. “A-Ah shit, no more baby, ‘s sensitive.” He chuckles breathily when you try to suck on his (slowly softening) cock.

You pull back with a cheerful smile on your face, the corner of your mouth has drool and a bit of cum but you don’t seem to mind, “ ‘s so pretty.” You coo like his dick is the most amazing thing ever, he watches you lean over to press a tiny little kiss to the sensitive head.

Are you even real??

“C’mere,” he pats his lap, “I saw the way you were humping your own hand like a bitch in heat the entire time you had my cock in your mouth.” He says as he hauls you up, “You also deserve a nice little thank you, don’t you baby?” He grins while stroking his hands over your soft cheeks.

You nod eagerly, “Mm-hm,” you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, “do you wanna come upstairs after this? I wanna introduce you to my bunny Luna! Oh, and we can watch some anime together because I think it’s lame you haven’t seen Sailor Moon OR Death Note.” You huff in disbelief.

Little did Jungkook know that by saying yes to all that he’d end up staying for wayyyyy longer than he initially planned. You becoming (a important) part of his life was a bonus. <3

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111

[iamyoursonly]

Childhood Best Friend (16/07/2024)

turns out my bakugo obsession wasn’t over so i’m writing him to feed my delusions because I saw this one line on tumblr and I had to write a whole story about it; i wrote this at 2 AM so it’s not the most creative hehe but bear with me

1.5k words — unedited

The thought of having a childhood best friend that you can keep in contact with really drives me insane, not in a bad way though, because it’s the kind of friendship that I crave. I have no idea how much time both parties dedicate to each other to maintain a relationship for this long, and I might be jealous of some of my friends because they have this and mine isn’t as ideal as I hope it was.

“Katsu?” My five-year-old self say, “Would you marry me when we grow up?”

The crimson eyed boy looked at me, holding out that ring pop he’s been eating for a while now and basically finished, “If you’ll have me that is.”

According to his mom, I went around kindergarten holding his hand and calling him “my husband katsu” for a while, and he was always around to protect me when kids doubted what I said. He’d beat them up or threaten them with his explosions saying, “You’re all just jealous that you’re not her, but too bad she’s my wife now so piss off.”

I was always around him and he was always around me, we were literally stuck to the bone.

“Katsu, someone told me I was ugly is that true?” I cried in his arms for the first time when I was six, and he rubbed my head and let me cry it out.

“Whoever told you that must have no taste, you’re breathtaking.” He says.

“What does ‘breaktaking’ mean?” I say.

“Breathtaking. It means you’re so pretty you take someone’s breath away.” He smiles, “I’m also beating them up for putting this nonsense in your head. No one messes with my wife.”

“Don’t beat them up though, please?” I look at him, and his rubs my head and nod.

This all disappeared when I had to leave to move away because my parents found a better job. I held onto his hand and begged my parents to let me stay with him and his family, he also begged, claiming he doesn’t want to be apart from “his wife”.

“Don’t forget me, Katsu.” I start sobbing, “I really don’t want to leave.”

“Can’t you stay?” He asks, red staining his eyes because of the crying he has been doing.

“I can’t, they’re not letting me.” I hold his hand harder, “Promise we’ll meet again?”

“Let’s become heroes together. I’ll become number one and you’ll be alongside me.” He squeezes my hand back. “Let’s meet at UA.”

“Promise?” I ask.

“Promise.”

We pinky promised before my parents shoved me into the car and drove away.

“Hit harder, you’re not doing it right!” My coach screams at me. “Okay, take a break you’re not thinking.”

I sit on the ground, stripping off my boxing gear then throwing them to the ground, “Fuck.” How am I going to be good enough to catch up to him? He’s gifted, hardworking and talented. It’s not possible to be on the same level as him without training harder, and I’m not even hitting right…

“I’m done, let me do it again!” I say to my coach, who’s wiping the pads I’ve been hitting. She smiles and signals me to start. I throw I few punches at her, then a few kicks, and some more punches. “That’s the spirit, young lady!” She says as I throw more kicks at her.

“Good work today,” She pats my shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

I smile at her before packing my bags and leaving, stretching a bit before I take a taxi home to revise for tomorrow morning’s tests. I take out the small notebook I keep in my bag and start memorizing some main points from the book, “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” I whisper.

I manage to get a taxi, I get in and sit down and continue studying. After a while, I look out of the window, slowly rolling down the glass after getting the driver’s permission. Feeling the night air against my face, I start to feel home sick. It’s been ten years since I left Japan, and I’ve been doing everything he would just so I can get in UA. And I miss him so much.

“Congratulations! You’re accepted into UA high school, we’re looking forward to seeing you on our first day!“

I scream at this news before telling my parents and they were overjoyed also. They willingly bought me plane tickets back to Japan and even called Katsuki’s family to have them take care of me for the mean time, in which they agreed to. And all I could think about that night was how happy he would be when he sees me again.

He was not happy, at least I don’t think he is. He has this scowl over his face and he’s gotten so tall and buff since ten years ago.

“You’re that loser girl I hung out with? I literally have no fuckin’ memory of you since you’re so fuckin’ insignificant to me.”

Wow. He’s definitely changed so much.

“Katsu, I kept my promise, I got into UA and now I’m back.” I say.

“So? What do you want me to say? Congrats? Yeah no shit, everyone craves validation when it comes to me.” He says, “Congrats loser, for making the bare minimum to get in like it’s fuckin’ challenging.”

Okay he’s just rude now, where was that sweet old Katsuki I missed. So I just rolled my eyes at him and went to their guest room to settle down. In which Mitsuki welcomed me with a whole party that Katsuki was not happy about.

New school year, new me. I wear my UA uniform, ready for a new school year with more fun and joy every year. Until some weird guy stopped me and Katsuki on our way to school.

“Hey girlie, you look so fine you should be called mine. Wanna go out with me?” He winks, and I cringed at him. Katsuki full on glared at him, looking pissed.

“She doesn’t wanna fuckin’ go out with you, why would she downgrade herself for a fucker like you?” Katsuki grabbed my hand and started leaving.

He told him off for me. He cares.

“Why are you even helping that whore?” That weirdo asked Katsuki, and he glared daggers into him.

“No one can say that to her when I’m around, say that again and you’ll lose your dick.” Katsuki threatens him again and wraps his arms around my waist.

He turns to me, his face so close to mine before he says, “Let’s go.”

Since when was his face so masculine and defined. He definitely had a big glow up because how could one be so breathtaking?

“Katsu.” I say, “What was that for? Thought you hated me.”

“Still do, but only I can degrade you.” He answers.

“Possessive much?” I joke, but I could feel his grip on my waist tighten. So I just shut up and walk with him.

When we got home that day, Mitsuki made us fried chicken and some extra spicy mapo tofu (katsu’s favourite).

“Remember when the two of you got married when you were five? Katsuki gave you his ring pop after you asked him if he’d marry you and he said something like ‘if you’ll have me’? Oh goodness I remember it like it was yesterday.” She chuckled with her husband as Katsuki and I stared at each other awkwardly.

“Shut up you old hag.” Katsuki says, his ears red, “I’m going back to my room.”

Before he leaves the table, he drags me with him and we enter his room before he locks the door.

“So,” He starts, “What now?”

I look at him, “You dragged me in, you tell me.”

“It’s nothing I just needed a break from them.” He shrugged, “It’s not like I’m fuckin’ embarrassed of us or anything.”

There was a moment of loud silence.

“Katsu,” I break the awkwardness, “Can we like start again?”

“Like what, pretend that you never left me?” He says, his tone sounded like he’s hurt.

“I didn’t want to, and you know it.” I look him in the eye, and he keeps the eye contact.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much and now you’re here,” He puts his head on my shoulder, basically whispering into my ear, “I hate how you’re my weak spot and how I can’t properly get over you even though we were basically children.”

“Katsuki, listen.” I hold his face and he’s so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.

“Yeah?” He looks at me, features softening.

“Be my boyfriend, Katsuki.” I murmured softly, “For real this time. I swear the only person I’ve loved is you.”

He laughed out loud, “Thought we were married all along, wifey.”

I hug him tight and he speaks, “Don’t leave me again okay?”

“Promise.” I chuckled, “Also you need to get me another ring, I might have left the ring pop with my family.”

“You silly bitch. You’re lucky I love you.” He gently smacks me.

“And I love you too.” I smile.

…“And now, I pronounce the two of you husband and wife.”

Maybe this childhood best friend thing that I had wasn’t that bad either, seeing how we have two children together right now makes me smile at our memories together as a child. My breathtaking childhood best friend and the pro hero Dynamight that I could call my husband until the end of time.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter Seven

A/N: again, temporary shitty formatting, will go back and fix tonight. Let me know how you feel about this because I feel like it's just... idk edited bad? A little disjointed? IDK. Would also love some feedback on how everyone is doing with the mega-chapters- hate it, love it?

Series Masterlist

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Max should be relaxed. This- the sun, the open water, the lazy sway of the yacht beneath him- is everything he loves. Everything he worked for. Everything that’s supposed to make all the bullshit worth it.

He shifts slightly, just enough to lie flat on his back- the cushion molding to his body, designed for peak comfort, peak relaxation, peak fuck you money. He should be enjoying it. He wants to be enjoying it. The sky above is a ridiculous shade of blue, the kind that looks fake in pictures, and the only sound should be the occasional splash of water against the hull, the low hum of the engines idling beneath deck.

But he’s not.

He props himself up on one elbow, pushing his sunglasses down his nose just enough to squint across the deck. Jos’s iPad is blaring through its shitty little speakers, cutting through the peace with the sharp, mechanical sound of an engine at full tilt. Max doesn’t even need to look to know what it is.

It’s her.

Not her, exactly. But the sound of her voice, the revs of her engine, the way Jos keeps narrating her fucking onboard like he’s a commentator watching a championship-defining lap.

Jos is sitting there, completely transfixed, eyes narrowed in that way he gets when he’s properly impressed by something. The onboard from her rally. Her first ever rally in a Verstappen.com car, and Jos has it cranked up loud enough that Max can hear every gear change, every throttle feather, every sharp inhale through her radio.

It’s all he’s been doing. LeChriste this, LeChriste that. Her sector times. Her throttle application. Her ability to adapt to a completely different style of driving with barely any prep. Ever since she showed up at Spa, since she pulled off that miracle debut and then landed herself under Jos’s roof for the summer break, her name has been coming up over and over and over again. In conversation. In analysis. In comparisons Max never fucking asked for.

Jos talks about her like she’s the best fucking thing since power steering, and it’s starting to drive Max insane. It’s the way Jos sounds when he talks about her. There’s something there- pride, approval, something that Max has spent years chasing and has only ever gotten in fractions. And now, here it is, spilling out unchecked over a girl who’s been in their orbit for all of five minutes.

Max is used to his dad talking about other drivers. Criticizing them, usually. Or, occasionally, begrudgingly admitting when someone’s done something particularly impressive. But this? This is different. Jos isn’t just impressed. He’s... invested. Like she's is some kind of prodigy he’s just discovered, like Max is supposed to be taking notes instead of relaxing on his own damn vacation.

He shifts, trying to sink deeper into the lounger, trying to let the sun soak into him and drown out the sound, but the juxtaposition is all wrong- too much heat in his chest, too much irritation curling under his skin. It’s not that Max disagrees. She’s good. More than good. He’s seen enough himself to know she’s sharp, instinctive, ruthless in her precision.

That’s not the point. The point is that Jos won’t fucking shut up about her.

Max should be used to this- his father latching onto some new project, some new fixation, talking in circles about potential and raw talent, about work ethic and hunger and how rare it is to find someone who really, really wants it.

But this feels different. Because it’s not just the praise. It’s the contrast.

Max knows exactly what’s happening, even if Jos doesn’t spell it out. The way he talks about her in front of Max isn’t just admiration. It’s a fucking shift. Like something is being reallocated, rerouted, redirected- approval, attention, investment. Things that Max has spent his whole life starving for, things he’s fought for, bled for, won for. Things that Jos only ever doles out in precise, measured increments.

But the words keep reaching him, carried over by the lazy sea breeze. The way she commits to the throttle, no hesitation- real control, real talent- instinctive, like she just knows where the grip is going to be before the car even tells her- 

It’s stupid. It’s fucking stupid. It doesn’t even have logic behind it. He’s not losing anything. He’s Max fucking Verstappen- he’s fine. He’s better than fine. He’s winning.

She’s some rookie. Some no-name wildcard they threw into the deep end and who, yeah, sure, did fine for herself, but- so what? Plenty of drivers have had a good debut race. Plenty of drivers have shown potential.

But Jos is talking like she’s something special. Like she’s something rare, something worth nurturing, something that deserves his attention, investment, time. Not from RedBull, or an Indy Team, or from the rally crew- Jos’s attention. And that- that- is the part that sits wrong.

Because Max has spent his entire life scraping for every ounce of attention, every inch of approval, every goddamn breadcrumb of acknowledgment. It has never been handed to him freely. Not once. Not even when he was seventeen, when he was doing things no one else his age had even attempted, when he was proving himself on a stage far bigger than any kid had any right to be on. Even then, even after all of it, there was always more to do, always more to prove, always the expectation that he was still falling short of what he should be.

And yet.

Jos is sitting there on the other side of the deck, speaking about some girl- some newcomer- with the kind of casual admiration Max has spent his whole life bleeding for. And maybe it’s not rational, maybe it’s not even fair, but it doesn’t fucking sit right with him.

“Listen to this,” Jos calls, rewinding a section of the video. “The way she handles the weight transfer through this hairpin- smooth as hell. And her time- decimated the women’s class,” Jos continues, and Max already knows where this is going, “would have put her top twenty overall. Against world-level men. And that’s with four years away from rally.”

“Fantastic,” Max mutters, not even hiding the sarcasm. “Maybe you should adopt her.”

Jos rewinds again. 

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The water is punishment.

It’s not leisure, not relaxation, not some luxurious indulgence in the middle of a summer break that barely feels real. It’s a means to an end- an outlet, a discipline, a place to put all the restless energy that would otherwise consume you.

You cut through the pool like a blade, pushing your body until your muscles scream for relief, until your lungs burn with the effort. The water resists you, but you don’t yield. You push harder, kicking off the wall, flipping into another lap, willing yourself to stay in motion because the alternative is stillness, and stillness means thinking.

And thinking is starting to become dangerous.

The first thing that strikes you about Jos’s estate is the silence. Not just the absence of noise, but the kind of cultivated, deliberate quiet that feels designed to make you self-conscious for existing too loudly. Every footstep you take on the polished floors seems to ripple outward, like you’re disturbing the air itself.

It’s sleek. Minimalistic to the point of sterility. Expansive windows, impossibly clean surfaces, not a single item out of place. It’s the kind of house you’d see in a luxury design magazine, all angles and expensive materials and perfectly curated furniture. But there’s nothing comfortable about it. You can’t imagine curling up on one of the pristine sofas with a bag of chips or leaving a coffee mug on the counter without feeling like you’ve committed some kind of crime.

This is not a house built for a family with small children.

It’s the opposite of home.

At home, on the ranch, there’s always something happening. Music playing somewhere- an old country station drifting out of the kitchen radio, or your dad gently playing his upright during the winter. Blankets draped over the couch, dog hair on the floor, the faint smell of dinner lingering long after the meal’s been eaten. Someone is always yelling, or laughing, or arguing over something stupid and irrelevant. The coffee table has rings from too many iced teas set down without coasters, and the fridge is covered in drawings, wedding invitations, and passive-aggressive notes about who used the last of the milk and put the carton back. 

This house has none of that.

It feels like a showroom. Not a home anyone actually lives in.

Jos is rarely seen, though you’re not sure if that’s because the house is too big and you refuse to go wandering around like some nosy guest- or if he’s genuinely not here much. You don’t ask. You just make yourself small, sticking to the one guest room you were given, keeping your things neatly confined to one side of it like you’re afraid spreading out might get you evicted.

His wife, Sandy, and their two little kids- kids you’ve only heard about in passing- are ghosts. You don’t see them, don’t hear them. There’s no trace of them in the halls, no toys underfoot, no fingerprints on the windows. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Jos lived alone.

It leaves you disoriented, this strange purgatory you’ve landed in. You’re a guest- but a guest with a job to do. You’re part of this family’s life- but not really. You’re in the house- but you don’t feel like you belong in it.

It makes you ache for the mess of home. For your mom yelling at your brother from the front porch. For the cluttered kitchen table where you could dump your boots and your bag without anyone batting an eye. For the knowledge that even if you fucked up, even if you crashed the truck or broke a fence or left the horse water on for two-goddamn-days, there would still be a place for you at the table at dinner.

Here, you’re not sure if you’re even allowed to breathe too hard. So you breathe quietly. You stay out of the way. You do your job. And in the absence of all that noise -  the team, the travel, the sheer adrenaline of the race -  you were left with nothing but this house.

This too-perfect, too-big, too-clean house. It’s the opposite of home, and after the first week, you stop trying to make yourself fit. You withdraw, pulling yourself inward until you’re nothing but a tightly wound knot of need and fear and simmering grief.

This doesn’t feel like a fever dream anymore.

It feels real. And it feels lonely.

So you do what you always do when the world feels too big and you feel too small -  you work harder.

You trained like you’re trying to outrun the silence. Long runs through the private trails that snake around the property, your feet pounding against the dirt until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. Weight circuits in the sterile home gym, counting reps like prayers. You threw yourself into the sim like it’s a lifeline, lap after lap after lap until you couldn’t feel your hands, until your back locked up from the seat.

And the media room? The one with the absurdly large television and the fancy built-in sound system no one uses? You commandeered it. It took you nearly a week to strike up the nerve to use a piece of tape on the concrete wall, but when nobody notices, well, game on. 

It had become your war room -  screens glowing with onboard footage, data sheets pinned to the walls by the dozens, your notebook spread open across the coffee table like a sacred text. You track every lap, every sector time, every weather pattern that might affect a future race.

You studied Max, Pierre, Yuki, Checo -  everyone who’s touched a Red Bull or AlphaTauri in the last five years, because that’s the data you have best access to. Used every publicly available resource to reverse engineer the drives of the rest of the grid- likes, dislikes, the way they behave when you breathe down their neck. You built profiles like dossiers, not because anyone asked you to, but because it’s the only way you know how to cope.

You can’t afford to let this house, this silence, this emptiness swallow you whole.

Because if you stop -  even for a second -  you’re afraid you’ll have to actually feel everything you’ve lost.

Beyond the trianing, the studying, the past two weeks had passed in a blur so muted it’s hard to call them memories. It’s like you’re sleepwalking through someone else’s life -  inhabiting a body that isn’t quite yours, in a house that definitely isn’t yours, orbiting a family you only ever catch glimpses of. You know, logically, that you must have interacted with Jos when he was home, with Sandy and the kids when they drifted into your periphery, but none of it sticks. The details smear like rain on a windshield.

Your mom calls often- her voice cutting through the heavy quiet of your room, a lifeline back to something real. You let her talk, let her fill the space with questions you don’t always have the answers to, let her remind you that there’s a world outside of this strange, sterile limbo you’ve trapped yourself in.

You practice interviews, run through talking points until they blur together, until you can recite them without thinking, until you don’t have to feel anything when you say them. You give a few real ones, too- stiff and overly rehearsed in front of your laptop camera, forcing your mouth to stretch into smiles that never quite reach your eyes.

And then there’s Illinois. The friends you left behind when you peeled out of Dale Coyne’s garage for the last time. The life you abandoned so abruptly it still doesn’t feel entirely real. They packed it up for you- your entire existence reduced to eight large boxes, shipped off to the ranch like you had died and left them to sort through the remains.

You have no intention of going back. No reason to.

Illinois had been fine. But you hadn’t particularly liked it. It had been convenient, that was all- an unfortunate necessity dictated by a contract. And now? Now, you’re not a Dale Coyne driver anymore. You’re not a driver at all, technically.

That version of you- the one who compromised and shrunk and swallowed her pride to make it work- is dead. But there’s nothing triumphant about it. No blaze of glory. No catharsis.

Just a slow, unceremonious burial.

The water muffles everything -  sound, thought, even time. You’ve long since lost count of how many laps you’ve done, working on pure autopilot, pulling yourself through each length of the pool like it might save you. Your muscles burn, lungs tight, but you love that. You need that.

You flip at the wall, streamline into another lap, and when your face breaks the surface, you suck in a breath and- 

Jesus fucking Christ.

Jos Verstappen is standing at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, looming like a goddamn specter in his own backyard.

Your body reacts before your brain does- shoulders jerking, legs kicking out a little harder than necessary. You swallow a yelp, nearly inhaling water instead, and spend the next few seconds choking as you tread in place, blinking up at him in disbelief. How does a man that large move that quietly? Why does he move that quietly? Had he been standing there the whole time? Just watching?

You wipe water from your face, forcing yourself to settle, but it’s not just that he scared you- it’s that look. That impossible-to-read, mildly disapproving, permanently unimpressed look he always seems to wear, like he’s perpetually finding the world just slightly inadequate. You haven’t seen him in days- long enough to start assuming that was just how things worked in this house, long enough to get used to his absence. And now, out of nowhere, this.

God, Dutch people are so unsettling.

You grew up in America, where small talk is a sport; raced in the South, where politeness is practically a religion. In Texas, even the people who hate you smile when they pass by- hell, especially the people who hate you. Here? Not so much. Jos looks at you like you’re a project car someone left rusting in his driveway. Like you might have potential, but you’ll probably just disappoint him. And he’s saving himself the trouble of getting attached.

You open your mouth, trying to decide between hello and Jesus Christ, a little warning next time, but Jos speaks first. “Dinner.” His voice is flat as concrete. “Six o’clock. Family table. Be there.” There’s no question in his tone, no invitation. It’s a command. A summoning.

And just like that, he turns and walks off, disappearing back into the house without another word, leaving you blinking chlorinated water out of your eyes. That’s it? No explanation? No further details? No casual Hey, we eat together sometimes, thought you might want to join?

Just an edict, dropped at the edge of the pool like a brick through a windshield. Your arms ache as you tread water, your mind racing faster than your pulse. After three weeks of being ignored, of feeling like an unwelcome ghost in this house, you’re suddenly being called to the table like a member of the family. Except you know- you know- you’re not.

This isn’t hospitality. This isn’t warmth.

This is something else.

You pull yourself out of the pool, water rolling off your skin, and stand there for a moment, toes curling against the tile, wondering what the hell you’ve just been invited to. You mull it over as you towel off and slip back to your room- quietly, always quietly- for a shower.

You stand in the vast, spotless bathroom, steam curling out of the shower as it warms, towel clutched in one hand. You stare at your reflection like the answers might be written somewhere in the fogged-up mirror. Family dinner. What the hell does that even mean here? In this house, where silence feels like the default setting, where everything from the marble floors to the air itself feels staged, deliberate, untouchable.

Family dinner back home meant something entirely different- melamine plates around the kitchen peninsula, your brother in a dirty t-shirt, your mom threatening to stab someone with a fork if they tried to eat before grace. Laughter that got too loud, bickering that somehow always circled back to love. It meant elbows on the table and phones face-down. It meant warmth, mess, familiarity.

Here? Family dinner feels like an ambush.

You mull over what to wear as you rinse the chlorine out. Something that seems put together without trying too hard, probably. First order of business when you had got here was your several loads of laundry- Nomex in its own load, casual clothes in another, your scant selection of blouses and a single set of trousers in another. None of it really seems right. 

You mom, bless her, had packed up a box for you the moment she had found out you were staying. It showed up on the doorstep of the Verstappen house this morning. There’s got to be something in there. 

You peel the tape on the lid back to reveal neatly folded stacks of fabric- soft cotton, well-worn denim, a few crisp button-ups that still faintly smell like the laund- wait. Wait wait wait. The second you spot the familiar, glorious, eye-searing purple bag peeking out from the pile of clothes your mom sent, all rational thought evaporates.

Taki’s. Holy fucking shit.

You barely get the towel cinched around yourself before you’re tearing into the package, fingers already itching with the promise of neon-red dust and salt and heat. You’d known your mother would come through for you- she always does- but this? This is divine intervention. This is a goddamn oasis of flavor in the middle of this bland, minimalist, Dutch penitentiary.

You grab a handful, practically shoving the rolled chips into your mouth, and the moment that neon-red dust hits your tongue, it’s transcendent.

The first crunch is loud in the silence of your guest room, shattering against your teeth, setting every taste bud on fire in the best way possible. The tang of artificial lime burns the sides of your tongue, the heat from the chili powder kicks in a second later, and you actually moan. Like, audibly. The kind of sound that should only ever be made in response to something significantly more R-rated than processed corn snacks.

You don’t care.

You don’t care that you’re curled up on the edge of your too-pristine, too-expensive guest bed, fingers already stained nuclear red, demolishing this bag like a woman starved. Because you are. You’re starved for home, for anything remotely familiar, for something that doesn’t feel polished and muted and cold.

Dutch food, you’ve discovered, is the culinary equivalent of being scolded. Plain. Disciplined. A diet that seems fundamentally opposed to the concept of joy. It’s all soft cheeses and boiled potatoes and bread so dense it could be classified as a weapon. Even their seasonings are hesitant, cautious little dashes of salt that taste more like a vague suggestion than an actual decision. You’d decided about day three that you’d prefer to stick to your own brand of flavorless- endless chicken and rice, meal prepped in bulk, because while it might not be interesting, it at least hasn’t been boiled within an inch of it’s life. 

But this?

This is your Guy-Fieri-style homecoming to Flavortown. 

You groan, sagging against the headboard, shoving another chip into your mouth before you’ve even fully swallowed the last one. The heat builds in layers, stacking onto your tongue, your throat, the back of your sinuses. You revel in it, licking the neon dust from your fingertips, already reaching for more.

You should slow down, pace yourself- but fuck that. Fuck everything. You’ve been so good- so fucking composed, so perfectly polite and professional, walking around this house like a ghost, keeping your head down, keeping your mouth shut, keeping yourself from going fucking insane in this brutalistic hellscape of a home. You have earned this. This one indulgence.

And it is indulgent. Almost obscene, the way you’re devouring them, heat prickling across your lips, your fingers a crime scene of red dust. You think, absurdly, that if you were ever going to have a food orgasm, this would be it.

Your stomach clenches from the sheer force of spice, from the ruthless combination of acid and heat- but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. You fold the bag over, shaking it so the broken chips and extra seasoning settle at the bottom, then tip it back, letting it all spill onto your tongue in a final, sadistic burst of glory.

By the time you’re done, your lips are tingling, your tongue practically vibrating, and your face feels a little hot- but for the first time in weeks, you feel alive.

You suck every last whisper of flavor from your fingers before you start thumbing through the rest of the box. A little, nagging part of you holds out hope you might find another bag but- no such luck.

Your mom had known to keep it light, to keep it easy. A few casual pieces, things you can throw on without thinking, things that might make you feel a little less like a stranger in your own life. Your fingers skim over the top layer, brushing against the sharp pleats of something unexpected. You pause, grip tightening as you lift it from the pile, neat folds of tightly-woven wool unfolding in your hands.

The suit.

You hadn’t asked her to send it. You hadn’t even thought about it.

But of course she had.

The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips, structured but comfortable, tailored perfectly to your body- a suit that means business, that means you belong in the room, that means they will take you seriously whether they want to or not.

If she sent this, that means…

You set the jacket and pants aside carefully, even years later still painfully aware of exactly how much they cost, and dig to the bottom of the box. There- about halfway down, your fingers scrape hard plastic, and you dump the box out over the bed entirely. It clatters out- bulky, beat up and scuffed- just how you remember. Your hat case. It might be faded and scuffed from getting tossed into the belly of planes, traines, and rental cars- but what’s inside is in perfect condition. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

Your fingers trail over the brim, the felt impossibly smooth beneath your touch, softer than anything you have any business owning. It’s flawless- pure beaver felt, crisp, perfect. A 40X cowboy hat. The kind of hat that turns heads when you walk into a room, the kind that means something in places where handshakes and deals are made under wide brims and a big sky. The shop smells like leather and cedar, rich and warm, and the weight of your parents’ presence beside you is both steadying and unbearable.

Your dad doesn’t answer immediately. He just nods toward the mirror. “Try it on.”

You hesitate, then do as you’re told, settling the hat onto your head. It fits like it was made for you, which- well, it will be. The hatmaker is watching, assessing, already planning whatever adjustments will be needed to make it perfect.

“It’s too much,” you say quietly.

"Doll," she says, voice quiet but firm, the way it always is when she’s already decided how this is going to go. "All good business in Texas happens under a 40X."

"I’m not gonna be in Texas," you argue, running your thumb over the ribbon on another hat, something cheaper, less significant. You don’t even know why you’re fighting it, not really. Maybe because it feels too nice, too permanent, too much like something you don’t deserve. 

Your mom’s mouth presses into a thin line.  She’s always been the picture of effortless presence, of someone who belongs anywhere she chooses to be. You’ve spent your whole life studying that about her, trying to learn how to command a room without raising your voice, how to make people want to listen, to follow. But right now, there’s something else in her expression. Something heavy. Something sad.

You know why she’s sad. She won’t say it outright, but you know. Texas isn’t just some place they picked at whim to start your junior career. It not even the closest major junior circuit to home. It didn’t matter that it was almost ten hours more of driving than the California circuit would have been. 

Because, to her, it’s not just a stepping stone, the way it was for you. It’s roots. Her roots. It’s where she grew up, where she met your dad, where some of her family still is. Even if Washington is home, Texas is still something. Still a piece of her. 

This is the place where she always knew someone would be watching out for you, where she could trust that even if she wasn’t there, someone else would be.

And what good did that do?

What did any of it fucking do, when it mattered most?

"Then you’ll just have to take Texas with you," she says.

Your dad finally shifts beside you, rolling his shoulders like the weight of the last few months has settled in there permanently, but he doesn’t say much. He never does in times like these. Still- he’s there, beside you, quiet and steady as ever. He lifts one off the rack, gives it a little test bend between his hands, then sets it on your head with the kind of gentleness that makes your throat tight.

"How’s that feel?" he asks.

It feels like too much. Like more than you deserve.

"You should spend the money on something else."

Your mom tsks. "Something else isn’t going to sit square on your head and remind people exactly where you come from."

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat.

"It’s too much," you try again, softer this time. "You should save it. For- "

"For what?" your father cuts in, leveling you with one of those quiet, steady looks that makes you feel six again, standing in front of him with skinned knees and hands too small to hold all the things you wanted. "This is yours." His voice is steady, but there’s something else beneath it, something he doesn’t quite say. You deserve this. You deserve nice things. You deserve to be proud of what you’ve done.

You shake your head, staring at the hat, willing yourself not to feel too much. This isn’t a happy time. There are things none of you talk about, things that sit heavy in the spaces between words. But you know what this is. Because it’s not just a hat, not just a purchase- it’s them telling you that you belong to something bigger than whatever is waiting for you in Florida. That no matter how far you go, you are still theirs.

You exhale, staring at both pieces, feeling something tighten in your chest. You know exactly what this means. It’s not a sentimental gesture. It’s not just in case. It’s a statement. If you’re going to be here- if you’re going to play in this world- you better be prepared to play for real.

Your mom knows you. She knows how this business works. And she sure as hell isn’t about to let you stand around looking lost while decisions get made around you. She’s going to wrap you in armour made of crisp beaver felt and sharp wool suits and remind you that you get to make some decisions your goddamn self.  You swallow, smoothing a hand over the fabric, a quiet, careful movement. 

Alright. You don’t know what’s coming next, when this meeting in your future might be, the lions that you’ll need to tame in your full regalia. But whenever it is?

You’ll be ready.

Not yet. Not tonight. You try to redirect your thoughts, away from happy-sad memories and expensive suits and towards your more immediately daunting task. Ah, yes. Family dinner. 

You settle on something softer, something that might pass for vaguely European- wide-leg linen trousers and a matching button-up tank top in a muted, earthy color. It feels appropriate, even if you have no actual reference point for what appropriate means in this house.

You twist your hair up at the nape of your neck, leaving it loose enough to not look too polished. A little mascara, a swipe of something on your lips so you don’t look like a corpse. That’s it.

You step back from the mirror, assessing yourself like you’re about to walk into an interview you didn’t apply for. It’s not perfect. But it’s presentable. Polished enough to look like you respect the invitation- casual enough to look like you didn’t overthink it. Even though you absolutely did.

You press your hands down the front of your trousers, exhaling slow. Okay. 

The moment you step into the dining room, you know something is off.

The table is set like it’s expecting a guest of honor- fresh stems in the vase, linen napkins folded with crisp, deliberate precision, silverware arranged just so. It’s formal in a way that dinner in this house never is, and for a brief, unsettling moment, you think maybe you missed something. A birthday? An anniversary? Some obscure European holiday?

And then you see him.

Max.

He’s at the far end of the table, leaning back in his chair with the kind of casual slouch that reads more like defensive position than comfort, his phone loose in his grip, thumb idly scrolling. He doesn’t acknowledge you, doesn’t even look up, but the set of his shoulders, the hard angle of his jaw, tells you everything you need to know.

He doesn’t want to be here. Neither do you.

And Kelly? Nowhere to be seen. The kids aren’t here, either. Just Sandy, calm and composed as ever, and Jos, who looks entirely too pleased with himself.

You keep your expression schooled, slipping into the perfect, polite mask your mother taught you to wear in rooms full of powerful men. You step into the role without thinking, automatically plating your own meal- prepped, measured, balanced to the gram, like every other meal you eat during race weeks. You don’t like imposing, and you’ve already learned the hard way that Dutch food is, for lack of a better term, shit.

As you sprinkle a pinch of salt over your chicken and vegetables, you glance toward Sandy. “No Kelly tonight?”

Jos answers before she can. “Running late.” Like it doesn’t matter.

His tone is dismissive, but you catch the flicker of something in Max’s eyes. He doesn’t look up from his phone, but you see the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers tighten for just a fraction of a second before relaxing again. You’d bet good money Kelly isn’t running late- she’s just avoiding this like the plague.

Honestly? Relatable.

You settle into your seat, hands folded in your lap, offering just the right amount of a smile. Engaged, but not eager. Interested, but not overstepping. You ask the correct questions, offer the appropriate remarks, thank Sandy for the offer of food even though you don’t take any. You play the part like it’s second nature- because it is. 

Jos, though. Jos talks too much. Jos, as it turns out, is feeling chatty.

About you. About Max. About racing and talent and potential and everything you’ve done right so far. It should be flattering. It’s not. It’s suffocating. You try to smile through it, but it’s hard when you’re being held up like some kind of prize for the whole table to examine. Jos goes on and on about your performance, your raw talent, your ability to adapt- he talks like you’re not sitting right there, like you’re a highlight reel instead of a person, something for the entire table to marvel over.

You’re smiling. You don’t know what else to do. It feels wrong, like this is too much, like Jos has never been this nice to you to your face, and you don’t trust it. Not for a second. But you smile anyway, because what the fuck else are you supposed to do?

Sandy, to her credit, seems fine. Not warm, not particularly invested, but not unfriendly either. Just… fine. She asks how you’re adjusting to Europe, to the house, to the endless rain. You get the sense that she’s made her peace with being wallpaper here- present, pleasant, largely ignored.

“She’s meticulous,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you, like presenting a fine piece of craftsmanship. “I’ve never seen a rookie so prepared. Do you know she’s been working on a file for every driver on the grid? Just like the one she showed you on the plane. Every. Single. One.”

You nearly choke on your water, but swallow it down, keeping your expression neutral. Jos doesn’t notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Across the table, Max says nothing, his silence heavy. He doesn’t need to speak. His father is already speaking for him, about him, like he’s not even in the room. If you had to guess, this isn’t the first time Jos has dragged him into one of these elaborate setups under the guise of a family meal.

And then, just when you think it can’t get worse, Jos starts trying to engage him.

“You two actually have a lot in common,” he says, effortlessly sliding the words into the conversation. His voice is casual, like he’s just making an observation, but there’s an edge of purpose to it, a calculation you don’t quite clock. “Same aggressive approach to racing, same work ethic, same hunger.”

Sandy, ever the perfectly unobtrusive presence, offers a quiet smile.  She at least looks mildly aware of how unbearable this conversation is. Not warm, not particularly invested, but not oblivious either. Just… present. A quiet observer, offering nothing more than the occasional nod, the occasional polite smile. A sip of wine. She’s not just used to being wallpaper, you think. She’s used to this. Used to letting Jos speak and letting it pass without protest.

Max still doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hmm.”

Jos doesn’t take the hint. “That’s what makes great drivers, you know,” he continues, cutting into his steak. “Not just talent. But the drive to be ruthless. To push harder than anyone else. Max understands that. And so do you.” He points his knife at you as he says it, like he’s bestowing some kind of great truth upon you.

You nod, polite. “Thank you.”

“Not many have that,” he says, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “Not even half the grid. Plenty of drivers are fast. But they don’t all want it enough.”

Max’s fork clinks against his plate, the first sound he’s made in minutes. “Uh-huh.”

Jos either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between the two of you like he’s waiting for something to click. “You two should talk more. You could learn from each other.”

You blink. You are talking. You’ve been sitting at the same table, enduring the same conversation, existing in the same fucking space. But that’s not what he means. You can hear it in his tone. He’s pushing something, steering toward some invisible objective.

You try not to let your discomfort show. You are so good at this- at smiling when you don’t mean it, at playing along, at making yourself palatable in the rooms that matter.

But this? This is suffocating.

And then Kelly walks in.

For a brief, fleeting second, you almost feel relieved.

She’s tall, poised, effortlessly elegant in the way only someone born into privilege can be. Long, dark hair cascades in sleek waves over her shoulders, makeup flawless, her outfit effortlessly polished. She’s the kind of woman who always looks put together, always moves with quiet certainty, always seems to have the upper hand in whatever room she steps into.

And maybe that’s why your first instinct is to think- finally.

Finally, some kind of reprieve from whatever the hell this dinner has been. Finally, a presence that might shift the balance, dilute the weight of Jos’s unwavering focus on you, lessen the unbearable pressure that’s been stretching across the table like a noose.

Because Kelly has been nice. Talking to Kelly is nice.

But no.

No, it gets worse.

The tension in the room doesn’t ease- it sharpens, condenses into something even heavier, something thick and stifling that settles deep in your ribs. You don’t fully understand it, don’t know what’s shifting, what’s crackling in the air, but you feel it. Like stepping into a conversation that started long before you arrived, like missing the first half of an argument and knowing you’ll never quite catch up.

“Seriously?” Kelly’s voice is sharp, slicing through the air, cutting Jos off mid-sentence. “You didn’t even wait for me?”

Jos barely looks up from his plate. “You were late.”

Kelly lets out a short, incredulous laugh, one hand bracing against her hip. “And that’s my fault?” You don’t know the full story. You don’t know any of the story. But you know this isn’t just about dinner.

You glance at Max, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just sits there, head bowed over his plate, fingers toying idly with his fork. Impossibly, he looks even more miserable than before. He looks more like a scolded child than a world champion.

And Kelly- Kelly is pissed. Not in the way people get when they’re mildly annoyed, but in the way that suggests there’s a much bigger fight happening under the surface, something unspoken and unresolved and bigger than you can begin to understand. You shift slightly in your chair, adjusting your napkin just for something to do, something to keep your hands busy, because fuck, the air in here is unbearable.

Jos is still eating like nothing is wrong. Kelly is still standing like everything is.

All evening, Max hadn’t been engaged in the conversation at all, his head mostly bent over his plate, phone occasionally appearing under the table when he thought Jos wasn’t looking. Fine by you, honestly. If you thought you could get away with it, you’d rather be doom-scrolling than timing your stretches of eye-contact with Jos. But now, caught between his father, his girlfriend, and the girl his dad would not shut the fuck up about, Max had seemed to reach his limit.

With a sharp scrape of his chair against the floor, he stands. "I’m finished.” 

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

[lowkeyrobin]

still so disappointed that mr pennycrumb [fives dog in the comics] didnt rlly appear much in the show </3

ok ok so its the academy's birthday and the reader is insanely good at gift giving and never forgets to give presents if theres smth special happening. they hand out the gifts to everyone except they avoid five and disappear w/o them knowing where they went, only to come back at dusk w/ a larger box. obviously five went insane and rambles on how worried he was before the reader finally shuts him up by plopping the box on him, and boom. theres a puppy.

[loved the last viktor fic btw. literally bawled my eyes out]

- 🦇

OMG YES the only appearance we saw was in s3 when Luther went on a jog before he got napped :( ; and thank you!! I got bored and I couldn't extend it any further so it's kinda dumb but it's alr haha ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; also sorry this is so short and dumb idk writers block is so picky

FIVE HARGREEVES ; mr pennycrumb

summary ; when the umbrella academys birthdays roll around, you get five a whole ass dog

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; some of the gifts are related to hobbies/interests that are more of hcs than actual canon

word count ; 738

masterlist

When you walked into Allison's with multiple boxes and bags for the Hargreeves, they all knew you were at it again with your insane yet accurate gift giving. They started with cake, then moved over to presents.

Gift giving in the family was like secret Santa in a way. Everyone would essentially get gifts for all the others, and they'd pass around gifts one by one, usually by number order. Luther was always first, Viktor always last. Lila usually snuck in around Diego, because duh. Viktor had gotten used to being last, the forgotten one. But around his family now, he knew it wasn't like that anymore. He'd rather go last so everyone else could have their special time on their special day.

So, the group sets the gifts tagged for Luther on the table in front of him. The kids halfway watch from afar, paying attention to the TV and their toys more than their celebrating parents, aunts, and uncles.

You were among the minority in the house that didn't share a birthday with them, thank God. You would've gone insane over big birthdays like this.

Five, meanwhile, was going insane over you basically ignoring him all day.

You'd gotten Luther some workout gear, knowing he'd taken up going to the gym within the past couple of years. Among other gifts were little trinkets and other things he wanted. He was a little hard to shop for, never really wanting anything, enjoying the quality time over any gift giving.

Next was Diego, and inside the gift you got for him, was a knife sharpening kit. He'd lost his old one just in time. Lila came up next, receiving a few nice outfits you found for her and a gift card to Cosmoprof, as she'd been thinking about re-dyeing her hair to white again.

Next up was Allison, grateful for the numerous acting job business cards you'd given her on top of a bunch of books that were on her Amazon wishlist. She was a serious reader who wanted to get back into acting, now.

Klaus was after her, ecstatic about a carry-around cleaning kit. You were going to go with a joint maker to make his life easier before he got sober. Now he wouldn't need a full bag of cleaning supplies, he'd have your perfect gift.

Five decided to go last, wanting to watch his family be happy more than open presents himself.

Ben was next, receiving some letters from modeling agencies. As he should.

Viktor was second to last, very appreciative for the new drink recipes you'd made and found for him atop the pile of clothes you'd gotten him.

You disappeared around dusk, leaving Five to open his presents without presence. He was physically eighteen, mentally sixty-two today.

As he looks up, seeing the lack of you around, he hides a soft frown. He noticed how you weren't standing near him all night, how you barely even spoke around him.

"Did you do something to Y/n?" Klaus asks out of the blue. "They just kinda... dissappeared"

Five shrugs. "I don't think I did. Even if I did do something, they'd talk it out with me"

Allison shrugs. "I think that's them" she comments, looking out the screen door to see you pull up in your car again. "Diego, could you get the door?"

Diego turns around, unlocking the door for you, holding it open as he sees you holding a big box.

"Why is that box bigger than you?"

"Also, why is it moving?"

You set the box on the table in front of Five, a wide smile on your face. "Open it"

He slowly sets aside the large box of coffee pods he received from Diego to the side, slowly reaching for the box flaps. As he pulls them to the side, out jumps a little dog.

"Oh my God?"

Five smiles, pulling the puppy into his lap. He looks up at you, a glimmer in his eyes. "Why did you get me a dog?"

You shrug, moving the box off the table. "You're a lonely old man, you need some company"

He chuckles, petting the pug's head.

"What're you gonna name it?" Ben asks, arms crossed.

"Him" You correct

"Mr. Pennycrumb" Five answers.

"Why?" Luther asks.

The physically younger boy shrugs. "Why not?"

"Interesting choice" Klaus mutters with a shrug.

Five smiles up at you, giddy like a little kid. "Thank you"

"I try"

[jhyoos]

Save A Horse, Ride A Cowgirl 3

bronc rider abby x reader

mentions: romance, kissing, jealous abby, angst, lesbians being lesbians, time jump, proposal, marriage, lev mentioned

summary: you and abby have been together for 5 months.

notes : thank you guys for supporting me throughout this! its gonna be a long finale, but no smut. i wasnt exactly inspired to do so. i also didnt proofread this

part 1 | part 2

It’d been five months since Abby asked you to be hers—half a year since that night in a random Airbnb, all golden warmth and sleepy grins, the kind of night that felt like it could stretch into forever. And for a minute there, it did. You were so happy. Like… stupid, in-love, nothing-can-touch-me happy. The kind of happy that lives in your chest like fireworks on slow burn.

But then the season picked up, and Abby hit the road again—arena after arena, bronc after bronc, town after dusty town. You tried to keep that high alive, clutching onto the glow through glitchy Facetime calls and texts that came in at 2 AM. It wasn’t her fault—she was chasing her dreams. You admired the hell out of that. Still, it left this hollow little ache in your ribs. Like you’d been laughing too hard and suddenly stopped.

So you did what anyone trying not to drown in missing someone does—you distracted yourself. Nights out with Dina, Ellie, and Jesse turned into hazy parties, neon lights, and laughter that felt a little too loud, like you were trying to cover up the silence that always followed you home. You’d stumble in with smeared eyeliner and a phone full of selfies, only to meet the stillness of your apartment. Just you, your pounding head, and the echo of a love that felt too far away.

Your dad kept you grounded in the weirdest, most comforting way—parked next to you on the couch, both of you watching Abby on TV as she took yet another win. There she was, fierce and unshakable, the kind of woman who made dirt and danger look like ballet. You cheered for her from the safety of your living room, voice raw from pride, chest heavy from longing.

And then—like the universe finally decided to toss you a bone—she called you after work. Her voice warm, tired, but laced with something bright. “Babe,” she said, “I want you to come with me. For the last few competitions. Travel with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate. Of course you said yes. How could you not?

Because loving Abby was easy. It was the waiting that hurt.

And now? Now you were gonna close that distance, one dusty road and rodeo at a time.

The trips were like something out of a movie—dusty highways traded for high-rise skylines, small-town gas stations swapped with rooftop bars and glittering hotel lobbies. It was new terrain, but the same Abby, steady at your side, even when she was too busy to hold your hand. You met her team for the first time, all easy smiles and backstage chaos. Her manager, Manny, was this fast-talking, big-hearted guy who looked like he hadn’t slept since the 90s but still somehow ran the whole operation like a well-oiled machine.

The hotels? Insane. Plush robes, room service pancakes at midnight, elevators that whispered instead of dinged. You were swept up in it—this world she’d built, this life she lived on the edge of dust and spotlight. And when she rode? God. She was electric. Each competition was like watching lightning try to outdo itself. And she won—again and again, like the universe owed her.

But then finals came.

The moment you checked into that glossy glass-and-gold hotel, something shifted. Abby barely set down her bag before she grabbed her gear, threw on her hat, and kissed your cheek with a distracted “I’ll be back,” already halfway out the door with Manny. You sat on the bed surrounded by the emptiness of luxury, her absence suddenly louder than any TV could cover.

You didn’t see her again till sometime around 3 AM. The room was dark, cool, and quiet when you felt her—soft lips pressing kisses down your shoulder, warm hands tracing the shape of your body like she was memorizing it again. She tasted like rain and adrenaline. What followed was a blur of breathless moans and running water, bodies colliding beneath the steam. She fell asleep right after, wrapped around you like armor, only to wake again at dawn and press a kiss to your temple like none of it was real.

And then came the finals.

Before the event, she kissed you. Not just a quick “see you later,” but something slow, deep. “For luck,” she whispered, brushing your nose with hers. You wore the hat—the same one she gave you the first night you met at the rodeo, when you were just a pretty buckle bunny she couldn’t stop staring at. That hat had history. Sweat, stories, so much damn love stitched into the band it felt like it buzzed with it.

The arena roared.

You watched her enter the ring, all calm fury and perfect form. The bronc bucked like it had something to prove, muscles snapping like whips beneath Abby. The crowd held its breath—so did you. Every second felt like a knife’s edge. But she held on, knuckles white, jaw clenched, focus locked in. Until—

Her grip faltered.

It was a blink. A gasp. She slipped—hard.

The sound when her body hit the ground was sickening, a sharp crack that silenced the crowd. Her head bounced against the dirt, limbs limp for just a second too long. Your heart dropped straight through your stomach. The bronc was still raging, hooves inches from her skull before the handlers wrangled it away.

Medics were on her in seconds.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Just sat there in the stands clutching that cowboy hat like a lifeline, willing her to blink, to breathe, to move.

The hospital was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. It was the kind of chill that sank beneath your skin, into your bones, into that trembling, panicked part of you that refused to calm down no matter how many deep breaths you tried to take.

They rushed her through those sliding glass doors, sirens still echoing in your ears. You tried to follow—your legs moving before your brain even caught up—but a nurse stepped into your path, her hands outstretched.

“Ma’am, you can’t go back there.”

“Please, please—she’s my girlfriend!” your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “She needs me.”

The nurse’s face softened, just for a moment, but the rules were rules and you were left standing there, helpless, as the doors swung shut behind Abby. Like some invisible wall had slammed down between you and the only person in the world who made sense.

You found yourself beside Manny in the waiting room, both of you pacing, sitting, standing, pacing again. Time stopped making sense. Minutes bled into each other, stretched long and thin by worry.

You’d been staring blankly at the tiled floor when a voice cut through the silence.

“How’s Abby?”

You looked up. A man stood there—tall, sturdy, with a presence that carried weight. His eyes were locked on Manny.

“I don’t know,” Manny said, voice low. “They haven’t said anything yet.”

The man nodded once, jaw tight. “I’ll go find out…” Then his gaze shifted, landed on you. “You must be the girlfriend.”

There was a beat of silence, your heart tripping over itself. You straightened up, nodding, uncertain. “Yes, sir.”

His face softened just a bit. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jerry. Abby’s father.”

You blinked, startled, and reached to shake his hand—but he didn’t just shake it. He took it gently, and kissed the back of it with this old-school grace that caught you completely off guard.

“Come on,” he said, voice calm but full of something steady. “We’re gonna find out what’s wrong with her.”

You nodded, swallowing down the fear trying to rise in your throat like a tidal wave. You rose to your feet and followed him, step for step, as the halls stretched ahead of you like a maze.

The weight of that cowboy hat still rested on your head—Abby’s hat. Her heart. Her everything.

And all you could do now was pray you’d get to see her wear it again.

The hospital hallway buzzed with that sterile kind of quiet—machines beeping behind doors, murmurs of nurses, the squeak of shoes on polished linoleum. You walked next to Jerry, your hands clenched into fists so tight your nails bit into your palms. Manny trailed just behind, his usual confident stride dulled by the weight of the moment.

A nurse sat behind the front desk, eyes flicking between screens like she was watching a thousand lives play out in real time. Jerry stepped forward, that protective edge in his voice suddenly softer.

“Hi. Abigail Anderson—she was just brought in from the rodeo.”

The nurse clicked through the system, her face unreadable as her eyes scanned lines of text. You held your breath like the words on the screen might determine the rest of your life.

“She’s in the OR now,” the nurse said, her tone professional but kind. “Head trauma. CT scans showed a depressed skull fracture on the left parietal bone, just above the ear. The pressure was building fast—we had to move quickly. But the surgery’s underway now, and she’s stable.”

“Wait, wait—skull fracture?” you asked, your voice trembling, like the words tasted foreign in your mouth.

The nurse nodded, glancing at you. “It’s called a comminuted fracture. The bone shattered into fragments and was pressing against her brain. The swelling was dangerous, but the surgeon went in to relieve the pressure and remove the bone shards. So far, there haven’t been any complications. She’s responding well under anesthesia.”

You leaned against the desk, knees nearly giving out. Jerry stepped closer to you instinctively, like his body knew yours needed something solid to hold onto. Manny just stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes glassy like the words were still echoing through him.

“She’s in good hands,” the nurse said, her eyes softening. “The team operating on her—some of the best we have. If all goes well, she’ll be out of surgery in an hour. Then it’s recovery. Monitoring brain function. But for now… she’s okay. We’ll keep you updated.”

You could’ve cried right there.

Stable. No complications. Okay.

It wasn’t over—but she was fighting, even now, even unconscious, just like always. Strong. Stubborn. Still Abby.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and whispered, “Thank you.” You clutched the brim of her cowboy hat in your hands like a prayer, and sat down beside Jerry and Manny.

All you could do now was wait.

And hope.

The wait dragged on like time had molasses in its veins. Every second felt like it was trying to strangle you. You sat between Jerry and Manny, heart thudding in your throat, replaying every second of Abby’s fall over and over in your head like a broken film reel. The nurse had said an hour, but it felt like forever.

And then—finally—the surgeon stepped out, mask down, eyes calm. He spoke with Jerry first, quiet and low. You watched Jerry nod, the tension in his shoulders softening by degrees before he turned back toward you and Manny.

“She’s out of the OR,” he said, his voice like an exhale. “Stable, but real weak. She’s got a long way to go… but she made it.”

Manny covered his mouth with his hand, his relief visible in the way his knees buckled for half a second. You felt your body finally release the breath it had been holding since the arena.

Jerry reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “She asked for you.”

Those four words nearly undid you.

You stood on shaky legs, holding her hat to your chest like armor. As you followed Jerry down the hallway toward the recovery wing, the world blurred around the edges. The white walls, the nurses, the hum of machines—it all faded as you reached her door.

Jerry stepped in first, made sure everything was okay, then gave you a little nod and stepped out, letting the door ease shut behind you.

Abby was in the bed—pale, too still, with wires curling around her arms like vines and a monitor rhythmically ticking out the beat of her survival. A thick white bandage was wrapped around her head, just above her temple, stark against her golden skin.

Her eyes opened slow, sleepy. Dazed.

And when they landed on you, they lit up with something soft and star-bright.

“God…” she whispered, lips dry, voice hoarse. “It’s like I see an angel.”

You let out a broken little laugh, walking toward her like you weren’t sure your legs would carry you all the way. “That’s not funny, Abs,” you murmured, voice catching, eyes already stinging.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips—gentle, lingering, like you were scared she might vanish if you let go too soon.

She blinked up at you, eyes glassy but full of something fierce. “I know…” she breathed out, her voice trembling like wind through cracked glass, “…but I had to make sure you remembered how pretty you are.”

You laughed again, watery and disbelieving, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And right then, in that too-bright hospital room with the machines humming like lullabies and her hand barely holding yours, you knew—love like this didn’t break easy.

It bent, it burned, it bled—but it survived.

A few days passed, slow and tender. Abby’s color started coming back, her voice a little stronger each morning. You brought her breakfast with way too many syrups, fluffed her pillows like it was a full-time job, and sat by her side every time the nurse came in to check vitals. The machines came off, one by one, and the bruises on her face started to fade into soft purples and yellows like a sunset trying to disappear.

When the doctor gave her the green light to leave, you’d already made up your mind.

You extended the hotel stay—no hesitation. There was no way you were putting her in a car for hours when she still winced from bending down to tie her shoes. You didn’t care how fancy the hospital discharge paperwork looked. She needed time. Real time. Not just to heal her skull, but to let her heart catch up to the trauma her body had been through.

You made a cozy little nest out of the hotel room, full of takeout containers, ginger tea, soft music, and quiet, lingering kisses on her temple. You were patient. Gentle. You didn’t push her.

But when it came to bronc riding? That’s where the softness ended.

“Abs,” you said one afternoon, tucked beside her in bed, her head in your lap. “You can’t go back to riding. Not yet. Not for months. You almost died.”

Her fingers twitched against yours, jaw tight. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’m not planning on anything right now.”

It felt honest. Grounded. Like she was finally seeing what you saw.

Then Manny showed up, practically bouncing through the door with this grin that said everything’s changed.

“She won,” he announced. “Abby—you won the finals. They gave it to you. Even with the fall. You’re number one now. Top bronc rider in the league. You're officially the best.”

Abby lit up. Not just a spark—an explosion. Her whole face transformed. She sat up straighter, eyes wide, like every ache in her body disappeared in that one breath.

“No way,” she whispered, then louder, “No way! I did it!”

You saw it immediately—the way the fire flickered back into her eyes. Not just joy, but hunger. She was already reaching for the reins again, already leaning toward the ring.

And just like that, your heart dropped.

“No,” you said, firm. “You’re not getting back on that bronc. Not for months. You agreed.”

“Babe—”

“No!” Your voice cracked like a whip, sharp and scared. “You’re chasing death. You think being number one means it’s worth it? Worth nearly breaking your skull open?”

“It is worth it!” she snapped. “I worked my whole damn life for this. You want me to just sit here while everything I built fades away?”

“It’s not fading,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s just pausing. For your safety. For us.”

She didn’t hear you. Not really. The gears were already turning in her head—future interviews, comeback rides, glory burning behind her ribs.

That’s when the fear turned into anger. A bitter, aching, sharp-edged kind of love that clawed its way out of your throat.

“Then fine,” you said, standing up, the hotel light casting your shadow over her. “If you get back a bronc in these next few months, we’re done. I mean it.”

Abby blinked, like you’d just slapped her.

“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m giving you a choice,” you said, voice trembling. “Between the ride that almost killed you… and the person who sat in a hospital praying you’d wake up.”

The silence that followed could’ve cracked stone.

You didn’t want to leave her. Didn’t want to fight. But love wasn’t just kisses and winning smiles. It was boundaries. It was saying no when saying yes might cost everything.

And now… she had to choose.

Abby didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you like she couldn’t recognize the weight of what you just said. Her breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling like she’d just taken a hit—but not from a bronc. From you.

You didn’t want to hurt her. God, that was the last thing you wanted. But watching her get tossed like that, head slamming against dirt, blood soaking into the ground—you’d never unsee that. You couldn’t just sit back and let her flirt with death again, not while calling it passion.

Her fingers clenched in the sheets, jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”

Your heart cracked a little. “Then help me. Help me understand why being number one matters more than being alive, Abby.”

“It’s not about the title,” she muttered, eyes burning. “It’s about me. It’s who I am. If I walk away now… it’s like all the bruises, all the broken bones, everything I’ve fought for—it’s like it never meant anything.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice, trying not to let it tremble. “It meant something. It still does. But it’s not worth dying for. And it’s not worth losing me for.”

Abby looked away. Swallowed hard.

You watched her wrestle with it—watched pride and pain and fear wage war behind those storm-colored eyes. And you knew this was deeper than just a sport. It was legacy. Identity. The only thing she ever truly called hers.

But you also knew that love meant sometimes being the anchor when the person you love is lost in the current. And right now, she was drifting.

You sat beside her again, softer this time. “I love you, Abby. That’s why I’m saying this. Because I want more time with you. I want to grow old with you. I want you in one piece.”

Her eyes welled up, but she blinked the tears away fast, like letting them fall would be surrender.

“I don’t know if I can stay off that long,” she whispered, voice cracking. “What if I lose everything while I’m gone?”

You gently reached for her hand. “Then we build it again. Together. But you can’t ride if you’re gone. And I can't keep standing by if you're choosing danger over us.”

There was another beat of silence.

Then finally, she exhaled. Shaky. Heavy.

“Okay,” she said, so soft it barely reached you. “Okay. I won’t ride. Not yet.”

You didn’t trust it fully. Not yet. But it was something. A crack in the armor. A promise, maybe.

And for now, you took her hand, pulled her into your arms, and let your heartbeat speak the things words couldn’t. That you were scared. That you were here. That you loved her enough to draw the line—and stand at it, hoping she’d cross back to you.

The months that followed were golden—soft-lit and slow, like the world finally let the two of you breathe.

Abby kept her word. She stayed off the broncs, at least for a while, and during that time, you two found something even more powerful than adrenaline or spotlight. You found each other—fully, deeply, without distraction.

Your nights weren’t wild or extravagant, but they were full of the kind of magic you don’t realize you’re living in until you look back. Takeout scattered across the living room floor, your favorite show half-playing in the background. You’d sit wrapped in a blanket, your head on her shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing hearts on your thigh. Some nights, when the mood was just right, you’d throw on a slow country song and dance barefoot in the living room, her hands on your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. Just two girls, in love, swaying under cheap lighting like it was moonlight.

One of those nights, when everything felt almost too perfect to be real, she pulled back mid-dance and looked you straight in the eye.

“You gonna marry me or what?”

You laughed. “Is that your proposal?”

Then she got down on one knee, with nothing but her eyes shining and a promise trembling on her lips.

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “God, yes.”

And just like that, the dream kept unfolding.

By the time the rodeo season came back around, Abby was ready—mind sharp, body stronger, heart steadier. She kissed you before her first ride back and whispered, “I’ll be careful. I swear.”

You believed her. And she didn’t let you down.

Month by month, ride by ride, she rose again. Not like before—more calculated now. Wiser. Safer. But still electric. Still Abby. And the crowds? They loved her even more for it.

When your wedding day finally came, it felt like time had slowed to give you space to soak it all in.

The garden was blooming—roses and peonies and wild little blossoms that caught the sun just right. The very place you’d dreamed of since you were sixteen, flipping through bridal magazines and sketching your future in a tattered notebook.

And your dress?

It was everything.

A backless mermaid silhouette, hugging you in all the right places, designed by you, sewn by your hands, born from your vision. Silk that shimmered like moonlight and lace like whispers. People gasped when you walked down the aisle, but all you saw was Abby—tears in her eyes, hands shaking, heart wide open like a promise she never planned to break.

You said I do with voices cracking and hands trembling and hearts racing. And when she kissed you—when she held you—it felt like every version of you that ever hurt, ever doubted, ever feared... finally exhaled.

Abby posted the wedding photos the next day, and within hours your dress was everywhere. Viral. Trending. Everyone wanted to know who made that dress. And the answer?

You.

Your online boutique lit up overnight. Sales pouring in. Clients requesting customs. And soon, you had a space of your own—a little shop with big windows and your name etched on the front like a crown.

Abby stayed right beside you through it all. She didn’t just support your dream—she believed in it. While she kept climbing back up the rodeo ranks, every fall she took was met with grace, every win with humility. It took time, sure. But eventually, she was number one again. No shortcuts. No risks. Just grit and growth.

Now, when you walk past your closet, you see that dress—the one you wore when you became hers forever—and you smile.

Because this? This wasn’t a fairytale.

This was earned. This was real. And this was just the beginning.

It had been a few years since you stood under that wildflower arch and promised forever, and now… you were Mrs. Anderson. A name that still made your heart skip when you caught it on letters, packages, little tags Abby left on the fridge when she forgot to kiss you goodbye.

The broncs were behind her now. Abby had hung up her saddle from competition, traded in the roar of the crowd for the quiet power of the earth. You both bought a patch of land so wide you could breathe in every direction—and turned it into something out of a painting. A white wraparound house with creaky wood floors and a porch that caught every color of the sunset. Behind it? Acres of open sky and warm earth. Horses that she raised with her bare hands. Cows with names. Sheep that wandered like soft little ghosts through the pasture.

Abby became a rancher like it was what she was meant for all along. Sunrise woke her before the alarm. She’d tie her hair up, pull on her boots, and disappear into the misty morning to tend to the land. She looked right out there—sun spilling through the trees, hay in her hair, humming old songs her father once sang while fixing up fences or brushing down the horses. She’d come back sweaty, tired, glowing. Sometimes you'd just sit on the porch watching her like a dream you never knew would come true.

And you? You had your boutique. One hour into the city, one hour back, but every mile was worth it. Business was good, real good. Clients with high expectations, influencers dying to wear your designs, and every now and then someone would come in just to see the “wedding dress girl.” You still sold online, but the shop was your world—mannequins draped in silk, sketches pinned to the walls, laughter between fittings. It was work, sure, but it was your kind of work. The kind that made your soul hum.

But everything changed the night you found Lev.

You were closing the shop, locking up after a long day, when you saw him across the street—skinny, tired, holding a half-eaten bag of chips like it was all he had. He had an edge to him, sharp-eyed and stubborn, but there was something in the way he looked at you… like he wanted someone to notice him. Just once.

You crossed the street.

You asked if he was okay.

He lied, of course. Told you he was fine. That he didn’t need anything. But you offered him a warm meal anyway, and after a moment—he followed.

You didn’t ask questions until he was fed, and even then you were gentle. He told you his name was Lev. Told you he was trans. Told you that when he came out, his parents kicked him out and said never to come back.

That was all you needed to hear.

You brought him home.

Abby wasn’t thrilled at first—she had that protective, guarded look in her eyes, the kind she got when something she didn’t understand wandered too close to her heart.

But Lev… Lev had a way of earning space. He didn’t ask for permission to belong. He just started helping. Fed the animals. Cleaned the stalls. Rode bareback like he was born to do it. He had a temper, sure. Wasn’t always polite. But he tried. And the animals adored him. And soon, so did Abby.

One morning, you woke up to find them both outside fixing the chicken coop, laughing at some dumb joke you couldn’t hear. Abby called him “kid.” He called her “boss.” They were thick as thieves before the month was over.

Now? He’s family. No papers, no courtrooms, just a quiet, unwavering truth that lives in the way Abby leaves an extra plate for dinner without asking, and the way Lev calls you both “moms” when no one else is around.

And the house—your wraparound dream of a house—it holds more now. More stories. More love. More late nights with country music floating through the windows, Lev asleep on the couch, Abby’s arm wrapped around you on the porch swing.

This life you built?

It ain’t perfect. But it’s real. And it’s yours. And in every corner of it… there's love stitched deep like the seams of your favorite dress.

A few weeks passed, and something in you couldn’t rest—not until you knew for sure. For Lev. For the little boy who’d carved out a home in your heart with more quiet resilience than most grown men could muster.

So you did the research. Dug into public records. Asked around. Made the calls no one wants to make.

You found them—his parents. If you could even call them that.

And you and Abby drove out to meet them, heart armored and expectations low. The moment they opened that door, you knew this wasn’t going to be the story with redemption at the end. Their eyes were cold, words sharper than knives, their hate so effortless it made your chest ache. They didn’t ask about Lev. Didn’t want to know how he was, what he liked, if he smiled more now. Just shoved the paperwork across the table like he was something to get rid of.

You signed it. They signed it. You left with your head held high and Abby’s fingers wrapped tight around yours.

You didn’t tell Lev. He didn’t need to hear what was said in that room. He didn’t need their words anywhere near his spirit. Instead, you poured your energy into something that mattered—his new start.

You enrolled him in the nearest school, made sure he had teachers who got it. Who respected him. You decorated a room just for him—walls painted deep navy with stars scattered across the ceiling, bookshelves stuffed with comics and space encyclopedias, posters of his favorite anime, and a beanbag chair so big he practically disappeared into it.

You and Abby surprised him when he came home. He dropped his backpack and just stood in the doorway, blinking like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“This… this is mine?” he asked.

“All yours, kid,” Abby said.

And just like that, your perfect family was whole.

Now, here you are.

The porch creaks beneath you as you sway in your swing seat, legs tucked up, your sketchbook balanced on your lap. The golden-hour light paints the ranch in watercolor—amber fields, soft shadows, the quiet sounds of life in every corner. Your phone rests on the little coffee table beside you, playing Luke Bryan low and lazy through the speaker.

The world is still.

Then—a kiss on your forehead, warm and soft like honey poured slow.

You glance up and smile. Abby.

She’s fresh from the barn, smells like hay and sunshine and the kind of peace you only find when you stop chasing the noise.

You scoot over, pat the swing, and she sits. You drape your legs across her lap, and she rests one hand on your calf, the other sliding up to rub slow circles on your knee.

“What are you doing out here so early, bunny?” she asks, voice rough and sweet like she hasn’t used it all morning.

“I had to drop Lev off,” you murmur, sketching another curve onto the page. “And I closed the shop today. Didn’t really feel like working.”

“Hm. That’s good,” she hums, leaning back, letting her body melt into yours. “You’ve been working yourself too hard.”

“So have you,” you whisper back.

She chuckles, soft and deep, and you tilt your head to look at her.

There’s something in the way her eyes hold yours, something so full, so steady, it presses tears to the backs of your eyes.

“You know,” she says, brushing a thumb across your ankle, “I never thought I’d have all this. You. A home. A kid. Love that don’t go nowhere.”

You close your sketchbook and set it aside, crawling up so you’re tucked against her chest, your heart beating in rhythm with hers.

“Me either,” you breathe, kissing the place just above her collarbone. “But I thank God every day I do.”

And under the golden sun, the slow spin of the earth, and the gentle strum of country music playing somewhere in the background—you sit, wrapped in each other, knowing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

taglist : @rhian88 @abbyslvrrr @hell0-ki55y @spritelova @abbyscoochiecruncher @smaugayra @chaikichainsaw @femme-historian @h2pinky @lilredbird101 @kirna-diane @viperineee @sincerely-forest @athena-winters13 @madsxh1022

[zeroseuniverse]

Hear me outtt!!! Gamer/esport player! S/O with SVT since I'm a gamer also. I never found any reaction about this 🫠🫠

Seventeen w/ A gamer S/O

S.Coups – Proud but Slightly Competitive

He thinks it’s so cool that you’re a gamer and will brag about it to the members all the time. “Yeah, my S/O is actually insane at this game.” But the moment you beat him? He’s so salty. “Best out of three?” Suddenly, it’s a full tournament.

Jeonghan – Pretends to Be Clueless to Mess with You

He’ll sit next to you, watching you play, and ask the dumbest questions just to annoy you. “So if you die in the game, do you die in real life?” But when you actually try to explain the mechanics, he just smirks and somehow ends up winning against you in a match, despite acting clueless the whole time.

Joshua – Supportive but a Casual Gamer

He’s the type to admire how skilled you are but doesn’t game as intensely. He’ll play with you for fun, but if things get too serious, he’ll sit back and say, “I’ll just be moral support.” He’s always hyping you up, though—“That was so cool! You should stream.”

Jun – Gets Too Invested

If you introduce him to your favorite game, be prepared to lose him to it. He’ll be playing at 3 AM like, “One more round.” Suddenly, he’s sending you links to gaming gear and talking about upgrading your setup. You may have created a monster.

Hoshi – Loves It but Is Terrible

He really wants to play with you, but he’s just so bad. He’ll be screaming the entire time, pressing all the buttons at once, and celebrating when he does anything. “I MOVED! DID YOU SEE THAT?!” You love him, but you might need to carry him in every game.

Wonwoo – Your Perfect Gaming Partner

Finally, someone who can keep up with you. Wonwoo is the ideal co-op partner—he strategizes, plays for hours without tiring, and never gets frustrated. Late-night gaming sessions with him are peak relationship goals. If you play against each other, he’s competitive but incredibly chill about losing.

Woozi – Acts Like He Doesn’t Care but Secretly Loves It

He pretends gaming isn’t a big deal, but if he sees you too into it, he’ll start playing too—just to see what’s so interesting. And guess what? He ends up loving it. Now he’s playing late at night, fully immersed, while acting like he’s “just trying it out.”

DK – Your Biggest Cheerleader

He doesn’t care if you’re playing solo, co-op, or against him—he’s just SO EXCITED. He’ll sit beside you, gasping at every intense moment. “Omg, omg, you got this!” He might not be the best player, but he’s the best hype man.

Mingyu – The Overconfident Noob

He thinks he can beat you easily. “It’s just a game, how hard can it be?” Fast forward to five minutes later, and he’s getting destroyed. He’ll whine dramatically and claim you cheated. But don’t worry, he’ll tryhard until he actually beats you (and then he won’t stop talking about it).

The8 – The Silent but Deadly Type

He doesn’t say much while playing, but he’s crazy good. You thought you could teach him, but now he’s outplaying you effortlessly. You stare at him in shock, and he just shrugs. “Beginner’s luck.” Yeah, sure.

Seungkwan – The Rage Quitter

Gaming with him is pure entertainment. He gets SO into it but absolutely cannot handle losing. Expect dramatic reactions, screaming, and a possible controller throw. “THIS GAME IS RIGGED.” He’ll quit… only to be back five minutes later, claiming he’s “calmed down.”

Vernon – The Chill Gamer

He’s the most unbothered gamer ever. He wins? Cool. He loses? Also cool. You’re freaking out during an intense match, and he’s just like, “Relax, it’s not that serious.” But then he randomly destroys everyone while looking half-asleep.

Dino – The Excited Little Brother Energy

He treats gaming like a full-on performance. Every match is dramatic, and every win gets a full victory dance. “DID YOU SEE THAT? I’M AMAZING!” He lives for the competition, so expect 1v1 battles and challenges all the time.

[jujutsukgojo]

The Baby Project: Chapter Five

izuku midoriya x reader, minor hitoshi shinsou x reader

1, 2, 3, 4

Summary: On July 15th, the flavor of the day is strawberry shortcake.

tw: fluff, slight angst (?)

The old camera sits nicely in your hands. Having polaroids seems more personal and shows Noa’s development in a better way. You attach the photos to your monthly reports to make up for Kaibara’s pathetic effort. Why you care about that you don't know, but you do. Everyone knows about it. Snipe was there to witness it. Yet, wanting to prove to him that Noa is strong without Kaibara, feels needed.

Maybe it is also your way to make you feel better. About everything, really. The case has been going great and your arguments have been thoroughly studied and practiced. It will still be a while before you can go in front of everyone, but you’ll make do. So, there’s no reason to even think about Kaibara unless it involves revenge.

  As for right now, you’re capturing the moment of Izuku and Noa matching outfits. Both of their smiles match and are wide from happiness. Noa is wearing his Deku jacket and some green pants with red shoes to match. Izuku is wearing his hero outfit without the gear. 

Although Noa still bears a striking resemblance to you, he shares some similarities to Izuku. It is getting harder to say that Noa shares something with his dad other than the last name. 

This project is insane. You can only hope you won’t go crazy. If it happens, you hope not to take Izuku down with you. He makes the frustration and pain you feel everyday go away bit by bit. Even when you hurt him, he hangs on. Does he know how sweet he is? How in a short amount of time have you come to really like him?

Both him and Noa’s grins are cheesy.  “Alright, we’re keeping this one.” The picture comes out of the camera and onto the pinboard next to your dresser’s wall. Both of their arms are flexing and their stances are fit for a hero’s poster board. Although you usually give the pictures to Snipe, you’ll keep this one. After the conference with Hawks, it may be all you have of Izuku and his little moments with you.

“Here, Noa!” Izuku grabs the camera and turns it to you. The bright flash catches you by surprise. You grab Noa. “Wait, Noa wasn’t in that one.”

  “I know. This is for me.” He whispers it to himself. You had to strain to hear it. Finally, he takes a picture of both you and Noa. “Cheese!”

  How do you take all of this in? How is any of this supposed to make sense? Noa’s warmth feels so real. He’s fleshy and his heart is beating a steady rhythm. Izuku’s here like he wants to be and like he’s comfortable. This project has messed with us all. It’ll get worse from here.

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

“Ok, what about this though? They can say that they don’t owe anything if it aligns with the curriculum.”

“How does this assignment pertain to us? None of the authority figures have explained what this is even for. It’s not for us . This isn’t in our curriculum, it’s theirs.” You talk and move your hands at the same time. You go to the classmate who spoke, Akane. A blonde haired girl with completely black eyes. Her iris, pupil, and sclera are all ink black. 

“I’m writing that down.” Riko says. Benio stops highlighting. “She says that every day.”

“Yeah, but not with passion.”

In your hand is an old law book. When heroes first started, they altered the laws to fit a growing society with various powers. Order needed to be established, not just for the people, but for the ones who can do things no one else could. Rules that even the big wigs have to uphold.

“Okay, let’s continue. In section eight, there is a passage, right? About justice for mankind in the form of free speech.”

“That doesn’t apply…” Ema whispers as she gently moves a stroller back and forth, calming someone else’s doll.

“Free speech is what wasn’t given to us at the start of this project. Our concerns that we tried to raise went completely ignored, which goes against the text.” 

You ask Benio to hand over his book that he is recklessly highlighting. “In layman’s terms here, we have a right to say shit if it harms our wellbeing. Since it is a danger to us, we have the right to say no and they have to take that into consideration, which they haven’t.”

She writes all of that down. You put the book on the table and she highlights it. Sakura walks to the table. “Okay, what about this one? It’s a tricky little bitch. If the decision is for the good of the school, these rules are overridden."

Sakura, who is just the social media director, hands you the new U.A. rulebook. It’s slim and isn’t creased in the slightest. You doubt anyone has seriously looked into it. You look at it as she holds it out with her hand. You suck in your lips and think. 

“How is this project for the good of the school? And why exactly would that matter? They’re heroes, not politicians. How can they sacrifice lives for the sake of us being practice dummies? The students can be used for practice in a rescue exercise in a controlled environment and there must not be any harm. This,” You gesture at the room and the dolls.

“Can’t be used since it’s harming and endangering us, and no one is being saved. It isn't an assignment or for practice. This is abuse of authority. Besides, it’s an emotional project for them. Because of Todoroki who is still here.”

“There you go again.” Benio puts the highlighter down. “You can’t blame him for his father and brother's sins.”

“No, what I can blame him for is being the cause of this thing. This may have been their idea, but it is him that is endangering us all. This project is emotional,” you point to Sakura’s book. “And it is against the rules. It’s all based on Todoroki. It’s for him without thinking of the consequences. They can't use the excuse that this is for the good of the school. Lives are at stake."

"No one here is dying, love."

"Our hearts are. Our mental, emotional, and physical health is taking a hit, too. They're failing us." 

Ema waves her hands around, letting go of the stroller’s handle. “Wait, wait, wait. Hawks cared for Twice-”

“Good for us!”

“Or bad. He may think this project is a good thing to prevent someone like Twice, who he considered a victim of circumstance. What are you going to say?”

  You remain silent for a minute. They all look at you. “It’s redundant. What they’re doing is creating Twice. All it takes is one bad day to drive a man mad. How many have we had? If they want to prevent another League, they need to care for the people right in front of them. It only takes a day to ruin someone.”

Sakura gets on her phone and has a smirk on her pretty face. You yawn as another book opens. The clock seems slower but tells the right time. Determined to intake everything you can and rebut your friend’s practice arguments, you ignore your headache and drowsiness. 

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

The lids of your eyes are unbelievably heavy. Your body is swaying as you hold Noa’s hand. Noa yaps happily and stumbles from time to time. You’re patient and help him along as best you can.

  You try not to think of the heaviness of your backpack that is filled with textbooks, on your shoulder is Noa’s diaper bag and in your hand is Noa. If you pay attention to it, these aches that are settling into your muscles and all the way to your bones, will stay. Maybe you need a coffee. A nice coffee and probably a snack for Noa. A vending machine, a beautiful machine that has glorious food and coffee, is against the wall to your left. You slowly head to it with a tired smile on your face. Someone gets in front of it and enters their money. You wait patiently behind him. Right as he moves out of the way and your smile gets wider until it is snuffed out when you see a robot baby face down next to the machine. 

"What is that?" 

The guy sipping a coffee hums and follows your eyes to the baby. "Mm, that's my project."

"Have you lost your mind? Pick it up!" His tired eyes widened. "I'm serious!" You bend down to pick it up, withholding a groan. Carefully, you turn it over and see that it has his eyes and fluffy purple hair. Its tummy rumbles, vibrating your arm. "Are you kidding me? Have you even fed it?"

"Listen-"

"No, no! Where's the bottle?" He pats himself then pulls a bottle out of his back pocket. Mei's face hasn't lit up to show that it's expired. You snatch it from his hand and put it in the baby's mouth. Greedily, they suck on it, not letting a drop spill. "What is wrong with you? God, heroes are so fucking lazy."

"Wait a min-"

"Shut up," You don't know why you're doing this. This project in your arms is not your responsibility. You kick his shin, barely making him wince. “Look, I don’t know you-” You put the baby in his arms. He drops his canned coffee on the ground as he scrambles to hold him. “But I do know that you will do better. You are going to take responsibility and raise it and not rely on strangers to do it.”

You cut him off right when you see his mouth open. “Do you rely on your partners in the field? Risk their lives for your failures?” He stops and stares. “If not, then don’t do it to us. Raise it. And if you do rely on everyone, then you have no business trying to be a hero.” As parting gift, you kick him again. He doesn’t try to dodge this time. You turn and leave, no longer thirsty for a coffee.

 Noa squeezes your hand. His brows cinch together in worry. You sigh and give a small smile, hoping to ease him. All you want is to sleep and get Noa to take a nap, God willing. Noa’s eyes don’t leave yours. You yawn again and unintentionally slow down. Your body isn’t moving as well as you want it to. In the distance you hear the purple haired baby cry.

Unfortunately, that confident front is just what it is: a front. A facade, a lie if you will. Because when you face your door, you’re barely hanging on. Everything is heavy, it weighs a million pounds. Noa goes inside first and heads to his toys. Immediately, you fall onto your bed and sleep, forgetting your meds.

Right as you can smell the intense scent of lavender and see the purple mist swirl around, your shoulders are grabbed roughly. “(Y/n), love, wake up!” You flinch at the contact. “What’s wrong? Dearie, what's wrong?"

You look up and see Izuku with furrowed brows and worry in his green eyes. They dart along your figure. “Huh?”

“I asked what’s wrong? I wasn’t able to contact you, so I got worried.” You look at the clock and see that it is almost bedtime. You’ve missed dinner and valuable time doing whatever Noa won’t allow you to do.

Crap, Noa hasn’t eaten.  

“Noa-”

“I’ll take care of it, okay?” He looks you over and settles back on your eyes. “You don’t look so good, I’ll handle it. Just rest.”

You reach for your meds and take them. You don’t miss how he stares at you. Without thinking about it, you hit the pillow with your eyes closed, already asleep. Whether you were working or not, you crashing was bound to happen. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten to sleep, to actually rest. What once weighed a million pounds is fading away with the drift of peaceful sleep. 

-

Hours later, you wake up surprised. Next to you is Noa, of course. But behind him is a hero with green curls who is laying on his side, dead asleep. His arm wrapped around you while Noa snuggles closer to you. Your face is on fire. Not only is he in your room again, he’s in your bed. Next to you. There’s a boy in your room sleeping on your bed with you. 

  You stretch and wiggle out of his hold he tightens it at first then lets go. Groaning, you look at the time. It’s morning now, still dark out but enough to at least get breakfast going. Quietly, you close the door and head downstairs to the kitchen. On the way, you try to come up with some explanation about the boy in your room.

A boy.

In your room, on your bed. In the elevator, you squeeze your head then cover your mouth to hold in the squeal. You instead do it in your hand. “Izuku’s in my bed!” 

You slept together in an innocent way. “Oh my God.”  What is this stupid giddiness? This is embarrassing! He’s going to do something like the walk of shame or whatever. What will everyone say when Izuku comes down with his morning voice, and his curls-

“ Lord, help.” You stop the elevator and shake your head. You’re a pervert for the thoughts going through your head because not a single one of them are innocent.

 Taking a deep breath, you press the button for it to go down. You need to stop having teenage hormones and focus on the fact that Noa needs food. So does Izuku. Izuku…what if he doesn’t like it? You could be cooking something, and he won’t like it or he’s allergic! Actually, you’d prefer for him to be allergic than not like the food. 

The door opens and you try to calmly walk out. You take a deep breath and run to the kitchen. “Plain oatmeal is safe, right? He can doctor it up himself and I’ll be in the clear. Yeah.” You don’t really want to do that. It’s stupid, the entire thing. There’s this stupid feeling of wanting to impress him. 

He’s a guest, right? You’d be a bad hostess. Who knows? Maybe he’d like it and want to stay or something.  

You’re a degenerate.

You smack your cheeks. “Okay, let’s get started then.” 

-

An hour or so later, the sun is peeking out now. You look around and see another deviant. A horrible villain that has no place to be near you. “Hello, (Y/n).”

Fucking Benio. He stands there with a plate and a bowl ready for you and on the counter is a mug of coffee that was set for Izuku. Unfortunately, Benio obviously claimed it. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

  He shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything but,” He sets his dishes on the counter. Benio leans on it and gestures to the food. “Alas, it seems I must.”

“Excuse me?”

“Telling Snipe that Deku is in your bed.” You gasp and toss a strip of bacon at him. How the fuck did he know that? “Hey, he’s the birthday boy. Who am I to judge what his present is.”

“It is not li-wait, birthday boy? Today’s his birthday?”

“Yeah, it’s July 15th. What? You didn’t know?” You shake your head no. “He didn’t say anything about it.”

“And you let him in your room anyway. The shame.”

You scoff. “Really? Like you haven’t fooled around? Besides, he fell asleep there. He was playing with Noa and just fell asleep. I was making breakfast for the little butthead and thought I’d be nice.”

“You haven’t been nice since you were one. When you turned two it went downhill.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck, you’re still in your terrible twos.”

 You finally take his plate and put some food on it. “Make sure Kobeni eats.”

 You turn to load the boys’ plates. Noa’s is a little different since he’s young. Rather than having a fried egg like Izuku, you scrambled his and put rice on his little purple plate. Maybe you should’ve called Ken. You can cook just fine on your own, though having Ken’s advice would probably have made it better.

  Benio places a mug on the tray and the boys’ dishes on it. “I was just playing. Even if something did happen, I wouldn’t have said anything.” 

You side eye him and grab the tray. You tap your fingers on the counter and raise your brow at him. “You’ve been talking to Yaoyorozu a lot?”

“Somewhat. She’s still barely doing anything but it’s progress. She thinks being friends or something is a start so she talks a lot. I don’t know. I’m still having trouble trusting her.”

  You rub your neck. “I don’t blame you. I don’t trust what’s-his-name either nor will I ever.” He can’t be redeemed in the slightest. A villain attack could happen and you wouldn’t have him save you. You’d rather die.

  “Mm, this is a good thing, my secret double agent.” 

“You’re evil and I love it,” He stretches for his bones to give a relieving crack. “It’s a good idea anyway. Especially when a certain someone wants to pay you a visit.”

“Who?” Benio waves and thanks you for the food, ignoring your questions of who wants to talk to you.

--

It’s a hassle to get the heavy tray upstairs and even harder to open your door. You set the tray on the ground and open it to find Noa standing. “Mmm, go.”

Izuku pops up from his slumber. “He’s saying sentences!” He tumbles out of your bed, bringing your blankets with him. “Where’s my phone?!”

“I don’t think you brought it. And that wasn't a sentence.” Izuku still pats around, totally oblivious to what you just said. “Mm, papa."

“He’s talking again! Where’s my damn phone?!”

You try to get his attention and tell him that his hair is standing straight up on one side and drool is crusted on the other side of his face. He doesn’t look like the Izuku you imagined downstairs. Right now he looks goofy with red lines on his face and sand in his eyes. “The camera’s right-”

“Camera, a camera!” He takes a quick step to your desk where the camera lies and stubs his toe. 

Oh my God. 

Noa walks to you and hugs your legs. “Ma-”

Is he trying to say mama? Is it finally happening?

“Izuku get the fucking camera!” Now there’s a reason to celebrate. Noa stares into your eyes with what looks to be wonder. With a smile he says, “No.”

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

“Say thank you, mommy!” Izuku helps Noa eat. 

“No.”

Fucking brat. “He doesn’t need to be fed anymore, Izuku.”

He ignores you and cuts Noa’s eggs with a fork. “I know, I know. These are big pieces though.” 

“Of scrambled eggs?”

“Anything can happen!” You watch as they eat. Izuku suddenly stops before he gives Noa another bite. He studies your figure all the way down to your lap. They flicker back up to your eyes. “Where’s yours?”

It took him a whole seven minutes and thirty-three seconds to realize you don’t have one. 

You don’t want to tell on Benio. “Oh? There was only enough-” Izuku then shoves a piece of his egg in your mouth. Noa laughs and takes it upon himself to join in on feeding his mom who he insists doesn’t have that title . He grabs some of his food and shoves it in your mouth. 

When should you ask what he wants for his birthday? It wouldn’t be weird for you to give him something, of course. He did sleep in here, on your bed. With you. And is still here. With you.

  Swallowing your food, you say, “I heard it’s your birthday.”

He puts some rice in your mouth. “Yeah.”

You mess with the bottom of your shirt. “Is there anything you want to do? Because we could have a party, the three of us.”

“Well-”

Your door is knocked on with even taps. Izuku gets up to answer it while looking down at the floor. Benio is there with his arms crossed. At first, Izuku doesn’t realize the implication that this could have until Benio grins. Izuku waves his hands around.

“Ah! I-I-um, I can explain why I’m here before-”

“Aye, she already said. And it’s no secret you’re here anyway since you jumped into her window like that.”

  You take a bite from Noa’s eggs. “You came in through the window?”

Izuku turns red and stutters. “I couldn’t get a hold of you! I thought something might've been wrong-”

“Oh my God.”

“Anyway,” Benio stops and coos at Noa who instantly recognizes his uncle. “Deku’s needed in the hero course.” 

Izuku slumps and turns around. “Noa, sugars!” He squats with his arms wide. Noa goes over and gives his papa a kiss. On Izuku’s freckled face is a smile that seems forced. A facade to cover whatever he feels and is not planning on telling.

“(Y/n), I’ll see you soon.” 

There is something off about him looking back at you when he leaves by jumping out the window. His eyes lacked the sparkle they usually have. Well, you and Noa will have to change that. 

Noa whines for his papa at first, his little feet pad to the window that you launch yourself at to close it. To stop him from losing his shit, you give an offer that you are sure will make a mess. “Wanna bake a cake for papa?”

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

“Alright Bubba, where should we start?” The recipe isn't complicated. The only thing that might foil it is Noa.

He stretches to give you an egg. You grab it from him before he drops it. “Come here, little boy.” You pull the kiddie chair up that you snatched from the commons. With the help of Noa’s ‘big boy muscles’, you set it next to the counter for him to stand on. You’d prefer he’d sit though.

He excitedly bounces and gets on top of the seat. “You’re already so strong, y’know that?” It’s true. He’s only one, but everyone that sees him would swear he was two. He’s beyond advanced. If he doesn’t officially turn two soon, then you’ll have to take him to Mei because he’s broken.

 Despite being incredibly advanced, he is struggling with calling you mom, mama, or mommy or anything that is remotely similar to a mother’s name. All you get is no and eyes that hold a gleam that is too suspicious to be innocent. No matter, there is no reason to worry. He is a year old, not five.

  You put the wet ingredients first with the help of mini man. Before he can mix everything too harshly, you guide his hand. Suddenly, you hear footsteps outside of the kitchen. You know for a fact that no one is supposed to be here since everyone had plans.

You mess with Noa’s hair. “Stay here, okay?” He nods and keeps stirring slowly. “I already know you’re gonna fuck with shit.” You say under your breath as you exit.

  There he is. The purple haired deadbeat bitch. You clench your fists until you see the baby. “I’m not taking care of it for you.” You say. His eyes catch yours. He stupidly grins, showing his perfect white teeth. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You gave him heartburn last time he saw you.”

“And you make me itch.”

He takes a step forward and deeply inhales. “Well, you-” The two of you stop when you smell something burning. You take off into the kitchen with what’s his face right behind you. On the stove is a fire with Noa’s hand on the knob. He leans to it and keeps adjusting the degree. He’s in awe of the orange light that doesn’t resemble the candlelight that he’s used to.

  You run towards him until purple hair snatches you up with one arm around your waist. “Back up!” 

  He grabs Noa and hands him to you. He turns the stove off, but it doesn't help. Purple hair lays eyes on the fire extinguisher that is protected by a metal cage with a glass window. Finally, a white substance calms the flames until they’re nothing. It evaporates completely, leaving no trace of a fire or the substance that has been manufactured by a quirk. Your hand is protectively on Noa’s head who has yet to cry. 

  “What were you thinking?!” The man scolds. You can’t remember his name right now, not when your adrenaline is like this. “Leave us alone!”

“No! I think you two have been left alone enough!” Sick of him you go up and push him away. You point to the exit. “ Leave! This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you!”

 He scoffs. “Yeah, blame me princess. That’d get you far.”

“Dumbass, it’s your fault. You come in here and distract me and now look. How am I supposed to finish this?”

He looks around. “What the hell were you doing other than a terrible job?”

 Your eyes practically bulge out of your sockets. “You ass-”

“What the hell is it?”

“I was making a chocolate cake.” You say as if you’re stating the obvious. He raises a purple brow. “For what?” Your eyes go to the floor. You didn't think that anyone would question why you’re doing this. It’s no one’s business! Yet, you explain anyway. “It’s Izuku’s birthday.” 

  There is a silence that neither of you break for a minute, then he inhales. “Izuku’s favorite cake isn't chocolate.”

Oh. “ Who’s to say I want to make his favorite?” That was dumb.  His smile and eyes are knowing and arrogant. “So, you want to disappoint him?”

“...No.” You are starting to hate yourself. He gets a little closer. You notice that black jumpsuit fits him baggily and the fishnets he has on his forearm are snug. It’s an odd costume, one you wonder if he took inspiration from a comic book villain mixed with his teacher, Eraserhead. Minus the clown boots, of course.

 He sucks in his lips and looks around. “I could tell you.” You strum your fingers along the counter. Rather than showing anything, you decide to come off as nonchalant. “Okay.”

“Only if you tell me happy birthday, too.” You scoff in disbelief. “Pardon?”

“My birthday was two weeks ago, and no one was this sweet.” What the fuck. Surely, he has friends up the ass. He’s in the hero course and was impressive in the Sports Festival. Plus, he knows Izuku. They must be friends, and no way would Izuku not celebrate a friend’s birthday.

You put your hand on your hip. “This isn't for you.”

“Trust me, I don't want it after seeing you in the kitchen.” He gestures behind him at the stove. Noa giggles. “That wasn't me, that was him!” You point to the little brat. 

“Mhm, sure princess.”

You take a deep breath. You’re going to ignore that and not tell him that you literally worked in a restaurant. “Just tell me his favorite.”

He tilts his head with an expectant expression. Under your breath with clenched teeth, you say, “Happy birthday.” He hums and answers simply, “Strawberry shortcake.”

 “Thank you. You're dismissed.” You turn to the bowl on the counter. Luckily, the extinguisher didn't get in the mixture. On top of that, you already started with the right ingredients and Ema has been on a strawberry kick, so that's covered. Other than the fire, it's going well.

You side eye the purple menace who is still standing next to you. Slowly, you stir the contents in the mixing bowl. “What’d you come here for anyway?” You see that he doesn’t have his baby. You give a short laugh. He sucks his teeth. “What’cha laughing about?”

“Hmph, you dare judge me about leaving my kid alone when you don’t have yours.” He shrugs at you. “It’s on the couch. I don’t know what to do with it, to be honest.”

 You slam the items down. “Have you even tried? Or are you expecting us to do it for you? Ugh, I’ve had it with you heroes.”

“Says the person making a cake for one.” You close your eyes. You don’t like him. 

“Whatever. What did you come here for?” You stop and turn to him. He looks down for a moment then answers, “I wanted to thank you for snapping me out of it.”

Whatever face you’re making must say a lot because he chuckles a little and rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, wasn’t doing what I needed to and you kicked me into gear. So, thanks. I can’t promise I’ll be good at it, but I’ll try my hand.”

This is unexpected. A total turnaround from the arrogant son of a bitch he showed you two seconds ago. Now, he looks his age; a shy boy in his late teens who is turning his pride in for reality. Seeing it makes you feel a subtle happiness inside your chest. Not because you're proud of him but out of total spite. Earlier, Benio said that someone wanted to talk to you. This guy is obviously who he meant.

 “You’re welcome that I was kind enough to point out how useless you are. Now leave.”

Rather than finding anger or embarrassment in what you said, he chuckles. "I can’t even stay and watch?” 

“No.”

“How about to judge?”

“No.” 

  The more he stays and watches your every move, the more your hands shake. You pause your movements longer than you want to with every whisk as you feel his gaze on you. “Can you please stop?”

“I’m just watching.” Without looking at him you know he has a smug face that needs a good slap. “You’re making me nervous.”

He hums and moves his hand to pluck a strawberry. “Alright, how about this. I go on the couch and mess with the kid-”

“Kids. Yours is in there too.”

“Okay, kids, and you can make your cake, eh?” You groan then say yes. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when he leaves. You don’t really know his name and it is most likely vice versa, yet he acts like he knows you. 

“Whatever.” You wash the strawberries, getting ready to cut them. You hear Noa blow a raspberry as he speeds towards you. “Where’s the purple guy?” You whisper. Around the corner, you see him on the couch waving at you. “What’re you doing?”

“He wants to cook with you. I’ll stay in here while you two bond.”

“Mhm, take this time to bond with yours.”

You duck back in and continue with Noa. Surprisingly, he’s pretty good at it. However, he’s a robot so why wouldn’t he be? You deeply inhale and look at Noa, reminding yourself that he isn’t real despite this warmness towards him. Every cheer you give him when he correctly places something, or when you take the cakes out of the oven and let them cool and he bounces so cutely, you have to be reminded that he’s not your son.

  He’s fake. Even now when you two are coloring with Hitoshi Shinsou, and he scribbles circles, he isn’t your son. So, stop feeling this. Hitoshi is talking to a machine right now, not a child with your nose and mouth. The faces he makes that resemble yours aren't real. None of this is real. 

“This belongs on the fridge of fame.” You take Noa’s art and show Hitoshi. He goes along with it and claps. “Absolutely.”

The bell on your phone rings. “I’ll be back.” You get up and go to the kitchen again. The two boys follow you, leaving the baby on the couch. You wished they stayed so you can continue reminding yourself of that fact. No matter how precious Noa and this moment is, none of it is real. This moment is bound to stay with you, even though it is beautifully cursed. 

  The cakes are cooled down and you begin to assemble everything with shaky hands. Noa, of course, keeps dipping his finger in the whip cream and Hitoshi lingers around to do the same. Since he’s grown, those long fingers of his get smacked every time. 

 Your phone dings at an inopportune time. Your fingers are covered with strawberry juice and cream. “Um-”

“I got it.” He opens it and on the screen is Izuku. “Izuku?”

“Ooh, you two are on a first name basis already?”

“Shinsou? You’re there?” Izuku calls out. Hitoshi is holding the camera facing away from him, so Izuku has a full view of you. “Yeah, Hitoshi’s here.”

“You remember my name, princess?” 

“Now I do. You weren’t on my radar, babygirl.” He huffs and Izuku clears his throat. “Anyway, if you’re done Shinsou. (Y/n), I won’t be able to-” 

“Deku! Come on!” In the corner you see pink cheeks and brown hair. She’s quick and tugs on Izuku. “Turn off the phone!”

“In a minute Ocha-uh, Uraraka. It’s (Y/n).” She hums. “You can talk to her later, Deku. It’s your birthday!”

  Your breath is caught in your throat. You don't like this. This jealous and angry feeling in your chest. “I-I’ll talk to yo- okay. I’m coming. Give Noa my lov-” The phone hangs up.

 You take a deep breath and suck on your teeth. Your eyes go up to Hitoshi’s purple gaze. You have only known this guy for a hot minute, and so far, he has shown you how rude he is. Hitoshi’s judgment and mockery is something to be expected. Instead of being met with a mocking expression, it is blank.

  “If it makes you feel better, he’s going on a mission today.” 

“Why would that make me feel better?” Him eating his favorite cake that you and Noa made would be better. Him being here for the decorations Noa made out of construction paper and his scribbles would’ve been great. 

  “Because of his bad luck,” You side eye him, looking away from Noa’s increasing close space to the cake. It spells trouble but the boy who is supposed to eat it isn’t coming. “You seem to be into that sort of thing,” You smile a little. “Into pettiness. Maybe even vengeance.”

You are. He hit it right on the money. “Yep.” 

As he chuckles, you realize that he has a bit of a sultry voice. Although, you can’t tell if it is natural or if he’s doing it on purpose. Either way, hearing it, being near him like this, is making your face unintentionally warm. His fluffy, wild, purple hair stands in all directions, his tired eyes at first seem dull but his white pupils expanding tell otherwise; especially since he’s been here messing with you. 

  Hitoshi Shinsou is an enigma that is most likely hiding in plain sight. His reasoning may not even be complex. This could all be a joke.

“Figured.” He sucks his teeth and his purple eyes trail to you with a suspicious gleam in them. Noa shouts a loud ‘ hey’. 

You are saved from those weird thoughts by the sound of a robot. You go out of the kitchen and into the living room and see Hitoshi’s baby’s eyes fading. “Um, Hitoshi!”

  He runs to you and puts his hand on your arm. “Wh-oh, that.” You groan and smack his hand. “Will you take care of-wait, what’s his name?”

“I don’t remember. My partner was the one that named him.” What the hell? You groan and rub your eyes. You know that his project shouldn’t be a concern of yours. This robot has nothing to do with you. Yet looking at its eyes becoming lifeless is tugging at your heart. “His name is now…” A face appears in your mind. It’s familiar and sorely missed.

“Kenji.” 

“Alright, Kenji Shinsou,” Hearing the name of the man you miss the most causes your heart to clench. You clear your throat and say, “You should take care of him. This is your grade, too.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, don’t really know how.”

“Are you kidding me. So, this is why you're here. For me to take care of it.” You don’t even ask for legitimacy because you already know that heroes are totally dumb, rude, and useless. You were an idiot to find him somewhat kind. 

“I wasn’t raised around young kids like this. I changed him and fed him already. I don't know what else to do.”  You put your hands on your hips. “What if a baby needed help-”

“That's why I'm thanking you! Because you're right. I'm not going to lie though. I really don't know what to do.”

  You sigh. “This isn't my responsibility.” This project is a problem. Not just for your rights or physical wellbeing, but your emotions. As time goes on, you notice how hateful and angry you’re becoming while your maternal instincts are increasing. Even now with this doll that isn’t yours you feel protective. Is this hero taking advantage of it? Can you even see anything straight anymore?

“You don't have to help and I'm not asking. Honest to God, this is just a coincidence.” You hate this project. They're not real babies yet your heart is sad for it. The cursed heart strings tug for this dying machine.

“When did you do that?”

“At six.” You look at the clock. “It’s literally six o’clock. When?”

He rolls his eyes. “This morning. It’s a robo-” There’s a spike of panic, causing you to interrupt him. “Hush,” You gesture for him to sit next to you. “Check his diaper, first.”

  He goes to take his bottoms off. You mutter, “At least you dressed him.” Hitoshi scoffs and replies snarkily. “I’m new to this, not an idiot. Unlike some people.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Hm?” Y’know what, screw it. You were about to warn him what happens with little boys when the parent isn’t prepared, but screw it. Let him learn the hard way. You smile at Hitoshi who finally undoes Kenji’s diaper. Nothing. Nada. This boy doesn’t pee on him. 

  Your eye twitches. Hitoshi looks at you worriedly. “He didn’t do anything. Think he’s hungry?”

Through clenched teeth, you confirm that it’s most likely what’s wrong. “Do you even have a bottle?”

“Obviously. It’s right in there. Midoriya gave me a whole speech after I mentioned you in passing as the bossy princess who kicked me.”

 You laugh and place your hand on your chest. “Bossy? Me?” 

“I love how you don’t deny the princess part.” 

You shrug. “Because it’s true.”

He places the bottle in Little Ken’s mouth. The baby slurps the milk happily, slowly gaining color to his cheeks and light in his artificial eyes. It matches Hitoshi but he also strangely looks familiar. You can’t place it though. 

  “See? That’s all you have to do. Babies aren’t hard. It’s those little boogers that are a pain.” You point to Noa who is biting a crayon. “Spit that out right now.” His spit dribbles to the table as he follows your direction.

“Okay, now what?” Hitoshi takes the bottle from Little Ken. You point lazily to the baby. “Now you burp him. Easy peasy, just pat his back.” 

Hitoshi does so, careful not to hit so hard. Every once in a while he looks at you to see if he’s doing it right. 

“Why did you come if the party's still going on other than manipulating me? Be straight with me.” 

After Little Ken burps and spits up, Hitoshi gives what you think may actually be an honest answer. “I heard you were here so I wanted to see you. I wanted to thank you for reminding me that heroes have a job that includes more than public heroism.” He gazes into your eyes. “We have to save hearts, too. My partner isn’t participating at all. That doesn’t mean I don’t have too,” 

This project is breaking hearts, yours included. Not just because of dead beats, but the impending conclusion of the project, of Noa. So, what is he talking about? Heroes haven’t saved a single person here. 

“This project isn’t fair. There must be a reason and as a future pro, I have to walk with you. It isn’t right to leave you guys by yourself since I’m carrying the same burden.”

He cradles Kenji like a new dad. “Honest to God, I didn't come here for your help. I thought I was doing alright. Now that I see it,” He shrugs and purses his lips. “It is more than that.”

  So, he wants to suffer too? Before you can say anything snarky, you see the slightest shade of pink on the tips of his ears. There must be more to his answer to gain that color. An elusive answer that most likely won’t come up. Either way, you can appreciate his participation. It does soothe you to see that it isn’t just general studies that are working hard, there are some hero students with common sense. Maybe he’s giving you a little hope that you wanted to see.

Even if it is literally the bare minimum. 

Little Ken falls asleep quicker than Noa ever did. While his child is sleeping peacefully, your little monster bounces around, tired and fighting the urge to sleep. You try to calm him and get him to be quiet, lest he wakes up the baby. Today must’ve been exciting for him since he got to bake a cake.

  The cake! You stand up from the couch. "The cake! Wait,” You look down at Hitoshi who looks curious. “Um, do you want some?”

It’s Izuku’s cake but since he isn’t coming, why waste it? Besides, another birthday boy is here doing the bare minimum as a dad. 

“Only if you sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.” He wiggles his eyebrows, earning a laugh from you. “Whatever. I’ll bring it.” Noa follows you with his arms up. Carefully placing the cake on a tray with plates and forks, you carry it to birthday boy number two. 

  You set the tray down and give him a slice. He goes to take a bite but you stop him by placing your hand on his. “Hold on, okay? Gimme a sec.”

You get up and turn off the main lights in favor of the lamp on the table next to him. A shadow of a smile graces his lips. It isn’t a smirk or something mischievous, it’s genuine. It tells of something subtly sweet. 

  Walking to him, you sing happy birthday in a soft voice. Noa looks in wonder at you as you come near. 

  “Happy birthday, to you!” 

He raises his eyebrows and pretends to blow out a candle. Little Kenji still rests and is now alive which makes you strangely content. This image is serene for some reason.

Hitoshi moans as he eats the cake. “Y’know, for someone who burns things, you can make a hell out of a cake.” 

Bastard.

Noa licks some of the whipped cream. Before you can retort with a snap, Hitoshi’s phone rings. He sighs and unlocks it. “Mhm, on my way.”

“Duty calls, kitten. I’ll be taking this-”

“Nope.” You snatch the plate from his hand. “You need to be able to hold Kenji.”

  Hitoshi glares then fades away and adopts amusement. He grabs Kenji and holds him awkwardly. You’re disappointed in yourself and how you caved and helped this bastard when you should’ve kicked him harder. The project is messing with you. Although you know you shouldn’t have helped, you couldn’t fight it. The baby was losing its life and parental instincts took over. 

A deeper part of you whispers in your ear when you look at the cake again. The cream has little streaks on it from Noa’s tongue and Hitoshi’s finger. Some of the strawberries have been plucked off and eaten. The one who was supposed to eat this isn’t here. Spending time with Hitoshi and letting him have a slice was some form of payback against the man with green hair.

“Thank you…for everything. I promise I will be the best single father you’ve ever seen.” 

 “You better be.”

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

You turn on cartoons for Noa who is still waiting for Izuku. He’s adamant that his papa will come tonight. You sit and wait with Noa and have least managed to convince him to eat something other than snacks. 

 After a while, the tv gets blurry and your yawn is deep enough to let the water in your eyes not be ignored. You blink rapidly and try to get rid of the sleep that presses on you like a blanket that wants to tuck you in. Unable to fight it any longer, your eyes close.

“You’re still up?” You gasp and sit up from the couch. Noa pops his head up and runs to Izuku who is in his hero suit with sweat is on his forehead and dust on his shoulders. He gives Noa a quick hug. You side eye him and bounce your crossed leg. “Papa will be right back, okay?”

  He stands and comes closer to you. “I’ll be right back, I swear.” He runs out, leaving a rush of wind behind. You clear your throat. “Happy now?”

Noa giggles as he dances and bounces in happiness. After rubbing your eyes, you go to clean up Noa’s mess. The bits of construction paper and macaroni litter the area. The brat tries to grab it all from you with a big frown on his face. “This is trash, honeybun. You can’t play with it.”

He presses his face to your legs and growls. That ‘ferocious’ noise he emitted from his chest turns to cries. “Noa, baby, all of this is trash. See? Over there are your toys.” Noa shakes his head and says no. 

“I’m back! Noa, what’s wrong?”

The baby walks to Izuku with tears streaming down his face. He lays it on thick for Izuku. You roll your eyes and continue to pick up the trash. “You don’t have to clean everything up now. Just wait until he goes to sleep.”

  “He has toys and paper over there. I need to clean this up.” You hear him sigh and say your name. You throw the junk away and walk back to the boys. Izuku pats Noa’s back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You take a deep breath. “Don’t do this. You can’t be soft on him like that.” In the corner of your eye, you see the plates that hold bits of cake and strawberries. Grabbing the paper dishes, you head to the trash can in the kitchen. Izuku follows you with tentative steps. “What’s that?”

“Your cake that you missed.” You toss the plates away. “Is that why you’re mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” There are small steps diagonal from you getting close to your space. He is silent for a minute then in a quiet voice he asks, “Can I try it? I’d like to spend my birthday with you, if you’ll let me.”

“You already celebrated your birthday, remember?”

“I’d like to do it with you.”

  “I don’t have candles.”

“I don’t need them.”

 You nod and tell him to go sit down in the dining room. You suck in your lips to try and stop the smile. The rest of the cake isn’t pretty at all and you probably should’ve stored it rather than leave it out for a few hours. Its quality most likely went down. No matter, this is what he gets.

  You grab the last sets of plates and forks. In the dining room, Izuku waits patiently while Noa is clapping when he sees you come in. Izuku’s eyes light up and mimic Noa’s. Even with the cake not looking the best, that ball in your gut that spiked horribly with insecurity disappears. 

“It’s your favorite so-”

“What?”

You shrug, trying to appear casual about knowing that. “I- uh, Noa and I- made your favorite cake. It’s not much. It was prettier earlier.”

  He looks confused with his head to the side. “Chocola-never mind! I love it!”

  You set a plate in front of him. “What were you about to say?”

“N-nothing!”

“Izuku?” 

Hesitantly, he answers you. “Chocolate’s my favorite. B-but trust me, I’ll love this.” Your mouth drops. Hitoshi fucking Shinsou.

Hitoshi wanted to take a slice with him and he’s the one who gave you that fake ass information. You’d bet your left titty that strawberry shortcake is his favorite. Your hands start to shake thinking of the snake.

  “I like everything you make…” Those words stop your hands. His kind eyes are enough to settle you down. “We still have one more thing to do.”

Just like you did before, you sing happy birthday. This time, Noa joins with his own version. Izuku, with the help of Noa, blows out the imaginary candles. You take a picture of the boys on your phone. Both have goofy and cheerful smiles despite the cake mishap. 

  After one picture a ding and glow in Noa’s belly signal growth. Your breath hitches as you see a boy that once looked identical to you, gain Izuku’s undeniable features. His face and eye shape is definitely from Izuku. Noa’s smile now matches the fluffy green haired hero. Your son’s skin that matched yours morphs into an even blend from both of you.

 Noa genuinely looks like the two of you. Before, the similarities between them could have been argued. Now? Not a chance. 

  For the first and probably final time, you have reached a conclusion with Izuku. Despite your pettiness and you being a prideful, ornery, angry, brat, you come to realize that his kindness blows that away. It is a gentle and welcomed breeze that calms you. He went to his friends and a mission for his birthday but came back to you and Noa. You finally accept that Izuku is his dad. This isn’t to spit at Kaibara’s face. You now understand that it is reality.

 You take another photo then switch to video for a special reason. “Izuku, can Noa share a birthday with you?” 

He stares as if he didn’t hear you. Then he grins like a light is glowing inside. His green eyes shine with joyful wetness from the tears that want to come out. This is not happiness, a temporary thing that can be frayed, but joy. “ Yes! ” He picks his son up and spins around. “Hear that Bud? It’s our birthday today!”

Noa laughs with him. You record all of this, including Noa’s real sentences about birthdays and his papa. How you made the cake with him and something about heroes. All the while Izuku’s eyes are watering at his present and Noa’s immediate development.

 You will keep this one for yourself and tell Snipe to kiss your ass.

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

As you eat Hitoshi’s favorite cake that happens to be sliced on a plate courtesy of his friend Izuku, you decide to bring up his names for you. It is something that you noticed and is becoming more frequent. With playful squinted eyes, you tease, “You’ve been calling me names, Deku.”

He swallows his bite of cake and furrows his brows. A bit of whip cream is on his face and the juice from a ripe strawberry is on his lips. He says it isn't his favorite cake but he sure is slamming down on it. 

“I’ve never called you a name.” 

“You call me ‘dearest’. Why?” He shrugs. “Because it fits.”

 That makes you instinctively touch your cheeks with your hands. You are sure he noticed if his small smile and the light pink flush across the apple of his cheeks and nose is anything to go by. 

It fits you. He thinks you are his dearest. It is his birthday today, yet this feels like a gift to you.

Happy birthday, Izuku and Noa.

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

You stop reading your book when you notice that there hasn’t been a sound other than even breathing. The two boys sleep on your bed, exhausted from the fun they had. Izuku’s face is covered with scribbly lines from the washable and some permanent marker. Noa still has his macaroni jewelry on him and a construction paper crown. He lays peacefully on Izuku’s chest. His little body dinged a short lullaby to signal that he is asleep.

  You watch contently in your new chair that Izuku took upon himself to get for you. When he gifted it to you a few days ago, you didn’t point out that it is too big to fit in your room. Nevertheless, it’s perfect for this view and the relaxed ambiance. Your dim flower light on your desk shines as best it can and Noa’s hero light cube swings colors around. It’s peaceful. Beautiful, even.

  Taking a deep breath, you continue to read the story. It isn’t a thick book at all and yet is rich with the story. In a soft voice, you tell the story of the greatest love there ever was.

“The dancing princess was distraught at the news of the fate of Ernest Appleseed. She vowed to never love again, to never sing or dance. Her feet will be forever planted on the ground with her beloved Ernie. 

Years later, when she had grown from a little bud to a blossoming young woman, Honeycomb accidentally caught the eye of the arrogant King Pumpernickel,” Your eyelids begin to get heavy. Before you can read another sentence, you drift to sleep and into the meadow, just like the book describes. Several of the book’s symbolic flowers, four leaf clovers all around, and plush, green, grass underneath you grows underneath you. 

Suddenly, Izuku makes a quick jolt in his sleep. You can hear him groan and squirm. You are too tired to stop your eyelids. As you settle, your quirk activates, not on its own, but by you. 

--

 You walk the mystical purple lane that smells of lavender, a calming scent. With one more step into the darkness, the creaking sound of a door echoes behind you. In the overwhelming darkness, you see the shape of his current dream. It is oddly shaped and glowing red. It pumps like a steady heart with a strange deep bass.

You try to knock on its fleshy surface without being sucked into its gooey softness. From what you can feel, the inside isn’t hollow at all. Without delay, you lay out your own dream. The purple mist encompasses his shell, his imagination line. You press against it for it to harden to Izuku’s shape in an attempt to crack it open. You give up on forcibly dominating him from the outside.

With clenched fists, your hand goes inside the gross red figure. The slime on it stains your body and nightwear like sticky blood. In no time, you are inside with a harsh suck. 

You land on the cracked, dry ground. There is a thunderous dust cloud that heads towards the masses. Flames burn it from above with a scaly white hand. The hand puts itself on the greystone castle. Underneath is tremendous pressure that cracks its walls. You watch the hand grow black claws, leaving embers in its wake. 

Although you weren’t there, this reads of a memory everyone in the world has. The secondary image of the wars that had raged against the world. They have always been something no one wanted to envision or experience. Now, you are here in what looks to be a warped first hand experience.

You want to rip this terror to shreds. To wipe away the horrors that Izuku is facing.  

 Green light surrounds him as he raises his fist to fight. “Izuku?” His world freezes. Even the air stills, the cracks in the ground stop growing and the glare in his eyes start to fade when they slowly look into yours. Your hand releases a purple film that spreads like weeds on the ground. It overtakes the cracks bit by bit.

You step on its rigged surface. “Don’t! You’ll-” Nothing happens to you or the healthy and plush grass grows underneath it. His chest heaves as he looks you up and down. Even Shigaraki looks confused, at least from what you can see. 

  He turns to you running faster than a bullet. Shigaraki’s hand now comes to you. Izuku, despite his speed, goes into slow motion. Your heart breaks at the pain he’s feeling. You extend your hand to meet Shigaraki’s to stop the decay. 

“Don’t you trust me, Izuku?”

 Tomura’s hand is covered in swirling purple until the flowers from the book sprout from his flesh. Tomura jerks away from you, sending his elongated hand back to him. Izuku looks you up and down when he grabs you. It goes dark for a second, just one second for you to see the symbolic and most cherished flower of the book blossom before you. Seven silky petals bloom surround a smaller bud that begins to separate and shows many more. The flower is thick yet delicate and beautiful. Once the flower matures, the darkness begins to fade. 

He holds your hands in his. “Do you trust me?” 

“Please, you have to ru-”

“Do you trust me to make you happy?”

He’s fast with his answer. “Yes.” He presses his forehead to yours. “I’m scared, (Y/n). I can’t protect anyone,” He taps his head against you twice. “You’ll fall-”

  You touch his cheek. “ Trust me . Hold my hand.”

He closes his eyes. The purple mist thins and glows to a sharp ray that shoots up to the sky. Slowly, the shiny violet color encompasses the form of the dream. It spreads along the land, casing over every crevice. Meadows and beautiful trees plant along what used to be destroyed homes and people. Cars that were wrecked are now healthy horses and caved streets of pavement are now dirt paths and cobblestone. In the far north is still the threat of his nightmare. Tomura still reigns as a king with All For One hovering over him shaped like a dragon. His nightmare is still here, blended with your dream. You look down to see that you’re even wearing what Honeycomb would wear, and Izuku matches Ernie. 

  Outside the purple layer, the shell of your dream, is the surface of his. It formed into a ruthlessly beating heart that you slowly break from the inside. It shatters and leaves glowing red shards all over until some fade into black dust, while the rest solidify into the ground.

“What-”

“I will hold your hand. Just take it and trust me and mine.”

  This dream is a whirlwind of twists and turns as he fights villains with a sword, not once killing anyone. Despite the brightness he has daily, you now know that he suffers from the guilt. You can’t take the source of the dream away, but right now, you’re holding his hand by being inside with him. A hand to hold is what he needed tonight.

-

The dream is coming to an end, you think. He holds your hands when he helps you down from the majestic white horse. His loose white shirt has dust on the sleeves and dirt on his green vest yet you don’t mind when you grab onto him. The sword he used to defeat Shigaraki and All For One who was painted as a dragon, is secured on his hip. In contrast to his nightmare of his supposed weakness, he grasped and used the sword to symbolically hold onto the strength he believes he lost and never had to begin with.

  With beautiful twisted trees that grow flowers that wish to hang above the two of you, the picture is like the storybook you read to him. The book that you made sure to envision for a sweet dream. 

You didn’t think he’d complete it himself. You didn’t finish the book since he fell asleep. So, as his warm hands encase yours, he leans in slowly. If you were awake, you wouldn’t have believed he would kiss you. That he succeeded in gaining one of the five legendary kisses described in the book. 

 He cradles your jaw and kisses you softly. Your eyes are wide, not expecting it. Your heart is beating fast. Out of instinct you want to pull away. The urge leaves when you question why you’re fighting it.

You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back. The birds sing a beautiful harmony as a tear streams down your face. Yes, it is a dream. But it is one for the ages. He may not remember you using your quirk and that’s fine. He may not even remember this dream and that’s okay, too! What matters is that he defeated the dragon in an epic battle with a sword he forged himself and took the king down without killing him.

  What will secretly stay in your heart is the joy you feel. That he, on his own, is dreaming of kissing and saving you of all people. 

“You’re haunting me, aren’t you beloved?” He whispers on your lips. His green eyes are slightly open and look into yours with great fondness. “As long as it’s you, do what you please.”

  One arm goes around your waist and the other to your head. Your leg pops up and the sun begins to set. 

Happy birthday, Izuku Midoriya.

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[biscuitboba]

Random ramble but i will always think about zoro appreciating another person cuz they helped out his captain... he didn't have to do that (but he wanted to..) and i just think i'm fine and most definitely not insane about it.

Like luffy literally died? (But he was saved by gear 5 awakening) and the fact that zoro heard about minor details such as 'someone helped luffy during the fight with kaido'?? He probably knew about luffy's temporary death too, and because of that, i think somewhere deep inside him, what went unsaid was "Thank you for being there for my captain, (helping him) when i was absent"

He loves his captain so muchh okayy??

(Also, someone needs to make a fic about zoro finding out about luffy's death pre gear five awakening, and then zoro being just a tiny bit more protective (than before) towards his captain. Like yes he is already protective, but let's make him even more-)

Not to get sidetracked but uhh, thinking about frobin too...

Something about zoro, robin, and their priority (=it's about their favorite/special person!)

Zoro appreciating someone for helping luffy and robin appreciating someone for helping herself, and then asking them to help out franky.

Dunno how to explain it but when it comes to the dynamics of zolu and frobin, zoro and robin have some pretty noticeable similarities?? and of course luffy and franky... zoro and robin with their level headed, calm, and stoic demeanor?? And then luffy and franky both fall into the 'spontaneous ball of energy' category. They also both like cool things, and cry easily (especially compared to zoro and robin who rarely cry)

Maybe i'll talk more (emphasizing on maybe cuz im so forgetful at times) about their similarities another time, but for now, im like normal about these two ships really